Woodstock; or, the Cavalier by Walter Scott (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📖

time have furnished them with amusement. The urchin messenger entered the hall, making several odd bows, and delivered the woodcock’s feather with much ceremony to the young lady, assuring her it was the prize she had won upon a wager about hawking.

“I prithee, my little man,” said Albert, “was your master drunk or sober, when he sent thee all this way with a feather at this time of night?”

“With reverence, sir,” said the boy, “he was what he calls sober, and what I would call concerned in liquor for any other person.”

“Curse on the drunken coxcomb!” said Albert,—“There is a tester for thee, boy, and tell thy master to break his jests on suitable persons, and at fitting times.”

“Stay yet a minute,” exclaimed Alice; “we must not go too fast—this craves wary walking.”

“A feather,” said Albert; “all this work about a feather! Why, Doctor Rochecliffe, who can suck intelligence out of every trifle as a magpie would suck an egg, could make nothing of this.”

“Let us try what we can do without him then,” said Alice. Then addressing herself to the boy,—“So there are strangers at your master’s?”

“At Colonel Everard’s, madam, which is the same thing,” said Spitfire.

“And what manner of strangers,” said Alice; “guests, I suppose?”

“Ay, mistress,” said the boy, “a sort of guests that make themselves welcome wherever they come, if they meet not a welcome from their landlord—soldiers, madam.”

“The men that have long been lying at Woodstock,” said Albert.

“No, sir,” said Spitfire, “new comers, with gallant buff-coats and steel breastplates; and their commander—your honour and your ladyship never saw such a man—at least I am sure Bill Spitfire never did.”

“Was he tall or short?” said Albert, now much alarmed.

“Neither one nor other,” said the boy; “stout made, with slouching shoulders; a nose large, and a face one would not like to say No to. He had several officers with him, I saw him but for a moment, but I shall never forget him while I live.”

“You are right,” said Albert Lee to his sister, pulling her to one side, “quite right—the Archfiend himself is upon us!”

“And the feather,” said Alice, whom fear had rendered apprehensive of slight tokens, “means flight—and a woodcock is a bird of passage.”

“You have hit it,” said her brother; “but the time has taken us cruelly short. Give the boy a trifle more—nothing that can excite suspicion, and dismiss him. I must summon Rochecliffe and Joceline.”

He went accordingly, but, unable to find those he sought, he returned with hasty steps to the parlour, where, in his character of Louis, the page was exerting himself to detain the old knight, who, while laughing at the tales he told him, was anxious to go to see what was passing in the hall.

“What is the matter, Albert?” said the old man; “who calls at the Lodge at so undue an hour, and wherefore is the hall-door opened to them? I will not have my rules, and the regulations laid down for keeping this house, broken through, because I am old and poor. Why answer you not? why keep a chattering with Louis Kerneguy, and neither of you all the while minding what I say?—Daughter Alice, have you sense and civility enough to tell me, what or who it is that is admitted here contrary to my general orders?”

“No one, sir,” replied Alice; “a boy brought a message, which I fear is an alarming one.”

“There is only fear, sir,” said Albert, stepping forward, “that whereas we thought to have stayed with you till to-morrow, we must now take farewell of you to-night.”

“Not so, brother,” said Alice, “you must stay and aid the defence here—if you and Master Kerneguy are both missed, the pursuit will be instant, and probably successful; but if you stay, the hiding-places about this house will take some time to search. You can change coats with Kerneguy too.”

“Right, noble wench,” said Albert; “most excellent—yes—Louis, I remain as Kerneguy, you fly as young Master Lee.”

“I cannot see the justice of that,” said Charles.

“Nor I neither,” said the knight, interfering. “Men come and go, lay schemes, and alter them, in my house, without deigning to consult me! And who is Master Kerneguy, or what is he to me, that my son must stay and take the chance of mischief, and this your Scotch page is to escape in his dress? I will have no such contrivance carried into effect, though it were the finest cobweb that was ever woven in Doctor Rochecliffe’s brains.—I wish you no ill, Louis; thou art a lively boy; but I have been somewhat too lightly treated in this, man.”

“I am fully of your opinion, Sir Henry,” replied the person whom he addressed. “You have been, indeed, repaid for your hospitality by want of that confidence, which could never have been so justly reposed. But the moment is come, when I must say, in a word, I am that unfortunate Charles Stewart, whose lot it has been to become the cause of ruin to his best friends, and whose present residence in your family threatens to bring destruction to you, and all around you.”

“Master Louis Kerneguy,” said the knight very angrily, “I will teach you to choose the subjects of your mirth better when you address them to me; and, moreover, very little provocation would make me desire to have an ounce or two of that malapert blood from you.”

“Be still, sir, for God’s sake!” said Albert to his father. “This is indeed THE KING; and such is the danger of his person, that every moment we waste may bring round a fatal catastrophe.”

“Good God!” said the father, clasping his hands together, and about to drop on his knees, “has my earnest wish been accomplished! and is it in such a manner as to make me pray it had never taken place!”

He then attempted to bend his knee to the King—kissed his hand, while large tears trickled from his eyes—then said, “Pardon, my Lord—your Majesty, I mean—permit me to sit in your presence but one instant till my blood beats more freely, and then”—

Charles raised his ancient and faithful subject from the ground; and even in that moment of fear, and anxiety, and danger, insisted on leading him to his seat, upon which he sunk in apparent exhaustion, his head drooping upon his long white beard, and big unconscious tears mingling with its silver hairs. Alice and Albert remained with the King, arguing and urging his instant departure.

