CHAPTER XXV.
It was about nine o'clock at night when two persons on foot approached the little hamlet of Aleton. One of them advanced a little before the other, as if to reconnoitre; but all was still and quiet in the place; and even the small public-house, unused, in that remote district, to late visitors, was closed. Light could be seen within, indeed, through the chinks of the rude window-shutters; and it is probable that the latch of the door would have yielded to the hand of any belated traveller; but there was no other sign of active life to be perceived without.
The two persons of whom I have spoken, however, passed by the door of the inn, and approached a house--the only other dwelling which deserved the name--a little farther on the road to Exeter. Stepping up to the door, the shorter of the two travellers knocked with his hand; but the application producing no response from within, he was fain, though apparently very unwilling to make a noise, to take hold of an iron wire which hung at the side of the door with a bunch of hammered iron at the end of it, and give a gentle pull. A tinkling sound was immediately heard, and then the voice of a woman, saying aloud, to some one in an inner room, as she moved along the passage--
"I dare say it is nothing but old Drayton dead, and they have come to talk to you about the funeral."
The next instant, the door was opened; and Van Noost (for he was the summoner) inquired if Parson Thickett were at home.
"Oh dear, yes, Master Smith," replied the servant (for people even in those days called themselves Jack Smith when they sought concealment); "and he will be very glad to see you. He could not think what had become of you. Is this gentleman your friend?"
Van Noost nodded his head and entered the house, followed by Smeaton. The maid shut and bolted the door again, and then led them on into the parson's little parlour, where they found that reverend personage enjoying himself according to his evening wont. There was one lighted candle on the table; but the room, though small, was obscure; for a thick cloud of tobacco-smoke floated in it. On the hob of the vacant grate lay the pipe from which that smoke had proceeded; and close at the parson's elbow was a tall bottle containing some sort of spirits, a plate and knife, with a lemon, and a pot of sugar. Between him and the candlestick, however, was an open Greek book in old and tattered binding; for Parson Thickett was an erudite man, notwithstanding some little failings. In person, he was fatter than Van Noost, and of a very different sort of fatness. His limbs were large, but seemed almost disjointed, or at best held loosely together by the lax integuments that covered them. His stomach was large and prominent, betraying beneath his cassock--for he was generally in canonicals--a vast hemisphere of black. His face was somewhat coarse, it must be acknowledged. He had a large ear and a large lip, and, not contented with a large chin, he had two of them. There was a good deal of shrewdness, however, and a certain portion of fun about his grey watery eye; and his whole face lighted up with jovial good humour as soon as he saw the statuary.
"Ha, my worthy friend!" he cried, starting up with greater agility than might have been expected, and grasping Van Noost's hand warmly. "Where have you been so long? I thought the Philistines were upon you, by Jove. What of the brasses? What of the monuments? What of the inscriptions? By Jove, I thought you had left your work half done; and it might have remained long enough undone for me; for scrubbing brass and marble is no part of my calling. I love my flock well enough; but, when once I've got them under ground, I've done with them.--Ha! who is this gentleman?"
"A friend of mine," replied Van Noost, "who has come to talk to your reverence about a little business."
"He is welcome," cried the jolly parson. "Sir, you are welcome. We will talk of business presently. Now, we'll have a bowl of punch, and fresh pipes.--Betty, Betty!"
Smeaton tried to persuade him that he was in haste, and could not stay; but Parson Thickett would take no denial.
"I will have my way," he cried, laughing. "I will have my way, by Jove, for this time. You shall have your way the next time, upon my sacred word of honour."
"Indeed?" said Smeaton.
"Of a verity," returned the parson, "unless you ask me for the tithe pig that was brought in this morning. That is a reservation."
The glasses and pipes were brought in, fresh hot water procured, and the brewing commenced; but, as soon as the door was shut, Smeaton thought he might as well begin upon the subject of his visit.
"I will, certainly hold the tithe pig reserved," he said; "for I trust to be able to increase your reverence's store of pigs instead of diminishing them."
"Ay, indeed!" ejaculated the parson, squeezing a lemon hard between a pair of pincers. "I think I know what you are come about. I heard all the news this morning from the packman--how they are up in Northumberland, and how the King has been proclaimed in Scotland, and all the rest of it. Well, well. I am no fighting man; but the King shall have my prayers; and Smith here can tell you that I have well indoctrinated my congregation. There is not one of them who does not say, over his beer--or his cider, if he comes from the other side of the hills--'Here's to him over the water!'"
"Nay, my reverend friend, you are making a mistake," replied Smeaton. "My business is altogether personal. I want you to perform the marriage ceremony for myself and a young lady."
"That I will, my lad, that I will," exclaimed the parson, joyously. "It is the function which I perform most willingly; for there is always something merry to be said at the beginning, and always something good to be eaten at the end."
