The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  With no other protection than the gold-headed cane in his hand, he set off at a brisk pace from his mansion on Mount Sion. To look at him in his doth doublet, trunk hose of the same material, and hat without feathers, as he strode vigorously along with anything but a regal deportment, no one would have taken him for England’s king.

  Remonstrances were often addressed to his majesty on the danger he ran in taking these walks unattended; but he heeded them not. He had no fears, and liked, occasionally, to be alone.

  Descending Mount Sion, on the brow of which stood the mansion he had just quitted, amidst a grove of rook-haunted trees, he passed the little collection of huts near the Wells, and climbed the heath in the direction of Mount Ephraim.

  It was a delightful morning, and as the king inhaled the fresh breeze, he rejoiced that he had come forth. Already he had shaken off the fatigues of the night, which had been devoted to a concert given in the rooms near the encampment.

  When he gained the summit of the hill, he met several cherry-cheeked country lasses with baskets of eggs, butter and poultry, proceeding to the tents on Rusthall Common; and none of these damsels passed without a good-humored jest from his majesty, which sent them laughing on their way. For everyone he encountered in his walk he had a cheery greeting.

  Still keeping on the top of the hill, he pursued the road leading to Southborough for some half-mile, when, being tempted by a pleasant-looking lane on the left, he turned into it.

  He had not gone far when he descried two persons advancing along the lane, and the unexpected appearance of one of them in such a spot, caused him to stop. The person he beheld was the Count de Bellegarde. With him was a maiden, whose beauty surprised the king. Her attire was simple and becoming, but gave no indication whatever of her rank. How could the count have discovered this lovely creature? That he had won her regard, was evident from her manner towards him.

  So engrossed were the pair with each other that they did not notice the king, who sprang up a bank and concealed himself among the bushes. The pair came slowly on, and passed the spot where he was hidden, but he could not hear what they said. The accents of the damsel were indescribably sweet.

  She did not accompany her lover much farther; but after bidding him a tender adieu, turned back, and repassed the king with quick footsteps.

  Charles, whose curiosity as to this mysterious fair one was greatly excited, was determined to follow her, but when he came forth from his retreat, she had disappeared. However, he felt certain she could not be far off, and hurried on.

  Presently he came in sight of a farmhouse, with a barn and hop-kiln attached to it, and at the porch of this habitation he perceived the fair object of his search.

  She seemed surprised and almost alarmed by the appearance of a stranger, and would have retired if he had not addressed her. The blush that suffused her cheek made her look more charming than ever.

  Charles had had some experience in beauty, but he confessed to himself that he had never beheld a lovelier creature. She had by no means a rustic air; her features were delicately moulded, and her figure slight and graceful; her complexion was clear, but embrowned by the sun. She had the largest black eyes imaginable, and raven tresses that threw those of Louise de Quéroualle into the shade.

  “Give you good-morrow, fair damsel,” said the king, saluting her. “You look as if you would not refuse me a bowl of milk and a crust of bread wherewith to break my fast. I have walked thus far from the Wells, and feel somewhat exhausted.”

  “Step in, I pray you, sir,” she rejoined, displaying a casket of pearls as she spoke. “You shall have what you desire.”

  On this invitation, Charles went in, and found himself in a large, plainly-furnished room, with a low roof and latticed windows. Doffing his hat, he sat down on a settle placed near a ponderous oak table on one side of the room.

  Spreading a snow-white napkin on the board, the damsel brought him the simple refreshments he had asked for, serving them with much grace.

  “I seldom drink milk,” said the king, raising the bowl to his lips; “but proffered by hands so fair, I prefer it to wine.”

  “You asked for milk, sir, or I would have brought you wine,” she rejoined. “Will it please you to drink a cup of sack now? Or if a flagon of ale will suit you better, you can have it.”

  “Oddsfish! this is a hospitable house,” exclaimed Charles. “One has only to ask and have. But neither ale nor sack for me, fair damsel. Surely, you do not dwell here alone?”

  “No, sir,” she replied with a smile. “My father lives with me.”

