CHAPTER VII.
HOW THEY PLAYED AT DICE IN THE OAK.
The occupants of the oak breathed again after the departure of Colonel James and his troopers, and though they had been greatly alarmed at the time, they soon recovered their spirits, and laughed at the incident.
"Perhaps the excitement was a little too great," observed Charles; "but it has served to break the monotony of our somewhat dull existence. Time, it must be owned, passes very slowly when one is compelled, like the fowls of the air, to roost in a tree. I hope we shall soon have another visit from our faithful William Penderel."
"Your majesty must not look for him before night."
"I would night were come. How many wearisome hours have we to pass? Never did I feel so strong a desire for active exercise—just because I must not take it."
"Your majesty had best go to sleep again. Pity we have neither cards nor dice to divert the tedium."
"I have it," cried Charles. "Cards cannot be provided, but the other deficiency may be easily supplied. Acorns will serve for dice, and our horn drinking-cups will make admirable dice-boxes."
"Bravo! your majesty has a rare wit," exclaimed Careless.
Charmed with the notion, he set to work at once to carry it out, and gathering a few acorns, marked them with the point of his dagger. The horn cups were next produced, and carefully wiped with a napkin, which was then folded and laid on a branch of the tree to serve for a board.
"At what game will your majesty be pleased to play?" cried Careless, rattling the extempore dice in the cornet.
"Hazard would be most appropriate," replied Charles. "But we have had enough of that of late. I prefer 'passage,'" he added, taking three of the dice. "Plague on't, I have nothing to stake—not a crown."
"Your majesty has already staked a crown——"
"Ay, and lost it," interrupted the king.
"Only temporarily, sire. You will soon have it back again. I have a few pistoles left," he added, producing his purse. "Shall we divide them?"
"Be it so," replied Charles.
Putting down a couple of the pistoles he had received from Careless, he then threw, calling out "Quatre," as he made the cast, and he continued throwing until stopped by Careless, who exclaimed:
"Doublets above ten. Your majesty passes and wins."
"I thought I was in luck to-day," cried Charles.
The play went on, without much benefit to Careless. Ere long, every pistole was swept up by the king, who was put into very good humour by his success.
"Oddsfish! I have won all thy money, Will," he exclaimed. "But take back half, and let us begin anew. Since we have found out this pleasant pastime, I care not how long I am detained here. Never, sure, was oak so enchanting as this."
"Suppose we try 'in and in,' by way of variety, sire?" said Careless.
Charles assented, and they began to play again, and soon became so excited by the game, that they neglected the dictates of prudence, and talked louder than they ought to have done. Suddenly a sound from below, like the clapping of hands, brought them to their senses. They became instantly silent, and regarded each other anxiously.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THEY HAD A VISITOR IN THE OAK, AND IN WHAT MANNER THEY TREATED HIM.
The sound was repeated. Though believing it to be a signal, they did not dare to respond.
"Do you hear me?" cried a voice which they both recognised. "'Tis I—Jasper. Come down quickly. There is danger."
"Danger of what?" demanded Careless.
But no answer was made. The page was gone.
"We had best attend to the warning, sire," observed Careless.
Charles thought so too, and they were preparing to descend, when they were stopped by hearing other voices—rough and menacing in tone—at the foot of the tree. It was evident that the speakers were a couple of troopers, who had tied up their horses and come thither on foot.
"If it should turn out as I conjecture, Ezra," said one of them, "and Charles Stuart proves to be hidden in this tree, we shall easily effect his capture, and obtain the reward."
"Without doubt. But why dost thou think he is here hidden, Madmannah?"
"A revelation seemed made to me, when I came hither an hour or two ago with Colonel James," replied Madmannah. "But I would not disclose what was then imparted to me—save to thee, Ezra. Thou shalt share the reward."
"And the danger," observed Ezra.
"The danger will be mine, seeing that I mean to climb the tree," said Madmannah. "Thou wilt remain here."
"I am content," replied Ezra. "But I have little faith that thou wilt find him thou seekest."
This discourse reached those above.
"There are but two of them, sire," remarked Careless to the king. "Shall we descend and attack them?"
"Not so," replied Charles. "Let this fellow come up if he will. We can hurl him down on his comrade's head."
It now became evident from the noise that Madmannah was climbing the tree.
"Give me thy dagger," said the king. "I will deal with him."
Careless obeyed, but held himself in readiness to assist the king.
As Madmannah entered the thick part of the tree, where he was concealed from his comrade's view, he was suddenly seized with an iron grasp by the king, who placed the dagger at his throat.
"Utter a word, and thou art a dead man," said Charles, in a deep whisper.
