Seeing she was sinking, Standish flew to open the door, and in another moment the countess and her daughters were kneeling by the bedside.
She beheld them not, for her eyes were closed, but she heard them, and breathed their names.
They were followed by Archdeacon Rutter, who likewise knelt down with Standish, and recited the prayer for the dying. But ere it was ended her spirit had passed away.
CHAPTER XXVII
How the Soldiers of the Garrison looked their last on their Favourite
No event had occurred during the siege that caused such a painful sensation as the death of Gertrude Rosworm.
Next to the countess herself, no one was more universally beloved than Gertrude. Her beauty, her courage, her devotion made her the pride of the garrison. All the officers were secretly in love with her, though she favoured none of them. The men adored her, and whenever she appeared among them, they testified their delight. To catch sight of her figure on the parade, on the Eagle Tower, or in the chapel, was always a gratification to them. To be thus deprived of their favourite by the hand of an assassin was a blow that all felt severely; but if anything could mitigate their regret, it was that she had saved the countess.
However, on that melancholy day, the garrison presented a very different aspect from what it usually wore. Sorrow was depicted on every manly countenance. The young ladies Stanley were overwhelmed with grief, and Lady Derby suffered deeply.
In compliance with the earnest wishes of the soldiers expressed through their officers, they were allowed to behold their favourite once more.
Placed on a bier, in the attire worn when she met her fate, the body of the unfortunate damsel was conveyed to the chapel. It was partly covered by a black velvet mantle which served as a pall, but the face and upper part of the person could be seen.
As yet the features had lost none of their beauty — nay, perhaps they looked more beautiful than in life — at least, the beholders thought so, and the striking spectacle was never effaced from their remembrance.
Some of the officers were stationed at the door of the chapel, and others inside, while Archdeacon Rutter and Docter Brideoake were likewise present.
The musketeers came in singly, but lingered not. After gazing for an instant at the lovely and now placid features of the dead, each passed on.
It was touching to see how deeply these stout-hearted men were moved. For the time they repressed their grief, but gave vent to it when they left the chapel.
All the garrison, at intervals when the men could quit their posts, came to look their last on their favourite.
The body remained there till evening, when it was taken back to the house, and placed in a coffin that had been prepared for it.
At midnight it was brought back again to the chapel, where the funeral rites were performed by Archdeacon Rutter in the presence of the countess and her daughters, the officers, and a great part of the household, both male and female. Many tears were shed on this sad occasion.
The body was then deposited in a vault beneath the chapel.
CHAPTER XXVIII
How a Letter was brought to the Countess from her Husband
IT was quite a relief to the men, after this depressing event, to be actively engaged against the enemy.
Colonel Holland had arrived with his reinforcements from Manchester, and the ranks of those who had been killed, or had disbanded themselves, were filled up. Batteries and fortifications were once more occupied, and mounted with cannon, and presented a very formidable appearance.
Everything showed that the Leaguer was greatly strengthened, and would be maintained till the besieged were completely worn out, either by starvation, want of water, or want of ammunition.
The countess had been told that her husband had quitted the Isle of Man, but she had not heard direct from him, for of late no messenger had been able to enter the castle.
But a few days after the arrival of Colonel Holland, when the Leaguer, as we said, had become greatly strengthened, a man named Linacre contrived to elude the vigilance of the sentinels, and was admitted at the postern-gate.
He brought a letter for the countess rolled in lead, which he declared was from the earl, her husband, and so it proved.
The letter informed her that he had arrived safely at Chester. The garrison there was commanded by Lord Molineux, Sir Thomas Tyldesley, Richard Grosvenor, and other Cavaliers, but they were unable to come to her assistance. His lordship, however, had hopes of aid from Prince Rupert, who had succeeded in raising the siege of Newark, and was about to march to York with ten thousand men.
“I have conjured the prince,” he said, “to march through Lancashire and lend you succour, and I trust he will comply with my request. Were his highness so disposed, he could raise the siege of Lathom House in two days, and inflict such a blow on the enemy, as must needs bring to us all the well-affected in the county. I have not yet seen the prince, for I have much to do here, and am striving to get together two or three hundred men. I want money, and though I like it not, your jewels must be sold. ’Tis a most critical juncture, and if I fail now, all may be lost.”
“My lord shall have my jewels,” said the countess, as she read this portion of the letter. “But how convey them to him? I must send Standish. He is the only person, who can be relied upon in such an emergency.”
She then gave some orders to an attendant, and proceeded to her cabinet, where Standish, who had been summoned by the servant, joined her. He saw she had something of importance to communicate to him.
“You are aware that I have just received a letter from my lord,” she began. “He is at Chester with the garrison. He wants money, but as all his property has been sequestered, he can obtain none. I would fain send him my jewels, which are worth five thousand pounds. Will you convey them to him?”
“I will, madam,” he replied. “The task is difficult and dangerous, but I doubt not I can accomplish it.”
“You must take half a dozen men with you.”