  “Then you are not yet married?”

  “Married? Oh, no, sir.”

  “But you soon will be; for I met a handsome young gallant just now in the lane, and I’ll swear he came from this house.”

  The remark threw her into such confusion, that Charles hastened to reassure her.

  “Nay, be not alarmed,” he said. “Your secret is safe with me. Where is your father, if I may venture to put the question?”

  “He went to Maidstone last night,” she replied.

  “To Maidstone? Ha!” cried the king.

  “Yes; but I expect him back early this morning.”

  “In time for breakfast?” remarked Charles, laughing. “But you have not yet told me your father’s name.”

  “It is Reuben Oldacre.”

  “Reuben Oldacre — ha! And your own?”

  “Violet.”

  “Violet! A charming name, and suits you exactly. And now, fair Mistress Violet, cannot you tell me something more about yourself? How do you pass your time? I warrant me you have been to the Wells since the court arrived there, to see the fine ladies drink the waters? Have you seen the king?”

  “I have no desire to see him,” she replied. “I am told he is as swarthy as a gipsy. I crave your pardon, sir; I did not notice that you are so dark.”

  Charles laughed good-humoredly.

  “men sometimes find favor with your sex,” he remarked. “Swarthy as I am, I have no reason to complain. But if you don’t admire the king, I’ll stake my life that he would admire you.”

  “I don’t want his admiration,” she rejoined. “They say he has fallen in love with the new French beauty, Louise de Quéroualle.”

  “This comes from Bellegarde,” thought Charles. “So you have heard of Mademoiselle de Quéroualle? Well, I have seen her, and can judge, and I affirm that she is not to be compared to you. Perhaps you have heard of Sir Peter Lely, the famous court painter?”

  “Yes; I have not only heard of him, but have seen his portraits of the Duchess of Cleveland and the beautiful Miss Stewart, and lovely pictures they are.”

  “You would make a lovelier picture than either of them, my sweet Violet. Sir Peter Lely is coming down to the Wells to paint Mademoiselle de Quéroualle for the king. He shall paint you.”

  Violet did not seem displeased by the proposition, extravagant as it sounded. Her vanity was roused.

  “Ah, it would, indeed, be delightful to be painted by Sir Peter Lely!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes flashing as she spoke. “But you are only jesting with me, sir. It is easy to make fine promises, but difficult to keep them.”

  “Not difficult on my part, sweetheart,” rejoined the king. “Lely shall paint you, just as you are now. I will send him here as soon as he arrives.”

  “Not for worlds, sir!” she exclaimed.

  At this moment, sounds were heard without, as if horsemen were entering the farm-yard.

  “Ah, there is my father!” she cried.

  “Plague take him! why should he arrive just now?” muttered the king.

  “He has brought some friends with him — hop-merchants, from Maidstone,” cried Violet. “Do, please, go, sir! He is hot-tempered, and may not like to find you here.”

  “What, ho!” shouted a voice, without.

  “He is calling for me, as you hear, sir. Pray go; indeed, you must.”

  The king put on his hat, but showed no symptoms of quitti
ng his seat.

  “We have not yet settled about Sir Peter Lely, and several other important matters,” he remarked, quietly.

  “There he is! — he sees you!” she cried, as a stout-built personage appeared at the lattice window, looking into the yard.

  “Don’t be alarmed, sweetheart,” said the king. “Were he as rugged as the Hyrcanian boar, I’d soon tame him.”

  CHAPTER IX

  FARMER OLDACRE

  Heavy footsteps were heard approaching the back door, and in another moment the burly farmer came in; booted, spurred, and having a riding-whip in his hand. His flushed features showed he was angry.

  “What’s this?” he cried, to his daughter. “A stranger here!”

  But before any explanation could be offered him by Violet, and without a word from the king, whose countenance was turned towards him, his manner instantly changed. Taking off his hat, he bowed respectfully to his guest.

  “Proud that my humble abode should be so highly honored,” he stammered out.

