Charles and Father Huddlestone were still standing at the window looking out upon the scene, though all those engaged in the conflict had disappeared, when Mr. Whitgreave, who had been roused by the report of the carabine, entered the room, and learnt what had occurred.
“Who can those Cavaliers be?” inquired the king. “’Tis strange they should have arrived so opportunely.”
“Perhaps Major Careless has returned, my liege, and has brought Colonel Lane with him,” observed Mr. Whitgreave. “No other persons would be likely to come here to-night. I will go forth and see.”
Mr. Whitgreave’s conjecture proved correct. By the time he reached the close, Careless and Colonel Lane had returned to it, and they then explained that they had come to conduct the king to Bentley House.
“I do not think his majesty could safely remain here another day, Mr. Whitgreave,” said Colonel Lane. “I have been given to understand that Captain Stone, the governor of Stafford Castle, intends to search this house to-morrow, and to bring Southall, the redoubted priest-catcher, with him. It seems quite certain that, in some way or other, the king has been tracked to Moseley Hall, and I am therefore of opinion that he ought to change his quarters without delay.”
“I do not believe that even Southall will discover the hiding-places in my house,” rejoined Whitgreave. “Still, the king ought not to be exposed to any risk that can be avoided; and if you are prepared to receive him at Bentley House, I think he had best go there to-night. At all events, after what you tell me of Captain Stone’s threatened visit, I should not dare to oppose the plan.”
Mr. Whitgreave then returned to the house, and told the king what he had seen and heard.
“Your two faithful adherents are waiting to take you hence, sire,” he said. “Colonel Lane affirms,” he added, with a sigh, “that my house is no longer a safe place of refuge for your majesty, and though I cannot agree with him, I will not urge you to stay.”
“I did not expect this sudden summons, I confess, Mr. Whitgreave,” rejoined the king; “and I need not say it is far from agreeable to me. But I have no option. From the appearance of those two spies I am convinced that my retreat has been discovered, and if Colonel Lane had not come for me, I should have deemed it prudent, to leave before daybreak. I hope you will not suffer for the devotion you have shown me. But I shall ever remain your debtor.” Then, turning to Father Huddlestone, he added, “it might be enough for me to tell you that I shall always think the better of your religion since I have seen how well you practise it, but when I reflect on the many good and faithful subjects you have brought me in these evil times, when almost every hand is raised against me, I feel that I should be ungrateful if I did not say how deeply I am beholden to you. You have made the Penderels what they are, and what I have found them — the truest men living.”
“Through Heaven’s grace I have made them what they ought to be, my liege,” said Father Huddlestone. “I have always striven against those who have sought to overthrow the throne. It is possible that Heaven may have further trials in store for your majesty, to which I earnestly exhort you to submit with patience, but I feel assured that in due season you will be amply rewarded. Place your trust in Heaven, sire, and you will be delivered from your enemies. It may be long ere you regain your kingdom, but the day will come — provided you are true to Heaven. Forsake not God, and you shall not be forsaken!”
Charles remained silent for a few moments, and then said in a low tone:
“I will strive to follow your counsel, father.”
The king was still pondering on what had been said to him, when Mrs. Whitgreave, bearing a taper, entered the room. Robed in white, and looking excessively pale, she looked like an apparition.
Advancing to meet her, Charles said:
“I should have been sorry to quit Moseley Hall without bidding you adieu, madam, but I trust you have not been disturbed from your slumbers on my account.”
“I keep long vigils, sire, and often pass the greater part of the night in prayer,” she replied. “When my son tapped at my door just now to inform me that your majesty was about to depart, I was praying for your safety.”
“I thank you, madam,” replied the king, much moved. “The prayers of so excellent a lady must avail me.”
“If I live to see your majesty restored to your kingdom, I shall have lived long enough. Here is a little relic,” she said, offering him a small silver box. “I dare say your majesty has no faith in such things — nevertheless, I pray you to wear it.”
