Kitabı oku: «The Coming of the King»

CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF KATHARINE HARCOMB

The history which I propose writing will, I believe, be of value for various reasons. It will clear my name from various aspersions, and it will enable me to explain what, to many, seem events of an extraordinary nature. For I have done nothing which makes me fear the light, neither have I any desire to offer excuses for the actions which shall be here set down. What I have done I have done in good faith, knowing all the time of the probable results which would follow.

Moreover, I think it is well that many of the happenings of the time of which I write should be recorded, for surely the days of my youth were strange days, full of intrigue, full of mystery; and more, they were days in which one of the greatest battles ever known in our country was fought, a battle which had momentous issues in the life of our people.

Not that I am able to give a description of many events which took place. That would be impossible; but as I was drawn, in spite of myself as it seems to me, to be an actor in many stirring scenes, I have had peculiar opportunities for knowing the truth. In addition to this, I was trained by my father to follow the custom of the times, and to describe in a diary an account of my daily doings. I shall therefore be able, if ever my memory fails me, to refer to the books which have been carefully kept, and thus place a correct account of matters before those who happen to read.

I had a peculiar training even for youths of that period. For from the time of Archbishop Laud to the coming of King Charles II, nearly every family of note took sides in the great struggle through which the nation passed. Either a man was a Royalist or a Parliamentarian, a believer in the supreme and unquestionable rights of the king, or a supporter of the new order of things. There seemed no half-way house wherein a man might rest. Thus the nation was divided into two great camps, and if one was not in one of these camps he was in the other. But I was trained to hold myself aloof from both, and to distrust them equally.

The reason for this can be quickly told. During the great struggle between Cromwell and the king, my father fought against the Ironside General. Indeed, he gave of his substance freely. He impoverished himself to replenish the king's coffers, and he armed his family retainers in order to keep him on the throne. In the early days of the war, moreover, he was an enthusiastic supporter of the king, and trusted in his royal words implicitly. But after the Battle of Naseby, when the king's papers were taken, and it was made known that Charles had deceived on every hand, my father lost faith in him, and declared he would never trust a king's word again. Not that he threw in his lot with Cromwell, thus following the example of many others. Rather he cut himself adrift from public affairs, and sought to live in seclusion.

But here a difficulty faced him. His resources were much diminished by what he had devoted to the king's cause, and added to this, so much of his property was taken from him in the troublous days which followed, that while he still kept the old home near Epping Forest, he was scarce able to maintain it. He was a country gentleman, bearing an old name, who could barely afford to keep the horse he rode, or the servants who waited at his tables. This (for my father was a very proud man) embittered him much, and caused him to lose faith in friend and foe alike. He despised the king who had deceived both his followers and those who fought against him, and he spoke of the Presbyterians and Independents as a crack-brained and sour-faced crew, who would make the country a place unfit for a gentleman to live in.

"I trust neither of them, my son," he would often say to me. "I gave my blood and my fortune to the king, and he deceived me by lying promises and false statements: as for this Puritan crew, they have robbed me of my possessions until I, who at the time of the Short Parliament was a rich man, have not the means of giving my only son either a good horse to ride, or money to put in his purse."

"I will gain both, father," I said, for in those days I was ardent and hopeful, believing that everything was possible to a brave heart and a strong arm.

"But how?" cried my father. "The king's cause is dead, even if it would have benefited thee by fighting for it. As for these canting Puritans, no man can gain aught from them, unless he will quote Scripture, and cry 'Down with the Prayer-book.' In truth there is no cause which an honourable man can espouse, and thus carve his way to fortune."

"The opportunity will come some day," I replied confidently.

My father shook his head. "It cannot be," he said. "England is governed by canting hypocrites, and there is not a man in the country whom we can trust. I tell thee Roland, I am sorely grieved for thee. I have no fortune to give thee, neither are there means whereby a man bearing the name of Rashcliffe can honourably win one. Marriage seems impossible. Not one maid do I know, who would wed a penniless lad like thee; by that I mean a maid of family and dowry. I am known among men as penniless Rashcliffe, and such a name makes it impossible for my son to make a suitable marriage."

