In another part of the hall, and not far from the entrance, stood the porter, with some half-dozen serving-men in rich liveries, and they now threw open the great door.
But Lord Strange could not depart without a word to old Randal Fermor, the steward, who had risen from his couch to receive his lordship’s parting commands.
The old man now approached. Having filled the same office in the time of Earl Ferdinando, he had been continued in it ever since. He was greatly attached to Earl William, and the tidings just received of his lordship’s critical condition had greatly grieved him.
As he drew near, he said to Lord Strange:
“Had I been able to ride so far, I would have prayed your lordship to allow me to accompany you to Chester. I should like to have seen my old master once more ere he goes hence.”
“Willingly would I have granted thy request, Randal, hadst thou been equal to the journey,” said Lord Strange. “But I will mention thy wish to my father, should he be living when I arrive. He had ever a great regard for thee.”
“I know it — I feel it!” cried the old steward, scarcely able to repress his emotion. “There was no one whom I loved and honoured so much as my old master — your lordship excepted. May he meet his reward in heaven, and his portion be with the blessed! He was the kindest and best of men, as well as the most noble-hearted.”
“Thou say’st truly, Randal,” observed Lord Strange, much moved. “Nor can we rightly estimate his loss. But we are speaking of him as if he was gone — whereas, it may please the Almighty to spare him yet awhile.”
“He is too good for this wicked world, my lord,” cried old Randal, fairly bursting into tears, “and is better out of it!”
“At any rate, he is well prepared for his departure,” said Lord Strange. “And now fare thee well! I commit all to thy charge during my absence, and I do so with perfect confidence, for thou hast ever been a faithful steward to me and mine. He who is going will bear witness for thee above!”
The old steward pressed his lips to the hand extended to him.
The servants formed themselves into two lines as Lord Strange went forth followed by Captain Standish. A powerful steed, held by a groom, was standing close by the steps, and his lordship had no sooner mounted than another horse was brought for Standish.
A bright moonlight night. Where the beams fell every object could be clearly discerned. A large portion of the courtyard, however, buried in shade. Still, the picturesque outline of the mansion, with its gables and large bay windows, was fully revealed.
The armed escort was in attendance, and at the head of this little troop Lord Strange rode out of the court-yard, and proceeded towards the park, through which he meant to shape his course.
On this side the palatial mansion was seen to the greatest advantage, and it could not have looked better than it did on that lovely night. So exquisite was the scene, that it extorted Frank Standish’s admiration.
Knowsley Hall was then a large irregular pile, additions to the original structure having been made at various times, but its very irregularity gave it a charm. Open at the front, it had two large wings, and at the rear beyond the inner court were extensive out-buildings. On the left of the main building was a chapel, that might almost be described as a church, since it was very lofty, and had large windows filled with the richest stained glass.
On this side were the gardens laid out in the old-fashioned style, with terraces — each terrace being bordered by a row of clipped yew- trees — very formal, but very beautiful. At the foot of these slopes was a large sheet of water — almost a lake — that materially added to the beauty of the place.
Beyond was the park — then full of magnificent old timber, the growth of centuries, and abounding in deer.
The turrets and walls of the ancient mansion were now bathed in moonlight, and the surface of the miniature lake glittered in the silvery beams.
Lord Strange had just entered the park, and was about to quicken his pace, when a groom, who had ridden on in advance, came back to say that a party of horsemen was approaching; and in another minute the little troop came in sight.
It consisted of a small detachment of dragoons, with an officer at their head, whose splendid accoutrements showed he belonged to the royal guard. As he drew nearer, Lord Strange recognised him as Captain Galliard, with whom he was well acquainted, and halted to greet him. “Your lordship is fortunately encountered,” said Captain Galliard. “I was coming to Knowsley. I have a despatch for you from his majesty.”
And with these words he presented a letter to Lord Strange.
“Can you tell me the purport of his missive, colonel?” demanded his lordship.
“I can, my lord,” replied Galliard; “and I might have delivered the message verbally, but his majesty deemed it more fitting to write. Your lordship is commanded to attend the king without delay at Nottingham Castle.”
“I would instantly obey the command, colonel,” said Lord Strange; “but I have just received another summons, that cannot be neglected.”
“How, my lord!” exclaimed Galliard. “The king’s commands are paramount to all other — or should be so.”
“I am ready at all times to sacrifice life and fortune for the king, but there are appeals to which even his majesty’s commands must give way. Such is mine, as you yourself, I am sure, will admit, when I tell you I have just been summoned to my father’s death-bed.”
“I have just arrived from Chester, colonel,” interposed Standish. “The Earl of Derby will scarce depart in peace unless he beholds his son.”
“No more need be said,” remarked Captain Galliard, feelingly. “I will report what I have heard to the king. His majesty, I am certain, will deeply sympathise with your lordship.”
“I will join him at Nottingham as soon as I can,” said Lord Strange. “Having rendered this explanation I must now press on to Chester, or I may arrive too late. Proceed to Knowsley, I pray you, colonel, and take a few hours’ rest after your long journey. My steward will see to all your wants.”
