Читать книгу Ovingdean Grange - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 14

Table of Contents

AFTER giving directions to Martin Geere, as before related, Colonel Maunsel, attended by Mr. Beard, sought his son, in order to acquaint him with his meditated ride to Lewes. Clavering’s disappointment will be readily conceived, on hearing that, in consequence of this arrangement, he should be deprived of Dulcia’s society, on which he had fondly calculated. However, he did not venture to remonstrate, but accepted, with the best grace he could, Mr. Beard’s offer to remain with him during the colonel’s compulsory absence.

At this juncture, John Habergeon returned to his post, which he had temporarily quitted, as the reader is aware; and the colonel briefly explained his plans to him. The old trooper made no objection, but informed his master that he had ascertained, beyond a doubt, that Increase Micklegift had discovered that Captain Clavering was concealed in the house. John did not deem it needful to state how he had obtained this information, neither did he declare what he meant to do; but he appeared so sanguine as to his ability to baffle the enemy’s machinations, that he allayed the fears which his intelligence was calculated to excite.

As the principal bedroom in the house, the colonel’s chamber was of considerable size—it was, in fact, a double room, for there was an inner apartment, which did not communicate with the gallery, and the entrance to which could be screened by a thick arras curtain. Wainscoted with lustrous old black oak, and hung with faded tapestry, the larger room had an extremely sombre air. In it were one or two closets, and it was furnished with a large oak armoire, half a dozen high-backed chairs, and a great elbow-chair, always used by the colonel himself, and placed near a massive oak table, on which were writing materials and a few books. In the inner chamber stood the bedstead, a very antique piece of furniture, with lofty tester, carved posts, and heavy hangings.

His conference with John Habergeon finished, the colonel repaired to the inner room. Opposite the bed stood a large oak coffer, banded with iron. Unlocking this chest, after rummaging for a short space amongst its contents, he found the deed he was looking for, secured it about his person, and then summoning John to his aid, proceeded to equip himself for the ride; putting on a dark riding-dress, with boots having immense funnel tops, and large spurs.

Mr. Beard, meantime, had gone downstairs to look after his daughter, and returned with her, just as the colonel’s preparations were completed.

A green velvet robe, with long skirts, ornamented with gold lace in front, and a feathered hat, constituted Dulcia’s riding apparel; and very well it became her. The young damsel had been the colonel’s constant companion so long as he was able to take horse exercise, and he had bestowed this somewhat showy dress upon her in order to evince his contempt of the primness and simplicity affected by the Puritans.

Very little time was allowed the young folk for conversation; but even in that brief interval, Clavering could perceive from Dulcia’s manner that her mind was troubled. To a candid nature like hers it was very painful to have a secret from her father; and equally distressing was it to her to think that Clavering should be menaced by a danger of the existence of which she could not warn him.

Aware of the cause of her anxiety, John Habergeon sought an early opportunity of relieving it, and while the colonel was talking apart with Mr. Beard, the old trooper approached her, and whispered, “Be not uneasy, my dear young lady. I overheard what passed in the churchyard. No harm shall befall his reverence or Captain Clavering. Trust to me.”

These words produced an instantaneous change in Dulcia’s spirits, and the few minutes more allowed to the young people ere the colonel went downstairs, were far more agreeably spent than those which had preceded them.

Every head was uncovered as the colonel and his fair companion issued forth, and old Rupert, recognizing his master’s voice and footstep, pricked his ears, and neighed a welcome. Raising his black Spanish hat, looped at the side, and ornamented with a sable ostrich plume, in return for the salutations of his dependents, the old Cavalier paused for a moment to look round, still retaining Dulcia’s hand within his own. Though he appeared thin and careworn, all his retainers were struck by his unwonted activity, for he did not seem to need the support of his crutch-handled stick, or even of Dulcia’s arm.

