Albeit that here in London Tower,
It is my fate to die,
O, carry me to Northumberland,
In my father’s grave to lie.
How few who visit Greenwich Hospital are aware that that noble institution, of which the country is so justly proud, has derived, for upwards of a century and a half, the immense revenue of six thousand a year from the ill-fated earl’s forfeited estates!
Has not this effaced the treason?
I commend his story to you.
Your affectionate cousin,
W. Harrison Ainsworth.
Little Rockley, Hurstpierpoint, May 19,1875
BOOK I. — THE EARL OF DERWENTWATER
CHAPTER I
Dilston Castle
A SPLENDID place was Dilston Castle in Northumberland, the seat of the young Earl of Derwentwater, in the early part of the last century.
Crowning an eminence, overlooking a most picturesque district, approached by a long avenue of chestnut trees, and surrounded by woods, extending to the banks of the Tyne, the mansion formed a conspicuous object from whichever side it might be viewed.
Dilston Castle could not boast antiquity, having only been built some sixty years prior to the date of our story, by Sir James Radclyffe, subsequently created Earl of Derwentwater by James the Second, but it occupied the site of an old Border fortress, called Devilstone — since modified to Dilston — that had often resisted the incursions of the Scots.
Of this stronghold, which dated back to the time of Henry the First, only a single memorial was left, in the shape of a grey stone tower — all the rest having been demolished.
The mansion formed a square, and enclosed a spacious court with a fountain in the centre. The principal entrance, approached by a large perron, was inside the court, and faced a grand gateway, that terminated the chestnut avenue.
Close by, though screened by trees, was a little chapel, wherein the rites of Rome were performed — the Radclyffes being strict adherents to the old religion. Hereabouts, also, stood the grey stone tower, before alluded to, and some chambers within it were still used.
As may be supposed, from its size, the mansion contained some magnificent apartments, and these were sumptuously furnished. Large gardens, laid out in the formal French style, and ornamented with terraces, flights of stone steps, statues, and fountains, added to the attractions of the place.
Beneath the acclivity, whereon stood the castle, was a romantic and beautiful dell, the sides of which were clothed with brushwood. Through the midst of the ravine rushed a stream, called the Devil’s Water — bright and clear, despite its name — that hurried on, unless checked by a huge rock, or some other impediment, when it spread out into a pool. In places, the glen had a weird look, and many strange legends were connected with it.
The picturesque beauty of the spot was materially heightened by a lofty bridge flung across the hollow, and leading from the castle to the deer-park.
From this bridge, the stately structure, with the charming and diversified scenery around it, could be contemplated to the greatest advantage.
The park boasted many ancient oaks and ash-trees, and was well stocked with deer; the neighbouring moors abounded with grouse, the smaller streams with trout, and the Tyne with salmon. Better shooting and fishing could not be had than at Dilston.
The noble owner of this proud mansion, and the extensive domains attached to it, had succeeded to the title and estates on the death of his father, the second earl, some five years previously. In addition to Dilston, Langley Castle, and Simonburn in Northumberland, he had large estates in Cumberland, and one side of the lovely lake of Derwentwater, from which he derived his title, belonged to him. Moreover, he had lead mines at Alston Moor that produced a very large revenue.
Notwithstanding his immense wealth and importance in the county, the young earl led a very retired life. As a Roman Catholic, he laboured under disabilities that prevented him from taking part in public affairs. But he maintained a numerous establishment, and was extremely hospitable, and his chaplain and almoner, Father Norman, distributed a tithe of his large income in charity.
Loyal to the sovereign he recognised, firm in the faith he professed, devout, charitable, courteous, courageous — such was the Earl of Derwentwater at twenty- two, when we first meet him.
The young earl’s personal appearance was extremely prepossessing. Tall, and well-proportioned, he had finely-formed features, with blue eyes and fair locks. He was fond of all manly exercises, a daring horseman, a master of fence, and a good shot. Several important alliances had been proposed to him, but he was still unmarried.
