“I ought to mention that my daughter is with me, and she is an ardent Jacobite,” remarked Sir Richard.
“If I have Miss Rawcliffe’s assistance, I foresee what will happen,” remarked Colonel Townley, with a laugh. “Her arguments are sure to prove irresistible. I consider you already enrolled. Au revoir!”
CHAPTER VI.
ADVICE.
Atherton Legh had quitted the inn, and was lingering in the market-place, not altogether satisfied with himself, when Dr. Byrom came forth and joined him.
“Our road lies in the same direction,” said the doctor. “Shall we walk together?”
“By all means, sir,” replied the young man.
It was a beautiful night, calm and clear, and the moon shone brightly on the tower of the collegiate church, in the vicinity of which Dr. Byrom resided.
“How peaceful the town looks to-night,” observed Byrom. “But in a few days all will be tumult and confusion.”
“I do not think any resistance will be offered to the insurgents, sir,” replied Atherton; “and luckily the militia is disbanded, though I believe a few shots would have dispersed them had they attempted to show fight.”
“No, there will be no serious fighting,” said Byrom. “Manchester will surrender at discretion. I don’t think the prince will remain here long. He will raise as many recruits as he can, and then march on. I have no right to give you advice, young sir, but I speak to you as I would to my own son. You have promised to call upon Sir Richard Rawcliffe to-morrow, and I suppose you will be as good as your word.”
“Of course.”
“Then take care you are not persuaded to disobey your guardian. There is a danger you do not apprehend, and I must guard you against it. Miss Rawcliffe is exceedingly beautiful, and very captivating — at least, so I have been informed, for I have never seen her. Her father has told you she is an ardent Jacobite. As such she will deem it her duty to win you over to the good cause, and she will infallibly succeed. Very few of us are proof against the fascinations of a young and lovely woman. Though Sir Richard might not prevail, his daughter will.”
“I must go prepared to resist her,” replied Atherton, laughing.
“You miscalculate your strength, young man,” said Byrom, gravely. “Better not expose yourself to temptation.”
“Nay, I must go,” said Atherton. “But I should like to know something about Sir Richard Rawcliffe. Has he a son?”
“Only one child — a daughter. Besides being very beautiful, as I have just described her, Constance Rawcliffe will be a great heiress.”
“And after saying all this, you expect me to throw away the chance of meeting so charming a person. But don’t imagine I am presumptuous enough to aspire to a wealthy heiress. I shall come away heart-whole, and bound by no pledges stronger than those I have already given.”
“We shall see,” replied Dr. Byrom, in a tone that implied considerable doubt.
They had now arrived at the door of the doctor’s residence — a tolerably large, comfortable-looking house, built of red brick, in the plain, formal style of the period.
Before parting with his young companion, Dr. Byrom thought it necessary to give him a few more words of counsel.
“It may appear impertinent in me to meddle in your affairs,” he said; “but believe that I am influenced by the best feelings. You are peculiarly circumstanced. You have no father — no near relative to guide you. An error now may be irretrievable. Pray consult me before you make any pledge to Sir Richard Rawcliffe, or to Dr. Deacon.”
There was so much paternal kindness in his manner that Atherton could not fail to be touched by it.
“I will consult you, sir,” he said, in a grateful tone; “and I thank you deeply for the interest you take in me.”
“Enough,” replied Dr. Byrom. “I shall hope to see you soon again. Give me your impressions of Constance Rawcliffe.”
He then bade the young man good-night, rang the door bell, and entered the house.
CHAPTER VII.
RENCOUNTER NEAR THE OLD TOWN CROSS.
A path led across the south side of the large churchyard surrounding the collegiate church, and on quitting Dr. Byrom, Atherton took his way along it, marching past the old gravestones, and ever and anon glancing at the venerable pile, which, being completely lighted up by the moonbeams, presented a very striking appearance. So bright was the moonlight that the crocketed pinnacles and grotesque gargoyles could have been counted. The young man was filled with admiration of the picture. On reaching the western boundary of the churchyard, he paused to gaze at the massive tower, and having contemplated its beauties for a few minutes, he proceeded towards Salford Bridge.
