“You are rightly served, Dick Dosset,” said this person, “for your rudeness to a lady. I will have none of my band guilty of incivility, and if this young man had not punished you, I would have done so myself. Pass free, my pretty damsel,” he added, bowing gallantly to Amabel; “you shall not be further molested.”
Meanwhile, Blaize exhibited the contents of his pockets to the other highwayman, who having opened the box of rufuses and smelt at the phial of plague-water, returned them to him with a look of disgust, and bade him follow his companions. As Leonard was departing, the captain of the band rode after him, and inquired whether he had heard at what hour the king meant to leave Whitehall.
“The court is about to adjourn to Oxford,” he added, “and the king and some of his courtiers will cross the heath to-day, when I purpose to levy the same tax from his majesty that I do from his subjects.”
Leonard replied, that he was utterly ignorant of the king’s movements; and explaining whence he came, the captain left him. The intelligence he had thus accidentally obtained was far from satisfactory to the apprentice. For some distance, their road would be the same as that about to be taken by the monarch and his attendants, amongst whom it was not improbable Rochester might be numbered; and the possibility that the earl might overtake them and discover Amabel filled him with uneasiness. Concealing his alarm, however, he urged his steed to a quicker pace, and proceeded briskly on his way, glad, at least, that he had not lost Solomon Eagle’s gift to Nizza. Amabel’s weakly condition compelled them to rest at frequent intervals, and it was not until evening was drawing in that they descended the steep hill leading to the beautiful village of Henley-upon-Thames, where they proposed to halt for the night.
Crossing the bridge, they found a considerable number of the inhabitants assembled in the main street and in the market-place, in expectation of the king’s passing through the town on his way to Oxford, intimation of his approach having been conveyed by avant-couriers. Leonard proceeded to the principal inn, and was fortunate enough to procure accommodation. Having conducted Amabel and Nizza to their room, he was repairing to the stable with Blaize to see after their steeds, when a loud blowing of horns was heard on the bridge, succeeded by the tramp of horses and the rattling of wheels, and the next moment four valets in splendid livery rode up, followed by a magnificent coach. The shouts of the assemblage proclaimed that it was the king. The cavalcade stopped before the inn, from the yard of which six fine horses were brought and attached to the royal carriage, in place of others which were removed. Charles was laughing heartily, and desired his attendants, who were neither numerous nor well-armed, to take care they were not robbed again between this place and Oxford; “Though,” added the monarch, “it is now of little consequence, since we have nothing to lose.”
“Is it possible your majesty can have been robbed?” asked the landlord, who stood cap in hand at the door of the carriage.
“I’faith, man, it is possible,” rejoined the king. “We were stopped on Hounslow Heath by a band of highwaymen, who carried off two large coffers filled with gold, and would have eased us of our swords and snuff-boxes but for the interposition of their captain, who, as we live, is one of the politest men breathing — is he not, Rochester?”
Leonard Holt, who was among the crowd of spectators, started at the mention of this name, and he trembled as the earl leaned forward in answer to the king’s question. The eyes of the rivals met at this moment, for both were within a few yards of each other, and Rochester, whose cheek was flushed with anger, solicited the king’s permission to alight, but Charles, affirming it was getting late, would not permit him, and as the horses were harnessed, and the drivers mounted, he ordered them to proceed without delay.
Inexpressibly relieved by his rival’s departure, Leonard returned to the house, and acquainted Amabel with what had occurred. Quitting Henley betimes on the following morning, they arrived in about three hours at Wallingford, where they halted for some time, and, then pursuing their journey, reached Wantage at four o’clock, where they tarried for an hour. Up to this hour, Leonard had doubted the possibility of reaching their destination that night; but Amabel assuring him she felt no fatigue, he determined to push on. Accordingly, having refreshed their steeds, they set forward, and soon began to mount the beautiful downs lying on the west of this ancient town.
Crossing these heights, whence they obtained the most magnificent and extensive views of the surrounding country, they reached in about three-quarters of an hour the pretty little hamlet of Kingston Lisle. Here they again paused at a small inn at the foot of a lofty hill, denominated, from a curious relic kept there, the Blowing Stone. This rocky fragment, which is still in existence, is perforated by a number of holes, which emit, if blown into, a strange bellowing sound. Unaware of this circumstance, Leonard entered the house with the others, and had just seated, himself, when they were, astounded by a strange unearthly roar. Rushing forth, Leonard found Blaize with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth applied to the stone, into which he was blowing with all his force, and producing the above-mentioned extraordinary noise.
Shortly after this, the party quitted the Blowing Stone, and having toiled up the steep sides of the hill, they were amply repaid on reaching its summit by one of the finest views they had ever beheld. In fact, the hill on which they stood commanded the whole of the extensive and beautiful vale of the White Horse, which was spread out before them as far as the eye could reach, like a vast panorama, disclosing a thousand fields covered with abundant, though as yet immature crops. It was a goodly prospect, and seemed to promise plenty and prosperity to the country. Almost beneath them stood the reverend church of Uffington overtopping the ancient village clustering round it. Numerous other towers and spires could be seen peeping out of groves of trees, which, together with the scattered mansions and farmhouses surrounded by granges and stacks of hay and beans, gave interest and diversity to the prospect. The two most prominent objects in the view were the wooded heights of Farringdon on the one hand, and those of Abingdon on the other.