  “Tut, tut, man; there is nothing to be proud of,” cried Charles, stopping him. “Your fair daughter, as you see, has taken good care of me in your absence.”

  “Sorry she has played the hostess so indifferently,” rejoined the farmer.

  “She has given me all I want,” rejoined Charles. “But don’t mind me. Look to your friends — the Maidstone hop-merchants.”

  Here Violet made a slight sign to her father, which did not escape the king.

  “Time enough for them — they are busy with their horses,” said Oldacre. “But my character for hospitality will suffer, if your—”

  “Rather than that, I’ll take a cup of sack,” interrupted the king. “It will do me as much good as the Tunbridge waters.”

  “More, I’ll be bound,” rejoined the farmer, with a jovial air, that pleased the king. “I have little faith in the waters; though his most gracious majesty — whom heaven preserve! — seems to benefit by them.”

  “Ay; he drinks them daily,” observed Charles. “His physicians recommend them.”

  “Were I his physician, he should drink sack,” said the farmer. ““more wholesome of a morning than cold water. Bring a bottle of sack,” he added to Violet. “And see that we are not interrupted,” he added, as he passed him.

  “Sit down, Master Oldacre, sit down!” said the king. “Nearer, man, nearer,” he added, as the farmer seated himself at the extremity of the bench. “You have a very fair daughter, Oldacre. More fit for a palace than a cottage. How have you brought her up? How comes she with such a manner?”

  “Her mother was of better condition than myself,” replied the farmer. “My wife was of gentle blood.”

  “Ah! that explains it. I have told your daughter I must have her portrait painted by Sir Peter Lely.”

  “To place it beside that of Madam Nelly? No; that won’t do,” rejoined the farmer.

  “Pshaw! I must find a way to remove your foolish objections. You are standing in your own light, my honest friend. But here she comes.”

  As he spoke, Violet reappeared, with a flask of wine and drinking-cups. She filled one of the flagons for the king, and the other for her father.

  “To your speedy appearance at court, sweetheart!” cried Charles, as he emptied the cup.

  “Put no such notions into her head, I pray you, sir,” said Oldacre. “She is far better here.”

  “But does she think so herself — that is the question?” laughed the king. “Nay; let her answer.”

  “I confess I should like to see the court,” observed Violet.

  “And you would like to be seen there, too,” cried Charles. “With such beauty as yours, you might wed a noble. All the court gallants would be at your feet.”

  “Why, as I live, there is one at the door even now!” cried Violet, who was standing near the window.

  “A court gallant!” exclaimed Oldacre, starting up. “Who is he?”

  “Nay; how should I know, father?” she rejoined. “I have never seen him before.”

  “What is he like?” cried Charles. “Young and handsome — ha?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “But he has got his arm in a sling.”

  “Then it must be Talbot Harland,” said Charles. “What brings him here?”

  “He is tying his horse to a tree, father!” cried Violet. “Shall I admit him? Have I your permission, sir?”

  Charles nodded assent; and the next moment the door was opened, and Talbot came in.

  Great was his surprise on beholding the king; and he would have made a befitting reverence, but a slight gesture from Charles checked him.

  In the fair young damsel standing before him, Talbot fancied he discerned the motive of his majesty’s presence in the farm-house.

  “What brings Mr. Talbot Harland out so early?” cried Charles.

  “I am endeavoring to discover some traces of the villains who robbed Lady Muskerry,” replied Talbot; “and passing this farm-house, have stopped to make inquiries.”

  “I have heard of no robbery,” said Oldacre. “When did it occur?”

  “Last evening, in a wood near Rusthall Common,” said Talbot.

  “Ah, I was at Maidstone at the time,” replied the farmer. “I have only just returned. But you amaze me by what you say, sir. Robbers were never before heard of in this neighborhood.”

  “It is a most incomprehensible affair,” observed the king.

  “very diverting description of the occurrence was given me by the Count de Bellegarde, not two hours after it happened. The robbers were six in number, and their leader appears to be a gay young Frenchman, who styles himself Claude Duval. The rascal seems to have a great taste for dancing. Not only did he rob Lady Muskerry of four thousand pistoles, but he danced with her niece, Miss Neville, one of the queen’s maids of honor.”