"But surely there must be means whereby a man may carve his way to fortune?"

"Tell me about them, Roland. Where can we find them? Those who, like I, have been foolish enough to trust the king and fight for his cause are left wellnigh penniless and friendless. We have been deceived, tricked as if by a cunning card-player. I tell you there is no honour among kings. As for the Puritans, could you play the knave in order to gain their favour? Could you mimic their pious whine, and curse both bishops and Prayer-book?"

"No, I could not," I replied, for although my father had taught me to have no faith in men, he still tried to teach me to be an honourable gentleman.

"I know," he went on, "that many hope for the death of Cromwell. Well, that may happen any day, and then what shall we see? In all probability Oliver will make provision whereby his son shall take his place. But even if he doth not, and Charles were to come back, would such as I be benefited? Would the new king see to it that my estates were restored to me? The new King Charles would be the son of the old King Charles. The new king would be a Stuart, and never again can I trust a Stuart."

"Is there no hope then?" I asked despondently, for the constant repetition of such speeches had made me believe that no man was to be trusted.

"There is no hope except you can get men in your power," replied my father.

"In my power?" I repeated, for I scarce knew what he meant.

"Ay, in your power, Roland. There is a secret in most men's lives. If you can find that secret, you are a force to be reckoned with. You then have the means whereby you can fight your way into position. Look here. Charles Stuart is now in France. Supposing Oliver Cromwell were to die, and the people, tired of Puritan rule, were to welcome him back to the kingdom. Do you think he would remember that I, Philip Rashcliffe, am impoverished by fighting for his father? If I went to him, and said, 'Sire, I have scarce a horse to ride on, scarce a crown to put in my purse; I have lost all through fighting for your father's throne,' do you think he would cause the Rashcliffe lands to be restored? Nay, he would say, aloud, 'Master Rashcliffe, we will look into this matter, and you may trust us to see that justice shall be done;' but to himself he would say, 'What is there to be gained by doing aught for this man? He is plain and blunt, and I shall gain nought by troubling about him. Besides, there be a hundred others who come with the same tale. Let me to my wine.' Ay, but if Charles discovered that I knew something which affected him deeply, then would he for self-preservation desire to do me justice."

"But that would be blackmailing," I cried.

"Nay, it would not; it would be simply using the means at my disposal for getting back my own."

"Know you of aught, that you say this?" I asked, at which my father shook his head.

It will be seen from this that I was taught to trust no man or party. Moreover, as the years went by my father influenced me by his own desponding views, so that I, unlike most youths, felt no ardour for any cause, and believed but little in any man. As to women, I knew nothing of them, for, besides our kitchen wenches and servant maids, scarcely a woman ever entered Rashcliffe Manor. My father desired no company, and even if he had so desired, he was too poor to give hospitality in a way befitting his station. As for myself I was too proud to seek acquaintance among those of lower degree than myself, while those of my own rank had, through my father's seclusion, shut their doors against his son. Thus I knew nought of women. I believed that, poor as I was, no woman of name and fortune would deign to notice me, and it was not for my father's son to go unbidden to the houses of those who still retained their wealth.

Presently Oliver Cromwell died, and I thought my father seemed to be possessed of new hope; but when Richard, his son, was chosen Lord Protector in his place, he simply shrugged his shoulders like a Frenchman, and said that the country was not yet tired of psalm-singing. During the months that followed he went often to London, in order, as he said, to find out what Monk and Lambert were doing, and when at length Richard Cromwell ceased to be Lord Protector, he grimly remarked that we "should soon see gay doings."

A little later the whole country was in a state of excitement. Charles was recalled to England, the Royalists were jubilant, while the Puritans looked forward with dread to the dark days which they felt sure were near at hand.

"We will go to meet the king," cried my father.

"What!" I cried in astonishment, for my father had declared that he would never again have aught to do with a Stuart.

"Ay, we will go and meet him, Roland. You and I will ride together. There are still two good horses left in the stables, and we will dress ourselves in a way befitting gentlemen, and we will go to Dover, and shout 'God save the King!' with the rest of the crowd."

"But why?" I asked, for I felt no love for the man whom the people were already calling "His Gracious Majesty King Charles II, the Lord's Anointed One."

