“Pursue him!” cried Amabel to Leonard; “he is flying to the Earl of
Rochester.”
The intimation was sufficient for the apprentice. Urging his horse into a quick pace, he came up with the fugitive, just as he had reached Cheapside. Blaize’s mad career had been checked by Nizza Macascree, who, seizing the bridle, stopped the steed. Leonard, who was armed with a heavy riding-whip, applied it unsparingly to Blaize’s shoulders.
“Entreat him to hold his hand, dear, good Mistress Amabel,” cried the porter; “it was for your sake alone I made this rash attempt. Patience told me you were dying to see the Earl of Rochester, and made me promise I would ride to Whitehall to acquaint his lordship whither you were going. Here is her letter which I was about to deliver.” And as he spoke, he handed her the note, which was tied with a piece of packthread, and directed in strange and almost illegible characters.
“Do not hurt him more,” said Amabel; “he was not aware of the mischief he was about to commit. And learn from me, Blaize, that, so far from desiring to see the Earl of Rochester, all my anxiety is to avoid him.”
“If I had known that,” returned the porter, “I would not have stirred a step. But Patience assured me the contrary.”
By this time, Doctor Hodges had come up, and an explanation ensued. It was agreed, however, that it would be better not to alarm Mr. Bloundel, but to attribute the porter’s sudden flight to mismanagement of his steed. Accordingly, they returned to the residence of the grocer, who was anxiously looking out for them; and after a brief delay, during which the saddlebags were again examined and secured, they departed. Mr. Bloundel looked wistfully after his daughter, and she returned his gaze as long as her blinding eyes would permit her. So unwonted was the sound of horses’ feet at this period, that many a melancholy face appeared at the window to gaze at them as they rode by, and Nizza Macascree shuddered as she witnessed the envious glances cast after them by these poor captives. As to Blaize, when they got into Cheapside, he was so terrified by the dismal evidences of the pestilence that met him at every turn, that he could scarcely keep his seat, and it was not until he had drenched himself and his companion with vinegar, and stuffed his mouth with myrrh and zedoary, that he felt anything like composure.
On approaching Newgate Market, they found it entirely deserted. Most of the stalls were removed, the shops closed, and the window-shutters nailed up. It was never, in fact, used at all, except by a few countrymen and higglers, who ventured thither on certain days of the week to sell fresh eggs, butter, poultry, and such commodities. The manner of sale was this. The article disposed of was placed on a flag on one side of the market, near which stood a pump and a trough of water. The vendor then retired, while the purchaser approached, took the article, and put its price into the water, whence it was removed when supposed to be sufficiently purified.
As the party passed Grey Friars, the tramp of their horses was mistaken for the dead-cart, and a door was suddenly opened and a corpse brought forth. Leonard would have avoided the spectacle had it been possible, but they were now too close to Newgate, where they were detained for a few minutes at the gate, while their bills of health were examined and countersigned by the officer stationed there. During this pause Leonard glanced at the grated windows of the prison, the debtors’ side of which fronted the street. But not a single face was to be seen. In fact, as has already been stated, the prison was shut up.
The gate was now opened to them, and descending Snow Hill they entered a region completely devastated by the pestilence. So saddening was the sight, that Leonard involuntarily quickened his horse’s pace, resolved to get out of this forlorn district as speedily as possible. He was, however, stopped by an unexpected and fearful impediment. When within a short distance of Holborn Bridge, he observed on the further side of it a large black vehicle, and, unable to make out what it was, though a fearful suspicion crossed him, slackened his pace. A nearer approach showed him that it was the pest-cart, filled with its charnel load. The horse was in the shafts, and was standing quite still. Rising in his stirrups to obtain a better view, Leonard perceived that the driver was lying on the ground at a little distance from the cart, in an attitude that proclaimed he had been suddenly seized by the pestilence, and had probably just expired.
Not choosing to incur the risk of passing this contagious load, Leonard retraced his course as far as Holborn Conduit, then turning into Seacole-lane, and making the best of his way to Fleet Bridge, crossed it, and entered the great thoroughfare with which it communicated. He had not proceeded far when he encountered a small party of the watch, to whom he showed his certificate, and recounted the fate of the driver of the dead-cart. At Temple Bar he was again obliged to exhibit his passports; and while there detained, he observed three other horsemen riding towards them from the further end of Fleet-street.
Though much alarmed by the sight, Leonard did not communicate his apprehensions to his companions, but as soon as the guard allowed him to pass, called out to Blaize to follow him, and urging his horse to a quick pace, dashed up Drury-lane. A few minutes’ hard riding, during which nothing occurred to give the apprentice further uneasiness, brought them to a road skirting the open fields, in which a pest-house had just been built by the chivalrous nobleman whose habitation in Berkshire they were about to visit. With a courage and devotion that redound more to his honour than the brilliant qualities that won him so high a reputation in the court and in the field, Lord Craven not merely provided the present receptacle for the sick, but remained in London during the whole continuance of the dreadful visitation; “braving,” says Pennant, “the fury of the pestilence with the same coolness that he fought the battles of his beloved mistress, Elizabeth, titular Queen of Bohemia, or mounted the tremendous breach of Creutznach.” The spot where this asylum was built, and which is the present site of Golden-square, retained nearly half a century afterwards, the name of the Pest-house Fields. Leonard had already been made acquainted by Doctor Hodges with the earl’s generous devotion to the public welfare, and warmly commenting upon it, he pointed out the structure to Amabel. But the speed at which she was borne along did not allow her time to bestow more than a hasty glance at it. On gaining Hyde-park Corner, the apprentice cast a look backwards, and his apprehensions were revived by perceiving the three horsemen again in view, and evidently using their utmost exertions to come up with them.
