Arms in the village, might have brought on a general battle, but that
Sir Jasper forbade the feud.
"We'll have no ranting, Dick," said the old Knight to the young
Franklin; "adad, man, we'll have none, for three reasons: first,
because it would be ungentle to Lady Peveril; then, because it is
against the King's peace; and, lastly, Dick, because if we did set on
the psalm-singing knaves, thou mightest come by the worst, my boy, as
has chanced to thee before."
"Who, I! Sir Jasper?" answered Dick - "I come by the worst! - I'll be
d - d if it ever happened but in that accursed lane, where we had no
more flank, front, or rear, than if we had been so many herrings in a
barrel."
"That was the reason, I fancy," answered Sir Jasper, "that you, to
mend the matter, scrambled into the hedge, and stuck there, horse and
man, till I beat thee through it with my leading-staff; and then,
instead of charging to the front, you went right-about, and away as
fast as your feet would carry you."
This reminiscence produced a laugh at Dick's expense, who was known,
or at least suspected, to have more tongue in his head than mettle in
his bosom. And this sort of rallying on the part of the Knight having
fortunately abated the resentment which had begun to awaken in the
breasts of the royalist cavalcade, farther cause for offence was
removed, by the sudden ceasing of the sounds which they had been
disposed to interpret into those of premeditated insult.
This was owing to the arrival of the Puritans at the bottom of the
large and wide breach, which had been formerly made in the wall of the
Castle by their victorious cannon. The sight of its gaping heaps of
rubbish, and disjointed masses of building, up which slowly winded a
narrow and steep path, such as is made amongst ancient ruins by the
rare passage of those who occasionally visit them, was calculated,
when contrasted with the grey and solid massiveness of the towers and
curtains which yet stood uninjured, to remind them of their victory
over the stronghold of their enemies, and how they had bound nobles
and princes with fetters of iron.
But feelings more suitable to the purpose of their visit to Martindale
Castle, were awakened in the bosoms even of these stern sectaries,
when the Lady of the Castle, still in the very prime of beauty and of
womanhood, appeared at the top of the breach with her principal female
attendants, to receive her guests with the honour and courtesy
becoming her invitation. She had laid aside the black dress which had
been her sole attire for several years, and was arrayed with a
splendour not unbecoming her high descent and quality. Jewels, indeed,
she had none; but her long and dark hair was surmounted with a chaplet
made of oak leaves, interspersed with lilies; the former being the
emblem of the King's preservation in the Royal Oak, and the latter of
his happy Restoration. What rendered her presence still more
interesting to those who looked on her, was the presence of the two
children whom she held in either hand; one of whom was well known to
them all to be the child of their leader, Major Bridgenorth, who had
been restored to life and health by the almost maternal care of the
Lady Peveril.
If even the inferior persons of the party felt the healing influence
of her presence, thus accompanied, poor Bridgenorth was almost
overwhelmed with it. The strictness of his cast and manners permitted
him not to sink on his knee, and kiss the hand which held his little
orphan; but the deepness of his obeisance - the faltering tremor of his
voice - and the glistening of his eye, showed a grateful respect for
the lady whom he addressed, deeper and more reverential than could
have been expressed even by Persian prostration. A few courteous and
mild words, expressive of the pleasure she found in once more seeing
her neighbours as her friends - a few kind inquiries, addressed to the
principal individuals among her guests, concerning their families and
connections, completed her triumph over angry thoughts and dangerous
recollections, and disposed men's bosoms to sympathise with the
purposes of the meeting.
Even Solsgrace himself, although imagining himself bound by his office
and duty to watch over and counteract the wiles of the "Amalekitish
woman," did not escape the sympathetic infection; being so much struck
with the marks of peace and good-will exhibited by Lady Peveril, that
he immediately raised the psalm -
"O what a happy thing it is,
And joyful, for to see
Brethren to dwell together in
Friendship and unity!"
Accepting this salutation as a mark of courtesy repaid, the Lady
Peveril marshalled in person this party of her guests to the
apartment, where ample good cheer was provided for them; and had even
the patience to remain while Master Nehemiah Solsgrace pronounced a
benediction of portentous length, as an introduction to the banquet.