“I will wear it for your sake, madam,” he rejoined, taking the little silver box, “and I shall have no doubt of its efficacy.”
Charles would then have taken leave of the loyal-hearted dame, but she besought permission to attend him to the outer door.
Accordingly, the whole party quitted the room, and proceeding as noiselessly as possible, descended the great oak staircase to the hall, where Charles bade adieu to the excellent old lady, and quitted the house, attended by his host and Father Huddlestone.
Left by herself, Mrs. Whitgreave’s strength almost forsook her. On regaining her own chamber, she knelt down before a crucifix, placed in a small recess, and again offered up prayers for the king’s deliverance from his enemies.
Meanwhile, Charles had proceeded to Allport’s Leasow, where he found his faithful adherents waiting for him, and saluted them most cordially.
“I did not expect you quite so soon, Colonel Lane,” he said. “But you have arrived in the very nick of time. Without you and Careless we might have had some trouble with those rascally troopers.”
“I am only sorry they escaped us,” replied Colonel Lane.
“Here is the horse we have taken, my liege,” said Careless, who had dismounted, and was holding both steeds by the bridle. “Will you mount him? ‘Twill be a good jest to say that I have taken the rogue’s horse.”
“Oddsfish! the horse is well enough,” cried Charles, as he vaulted into the saddle. “These Roundhead knaves have robbed all the best stables.”
The party being now ready to set forth, Mr. Whitgreave approached the king, and asked if his majesty had any further commands for him.
“My last injunctions to you are, Mr. Whitgreave, that you come to me at Whitehall, and bring Father Huddlestone with you. I defer all expression of my thanks till I see you both there. May the good time arrive speedily!”
After receiving the good priest’s valedictory benediction, he rode out of the close with his attendants.
At first, the party proceeded at a foot’s pace, and they had not gone far, when the king halted for a moment to gaze at the old mansion, which was seen to the greatest advantage on that bright moonlight night. It looked so hushed in repose that no one would have dreamed that its quietude could have been recently disturbed.
But Charles was not allowed to indulge his meditations long. Colonel Lane was impatient to be gone, and after another look at the picturesque old mansion, the king was obliged to bid farewell to Moseley Hall.
* * *
CHAPTER II.
HOW THE KING ARRIVED AT BENTLEY HOUSE.
The night was so enchanting, that although the king was not without apprehensions of a chance encounter with the enemy, he greatly enjoyed his ride. Moreover, he was very well pleased with the trooper’s horse on which he was mounted.
Colonel Lane acted as leader of the party, and took them across a common, now known as Cooke’s Gorse, past Essington Mill, and then over another common to Allen’s Rough. More heath still lay before them, and having traversed a very wild district, they reached an extensive coppice, which formed part of Colonel Lane’s own estate. During the whole ride, they had scarcely seen a habitation, and had not encountered a single individual. Deeming the danger over, Colonel Lane slackened his pace, and began to converse with the king, telling his majesty that he thought his horse had gone remarkably well.
“I think so too, colonel,” replied Charles. “What is more, I am of opinion that this is not the
first time I have ridden him.”
“Indeed, sire!” exclaimed Colonel Lane, in surprise.
“Unless I am greatly mistaken, this is the very horse I rode from Worcester to White Ladies. I know his action. How say you, Careless?”
“It certainly did not occur to me before, my liege,” replied Careless. “But now I look at the horse more closely I believe your majesty is right.”
“You will be able to settle the question, Colonel Lane,” observed Charles. “I gave the Worcester horse to you at White Ladies. What became of him afterwards?”
“I lost him in the fight near Newport, where Lord Derby was worsted by Lilburn and Colonel James. Possibly he may have fallen into the hands of one of the troopers.”
“It must be so,” exclaimed Charles. “Oddsfish! ’tis a strange circumstance. Now that I have got the horse again, I will not part with him if I can help it.”