It has already been stated that this was the oldest and most picturesque part of the town. All the habitations were of timber and plaster, painted black and white, and those immediately adjoining the collegiate church on the west were built on a precipitous rock overlooking the Irwell.
Wherever a view could be obtained of the river, through any opening among these ancient houses — many of which were detached — a very charming scene was presented to the beholder. The river here made a wide bend, and as it swept past the high rocky bank, and flowed on towards the narrow pointed arches of the old bridge, its course was followed with delight, glittering as it then did in the moonbeams.
The old bridge itself was a singular structure, and some of the old houses on the opposite side of the river vied in picturesque beauty with those near the church.
Atherton was enraptured with the scene. He had made his way to the very edge of the steep rocky bank, so that nothing interfered with the prospect.
Though the hour was by no means late — the old church clock had only just struck ten — the inhabitants of that quarter of the town seemed to have retired to rest. All was so tranquil that the rushing of the water through the arches of the bridge could be distinctly heard.
Soothed by the calmness which acted as a balm upon his somewhat over-excited feelings, the young man fell into a reverie, during which a very charming vision flitted before him.
The description given him of the lovely Constance Rawcliffe had powerfully affected his imagination. She seemed to be the ideal of feminine beauty which he had sought, but never found. He painted her even in brighter colours than she had been described by Dr. Byrom, and with all the romantic folly of a young man was prepared to fall madly in love with her — provided only she deigned to cast the slightest smile upon him.
Having conjured up this exquisite phantom, and invested it with charms that very likely had no existence, he was soon compelled to dismiss it, and return to actual life. It was time to go home, and good Widow Heywood, with whom he lodged, would wonder why he stopped out so late.
Heaving a sigh, with which such idle dreams as he had indulged generally end, he left the post of vantage he had occupied, and, with the design of proceeding to Deansgate, tracked a narrow alley that quickly brought him to Smithy Bank. The latter thoroughfare led to the bridge. Lower down, but not far from the point of junction with Deansgate, stood the old Town Cross.
Hitherto the young man had not seen a single individual in the streets since he left the Bull’s Head, and it therefore rather surprised him to perceive a small group of persons standing near the Cross, to which allusion has just been made.
Two damsels, evidently from their attire of the higher rank, attended by a young gentleman and a man-servant — the latter being stationed at a respectful distance from the others — were talking to a well-mounted horseman, in whom Atherton had no difficulty in recognising Colonel Townley. No doubt the colonel had started on his journey to Lancaster. With him was a groom, who, like his master, was well mounted and well armed.
Even at that distance, Atherton remarked that Colonel Townley’s manner was extremely deferential to the young ladies — especially towards the one with whom he was conversing. He bent low in the saddle, and appeared to be listening with deep interest and attention to what she said. Bo
th this damsel and her fair companion were so muffled up that Atherton could not discern their features, but he persuaded himself they must be good-looking. A fine shape cannot easily be disguised, and both had symmetrical figures, while the sound of their voices was musical and pleasant.
Atherton was slowly passing on his way, which brought him somewhat nearer the group, when Colonel Townley caught sight of him, and immediately hailed him.
By no means sorry to have a nearer view of the mysterious fair ones, the young man readily responded to the summons, but if he expected an introduction to the damsels he was disappointed.
Before he came up, it was evident that the colonel had been told that this was not to be, and he carefully obeyed orders.
The young lady who had especially attracted Atherton’s attention proved to be very handsome, for, though he could not obtain a full view of her face, he saw enough to satisfy him she had delicately formed features, magnificent black eyes, and black tresses.
These splendid black eyes were steadily fixed upon him for a few moments, as if she was reading his character; and after the rapid inspection, she turned to Colonel Townley, and made some remark to him in a whisper.
