Charles stopped to speak to the young lady, and noticing that she was decked in white, and wore a St. Andrew’s cross, he said, “You have not forgotten, I perceive, Miss Byrom, that this is the fête-day of our Scottish patron saint.”
“I was reminded of it by Helen Carnegie, your highness,” replied Beppy. “She came to tell me of your most fortunate escape, for which I cannot be sufficiently grateful, and offered to make me a cross.”
“No one has done me a like good turn,” laughed Charles.
“Here is a braw St. Andrew’s cross, if your royal highness will deign to wear it,” cried Helen, offering him one.
Charles smiled his thanks, and fastened the cross to his jacket.
“Are you staying with Miss Byrom, Helen?” he inquired.
“‘Deed I am, your royal highness,” she replied.
“She will have a lodging at my father’s house so long as the army remains in the town,” added Beppy.
“I am glad to hear it,” replied the prince. “I am certain she will be well cared for.”
He then bowed graciously to the young lady, and bestowing a parting smile on Helen, rode on.
But he soon came to another halt.
A little further off he discovered Constance Rawcliffe and Monica. They were attended by Father Jerome. Graciously saluting the two damsels, and bowing to the priest, he said to Miss Rawcliffe:
“You are the very person I desired to see. I have some news for you — but it is for your private ear.”
On this intimation Monica and the priest drew back.
Charles then continued in a low voice: “You will be surprised to learn that your father has just fought a duel.” Seeing her change colour, he hastened to add: “You need have no sort of uneasiness. He is unhurt. I left the ground only a short time ago, and can therefore speak positively.”
“With whom was the duel fought?” inquired Constance, unable to repress her emotion. “Not with — —”
“Not with Atherton Legh,” supplied the prince; “though the quarrel was on his account. Sir Richard’s adversary was Colonel Townley. Luckily, your father was disarmed, and so the affair was brought to an end. The duel appears to have been unavoidable, since Sir Richard refused to apologise to Captain Legh for rudeness offered him, and would not even give him satisfaction. Colonel Townley, therefore, took up the quarrel, and you know the result.”
“Is the affair ended?” she asked, eagerly.
“Not quite. A full explanation seems to me to be due from Sir Richard Rawcliffe to Captain Legh; and to insure it, I have laid my commands upon Sir Richard to meet Captain Legh in my presence after the levée, in order that he may answer certain questions which I shall then put to him. I fear this will not be agreeable to your father; but he might have avoided it. A few words would set all right, but these he refuses to utter. I had, therefore, no alternative but to compel him to speak out.”
“It is right that Captain Legh should know the truth,” remarked Constance.
“I felt sure you would think so, and I therefore enjoined Sir Richard to bring you with him; but if you see any objections, I will excuse your attendance.”
“Perhaps my presence may be necessary,” she rejoined. “I will come.”
“That is well,” said the prince. “I owe Captain Legh a large debt of gratitude, and am anxious to pay it. I shall begin by setting him right. That done, I shall use all my influence to effect a reconciliation between —— You understand my meaning, I am quite sure.”
“No more on that subject, I implore your highness,” she rejoined, blushing deeply.
“I hope I have said enough to prove how much interested I am in the young man, and how anxious I am to promote his happiness,” he said. “Why, here he is!” he exclaimed, as Atherton was seen riding towards the spot. “If I had summoned him, he could not have appeared more à propos. I hope Miss Rawcliffe will not continue to look coldly upon him.”
“I am bound to obey,” she rejoined, demurely.
“I wonder what message he brings me?” remarked the prince.
“I dare say your royal highness could give a shrewd guess,” she rejoined, with an almost imperceptible smile.
At this moment Atherton came up, and, removing his hat, delivered a letter to the prince.
“From Lord George Murray,” he said, still remaining uncovered.
