Charles himself was close at hand, but did not interfere in the struggle, seeing his assistance was wholly unneeded. Clavering had also sprung, sword in hand, from behind a piece of furniture; but ere he could reach the scene of action the seizure of the redoubted Ironside leader was accomplished, and all that was left for the young man to do was to congratulate his Majesty on his deliverance.
But there were others, as it presently appeared, who were equally anxious to express their feelings of satisfaction. The arras curtain was drawn aside, and from the inner room issued a number of persons, who had been anxiously awaiting the result of Micklegift’s device, which, though successful as far as the king’s safety was concerned, had proved disastrous to himself. No one, however, troubled himself about the luckless Independent minister for the moment. He was left to lie where he had fallen. All the attention was directed towards the king. The party now flocking towards him, which consisted of Colonel Maunsel, Lord Wilmot, Colonel Philips, with Mr. Beard and his daughter, together with old Martin Geere, were enthusiastic in their demonstrations of joy. Concealment was no longer possible, neither was it attempted. Charles was now recognized by all as their sovereign. Bending the knee before the monarch, Colonel Maunsel took the hand which his Majesty graciously extended towards him, and gave utterance to his unbounded feelings of delight, while the rest, completely carried away by enthusiasm, made the roof echo with their loyal shouts of “God save King Charles!”
Much touched by this exhibition of their loyalty, Charles, as soon as he could obtain silence, thanked them for their zeal, in accents betraying the depth of his emotion, and attesting his sincerity.
But another matter now claimed the king’s attention. One of his enemies was gone to his account, but the more dangerous of the two was left, to expiate his offences with his life. Charles prepared to pass judgment upon him.
Disarmed, with his elbows tightly pinioned to his side by a sword-belt, having a guard on either hand ready to stab him or shoot him if he attempted resistance — which, indeed, in his present state, was wellnigh impossible — the Ironside captain, who refused to move at John Habergeon’s bidding, was forcibly dragged before the king.
Meanwhile, Charles having seated himself in a richly carved oak chair, high- backed, and provided with a cushion of Utrecht velvet, placed his foot on a stool covered with the same material, which was set before him with the most profound respect by old Martin Geere. At the same time the company stationed themselves on either side of the chair occupied by his Majesty, thus giving the group some slight resemblance to a gathering round the throne. On the right of the king, and close to the royal chair, stood Colonel Maunsel leaning on his drawn sword. On the same side were Lord Wilmot and Colonel Philips. On the left stood Clavering, with his rapier bared, and held with its point to the ground. Near to Clavering were Dulcia and Mr. Beard. At some little distance, near the inner room, was a group, consisting of Giles Moppett, Elias Crundy, and others of the household, together with Patty Whinchat and Temperance Stone. When Stelfax was brought before the king, John Habergeon would fain have compelled him to make an obeisance, but the stubborn Republican refused, and, drawing himself up, said, “I will not bow the head to the son of the tyrant.”
“Let him be,” said Charles. “It is too late to teach him manners. What hast thou to say, fellow,” he continued, addressing the prisoner, “why I should not order thee to instant execution?”
“Nothing,” replied Stelfax, resolutely. “I am prepared to die. A soldier of the Lord would scorn to ask life from the son of Rehoboam.”
“Thy life is justly forfeited,” said the king. “Thou hast compassed my destruction, and hast lifted thy sacrilegious hand against the Lord’s anointed; but it was not Heaven’s will that I should thus perish.”
“It may be thou art reserved to be a scourge to the land like thy father,” said Stelfax; “but if there are any left of my mind, thy reign will be short, and thy end bloody.”
“I pray your Majesty give no further hearing to the rebellious villain,” said John Habergeon. “Let us take him forth, and deal with him as his crimes deserve. We will first strike off the hand which he hath impiously raised against your sacred person.”
Ere Charles could give his consent to the solicitation, Dulcia stepped forward, and threw herself at his feet. In this supplicating posture she lifted up her hands, and said, in accents of the most earnest entreaty, “Beseech your Majesty, cut not off the man’s life thus suddenly. Give him time for repentance.”