"Ay, and that you shall know before the sun goes down," he replied.

I looked at him in astonishment, for he had cast off the old look of hopelessness and indifference so common to him, and seemed to believe that brighter days were coming.

"Do you believe in the new king?" I asked.

"I believe a Stuart!" he replied, with scorn. "Nay, not so my son."

"Men speak of him as a man with an open and generous nature," I suggested.

"Ay, and I knew him before he had to fly from the country," he replied. "I tell you he is a Stuart. He hath the vices of both his father and his grandfather. He will lie and deceive like Charles his father, and he will turn his Court into a pigsty, like his grandfather James. In six months from now Whitehall will be filled with swashbucklers and wine-bibbers. Bad men and worse women will rule the country. God only knows what will become of the Puritans, in spite of his fair promises. But what of that? We will go and meet him!"

"But you will gain nought."

"Ay, I will, but there will be much to do first."

"Much to do!"

"Ay, much for thee to do, Roland. I have hopes that the Rashcliffe lands will be mine again, and that my son will hold up his head among the highest."

"You think you will gain the favour of the king?"

"Nay, but perchance I may gain his fear."

"His fear?"

"Ay, his fear. Or, better still, thou shalt gain his fear."

"But why should the king fear me? I can do nought against him. I have no power."

"Knowledge is power," replied my father.

"But I have no knowledge."

"Nay, but thou shalt be in the way to get it before the sun goes down."

At this I made no reply, but I looked at him in astonishment.

"I do not speak wildly or foolishly," said my father. "I tell thee again thou shalt know something of importance before the sun goes down. And now get on the back of that colt Black Ben, which hath been lately broken to the saddle, and ride him across the park lands yet left to us. Get accustomed to his step, my boy, for when we meet the king, it is my desire that King Charles may take note what a fine horseman you are."

I went to the stables, therefore, and saddled Black Ben, a colt which had been a kind of playmate to me, and which had required very little breaking in order to allow me to ride him. For however he might treat another rider, to me he was gentleness itself. I was proud of Black Ben, for he was the first horse I ever possessed on which the neighbours cast eyes of envy. Indeed, my father had been offered a good price for him, but although he wanted the money sadly he refused to sell it.

"No," he said, "thou hast a horse at last, Roland, and thou shalt keep it. I will sell some milch cows before Black Ben shall go."

He was a large noble animal, as black as the wing of a raven, and free from spot or blemish of any sort. I had never tested his speed, but I knew that there was not a horse between me and London town that I could not pass if I gave Black Ben rein.

He gave me a whinny as he saw me, and presently rubbed his nose against my sleeve by way of greeting.

"You are going to meet the new king, Black Ben, my boy," I said as I patted him, and again he whinnied as though he understood me.

A few minutes later I was flying across the park on Ben's back. I was at this time nearly twenty-three years of age, and having taken after my father, was not a light man, but he bore me as though I were a feather.

When I reached the park gates I saw old Adam Winkley, who still lived at the cottage and called himself the gatekeeper, although there was no need of his services.

"Ah, Mester Roland," he said as I came up, "I do 'ear as 'ow the new king is comin'."

"Ay, so it is said."

"Well, God bless the king! I be always a king's man, I be. I be noan for Old Nol's crew. Not but what they can fight. Give Old Nol his due, he've made the furriners see that the English caan't be bait."

"We didn't need Old Nol to make them know that," I replied.

"Well, as to that, Mester Roland, forgive me for not havin' the same opinion as you; but I fought in the wars with your father, and I shall go lame to the end of my days because of it, and I know somethin' of fightin'. This I knaw, the furinners never feared the English so much as they did durin' Old Nol's time. Not that I believed in him. I bean't a young man, but I still like a carouse I do, and I like good ale, and plenty of it, and I say let people enjoy themselves. And I reckon we shall see a change soon. When young Charles do come, we shall no longer have these sour-faced Independents rulin' the roost, and so I say with a full heart, God bless King Charles."

I let the old man talk in this way for old time's sake. He had served our family all his life, and although others had left during our fallen fortunes, he had remained faithful.