While Leonard was hesitating whether he should make known their danger to Amabel, he perceived Solomon Eagle dart from behind a wall on the left of the road, and plant himself in the direct course of their pursuers, and he involuntarily drew in the rein to see what would ensue. In another moment, the horsemen, who were advancing at full gallop, and whom Leonard now recognised as the Earl of Rochester, Pillichody, and Sir Paul Parravicin, had approached within a few yards of the enthusiast, and threatened to ride over him if he did not get of the way. Seeing, however, that he did not offer to move, they opened on either side of him, and were passing swiftly by, when, with infinite dexterity, he caught hold of the bridle of Rochester’s steed, and checking him, seized the earl by the leg, and threw him to the ground.
Sir Paul Parravicin pulled up as soon as he could, and, drawing his sword, rode back to assist his friend, and punish the aggressor; but the enthusiast, nothing daunted, met him in full career, and suddenly lifting up his arms, uttered a loud cry, which so startled the knight’s high-spirited horse, that it reared and flung him. All this was the work of a few seconds. Pillichody had been borne forward by the impetuosity of his steed to within a short distance of the apprentice, and seeing the fate of his companions, and not liking Leonard’s menacing gestures, he chipped spurs into his horse, and rode up Park-lane.
Overjoyed at his unexpected deliverance, Leonard, whose attention had been completely engrossed by what was passing, now ventured to look at Amabel, and became greatly alarmed at her appearance. She was as pale as death, except a small scarlet patch on either cheek, which contrasted powerfully with the death
-like hue of the rest of her countenance. Her hands convulsively clasped the back of the pillion; her lips were slightly apart, and her eyes fixed upon the prostrate form of the Earl of Rochester. On finding they were pursued, and by whom, her first impulse had been to fling herself from the pillion, and to seek safety by flight; but controlling herself, she awaited the result with forced composure, and was now sinking from the exhaustion of the effort.
“Thank Heaven! we are safe,” cried the apprentice; “but I fear the shock has been too much for you.”
“It has,” gasped Amabel, falling against his shoulder. “Let us fly — oh! let us fly.”
Inexpressibly shocked and alarmed, Leonard twined his left arm round her waist so as to hold her on the steed, for she was utterly unable to support herself, and glancing anxiously at Nizza Macascree, struck off on the right into the road skirting the Park, and in the direction of Tyburn, where there was a small inn, at which he hoped to procure assistance. Before reaching this place, he was beyond description relieved to find that Amabel had so far recovered as to be able to raise her head.
“The deadly faintness is passed,” she murmured; “I shall be better soon.
But I fear I am too weak to pursue the journey at present.”
Leonard spurred on his steed, and in another instant reached Tyburn, and drew up at the little inn. But no assistance could be obtained there. The house was closed; there was a red cross on the door; and a watchman, stationed in front of it, informed him that all the family had died of the plague except the landlord— “and he will be buried beside them in Paddington churchyard before to-morrow morning,” added the man; “for his nurse tells me it is impossible he can survive many hours.”
As he spoke an upper window was opened, and a woman, thrusting forth her head, cried, “Poor Master Sandys has just breathed his last. Come in, Philip, and help me to prepare the body for the dead-cart.”
“I will be with you in a minute,” rejoined the watchman. “You may possibly procure accommodation at the Wheatsheaf at Paddington,” he added to Leonard; “it is but a short distance up the road.”
Thanking him for the information, Leonard took the course indicated. He had not proceeded far, when he was alarmed by hearing a piteous cry of “Stop! stop!” proceeding from Blaize; and, halting, found that the porter had been so greatly terrified by the watchman’s account of the frightful mortality in the poor innkeeper’s family, that he had applied to his phial of plague-water, and in pulling it put had dropped his box of rufuses, and the jar of anti-pestilential confection. He had just ascertained his loss, and wished to go back, but this Nizza Macascree would not permit. Enraged at the delay, Leonard peremptorily ordered the porter to come on; and Blaize, casting a rueful glance at his treasures, which he perceived at a little distance in the middle of the road, was compelled to obey.
At Paddington, another disappointment awaited them. The Wheatsheaf was occupied by two large families, who were flying from the infected city, and no accommodation could be obtained. Leonard looked wistfully at Nizza Macascree, as if to ascertain what to do, and she was equally perplexed; but the difficulty was relieved by Amabel herself, who said she felt much better, and able to proceed a little further. “Do not return to London,” she continued with great earnestness. “I would rather die on the road than go home again. Some cottage will receive us. If not, I can rest for a short time in the fields.”
