Читать книгу Henry Smeaton - G. P. R. James - Страница 10

Pushing his horse on, even faster than before, he rode with great rapidity to the house, sprang from his horse's back like a young man, and hurried into the small saloon, where he heard voices speaking.

The whole party within were laughing and talking gaily; but the agitation and anxiety on Sir John's countenance at once showed them that he had heard of the events, which they themselves had nearly forgotten in pleasant conversation, and made Emmeline feel grateful for the deep and affectionate interest which he seemed to take in her safety. He shook Smeaton warmly by the hand, saying,

"You have rendered me an inestimable service, Colonel Smeaton, and added to all I owe you for the gallant defence of my son. I learn, too, from London, that Lord Stair has, at your demand, dismissed from his service the ruffian who struck the boy. So it seems you are not only our good angel, but a very powerful angel too."

"My dear sir, you overwhelm me," replied Smeaton, laughing. "I have no more merit in the matter than a man who, favoured by good luck, picks up a purse and restores it to its right owner. As for Lord Stair, I made a point of seeing him immediately; and, upon due representation of the man's conduct, vouched for by my word of honour, his own sense of justice induced him to dismiss him, without any threat or means of compulsion whatsoever. It seems the Earl was an intimate friend of my late father in early years; and that consideration, indeed, might in some degree have influenced him. I trust this fair lady will escape further danger, whatever may be the cause of the attack made upon her; and we were considering just now what would be the best means of protection for her, without subjecting her to the sort of captivity to which she seems inclined to condemn herself, for the faults of others. Your son was proposing for her guards a brace of fierce mastiffs, to go with her wherever she goes; but I contend that he should be, at least, one of her guards himself; and I doubt not, now he has left school, you will arm him with a sword in so good a cause."

Smeaton spoke jokingly; but Sir John Newark looked somewhat grave.

"I am afraid," he remarked, "Richard would not know how to manage a sword. He has never learned to fence."

"Let me have the honour of teaching him," said Smeaton. "I will answer for it, that, in one week, I will make him a very fair swordsman, whether it be with the small sword, the broad sword, or any other weapon of the kind. I have always been reckoned the most expert in my regiment at those exercises."

Sir John was evidently well pleased, and the boy delighted.

"I trust that he will have the benefit of your kind tuition for more than one week," said the former; "and it is certainly advisable that he should accompany his cousin, whenever she goes any distance from the house. But surely, Colonel Smeaton, you have not come all this way from London, to spend but a week in our rural scenes?"

"Oh, no," replied Smeaton. "I shall remain in this part of the country, I dare say, for six weeks; but I cannot intrude upon your hospitality for so long a period."

"If you quit our house one day before," exclaimed Sir John, warmly, "we shall conclude that you think our hospitality very cold, or our house very dull."

His manner was so sincere, and he pressed his invitation so heartily, that Smeaton accepted it without much hesitation, and again turned the conversation to young Richard Newark, pointing out the advantage it would be to him, especially in the somewhat unsettled state of the country, to learn various manly exercises early.

"They might be of great service," he said, "both to him and to you, Sir John. As I came through Dorchester, I saw two of the magistrates of the town taken to the pump in the market-place, and pumped upon till they were well nigh drowned, because they would not cry 'High Church and Sacheverel for ever!' Their cowardly lackeys ran away and left them to their fate; and I did not feel myself called upon to interfere; but I am convinced that one man, with a little knowledge of horsemanship and the spadroon, would have dispersed the whole mob, and saved their worships a wetting."

"It served them right for their thickheadedness," said Sir John Newark, laughing; "and I can easily guess that you did not find yourself called upon to interfere. Your observations are none the less just, however, Colonel Smeaton; and I will send to Axminster, to-morrow, for a good light sword for Richard. My own are all too heavy."

"Pardon me," said Smeaton. "I will supply him with a very serviceable weapon, and as light as he could wish. It was manufactured for the late Duke of Burgundy, when about your son's age, and fell into my hands by accident. It is with the remainder of my baggage, which will be here to-night or to-morrow. You shall get him the less deadly weapons--a pair of fencing-foils, masks, and spadroons; for we must be mindful of the old proverb, and not jest with edged tools."

