The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Well, since you like him so much, Will, e’en take him,” said the colonel. “My sister ought to have been consulted on the point, but I have no doubt she will be content.”

  “Here comes the fair lady herself,” cried Lord Wilmot, as Jane entered the stable.

  While saluting the rest of the party, she looked round for the king, and discovering him, greeted him with a smile.

  Charles then came out of the stall, and making a rustic bow, inquired whether she had any commands for him.

  “I am glad to find thou hast arrived safely, Will,” she said. “But I have no special orders to give thee, except that thou must be ready to start soon after breakfast.”

  “I shall be ready at any moment you may require me,” replied Charles.

  “Will this horse suit you, Jane?” asked her brother.

  “Perfectly,” she replied. “I have been admiring him ever since I came into the stable. Since I cannot have my favourite steed, this will make an excellent substitute. Where did you procure him?”

  “Never mind where I got him,” replied her brother. “I rode him at Newport, and lost him there, but he has since been captured from a Roundhead trooper, who might recognise him.”

  After consulting the king by a glance, Jane said, “I will have that horse, and no other.”

  Colonel Lane shrugged his shoulders and went out of the stables, followed by the others.

  As soon as they were gone, Lutwyche said to the king:

  “I don’t want to know who you are, but I am certain you are not a groom. Go into the house and breakfast comfortably. I will get all ready for the journey.”

  Charles thanked him heartily, and telling him he placed entire faith in him, quitted the stable, and proceeded to the house.

  * * *

  CHAPTER IV.

  HOW WILL JONES BREAKFASTED WITH THE MEN-SERVANTS IN THE BUTTERY.

  Entering the buttery hatch, the king found the men-servants assembled at their morning meal. They were breakfasting very substantially on cold roast beef and ale. Concluding that he was the new groom, they asked him to join them, and Mr. March, the butler, who sat at the head of the table, and was treated with much respect by the others, carved him some slices of meat, and bade him fill his cup freely from the big brown jug before him.

  “You will find the ale good in this house, young man, I’ll warrant you,” observed Mr. March, whose stout person showed that he drank plenty of it himself. “We brew no small beer here. You are lucky in getting the place, let me tell you — all the more lucky that our young lady never before had a groom to attend her.”

  “That’s very true, Mr. March,” said one of the men. “Mistress Jane would never ride on a pillion with old Lutwyche. This young man may therefore consider himself highly honoured.”

  “Will Jones I believe is your name,” said the butler. “Well, then, Will, you look like an honest young man — a simple young man, I may say — but you may be a very great rogue for all that.” Here there was a general laugh, in which Charles himself joined good humouredly. “Nay, I mean no offence,” pursued Mr. March. “I repeat, you look like an honest young man, but you may be a Roundhead, and all Roundheads are rogues. Am I not right?” he cried to the others.

  General assent to the proposition.

  “You see what sort of society you are in, young man, and can draw your own conclusions,” pursued the butler. “There may be good fellowship amongst us, or there may not, according as we find you. What are your principles — Royalist or Republican?”

  “I am as staunch a Royalist as yourself, Mr. March,” rejoined Charles, sturdily.

  “Give me your hand. Now that we know your principles, we can trust you, and talk freely. This is a Royalist house. All within it are sworn to the king. Our honoured master, the colonel, fought for his majesty at Worcester, and we should have fought for him had we been there. Our young mistress rendered the king great service.”

  “Ay, that she did,” cried Charles, earnestly— “services he ought never to forget.”

  “Ay, she’s a brave young lady,” said March, “and has more spirit in her than many a man. If the king could be saved by a woman, Mistress Jane is the one to do it.”

  “What has become of the king since Worcester fight?” inquired the supposed groom.

  “Thou canst keep a secret, Will Jones? — ha!”

  “Ay, marry, can I,” was the answer.

  “But swear thou wilt not reveal what I shall disclose to thee.”

  “If an oath be necessary, I swear to keep silence.”

