The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  Placed on a rising ground, Chillington House not only looked down the long avenue we have described, but commanded an extensive prospect over a beautifully wooded country. Familiar with this lovely view, Careless turned round for a few minutes to gaze at it, but it was with very different feelings that he surveyed the ancient mansion. How changed was it since he beheld it last! As his eye ran over the front of the once proud structure, he noted the injuries it had sustained — windows shattered — architectural ornaments mutilated, or thrown down — the smooth lawns trampled over — the terrace grass-grown. Yawning wide, the great entrance door revealed the havoc that had taken place within.

  Careless and the priest exchanged mournful glances as they walked towards the house, but not a word passed between them. The great hall which they entered was a complete wreck — its beautifully carved oak screen having been ruthlessly destroyed. The sculptured armorial bearings on the grand oak staircase were likewise irreparably injured. Nothing that hatchet could mutilate was spared.

  “Have you seen enough?” inquired the priest.

  “No,” replied Careless, “I would fain see what these vindictive miscreants can do when they are under no restraint. Come with me, father. Wait for us here, Jasper.”

  Accompanied by Father Huddlestone he then ascended the great oak staircase, and they proceeded to examine the long gallery and the numerous apartments connected with it, all of which were marked by the hand of the ruthless destroyer.

  “What would Peter Giffard say if he could behold his house?” remarked Careless. “It would break his stout heart — if, indeed, his heart is not already broken.”

  “He bears his misfortunes bravely,” said Father Huddlestone. “But the king’s defeat at Worcester will be a greater blow to him than the worst of his own losses.”

  “Ah! if we Royalists had but won that battle, father,” cried Careless; “we should soon have enjoyed our own again! But we must now wait for many a long day.”

  “I fear so, my son,” replied the priest. “But I trust in the justice of Heaven!”

  Meanwhile Jasper, tired by his walk, had sought a seat among the broken furniture scattered about. Discovering an old arm-chair, he threw himself into it and fell asleep almost immediately.

  Having completed their survey of the upper rooms, Careless and the priest were about to descend, but while passing through the gallery they chanced to look out of a window, and, to their infinite dismay, perceived a small party of dragoons, with an officer at their head, riding quickly towards the house.

  There was time enough to save themselves by a hasty retreat, but not a moment to lose. Careless rushed to the head of the great staircase, and called out to Jasper that the enemy was at hand, bidding him fly to the back of the house, and make his way out.

  Feeling certain that the page heard him, and would instantly attend to the warning, he gave himself no further concern, but followed Father Huddlestone down a back staircase. Luckily, there was nothing to prevent their egress — the doors being all unfastened — and they were soon in the court-yard.

  Here they waited for a few moments for Jasper, expecting he would join them, but he came not. Careless now became seriously alarmed, and his uneasiness was increased by some sounds that seemed to announce the arrival of the troopers. Despite Father Huddlestone’s entreaties he re-entered the house, but presently came back, and with a look of anguish exclaimed:

  “Too late! The troopers have already entered — he must be captured!”

  “Nay, then, we must save ourselves if we can,” cried Father Huddlestone. “Let us make for the wood.”

  They had scarcely quitted the court-yard when three or four troopers rode into it.

  * * *

  CHAPTER II.

  HOW THE KING WAS WELL-NIGH CAPTURED BY MADMANNAH.

  Seated in the arbour, to which he had retired on the departure of Father Huddlestone and his companions, Charles endeavoured to review his position calmly.

  His great desire had been to remain at Boscobel till the vigilance of his enemies should relax, and an opportunity of reaching the coast might occur to him, but after Father Huddlestone’s earnest representations of the great risk he would run, he felt the necessity of seeking another hiding-place, and where could a more secure retreat be found than was offered by Moseley Old Hall? Mr. Whitgreave, the owner of the mansion, belonged to the old religion, and the unfortunate monarch had learnt from recent experience that those who had proved most faithful to him in his hour of peril were Roman Catholics. Besides, Father Huddlestone had given him positive assurance of the fidelity of Mr. Whitgreave’s household. There was no risk, therefore, of betrayal. The great danger lay in the journey. If he could only reach Moseley Old Hall in safety all would be well.

