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

for she could hardly help disclosing to Naomi the sight she had seen, and the half-finished words she had heard.  It was chiefly the feeling that she could not bear Naomi to know of the blood on Charles’s hand which withheld her in her tumult of feeling, and made her only entreat, “Do not ask me, I cannot tell you.”  And Naomi, who was some years older, and had had her own sad experience, guessed perhaps at one cause for her agitation, and spared her inquiries, though as Anne, tired out by the long day, and forced by their close quarters to keep herself still, dropped asleep, strange mutterings fell from her lips about “The vault—the blood—come back.  There he is.  The secret has risen to forbid.  O, poor Peregrine!”

Between the July heat, the narrow bed, and the two chamber fellows, Anne had little time to collect her thoughts, except for the general impression that if Charles finished what he had begun to say, the living and the dead alike must force her to refuse, though something within foreboded that this would cost her more than she yet durst perceive, and her heart was ready to spring forth and enclose him as it were in an embrace of infinite tenderness, above all when she thought of his purpose of going to those fearful Hungarian wars.

But after the hot night, it was a great relief to prepare for an early start.  M. de Nidemerle had decided on sending the travellers to Tournay, the nearest Spanish town, on the Scheldt, since he had some acquaintance with the governor, and when no campaign was actually on foot the courtesies of generous enemies passed between them.  He had already sent an intimation of his intention of forwarding an English kinswoman of his own with her companions, and bespoken the good offices of his neighbour, and they were now to set off in very early morning under the escort of a flag of truce, a trumpeter, and a party of troopers, commanded by an experienced old officer with white moustaches and the peaked beard of the last generation, contrasting with a face the colour of walnut wood.

The marquis himself and his son, however, rode with the travellers for their first five miles, through a country where the rich green of the natural growth showed good soil, all enamelled with flowers and corn crops run wild; but the villages looked deserted, the remains of burnt barns and houses were frequent, and all along that frontier, it seemed as if no peaceful inhabitants ventured to settle, and only brigands often rendered such by misery might prowl about.  The English party felt as if they had never understood what war could be.

However, in a melancholy orchard run wild, under the shade of an apple-tree laden with young fruit, backed by a blackened gable half concealed by a luxuriant untrimmed vine, the avant couriers of the commandant had cleared a space in the rank grass, and spread a morning meal, of cold pâté, fowl and light wines, in which the French officers drank to the good journey of their friends, and then when the horses had likewise had their refreshment the parting took place with much affection between the cousins.  The young Ribaumont augured that they should meet again when he had to protect Noémi in a grand descent on Dorsetshire in behalf of James, and she merrily shook her fist at him and defied him, and his father allowed that they were a long way from that.

M. de Nidemerle hinted to Mr. Archfield that nobody could tell him more about the war with the Turks than M. le Capitaine Delaune, who was, it appeared, a veteran Swiss who had served in almost every army in Europe, and thus could give information by no means to be neglected.  So that, to Anne’s surprise and somewhat to her mortification, since she had no knowledge of the cause, she saw Charles riding apart with this wooden old veteran, who sat as upright as a ramrod on his wiry-looking black horse, leaving her to the company of Naomi and Mr. Fellowes.  Did he really wish not to pursue the topic which had brought Peregrine from his grave?  It would of course be all the better, but it cost her some terrible pangs to think so.

There were far more formalities and delays before the travellers could cross the Tournay bridge across the Scheldt.  They were brought to a standstill a furlong off, and had to wait while the trumpeter rode forward with the white flag, and the message was referred to the officer on guard, while a sentry seemed to be watching over them.  Then the officer came to the gateway of the bridge, and Captain Delaune rode forward to him, but there was still a long weary waiting in the sun before he came back, after having shown their credentials to the governor, and then he was accompanied by a Flemish officer, who, with much courtesy, took them under his charge, and conducted them through all the defences, over the bridge, and to the gate where their baggage had to be closely examined.  Naomi had her Bible in her bosom, or it would not have escaped; Anne heartily wished she had used the same precaution on her flight from England, but she had not, like her friend, been warned beforehand.

When within the city there was more freedom, and the Fleming conducted the party to an inn, where, unlike English inns, they could not have a parlour to themselves, but had to take their meals in common with other guests at a sort of table d’hôte, and the ladies had no refuge but their bedroom, where the number of beds did not promise privacy.  An orderly soon arrived with an invitation to Don Carlos Arcafila to sup with the Spanish governor, and of course the invitation could not be neglected.  The ladies walked about a little in the town with Mr. Fellowes, looking without appreciation at the splendid five-towered cathedral, but recollecting with due English pride that the place had been conquered by Henry VIII.  Thence they were to make for Ostend, where they were certain of finding a vessel bound for England.

It was a much smaller party that set forth from Tournay than from Paris, and soon they fell into pairs, Mr. Fellowes and Naomi riding together, sufficiently out of earshot of the others for Charles to begin—

“I have not been able to speak to you, Anne, since that strange interruption—if indeed it were not a dream.”

