“Was not the colonel taken prisoner when he surrendered Dunster Castle?”
“He was taken to Weymouth, my liege, but released on his parole, so that he can move about without fear of arrest. Formerly he resided at Sherborne, and was there jealously watched by the Parliamentarians, but since his removal to Trent he has not been subjected to so much annoyance. Your majesty may wonder that I know so much about him, but I am well acquainted with the colonel’s man, Harry Peters.”
“You have decided me,” cried Charles. “I will go to Trent. Major Careless shall serve as my avant courier to apprise Colonel Wyndham that I am coming to him.”
Shortly afterwards Charles repaired to the butler’s pantry, where he breakfasted, taking care when any of the servants came in to feign great debility.
After breakfast he proceeded to the stables, and watching his opportunity, mounted to the loft in which he had learnt from Pope that Careless was concealed.
A slight signal brought out his faithful follower, whose altered looks and manner could not fail to grieve the king. Careless’s natural gaiety seemed to have entirely deserted him, and had given place to a gloomy, almost stern, expression.
“I am at your majesty’s orders,” he said, saluting the king respectfully. “Is there aught I can do?”
“You look so ill,” rejoined Charles, in accents of deep concern, “that I hesitate to put your devotion to further test. You need repose. Take it, and we will talk further.”
“Action will cure me sooner than rest,” rejoined Careless, with a ghastly smile. “Sleep seems to shun me, or if I close my weary eyelids for a moment, I start up again in horror.”
“Ease your breast, and tell me what has happened,” said the king, in tones that bespoke his profound sympathy.
After a powerful struggle, Careless conquered his emotion sufficiently to enable him to speak coherently, and said:
“You know what anguish I endured when she whom I loved so dearly expired in my arms. I swore to avenge her, and I have kept my oath. No sooner was your majesty gone than I prepared to execute my purpose, and I found Pope, whose blood was up, well disposed to second me. From the sounds we heard, we felt sure that the two murderous caitiffs were still on the opposite bank of the Avon. While I laid down the body tenderly, Pope pushed the boat to the other side of the river, and enabled me to leap ashore. The villains were hurrying towards the spot, and as soon as they descried me through the gloom, they both discharged their pistols at me, but the bullets whistled past me harmlessly. I returned the fire with better effect, for I brought down one of them. Sword in hand, I then rushed upon the other, and a sharp conflict took place between us. Infuriated as I was, he was no match for me, and I drove him to the edge of the precipitous bank. He made a desperate effort to avoid his fate, but I still pressed fiercely on, smote him, and with a wild cry he fell backwards, and was instantly swept away by the rapid current. Having thus executed my vengeful task, I returned to the boat, and was quickly transported to the opposite bank by Pope.
“But now arose the painful question — how were her loved remains to be disposed of? I was almost distracted by the thought of leaving her. Yet what else could be done? At last, however, the difficulty was unexpectedly solved. Pope had fastened the boat to a tree, and had come ashore to confer with me. We were anxiously deliberating together, when the boat, containing her loved remains, suddenly disappeared! It was swept away in an instant — gone beyond the possibility of recovery. Doubtless, as Pope suggested, the rope with which he endeavoured to secure the bark, had become loose, and so the disaster occurred. But I looked upon it then — as I regard it now — as a cruel stroke of fate, by which I was deprived of the sad consolation of seeing her decently interred.”
There was a pause, during which Charles showed by his looks how profoundly he sympathised with his attendant.
“Fear not, she will find a grave,” he said, at length.
“It may be so,” rejoined Careless. “But I shall never know where she lies.”
“Banish the painful thought from your mind,” said Charles. “You cannot do more than you have done. My firm conviction is that she will find a resting-place in some quiet churchyard, and not at the bottom of the deep as you seem to dread.”
“I will strive to think so,” rejoined Careless.
Again forcibly repressing his emotion, he added in a firm voice, “Your majesty has some commands for me?”
“You know Colonel Francis Wyndham, I think? He now resides at Trent, in Somersetshire, and I intend to seek an asylum in his house. Do you approve of the plan?”
“Perfectly, my liege. Frank Wyndham is a staunch Royalist. You will be quite secure with him.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, though I did not doubt his loyalty. You must ride on to Trent, and advise him of my coming.”
“Give me till to-morrow, my liege, and I shall be ready to set out. Were I to start to-day, I might break down on the road.”
* * *
CHAPTER II.
HOW JANE LANE AGREED TO ATTEND THE KING TO TRENT.
Quitting the stable, Charles repaired to the butler’s pantry, where he found Pope. When the latter was informed of the arrangements made he undertook to provide Major Careless with a horse for his journey to Trent.
“It will be merely necessary to inform Mr. Norton,” said the butler, “that a fugitive Cavalier has taken refuge here, and requires to be passed on to the coast. The worthy gentleman will afford him every assistance, and ask no questions.”
While they were still conversing, Jane Lane entered the room, and expressed her sincere delight at seeing his majesty safe back again.