  Still, he felt reluctant to quit Boscobel. The Penderels had completely won his regard. Their devotion had impressed him deeply, and he well knew that men so honest and trusty, and possessed of such good sound sense, were rarely to be met with. Having been thrown so much into their company — especially into that of Trusty Dick — he knew them more intimately than he had ever done persons in their humble station, and he formed a very high and perfectly just opinion of their worth.

  Naturally, the uppermost thought in his mind was how to reach the coast, and procure a vessel to convey him to France, and he was considering how he could best accomplish his object, when the sound of quick footsteps on the gravel-walk leading to the mount caught his ear. He immediately looked forth, and saw it was Trusty Dick, who had come to warn him.

  “Your majesty must not stay here any longer,” said the faithful fellow. “The enemy is at hand.”

  On hearing this Charles hurried to the house, where he found William Penderel and his wife in great consternation, for they had just learnt from Dick that Colonel James, being dissatisfied with the result of the first investigation, was about to make another search of the house, and was coming thither with his troopers.

  “I will again take refuge in the oak,” cried Charles. “I shall be safe amid its branches.”

  “There is not time to reach the tree,” said Dick, who could not conceal his uneasiness. “Besides, that rascally trooper whom your majesty made a prisoner is with them.”

  “You must hide in the secret closet, my liege, or in the priest’s hole,” said Joan.

  “There are other hiding-places,” added William Penderel, “but none so secure as the secret closet in the chimney. Go thither at once, sire, I entreat you. There is not a moment to lose.”

  “I must not be found here,” cried Trusty Dick, “my presence would excite suspicion. But I shall not be far off.”

  Snatching up a sword that had been left for him by Careless, Charles hurried up-stairs, and opened the door of the secret closet. While he was thus employed, he fancied he heard some one in the adjoining chamber, and at once flew to the trap-door, and let himself down into the lower chamber. In his haste, he had left the sword lying on the floor of the bedroom, and had upset a fauteuil — and, worst of all, he had left the door of the secret closet open — but he felt sure Joan would quickly follow and put all right.

  CHARLES HIDING IN THE SECRET CLOSET AT BOSCOBEL HOUSE.

  And so she would have done, had she not been prevented. How great was her terror, on entering the bedchamber, to see a trooper standing there, amid all these evidences of the king’s hasty retreat.

  The trooper she beheld was Madmannah. He had got into the house through an open window, and had made his way privily up-stairs. Placing his pike at her breast, he ordered her instantly to quit the room, and she did not dare to disobey.

  Casting an anxious glance at the accusing sword, but still hoping the trap-door might not be discovered, Joan went down to the hall, where another scene of terror awaited her.

  Colonel James was interrogating her husband, who was standing before the stern Republican leader with a trooper on either side of him. Ezra, who was stationed at the foot of the staircase, allowed her to enter the hall, but b
ade her hold her tongue. Colonel James was seated near the table. His aspect was unusually severe, but William Penderel did not quail before his menacing looks. The forester’s gigantic figure dwarfed the troopers who stood on either side of him.

  “I know thou art a stubborn knave,” said Colonel James; “but I will wrest the truth from thee. I am certain that Charles Stuart is concealed within this house, and I mean not to depart without him. But I will not waste time in the search. Thy life is already forfeited for thy treasonable conduct, and I should be justified in putting thee to death; but I will spare thee, if, without more ado, the malignant prince be delivered up to me. Nay, more, I will reward thee. Dost hear me, sirrah?” he continued, finding that his words produced no visible impression upon the prisoner. “I am not one to be trifled with, as thou wilt find.”

  As he spoke, he arose, strode towards the prisoner, and drawing a pistol from his belt, placed it at Penderel’s head.

