The youth was as pale as the older one was ruddy and had black beauty spots glued to cheek and jaw. He languidly waved a pale, slender hand as he spoke.
"I'll have a word with thee, sarrah," said the red-faced one.
"Aye, your honor?" replied Philip.
"Not here, not here. Come to my house this afternoon-after dinner-time will do."
"Father!" said the youth. "You forget, Mr. Harcourt and's wife are dining with us." I noted that the young man dropped his final r's, like a modern Englishman, whereas the others with whom we had spoken did not.
"So he doth, so he doth," grumbled Sir Roger Stanwyck. "Make it within the hour, Shirlaw. We're about to depart the fair, so tarry not!"
It was a long walk back from the fair to Sir Roger's mansion, but the squire would never have thought to offer us a lift in his coach.
Stanwyck House so swarmed with servants that it was a wonder they did not fall over one another. One of them ushered us into Sir Roger's study. I had little chance to observe the surroundings, save as William's vision happened to light on things; and he had been here before. There was, for instance, a pair of swords crossed behind a shield on the wall—but all made of glass, not steel.
Sir Roger, wineglass in hand, glowered at us from a big wing chair, then put on a forced smile. His son, seated at a harpsichord and playing something by Handel, left off his strumming and swung around.
"Now, Shirlaw!" barked Sir Roger. "I have argued with thee and pleaded with thee, to no avail. Art a stubborn old fart; s'bud, I'll give thee credit. To show me heart's in the right place, I'll raise me last offer to an hundred guineas even. 'Tis thrice what thy lousy patch is worth and will set thee up for life. But that's all; not a brass farden more. What say ye? What say ye?"
"Zorry, zir," said Philip. "I ha' gi'en you mine answer, and that's that. Me land stays mine."
They argued some more, while the son patted yawns. Sir Roger got redder and redder. At last he jumped up, roaring:
"All right, get out, thou Hanoverian son of a bitch! I'll Methodist thee! If one method won't sarve, there's a mort more in me locker. Get out!"
"Your honor may kiss mine arse," said Philip as he turned away.
Behind us, Sir Roger hurled his wineglass at us but missed. The glass shattered, and Sir Roger screamed: "John! Abraham! Throw me these rascals out! Fetch me sword, somebody! I'll quality them to run for the geldings' plate! Charles, ye mincing milksop, why don't ye drub me these runagates?"
"La, Father, you know that I—" began the young man. The rest was lost in the distance as Philip and William walked briskly out, before the hired help could organize a posse. Behind us, the clock struck four.
I was myself filled with rage, both from that I got from William's mind and on my own account. If I had been in charge of William's body, I might have tried something foolish. It is just as well that I was not. In those days, a peasant simply did not punch a knight or baronet (whichever Sir Roger was) in the nose, no matter what the provocation.
We left the grounds by another path, which led across a spacious lawn. At the edge of this lawn, the ground dropped sharply. There was a retaining wall, where the surface descended almost vertically for six or eight feet into a shallow ditch. From this depression, the earth sloped gently up on the other side, almost to the level on the inner lawn. This structure, like a miniature fortification, was called a ha-ha. Its purpose was to afford those in the house a distant, unobstructed grassy vista and at the same time keep the deer and other wild life away from the inner lawns and flower beds.
We descended a flight of steps, which cut through the ha-ha, and continued along a winding path. This path led over a brook and through a wood. On the edge of the brook, workmen were building a tea house in Chinese style, with red and black paint and gilding. As we followed the winding path through the wood, a rabbit hopped away.
"Hm," said Philip Shirlaw. "That o'erweening blackguard ... And us wi' noft but bread and turnips in the house. Harkee, Will, Zir Roger dines at vive, doth he not?"
"Aye," said William. " 'Twas vour, but that craichy zon o' his hath broft the new vashion vrom London."
"Well, now," said Philip, "meseems that God hath put us in the way of a bit o' flesh to spice our regiment. Wi' guests at Stanwyck House, the Stanwycks'll be close to home from vive to nigh unto midnight. Those ungodly gluttons dawdle vive or zix hours o'er their meat, and the pack o' zarvents'll be clustered round to uphold Zir Roger's hospitality. By the time they're throf, Zir Roger'll be too drunk to know what betides."
"Dost plan to nab one o' his honor's coneys?"
"Aye, thof it an't Zir Roger's but God's."
"Oh, Vayther, have a care! Remember Mayster Bradford's warning—"
"The Almighty will take care of us."
Another half hour brought us to our own farm and house. The house was little more than a shack, not much above the level of the houses of comic-strip hillbillies. Furnishings were minimal, save that a shelf along one wall bore a surprising lot of books. This must be what Bradford had meant when he spoke of Philip Shirlaw's being learned above his station.
Since William did not fix his eyes on this shelf for more than a few seconds at a time, I could not tell much about Philip's choice of books. I caught a glimpse of several volumes of sermons by John Wesley and George Whitefield. There were also, I think, a Bible, a Shakespeare, and a Plutarch.
Philip Shirlaw climbed up into the loft and came down with a pair of small crossbows. I was astonished, supposing these medieval weapons to have been long obsolete. I later learned that they were used for poaching as late as the time of our adventure, being favored for their silence.
William unhappily tried again to dissuade his sire: "Don't let thy grudge against Zir Roger lead thee into risking our necks. Colonel Armitage's vootman, Jemmy Thome, hath told me 'tis a hanging offence to 'trespass with intent to kill rabbits.' Them are the words o' the statute."
I followed the argument with growing apprehension. What would happen to me if William were killed while I shared his body?
But Philip Shirlaw was not to be swayed. "Pooh! Put thy trust in Providence, zon, and vear noft. Nor do I, as a good Christian, bear Zir Roger a grudge. I do but take my vair share o' the vruits o' the earth, which God hath provided for all mankind. Zee the ninth chapter o' Genesis."
The steel crossbow bolts were about the size of a modern pencil. With a pocket full of these and a crossbow under his arm, William set out behind his father.
They scouted the woods between the Stanwyck estate and the Shirlaw farm, seeing and hearing none. The sun sank lower and disappeared behind the clouds, which thickened with a promise of rain.
As Philip had surmised, all the service personnel of Stanwyck House had gone to the mansion to wait upon the master and his guests.
At last—it must have been nearly six—we roused a rabbit, which went hippety-hoppity through the big old oaks. William made a quick motion, but Philip stayed him with a geture. Carefully, they cocked their weapons, placed their bolts in the grooves, and scouted forward.
They raised the rabbit again, but again it bolted before they got within range. Being old hands at this, they spread out and continued their stalk.
The woods thinned, and they reached the edge of the outer lawns, not far from the ha-ha. In the depression that ran along the foot of the ha-ha sat their rabbit, nibbling.
Philip's crossbow twanged. The quarrel whined. The rabbit tumbled over.
"Got un!" said William.
The Shirlaws ran out from the wood to seize the game, when a bellow halted them. Atop the ha-ha stood Sir Roger Stanwyck and his son Charles. Sir Roger held a musket trained upon them; Charles, a pistol.