The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Without an escort?” cried Colonel Oxburgh. “That must not be. Since your majesty is resolved on this rash step, my friends and myself will attend you. Do I not express your wishes, gentlemen?” he added to the others.

  “Most certainly,” replied Captain Wogan, answering for the rest. “We shall be proud to escort his majesty, if he will permit us.”

  “I accept your offer, gentlemen,” said the prince. “I did not calculate on such good company.”

  “We may be of use to your majesty on the journey,” remarked Captain Wogan.

  “I doubt it not,” said the prince. “Will you go with me?” he added to Forster.

  “I pray your majesty to excuse me,” replied the squire. “I must frankly own I would rather not be engaged in the expedition.”

  “As you please, sir,” said the prince, with affected indifference. “I can do very well without you.”

  “I see that I have not made myself understood, my liege,” said Forster. “I am ready to fight for you, and if need be, die for you, but I will not be instrumental in delivering you to your enemies.”

  “Ah! I see I have done you an injustice,” said the prince.

  The conversation then took another turn, and a good deal of curiosity was manifested both by Sir John Webb and Colonel Oxburgh as to the prince’s future plans, but his highness displayed considerable reserve on this point, and did not choose to gratify them. Indeed, he soon afterwards retired, and Lord Derwentwater went with him, leaving Charles Radclyffe to attend to the company.

  Those were hard-drinking days, and the Jacobites were as fond of good claret, as their predecessors the Cavaliers. We are afraid to say how many magnums were emptied on the occasion, but before the party broke up, which it did not do till a late hour, a general resolution was come to, that a more strenuous effort should be made on the morrow, to induce his majesty to forego his ill- advised journey to London, and instead of endangering his safety by such a senseless attempt, to set up his standard, and summon all his adherents to join him. Then he might proceed to London, as soon as he pleased.

  A loud shout, with which his majesty’s name was coupled, concluded a vehement harangue made by Colonel Oxburgh, and the party broke up.

  Some of them retired to rest, but Tom Forster and two or three others adjourned to a smaller room not far from the butler’s pantry; where a bowl of capital punch was provided for them by Newbiggin.

  CHAPTER XI

  A Mysterious Occurrence in the Chapel

  ANNA WEBB submitted unrepiningly to the penance enjoined by Father Norman. She remained in her own room, and was not distracted by a visit either from her mother, or Dorothy. Some refreshments were brought her by a female servant, but they were untouched. Several hours were thus passed in solitude and prayer, and night had come on. She wondered when the priest would come, according to his promise, to take her to the chapel.

  At length, he appeared, and desired her to follow him. Wishing to avoid the servants, who were crowded in the great hall, he led her down a back staircase to a small room on the ground floor, where he obtained a lantern. In another minute, they had crossed the court, and reached the door of the chapel.

  The little structure, it has been said, was screened by trees, and the place was so dark, it would have been difficult to find the door, save with the lantern’s aid.

  A slight shiver ran through Anna’s frame as she entered the building, but she attributed the feeling to the damp atmosphere. Meanwhile, Father Norman had lighted a couple of tapers at the altar, and their feeble glimmer enabled her to survey the place.

  Its simplicity and diminutive size pleased her, and reassured her. Knowing she would have to remain there alone till midnight, she might have felt some misgivings had the room been large and sombre. Fortunately, she was not aware that there was a vault beneath, in which rested the earl’s ancestors. Marble tablets were on the walls, but she did not read them.

  After an exhortation, to which she listened devoutly, the priest withdrew. Thus left alone, she knelt down at the altar, and was soon engrossed in prayer.

  For awhile she continued thus employed, but at length a feeling of drowsiness came over her, which she found it impossible to resist.

  How long she slept she could not tell, but when she awoke the place was buried in darkness.

  What had happened while she slumbered? And how came the tapers to be extinguished?

  Very much alarmed, she started to her feet, and somehow — though she scarcely knew how — made her way to the door.

