“That was too much,” replied the porter, belabouring him with the rolling-pin. “Swear that you will never attempt such a liberty again, or I will pummel you to death. Swear it.”
“I swear,” replied Pillichody.
“Before I allow you to rise, I must disarm you to prevent mischief,” cried Blaize. And kneeling down upon the prostrate bully, who groaned aloud, he drew his long blade from his side. “There, now you may get up,” he added.
So elated was Blaize with his conquest, that he could do nothing for some time but strut up and down the kitchen with the sword over his shoulder, to the infinite diversion of the other domestics, and especially of John Lutcombe, who chanced to make his appearance at the time, laden with a fresh supply of game.
“Why, Blaize, man,” cried the keeper, approvingly, “I did not give you credit for half so much spirit.”
“No man’s courage is duly appreciated until it has been tried,” rejoined Blaize. “I would combat with you, gigantic John, if Patience’s fidelity were called in question.”
Pillichody, meanwhile, had retired with a discomfited air into a corner, where he seated himself on a stool, and eyed the porter askance, as if meditating some terrible retaliation. Secretly apprehensive of this, and thinking it becoming to act with generosity towards his foe, Blaize marched up to him, and extended his hand in token of reconciliation. To the surprise of all, Pillichody did not reject his overtures.
“I have a great regard for you, friend Blaize,” he said, “otherwise I should never rest till I had been repaid with terrible interest for the indignities I have endured.”
“Nay, heed them not,” replied Blaize. “You must make allowances for the jealous feelings you excited. I love Patience better than my life.”
“Since you put it in that light,” rejoined Pillichody, “I am willing to overlook the offence. Snakes and scorpions! no man can be a greater martyr to jealousy than myself. I killed three of my most intimate friends for merely presuming to ogle the widow of Watling-street, who would have been mine, if she had not died of the plague.”
“Don’t talk of the plague, I beseech you,” replied Blaize, with a shudder. “It is a subject never mentioned here.”
“I am sorry I alluded to it, then,” rejoined Pillichody. “Give me back my sword. Nay, fear nothing. I entirely forgive you, and am willing to drown the remembrance of our quarrel in a bottle of sack.”
Readily assenting to the proposition, Blaize obtained the key of the cellar from the butler, and adjourning thither with Pillichody, they seated themselves on a cask with a bottle of sack and a couple of large glasses on a stool between them.
“I suppose you know why I am come hither?” observed the major, smacking his lips after his second bumper.
“Not precisely,” replied Blaize. “But I presume your visit has some reference to Mistress Amabel.”
“A shrewd guess,” rejoined Pillichody. “And this reminds me that we have omitted to drink her health.”
“Her better health,” returned Blaize, emptying his glass. “Heaven be praised! she has plucked up a little since we came here.”
“She would soon be herself again if she were united to the Earl of
Rochester,” said Pillichody.
“There you are wrong,” replied Blaize. “She declares she has no longer any regard for him.”
“Mere caprice, believe me,” rejoined Pillichody. “She loves him better than ever.”
“It may be so,” returned Blaize; “for Patience, who ought to know something of the matter, assured me she was dying for the earl; and if she had not told me the contrary herself, I should not have believed it.”
“Did she tell you so in the presence of Leonard?” asked Pillichody.
“Why, now I bethink me, he was present,” replied Blaize, involuntarily putting his hand to his shoulder, as he recalled the horsewhipping he had received on that occasion.
“I knew it!” cried Pillichody. “She is afraid to confess her attachment to the earl. Is Leonard as much devoted to her as ever?”
“I fancy so,” replied Blaize, “but she certainly gives him no encouragement.”
“Confirmation!” exclaimed Pillichody. “But fill your glass. We will drink to the earl’s speedy union with Amabel.”
“Not so loud,” cried Blaize, looking uneasily round the cellar. “I should not like Leonard to overhear us.”
“Neither should I,” returned Pillichody, “for I have something to say to you respecting him.”
“You need not propose any more plans for carrying off Amabel,” cried
Blaize, “for I won’t take any part in them.”
“I have no such intention,” rejoined Pillichody. “The truth is,” he added, mysteriously, “I am inclined to side with you and Leonard. But as we have finished our bottle, suppose we take a turn in the court-yard.”
