The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  When they had ridden a mile, as they judged, they came to a halt, and Duval proposed that Montalt should start them, to which the other agreed.

  They then placed themselves without loss of time, and, the word being given, they dashed off together, like arrows from a bow, making it evident from the outset that this would be no lingering race. Montalt and Flodoard followed as they might; and though both spurred on their steeds, they were speedily left behind.

  It was a strange sight to witness such a contest at such an hour. Seen by that witching light, the two adversaries, as they flew along, side by side, and in silence, might have been taken for phantom horsemen.

  Talbot was scarcely less eager to win this race than he had been to win that of the morning. His blood was now up. Duval was even more excited. He felt as if he had a defeat to efface. He made every effort to leave his adversary behind, but Talbot stuck closely to him.

  On — on they went, without change of position. To those who watched them from afar, they looked as if blent together. Colonel Blood chafed with impatience at the strange spectacle; and, at length, unable to restrain himself, he rode towards them.

  He had not gone far, when one of the figures detached itself from the other, but in that doubtful light he could not make out who was leading. He feared it was Talbot Harland, and under this impression, he cursed Duval for his folly in giving him this chance for the cup.

  But his doubts were speedily removed, and his rage gave way to transports of delight. He now clearly perceived that Duval was in front, and expressed his satisfaction at the discovery by a loud shout, which was echoed by the troopers in charge of the postboy, and even by the postboy himself, though the latter scarcely knew why he shouted.

  Though the result of the contest was no longer doubtful — at least, to Blood, — Talbot maintained a gallant struggle to the last. He would not give in. To the last he plied whip and spur. But all his efforts were fruitless — the race was Duval’s.

  Amid the cheers of his comrades, with which those of the recreant postboy were mingled, the robber captain came in triumphantly.

  It must be borne in mind that Duval never for a moment removed his mask during the race — nor did he remove it now — so that the effect of his victory could not be discerned upon his features. But his manner did not betray the slightest excitement, nor did the exertion of the contest seem to have disturbed him much.

  Talbot, on the contrary, appeared quite overcome, and his accents were hoarse. Noticing his condition, Blood produced a pocket-flask, and filling a small silver cup with brandy, offered it to him. The young man did not decline the attention.

  “You have fairly won the race, and the prize is yours,” he observed to Duval.

  “I almost grieve to deprive you of it,” replied the other. “But I must keep it as a trophy. Pray tell the Count de Bellegarde that I esteem him an indifferent jockey.”

  By this time Montalt and Flodoard had come up, and offered their congratulations to the winner. At the same time, they good-naturedly essayed to console Talbot Harland for his defeat.

  The gold cup was next taken from the bag, and the postboy was compelled to offer it to Duval — an order which he obeyed with a very bad grace. The magnificent vessel sparkled brilliantly in the moonlight, and the whole scene at this moment was exceedingly striking and picturesque.

  The sight of the splendid cup roused fierce feelings in Talbot’s breast, and, for a single moment, the desire of snatching it from the robbers possessed him. But he was deterred from the insane attempt by the pledge he had given.

  Blood, who was near him, perceived what was passing in his breast, and kept his hand upon a pistol.

  Meanwhile, the flask of brandy was rapidly passed from hand to hand, and the little silver cup as quickly filled and emptied. The last to empty it was the postboy. Duval having sufficiently admired his prize, it was restored to the receptacle from which it had been taken, and committed to the care of Mandeville.

  “Am I at liberty to depart?” said Talbot, to Duval.

  “As soon as you please,” rejoined the other. “Accept my thanks for the sport you have afforded me. If you return to Newmarket, pray describe our race to his majesty. I am sorry he did not witness it.”

  “The race is not yet over,” rejoined Talbot, sternly. “As soon as I can procure assistance, I will be on your track.”

  With this, he struck spurs into his horse’s flanks, and dashed off, followed by the postboy, who had been set free at the same moment.

  Almost immediately afterwards, Duval and his band were scouring across the heath in the opposite direction, all laughing heartily at the adventure.