Without tarrying any longer, she then signed to her companions, and they all three moved off, followed by the manservant, leaving Atherton quite bewildered. The party walked so rapidly that they were almost instantly out of sight.
“If it is not impertinent on my part, may I ask who those young ladies are?” inquired Atherton.
“I am not allowed to tell you, my dear fellow,” replied the colonel, slightly laughing. “But I dare say you will meet them again.”
“I must not even ask if they live in Manchester, I suppose?”
“I cannot satisfy your curiosity in any particular. I meant to present you to them, but I was forbidden. I may, however, tell you that the young lady nearest me made a flattering observation respecting you.”
“That is something, from so charming a girl.”
“Then you discovered that she is beautiful!”
“I never beheld such fine eyes.”
Colonel Townley laughed heartily.
“Take care of yourself, my dear boy — take care of yourself,” he said. “Those eyes have already done wonderful execution.”
“One question more, colonel, and I have done. Are they sisters?”
“Well, I may answer that. They are not. I thought you must have known the young man who was with them.”
“I fancied he was Jemmy Dawson. But I own I did not pay much attention to him.”
“You were engrossed by one object. It was Jemmy Dawson. He is to be one of my officers, and I feel very proud of him, as I shall be of another gallant youth whom I count upon. But I must loiter no longer here. I shall ride to Preston to-night, and proceed to-morrow to Lancaster. Fail not to keep your appointment with Sir Richard Rawcliffe. You will see his daughter, who will put this fair unknown out of your head.”
“I scarcely think so,” replied Atherton.
“Well, I shall learn all about it on my return. Adieu!”
With this, the colonel struck spurs into his horse and rode quickly across the bridge, followed by his groom, while Atherton, whose thoughts had been entirely changed within the last ten minutes, proceeded towards his lodgings in Deansgate.
CHAPTER VIII.
BEPPY BYROM.
Next morning, in the drawing-room of a comfortable house, situated near the collegiate church, and commanding from its windows a view of that venerable fabric, a family party, consisting of four persons — two ladies and two gentlemen — had assembled after breakfast.
Elegantly furnished in the taste of the time, the room was fitted up with japanned cabinets and numerous small brackets, on which china ware and other ornaments were placed. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a large folding Indian screen was partly drawn round the work-table, beside which the two ladies sat. The gentlemen were standing near the fireplace.
The mistress of the house, though no longer young, as will be guessed when we mention that her daughter was turned twenty-one, while her son was some two or three years older, still retained considerable personal attractions, and had a most agreeable expression of countenance.
We may as well state at once, that this lady, who had made the best helpmate possible to the best of husbands, was the wife of our worthy friend Dr. Byrom, who had every reason to congratulate himself, as he constantly did, on the possession of such a treasure.
Very pretty, and very lively, was the younger lady — Elizabeth Byrom — Beppy as she was familiarly called. We despair of giving an idea of her features, but her eyes were bright and blue, her complexion like a damask rose, her nose slightly retroussé, and her teeth like pearls. When she laughed, her cheek displayed the prettiest dimple imaginable. Her light-brown locks were taken from the brow, and raised to a considerable height, but there were no artificial tresses among them.
Her costume suited her extremely well — her gown being of grey silk, looped round the body; and she wore a hoop petticoat — as every other girl did at the time who had any pretension to fashion.
Beppy was not a coquette — far from it — but she tried to please; nor was she vain of her figure, yet she liked to dress becomingly. Accomplished she was, undoubtedly; sang well, and played on the spinet; but she was useful as well as ornamental, and did a great many things in the house, which no girl of our own period would condescend to undertake.
With much gaiety of manner, a keen sense of the ridiculous, and a turn for satire, Beppy never said an ill-natured thing. In short, she was a very charming girl, and the wonder was, with so many agreeable qualities, that she should have remained single.
Our description would be incomplete if we omitted to state that she was an ardent Jacobite.
