The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  The conversation which had arrested Scymel’s attention proceeded from the extremity of a narrow passage, branching off from the entrance hall, into the part of the court immediately adjacent to the offices, and other parts of the mansion, appropriated to the domestics. Along this avenue the physician directed his steps, and sheltered by a sudden angle became at once master of the dialogue.

  “So Master Priest, you are sure is not in the house?” said one of the speakers, whom Scymel knew from the tone to be a stranger to Chiverton Hall.

  “No — no — no,” replied Ellice’s waiting woman, tight Mrs. Janet, “how often I pray you, Master Gilbert, am I to repeat my answer? Master Wayword is gone, worthy man that he is, to see that ill-chanced Niel Jaggar that broke his neck off the ugly rock yonder; — to see him, I say, buried like a Christian, which I take it, Master Gilbert, is more than such a heathen Pagan, (for you must know he was the rudest, most—”)

  “I crave your pardon, beautiful Mrs. Janet,” answered the other, “but time presses, and this business being, as you know, of the highest importance—”

  “Bless me, Master Gilbert, but you’re mighty quick — my stars, don’t I know what is of importance, and what—”

  “No doubt — no doubt, dear Mrs. Janet; no doubt of it at all. But to be brief, for the sun is near setting — you say he will return within a half hour?”

  “That he will — you are never satisfied — he waits on my lady by that time, at her especial appointment. And so—”

  “And so, lovely Janet, I will commend this letter unto your most fair hands, nothing doubting but your prudent fidelity will convey it unto Master Wayword on the instant of his return; the business being as I said—”

  “Hold your tongue, and give me the letter — surely I have not been principal waiting maid and chief counsellor, as I may say, to my lady for these ten years, and need be schooled to carry a letter at my time; not that my age is—”

  “Your age is enchanting, like your sweet self; and here — take the letter — and — let me whisper you a word.”

  “There’s no one to hear, Master Gilbert.”

  “Nor to see either, I suppose Mrs. Janet — and so — your lips are perfect honey-combs.”

  “An impudent varlet,” exclaimed the glowing waiting lady, as the ravisher ran off, “an he were here, I would comb him like — but I must away; Master Way word will be here anon, and — Bless me, Master Scymel — I cry your pardon, but you startled me so.”

  “Give me the letter, Janet.”

  “What letter would your worship have? I have none but a small trifle that—”

  The physician, interrupted her, by taking from her hand the letter he required.

  “Go to your own room,” said he.—” Misseltoe.”

  The steward appeared.

  “Janet is gone to her room — it were well she leave it not until further orders. If any inquire after her, she has left the hall on an errand for the Lady Isabel. And see that no one but thyself approach her.

  A low obeisance testified the steward’s compliance. When he had departed, the physician read the letter, and immediately sought Chiverton.

  He found him in the maiden’s chamber. “What,” asked the Knight, “is the result of thy conference with our guest?”

  “As favourable, Sir, as may be. Sir Gamelyn purports within an hour to certify so much to you by word of mouth.”

  “It is well — exceeding well. But what hast thou there?”

  “A trifling piece of correspondence, which a lucky accident made me the owner of. What think you, Sir, of the contents?”

  “Ha — escape to-night — the plot ready, and to be executed within — why, ’tis not two hours — that villain priest — how has this been done? how has Ellice been persuaded to consent to this most foolish scheme?”

  “Undoubtedly, by the entreaties of Prestwyche; conveyed through, and seconded by Wayword. But it is needful to act. The priest will return presently — Mahmood will meet him, with such assistant as he may choose; and for the present, one of the lower chambers of the hall may be the limit of his wanderings. And, Mahmood, let him not suspect by whom he is seized, nor whither he is conveyed — thou knowest how to blindfold, and remember dispatch and secrecy.”

  “Do so, Mahmood — and now, Scymel, I deem we are well able to counteract this design; yet so sudden — I expected not such. Their numbers are nothing. — Prestwyche — his man — and some simple hind, whom it seems they have entangled in this plot. It appears not whether the saintly Wayword is to be the companion of their flight. And would it, thinkest thou, be well to acquaint Sir Gamelyn of this business?”

