The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  The party then turned towards Stourton, and once more crossing the Stour by the Stewponey Bridge, galloped on towards Stourbridge. When within a quarter of a mile of the town they came to a halt, and Careless and Captain Giffard were sent on to reconnoitre.

  As Stourbridge at that time consisted only of one long street, it was easy to ascertain whether any soldiers were on the watch, but none could be discovered. The street was entirely deserted, all the inhabitants having, apparently, retired to rest.

  Perfectly satisfied with their inspection, Careless and Giffard returned to the royal party, and informed his majesty that he might proceed without fear. Charles did not question the information he had received, but judging it safest to speed through the town, placed himself at the head of the troop, and galloped along the street.

  Roused by the clatter of the horses’ hoofs, several of the inhabitants rushed to the windows, and just caught sight of the flying cavalcade.

  The Royalists, however, had not got far when a drum was loudly beaten “to arms,” showing that Careless and Giffard had been deceived. It presently appeared that a company of militia was quartered at the further end of the town, and their steeds being ready saddled and bridled, the men mounted and formed as quickly as they could in the street to check the fugitives.

  But they did not succeed in their purpose. The king and his companions drew their swords, and dashed upon them with such impetuosity that they cut their way through the phalanx, and in another minute were out of the town. These soldiers of the militia, not being so well-seasoned as Cromwell’s Ironclads, were staggered by the fierce and determined assault of the Cavaliers, and did not attempt pursuit. Charles and his party, therefore, galloped on as swiftly as they could for a mile or so, when the king slackened his pace.

  “Is there an inn hereabouts?” asked the king. “I am desperately thirsty.”

  “My liege, there is a solitary hostel between Wordsley and Kingswinford,” replied Giffard. “But I know not what can be obtained at it.”

  “A cup of cider or ale will serve my turn now,” replied Charles.

  “The White Horse is not so badly provided,” remarked Careless. “Nat Coulter, the host, can brew as good a pottle of sack as any man in Staffordshire, but I doubt if he can supply us all — even with ale. However, we shall see.”

  On reaching the White Horse the fugitive Royalists found much better entertainment than might have been expected. Nat Coulter was in bed, but he was soon roused from his slumbers, and with his wife and his two sons set heartily to work to serve his unexpected guests. He had plenty of ale and cider, with which the Cavaliers were perfectly content, but only a single runlet of canary. However, this amply sufficed for the king and the chief personages with him. As to provisions, they ran rather short, Nat Coulter’s larder not being very abundantly supplied, but the hungry Royalists devoured all they could find. Though Nat and his household were known to be loyal, Charles did not discover himself to them, but spoke French, and was addressed in that language by his attendants during his stay at the White Horse. Nat, however, being a shrewd fellow, afterwards declared that he had recognised the king.

  A consultation was held in the little parlour of the inn. On quitting Barbourne Bridge, Charles, as we have already stated, had decided upon seeking a refuge in Boscobel. He had not abandoned this design, though during the nocturnal ride his plans had undergone some change. It was now proposed that the king should proceed in the first instance to White Ladies, another secluded house belonging to the Giffards, about a mile distant from Boscobel, where arrangements could be made for his majesty’s safety, and where he could separate from his companions. Both the Earl of Derby and Roscarrock agreed that this would be the best and safest course to pursue, and it was decided upon by his majesty.

  WHITE LADIES.

  Again mounting their steeds, which had been as well cared for in the interim as circumstances permitted, they rode on at a quick pace, tracking the woodlands in the neighbourhood of Himley, and obtaining glimpses of the extensive lake. No furnaces at that time bursting from the ground marred the sylvan beauty of the scene.

  After passing Wombourn, the troop plunged into Brewood Forest, and were soon buried in its depths. Guided through the intricacies of the wood by Charles Giffard, who was now in his own domain, and knew every roadway, they at last reached a little valley entirely surrounded by timber, in the midst of which stood an old-fashioned black and white timber mansion. Closely adjoining this ancient house, and almost appearing to form part of it, were the ivy-clad ruins of a monastery.