His looks showed so plainly that he would execute his threat, that Madmannah did not dare to disobey, but prudently held his tongue.
Seeing how matters stood, and fearing lest the trooper might free himself sufficiently from the king's grasp to draw a pistol, Careless quickly descended and disarmed him—depriving him of all weapons he had about him.
"I will slay thee without hesitation unless thou renderest implicit obedience to my commands," said Charles to the trooper.
At this moment Ezra called from below:
"Hast thou found him?"
"Say that thou hast lost thy labour," whispered Charles, holding the poniard more closely to the trooper's throat. "Speak loudly, so that he may hear thee."
Madmannah did as enjoined.
"I expected as much," cried Ezra, angrily. "Thou hast brought me here on a fool's errand. Come down quickly, or I will depart without thee."
"Let thy answer be, 'Go, an' thou wilt,'" said Charles.
And Madmannah repeated what he was told.
"Add, that he may go to the devil if he is so minded," said Careless.
Madmannah made the required addition, and Ezra marched off in high dudgeon.
"Now let me go," implored Madmannah. "I swear not to betray you."
"We cannot trust him," said Careless. "These false-hearted knaves regard not an oath. We can only insure his silence by putting him to death. Let us hang him to a branch of the tree."
"Spare me!" cried the trooper, horribly frightened. "By all that is sacred I swear not to betray you!"
"I am for hanging him. 'Tis the safest plan," said Careless.
Though not seriously uttered, the threats produced the desired effect. The trooper begged hard for his life.
"Shall we let him go?" said Charles, somewhat moved.
"Assuredly not," replied Careless. "Since he has been fool enough to run his head into a noose, he must take the consequences."
"It will greatly inconvenience us to detain him as a prisoner," said Charles. "But there is no alternative."
"Pardon me, there is the alternative of hanging."
"Hark thee, fellow," cried Charles. "Thy life shall be spared, but thou must submit to restraint. Thy hands must be bound, and thine eyes blindfolded."
"Nay, if that be done unto me, I shall fall down from the tree, and break my neck," groaned Madmannah.
"No matter," said Careless.
"Seat thyself between these branches, and move not," said the king.
Aware that resistance would be useless, Madmannah obeyed. Careless then took off the prisoner's belt, and with it fastened his arms tightly behind his back; completing his task by tying his own scarf over the man's eyes.
"Attempt to call out and we will gag thee," he said.
"Nay, I will keep silence," rejoined Madmannah. "Yet tell me how long I am to be detained here?"
"Till this time to-morrow," answered Careless; "for then we shall be far off."
"Then ye mean to leave me here?" said the prisoner.
"We shall leave thee, but the tree will be watched," remarked Charles.
Madmannah asked no further questions. Naturally, his presence was a great annoyance to the king and his companion, and they moved as far from him as they could, and conversed in whispers.
Things went on thus for more than an hour, when the voice of Ezra was heard from below, calling out:
"Art thou still here, Madmannah?"
The prisoner heard the inquiry, but did not dare to make any answer, for he felt the point of the poniard at his throat, and Ezra departed.
No one else—friend or foe—came near the oak.
The day seemed interminable—but night came at last. In expectation of the arrival of William Penderel, they had got all in readiness for departure. But what was to be done with the prisoner? That was rather a perplexing consideration, for the king did not altogether like to leave him in the tree. Charles was still undecided, when a signal was given, and peering out from the screen of foliage he could just distinguish three huge figures standing at the foot of the tree.
"The fellow shall go down with us," he observed in an under tone to Careless. "William Penderel and two of his brothers are below. They will dispose of him. Unloose him quickly."
Careless obeyed the injunction.
"Am I to be set at liberty?" asked the prisoner, joyfully, as his hands were unfastened.
"That depends," replied Careless. "The bandage will not be removed from thine eyes, so it will behove thee to be careful in descending."
Meantime, the king had gone down to explain matters, taking the basket and the cushion with him. As he expected, he found William Penderel, with Trusty Dick and John. All three were amazed to hear that a prisoner had been made. Though the task was by no means agreeable to them, Dick and John did not for a moment dispute his majesty's commands, but agreed to convey the trooper to a distance.
"We will conduct him to the roughest part of the wood and leave him there, to find his way out as he best can," said Dick.
"If he gets drowned in a pool, or stifled in a bog, it won't much matter," added John.
Madmannah reached the lowest branch in safety, but he then slipped down and fell to the ground. When he arose he was seized on either side by a vigorous grasp, while a stern voice—it was that of Dick—bade him come along, and keep silence.
