The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  From the stall occupied by the prince, which was the first on the right of the choir, and commanded the whole interior of the edifice, the coup-d’œil of the nave, with its compact mass of Highlanders, was splendid, and as Charles gazed at it, he was filled with stirring thoughts, that were softened down, however, by the solemn sounds of the organ pealing along the roof.

  Of course the Protestant form of worship was adopted; but strict Romanist as he was, Charles allowed no symptom of disapproval to escape him, but listened devoutly to Mr. Shrigley, who performed the service admirably, being excited by the presence of the prince.

  The reverend gentleman prayed for the king, but without naming the sovereign. All his hearers, however, knew that James the Third was meant.

  Mr. Coppock was not so guarded. He prayed for James the Third, for Charles Prince of Wales, Regent of England, and for the Duke of York.

  Taking for his text the words “Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s,” he preached a most fiery sermon, in which he announced the speedy restoration of the Stuart dynasty, and the downfall of the House of Hanover.

  Whatever might have been thought of this treasonable discourse by a certain portion of the congregation, no voice was raised against it. That it pleased the prince and his attendants was sufficient for the ambitious young divine.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  THE PRINCE INSPECTS THE MANCHESTER REGIMENT.

  On coming forth from the church, Charles and his attendants found the newly-formed Manchester Regiment drawn up in the churchyard.

  The corps numbered about three hundred men; most of them being fine stalwart young fellows, averaging six feet in height. Till that morning none of them had donned their uniforms, or even shouldered a musket, but by the exertions of Colonel Townley, the Chevalier de Johnstone, and Sergeant Dickson, they had been got into something like order, and now presented a very creditable appearance.

  The officers looked exceedingly well in their handsome uniforms — red faced with blue. On this occasion each wore a plaid waistcoat with laced loops, a plaid sash lined with white silk, and had a white cockade in his hat. In addition to the broadsword by his side, each officer had a brace of pistols attached to his girdle.

  Though all, from the colonel downwards, were fine, handsome men, unquestionably the handsomest young man in the corps was Captain Legh.

  The flag of the regiment was borne by Ensign Syddall. On one side was the motto — Liberty and Property; on the other Church and Country.

  The standard-bearer looked proud of his office. Nothing now of the barber about Ensign Syddall. So changed was his aspect, so upright his thin figure, that he could scarcely be recognised. To look at him, no one would believe that he could ever smile. He seemed to have grown two or three inches taller. His deportment might be somewhat too stiff, but he had a true military air; and his acquaintances, of whom there were many in the crowd, regarded him with wonder and admiration.

  The ensign, however, took no notice of any familiar observations addressed to him, having become suddenly haughty and distant.

  With the regiment were four field-pieces.

  Their chargers having been brought round, Charles and his suite rode slowly past the front of the line — the prince halting occasionally to make a commendatory remark to the men, who responded to these gratifying observations by enthusiastic shouts.

  “I am glad the flag of the regiment has been entrusted to you, Syddall,” said Charles to the new ensign. “No one, I am sure, could take better care of it.”

  “I will defend it with my life,” replied Syddall, earnestly.

  This hasty inspection finished, Charles quitted the churchyard with his suite, and rode back to his head-quarters.

  The Manchester Regiment soon followed. Elated by the commendations of the prince, which they flattered themselves were merited, the men marched through the market-place, and past the Exchange to St. Ann’s square, in tolerably good order, and in high good humour, which was not diminished by the cheers of the spectators. Colonel Townley then gave them some necessary orders, after which they dispersed, and repaired to their various quarters.

  CHAPTER XXV.

  AN UNSATISFACTORY EXPLANATION.

  Having partaken of a slight repast, the prince again mounted his charger and rode out of the town in a different direction from any he had previously taken, being desirous to see the country.

  He was only attended by Colonel Ker and the Chevalier de Johnstone, having dismissed his guard of honour.