Charles Radclyffe, his only brother, and his junior by a year and a half, resided with him at Dilston. There was a great personal resemblance between them. Like his brother, Charles Radclyffe was an enthusiastic Jacobite, and ready to run any risk for the restoration of the Stuarts.
Viscount Radclyffe and Langley, as the Earl of Derwentwater was styled in his father’s lifetime, had been brought up at the court of the exiled monarch, James the Second, at Saint Germains, as a companion to the young prince, James Edward, who was about his own age, and to whom he was nearly allied by consanguinity — Lord Radclyffe’s mother being a natural daughter of Charles the Second,
Constantly together, and sharing the same studies and the same sports, the cousins, as they were called, became greatly attached to each other, and no change had taken place in their sentiments when James the Second breathed his last, dying, as those in attendance on him avouched, in the odour of sanctity.
By the express desire of Queen Mary of Modena, Lord Radclyffe remained at Saint Germains until after the death of William the Third, and the accession of Anne, mixed up in the various Jacobite plots, of which that court was then the hot-bed, until the decease of his own father, in 1705, compelled him to return to England, in order to take possession of his estates.
On his departure the young earl renewed his professions of loyalty and devotion to the Chevalier de Saint George, as the prince was now designated, and promised to hold himself in constant readiness for a summons to rise. He also took an affectionate leave of the queen, who embraced him like a mother, and gave him her blessing.
Five years flew by, during which an attempt at invasion was made by the Chevalier de Saint George with a squadron under the command of the renowned Forbin, but the prince was unable to disembark, and consequently Lord Derwentwater was not called upon to join him.
Discouraged by this ill-success, and receiving no further support from Louis the Fourteenth, the prince joined the French army under Villars, and fought bravely at Malplaquet.
Ever since his return from Saint Germains Lord Derwentwater had resided at Dilston. He lacked a mother’s care, for the countess had long been dead, but he was watched over and counselled by Father Norman, an excellent man, who had been chaplain to the late earl.
In anticipation of a sudden summons, Lord Derwentwater kept a large collection of arms concealed in the old tower previously described. He had plenty of horses in his stables and elsewhere, and with his servants and retainers, and the number of miners in his employ, he could at any time raise two or three hundred men, and arm and equip them.
Until lately, a secret correspondence had been constantly kept up between the earl and the Chevalier de Saint George, but for some months no letter had been received from the prince.
CHAPTER II
The Chevalier de Saint George
ONE morning, at this juncture, the young earl, mounted on his favourite dapple- grey steed, rode out from the castle, and took his way down the chestnut avenue, accompanied by his brother, Charles Radclyffe.
The two young equestrians made a very gallant appearance, being attired in scarlet riding-coats, edged with gold lace, feathered hats, long neck-cloths, laced ruffles, and boots ascending above the knee. The grooms wore green riding- coats laced with gold, and green velvet caps.
The earl, who was riding to Corbridge, which was not very far off, proceed
ed at a leisurely pace, and occasionally halted to examine some object in the grounds, or listen to an appeal to his charity. In the latter case the applicant was sent on to the castle to state his case to Father Norman.
The morning was bright and clear, and the country looked so charming that the earl determined to extend his ride along the banks of the Tyne as soon as his business at Corbridge was finished; but he had not quitted the avenue when a horseman entered it, who was evidently proceeding to the castle.
This person might be a courier, for he rode a post-horse, and was followed by a post-boy, who carried his portmanteau; and there was nothing in his grey riding-dress to indicate rank. He had pistols in his girdle, and a hanger by his side. But he rode well, though provided only with a sorry hack, and had a military bearing. In age he could not be more than three-and-twenty, if so much. He was rather above the middle height, and slightly built, and his features were handsome and expressive.
On seeing the earl and his brother the stranger immediately slackened his pace, and rode slowly towards them.
