“That is no concern of mine,” the other rejoined. “Thou must appear before them to explain matters.”
“A pest upon thee!” the old Cavalier angrily ejaculated. “Thou art enough to drive a man distraught. I cannot stir hence. I have just received an order from the Council prohibiting me, on pain of imprisonment, from going more than five miles from home. Here is the warrant. Read it, and satisfy thyself.”
“It is no concern of mine,” the emissary replied, declining to look at the warrant. “I shall leave the order with thee. Neglect to obey it at thy peril.”
And, as he spoke, he placed a scroll on the table, and drew back a few paces, while the second individual stepped forward.
“My business is with thee, Ardingly Beard,” this personage said. “Thou knowest that I have been appointed, together with my colleague, Thomas Geere of Ovingdean, brother to Martin Geere, who still continues in the service of the dangerous malignant, Wolston Maunsel—”
“I am glad my brother Tom hath had the grace not to present himself before his honour,” Martin remarked.
“Thomas Geere was once one of my flock,” Mr. Beard observed, sadly.
“He hath seen the error of his ways,” Sunne rejoined. “But, as I was about to say, thou knowest that he and I have been appointed by the Committee for the Sequestration of Livings to collect, gather, and receive the tithes, rents, and profits of the benefice of the church of Ovingdean, now under sequestration, and to provide for its care. Thou knowest also how we have applied those profits.”
“I have some guess,” the clergyman observed. “Partly to your own use, partly in payment of Increase Micklegift.”
“Wholly in payment of that godly divine,” Thomas Sunne rejoined. “Now give heed to what I say unto thee, Ardingly Beard. It is suspected that thou continuest secretly to perform the rites and services of thy suppressed church. Take heed, therefore. If the offence be proved against thee, thou shalt pay with thy body for thy contumacy. A year’s imprisonment in Lewes Castle will teach thee submission.”
“Heaven grant thee a more Christian spirit, friend,” the clergyman meekly rejoined.
“Friend, quotha! I am no friend of prelatists and covenant-breakers,” the other rejoined. “Wilt thou take the National Covenant?”
“Assuredly not,” Mr. Beard replied, firmly.
“Begone both of ye!” Colonel Maunsel cried, losing all patience, “and rid my house of your hateful presence.”
“You had best lay hands upon us, Wolston Maunsel,” the emissary from Goldsmiths’ Hall cried, in a taunting and insolent tone. “I should like nothing better.”
“Nor I,” Thomas Sunne added.
“Be patient, I implore of you, honoured sir,” the clergyman cried, “and let them go.”
“Show them forth, Martin, or I shall do them a mischief,” the colonel cried. Whereupon the two men withdrew, muttering threats, however, as they departed.
As soon as he and Mr. Beard were left alone, Colonel Maunsel gave vent to a fresh explosion of rage.
“Perdition seize these Roundhead miscreants!” he exclaimed. “They have set me upon the horns of a dilemma. How am I to fulfil such contradictory orders? Here is one that tells me I must not stir from home; another, commanding me to come to London. If I obey one, I must perforce neglect the other; and, for my own part, I am well disposed to pay respect to neither.”
“I scarce know how to counsel you, honoured sir,” the clergy-man rejoined. “Truly, it is a most embarrassing position in which you are placed.”
“It is more embarrassing than you deem, reverend sir,” the colonel returned. “I have not wherewithal to pay the fine imposed upon me, and must borrow the two hundred pounds, at heavy usance, from old Zachary Trangmar, the money- lender of Lewes.”
“I am grieved to hear it, sir,” Mr. Beard observed.
“These bloodsuckers will never let me rest till they have utterly ruined me,” pursued the colonel; “and such, I doubt not, is their intent. Their aim is to cripple all true men. Heaven confound their devices!”
“Amen!” the clergyman ejaculated.
“Well! well! the difficulty must be met, and bravely too,” the old Cavalier cried—” no tame yielding, or crying for quarter on the part of Wolston Maunsel. “I will fight the good fight, so long as there is breath in my body. I must go forthwith to Lewes — it is almost within my prescribed limits — and see Zachary Trangmar. I shall have to give the extortionate old rascal my bond, for he will not trust the word of a gentleman.”