“Not so, madam,” he replied. “That would be to invite attack, and then I might be robbed of the treasure. Alone, or with a single attendant, I shall run comparatively little risk.”
“You are right,” said the countess, approvingly. “Linacre, the man who brought this letter from my lord, may be useful to you. He must have passed through the trenches.”
“I had already thought of him,” rejoined Standish. “Yes, he will be very useful. I have conversed with him, and like his manner. He looks like an honest fellow. I will promise him a good reward, if he conducts me safely through the enemy. I doubt not that will tempt him. If it suits your ladyship, I will start on the expedition to-night.”
“You are ever prompt,” said the countess. “The jewels shall be ready for you. Stay!” she cried, glancing again at the letter. “There is more here that I have not read. My lord, I find, bids me send you with the jewels. So far well. But he likewise wishes you to halt at Knowsley till you hear from him. Perchance, he may meet you there.”
“His orders shall be obeyed,” replied Standish. “It will be particularly agreeable to me to make halt at Knowsley, as I shall have a chance of seeing Don Fortunio and his daughter.”
“I hope you may meet them, and I beg you will remember me most heartily to them,” said the countess.
Standish then withdrew to prepare for the expedition, and confer with his proposed attendant, Tom Linacre.
Linacre undertook to get him safely across the trenches, and past the fortifications, after which Standish felt certain he could make his way through the camp.
Satisfied with the arrangement, he returned to the countess, who gave him three cases, containing the jewels.
“These shall be securely placed beneath my cuirass, madam,” he said, “and shall never be taken from me while I live.”
CHAPTER XXIX
How Standish encountered Rosworm
SOME quarter of an hour before the bell tolled midnight, the sentinels of the besiegers sta
tioned on the fortifications near the postern-tower were alarmed by seeing a long line of lights suddenly appear before them, and at once fired in the direction, not suspecting that the lights they beheld were a device contrived by Captain Chisenhale to distract their attention from Standish’s departure.
Roused by the shots, their comrades apprehending an attack, quickly joined them, and likewise fired, and some time elapsed before they discovered that a cord hung with lighted matches, and tied to the stump of a tree, had deluded them.
Meanwhile, Standish and his attendant, both well-mounted and well-armed, sallied forth from the great gate, and managed to get across the trench at a point that Linacre had noted, without causing alarm till they were both safe on the other side. Some muskets were then fired at them, but they were soon out of reach, and galloping towards the camp.
It was now so dark that scarcely any object could be discerned, but Standish fancied he could distinguish a horseman approaching them. Whether he was alone, or followed by a small troop, could not be made out, but Standish went boldly on.
“Who goes there?” demanded the horseman.
“A friend,” replied Standish, slackening his pace, for he now felt certain the person was alone, and had made up his mind to shoot him if he offered any hindrance.
“I heard firing at the trenches, and was going thither,” said the new-comer. “But I have changed my mind, and will return with you to the camp.”
Standish made no reply to the proposition, but drew a pistol from the holster, resolved to disembarrass himself of his enforced companion.
The horseman perceived the action, but without betraying the slightest fear, said:
“You call yourself a friend, but you are about to treat me as an enemy. I am not the enemy of Captain Standish. My eyes are sharper than yours. I knew you at once.”
“Your voice is familiar to me,” replied the young man. “Can it be Colonel Rosworm?”
“It is that most unhappy man,” said the other, in a mournful tone. “In losing my daughter I have lost all that was dear to me on earth. Many hours have not flown since I heard of her death, and I came here at once.”
“With what intent?” demanded Standish, struck by his manner.
“To die!” replied the other. “Since I have lost her, I have no desire to live. I shall find the death I seek from the cannon of Lathom House.”
“This is the madness of grief,” said Standish. “Do not throw your life away. I have something for you, that may yield you comfort, and deter you from your fatal purpose. Almost with her dying breath, she prayed me give you this string of beads. Little did I deem that I should so soon be able to fulfil her wishes.”
And as he spoke, he took the necklace from the small leather bag attached to his girdle, and gave it Rosworm, who pressed it to his lips.
“I know it well,” he cried. “I gave it her when a child. Truly, this will be a great comfort to me.”
Then overcoming his emotion by a powerful effort, he added:
“Tell me where she lies!”
“In a vault beneath the little chapel of the mansion,” replied Standish. “All the garrison mourned for her. The countess, no doubt, will deliver up the body to you, should you desire it.”
“No, I will not disturb her,” said Rosworm. “But we must separate. We are near the camp.”
“Farewell, then!” cried Standish, preparing to dash forward.
“Stay!” cried Rosworm. “You will run great risk of capture. I can help you to pass through the camp,”
Quickening their pace, they were presently challenged by the sentinels, to whom Rosworm called out, upon which they were allowed to pass.
The camp seemed buried in slumber, and was very negligently watched, probably because so many men had been sent to the trenches.
No sentinels were near any of the tents, nor did the party encounter a single patrol.
Rosworm did not quit his friend till he had brought him to the wood that skirted the back of the camp. He then bade him farewell.
