The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth
Page 674
Far more important, and infinitely more picturesque in appearance, was this ancient town in the middle of the seventeenth century, than at the present time. The castle, celebrated for many historical events, had been demolished, but the walls surrounding the town were still standing, and the streets were full of old timber houses, most of which, we regret to say, have since disappeared. Even the old inn, where Charles and his companions rested for the night, has vanished. Notwithstanding these changes, which some may deem improvements, though we cannot regard them in that light, Cirencester (vulgo, Ciceter) is a quiet, clean-looking country town, possessing a half-antique, half-modern air, and boasts the finest parochial church, with the most elaborately ornamented porch, in Gloucestershire. Let us mention that the interior of this stately fabric has been admirably restored of late years.
Passing through the gate without hindrance of any kind, our travellers rode along a narrow street to the market-place. The king was struck by the dull and deserted appearance of the town, but its quietude pleased him.
On reaching the market-place, he halted for a moment to gaze at the richly-decorated church porch we have just mentioned. Not far from the church stood the Chequers — the inn at which they intended to put up — and proceeding thither, the party alighted, and were warmly welcomed by the hostess, Dame Meynell, who was delighted to see Jane, and conducted her and Dame Gives into the house, where every attention was shown them.
After partaking of a light repast they retired to rest. Charles and Careless were of course treated according to their supposed condition, but no guest, whatever might be his degree, fared badly at the Chequers, and they were supplied with some marrow-puddings and fried eels and a pottle of excellent sack. Not caring to sit among the other guests, they went out, after supper, to take a stroll through the town.
Night having now come on, they could not see much, so after rambling about for half an hour they returned to the market-place, and entered a barber’s shop which Charles had noticed near the inn.
Not expecting any more customers at that hour, the barber, a sharp-looking middle-aged man, was about to shut up his shop, but he deferred his purpose when the two grooms came in, and one of them — it was the king — seated himself in the chair ordinarily assigned to customers, and desired to be shaved.
“’Tis getting late,” observed the barber; “cannot you come in the morning?”
“No,” replied Charles, “my young mistress starts early. I must be shaved now.”
Trimming a lamp that hung overhead, the barber made all necessary preparations for the task.
While he was thus occupied, Careless, who was seated on a bench, observed the man look inquisitively at his customer, and began to regret that they had entered the shop.
“You have been accustomed to wear moustaches and a pointed beard, I perceive, friend,” remarked the barber, as he covered the king’s cheeks and chin with lather; “and I am of opinion that the fashion must have suited you.” And as Charles made no reply, he went on: “Yours is a face that requires a beard — a pointed beard, I mean, such as the Cavaliers wear — —”
“But Will Jones is not a Cavalier any more than I am,” interrupted Careless.
“’Tis not an ill compliment, methinks, to say that both of you — despite your attire — might pass for Cavaliers,” said the barber.
“We do not desire to be taken for other than we are — simple grooms,” said Careless. “Prithee, hold thy peace, unless thou canst talk more to the purpose, and proceed with thy task.”
“Nay, I meant no offence,” said the barber. “I only wish you to understand that you need make no mystery with me. I am a true man, and not a Roundhead.”
He then plied his razor so expeditiously that in a trice he had finished shaving the king.
As he handed Charles a napkin and ewer, he said, in a tone of profound respect:
“I ought to know that face.”
“Where canst thou have seen me, master?” rejoined the king. “I have never been in thy shop before.”
“’Tis not in Ciceter that I have seen you,” said the barber, still in the same profoundly respectful tone; “but in a far different spot, and under far different circumstances. Little did I think that I should be thus honoured.”
“No great honour in shaving a groom,” cried Charles.
The barber shook his head.
“No groom has entered my shop this night,” he said, “and no groom will leave it. Whatever opinion may be formed of me, let it be understood that I am no traitor.”
“Nay, thou art an honest fellow, I am sure of that,” observed Charles.