“’Tis not very important,” observed Charles, opening it, and glancing at its contents. “But I am glad you have brought it, since it gives me the opportunity of placing you in attendance upon Miss Rawcliffe, who may want an escort when she quits the ground.”
“I shall be charmed with the office,” rejoined Atherton; “but I am not sure that Miss Rawcliffe will be equally well pleased.”
“Have no misgiving,” replied Charles, with a significant look, which implied that all was arranged. “I have some further orders to give you, but it will be time enough when you return to head-quarters. Meanwhile, I charge you to take especial care of these young ladies.”
With this he rode off, and almost immediately afterwards quitted the ground, accompanied by the Duke of Perth.
How much surprised Monica and Father Jerome had been by the earnest discourse that took place between the prince and Constance, we need scarcely state; but they were still more surprised when Atherton came up, and was placed in attendance upon the young lady.
It was quite clear to the lookers-on that the prince had generously taken Atherton’s cause in hand, and meant to carry it through to a successful issue. Monica, who had been much pained at the misunderstanding between the lovers, was rejoiced; but the priest felt differently.
Meantime, Atherton, by no means certain that he was welcome, endeavoured to excuse himself to Constance.
“I trust Miss Rawcliffe will not blame me for this intrusion,” he said. “She can dismiss me as soon as she thinks proper.”
“That would be impossible, since you have been left with me by the prince,” she rejoined. “But I have no desire to dismiss you. On the contrary, I am glad to have an opportunity of congratulating you on your good fortune. You have gained the prince’s favour, and are therefore on the high road to distinction.”
“If I am restored to your good opinion I shall be satisfied,” he rejoined.
“My good opinion is worth little,” she said.
“’Tis everything to me,” he cried.
She made no direct reply, but after a moment’s pause remarked:
“To-day may prove as eventful to you as yesterday. Has not the prince acquainted you with his intentions?”
“He has told me nothing. I am ordered to attend him after the levée — that is all.”
“’Tis to meet my father, who, by his highness’s command, will disclose certain matters to you. But pray ask me no more questions. I ought not to have told you so much. You will learn all in good time. And now I must relieve you from this irksome attendance.”
“You know very well it is not irksome,” he replied, with a look of reproach.
“At all events, you must have other duties to attend to. You have to prepare for the muster of your regiment. Jemmy Dawson is fully occupied, or he would be here with Monica. I really must set you at liberty.”
“Pray let me see you safely from the ground?” entreated Atherton.
“Well, I cannot object to that.”
Then turning to Monica, she said:
“Are you ready to depart?”
“Quite,” replied the other.
Atherton cleared the way, and having brought them to the long unfinished street that led from Castle Field to the centre of the town, he bowed, and rode off, fondly persuading himself he should soon meet Constance again.
CHAPTER XXII.
FATHER JEROME COUNSELS SIR RICHARD.
“You must see your father without delay, Miss Rawcliffe,” said the priest in an authoritative tone to Constance, as soon as Atherton was gone. “We are almost certain to find Sir Richard at the Bull’s Head, and if h
e should not be within, he will have left a message for you, or a letter.”
Constance quite agreed that it would be proper to call at the Bull’s Head, though she felt quite sure her father would make all needful arrangements for the meeting appointed by the prince, and they accordingly proceeded to the inn.
So crowded was the market-place with troops, that they had considerable difficulty in crossing, and when at length they reached their destination, Sir Richard was absent.
“He had gone out at a very early hour,” said Diggles, “and had not yet returned.”
“He cannot be long,” observed Father Jerome. “We must wait for him.”
“I vote that we order breakfast,” said Monica. “I am frightfully hungry.”
As Constance and the priest both sympathised with her, breakfast was ordered, and it was lucky the precaution was taken, for nearly an hour elapsed before Sir Richard made his appearance.
Long ere this, they had finished their meal, and when the baronet entered the room, were watching the troops from the windows that commanded the market-place, and listening to the shrill notes of the pipes.