Proceeding along the old Roman road, still distinctly marked out, and running along the ridge of this beautiful chain of hills, they arrived at an immense Roman encampment, vulgarly called Uffingham Castle, occupying the crown of a hill. A shepherd, who was tending a flock of sheep which were browsing on the delicious herbage to be found within the vast circular space enclosed by the inner vallum of the camp, explained its purpose, and they could not but regard it with interest. He informed them that they were in the neighbourhood of the famous White Horse, a figure cut out of the turf on the hillside by the Saxons, and visible for many miles. Conducting them to a point whence they could survey this curious work, their guide next directed them to Ashdown Lodge, which lay, he told them, at about four miles’ distance. They had wandered a little out of their course, but he accompanied them for a mile, until they came in sight of a thick grove of trees clothing a beautiful valley, above which could be seen the lofty cupola of the mansion.
Cheered by the sight, and invigorated by the fresh breeze blowing in this healthful region, they pressed forward, and soon drew near the mansion, which they found was approached by four noble avenues. They had not advanced far, when a stalwart personage, six feet two high, and proportionately stoutly made, issued from the covert. He had a gun over his shoulder and was attended by a couple of fine dogs. Telling them he was called John Lutcombe, and was the Earl of Craven’s gamekeeper, he inquired their business, and, on being informed of it, changed his surly manner to one of great cordiality, and informed them that Mrs. Buscot — such was the name of Amabel’s aunt — was at home, and would be heartily glad to see them.
“I have often heard her speak of her brother, Mr. Bloundel,” he said, “and am well aware that he is an excellent man. Poor soul! she has been very uneasy about him and his family during this awful dispensation, though she had received a letter to say that he was about to close his house, and hoped, under the blessing of Providence, to
escape the pestilence. His daughter will be welcome, and she cannot come to a healthier spot than Ashdown, nor to a better nurse than Mrs. Buscot.”
With this, he led the way to the court-yard, and, entering the dwelling, presently returned with a middle-aged woman, who Amabel instantly knew, from the likeness to her father, must be her aunt. Mrs. Buscot caught her in her arms, and almost smothered her with kisses. As soon as the first transports of surprise and joy had subsided, the good housekeeper took her niece and Nizza Macascree into the house, and desired John Lutcombe to attend to the others.
VIII.
ASHDOWN LODGE.
Erected by Inigo Jones, and still continuing in precisely the same state as at the period of this history, Ashdown Lodge is a large square edifice, built in the formal French taste of the seventeenth century, with immense casements, giving it the appearance of being all glass, a high roof lighted by dormer windows, terminated at each angle by a tall and not very ornamental chimney, and surmounted by a lofty and lantern-like belvedere, crowned in its turn by a glass cupola. The belvedere opens upon a square gallery defended by a broad balustrade, and overlooking the umbrageous masses and lovely hills around it. The house, as has been stated, is approached by four noble avenues, the timber constituting which, is, of course, much finer now than at the period under consideration, and possesses a delightful old-fashioned garden, and stately terrace. The rooms are lofty but small, and there is a magnificent staircase, occupying nearly half the interior of the building. Among other portraits decorating the walls, is one of Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of James the First, and Queen of Bohemia, for whom the first Earl of Craven entertained so romantic an attachment, and to whom he was supposed to be privately united. Nothing can be more secluded than the situation of the mansion, lying as it does in the midst of a gentle valley, surrounded by a thick wood, and without having a single habitation in view. Its chief interest, however, must always be derived from its connection with the memory of the chivalrous and high-souled nobleman by whom it was erected, and who made it occasionally his retreat after the death of his presumed royal consort, which occurred about four years previous to the date of this history.
Amabel was delighted with her new abode, and she experienced the kindness of a parent from her aunt, with whom, owing to circumstances, she had not hitherto been personally acquainted, having only seen her when too young to retain any recollection of the event. The widow of a farmer, who had resided on Lord Craven’s estate near Kingston Lisle, Mrs. Buscot, after her husband’s death, had been engaged as housekeeper at Ashdown Lodge, and had filled the situation for many years to the entire satisfaction of her employer. She was two or three years older than her brother, Mr. Bloundel; but the perfect health she enjoyed, and which she attributed to the salubrious air of the downs, combined with her natural cheerfulness of disposition, made her look much the younger of the two. Her features, besides their kindly and benevolent expression, were extremely pleasing, and must, some years ago, have been beautiful. Even now, what with her fresh complexion, her white teeth, and plump figure, she made no slight pretensions to comeliness. She possessed the same good sense and integrity of character as her brother, together with his strong religious feeling, but entirely unaccompanied by austerity.
