“Depend on me,” replied Careless, in the same tone.
No one but Captain Rooker was aware that all that had passed had been overheard by David Price, who, on going forth, had left the door slightly ajar. The cunning rascal had now heard quite enough, and, fearful of being detected, crept cautiously away.
He was only just in time, for almost immediately afterwards Charles and Pope quitted the room. David Price attended them to the door, and after watching them for a moment or two, as they proceeded towards the quay, he beckoned to the troopers, whom we have mentioned as being among the guests. They were expecting the summons, and instantly joined him.
Meanwhile, the king and Pope had crossed the quay, and calling for a boat, were taken to the other side of the Frome.
As soon as the boat returned from this job, the two troopers, each of whom was armed with a carabine, and had a brace of pistols in his belt, jumped into it, and ordered the waterman to take them across.
The man prepared to obey, but by some accident got foul of another boat, causing a slight delay, which exasperated the troopers. They rated him soundly, but their anger did not mend matters, for he moved with the greatest deliberation.
* * *
CHAPTER VIII.
ST. AUGUSTINE’S GREEN.
Wholly unconscious that they were followed, the king and his attendant mounted the eminence on which stood St. Augustine’s Church. By this time the moon had risen, and its beams silvered the tower and roof of the majestic edifice. Before entering St. Augustine’s Green — now known as College Green — a large quadrangular piece of ground bordered by trees, spread out in front of the cathedral, Charles cast a glance at the city, which, viewed from this elevation, with its walls, ancient habitations, and church towers, illumined by the moon’s radiance, presented a striking picture. While gazing in this direction he noticed two troopers at the foot of the hill, who had evidently just crossed over from the quay, but they did not excite his apprehension.
The moon being at the back of the collegiate church, the broad black shadow of the venerable pile was thrown upon the green, reaching almost as far as the high cross which stood in the centre of the enclosure. As Charles walked towards the cross he saw a female figure hurry away, and enter the alley of trees that bordered the green on the west. He instantly followed, and found Dame Gives.
“Why did you fly from me?” he asked.
“I was not certain that it was your majesty,” she rejoined. “The person with you is a stranger to me.”
“He is a faithful adherent whom I have found at Abbots Leigh,” replied Charles. “I could not bring Major Careless with me, for he is otherwise occupied, but you will see him anon.”
And he then proceeded to explain that Careless had been left to look after the master of the lugger.
“Heaven grant that all may go well!” she exclaimed. “How rejoiced I shall be when your majesty is safe at Swansea!”
“You will be still more pleased when we are all safe in France,” said Charles.
“I do not think I shall ever arrive there, sire,” she rejoined, sadly. “I am not usually down-hearted, as you know. But I am so low-spirited to-night that I think you will be better without me.”
“No, no,” cried Charles. “Go you must. Major Careless will be miserable if you are left behind.”
“Nay, I don’t desire to make him miserable,” she rejoined, forcing a laugh. “Whatever may happen I will go. But I will tell your majesty why I feel so uneasy. While I was standing under the shadow of the church a dark figure approached me, and at first I thought it was Major Careless, whom I expected. A strange terror seized me. The figure slowly and noiselessly advanced, and as it drew near the blood froze in my veins, and my heart ceased to beat, for I saw that it was Urso. Yes, it was Urso, come from the grave to torment me! His face was the face of a corpse, but his eyes gleamed with preternatural brightness. I tried to fly, but I continued chained to the spot. The phantom approached — and oh, horror! it stood close beside me, and these words, uttered in a sepulchral tone, reached my ear: ‘I have come to summon you.’ For a moment my senses seemed to desert me. When I recovered, the phantom was gone.”
“’Twas the delusion of an over-excited imagination,” observed Charles, who nevertheless was powerfully impressed by the relation.
“No, sire,” she replied, shuddering. “I could not be deceived. I saw Urso too plainly. Nothing could equal the horror with which he inspired me. Death would be dreadful indeed if I must rejoin him.”
There was a pause, during which Charles made no remark, for, in spite of himself, he felt a sense of terror creeping over him.
