Читать книгу Ovingdean Grange - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 9

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DOMICILIARY visits to the residences of country gentlemen noted for their fidelity to the Crown were so frequent at the period, that almost every house belonging to an adherent to the royal cause was provided with a hiding-place, wherein a kinsman, whose proceedings had jeopardized his safety, or a fugitive Cavalier, seeking shelter from the foe, might be secreted until the danger should have passed by.

Ovingdean Grange possessed a retreat of this kind, very skilfully fabricated amidst the brickwork of a large external chimney at the north-east angle of the mansion. No indication of the hiding-place was perceptible from without, even on careful examination. The chimney had nothing unusual in its shape, though of great size; large chimneys being common enough in old Sussex houses, as may be observed in many still in existence. The lurking-place, as may be supposed, was extremely contracted in its dimensions, and would just hold two persons. Built in juxtaposition with the chimney funnel, it sprang to a height sufficient to enable its occupants to stand upright within it. Light and air were admitted by a narrow loophole, screened from observation by a grotesque stone gargoyle projecting from the roof of the building. Access to the spot was of course obtained from within. In a spacious bed-chamber at the rear of the house, used by Colonel Maunsel himself, there was a large oak chimney-piece, the left jamb of which, carved as a pilaster, turned upon a pivot, and could be instantly set in motion by a spring concealed amidst the foliage of the capital. On opening this secret door an aperture was disclosed large enough to admit a man, and communicating with a narrow passage constructed within the thickness of the walls. A second obstacle, however, was set in the way of the searchers, should they have succeeded in penetrating thus far. Within a couple of yards of the fireplace, the passage was blocked up by what seemed solid masonry; but the impediment, though apparently insurmountable, could easily be removed by touching a second spring. Beyond this, the passage was free, and soon terminated in the small chamber already described.

This hiding-place naturally occurred to Colonel Maunsel, as he lay awake, and painfully ruminating, on the night of his son’s return to the Grange. But though the asylum might be a secure one, in case Clavering should be denounced by Increase Micklegift (for the colonel could not wholly shake off the apprehension of this possibility), yet recourse must not be had to it, except at the last extremity, since the occupation for any length of time of such a narrow cell by the young man, in his present wounded and enfeebled state, might be productive of most disastrous consequences. The best thing to be done, it seemed to the colonel, was to bring Clavering to his own room, so that the young man might take instant refuge within the hidden chamber, in case the house should be menaced with a perquisition. Fortunately, none of the household, except trusty John Habergeon, were acquainted with the hiding-place, so that no threats or maltreatment on the part of the searchers could extort from them a revelation of the secret.

All continued tranquil, however, during the night. Worn out with the extraordinary fatigue and privations he had undergone, Clavering slept so soundly, that if the malevolent Independent minister, accompanied by a dozen Roundhead musketeers, had knocked at his door, he would scarce have been aroused. John Habergeon, who occupied a truckle-bed in his young master’s room, slept soundly too, but the old trooper had the vigilance of a watchdog, and would have been up, and on the alert, on the slightest disturbance. A pair of pistols lay within his reach, in case of a surprise.

Long before daybreak, Colonel Maunsel, who had slept but little, as we have stated, arose, and wrapping himself in a dressing-gown, took a taper, which burnt within his chamber, and proceeded to inspect the hiding-place. Both the secret springs acted perfectly, and the cell seemed as dry and comfortable as such a place could well be; indeed, its contiguity to the chimney funnel kept it warm. Still it must be fitted up yet more conveniently for Clavering’s reception. Fraught with this resolve, and in order that no time might be lost, the colonel repaired at once to his son’s room, marvelling within himself, as he went, that he was able to move about in this way without assistance. But strength seemed to have been given him for the perilous conjuncture. John Habergeon started up as he entered the room, and the first impulse of the old trooper was to seize the pistols lying beside him, but he instantly laid down the weapons on recognizing the intruder. Colonel Maunsel desired him, in a low tone, to come with him, and John having huddled on his garments as expeditiously as he could, they quitted the room together, without disturbing the wounded sleeper. Acting under the colonel’s directions, John placed a variety of articles within the cell, likely to be required by Clavering, if he should be forced to occupy it; and these arrangements being satisfactorily made, and the secret door restored to its customary position, the old trooper looked at his master, as if awaiting further orders, and receiving none, he observed:

“A plan has just occurred to me for deceiving the enemy, which, with your honour’s permission, I would fain put into execution without delay. For my own part, I believe it was a false alarm that we got last night; but I may be wrong, and any way we ought to be cautious where Captain Clavering’s liberty and life are concerned. My notion is to make pretence of quitting the house before daybreak, so that if Increase Micklegift, or any other scoundrelly spy like him, should be lurking about the premises—as may be the case, for aught we can tell—he may fancy the captain has taken flight in reality. If your honour thinks well of the scheme, I’ll hie to the stables at once, and saddle a couple of horses—”

“Thy stratagem is good,” the colonel interrupted; “but I dare not adopt it. My son is too weak to ride forth at this hour.”

“I don’t intend he should, your honour,” John Habergeon rejoined. “I should be loth to disturb the captain from such a slumber as he hath not enjoyed since he quitted Worcester; but there is no occasion for that. Martin Geere shall be the young gentleman’s representative, and with one of your honour’s cloaks wrapped round him, and one of your honour’s hats upon his head, Martin will play the part indifferent well, especially as there won’t be light enough to observe him very narrowly. My object is not merely to delude the enemy, but to persuade the household that Captain Clavering is gone. It is safest to keep those talkative women-folk in the dark. I can rely upon old Martin’s silence and discretion.”

“Ay, I doubt not Martin may be depended upon,” the colonel remarked. “But whither will you go? What will you do with the horses?”

“We shan’t ride far, your honour,” John replied. “I will make clatter enough before the rectory for Increase Micklegift to hear us, and a word or two roared out as we pass will satisfy the rascally preacher it is no other than Captain Clavering whom I have with me. This done, we will gallop off in the direction of Brightelmstone, and when fairly out of hearing we will manage to steal back, unobserved, over the downs.”

“A rare plan, i’ faith!” Colonel Maunsel exclaimed. “Thou hast a ready wit, John. About it at once, and success attend thee!”

John then departed on his errand, and Colonel Maunsel once more betook himself to his son’s chamber.

Clavering was still buried in profound sleep, and while gazing on the young man’s pale and toil-worn features, and thinking how necessary rest was to him the colonel had scarcely the heart to deprive him of it. So he sat down by the couch.

How many anxious thoughts passed through the fond father’s breast as he gazed upon his sleeping boy. Clavering was the only being upon whom his affections were centred. To lose him again as soon as found would be fearful indeed. So terrified was the kind-hearted gentleman by the thought of such a disaster, that he knelt down and prayed Heaven to avert it.

Much comforted, he arose and resumed his seat by the bedside. Presently the sleeper’s lips moved, as if he were essaying to speak, and his sire, bending towards him, heard him distinctly pronounce the name of Dulcia. Slight as was the circumstance, it confirmed a suspicion which the old Cavalier had begun of late to entertain, that a mutual attachment subsisted between the young folk; and the certitude of the fact was by no means agreeable to him. Extremely partial to Dulcia, entertaining, moreover, a sincere respect and esteem for her worthy father, Colonel Maunsel was yet a very proud man, and never contemplating such a union for his son as might here take place, would infallibly have refused to sanction it.

However, this was not a moment wherein to trouble himself with so light a matter—light, at all events, he deemed it in comparison with the serious considerations before him—so he dismissed the subject from his mind. Indeed, he had little time for reflection. The hour had advanced. Ere long the household would be astir, and it was needful to awaken Clavering, in pursuance of his plan.

The heavy chains of slumber in which the young man was bound did not yield to the colonel’s first attempt to break them; neither, on opening his eyes, did Clavering appear to be conscious where he was, nor who was near him. Calling out fiercely that he would never yield with life to a rascally Roundhead, he commanded his father to take his hands from off him; but immediately perceiving his error, he became silent, while the colonel in a few words explained his intentions.

On this Clavering arose, and, attiring himself with his sire’s aid, accompanied the latter to his chamber.