  At that time the environs of Manchester were exceedingly pretty, and the prospects spread out before him had a wild character of which little can now be discerned. Smedley Hall formed the limit of his ride, and having gazed at this picturesque old structure, which was situated in a valley, with a clear stream flowing past it, and a range of bleak-looking hills in the distance, he turned off on the left, and made his way through a heathy and uncultivated district to Kersal Moor.

  From these uplands he obtained a charming view of the valley of the Irwell, bounded by the collegiate church, and the old buildings around it, and after contemplating the prospect for a short time, he descended from the heights and returned to the town.

  Not being expected at the time, he passed very quietly through the streets, and reached his head-quarters without hindrance, having greatly enjoyed his ride.

  Immediately after his return a levée was held, which being more numerously attended than that on the preceding day, occupied nearly two hours.

  After this he had a conference with the magistrates in the audience chamber, and he then repaired to his private cabinet, where he expected to find Sir Richard Rawcliffe and the others, whose attendance he had commanded.

  Constance was there and Atherton, but in place of the baronet appeared Father Jerome. Repressing his displeasure, Charles graciously saluted the party, and then addressing Constance said:

  “Why is not Sir Richard here, Miss Rawcliffe?”

  “Father Jerome will explain the cause of his absence,” she replied. “I had no conversation with him before his departure.”

  “Then he is gone!” cried Charles, frowning. “I trust your explanation of his strange conduct may prove satisfactory,” he added to the priest.

  “The step I own appears strange,” replied Father Jerome, in a deprecatory tone; “but I trust it may be excused. Sir Richard has gone to Rawcliffe Hall to procure certain documents which he desires to lay before your royal highness.”

  “But why did he not ask my permission before setting out?” observed Charles, sternly.

  “Unquestionably, that would have been the proper course,” rejoined the priest. “But I presume he hoped to be back in time.”

  “He could not have thought so,” cried Charles, sharply. “The distance is too great. He shrinks from the interrogations which he knows would be addressed to him. But I will not be trifled with. I will learn the truth. If he does not come I will send a guard for him. I will not detain you longer now, Miss Rawcliffe,” he added to Constance. “Possibly, I may require your attendance again, and yours, also, father.”

  On this intimation Constance made a profound obeisance, and retired with the priest.

  As soon as they were gone, the prince’s countenance assumed a very singular expression, and he said to Atherton, “What think you of all this?”

  “My opinion is that Sir Richard Rawcliffe does not mean to return, and has sent Father Jerome to make these excuses for him,” replied Atherton.

  “I have come to the same conclusion,” replied Charles. “He has set my authority at defiance, but he shall find that I can reach him. You must set out at once for Rawcliffe Hall, and bring him hither.”

  “I am ready to obey your highness’s orders,” replied Atherton. “I have never seen Sir Richard’s residence; but I know it is situated near Warrington, about eighteen miles from Manchester. I can get there in a couple of hours — perhaps in less.”

  “Provided you bring back the unruly baronet be
fore night I shall be satisfied,” said Charles.

  He then sat down at the table, on which writing materials were placed, wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper, and, after attaching the sign manual to the order, gave it to Atherton.

  “Sir Richard will not dare to resist that mandate,” he said. “I do not think a guard will be necessary. But you shall take Sergeant Dickson with you. You will find him with the Chevalier de Johnstone at Lord George Murray’s quarters. Show this order to Colonel Johnstone, and he will provide you with a good horse, and give all necessary directions to the sergeant. He will also explain the cause of your absence to Colonel Townley. Understand that you are to bring back Sir Richard with you at all hazards.”

  “I will not fail,” replied Atherton.

  Bowing deeply, he then quitted the prince’s presence, and proceeded at once to Lord George Murray’s quarters in Deansgate, where he found the Chevalier de Johnstone and Sergeant Dickson.

  The Chevalier de Johnstone understood the matter at once, and immediately ordered the sergeant to provide two strong horses for Captain Legh and himself, bidding him go well armed.