“With all my heart,” replied Blaize.
Immediately after Amabel’s departure Charles proceeded with his courtiers to the garden, and continued to saunter up and down the terrace for some time, during which he engaged Rochester in conversation, so as to give him no pretext for absenting himself. The king next ascended to the belvedere, and having surveyed the prospect from it, was about to descend when he caught a glimpse of Nizza Macascree on the great staircase, and instantly flew towards her.
“I must have a word with you, sweetheart,” he cried, taking her hand, which she did not dare to withdraw.
Ready to sink with confusion, Nizza suffered herself to be led towards the receiving-room. Motioning to the courtiers to remain without, Charles entered it with his blushing companion, and after putting several questions to her, which she answered with great timidity and modesty, inquired into the state of her heart.
“Answer me frankly,” he said. “Are your affections engaged?”
“Since your majesty deigns to interest yourself so much about me,” replied Nizza, “I will use no disguise. They are.”
“To whom?” demanded the king.
“To Leonard Holt,” was the answer.
“What! the apprentice who brought Amabel hither!” cried the king. “Why, the Earl of Rochester seemed to intimate that he was in love with Amabel. Is it so?”
“I cannot deny it,” replied Nizza, hanging down her head.
“If this is the case, it is incumbent on me to provide you with a new lover,” replied Charles. “What will you say, sweetheart, if I tell you, you have made a royal conquest?”
“I should tremble to hear it,” replied Nizza. “But your majesty is jesting with me.”
“On my soul, no!” rejoined the king, passionately. “I have never seen beauty equal to yours, sweetheart — never have been so suddenly, so completely captivated before.”
“Oh! do not use this language towards me, my liege,” replied Nizza, dropping on her knee before him. “I am unworthy your notice. My heart is entirely given to Leonard Holt.”
“You will speedily forget him in the brilliant destiny which awaits you, child,” returned Charles, raising her. “Do not bestow another thought on the senseless dolt who can prefer Amabel’s sickly charms to your piquant attractions. By Heaven! you shall be mine.”
“Never!” exclaimed Nizza, extricating herself from his grasp, and rushing towards the door.
“You fly in vain,” cried the king, laughingly pursuing her.
As he spoke the door opened, and Sir Paul Parravicin entered the room. The knight started on seeing how matters stood, and the king looked surprised and angry. Taking advantage of their embarrassment, Nizza made good her retreat, and hurrying to Amabel’s chamber, closed and bolted the door.
“What is the matter?” cried Amabel, startled by her agitated appearance.
“Sir Paul Parravicin is here,” replied Nizza. “I have seen him. But that is not all. I am unlucky enough to have attracted the king’s fancy. He has terrified me with his proposals.”
“Our persecution is never to end,” rejoined Amabel; “you are as
unfortunate as myself.”
“And there is no possibility of escape,” returned Nizza, bursting into tears; we are snared like birds in the nets of the fowler.”
“You can fly with Leonard if you choose,” replied Amabel.
“And leave you — impossible!” rejoined Nizza.
“There is nothing for it, then, but resignation,” returned Amabel. “Let us put a firm trust in Heaven, and no ill can befall us.”
After passing several hours of the greatest disquietude, they were about to retire to rest, when Mrs. Buscot tapped at the door, and making herself known, was instantly admitted.
“Alas!” she cried, clasping her niece round the neck, “I tremble to tell you what I have heard. Despite the king’s injunctions, the wicked Earl of Rochester is determined to see you before morning, and to force you to compliance with his wishes. You must fly as soon as it is dark.”
“But how am I to fly, dear aunt?” rejoined Amabel. “You yourself know that the keys of the stable are taken away, and that two of the king’s attendants will remain on the watch all night. How will it be possible to elude their vigilance?”
“Leave Leonard to manage it,” replied Mrs. Buscot. “Only prepare to set out. John Lutcombe will guide you across the downs to Kingston Lisle, where good Mrs. Compton will take care of you, and when the danger is over you can return to me.”
“It is a hazardous expedient,” rejoined Amabel, “and I would rather run all risks, and remain here. If the earl should resort to violence, I can appeal to the king for protection.”
“If you have any regard for me, fly,” cried Nizza Macascree. “I am lost if I remain here till to-morrow.”