"We have got thy pistols," added John, "and we will shoot thee through the head shouldst thou attempt to fly, or give the alarm. So take heed what thou art about."
They then marched off with the prisoner between them.
As soon as they were out of sight and hearing, William Penderel cautiously conducted the king and his companion to Boscobel House.
CHAPTER IX.
HOW CHARLES SLEPT IN THE SECRET CLOSET; AND HOW CARELESS SLEPT IN A PRIEST'S HOLE IN THE GARRET.
After the long and anxious day he had passed in the oak, it was with a feeling of indescribable satisfaction that Charles found himself once more in Boscobel House—not in the parlour into which he had been shown in the morning, but in the large comfortable hall—a couple of nicely roasted chickens before him, and Dame Joan in attendance. Careless, who was seated at the opposite side of the table, was quite as well pleased as his royal master, and both did justice to the repast provided for them. Charles, as we have already remarked, possessed a happy temperament, that enabled him to cast off his cares, and with plenty to eat, and a flask of good wine within reach—to say nothing of a black-jack full of strong ale, he desired nothing better—and laughed heartily while recounting the many alarming incidents of the day to Joan.
"What trials your majesty must have gone through!" exclaimed the good dame, lifting up her hands. "The saints be praised that you are here to describe them."
"I shouldn't mind passing another day in the oak," observed Charles, "if I were certain of having such a supper as this at the end of it. I trust the noble tree that has given me shelter may 'scape the woodman's axe!"
Just then the door opened, and William Penderel entered, followed by his two brothers.
"William," cried his wife, with irrepressible enthusiasm, "his majesty expects you and your brothers to protect the royal oak!"
"The royal oak!" cried William.
"Thy wife has so named the tree," said the king, "and I approve the designation."
"Then the royal oak it shall be called," cried William, sharing Joan's enthusiasm, as did his brothers.
"Pledge me in this cup of wine that you will protect the good old oak," cried Charles, drinking from the cup which he had just before filled, and handing it to William Penderel, who received it on his knees with the utmost respect.
"I pledge myself to preserve the royal oak, so far as lies in my power," he said, placing the cup to his lips.
When he had finished, each of his brothers knelt down, and drank the pledge solemnly.
"Your majesty may depend that the royal oak will be well protected," cried Joan.
"I doubt it not," said Charles. "Now tell me what you have done with the prisoner?" he added to Trusty Dick.
"We took him to Rock Coppice in Chillington Park," replied Dick, "and forced him to descend into a deep dry pit, from which he will find some difficulty in getting out."
"But he may know you again?" said Charles.
"No fear of that," said John. "We didn't remove the bandage from his eyes, and disguised our voices. Here are his pistols."
"Give them to me," said William. "I may need them. I shall keep watch throughout the night."
"John and I will remain here likewise to relieve guard," said Dick; "so that his majesty may rest securely."
"No discovery was made when the house was searched by the enemy to-day? ha!" cried Charles.
"None whatever, sire," replied Joan. "Our lady be praised for misleading them."
"Where am I to be lodged, good dame?" asked Charles.
"There is a very fine old bed in the squire's room as we call it," replied Joan—"Squire Peter Giffard, and his father, ay, and his grandfather, Squire John Giffard, who built this house, have often slept in it—but I dare not offer it to your majesty."
"Lodge me where you will, good dame," replied the king, with manifest symptoms of fatigue. "I wish you all good night."
"Shall I attend your majesty?" said Careless.
Charles declined, and preceded by Joan, who carried a light, mounted an oak staircase, which sprang from the further end of the hall.
On arriving at the landing-place, his conductress opened the door of a good-sized apartment, in the midst of which stood a large old-fashioned bed, with rich, though faded curtains. The room, which had a most comfortable look in the eyes of the wearied monarch, was panelled with black oak, and partly hung with tapestry. On the walls were portraits of Sir Thomas Giffard, tenth Lord of Chillington, and his two spouses—Dorothy, daughter of Sir John Montgomery, of Caverswall, and Ursula, daughter of Sir Robert Throckmorton, of Coughton—both extremely handsome women.
Having drawn aside a piece of the arras opposite the foot of the bed, Joan opened a sliding panel in the wainscot, and a dark closet was then revealed.
"Is this the hiding-place?" asked Charles.
"Your majesty shall see," she replied.
And she then opened another sliding panel at the back of the closet.
The aperture thus discovered admitted them to a small square room, which evidently formed part of the projecting chimney-stack, and had small windows at the front and at either side, looking into the garden. It was evident from its position that the room stood over the porch.
"This cannot be a hiding-place," said Charles.