“I am a loyal subject of the king,” said the barber, “and were his majesty to come hither I would aid him to the best of my power.”
“Were thy suspicions correct, friend,” said Charles, “thou must feel that I could not satisfy them. Think what thou wilt, but keep silence.”
He was about to place a pistole on the table, but the poor man looked so pained that he stretched out his hand to him. The barber sprang forward, and pressed the king’s hand to his lips.
At a very early hour next morning all the party quitted Cirencester, and again tracked the old Roman road across the plain.
They had a long day’s journey before them, Bristol being thirty-one miles distant from Cirencester, while Abbots Leigh was four miles beyond Bristol. The morning was delightfully fresh, and the woody district they were traversing offered charming views.
After awhile they left the Roman way, and pursued a road at the foot of a range of low hills, and in less than two hours arrived at Tetbury, where they halted. As they had been unable to breakfast at Cirencester, owing to the early hour at which they started, they were now very glad to repair the omission. Jane and Dame Gives, of course, breakfasted in private, but the two grooms, after seeing to the horses, repaired to the kitchen, where they astonished the host by their prowess as trencher-men.
After an hour’s halt at Tetbury the party set forth again. Passing High Grove and Doughton, and then riding on to Westonbirt Bottom, they skirted Silk Wood, and continued their course till they reached Didmarton.
During this part of the journey they had met with no interruption. Indeed, there seemed no troopers on the road. On quitting Didmarton they passed Badminton Park, in which, at a subsequent period, the magnificent mansion belonging to the Duke of Beaufort has been erected, and rode on through the woods and past the fine old manor-house of Little Sodbury to Chipping-Sodbury, where they again halted to refresh themselves and rest their steeds.
Their road now led them past Yate, and through Wapley Bushes to Westerleigh. Thence they proceeded by Hanborow and Stapleton, and crossing an old stone bridge over the river Frome, rode on to Bristol.
* * *
CHAPTER IV.
BRISTOL IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
Surrounded by walls, above which rose its picturesque timber habitations and numerous fine churches, Bristol, at the period of our history, presented a very striking appearance. So closely packed together were the houses, that viewed from the neighbouring heights they seemed to form a solid mass, and indeed the majority of the streets were so narrow that they were little better than lanes. Through the midst of the city ran the Avon, the river being crossed by an ancient stone bridge, with houses on either side like old London Bridge. On the north-west the city was bounded by the river Frome, and it was here that the chief quay had been formed, ships of very large burden being able to come up the Avon with the tide. On the east the city was protected by the castle, a very large pile, surrounded by a broad, deep moat, and approached by a drawbridge. Near the castle was a strong fort of modern construction, in which there was a large garrison. Four years later both castle and fort were demolished by the Parliament. On the west the fortifications were in tolerably good repair. But between the western walls and the Avon there was a wide marsh, which extended to the left bank of the Frome, near its junction with the larger river. In recent times, this marshy gro
und has been converted into large docks and basins, and surrounded by warehouses. The south side of the city was likewise protected by strong walls, extending to either bank of the Avon, which here made a wide curve. Both St. Augustine’s and St. Mary Redcliffe, justly esteemed the most beautiful church in the kingdom, were outside the walls. From its elevated position, St. Augustine’s, as the cathedral was then called, formed a conspicuous object from the north and west. The city was approached by four gates: on the north by Frome-gate, and on the south by Temple-gate, New-gate, and Redcliffe-gate, the latter leading to the grand old fane before mentioned. What with its many beautiful churches, incomparable St. Mary Redcliffe, the castle, the old walls, the ancient houses, and the two rivers, Bristol, in the olden time, was a most striking and picturesque city, and its inhabitants were justly proud of it.
