Hereupon Clavering, on whom, as we have said, the conduct of the troop now devolved, descended to the plain, and still keeping at the foot of the downs, crossed that part of the country now traversed by the railway, and pushed on till he came nearly to the foot of the lofty eminence on which Ditchling Beacon is situated.
Here the travellers climbed the downs, and soon gained the summit of this majestic hill — the loftiest point amid the South Downs. Within a short distance of the beacon the king halted, in order to enjoy the magnificent prospect. Almost the whole of Sussex now lay before him, and after gazing at the vast panorama for some minutes in silence, he observed, with a sigh, deep almost as that heaved by the Moorish king when looking back on his lost Granada,
“When shall I gaze upon this splendid prospect again? when shall I call this fair country mine? Heaven only knows!”
“The day will come, doubt it not, sire,” exclaimed Clavering, “and I hope to bring you again to Ditchling Beacon, and remind you of my words! But now let us on. We are nearly at our journey’s end.”
“And you are impatient, no doubt, that I should settle the business with your father,” replied Charles, with a sudden change of manner. “Don’t be uneasy. Fair Mistress Dulcia, shall be yours!”
They now set forward at a quick trot, shaping their course in a south- easterly direction across the downs, and made such good progress, that in less than half an hour they had gained the northern extremity of the White Hawk Hill, and were within a mile of their destination. No sooner had they reached this point, than a man started from out a patch of gorse amidst which he had been lying, and ran towards them. It was Ninian Saxby.
“Is all right?” demanded the king. “May we safely approach the Grange?”
“With perfect safety, my liege,” replied Ninian, doffing his cap. “No danger whatever to be apprehended, and the colonel is out of measure delighted at the honour intended him.”
The little cavalcade was now once more in motion, and rode on till they came to the ancient barrow at the summit of the hill, at the rear of the mansion, where they found another person stationed. This was Eustace Saxby, and he corroborated his son’s information that all was right.
Here the party dismounted, and committing their horses to the two men, who were to take them round the back of the holt to the stables, they descended the hill, the king walking by the side of Clavering.
In the course of their descent of the hill they had to pass a small cottage, somewhat retired from the road, and shaded by an elmtree. This cottage, which stood opposite the north garden-wall of the Grange, belonged to Morefruit Stone, the Puritan. Within it, at this moment, were two other persons besides old Morefruit and his daughter, who had witnessed, with great surprise, and even consternation, the arrival of the royal party on the hill-top. Keeping themselves carefully out of sight, these individuals watched Clavering and his royal companion as they descended the hill together, and on beholding the king, who accidentally made a pause near the cottage, one of the spies — evidently from his garb an officer in the Republican army — exclaimed, in a stern, wrathful tone to the other,
“It is he! it is Charles Stuart himself! He has come before his time. Thou hast deceived me, or hast given him warning.”
“I have not deceived thee, Captain Stelfax,” rejoined Mickle-gift; “neither am I to blame if Charles Stuart has advanced the hour of his arrival.”
“But he finds me wholly unprepared?” cried Stelfax, in a tone of fierce disappointment. “I shall lose him, unless he tarries for the night in the dwelling of this old Amalekite. My men are all at Lewes. What is to be done? I shall be balked of my prey.”
“There is yet a means of accomplishing his capture, if thou darest attempt it, single-handed,” replied Micklegift.
“What is there I dare not do?” rejoined Stelfax. “Show me thy plan.”
“It is this,” answered Micklegift. “I will introduce thee secretly to the house — into the sleeping-chamber of the old Amalekite. We shall not be noticed, for all the household will be occupied with the arrival of this company. Peradventure thou mayst be able to seize the Young Man.”
“I will seize him, or slay him, and take my chance for the rest,” rejoined Stelfax, in a determined voice. “Look forth, I prithee,” he added to Morefruit Stone, “and see if they be gone.”
“No one is in sight,” replied the elder, looking forth.
“Stay thou within thy cottage,” said Stelfax. “We may need thee anon. Make good thy words,” he added to Micklegift, “and conduct me to Colonel Maunsel’s chamber.”
On this they quitted the cottage together, and taking a few steps up the hill, reached the door in the wall, which Micklegift unlocked. They then went into the garden.
CHAPTER VIII.
Of The King’s Reception At The Grange
ON approaching the front of the mansion, Clavering besought the king’s permission to step forward, and receiving it, hastened to ring the bell at the gate, and thus announce to his father the arrival of his royal guest.
Immediately on the summons, which he had for some time been impatiently awaiting, Colonel Maunsel appeared at the open doorway, at the head of his retainers, all of whom were clad in their richest liveries, as if for some high festivity. Never did the old Cavalier appear to greater advantage than on this occasion. He was attired in a rich court suit of black velvet, with rapier and plumed Spanish hat to correspond, and being roused to unwonted energy by the strong excitement of the moment, he moved with all his former grace and stateliness. Close behind him came Mr. Beard and Dulcia, the former in a plain suit of black, and the latter attired with great neatness and simplicity, but without any pretension to show or elegance. Such, however, was the effect of her charms of person and manner, and so little did she require the aid of dress and ornament, that Charles, when he beheld her, was quite electrified by her surpassing beauty, and thought he had never seen court dame so lovely as this country damsel, whose sole decoration was a few flowers placed amidst her fair clustering tresses. With the object of it before him, he ceased to wonder at Clavering’s passion.