"Your majesty is right," replied Joan. "But it deceives the searchers."
She then drew back, and signing to the king to follow her, returned to the closet, and taking up a small mat in one corner, raised up a trap-door, so artfully contrived in the floor, that Charles could not detect it, and disclosed a small ladder, leading to a room beneath.
"There is the hiding-place," she said. "The small room below is built in the chimney, whence by a narrow staircase and a small postern covered with ivy, you can gain the garden, and from the garden may reach the wood, where you are safe."
"I understand," said the king, struck with the ingenuity of the contrivance.
"A pallet bed is made up in the lower room. The place is small and uncomfortable, but 'tis safe."
"That is the main point," cried Charles. "I must sacrifice comfort to security."
"The Earl of Derby slept here all the time he stayed at Boscobel," said Joan.
"Then I have no right to complain," cried Charles.
"Should any alarm occur I will run up-stairs instantly and make all secure," said Joan. "Holy Mary and all holy angels watch over your majesty!"
Charles then took the light from her, passed through the trap-door, and descended to the lower room.
Having carefully restored the panel to its place, Joan went down-stairs, and telling Careless she would find him a safe resting-place, led him to the upper floor of the house.
There was nothing whatever in the garret they had reached to indicate that it could be used for the purpose of concealment. The roof was so low that Careless could scarcely stand upright beneath it. Beyond it were other small rooms lighted by the gable windows. A straw mat was lying on the floor. This Joan removed and revealed a trap-door, beneath which was a cavity about six or seven feet deep, profoundly dark, and only just large enough to hold a single person. So much did this "priest's hole," as it was called, resemble a cell that Careless shuddered as he gazed into it. However, he made no complaint, but let himself down into the hole, which he found somewhat more roomy than he expected.
Joan handed him the lamp she had brought with her, and on looking round, he perceived that a pallet was laid at the bottom of the recess, but nothing more than a blanket and a pillow were provided.
"I must perform this act of penance for my sins," cried Careless. "But I am so sleepy that I do not think I shall pass the night in prayer like the holy men who have previously sought refuge here. I do not require the light, good dame," he added, giving back the lamp to her. "But I pray you not to close the trap-door, for I feel as if I should be suffocated in this hole."
"Colonel Roscarrock slept two or three nights in the priest's hole," replied Joan; "and he chose to have the trap-door shut, judging it safer. But your honour's instructions shall be carefully attended to, and the lamp shall be left on the table. I wish you good night."
No sooner was she gone than Careless laid himself down upon the pallet, and notwithstanding the confined space, and the general discomfort of the priest's hole, so greatly was he fatigued, that he immediately fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH THE KING PROVES HIMSELF A GOOD COOK.
All passed quietly that night at Boscobel. Charles slept soundly in the secret closet; and Careless slept equally soundly in the priest's hole. The faithful brothers kept watch, by turns, outside the house, and Joan did not go to bed at all, but took a little repose in an arm-chair in the squire's bedchamber. Careless awoke at an early hour in the morning, and left the garret as quickly as he could. Finding the king was not astir, he did not choose to disturb him, but went forth into the garden. After strolling about for a few minutes, he proceeded to the little mount we have already described, and entered the arbour on its summit. What was his surprise to find some one asleep there. It was Jasper, who was roused by Careless's approach, and opened his eyes.
"You here!" exclaimed Careless.
"I have not been long here," said the page. "I have been hidden in the forest, and have had several narrow escapes of capture."
"Both his majesty and myself have been most anxious for your safety," said Careless. "You look sadly tired."
"Fasting does not very well agree with me," replied Jasper. "One cannot find much to eat in the forest. I have had nothing for nearly twenty-four hours, and I find myself particularly hungry, I can assure you."
"No wonder," cried Careless, in a sympathising tone. "Come with me into the house, and I will get you some breakfast at once."
"The offer is too welcome to be refused—though I confess I have some scruples. What will his majesty think of me?"
"His majesty will be delighted to see you—but he has not yet left his couch."
What more passed between them we do not pretend to say, but they remained within the arbour for another minute or so, and then descending from the mount proceeded with very leisurely footsteps towards the porch.
"How strange is this meeting!" murmured Careless. "Never did I dream we should be here together."
"'Tis a charming old place, I think, and I could be quite happy here for a month, if those Roundhead soldiers wouldn't molest me."
They were now not far from the porch, when a rustling was heard among the ivy that clothed the base of the chimney-stack, and the next moment the king came forth from the secret postern.
Jasper was quite startled by the sudden apparition, for so well concealed was the outlet that it could scarcely be detected, even when the observers were close at hand.
Charles smiled at the page's look of astonishment.
