Читать книгу Ovingdean Grange - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 11

Table of Contents

A TROUBLESOME day was in store for Colonel Maunsel. He was in the library, seated in an easy-chair, meditating upon the “Eikon Basilike,” when Martin Geere entered, and, with a perturbed countenance, informed him that a state- messenger was without, and desired instant speech with him. The visit boded the colonel no good, but he ordered the man to be admitted. The messenger, however, did not wait for permission to present himself, but followed close upon Martin. He was a tall, stern-looking man, having the appearance of a soldier, and carried a long sword by his side and a pair of large pistols in his belt. He made no salutation to the colonel, neither did he attempt to remove his broad- leaved hat from off his close-cropped head.

“What wouldst thou with me, thou unmannerly fellow?” the old Cavalier demanded, eyeing him with great displeasure.

“Thou hadst best show some respect to my order, though thou showest none to me,” the man coldly rejoined, taking a parchment from his girdle. “Be it known to thee, Wolston Maunsel, somewhile colonel in the service of the Man Charles Stuart, that by virtue of this order from the Council of State, thou art confined and restricted, on pain of imprisonment, within a limit of five miles of thine own dwelling.”

“How?” the colonel exclaimed. “Confined within a range of five miles!”

“The limit is large enough for a dangerous and plotting malignant like thee,” the messenger rejoined. “See thou exceed it not. But I have yet more to declare unto thee. Forasmuch as thy son, Clavering Maunsel—”

“Ha! what of him?” the colonel cried, unable to conceal his agitation.

“—being charged with high treason against the Commonwealth, and a warrant having been issued for his apprehension, in order that he may be brought before a court-martial, in virtue of a commission from his Excellency General Cromwell, this is to give thee notice, that if thou shalt harbour thy said son Clavering, or lend him aid so that he escape, and the ends of justice be thereby defeated, thou thyself, and any of thy house who may act under thee, will incur the penalties of high treason. Thou art warned, and a like warning will be delivered to thy whole house.”

So saying, the man strode towards the colonel, laid down the parchment on the table before him, and, turning on his heel, departed.

Colonel Maunsel remained for some time, half stupefied, with his gaze fixed upon the warrant. At length he took it up, and after glancing at it, dashed it down with a burst of passion. His wrath, however, gave way to feelings of alarm, when he learnt from old Martin Geere that, prior to his departure, the state-messenger had collected the household together, and informed them that if they aided in concealing their young master, now or hereafter, they would be severely punished.

“But your honour need have no fear,” the faithful old fellow said. “They all believe the captain is gone; but if they knew he was hidden in the house, they would endure torture rather than betray him.”

At this juncture Mr. Beard entered the library, and learning what had occurred, besought his patron not to be cast down, but to place his reliance upon that Power which had delivered him from so many difficulties and dangers.

“It is my son’s safety that concerns me most,” the old Cavalier groaned. “So he escape, I care not what becomes of me. But, ‘sdeath!” he cried, breaking out into fresh fury. “I should never have desired to quit my own domain, if the tyrannous Council had not made me a prisoner.”

He then paced to and fro within the room for some minutes, exclaiming, with much bitterness, “By Heaven! it is intolerable to be insulted thus in one’s own house. O what a land we live in! Everything seems at sixes and sevens. All honourable usages are at an end. Respect for age and station is gone. Fanaticism and hypocrisy usurp the place of religion and virtue, and he is esteemed the godliest man who can dissemble most, and best put on a sanctimonious visage and demeanour. Out on the pestilent knaves who have thus abolished all that was good in the country, and set up all that is bad—a low- born crew who would grind down all to their own base level!”

“Yet there are some good men among them, honoured sir,” Mr. Beard observed, “who have been influenced by worthy motives, and by love of their country, in what they have done.”

“I marvel to hear you say so, sir,” the old Cavalier rejoined. “Were the motives worthy of those bloody butchers who slaughtered their virtuous king? Are their motives worthy who have overthrown our Established Church, and set up the National Covenant in its stead? Are their motives worthy who persecute and despoil, outrage and insult in every way all those who have shown loyalty and devotion to their king, and zeal for the country’s welfare? Out upon them, I say!”

“I can make every allowance for your warmth, honoured sir, for you have much to move you to indignation,” the good clergyman said; “but I would not have you blind to the truth. Faults there have been in high places beyond doubt—grievous faults—else had not those who filled them been cast down. Deeply must the princes and mighty ones of the land have sinned, or the Lord would not have visited them so severely with His displeasure.”

“You seem to have caught the general infection, sir,” the old Cavalier observed, sarcastically, “and speak as by the mouth of Increase Micklegift.”

“I speak according to my conviction, my honoured patron, and I speak the more boldly, because I am well assured that it is only by acknowledgment of our errors, and resolution of amendment for the future, that we can turn aside Heaven’s wrath from against us. Such men as Cromwell are instruments of divine displeasure.”