“I cannot become surety for you, honoured sir,” the clergyman observed; “or I would willingly be so.”
“No, no,” Colonel Maunsel exclaimed, hastily. “The old usurer will be content with my own security. Unluckily, it is not the first transaction I have had with him. If the knaves go on plundering me in this manner, I shall have little, beyond my good name, to leave my son.”
“And that will be his fairest inheritance, sir,” Mr. Beard observed.
“It is not likely to content him, though,” the colonel rejoined, with a half laugh. “However, we must hope for better days, though neither you nor I may live to see them, reverend sir. Meanwhile, we must provide for the present. I will ride to Lewes this morning, and Dulcia shall accompany me. John Habergeon will watch over Clavering, and will know how to act, in case of difficulty. To your charge, good sir, I confide the rest of the house during my brief absence.”
Mr. Beard bowed, and the colonel arose, observing, that when he last got on horseback, his rheumatism was so bad, that he thought he should never more be able to mount steed; but he felt quite equal to the effort now. Summoning Martin Geere, he bade him cause a couple of horses to be saddled — one of them for Mistress Dulcia. And seeing the old serving-man stare at the unexpected order, he added, “The day is fine, and tempts me to take an hour’s exercise on the downs.”
“But your honour hath not ridden for more than two months,” old Martin stoutly objected.
“No matter, I mean to ride to-day. See that the horses are got ready forthwith.”
“I should not have supposed that your honour would like to leave the house just now,” Martin persisted. “How says your reverence? When robbers are abroad, it were well, methinks, that the master stayed at home to guard his treasure.”
“My honoured friend has good reason for what he doth,” the clergyman replied; “and I trust we shall be able to protect the house and all within it, during his absence.”
“Nay, then I have nothing more to urge,” the old serving-man rejoined.
“Hark ye, Martin,” the colonel cried, arresting him; “bid Eustace Saxby, the falconer, hold himself in readiness to go with us; and tell him to bring with him the young Barbary falcon and the merlin that he hath lately manned and lured, and I will try their flight at a partridge. Use despatch, for I shall set forth presently.
BOOK III. HAWKING ON THE DOWNS
CHAPTER I.
The Ostreger And His Son
HORSE, hawk, and man were at the gate, awaiting the colonel’s coming forth with Dulcia.
Stately and upright sat the hawks on the falconer’s gloved fist, as if conscious of their tufted hoods of crimson and white velvet, their jesses and bewets with bells affixed to them, and their silver-linked varvels, graven with their owner’s armorial bearings. Both birds looked in fine condition: plumage glossy and unruffled, legs and talons without speck or blemish. Gallant to behold was the Barbary, or tartaret falcon; not remarkable in point of size, for it was smaller than a tercel-gentle; but specially to be admired for its proud neck, broad breast, fine sails and beams, and long train; and, when unhooded, for its keen-bent beak, with barb feathers beneath the clap, wide nares, and full black eye. Fierce and courageous, also, was the tartaret’s companion, the merlin; very nimble of wing, and, like the Barbary falcon, armed with strong singles and pounces.
Eustace Saxby, the falconer (or ostreger, as he preferred to be styled), was as gallant-looking as the hardy birds on his f
ist. Clad in a doublet of Lincoln- green, with his master’s arms embroidered on the shoulder, with his upper hose tied with ribbons at the knee, and his feet protected by stout leather buskins, he carried in his right hand a tall hawking-pole, and was provided with a large hawking-bag, containing coping-irons, knives, scissors, creance, and other implements of his craft; together with medicines in the shape of mummy-powder, washed aloes, saffron, and casting. Eustace Saxby was a strong, well-built man, in the prime of life, with a hard but honest-looking physiognomy, of the true Sussex cast. No Puritan he. Abhorring a Roundhead as much as his master, Eustace allowed his long locks to flow over his shoulders from beneath his green velvet cap, to manifest his contempt of the crop-eared curs. When younger, our ostreger had been remarkable for activity, and could then walk faster than any man in the county, and keep up in running with a horse at full speed; but having now grown stiffer in the joints, he was forced to cede the palm of fleetness to his son, Ninian.