"You are not familiar with the wonders of this enchanted castle," he said. "But, i'faith, I should not have ventured forth if I had not reconnoitred you through a loophole."
"I hope your majesty has rested well," said the page, with an obeisance.
"Never better," replied Charles. "I made one long nap of it. Where did you find a couch?"
"Partly at the foot of a tree, sire, and partly in yonder arbour, where Major Careless found me a few minutes ago."
"Oddsfish! then you have passed the night in the forest?"
"Precisely so, sire."
"And I fear without supper?"
"Supper would have been superfluous, if I had dined."
"Careless, we must have breakfast instantly," cried Charles. "Let me know when it is ready."
"Come with me, Jasper, thou may'st be needed."
"No; Jasper will remain with me. I want to talk to him."
Careless rather reluctantly departed.
The king then began to question the page as to his adventures in the forest, but had not learnt all particulars, when Careless came back.
"Oddsfish! thou hast made haste," exclaimed Charles.
"Dame Joan desires to know what it will please your majesty to have for breakfast."
"Didst tell her I have company?"
"I explained that there is a hungry page with your majesty, and she thought he had best come in and render help."
"Willingly," cried Jasper.
"Nay, we will all go in," said Charles.
Active preparations for the morning meal were being made in the hall as the king entered with his attendants.
A large fire was burning in the grate, at which Dame Joan was roasting a brace of partridges, that emitted a very delectable odour.
"Nothing can be better than those birds, dame, unless it be a broiled mutton chop?" he cried.
"There is a neck of mutton in the larder, an' please your majesty, but I fear the meat may prove too fresh," replied Joan.
"Heed not that," cried Charles. "Mutton chops are the very thing. I will broil them myself. Bring me the gridiron, dame."
Very much amused by the order, Joan obeyed, and the chops being duly prepared, were skilfully broiled by the king, who never for a moment quitted his post, but turned them with a fork when requisite.
While he was thus employed, William Penderel came in, and could scarcely believe his eyes when he found the king standing before the fire. But the faithful fellow did not remain long in doors, for he was now left alone for a time, his brothers having gone to their homes.
Having completed his task to his entire satisfaction, and the infinite amusement of the lookers-on, Charles proceeded to the head of the table, and bidding Careless and the page sit down on either side of him, the chops were served by Joan, and greatly enjoyed. Charles insisted that the good dame should taste his cookery, but she would touch nothing till she had served the partridges. She then discussed the chop at the lower end of the table, and declared, no doubt with truth, that she had never tasted aught so good in her life.
CHAPTER XI.
WHAT BROUGHT FATHER HUDDLESTONE TO BOSCOBEL.
After breakfast, Charles, attended by Careless, went out into the garden, and having previously consulted William Penderel, who did not seek to dissuade him from the step, visited the oak, and remained for a long time contemplating it with mingled gratitude and admiration. How majestic looked the tree on that morning! Before quitting it Charles spread his arms round its trunk in a loving embrace.
On returning to the garden, Charles proceeded to the arbour, and sat down within it. So pleasant was the spot, that for a short time he surrendered himself to the enjoyment of the moment, and sank into a calm reverie, from which he was rather rudely disturbed by the sound of approaching footsteps, and looking out he saw Father Huddlestone, accompanied by Careless. Greeting the priest with much respect, he met him at the top of the mount, and led him into the arbour, graciously praying him to be seated.
"All good saints bless your majesty!" exclaimed the priest, "and guard you from your enemies. I have just come from Moseley Hall, and am the bearer of a message to your majesty from Lord Wilmot. His lordship is in great anxiety on your majesty's account—very alarming reports having reached him, which I am glad to find are unfounded, and he implores you to come on to Moseley Hall, where he feels sure you will be safe. To his lordship's entreaties I would add those of my patron, Mr. Whitgreave, who places his house at your disposal, and has means, almost better than any other person, of offering you a secure asylum at this dangerous juncture. To these entreaties, my gracious liege," continued the good priest, earnestly, "I will add my own. Do not remain here too long. Your enemies have been temporarily baffled in their quest, but I fear they will renew it, since their obstinacy is great."
The king listened attentively to what was said to him.
"I intended to remain here for a few days, holy father, till the danger should be blown over," he said. "But I perceive there is too much risk in doing so. Loth, therefore, as I am to leave Boscobel, I will come to Moseley Hall to-night."
"Your majesty has determined well," said Father Huddlestone. "But I entreat you to take a sufficient guard with you. The forest is full of rebel troopers. No doubt the trusty Penderels will guard you."
"I can count upon them," replied Charles.