Her presence was in some measure a restraint on the worthy divine,
whose prolusion lasted the longer, and was the more intricate and
embarrassed, that he felt himself debarred from rounding it off by his
usual alliterative petition for deliverance from Popery, Prelacy, and
Peveril of the Peak, which had become so habitual to him, that, after
various attempts to conclude with some other form of words, he found
himself at last obliged to pronounce the first words of his usual
/formula/ aloud, and mutter the rest in such a manner as not to be
intelligible even by those who stood nearest to him.
The minister's silence was followed by all the various sounds which
announce the onset of a hungry company on a well-furnished table; and
at the same time gave the lady an opportunity to leave the apartment,
and look to the accommodation of her other company. She felt, indeed,
that it was high time to do so; and that the royalist guests might be
disposed to misapprehend, or even to resent, the prior attentions
which she had thought it prudent to offer to the Puritans.
These apprehensions were not altogether ill-founded. It was in vain
that the steward had displayed the royal standard, with its proud
motto of /Tandem Triumphans/, on one of the great towers which flanked
the main entrance of the Castle; while, from the other, floated the
banner of Peveril of the Peak, under which many of those who now
approached had fought during all the vicissitudes of civil war. It was
in vain he repeated his clamorous "Welcome, noble Cavaliers! welcome,
generous gentlemen!" There was a slight murmur amongst them, that
their welcome ought to have come from the mouth of the Colonel's lady
- not from that of a menial. Sir Jasper Cranbourne, who had sense as
well as spirit and courage, and who was aware of his fair cousin's
motives, having been indeed consulted by her upon all the arrangements
which she had adopted, saw matters were in such a state that no time
ought to be lost in conducting the guests to the banqueting apartment,
where a fortunate diversion from all these topics of rising discontent
might be made, at the expense of the good cheer of all sorts, which
the lady's care had so liberally provided.
The stratagem of the old soldier succeeded in its utmost extent. He
assumed the great oaken-chair usually occupied by the steward at his
audits; and Dr. Dummerar having pronounced a brief Latin benediction
(which was not the less esteemed by the hearers that none of them
understood it), Sir Jasper exhorted the company to wet their appetites
to the dinner by a brimming cup to his Majesty's health, filled as
high and as deep as their goblets would permit. In a moment all was
bustle, with the clank of wine-cups and of flagons. In another moment
the guests were on their feet like so many statues, all hushed as
death, but with eyes glancing with expectation, and hands
outstretched, which displayed their loyal brimmers. The voice of Sir
Jasper, clear, sonorous, and emphatic, as the sound of his war-
trumpet, announced the health of the restored Monarch, hastily echoed
back by the assemblage, impatient to render it due homage. Another
brief pause was filled by the draining of their cups, and the
mustering breath to join in a shout so loud, that not only the rafters
of the old hall trembled while they echoed it back, but the garlands
of oaken boughs and flowers with which they were decorated, waved
wildly, and rustled as if agitated by a sudden whirlwind. This rite
observed, the company proceeded to assail the good cheer with which
the table groaned, animated as they were to the attack both by mirth
and melody, for they were attended by all the minstrels of the
district, who, like the Episcopal clergy, had been put to silence
during the reign of the self-entitled saints of the Commonwealth. The
social occupation of good eating and drinking, the exchange of pledges
betwixt old neighbours who had been fellow-soldiers in the moment of
resistance - fellow-sufferers in the time of depression and
subjugation, and were now partners in the same general subject of
congratulation, soon wiped from their memory the trifling cause of
complaint, which in the minds of some had darkened the festivity of
the day; so that when the Lady Peveril walked into the hall,
accompanied as before with the children and her female attendants, she
was welcomed with the acclamations due to the mistress of the banquet
and of the Castle - the dame of the noble Knight, who had led most of
them to battle with an undaunted and persevering valour, which was
worthy of better success.