  It was fastened. Father Norman must have locked it when he went out.

  She was thus to be kept in that dreadful place — for dreadful it now seemed to her — till his return at midnight.

  She could not guess the hour, but she might have to wait long — very long! Moments seemed ages now. Her terror was insupportable.

  Just then she heard the castle clock, and counted the strokes.

  Eleven! Another agonising hour had to be borne! — another hour! — when five minutes had been intolerable!

  Rendered desperate by terror, she went back to the altar, and kneeling down once more, prayed for deliverance.

  Becoming somewhat calmer, she felt ashamed of her weakness, and tried to persuade herself that the tapers might have gone out by accident. The notion gave her momentary courage.

  But her fears returned with greater force than before as she heard a deep sigh, seemingly proceeding from some one close beside her, and she fancied she discerned a dusky figure.

  “Who is there?” she cried. “Is it you, holy father?”

  No answer was returned, but a slight sound was heard, and the figure seemed to retreat.

  She heard and saw no more.

  Uttering a cry, she fell senseless at the foot of the altar, where she was found shortly afterwards by Father Norman and her mother.

  The former having brought the lantern with him, her situation was perceived at once, and the prompt application of a smelling-bottle by Lady Webb quickly restored her to consciousness. She was able to walk back to the mansion, but begged not to be questioned as to the cause of her fright till the morrow, when she should have quite recovered from its effects.

  CHAPTER XII

  A Letter from the Earl of Mar

  NEXT morning she related the mysterious occurrence to them both, but they treated it very lightly, though neither could understand how the tapers had been extinguished. All the rest they regarded as the effect of an over-excited imagination.

  “No one could have entered the chapel,” remarked the priest. “I locked the door, and took the key with me. However, you must dismiss all these thoughts from your mind, daughter. To-day the chapel will present a very different appearance from what it did last night.”

  “Yes — it will be the scene of your betrothal,” said Lady Webb.

  “I would rather the ceremony took place elsewhere,” said Anna.

  “It cannot be,” said Father Norman. “His lordship has arranged the matter. The prince will be present, and it would be a great disappointment to the household to be deprived of the sight.”

  “It would also be a great disappointment to Sir John and myself,” observed Lady Webb. “Besides, there are several guests in the castle who ought not to be excluded. For many reasons, therefore, there must be no change in the plan.”

  “Don’t say a word, mamma,” said Anna. “I am quite convinced. My objections were ridiculous. The morning is delightful, and a walk in the garden will set me quite right.”

  “You will find Lord Derwentwater, his majesty, and almost all the company assembled on the lawn,” said Lady Webb. “Come, I will take you thither. Perhaps, Father Norman will accompany us.”

  “With the greatest pleasure,” replied the priest.

  On Anna’s appearance, Lord Derwentwater, who was standing with the company on the terrace, came forward to meet her; and as he approached, he remarked that she looked very pale. This did not detract from her beauty, but rather gave
interest to her countenance — at least, in his eyes. He made some slight allusion to the circumstance, but she laughed it off.

  Not much passed between them, for the prince presently came up to offer her his greetings, and by this time her cheek was flushed.

  “I have news for you, fair lady,” said his highness, “and I desire to be the first to communicate it. I do not mean to rob you of your lover, so you may rest quite easy on that score. My proposed journey to London will not be undertaken. A messenger has just arrived at the castle bringing me a letter from the Earl of Mar, Secretary of State to Queen Anne. His lordship had engaged that I should see the queen, and led me to hope that great results would follow from the interview. These confident expectations are now at an end, and my project must be given up. Lord Mar writes that the queen, forgetful of her promises, refuses to receive me, and that if I should present myself at Saint James’s Palace, he will not answer for my safety. Under such circumstances, it would be madness to make the attempt. It is well that I arranged with the Earl of Mar to write to me here, as if I had not heard from him, I should have started on the journey. What might then have befallen me I know not. Perchance, imprisonment in the Tower, in the hope of compelling me to relinquish my pretentions to the crown — but that I never would have done.”