"I will speak with William Penderel myself, before I depart," said the priest.
"Do you depart soon, father?"
"Almost immediately, sire. I return by Chillington."
"Then come in at once and take some refreshment."
And rising as he spoke, the king led the way to the house.
As the king and Father Huddlestone walked on, they perceived Careless and the page leaning from an open lattice window to the room on the ground floor. Thus seen they formed a very pretty picture. On his majesty's approach they would have drawn back, but he marched up to the window to speak to them.
"A change has taken place in my plans," he said. "Father Huddlestone is returning immediately to Moseley Hall. You must both go with him."
"And leave you here, sire?" cried Careless. "I do not like the arrangement at all. But, of course, I must obey your majesty's orders."
"If all goes well, I shall rejoin you to-morrow at Moseley," said the king. "I shall travel at night, and with a sufficient escort."
"But why am I not to form one of your majesty's escort?" asked Careless.
"Because you are wanted elsewhere," replied Charles, smiling.
"Well, since it must be, it must," said Careless. "But your majesty may wish me at your side."
While Charles was thus conversing, the good priest entered the house, and finding Joan and her husband in the hall, paused for a moment at the open door, and bestowed a benediction upon them. They received him with the greatest respect. William placed a chair for him, and Joan quickly brought him some refreshment. While this was going on, the good father briefly explained the purport of his message to the king, and though the faithful pair were grieved to lose their important charge, they raised no objection.
At this juncture Charles came in.
"My good friends," he said, "I perceive from your countenances that Father Huddlestone has told you I must leave you. Never shall I forget your kindness to me, and I desire to express my gratitude in the good father's presence."
"Your feelings do you honour, my liege," said Father Huddlestone, rising. "Your majesty may rest assured that you have not more devoted subjects than the Penderels. As to Dame Joan——"
"Her price is above rubies," interrupted the king. "I know it. Be seated, I pray, your reverence, and heed not my presence. I have more hard work for you, William, and for your trusty brothers. To-night you must all escort me to Moseley Hall."
"We will all be ready, my liege, and shall account it no hardship," replied William. "We will take with us our brother-in-law, Francis Yates. We can trust him as we can trust ourselves."
"The husband of the good woman who visited me in Spring Coppice?" observed Charles.
"The same, sire."
"Then he is well mated," said the king.
"You must all go armed, William," remarked Father Huddlestone, gravely—"armed, and prepared to resist to the death. I warn you there is danger."
"We will go fully prepared for any event," rejoined William Penderel, resolutely. "We cannot do better than die for the king."
"That is a sentiment I have always inculcated," said the father.
"And I have not forgotten it, your reverence." Then turning to the king, he added, "I will bid Humphrey bring his horse for your majesty. Moseley Hall is a long way off, and your majesty looks somewhat footsore."
"Oddsfish! I could not walk half a dozen miles without falling dead lame," cried Charles. "By all means let me have Humphrey's nag."
Soon afterwards, Careless and the page, neither of whom had any preparations to make, came in to bid adieu to Joan and her worthy spouse; and Father Huddlestone, declaring he was sufficiently rested and refreshed, rose to depart.
Before bidding adieu to Careless, the king gave him some instructions in private, saying, as he left him at the garden gate,
"If we do not meet again, you will know what to do."
Charles did not wait for any reply, but, as if afraid of betraying the emotion he felt, walked quickly towards the arbour. On gaining the summit of the mount, he looked round and saw that Father Huddlestone and his two companions were gazing anxiously at him from the skirts of the wood. Waving his hand to them, he entered the arbour, and was for some time lost in painful reflection.
End of Book the Third.
Book the Fourth.
MOSELEY OLD HALL.
CHAPTER I.
CHILLINGTON HOUSE.
Father Huddlestone being as well acquainted with the paths through the forest as the Penderels themselves, took his companions through the thickest part of it, where they were not likely to encounter a patrol of the enemy, and brought them safely to Chillington Park.
They were now at the lower end of the long and beautiful avenue leading to the ancient mansion, but before proceeding further, the priest deemed it advisable to consult the old gate-keeper, who dwelt in the lodge adjoining the entrance of the park.
Like all the old retainers of the Giffards, John Eccleshall, the gate-keeper, was a Roman Catholic, and consequently devoted to Father Huddlestone. He informed the priest that there was no danger whatever in his entering the park, since Colonel James, with the whole of his troopers, had evacuated the hall.
"Heaven be thanked the rogues are gone to Brewood!" said the old man. "Not one is left behind. I counted them as they passed through the gate."
