Captain Blood | Page 7

nobleman had been
an active agent of the Duke's. "To be sure, I'll come. But first give me
leave to get some clothes and other things that I may need."
"There's no time to lose."
"Be easy now. I'll lose none. I tell ye again, ye'll go quickest by going
leisurely. Come in ... take a chair..." He threw open the door of a
parlour.
Young Pitt waved aside the invitation.
"I'll wait here. Make haste, in God's name." Mr. Blood went off to dress
and to fetch a case of instruments.
Questions concerning the precise nature of Lord Gildoy's hurt could
wait until they were on their way. Whilst he pulled on his boots, he
gave Mrs. Barlow instructions for the day, which included the matter of
a dinner he was not destined to eat.
When at last he went forth again, Mrs. Barlow clucking after him like a
disgruntled fowl, he found young Pitt smothered in a crowd of scared,
half-dressed townsfolk - mostly women - who had come hastening for
news of how the battle had sped. The news he gave them was to be read
in the lamentations with which they disturbed the morning air.
At sight of the doctor, dressed and booted, the case of instruments
tucked under his arm, the messenger disengaged himself from those
who pressed about, shook off his weariness and the two tearful aunts
that clung most closely, and seizing the bridle of his horse, he climbed
to the saddle.
"Come along, sir," he cried. "Mount behind me."

Mr. Blood, without wasting words, did as he was bidden. Pitt touched
the horse with his spur. The little crowd gave way, and thus, upon the
crupper of that doubly-laden horse, clinging to the belt of his
companion, Peter Blood set out upon his Odyssey. For this Pitt, in
whom he beheld no more than the messenger of a wounded rebel
gentleman, was indeed the very messenger of Fate.

CHAPTER TWO
KIRKE'S DRAGOONS
Oglethorpe's farm stood a mile or so to the south of Bridgewater on the
right bank of the river. It was a straggling Tudor building showing grey
above the ivy that clothed its lower parts. Approaching it now, through
the fragrant orchards amid which it seemed to drowse in Arcadian
peace beside the waters of the Parrett, sparkling in the morning sunlight,
Mr. Blood might have had a difficulty in believing it part of a world
tormented by strife and bloodshed.
On the bridge, as they had been riding out of Bridgewater, they had met
a vanguard of fugitives from the field of battle, weary, broken men,
many of them wounded, all of them terror-stricken, staggering in
speedless haste with the last remnants of their strength into the shelter
which it was their vain illusion the town would afford them. Eyes
glazed with lassitude and fear looked up piteously out of haggard faces
at Mr. Blood and his companion as they rode forth; hoarse voices cried
a warning that merciless pursuit was not far behind. Undeterred,
however, young Pitt rode amain along the dusty road by which these
poor fugitives from that swift rout on Sedgemoor came flocking in
ever-increasing numbers. Presently he swung aside, and quitting the
road took to a pathway that crossed the dewy meadowlands. Even here
they met odd groups of these human derelicts, who were scattering in
all directions, looking fearfully behind them as they came through the
long grass, expecting at every moment to see the red coats of the
dragoons.

But as Pitt's direction was a southward one, bringing them ever nearer
to Feversham's headquarters, they were presently clear of that human
flotsam and jetsam of the battle, and riding through the peaceful
orchards heavy with the ripening fruit that was soon to make its annual
yield of cider.
At last they alighted on the kidney stones of the courtyard, and Baynes,
the master, of the homestead, grave of countenance and flustered of
manner, gave them welcome.
In the spacious, stone-flagged hall, the doctor found Lord Gildoy - a
very tall and dark young gentleman, prominent of chin and nose -
stretched on a cane day-bed under one of the tall mullioned windows,
in the care of Mrs. Baynes and her comely daughter. His cheeks were
leaden-hued, his eyes closed, and from his blue lips came with each
laboured breath a faint, moaning noise.
Mr. Blood stood for a moment silently considering his patient. He
deplored that a youth with such bright hopes in life as Lord Gildoy's
should have risked all, perhaps existence itself, to forward the ambition
of a worthless adventurer. Because he had liked and honoured this
brave lad he paid his case the tribute of a sigh. Then he knelt to his task,
ripped away doublet and underwear to lay