  “Your majesty need not give us that assurance,” cried Anna. “But imprisonment would have been grievous, and might have disheartened your friends.”

  “From the first I have been opposed to the scheme, as your majesty is aware,” said Lord Derwentwater; “and I cannot, therefore, affect to regret its abandonment.”

  “I do not wonder you are better pleased to remain where you are, cousin,” said the prince.

  “I shall be far better pleased if your majesty will decide upon summoning all your partisans to arms,” said the earl.

  “Nothing would rejoice me more than to see ten thousand men assembled at the castle,” said Anna with increased enthusiasm, “and eager for their king to lead them on to victory. That is how I should like to see your majesty march to London — and Lord Derwentwater with you.”

  “Ay, I will never be left behind,” cried the earl.

  Fire lighted up the prince’s eyes as they spoke, but it faded away.

  “It cannot be,” he said. “It cannot be.”

  “What cannot be, my liege?” cried Anna, regarding him fixedly. “Not the insurrection? Not the march to London?”

  “No,” he replied. “The Earl of Mar, in his letter, counsels me to make no immediate movement.”

  “For what reason?” demanded Lord Derwentwater in surprise.

  “He gives no reason,” rejoined the prince. “But Lord Mar knows the feeling of the clans, and evidently deems the present juncture unpropitious to a rising.”

  “I cannot tell what may be the state of the clans,” said Lord Derwentwater, scarcely able to repress his impatience, “but I am certain the opportunity is favourable in the North of England — as can soon be shown, if your majesty will give the signal.”

  “I will not commit myself to any decisive step now, my lord,” said the prince, who when thus urged, seemed to shrink from the enterprise. “Nor do I think it will be prudent for me to remain here long.”

  “What danger does your majesty apprehend?” cried the earl. “All are devoted to you. There are no traitors in the castle.”

  “But I have many enemies in the country, and the Earl of Mar bids me ‘beware,’” said the prince.

  “We will defend you against your enemies, my liege,” said Lord Derwentwater. “You need not fear them. Immediate preparations shall be made.”

  “No haste is needful, cousin,” said the prince. “I have a strong guard enough,” he added, glancing at Colonel Oxburgh and his friends, who were standing at a little distance. “Let the day pass tranquilly — if it will. To- morrow, we will consider what shall be done.”

  “Heaven grant your majesty may change your mind in the interim!” observed Anna.

  “If you exercise your powers of persuasion, fair lady, there is no saying what you may accomplish,” said the prince, gallantly.

  At this moment a bell was heard, and Newbiggin came forth with two other servants in livery, and respectfully announced breakfast.

  The prince offered his hand to Anna and led her to the house, and the rest of the party followed.

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Betrothal

  A PROFUSE breakfast, served in the good old style, awaited them in the dining- room. The sideboard groaned with the weight of huge cold joints, hams, tongues, and pasties; and broiled trout and salmon in abundance appeared on the table. How many good things there were besides in the shape of cutlets and omelettes, we cannot tell, but nothing seemed wanting. Chocolate was handed to the ladies, but claret suited the gentlemen best, though in some instances a flagon of strong ale was preferred.

  Breakfast over, the ladies withdrew to prepare for the ceremony appointed to take place in the chapel, while the prince again walked forth on the terrace, in company with Lord Derwentwater and Sir John Webb, and gazed with fresh delight at the prospect.

  Colonel Oxburgh and his companions, with Tom Forster, adjourned to the stables. There was a good deal of conjecture among them as to the prince’s plans, which now seemed quite undecided; but they came to the conclusion that no rising would take place. At the same time, they all rejoiced that the hazardous — and as they deemed it, useless — journey to London had been abandoned.