"There, Richard, you are at the height of your ambition," said Emmeline, to the lad, while Sir John was pouring forth thanks upon Smeaton; "but I suppose, dear boy, with you, as with others, the ambition of to-day will not be the ambition of to-morrow; for that same steep ascent of ambition, the poets tell us, is like the mountains losing their heads in the sky, where we go on climbing, never thinking ourselves sufficiently high till we are above the earth. But what is the matter with you, Richard? You look sad!"

"I do not know why it is, Emmy, dear; but great kindness always seems to make me sad," replied Richard in a low tone. "If I were with that man always, I believe I should soon be a man myself. But I fear that will never be," he added with a sigh. "I feel myself so much younger than other boys of my own years; and I cannot get things into my head as they do. This noddle must have some crack in it, Emmy, to let the thoughts fly out of it as fast as they fly in. It is no better than an old pigeon-house."

"Hush, hush! You must not think so," said Emmeline. "You will do very well, Richard, if you will but attend and be a little less heedless."

"I cannot attend," said the boy. "I never could; and I am less heedless than you think, Emmeline."

Then, leaving her, he went up to Smeaton's side, as he stood talking with Sir John near the window, and, laying his hand upon the Colonel's arm, said, with all the eager impatience of a Child, "When shall I have the sword?"

"To-night or to-morrow," replied Smeaton, with a smile; "but, before you wear it, you must learn how to use it. The first time that you can parry three lunges running, you will be fit to wear the sword."

The boy seemed satisfied, and left the room. The conversation between the master of the house, Smeaton, and Emmeline, then turned for a few minutes to other subjects, such as the eclipse, the beauty of the scenery, the agitated state of the country; but gradually worked itself round to the strange attack which had been made upon Emmeline. Sir John asked both her and Smeaton a number of questions as to the appearance and height of the men, what they had said, and whether she had seen them long before they seized her. As to their appearance, Emmeline could give very little information; but Smeaton described them more accurately, saying:

"One was nearly as tall as myself; and it struck me that I had seen him somewhere before--perhaps in France or Spain; but he was cleverly disguised, his hair or a wig brought far over his face, and an enormous cravat tied in front. He will not be able to disguise himself so easily again, I think; for, though I only contrived to reach him with the point of my sword, it scored his forehead pretty deeply, as I felt it grate upon the bone."

Emmeline gave a slight shudder; and Smeaton added:

"Pardon me, dear lady, for speaking of such horrible subjects; but what I did, depend upon it, was necessary; for they seemed two desperate ruffians, determined not to give up their object without bloodshed. I trust they will never repeat the attempt."

"I think they will not," replied Sir John Newark, musing. "They have had a lesson. But they must have been well informed; for, if the fishermen had been at home, they would not have dared to land. All the men have gone round the point, however; and the wind would not serve to bring them back speedily, even if the appearance of a strange vessel had excited suspicion. I heard of her coming upon the coast this morning, when I was ten or twelve miles distant; and I hastened back with all speed."

"Then had you any cause for alarm?" asked Smeaton.

"Oh, no, not particularly," replied Sir John, with a certain degree of embarrassment; and then immediately added--"But let me show you the apartments prepared for you, Colonel Smeaton. Everything is ready, I know, though, fearful of any disappointment, I would not give my fair ward the hope of a great pleasure of which she might be deprived."

With this courteous speech, he led the way out of the room, leaving Emmeline musing, and not altogether satisfied.

There is a feature in insincerity which always betrays itself. I know not well in what it lies, this error of demeanour, which shows us that there is something very different flowing on under an apparently calm and clear stream of conversation. But so it has ever been; and it is hardly possible to deceive any one well practised in the world's ways, as to the ingenuousness or disingenuousness of the persons with whom he is brought into contact. The object may not be discerned; the thoughts, the passions, the motives, the wishes, the plans, may all remain hidden; but what we see is that the surface and the depth are different.

