London Pride, Or, When the World Was Younger

by M. E. Braddon

  CHAPTER II.

  WITHIN CONVENT WALLS.

  More than ten years had come and gone since that bleak February eveningwhen Sir John Kirkland carried his little daughter to a place of safety, inthe old city of Louvain, and in all those years the child had grown likea flower in a sheltered garden, where cold winds never come. The bud hadmatured into the blossom in that mild atmosphere of piety and peace; andnow, in this fair springtide of 1660, a girlish face watched from theconvent casement for the coming of the father whom Angela Kirkland had notlooked upon since she was a child, and the sister she had never seen.

  They were to arrive to-day, father and sister, on a brief visit to thequiet Flemish city. Yonder in England there had been curious changes sincethe stern Protector turned his rugged face to the wall, and laid down thatgolden sceptre with which he had ruled as with a rod of iron. Kingly title1would he none; yet where kings had chastised with whips, he had chastisedwith scorpions. Ireland could tell how the little finger of Cromwell hadbeen heavier than the arm of the Stuarts. She had trembled and had obeyed,and had prospered under that scorpion rule, and England's armaments hadbeen the terror of every sea while Cromwell stood at the helm; but now thatstrong brain and bold heart were in the dust, and it had taken Englandlittle more than a year to discover that Puritanism and the Rump were amistake, and that to the core of her heart she was loyal to her hereditaryKing.

  She asked not what manner of man this hereditary ruler might be; asked notwhether he were wise or foolish, faithful or treacherous. She forgot allof tyranny and of double-dealing she had suffered from his forbears. Sheforgot even her terror of the scarlet spectre, the grim wolf of Rome, inher disgust at Puritan fervour which had torn down altar-rails, usurpedchurch pulpits, destroyed the beauty of ancient cathedrals. Like a womanor a child, she held out her arms to the unknown, in a natural recoilfrom that iron rule which had extinguished her gaiety, silenced her nobleliturgy, made innocent pleasures and elegant arts things forbidden. Shewanted her churches, and her theatres, her cock-pits and taverns, andbear-gardens and maypoles back again. She wanted to be ruled by the law,and not by the sword; and she longed with a romantic longing for that youngwanderer who had fled from her shores in a fishing-boat, with his life inhis hand, to return in a glad procession of great ships dancing over summerseas, eating, drinking, gaming, in a coat worth scarce thirty shillings,and with empty pockets for his loyal subjects to make haste and fill.

  Angela had the convent parlour all to herself this fair spring morning. Shewas the favourite pupil of the nuns, had taken no vows, pledged herself tono noviciate, ever mindful of her promise to her father. She had lived ashappily and as merrily in that abode of piety as she could have lived inthe finest palace in Europe. There were other maidens, daughters of theFrench and Flemish nobility, who were taught and reared within those sombreprecincts, and with them she had played and worked and laboured at suchstudies as became a young lady of quality. Like that fair daughter ofaffliction, Henrietta of England, she had gained in education by thetroubles which had made her girlhood a time of seclusion. She had beenfirst the plaything of those elder girls who were finishing their educationin the convent, her childishness appealing to their love and pity; andthen, after being the plaything of the nuns and the elder pupils, shebecame the favourite of her contemporaries, and in a manner their queen.She was more thoughtful than her class-fellows, in advance of her yearsin piety and intelligence; and they, knowing her sad story--how she wassevered from her country and kindred, her father a wanderer with his King,her sister bred up at a foreign Court--had first compassionated and thenadmired her. From her twelfth year upwards her intellectual superiority hadbeen recognised in the convent, alike by the nuns and their pupils. Heraptitude at all learning, and her simple but profound piety, had impressedeverybody. At fourteen years of age they had christened her "the littlewonder;" but later, seeing that their praises embarrassed and evendistressed her, they had desisted from such loving flatteries, and werecontent to worship her with a silent adulation.