“Oh, sir, it was no dream!  How could it be?”

“How could it, indeed, when we both saw it, and both of us awake and afoot, and yet I cannot believe my senses.”

“Oh, I can believe it only too truly!  I have seen him twice before.  I thought you said you had.”

“Merely in dreams, and that is bad enough.”

“Are you sure? for I was up and awake.”

“Are you sure?  I might ask again.  I was asleep in bed, and glad enough to shake myself awake.  Where were you?”

“Once on Hallowmas Eve, looking from the window at Whitehall; once when waiting with the Queen under the wall of Lambeth Church, on the night of our flight.”

“Did others see him then?”

“I was alone the first time.  The next time when he flitted across the light, no one else saw him; but they cried out at my start.  Why should he appear except to us?”

“That is true,” muttered Charles.

“And oh, sir, those two times he looked as he did in life—not ghastly as now.  There can be no doubt now that—”

“What, sweet Anne?”

“Sir, I must tell you!  I could bear it no longer, and I did consult the Bishop of Bath and Wells.”

“Any more?” he asked in a somewhat displeased voice.

“No one, not a soul, and he is as safe as any of the priests here; he regards a confession in the same way.  Mr. Archfield, forgive me.  He seemed divinely sent to me on that All Saints’ day!  Oh, forgive me!” and tears were in her eyes.

“He is Dr. Ken—eh?  I remember him.  I suppose he is as safe as any man, and a woman must have some relief.  You have borne enough indeed,” said Charles, greatly touched by her tears.  “What did he say?”

“He asked, was I certain of the—death,” said she, bringing out the word with difficulty; “but then I had only seen it at Whitehall; and these other appearances, in such places too, take away all hope that it is otherwise!”

“Assuredly,” said Charles; “I had not the least doubt at the moment.  I know I ran my sword through his body, and felt a jar that I believe was his backbone,” he said with a shudder, “and he fell prone and breathless; but since I have seen more of fencing, and heard more of wounds, the dread has crossed me that I acted as an inexperienced lad, and that I ought to have tried whether the life was in him, or if he could be recovered.  If so, I slew him twice, by launching him into that pit.  God forgive me!”

“Is it so deep?” asked Anne, shuddering.  “I know there is a sort of step at the top; but I always shunned the place, and never looked in.”

“There are two or three steps at the top, but all is broken away below.  Sedley and I once threw a ball down, and I am sure it dropped to a depth down which no man could fall and live.  I believe there once were underground passages leading to the harbour on one hand, and out to Portsdown Hill on the other, but that the communication was broken away and the openings destroyed when Lord Goring was governor of Portsmouth, to secure the castle.  Be that as it may, he could not have been living after he reached that floor.  I heard the thud, and the jingle of his sword, and it will haunt me to my dying day.”

“And yet you never intended it.  You did it in defence of me.  You did not mean to strike thus hard.  It was an accident.”

“Would that I could so feel it!” he sighed.  “Nay, of course I had no evil design when my poor little wife drove me out to give you her rag of ribbon, or whatever it was; but I hated as well as despised the fellow.  He had angered me with his scorn—well deserved, as now I see—of our lubberly ways.  She had vexed me with her teasing commendations—out of harmless mischief, poor child.  I hated him more every time you looked at him, and when I had occasion to strike him I was glad of it.  There was murder in my heart, and I felt as if I were putting a rat or a weasel out of the way when I threw him down that pit.  God forgive me!  Then, in my madness, I so acted that in a manner I was the death of that poor young thing.”

“No, no, sir.  Your mother had never thought she would live.”

“So they say; but her face comes before me in reproach.  There are times when I feel myself a double murderer.  I have been on the point of telling all to Mr. Fellowes, or going home to accuse myself.  Only the thought of my father and mother, and of leaving such a blight on that poor baby, has withheld me; but I cannot go home to face the sight of the castle.”

“No,” said Anne, choked with tears.

“Nor is there any suspicion of the poor fellow’s fate,” he added.

“Not that I ever heard.”

“His family think him fled, as was like enough, considering the way in which they treated him,” said Charles.  “Nor do I see what good it would do them to know the truth.”

“It would only be a grief and bitterness to all.”

“I hope I have repented, and that God accepts my forgiveness,” said Charles sadly.  “I am banishing myself from all I love, and there is a weight on me for life; but, unless suspicion falls on others, I do not feel bound to make it worse for all by giving myself up.  Yet those appearances—to you, to me, to us both!  At such a moment, too, last night!”

“Can it be because of his unhallowed grave?” said Anne, in a low voice of awe.

“If it were!” said Charles, drawing up his horse for a moment in thought.  “Anne, if there be one more appearance, the place shall be searched, whether it incriminate me or not.  It would be adding to all my wrongs towards the poor fellow, if that were the case.”

“Even if he were found,” said Anne, “suspicion would not light on you.  And at home it will be known if he haunts the place.  I will—”

“Nay, but, Anne, he will not interrupt me now.  I have much more to say.  I want