“I shall not tarry here,” he said, “since you have induced me to change my design. I have no sympathy with Rigby, and I hope the Earl of Derby may come speedily and raise the siege of his castle.”
He then rode back, while Standish plunged into the wood followed by Linacre.
CHAPTER XXX
How Standish found Engracia at Knowsley
PERFECTLY well acquainted with the country, Standish had no difficulty in making his way through the wood, nor in traversing the broad moors and avoiding the dangerous morasses that lay between him and his destination. Nor did he meet with any foraging party of the enemy.
It gladdened him, however, to quit this wild and uncultivated district, and enter Knowsley Park, which though sequestered by the Parliament had not been disturbed.
Not knowing whether the house was occupied by the enemy, though he believed they had altogether abandoned it, he proceeded to the stables, and succeeded in rousing a groom, who took charge of the horses, and relieved him of his anxiety as to the Roundheads by telling him they had all gone to the camp at Lathom.
After a time, he obtained admittance to the mansion, and was conducted by a serving-man to a chamber, where he found a large and comfortable bed. Before lying down to slumber, he placed the jewel cases under the pillow.
Captain Standish had been so long accustomed to the garrison reveillé, that not hearing the early beat of the drum, he slept on to a much later hour than usual, and was at last awakened by the entrance of old Randal Fermor, the steward, who had been informed of his arrival by the groom, and came to see what he could do for him.
“Little did I expect to see you here, sir,” said Randal. “I thought you would never have quitted Lathom.”
“Nor should I unless I had a mission to perform for the countess,” replied Standish. “But tell me! Are Don Fortunio and his daughter still here? We have heard nothing of them of late, and the countess has been very anxious for their safety.”
“Yes, they are here,” replied Randal, “and as comfortable as circumstances will permit. Having a warrant from Sir Thomas Fairfax, authorising him to occupy certain apartments in the mansion, Don Fortunio has never been disturbed. For the last month we have not been troubled by the enemy, and the troop of horse that was quartered here has been removed to the Leaguer. Ah! sir, do you think our brave lady will be able to hold out? I am told Colonel Holland has brought large reinforcements from Manchester.”
“That is true,” replied Standish. “But I hope and believe the Earl of Derby himself will come to her aid, and raise the siege.”
“Heaven grant he may!” exclaimed Randal. “Were he to show himself, I am sure hundreds would flock to his standard.”
“Have you heard from his lordship, Randal?” demanded Standish.
“A week ago there came a messenger from Chester, who told me that his lordship had returned, and wished to ascertain whether Knowsley was still occupied by the enemy. I told him as I have just told you, that they have completely evacuated it, and that his lordship could come hither, if he pleased, with safety.”
“Then you may expect him, Randal, but of course he will come secretly.”
“When I heard of your arrival, I thought at first ’twas he,” said the old steward. “But I will now leave you — unless you require my assistance. Breakfast shall be prepared for you in the great hall.”
He then left the chamber, and Standish arose. Before accoutring himself, he ascertained that the jewel cases were safe. Linacre made his appearance in time to buckle on his corslet.
“I know not how long I shall remain here,” said Standish. “But hold yourself in readiness for instant departure.”
Linacre promised obedience.
The apartment Standish had occupied was situated in the great gallery, which now seemed completely deserted, though it had not been robbed of the noble family portraits that adorned it.
As he marched along he perceived Maria in the distance. She instantl
y recognised him, and uttering a cry of delight, flew towards him, and kissed his hand.
“Oh! how delighted the señorita will be to learn you are come at last!” she exclaimed. “She has been quite in despair, but will now revive. She has never ceased to regret that she left Lathom House.”
All this was spoken in Spanish, but her hearer quite understood it, and made the best reply he could.
“Tell her I am most anxious to see her,” he said. “I only arrived here last night, and may not remain long. I am now going down to breakfast in the banqueting-hall. Perhaps she will join me there”
“I am sure she will,” cried Maria. “She has not yet left her room. But she will come to you as soon as she can. Oh! how she will thank me for my good news!”
And she hurried off to convey it, while Standish descended the magnificent staircase, and proceeded to the banqueting-hall.
One or two persons were to be seen in this vast apartment, which used formerly to be thronged with serving-men and guests. These were Randal Fermor and another servant who were spreading a cloth at the upper end of the long oak table.
“It has occurred to me that your honour may like to breakfast with your friends,” said Randal. “Shall I arrange it so?”
“By all means,” replied Standish.
So great was his impatience to behold Engracia that he thought it an age before she appeared with Maria, though in reality not many minutes had flown.
It was a rapturous meeting, for the frank-hearted Spanish damsel did not attempt to conceal her delight, and her lover could not repress his ardour. As he held her hand, and gazed into her splendid black eyes, he thought her looking more beautiful than ever, and told her so with a warmth that left no doubt of his sincerity.
Their first transports over, they proceeded to the further end of the hall, where their discourse would be unheard, for he had much to say to her.
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