Close to the ostreger stood his assistant, Barnaby Lashmere, carrying a square wooden frame suspended by broad leather straps from his shoulders. On this frame were perched several other hawks, of various kinds, in hoods and jesses, in readiness for the colonel, in case he might choose to take any of them with him.
Ninian Saxby, who filled the post of under-falconer, was with his father on the present occasion. A very good-looking young fellow of one-and-twenty was Ninian, with a fresh complexion, a merry blue eye, and brown curling hair. His lithe figure and active limbs seemed made for running and vaulting, and he excelled in all manly sports. A rattling tongue had Ninian, as well as a bright eye, and his pleasant talk and winning smiles made him a general favourite with the village damsels, even with those of a Puritanical turn; but his fondness for dancing and other pastimes, gaiety of manner, and light discourse, frequently drew upon him the grave rebukes of the elders. Ninian, however, cared little for such censure. The young falconer was too indiscriminate in his attentions to the damsels generally, and too fickle in his regards, to be assigned to any one in particular; but if he had a preference, it was supposed to be for Patty Whinchat — the pretty handmaiden herself being decidedly of that opinion. Ninian’s habiliments resembled those of his father; his green jerkin was vastly becoming to him, while his green velvet cap, with a single heron’s plume in it, placed jauntilyon his curlyhead, suited well with the handsome and somewhat saucy features beneath it; giving the wearer quite as much the air of a page as of a falconer. Ninian had a bugle slung at his back by a green cord, a crossbow over his shoulder, and a case of quarrels with a gaffle for bending the bow at his hip. Moreover, he had two fine spaniels, coupled together, and in leash, in his charge.
Falconers, hawks, dogs, horses, and grooms, formed a picturesque group, viewed in combination with the ancient mansion, near whose porch they were assembled. Amidst the group, old Rupert, Colonel Maunsel’s favourite charger, and as noble a piece of antiquity as the colonel himself, occupied a prominent place. Rupert’s best days were long past, it is true — and so, alas! were his master’s — but though there were unmistakable marks of age about him, he was a fine animal still. There was fire in his eye, courage in his arching neck, that told of former mettle. Bright bay had been old Rupert’s colour, but the hue was now sadly changed, and the flanks were dull, which had once shone like satin. He was furnished with a large easy saddle, having a high pommel, and a troussequin at the hinder bow. A dapple-grey palfrey, with white mane and tail, was destined for Dulcia, and this lively, but well-trained little animal, by his pawing, champing, and snorting, offered a strong contrast to the sedate deportment of the ancient charger.
Notwithstanding his reduced revenue, Colonel Maunsel still managed to keep up a large troop of servants of one kind or other. Born upon the estate, most of the members of the old Cavalier’s establishment were so attached to him, that they would never have quitted his service, except upon compulsion. Wages were with them a minor consideration; one and all expressing their readiness to share their good old master’s reverses of fortune.
With the grooms and falconers awaiting the colonel’s coming forth, were gathered several others of the household: to wit, Giles Moppett, with a fat turnspit at his heels; Elias Crundy, the yeoman of the cellar, who had brought out a large black jack filled with stout ale for the falconers; Holney Ticeharst, the upper gardener, and Nut Springett, his man, with two or three hinds from the farm-yard.
The unusual circumstances of the colonel’s riding forth to enjoy the pastime of hawking would have sufficed to bring a portion of the household to the gate; but there was another motive for gathering together so many of them on the present occasion, which might easily be detected in the serious expression of their countenances. The state-messenger’s warning had struck terror into them all. Not that their fidelity to the colonel and his son was shaken by it; but knowing that Clavering had returned on the previous night, they were very apprehensive for his safety; for though told that the fugitive had left again before daybreak, few of them credited the statement, but felt convinced that he was hidden in the house.
It was on this alarming topic that they were now conversing together.
“Ah, well-a-day! these be sad times indeed!” old Ticehurst observed. “Wheresoever our young master may be, there I hope his enemies will never find him. Hast any news to gi’ us, Master Moppett? Thou be’st a scholard like his reverence, Master Beard, and read’st de pappers.”