“He is a soldier, lady,” replied the king, gravely, “and, as such, should be prepared to die. We see no reason why delay should be granted him. He would have given none to ourself. Yet he shall have time for prayer. See that it be so, good fellow,” he added to John Habergeon.
“I will go with him, and strive to bring him to repentance, said Mr. Beard.
“I do not desire thy presence,” said Stelfax sternly. “I can make up my account with Heaven without thy aid. Yon hypocritical traitor, whom I have dispatched before me,” he added, looking towards the body of Micklegift, “hath disgusted me with all who profess the sacred calling.”
“What! hast thou no repentance for the bloody deed thou hast done?” demanded the clergyman.
“Wherefore should I repent?” rejoined Stelfax. “The man was justly slain. He had betrayed me.”
“There thou art wrong,” remarked John Rabergeon. “Micklegift was a captive in our hands, and we compelled him to lure thee forth, in order to prevent harm being done by thee to his Majesty.”
“And well was it for Charles Stuart that ye employed the device,” remarked Stelfax. “If that bullet had not been wasted on the fool Micklegift, it would have been lodged in your king’s brain. Well was it also for Charles Stuart that he came to this house ere I was prepared for him. Had he tarried till to- morrow, his escape had been impossible.”
“My warning, you see, was not in vain,” observed the king to Clavering.
Again Dulcia interceded for Stelfax, imploring his Majesty not to doom him to instant death.
“You seem to have an interest more than ordinary in this man, young lady,” said Charles. “Whence arises it? Speak frankly, if you desire to serve him.”
“I owe him some gratitude, my liege,” replied Dulcia, “inasmuch as he respected me when I was in his power. While detained as a prisoner with my father at Lewes, Captain Stelfax sought to win my love, but by honourable means alone, and finding at length that his suit was hopeless, he generously — nay, I must use the word, sire — he generously set my father and myself at liberty.”
“This is true, my gracious liege,” said Mr. Beard. “As my daughter hath stated, we were both in his hands for nigh three weeks, and were treated by him with much respect — nay, with kindness.”
“I am bound also to add my testimony to that already given, that the man showed me much personal consideration, and detained me not when I surrendered myself to him at Lewes,” said Colonel Maunsel.
“Oddsfish!” exclaimed the good-natured monarch, “the knave seems to have some better qualities than might be expected. And so you intercede for him, eh, fair mistress?”
“Earnestly — most earnestly,” cried Dulcia.
“And you too, worthy sir?” continued the king, turning to Mr. Beard.
“As earnestly as my child, sire,” the good clergyman replied.
“And what says Colonel Maunsel?” cried Charles, looking at the old Cavalier.
“Nay, my liege, I know not what to say,” rejoined the colonel, with a look of perplexity. “I do not like to beg the man’s life, after what hath happened—”
“Tut! tut!” exclaimed the king. “Whatever faults may be imputed to him, it shall never be said that Charles Stuart was wanting in magnanimity. I forgive the fellow his attempt upon my life. Nay, it is my pleasure that he be set free.”
“Set free!” exclaimed Stelfax, in surprise.
“Ay, but not till it can be done with safety,” said the ki
ng. “Of that Colonel Maunsel will judge.”
“Colonel Maunsel will exercise his own discretion in the matter,” said Stelfax; “but henceforth your Majesty — for I must needs style you so — will have no enemy in me. My lips shall be sealed to all I have seen and heard this day. I am not a man to make professions, but thus much I will promise Colonel Maunsel in return for his generosity, that he shall not, if I can help it, be called to account for sheltering his proscribed sovereign. To that I plight my word.”
“And you will keep your word, I am certain, Captain Stelfax,” rejoined the king. “Unbind him,” he added to John Habergeon.
But as the old trooper hesitated to obey the king’s command, and was on the point of remonstrating with his Majesty on the apparent imprudence of the step, Dulcia, who had already risen, sprang towards the prisoner, and with her own hands undid his bonds.
“We are now quits, Captain Stelfax,” she said.