  “Something ought to be done,” cried Forster. “But it puzzles me to say what.”

  “Have patience,” said Colonel Oxburgh. “Depend upon it we shan’t remain long idle. His majesty will be forced to make a move of some kind.”

  Long before the hour appointed for the betrothal, the little chapel was filled. All the household craved permission to witness the ceremony, and none were refused. The guests entered at the same time, and found places where they could. But little room was left, as may be imagined, when all these persons were accommodated. In the large pew were the prince with Charles Radclyffe, Mr. Forster and his sister — the latter looking bright and blooming as usual.

  Lord Derwentwater was standing at the door of the little edifice in momentary expectation of the arrival of her to whom he was about to be affianced. She came, leaning on her father’s arm, and attended by her mother — not decked in bridal attire — not draped in a bridal veil — for such adornments would have been unsuitable to the occasion, but arrayed in a charming costume of azure satin and lace.

  After salutations had passed, Sir John Webb consigned his lovely daughter to the earl, and followed them with Lady Webb.

  An irrepressible murmur of admiration burst forth as the youthful pair moved towards the altar, where they immediately knelt down, and a group was formed behind them of which the prince was the principal figure — his highness having come with the others from the pew.

  Not till a prayer was recited could the spectators obtain a glimpse of the scene at the altar, and if this was quickly hidden from their sight they heard the vow pronounced that bound the pair together, and they likewise heard Father Norman’s benediction.

  Those near the altar saw the earl embrace his affianced bride as they rose together, and some of them remarked that she looked strangely pale. Only for a minute, for her colour quickly returned. The prince, however, noticed the circumstance, and so did Dorothy. But both attributed it to deep emotion.

  Nothing whatever marred the ceremony, the sole fault of which, in the opinion of the majority of those present, was that it was too brief.

  Several of the household grouped themselves on either side of the path leading to the gate to offer their good wishes to the newly-affianced pair as they passed by. Among these were old Nicholas Ribbleton, and an elderly dame who, like himself, had lived in the family for years.

  “Eh! she’s a bonnie lass!” cried this old woman, after scrutinising her sharply. “But I doubt if she’ll make his lordship happy. He had better ha
ve chosen Dorothy Forster.”

  “Why, what ails her?” said Ribbleton.

  “I cannot exactly tell — but there’s a look about her I don’t like.”

  “Well, it’s too late to change now, Grace,” observed Ribbleton. “The troth is plighted.”

  “Ay, that’s the worst of it,” rejoined the old woman. “But a time may come, when his lordship will wish what’s done were undone.”

  This was the only discordant note uttered, and it reached no other ear but Ribbleton’s, and him it made angry. So he walked off, and left the old prophetess of ill to herself.

  CHAPTER XIV

  The Spy

  THE rest of the day was spent in festivity and amusement.

  Lord Derwentwater and his affianced bride did not stray beyond the garden, and seemed so perfectly happy in each other’s society that no one went near them.

  The prince explored the mysterious glen, and Charles Radclyffe acted as his guide, introducing him to all the beauties of the place, and relating all the legends connected with it. A large party accompanied his highness, including Lady Webb and Dorothy Forster — the latter of whom had often seen the place before, but was quite as much enchanted with it as ever.

  The visit to this picturesque dell, which has been previously described, occupied some time, for there was a great deal to be seen. But neither the prince, nor any of those with him, were aware, that while they were tracking the course of the Devil’s Water over its rocky channel, or standing near the pool, they were watched by a person concealed amid the brushwood on its banks.

  This person was an emissary of Sir William Lorraine of Bywell Park, high sheriff of the county, and a strong supporter of the Government. That very morning, Sir William had received the astounding information that the Pretender had arrived at Dilston Castle, and that a rising in his favour was imminent among the gentlemen of the county; but as the news came from a suspicious source, the high sheriff, though alarmed, did not entirely credit it, and before taking any active measures — such as raising a posse-comitatus