“You have proved a true prophetess,” Charles said. “You foretold that the attempt would fail, and it has failed. Henceforth, I will be guided by you.”
“Then since your majesty permits me to speak, I will venture to say that the plan which Pope tells me you have decided upon is the best that could be adopted. No doubt you will be able to reach Trent without greater difficulties than you have hitherto encountered, and which you have so successfully overcome, and I trust, through Colonel Wyndham’s agency, you may procure a vessel to transport you to France.”
“To insure me a safe journey to Trent you must accompany me, Jane. Once there I will not tax your services further. Why this hesitation? Surely, you will not fail me at this important juncture?”
“I am bound to obey your commands in all things — —”
“But you do not like to go with me to Trent. ’Tis but a two days’ journey from this place.”
“’Tis not the distance, sire. I would willingly attend your majesty to the furthest point of your kingdom, if you desired me to do so, but — —”
“What means this hesitation, Jane? ’Tis scarcely consistent with your previous noble conduct, which led me to suppose that I might rely upon you to the last. Well, I will put no constraint upon you. I will go alone.”
“Forgive me, sire,” she cried, with a look of great distress. “I will explain myself. A special messenger has just brought me a letter from Sir Clement Fisher.”
“Does he forbid your further attendance upon me?” observed Charles, coldly. “Is his authority paramount to mine?”
“I have just said that I will obey you in all things, my liege,” she rejoined, in tones that bespoke her trouble. “And do not, I beseech you, blame Sir Clement. He is as deeply devoted to your majesty as I am myself.”
“Till now, I thought so.”
“Think so still, sire. Sir Clement is a loyal gentleman, and will sacrifice his life for you; but even for his king he will not sacrifice his honour.”
“His honour!” exclaimed Charles, startled. “I demand no such sacrifice. Ha! I understand,” he added, as a light suddenly broke upon him. “He is fearful that evil and calumnious tongues may seek to blemish your spotless reputation.”
“Your majesty has divined the truth,” she replied, casting down her eyes.
“I might have gu
essed it before. But I judged Sir Clement differently. I deemed him superior to the ordinary run of men. Aware as he is of the feelings by which you have been actuated — confident as he must be of your rectitude of principles — how could a single doubt cross his mind?”
“You do him an injustice, my liege. Sir Clement’s confidence in me is unshaken. But he fears that others may not view my conduct in the same light.”
“There is a spice of jealousy in this,” thought the king.
“In the letter which I have just received from him,” pursued Jane, “Sir Clement informs me that he is about to start for Abbots Leigh forthwith, and begs me to await his coming.”
“I would not have you do otherwise,” rejoined Charles. “I am glad he has so decided. His presence will silence all scandal. When do you expect him?”
“To-morrow, sire. I am sure he will be delighted to escort you to Trent.”
“His satisfaction will not be diminished by your companionship,” remarked Charles, smiling. “No doubt you will have a great many things to say to each other, and that I may not interfere with the conversation, a slight change shall be made in our arrangements. If another horse can be procured, you shall no longer ride behind me.”
“Mr. Norton has plenty of horses in his stable, and will lend me one, I am quite sure,” she rejoined. “But it is not necessary to make any change on my account.”
“Nay, let it be so,” said Charles. “You will enjoy much greater freedom. I shall still continue to act as your groom.”
“The disguise has hitherto served your majesty so well that I should be sorry if you abandoned it.”
“’Twould be highly imprudent to do so,” rejoined Charles. “If I reach Trent in safety, I may be compelled to play some new part. Till then I shall continue to be Will Jones. In the expectation of Sir Clement’s early arrival, I will send off Major Careless to-morrow to announce my coming to Colonel Wyndham. The rest I leave to you.”
“And your majesty may rely upon my making all needful arrangements with Mr. Norton. When do you desire to set out for Trent?”
“Nay, you must consult Sir Clement,” observed the king, with a smile. “But should it suit him, we will start on the day after his arrival.”
“Your majesty’s wishes will be his law,” replied Jane.
* * *
CHAPTER III.
COLONEL FRANCIS WYNDHAM, OF TRENT.
Understanding from Pope that a fugitive Cavalier had sought shelter at Abbots Leigh, Mr. Norton had a private interview with his guest, and on learning his name, offered him all the assistance in his power.
Thanking him most heartily, Careless said if he would provide him with a horse he would esteem it a very great favour.
“What is more, Mr. Norton,” he added, “you will materially serve the king.”
“Since it is for his majesty’s service,” replied Mr. Norton, “you shall have the best horse in my stable. Return him or not, as may suit your convenience.”
“I shall not fail to acquaint his majesty with your zeal in his behalf, sir,” said Careless. “He is well aware of your attachment to him.”
“I only wish I had a better opportunity of proving my loyalty, sir. I pray you say as much to the king. I will not ask questions which you may be unwilling to answer, but I shall unfeignedly rejoice to hear that his majesty has escaped.”