  Her father's visits to the Flemish city had been few and far apart, fondlythough he loved his motherless girl. He had been a wanderer for the mostpart during those years, tossed upon troubled seas, fighting with Condeagainst Mazarin and Anne of Austria, and reconciled with the Court later,when peace was made, and his friends the Princes were forgiven; an exilefrom France of his own free will when Louis banished his first cousin, theKing of England, in order to truckle to the triumphant usurper. He had ledan adventurous life, and had cared very little what became of him in atopsy-turvy world. But now all things were changed. Richard Cromwell'sbrief and irresolute rule had shattered the Commonwealth, and madeEnglishmen eager for a king. The country was already tired of him whosesuccession had been admitted with blank acquiescence; and Monk and thearmy were soon to become masters of the situation. There was hope that theGeneral was rightly affected, and that the King would have his own again;and that such of his followers as had not compounded with the ParliamentaryCommission would get back their confiscated estates; and that all who hadsuffered in person or pocket for loyalty's sake would be recompensed fortheir sacrifices.

  It was five years since Sir John's last appearance at the convent, andAngela's heart beat fast at the thought that he was so near. She was to seehim this very day; nay, perhaps this very hour. His coach might have passedthe gate of the town already. He was bringing his elder daughter with him,that sister whose face she had never seen, save in a miniature, and whowas now a great lady, the wife of Baron Fareham, of Chilton Abbey, Oxon,Fareham Park, in the County of Hants, and Fareham House, London, a noblemanwhose estates had come through the ordeal of the Parliamentary Commissionwith a reasonable fine, and to whom extra favour had been shown by theCommissioners, because he was known to be at heart a Republican. In themean time, Lady Fareham had a liberal income allowed her by the Marquise,her grandmother, and she and her husband had been among the most splendidforeigners at the French Court, where the lady's beauty and wit had placedher conspicuously in that galaxy of brilliant women who shone and sparkledabout the sun of the European firmament--Le roi soleil, or "the King," parexcellence, who took the blazing sun for his crest. The Fronde had been atime of pleasurable excitement to the high-spirited girl, whose mixedblood ran like quicksilver, and who delighted in danger and party strife,stratagem and intrigue. The story of her courage and gaiety of heart in thesiege of Paris, she being then little more than a child, had reached theFlemish convent long after the acts recorded had been forgotten at Parisand St. Germain.

  Angela's heart beat fast at the thought of being restored to these dearones, were it only for a short span. They were not going to carry her awayfrom the convent; and, indeed, seeing that she so loved her aunt, the goodreverend mother, and that her heart cleaved to those walls and to the holyexercises which filled so great a part of her life, her father, in replyingto a letter in which she had besought him to release her from her promiseand allow her to dedicate herself to God, had told her that, although hecould not surrender his daughter, to whom he looked for the comfort of hisclosing years, he would not urge her to leave the Ursulines until he shouldfeel himself old and feeble, and in need of her tender care. Meanwhile shemight be a nun in all but the vows, and a dutiful niece to her kind aunt,Mother Anastasia, whose advanced years and failing health needed allconsideration.

  But now, before he went back to England, whither he hoped to accompany theKing and the Princes ere the year was much older, Sir John Kirkland wascoming to visit his younger daughter, bringing Lady Fareham, whose husbandwas now in attendance upon His Majesty in Holland, where there were seriousnegotiations on hand--negotiations which would have been full of peril tothe English messengers two years ago, when that excellent preacher and holyman, Dr. Hewer, of St. Gregory, was beheaded for having intelligence withthe King, through the Marquess of Ormond.

  The parlour window jutted into the square over against the town hall, andAngela could see the whole length of the narrow street along which herfat
her's carriage must come.