“Doubtless, he is well worth keeping,” observed Careless; “but he may be recognised by the rascally trooper, and the discovery would endanger your majesty.”
“The risk is so slight that I shall not heed it,” said Charles.
Passing through the coppice they soon afterwards entered a park, in the midst of which stood Bentley House.
This fine old mansion has been since pulled down, and replaced by a modern structure, which, though handsome and commodious, does not of course possess the historic interest of the earlier building. With its ornamented gables, projections, and large windows, Bentley House presented a very imposing front, but it was at the back that the party arrived, and as they rode into the court-yard, a faithful groom, who was waiting for his master’s return, came forth from the stables with a lantern and took charge of the horses. Whatever he thought, this trusty fellow manifested no surprise that the colonel and Careless should have a common woodman in their company.
“My man, Lutwyche, thinks you are a fugitive Cavalier, sire,” remarked Colonel Lane. “He is thoroughly honest and loyal, but I do not mean to trust him with the great secret. Thank Heaven I have brought your majesty here in safety, and I trust no harm will befal you while you are my guest. You may sleep soundly, for I shall remain on guard during the remainder of the night. It distresses me that I am obliged to offer you such poor accommodation, but if a larger room were assigned you suspicion would be excited. At any rate, you will be more comfortably lodged than in the secret closet at Boscobel House.”
“Pray make no apologies, colonel,” said Charles. “The size of the room is a matter of perfect indifference to me. Put me where you please.”
Entering by the back door, they then proceeded to Colonel Lane’s study, where they found Lord Wilmot, who was delighted to see the king, and congratulated him on his safe arrival. Being much fatigued, Charles begged to be conducted to his room without delay; whereupon Colonel Lane, with a thousand apologies, took him to a small chamber at the top of the house. Small as it was, the couch appeared extremely comfortable to the wearied monarch, who sank into a deep, unbroken slumber, from which he was aroused by Careless. Fain would he have slept a few hours longer; but that was quite impossible, as Careless informed him.
“It appears to me,” said Careless, seating himself at the king’s bedside, “that your majesty does not exactly comprehend what you will have to do, and I think I had better explain matters to you. In the first place, Mistress Jane Lane sets out early this morning on the pretext of a visit to her relatives the Nortons, of Abbots Leigh, and you will attend her in the capacity of groom.”
“But Abbots Leigh is near Bristol,” said the king. “She cannot possibly get there to-day.”
“She has no such intention,” replied Careless. “She will proceed first to Packington Hall, where a halt will be made for an hour or so. Sir Clement Fisher has been apprised of the visit, and will be prepared for your majesty’s reception.”
“Good,” said the king, “I shall be glad to see Sir Clement. But where am I to rest for the night?”
“At Long Marston, near Stratford-on-Avon, the residence of Mr. Tombs, who is a near relative of the Lanes and a staunch adherent of your majesty.”
“Mr. Tombs is a true man — of that I am quite sure,” rejoined Charles. “I shall be quite content to stay at his house.”
“Your majesty, I think, understands that Mistress Jane Lane has got a pass for herself and her servant?”
“Yes. I am to be her groom. I quite understand it. Did you imagine I could have any disinclination for the part, after all I have gone through? I shall be delighted to act as groom to so charming a person as Jane Lane.”
“Then I may as well state, without further preamble, that I have brought your majesty a costume suitable to the part you will have to enact — grey doublet and hose, as you will see. The garments were made for Colonel Lane’s groom, Lutwyche — but I am sure they will fit you. Here are boots and a hat to complete the disguise. The arrangement appears to me extremely pleasant, and I should be very happy to take your majesty’s place, if I were permitted.”
“Are you to be left behind with Lord Wilmot?” asked the king.
“No, sire,” replied Careless. “His lordship and myself will attend you — but at a respectful distance. You will be accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Petre. Mrs. Petre, I must inform your majesty, is Jane Lane’s sister. It is proper you should know that neither Mrs. Petre nor her husband have the slightest idea that they will have the honour of attending upon your majesty.”