  CHAPTER XI

  TALBOT HARLAND PRESENTS THE GOLD CUP TO THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH

  The king and the court had returned from Newmarket to Whitehall.

  On the morning after his arrival, Charles was in the Duchess of Portsmouth’s boudoir, and her grace was complaining of the fatigue of her journey, when the Duke of Buckingham was announced.

  After the duke had made his reverence, and paid some well-merited compliments to the duchess on her looks, the king said to him, “Did you see Bellegarde yester-morning? He told me he had an appointment with you.”

  “Yes, sire. He came to me before I was up, looking as fresh almost as her grace, though he had ridden from Newmarket during the night.”

  “Can you tell us at what hour he reached Whitehall?” observed the duchess. “His majesty is curious on the point.”

  “I can give you precise information,” replied Buckingham. “He arrived here at four o’clock in the morning, and as the palace gates were closed, he had to knock up the porter.”

  The duchess glanced at the king.

  “He performed the distance under six hours,” pursued Buckingham; “and all things considered, I regard it as a wonderful feat.”

  “It would be a wonderful feat, indeed, if he rode that second race with Talbot Harland,” observed Charles.

  “What second race, sire?” cried Buckingham. “I have not heard of it.”

  The king then related the extraordinary adventure that had befallen Talbot; and the duke laughed heartily at the recital.

  “This Claude Duval is a deucedly clever fellow,” he exclaimed. “His exploits have all the air of practical jokes.”

  “I have always said so,” observed Charles. “This may turn out the best of them. Talbot Harland started from Newmarket in pursuit of the robbers, but I doubt his success.”

  “I have heard nothing of him,” replied Buckingham.

  At this moment the person in question was announced.

  “What news of Claude Duval?” cried the king, as Talbot came in. “Have you captured him?”

  “I am deeply mortified to be obliged to answer no, sire,” replied the young man. “He and his band seem to have dispersed on quitting the heath. I could discover no traces of them.”

  “So you have lost the cup, after all, I find,” cried Buckingham, in a jeering tone. “I thought you would have taken better care of it.”

  “I deserve all the ridicule your grace can heap upon me,” rejoined Talbot. “But I hope you will be generous, and spare me.”

  “If I spare you, Sedley and Etherege won’t. I will treat you as tenderly as I can, but I must add, however, a few more couplets to my ballad.”

  “That ballad will never end,” remarked the duchess, laughing.

  “Not as long as Claude Duval remains at large,” said the king. “But here comes Bellegarde,” he added, as the count was ushered into the room by Chiffinch.

  Bellegarde’s countenance was radiant with satisfaction.

  “Judging from your looks, count, you have something pleasant to tell us,” observed Charles.

  “Your majesty is not mistaken,” rejoined Bellegarde, with a low bow. “I am very glad to find Mr. Talbot Harland here, as what I have to say concerns him.”

  “Let us hear it,” said the king. “I’ll warrant your story relates to the cup.�
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  “Your majesty has a remarkable power of guessing,” replied Bellegarde, again bowing deeply. “This morning, while I was dressing, my valet brought a letter, accompanied by a very strange-looking bag, apparently containing a piece of plate. Without pausing to examine the contents of the bag, I opened the letter, and you will judge of my surprise when I found that it came from Claude Duval. With your majesty’s permission, I will read it to you.

  ““LE COMTE, —

  ““I have redeemed the honor of our country, which you had endangered.

  “In the race which you ran at Newmarket, in the presence of his majesty and the court, you proved yourself a vastly inferior horseman to Mr. Talbot Harland.

  “Unable to bear this national reproach, I provoked Mr. Harland to another contest. I came off victorious. The glory of France is untarnished.

  “But, for reasons which I need not particularize, the prize I have won cannot remain in my hands. I therefore send it to you, Monsieur le Comte — to you, who, as an accomplished buyer, ought to have won it; leaving you to dispose of it as you may deem fit. Vive la France!