While Father Huddlestone was talking with the gate-keeper, Jasper's curiosity was excited by an old wooden cross standing in a small green inclosure near the lodge, and in answer to his inquiries as to why it had been placed there, the priest related the following legend:
"That is called Giffard's Cross," said Father Huddlestone, "and it was set up in old times by Sir John Giffard. Sir John, who was excessively fond of the chase, kept a collection of wild beasts, and amongst them a very beautiful, but very fierce panther, which he valued more than all the rest. One day, it chanced that this savage animal slipped out of its cage, and escaped into the park. Made aware of what had happened by the cries of his terrified household, Sir John snatched up an arbalist, and rushed out into the park, accompanied by his eldest son. He easily ascertained the direction taken by the panther, for the beast had been seen to skirt the avenue. At that time there were no gates here, and the limits of the park extended far beyond the place where we are now standing. Sir John and his son ran as swiftly as they could, and were still speeding on, when they beheld a young woman and a child coming along the road. At the same moment, they discovered the panther couched amid the fern, evidently waiting for his prey. Sir John and his son had halted, and though the distance was almost too great, the old knight prepared to launch a bolt at the beast. But while he was adjusting his cross-bow, his son remarked that he was out of breath, and fearing he might miss his aim from this cause, called out to him in French, 'Prenez haleine, tirez fort.' By this time the poor young woman had perceived her peril, and uttering a loud shriek, clasped her child to her breast, and essayed to fly. It may be by the interposition of holy Hubert," continued the priest, reverently, "whose aid Sir John invoked, that she was saved. Just as the panther was about to spring, the bolt flew, and was lodged in the animal's brain. On the spot where the mortally-wounded beast rolled on the ground, this memorial was placed. Thenceforward, also, Sir John Giffard adopted as his motto the words of counsel addressed to him by his son."
Having concluded his legend, with which Jasper was much edified, the good priest bestowed his benediction on the old gate-keeper, and the party entered the park, and proceeded along the avenue.
Viewed at a distance, Chillington House, with its grand façade, its immense oriel windows, its gables, turrets, and noble entrance porch, looked as imposing as ever, but on a nearer approach, the damage done to the mansion could be perfectly distinguished. Built by Sir John Giffard in the early part of the reign of Henry VIII., on the site of a still older edifice, Chillington House had long been kept up in magnificent style by its owners. But the Giffards were gone now, and their ancient residence being in the hands of the Parliamentary commissioners, was allowed to go to ruin. Now and then it afforded quarters to a detachment of soldiers, who took possession of it, without authority, and did an infinitude of mischief.
The old mansion was approached by an extremely picturesque avenue of mingled oaks and hollies, and it was along this beautiful avenue, in 1576, that Queen Elizabeth rode, attended by a splendid cortége, when she visited John Giffard, grandson of the builder of the mansion.
At that time, the park, which was of vast extent, was well stocked with deer, for the old lords of Chillington were great hunters. At the rear of the mansion the park extended to Codsall, and in this part there were several large pools, of which a more particular description will be given hereafter. At a subsequent period these pools were joined together, and now form a large and beautiful lake. Attached to the house were stables that might have befitted a palace, and these were spared by the troopers, who spared nothing else about the place, because they found them convenient.
Placed on a rising ground, Chillington House not only looked down the long avenue we have described, but commanded an extensive prospect over a beautifully wooded country. Familiar with this lovely view, Careless turned round for a few minutes to gaze at it, but it was with very different feelings that he surveyed the ancient mansion. How changed was it since he beheld it last! As his eye ran over the front of the once proud structure, he noted the injuries it had sustained—windows shattered—architectural ornaments mutilated, or thrown down—the smooth lawns trampled over—the terrace grass-grown. Yawning wide, the great entrance door revealed the havoc that had taken place within.
Careless and the priest exchanged mournful glances as they walked towards the house, but not a word passed between them. The great hall which they entered was a complete wreck—its beautifully carved oak screen having been ruthlessly destroyed. The sculptured armorial bearings on the grand oak staircase were likewise irreparably injured. Nothing that hatchet could mutilate was spared.
"Have you seen enough?" inquired the priest.
"No," replied Careless, "I would fain see what these vindictive miscreants can do when they are under no restraint. Come with me, father. Wait for us here, Jasper."
Accompanied by Father Huddlestone he then ascended the great oak staircase, and they proceeded to examine the long gallery and the numerous apartments connected with it, all of which were marked by the hand of the ruthless destroyer.
"What would Peter Giffard say if he could behold his house?" remarked Careless. "It would break his stout heart—if, indeed, his heart is not already broken."