Her brother, Edward, resembled his father, and was gentleman-like in appearance and manner. He wore a suit of light blue, with silver buttons, and a flaxen-coloured peruke, which gave him a gay look, but in reality he was very sedate. There was nothing of the coxcomb about Edward Byrom. Nor was he of an enthusiastic temperament. Like all the members of his family, he was well inclined towards the House of Stuart, but he was not disposed to make any sacrifice, or incur any personal risk for its restoration to the throne. Edward Byrom was tall, well-made, and passably good-looking.
Mrs. Byrom was dressed in green flowered silk, which suited her: wore powder in her hair, which also suited her, and a hoop petticoat, but we will not say whether the latter suited her or not. Her husband thought it did, and he was the best judge.
“Well, papa,” cried Beppy, looking up at him from her work, “what do you mean to do to-day?”
“I have a good deal to do,” replied Dr. Byrom. “In the first place I shall pay a visit to Tom Syddall, the barber.”
“I like Tom Syddall because he is a Jacobite, and because his father suffered for the good cause,” said Beppy. “Though a barber is the least heroic of mortals, Tom Syddall always appears to me a sort of hero, with a pair of scissors and a powder-puff for weapons.”
“He has thrown dust in your eyes, Beppy,” said the doctor.
“He has vowed to avenge his father. Is not that creditable to him, papa?”
“Yes, he is a brave fellow, no doubt. I only hope he mayn’t share his father’s fate. I shall endeavour to persuade him to keep quiet.”
“Is it quite certain the prince will come to Manchester?” asked Mrs. Byrom, anxiously.
“He will be here in two or three days at the latest with his army. But don’t alarm yourself, my love.”
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “I think we had better leave the town.”
“You are needlessly afraid, mamma,” cried Beppy. “I am not frightened in the least. It may be prudent in some people to get out of the way; but depend upon it we shan’t be molested. Papa’s opinions are too well known. I wouldn’t for the world miss seeing the prince. I dare say we shall all be presented to him.”
&nb
sp; “You talk of the prince as if he had already arrived, Beppy,” observed Edward Byrom, gravely. “After all, he may never reach Manchester.”
“You hope he won’t come,” cried his sister. “You are a Hanoverian, Teddy, and don’t belong to us.”
“’Tis because I wish the prince well that I hope he mayn’t come,” said Teddy. “The wisest thing he could do would be to retreat.”
“I disown you, sir,” cried the young lady. “The prince will never retreat, unless compelled, and success has hitherto attended him.”
“Are you aware that the townspeople of Liverpool have raised a regiment seven hundred strong?”
“For the prince?”
“For King George. Chester, also, has been put into a state of defence against the insurgents, though there are many Roman Catholic families in the city.”
“I won’t be discouraged,” said Beppy. “I am certain the right will triumph. What do you think, papa?”
Dr. Byrom made no response to this appeal.
“Your papa has great misgivings, my dear,” observed Mrs. Byrom; “and so have I. I should most heartily rejoice if the danger that threatens us could be averted. Rebellion is a dreadful thing. We must take no part in this contest. How miserable I should have been if your brother had joined the insurgents!”
“Happily, Teddy has more discretion,” said Dr. Byrom, casting an approving look at his son. “Some of our friends, I fear, will rue the consequences of their folly. Jemmy Dawson has joined the Manchester Regiment, and of course Dr. Deacon’s three sons are to be enrolled in it.”
“Were I a man I would join likewise,” cried Beppy.
“My dear!” exclaimed her mother, half reproachfully.
“Forgive me if I have hurt your feelings, dearest mamma,” said Beppy, getting up and kissing her. “You know I would do nothing to displease you.”
“Jemmy Dawson will incur his father’s anger by the step he has taken,” remarked Edward Byrom. “But powerful influence has been brought to bear upon him. A young lady, quite as enthusiastic a Jacobite as you are, Beppy, to whom he is attached, has done the mischief.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 691