  ““Votre devoue,

  ““DUVAL.”

  “the merriment caused by this letter had subsided, Bellegarde clapped his hands slightly, and at the signal the door opened, and Chiffinch entered, followed by a couple of pages, bearing the splendid racing-cup on a large silver tray.

  At this sight, everybody expressed the greatest surprise.

  “Oddsfish!” exclaimed the king.—” This is a real coup de maitre!”

  “I brought the cup with me, to show it to your majesty,” said Bellegarde. “And I am charmed to have the opportunity of restoring it, in your presence, to Mr. Talbot Harland, to whom it rightfully belongs. I know nothing about the contest to which Monsieur Claude Duval refers, nor is it anything to me; but I know that I was fairly beaten, and that I have no claim whatever to the prize.”

  The cup was then presented to Talbot by the pages, who bade them to lay it down on a table. This done, they withdrew with Chiffinch.

  “I am inexpressibly indebted to you, count,” said Talbot to Bellegarde.

  “Not in the least, mon cher,” replied the other. “Whatever Monsieur Claude Duval may think, I am not a receiver of stolen goods.”

  “A capital joke! and capitally played!” exclaimed the king, who was ready to die with laughter.

  “The thing looks like a jest, sire,” observed Bellegarde. “But if it is one, I have had no part in it. I hope Mr. Talbot Harland does not think so.”

  “No one knows better than I do, count, that you could not possibly have been concerned in it,” cried Talbot, earnestly.

  “Oddsfish! this is delicious,” exclaimed the king. “Now you have got back the cup,” he added to Talbot, “you can carry out your design, and propitiate your venerable uncle, Dr. Harland.”

  But the young man had observed that the Duchess of Portsmouth had already set her eyes on the treasure.

  He therefore said, “Excuse me, sire; I have another destination for it. The cup suits this room so well, that I trust her grace will allow it to remain here.”

  “Grand Dieu! do you mean to present it to me?” exclaimed the duchess, delighted.

  “I entreat that honor,” replied Talbot.

  “You are a model of gallantry,” she cried, with one of her sweetest smiles. “Is he not, sire? The cup is exquisite; but it is doubly valuable from the little history attached to it.”

  “Ay, marry,” observed the king; “you must not forget that, but for Monsieur Claude Duval, this gem would not have found its way to your collection.”

  While chocolate was being served, Charles took Bellegarde into the embrasure of a window overlooking the river, and said to him, “There is a little matter which you must execute for me, count.”

  “Ever proud to obey your majesty’s behests,” replied Bellegarde.

  “To you, the affair will present no difficulty,” pursued the king. “I want to discover the leader of the murderous attack upon the Duke of Ormond.”

  “Permit me to observe, sire, that you impose upon me a very arduous task, and one to which I am quite unequal. A very large reward has been offered by your majesty for the capture of that person, and if the officers of justice have failed to arrest him, it is not likely I shall be more successful.”

  “I will give you a hint that may help you — I am certain he is known to Buckingham. Commence your search in that quarter.”

  “Possibly, your majesty may be right,” rejoined Bellegarde. “I do not like to play the spy; but, in the present instance, I must contrive to overcome my scruples.”

  ““to serve me,” said Charles. “If you make any discovery, communicate with me at once. I want to see the man.”

  “To see him arrested, I presume, sire?”

  “To confer with him,” rejoined Charles, with a singular smile.

  “It must occur to your majesty that such a man is scarcely likely to trust himself—”

  “He may do so,” interrupted the king. “Give him that assurance from me. “be enough for him.”

  “It ought to be enough,” said Bellegarde. “Still, he may fancy it a snare.”

  “If he hesitates, say that I have not forgotten what passed at Knole. One thing more, and I have done. The man I seek was at Newmarket.”

  “At Newmarket, sire!” exclaimed the count, surprised.

  “I heard his voice amid the crowd; but could not distinguish the speaker. He would not be hovering about me thus, if he had not some design — perhaps, against my life.”

