Читать книгу Heiress of Haddon - W. E. Doubleday - Страница 8

Amid the hills of Derbyshire which cluster around the Peak there rises, in a lovely dale slyly peeping out from behind the surrounding trees, the fine old pile of Haddon Hall.

Perhaps the old shire of Derby, with its many rich examples, can present to view nothing equal in historic and legendary interest to this old mansion. Its turrets and towers, its windows and its walls, its capacious kitchens, and its fine halls and banqueting rooms—unspoiled by the hands of the "restorer"—have gained for it the almost unchallenged position of being the finest baronial residence which still exists.

There stand the grey old walls whose battlements have proudly bidden defiance to the storms and blasts of half a thousand winters, and there still stand the gnarled old trees which have gently swayed to and fro while many a baron has ruled the Hall, and whose leaves after growing in superlative beauty, seeming to partake in the grandeur and pride of the "King of the Peak," have drooped and fallen, after having made, with their rich autumnal tints, a succession of beautiful living pictures which have delighted the lords and ladies of Haddon for almost twenty generations.

When William the Conqueror had invaded England and had succeeded in seating himself upon his somewhat insecure throne, he began to reward his followers with liberal grants of the land he had won. Among these fortunate individuals was one, William Peveril, said to be a son of the Conqueror, and to him, in common with many other estates in and around Derbyshire, was given the manor of Haddon. Part of the fabric which was then erected is still standing, and it is surmised by some that traces are still left of a previous Saxon erection. In the year 1154, the estate was forfeited to the Crown, and it was granted by King Henry II. to the Avenals, from which family, two hundred years later, it was transferred by marriage to the Vernons.

Its fate has been strangely wrapped up in the history of its women, for as it passed from the Avenals to the Vernons by marriage, so again, three centuries later, by a similar process, it passed from the Vernon family to the Rutland, which ever since has retained it in its possession.

Everything around, both inside and out, is fragrant with interest. Everything seems to breathe out the spirit of departed ages. It is one vast relic of "Merrie England's" bygone splendour.

It was the old original "Palace of the Peak," nor was it unworthy of the name. The glory of many royal palaces of its time indeed might well have paled beside its splendour, and as a matter of fact the baron of Haddon was a king within his own domain, who wielded a power which few around dared to question, and fewer still resist. Its hospitality was lavish, as the poor of a neighbourhood of no small radius knew full well; and the vastness and riches of the property which accompanied the ownership of Haddon was enough to maintain its lord in an almost regal state.

What happy scenes have taken place within its walls! How many fair ladies have stepped off the riding stone outside its gate, helped by the gallant but superfluous aid of chivalrous knights, each striving to outdo the others by gentle acts of courtesy! What brilliant cavalcades have issued from its portals! How many merry hunting parties have started from its iron-studded gate; and what jovial monster feasts have taken place within its rooms. If walls could speak, what a tale would Haddon have to tell.

The spring of the year of grace 1567 had just commenced, and the trees were beginning to adorn themselves once again in their green array, when the Knight of Haddon, Sir George Vernon, led out a merry company for the first hawking expedition of the year. The winter had been unusually long, and more than extraordinarily severe; and whilst the knight and his sturdy friends had been enabled to pursue their sport by submitting to a more than usual amount of inconvenience, yet the ladies had been almost entirely confined within the limits of the Hall. Winter at Haddon was by no means a dreary imprisonment, for fetes and balls were continually taking place, and however rough the weather might be, and the condition of the miserable tracts which in those days did duty for roads, there were not a few cavaliers, both old and young, who would gladly adventure the discomforts of a journey to Haddon, even were it to be only rewarded by a smile, or perchance a dance with the two daughters of the host, whose beauty, though of different types, many were ready to swear, and to maintain it, if need be, at the point of the sword, could not be surpassed in all the counties of the land.

Indeed, the beauty of Margaret and Dorothy was almost as famous as the reputation of the "King of the Peak" himself, and the old knight, owner as he was of immense wealth, was often heard to assert that his two daughters were the greatest treasures he possessed.

Many eyes were cast upon these two fair maidens, and many hearts were laid at their feet. Margaret, the elder, was already being wooed by Sir Thomas Stanley, and some gossips even went so far as to say that she had already plighted her troth to him. The younger sister, however, had kept her heart intact, and in spite of the persuasions of Sir George and the threats of Lady Maude, had refused to comply with their request to accept Sir Henry de la Zouch as her betrothed.

Although by no means dreary, yet the continual round of winter feasts had at last begun to assume an aspect of staleness, and lords and ladies alike had for some time past been eagerly anticipating the time when they might once more pursue their noble sports. As the winter had gradually withdrawn its ice and snow, and occasional gleams of sunshine appeared, hearalding the advent of spring, the excitement had increased. Dancing was discarded, the tapestry work was laid aside, and all with one mind began to make preparations for the coming excursions.