  “Speak the truth, or thou art a dead man,” he said. “Where is the prince?”

  This was too much for Joan. She could not stand by and see her husband shot. Rushing forward, she besought the fierce Republican leader to spare him.

  “A word from thee will save his life,” said Colonel James, lowering the pistol and turning towards her.

  “Woman, I forbid you to speak,” said William Penderel, sternly.

  “Shoot me if you will,” cried Joan to the Republican leader, “I have nothing to declare. Charles Stuart is not here.”

  “That is false,” exclaimed Colonel James. “Deliver him to me, or ye shall both die. Your treasonable practices are known to me. I am aware that the fugitive prince and one of his attendants were concealed in an oak hard by this house. Where are they? They cannot have escaped.”

  “Wherefore not?” rejoined William Penderel. “If, as you assert, they were hidden in an oak, they could not be here. Search the house, and if you find him you seek, then put us to death.”

  Finding he could not intimidate the resolute forester, Colonel James left him in charge of a couple of troopers, with orders to shoot him if he attempted to escape, and commanded Joan to conduct him over the house.

  “If Charles Stuart be found hidden within the house, thou and thy husband shall assuredly die,” he said. “But if it be as thou affirmest, I will spare you both.”

  “Where will you begin the search?” inquired Joan.

  “I will leave no room unvisited,” replied Colonel James. “But I will first examine the bedchambers.”

  Joan’s heart quaked as the stern officer marched up-stairs and proceeded to the principal bedroom. Colonel James was astonished by finding Madmannah standing in the midst of the room, leaning on his pike, with the door of the secret closet wide open.

  “Hast thou found the malignant prince?” he exclaimed.

  “Yea, verily, colonel, I have discovered his hiding-place, as you perceive,” replied Madmannah. “There is the stool on which he somewhile sat — there is the cup from which he drank — above all, there is his sword. I have waited for you to make further search, that you may have the credit of the capture. But I claim the reward.”

  “Thou shalt have it,” replied Colonel James, stepping into the closet.

  He saw at a glance that it was empty, but feeling sure there must be some secret recess, he struck the panels on either side with the pommel of his sword, but discovering nothing, he at last turned to Joan, who was standing by watching his proceedings with ill-disguised anxiety, and remarked:

  “There must be a hiding-place here. Disclose it at once, or I will cause my men to break down the panels.”

  Joan obeyed, drew back the sliding door, and Colonel James instantly sprang through the aperture into the inner room.

  Finding no one within it, he vented his disappointment in an angry exclamation.

  “Where is the malignant prince, woman?” he demanded, fiercely.

  “Gone,” she replied. “That is all I will tell you.”

  “Thou art deceiving me, woman,” he exclaimed.

  But finding threats useless, he proceeded to make a very careful investigation of the little room in which they stood. Had he searched the outer closet with equal strictness he must infallibly have discovered the trap-door.

  Dreadfully frightened, Joan had great difficulty in supporting herself, and it was an inexpressible relief to her when Colonel James strode back into the bedchamber.

  “’Tis plain the malignant prince is not here, Madmannah,” he said to the trooper, who seemed greatly disappointed by the result of the search.

  “I could have sworn I heard him,” said Madmannah. “But there are other hiding-places in the house. Answer truthfully, on your life, woman,” he added to Joan.

  “I will conceal nothing,” she replied, anxious to get them away. “There is a priest’s hole in the garret.”

  “A priest’s hole!” exclaimed Colonel James. “Show it to me.”

  Joan took them to the garret, raised the trap-door, and displayed the cavity.

  After peering into the hole, Colonel James ordered Madmannah, who had followed him, to descend and examine it. Not without difficulty did the trooper, who was rather stout, obey his leader’s injunction. But once in the hole, he found it impossible to get out, and had to take off his breast-plate before he could be extricated from his unpleasant position. He had found nothing, for the pallet on which Careless slept had been removed.