The king then arose, and assisted by Careless, put on the suit of dark grey cloth provided for him. When he was fully equipped, he said to Careless:
“How think you, Will? Shall I pass muster? Do I look like a groom?”
“Your appearance is all that can be desired, my liege,” replied Careless. “But you must take care not to betray yourself by any inadvertence. Come down to the stables with me, and I will get Lutwyche to give you some instructions in the part you will have to play.”
“Oddsfish! I flatter myself I can groom a horse,” cried Charles. “’Tis true I have not had much practice.”
“You will be none the worse for a lesson, my liege,” said Careless. “This woodman’s garb must not be seen,” he added, putting the disguise abandoned by Charles into a small valise, which he had brought with him. “I must needs ask your majesty to carry this portmanteau. And please to bear in mind, that you are now Will Jones, the son of one of Colonel Lane’s tenants.”
He then left the room, but had not taken many steps down the staircase, when he called out in a loud voice,
“Art thou coming, Will? Never was there so lazy a rascal.”
“I am quite ready, your honour,” replied Charles, following with the portmanteau.
* * *
CHAPTER III.
HOW WILL JONES FOUND A FRIEND IN THE STABLE.
As they passed through the back part of the house on the way to the stables, they met two or three women-servants, who glanced inquisitively at the new groom, and thought him a good-looking young fellow. In the court-yard they found Colonel Lane and Lord Wilmot. The former was talking with his head falconer, Randal Gates, and telling him that he should require the hawks and spaniels after breakfast.
“I mean to give this gentleman, Mr. Harris,” he said, glancing at Lord Wilmot, “a little sport. My sister is going to Long Marston, and we will ride with her as far as Packington Hall.”
“The hawks and spaniels shall be ready for you, colonel, whenever you require them, and as there are plenty of partridges in the corn fields, I make no doubt you will be able to show Mr. Harris some good sport.”
The falconer then retired, and Colonel Lane turned to bid Careless good morning — glancing significantly at the same time at the king, who stood respectfully aside with his cap in his hand.
“Maybe you don’t know me, colonel,” said Charles, with an awkward bow.
“Oh! yes, I know thee well enough, Will,” replied Colonel Lane. “Thou art David Jones’s son, and my sister’s new groom. I hope thou wilt
serve her well. Put down thy portmanteau and come with me to the stables.”
Charles obeyed, and followed Colonel Lane and the others to the stables, which were very large, but there were not many horses in the stalls. Lutwyche came forward as his master entered with the others. He stared when he saw the king in his groom’s attire, and a cunning smile lighted up his hard features.
“This is Will Jones, my sister’s new groom, Lutwyche,” said the colonel. “Explain to him what he will have to do.”
“I should guess he has not had much experience, colonel,” replied the old groom with a grin. “Mistress Jane, I understand, is going to Bristol, but she has not yet told me which horse she will ride. Her favourite steed has not been right since she returned from Worcester. She can’t take him. The horse that came in last night is strong enough to carry double, and I think would do very well.”
“Ay, he is a good horse,” replied the colonel, in a doubtful tone. “But there are some objections to him.”
“I don’t see ‘em,” said the groom. “I wish your honour would just look at him. I fancy he did some hard work yesterday, but he seems quite fresh this morning.”
The whole party then went to look at the horse, and he certainly seemed to deserve the groom’s praises.
As Charles went into the stall and patted him, the horse turned round and whinnied gently, as if in recognition.
“He knows you, Will Jones,” remarked Lutwyche.
“Ay, that’s plain enough,” replied the king. Then turning to Colonel Lane, he added, “Your honour seems to have some objections to this horse, or I would make bold to recommend him for the journey. Were I allowed the choice, I should prefer him to any other horse in the stable.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 669