After exchanging a few words with Eustace Saxby, who advanced to receive his instructions, the colonel assisted Dulcia to her saddle, and then prepared to mount Rupert. On being brought up to his master, the old charger manifested his delight by whinnying softly, and thrust his nose into the colonel’s hands, as the latter patted him kindly. The moment was now come when the old Cavalier’s new-born activity was to be more sharply tested than it had hitherto been. When he placed his foot in the stirrup and attempted to mount, the effort wrung a groan from him, and it required the strong arm of the groom to lift him upon Rupert’s back.

Hawking not being the real business that the colonel had in hand, he dispensed with the attendance of Barnaby Lashmere and the supplementary hawks, contenting himself with the birds which the ostreger had upon his fist.

The party then set forth in gallant style, but had scarcely issued from the gate, when they came to a sudden halt.

On gaining the road, it was noticed for the first time by all, that a board had been hung against the trunk of a large tree which grew by the gate. On this board, evidently designed for the purpose, was pasted a Proclamation, from the Council of State, for the Discovery and Apprehension of Charles Stuart, his Adherents and Abettors. A Reward of 1000l. was offered to whomsoever should apprehend the said Charles Stuart: while penalties of High Treason were menaced against all who should harbour him, or aid him to escape. Proportionate rewards were offered for the apprehension of Charles Stuart’s adherents, with penalties of fine and imprisonment for concealing them, or lending them assistance. Strict commands were given, in conclusion, to all officers of Port Towns, and others in authority, to permit no person to pass beyond Sea without special licence.

After perusing the proclamation, the colonel demanded, in a furious voice, who had dared to put it up?

An answer came from an unexpected quarter. Some half-dozen individuals, who had been standing behind another large tree at a short distance from the first, now came forward, and one of them detaching himself from the rest, marched towards the colonel. It was the state-messenger, with whom the old Cavalier had parleyed that morning.

“Thou askest by whom that proclamation touching the apprehension of the Man Charles Stuart hath been set up,” the messenger said. “Know, Wolston Maunsel, that it was I, Nehemiah Lift-up-hand, who placed it on the tree growing at thy gate. I did so at the bidding of Hezron Stelfax, Captain of the Lord-General Cromwell’s own chosen troop of Ironsides; the said valiant and God-fearing captain being now at Lewes.”

“Pluck it down, some of ye, and hew it in pieces,” the colonel ejaculated, wrathfully.

“Let any man remove it on peril of his life,” Nehemiah cried, taking a pistol from his belt. “I have placed the mandate before thy dwelling, thou son of Belial, and there it shall remain.”

As the words were uttered, the persons by whom the messenger was attended came up, and proved to be the emissary from Goldsmiths’ Hall, Thomas Sunne, Thomas Geere, and Increase Micklegift. The Independent minister, however, kept a little in the rear of the others.

“Do as I bid ye! On your fealty to me—on your allegiance to the king—I charge you pluck down that proclamation,” the colonel vociferated.

But no one stirred.

“Thy servants owe no allegiance to the son of the man who caused Israel to sin,” Nehemiah rejoined, “and who provoked the Lord God of Israel to anger by his vanities. Even as Elah, the son of Baasha, was slain by Zimri, captain of the chariots, so shall Charles, the son of Charles, perish by the hand of the great captain of our new Israel.”

“Take heed lest an Omri arise to depose thy murderous and rebellious leader,” the colonel retorted, carried away by passion, “and cause him to burn the king’s house over him, so that he perish by fire, like Zimri. Since none of you will pluck down that insolent placard, I will do so myself.”

Ere he could execute his rash purpose, however, the twang of a bow was heard, a quarrel whistled past, and plunged deeply into the bark of the tree, severing the cord by which the board was hung to a small branch. Whereupon, the proclamation instantly dropped to the ground.

A loud burst of laughter from his companions followed this proof of Ninian’s skill in the management of the cross-bow. But the young falconer took instantly to his heels; probably thereby escaping the vengeance of Nehemiah, who, on discovering the author of the mischief, discharged his pistol at him, but without effect.