  Enraged at his ill-success, Colonel James then went down-stairs, and searched the parlour, the windows of which have been described as looking into the garden. His investigations were rewarded by the discovery of the little altar in the oratory, and offended by the sight of it, he caused it to be destroyed.

  After this, he again tried the effect of menaces upon William Penderel, but found the stout forester as stubborn as ever. Nothing could be extorted from him.

  At last, after a long and fruitless search, the baffled Republican leader took his departure, and the faithful pair, who had passed an hour of the greatest anxiety, congratulated each other on their escape.

  Not till she was quite satisfied that the troopers were gone did Joan venture to release the king from his confinement. He had heard the footsteps of Colonel James in the closet overhead, and thought that the trap-door must be discovered. Had he not feared that a guard must be stationed outside, he would have attempted to escape into the forest.

  Now that the danger was passed he laughed at it. But though he made light of his own fears, he did not underrate the risk incurred on his account by stout-hearted William Penderel and his devoted wife.

  Later on, Trusty Dick made his appearance. It appeared that the faithful fellow had resolved, if the king had been captured by Colonel James, to rescue him or perish in the attempt; and with this view he had hastily assembled his brothers — John, Humphrey, and George, together with his brother-in-law, Francis Yates.

  Armed with pikes and bills, they had laid in wait for the troopers, near the house, but as the men came forth without their prey, and had evidently failed in their design, the devoted little band separated, and each man hurried back to his abode — George to White Ladies, John to his little farm, Humphrey to the mill, and Francis Yates to his cottage — rejoicing that their services had not been required.

  “But before parting,” said Dick, in conclusion, “we all agreed to meet here to-night to escort your majesty to Moseley Old Hall.”

  From this simple statement, Charles comprehended how well he was guarded over by these brave and loyal brothers.

  * * *

  CHAPTER III.

  HOW THE KING RODE THE MILLER’S HORSE; AND HOW HE WAS ESCORTED DURING HIS RIDE.

  As it was not likely, after the strict search that had just taken place, that another visit would be paid to Boscobel by the troopers, Charles felt quite easy, and passed the remainder of the day in tranquil meditation.

  While sitting by himself in the oak parlour, he revolved his plans for the future, should he be happily r
estored to his kingdom, and formed many noble resolutions which would have greatly elevated his character as a sovereign if they had been carried out.

  At this period of his career Charles was unspoiled, and if his higher qualities had been called into play, and his unquestionable military genius fully developed, he might have proved himself worthy of his grandsire, on his mother’s side, the great Henry the Fourth of France.

  Above all, his heart was uncorrupted and his kindly disposition had not hardened into selfishness. His natural gaiety never deserted him, and his constitutional indifference to danger sustained him under the most trying circumstances. Possible perils were never allowed to weigh upon his mind, and in thus acting he showed true philosophy. His unconcern astonished all who came near him, and Joan and her husband could not sufficiently admire his liveliness of manner. Whether he was quite so free from anxiety as he appeared may be questioned, but at any rate he wore a very pleasant mask.

  To such a point did he carry his rashness, that at the risk of being seen by an enemy on the watch, he strolled forth into the garden, and sat for some time in the little arbour.

  As soon as it grew dusk, and they could steal through the forest unperceived, the king’s promised escort began to appear; each stout fellow being armed with pike or bill, as he had been in the morning, when the brave little band had resolved to effect Charles’s rescue.

  First to arrive was James Yates, who had married a sister of the Penderels. The king had seen him before, as he had served under Charles Giffard, at Worcester, and had guided the royal fugitive to White Ladies. James Yates was stoutly made, and had a soldier-like bearing, but he was not so largely proportioned as his brothers-in-law. However, he was as loyal as they were, and just as ready to shed his blood in the good cause. We grieve to say that he suffered for his loyalty, being executed at a subsequent date at Chester. Charles was very glad to see him, and possibly the gracious words then addressed to him by the king may have cheered the brave fellow’s latest moments.