A Reputed Changeling

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER XXIII: FRENCH LEAVE

  "When ye gang awa, Jamie, Far across the sea, laddie,When ye gang to Germanie What will ye send to me, laddie?"

  Huntingtower.

  Fides was the posy on the ring. That was all Anne could discover,and indeed only this much with the morning light of the July sunthat penetrated the remotest corners. For the cabin was dark andstifling, and there was no leaving it, for both Miss Darpent and herattendant were so ill as to engross her entirely.

  She could hardly leave them when there was a summons to a meal inthe captain's cabin, and there she found herself the only passengerable to appear, and the rest of the company, though intendingcivility, were so rough that she was glad to retreat again, andwretched as the cabin was, she thought it preferable to the deck.

  Mr. Fellowes, she heard, was specially prostrated, and jokes werepassing round that it was the less harm, since it might be the worsefor him if the crew found out that there was a parson on board.

  Thus Anne had to forego the first sight of her native land, and onlyby the shouts above and the decreased motion of the vessel knew whenshe was within lee of the Isle of Wight, and on entering the Solentcould encourage her companions that their miseries were nearly over,and help them to arrange themselves for going upon deck.

  When at length they emerged, as the ship lay-to in sight of the redroofs and white steeples of Southampton, and of the green mazes ofthe New Forest, Mr. Fellowes was found looking everywhere for thepupil whom he had been too miserable to miss during the voyage.Neither Charles Archfield nor his servant was visible, but Mr.Fellowes's own man coming forward, delivered to the bewildered tutora packet which he said that his comrade had put in his charge forthe purpose. In the boat, on the way to land, Mr. Fellowes read tohimself the letter, which of course filled him with extremedistress. It contained much of what Charles had already explainedto Anne of his conviction that in the present state of affairs itwas better for so young a man as himself, without sufficientoccupation at home, to seek honourable service abroad, and that hethought it would spare much pain and perplexity to depart withoutrevisiting home. He added full and well-expressed thanks for allthat Mr. Fellowes had done for him, and for kindness for which hehoped to be the better all his life. He enclosed a long letter tohis father, which he said would, he hoped, entirely exonerate hiskind and much-respected tutor from any remissness or anyparticipation in the scheme which he had thought it better on allaccounts to conceal till the last.

  "And indeed," said poor Mr. Fellowes, "if I had had any inkling ofit, I should have applied to the English Consul to restrain him as award under trust. But no one would have thought it of him. He hadalways been reasonable and docile beyond his years, and I trustedhim entirely. I should as soon have thought of our President givingme the slip in this way. Surely he came on board with us."

  "He handed me into the boat," said Miss Darpent. "Who saw him last?Did you, Miss Woodford?"

  Anne was forced to own that she had seen him on board, and hercheeks were in spite of herself such tell-tales that Mr. Fellowescould not help saying, "It is not my part to rebuke you, madam, butif you were aware of this evasion, you will have a heavy reckoningto pay to the young man's parents."

  "Sir," said Anne, "I knew indeed that he meant to join the Imperialarmy, but I knew not how nor when."

  "Ah, well! I ask no questions. You need not justify yourself tome, young lady; but Sir Philip and Lady Archfield little knew whatthey did when they asked us to come by way of Paris. Not that Iregret it on all accounts," he added, with a courteous bow to Naomiwhich set her blushing in her turn. He avoided again addressingMiss Woodford, and she thought with consternation of the prejudicehe might excite against her. It had been arranged between the twomaidens that Naomi should be a guest at Portchester Rectory till shecould communicate with Walwyn, and her father or brother could comeand fetch her.

  They landed at the little wharf, among the colliers, and made theirway up the street to an inn, where, after ordering a meal to satisfythe ravenous sea-appetite, Mr. Fellowes, after a few words withNaomi, left the ladies to their land toilet, while he went to hirehorses for the journey.

  Then Naomi could not help saying, "O Anne! I did not think youwould have done this. I am grieved!"

  "You do not know all," said Anne sadly, "or you would not think sohardly."

  "I saw you had an understanding with him. I see you have a new ringon your finger; but how could I suppose you would encourage an onlyson thus to leave his parents?"