In the present instance, however, I must add, for the reader's information, that, in many respects, Sir John Newark's words and demeanour towards Smeaton were sincere. He was truly glad to see him at Ale Manor; he was unaffectedly grateful to him both for delivering Emmeline and for defending his son; he was really anxious, also, that he should remain for some time at Ale Manor. But yet a good deal was concealed; and Smeaton, perceiving this last fact, doubted, in some degree, all the rest. At all events, he said to himself,

"That is not a sincere man. It is clear that what the people in London told me of him is true."

Every care and attention had been bestowed upon the preparations for Smeaton's comfort; two rooms in Ale Manor had been arranged for him; for the house had abundant space for its inmates; and the good old-fashioned furniture, ponderous but convenient, had been freshly dusted and arranged, the windows thrown open, and free air and sunshine admitted, so that the whole bore a cheerful and pleasant look. The outer chamber had been arranged as a sort of sitting-room; the inner contained an enormous four-post bed, with blue velvet hangings; and the small quantity of baggage, which Smeaton had sent on with his servant, was already deposited in the first chamber, and spread out ready for his use. A hand-bell stood upon the table; and, on introducing him into his apartment, Sir John observed,

"I am sorry to say that, in this part of the house, there are no bells hung, but your servant has been placed on the opposite side of the court, so that, by just opening the casement at any time, you can summon him by that instrument on the table."

Thus saying, he left him, giving him notice of the hour of dinner, which was now approaching; and, even before proceeding to change his traveller's dress, Smeaton sat down in one of the large easy chairs, to meditate over his present situation and his prospects.

I shall not pause, however, to analyze his thoughts, but carry him at once to the dining-room. Nor will I dwelt upon an English dinner of the olden time, though it had curious features. Suffice it that it passed pleasantly, and that Smeaton's easy manners and varied conversation soon removed from the mind of Emmeline the feeling of restraint produced by freshness of acquaintance. As soon as dinner was over she rose and retired. Richard Newark did the same, for there were yet many hours of daylight left, and his rambling habits seldom suffered him to remain long in any one spot. Sir John Newark pressed the wine upon his guest, according to the fashion of the day, but Smeaton announced at once his very moderate habits, saying that he feared the school in which he had been brought up did not qualify him to compete with Englishmen in the use of the bottle. He had remarked, too, that during dinner Sir John Newark, while conversing with the utmost apparent frankness, had dropped in questions with regard to foreign countries and to Smeaton's own adventures, which he could not help thinking had a sinister object. He was, therefore, in some degree, upon his guard; but he soon found that his companion knew more than he had imagined.

During the space of about five minutes after the dessert was set upon the table, one or other of the servants came in from time to time, to put more wine on the buffet, to carry away this piece of plate or that; but, when the last of them departed, and the door seemed finally closed, Sir John Newark stretched himself back in his chair, and said, with a very peculiar smile,

"Now, my dear Lord, we shall be able to talk more at our ease, though I suppose it will be better for me to keep up the habit of treating you as Colonel Smeaton, rather than as the Earl of Eskdale?"

Whatever he might feel, Smeaton did not suffer the slightest look of surprise to come upon his countenance. In truth, no sooner had he heard that Bolingbroke had named him to Sir John Newark, than he came to the conclusion that his present worthy host had acquired a great deal of true, and probably a great deal of false, information concerning him. He was not, however, very anxious to correct any false impressions that Sir John Newark might have received; for there were various reasons which induced him to wish that the notions of the knight regarding him should be as vague and undefined as possible, and he was well aware that nothing serves to puzzle and confuse the minds of very shrewd and cunning people so much as half knowledge. It is worse than ignorance, for it encumbers the ground. He was resolved, then, on his part, neither to tell nor explain any thing; but to let Sir John pursue his own course, and make any assumptions which he chose.

After a moment's seeming consideration, Smeaton said, "Perhaps, Sir John, it would be better to avoid my title both in public and in private. The name of Colonel Smeaton gives me quite as much dignity as I can well carry in this country, for the time being."

"Lord Bolingbroke informs me--and I was very sorry to hear it," continued Sir John Newark, after a pause to consider how he should pursue the attack, "that her Ladyship was very unwell when he wrote."

