Kitabı oku: «Roger Kyffin's Ward», sayfa 4
Chapter Six.
Royal Visitors. – The King and the Mace-Bearer. – The Foes reconciled
The news of the good King’s intended visit to Stanmore Park was soon spread abroad. The mayor and burgesses of Lynderton resolved that they would request his Majesty to honour their borough by stopping on his way at their town-hall. The whole place was speedily in a state of the most intense commotion. While the Colonel and his womankind were making all the necessary preparations at the park, the lieges of Lynderton were engaged in the erection of triumphal arches, with a collection of banners of all sorts of devices, painting signboards and shop-fronts, and the polishing up of military accoutrements.
Lynderton was got into order for the reception of royalty even before Stanmore Park had been prepared. One chief reason was that there were many more hands in the town to undertake the work, and another was, there was less work to be done. The great difficulty was to have the band playing at both places at once.
Colonel Everard had already engaged them, and they could not on any account disappoint him. Still for the honour of Lynderton it was necessary that a musical welcome should be wafted to the King as he entered the precincts of the borough. At last it was arranged that a part of the foreign band should remain in the town to welcome the King, and then set off at a double-quick march to Stanmore, to be in readiness to receive him there.
The eventful morning at length arrived. It broke, however, with a threatening aspect. There were clouds in the sky, which looked more inclined to gather than disperse. Jacob Tuttle, who met Harry on his way to Stanmore, where he was to finish getting the tents in order, told him that it would be a rainy day. Madam Everard was in a state of greater anxiety than any one else; indeed, she had many things to trouble her. She was not sure that Monsieur Cochut would have performed his work to her satisfaction. Then there were so many mouths to feed, besides the King and his attendants, that she was afraid there might not be sufficient provisions for them. The tents were already erected. Harry had performed his part in a most satisfactory manner. She had no doubt the Baron de Ruvigny would arrange the band.
Not only was the King expected, but good Queen Charlotte and one or two of the princesses had expressed their intention of driving over to Stanmore. A few select guests had been invited to meet them. Among others was Lady Tryon. There were also General Perkins and his wife, and the well-known couple, Sir James and Lady Wallace. The General and the Admiral were old friends, and older enemies, for they had met as lads, when one was lieutenant of marines, and the other a midshipman, and had actually fought a duel, at a time when that foolish and wicked custom was in vogue even among youths.
(The writer thinks it well at this point to state that the Royal visit actually took place as described; also that the main facts and characters in the story are taken from an unpublished diary of the time, in possession of a member of the family.)
The great mass of the neighbourhood were invited to the grounds. All the arrangements were reported complete; but Madam Everard kept looking up anxiously at the sky, which threatened every instant to send down its waters upon the earth. The clouds gathered closer and closer, and some time before the hour at which the royal family were expected to arrive the rain began to descend. It was melancholy to look at the tents growing darker and darker as the water poured down on them, and to see the flags which should have been blowing out joyfully drooping on the flagposts. The rain pattered against the window panes, and the air blew in with a damp feel, which gave promise of a drenching day. Madam Everard became very unhappy; even the young ladies lost their spirits. The Colonel was the only person who seemed unconcerned.
“I have done my best,” he observed, “and there is no man more ready to make allowance than the King, God bless him.” The Colonel had been page to George the Second, and had been attached to the court of the present King, and knew him well, and, moreover, his many trials and difficulties. ”‘Uneasy is the head that wears a crown.’ Our good King finds it so, and few of his subjects have greater domestic as well as public trials to go through.”
Harry Tryon had been very busy and highly flattered by the confidence which the Colonel and Madam Everard had placed in him. Whether or not he still contemplated fighting the Baron de Ruvigny cannot now be said.
Seeing Madam Everard’s anxiety, he offered in spite of the rain to mount a horse and gallop off to ascertain whether the royal party were coming or not. His offer was accepted, and he was soon galloping away through the street of Lynderton on the high road to Lyndhurst, by which it was expected the King would come. He met on his way an open carriage and four horses, full, as it seemed to him, of old women wrapped up in red cloaks and hoods, such as were worn by the peasantry. He had got to the turnpike kept by an old woman, Mammy Pocock by name, when he inquired whether the royal family had come by.
“Why, bless you, yes; that be they,” said the old woman, pointing along the road. “They stayed in here ever so long, but at last they thought Madam Everard would be waiting for them, and so they borrowed my cloak, and they sent out, and borrowed as many cloaks and shawls as could be found in all the cottages near. It was curious to see the Queen and princesses laughing as they put them on.”
Harry was going to hurry back with the news, when he saw a party of four or five horsemen coming along the road. By this time the rain had somewhat ceased. He drew up on one side to see who the strangers were. He had little difficulty in recognising in the old gentleman who rode first with his coat buttoned up, but without any great coat, the King of England. Sir George Rose and two or three other gentlemen accompanied his Majesty. One of them, apparently, was urging him to stop at the tollgate, and dry his clothes.
“A little wet won’t hurt a man! a little wet won’t hurt a man!” answered the King. “The sun will soon come out, and answer the purpose better than a fire.”
As Harry knew that the Queen would arrive at Stanmore before he could get there, and that the King would be delayed for some time at Lynderton he followed the cavalcade at a respectful distance.
As they reached the entrance of the town the rain altogether ceased, and the sun shone forth, and shouts of welcome rent the air, and the band played a joyous tune, and the Mayor and the whole corporation in state came forth to welcome his Majesty, and to accompany him to the entrance of the town-hall. He there was ushered up, and led to a seat at the farther end, where he graciously received an address from the mayor, who, with the members of the corporation, were formally introduced.
Conspicuous at the other end of the room was a gaunt personage in scarlet robes trimmed with yellow fringe, bearing in his hand an enormous gilt club, so it looked.
“Who is that?” asked the King, eyeing the figure with a comical expression.
“That’s our mace-bearer, your Majesty, Jedidiah Pike.”
Jedidiah Pike, hearing his name announced, supposed that he was summoned, and advanced up the room. Overcome, however, by his feelings, and awe at finding himself in the presence of majesty, down he went on his knees, mace and all, and prostrated himself at the King’s feet, while, looking up with an expression of the most intense reverence, he endeavoured to kiss the hand of majesty.
“Get up, man! get up!” exclaimed the King, scarcely refraining his laughter, “I am not the Grand Seignior nor a three-tailed Basha. Get up, get up, man, and you shall kiss my hand, if it pleases you.” The King could restrain his laughter no longer, and gave way to a hearty cachination, in which his attendants, and even the mayor and corporation of Lynderton, heartily joined, greatly to the confusion of poor Pike, who retreated backwards, very nearly tumbling over his own gown as he endeavoured to escape from the royal presence. During the remainder of the ceremony, the King every two minutes gave way to another hearty laugh, and as he descended the stairs to mount his horse, he looked round, and again inquired for his friend Pike.
The King rode on as before, attended by the few gentlemen who had come with him from Lyndhurst, the populace following at a respectful distance. While he rode on, either side was lined with eager spectators, who gave forth with cheerful voices reiterated welcomes. The king nodded kindly, thanking the people now and then in words as he rode on.
Harry galloped on by a path he knew across the country, and the Colonel was in readiness to receive his royal guest on his arrival.
Meantime, the guests who had been invited to the fête on the lawn arrived from all quarters, while the breakfast-room which overlooked it had been prepared for the royal family. They dined alone – the Colonel and the ladies of his family, aided by Lady Tryon, attending on them. Lady Tryon was delighted at being invited by the Queen to attend on her. She made herself especially agreeable, and took the opportunity of introducing her grandson to their Majesties.
Harry behaved remarkably well under circumstances so novel to him, and Mabel, at all events, thought that she had never seen him looking so handsome.
“He would make a charming page,” Lady Tryon whispered in her ear; “I must try and get their Majesties to take him.”
Meantime the sky had cleared, the sun shone forth brightly. The guests were soon seen in their gayest costumes crossing the lawn to the tents, the band struck up and played the most joyous tunes, and the King came to the window and clapped his hands with delight.
It was pleasant to see their Majesties mixing among the crowd, and talking familiarly to many of the guests. Several the King recognised; among others, Sir James Wallace, and his friend, General Perkins. Upwards of an hour was thus passed, when one of the gentlemen-in-waiting suggested to his Majesty that unless they soon commenced their homeward ride it would be dark before they could reach Lyndhurst. The Queen and princesses had already retired, as they purposed returning by the road they came.
“We must restore her cloak to Dame Pocock,” observed the Queen, “and other friends who were kind enough to lend them to us.”
The King, however, purposed riding across the forest by a shorter cut, and through much beautiful woodland scenery. Harry held the King’s horse, while Colonel Everard assisted him to mount.
“Ah!” said his Majesty, shaking the Colonel by the hand, “I am a happy King to be able thus to ride through a forest with only three or four unarmed attendants. Is there another sovereign in Europe that could do the same? I wot not, Colonel.”
“Perhaps this young gentleman would like to accompany us,” said one of the gentlemen-in-waiting, turning to the Colonel. “I know my way across the forest, but he probably is better acquainted with the paths on this side of it, and may somewhat shorten our ride. I am anxious to get the King home again lest his Majesty should have suffered by remaining so long in his damp clothes.”
Harry was soon on horseback and galloping along to overtake the royal party. Every path and glade in that part of the forest was well known to him, and he was thus able to conduct the King, not only by shorter paths, but to show him some especial bits of woodland scenery. The King was much pleased, and complimented Harry on his taste. Whole troops of deer were seen coming in from all directions towards a keeper’s lodge, where they were accustomed to assemble every evening to be fed.
“A pity to shoot such beautiful creatures,” said the King; “this forest should be their own. If I had to frame new forest laws I should certainly let the deer benefit by them. What say you, young gentleman?”
Harry had to confess he had no objection to ride after a stag with a pack of hounds, nor indeed to exercise his skill as a marksman on a fat buck.
The King laughed.
“We must not be too much guided by our feelings,” he observed.
The King conversed constantly with Harry during the ride, and told him that he hoped to see him again. The young man bowed low as they reached Lyndhurst, and it is not surprising that his spirits should have been somewhat elated at the honour which had been done him. He turned his horse, and galloped quickly over the soft turf back again towards Stanmore, eager to report the safe arrival of the King, and, it is possible, to enjoy another dance with Mabel. She was not less well pleased than he was with the honour the King had done him, and it is not surprising that the young people should have thereon built up a somewhat lofty castle in the air, vapoury and changeable, as such castles invariably are. Lady Tryon was still more pleased. Her grandson had achieved a success. She saw him in imagination basking in the smiles of royalty, and obtaining the advantages which such smiles occasionally bring. Not always, though, as they are apt to raise up “envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness,” in the hearts of rivals.
Dancing was still going on when Harry got back. On such occasions the officers of the foreign legion considerably eclipsed the less nimble-footed Englishmen, and were proportionally favourites. They were, therefore, far more popular with the ladies than with the male part of the community.
Harry had not forgotten his quarrel with the Baron de Ruvigny, and was somewhat surprised that the young lieutenant looked at him in so unconcerned a manner. He was not revengeful by disposition, but he fancied that he was in honour bound to settle the matter.
“The sooner the better,” he thought to himself. “I will look out for him on his way to Lynderton, and see what he has to say for himself.”
In the meantime he danced with Lucy and Mabel, and two or three other young ladies, for although it had been the custom for a gentleman to confine himself to the same partner during the whole of the evening, the foreign officers had managed to break through it, and thus to divide their attentions more generally among the fair sex. At length the fête came to an end. Everybody declared it was delightful. Harry saw Lady Tryon into her carriage, and saying that he would walk home, went back to pay his adieus to the ladies. Mabel looked more beautiful than ever, and gave him a smile which made him feel very happy.
“By-the-bye,” said the Colonel, drawing him aside, “if you ever have an ‘affair of honour,’ you must promise to ask me to be your second. Remember I am an old soldier, and you could not have a better man. I must exact this promise.”
Harry felt very foolish. He did not know how he looked. He could not help suspecting that the Colonel knew his secret; yet “how could he have known it?” The Colonel, however, would not let him go till he had passed his word.
“Perhaps I may have to call upon you sooner than you expect, sir,” he said; “really, these foreigners try one’s temper.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand the foreigners, Harry,” he said, in a good-natured tone. “However, good-night;” and the old officer returned chuckling into the drawing-room.
Harry hurried on. He had seen the Baron de Ruvigny leave the house but a short time before, and he expected soon to catch him up. He was not disappointed. The moon shone brightly. He knew the baron’s figure, and saw him a little way ahead in company with several other officers.
Harry soon overtook them, and walking up to the side of the young baron, touched him on the shoulder.
“We had a little affair to settle the other day, baron,” said Harry.
The young baron hesitated.
“I was labouring under a mistake. I confess it,” he answered. “Colonel Everard has spoken to me, and has made me promise not to carry the matter further. I did not consider that you had a right to interfere, and I was, therefore, angry. I tender you my apology.”
Harry hesitated a moment. Was it generosity or cowardice which made the young baron act in this way? “It is the first, I am sure,” thought Harry. “I accept your apology gladly,” he answered.
The young men shook hands and walked on side by side, both probably feeling much happier than they did before. They might, to be sure, have caused some sensation in the place had they fought; but even had one of them been killed, the event would probably have been no more than a “nine days’ wonder,” and even his most intimate acquaintance would soon have ceased to mourn. The two after this became fast friends.
The baron especially had many interesting adventures to relate, especially those he had undergone in escaping from France – “La belle France!” as he still called his native country.
Chapter Seven.
A Farewell Visit. – Sad End of a Festive Scene
Mabel Everard and Harry Tryon stood together under the shade of the wide-spreading trees which extended their boughs over the edge of the large lake in Stanmore Park watching a couple of graceful swans which glided noiselessly by across the mirror-like surface of the water.
“I have come to wish you good-bye, Mabel,” said Harry, and his voice trembled slightly. “Lady Tryon insists on my accompanying her to London, and I cannot refuse to obey her. It is time, and she says truly that I should choose a profession; but which can I choose? I should have preferred going to sea some years ago, but I am getting too old for that, and though I have no objection to the army, yet it would take me away for years, perhaps for long years, Mabel, and that I could not stand.”
He looked affectionately into her face as he spoke.
“I should not wish you to go, Harry,” she answered in a low voice, “and yet I know that it is right and manly to have a profession. I should not like you to be in any better, yet it is so full of dangers that I should be very miserable.”
“No, I see, I must live in the country and turn farmer,” said Harry, as if a bright idea had struck him. “I have always been told that Lady Tryon is sure to leave me all her property, and that must be sufficient for all my wishes. However, when I go to London I will try and learn what profession is likely to suit me. I certainly don’t wish to be idle; and the thought of winning you, and making a home fit for your reception, will stimulate me to exertion.”
“I shall be glad if it does.”
A boat was moored near where they stood. Harry proposed to row Mabel round the lake. They looked very interesting as they two sat in the boat, Harry rowing, and Mabel smiling and talking cheerfully, occasionally catching at a water-lily.
They talked of Lucy. The theme was a sad one. Since the day of the fête she had never been well. There was a colour in her cheek and a brightness in her eye, which alarmed her aunt. She communicated her fears to Mabel.
“But dear Lucy does not consider that she is in any danger, or she would not urge my uncle to have the ball next week.”
“Perhaps your aunt is unduly alarmed,” said Harry, “Lucy seems in such spirits that I cannot suppose there is any danger. I was in a great fright at first, thinking that Lady Tryon would insist on going to London before the ball, but I am thankful to say she consents to stay till it is over. There is only one thing I don’t like in these balls. I say, Mabel, you must not let those French officers flirt too much with you. They are marquises and barons, to be sure; but after all, except their pay, they have nothing to bless themselves with. Somehow or other, I never can like a foreigner as much as an Englishman.”
“That is rather hard upon papa,” said Mabel, looking up. “You know his mother was a foreigner. Did you not know that she was French? Grandpapa married, when he was a very young man, just as he was a lieutenant, a French lady. She, too, was very young and very pretty.”
“That I am sure she must have been,” said Harry, looking up at Mabel.
“The story is a very sad one. Poor mamma died, I believe, when I was born, and grandpapa had just time to carry away his boy to England, and to place me with Aunt Ann, when he was obliged to go to sea. The little I know of the early history of our family I have learnt from Aunt Ann.”
They were nearing the shore when they heard a voice hailing them from the spot from which they set out. They soon reached a landing-place. A fine officer-like looking man was standing near it. Mabel sprang out and threw herself into his arms.
“Oh! papa, you have come back without giving us warning. Oh! dear, dear papa, how happy you have made me!”
Captain Digby Everard returned his daughter’s embrace. He looked inquiringly at Harry, whom he did not recognise.
“This is Harry Tryon,” she said. “You remember him as a boy; but he has grown a good deal since then.” The Captain smiled.
“I am very happy to renew my acquaintance with him,” he said, holding out his hand, “and I am glad to see so accomplished an oarsman: it is a pity that he has not been bred to the sea. However, perhaps it is not too late. Lord Cochrane did not go afloat till he was as old as Harry is, and he has already made a name for himself.”
The Captain and his daughter walked on towards the house, she leaning on his arm, and looking up, ever and anon, into his face as he spoke affectionately to her.
Harry, thinking that the Captain might consider him intrusive, made his adieus to Mabel and her father.
“Aunt Ann will want you to help her in preparing for the entertainment,” said Mabel, as she shook hands with him.
“And I should be happy to become better acquainted with you,” added the Captain, warmly shaking him by the hand.
Harry was becoming very popular in the neighbourhood: a good-looking young man, with apparently ample means, is certain to be so, if he is tolerably well behaved in other respects. People do not pry too closely into the character of youths of good fortune. Harry, however, was unexceptionable. The banker and some of the tradesmen of Lynderton might have had their suspicions that Lady Tryon would not “cut up” as well as was expected; but as they had had no quarrel with her grandson, they did not allow this idea to go forth to his detriment. Harry, therefore, dined as frequently out as at home. Indeed, the attractions of Ayleston Hall were not very great, to his taste.
One day, however, she insisted upon his remaining and taking a tête-à-tête dinner with her. Her eyes were weak, and she wanted him to read to her afterwards a new tale by Miss Burney. To that he had no objection. It was very romantic, and suited his humour.
“Well, Harry, you must make your fortune some day by a wife,” said the worldly old lady, “and really if you succeed with that pretty girl, Mabel Everard, you will do well. Under some circumstances I might not have encouraged it; but as it is, I have an idea: you know Lucy’s mother died of consumption, and if Lucy dies the Captain becomes his uncle’s heir.”
“But my mother died of consumption,” answered Harry, who hated the thought of being mercenary; “I hope Lucy may live, and that I may have the means of making a fortune to support a wife whenever I marry.”
“Silly boy, fortunes are not so easily made,” said the old lady, in a voice which sounded somewhat harsh to Harry’s ear. “If you don’t marry a fortune, there will probably be poverty and beggary in store for you. They are the most dreadful things in my opinion in this life. Be a wise lad, Harry, and try and win Mabel. You don’t mean to say, boy, that you have no wish to marry her?”
Harry hesitated to acknowledge his love to his grandmother. The old lady’s manner did not encourage confidence. Instinctively he mistrusted her. The old lady eyed him narrowly.
“Take my advice, and be attentive to the girl. If you follow it I shall be well pleased; if not, I shall act accordingly. Or perhaps when you go to London you would like to be introduced to your cousins, the Coppinger girls. There are a good many of them, I believe, but I have kept up no intercourse for some years past with my worthy brother Stephen. Indeed, he and I have different notions on most subjects. However, if there is anything to be gained, I should have no objection to call on my nieces. He is very rich, I am told, and will probably divide his fortune between them. Still, though our family is a good one, as he has always lived in the city, a daughter of his cannot bring you the county influence and credit which you would derive from such a girl as Mabel Everard.”
Harry seldom acted the hypocrite. He did so, however, on this occasion. He should be very happy to become acquainted with his fair cousins, and he did not for a moment deny the attractions of Mabel Everard, or the advantages which might accrue, should he be fortunate enough to win her hand.
The old lady, with all her acuteness, did not quite understand her grandson. On this occasion, however, she read his mind better than usual. Had he been perfectly frank she might have doubted him, but now that he attempted to compete with her in hypocrisy, she read him through and through.
“Why the lad thinks of marrying that little girl,” she thought to herself, “and unless her father should marry again, she will be one of the chief heiresses of the county, should her cousin die.”
The intended ball was to be the largest which had yet taken place at Stanmore, and Lucy especially wished for it. It was her birthday, and the Colonel could deny her nothing. Besides, Captain Everard had come home, and it would help to do him honour. Not only was all the neighbourhood asked, but people from all parts of the county. The house was to be full. As it was originally a hunting lodge, the outbuildings were very extensive, and could hold all the carriages and horses of the numerous guests. People do not mind packing tolerably close on such occasions. There was a long range of rooms in one of the wings for bachelors, and another similar range where a vast number of young ladies could be put up, with their attendant waiting-maidens. The new dining-hall, in which the dancing was to take place, was very extensive. It was to be ornamented with wreaths of flowers, and numerous bracket lights on the walls. The chandeliers were looked upon as wonderful specimens of art, though greatly surpassed by those of later years. A considerable number of guests who came from a distance arrived the day before. Lucy and Mabel had exerted themselves, especially in preparing the wreaths, and running about the house all the day assisting their aunt. Harry, of course, had been summoned over to help, and so had the Baron de Ruvigny.
Harry had got over his jealousy of the young Frenchman, with regard to Mabel. He saw, indeed, that the Baron’s attentions were devoted exclusively to Lucy. He was certainly in love with her; of that there appeared no doubt.
The Colonel invited Harry to stop to dinner. It was more hurried than usual, because Lucy insisted that they should have dancing after it, to practise for the next day. Those were primitive days. Lynderton boasted of but one public conveyance, denominated the Fly, though it seldom moved out of a snail’s pace, except when the driver was somewhat tipsy, and hurrying back to obtain a second fare. Harry had been sent round a short time before dinner to invite several maiden ladies, with one or two other dames who were not able to attend the ball the following day, while three or four of the foreign officers had received an intimation that they would be welcome.
Dinner over, and the tables cleared away, the gay young party began tripping it merrily to the music of harpsichord, violin, and flageolet, played by the foreign officers. Lucy appeared in excellent health and spirits, in spite of the fatigue she had gone through in the morning. No one danced more eagerly or lightly after the first country dance. She and the young Baron stood up to perform their proposed minuet: every one remarked how lovely she looked, and how gracefully she moved. People forgot to watch the slides and bows of the young Frenchman; at least, some of the guests did, though he was rewarded for his exertions by the evident admiration of several of the young ladies.
“That young Tryon, who is dancing with Mabel Everard, considering he is an Englishman, acquits himself very well indeed,” observed the Dowager Countess of Polehampton, eyeing the young couple through her glass. “If any creature could make a man dance, Mabel Everard would do so. Do you admire her or her cousin most?”
“Really, your ladyship, they are both fine girls; it is difficult to decide between them,” answered Sir John Frodsham, an old beau who faithfully danced attendance on the Countess. “If I were a young man I might be called upon to decide the question, and then I should certainly have voted in favour of the heiress; but now Lady Frodsham puts that out of my power.”
“Oh, fie! Sir John, you men are all the same, money carries off the palm with young and old alike.”
Harry meantime was enjoying his dance with Mabel, caring very little what the Countess of Polehampton or Sir John Frodsham might say of him.
During that evening more than one could not help remarking the rich colour and the sparkling eyes of the heiress of Stanmore. Never had she looked so lovely; indeed, generally she carried off the palm from her cousin. The dance continued, the amateur musicians exerting themselves to the utmost; and everybody declared that if the present impromptu little party went off so well, that of the next day must be a great success. The Colonel was seated at the end of the room, paying attention to his more elderly guests, and occasionally saying a pleasant word or two to the young ones. Madam Everard kept moving about and acting the part of an attentive hostess. Frequently her nieces assisted her, when not actually engaged in dancing. There was a question to be decided as to what dance should next take place.
“Where is Lucy?” exclaimed Madam Everard, looking round. Lucy had left the room; some minutes passed, and she did not return. Madam Everard became anxious. Mabel was again dancing, or she would have sent her to look for her cousin. Madam Everard hastened from the ball-room; she went up-stairs, and met a servant by the way.