Her address to them was brief and matronly, yet spoken with so much
feeling as found its way to every bosom. She apologised for the
lateness of her personal welcome, by reminding them that there were
then present in Martindale Castle that day, persons whom recent happy
events had converted from enemies into friends, but on whom the latter
character was so recently imposed, that she dared not neglect with
them any point of ceremonial. But those whom she now addressed, were
the best, the dearest the most faithful friends of her husband's
house, to whom and to their valour Peveril had not only owed those
successes, which had given them and him fame during the late unhappy
times, but to whose courage she in particular had owed the
preservation of their leader's life, even when it could not avert
defeat. A word or two of heartfelt authority, completed all which she
had boldness to add, and, bowing gracefully round her, she lifted a
cup to her lips as if to welcome her guests.
There still remained, and especially amongst the old Cavaliers of the
period, some glimmering of that spirit which inspired Froissart, when
he declares that a knight hath double courage at need, when animated
by the looks and words of a beautiful and virtuous woman. It was not
until the reign which was commencing at the moment we are treating of,
that the unbounded licence of the age, introducing a general course of
profligacy, degraded the female sex into mere servants of pleasure,
and, in so doing, deprived society of that noble tone of feeling
towards the sex, which, considered as a spur to "raise the clear
spirit," is superior to every other impulse, save those of religion
and of patriotism. The beams of the ancient hall of Martindale Castle
instantly rang with a shout louder and shriller than that at which
they had so lately trembled, and the names of the Knight of the Peak
and his lady were proclaimed amid waving of caps and hats, and
universal wishes for their health and happiness.
Under these auspices the Lady Peveril glided from the hall, and left
free space for the revelry of the evening.
That of the Cavaliers may be easily conceived, since it had the usual
accompaniments of singing, jesting, quaffing of healths, and playing
of tunes, which have in almost every age and quarter of the world been
the accompaniments of festive cheer. The enjoyments of the Puritans
were of a different and less noisy character. They neither sung,
jested, heard music, nor drank healths; and yet they seemed not the
less, in their own phrase, to enjoy the creature-comforts, which the
frailty of humanity rendered grateful to their outward man. Old
Whitaker even protested, that, though much the smaller party in point
of numbers, they discussed nearly as much sack and claret as his own
more jovial associates. But those who considered the steward's
prejudices, were inclined to think, that, in order to produce such a
result, he must have thrown in his own by-drinkings - no inconsiderable
item - to the sum total of the Presbyterian potations.
Without adopting such a partial and scandalous report, we shall only
say, that on this occasion, as on most others, the rareness of
indulgence promoted the sense of enjoyment, and that those who made
abstinence, or at least moderation, a point of religious principle,
enjoyed their social meeting the better that such opportunities rarely
presented themselves. If they did not actually drink each other's
healths, they at least showed, by looking and nodding to each other as
they raised their glasses, that they all were sharing the same festive
gratification of the appetite, and felt it enhanced, because it was at
the same time enjoyed by their friends and neighbours. Religion, as it
was the principal topic of their thoughts, became also the chief
subject of their conversation, and as they sat together in small
separate knots, they discussed doctrinal and metaphysical points of
belief, balanced the merits of various preachers, compared the creeds
of contending sects, and fortified by scriptural quotations those
which they favoured. Some contests arose in the course of these
debates, which might have proceeded farther than was seemly, but for
the cautious interference of Major Bridgenorth. He suppressed also, in
the very bud, a dispute betwixt Gaffer Hodgeson of Charnelycot and the
Reverend Mr. Solsgrace, upon the tender subject of lay-preaching and
lay-ministering; nor did he think it altogether prudent or decent to
indulge the wishes of some of the warmer enthusiasts of the party, who
felt disposed to make the rest partakers of their gifts in
extemporaneous prayer and exposition. These were absurdities that
belonged to the time, which, however, the Major had sense enough to
perceive were unfitted, whether the offspring of hypocrisy or
enthusiasm, for the present time and place.
The Major was also instrumental in breaking up the party at an early
and decorous hour, so that they left the Castle long before their
rivals, the Cavaliers, had reached the springtide of their merriment;
an arrangement which afforded the greatest satisfaction to the lady,
who dreaded the consequences which might not improbably have taken
place, had both parties met at the same period and point of retreat.