  “I have sworn to capture him or shoot him!” cried Talbot.

  “Shoot him!” exclaimed Violet, turning pale.

  “Ay, shoot him!” repeated Talbot.

  “Mr. Talbot Harland has constituted himself Miss Neville’s champion,” said the king. “That is why he means to slay Duval for his impertinence in dancing with her.”

  “I am sorry I cannot help you, sir,” remarked Oldacre to Talbot. “But were I you, I would give up the chase. With your injured arm, you scarcely seem in a condition to engage with a desperate robber.”

  “Shall I tell you how Mr. Harland came by his hurt?” said the king to Violet. “Miss Neville is the heroine of this story, as of the other. The other night, at Lady Muskerry’s ball, the Count de Bellegarde was greatly struck by her beauty, and asked her to dance. She refused him. He was naturally vexed, but was further incensed by Mr. Harland’s laughter. Who gave the provocation, I know not, but an immediate meeting took place in the garden, despite the king’s express prohibition. Miss Neville’s unlucky champion got run through the arm, as you perceive.”

  There was something so arch in the king’s manner of telling this story, that neither Violet nor her father could help laughing. Talbot did not venture to manifest his annoyance.

  “Ah, the Count de Bellegarde is a dangerous rival,” cried Charles. “He boasts that he has never been unsuccessful. Have nothing to say to him, should you ever meet him,” he added to Violet. “He is fascinating, but faithless, as fifty of your sex have discovered.”

  “You give him a dreadful character, sir,” she cried.

  “Not worse than he deserves,” said Talbot. “I am sorry he has returned to plague us, but we shall soon be rid of him. He must go back with the Duchess of Orleans to St. Cloud.” Thinking he had remained long enough, Charles now arose. While taking leave of Violet, he said, in a low tone, “You may soon expect a visit from Sir Peter Lely, sweetheart.” Talbot followed him, and, unfastening his horse, took the bridle in his hand, and walked by the king’s side up the steep lane.

  Charles had not gone far when he looked back, and perceiving Violet at the door watching him, kissed his hand gallantly to
her.

  CHAPTER X

  A HAWKING PARTY AND WHAT HAPPENED AT IT

  The day was spent gaily, as were all the days while the court was at the Wells, in a variety of out-door amusements.

  After the waters had been duly quaffed by the crowd of fair dames and handsome gallants who flocked to the healthgiving spring to flirt and chatter, as much as for any other purpose — after a promenade on the pantiles, or a short stroll on the heath, the company dispersed — only to meet again a few hours afterwards, either at the bowling-green on Rusthall Common, where the king, and the Duke of York, and the chief members of the court, were sure to be found; or at some other general rendezvous.

  On that day, a hawking-party was made up by the king for the Duchess of Orleans, and, of course, Mademoiselle de Quéroualle was present at it. Such a party, when composed chiefly of ladies, as on the present occasion, forms one of the most charming and picturesque sights possible. And as the day was everything that could be desired for the sport, and as everybody looked well and in good spirits, there was no drawback to the enjoyment.

  His fickle majesty, we fear, must have forgotten the fair girl whom he had seen early in the morning, for he now seemed engrossed by Louise. The graceful figure of the brilliant Frenchwoman was displayed to perfection in her blue velvet riding-dress, and she managed her horse extremely well. Two falconers were in attendance upon the Duchess of Orleans, but Louise was invited to fly the first hawk. The quarry was a wild dove, and was instantly killed. Shortly afterwards, a heron, which had been roused from a pool in the hollow, afforded far better sport, and, with its long, sharp bill, transfixed its antagonist in mid-air.

  But, as both birds dropped to the ground together, they had well-nigh caused an accident to Miss Neville. They fell within a short distance of her horse, and the startled animal dashed off madly across the plain.

  Dorinda was in some danger, for she could not check her horse, and there were deep pits in the common, into which he might plunge headlong.