Having no children, she was able to bestow her entire affections upon Amabel, whose sad story, when she became acquainted with it, painfully affected her; nor was she less concerned at her precarious state of health. For the first day or two after their arrival, Amabel suffered greatly from the effects of the journey; but after that time, she gained strength so rapidly, that Mrs. Buscot, who at first had well-nigh despaired of her recovery, began to indulge a hope. The gentle sufferer would sit throughout the day with her aunt and Nizza Macascree in the gallery near the belvedere, inhaling the pure breeze blowing from the surrounding hills, and stirring the tree-tops beneath her.
“I never expected so much happiness,” she observed, on one occasion, to
Mrs. Buscot, “and begin to experience the truth of Doctor Hodges’
assertion, that with returning health, the desire of life would return.
I now wish to live.”
“I am heartily glad to hear you say so,” replied Mrs. Buscot, “and hold it a certain sign of your speedy restoration to health. Before you have been a month with me, I expect to bring back the roses to those pale cheeks.”
“You are too sanguine, I fear, dear aunt,” rejoined Amabel, “but the change that has taken place in my feelings, may operate beneficially upon my constitution.”
“No doubt of it, my dear,” replied Mrs. Buscot; “no doubt.”
The good dame felt a strong inclination at this moment to introduce a subject very near her heart, but, feeling doubtful as to its reception, she checked herself. The devoted attachment of the apprentice to her niece had entirely won her regard, and she fondly hoped she would be able to wean Amabel from all thought of the Earl of Rochester, and induce her to give her hand to her faithful lover. With this view, she often spoke to her of Leonard — of his devotion and constancy, his good looks and excellent qualities; and though Amabel assented to all she said, Mrs. Buscot was sorry to perceive that the impression she desired was not produced. It was not so with Nizza Macascree. Whenever Leonard’s name was mentioned, her eyes sparkled, her cheek glowed, and she responded so warmly to all that was said in his praise, that Mrs. Buscot soon found out the state of her heart. The discovery occasioned her some little disquietude, for the worthy creature could not bear the idea of making even her niece happy at the expense of another.
As to the object of all this tender interest, he felt far happier than he had done for some time. He saw Amabel every day, and noted with unspeakable delight the gradual improvement which appeared to be taking place in her health. The greater part of his time, however, was not passed in her society, but in threading the intricacies of the wood, or in rambling over the neighbouring downs; and he not only derived pleasure from these rambles, but his health and spirits, which had been not a little shaken by the awful scenes he had recently witnessed, were materially improved. Here, at last, he seemed to have got rid of the grim spectre which, for two months, had constantly haunted him. No greater contrast can be conceived than his present quiet life offered to the fearful excitement he had recently undergone. For hot and narrow thoroughfares reeking with pestilential effluvia, resounding with frightful shrieks, or piteous cries, and bearing on every side marks of the destructive progress of the scourge — for these terrible sights and sounds — for the charnel horrors of the plague-pit — the scarcely less revolting scenes at the pest-house — the dismal bell announcing the dead-cart — the doleful cries of the buriers — for graves surfeited with corruption, and streets filled with the dying and the dead — and, above all, for the ever-haunting expectation that a like fate might be his own, — he had exchanged green hills, fresh breezes, spreading views, the song of the lark, and a thousand other delights, and assurances of health and contentment. Often, as he gazed from the ridge of the downs into the wide-spread vale beneath, he wondered whether the destroying angel had smitten any of its peaceful habitations, and breathed a prayer for their preservation!
But the satisfaction he derived from having quitted the infected city was trifling compared with that of Blaize, whose sole anxiety was lest he should be sent back to London. Seldom straying further than the gates of the mansion, though often invited by John Lutcombe to accompany him to some of the neighbouring villages; having little to do, and less to think of, unless to calculate how much he could consume at the next meal, — for he had banished all idea of the plague, — he conceived himself at the summit of happiness, and waxed so sleek and round, that his face shone like a full moon, while his doublet would scarcely meet around his waist.
One day, about a fortnight after their arrival, and when things were in this happy state, Amabel, who was seated as usual in the gallery at the summit of the house, observed a troop of horsemen, very gallantly equipped,
appear at the further end of the northern avenue. An inexpressible terror seized her, and she would have fled into the house, but her limbs refused their office.
“Look there!” she cried to Nizza, who, at that moment, presented herself at the glass door. “Look there!” she said, pointing to the cavalcade; “what I dreaded has come to pass. The Earl of Rochester has found me out, and is coming hither to carry me off. But I will die rather than accompany him.”
“You may be mistaken,” replied Nizza, expressing a hopefulness, which her looks belied; “it may be the Earl of Craven.”
“You give me new life,” rejoined Amabel; “but no — no — my aunt has told me that the good earl will not quit the city during the continuance of the plague. And see! some of the horsemen have distinguished us, and are waving their hats. My heart tells me the Earl of Rochester is amongst them. Give me your arm, Nizza, and I will try to gain some place of concealment.”
“Ay, let us fly,” replied the other, assisting her towards the door; “I am in equal danger with yourself, for Sir Paul Parravicin is doubtless with them. Oh! where — where is Leonard?”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 260