  "Hush, hush, Naomi!" cried Anne, as the uncontrollable tears brokeout. "Don't you believe that it is quite as hard for me as for themthat he should have gone off to fight those dreadful blood-thirstyTurks? Indeed I would have hindered him, but that--but that--I knowit is best for him. No! I can't tell you why, but I _know_ it is;and even to the very last, when he helped me down the companion-ladder, I hoped he might be coming home first."

  "But you are troth-plight to him, and secretly?"

  "I am not troth-plight; I know I am not his equal, I told him so,but he thrust this ring on me in the boat, in the dark, and howcould I give it back!"

  Naomi shook her head, but was more than half-disarmed by herfriend's bitter weeping. Whether she gave any hint to Mr. FellowesAnne did not know, but his manner remained drily courteous, and asAnne had to ride on a pillion behind a servant she was left in astate of isolation as to companionship, which made her feel herselfin disgrace, and almost spoilt the joy of dear familiar recognitionof hill, field, and tree, after her long year's absence, the longestyear in her life, and substituted the sinking of heart lest sheshould be returning to hear of misfortune and disaster, sickness ordeath.

  Her original plan had been to go on with Naomi to Portchester atonce, if by inquiry at Fareham she found that her uncle was at home,but she perceived that Mr. Fellowes decidedly wished that MissDarpent should go first to the Archfields, and something within herdetermined first to turn thither in spite of all there was toencounter, so that she might still her misgivings by learningwhether her uncle was well. So she bade the man turn his horse'shead towards the well-known poplars in front of Archfield House.

  The sound of the trampling horses brought more than one well-knownold 'blue-coated serving-man' into the court, and among them a womanwith a child in her arms. There was the exclamation, "MistressAnne! Sure Master Charles be not far behind," and the old groom ranto help her down.

  "Oh! Ralph, thanks. All well? My uncle?"

  "He is here, with his Honour," and in scarcely a moment more Lucy,swift of foot, had flown out, and had Anne in her embrace, andcrying out--

  "Ah, Charles! my brother! I don't see him."

  Anne was glad to have no time to answer before she was in heruncle's arms. "My child, at last! God bless thee! Safe in souland body!"

  Sir Philip was there too, greeting Mr. Fellowes, and looking for hisson, and with the cursory assurance that Mr. Archfield was well, andthat they would explain, a hasty introduction of Miss Darpent wasmade, and all moved in to where Lady Archfield, more feeble and slowof movement, had come into the hall, and the nurse stood by with thelittle heir to be shown to his father, and Sedley Archfield stood inthe background. It was a cruel moment for all, when the words camefrom Mr. Fellowes, "Sir, I have to tell you, Mr. Archfield is nothere. This letter, he tells me, is to explain."

  There was an outburst of exclamation, during which Sir Philipwithdrew into a window with his spectacles to read the letter, whileall to which the tutor or Anne ventured to commit themselves wasthat Mr. Archfield had only quitted them without notice on board theHampshire Hog.

  The first tones of the father had a certain sound of relief, "Goneto the Imperialist army to fight the Turks in Hungary!"

  Poor Lady Archfield actually shrieked, and Lucy turned quite pale,while Anne caught a sort of lurid flush of joy on Sedley Archfield'sfeatures, and he was the first to exclaim, "Undutiful young dog!"

  "Tut! tut!" returned Sir Philip, "he
might as well have come homefirst, and yet I do not know but that it is the best thing he coulddo. There might have been difficulties in the way of getting outagain, you see, my lady, as things stand now. Ay! ay! you are inthe right of it, my boy. It is just as well to let things settlethemselves down here before committing himself to one side or theother. 'Tis easy enough for an old fellow like me who has to letnothing go but his Commission of the Peace, but not the same for astirring young lad; and he is altogether right as to not coming backto idle here as a rich man. It would be the ruin of him. I am gladhe has the sense to see it. I was casting about to obtain an estatefor him to give him occupation."

  "But the wars," moaned the mother; "if he had only come home wecould have persuaded him."

  "The wars, my lady! Why, they will be a feather in his cap; and maybe if he had come home, the Dutchman would have claimed him for his,and let King James be as misguided as he may, I cannot stomachfighting against his father's son for myself or mine. No, no; itwas the best thing there was for the lad to do. You shall hear hisletter, it does him honour, and you, too, Mr. Fellowes. He couldnot have written such a letter when he left home barely a year ago."