At length Dame Gives broke the silence:
“As soon as I regained the use of my limbs,” she said, “I went to yonder chapel,” pointing to a small sacred structure on the eastern side of the green, “and finding the door open I went in, and kneeling down, prayed fervently. Since then I have felt greatly relieved, and prepared for whatever may ensue.”
“’Tis a mere trick of fancy,” cried Charles. “But, despite the fancied summons, you must go with me. If we remain here longer, I shall think I see Urso’s ghost myself.”
He then called to Pope, who was standing near at hand, and bade him lead the way to the downs. Marching in advance, the butler took them to the further end of the green, and then commenced another steep ascent. Dame Gives still felt rather faint, and required the aid of the king’s arm in mounting the hill. Not one of the party was aware that they were cautiously followed by the two troopers.
* * *
CHAPTER IX.
THE GORGE OF THE AVON.
They had now gained an eminence, at that time nothing more than a bare down, but now covered with streets, squares, and terraces, and forming the charming suburb of Clifton. From this lofty point the whole of the city could be descried, bathed in moonlight, and presenting a very striking picture.
After a few minutes’ rest, Dame Gives seemed to have recovered from the fatigue of the steep ascent, and walked on briskly over the elastic turf. Though they were on a very lofty elevation, they had not as yet reached the crown of the hill, which was then surmounted by a watch-tower, but they walked to this point, and avoiding the watch-tower, entered a wide open space, partly surrounded by earthworks, which had once formed a Roman camp.
A most remarkable scene now lay before them, the picturesque effect of which was heightened by the moonlight. From the giddy height they had attained they looked down upon the Avon, flowing in its deep channel between two walls of rocks, evidently riven asunder, ages ago, by some convulsion of nature. This marvellous chasm, than which nothing can be grander, is known as the Gorge of the Avon. Bushes and small trees springing from the interstices of the lofty and shelving rocks added materially to its beauty. In appearance the uplands on either side of the gorge were totally different. The heights on which the king and his companions stood were wild, and only covered with patches of gorse, while those on the opposite side were crowned with the thickets in the midst of which Abbots Leigh was situated. Divided for long centuries, as we have said, these towering cliffs have been once more united by a light and beautiful bridge suspended over the abyss at such a height that the tallest ship can pass beneath it.
From the lofty point on which Charles stood the course of the Avon from Bristol to the rocky gorge could be distinctly traced in the moonlight, except in places where the river was obscured by a slight haze that gathered over it. The upper part of the cliffs was illumined by the moon, but her beams could not penetrate their mysterious and gloomy depths. Lower down, where the chasm widened, and the cliffs were further apart, the river could be seen rushing on to join the Severn. A strange and fascinating picture, which the king contemplated with great interest.
Meanwhile, the troopers had gained the summit of the hill, and concealed themselves behind the watch-tower.
“There is the boat!” exclaimed Pope, pointing to a dark object distinguishable in the river about three hundre
d yards from the entrance of the gorge.
Charles listened intently, and, in the deep stillness that prevailed, felt sure he heard the plash of oars.
“’Tis the boat, no doubt,” he cried.
“Shall we go down to meet it?” inquired Pope.
Charles signified his assent.
“Your majesty will please to be careful,” continued Pope. “The descent is somewhat perilous.”
“You hear what he says, fair mistress,” remarked Charles to Dame Gives.
Struck by her extreme paleness, he added:
“Let me help you to descend.”
But she thankfully declined the gracious offer.
Pope then led them along the edge of the precipitous cliffs, till he arrived at a spot where the bank was not quite so steep, and was fringed with bushes.
“Here is the path, my liege,” he exclaimed. “Follow me, and proceed cautiously, I beseech you. A false step might prove fatal.”
He then plunged amid the bushes, and was followed by Charles. Close behind the king came Dame Gives.
Their movements had been watched by the troopers, who carefully marked the spot where they commenced the descent, and in another minute were cautiously following them.
The path taken by Pope brought those whom he conducted among the rocks lower down, and here Charles gave a helping hand to Dame Gives, and saved her from the consequences of more than one unlucky slip; but nothing worse occurred, and they all reached the bottom of the cliff in safety.