During the Civil Wars, Bristol had played a conspicuous part, and was justly accounted the chief Royalist stronghold in the West, and though it was frequently in the hands of the Parliamentarians, it still preserved a character for loyalty. Charles was well acquainted with the city, having been taken there by his royal father in August, 1643, when it capitulated to Prince Rupert, who had besieged it with twenty thousand men. Though but a boy at the time, Charles had been greatly impressed by the loyalty of the men of Bristol, and entertaining the belief that a large portion of them must still be faithful to his cause, though they did not dare to manifest their zeal, he approached the city without much misgiving.
Our travellers were stopped and questioned by the guard stationed at Frome-gate, but Jane Lane’s pass sufficed, and they were soon mounting a steep narrow street bordered by tall timber houses, with overhanging stories, leading to the centre of the city.
It had been arranged that the party should separate at Bristol. Dame Gives had some relatives dwelling in Wine-street, with whom she could take up her abode, while Careless meant to fix his quarters at the Lamb Inn in West-street till he should receive a summons from the king. Charles and his fair companion did not intend to remain at Bristol, but to proceed at once to Abbots Leigh, which, as already mentioned, was distant about four miles from the city.
In accordance with this plan they now separated, and Careless, having consigned Dame Gives to her friends, proceeded to the Lamb Inn.
Having crossed the old bridge, and tracked the long, narrow street to which it led, Charles and his fair companion passed out at Redcliffe-gate, and after halting for a short time to gaze at the superb old church, shaped their course along the left bank of the Avon.
How changed is now the scene! Where a vast floating harbour has been formed, constantly filled with ships from all parts of the world, and surrounded by busy wharves and enormous warehouses, only the river flowed through its deep channel, with very few buildings near it.
After a long ascent, the travellers reached the uplands on the left bank of the Avon — then, as now, covered with magnificent timber. Half an hour’s ride through these romantic woods brought them to Abbots Leigh.
The fine old family mansion of the Nortons no longer exists, having been pulled down in 1814, in order to make way for a yet more stately structure, that now forms the residence of Sir William Miles, and is celebrated for its magnificent gallery of pictures. Abbots Leigh was approached by an avenue of trees, terminated by an antique gate-tower. Passing through the wide archway of this tower, the king and his fair companion came in front of the old mansion, which, with its numerous gables and large mullioned windows, presented a very imposing appearance.
Situated on an elevated plateau, and facing the west, Abbots Leigh commanded a most extensive and varied prospect, embracing Durdham Downs on the further side of the Avon, a vast tract of well-wooded country, the broad estuary of the Severn, and the Welsh hills beyond it.
ABBOT’S LEIGH.
Jane’s arrival having been announced by a bell rung at the gate by the porter, Mr. Norton, who was playing at bowls with his chaplain, Doctor Gorges, on the smooth lawn in front of the mansion, hastened to meet her, and, after greeting her very cordially, assisted her to alight.
The lord of Abbots Leigh was a tall, distinguished-looking personage, attired in black velvet. His wife, who presently made her appearance, was somewhat younger, and extremely handsome.
A most affectionate meeting took place between Jane and Mrs. Norton, who embraced her young relative very tenderly, and expressed great delight at seeing her.
“I rejoice that you have got here safely,” she said. “We hear of so many disagreeable occurrences, that I can assure you we have felt quite uneasy about you. Your looks don’t betray fatigue, but I dare say you are greatly tired by your long journey.”
“No, indeed, I am not,” replied Jane. “I think I could ride thirty or forty miles a day for a month, and not feel the worse for it. But I have been troubled about my poor groom, Will Jones, who is very weak from the effects of a quartan ague.”
“Give yourself no further concern about him, Jane,” said Mrs. Norton. Then calling to the butler, who was standing near, she added, “Pope, this young man, Will Jones, is suffering from ague. Bid Margaret Rider prepare for him an infusion of aromatic herbs.”
“A hot posset cannot fail to do him good,” said Jane. “But, above all, he must avoid a damp bed.”
“There are no damp beds, I trust, at Abbots Leigh,” replied Mrs. Norton. “But Pope shall see that he is well lodged.”
