The Lonely Road

Jeffery Farnol

Description

In The Lonely Road Mr. Jeffery Farnol tells a stirring tale of pursuit and escape in the troubled times following the breakdown of the Jacobite rising of 1715.
Jason Wayne flying from the red-coats, seeks refuge among the woodlands and valleys of his native Sussex. There he enlists the help of the Romany folk, of rustic smugglers and of highwaymen. Above all, love comes to his rescue and shares his perils. At last, when all seems lost, he finds peace and content.
Mr. Farnol is so whole hearted in his enthusiasm that it rings through every word he writes. In an age when detachment and laboured analysis have become almost wearisome Mr. Farnol takes us by the arm confidentially, leads us into some corner of his beloved Sussex, assures us that we are not so old and sophisticated as we think we are, and tells us a story full of laughter and the simple things of life.

Sujets

• Romance historique
• Historical
• Romance
• Scottish
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 16 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781773236438
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Lonely Road
by Jeffery Farnol

Firstpublished in 1938
Thisedition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria,BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
[e-mail]
All rightsreserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted inany form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, includingphotocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrievalsystem, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quotebrief passages in a review.

The Lonely Road

A ROMANCE





by JEFFERY FARNOL

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES TO THE KINDLY READER TWO OLD FRIENDS AND—HONORIA
It was at the cross-roads that Parson Tulliver,small and benign, pulled up his little shaggy steed touncover his neatly-bewigged head and thus, hat inhand, await the tall, sober-clad gentleman who,astride a large, well-fed animal, was approaching ata stately trot.
“Mr. Brownlee, good-day,—God bless thee,Jeremy!”
“Mr. Tulliver, your servant, sir,—well met,Robin!”
The two gentlemen having thus saluted eachother with due formality of bows, smiled and grippedeach other’s hand like the old and tried friends theywere. And when they had jogged on togetherawhile Mr. Brownlee, glancing askance at his smallcompanion’s gentle, high-bred face, frowned andspoke harshly jubilant:
“So a black-hearted villain is dead at last, thankHeaven!”
Mr. Tulliver started and turned to glance at thespeaker with eyes mildly reproachful.
“Nay, Jeremy dear friend,” he sighed, “SirGeorge Warrender being so truly evil and so latelydead we should pray God’s mercy on his poor soul.”
“Hum—ha!” exclaimed Mr. Brownlee fiercely.“Mercy and George Warrender sorted not together.Thou’rt a parson, Robin, and a notable good parson,—topray and forgive showeth most natural in thee,but for my part being a lawyer and latterly Warrender’sman o’ business, I protest the world wellrid of him, ay let him rot, say I, if it was only forhis devilish usage of the Waynes, father and son.You’ve heard o’ the Waynes and their misfortunes,eh, Robin?”
“Ay indeed, I know they were deeply concernedin the late Jacobite Rebellion and paid for it withtheir lives, poor gentlemen, the father on the scaffoldand the son, young Jason, in battle.”
“Well, Robman, now hear the stark truth on’t.Rupert Wayne was apprehended and died by theaxe scarce a year since along with my lord Derwentwaterand others, but—’twas Warrender schemedhis betrayal and bloody end.”
“Art sure, quite sure o’ this, Jeremy?”
“Beyond doubting. Warrender, the beastly fellow,made boast of it until,—mark this, Robin,—untilhe learned for sure that young Wayne, thisJason, ’stead o’ being killed, as supposed, is verymuch alive and bent on bringing him to account.Whereat George Warrender sings quite other tune,and sets to plotting how he may destroy the son ashe did the sire, and might ha’ so contrived but thatdeath cut him off two weeks agone.”
“A dark, unregenerate soul!” sighed Mr. Tulliver.“And so vastly other than his brother Henry,that was my loved friend to the day of his death.”
“Ay truly,” nodded the lawyer, “Henry was ofquite another kidney.”
“It is strange,” mused the little parson, “andpassing strange how two brothers may be of naturesso extreme opposite! George Warrender all evil andHenry such noble, lofty soul—”
“Ay faith,” snorted Mr. Brownlee, “so wags theworld,—for whiles George waxed and flourished inhis evil, Henry, in his virtue, grew poor as anychurch mouse.”
“Yet was he rich in the love of his wife and children,Jeremy.”
“Though his wife died young, Robin, and his twochildren are run wild, as I hear—”
“No no, Jeremy! His children, God bless them,were his joy and consolation, as they are now mine,in especial Honoria, the sweet-souled maid! Andyou’ll mind, Jeremy, you’ll mind how years agoshe took us for her uncles?”
“Ay faith, Robin, so she did! Report saith she isgrown a marvellous fine, handsome creature.”
“Then report speaketh truly. . . . She is indeedmore beautiful—almost—than her beauteousmother,—ay indeed she is proudly virginal as theyoung Diana!”
“And there spake solitary old bachelor!”chuckled Mr. Brownlee.
The little parson was silent, and meeting thespeaker’s quizzical glance, flushed painfully anddrooped his head in such dejection that Mr. Brownlee’ssmile vanished and he leaned near to touch hisfriend’s bowed shoulder very gently:
“Why, Robinman,” said he, “God love thee now,I would not hurt thee!”
“Dear friend, I know this very well,” answeredMr. Tulliver, smiling very wistfully. “But I am andmust ever be a solitary man and . . . in my loneliness. . . have sought to cherish these two . . .Henry’s children, and in Honoria’s growing beautyhave glimpsed oft-times the . . . gentle loveliness ofher long dead mother that being an angel in heavenyet liveth in my dreams as when I knew her longyears since . . . a very woman that chose . . . myloved friend Henry Warrender.”
After this, they rode some distance in a pensivesilence until, aroused by the sound of rapidlyapproaching horse-hoofs, they glanced up andbeheld such vision of loveliness as charmed thesetwo sober, middle-aged bachelors to sudden stop;for towards them down a narrow by-lane gallopeda somewhat bony and aged steed—but on his backrode one shaped (even as Mr. Tulliver had said), likeany young goddess, an handsome creature, tall andslim, all vivid with life and pride of youth. Tall wasshe, and of a stately beauty far removed from prettiness.
“God . . . bless . . . my soul!” murmured Mr.Brownlee.
“God bless our Honoria!” said Mr. Tulliver; andoff came their hats. Then she was up with them andhad reached forth a hand to each.
“ ’Twas kind in thee to meet us, Honoria,” saidthe little parson, kissing her right hand verytenderly.
“Ay, it was so!” quoth the saturnine lawyer,kissing her left hand very gallantly. “I protestthou’rt grown into prodigious fine madam since lastI saw thee, Honoria.”
“And you see me so seldom, sir!” she retorted,shaking lovely head at him reprovingly. “ ’Tis longand long since you came a visiting.”
“Ay, true alas!” he sighed. “And you was wontto name me Uncle Jerry in those days. I was thineown adopted uncle.”
“But you and I, oh and all things, be changed thesedays!” she exclaimed, turning to frown towardthe gables of a house that peeped amid the greenafar.
“Why truly,” answered Mr. Brownlee. “Thouart become a fine woman and I a dry, old, frumpishman o’ business, and yet—God love thee, Honoriachild . . . I’d fain hear thee call me Uncle Jerryagain for old time’s sake, since here am I atlast.”
“Yet even so,” she answered, “you came not tosee your Honoria, but merely in matter of UncleGeorge’s will. And yet since you are here indeedand would be again my dear Uncle Jerry come youand be kissed.”
So the tall lawyer, riding near, stooped to kiss hersmooth cheek, her ruddy lips, again and yet again,until the small parson cried “fie” on them both,demanding plaintively:
“Nay, prithee sweeting, what of thine UncleRobin?” So when she had kissed him in turn, onthey rode together along the lane all three.
And presently, with his sharp gaze on the ancientweather-beaten house they were approaching, Mr.Brownlee spoke:
“The old place showeth much the same. AndCharles?” enquired the lawyer. “What o’ thybrother Charles, why is he not with thee?” Nowat this she frowned again, then sighed, looking ather questioner with eyes very troubled.
“Charles is grown strange to me of late, UncleJerry,” she answered. “He is for ever abroad withhis new friend, Sir Wilfred Rokeby, that he metscarce a month since.”
“Rokeby?” repeated Mr. Brownlee, rubbing hissquare chin. “The name is familiar, who is he andwhence?”
“From London, I think. Charles met him scarcea month since at the ‘White Hart,’ in Lewes.”
“What like is he, my dear?”
“Your eyes shall tell you this, Uncle Jerry, forhe is in the house now with Charles and—”
“What, again?” enquired Mr. Tulliver, sharply.
“Yes, dear, he rode over this morning with afriend of his own, a Mr. Dartry, they brought wine,and Charles and they have sat at cards and drinkingever since.”
“Now alas for poor Charles!” groaned Mr. Tulliver.“And after his many promises!”
“Charles?” she repeated bitterly. “Oh, my dears,Charles is grown so changed that to-day he did butlaugh when his detestable friend would have shamedme!”
“How . . . how so?” quavered Mr. Tulliver.
“When Sir Wilfred Rokeby, this vile wretch,snatched me in his arms and would have forced meto his kiss.”
“Ha, the beastly sot!” exclaimed the little parsonwith look and gesture very much at odds with hisusual meekness. “And what . . . what then,child?”
“I drove him from me with this whip that chancedto hand, then they laughed at me, they toasted me inmockery, naming me shrew and termagant . . .and so I left them. But oh . . . had this whip beena sword, Sir Wilfred should have bled for it.”
“Nay, child, nay—God forbid!”
“Oh!” cried Honoria, with wild and passionategesture. “Would to heaven I had been a man! Ican ride well as any man, aim pistol as truly, and amfar better with a sword than most, as well you know,Uncle Robin dear, for it was you that learned me.”
“Ay I did, I did!” sighed Mr. Tulliver distressfully.“Though ’twas but for healthful pastime and all innocentlymeant—and I so proud of thy skill, child.”
“I’ll warrant me!” chuckled Mr. Brownlee. “Forthou lovest the art o’ fence, Robin, and wert a pastmaster at the sharps in our student days, I mind—”
“Though with never a thought or least intent ofmaiming or bloodshed, Jeremy—”
“Never, Rob,” chuckled the lawyer, “oh never—exceptwhen driven by necessity to vindicate thysomething un-Goliath-like stature. Wert not inHoly Orders then, nor anyways so meekly saint-likeas now,—the which in a world compact o’ roguesand braggart villainy—”
Mr. Brownlee paused as his quick eye caught sightof a figure hastening towards them from the oldParsonage House beckoning them impatiently as hecame.
“Aha!” said Mr. Brownlee, reining his slow-p