  Sir Philip proceeded to read the letter aloud. There was a fullexplanation of the motives, political and private, only leaving outone, and that the most powerful of all of those which led CharlesArchfield to absent himself for the present. He entreated pardonfor having made the decision without obtaining permission from hisfather on returning home; but he had done so in view of possibleobstacles to his leaving England again, and to the belief that abrief sojourn at home would cause more grief and perplexity than hisabsence. He further explained, as before, his reasons for secrecytowards his travelling companion, and entreated his father not tosuppose for a moment that Mr. Fellowes had been in any way culpablefor what he could never have suspected; warmly affectionate messagesto mother and sister followed, and an assurance of feeling that 'thelittle one' needed for no care or affection while with them.

  Lady Archfield was greatly disappointed, and cried a great deal,making sure that the poor dear lad's heart was still too sore tobrook returning after the loss of his wife, who had now become thesweetest creature in the world; but Sir Philip's decision that themeasure was wise, and the secrecy under the circumstances soexpedient as to be pardonable, prevented all public blame; Mr.Fellowes, however, was drawn apart, and asked whether he suspectedany other motive than was here declared, and which might make hispupil unwilling to face the parental brow, and he had declared thatnothing could have been more exemplary than the whole demeanour ofthe youth, who had at first gone about as one crushed, and thoughslowly reviving into cheerfulness, had always been subdued, untilquite recently, when the meeting with his old companion hadcertainly much enlivened his spirits. Poor Mr. Fellowes had beenrejoicing in the excellent character he should have to give, whenthis evasion had so utterly disconcerted him, and it was an infiniterelief to him to find that all was thought comprehensible andpardonable.

  Anne might be thankful that none of the authorities thought ofasking her the question about hidden motives; and Naomi, lookingabout with her bright eyes, thought she had perhaps judged toohardly when she saw the father's approval, and that the mother andsister only mourned at the disappointment at not seeing the belovedone.

  The Archfields would not hear of letting any of the party go on toPortchester that evening. Dr. Woodford, who had ridden over forconsultation with Sir Philip, must remain, he would have plenty oftime for his niece by and by, and she and Miss Darpent must tellthem all about the journey, and about Charles; and Anne must tellthem hundreds of things about herself that they scarcely knew, fornot one letter from St. Germain had ever reached her uncle.

  How natural it all looked! the parlour just as when she saw it last,and the hall, with the long table being laid for supper, and the hotsun streaming in through the heavy casements. She could havefancied it yesterday that she had left it, save for the plump rosylittle yearling with flaxen curls peeping out under his round whitecap, who had let her hold him in her arms and fondle him all throughthat reading of his father's letter. Charles's child! He was herprince indeed now.

  He was taken from her and delivered over to Lady Archfield to becaressed and pitied because his father would not come home 'to seehis grand-dame's own beauty,' while Lucy took the guests upstairs toprepare for supper, Naomi and her maid being bestowed in the bestguest-chamber, and Lucy taking her friend to her own, the scene ofmany a confabulation of old.

  "Oh, how I love it!" cried Anne, as the door opened on the well-known little wainscotted abode. "The very same beau-pot. One wouldthink they were the same clove gillyflowers as when I went away."

  "O Anne, dear, and you are just the same after all your kings andqueens, and all you have gone through;" and the two friends werelocked in another embrace.

  "Kings and queens indeed! None of them all are worth my Lucy."

  "And now, tell me all; tell me all, Nancy, and first of all about mybrother. How does he look, and is he well?"

  "He looks! O Lucy, he is grown such a noble cavalier; most like thepicture of that uncle of yours who was killed, and that Sir Philipalways grieves for."

  "My father always hoped Charley would be like him," said Lucy. "Youmust tell him that. But I fear he may be grave and sad."

  "Graver, but not sad now."

  "And you have seen him and talked to him, Anne? Did you know he wasgoing on this terrible enterprise?"

  "He spoke of it, but never told me when."

  "Ah! I was sure you knew more about it than the old tutor man. Youalways were his little sweetheart before poor little Madam came inthe way, and he would tell you anything near his heart. Could younot have stopped him?"

  "I think not, Lucy; he gave his reasons like a man of weight andthought, and you see his Honour thinks them sound ones."