  Day was just breaking at the time, and the picture presented to the king, and seen by the grey light of dawn, was inexpressibly striking.

  “That is White Ladies, sire,” said Charles Giffard. “There your majesty will find shelter.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER III.

  THE PENDERELS.

  In Brewood Forest, which was situated on the boundaries of Shropshire and Staffordshire, and extended into both counties, two large monasteries had existed — one being a Cistercian priory, and the other Benedictine. It was from the ruined Cistercian priory, which had been founded by Hubert Walter, Archbishop of Canterbury, in the time of Richard Cœur-de-Lion, that the old mansion in which the fugitive king was about to take shelter derived its name. The house dated back to the period when the monastery was suppressed. It has now disappeared, but the ruins of the priory are left, and consist of a massive wall and a few circular-headed windows. A doorway, with a fine Norman arch, leads to what was once the chapel, but is now a small place of sepulture.

  Viewed in connexion with the old mansion, the ruins of the monastery produced a singularly beautiful effect — the strangely-secluded situation of the house adding to its charm. It seemed as though it were hidden from a world of strife and care, and as if none of the dire calamities of war, which those now gazing at it had so recently experienced, could disturb it. Fain would the weary Cavaliers who gazed at the peaceful old house have rested there. But rest, as they well knew, was not for them. Their toilsome and perilous journey was not yet over. With some of them the road they were about to take led to the scaffold.

  White Ladies and the monastic ruins adjoining it were surrounded by a low wall, in the midst of which was an old gateway of the same date as the house. Around, as we have said, on every side, were woods, and it was these thick groves that gave to the place the peculiar air of seclusion that characterised it.

  Praying the king to allow him to go forward, Captain Giffard rode towards the gateway, which was fastened, but he had not reached it, when a tall stalwart individual, clad in a leathern doublet, and having a woodman’s knife stuck in his girdle, strode towards the garden wall. Charles watched this sturdy fellow as he advanced, and was very favourably impressed by his manly countenance.

  The forester — for such he seemed — was armed with a wood-bill, which he had snatched up on perceiving the troop, but being quickly reassured on finding his young master with them, he flung down his weapon. After exchanging a few words with him, Captain Giffard bade the forester open the gate, and returned to the king.

  “That’s an honest fellow, I’ll be sworn,” observed Charles, “and as brave as honest. He looked just now as if he would strike down the first man who attempted to enter.”

  “And so he would, my liege, had we been rebels and Roundheads,” replied Giffard. “George Penderel has been a soldier, and served in your royal father’s army at Edgehill, where his brother, Tom Penderel, was killed. He is now a woodward, as are all his brothers, except Humphrey, the miller of Boscobel.”

  “If they are all like George, they must be a gallant set,” remarked Charles. “Are there many of them?”

  “Five living,” remarked Giffard. “And George is a fair sample of the rest. They are all true men, stout of heart and strong of limb, as if made of their native oak. Above all, they are loyal to the core. It is to their care,” he added, lowering his voice, “that I propose to confide your majesty.
Lord Derby and Colonel Roscarrock will give you an assurance of their fidelity.”

  “They have already done so,” replied Charles. “What ho! George Penderel,” he exclaimed.

  Hearing himself called, the stalwart forester, who had been standing near the open gate, instantly came forward, but on approaching the king, he stopped and doffed his cap.

  “You know me, I perceive, George,” said the king.

  “I have never set eyes on your majesty before,” rejoined the forester, “but I should know that royal countenance among a thousand.”

  “I hope some others who may chance to see me in these parts may not be gifted with thy discernment, honest George,” replied Charles. “You have served the king, my father — now you must serve me.”

  “In the field, sire?” cried George, eagerly.

  “Alack! my good fellow, I have no longer an army,” remarked the king sadly. “These are all the followers left me — and I must, perforce, part with them.”