  “Assuredly, Sir, it will confirm his belief in the mental indisposition of the lady. It were not amiss that he should be a spectator of the scene. He will be here ere long; you can then make known these things to him. And could you arrange with him an early time for your marriage — to-morrow or the day after, our anxieties on that head might be speedily terminated.”

  “I will endeavour to do so much. Yet, Walter, I grieve for my sister. The sacrifice of her hopes — her happiness I much fear, pains me as — I would almost that I could draw back from these paths — I know not whither they may lead.”

  “It is now, Sir, too late,” replied the physician. “And truly, I see not what end should be answered by so fickle a procedure, unless it be your pleasure to forthwith dismiss your guests, give your sister to Prestwyche, resign the possessions you hold, and submit yourself to your kind brother-in-law’s consideration, to vouchsafe to you needful food and cloathing. I crave your pardon, Sir — I mean not to offend, but such appears to me the only result of checking your career.”

  “I believe thee — I believe thee,” returned the Knight, while his countenance rose and fell in rapid vicissitude, under the influence of the emotions which the physician had called into play; “yet, tempt me not again by speaking thus. I have hopes, aye, and lofty ones, as thou knowest, Scymel — wealth, rank, and power, I would have mine, and I have pride to stock a nation of nobles. Yet, Walter Scymel,” he grasped the physician’s arm as he spoke— “I would crawl a beggar on the dust of the earth, and ask for alms from the slave of a serving groom. — I would do this, and thank the fate that had damned me to so doing, ere I would see Ellice Chiverton the wife of Reginald Prestwyche.”

  “Then, Sir,” said Scymel, “there is but one course before you.”

  “I will pursue it,” answered the Knight, “whatever it be, and whithersoever it conducts me. I want not daring. And yet I envy thee the composure with which thou canst contemplate any means that tend to the accomplishing of thy purposes.”

  “Sir,” replied the physician, “that which you speak of is but the natural temperament of a mind taught by suffering and disappointment, the true value of those trifling and imaginary distinctions, the baubles with which men amuse and torture themselves. Whatever conduces to the end in view is expedient, and what is expedient with me is right.”

  “I doubt not,” answered the Knight, after a brief pause, “I doubt not thy fidelity to me. Yet how can I be assured, that, holding the principles thou professest, thou wilt continue faithful to my interest?”

  “Because, Sir John,” returned Scymel, “I have no motive to be otherwise. I have no passions — no desires; none at least that can be worked upon by human offers. My wants are few, and are here amply supplied; were they not, I have taught them to be the slaves, not the masters of my will.”

  “Thou art strangely inscrutable, Walter,” answered the Knight; “but I will continue to trust thee — thou hast ever hitherto been found worthy. How soon said’st thou, will Sir Gamelyn be here?”

  “In brief time, doubtless, Sir; stay, I hear his footstep — I will leave you, Sir, and prepare for this approaching encounter. Were it not well to admit Faynton to our counsels? he is discreet, and our numbers will not be great.”

  “Thou say’st right — initiate him into what may be needful, or I will myself do so, and wi
ll then join thee in the garden. Here comes Sir Gamelyn, if I mistake not.”

  A knock at the door of the apartment intimated some one’s presence.

  The physician opened it, and admitting Vancouver, withdrew himself. He entered the garden, which was solitary.

  “It is well,” said he, “that none of these roysterers are about — men of arm without head, whose presence at this juncture were not desirable. The evening advances, and our time of action is not far distant.”

  As the physician had said, the close of the day was not far distant, and became every instant more evident, as the glow continued to deepen in the western sky, and the light veil of the rising mist hung over the landscape, and floated on the surface of the river.

  Scymel leaned against the trunk of a gigantic elm, whose ambitious arms flung a deep shadow over the waters, and was lost in deep reverie.