  “Sire!”

  “Nay, I have no fear,” rejoined the king; “but it is important that I should see him without delay. Buckingham will not serve me — you must.”

  And they quitted the embrasure.

  Meanwhile, the company had been increased by Lady Muskerry and Dorinda, Lord Buckhurst, Sedley, Etherege, and others, all of whom were amazed to see the gold cup, and highly amused to hear by what strange means it had got there.

  To show that she was not devoid of gratitude, the Duchess of Portsmouth was lavish in Talbot’s praises, and she contrived to do him a slight favor.

  It appeared that their majesties were going that morning, in the royal barge, to the Tower, to inspect the Crown jewels, which the duchess had not yet seen; and as Dorinda must necessarily be in attendance on the queen, Talbot, to his great delight, was invited by the Duchess of Portsmouth to join the party.

  This was what he gained by the gold cup; and, being desperately in love he considered himself amply repaid.

  END OF THE SECOND BOOK

  BOOK III. THE CROWN JEWELS

  CHAPTER I

  A ROYAL PROMENADE ON THE THAMES

  About an hour later, attended by a throng of court dames and gallants, among whom were all those who had been assembled in the Duchess of Portsmouth’s apartments, their majesties entered the royal barge, which was moored off the privy stairs of the palace.

  Very gorgeous was the barge, almost as grand as the Venetian Bucentaur, in which, in old times, the Doge of Venice went forth to wed the sea; magnificently sculptured, and so richly gilt that its reflection seemed to turn the water to flame. Internally, this grand barge was nothing more than a splendid saloon, fitted up with luxurious couches, and having large windows that commanded a view of all around.

  Four-and-twenty remarkably good-looking young watermen — wearing scarlet jerkins, with the royal badge on their sleeves, and directed by the barge master, who was naturally more grandly arrayed than his men, and bore the royal cognizance embroidered in gold on his breast — were required to row the barge; but so heavy was it, that they made but slow way, if the tide chanced to be against them, as was the case on the present occasion.

  Trumpeters, whose silver clarions were decked with crimson flags woven with the royal arms, made the walls of the palace ring with joyous fanfares, as their majesties set forth on their promenade on the river.

  When filled w
ith the brilliant company we have described, the long saloon presented a splendid sight.

  The day was delightful; and the surface of the Thames smooth as a mirror, and sparkling with sunshine. The Thames was then a noble river; its waters, if not positively transparent, were clear and bright, and constantly covered with a multitude of craft of all shapes and sizes; while its banks were rendered picturesque by quaint old structures.

  A water-party was then a favorite diversion with the citizens, and nothing could be more agreeable. The Merry Monarch was as fond of the amusement as any of his subjects. Lolling out of an open window of the barge, and gazing at the occupants of the numerous boats and wherries that passed by, he saw a hundred objects that entertained him, while the remarks — not unfrequently about himself — that reached his ear, provoked his laughter. Old Rowley could bear a jest at his own expense better than any man.

  Near him, as he now looked out at the lively scene, were the Duchess of Portsmouth and Bellegarde, both of whom were quite as much diverted as his majesty.

  At the next window were Talbot and Dorinda, but the young man was more engrossed by his lovely companion than by the spectacle before him. He gazed at her, and not at the river.

  How the rest of the brilliant company amused themselves we need not inquire. Lively sallies and light laughter were heard on all sides.

  They had now passed gloomy Bridewell, which cast a black shade on the shining stream, and the great dungeon-like pile known as Baynard’s Castle, and had just come in sight of London Bridge, when a wherry, partly covered by an awning, and manned by two vigorous oarsmen, who might possibly be “but were certainly not common watermen, passed by.

  The boat was sufficiently near to allow the king to distinguish its occupants. Beneath the awning sat a damsel, whose lovely features instantly caught his attention. Could he forget those magnificent black eyes, and the superb raven tresses? He knew her at once. It was Violet Oldacre. And the strongly-built man who was steering the boat must be her father.