“I owe my life to you, maiden,” replied the other, in a voice of deep emotion. “Would it could be devoted to your service! — but I know this cannot be. May you be happy!”
Dulcia did not trust herself to reply, but went hastily back to Clavering, who had looked on in speechless astonishment.
“Take Captain Stelfax below,” said Colonel Maunsel to John Habergeon, “and see that he wants nothing. Circumstances, as you will readily apprehend, sir,” he added to the Ironside leader, “will not permit me to requite your former civility to myself by allowing you to depart as a prisoner on parole, but your comforts shall be attended to.”
“I cannot expect better treatment,” replied Stelfax. “The best wish I can offer to your Majesty is that you may soon see the other side of the Channel.”
With an obeisance to the king he then retired, John Habergeon and Ninian marching on either side of him.
“There is some good about that rough Republican,” observed the king, when he was gone.
“Your Majesty seems to think so,” observed Lord Wilmot. “After your magnanimous treatment of him, I do not wonder he war converted, and only marvel he did not, swear fidelity on the spot.”
“Oddsfish! my lord, you overrate my conduct. I had taken the sting from the hornet, why crush the creature? Besides, I owed the fellow something, for he might have dispatched me when I was alone with him in yon hiding-place. But the matter is well over, and without harm to any one except that miserable Independent minister, who seems to have deserved his fate.”
“I fear he did, sire,” replied Colonel Maunsel. “And since all has ended so fortunately, I will pray your Majesty to adjourn to the banqueting-room, where a trifling collation awaits you. As things have turned out, it is lucky that the chief part of the dishes composing the repast are cold, otherwise the cook’s labour might have been thrown away.”
“To the banqueting-chamber, then, at once,” exclaimed the king, gaily. “‘Fore George! colonel, I promise to do justice to your feast, whether the meats be hot or cold. My confinement in yon lurking-hole has given me a wondrous appetite. Your hand, fair mistress.”
Blushing with pleasure at the honour conferred upon her, Dulcia gave her hand to his Majesty, who led her down the grand staircase, and through the entrance- hall into the dining-room, where the tables were groaning beneath the weight of a sumptuous repast.
All the guests had very speedily assembled, and a place was assigned to each by Colonel Maunsel — Charles, however, insisting upon Dulcia sitting near him, though he good-naturedly intimated to Clavering that he might occupy the chair on the damsel’s other side. The repast was abundant and excellent, and the best wines in the colonel’s cellar, as might naturally be expected, were produced on the occasion, old Martin Geere taking care that the glasses were kept constantly filled. The party were still seated at table, though the appetites of most of the guests were satisfied, when Colonel Gunter, and his kinsman, Captain Gunter, were announced, and the two gentlemen entered the room. They had just arrived from Shoreham, and brought the welcome intelligence that Captain Tattersall had got in his cargo, and was quite ready to sail the next morning before daybreak.
“The rascal, however, still sticks to his terms,” said Colonel Gunter, “and insists upon seeing his passengers before he will agree to take them. But it is only a whim, I am certain. There will be no real difficulty with him.”
“But why did you not bring him here?” cried the king.
“For the best of all reasons, my liege,” replied Gunter; “because he would not come. But he has appointed to meet you this evening at the George at Brightelmstone; and though I am very reluctant to disturb your enjoyment, and withdraw you from further participation of Colonel Maunsel’s hospitality, yet I think it will be best and wisest to repair to Brightelmstone without delay.”
“You summon me from a most delightful entertainment,” said the king. “However, sit down for a moment, man, and do you also take a chair, Captain Gunter. Let all glasses be charged — my own, you see, is full to the brim. I will not depart without drinking the health of our host, and I hope it may not be long ere I shall visit him again — though in other sort than the present — at Ovingdean Grange.”