  “The issue,” said he inwardly, “of my experiment is near. I shall see how far, by pursuing a fixed course, by yielding to no obstacles, and what is more, to no fears, that success may be attained, which I have bitterly learnt the fabled virtue of bigots and fools cannot ensure. Chiverton begins to waver — he must and shall persevere. I wonder not altogether at him; at times I seem to myself less firm than I would be. But the infirmity of nature shall be repressed — Chiverton shall be the husband of Isabel Vancouver. The object is fixed, the means I will teach him not to start at. And yet he talks of his boldness, his pride, his passions! I know enough of the contemptible delusions in which the self-love of men enwraps them, else I could laugh till the echoes should join me in my scorn of such mockery. Who comes there? — Mahmood Bali— ’tis well.”

  The Moor approached him as he spoke.

  “Thou hast fulfilled thy mission by the amiable smile thy countenance bears. Is he safe, and ignorant to whom he owes his present agreeable lodging?

  Mahmood nodded an affirmative.

  “And thou hast bestowed him — where?” The Moor stamped with his foot, and pointed downwards.

  “So — I did believe thou had’st a kind feeling towards the reverend man, and truly thou hast shewn it. He will at least not want company in the cool bower to which thou hast introduced him. The bats and the toads may benefit by his exhortation. And yet I would he had been better accommodated. But it is now too late, the last gleam is gone — it darkens rapidly. What mean thy gestures?”

  The Moor pointed to the window of Ellice’s chamber, which looked to the river, and then to a small thicket of underwood, and stunted shrubs that grew beneath it.

  “Ha!’ exclaimed Scymel, “so near, — are there more than one?”

  Mahmood shook his head.

  “Yet his followers cannot be far distant — I would we knew—”

  He was interrupted by the Moor, who directed his attention to the overhanging brow of a rock projecting beneath the thicket, and at a distance of some yards from the station which the Moor had signified to be occupied by Prestwyche. At the same time he counted two on his fingers.

  Thou hast not been negligent, Mahmood,” said the physician: “be as well in acting as in observing, and we need not fear. Fetch hither the men who conducted Wayword, and apprehend you followers in their lurking place.”

  Mahmood had no sooner departed, than the physician was joined by Faynton and Sir Gamelyn, who issued together from the main entrance of the hall.

  “This is a strange affair, Master Scymel,” said Sir Gamelyn.

  “It is,” replied the physician, “and will expound more clearly than aught I could say, the nature of Prestwyche’s views, in taking so deep concern in the interest of this unhappy lady. These secret proceedings betoken — but remarks are needless, your credit for experience, Sir Gamelyn, forbids.”

  “Stay, look there,” interrupted Faynton, and he pointed to the window of Ellice’s sleeping chamber.

  The speakers were so situated as to he effectually shrouded from view, themselves possessing at the same time the power of observing whatever passed. The casement to which Faynton had directed their looks, was swung open, and what appeared through the gloom to be a female arm, was projected, seemingly as a signal to those below. A low whistle answered this motion, and the arm was hastily withdrawn.

  “What now whispered Sir Gamelyn, “how is she to descend?”

  “Hush,” replied Scymel, “they have taken alarm, — be still — where is Mahmood? — he in wardly continued: “if he should disturb them; but he is apt and cautious.”

  The casement was again opened, and it seemed from the slight noise that succeeded, that something was thrown down. There was heard, too, a cautious rustling in the thicket.

  “It is a ladder of ropes they are fastening,” said Faynton, “let us approach.”

  They began accordingly to move slowly and silently towards the thicket. Ere they had, however, half way arrived thither, a female figure issued from the casement, and descended the ladder. She was followed by another; but ere she arrived at the ground, the creak of a door was heard.

  “That,” exclaimed the physician, “is Chiverton’s private door; it opens on the spot; they will meet assuredly; hasten on.”

  They sprung onwards, and the words of Scymel were instantly confirmed, for the second female dropped with a loud shriek from the ladder, and the instantaneous clash of swords, told that Chiverton and his foe had met in fierce strife. In a moment more, the physician and his companions were on the spot.