It was near midnight ere the greater part of the Cavaliers, meaning
such as were able to effect their departure without assistance,
withdrew to the village of Martindale Moultrassie, with the benefit of
the broad moon to prevent the chance of accidents. Their shouts, and
the burden of their roaring chorus of -
"The King shall enjoy his own again!"
were heard with no small pleasure by the lady, heartily glad that the
riot of the day was over without the occurrence of any unpleasing
accident. The rejoicing was not, however, entirely ended; for the
elevated Cavaliers, finding some of the villagers still on foot around
a bonfire on the street, struck merrily in with them - sent to Roger
Raine of the Peveril Arms, the loyal publican whom we have already
mentioned, for two tubs of merry stingo (as it was termed), and lent
their own powerful assistance at the /dusting/ it off to the health of
the King and the loyal General Monk. Their shouts for a long time
disturbed, and even alarmed, the little village; but no enthusiasm is
able to withstand for ever the natural consequences of late hours, and
potations pottle-deep. The tumult of the exulting Royalists at last
sunk into silence, and the moon and the owl were left in undisturbed
sovereignty over the old tower of the village church, which, rising
white above a circle of knotty oaks, was tenanted by the bird, and
silvered by the planet.
CHAPTER V
'Twas when they raised, 'mid sap and siege,
The banners of their rightful liege,
At their she-captain's call,
Who, miracle of womankind!
Lent mettle to the meanest hind
That mann'd her castle wall.
- WILLIAM S. ROSE.
On the morning succeeding the feast, the Lady Peveril, fatigued with
the exertions and the apprehensions of the former day, kept her
apartment for two or three hours later than her own active habits, and
the matutinal custom of the time, rendered usual. Meanwhile, Mistress
Ellesmere, a person of great trust in the family, and who assumed much
authority in her mistress's absence, laid her orders upon Deborah, the
governante, immediately to carry the children to their airing in the
park, and not to let any one enter the gilded chamber, which was
usually their sporting-place. Deborah, who often rebelled, and
sometimes successfully, against the deputed authority of Ellesmere,
privately resolved that it was about to rain, and that the gilded
chamber was a more suitable place for the children's exercise than the
wet grass of the park on a raw morning.
But a woman's brain is sometimes as inconstant as a popular assembly;
and presently after she had voted the morning was like to be rainy,
and that the gilded chamber was the fittest play-room for the
children, Mistress Deborah came to the somewhat inconsistent
resolution, that the park was the fittest place for her own morning
walk. It is certain, that during the unrestrained joviality of the
preceding evening, she had danced till midnight with Lance Outram the
park-keeper; but how far the seeing him just pass the window in his
woodland trim, with a feather in his hat, and a crossbow under his
arm, influenced the discrepancy of the opinions Mistress Deborah
formed concerning the weather, we are far from presuming to guess. It
is enough for us, that, so soon as Mistress Ellesmere's back was
turned, Mistress Deborah carried the children into the gilded chamber,
not without a strict charge (for we must do her justice) to Master
Julian to take care of his little wife, Mistress Alice; and then,
having taken so satisfactory a precaution, she herself glided into the
park by the glass-door of the still-room, which was nearly opposite to
the great breach.
The gilded chamber in which the children were, by this arrangement,
left to amuse themselves, without better guardianship than what
Julian's manhood afforded, was a large apartment, hung with stamped
Spanish leather, curiously gilded, representing, in a manner now
obsolete, but far from unpleasing, a series of tilts and combats
betwixt the Saracens of Grenada, and the Spaniards under the command
of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, during that memorable siege,
which was terminated by the overthrow of the last fragments of the
Moorish empire in Spain.
The little Julian was careering about the room for the amusement of
his infant friend, as well as his own, mimicking with a reed the
menacing attitude of the Abencerrages and Zegris engaged in the
Eastern sport of hurling the JERID, or javelin; and at times sitting
down beside her, and caressing her into silence and good humour, when
the petulant or timid child chose to become tired of remaining an
inactive spectator of his boisterous sport; when, on a sudden, he
observed one of the panelled compartments of the leather hangings
slide apart, so as to show a fair hand, with its fingers resting upon
its edge, prepared, it would seem, to push it still farther back.