“For your sake I will go, then,” returned Amabel. “But I have a foreboding that I am running into the teeth of danger.”
“Oh! say not so,” rejoined Mrs. Buscot. “I am persuaded it is for the best. I must leave you now, but I will send Leonard to you.”
“It is needless,” replied Amabel. “Let him come to us at the proper time. We will be ready.”
To explain the cause of Mrs. Buscot’s alarm, it will be necessary to return to the receiving-room, and ascertain what occurred after Nizza’s flight. Charles, who at first had been greatly annoyed by Parravicin’s abrupt entrance, speedily recovered his temper, and laughed at the other’s forced apologies.
“I find I have a rival in your majesty,” observed the knight. “It is unlucky for me that you have encountered Nizza. Her charms were certain to inflame you. But when I tell you I am desperately enamoured of her, I am persuaded you will not interfere with me.”
“I will tell you what I will do,” replied the good-humoured monarch, after a moment’s reflection. “I remember your mentioning that you once played with a Captain Disbrowe for his wife, and won her from him. We will play for this girl in the same manner.”
“But your majesty is a far more skilful player than Disbrowe,” replied
Parravicin, reluctantly.
“It matters not,” rejoined the monarch; “the chances will be more equal — or rather the advantage will be greatly on your side, for you are allowed to be the luckiest and best player at my court. If I win, she is mine. If, on the contrary, fortune favours you, I resign her.”
“Since there is no avoiding it, I accept the challenge,” replied
Parravicin.
“The decision shall not be delayed an instant,” cried Charles, “What, ho! — dice! — dice!”
An attendant answering the summons, he desired that the other courtiers should be admitted, and dice brought. The latter order could not be so easily obeyed, there being no such articles at Ashdown; and the attendants were driven to their wits’ ends, when Pillichody chancing to overhear what was going forward, produced a box and dice, which were instantly conveyed to the king, and the play commenced. Charles, to his inexpressible delight and Parravicin’s chagrin, came off the winner, and the mortification of the latter was increased by the laughter and taunts of the spectators.
“You are not in your usual luck to-day,” observed Rochester to him, as they walked aside.
“For all this, do not think I will surrender Nizza,” replied Parravicin, in a low tone, “I love her too well for that.”
“I cannot blame you,” replied Rochester. “Step this way,” he added, drawing him to the further end of the room. “It is my intention to carry off Amabel to-night, notwithstanding old Rowley’s injunctions to the contrary, and I propose to accomplish my purpose in the following manner. I will frighten her into flying with Leonard Holt, and will then secretly follow her. Nizza Macascree is sure to accompany her, and will, therefore, be in your power.”
“I see!” cried Parravicin. “A capital project!”
“Pillichody has contrived to ingratiate himself with Blaize,” pursued the earl, “and through him the matter can be easily managed. The keys of the stables, which are now intrusted to Chiffinch, shall be stolen — the horses set free — and the two damsels caught in the trap prepared for them, while the only person blamed in the matter will be Leonard.”
“Bravo!” exclaimed Parravicin. “I am impatient for the scheme to be put into execution.”
“I will set about it at once,” returned Rochester.
And separating from Parravicin, he formed some excuse for quitting the royal presence.
About an hour afterwards, Pillichody sought out Blaize, and told him, with a very mysterious air, that he had something to confide to him.
“You know my regard for the Earl of Rochester and Sir Paul Parravicin,” he said, “and that I would do anything an honourable man ought to do to assist them. But there are certain bounds which even friendship cannot induce me to pass. They meditate the worst designs against Amabel and Nizza Macascree, and intend to accomplish their base purpose before daybreak. I therefore give you notice, that you may acquaint Leonard Holt with the dangerous situation of the poor girls, and contrive their escape in the early part of the night. I will steal the keys of the stable for you from Chiffinch, and will render you every assistance in my power. But if you are discovered, you must not betray me.”
“Not for the world!” replied Blaize. “I am sure we are infinitely obliged to you. It is a horrible design, and must be prevented. I wish all this flying and escaping was over. I desire to be quiet, and am quite sorry to leave this charming place.”
“There is no alternative now,” rejoined Pillichody.
“So it appears,” groaned Blaize.