  "Oh yes; but somehow I cannot fancy our Charley doing anything forgrand, sound, musty reasons, such as look well marshalled out in aletter."

  "You don't know how much older he is grown," said Anne, again, withthe tell-tale colour in her cheeks. "Besides, he cannot bear tocome home."

  "Don't tell me that, Nan. My mother does not see it; but though hewas fond of poor little Madam in a way, and tried to think himselfmore so, as in duty bound, she really was fretting and wearing thevery life--no, perhaps not the life, but the temper--out of him.What I believe it to be the cause is, that my father must have beenwriting to him about that young gentlewoman in the island that he isso set upon, because she would bring a landed estate which wouldgive Charles something to do. They say that Peregrine Oakshott ranaway to escape wedding his cousin; Charley will banish himself forthe like cause."

  "He said nothing of it," said Anne.

  "O Anne, I wish you had a landed estate! You would make him happierthan any other, and would love his poor little Phil! Anne! is itso? I have guessed!" and Lucy kissed her on each cheek.

  "Indeed, indeed I have not promised. I know it can never, never be--and that I am not fit for him. Do not speak of it, Lucy? He spokeof it once as we rode together--"

  "And you could not be so false as to tell him you did not love him?No, you could not?" and Lucy kissed her again.

  "No," faltered Anne; "but I would not do as he wished. I have givenhim no troth-plight. I told him it would never be permitted. Andhe said no more, but he put this ring on my finger in the boatwithout a word. I ought not to wear it; I shall not."

  "Oh yes, you shall. Indeed you shall. No one need understand itbut myself, and it makes us sisters. Yes, Anne, Charley was right.My father will not consent now, but he will in due time, if he doesnot hear of it till he wearies to see Charles again. Trust it tome, my sweet sister that is to be."

  "It is a great comfort that you know," said Anne, almost moved totell her the greater and more perilous secret that lay in thebackground, but withheld by receiving Lucy's own confidence that sheherself was at present tormented by her cousin Sed
ley's courtship.He was still, more's the pity, she said, in garrison at Portsmouth,but there were hopes of his regiment being ere long sent to the LowCountries, since it was believed to be more than half inclined toKing James. In the meantime he certainly had designs on Lucy'sportion, and as her father never believed half the stories of hisdebaucheries that were rife, and had a kindness for his onlybrother's orphan, she did not feel secure against his yielding so asto provide for Sedley without continuance in the Dutch service.

  "I could almost follow the example of running away!" said Lucy.

  "I suppose," Anne ventured to say, faltering, "that nothing has beenheard of poor Mr. Oakshott."

  "Nothing at all. His uncle's people, who have come home fromMuscovy, know nothing of him, and it is thought he may have gone offto the plantations. The talk is that Mistress Martha is to behanded on to the third brother, but that she is not willing." Itwas clear that there could have been no spectres here, and Lucy wenton, "But you have told me nothing yet of yourself and your doings,my Anne. How well you look, and more than ever the Court lady, evenin your old travelling habit. Is that the watch the King gave you?"

  In private and in public there was quite enough to tell on thatevening for intimate friends who had not met for a year, and one ofwhom had gone through so many vicissitudes. Nor were the other twoguests by any means left out of the welcome, and the evening was avery happy one.

  Mr. Fellowes intimated his intention of going himself to Walwyn withthe news of Miss Darpent's arrival, and Naomi accepted theinvitation to remain at Portchester till she could be sent for fromhome.

  It was not till the next morning that Anne Woodford could be alonewith her uncle. As she came downstairs in the morning she saw himwaiting for her; he held out his hands, and drew her out with himinto the walled garden that lay behind the house.

  "Child! dear child!" said he, "you are welcome to my old eyes. MayGod bless you, as He has aided you to be faithful alike to Him andto your King through much trial."

  "Ah, sir! I have sorely repented the folly and ambition that wouldnot heed your counsel."

  "No doubt, my maid; but the spirit of humility and repentance hathworked well in you. I fear me, however, that you are come back tofurther trials, since probably Portchester may be no longer ourhome."

  "Nor Winchester?"

  "Nor Winchester."

  "Then is this new King going to persecute as in the old times youtalk of? He who was brought over to save the Church!"