“I will take advantage of your lordship’s offer,” said Captain Galliard. “In good truth, we all — men and horses — need rest and refreshment.”
“Farewell, then,” said Lord Strange. “I hope we may meet again under happier circumstances.”
With this, he galloped off, followed by Captain Standish and his attendants, while Captain Galliard and his men proceeded to Knowsley Hall, where they were very hospitably received by old Randal Fermor.
CHAPTER III
The Dying Earl
PASSING through Prescot, and crossing the old bridge over the Mersey at Warrington, built by the first Earl of Derby, Lord Strange and his attendants rode on at a rapid pace through Daresbury to Frodsham, where they roused the host of the Bear’s Paw, and halted for a few minutes to refresh their steeds.
This done, they galloped off again, and skirting the wide marshes between them and the Mersey, kept as near as they could to a range of lofty hills; then tracking the boundaries of Delamere Forest, they speeded on through Plemston and Mickle Trafford.
Day was just breaking as they approached Chester, and the castle and cathedral, with some of the loftier buildings, could be seen overtopping the walls of the ancient and picturesque city.
Shut and guarded during the night, the gates were not opened at that early hour, but it was not Lord Strange’s intention to enter the city.
Turning off on the right, he crossed the Roodee, where for upwards of a century races had been run, and jousts and other chivalrous sports held, and rode on till he came to a large mansion, situated on the banks of the river Dee.
“Is the earl, my father, still alive, Hyde?” cried Lord Strange to the porter, who came forth to meet him, as he rode up to the gateway.
“He is, my lord,” replied Hyde; “but I fear he is rapidly sinking.”
“Heaven be thanked I am in time,” exclaimed his lordship.
And, springing from his horse, he entered the hou
se.
Few of the household had retired to rest on that night, and Lord Strange found Warburton, the butler, and three or four other servants, collected in the hall, expecting his arrival.
Warburton gave the same report of the earl’s condition that Hyde, the porter, had done, stating that he had just been in his lordship’s room with some chicken broth, but he would not touch it.
“Doctor Gerard, the physician, and Mr. Hargrave, the chaplain, are now with him, my lord,” said the butler; “and I could tell what they thought by their looks.”
“Take me at once to the chamber, Warburton,” said Lord Strange.
In a large carved oak bedstead, with heavy hangings, propped up by pillows, lay the dying earl.
His countenance still retained its noble outline, but the features were thin and sharpened and of a deathly hue.
His hands were clasped upon his breast, his eyes turned upwards, and he was evidently repeating a prayer, which Mr. Hargrave, the chaplain, an elderly man, seated near the bedside, was reading to him.
The tapers that had been burning throughout the night had only just been extinguished, and the window curtains drawn back, so as to admit the light of day, but the early sunbeams that fell upon the arras and oak panels gave no cheerfulness to the room. On the contrary, they made the picture even more painful by force of contrast.
In a large easy-chair sat Doctor Gerard, apparently dozing, but ever and anon he opened his eyes to look towards the bed.
The entrance of Lord Strange was so quiet that it did not attract the earl’s notice, and he remained for some moments gazing at his father.
During this interval, Doctor Gerard, receiving a sign to that effect, did not quit his seat, and Mr. Hargrave went on with the prayer.
At length Lord Strange advanced towards the bed, and taking the earl’s hand said:
“Father, I am here.”
Something like a smile lighted up the dying nobleman’s pallid countenance.
“I knew you would come, my son,” he murmured.
“Shall we leave the room, my lord?” inquired the chaplain, addressing Lord Strange. “The earl has something to say to you in private.”
“I pray you do so, good Master Hargrave,” said, Lord Strange. “But remain without with Doctor Gerard,” he added in a lower tone.
The chaplain bowed and went out with the physician.
“We are alone, father,” said Lord Strange.
“Come as near to me as you can, or you will not hear my words,” said the earl, placing his arm over his son’s neck, and regarding him with a loving and pitying look. “I am much troubled in mind concerning you. It seems to me that I can look into the future, and I have a sad foreboding that all your possessions will be taken from you, and that a tragical death awaits you.”
“Let not that trouble you, father,” said Lord Strange. “If such is my destiny, it cannot be avoided. I trust I shall be able to meet death firmly in whatever shape it may come. Be sure I shall never die dishonoured.”
“But why pursue a course that appears certain to lead to this end, my son? Why sacrifice yourself for a king who rewards you with ingratitude? Retire to the Isle of Man, where you can dwell securely till this struggle is over. By taking a prominent part in it, you will gain nothing, and may lose all.”
“I cannot follow your counsel, father,” replied Lord Strange. “Be the consequences what they may, I will not desert the king. I should tarnish my name were I to withdraw from him now.”
“Not so, my son,” rejoined the earl. “The course I point out is the only one left you. The king trusts you not, but listens to your enemies, and will never believe in your professions of loyalty. ’Tis in vain, therefore, that you attempt to serve him. You have nothing but mortification and disappointment to expect. Why throw away life for one who treats you thus? Fight not against him, but fight not for him.”
“I can make no promise, my lord. His majesty has just sent for me, and what he commands I shall do.”