The old Cavalier was quite overwhelmed by the gracious words of his royal master, and vainly endeavoured to express his deep sense of gratitude. Charles, however, took him kindly by the hand, and said,
“Not another word, colonel — not another word. I know what you would say. Do not forget your promise to me to make these two young people happy. Take my word for it, your son could not have made a better choice. I must now bid you adieu! Brief as my visit has been, it has comprehended incident enough to serve me for a much longer interval, and I might have remained a week in some other places and not have had half so much excitement. My adventures at Ovingdean Grange are a worthy finish to my six weeks’ wanderings.”
The king then rose, and all the company rose likewise. Finding it was his Majesty’s wish to depart immediately, notwithstanding his disappointment at losing his royal guest, and his desire to detain him, Colonel Maunsel did not offer any opposition, but ordered the horses to be brought round without delay. While his injunctions were being fulfilled, the king repaired to the colonel’s chamber, and resumed the travelling habiliments which he had temporarily laid aside. Equipped as he had been on his arrival, he then descended to the entrance-hall, where all were assembled to witness his departure, the household crowding round him, and reiterating their expressions of loyalty and devotion as he came down the staircase. Foremost amongst them was Patty Whinchat, who was fortunate enough to obtain a valedictory word and smile from his Majesty. Temperance Stone was also amongst the throng, and from that moment abjured her Republican notions, and became a staunch Royalist. Bowing repeatedly to the assemblage, and addressing a few parting civilities to Dulcia and Mr. Beard, Charles went forth with his host, who would insist upon holding the stirrup for him as he mounted, and who invoked Heaven’s blessings on his Majesty’s head, as the king bade him a kindly farewell.
Accompanied by an escort, consisting of Clavering Maunsel and Lord Wilmot, Colonel Philips and the two Gunters, and followed by John Habergeon and Ninian Saxby, the king rode slowly up the valley, and then mounted the eminence on the left.
On gaining the brow of the hill, he paused for a moment to take a last look of the old house amidst its trees, and then rode round the sweeping heights of White Hawk Hill in the direction of Brightelmstone.
BOOK IX. BRIGHTELMSTONE IN 1651
CHAPTER I.
A Glance At Brightelmstone In The Nineteenth Century
LITTLE did Charles the Second foresee, when halting on the evening in question with his escort on the smooth and pleasant slopes of the hill now laid out as the Queen’s Park, that on the site of the obscure fishing-village towards which he gazed, would arise, some two centuries later, one of the fairest and most magnificent cities ever built on the margin of the sea, since the time when Pompeii the Beautiful was destroyed by the fiery ashes of Vesuvius. Little did
he think that the bare and solitary cliffs above which he stood would be covered with lines of stately terraces, comprising mansions many of which would rival in size and splendour the most princely habitations of the London of his own day. Little did he think that in that wide hollow, now known as the Steyne, through the midst of which an open brook found its way to the sea, where stunted trees distorted by the gales, and mean scattered habitations surrounded by patches of ill-kept gardens, and tenanted by fishermen and other seafaring folk, could alone be distinguished — little did he think that in this dreary hollow one of the most refined of his successors, and one whose Sybaritic tastes were in many respects akin to his own, would construct a palace of Oriental splendour. Little did he foresee that, in the lapse of time, this remote and almost unknown fishing village on the Sussex coast should become, by agencies of which he could not dream, and which, if described, he might not have credited, so connected with the great metropolis itself, as to form almost its marine suburb. Little did he foresee these wondrous and inconceivable changes. And if a vision of the Brighton of the Nineteenth Century could have been revealed to him, he might have thought he had been suddenly transported to some other and more favoured portion of the globe. What two centuries more may do for this superb marine city we are not bold enough to speculate. But if the changes should be as great as those which have occurred since Charles the Second gazed upon the little parent village on the evening of the 14th of October, 1651, Brighton will have become a marvellous city indeed.
But since there was no magician in the young king’s escort to raise up for him a vision of the future splendid city, nor any astrologer to foretell its grandeur, Charles saw only that which was exhibited to the ordinary eye of humanity. And the picture, it must be owned, was one that did not excite any extraordinary interest in his breast; neither might it merit any special description, except that there may be some persons not indisposed to learn what the Queen of English watering-places was like two centuries ago.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 585