Beau Brocade | Page 3

were tramping Aldwark way; one wizened, solitary figure was slowly toiling up the road, litlte more than a quagmire, that led northward across the Heath towards Stretton Hall.
The soldiers stood at attention some fifteen yards away, mute and disinterested. From the shed beyond the cottage there suddenly came the sound of the blacksmith's hammer upon his anvil. Mr. Inch felt secure from observation.
"I have oft suspicionated John Stich, the smith, of befriending the foot-pads and highwaymen that haunt this God-forsaken Moor," he said, with an air of excited importance, rolling his beady eyes.
"Nay," laughed the Corporal, good-humouredly, as he shook off Master Inch's fat hand. "You'd best not whisper this confidence to John Stich himself. As I live, he would crack your skull for you, Master Beadle, aye, be it ever so full of dictionary words. John Stich is an honest man, I tell you," he added with a pleasant oath, "the most honest this side of the country, and don't you forget it."
But Mr. Inch did not approve of the young soldier's tone of familiarity. He drew up his five feet of broad stature to their full height.
"Nay, but I designated no harm, "he said, with offended dignity. "John Stich is a worth fellow, and I spoke of no ordinary foot-pads. My mind," he added, dwelling upon that mysterious possession with conscious pride, "my mind, I may say, was dominating on Beau Brocade."
"Beau Brocade!!!"
And the Corporal laughed with obvious incredulity, which further nettled Mr. Inch, the beadle.
"Aye, Beau Brocade," he said hotly, "the malicious, pernicious, damned rascal, who gives us, that representate the majesty of the law, a mighty deal of trouble."
"Indeed?" sneered the Corporal.
"I dare swear that down at Derby," retorted Mr. Inch, spitefully, "you have not even heard of that personage."
"Oh! we know well enough that Brassing Moor harbours more miscreants than any corner of the country," laughed the young soldier, "but methought Beau Brocade only existed in the imagination of your half-witted yokels about here."
"There you are in grave error, Master Corporal," remarked the beadle with dignity. "Beau Brocade, permit me to observe, does exist in the flesh. 'Twas only last night Sir Humphrey Challoner's coach was stopped not three miles from Hartington, and his Honour robbed of fifty guineas, by that pernicious highwayman."
"Then you must lay this Beau Brocade by the heels, Master Inch."
"Aye! that's easily said. Lay him by the heels forsooth, and who's going to do that, pray?"
"Nay, that's your affair. You don't expect His Grace the Duke of Comberland to lend you a portion of his army, do you?"
"His Grace might do worse. Beau Brocade is a dangerous rascal to the quality."
"Only to the quality?"
"Aye, he'll not touch a poor man; 'tis only the rich he is after, and uses but little of his ill-gotten gain on himself."
"How so?" asked the Corporal, eagerly, for in spite of the excitement of camp life round about Derby, the fame of the daring highwayman had ere now tickled the fancy of the young soldiers of the Duke of Cumberland's army.
"Why, I told you Sir Humphrey Challoner was robbed on the Heath last night--robbed of fifty guineas, eh?" said Master Inch, whispering in eager confidence. "Well, this morning, when Squire West arrived at the court-house, he found fifty guineas in the poor box."
"Well?"
"Well, that's not the first time nor yet the second that such a matter has occurred. The dolts round about here, the lads from Bassington or Aldwark, or even from Wirksworth, would never willingly lay a hand on Beau Brocade. The rascal knows it well enough, and carries on his shameful trade with impunity."
"Odd's fish! but meseems the trade is not so shameful after all. What is the fellow like?"
"Nay, no one has ever seen his face, though his figure on the Moor is familiar to many. He is always dressed in the latest fashion, hence the villagers have called him Beau Brocade. Some say he is a royal prince in disguise--he always wears a mask; some say he is the Pretender, Charles Stuart himself; others declare his face is pitted with smallpox; others that he has the face of a pig, and the ears of a mule, that he is covered with hairs like a spaniel, or has a blue skin like an ape. But no one knows, and with half the villagers on the Heath to aid and abet him, he is not like to be laid by the heels."
"A fine story, Master Inch," laughed the Corporal. "And is there no reward for the capture of your pig-faced, hairy, blue-skinned royal prince disguised as a common highwayman?"
"Aye, a reward of a hundred guineas," said Mr. Inch, in a whisper that was hardly audible above the murmur of the wind. "A hundred guineas for the capture of Beau Brocade."
The Corporal gave a long