“By travelling the by-roads,” said I.
“We’ll go through Eccleshall.”
“How long will it take you to get there?”
he asked.
“About three hours,” said I, “if
Mistress Waynflete can stand the pace.”
“Very good,” he replied. “I
will join you there, and do my best to get horses
for you in the meantime, and bring them along with
me.”
“That’s splendid,” said I, “but
I’d rather we met outside the village.
Not more than a mile and a half beyond it on the Newcastle
road there’s a little wayside ale-house called
the ‘Ring of Bells,’ at the foot of a
steep hill, with a large pool ringed with pines, known
as Cop Mere, in front of it. It’s a lonely
place and will serve better. Small place as Eccleshall
is, I shall skirt round it, and so get to the ‘Ring
of Bells.’ You cannot miss it if you ride
through the village on the Newcastle road. Whoever’s
there first will await the other.”
“Then in about three hours we’ll meet
at the ‘Ring of Bells,’ and I hope I shall
bring good news of the Colonel. Believe me, dear
lady, short of foul play on Brocton’s part,
and we have no reason to suspect that, your father
will be all right. Plain John Freake is not without
influence. As for the ruffian lying dead in the
road, think no more of him.”
So saying he unhitched his horse, led her into the
road, and mounted. He bowed and smiled, said
cheerily, “A pleasant walk to the ‘Ring
of Bells,’” and cantered off.
I stepped between madam and the dead man. “We’ve
found a good friend there, Mistress Waynflete.
Now we’ll put the hat and coat as we found them,
save for the guineas, and go back to the cottage for
your domino.”
She gave them to me, and stepped out briskly towards
the cottage. I folded up the coat, put the hat
on it, looked again at the still, stiff horror in
the road, soaking in its own blood, and silently followed
her.
SULTAN
The lie of the land was as follows: To get to
the “Ring of Bells,” Master Freake would
have to ride over the hill to the main road at Weston,
thence some six miles north-west to Stone, thence
another six or seven miles south-west to the inn.
Mistress Waynflete and I had a stiff walk of about
nine miles in front of us. For the first three
miles our way ran east by north, and then bent almost
due east to the ale-house. Our difficulty would
come at the bending point, for there we should have
to cross the main road from Stafford along which the
troops would be filtering north to get into touch
with the Prince and his Highlanders. If the Duke
had heard of the supposed intention of the Jacobites
to turn off for Wales, he would, I imagined, send
a scouting party through Eccleshall to look out for
them, and we should, for the second time in our journey,
be on dangerous ground in the neighbourhood of that
village. The “Ring of Bells,” however,
lay north of that village, off his obvious line of
march in that direction, so that we stood a good chance
of passing unchecked to our goal, provided that we
got across the main road north in safety. Fortunately,
at the place where I intended to cross, it climbed
over a fairly steep hill, and we could, if need were,
lie and watch the road till it was safe to venture
out.