Pope, a tall, strongly-built man, who looked more like a soldier than a butler, promised attention to his mistress’s orders, and stepping towards Charles, said a few words to him in a low tone, after which the king, bowing gratefully to Mrs. Norton, took his horse to the stable.
Jane had next to answer Mr. Norton’s inquiries relative to her brother and Sir Clement Fisher.
“They must be full of anxiety for the king,” he remarked. “All sorts of reports reach us, and we know not what to believe. Can you give us the assurance that his majesty is safe?”
“I wish I could,” replied Jane. “But he is so environed by his enemies that he cannot escape.”
“Not immediately perhaps,” said Mrs. Norton. “But an opportunity must occur. No one will be base enough to betray him.”
“Betray him! I should think not,” cried Mr. Norton. “If chance brought him here, I would place my house at his disposal.”
“I am delighted to hear you give utterance to such sentiments,” said Jane.
“Did you doubt my loyalty?” he rejoined.
“No,” she returned. “But I am glad to find that the king has so true a friend.”
They then entered the house.
* * *
CHAPTER V.
HOW CHARLES FOUND A FAITHFUL ADHERENT AT ABBOTS LEIGH.
Jane was in her room — a large old-fashioned bedchamber, with a transom-window looking upon the lawn, and commanding a splendid view of the Severn’s mouth and the distant Welsh hills — when a tap was heard at the door, and a maid-servant came in.
“You have something to say to me, I perceive, Margaret?” observed Jane.
“Yes, madam,” was the reply. “My mistress has ordered me to attend upon your groom, Will Jones, and to be very careful of him. So I prepared a nice carduus posset, knowing it to be good for the ague, but when I took it to him, he wouldn’t drink it, but said he should prefer some mulled sack.”
“Well, Margaret, you had better indulge him in his whim. Let him have some mulled sack, since he fancies the brewage.”
“But that’s not all,” pursued Margaret Rider. “Mulled sack won’t content him. He declares he is very hungry, and must have a good supper.”
“Poor young man!” exclaimed Jane, in a commiserating tone. “He has had a long day’s journey. Let him have some supper.”
“It strikes me, madam, that he is not so ill as he pretends to be. I don’t see why he shouldn’t sup in the servants’ hall.”
“Indulge him, Margaret — pray indulge him. He is worse than he looks. Ague is very obstinate.”
“Well, let him have a better room, Margaret.”
“I think you show him too much indulgence, madam. But I will attend to your orders.”
And Margaret departed.
On going down-stairs, Jane repaired to the butler’s pantry, where she found Pope, and was about to give him some further directions, when he said to her, in a very grave tone:
“I do not know, madam, whether you are aware that I had the honour of serving Mr. Thomas Jermyn, when he was groom of the bedchamber to the Prince of Wales at Richmond. His royal highness was a boy at the time, but I recollect him perfectly.”
He paused and looked at Jane, but as she made no remark, he went on.
“Subsequently, I served in the late king’s army under Colonel Bagot, and constantly saw the prince at that time, so that his features are graven upon my memory.”
“Why do you mention this to me, Pope?” inquired Jane, uneasily, for she suspected what was coming.
“Can you not guess, madam?” he rejoined. “Well, then, since I must needs speak plainly — in your groom, Will Jones, I recognise the king.”
“You are mistaken, Pope,” she cried.
“No, madam,” he rejoined, gravely, “I am too well acquainted with the king’s face to be mistaken. But you need not be alarmed. His majesty may rely on my silence.”
Just as the words were uttered, the object of their conversation came in. A look from Jane told the king that the secret had been discovered.
“Soh, Pope has found me out!” he exclaimed. “I thought he would. But I can trust him, for I know him to be an honest fellow, who would scorn to betray his sovereign.”
“I have sworn allegiance to you, sire,” replied Pope, “and I will never break my oath.”