“The horses are at the under-keeper’s hut,” said Albert, “and the relays only eighteen or twenty miles off. If the horses can but carry you so far”—

“Will you not rather,” interrupted Alice, “trust to the concealments of this place, so numerous and so well tried—Rochecliffe’s apartments, and the yet farther places of secrecy?”

“Alas!” said Albert, “I know them only by name. My father was sworn to confide them to but one man, and he had chosen Rochecliffe.”

“I prefer taking the field to any hiding-hole in England,” said the King. “Could I but find my way to this hut where the horses are, I would try what arguments whip and spur could use to get them to the rendezvous, where I am to meet Sir Thomas Acland and fresh cattle. Come with me, Colonel Lee, and let us run for it. The roundheads have beat us in battle; but if it come to a walk or a race, I think I can show which has the best mettle.”

“But then,” said Albert, “we lose all the time which may otherwise be gained by the defence of this house—leaving none here but my poor father, incapable from his state of doing any thing; and you will be instantly pursued by fresh horses, while ours are unfit for the road. Oh, where is the villain Joceline!”

“What can have become of Doctor Rochecliffe?” said Alice; “he that is so ready with advice;—where can they be gone? Oh, if my father could but rouse himself!”

“Your father is roused,” said Sir Henry, rising and stepping up to them with all the energy of full manhood in his countenance and motions—“I did but gather my thoughts—for when did they fail a Lee when his King needed counsel or aid?” He then began to speak, with the ready and distinct utterance of a general at the head of an army, ordering every motion for attack and defence—unmoved himself, and his own energy compelling obedience, and that cheerful obedience, from all who heard him. “Daughter,” he said, “beat up dame Jellicot—Let Phœbe rise if she were dying, and secure doors and windows.”

“That hath been done regularly since—we have been thus far honoured,” said his daughter, looking at the King—“yet, let them go through the chambers once more.” And Alice retired to give the orders, and presently returned.

The old knight proceeded, in the same decided tone of promptitude and dispatch—“Which is your first stage?”

“Gray’s—Rothebury, by Henley, where Sir Thomas Acland and young Knolles are to have horses in readiness,” said Albert; “but how to get there with our weary cattle?”

“Trust me for that,” said the knight; and proceeding with the same tone of authority—“Your Majesty must instantly to Joceline’s lodge,” he said, “there are your horses and your means of flight. The secret places of this house, well managed, will keep the rebel dogs in play two or three hours good—Rochecliffe is, I fear, kidnapped, and his Independent hath betrayed him—Would I had judged the villain better! I would have struck him through at one of our trials of fence, with an unbated weapon, as Will says.—But for your guide when on horseback, half a bowshot from Joceline’s hut is that of old Martin the verdurer; he is a score of years older than I, but as fresh as an old oak—beat up his quarters, and let him ride with you for death and life. He will guide you to your relay, for no fox that ever earthed in the Chase knows the country so well for seven leagues around.”

“Excellent, my dearest father, excellent,” said Albert; “I had forgot Martin the verdurer.”

“Young men forget all,” answered the knight—“Alas, that the limbs should fail, when the head which can best direct them—is come perhaps to its wisest!”

“But the tired horses,” said the King—“could we not get fresh cattle?”

“Impossible at this time of night,” answered Sir Henry; “but tired horses may do much with care and looking to.” He went hastily to the cabinet which stood in one of the oriel windows, and searched for something in the drawers, pulling out one after another.

“We lose time, father,” said Albert, afraid that the intelligence and energy which the old man displayed had been but a temporary flash of the lamp, which was about to relapse into evening twilight.

“Go to, sir boy,” said his father, sharply; “is it for thee to tax me in this presence!—Know, that were the whole roundheads that are out of hell in present assemblage round Woodstock, I could send away the Royal Hope of England by a way that the wisest of them could never guess.— Alice, my love, ask no questions, but speed to the kitchen, and fetch a slice or two of beef, or better of venison; cut them long, and thin, d’ye mark me”—

“This is wandering of the mind,” said Albert apart to the King. “We do him wrong, and your Majesty harm, to listen to him.”

“I think otherwise,” said Alice, “and I know my father better than you.” So saying, she left the room, to fulfil her father’s orders.

“I think so, too,” said Charles—“in Scotland the Presbyterian ministers, when thundering in their pulpits on my own sins and those of my house, took the freedom to call me to my face Jeroboam, or Rehoboam, or some such name, for following the advice of young counsellors— Oddsfish, I will take that of the grey beard for once, for never saw I more sharpness and decision than in the countenance of that noble old man.”

By this time Sir Henry had found what he was seeking. “In this tin box,” he said, “are six balls prepared of the most cordial spices, mixed with medicaments of the choicest and most invigorating quality. Given from hour to hour, wrapt in a covering of good beef or venison, a horse of spirit will not flag for five hours, at the speed of fifteen miles an hour; and, please God, the fourth of the time places your Majesty in safety—what remains may be useful on some future occasion. Martin knows how to administer them; and Albert’s weary cattle shall be ready, if walked gently for ten minutes, in running to devour the way, as old Will says—nay, waste not time in speech, your Majesty does me but too much honour in using what is your own.—Now, see if the coast is clear, Albert, and let his Majesty set off instantly—We will play our parts but ill, if any take the chase