Julian was much surprised, and somewhat frightened, at what he
witnessed, for the tales of the nursery had strongly impressed on his
mind the terrors of the invisible world. Yet, naturally bold and high-
spirited, the little champion placed himself beside his defenceless
sister, continuing to brandish his weapon in her defence, as boldly as
he had himself been an Abencerrage of Grenada.
The panel, on which his eye was fixed, gradually continued to slide
back, and display more and more the form to which the hand
appertained, until, in the dark aperture which was disclosed, the
children saw the figure of a lady in a mourning dress, past the
meridian of life, but whose countenance still retained traces of great
beauty, although the predominant character both of her features and
person was an air of almost royal dignity. After pausing a moment on
the threshold of the portal which she had thus unexpectedly disclosed,
and looking with some surprise at the children, whom she had not
probably observed while engaged with the management of the panel, the
stranger stepped into the apartment, and the panel, upon a touch of a
spring, closed behind her so suddenly, that Julian almost doubted it
had ever been open, and began to apprehend that the whole apparition
had been a delusion.
The stately lady, however, advanced to him, and said, "Are not you the
little Peveril?"
"Yes," said the boy, reddening, not altogether without a juvenile
feeling of that rule of chivalry which forbade any one to disown his
name, whatever danger might be annexed to the avowal of it.
"Then," said the stately stranger, "go to your mother's room, and tell
her to come instantly to speak with me."
"I wo'not," said the little Julian.
"How?" said the lady, - "so young and so disobedient? - but you do but
follow the fashion of the time. Why will you not go, my pretty boy,
when I ask it of you as a favour?"
"I would go, madam," said the boy, "but" - and he stopped short, still
drawing back as the lady advanced on him, but still holding by the
hand Alice Bridgenorth, who, too young to understand the nature of the
dialogue, clung, trembling, to her companion.
The stranger saw his embarrassment, smiled, and remained standing
fast, while she asked the child once more, "What are you afraid of, my
brave boy - and why should you not go to your mother on my errand?"
"Because," answered Julian firmly, "if I go, little Alice must stay
alone with you."
"You are a gallant fellow," said the lady, "and will not disgrace your
blood, which never left the weak without protection."
The boy understood her not, and still gazed with anxious apprehension,
first on her who addressed him, and then upon his little companion,
whose eyes, with the vacant glance of infancy, wandered from the
figure of the lady to that of her companion and protector, and at
length, infected by a portion of the fear which the latter's
magnanimous efforts could not entirely conceal, she flew into Julian's
arms, and, clinging to him, greatly augmented his alarm, and by
screaming aloud, rendered it very difficult for him to avoid the
sympathetic fear which impelled him to do the same.
There was something in the manner and bearing of this unexpected
inmate which might justify awe at least, if not fear, when joined to
the singular and mysterious mode in which she had made her appearance.
Her dress was not remarkable, being the hood and female riding attire
of the time, such as was worn by the inferior class of gentlewomen;
but her black hair was very long, and, several locks having escaped
from under her hood, hung down dishevelled on her neck and shoulders.
Her eyes were deep black, keen, and piercing, and her features had
something of a foreign expression. When she spoke, her language was
marked by a slight foreign accent, although, in construction, it was
pure English. Her slightest tone and gesture had the air of one
accustomed to command and to be obeyed; the recollection of which
probably suggested to Julian the apology he afterwards made for being
frightened, that he took the stranger for an "enchanted queen."
While the stranger lady and the children thus confronted each other,
two persons entered almost at the same instant, but from different
doors, whose haste showed that they had been alarmed by the screams of
the latter.
The first was Major Bridgenorth, whose ears had been alarmed with the
cries of his child, as he entered the hall, which corresponded with
what was called the gilded chamber. His intention had been to remain
in the more public apartment, until the Lady Peveril should make her
appearance, with the good-natured purpose of assuring her that the
preceding day of tumult had passed in every respect agreeably to his
friends, and without any of those alarming consequences which might
have been apprehended from a collision betwixt the parties. But when
it is considered how severely he had been agitated by apprehensions
for his child's safety and health, too well justified by the fate of
those who had preceded her, it will not be thought surprising that the
infantine screams of Alice induced him to break through the barriers
of form, and intrude farther into the interior of the house than a
sense of strict propriety might have warranted.