“Make any excuses rather than go to him,” said the earl. “You will not disobey my dying injunctions!”
“I ought to be with his majesty now, my lord — but I am here,” replied Lord Strange, somewhat evasively.
“Remain here, I charge you, my son — at least for some days after my death,” said the earl, solemnly and authoritatively.
“Ask me not more than I am able to perform, father,” rejoined Lord Strange, evidently a prey to conflicting emotions. “Enjoin aught I can do, and your wishes shall be fulfilled.”
“My wishes have been expressed,” said the earl, somewhat reproachfully; “and since you refuse to comply with them, there is no need of further speech. Oh! that you could see into the future as plainly as I can!”
“If I have offended you, father, I humbly crave your pardon,” said Lord Strange.
“Nay, I have nothing to pardon, my dear son,” said the dying nobleman. “My sole desire is to preserve you from danger. Take my blessing. Say farewell for me to your wife and children. Fain would I have seen them once more — but it may not be! We shall all meet in heaven.”
While he uttered these words, a change came over the earl’s countenance that could not be mistaken. He sank back upon the pillow and immediately expired.
Half an hour had elapsed, when the door was opened, and those outside were invited to enter the chamber of death. With the chaplain and physician were Frank Standish and Warburton, the butler. None were surprised to find that all was over.
“Let me be first to salute your lordship as Earl of Derby,” said Standish, bowing deeply as he came in.
“I do not desire the title in this presence,” rejoined the new earl. “Approach the bed, I pray you, good Master Hargrave, and you will see how calm my father looks. He might be in a placid slumber.”
“He has died the death of the righteous,” said the chaplain. “His life has been a long preparation for the final hour, and it has found him prepared.”
Bending down he took the hand of the departed, and pressed his lips to it. His example was followed by the others, but no one seemed so profoundly affected as Warburton.
The new earl witnessed this touching scene in silence, and then giving some needful orders to the butler, and directing that the household should be admitted to view the body of their deceased lord, he withdrew to an adjoining chamber, where he penned a despatch to the king, acquainting him with the sad event, and adding that he hoped to join his majesty at Nottingham on the morrow.
He then wrote a few lines to his wife, and having sent off messengers with the letters, threw himself upon a couch, quite worn out with anxiety and fatigue.
After a few hours’ slumber, the new Earl of Derby arose, and had an immediate conference with Mr. Hargrave.
“I am compelled to attend the king at Nottingham,” he said, “and must therefore commit the management of my father’s funeral to you. The body will lie in state for four days, and should I not return in that interval, you will cause it to be conveyed, without pomp or ceremony, according to the wishes of the departed, to the church of Ormskirk, there to be deposited in our family vault beneath the Derby chapel by the side of my angelic mother.”
“Your lordship may rely on me,” replied the chaplain. “On the fifth day, the interment shall take place at Ormskirk, as you have directed.”
CHAPTER IV
Prince Rupert
BEFORE setting out for Nottingham, the Earl of Derby again visited the chamber of the dead, and looked his last upon his father’s face.
With a mournful heart he then mounted his steed, and rode off, accompanied by Captain Standish and the armed attendants he had brought with him.
For more than an hour he spoke not a word, and seemed occupied in painful reflections. He then made an effort to rouse himself, but speedily relapsed into silence, and continued in the same melancholy mood till they reached Mansfield, where they halted for the night.
Next morning, the earl resumed his journey, and the sight
of Nottingham Castle, seated on a precipitous rock, overlooking the portion of Sherwood Forest across which he was riding, filled him with emotions very different from those he had experienced on the previous day, and in some degree dispelled his gloom.
Above the fortress could be seen the royal standard. Proudly it floated now, but an ill omen had attended its first display. Reared on the castle during a storm, it was speedily blown down; nor could it be set up again till the fury of the storm had abated, when it was placed on the keep.
The Earl of Derby did not forget this inauspicious circumstance, and it surprised him to find that the castle was not more strongly fortified, since he was aware the Parliament had a body of five hundred infantry and fifteen hundred horse at Coventry. There were no cannon on the walls, and very few musketeers.
While he mounted the steep ascent leading to the gateway, trumpets were sounded and drums beaten, and a troop of horse came forth, their helmets and cuirasses glittering in the sun. They were a remarkably fine body of men, and very well mounted.
Their leader was a very striking personage, and instantly attracted Lord Derby’s attention, who knew him at a glance.
The Cavalier in question was very tall, and possessed a spare but well-knit and vigorous frame. His dark stern visage was lighted up by eyes that seemed capable of the fiercest expression. He had a thoroughly military bearing, and no one could look at him without seeing that, young as he was, he had served in many a campaign.
He wore a richly-embroidered buff coat, encircled by a crimson scarf, and crossed by a magnificent baldrick, from which a long sword depended. Riding- boots ascending above the knee, and a broad-leaved Spanish hat, ornamented with a plume of white feathers, completed his costume. His fiery steed seemed proud of his rider.
In this haughty Cavalier Lord Derby instantly recognised Prince Rupert, the king’s nephew, and the brother of the Elector-Palatine. Prince Rupert had been appointed general-in-chief of the royal cavalry quartered at Leicester.
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