"And when do the king come, Mester Roland?"

"Next Tuesday, I have heard, but I am not quite sure."

"Then I shall start to walk to Dover town on Monday morning, so as to be in time to see him land."

"Ah, then I shall see you there. Both my father and I are going."

"I be right glad. I be in hopes that the new king will do your father justice, Master Roland, and that we shall see gay doings at Rashcliffe again. God save the king, I say."

At this moment my attention was drawn from old Adam by a woman who was walking towards my father's house. As far as I could judge she was somewhat advanced in years, although she walked with a strong sturdy step. She gave a hasty glance in my direction, and then kept her face steadily towards the house.

"Know you who that is?" I asked of Adam.

"No!" replied old Adam; "it can't be she?"

"Can't be who?"

"Can't be Katharine Harcomb; and yet she has her walk. But Katharine is dead. I've heard it many a time." This he said as though he were talking to himself rather than to me.

"But who is Katharine Harcomb? I never heard her name."

"No, she left Rashcliffe before you were born, and yet she was maid to your mother. She was a gay one, was Katharine. What Katharine didn't know wasn't worth finding out. Ay, and a handsome maid she was too. As for darin', there was nothing she wouldn't do. One day she dressed in your mother's fine clothes and the other servants didn't know her, she looked such a grand lady. They all curtsied to her, thinking she was some visitor who had come unbeknowing to them. Ay, Katharine could act the lady, she could. Why, it is said the young king fell in love with her when he was Prince Charles, but of that I'll say nothing. Still, this woman can't be she, although she's got her look and her walk. Katharine died years ago – there can be no doubt about that."

By this time the woman was out of sight, while I turned my horse's face towards London, and rode a few miles in that direction before returning to the house.

It was drawing towards evening when I got back, and on entering the house I found that my father had given orders that he should be informed of my return.

"Roland," he said when at length I went to him, "will you come with me into the library?"

"Yes," I said, wondering at his grave demeanour.

When I entered the library I almost gave a start, for in the room was the woman I had seen in the park. She looked up at me, and there was, as I thought, a bold and defiant expression in her eyes. She did not look like a woman of birth and breeding, and yet no one would regard her as a common serving woman. She possessed an air approaching gentility, and although her clothes were much worn, they were of good material.

"More mother than father," I heard her say.

I looked at her awkwardly, for I knew not how to address her, and although I lifted my hat and bowed as I would to a lady of my own degree, I did so constrainedly, not feeling comfortable in her presence.

"This is Mistress Katharine Harcomb," said my father. "She dwelt here before you were born."

The woman gave a laugh, which was half-defiant, half amused.

"Ay, I dwelt here before you were born, Master Roland; since then I have been dead, and now I am alive again."

I did not like the woman. Not that she was evil-looking; rather, she must have been very fair to look upon twenty years before, and even now she retained much of the beauty of youth. But her voice was harsh, the lines around her mouth suggested scorn and bitterness, while the strong chin should have belonged to a man rather than to a woman. I could see in a moment that she was not a woman to be trifled with; indeed, she evidently possessed that imperious strength of will like unto that by which Queen Elizabeth made strong men quail before her.

"I pray you to pay good heed to what Mistress Harcomb hath to tell us," said my father, "for it is no light matter concerning which she would speak."

I know not why, but my heart became heavy. I felt sure that the knowledge which my father had spoken of as power to bend the will of kings was somehow associated with this strong imperious looking woman who gazed steadily into my eyes.

CHAPTER II
THE SECRET OF THE BLACK BOX

I must confess to a somewhat strange feeling in my heart when I looked into the woman's face. I felt sure that she was trying to understand the manner of man I was, so that she might make up her mind how far I could be of service to her. For, from the very first I could not think of her as a former serving woman of my mother. Humble of birth she might be, but I was very sure that her thoughts were other than those of a serving woman, and that she had mixed herself up with affairs of importance. Her great dark searching eyes, her strongly moulded face, her determined mouth all assured me that here was a woman of far-reaching plans, and one who would stop at nothing to carry those plans into effect.

"More mother than father," I heard her murmur again, and then she looked from my father to me as though she were trying to discover the difference between us.