He burst into the gilded chamber, therefore, by a side-door and narrow
passage, which communicated betwixt that apartment and the hall, and,
snatching the child up in his arms, endeavoured, by a thousand
caresses, to stifle the screams which burst yet more violently from
the little girl, on beholding herself in the arms of one to whose
voice and manner she was, but for one brief interview, an entire
stranger.
Of course, Alice's shrieks were redoubled, and seconded by those of
Julian Peveril, who, on the appearance of this second intruder, was
frightened into resignation of every more manly idea of rescue than
that which consisted in invoking assistance at the very top of his
lungs.
Alarmed by this noise, which in half a minute became very clamorous,
Lady Peveril, with whose apartment the gilded chamber was connected by
a private door of communication opening into her wardrobe, entered on
the scene. The instant she appeared, the little Alice, extricating
herself from the grasp of her father, ran towards /her/ protectress,
and when she had once taken hold of her skirts, not only became
silent, but turned her large blue eyes, in which the tears were still
glistening, with a look of wonder rather than alarm, towards the
strange lady. Julian manfully brandished his reed, a weapon which he
had never parted with during the whole alarm, and stood prepared to
assist his mother if there should be danger in the encounter betwixt
her and the stranger.
In fact, it might have puzzled an older person to account for the
sudden and confused pause which the Lady Peveril made, as she gazed on
her unexpected guest, as if dubious whether she did, or did not
recognise, in her still beautiful though wasted and emaciated
features, a countenance which she had known well under far different
circumstances.
The stranger seemed to understand the cause of hesitation, for she
said in that heart-thrilling voice which was peculiarly her own -
"Time and misfortune have changed me much, Margaret - that every mirror
tells me - yet methinks, Margaret Stanley might still have known
Charlotte de la Tremouille."
The Lady Peveril was little in the custom of giving way to sudden
emotion, but in the present case she threw herself on her knees in a
rapture of mingled joy and grief, and, half embracing those of the
stranger, exclaimed, in broken language -
"My kind, my noble benefactress - the princely Countess of Derby - the
royal queen in Man - could I doubt your voice, your features, for a
moment - Oh, forgive, forgive me!"
The Countess raised the suppliant kinswoman of her husband's house,
with all the grace of one accustomed from early birth to receive
homage and to grant protection. She kissed the Lady Peveril's
forehead, and passed her hand in a caressing manner over her face as
she said -
"You too are changed, my fair cousin, but it is a change becomes you,
from a pretty and timid maiden to a sage and comely matron. But my own
memory, which I once held a good one, has failed me strangely, if this
gentleman be Sir Geoffrey Peveril."
"A kind and good neighbour only, madam," said Lady Peveril; "Sir
Geoffrey is at Court."
"I understood so much," said the Countess of Derby, "when I arrived
here last night."
"How, madam!" said Lady Peveril - "Did you arrive at Martindale
Castle - at the house of Margaret Stanley, where you have such right to
command, and did not announce your presence to her?"
"Oh, I know you are a dutiful subject, Margaret," answered the
Countess, "though it be in these days a rare character - but it was our
pleasure," she added, with a smile, "to travel incognito - and finding
you engaged in general hospitality, we desired not to disturb you with
our royal presence."
"But how and where were you lodged, madam?" said Lady Peveril; "or why
should you have kept secret a visit which would, if made, have
augmented tenfold the happiness of every true heart that rejoiced here
yesterday?"
"My lodging was well cared for by Ellesmere - your Ellesmere now, as
she was formerly mine - she has acted as quartermaster ere now, you
know, and on a broader scale; you must excuse her - she had my positive
order to lodge me in the most secret part of your Castle" - (here she
pointed to the sliding panel) - "she obeyed orders in that, and I
suppose also in sending you now hither."
"Indeed I have not yet seen her," said the lady, "and therefore was
totally ignorant of a visit so joyful, so surprising."
"And I," said the Countess, "was equally surprised to find none but
these beautiful children in the apartment where I thought I heard you
moving. Our Ellesmere has become silly - your good-nature has spoiled
her - she has forgotten the discipline she learned under me."
