CHAPTER X.
THE PRIEST'S HOLE.
Denzil dined at the Abbey, where he was always made welcome. Lady Farehamhad been warmly insistent upon his presence at their Christmas gaieties.
"We want to show you a Cavalier's Christmas," she told him at dinner, heseated at her side in the place of honour, while Angela sat at the otherend of the table between Fareham and De Malfort. "For ourselves we carelittle for such simple sports: but for the poor folk and the children Yuleshould be a season to be remembered for good cheer and merriment throughall their slow, dull year. Poor wretches! I think of their hard lifesometimes, and wonder they don't either drown themselves or massacre us."
"They are like the beasts of the field, Lady Fareham. They have learntpatience from the habit of suffering. They are born poor, and they diepoor. It is happy for us that they are not learned enough to consider theinequalities of fortune, or we should have the rising of want againstabundance, a bitterer strife, perhaps, than the strife of adverse creeds,which made Ireland so bloody a spectacle for the world's wonder thirtyyears ago."
"Well, we shall make them all happy this afternoon; and there will be asupper in the great stone barn which will acquaint them with abundance forthis one evening at least," answered Hyacinth, gaily.
"We are going to play games after dinner!" cried Henriette, from her placeat her father's elbow.
His lordship was the only person who ever reproved her seriously, yet sheloved him best of all her kindred or friends.
"Aunt Angy is going to play hide-and-seek with us. Will you play, SirDenzil?"
"I shall think myself privileged if I may join in your amusements."
"What a courteous speech! You will be cutting off your pretty curly hair,and putting on a French perruque, like his"--pointing to De Malfort."Please do not. You would be like everybody else in London--and now you areonly like yourself--and vastly handsome."
"Hush, Henriette! you are much too pert," remonstrated Fareham.
"But 'tis the very truth, father. All the women who visit mother painttheir faces, so that they are all alike; and all the men talk alike,so that I don't know one from t'other, except Lord Rochester, who isimpudenter and younger than the others, and gives me more sugar-plums andpays me prettier compliments than anybody else."
"Hold your tongue, mistress! A dinner-table is no place for pert children.Thy brother there has better manners," said her father, pointing to thecherubic son and heir, whose ideas were concentrated upon a loaded plate ofred-deer pasty.
"You mean that he is greedier than I," retorted Papillon. "He will eat tillhe won't be able to run about with us after dinner; and then he will sprawlupon mother's satin train by the fire, with Ganymede and Phosphor, and shewill tell everybody how good and gentle he is, and how much better bredthan his sister. And now, if people are _ever_ going to leave off eating,we may as well begin our games before it is quite dark. Perhaps _you_ areready, auntie, if nobody else is."
Dinner may have ended a little quicker for this speech, although Papillonwas sternly suppressed, and bade to keep silence or leave the table. Sheobeyed so far as to make no further remarks, but expressed her contempt forthe gluttony of her elders by several loud yawns, and bounced up out of herseat, like a ball from a racket, directly the little gentleman in blacksitting near his lordship had murmured a discreet thanksgiving. Thisgentleman was the Roman Catholic priest from Oxford, who had said Massearly that morning in the muniment room, and had been invited to hislordship's table in honour of the festival.
Papillon led all the games, and ordered everybody about. Mrs. DorothyLettsome, the young lady who was sorry she had not had the honour to beborn in France, was of the party, with her brother, honest Dan Lettsome, anOxfordshire squire, who had been in London only once in his life, to seethe Coronation, and had nearly lost his life, as well as his purseand jewellery, in a tavern, after that august ceremonial. This bitterexperience had given him a distaste for the pleasures of the town which hispoor sister deplored exceedingly; since she was dependent upon his coffers,and subject to his authority, and had no hope of leaving Oxfordshire unlessshe were fortunate enough to find a town-bred husband.
These two joined in the sports with ardour, Squire Dan glad to be movingabout, rather than to sit still and listen to music which he hated, or toconversation to which he could contribute neither wit nor sense, unless thekennel or the gun-room were the topic under discussion. The talk of a ladyand gentleman who had graduated in the salons of the Hotel de Rambouilletwas a foreign language to him; and he told his sister that it was all oneto him whether Lady Fareham and the Mounseer talked French or English,since it was quite as hard to understand 'em in one language as in t'other.
Papillon, this rustic youth adored. He knew no greater pleasure than tobreak and train a pony for her, to teach her the true knack of clearing ahedge, to explain the habits and nature of those vermin in whose lawlesslives she was deeply interested--rats, weasels, badgers, and such-like--toattend her when she hunted, or flew her peregrine.
"If you will marry me, sweetheart, when you are of the marrying age, Iwould rather wait half a dozen years for you than have the best woman inOxfordshire that I know of at this present."
"Marry you!" cried Lord Fareham's daughter. "Why, I shall marry no oneunder an earl; and I hope it will be a duke or a marquis. Marchioness isa pretty title: it sounds better than duchess, because it is in threesyllables--mar-chion-ess," with an affected drawl. "I am going to be verybeautiful. Mrs. Hubbuck says so, and mother's own woman; and I heard thatpainted old wretch, Mrs. Lewin, tell mother so. 'Eh, gud, your la'ship, theyoung miss will be almost as great a beauty as your la'ship's self!' Mrs.Lewin always begins her speeches with 'Eh, gud!' or 'What devil!' But Ihope I shall be handsomer than _mother_" concluded Papillon, in a tonewhich implied a poor opinion of the maternal charms.
And now on this Christmas evening, in the thickening twilight of therambling old house, through long galleries, crooked passages, queerlittle turns at right angles, rooms opening out of rooms, half a dozenin succession, Squire Dan led the games, ordered about all the time byPapillon, whom he talked of admiringly as a high-mettled filly, declaringthat she had more tricks than the running-horse he was training forAbingdon races.
De Malfort, after assisting in their sports for a quarter of an hour withconsiderable spirit, had deserted them, and sneaked off to the greatsaloon, where he sat on the Turkey carpet at Lady Fareham's feet, singingchansonettes to his guitar, while George and the spaniels sprawled besidehim, the whole group making a picture of indolent enjoyment, fitfullylighted by the blaze of a yule log that filled the width of the chimney.Fareham and the Priest were playing chess at the other end of the long lowroom, by the light of a single candle.
Papillon ran in at the door and ejaculated her disgust at De Malfort'sdesertion.
"Was there ever such laziness? It's bad enough in Georgie to be so idle;but then,_ he_ has over-eaten himself."
"And how do you know that I haven't over-eaten myself, mistress?" asked DeMalfort.
"You never do that; but you often drink too much--much, much, much toomuch!"
"That's a slanderous thing to say of your mother's most devoted servant,"laughed De Malfort. "And pray how does a baby-girl like you know when agentleman has been more thirsty than discreet?"
"By the way you talk--always French. Jarni! ch'dame, n'savons joui d'n'belle s'ree--n'fam-partie d'ombre. Moi j'ai p'du n'belle f'tune,p'rol'd'nneur! You clip your words to nothing. Aren't you coming to playhide-and-seek?"
"Not I, fair slanderer. I am a salamander, and love the fire."
"Is that a kind of Turk? Good-bye. I'm going to hide."
"Beware of the chests in the gallery, sweetheart," said her father, whoheard only this last sentence, as his daughter ran past him towards thedoor. "When I was in Italy I was told of a bride who hid herself in an olddower-chest, on her wedding-day--and the lid clapped to with a spring andkept her there for half a century."
"There's no spring
that ever locksmith wrought that will keep downPapillon," cried De Malfort, sounding a light accompaniment to his words onthe guitar strings, with delicatest touch, like fairy music.
"I know of better hiding-places," answered the child, and vanished, bangingthe great door behind her.
She found her aunt with Dorothy Lettsome and her brother and Denzil inthe gallery above stairs, walking up and down, and listening with everyindication of weariness to the Squire's discourse about his hunters andrunning-horses.
"Now we are going to have real good sport!" cried Papillon. "Aunt Angy andI are to hide, and you three are to look for us. You must stop in thisgallery for ten minutes by the French clock yonder--with the door shut. Youmust give us ten minutes' law, Mr. Lettsome, as you did the hare the otherday, when I was out with you--and then you may begin to look for us.Promise."
"Stay, little miss, you will be outside the house belike, roaming lordknows where; in the shrubberies, or the barns, or halfway to Oxford--whilewe are made fools of here."
"No, no. We will be inside the house."
"Do you promise that, pretty lady?"
"Yes, I promise."
Mrs. Dorothy suggested that there had been enough of childish play, andthat it would be pleasanter to sit in the saloon with her ladyship, andhear Monsieur de Malfort sing.
"I'll wager he was singing when you saw him just now."
"Yes, he is always singing foolish French songs--and I'm sure you can'tunderstand 'em."
"I've learnt the French ever since I was as old as you, MistressHenriette."
"Ah! that was too late to begin. People who learn French out of books knowwhat it looks like, but not what it sounds like."
"I should be very sorry if I could not understand a French ballad, littlemiss."
"Would you--would you, really?" cried Papillon, her face alight with impishmirth. "Then, of course, you understand this--
Oh, la d'moiselle, comme elle est sot-te, Eh, je me moque de sa sot-ti-se! Eh, la d'moiselle, comme elle est be-te, Eh, je m'ris de sa be-ti-se!"
She sang this impromptu nonsense _prestissimo_ as she danced out of theroom, leaving the accomplished Dorothy vexed and perplexed at not havingunderstood a single word.
It was nearly an hour later when Denzil entered the saloon hurriedly, paleand perturbed of aspect, with Dorothy and her brother following him.
"We have been hunting all over the house for Mrs. Angela and Henriette,"Denzil said, and Fareham started up from the chess-table, scared at theyoung man's agitated tone and pallid countenance. "We have looked in everyroom--"
"In every closet," interrupted Dorothy.
"In every corner of the staircases and passages," said Squire Dan.
"Can your lordship help us? There may be places you know of which we do notknow?" said Denzil, his voice trembling a little. "It is alarming that theyshould be so long in concealment. We have called to them in every part ofthe house."
Fareham hurried to the door, taking instant alarm--anxious, pale, alert.
"Come!" he said to the others. "The oak chests in the music-room--the greatFlorentine coffer in the gallery? Have you looked in those?"
"Yes; we have opened every chest."
"Faith, to see Sir Denzil turn over piles of tapestries, you would havethought he was looking for a fairy that could hide in the folds of acurtain!" said Lettsome.
"It is no theme for jesting. I hate these tricks of hiding in strangecorners," said Fareham. "Now, show me where they left you."
"In the long gallery."
"They have gone up to the roof, perhaps."
"We have been in the roof," said Denzil.
"I have scarcely recovered my senses after the cracked skull I got from oneof your tie-beams," added Lettsome; and Fareham saw that both men hadtheir doublets coated with dust and cobwebs, in a manner which indicated aremorseless searching of places unvisited by housemaids and brooms.
Mrs. Dorothy, with a due regard for her dainty lace kerchief and ruffles,and her cherry silk petticoat, had avoided these loathly places, the abodeof darkness, haunted by the fear of rats.
Fareham tramped the house from cellar to garret, Denzil alone accompanyinghim.
"We want no posse comitatus," he had said, somewhat discourteously. "You,Squire, had best go and mend your cracked head in the eating-parlour witha brimmer or two of clary wine; and you, Mrs. Dorothy, can go and keep herladyship company. But not a word of our fright. Swoons and screaming wouldonly hinder us."
He took Mrs. Lettsome's arm, and led her to the staircase, pushing theSquire after her, and then turned his anxious countenance to Denzil.
"If they are not to be found in the house, they must be found outside thehouse. Oh, the folly, the madness of it! A December night--snow on theground--a rising wind--another fall of snow, perhaps--and those two afootand alone!"
"I do not believe they are out-of-doors," Denzil answered. "Your daughterpromised that they would not leave the house."
"My daughter tells the truth. It is her chief virtue."
"And yet we have hunted in every hole and corner," said Denzil, dejectedly.
"Hole!" cried Fareham, almost in a shout. "Thou hast hit it, man! That oneword is a flash of lightning. The Priest's Hole! Come this way. Bring yourcandle!" snatching up that which he had himself set down on a table, whenhe stood still to deliberate. "The Priest's Hole? The child knew the secretof it--fool that I was ever to show her. God! what a place to hide in on awinter night!"
He was halfway up the staircase to the second story before he had utteredthe last of these exclamations, Denzil following him.
Suddenly, through the stillness of the house, there sounded a faint far-offcry, the shrill thin sound of a child's voice. Fareham and Warner wouldhardly have heard it had they not been sportsmen, with ears trained tolisten for distant sounds. No view-hallo sounding across miles of wood andvalley was ever fainter or more ethereal.
"You hear them?" cried Fareham. "Quick, quick!"
He led the way along a narrow gallery, about eight feet high, where peoplehad danced in Elizabeth's time, when the house was newly converted tosecular uses; and then into a room in which there were several iron chests,the muniment room, where a sliding panel, of which the master of the houseknew the trick, revealed an opening in the wall. Fareham squeezed himselfthrough the gap, still carrying the tall iron candlestick, with flaringcandle, and vanished. Denzil followed, and found himself descending anarrow stone staircase, very steep, built into an angle of the greatchimney, while as if from the bowels of the earth there came, louder atevery step, that shrill cry of distress, in a voice he could not doubt wasHenriette's.
"The other is mute," groaned Fareham; "scared to death, perhaps, like afrightened bird." And then he called, "I am coming. You are safe, love;safe, safe!" And then he groaned aloud, "Oh, the madness, the folly of it!"
Halfway down the staircase there was a sudden gap of six feet, down whichFareham dropped with his hands on the lowest stair, Denzil following; abreak in the continuity of the descent planned for the discomfiture ofstrangers and the protection of the family hiding-place.
Fareham and Denzil were on a narrow stone landing at the bottom of thehouse; and the child's wail of anguish changed to a joyous shriek, "Father,father!" close in their ears. Fareham set his shoulder against the heavyoak door, and it burst inwards. There had been no question of secret springor complicated machinery; but the great, clumsy door dragged upon its rustyhinges, and the united strength of the two girls had not served to pull itopen, though Papillon, in her eagerness for concealment in the first feverof hiding, had been strong enough to push the door till she had jammed it,and thus made all after efforts vain.
"Father!" she cried, leaping into his arms, as he came into the room, largeenough to hold six-men standing upright; but a hideous den in which toperish alone in the dark. "Oh, father! I thought no one would ever find us.I was afraid we should have died like the Italian lady--and people wouldhave found our skeletons and wondered about u
s. I never was afraid before.Not when the great horse reared as high as a house--and her ladyshipscreamed. I only laughed then--but to-night I have been afraid."
Fareham put her aside without looking at her.
"Angela! Great God! She is dead!"
No, she was not dead, only in a half swoon, leaning against the angle ofthe wall, ghastly white in the flare of the candles. She was not quiteunconscious. She knew whose strong arms were holding her, whose lips wereso near her own, whose head bent suddenly upon her breast, leaning againstthe lace kerchief, to listen for the beating of her heart.
She made a great effort to relieve his fear, understanding dimly that hethought her dead; but could only murmur broken syllables, till he carriedher up three or four stairs, to a secret door that opened into the garden.There in the wintry air, under the steely light of wintry stars, her sensescame back to her. She opened her eyes and looked at him.
"I am sorry I have not Papillon's courage," she said.
"Tu m'as donne une affreuse peur--je te croyais morte," muttered Fareham,letting his arms drop like lead as she released herself from their support.
Denzil and Henriette were close to them. They had come to the open doorfor fresh air, after the charnel-like chill and closeness of the smallunderground chamber.
"Father is angry with me," said the girl; "he won't speak to me."
"Angry! no, no;" and he bent to kiss her. "But oh, child, the folly of it!She might have died--you too--found just an hour too late."
"It would have taken a long time to kill me," said Papillon; "but I wasvery cold, and my teeth were chattering, and I should soon have beenhungry. Have you had supper yet?"
"Nobody has even thought of supper."
"I am glad of that. And I may have supper with you, mayn't I, and eat whatI like, because it's Christmas, and because I might have been starved todeath in the Priest's Hole. But it was a good hiding-place, tout de meme.Who guessed at last?"
"The only person who knew of the place, child. And now, remember, thesecret is to be kept. Your dungeon may some day save an honest man's life.You must tell nobody where you were hid."
"But what shall I say when they ask me? I must not tell them a story."
"Say you were hidden in the great chimney--which is truth; for the Priest'sHole is but a recess at the back of the chimney. And you, Warner," turningto Denzil, who had not spoken since the opening of the door, "I know you'llkeep the secret."
"Yes. I will keep your secret," Denzil answered, cold as ice; and said noword more.
They walked slowly round the house by the terrace, where the clipped yewsstood out like obelisks against the bleak bright sky. Papillon ran andskipped at her father's side, clinging to him, expatiating upon hersufferings in the dust and darkness. Denzil followed with, Angela, in adead silence.
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