"Well, Katharine," said my father, "you have discovered what you set your heart upon, and which you spoke of when I saw you in St. Paul's Church."

The woman laughed mockingly.

"In less than a month the king will be in England," she said, "and, oh! what a king!" and then she fell to scanning our faces again.

"The people be already crying, 'God save the king!'" said my father. "Already my old neighbours who fought for Charles I be looking forward to the time when the Puritans will be despoiled like the Egyptians of old, and when they will be rewarded for being faithful to the royalty."

"Rewarded!" said the woman scornfully. "Will the eldest son of Charles I ever reward an honest man? I know him, Master Rashcliffe. He will be the dupe of every knave, the puppet of every hussy in England. He will make promises without end, but he will be too idle to perform them. No honest man will be the better for his return, and no one will have justice unless that justice is forced from him."

"But have you discovered aught?" asked my father. "You know what you promised me. Moreover, when I last saw the dame with whom you had lodgment at the back of Aldersgate Street, she said you had your hand upon the proof."

"And I am not one who makes promises lightly," replied the woman, "neither am I a woman who, having made up her mind, is easily turned aside. Nevertheless, there remaineth much to be done, Master Rashcliffe. The matter is not child's play, and he who meddles with matters which affect the king is in danger of being accused of treason. For Charles Stuart can act to purpose when it suits him. That is why I have not come to you before."

Here again the woman ceased speaking and scanned me closely.

"This son of yours hath never fought in the wars?" she said questioningly.

"Nay," replied my father. "During the first civil war he was too young to bear arms. After that my heart was embittered. I would not have my son uphold the claims of a man who was alike faithless to both enemies and friends. Then, when Charles was beheaded, could I allow my son to fight under Cromwell?"

"He was a brave, strong man," replied the woman.

"Ay, a brave strong man if you will. But not such a man as my son could fight under. Besides, I would not have him mingle with such a crew as this army fashioned under the New Model. Would I have my son become a psalm-singing hypocrite? Would I have him taught to cry 'down with the Prayer Book'? Would I have him made a sour-faced follower of old Nol, learning to make pious speeches in order to gain promotion? No, I had fought under the king's standard, and, although the king betrayed us all, I would not have my son serve under my Lord Protector. Nevertheless, Roland is no weakling, as you see, neither is he a fool. Poor as I have been, I have seen to it that he hath learned something of letters. He can write like a clerk, and can read not only in the English tongue, but in Latin and in French."

"In French?" said the woman eagerly, I thought.

"Ay, in French. Besides without ever having served with the wars, he knows everything of fighting that I could tell him, and as for swordcraft, I doubt if there is a man in London town who could stand against him."

Again the woman looked at me eagerly, and then she broke out like one in anger.

"It is well, Master Rashcliffe, for, mark you, if what I have discovered is true, he will need all his cleverness, all his learning, and all his knowledge of swordcraft. We play for high stakes, Master Rashcliffe – nothing less than the throne of England."

"Ay, I gathered as much," said my father thoughtfully.

"Look you here," went on the woman. "You desire to gain back your estates; you desire, moreover, that your son Roland shall not be a penniless, lackland squire like you. Why, I discovered as I came hither, that for years this manor house hath been little better than a farm kitchen, that such as Nicholas Beel, the blacksmith, who fought for Cromwell, and 'praise be his name, Elijah of the Marsh,' and 'Grace-abounding Reuben,' who used to be one of your hinds, be now fattening on your best farms."

"Ay, it is so," cried my father angrily. "The very kitchen wenches of twenty years ago laugh at me, and call me 'Landless Rashcliffe'."

"And Charles Stuart will never give you back these lands unless he is made," said the woman.

"Ay, ay," said my father, "I know enough of him for that; but to your tale, Katharine Harcomb. Tell me what you know."

"I know that James, the new king's brother, is full of hope that Charles will kill himself by revelry in a year," replied the woman. "I know that he is next heir to the throne. I know that he is intriguing to get back the Catholic religion to the country, and I know that neither Charles nor James loves either you or yours."

"And yet I fought for their father," said my father.