  The tall, slim figure and the fair, girlish face stood out in full reliefagainst the grey stone mullion, bathed in sunlight. The graceful form wasundisguised by courtly apparel. The soft brown hair fell in loose ringlets,which were drawn back from the brow by a band of black ribbon. The girl'sgown was of soft grey woollen stuff, relieved by a cambric collar coveringthe shoulders, and by cambric elbow-sleeves. A coral and silver rosary washer only ornament; but face and form needed no aid from satins or velvets,Venetian lace or Indian filagree.

  The sweet, serious face was chiefly notable for eyes of darkest grey, underbrows that were firmly arched and almost black. The hair was a dark brown,the complexion somewhat too pale for beauty. Indeed, that low-tonedcolouring made some people blind to the fine and regular modelling of thehigh-bred face; while there were others who saw no charm in a countenancewhich seemed too thoughtful for early youth, and therefore lacking in oneof youth's chief attractions--gladness.

  The face lighted suddenly at this moment, as four great grey Flandershorses came clattering along the narrow street and into the square,dragging a heavy painted wooden coach after them. The girl opened thecasement and craned out her neck to look at the arrival The coach stoppedat the convent door, and a footman alighted and rang the convent bell, tothe interested curiosity of two or three loungers upon the steps of thetown hall over the way.

  Yes, it was her father, greyer but less sad of visage than at his lastvisit. His doublet and cloak were handsomer than the clothes he had wornthen, though they were still of the same fashion, that English mode whichhe had affected before the beginning of the troubles, and which he hadnever changed.

  Immediately after him there alighted a vision of beauty, the loveliest ofladies, in sky-blue velvet and pale grey fur, and with a long white featherencircling a sky-blue hat, and a collar of Venetian lace veiling a bosomthat scintillated with jewels.

  "Hyacinth!" cried Angela, in a flutter of delight.

  The portress peered at the visitors through her spy-hole, and beingsatisfied that they were the expected guests, speedily opened theiron-clamped door.

  There was no one to interfere between father and daughter, sister andsister, in the convent parlour. Angela had her dear people all to herself,the Mother Superior respecting the confidences and outpourings of love,which neither father nor children would wish to be witnessed even by akinswoman. Thus, by a rare breach of conventual discipline, Angela wasallowed to receive her guests alone.

  The lay-sister opened the parlour door and ushered in the visitors, andAngela ran to meet her father, and fell sobbing upon his breast, her facehidden against his velvet doublet, her arms clasping his neck.

  "What, mistress, hast thou so watery a welcome, now that the clouds havepassed away, and every loyal English heart is joyful?" cried Sir John, in avoice that was somewhat husky, but with a great show of gaiety.

  "Oh, sir, I have waited so long, so long for this day. Sometimes I thoughtit would never come, that I should never see my dear father again."

  "Poor child! it would have been only my desert hadst thou forgotten mealtogether. I might have come to you sooner, pretty one; indeed, I wouldhave come, only things went ill with me. I was down-hearted and hopelessof any good fortune in a world that seemed given over to psalm-singingscoundrels; and till the tide turned I had no heart to come nigh you. Butnow fortunes are mended, the King's and mine, and you have a father onceagain, and shall have a home by-and-by, the house where you were born, andwhere your angel-mother made my life blessed. You are like her, Angela!"holding back the pale face in his strong hands, and gazing upon itearnestly. "Yes, you favour your mother; but your face is over sad for youryears. Look at your sister here! Would you not say a sunbeam had takenwoman's shape and come dancing into the room?"

  Angela looked round and greeted the lady, who had stood aside while fatherand daughter met. Yes, such a face suggested sunlight and summer, birds,butterflies, all things buoyant and gladsome. A complexion of dazzlingfairness, pearly, transparent, with ever-varying carnations; eyes ofheavenliest blue, liquid, laughing, brimming with espieglerie; a slimlittle nose with an upward tilt, which expressed a contemptuous gaiety, aninquiring curiosity; a dimpled chin sloping a little towards the full roundthroat; the bust and shoulders of a Venus, the waist of a sylph, set off bythe close-fitting velvet bodice, with its diamond and turquoise buttons;hair of palest gold, fluffed out into curls that were traps for sunbeams;hands and arms of a milky whiteness emerging from the large looseelbow-sleeves--a radiant apparition which took Angela by surprise. She hadseen Flemish vraus in the richest attire, and among them there had beenwomen as handsome as Helena Forment; but this vision of a fine lady fromthe court of the "roi soleil" was a revelation. Until this moment, the girlhad hardly known what grace and beauty meant.

  "Come and let me hug you, my dearest Puritan," cried Hyacinth, holding outher arms. "Why do you suffer your custodians to clothe you in that odiousgrey, which puts me in mind of lank-haired psalm-singing scum, and alltheir hateful works? I would have you sparkling in white satin and silver,or blushing in brocade powdered with forget-me-nots and rosebuds. Whatwould Fareham say if I told him I had a Puritan in grey woollen stuff formy sister? He sends you his love, dear, and bids me tell you there shall bealways an honoured place in our home for you, be it in England or France,in town or country. And why should you not fill that place at once, sister?Your education is finished, and to be sure you must be tired of these stonewalls and this sleepy town."

  "No, Hyacinth, I love the convent and the friends who have made it my home.You and Lord Fareham are very kind, but I could not leave our reverendmother; she is not so well or so strong as she used to be, and I think shelikes to have me with her, because though she loves us all, down to thehumblest of the lay-sisters, I am of her kin, and seem nearest to her. Idon't want to forsake her; and if it was not against my father's wish Ishould like to end my days in this house, and to give my thoughts to God."

  "That is because thou knowest nought of the world outside, sweetheart,"protested Hyacinth. "I admire the readiness with which folks will renouncea banquet they have never tasted. A single day at the Louvre or the PalaisRoyal would change your inclinations at once and for ever."

  "She is too young for a court life, or a town life either," said Sir John."And I have no mind to remove her from this safe shelter till the Kingshall be firm upon his throne, and our poor country shall have settled intoa stable and peaceful condition. But there must be no vows, Angela, norenunciation of kindred and home. I look to thee for the comfort of my oldage!"

  "Dear father, I will never disobey you. I shall remember always that myfirst duty is to you; and when you want me, you have but to summon me; andwhether you are at home or abroad, in wealth and honour, or in exile andpoverty, I will go to you, and be glad and happy to be your daughter andyour servant."

  "I knew thou wouldst, dearest. I have never forgotten how the soft littlearms clung about my neck, and how the baby lips kissed me, in this sameparlour, when my heart was weighed down by a load of iron, and there seemedno ray of hope for England or me. You were my comforter then, and you willbe my comforter in the days to come. Hyacinth here is of the butterflybreed. She is fair to look upon, and tender and loving; but she is ever onthe wing. And she has her husband and her children to cherish, and cannotbe burdened with the care of a broken-down greybeard."

  "Broken-down! Why, you are as brave a gallant as the youngest cavalier inthe King's service," cried Hyacinth. "I would pit my father against Montaguor Buckingham, Buckhurst or Roscommon--against the gayest, the boldest ofthem all, on land or sea. Broken-down, forsooth! We will hear no such wordsfrom you, sir, for a score of years. And now you will want all your wits totake your proper place at Court as sage counsellor and friend of thenew King. Sure he will need his father's friends about him to teachhim state-craft--he who has led such a gay, good-for-nothing life as apenniless rover, with scarce a sound coat to his back."

  "Nay, Hyacinth, the King
will have no need of us old Malignants. We havehad our day. He has shrewd Ned Hyde for counsellor, and in that one longhead there is craft enough to govern a kingdom. The new Court will be ayoung Court, and the fashion of it will be new. We old fellows, who weregallant and gay enough in the forties, when we fought against Essex and histawny scarves, would be but laughable figures at the Court of a young manbred half in Paris, and steeped in French fashions and French follies. No,Hyacinth, it is for you and your husband the new day dawns. If I get backto my old meads and woods and the house where I was born, I will sitquietly down in the chimney corner, and take to cattle-breeding, and a packof harriers, for the diversion of my declining years. And when my Angelacan make up her mind to leave her good aunt she shall keep house for me."

  "I should love to be your housekeeper, dearest father. If it please Heavento restore my aunt to health and strength, I will go to you with a heartfull of joy," said the girl, hanging caressingly upon the old cavalier'sshoulder.

  Hyacinth flitted about the room with a swift, birdlike motion, looking atthe sacred images and prints, the _tableau_ over the mantelpiece, whichtold, with much flourish of penmanship, the progress of the convent pupilsin learning and domestic virtues.

  "What a humdrum, dismal room!" she cried. "You should see our conventparlours in Paris. At the Carmelites, in the Rue Saint Jacques, _parexemple_, the Queen-mother's favourite convent, and at Chaillot, the housefounded by Queen Henrietta--such pictures, and ornaments, and embroideredhangings, and tapestries worked by devotees. This room of yours, sister,stinks of poverty, as your Flemish streets stink of garlic and cabbage.Faugh! I know not which is worse!"

  Having thus delivered herself of her disgust, she darted upon her youngersister, laid her hands upon the girl's shoulders, and contemplated her withmock seriousness.

  "What a precocious young saint thou art, with no more interest in the worldoutside this naked parlour than if thou wert yonder image of the HolyMother. Not a question of my husband, or my children, or of the lastfashion in hood and mantle, or of the new laced gloves, or the FrenchKing's latest divinity."

  "I should dearly like to see your children, Hyacinth," answered her sister.

  "Ah! they are the most enchanting creatures, the girl a perpetual sunbeam,ethereal, elfish, a being of life and movement, and with a loquacity thatnever tires; the boy a lump of honey, fat, sleek, lazily beautiful. I amnever tired of admiring them, when I have time to see them. Papillon--anold friend of mine has surnamed her Papillon because she is neverstill--was five years old on March 19. We were at St. Germain on herbirthday. You should have seen the toys and trinkets and sweetmeats whichthe Court showered upon her--the King and Queen, Monsieur, Mademoiselle,the Princess Henrietta, her godmother--everybody had a gift for thedaughter of La folle Baronne Fareham. Yes, they are lovely creatures,Angela; and I am miserable to think that it may be half a year before I seetheir sweet faces again."

  "Why so long, sister?"

  "Because they are at the Chateau de Montrond, grandmother's place nearDieppe, and because Fareham and I are going hence to Breda to meet theKing, our own King Charles, and help lead him home in triumph. In Londonthe mob are shouting, roaring, singing, for their King; and Montagu's fleetlies in the Downs, waiting but the signal from Parliament to cross toHolland. He who left his country in a scurvy fishing-boat will go backto England in a mighty man-of-war, the _Naseby_--mark you, the_Naseby_--christened by that Usurper, in insolent remembrance of a rebelvictory; but Charles will doubtless change that hated name. He must not beput in mind of a fight where rebels had the better of loyal gentlemen. Hewill sail home over those dancing seas, with a fleet of great white-wingedships circling round him like a flight of silvery doves. Oh, what a turn offortune's wheel! I am wild with rapture at the thought of it!"

  "You love England better than France, though you must be almost a strangerthere," said Angela, wonderingly, looking at a miniature which her sisterwore in a bracelet.

  "Nay, love, 'tis in Paris I am an insignificant alien, though they are everso kind and flattering to me. At St Germain I was only Madame de Montrond'sgrand-daughter--the wife of a somewhat morose gentleman who was clevererat winning battles than at gaining hearts. At Whitehall I shall be LadyFareham, and shall enjoy my full consequence as the wife of an Englishnobleman of ancient lineage and fine estate, for, I am happy to tell you,his lordship's property suffered less than most people's in the rebellion,and anything his father lost when he fought for the good cause will begiven back to the son now the good cause is triumphant, with additions,perhaps--an earl's coronet instead of a baron's beggarly pearls. I shouldlike Papillon to be Lady Henrietta."

  "And you will send for your children, doubtless, when you are sure all issafe in England?" said Angela, still contemplating the portrait in thebracelet, which her sister had unclasped while she talked. "This isPapillon, I know. What a sweet, kind, mischievous face!"

  "Mischievous as a Barbary ape--kind, and sweet as the west wind," said SirJohn.

  "And your boy?" asked Angela, reclasping the bracelet on the fair, roundarm, having looked her fill at the mutinous eyes, the brown, crisplycurling hair, dainty, pointed chin, and dimpled cheeks. "Have you hispicture, too?"

  "Not his; but I wear his father's likeness somewhere betwixt buckram andFlanders lace," answered Hyacinth, gaily, pulling a locket from amidst thesplendours of her corsage. "I call it next my heart; but there is a stoutfortification of whalebone between heart and picture. You have gloatedenough on the daughter's impertinent visage. Look now at the father, whomshe resembles in little, as a kitten resembles a tiger."

  She handed her sister an oval locket, bordered with diamonds, and held by aslender Indian chain; and Angela saw the face of the brother-in-law whosekindness and hospitality had been so freely promised to her.

  She explored the countenance long and earnestly.

  "Well, do you think I chose him for his beauty?" asked Hyacinth. "You havedevoured every lineament with that serious gaze of yours, as if you weretrying to read the spirit behind that mask of flesh. Do you think himhandsome?"

  Angela faltered: but was unskilled in flattery, and could not reply with acompliment.

  "No, sister; surely none have ever called this countenance handsome; but itis a face to set one thinking."

  "Ay, child, and he who owns the face is a man to set one thinking. He hasmade me think many a time when I would have travelled a day's journey toescape the thoughts he forced upon me. He was not made to bask in thesunshine of life. He is a stormy petrel. It was for his ugliness I chosehim. Those dark stern features, that imperious mouth, and a brow like theOlympian Jove. He scared me into loving him. I sheltered myself upon hisbreast from the thunder of his brow, the lightning of his eye."

  "He has a look of his cousin Wentworth," said Sir John. "I never see himbut I think of that murdered man--my father's friend and mine--whom I havenever ceased to mourn."

  "Yet their kin is of the most distant," said Hyacinth. "It is strange thatthere should be any likeness."

  "Faces appear and reappear in families," answered her father. "You mayobserve that curiously recurring likeness in any picture-gallery, if thefamily portraits cover a century or two. Louis has little in common withhis grandfather; but two hundred years hence there may be a prince of theroyal house whose every feature shall recall Henry the Great"

  The portrait was returned to its hiding-place, under perfumed lace andcobweb lawn, and the reverend mother entered the parlour, ready forconversation, and eager to hear the history of the last six weeks, ofthe collapse of that military despotism which had convulsed England anddominated Europe, and was now melting into thin air as ghosts dissolve atcock-crow, of the secret negotiations between Monk and Grenville, now knownto everybody; of the King's gracious amnesty and promise of universalpardon, save for some score or so of conspicuous villains, whose hands weredyed with the Royal Martyr's blood.

  She was full of questioning: and, above all, eager to know whether it wastrue that King Charles was at
heart as staunch a papist as his brother theDuke of York was believed to be, though even the Duke lacked the courage tobear witness to the true faith.

  Two lay-sisters brought in a repast of cakes and syrups and light wines,such delicate and dainty food as the pious ladies of the convent wereespecially skilled in preparing, and which they deemed all-sufficient forthe entertainment of company; even when one of their guests was a ruggedsoldier like Sir John Kirkland. When the light collation had been tastedand praised, the coach came to the door again, and swallowed up thebeautiful lady and the old cavalier, who vanished from Angela's sight in acloud of dust, waving hands from the coach window.