They were now at the entrance of the gorge, and the river, confined by the rocks, was sweeping rapidly past them through its narrow deep channel.
Charles was gazing at the darkling current and at the towering cliffs, that filled him with a sense of awe, when Pope called out that the boat was at hand.
Next moment it came up, and Captain Rooker, who had been rowing, leaped ashore and made it fast to the stump of a tree. Careless did not land, but helped Dame Gives into the boat, and Charles was about to follow, when shouts were heard, and the two troopers rushed towards them.
Jumping into the boat, Charles ordered Rooker to set her free. But the skipper paid no attention to the command.
“Thou art taken in the toils, Charles Stuart,” he cried. “As an instrument in accomplishing thy capture, I shall receive my reward.”
“Be this the reward of thy treachery, villain,” cried Careless.
And drawing a pistol from his belt, he shot him through the head.
As the traitor fell to the ground, Pope unloosed the rope, and set the boat free, jumping into it, as he pushed it from the bank. At the same moment, Charles seized the oars, and propelling the boat into the middle of the stream it was swept down by the rapid current.
Unluckily, it had to pass near the troopers, and they shouted to the king, who was now plying the oars, to stop; but as he disregarded the order, they both discharged their carabines at him, and he must have been killed, if Dame Gives had not suddenly risen, and placing herself before him, received the shots. The devoted young woman fell back mortally wounded into the arms of Careless, who was seated near her.
“Are you much hurt?” he cried, in accents of despair.
“Hurt to death,” she rejoined, faintly. “I have not many moments left of life. I knew this would be, and am prepared for it. Farewell for ever!”
Uttering these words, she breathed her last sigh, and her head declined upon Careless’s shoulder.
“She has died for me!” exclaimed Charles. “’Tis a sad and sudden ending, but she anticipated her doom.”
“Anticipated it, sire! How mean you?” cried Careless.
“I will explain hereafter, if we escape,” said Charles.
Several more shots were fired by the troopers, but no one was hurt. The current swept the boat down so rapidly that those within it were soon out of reach of harm.
“What will you do?” said Charles to Careless.
“I know not,” rejoined the other, distractedly. “But I will never rest till I have avenged her. But think not of me, my liege. Save yourself. If you go further down the river, you will most assuredly fall into some new danger.”
“If I might venture to advise your majesty,” said Pope, “I would recommend you to land as soon as possible, and return at once to Abbots Leigh.”
“Thy advice is good,” rejoined Charles. “But what is to be done with the unfortunate victim of this treacherous design? How is she to be disposed of?”
“Leave her to me, sire,” replied Careless. “Again, I implore you to save yourself. Return to Abbots Leigh, as Pope suggests. If she could speak,” he added, solemnly, looking at the lifeless figure, which he still held in his arms, “she would urge you to take this course!”
“If you will consent to keep Pope with you, to assist you in your mournful task, I will go — not otherwise,” said Charles.
“Be it so, my liege,” replied Careless.
During this colloquy, the boat was carried rapidly through the gorge, and had now reached the point where the chasm grew wider and the cliffs were further apart.
Looking out for a favourable point to land, Charles drew near the left bank of the river, and Pope, jumping ashore, quickly fastened the boat to a tree.
Charles followed, but for some time could not make up his mind to depart.
At last, however, he yielded to the entreaties of Careless, who besought him earnestly to go, urging that his stay would only endanger himself, and ascending the cliffs, he made his way alone through the woods to Abbots Leigh.
BOOK THE SEVENTH. TRENT.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE VENGEANCE TAKEN BY CARELESS ON THE TROOPERS.
Not without great difficulty did Charles succeed in reaching Abbots Leigh after his perilous adventure in the gorge of the Avon. More than once he got lost in the wood, and had just resolved to lie down at the foot of a tree and wait for dawn, when he caught a glimpse of the mansion. Before they parted Pope had advised him to take refuge for a few hours in the stable, explaining how he could obtain admittance to that building even if the door should be locked; and acting upon this counsel the king proceeded thither at once, and having got inside as directed, threw himself upon a heap of clean straw, and presently fell fast asleep. About five o’clock in the morning he was roused from his slumbers by some one who shook him gently, and when he opened his eyes he beheld Pope and Careless standing near him. The latter looked haggard and worn in the grey light of morning.