"I saw her run through the wood," said the Lady Peveril, after a
moment's recollection, "undoubtedly to seek the person who has charge
of the children, in order to remove them."
"Your own darlings, I doubt not," said the Countess, looking at the
children. "Margaret, Providence has blessed you."
"That is my son," said the Lady Peveril, pointing to Julian, who stood
devouring their discourse with greedy ear; "the little girl - I may
call mine too." Major Bridgenorth, who had in the meantime again taken
up his infant, and was engaged in caressing it, set it down as the
Countess of Derby spoke, sighed deeply, and walked towards the oriel
window. He was well aware that the ordinary rules of courtesy would
have rendered it proper that he should withdraw entirely, or at least
offer to do so; but he was not a man of ceremonious politeness, and he
had a particular interest in the subjects on which the Countess's
discourse was likely to turn, which induced him to dispense with
ceremony. The ladies seemed indeed scarce to notice his presence. The
Countess had now assumed a chair, and motioned to the Lady Peveril to
sit upon a stool which was placed by her side. "We will have old times
once more, though there are here no roaring of rebel guns to drive you
to take refuge at my side, and almost in my pocket."
"I have a gun, madam," said little Julian, "and the park-keeper is to
teach me how to fire it next year."
"I will list you for my soldier, then," said the Countess.
"Ladies have no soldiers," said the boy, looking wistfully at her.
"He has the true masculine contempt of our frail sex, I see," said the
Countess; "it is born with the insolent varlets of mankind, and shows
itself so soon as they are out of their long clothes. - Did Ellesmere
never tell you of Latham House and Charlotte of Derby, my little
master?"
"A thousand thousand times," said the boy, colouring; "and how the
Queen of Man defended it six weeks against three thousand Roundheads,
under Rogue Harrison the butcher."
"It was your mother defended Latham House," said the Countess, "not I,
my little soldier - Hadst thou been there, thou hadst been the best
captain of the three."
"Do not say so, madam," said the boy, "for mamma would not touch a gun
for all the universe."
"Not I, indeed, Julian," said his mother; "there I was for certain,
but as useless a part of the garrison - - "
"You forget," said the Countess, "you nursed our hospital, and made
lint for the soldiers' wounds."
"But did not papa come to help you?" said Julian.
"Papa came at last," said the Countess, "and so did Prince Rupert - but
not, I think, till they were both heartily wished for. - Do you
remember that morning, Margaret, when the round-headed knaves, that
kept us pent up so long, retreated without bag or baggage, at the
first glance of the Prince's standards appearing on the hill - and how
you took every high-crested captain you saw for Peveril of the Peak,
that had been your partner three months before at the Queen's mask?
Nay, never blush for the thought of it - it was an honest affection -
and though it was the music of trumpets that accompanied you both to
the old chapel, which was almost entirely ruined by the enemy's
bullets; and though Prince Rupert, when he gave you away at the altar,
was clad in buff and bandoleer, with pistols in his belt, yet I trust
these warlike signs were no type of future discord?"
"Heaven has been kind to me," said the Lady Peveril, "in blessing me
with an affectionate husband."
"And in preserving him to you," said the Countess, with a deep sigh;
"while mine, alas! sealed with his blood his devotion to his king[*] -
Oh, had he lived to see this day!"
[*] The Earl of Derby and King in Man was beheaded at Bolton-on-the-
Moors, after having been made prisoner in a previous skirmish in
Wiggan Lane.
"Alas! alas! that he was not permitted!" answered Lady Peveril; "how
had that brave and noble Earl rejoiced in the unhoped-for redemption
of our captivity!"
The Countess looked on Lady Peveril with an air of surprise.
"Thou hast not then heard, cousin, how it stands with our house? - How
indeed had my noble lord wondered, had he been told that the very
monarch for whom he had laid down his noble life on the scaffold at
Bolton-le-Moor, should make it his first act of restored monarchy to
complete the destruction of our property, already well-nigh ruined in
the royal cause, and to persecute me his widow!"