  “Then learn that his sacred majesty is in this house. He came here yesterday. I recognised him at once, and let him see that I did so.”

  “Did he admit his high rank?”

  “Not exactly — but he didn’t deny it. Thou thyself hast seen him and conversed with him!”

  Will Jones expressed his astonishment.

  “Yes, he went with thee to the stables this morning.”

  “Was that the king?” cried Will Jones. “I should never have thought it.”

  “Wherefore not? Undoubtedly the person in question is much handsomer than his majesty is reported, for the Roundheads always paint him in black colours — but ’tis the king I will maintain.”

  At this moment Careless entered the buttery, and looked around as if in quest of some one.

  “’Tis he!” exclaimed the butler, rising.

  All the other servants rose at the same time, but Will Jones went on quietly with his breakfast.

  “Get up,” said March, in a low tone. “I tell thee ’tis the king.”

  “I am not supposed to know him,” replied Will Jones.

  “Don’t disturb yourselves, I beg,” said Careless. “When thou hast finished breakfast, Will, I want to speak to thee.”

  “I shall have done directly,” rejoined the disguised groom, regardless of the butler’s glances.

  “Was there ever such an oaf!” cried March, in a low voice. “Has your majesty any commands that I can execute?” he added, stepping forward, and making a profound obeisance to Careless.

  “Hush!” exclaimed the other. “You will betray me.”

  “No fear of Will Jones, my liege,” rejoined March. “A dolt, but trusty. Your majesty may take him into your confidence.”

  “He knows who I am, then?” said Careless.

  “He does, my liege. I made the revelation to him under a solemn pledge of secrecy. I hope I have not done wrong.”

  “If a mistake has been made, ’tis too late now to remedy it,” said Careless.

  “No harm has been done, I can assure your majesty. I’ll answer for the young man. Will Jones!” he cried, authoritatively, “dost not perceive that thou art wanted?”

  But the obstinate groom refused to move.

  “Let him finish his breakfast, and then send him after me to the stables,” said Careless, quitting the buttery.

  “Is this thy respect for the king, sirrah?” cried March, rushing to the table, and snatching away the plate which the supposed Will Jones had just filled. “Not another mouthful shalt thou eat. After his majesty at once, and crave pardon for thy ill manners.”

  “He has interfered with my breakfast,” grumbled Will Jones.

  “Interfered with thee! Thou hast eaten too much already. Begone!”

  But the imperturbable Will Jones deliberately filled a horn cup with ale, emptied it, and then marched off, leaving the butler and the other servants perfectly astounded at his coolness.

  * * *

  CHAPTER V.

  HOW THEY SET OUT ON THE JOURNEY

  About half an hour afterwards, Charles, fully equipped for the journey, rode round from the stables to the front of the house. He was mounted on the horse about which there had been so much discussion, and had a pillion behind him, and a musket at the saddle-bow. He was accompanied by Lutwyche, who was likewise mounted on a “double horse,” intended for Mr. Petre and his wife.

  It may be incidentally remarked that this
sociable and agreeable mode of travelling was customary at the time, and continued to be common enough in certain parts of the country up to the close of the last century, and even later.

  Having arrived in the middle of the night, Charles had scarcely seen the old mansion, but while waiting with Lutwyche for the coming forth of the party, he had an opportunity of examining it, and was much struck with its aspect. Ordinarily, it must be owned the house had a somewhat gloomy look, but it was seen to peculiar advantage on that bright and cheerful September morning, and Charles thought he could have passed a few days there very pleasantly, if his enemies would have allowed him.

  He was still surveying the house, noting its picturesque outline of gables, when the front door was thrown open by March, the butler, and several persons issued forth. Foremost among them was Mr. Petre, a stout, hearty country gentleman, with nothing very remarkable about him. Mr. Petre was of a good Buckinghamshire family, and was married, as we have already intimated, to Jane Lane’s elder sister. He was closely followed by his wife, who possessed considerable personal attractions, and behind Mrs. Petre came Jane Lane and her mother. Mrs. Lane was a sister of Sir Hervey Bagot, of Blithfield, and a very fine old gentlewoman.