“Name him not,” cried the colonel, vehemently; “or name him as the arch- hypocrite, the regicide and parricide that he is. But you are right. We must have deeply sinned, or we could not have been yielded to the dominion of such as Cromwell. O England! when will thy days of gloom be over?”

“When her offences are expiated,” the clergyman rejoined.

“Merry England men were wont to style thee when I was younger,” the colonel said, in a mournful tone; “but merry thou art no longer. Melancholy England were nearer the mark; sour England; distracted England; the England of Noll Cromwell and the saints. Heaven defend me from such a ruler, and such saints! Hearty, joyous, laughter-loving England thou art not. Men smile no longer within thy cities. Gaiety is punished as a crime, and places of pleasant resort are forbidden to thy youth. Upon thy broad breast sits the night-hag Puritanism, scaring away thy dreams of happiness, and filling thee with terrors. It is ill with thee, England. Wrong hath become right within thee—loyalty, treason—religion, an offence. Heaven grant thee a speedy deliverance from the wretched thraldom in which thou art placed!”

“I do not despair of England, sir,” Mr. Beard remarked.

“Neither do I,” the old Cavalier rejoined—“when Noll Cromwell shall be overthrown, and the monarchy restored. But, till that consummation arrives, I am much tempted to exile myself from her shores.”

Here Martin Geere presented himself again, and with new terror imprinted upon his countenance.

“What’s the matter now?” the colonel exclaimed. “I guess from thy looks that thou bring’st fresh tidings of ill.”

“I bring no good news, in sooth,” Martin replied. “There are two men without who crave admittance to your honour—crave, did I say?—nay, they insolently demand it. One of them is Thomas Sunne, the Brightelmstone deputy of the Committee for the Sequestration of Livings. His reverence knows him—”

“Too well,” Mr. Beard observed.

“The other I take to be a messenger, for he hath a warrant, and beareth a truncheon of office.”

“Ay, and he will use it on thy shoulders, sirrah, if he be kept longer here,” exclaimed a peremptory voice without.

And the next moment two personages stepped into the room. The foremost of them, who was he that had spoken, was of middle age, short and stout, and was somewhat showily attired in a blue doublet and scarlet cloak; the latter garment, however, was weather-stained, and had lost much of its original brilliancy. His doublet was embroidered with the badge of the Goldsmiths’ Company—a leopard’s head and a covered cup. His companion was an elderly man, with a sour, puritanical countenance, clad in sad-coloured raiments, and wearing a steeple-crowned hat. Neither of them uncovered their heads on entering the room.

“Ahem!” cried the foremost of the two, clearing his throat to enable him to speak more emphatically. “It is Wolston Maunsel, I surmise, before whom I stand?”

“Thou art in the presence of Colonel Maunsel, thou saucy knave,” the old Cavalier haughtily rejoined. “Who, and what art thou?”

“I am not bound to answer the interrogations of a known malignant like thee. Nevertheless, I will tell thee that my heathenish name was Lawrence Creek, but since I have put off the old man, I am known as Better Late than Never, a saintly designation, and one becoming an elder, like myself. I am an emissary unto thee, O Wolston Maunsel, from the Commissioners of Goldsmiths’ Hall, in Foster-lane, London, to whom, as thou knowest, thy forfeiture to the State hath been assigned, to summon thee to appear before the said commissioners within ten days to pay two hundred pounds for thy five-and-twentieth part of the fine which hath been set upon thee.”

“My fine hath been fully discharged,” the colonel said. “I have already paid the commissioners five thousand pounds.”

“That is no concern of mine,” the other rejoined. “Thou must appear before them to explain matters.”

“A pest upon thee!” the old Cavalier angrily ejaculated. “Thou art enough to drive a man distraught. I cannot stir hence. I have just received an order from the Council prohibiting me, on pain of imprisonment, from going more than five miles from home. Here is the warrant. Read it, and satisfy thyself.”

“It is no concern of mine,” the emissary replied, declining to look at the warrant. “I shall leave the order with thee. Neglect to obey it at thy peril.”

And, as he spoke, he placed a scroll on the table, and drew back a few paces, while the second individual stepped forward.

“My business is with thee, Ardingly Beard,” this personage said. “Thou knowest that I have been appointed, together with my colleague, Thomas Geere of Ovingdean, brother to Martin Geere, who still continues in the service of the dangerous malignant, Wolston Maunsel—”

“I am glad my brother Tom hath had the grace not to present himself before his honour,” Martin remarked.

“Thomas Geere was once one of my flock,” Mr. Beard observed, sadly.

“He hath seen the error of his ways,” Sunne rejoined. “But, as I was about to say, thou knowest that he and I have been appointed by the Committee for the Sequestration of Livings to collect, gather, and receive the tithes, rents, and profits of the benefice of the church of Ovingdean, now under sequestration, and to provide for its care. Thou knowest also how we have applied those profits.”