"She was so when I left her," replied Smeaton. "But my last letters informed me she was much better. Otherwise, I should not have ventured to protract my stay in this country."

Let it be remarked that Smeaton hesitated for a moment, at the very first word of the sentence which I have just reported. The original expression which first sprang to his lips, was "My mother;" but, for some reason, he changed it to the words she; and, after pausing for an instant, he added,

"Pray, what did Lord Bolingbroke say of her health?"

Sir John Newark took a letter from his pocket, and read as follows:

"The Countess of Eskdale has been very unwell, nearly at death's door. Otherwise, she would have gone over to England too, I doubt not; for they have some lands to claim, and other matters to settle, which might require her presence also. However, she was too ill to go and perhaps it is quite as well that she should not go, as it would only have embarrassed his proceedings."

Smeaton listened quietly while this was read, and then only observed, somewhat drily, that the noble Lord had taken more interest in his affairs than he had been aware of.

"I have had later letters," he added, "since then, and am happy to say that all danger is past."

"Then do you think," demanded Sir John Newark, "that her Ladyship is likely to come over?"

"Assuredly not," replied Smeaton. "She would not venture upon such a journey, without my company and protection."

Whatever there might be in this conversation of a satisfactory kind, and in whatever degree it might affect Sir John Newark personally, certain it is that it had considerable effect upon him. He seemed more frank and free in his whole demeanour from that moment; to put a greater degree of confidence and trust in his guest; and even to be more anxious for his prolonged stay. He had been everything that was courteous before; but now he was warm and pressing.

I need not detail all that look place farther that night. The potations of the host and his guest were neither deep nor strong; and the dinner closed with a walk through the park and neighbourhood in the bright evening air, rather than with bottle upon bottle, as was too much the custom in those days.

Emmeline was not to be found at the moment they set out; Richard was rambling, no one knew where; and, during the course of their tête-à-tête walk, Sir John Newark tried hard, and not unsuccessfully, to converse agreeably on indifferent subjects with his young guest. He himself seemed delighted with the Earl's whole demeanour and conversation; and, before the hour of repose, he had found a moment to tell Emmeline that Colonel Smeaton was one of the most charming and distinguished men in the world, laughingly adding,

"You must not fall in love with him, however, my dear child; for he is a married man."

Nothing could have been a greater relief to the mind of Emmeline than this announcement; for she was just at that age when an instinctive inclination to fly from those who are likely to pursue seizes upon the heart of woman; when a dread of the new and undeveloped sensations which are soon to take possession of her makes her shrink shyly and timidly from all that can give them birth. It is only when woman, in very early life, at least, can say to herself, as Emmeline now thought she could say, in regard to Smeaton, "There is no danger with him," that she is in peril of rushing rashly into love. Love is like all great things, affecting us with awe when we first see it from a distance, but soon growing familiar by habit and near approach.

Brought up in perfect seclusion, with few of her own sex to converse with, having none whom she could look upon as a companion, acquainted with no one near her own age, or with those feelings which produce harmony between mind and mind, often bewildered, as I have shown, by her own thoughts, and longing to pour them forth, she was ready--I must not say, she longed, because there was no premeditation--to give her whole confidence, with the guileless heart of youth, to any one who seemed to seek it worthily.

Sir John Newark could be no companion for her. True, he was not without abilities and powers of conversation; but all his thoughts were different from hers. He was a complete man of realities; and, if he had any thing like imagination or fancy at all, the only purpose to which he could dream of applying such faculties was to the devising of schemes for the promotion of his own interest or ambition. There was something about him, too, she knew not well what--perhaps it might be this very difference of thought and character, this want of harmony between their two minds--but still there was something which forbade confidence. It was not so with Smeaton. Even in his look there seemed to her a very winning expression. His clear hazel eyes, not without fire, nor even keenness, appeared to beam with high and generous soul; and, in his whole demeanour and carriage, was that sort of chivalrous aspect which had generally, in former days, distinguished the party called Cavaliers; with a slight touch of their free and careless gaiety, but no appearance of their reckless licentiousness. There were moments, as we have shown, when he could be calm, thoughtful, and grave enough; but the general tone of his conversation was gay, and even playful, with no touch of satire or persiflage--one of the great vices of the day. Much dignity, at times, was evident, but never any haughtiness of demeanour. It gave one the idea that, confident in himself, satisfied with his own position, accustomed in all things to decide rapidly, and habituated from youth to act with ease and grace in any circumstances, he was never thinking at all of himself or his own manner; and that always gives an additional elegance. It was all, evidently, unstudied; and, assuredly, when fair Emmeline lay down to sleep that night, she not only thought Smeaton one of the handsomest and most agreeable men she had ever seen, but, lurking at her heart, was a conviction that, of all beings on earth to whom she could pour out her thoughts freely, such a man would be the foremost.