Behind Colonel Maunsel, in the entrance-hall, appeared all the retainers that could be mustered for the occasion — all, as we have just intimated, in gala attire. None of these, it may be proper to state, had any positive knowledge of the exalted rank of the guest whom their master was about to welcome, though most of them suspected the truth. But though, as we are aware, the whole of the colonel’s household were staunch Royalists, and might have been entrusted with the secret without fear of the consequences, the only one amongst them absolutely confided in was old Martin Geere. Greatly elated, and anxious to maintain his master’s importance, the old serving-man now assumed a consequential manner and dignified deportment quite unlike his ordinary bearing. He was provided with a wand to marshal the household, and enable him to act as sort of usher in the approaching ceremony.
At the precise moment when the old Cavalier appeared at the doorway, attended as we have described, Charles entered the gate of the mansion, Clavering respectfully retiring as the monarch advanced, and Lord Wilmot and Colonel Philips holding back, so that the king might be left alone. Notwithstanding the disguise adopted by the royal wanderer, and the change effected in his general appearance, Colonel Maunsel instantly recognised him, and, taking off his hat, advanced slowly and with great dignity, but with the most profound respect, to meet him and give him welcome. If Charles had come there in the plenitude of his power, in gorgeous apparel, and attended by a brilliant bevy of courtiers, instead of as a proscribed fugitive, and scantily attended, Colonel Maunsel could not have shown him greater reverence. It was with great difficulty that he prevented himself from bending the knee to the young king, and it was only, indeed, a gesture from Charles that restrained him. Contenting himself, therefore, with making a profound obeisance, he said, with a look that conveyed all he did not dare to utter, “Welcome, sir! thrice welcome to Ovingdean Grange. My poor dwelling is honour
ed indeed by the presence of such a guest.”
“I thank you most heartily for your welcome, Colonel Maunsel,” replied Charles. “But it is far more than I merit. I have no other claim upon your attention save this — and it is much, I own,” he added, with some significance— “that you were warmly attached to my father.”
“No man more so, sir,” replied the old Cavalier, emphatically— “no man more so. But pardon me if I say that your claims upon me are equal to those of your much- honoured, much-lamented sire.”
“You are pleased to say so, colonel,” observed the king, “and I thank you for the assurance. But a truce to claims real or imaginary! Allow me to see the interior of your mansion, which, if it corresponds with the outside, must be well worth inspection.”
“’Tis a comfortable old house, quite sufficient for a plain country gentleman like myself, sir,” replied the colonel; “and if I am able to keep it up I shall be quite content. But the fines and confiscations of the rogues in power have wellnigh ruined me.”
“Ay, ay, we are alike in misfortune, Colonel Maunsel,” observed the king. “You have lost much — I have lost all. But better days, I trust, are in store for both of us.”
“I trust so, sir,” the old Cavalier replied. “But now, I pray you, deign to enter my humble dwelling. And you, too, gentlemen,” he added, saluting the others. “Clavering, I am right glad to see thee, boy. Thy turn will come anon. Meantime, welcome thy father’s guests, and show them in.”
So saying, and respectfully retiring before the king, taking especial care not to turn his back upon his Majesty, the old Cavalier moved towards the house. His master’s gestures were imitated by Martin Geere, but so unsuccessfully, that, in retreating somewhat too hastily, he came in contact with the steps, and tumbled backwards, amidst the titters of the rest of the serving-men. Charles would willingly have dispensed with so much ceremony, but aware of the punctilious character of his host, he did not like to put a stop to it. In this way he was ushered into the house, and compelled to take precedence of the others, who held back until he had entered.
No sooner had Charles set foot in the entrance-hall, than the colonel once more gave him a hearty welcome to Ovingdean Grange, to which the king made a suitable reply. Mr. Beard then received the honour of a presentation, and his Majesty expressing a hope that he might be speedily restored to the living of which he had been deprived, he replied with humility,
“I do not despair, sir. Vincit qui patitur.”
“And this, I suppose, is your daughter, Mr. Beard?” inquired the king, determined to put his promise to Clavering into immediate execution, and looking with such undisguised admiration at Dulcia as summoned the roses to her cheek. “On my faith, fair damsel,” he continued, “I have heard Clavering Maunsel speak of you — and in rapturous terms, I promise you — but, as I live, his description did not do you justice.”
“I must pray you, sir, to spare the maiden’s blushes,” interposed Colonel Maunsel. “She is simple and home-bred, and unaccustomed to compliments.”
“Egad! colonel, you mistake,” cried the monarch; “I never spoke with greater sincerity in my life. Your son did not say half so much of fair Mistress Dulcia as she deserves. She is lovely enough to grace the proudest hall in England — ay, a palace, if there be a palace left in the country. If I had been in Clavering’s place I should have fallen in love to a dead certainty; and if — as perhaps might be the case — the fair Dulcia had not proved altogether insensible to my suit, I should have asked my father’s consent,” he added, to the colonel.