The substance of Pillichody’s communication was immediately conveyed to Leonard, who told Blaize to acquaint his informer that he should have two pieces of gold, if he brought them the keys. To obtain them was not very difficult, and the bully was aided in accomplishing the task by the Earl of Rochester in the following manner. Chiffinch was an inordinate drinker, and satisfied he could turn this failing to account, the earl went into the ball where he was stationed, and after a little conversation, called for a flask of wine. It was brought, and while they were quaffing bumpers, Pillichody, who had entered unperceived, contrived to open a table-drawer in which the keys were placed, and slip them noiselessly into his doublet. He then stole away, and delivered his prize to Blaize, receiving in return the promised reward, and chuckling to himself at the success of his roguery. The keys were conveyed by the porter to Leonard, and the latter handed them in his turn to John Lutcombe, who engaged to have the horses at the lower end of the south avenue an hour before midnight.
IX.
KINGSTON LISLE.
About half-past ten, and when it was supposed that the king and his courtiers had retired to rest (for early hours were kept in those days), Mrs. Buscot and Leonard repaired to Amabel’s chamber. The good housekeeper noticed with great uneasiness that her niece looked excessively pale and agitated, and she would have persuaded her to abandon all idea of flight, if she had not feared that her stay might be attended with still worse consequences.
Before the party set out, Mrs. Buscot crept down stairs to see
that all was safe, and returned almost instantly, with the very satisfactory intelligence that Chiffinch was snoring in a chair in the hall, and that the usher had probably retired to rest, as he was nowhere to be seen. Not a moment, therefore, was to be lost, and they descended the great staircase as noiselessly as possible. So far all had gone well; but on gaining the hall, Amabel’s strength completely deserted her, and if Leonard had not caught her in his arms, she must have fallen. He was hurrying forward with his burden towards a passage on the right, when Chiffinch, who had been disturbed by the noise, suddenly started to his feet, and commanded him to stop. At this moment, a figure enveloped in a cloak darted from behind a door, and extinguishing the lamp which Chiffinch had taken from the table, seized him with a powerful grasp. All was now buried in darkness, and while Leonard Holt was hesitating what to do, he heard a voice, which he knew to be that of Pillichody, whisper in his ear, “Come with me — I will secure your retreat. Quick! quick!”
Suffering himself to be drawn along, and closely followed by Nizza Macascree and Mrs. Buscot, Leonard crossed the dining-chamber, not without stumbling against some of the furniture by the way, and through an open window into the court, where he found Blaize awaiting him. Without waiting for thanks, Pillichody then disappeared, and Mrs. Buscot, having pointed out the course he ought to pursue, bade him farewell.
Hurrying across the court, he reached the south avenue, but had not proceeded far when it became evident, from the lights at the windows, as well as from the shouts and other noises proceeding from the court, that their flight was discovered. Encumbered as he was by his lovely burden, Leonard ran on so swiftly, that Nizza Macascree and Blaize could scarcely keep up with him. They found John Lutcombe at the end of the avenue with the horses, and mounting them, set off along the downs, accompanied by the keeper, who acted as their guide. Striking off on the right, they came to a spot covered over with immense grey stones, resembling those rocky fragments used by the Druids in the construction of a cromlech, and, as it was quite dark, it required some caution in passing through them. Guided by the keeper, who here took hold of the bridle of his horse, Leonard threaded the pass with safety; but Blaize was not equally fortunate. Alarmed by the sounds in the rear, and not attending to the keeper’s caution, he urged his horse on, and the animal coming in contact with a stone, stumbled, and precipitated him and Nizza Macascree to the ground. Luckily, neither of them fell against the stone, or the consequences might have been fatal. John Lutcombe instantly flew to their aid, but before he reached them, Nizza Macascree had regained her feet. Blaize, however, who was considerably shaken and bruised by the fall, was not quite so expeditious, and his dilatoriness so provoked the keeper, that, seizing him in his arms, he lifted him into the saddle. Just as Nizza Macascree was placed on the pillion behind him, the tramp of horses was heard rapidly approaching. In another moment their pursuers came up, and the foremost, whose tones proclaimed him the Earl of Rochester, commanded them to stop. Inexpressibly alarmed, Amabel could not repress a scream, and guided by the sound, the earl dashed to her side, and seized the bridle of her steed.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 262