Half stupefied by the profound slumber in which his faculties had been wrapped, Charles could not for a few moments recal the events of the preceding night, but as soon as he did so he started up, and fixing an inquiring look on Careless, asked what had happened since he left him.
“She is avenged, and your majesty is freed from two unrelenting enemies,” replied Careless, in a sombre tone.
“I understand,” said Charles. “I will ask no further questions now. When you have had some repose, of which you must be greatly in need, you shall give me the details.”
“There is no time for converse now, my liege,” interposed Pope. “I must take you to your chamber at once. Half an hour hence the household will be astir, and then your absence will be discovered. Your honour must be good enough to remain here till I return,” he added to Careless, “unless you choose to mount to the loft, where you will be perfectly safe and undisturbed.”
“The loft will suit me as well as the richest chamber,” rejoined Careless. “I am so desperately fatigued that I can sleep anywhere.”
And as Pope and the king quitted the stable, Careless climbed the wooden steps that led to the loft.
Proceeding to the rear of the mansion, Pope opened a small door that had been purposely left unbolted, and entering with the king, they mounted a back staircase with the utmost caution, and gained Charles’s bedchamber, which was in the upper part of the house.
“Your majesty may take your full rest,” said Pope; “all the servants believe you have had a relapse of ag
ue.”
He then departed, and Charles threw himself on his couch, and soon forgot his dangers and disappointment.
The day had made a considerable advance before the butler reappeared.
The king was awake and thoroughly rested. While assisting his majesty to dress Pope told him that he had seen Mistress Jane Lane, and informed her of the failure of the enterprise.
“She did not appear surprised,” continued the butler, “because she had been full of misgivings, but she was rejoiced that your majesty had been preserved from the treacherous skipper’s plots. I did not acquaint her with the sad catastrophe that occurred, as I felt sure it would greatly distress her. No doubt strict inquiries will be made into the affair, but they will lead to nothing, since a clue cannot be obtained to your majesty’s retreat.”
“I thought you were known to David Price, the tavern-keeper?” observed the king.
“The rascal only knows my name, and has no idea that I am Mr. Norton’s servant. On the contrary, he believes that I dwell in Bristol. Captain Rooker, who planned your majesty’s capture with the perfidious tavern-keeper, is gone, and the two troopers who aided them in their scheme are likewise disposed of, as Major Careless will explain to you anon. I only wish David Price had shared their fate. But your majesty need have no fear of him. You are quite safe at Abbots Leigh.”
“I cannot remain here longer,” said Charles. “I must seek assistance from other trusty friends. You are an old soldier, Pope, and have served in the late wars. Do you know Colonel Francis Wyndham, the late knight marshal’s brother, and somewhile governor of Dunster Castle?”
“I know him very well, sire,” replied the butler, “and I do not know a better or a braver man, nor a more loyal subject of your majesty. About two years ago Colonel Wyndham married Mistress Anne Gerard, daughter and heiress of Squire Thomas Gerard, of Trent, in Somersetshire. Since then he has gone with his wife to live at Trent. His mother, Lady Wyndham, widow of Sir Thomas Wyndham, likewise resides with him. As your majesty may not be acquainted with Trent, I will describe its position. ’Tis a small secluded village, charmingly situated, about midway between Sherborne and Yeovil, and consists of a few scattered habitations — cottages, I ought perhaps to call them — in the midst of which, surrounded by fine old elm-trees, stands the ancient mansion. Close to the yard gate — within a bow-shot of the house — is the church, a fine old pile. I know the manor-house well, for I have often been there, and, unless I am greatly mistaken, it contains hiding-places, in which your majesty could be securely concealed should any search be made. The position of Trent is extremely favourable to your plans. Not only is it out of the main road, and extremely retired, but it is within a few hours’ ride of the coast, and I have no doubt whatever that Colonel Wyndham will be able to procure you a vessel at Lyme Regis to transport you to France.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 676