“I have some guess,” the clergyman observed. “Partly to your own use, partly in payment of Increase Micklegift.”

“Wholly in payment of that godly divine,” Thomas Sunne rejoined. “Now give heed to what I say unto thee, Ardingly Beard. It is suspected that thou continuest secretly to perform the rites and services of thy suppressed church. Take heed, therefore. If the offence be proved against thee, thou shalt pay with thy body for thy contumacy. A year’s imprisonment in Lewes Castle will teach thee submission.”

“Heaven grant thee a more Christian spirit, friend,” the clergyman meekly rejoined.

“Friend, quotha! I am no friend of prelatists and covenant-breakers,” the other rejoined. “Wilt thou take the National Covenant?”

“Assuredly not,” Mr. Beard replied, firmly.

“Begone both of ye!” Colonel Maunsel cried, losing all patience, “and rid my house of your hateful presence.”

“You had best lay hands upon us, Wolston Maunsel,” the emissary from Goldsmiths’ Hall cried, in a taunting and insolent tone. “I should like nothing better.”

“Nor I,” Thomas Sunne added.

“Be patient, I implore of you, honoured sir,” the clergyman cried, “and let them go.”

“Show them forth, Martin, or I shall do them a mischief,” the colonel cried. Whereupon the two men withdrew, muttering threats, however, as they departed.

As soon as he and Mr. Beard were left alone, Colonel Maunsel gave vent to a fresh explosion of rage.

“Perdition seize these Roundhead miscreants!” he exclaimed. “They have set me upon the horns of a dilemma. How am I to fulfil such contradictory orders? Here is one that tells me I must not stir from home; another, commanding me to come to London. If I obey one, I must perforce neglect the other; and, for my own part, I am well disposed to pay respect to neither.”

“I scarce know how to counsel you, honoured sir,” the clergy-man rejoined. “Truly, it is a most embarrassing position in which you are placed.”

“It is more embarrassing than you deem, reverend sir,” the colonel returned. “I have not wherewithal to pay the fine imposed upon me, and must borrow the two hundred pounds, at heavy usance, from old Zachary Trangmar, the money- lender of Lewes.”

“I am grieved to hear it, sir,” Mr. Beard observed.

“These bloodsuckers will never let me rest till they have utterly ruined me,” pursued the colonel; “and such, I doubt not, is their intent. Their aim is to cripple all true men. Heaven confound their devices!”

“Amen!” the clergyman ejaculated.

“Well! well! the difficulty must be met, and bravely too,” the old Cavalier cried—” no tame yielding, or crying for quarter on the part of Wolston Maunsel. “I will fight the good fight, so long as there is breath in my body. I must go forthwith to Lewes—it is almost within my prescribed limits—and see Zachary Trangmar. I shall have to give the extortionate old rascal my bond, for he will not trust the word of a gentleman.”

“I cannot become surety for you, honoured sir,” the clergyman observed; “or I would willingly be so.”

“No, no,” Colonel Maunsel exclaimed, hastily. “The old usurer will be content with my own security. Unluckily, it is not the first transaction I have had with him. If the knaves go on plundering me in this manner, I shall have little, beyond my good name, to leave my son.”

“And that will be his fairest inheritance, sir,” Mr. Beard observed.

“It is not likely to content him, though,” the colonel rejoined, with a half laugh. “However, we must hope for better days, though neither you nor I may live to see them, reverend sir. Meanwhile, we must provide for the present. I will ride to Lewes this morning, and Dulcia shall accompany me. John Habergeon will watch over Clavering, and will know how to act, in case of difficulty. To your charge, good sir, I confide the rest of the house during my brief absence.”

Mr. Beard bowed, and the colonel arose, observing, that when he last got on horseback, his rheumatism was so bad, that he thought he should never more be able to mount steed; but he felt quite equal to the effort now. Summoning Martin Geere, he bade him cause a couple of horses to be saddled—one of them for Mistress Dulcia. And seeing the old serving-man stare at the unexpected order, he added, “The day is fine, and tempts me to take an hour’s exercise on the downs.”

“But your honour hath not ridden for more than two months,” old Martin stoutly objected.

“No matter, I mean to ride to-day. See that the horses are got ready forthwith.”

“I should not have supposed that your honour would like to leave the house just now,” Martin persisted. “How says your reverence? When robbers are abroad, it were well, methinks, that the master stayed at home to guard his treasure.”

“My honoured friend has good reason for what he doth,” the clergyman replied; “and I trust we shall be able to protect the house and all within it, during his absence.”

“Nay, then I have nothing more to urge,” the old serving-man rejoined.

“Hark ye, Martin,” the colonel cried, arresting him; “bid Eustace Saxby, the falconer, hold himself in readiness to go with us; and tell him to bring with him the young Barbary falcon and the merlin that he hath lately manned and lured, and I will try their flight at a partridge. Use despatch, for I shall set forth presently.