  The horses were now led to the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Petre having mounted, the king’s turn came. He was not very successful in his first essay, and got sharply reprimanded for his awkwardness by Mrs. Lane. Totally unacquainted with the real rank of the supposed groom, the old lady had regarded him curiously, and was quite puzzled by his appearance and manner. She felt sure he did not understand his work, and wondered that Colonel Lane should engage such a man. But when Will Jones in assisting his young mistress to mount her horse, despite all hints given him, offered her the wrong hand, the old lady could no longer contain herself, but called out:

  “Why, how now, thou clumsy fellow! Art thou such a block-head as not to know thy right hand from the left? Thou art not fit for thy place.”

  “Chide him not, dear mother,” said Jane. “He has had but little experience.”

  “So it would appear,” replied the old lady, dryly.

  “Excuse me, madam, I hope to do better in time,” said Charles, modestly. “I shall use my best endeavours to please my young mistress.”

  And as he spoke he sprang into the saddle with a grace and quickness that surprised the old lady.

  “By my troth, now that he has taken his seat on horseback, the fellow looks like a Cavalier,” remarked Mr. Petre to his wife.

  “Yes; he may not understand the duties of a groom — but he sits a horse well — that’s certain,” replied Mrs. Petre.

  At this juncture, a large party appeared at the other end of the terrace. Colonel Lane came from the stables accompanied by Lord Wilmot and Careless, and followed by Randal, the head falconer, bearing on his wrist a hawk in her hood and bewits. With Randal were two other falconers, one of whom was furnished with a hoop on which two or three hawks were perched, while the other had a hawking-pole and a couple of spaniels in leash.

  Of course, Colonel Lane and his friends were on horseback, and the whole party, viewed in connexion with the old mansion, formed a cheerful picture, which the king contemplated with undisguised pleasure.

  “Methinks Will Jones would prefer joining that hawking-party to riding on with me,” remarked Jane, in a low voice.

  Charles sighed, but made no other response.

  At this moment Colonel Lane rode up to Mr. Petre, and said:

  “Pray don’t wait for us. We shall come on slowly, for we may chance on a heron in the park, and we are certain to find plenty of partridges in the corn-fields. We shall always be in your rear as a guard, and if we don’t overtake you before, we shall find you at Packington Hall, where you will halt for a couple of hours.”

  Colonel Lane then rode up to Charles, and said, in a significant tone:

  “Should anything happen on the road, Will, turn back and thou wilt find us.”

  Charles promised obedience, and doffing his cap to Mrs. Lane, who was exchanging adieux with Mr. Petre and his wife, rode on. Colonel Lane and his party did not follow them for some minutes, and by that time those in advance had nearly reached the gates of the park.

  CHARLES AND JANE LANE SETTING OUT FROM BENTLEY HOUSE.

  On gaining the high road to Darlaston and Wednesbury, the horsemen proceeded side by side, in order that the ladies might converse together, and Jane did not seem to feel the king’s presence as a restraint, for she chatted very pleasantly with her sister. Charles, of course, took no part in the conversation, and never spoke unless addressed, but he was amused by what he heard. Mrs. Petre talked about the events at Worcester, and wished to have a particular description of the king from her sister.

  “I have already described him to you,” said Jane.

  “Yes, you told me he did not realise the notions you had formed of him; that his manner was somewhat light and reckless; and that he wanted the gravity and dignity of his father.”

  “You must have misunderstood me,” observed Jane, uneasily. “I said he had many royal and noble qualities.”

  “But you added that he rarely displayed them.”

  “If I said so, I did him an injustice. I never think of his majesty — never speak of him, save with enthusiasm.”

  “Colonel Lane is equally enthusiastic,” remarked Mr. Petre. “In his eyes the king has not a fault.”