This speech, as may be imagined, greatly embarrassed one person to whom it referred, but the king seemed wholly to disregard her confusion.
“And what should you have answered, colonel, if such a question had been put to you?” pursued Charles.
“‘Faith, sir, I can’t say — I have not given the matter consideration,” replied the old Cavalier.
“Then do so,” rejoined the king; “and decide before I leave, for I have made up my mind that it shall be a match.”
“You must have other and more important affairs to think of, I should fancy, sir,” remarked Colonel Maunsel, “than to trouble yourself, at a time like the present, about the loves of a foolish boy and girl. If there should be any fondness between them — of which I am ignorant — they must wait.”
“Very prudent and proper,” rejoined the king. “Let them wait if you desire it, my good colonel, but not too long — not too long. There! we may consider the matter as settled,” he added, with a glance at Clavering.
“Upon my word, sir,” cried the colonel, “you are very peremptory — and as prompt as peremptory. You have only been here a few minutes, and yet have made a marriage, whether the parties chiefly concerned like it or not.”
“Oddsfish! colonel,” exclaimed Charles, “I have taken care to satisfy myself on that score. Your consent alone is wanted, for good Mr. Beard’s, I can see, is given already.”
“Nay, if I thought the happiness of the young folks was at stake,” replied the colonel, “I should not withhold my consent, you may depend, sir.”
“I knew it! — I knew it!” cried Charles, triumphantly. “Bravo! bravissimo! Clavering, I congratulate you. You will soon have the prettiest wife in Sussex, and my only regret is that I cannot be present at the wedding. And now, colonel, before doing anything else, I would fain refresh myself with a little cold water, and get rid of the dust and heat of the journey.”
“I will instantly attend you to a chamber, sir, where all is in readiness,” said the old Cavalier.
“On no account, colonel,” cried the king. “I will not permit it. You overwhelm me by your kindness. You have other guests to attend to besides myself. Clavering will show me the way — that is, if he can quit the side of his intended. Come, confess!” he added, playfully, as he approached the young couple. “Have I not done you both a good turn?”
“In good truth you have, sir,” replied Clavering. “I will answer for Dulcia,” he added, as the blushing damsel turned away to hide her confusion.
“Upstairs at once, and away!” cried Charles, “or we shall have the old gentleman retract his promise.”
Urged on by the king, who seemed determined to prevent any further display of etiquette, Clavering ran up the grand staircase, while Charles followed with equal celerity, much to the discomposure of Colonel Maunsel, who thought that his son ought to have observed more ceremony.
On being ushered into the colonel’s sleeping chamber, the king threw himself into an elbowchair and indulged in a hearty laugh. Clavering, meanwhile, anxious to escape from the raillery in which it was evident that the mirthful young monarch was disposed to indulge at his expense, proceeded towards the inner chamber to ascertain that all the necessaries for the king’s toilette were ready, and finding that no change of linen had been placed there, he begged leave to retire in order to repair the omission. Charles nodded in token of assent, and Clavering, with a profound obeisance, quitted the room, leaving his Majesty still laughing heartily at the thoughts that tickled his fancy.
By-and-by a gentle tap was heard at the door, and, in reply to Charles’s summons to come in, Patty Whinchat entered, carrying with much care a fine linen shirt with laced ruffles, and a laced band of snowy whiteness placed upon it. Curtseying to the king, she tripped into the inner room and deposited the linen on the bed.
Her errand performed, Patty returned, and dropping another curtsey to the king, observed,
“Captain Clavering bade me say, sir, that if you have occasion for any change of apparel, you will find all you require in the wardrobe.”
“Captain Clavering is very obliging,” replied Charles, glancing admiringly at her. “How art thou called, child, and what office dost fill in the house?”
“I am named Patty Whinchat, an please you, sir,” she replied; “and am handmaiden to Mistress Dulcia Beard.”
“Oddsfish, Patty!” exclaimed the king, “thy good looks rival those of thy mistre
ss. Ye are both so pretty, that if I were asked which to take I should be fairly perplexed in the choice.”
“But you are not asked to take either of us, sir,” Patty rejoined. “My mistress has got a lover, and I—”
“More than one, I’ll be sworn!” interrupted the king, “or the serving-men have no taste. However, there’ll be no great harm in robbing your favoured and fortunate swain, whoever he may be, of a kiss “ — suiting the action to the word. “You have plenty to spare, both for him and me.”
“You are mistaken, sir,” replied Patty; “I shouldn’t have half enow for Ninian Saxby, if I let him take as many as he wants. But don’t detain me, sir, I pray of you. I mustn’t stay here another minute. I’m wanted downstairs. Somebody is below, I’m told,” she added, mysteriously, “and I’m dying to have a peep at him.”
“And who may this ‘somebody’ be whom thou art so curious to behold, child?” inquired Charles.
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