  “But I will never leave your majesty unless you bid me,” rejoined George.

  “You have four brothers, ha?”

  “All as trusty as myself. Your majesty will be safe with us. All the wealth of the kingdom should not tempt us to betray you.”

  “Enough,” replied the king, dismounting — his bridle being held by George Penderel.

  The principal personages composing the royal retinue dismounted at the same time, and followed his majesty into the house. By the direction of Captain Giffard all the horses were then taken into the interior of the ruined monastery, with the exception of the king’s steed, which was brought by George Penderel into the hall.

  A search was next instituted for provisions, and in this quest Careless played a conspicuous part. Repairing to the kitchen, he there found Dame Penderel and a servant-maid, and the fire being fortunately lighted, he soon sent a large dish of fried eggs and bacon to the king, which was greatly enjoyed by his majesty and the nobles with him. Nor while he provided so well for the wants of others did the thoughtful major neglect his own, but contrived to make a very hearty breakfast in the kitchen. It must not be supposed that the rest of the troop, who were now in the ruined priory chapel, fared so well. Bread, biscuits, oat-cakes, and cheese were distributed among them, and they had plenty of sack.

  Meanwhile, Captain Giffard, who was all anxiety to make arrangements for the king’s safety, had sent for Richard Penderel — commonly known as “Trusty Dick” — who dwelt at a cottage in the forest, called Hobbal Grange. William Penderel, the eldest brother, who resided at Boscobel, which was about a mile distant from White Ladies, had likewise been sent for by the Earl of Derby.

  Trusty Dick was first to arrive, and Charles was as well pleased with his looks as he had been with those of the younger brother. William was powerfully built, and quite as tall as George.

  “His majesty has resolved to disguise himself, Dick,” said Captain Giffard. “What sort of attire ought he to put on?”

  “If his majesty will condescend to wear a suit of my clothes,” said Richard Penderel, “I’ll engage that not a rebel trooper among them all will recognise him. My best jerkin, leather doublet and green trunk hose, will just fit you, sire, and I haven’t worn them more than once or twice.”

  “The disguise will suit me exactly,” cried Charles. “I will become a Brewood forester like thyself. We are about the same height, as I think, though thou hast the advantage of me in respect of bulk.”

  “Truly, I am somewhat clumsier than your majesty.”

  “Haste, and fetch the clothes, Dick, for I presume thou hast not got them with thee,” said Captain Giffard.

  “One thing more is needful to complete the disguise,” said Richard Penderel. “I scarce like to mention it. Yet if it be neglected, all else will be marred.”

  “What is the indispensable matter?” asked Charles.

  “Your majesty must consent to part with your long locks,” replied Dick.

  “Oddsfish! I had not thought of that,” exclaimed the king. “But I see the necessity. Better lose my locks than my head. Go fetch the clothes.”

  Trusty Dick made a humble reverence and departed.

  Not long afterwards, William Penderel of Boscobel made his appearance. He was the most remarkable of this remarkable brotherhood. All were tall — not one of them being under six feet in height — but William towered above the others by a couple of inches.

  Although gigantic in stature, he was well proportioned, and possessed prodigious strength. His features were cast in a massive mould, and though somewhat heavy, had the same honest expression that characterised the whole family.

  On entering the house he found Lord Derby in the hall, and its appearance — filled as it was with Cavaliers, with the king’s horse in the midst of them — satisfied him that some great disaster had occurred.

  “Your lordship is welcome back,” he said, bowing reverently; “though I own I would rather not have seen you again so soon. Rumours of a terrible defeat at Worcester have reached us, I know not how.”

  “Ill news, they say, travels quickly,” replied the earl, surprised; “but this news must have travelled through the air, if it has reached you before us, for we have ridden here direct from Worcester, and almost without stoppage.”

  “Oh, my lord, messengers doubtless have galloped from post to post, and so have gotten before you. But tell me, I pray you,” he added, anxiously, “is the king safe?”