"Ay, and like the honest man thou art, declared that thou couldst never fight for him again after the contents of his papers which were found on Naseby field were made known," retorted the woman. "I know this, too, that if Charles had gained the victory over Cromwell, thou wouldst have been beheaded for what thou didst say at that time. Mark you, a Stuart never forgets, and never forgives, for all the fair promises that they make. Therefore if ever thou dost get back thine own, and if ever thy son is to be more than a mere yeoman ploughing his own fields – ay, and poor fields at that, for the best have all been taken away – he must be able to force the new king's hand."

"Ay, I know all this," replied my father impatiently, "but let us hear what you have discovered, Katharine; let us know the truth concerning the strange things I have heard."

"It is no use telling of what I know, unless this son of thine be bold enough to make use of it," replied the woman. "I am a girl no longer, Master Rashcliffe; I am not so simple as I was in those days when I was waiting maid to Mistress Rashcliffe. Enough to say that I have found out sufficient to make Charles Stuart, who is even now preparing to come back to England as king, eager not only to restore thy lands, but to give a place of honour to Master Roland here. Ay, but that is not all. The thing which I know to exist must be in our hands, ay, and in our hands in such a way that we shall be able to make our own bargain with the new king."

"But what is it?"

"It is this. James, Duke of York, is not the next heir to the throne."

"Well, and what of that?"

"This," replied the woman. "You have heard of the Welsh girl, Lucy Walters?"

"Ay, I have hear of her."

"And you have heard of her son, a lad who goes by the name of James Croft?"

"Yes," said my father, "I have heard of him; but it doth not matter."

"Ay, but it doth matter."

"Why?"

"Because he, although Charles Stuart will doubtless deny it, is the next heir to the throne of England."

My father started back in amazement.

"He is Charles' son," continued the woman.

"Ay, but – "

"Charles married Lucy Walters – married her in Holland."

"But the proof, the proof!" cried my father.

"It is this proof of which I come to speak," said Katharine Harcomb. "But answer me this: suppose the proof could be obtained, suppose the box containing the contract of marriage between Charles Stuart and Lucy Walters could be obtained – what then?"

For a time my father was silent. Evidently he regarded the woman's declaration of great import, and I saw that he carefully considered her words.

"Charles would not desire it to be known," he said at length.

"Nay, that he would not," said the woman with a laugh; "but there is more than that, Master Rashcliffe."

"Ay, there is," said my father thoughtfully. "He who could be fortunate enough to possess that marriage contract would be able to make his terms not only with the king, but the king's brother."

"Ah, you begin to see."

"The man who possessed such a secret could stir up civil war in England," said my father; "such a war that might well make men forget the war between Charles I and Cromwell."

"Ay," said the woman; "but what is more to our purpose, Master Rashcliffe, he could make the king restore the Rashcliffe lands, and gain for his son a place in England worthy his name."

"And do others know of this secret, Katharine?" asked my father.

"Yes," replied the woman; "it hath been guessed at by many, but I alone know where the box containing the marriage contract is hidden. It hath cost me much trouble to find out, but at last I have done it."

I looked at the woman as she said this, and I thought there was a furtive look in her eyes.

"And how did you find it out?" asked my father presently.

"Of that more anon," replied Katharine Harcomb. "Enough to say now that this is the secret I promised to tell you, a secret which should give you the power to make your own terms with the king. All now depends on young Roland here."

"On me!" I cried, speaking for the first time, although, as may be imagined, I listened eagerly to every word which had been spoken.

"Ay, on you," replied the woman, "for that marriage contract is in hiding. It is hidden in a black box,¹ and may be obtained only with difficulty. The question is, Master Roland, will you undertake the work of bringing it hither?"

"How old is the king's son?" I cried, for her story had excited my imagination and appealed to that love for adventure which for a long time had been struggling for expression.

"How old?" repeated the woman; "he is a lad of about eleven years. At present he is with the dowager queen."

"And do you mean that he is the next heir to the English throne?" I cried.

"Ay, that he is," replied the woman; "and the man who can find the marriage contract can go far to be one of the masters of England."

"And if it be not brought to light?" I cried, "then if Charles has no other son, the Duke of York will become king."