"You astonish me, madam!" said the Lady Peveril. "It cannot be, that
you - that you, the wife of the gallant, the faithful, the murdered
Earl - you, Countess of Derby, and Queen in Man - you, who took on you
even the character of a soldier, and seemed a man when so many men
proved women - that you should sustain evil from the event which has
fulfilled - exceeded - the hopes of every faithful subject - it cannot
be!"
"Thou art as simple, I see, in this world's knowledge as ever, my fair
cousin," answered the Countess. "This restoration, which has given
others security, has placed me in danger - this change which relieved
other Royalists, scarce less zealous, I presume to think, than I - has
sent me here a fugitive, and in concealment, to beg shelter and
assistance from you, fair cousin."
"From me," answered the Lady Peveril - "from me, whose youth your
kindness sheltered - from the wife of Peveril, your gallant Lord's
companion in arms - you have a right to command everything; but, alas!
that you should need such assistance as I can render - forgive me, but
it seems like some ill-omened vision of the night - I listen to your
words as if I hoped to be relieved from their painful import by
awaking."
"It is indeed a dream - a vision," said the Countess of Derby; "but it
needs no seer to read it - the explanation hath been long since given -
Put not your faith in princes. I can soon remove your surprise. - This
gentleman, your friend, is doubtless /honest?/"
The Lady Peveril well knew that the Cavaliers, like other factions,
usurped to themselves the exclusive denomination of the /honest/
party, and she felt some difficulty in explaining that her visitor was
not honest in that sense of the word.
"Had we not better retire, madam?" she said to the Countess, rising,
as if in order to attend her. But the Countess retained her seat.
"It was but a question of habit," she said; "the gentleman's
principles are nothing to me, for what I have to tell you is widely
blazed, and I care not who hears my share of it. You remember - you
must have heard, for I think Margaret Stanley would not be indifferent
to my fate - that after my husband's murder at Bolton, I took up the
standard which he never dropped until his death, and displayed it with
my own hand in our Sovereignty of Man."
"I did indeed hear so, madam," said the Lady Peveril; "and that you
had bidden a bold defiance to the rebel government, even after all
other parts of Britain had submitted to them. My husband, Sir
Geoffrey, designed at one time to have gone to your assistance with
some few followers; but we learned that the island was rendered to the
Parliament party, and that you, dearest lady, were thrown into
prison."
"But you heard not," said the Countess, "how that disaster befell me.
- Margaret, I would have held out that island against the knaves as
long as the sea continued to flow around it. Till the shoals which
surround it had become safe anchorage - till its precipices had melted
beneath the sunshine - till of all its strong abodes and castles not
one stone remained upon another, - would I have defended against these
villainous hypocritical rebels, my dear husband's hereditary dominion.
The little kingdom of Man should have been yielded only when not an
arm was left to wield a sword, not a finger to draw a trigger in its
defence. But treachery did what force could never have done. When we
had foiled various attempts upon the island by open force - treason
accomplished what Blake and Lawson, with their floating castles, had
found too hazardous an enterprise - a base rebel, whom we had nursed in
our own bosoms, betrayed us to the enemy. This wretch was named
Christian - - "
Major Bridgenorth started and turned towards the speaker, but
instantly seemed to recollect himself, and again averted his face. The
Countess proceeded, without noticing the interruption, which, however,
rather surprised Lady Peveril, who was acquainted with her neighbour's
general habits of indifference and apathy, and therefore the more
surprised at his testifying such sudden symptoms of interest. She
would once again have moved the Countess to retire to another
apartment, but Lady Derby proceeded with too much vehemence to endure
interruption.
"This Christian," she said, "had eaten of my lord his sovereign's
bread, and drunk of his cup, even from childhood - for his fathers had
been faithful servants to the House of Man and Derby. He himself had
fought bravely by my husband's side, and enjoyed all his confidence;
and when my princely Earl was martyred by the rebels, he recommended
to me, amongst other instructions communicated in the last message I
received from him, to continue my confidence in Christian's fidelity.
I obeyed, although I never loved the man. He was cold and phlegmatic,
and utterly devoid of that sacred fire which is the incentive to noble
deeds, suspected, too, of leaning to the cold metaphysics of
Calvinistic subtlety. But he was brave, wise, and experienced, and, as
the event proved, possessed but too much interest with the islanders.