  “He is a brave and chivalrous monarch,” cried Jane, “and deserves far greater success than he has obtained.”

  “I am sure I should know the king were I to see him,” observed Mr. Petre. “Colonel Lane has often described him to me as tall and well-made, but harsh-featured, and dark as a gipsy.”

  “Why that description would exactly apply to Will Jones,” said Mrs. Petre.

  “So it would,” remarked her husband, laughing heartily.

  Having passed through Wednesbury, they were now on the road to Birmingham, but not desiring to enter the latter town, they soon struck off into a by-road, which led them through a very beautiful country, where one large park succeeded another, and the only houses that came in sight were large and important. Most of the persons who resided in these old mansions were friends of the Lanes, but Jane and her sister called upon none of them, but pursued their journey for nearly three hours without halt of any kind.

  Hitherto they had encountered no obstacle of any kind, and Charles, though he ran the greatest risk, enjoyed the ride far more than any one else in the party. Without addressing him, Jane contrived to give him such information as she thought would be interesting, and whenever they skirted a large park, or came in sight of an ancient mansion, she mentioned the name of the owner.

  Mrs. Petre was lively and chatty, but her husband was full of secret anxiety, being apprehensive, as we have said, of an encounter with Roundhead troopers. This anxiety was entirely on his own account, for he had no suspicion of the important charge committed to him. Had he been consulted, we fear he would have shrunk from such a heavy responsibility.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VI.

  WHAT PASSED BETWEEN WILL JONES AND THE BLACKSMITH.

  They were now in the fair county of Warwick, and only a few miles from Packington Hall, the seat of Sir Clement Fisher. Crowning an eminence, said to be as high as any ground in England, this fine old mansion commanded a magnificent prospect over a most lovely country. From its elevated position, the stately pile could be descried afar, and on learning to whom it belonged, Charles regarded the house with great interest, and was well pleased by reflection that Jane might one day become its mistress. The mansion was embosomed in a grove haunted by rooks, and the park contained much noble timber.

  Suddenly Mr. Petre called out to the supposed groom:

  “Why, Will, thy horse has cast a shoe. Luckily, we are near a village, where thou wilt be sure to find a blacksmith.”

  Presently they came to a pretty little inn, very pleasantly situated on the outskirts of the village, and having a large
tree in front of it, encircled by a bench. Here the party alighted, and Mr. Petre ordered a pottle of sack, while Charles took his horse to the smithy, which was at no great distance from the inn. Bryan Compton, the smith, was a big, burly fellow, with a broad honest face begrimed by smoke. His brawny arms were bared to the shoulder, and a leather apron was tied round his waist. Pleased by his physiognomy, Charles took it into his head that the man must be a Royalist, but in this he was mistaken. The blacksmith proved to be a sturdy, outspoken Republican.

  Not happening to be busy at the time, Bryan set to work at once, and having selected an iron plate, was heating it in his forge, when Charles asked him, “What news?”

  “Nay, I ought to ask you that question,” rejoined Bryan. “We hear but little in this retired village, and I reckon it would be no news to you to learn that that harebrained Charles Stuart has been routed at Worcester. He deserved to be beaten if only for bringing the Scots to England.”

  “You are right,” said Charles, “and I think he must have found out his mistake. It seems the Scots wouldn’t stand by him.”

  “Stand by him! not they! They soon ran away from Old Noll. I hope they’re all driven out of the country.”

  “But I’ve heard say there were many English nobles and gentlemen with Charles Stuart,” remarked the king. “Have any of them been taken?”

  “Not that I know of,” replied the smith. “There’s one person I should like to capture,” he added, working away vigorously at the bellows.

  “Ah! who’s he?” inquired the supposed groom.

  “Charles Stuart himself,” rejoined the smith, placing the red-hot iron on the anvil and making the sparks fly about, as he hammered it into shape. “I wish I had the chance of taking him — ha! ha! But he’s not likely to come this way.” Then resting for a moment, he asked, “Where do you come from, friend — and where may you be going?”