And now the long wished for day had come. The number of guests at the Hall had been largely augmented by fresh arrivals, and as the jovial baron looked round the table at the feast of the previous evening, he declared that a better company could not be found in all the land.

The scene as they started out was animated in the extreme. The ladies, in their many-coloured dresses, riding on horseback, were gracefully coquetting with the knights and squires who surrounded them and dutifully paid their court to them with all the reverence of a fast-departing chivalry.

The chase was to be on foot, and in the rear followed a number of pages, each leading his dogs and carrying his own as well as his master's jumping pole. Everything promised well. The turf had dried after the recent floods, with a pleasing elasticity. The sun shone brilliantly upon the gold-trimmed jerkins of the hawks, and the hum of conversation, with its occasional outburst of merry ringing laughter, added to the tinkling of the sonorous little falcon bells, or the bark of the dogs every now and again as they ineffectually tried to break away from the leashes in which they were held, all tended to put the party in the best of spirits.

Dorothy Vernon, as usual, was surrounded by a circle of admirers, each of whom was anxious to bring himself under her especial notice by anticipating her wishes, or quickly fulfilling her slightest commands.

Sir Henry de la Zouch was there, as a matter of course. He was most assiduous in his attentions, and although it was plainly visible that his presence was as little appreciated as his suit, yet he still kept by her side.

"Methinks, fair demoiselle," he began, "thou art hardly so sprightly this morning as the occasion might warrant. Now, Mistress Margaret, there—"

"Aye, Margaret again, Sir Henry," interrupted the maiden; "thou art for ever placing me beside my sister Margaret. He bears too hardly upon a simple maiden, does he not, Sir John?"

Sir John de Lacey, a little fidgety old man on the wrong side of sixty, nervously played with his collar, and, delighted at the opportunity thus afforded him of paying back a grudge of long standing, he summoned to his aid all the dignity he was capable of assuming, and declared that the whole of Sir Henry's conduct was ungallant to the last degree.

De la Zouch darted a look of intense wrath at the old man, but as the latter was yet rearranging his collar, the effort was lost.

"Nay, nay, sweet Dorothy," he said, "I meant to say naught that would vex thee, for I would have thee smile upon me and not frown; and if my words have not been pleasing to thee in the past, I am sorry for it, and will endeavour to amend my ways in the future."

"Where do we go to-day?" asked Dorothy, not noticing his last remark. "We are full late for the woodcock, and the partridges are not yet ready."

"There are plenty of sparrows on the wing," exclaimed Sir Benedict à Woode, who had been anxiously awaiting an opportunity to join in the conversation.

"Aha! Sir Benedict," she replied. "Methought thou wert too unwell to join us to-day, but thou hast weathered the attack, I see."

"Now, could I stay away, fair cousin, when I knew thou wert among the merry company?" gallantly responded the knight.

"'Twas but the wine got into his head, Dorothy," insinuated Sir Henry.

Dorothy, according to the fashion of the time, was carrying a hawk, one which she herself had trained, upon her wrist, which was protected from the beak and talons of the bird by a large thick glove. She looked upon the noble bird, and felt proud of her treasure.

"St. George," she said, "would scorn a sparrow, though, or else, I fear, most noble Benedict, he shares not in the pride of his mistress."

St. George cocked his head on one side, as if to receive the compliment in a most befitting manner, and catching sight of a hand upon the saddle, it rapidly dipped down its head and made a vicious peck at the intruding fingers.

It was the hand of De la Zouch, and he withdrew with an ejaculation of anger.

"There, Mistress Dorothy," he exclaimed, "did I not say the bird was but imperfectly taught, and now see here;" and he ruefully pointed to the bleeding finger.

Dorothy was so overcome by the tragic attitude Sir Henry assumed, that instead of offering him her sympathy, she burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which the rest of the company joined; and, burning with indignation, the unlucky knight hastened away to join the group around the elder sister.

Having fallen behind, Dorothy and her companions had now to hurry forward, for they learned by the blowing of the horns and signals of Sir George Vernon that they were now close upon the scene of the day's sport.

"Come, Doll," shouted the baron, "we are waiting for you; we are ready to begin, and there are some strangers with whom I must acquaint you."

They soon joined company, and Master John Manners, together with his friend, Sir Everard Crowleigh, had soon passed through the pleasant formality of an introduction to one of the prettiest and wealthiest heiresses in England.

John Manners, who plays a prominent part in this veracious narrative, was the nephew of the Earl of Rutland. As he reverently kissed the dainty hand which Dorothy held out to him he was so smitten with the charm of her beauty that Cupid led him, an unresisting captive, to yield his heart to the keeping of the maid. He was deeply smitten, nor was Dorothy herself insensible to the more masculine beauty of the scion of the house of Rutland, for as his dark, flashing eyes met her own, in spite of herself, she felt the power of a strange attraction which drew her towards him. The sprightly god of love had already done his work, and, although perhaps neither of them was aware of the fact, they were each being bound by his chains.

It was a case of love at first sight.