  "He accepts the English Church, my maid, so far as it accepts him.All beneficed clergy are required to take the oath of allegiance tohim before the first of August, now approaching, under pain oflosing their preferments. Many of my brethren, even our own Bishopand Dean, think this merely submission to the powers that be, andthat it may be lawfully done; but as I hear neither the Archbishophimself, nor my good old friends Doctors Ken and Frampton canreconcile it to their conscience, any more than my brother Stanbury,of Botley, nor I, to take this fresh oath, while the King to whom wehave sworn is living. Some hold that he has virtually renounced ourallegiance by his flight. I cannot see it, while he is fighting forhis crown in Ireland. What say you, Anne, who have seen him; did hetreat his case as that of an abdicated prince?"

  "No, sir, certainly not. All the talk was of his enjoying his ownagain."

  "How can I then, consistently with my duty and loyalty, swear tothis William and Mary as my lawful sovereigns? I say not 'tisincumbent on me to refuse to live under them a peaceful life, butmake oath to them as my King and Queen I cannot, so long as KingJames shall live. True, he has not been a friend to the Church, andhas wofully trampled on the rights of Englishmen, but I cannot holdthat this absolves me from my duty to him, any more than David wasfreed from duty to Saul. So, Anne, back must we go to the povertyin which I was reared with your own good father."

  Anne might grieve, but she felt the gratification of being talked toby her uncle as a woman who could understand, as he had talked toher mother.

  "The first of August!" she repeated, as if it were a note of doom.

  "Yes; I hear whispers of a further time of grace, but I know notwhat difference that should make. A Christian man's oath may not bebroken sooner or later. Well, poverty is the state blessed by ourLord, and it may be that I have lived too much at mine ease; but Icould wish, dear child, that you were safely bestowed in a house ofyour own."

  "So do not I," said Anne, "for now I can work for you."

  He smiled faintly, and here Mr. Fellowes joined them; a good manlikewise, but intent on demonstrating the other side of thequestion, and believing that the Popish, persecuting King hadforfeited his rights, so that there need be no scruple as torenouncing what he had thrown up by his flight. It was an endlessargument, in which each man could only act according to his ownconscience, and endeavour that this conscience should be as littlebiassed as possible by worldly motives or animosity.

  Mr. Fellowes started at once with his servant for Walwyn, and Naomiaccompanied the two Woodfords to Portchester. In spite of thecavalier sentiments of her family, Naomi had too much of the spireof her Frondeur father to understand any feeling for duty towardsthe King, who had so decidedly broken his covenant with his people,and moreover had so abominably treated the Fellows of MagdalenCollege; and her pity for Anne as a sufferer for her uncle's whimquite angered her friend into hot defence of him and his cause.

  The dear old parsonage garden under the gray walls, the honeysuckleand monthly roses trailing over the porch, the lake-like creekbetween it and green Portsdown Hill, the huge massive keep andtowers, and the masts in the harbour, the Island hills sleeping inblue summer haze--Anne's heart clave to them more than ever for theknowledge that the time was short and that the fair spot must begiven up for the right's sake. Certainly there was some trepidationat the thought of the vault, and she had made many vague schemes forascertaining that which her very flesh trembled at the thought ofany one suspecting; but these were all frustrated, for since the warwith France had begun, the bailey had been put under repair andgarrisoned by a detachment of soldiers, the vault had been coveredin, there was a sentry at the gateway of the castle, and the posterndoor towards the vicarage was fastened up, so that though the parishstill repaired to church through the wide court solitary wanderingsthere were no longer possible, nor indeed safe for a young woman,considering what the soldiery of that period were.

  The thought came over her with a shudder as she gazed from herwindow at the creek where she remembered Peregrine sending Charlesand Sedley adrift in the boat.

  The tide was out, the mud glistened in the moonlight, but nothingwas to be seen more than Anne had beheld on many a summer nightbefore, no phantom was evoked before her eyes, no elfin-like formrevealed his presence, nor did any spirit take shape to upbraid herwith his unhallowed grave, so close at hand.

  No, but Naomi Darpent, yearning for sympathy, came to her side,caressed her on that summer night, and told her that Mr. Felloweshad gone to ask her of her father, and though she could never loveagain as she had once loved, she thought if her parents wished it,she could be happy with so good a man.