Sir Richard did not seem surprised, and perhaps expected to find them there. Constance sprang forward to meet him, and bidding him good morrow, said eagerly:
“I know all about the arrangements, papa. I have seen the prince at Castle Field.”
“I am aware of it,” he said, sternly. “I have just left his royal highness.”
“Of course you will attend the meeting he has appointed?” she said, alarmed by his manner.
He made no reply, and scarcely noticing Monica, signed to the priest, who understood the gesture, and followed him into the adjoining room.
“What does this mean?” said Monica, uneasily.
“I cannot tell,” replied Constance. “But I hope papa will not disobey the prince.”
“Surely he will not,” cried the other.
“All will depend upon the counsel given him,” said Constance. “Unluckily, Father Jerome is no friend to Atherton Legh.”
“But your influence will prevail.”
“You are quite mistaken, Monica. Papa won’t listen to me. You saw how sternly he regarded me just now. He is displeased with me, as if I were to blame, because things have gone contrary to his wishes.”
“I cannot conceive why he dislikes Atherton so much,” said Monica, “but I am sure his aversion is most unreasonable.”
“I hoped it might be overcome,” sighed Constance, “but I now begin to despair. Even the prince, I fear, will not be successful.”
“Do you think Sir Richard has an ill-adviser?” remarked Monica, significantly.
“I hope not,” rejoined Constance.
Let us now see what passed between Sir Richard and the priest when they were closeted together.
For a few moments the baronet seemed indisposed to commence the conversation; but as Father Jerome remained silent, he forced himself to speak.
“I am placed in a very awkward dilemma, as you are doubtless aware,” he said, “and scarcely know how to act. Having consented to meet Atherton Legh in the prince’s presence I am unable to retreat with honour, and yet I cannot answer certain questions that will inevitably be put to me.”
“Can you not brave it out?” rejoined Father Jerome. “The prince cannot be acquainted with any secret matters connected with this young man.”
“He knows more than is desirable,” rejoined the baronet. “Some one has evidently informed him that I have acted as the young man’s guardian.”
“Mr. Marriott cannot have betrayed your confidence?” remarked Father Jerome.
“I do not think so,” rejoined the other.
“Who else can have given the information?” observed the priest. “Have you no suspicion?”
“Ha! a light flashes upon me. Should it be so! — though I would fain hope not — the meeting would be doubly dangerous — for she is to be present.”
“I can set your mind at rest. She knows nothing more than this one fact.”
“But that may lead to a discovery of all the rest,” cried Sir Richard.
“Not since you are prepared. ’Tis a pity the packet was left with her?”
“’Twas a great error, I admit. But I will not commit another imprudent act. I will not be interrogated by the prince.”
“Again I say you had better brave it out than fly — and fly you must if you neglect to obey the prince’s commands. Your disappearance will give rise to unpleasant suspicions.”
“But some excuse may be framed. You can help me. You have a ready wit.”
“Well, the invention must be plausible, or it won’t pass. Suppose you go to Rawcliffe Hall to fetch some documents, which are necessary to a full explanation of this matter. You intend to come back to-morrow — but are unavoidably detained — and do not return till the prince has left Manchester.”
“That will do admirably!” cried Sir Richard eagerly. “You have saved me. You must take my excuse to the prince. He will then believe it.”
“But to give a colour to the excuse you must really go to Rawcliffe Hall.”
“I require no urging,” rejoined Sir Richard. “I am most anxious to get away, and heartily regret that I ever joined the insurrection. I wish I could make terms with the Government.”
“Perhaps you may be able to do so — but of that hereafter,” rejoined the priest. “First effect a secure retreat. I will do all I can to cover it.”
“I will set off at once,” said Sir Richard. “But I must take leave of my daughter.”
“Better not,” said the priest. “I will bid her adieu for you.”
Sir Richard suffered himself to be persuaded, and presently left the room. Ordering his horse, on the pretext of attending the muster of the Manchester Regiment, he rode out of the town.