“I have no news likely to yield thee much satisfaction, good Master Ticehurst,” Moppett replied. “I have read both the Perfect Diurnal and the Mercurius Politicus, and they are full of nothing save the Lord General Cromwell’s late glorious victory over the Scots king (as they term his most sacred Majesty) at Worcester; telling us how old Noll returned to London, and was met by a procession of the Men of Westminster, and how he made a triumphal entry into the City; how great rejoicings were held, and how the poor Scots prisoners were marched through the streets. Stay! I have one piece of news — and sorry bad news it is ! — the brave Earl of Derby, the Earl of Lauderdale, and some other Royalists, who fought at Worcester, have been captured in Cheshire, and it is said will all be brought to the block, Heaven avert the like fate from our young master!”
“Ay, Heaven avert it from him, and from one higher than him,” said Eustace Saxby, in a deep, earnest tone. “Canst give us any tidings of the King, Master Moppett? Hath he escaped the bloodhounds set on his track? ’Tis to be hoped he will be watched over as David was when pursued by Saul.”
“There be all sorts of rumours concerning him,” Moppett rejoined; “and right glad am I that there be so, for their number will serve to mislead his enemies. Most likely his Majesty be hidden in some ellinge old house in Hampshire, waiting for a vessel to convey him to France. Such is the colonel’s opinion.”
“And the colonel ought to know, methinks, if any man doth,” Elias Crundy observed. “But why don’t his Majesty come to the Grange? Our master could soon hire him a fishing-smack at New-haven or Shoreham to carry him across the Channel.”
“That’s more easily said than done, Elias,” Eustace Saxby rejoined. “No one is allowed to embark at any port along the coast without special licence. And as to the Grange being a safe hiding-place, I’m very doubtful about it. Only yesterday, I heard from a Brightelmstone Jug, whom I met at Rottingdean Gap, that a troop of old Noll’s terrible Ironsides, under Captain Stelfax, have arrived at Lewes; and that all houses in the neighbourhood, suspected of harbouring fugitive Royalists, are to be strictly searched by ’em — the Grange one of the first.”
“Lord presarve us from these ravenous wolves and regicides!” Crundy exclaimed. “That be bad news, indeed! But I hope it ben’t true.”
“I’m afeardt yo’n find it o’er true, Elias,” Nut Springett remarked, shaking his head.
“I’ve heard John Habergeon speak of Captain Stelfax,” Giles Moppett said; “and a bloody and barbarous rebel he must be, from John’s account. He goes to work at once with t
humbscrew and boot — thumbscrew and boo — d’ye mind that, my masters? If he comes here we shall all be put to the torture.”
“And if we be, the truculent Roundhead shall discover nothing,” Eustace Saxby cried, resolutely. “Let him do his worst. He will learn what stuff a loyal Sussex yeoman is made of. If thy black jack ben’t empty, prithee fill up the horn, Elias. I would fain drink a health, which Master Moppett tells me was drunk in the dining-hall last night — soon after young master’s return.”
“Drink it under thy breath then, Eustace,” Moppett observed; “there be spies about, and no saying who may overhear thee.”
“In that case, I’ll drink confusion to the king’s enemies! and may his Majesty soon enjoy his Own again!” the falconer exclaimed aloud, emptying the foaming horn offered him by Crundy.
Ninian Saxby took no part in the foregoing discourse. After quaffing a horn of humming ale with the rest, he began to wind a call upon his bugle that made the walls of the old house echo to the cheerful notes. Perhaps this might have been intended as a signal, for as he sauntered towards the porch, who should issue from it but Patty Whinchat!
“Give you good day, sweetheart,” quoth Ninian, gallantly doffing his cap. “How blithe and bonny you do look this morning, fegs! Now for a well-turned phrase to tickle her ears withal,” he added to himself. “You look for all the world like a newly-roused tercel-gentle — the tercel is the falcon’s mate, Patty, and the falcon is a hawk for a prince — when after mantling, as we falconers term it, she crosseth her wings over her back, and disposeth herself to warble.”
“To warble!” the handmaiden exclaimed. “Lawk a mercy! I never yet heard that a hawk doth sing.”
“Neither doth she, Patty; but she warbleth, nevertheless — that is to say, she sitteth erect as yon tartaret doth on my father’s fist. Dost know what ‘coming to the lure’means, Patty? If not, I will teach thee — I will, fegs!”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 560