“I trust it will not be long before you receive that satisfactory intelligence, sir,” said Careless. “And I am sure it will gratify you to reflect that you have contributed to so desirable a result. When next we meet I hope I may salute you as Sir George Norton.”
“I hope so, too, sir,” rejoined the other; “for in that case his majesty will have been restored to the throne.”
After this interview Careless was not allowed to return to his place of concealment in the stable, but was lodged in a chamber in the upper part of the house, not far from the room occupied by the king, so that they had an opportunity of conferring together.
At a very early hour on the following morning Careless started on his mission. He was well mounted, for Mr. Norton had strictly fulfilled his promise, and given him his best horse. In his present distracted frame of mind, nothing could have suited the king’s faithful adherent better than the task he had undertaken, as he hoped that hard exercise would enable him to shake off the painful idea by which he was haunted.
He rode on throughout the day, halting only when it was necessary to refresh his steed. Fortunately, he met with no hindrance, though once or twice he was compelled to quit the direct course. His last halt was at Sherborne, and he was then nearly at the end of his journey.
A pleasant ride of a few miles from this charming old town brought him to a secluded little village, consisting only of a few scattered cottages, in the midst of which stood an antique church.
This was Trent. It was growing dusk as he approached the village, and the place was so surrounded by trees that he could only just discern the spire of the church. But he knew that in the midst of those lofty elms stood the old manor-house, of which he was in quest, so he rode on without making any inquiries from the few rustics he encountered.
Pursuing his course along a narrow winding lane, overhung by trees, and skirted here and there by a cottage, having whitewashed walls and a grey thatched roof, he came to the church, close to which stood the old manor-house — a large, low building, solidly constructed of stone, with shingled roof, mullioned windows, and an entrance covered by a pent house. This was the rear of the mansion, but the front looked upon a smooth lawn, bordered, as we have said, by lofty elm-trees, inhabited by a colony of rooks.
Trent House was not approached by an avenue, and to this circumstance it chiefly owed its extreme privacy. The entrance being at the rear was reached from a large yard, differing very little, except in size, from the enclosure ordinarily attached to a substantial farm-house. On the right of the yard were the stables and other outbuildings.
TRENT HOUSE.
Careless had pulled up at the gate, and was contemplating the old house, and thinking how well adapted it was as a place of refuge for the king, when a serving-man, who was crossing the yard from the stables, noticed him, and at once came up to ascertain his business. As the man drew near he recognised Major Careless, and saluting him respectfully, addressed him by name.
“Your honour has forgotten me, I make no doubt,” he said, taking off his cap as he spoke. “I am Harry Peters, and was once your groom.”
“Nay, I have not forgotten thee, Harry,” replied Careless. “I am glad to find thee here, for I know thee to be a trusty fellow, and thou may’st be of use to me, and to another beside me. Is Colonel Wyndham at home?” And as Peters responded in the affirmative, he added, “that’s well; open the gate, and let me in. Now go tell thy master that Mr. Morton desires to speak with him.”
“Had I not better announce your honour correctly?”
“Do as I bid thee,” said Careless.
And Peters departed.
Left alone Careless dismounted, awaiting Colonel Wyndham’s appearance. In a minute or two afterwards the colonel came out of the house and marched towards him.
The former governor of Dunster Castle was a remarkably fine-looking man, in the prime of life, and, though plainly attired, had a very distinguished air, and looked like one accustomed to command.
When within a few yards of the stranger he suddenly stopped, and exclaimed:
“Why, how is this? My man said that Mr. Morton, of whom I know nothing, and never heard of before, desired to see me, but I find it is my old friend Will Careless.”
“Yes, ’tis I, in good truth, Frank,” replied the other, laughing. “But I had reasons for the disguise, as I will explain anon.”
“You are welcome to Trent, Will — right welcome — under whatever name you come,” said Colonel Wyndham, heartily. “Take Mr. Morton’s horse to the stable,” he added to Peters. “Now come in with me, and I will present you to my wife and mother.”
&
nbsp; “Hold a moment, Frank,” cried Careless. “I must have a word with you. When you have heard what I have to say, you will judge what is best to be done. I come from the king.”
Colonel Wyndham started back, and uttered an exclamation of joy and surprise.
“You amaze me!” he cried. “We heard that his majesty was slain at Worcester.”
“’Twas a false report, invented by the enemy,” replied Careless. “Not only is the king alive and well, but he is coming to take refuge with you here at Trent.”
“By Heaven, I am glad to hear it!” cried the colonel. “No news could please me better — nay, not half so well. As the bearer of such joyful tidings thou art doubly welcome, Will. And think not there is need of secrecy. I will answer for my womankind as I would for myself. Of my mother, Lady Wyndham, I need not speak, for you know her.”
“And know her to be loyal,” remarked Careless.
“My wife is just as loyal,” pursued the colonel. “And my fair cousin, Juliana Coningsby, is as loyal as my wife. They have been profoundly grieved by the rumour I have just alluded to of the king’s death; but Juliana refused to credit it, and maintained her confident belief that he is still living, and will be restored to the throne.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 677