  They had met at the point where the rock intervening between the hall and the river, dwindled to a mere footpath, along which one person alone, could with difficulty pass. From the very brink of this precipice, the trunk of a twisted sycamore sprung almost horizontally. Planting one foot on this, whilst the other was fixed to the rock, and clinging with his left arm to a branch of the tree, Prestwyche now warded and now returned the fierce and rapid lunges, which Chiverton, impelled by the pulsations of intense hatred, aimed against him. Interference was in vain; had any one chosen to incur Chiverton’s indignation, by coming between him and his enemy, the nature of the place seemed to prohibit the approach of a third person.

  It was evident that Prestwyche was willing only to stand on the defensive, and it was only when driven to necessity by the hot attack of his opponent, and by the disadvantages of his situation, that he aimed any decided strokes against Chiverton. On equal ground, the coolness of the former joined to his skill, would doubtless have triumphed over the impetuosity of the Knight, despite of his superior knowledge of his weapon, an acquirement with which Chiverton was with justice not a little proud. But fettered as was Prestwyche to one spot, unable to change for a moment the precarious and fatiguing situation he held, the odds he had to contend with were loo disproportionate. Accordingly after a rapid exchange of thrusts, in which slight wounds given and received, served only to excite the rage of the combatants, Prestwyche, in endeavouring to plant a severe hit in an unguarded point, missed his footing, stumbled, and at the same instant received the weapon of his antagonist in his breast. He fell backwards, and would have been lost in the waters, or dashed on the rock beneath, had no support intervened.

  But an outstretched arm caught and preserved him. One of his followers, who had scrambled in an oblique course up the rugged face of the rock, had gained at the moment of Prestwyche’s fall, the point at which he was able to aid his master. Placing him securely among the irregular branches of the sycamore, he sprung forward towards Chiverton, who was about to raise his sister, whom a happy insensibility had prevented from seeing or knowing her lover’s fate. The violence of this new attack, unexpected, too, by Chiverton, was such that the Knight was thrown to the ground, and another moment had probably settled his fate, when the sudden flash and report of an arquebuss from beneath, announced the doom which arrested the uplifted hand of the man. The sword dropped innocent from his nerveless grasp, and he himself rolled over the precipice, and fell lifeless on the beach.

  Mahmood and his followers had come in good time for their lord, and they has
tened to secure Prestwyche. “ Bear him to his lodging,” whispered the physician to the Moor: “thou wert better conduct him through the entrance in the rock yonder; and — dost thou hear? — let Way word be removed to a somewhat more kindly abode. Use Prestwyche gently — I will follow thee presently, and examine his hurts.” The stairs, which have been already mentioned as winding down the face of the rock, terminated on a broad ledge, the further extremity of which projected beneath the mouth of the cave, and this opening communicated with a range of vaults extending beneath the hall. The construction of these was said to have been prior to the erection of the mansion itself, for what purpose was unknown; but the massive arches, strong doors, and strange relics which struck the explorers of these regions, had given birth to divers wild traditions and stories of terror, which the successive domestics of the hall had not failed assiduously to hand down, from one generation to another. Into one of these hideous recesses was the unfortunate Prestwyche conducted through the opening in the rock, as affording a more secret path than the entrance from the hall.

  Meanwhile, the remaining members of Chiverton’s party were hastily endeavouring to recall Ellice from the insensibility into which she had fallen. With difficulty they succeeded; her eyes opened, but closed with a slight shudder as they fell upon her brother.

  “I will pray you, gentlemen, to retire a few paces. I know her mood, she will change presently.’’ His companions accordingly withdrew a few yards, though not so far but that, through the uncertain light that prevailed, they could mark what passed between Chiverton and his sister.

  “A most unhappy chance,” said Vancouver, “as I live a most unhappy chance this. So young, so beautiful, and good, and to be thus afflicted. You feel for her, gentlemen?”

  “Assuredly,” replied Faynton; “think you, Sir Gamelyn, that any can fail so to do?”