Lord Derwentwater gazed at him in astonishment, and as if he could scarcely believe his eyes.
At length he turned to his brother and exclaimed:
“By Heaven, ’tis he!”
“He! who?” cried Charles Radclyffe.
“The Chevalier de Saint George,” replied the earl, under his breath.
“Impossible!” said the other. “He would never come here in this manner, and without giving us some notice of his design.”
“’Tis the prince, I repeat,” cried Derwentwater; “I cannot be mistaken. But the greatest caution must be observed, or the post-boy’s suspicions may be aroused.”
Next moment the stranger came up, and respectfully saluting the earl, told him he was the bearer of an important despatch, whereupon Lord Derwentwater invited him to the castle, and turning round, proceeded in that direction, keeping the supposed courier near him, while Charles Radclyffe, who had now recognised the stranger from his likeness to the portraits of the prince, rode at a little distance behind them.
The meeting was so cleverly managed that the grooms saw nothing extraordinary in it, and the post-boy was completely duped.
“I never had a harder task than to repress my delight at beholding your majesty,” said Lord Derwentwater. “You have indeed taken me by surprise.”
“Had it been possible I would have given you some intimation of my arrival and intended visit to you,” replied the prince, “but I only landed at Sunderland yesterday, and came on betimes this morning. Do not imagine I am come to summon you to arms, though my partisans in Scotland are ready to rise, and would at once join my standard were I to display it. No, cousin, my errand is pacific.”
“Pacific!” exclaimed the earl.
“My purpose is to obtain an interview with my sister, Queen Anne; and if I succeed, I believe no insurrection will be necessary, for I am persuaded she will agree to appoint me her successor. You must accompany me to London, cousin.”
“I will do whatever your majesty enjoins,” replied Lord Derwentwater, greatly astonished by what he heard. “But it is my duty to tell you that you will run great risk, while I very much fear you will not accomplish your object. Did you consult the queen, your mother, before setting out on this expedition?”
“I did, cousin, and must frankly own that she endeavoured to dissuade me from the attempt, for, as you are aware, her majesty deems Anne an unnatural daughter, and destitute of all feeling for the brother whose throne she has usurped. It may be so. Yet, cold as she is, Anne cannot be insensible to the king, our father’s, dying message, which I propose to deliver to her.”
“Nothing will move her, sire, depend upon it,” said the earl. “Queen Anne is so strongly opposed to the Roman Catholic religion, that unless your majesty will consent to change your faith she will turn a deaf ear to your entreaties.”
“We shall see,” replied the Chevalier de Saint George. “At all events, I shall have an answer from her own lips, and shall then know how to act. As I have just told you, the queen, my mother, strove to combat my determination, but, finding I was not to be shaken, she entreated me to take you with me. To this I readily agreed, as I knew I could rely on your devotion. I embarked at Dunkerque without a single attendant, and in this disguise, and landed yesterday at Sunderland.”
“And right glad I am to welcome your majesty to Dilston,” said the earl. “But let me implore you to change your plans, and instead of supplicating Queen Anne for the crown, that of right belongs to yourself, snatch it from her brow! Should you decide thus — and I believe it will be for the best — I will undertake, within a week, to raise a large force — while thousands will flock to your standard in Scotland. Your majesty will do well to weigh my proposal, ere setting out on a hazardous expedition to London. Here you have a mansion you can call your own — servants you can command — friends at your disposal — and in a few days you will have an army. Be advised by me, my gracious liege, and abandon this wild scheme. Suffer me to get together your adherents. Let me send off messengers without delay to Lord Widdrington, Tom Errington, of Beaufront, John Shaftoe, Swinbourn, Charleton, Clavering, and others in the county, to collect all their retainers.”
“But they are unprepared,” remarked the prince.
“Pardon me, my liege. The friends I have named are always prepared, and the news that your majesty is here would rouse them all to come at once. I ought to have added to the list Jack Hall of Otterburn, and Tom Forster of Bamborough. They are High Church Tories, and will bring many others with them.”