The report of the pistol, echoing loudly through the valley, brought several other persons to the scene of action. Menacing cries arose at the same time from the colonel’s attendants, amongst whom were Eustace Saxby, Martin Geere, Giles Moppett, old Ticehurst, Elias Crundy, and the rest of our acquaintances, who had accompanied their master to the gate. But the most formidable demonstration was made by Ninian, who, having fled to the farmyard, presently returned at the head of a posse of rustics, armed with flails, pitchforks, and bills. These sturdy fellows, as they rushed up, surrounded Colonel Maunsel and Dulcia, like a bodyguard, uttering fearful threats against the Roundheads.

On the other hand, Nehemiah and his party had been materially reinforced, and maintained their ground resolutely. No sooner was the pistol fired by the state- messenger, than, apprehensive of mischief, Thomas Geere hurried off to all such cottages as were tenanted by Puritans, and in a very short space of time collected together some dozen or fourteen hinds, armed much in the same manner as Ninian’s companions. Chief amongst these upholders of the authority of the Rump Parliament was Morefruit Stone, a fanatic of such a morose-looking and ill- favoured aspect, that if his daughter Temperance had borne any resemblance to him, it is not likely she would ever have caused Patty Whinchat a moment’s jealous uneasiness.

A conflict seemed imminent; and if it took place, the passions of the men on both sides being fully roused, there could be no doubt that the consequences would be disastrous. It was this feeling that prevented the colonel from allowing his men to make an attack upon their opponents.

Taking up a position by the side of his father, Ninian began deliberately to bend his cross-bow with the gaffle, muttering to himself, as he did so,

“‘Twere a pity to lose a chance like this. If I happen to hit yon psalm- singing rook, ‘twill be a good riddance, and little harm done, fegs!”

Unconscious of his danger, the Independent divine seemed anxiously bent upon preventing a collision between the opposing parties. Addressing himself to the Puritanical cottagers, over whom, as their minister, he naturally exercised great control, and specially to Morefruit Stone, as an elder, he enjoined them not to strike a blow unless they themselves were stricken; and his pacific efforts were seconded by Thomas Sunne, who seemed to labour under great alarm. Having succeeded in keeping the members of his flock quiet, Micklegift next addressed himself to Nehemiah, who boldly confronted the colonel and his clamorous attendants. The state-messenger had not budged an inch, but having drawn a second pistol from his belt, held it in readiness.

“Put up thy weapon, Nehemiah,” Micklegift said to him, “and cut not off any of these malignants in their sin. Leave them time for repentance and amendment. Perchance, they may yet be gathered into the fold.”

“How sayst thou?” Nehemiah exclaimed. “Wouldst have me allow the proclamation of the Parliament, whose officer I am, to be cast down and trampled under foot? Wouldst have me tamely stand by, and hear his Excellency the Lord-General Cromwell insulted by yon contumacious malignant? As spake Joshua the son of Nun—‘O Lord, what shall I say, when Israel turneth their backs before their enemies?’—what shall I say unto the captain of our second Joshua when his mandates have been set at nought. Interpose not between me and these men of Ai.”

“I say unto thee again, put up thy weapon, Nehemiah,” the Independent minister rejoined; “for if thou take the life of this man, or the life of any of his followers, thou shalt not be justified. Make not of this peaceful dene a second Valley of Achor.”

Then seeing Colonel Maunsel draw his sword, as if about to lead his men to the attack, he stepped fearlessly towards him, and taking hold of his bridle, besought him to desist.

“Who art thou who wouldst stay me?” Colonel Maunsel cried, feigning not to recognize him.