  Although the sergeant was told by his colonel to lose no time, he easily prevailed upon Atherton to let him bid adieu to Helen, who, as the reader is aware, had found a lodging with Beppy Byrom.

  Very little delay, however, occurred, for as the sergeant rode up to the doctor’s dwelling, Helen, who seemed to be on the watch, rushed out to greet him, and learnt his errand, receiving a kiss at the same time.

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  THE RIDE TO RAWCLIFFE HALL.

  Crossing the bridge, and passing through Salford, Atherton and his attendant proceeded at a rapid pace towards the pretty little village of Pendleton. Skirting the wide green, in the midst of which stood the renowned May-pole, they hastened on through a pleasant country to Eccles — proceeding thence, without drawing bridle, to Barton-on-Irwell.

  The road they were now pursuing formed a sort of causeway, bounded on the left by the deeply-flowing river, and on the right by the dark and dreary waste which could be seen stretching out for miles, almost as far as the town towards which they were speeding. This dangerous morass was then wholly impassable, except by those familiar with it; and, as Atherton’s eye wandered over its treacherous surface, he pointed out to his attendant a distant spot on the extreme verge of the marsh, observing, with a singular smile:

  “Yonder is Warrington.”

  “Indeed!” exclaimed Dickson. “Then we might shorten our distance materially by crossing the morass.”

  “No doubt, if we could cross it,” rejoined Atherton. “But we should be swallowed up, horse and man, before we had proceeded far. Many an incautious traveller has met his death in Chat Moss.”

  “It looks an unchancy place, I must say,” observed the sergeant, shuddering, as he gazed at it.

  Beyond Boysnape the causeway narrowed, bringing them in dangerous proximity both with the river and the morass; but they rode on past Irlam, until they reached the point of junction between the Irwell and the Mersey — the last-named river dividing Cheshire from Lancashire. They had now ridden full ten miles; but, as their steeds showed no signs of fatigue, they went without slackening their pace to Glazebrook and Rixton. Chat Moss had been left behind, and for the last two miles they had been passing through a well-wooded district, and had now reached another dangerous morass, called Risley Moss, which compelled them to keep close to the Mersey. Little, however, could be seen of the river, its banks being thickly fringed with willows and other trees. Passing Martinscroft and Woolston, they held on till they came within half-a-mile of Warrington, even then a considerable town. Though the bridge at Warrington had been destroyed, a ford was pointed out to them, and they were soon on the other side of the Mersey, and in Cheshire.

  From inquiries which they now made at a small roadside inn, where they halted for a few minutes to refresh themselves and their horses, they ascertained they were within a mile of Rawcliffe Park, and after a short colloquy with the host, who was very curious to learn what was doing at Manchester, and who told them he had seen Sir Richard Rawcliffe ride past some three or four hours ago, they resumed their journey, and soon arrived at the gates of the park.

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  RAWCLIFFE HALL.

  The domain was extensive, but had a neglected appearance, and did not possess any old timber, all the well-grown trees having been cut down in the time of the former proprietor, Sir Oswald Rawcliffe. Neither was the park picturesque, being flat, and in some places marshy. On one side it was bounded by the Mersey, and its melancholy look impressed Atherton as he gazed around.

  Still he felt a singular interest in the place for which he could not account, unless it were that Constance was connected with it.

  At length, they came in sight of the old mansion, near which grew some of the finest trees they had yet seen. The house had a gloomy look that harmonised with the melancholy appearance of the park.

  Atherton had never beheld the place before, yet he seemed somehow familiar with it. The wide moat by which it was surrounded, the drawbridge, the gate-tower, the numerous gables, the bay-windows, all seemed like an imperfectly recollected picture.

  So struck was he with the notion that he drew in the rein for a few minutes, and gazed steadfastly at the antique mansion, endeavouring to recall the circumstances under which he could have beheld it, but it vanished like a dream.