Nevertheless, she slept soon, and she slept well. Nothing in the slightest degree agitated her feelings. She was not even the least little bit in love with him; and, though, towards morning, a dream visited her pillow which disturbed her much, and from which she awoke with a beating heart, it was only memory re-enacting, with very slight variations, the scene of the preceding day, in which she had been seized by strangers, and rescued by Smeaton.

The same sensations, perhaps increasing a little in power, went on during the next three days. She became, of course, more intimate with her guardian's guest, lost the timidity and restraint of first acquaintance, laughed and talked with him easily, and saw, or thought she saw, more of his mind and character; and every thing she did see only tended to strengthen her first impressions. But during those three days she was never alone with him, even for a moment. Sir John Newark was always present, and his presence--it is a curious fact, but so it was--always checked anything like free and confiding intercourse in whatever society he might happen to be. Man has his instincts, as well as the brute creation, and it seemed to be by instinct that people felt Sir John Newark was not to be trusted.

On the day after Smeaton's arrival, the whole party rode over to a town in the neighbourhood, to purchase what was needed for the instruction which Smeaton had promised to give Richard Newark. The gay exercise, the free air, the little occupations of an hour, all made it a pleasant ride; and the morning passed over easily enough, although there was a little bustle and excitement in the town, caused by the apprehension of a man for drinking the health of King James the Third, which was construed into a treasonable act by the worthy magistrates of the place. Their reading of the law, indeed, did not seem much to please the people, who made more than one attempt to rescue the prisoner; but magistrates, in other parts of the country, went somewhat farther, and were known to commit a man for refusing publicly to drink the health of King George. It is strange, that some of the most tyrannical acts upon record have accompanied every movement in behalf of liberty.

On the return of the party to Ale Manor, they found that the rest of Smeaton's baggage had arrived; and, reading the lad's eagerness in his eyes, Smeaton hastened to the room where it had been deposited, and took from a long coffer, which formed one of the packages, a very beautiful sword, light, and easily wielded, with a richly chased hilt of silver and gold intermixed. Carrying it in his hand back to the little saloon in which Richard Newark was still waiting, as if anticipating his intention, the young Earl presented him with the weapon, saying, in a jesting tone, but with some earnestness of words--

"Here, my young friend, I give you a sword which once belonged to a great prince; but I must exact from you a promise, such as was exacted from the knights of old, that you will never draw it, except in the defence of a cause which you think just and righteous; for, depend upon it, if you do, though the blade is of the finest steel, and of the highest temper, it will snap asunder in your grasp."

The boy caught his hand, and kissed it; and Smeaton went on, more lightly, saying--

"To-morrow, you shall have your first lesson in the art of using it."

"Oh, let me come and see," cried Emmeline, eagerly.

"Nay, I must refuse you," answered Smeaton. "Every one is awkward in his first essays, and you must not see your young cousin exhibit till he is somewhat of a master in the art of fence. Am I not right, Sir John?"

"Perfectly, perfectly," replied Sir John Newark. "You must content yourself, Emmeline, with listening to the stamping, only thankful if it does not bring the old house down; for I can assure you an assaut d'armes is no joke in a peaceable dwelling."

The lesson was given, and certainly Richard Newark was awkward enough; but he was proud and pleased, and the rest of that second day was spent in rides about the country. The third day passed much in the same manner, without any event of note; but, as the proceedings of the fourth day will require somewhat more detail, I shall reserve them for the following chapter.