“Thy friend, if thou wilt let me be so,” Micklegift rejoined, in a pacific tone, “who would fain save thee from the peril into which thou art about to rush. Have respect, I pray thee, for lawful and constituted authority. Join thy entreaties to mine, damsel,” he added to Dulcia, seeing that the colonel paid little heed to him, “and prevail upon this hot-headed gentleman not to bring certain destruction upon himself and others.”

There was a certain significance in Micklegift’s tone that, even in that moment, did not escape Dulcia, and she at once comprehended the jeopardy in which the infuriated old Cavalier’s rashness might place Clavering and her father. She therefore implored the colonel not to engage in actual strife with the Parliamentary officer and his supporters.

“I shall not come to blows with them till you are out of harm’s way, rest assured, girl,” the old Cavalier rejoined.

“Disperse your followers, Colonel Maunsel,” Micklegift continued, in a low tone, “and I will answer for it that the matter shall be amicably adjusted. Believe me, I counsel for the best.”

“Indeed he does,” Dulcia cried. “In this instance, at all events,” she added.

“What! dost thou, too, side with Puritans and rebels, girl?” the colonel cried. “Well, I own I have been over hasty,” he continued, returning his sword to the scabbard; “yet the knave gave me great provocation.” Then turning to his followers, he said, “I thank you, good fellows, for this display of your attachment, but I will not put it to further proof. Return to your occupations, all of you—except Eustace Saxby.”

Upon this, the throng around him moved off, though reluctantly, and with very dissatisfied looks; many of them turning round as they went to shake their fists at the Roundheads, or make other gestures of defiance. Observing Ninian linger behind, the colonel motioned him to depart.

“Must I go too, your honour?” the young falconer asked.

“Of a certainty,” the old Cavalier answered. “Yon pestilent varlet will be sure to take exception to thee.”

“Here’s wishing your honour and Mistress Dulcia a pleasant morning’s pastime, then,” Ninian said, doffing his cap, “though it hath begun badly, fegs! Take the spaniels, father. I’ll go round by the shaw,” he whispered, “and join you by the nearest burgh on the downs. The rook hath ‘scaped me now,” he muttered, eyeing Micklegift askance, as he went away; “but though I have missed this chance, I may find another.”

Meanwhile, at the exhortation of Micklegift, Morefruit Stone and the rest of the sanctimonious flock had likewise returned to their labour.

“Peace is restored,” Micklegift said to the colonel. “Proceed on thy way.”

“Hold!” Nehemiah exclaimed. “I will not shut mine ears to the voice of a Minister of the Word, and since thou desirest peace, peace there shall be. Yet ere I suffer this dangerous malignant to pass, I must know his errand. He is placed under restraint by the Council, and may not go beyond a limit of five miles.”

“You hear what the man in authority saith,” Micklegift cried, addressing the colonel. “Satisfy him, I pray you.”

“My errand is apparent,” the old Cavalier rejoined, chafing at the interruption. “I am not as yet a prisoner in my own house, and am about to enjoy the pastime of hawking upon yonder downs.”

“So thou sayest,” Nehemiah rejoined; “but I have been too often deluded by those of thy dissembling party to trust thee without some pledge of thy sincerity.”

“Ha! dost dare to doubt me, fellow?” the colonel cried.

“Hinder him not,” Micklegift interposed. “I will be his surety.”

“Thou!” Nehemiah exclaimed, in astonishment, while the colonel himself looked equally surprised.

“Even I, one of the elect,” the minister replied. “Let him pass freely. These worthy persons,” he added, in a lower tone to the colonel, glancing at the same time at Dulcia, “tarry with me till to-morrow, and much vexation and trouble may be spared thee by discreet behaviour towards them.”

To this speech the colonel vouchsafed no reply, but rode slowly past Nehemiah and the emissary from Goldsmiths’ Hall, who stood beside him, followed by the elder Saxby with the hawks and spaniels.

As Dulcia went by, the Independent minister drew near her, and regarding her fixedly, said in a low tone, “I shall expect thy answer to-morrow, damsel.”