  “The king is here,” replied the earl. “Come with me and you shall see him.”

  So saying he opened the door of a parlour panelled with dark oak, and fitted up with oak furniture. Charles was seated in the room, and Lord Wilmot, Captain Giffard, and Careless were with him.

  Without any prompting, the huge forester immediately prostrated himself before the king, who gave him his hand to kiss.

  “This is William Penderel, sire,” observed the earl.

  “I do not need the information,” replied Charles. “I am right glad to see thee, William. I have already seen two of thy brothers.”

  “Then your majesty has seen two of your loyal subjects,” replied the forester, rising. “We will defend you to the death.”

  “William Penderel,” said the Earl of Derby, in a voice well calculated to impress his hearer, “I know thy fidelity and worth, and have answered for thee and for thy brothers to the king’s majesty. A sacred duty now devolves upon you, and take heed you perform it well. You will have the care of the king. He is surrounded by enemies — cunning as foxes in quest of prey. Beware of their wiles and stratagems. Open foes may be guarded against — secret foes are most to be dreaded.”

  “I and my brothers will strive to guard his majesty against all foes, open and secret,” replied William Penderel; “and with Heaven’s help I doubt not we shall accomplish his deliverance.”

  “Help to conceal me — that is all I ask at present,” said the king.

  “We have more than one hiding-place at Boscobel,” observed Penderel. “I can conceal his lordship as well as your majesty.”

  “Mistake me not, William,” said the Earl of Derby. “I shall not tax thy services — nor will any other. Thou must look to the king alone.”

  “I understand your lordship,” replied William Penderel; “and I promise you that my sole care shall be bestowed upon his majesty. But let me humbly counsel your lordship and those with you not to tarry here too long. A troop of militia under command of Colonel Bloundel, is quartered at Codsall, which is not more than three miles off, and as soon as they receive news of the battle, they will assuredly search all the houses hereabouts.”

  “Thou art right,” replied the earl. “We must not remain here long.”

  At that moment the Duke of Buckingham and Roscarrock entered the room.

  “We have news for your majesty,” said the duke; “news of Leslie.”

  “What of the traitor?” cried Charles, frowning.

  “He has rallied with the whole of his cavalry on the heath near Tong
e Castle,” replied Buckingham. “A messenger has just arrived, saying that he waits there to conduct your majesty to Scotland.”

  “What number of men has he with him?” asked Charles.

  “About three thousand, sire, so the messenger affirms,” replied Roscarrock.

  “Three thousand men might have turned the battle yesterday,” said Charles, bitterly. “Let those go with the traitor who list, I will trust him no more. If he would not stand by me when I had an army at my command, of a surety he will not stand by me now that I have none.”

  The tone in which the king spoke showed that his resolution was taken. No one, therefore, attempted to dissuade him from his purpose.

  “We must separate,” he continued. “I shall seek safety in flight. Those who have faith in Leslie, can join him. I will not attempt to influence your decision. Retire, I pray you, and consult together.”

  All then left the room, with the exception of Careless, who remained with the king.

  * * *

  CHAPTER IV.

  HOW CHARLES WAS DISGUISED AS A WOODMAN.

  “Must I, too, quit your majesty?” asked Careless.

  “There is no help for it, Will,” replied Charles. “My best chance of escape — the sole chance, in fact — lies in being left to myself. I shall be well served by these faithful Penderels.”

  “Of that you may rest assured, sire,” said Careless. “Yet I still think I may be of some service to your majesty. At any rate, I shall not quit the neighbourhood of Brewood Forest, so that I may be readily found, if wanted. I know the country as well as the Penderels themselves. So unimportant a circumstance may easily have slipped from your majesty’s memory, and I must therefore remind you that I was born at Bromhall, in Staffordshire, within three miles of White Ladies.”

  “Ah, I recollect!” cried Charles. “No wonder you are well acquainted with the district.”