Beau Brocade | Page 6

"Sir Andrew Macdonald up from Tweedside, then Squire Fairfield,
you'd mind him, John Stich, over Staffordshire way?"
"Aye, aye, I mind him well enough. His mother was a Papist and he
clung to the Stuart cause... young man, too, and hiding for his
life....Well, and who else?"
"The young Earl of Stretton."
"What! him from Stretton Hall?" said John Stich in open astonishment.
"Jim, lad," he added sternly, "thou art a clumsy fool."
The young man had started involuntarily at sound of the last name
mentioned by the Corporal; and the bellows which he had tried to wield
fell with a clatter to the floor.
"Be gy! but an Act of Parliament can make thee a lawful assassin, it
seems," added honest John, with a laugh, "but let me perish if it can
make thee a good smith. What think you, Master Corporal?"
"Odd's life! the lad is too soft-hearted mayhap! Our Derbyshire lads
haven't much sense in their heads, have they?"
"Well, you mind the saying, Corporal, 'Derbyshire born and Derbyshire
bred...' eh?"
"'Strong i' the arm and weak i' the head,'" laughed the soldier,
concluding the apt quotation. "That's just it. Odd's buds! they want
some sense. What's a rebel or a traitor but vermin, eh? and don't we kill
vermin, all of us, and don't call it murder either--what?"

He laughed pleasantly and carelessly and tapped the side of his wallet
where rested His Majesty's Proclamation. He was a young soldier,
nothing more, attentive to duty, ready to obey, neither willing nor
allowed to reason for himself. He had been taught that rebels and
traitors were vermin... egad! vermin they were, and as such must be got
rid of for the sake of the rest of the kingdom and the safety of His
Majesty the King.
John Stich made no comment on the Corporal's profession of faith.
"We'll talk about all that some other time, Coporal," he said at last, "but
I am busy now, you see..."
"No offense, friend Stich....Odd's life, duty you know, John, duty, eh?
His Majesty's orders! and I had them from the Captain, who had them
from the Duke of Cumberland himself. So you mind the Act, friend!"
"Aye! I mind it well enough."
"Everyone knows you to be a loyal subject of King George," added the
Corporal in conciliatory tones, for John was a power in the district,
"and I'm sure your nephew is of the same, but duty is duty, and no
offence meant."
"That's right enough, Corporal," said John Stich, impatiently.
"So good-morrow to you, John Stich."
"Good-morrow."
The Corporal nodded to the young man, then turned on his heel and
presently his voice was heard ringing out the word of command,--
"Attention!--Right turn--Quick march!"
John Stich and the young man watched the half-dozen red-coated
figures as they turned to skirt the cottage: the dull thud of their feet
quickly dying away, as they wound their way slowly up the muddy
path which leads across the Heath to Aldwark village.

Chapter III
: The Fugitive
Inside the forge all was still, whilst the last of the muffled sounds died
away in the distance. John Stich had not resumed work. It was his turn
now to stare moodily before him.
The young man had thrown the bellows aside, and was pacing the
rough earthen floor of the forge like some caged animal.
"Tracked!" he murmured at last between clenched teeth, "tracked like
some wild beast! perhaps shot anon like a dangerous cur behind a
hedge!"
He sighed a long and bitter sigh, full of sorrow, anxiety,
disappointment. It had come to this then! His name among the others:
the traitors, the rebels! and he an innocent man!
"Nay, my lord!" said the smith, quietly, "not while John Stich owns a
roof that can shelter you."
The young man paused in his feverish walk; a look of gentleness and
gratitude softened the careworn expression on his face: with a boyish
gesture he threw back the fair hair which fell in curly profusion over his
forehead, and with a frank and winning grace he sought and grasped the
wroth smith's rough brown hand.
"Honest Stich!" he said at last, whilst his voice shook a little as he
spoke, "and to think that I cannot even reward your devotion!"
"Nay, my lord," retorted John Stich, drawing up his burly figure to its
full height, "don't talk of reward. I would gladly give my life for you
and your family."
And this was no idle talk. John Stich meant every word he said. Honest,
kind, simple-hearted John! he loved those to whom he owed everything,
loved them with all the devotion of his strong, faithful nature.

The late Lord Stretton had brought him up, cared for him, given him a
trade, and set him up in the