"He bears his misfortunes bravely," said Father Huddlestone. "But the king's defeat at Worcester will be a greater blow to him than the worst of his own losses."
"Ah! if we Royalists had but won that battle, father," cried Careless; "we should soon have enjoyed our own again! But we must now wait for many a long day."
"I fear so, my son," replied the priest. "But I trust in the justice of Heaven!"
Meanwhile Jasper, tired by his walk, had sought a seat among the broken furniture scattered about. Discovering an old arm-chair, he threw himself into it and fell asleep almost immediately.
Having completed their survey of the upper rooms, Careless and the priest were about to descend, but while passing through the gallery they chanced to look out of a window, and, to their infinite dismay, perceived a small party of dragoons, with an officer at their head, riding quickly towards the house.
There was time enough to save themselves by a hasty retreat, but not a moment to lose. Careless rushed to the head of the great staircase, and called out to Jasper that the enemy was at hand, bidding him fly to the back of the house, and make his way out.
Feeling certain that the page heard him, and would instantly attend to the warning, he gave himself no further concern, but followed Father Huddlestone down a back staircase. Luckily, there was nothing to prevent their egress—the doors being all unfastened—and they were soon in the court-yard.
Here they waited for a few moments for Jasper, expecting he would join them, but he came not. Careless now became seriously alarmed, and his uneasiness was increased by some sounds that seemed to announce the arrival of the troopers. Despite Father Huddlestone's entreaties he re-entered the house, but presently came back, and with a look of anguish exclaimed:
"Too late! The troopers have already entered—he must be captured!"
"Nay, then, we must save ourselves if we can," cried Father Huddlestone. "Let us make for the wood."
They had scarcely quitted the court-yard when three or four troopers rode into it.
CHAPTER II.
HOW THE KING WAS WELL-NIGH CAPTURED BY MADMANNAH.
Seated in the arbour, to which he had retired on the departure of Father Huddlestone and his companions, Charles endeavoured to review his position calmly.
His great desire had been to remain at Boscobel till the vigilance of his enemies should relax, and an opportunity of reaching the coast might occur to him, but after Father Huddlestone's earnest representations of the great risk he would run, he felt the necessity of seeking another hiding-place, and where could a more secure retreat be found than was offered by Moseley Old Hall? Mr. Whitgreave, the owner of the mansion, belonged to the old religion, and the unfortunate monarch had learnt from recent experience that those who had proved most faithful to him in his hour of peril were Roman Catholics. Besides, Father Huddlestone had given him positive assurance of the fidelity of Mr. Whitgreave's household. There was no risk, therefore, of betrayal. The great danger lay in the journey. If he could only reach Moseley Old Hall in safety all would be well.
Still, he felt reluctant to quit Boscobel. The Penderels had completely won his regard. Their devotion had impressed him deeply, and he well knew that men so honest and trusty, and possessed of such good sound sense, were rarely to be met with. Having been thrown so much into their company—especially into that of Trusty Dick—he knew them more intimately than he had ever done persons in their humble station, and he formed a very high and perfectly just opinion of their worth.
Naturally, the uppermost thought in his mind was how to reach the coast, and procure a vessel to convey him to France, and he was considering how he could best accomplish his object, when the sound of quick footsteps on the gravel-walk leading to the mount caught his ear. He immediately looked forth, and saw it was Trusty Dick, who had come to warn him.
"Your majesty must not stay here any longer," said the faithful fellow. "The enemy is at hand."
On hearing this Charles hurried to the house, where he found William Penderel and his wife in great consternation, for they had just learnt from Dick that Colonel James, being dissatisfied with the result of the first investigation, was about to make another search of the house, and was coming thither with his troopers.
"I will again take refuge in the oak," cried Charles. "I shall be safe amid its branches."
"There is not time to reach the tree," said Dick, who could not conceal his uneasiness. "Besides, that rascally trooper whom your majesty made a prisoner is with them."
"You must hide in the secret closet, my liege, or in the priest's hole," said Joan.
"There are other hiding-places," added William Penderel, "but none so secure as the secret closet in the chimney. Go thither at once, sire, I entreat you. There is not a moment to lose."
"I must not be found here," cried Trusty Dick, "my presence would excite suspicion. But I shall not be far off."
Snatching up a sword that had been left for him by Careless, Charles hurried up-stairs, and opened the door of the secret closet. While he was thus employed, he fancied he heard some one in the adjoining chamber, and at once flew to the trap-door, and let himself down into the lower chamber. In his haste, he had left the sword lying on the floor of the bedroom, and had upset a fauteuil—and, worst of all, he had left the door of the secret closet open—but he felt sure Joan would quickly follow and put all right.