Not till some quarter of an hour after the baronet’s departure did Father Jerome present himself to the two damsels, who were alarmed at seeing him appear alone.
“Where is papa?” exclaimed Constance eagerly.
“He has started for Rawcliffe,” replied the priest.
“Gone! — without a word to me! Impossible!” she cried.
“’Tis nevertheless true,” replied Father Jerome, gravely. “He wished to avoid any discussion. He has gone to fetch certain documents, without which he declines to appear before the prince.”
“His highness will regard it as an act of disobedience, and will be justly offended,” cried Constance.
“I do not think so, when I have explained matters to him,” rejoined the priest.
“I am not to be duped,” said Constance, bitterly. “Atherton will learn nothing more.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PRINCE ATTENDS SERVICE AT THE COLLEGIATE CHURCH.
This being the festival of St. Andrew, as already intimated, the Scottish nobles and chiefs desired that a special morning service should be performed for them at the collegiate church, and arrangements were accordingly made for compliance with their request.
Prayers were to be read by the Rev. William Shrigley, one of the chaplains, and an avowed Nonjuror, and the sermon was to be preached by the Rev. Mr. Coppock, chaplain to the Manchester Regiment, who was chosen for the occasion by the prince.
A certain number of men from each regiment being permitted to attend the service, the whole of the nave, except the mid aisle, which was reserved for the officers, was entirely filled by Highland soldiers, and as the men were in their full accoutrements, and armed with targets, claymores, and firelocks, the effect was exceedingly striking.
Yet more imposing was the scene when the long central aisle was crowded with officers — when the side aisles were thronged with the townspeople, and the transepts were full of ladies. Those present on that memorable occasion, and whose gaze ranged over the picturesque crowd of armed mountaineers, could not fail to be struck by the tall, graceful pillars on either side the nave, with their beautiful pointed arches, above which rose the clerestory
windows — with the exquisitely moulded roof enriched with sculptures and other appropriate ornaments — with the chantries — and with the splendidly carved screen separating the choir from the nave.
The choir itself, with its fine panelled roof and its thirty elaborately carved stalls — fifteen on each side — was reserved for the prince, and the nobles and chiefs with him.
These stalls, with their florid tabernacle work, gloriously carved canopies, and pendent pinnacles of extraordinary richness and beauty, were admirably adapted to the occasion. In front of the sedilia were book-desks, encircled with armorial bearings, cognisances, and monograms.
Around the chancel were several exquisite chantries, most of them possessing screens of rare workmanship; and in these chapels many important personages connected with the town, or belonging to the Jacobite party, were now assembled.
In the Lady chapel were some of the fellows of the church, who did not care to make themselves too conspicuous.
In the Jesus chantry were Dr. Byrom and his family, with Mr. Walley and Mr. Fowden; and in St. John’s chapel were Dr. Deacon, Mr. Cattell, Mr. Clayton, and several others.
But not merely was the interior of the sacred fabric thronged, hundreds of persons who had failed to obtain admittance were collected outside.
Precisely at eleven o’clock, Prince Charles Edward, mounted on a richly caparisoned charger, preceded by a guard of honour, and attended by all the nobles and chieftains belonging to his army, rode up to the gates of the churchyard, where he alighted. A lane was formed for him by the spectators, through which he passed, and on entering the church by the south porch, he was ceremoniously conducted to the choir, where he took his seat in the warden’s stall.
Next to him sat the Duke of Perth, and on the same side were ranged the Duke of Athole, Lord George Murray, Lord Kilmarnock, Lord Elcho, Lord Ogilvy, Lord Balmerino, and the Marquis d’Eguilles. In the opposite stalls were Lord Pitsligo, Lord Nairne, Lord Strathallan, General Gordon of Glenbucket, Colonel Ker, Secretary Murray, and Sir Thomas Sheridan.
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