“No doubt, they would prove an important acquisition,” said the prince. “But I will not try to dethrone Anne till I have given her the chance of acting fairly towards me. I am very sanguine as to the result of my interview with her.”
“Heaven grant your majesty may not be disappointed!” rejoined Lord Derwentwater. “I will say no more. Whenever it shall please you to set out to London, I shall be ready to attend you.”
“I will remain here till to-morrow, cousin,” said the prince. “On some future occasion I hope to be your guest for a longer time; but though Dilston is a charming place, and I should like to see all its beauties, it must not detain me now.”
They were at the end of the avenue, but, before passing through the gateway, Lord Derwentwater said to the prince:
“Your majesty had best dismount here, and get rid of the post-boy.”
On this the prince sprang from his horse, while the gate-porter by the earl’s directions paid the post-boy, and took the portmanteau from him.
Having received a handsome gratuity for himself, the man then departed with his horses in tolerably good humour; though, aware of the earl’s hospitality, he had hoped to be regaled in the servants’ hall.
Meanwhile, Lord Derwentwater and his brother having alighted, the party walked across the great quadrangular court — the prince pausing occasionally to look around, and express his admiration.
“By my faith! cousin, you have a splendid house,” he cried. “’Tis quite a palace.”
“Why not take possession of it, my liege?” replied Derwentwater.
“You tempt me greatly. But no! I must not be diverted from my purpose.”
They then ascended the magnificent flight of stone steps, and entered a spacious hall — the door being thrown open by a butler and several other servants in the earl’s rich livery.
“Little did I dream, when I set forth an hour ago, whom I should bring back as my guest,” observed Lord Derwentwater.
“You have often told me at Saint Germains how rejoiced you would be to see me here,” rejoined the prince; “and now you perceive I have taken you at your word. But you are very remiss, cousin — pray present your brother to me!”
The presentation then took place, but without any ceremony, on account of the servants, and the prince shook hands very heartily with Charles Radclyffe.
Just then, an elderly personage, with silver locks, that fe
ll over his shoulders, and wearing a priestly garb, entered the hall. It was Father Norman, who had come to see whom the earl had brought with him. The good priest had a kindly and benevolent expression of countenance, and fixed his keen grey eyes inquiringly on the stranger, with whose appearance he was greatly struck.
After a few moments’ scrutiny he consulted Lord Derwentwater by a look, and his suspicions being confirmed, he most respectfully returned the reverence made to him by the prince.
Having given some orders to the butler, Lord Derwentwater conducted his guest to the library which opened from the hall, and they were followed by Charles Radclyffe and the priest.
Further disguise was now unnecessary, and no inquisitive observer being present, the prince was treated by all with the respect that was his due.
The impression of the priest and Charles Radclyffe was that he was come to prepare a rising, and when they learnt his real design they could scarcely conceal their disappointment. Neither of them, however, ventured to offer a remonstrance, till Father Norman, being urged by the prince to speak out, said:
“I fear your majesty will find the queen impracticable. Moreover, she has already named the Elector of Hanover her successor.”
“But she may change her mind, good father.”
“Her ministers will not allow her to do so, my liege. They are resolved upon a Protestant succession — and so is she. Renounce your religion, and you will succeed — not otherwise.”
“I have already said as much to his majesty,” observed Lord Derwentwater. “But he entertains a better opinion of the queen than I do.”
“I am unwilling to believe that she will disregard her father’s dying injunctions,” said the prince. “Bear in mind that she has never seen me. When we meet the voice of natural affection will make itself heard. She will then become sensible of the great wrong she has done me, and hasten to make atonement. She will feel that by her wicked and unnatural conduct she has incurred Heaven’s displeasure. Her own children have been taken from her. Other severe chastisements may follow, if not averted. These are the arguments I shall employ.”
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