Thinking it best to comply, Leonard proceeded along the Harrow-road. Soon after crossing Paddington Green, he overtook a little train of fugitives driving a cart filled with children, and laden with luggage. Further on, as he surveyed the beautiful meadows, stretching out on either side of him, he perceived a line of small tents, resembling a gipsy encampment, pitched at a certain distance from each other, and evidently occupied by families who had fled from their homes from fear of infection. This gave a singular character to the prospect. But there were other and far more painful sights on the road, which could not fail to attract attention. For the first half-mile, almost at every hundred yards might be seen some sick man, who, unable to proceed further, had fallen against the hedge-side, and exhibited his sores to move the pity of the passers-by. But these supplications were wholly unheeded. Self-preservation was the first object with all, and the travellers holding handkerchiefs steeped in vinegar to their faces, and averting their heads, passed by on the other side of the way.
The pestilence, it may be remarked, had visited with extraordinary rigour the whole of the higher country at the west and north-west of the metropolis. The charmingly-situated, and, at other seasons, healthful villages of Hampstead and Highgate, suffered severely from the scourge; and it even extended its ravages as far as Harrow-on-the-Hill, which it half depopulated. This will account for the circumstance of a large pest-house being erected in the neighbourhood of Westbourne Green, which the party now approached. Two litters were seen crossing the fields in the direction of the hospital, and this circumstance called Leonard’s attention to it. Shudderingly averting his gaze, he quickened his pace, and soon reached a small farmhouse on the summit of the hill rising from Kensal Green. Determined to seek a temporary asylum here for Amabel, he opened a gate, and, riding into the yard, fortunately met with owner of the house, a worthy farmer, named Wingfield, to whom he explained her situation. The man at first hesitated, but, on receiving Leonard’s solemn assurance that she was free from the plague, consented to receive the whole party.
Assisting Amabel to dismount, Wingfield conveyed her in his arms into the house, and delivered her to his wife, bidding her take care of her. The injunction was scarcely needed. The good dame, who was a middle-aged woman, with pleasing features, which lost none of their interest from being stamped with profound melancholy, gazed at her for a moment fixedly, and then observed in an under-tone, but with much emotion, to her husband, “Ah! Robert, how much this sweet creature resembles our poor Sarah!”
“Hush! hush! dame,” rejoined her husband, hastily brushing away the moisture that sprang to his eyes; “take her to your chamber, and see that she wants nothing. There is another young woman outside, whom I will send to you.”
So saying, he returned to the yard. Meantime, the others had dismounted, and Wingfield, bidding Nizza Macascree go in, led the way to the barn, where the horses were tied up, and fodder placed before them. This done, he conducted his guests to the house, and placing cold meat, bread, and a jug of ale before them, desired them to fall to — an injunction which Blaize, notwithstanding his previous repast of roasted figs and pickled walnuts, very readily complied with. While they were thus employed, Dame Wingfield made her appearance. She said that the poor creature (meaning Amabel) was too ill to proceed on her journey that day, and begged her husband to allow her to stop till the next morning, when she hoped she would be able to undertake it.
“To-morrow morning, say you dame?” cried Wingfield; “she may stop till the day after, and the day after that, if you desire it, or she wishes it. Go tell her so.”
And as his wife withdrew, well pleased at having obtained her request, Wingfield addressed himself to Leonard, and inquired the cause of Amabel’s illness; and as the apprentice saw no necessity for secresy, and felt exceedingly grateful for the kind treatment he had experienced, he acquainted him with the chief particulars of her history. The farmer appeared greatly moved by the recital.
“She resembles my poor Sarah very strongly,” he said. “My daughter was hurried into an early grave by a villain who won her affections and betrayed her. She now lies in Willesden churchyard, but her seducer is one of the chief favourites of our profligate monarch.”
“Do you mean the Earl of Rochester?” cried Leonard.
“No, no,” replied the farmer, whose good-natured countenance had assumed a stern expression. “The villain I mean is worse, if possible, than the earl. He is called Sir Paul Parravicin.”
“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed Leonard, in astonishment; “what a strange coincidence is this!”
And h
e then proceeded to relate to Wingfield the persecution which Nizza Macascree had endured from the profligate knight The farmer listened to his recital with breathless interest, and when it was ended arose, and, taking a hasty turn round the room, halted at the table and struck it forcibly with his clenched hand.
“I hope that man will never cross my path,” he said, all the blood mounting to his face, and his eye kindling with fury. “As God shall judge me, I will kill him if I meet him.”
“Then I hope you never will meet him,” observed Leonard. “He has injured you enough already, without putting you out of the pale of Divine mercy.”
“These rascals have done us all an injury,” observed Blaize. “Patience has never been like herself since Major Pillichody entered my master’s dwelling, and made love to her. I feel quite uneasy to think how the little hussy will go on during my absence. She can’t get out of the house, that’s one comfort.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 258