  Before riding up to the house, he held a brief consultation with the sergeant, as to how it would be best to proceed.

  Hitherto they had seen no one in the park, which, as already stated, had a thoroughly neglected air; nor, as far as they could judge, had their approach been remarked by any of the inmates of the house.

  Gloom seemed to brood over the place. So silent was it that it might have been uninhabited.

  “If I had not been assured that Sir Richard is at home, I should not have thought so,” remarked Atherton. “The house has not a very cheerful or hospitable air.”

  “Luckily, the drawbridge is down, or we might have been kept on the wrong side of the moat,” remarked the sergeant. “My advice is that we enter the fort before we are discovered, or we may never get in at all.”

  Acting upon the counsel, Atherton put spurs to his horse and rode up to the house, which did not look a whit more cheerful as he approached it, and without halting to ring the bell, dashed across the drawbridge, passed through the open gateway and entered the court-yard, which to the young man’s great surprise did not look so neglected as the exterior of the mansion had led him to anticipate.

  The noise they made on entering the court-yard seemed to have roused the inmates from the sleep into which they had apparently been plunged. An old butler, followed by a couple of footmen, came out of the house, and with evident alarm depicted in his countenance, requested to know their business.

  “Our business is with Sir Richard Rawcliffe,” replied Atherton. “We must see him immediately.”

  “I do not think Sir Richard will see you, gentlemen,” replied the butler. “He is much fatigued. I will deliver any message to him with which you may charge me.”

  “We must see him,” cried the sergeant, authoritatively. “We come from the prince.”

  The butler no longer hesitated, but assuming a deferential air, said he would at once conduct the gentlemen to his master.

  As they had already dismounted, he bade one of the servants take their horses to the stable, and ushered the unwelcome visitors into a large entrance-hall, in which a wood fire was burning.

  Remarking that the butler stared at him very hard, Atherton said:

  “You look at me as if you had seen me before. Is it so? I have no recollection of you.”

  “I don’t think I have seen you before, sir,” replied the man, gravely. “But I have seen some one very like you.” Whom shall I announce to Sir Richard?”

  “I am Captain Legh,” said Atherton. “But there is no necessity to announce me. Conduct me t
o your master at once.”

  The butler, though evidently uneasy, did not venture to disobey, but led him to a room that opened out of the hall. The sergeant followed close behind Atherton.

  They had been ushered into the library. Sir Richard was writing at a table, but raising his eyes on their entrance, he started up, and exclaimed in an angry voice:

  “Why have you brought these persons here, Markland. I told you I would not be disturbed.”

  “Your servant is not to blame, Sir Richard,” interposed Atherton. “I insisted upon seeing you. I am sent to bring you to the prince.”

  “It is my intention to return to Manchester to-night,” replied the baronet, haughtily. “But I have some affairs to arrange.”

  “I shall be sorry to inconvenience you, Sir Richard,” observed Atherton. “But my orders are precise. You must present yourself at the prince’s head-quarters before midnight.”

  “I engage to do so,” replied the baronet.

  “But you must be content to accompany me, Sir Richard. Such are my orders from his royal highness.”

  “And mine,” added Sergeant Dickson.

  Controlling his anger by a powerful effort, Sir Richard said with forced calmness:

  “Since such are the prince’s orders I shall not dispute them. I will return with you to Manchester. We will set out in two hours’ time. In the interim I shall be able to arrange some papers which I came for, and which I desire to take with me. By that time you will have rested, and your horses will be ready for the journey.”

  Then turning to Markland, he added:

  “Conduct Captain Legh and Sergeant Dickson to the dining-room, and set some refreshment before them without delay.”

  “Take me to the servants’ hall, Mr. Markland,” said Dickson. “I cannot sit down with my officer.”

  Just as Atherton was about to leave the room, Sir Richard stepped up to him and said in a low tone: