A Reputed Changeling; Or, Three Seventh Years Two Centuries Ago by Yonge (best short novels of all time txt) 📖

place, and the rockers seldom got any exercise except as swelling the Prince’s train when he was carried out to take the air.

Anne looked with longing eyes at the Park, but a ramble there was a forbidden pleasure.  She could not always even obtain leave to attend St. George’s Chapel; the wish was treated as a sort of weakness, or folly, and she was always the person selected to stay at home when any religious ceremony called away the rest of the establishment.

As the King’s god-daughter it was impressed on her that she ought to conform to his Church, and one of the many priests about the Court was appointed to instruct her.  In the dearth of all intellectual intercourse, and the absolute deficiency of books, she could not but become deeply interested in the arguments.  Her uncle had forearmed her with instruction, and she wrote to him on any difficulty which arose, and this became the chief occupation of her mind, distracting her thoughts from the one great cloud that hung over her memory.  Indeed one of the foremost bulwarks her feelings erected to fortify her conscience against the temptations around, was the knowledge that she would have, though of course under seal of confession, to relate that terrible story to a priest.

Hester Bridgeman could not imagine how her Portia could endure to hear the old English Prayer-book droned out.  For her part, she liked one thing or the other, either a rousing Nonconformist sermon in a meeting-house or a splendid Mass.

“But, after all,” as Anne overheard her observing to Miss Dunord, “it may be all the better for us.  What with her breeding and her foreign tongues, she would be sure to be set over our heads as under-governess, or the like, if she were not such an obstinate heretic, and keeping that stupid Humphreys so.  We could have converted her long ago, if it were not for that Woodford and for her City grand-dame!  Portia is the King’s godchild, too, so it is just as well that she does not see what is for her own advantage.”

“I do not care for promotion.  I only want to save my own soul and hers,” said Pauline.  “I wish she would come over to the true Church, for I could love her.”

And certainly Pauline Dunord’s gentle devotional example, and her perfect rest and peace in the practice of her religion, were strong influences with Anne.  She was waiting till circumstances should make it possible to her to enter a convent, and in the meantime she lived a strictly devout life, abstracted as far as duty and kindness permitted from the little cabals and gossipry around.

Anne could not help feeling that the girl was as nearly a saint as any one she had ever seen—far beyond herself in goodness.  Moreover, the Queen inspired strong affection.  Mary Beatrice was not only a very beautiful person, full of the grace and dignity of the House of Este, but she was deeply religious, good and gentle, kindly and gracious to all who approached her, and devoted to her husband and child.  A word or look from her was always a delight, and Anne, by her knowledge of Italian, was able sometimes to obtain a smiling word or remark.

The little Prince, after those first miserable weeks of his life, had begun to thrive, and by and by manifested a decided preference not only for his beautiful mother, but for the fresh face, bright smile, and shining brown eyes of Miss Woodford.  She could almost always, with nods and becks, avert a passion of roaring, which sometimes went beyond the powers of even his foster-mother, the tiler’s wife.  The Queen watched with delight when he laughed and flourished his arms in response, and the King was summoned to see the performance, which he requited by taking out a fat gold watch set with pearls, and presenting it to Anne, as his grave gloomy face lighted up with a smile.

“Are you yet one of us?” he asked, as she received his gift on her knee.

“No, sir, I cannot—”

“That must be amended.  You have read his late Majesty’s paper?”

“I have, sir.”

“And seen Father Giverlai?”

“Yes, please your Majesty.”

“And still you are not convinced.  That must not be.  I would gladly consider and promote you, but I can only have true Catholics around my son.  I shall desire Father Crump to see you.”

CHAPTER XVIII
Hallowmas Eve

   “This more strange
Than such a murder is.”

Macbeth.

“Bambino mio, bambino mio,” wailed Mary Beatrice, as she pressed her child to her bosom, and murmured to him in her native tongue.  “And did they say he was not his mother’s son, his poor mother, whose dearest treasure he is!  Oimè, crudeli, crudelissimi!  Even his sisters hate him and will not own him, the little jewel of his mother’s heart!”

Anne, waiting in the window, was grieved to have overheard the words which the poor Queen had poured out, evidently thinking no one near could understand her.

That evening there were orders to prepare for a journey to Whitehall the next morning.

“And,” said Hester Bridgeman, “I can tell you why, in all confidence, but I have it from a sure hand.  The Prince of Orange is collecting a fleet and army to come and inquire into certain matters, especially into the birth of a certain young gentleman we wot of.”

“How can he have the insolence?” cried Anne.

“’Tis no great wonder, considering the vipers in the Cockpit,” said Hester.

“But what will they do to us?” asked Jane Humphreys in terror.

“Nothing to you, my dear, nor to Portia; you are good Protestants,” said Hester with a sneer.

“Mrs. Royer told me it was for the christening,” said Jane, “and then we shall all have new suits.  I am glad we are going back to town.  It cannot be so mortal dull as ’tis here, with all the leaves falling—enough to give one the vapours.”

There were auguries on either hand in the palace that if the Prince came it would be only another Monmouth affair, and this made Anne shrink, for she had partaken of the grief and indignation of Winchester at the cruel execution of Lady Lisle, and had heard rumours enough of the progress of the Assize to make her start in horror when called to watch the red-faced Lord Chancellor Jeffreys getting out of his coach.

It really seemed for the time as if the royal household were confident in this impression, though as soon as they were again settled in Whitehall there was a very close examination of the witnesses of the Prince’s birth, and a report printed of their evidence, enough it might be thought to satisfy any one; but Jane Humphreys, who went to spend a day at the Golden Lamb, her father’s warehouse, reported that people only laughed at it.

Anne’s spirit burned at the injustice, and warmed the more towards the Queen and little Prince, whose pretty responses to her caresses could not but win her love.  Moreover, Pauline’s example continued to attract her, and Father Crump was a better controversialist, or perhaps a better judge of character, than Père Giverlai, and took her on sides where she was more vulnerable, so as to make her begin to feel unsettled, and wonder whether she were not making a vain sacrifice, and holding out after all against the better way.

The sense of the possible gain, and disgust at the shallow conversions of some around her, helped to keep her back.  She could not help observing that while Pauline persuaded, Hester had ceased to persuade, and seemed rather willing to hinder her.  Just before the State christening or rather admission into the Church, Lady Powys, in the name of the King and Queen, offered her the post of sub-governess, which really would mean for the present chief playfellow to the little Prince, and would place her on an entirely different platform of society from the comparatively menial one she occupied, but of course on the condition of conformity to Rome.

To be above the familiarity of Jane and Hester was no small temptation, but still she hesitated.

“Madam, I thank you, I thank their Majesties,” she said, “but I cannot do it thus.”

“I see what you mean, Miss Woodford,” said Lady Powys, who was a truly noble woman.  “Your motives must be above suspicion even to yourself.  I respect you, and would not have made you the offer except by express command, but I still trust that when your disinterestedness is above suspicion you will still join us.”

It was sore mortification when Hester Bridgeman was preferred to the office, for which she was far less fitted, being no favourite with the babe, and being essentially vulgar in tastes and habits, and knowing no language save her own, and that ungrammatically and with an accent which no one could wish the Prince to acquire.  Yet there she was, promoted to the higher grade of the establishment and at the christening, standing in the front ranks, while Miss Woodford was left far in the rear among the servants.

A report of the Dutch fleet having been destroyed by a storm had restored the spirits of the Court; and in the nursery very little was known of the feelings of the kingdom at large.  Dr. Woodford did not venture on writing freely to his niece, lest he should compromise her, and she only vaguely detected that he was uneasy.

So came All Saints’ Day Eve, when there was to be a special service late in the evening at the Romanised Chapel Royal at St. James’s, with a sermon by a distinguished Dominican, to which all the elder and graver members of the household were eager to go.  And there was another very different attraction at the Cockpit, where good-natured Princess Anne had given permission for a supper, to be followed by burning of nuts and all the divinations proper to Hallowmas Eve, to which were invited all the subordinates of the Whitehall establishment who could be spared.

Pauline Dunord was as eager for the sermon as Jane Humphreys was for the supper, and Hester Bridgeman was in an odd mood of uncertainty, evidently longing after the sports, but not daring to show that she did so, and trying to show great desire to hear the holy man preach, together with a polite profession of self-denial in giving up her place in case there should not be room for all.  However, as it appeared that even the two chief nurses meant to combine sermon and the latter end of the supper, she was at ease.  The foster-mother and one of the Protestant rockers were supposed to be enough to watch over the Prince, but the former, who had been much petted and spoilt since she had been at the palace, and was a young creature, untrained and wilful, cried so much at the idea of missing the merrymaking, that as it was reckoned important to keep her in good humour and good spirits, Mrs. Labadie decided on winking at her absence from the nursery, since Miss Woodford was quite competent to the charge for the short time that both the church-goers and the supper-goers would all be absent together.

“But are you not afraid to stay alone?” asked Mrs. Labadie, with a little compunction.

“What is there to be afraid of?” asked Anne.  “There are the sentinels at the foot of the stairs, and what should reach us here?”

“I would not be alone here,” said more than one voice.  “Nor I!”—“Nor I!”

“And on this night of all others!” said Hester.

“But why?”

“They say he walks!” whispered Jane in a voice of awe.

“Who walks?”

“The old King?” asked Hester.

“No; the last King,” said Jane.

“No, no: it was Oliver Cromwell—old Noll himself!” put in another voice.

“I tell you, no such thing,” said Jane.  “It was the last King.  I heard it from them that saw it, at least the lady’s cousin.  ’Twas in the long gallery, in a suit of plain black velvet, with white muslin ruffles and cravat quilled very neat.  Why do you laugh, Miss Woodford?”

This was too much for Anne, who managed to say, “Who was his laundress?”

“I tell you I heard it from them that told no lies.  The gentleman could swear to it.  He took a candle to him, and there was nought but the wainscot behind.  Think of that.”

“And that we should be living here!” said another voice.  “I never venture about the big draughty place alone at night,” said the laundress.

“No! nor I would not for twenty princes,” added the sempstress.

“Nay, I have heard steps,” said Mrs. Royer, “and wailing—wailing.  No wonder after all that has happened here.  Oh yes, steps as of the guard being turned out!”

“That is like our Squire’s manor-house, where—”

Every one contributed a story, and only the announcement of Her Majesty’s approach put an end to these reminiscences.

Anne held to her purpose.  She had looked forward to this time of solitude, for she wanted leisure to consider the situation, and fairly to