"I fear there will not be, in this instance," observed Smeaton, gravely; "for no wedding feast will be prepared."
"Never mind, never mind!" retorted the parson. "There is some fun in matrimony, at all events. I'll buckle you so fast that you shall neither of you get loose again in a hurry. Give me the names. I'll have the banns published next Sunday."
"But we do not intend to have any banns either," said Smeaton.
"Better and better!" cried parson Thickett. "You must have a licence; and that is a fee in my pocket."
"Then you are a surrogate?" said his companion. "That smooths one great difficulty."
"No, not exactly a surrogate," returned the other, leaving off his punch-brewing, and growing somewhat interested in the conversation. "I am a 'peculiar;' that is to say, young gentleman, I have a peculiar jurisdiction ecclesiastical here, under the dean and chapter of Exeter. I can grant licences, and prove wills, according to the canon, being a bachelor of laws, as well as a doctor of divinity, let me tell you.--Now, thank God for all good things!" he continued. "This is the first time I have had to exercise my peculiarity--to my own profit, at least."
The frame of mind which he was in seemed very favourable to Smeaton's object; but, when the young nobleman, with some precaution, explained to him fully what that object was, the worthy parson looked somewhat aghast. The name of Sir John Newark, indeed, was not mentioned; but, by some way, he jumped at the conclusion that the lady referred to was Emmeline; and Smeaton did not contradict him. He shook his head gravely, rolled his fat thumbs round each other for a minute or two, and then shook his head again. Van Noost, however, came to the rescue, judging rightly that the first impression of fear would wear off under the influence of the glass.
"Come, parson," he said, "think of the punch a little. It is getting cold."
"So it is, by Jove," cried the parson, ladling out the punch. "Here, take a glass, sir. It will keep up the spirits of both of us; for this is a bad business."
"Not at all," returned Smeaton, laughing. "It is perfectly right and proper. All that we require secresy for is to prevent the intermeddling of persons who have no right to meddle."
"But Sir John Newark is her guardian," said the parson, drinking some of his punch.
"Not so," replied the young nobleman. "He is no more her guardian than you are."
"You must have some guardian's consent," said Parson Thickett. "That I know, because I've got the register of her birth in there--" and he pointed to a large box in one corner of the room.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Smeaton. "Will you have the kindness to give me a copy of it? I fancied that Sir John Newark kept the registers at Ale, and would not let you have them."
"Not he," replied his reverend companion. "A fico for Sir John Newark! The stingy hound has not asked me to dinner for three years, and moreover tries to defraud me of my dues. He'll pay no tithes of mint and cumin, not he. So the last time I had my hand upon the registers I took them away. He had had them then four years; and that was four years too many. You shall have a copy. He'll not much like that; and, if I marry you, there will be an awful explosion."
He finished his speech with a good draught of punch; and Smeaton remarked:
"I hope there is no 'if' in the case, my good sir. You promised, if I would let you have your way, you would let me have mine."
"So I did, so I did," cried the priest, with a jolly laugh; "but, upon my life, you must tell me something more; first, about her being under age. That is the devil, as you have not got any guardian's consent."
"Nay," replied Smeaton. "There you are mistaken, my reverend friend. Have the goodness to look at that."
As he spoke, he put into the clergyman's hand a sheet of paper, on which were written two or three lines, in a fine bold style.
"Ha! What is here?" ejaculated the parson. "Then this is her lawful guardian, is it?"
"I am ready to swear it," replied Smeaton; "and our good friend here, whom you know, will testify--"
"Oh, I'll testify anything you like," interrupted Van Noost, drinking off his punch and holding out his glass. "There, parson, give me some more, and don't let us have any further objections, there's a worthy divine. You know you will come to it in the end. We'll find means to melt you."
"But suppose I do not come to it?" asked Doctor Thickett, looking at Smeaton. "What will you do then?"
"I have simply one alternative," replied Smeaton gravely. "If you refuse, I shall go back to Ale, and, authorised as you see by this paper, take the lady to France with me this very night, as soon as the moon rises."
"What, unmarried!" exclaimed the priest, with an affected look of horror. "That cannot be; that cannot be. I must marry you, by Jove, to prevent scandal."
"Exactly," replied Smeaton, with a smile. "That is in reality my object. We can be married as soon as we reach Nancy; but I think, on every account, it would be better that the ceremony should be performed before we set out."
"Oh, certainly, certainly," replied Doctor Thickett. "Let me look at that paper again. I want to see how the case stands."
Pushing the punch away from him, he examined the paper accurately, and at length, lifting his eyes, said:
"You are, then, the Earl of Eskdale?"
"He is none other, upon my say-so," chimed in Van Noost; "and, as we cannot cast many men out of one mould, as we cast statues, I will answer for it that there is not a copy of him extant."
The priest, however, was deeply cogitating the contents of the paper.
"This does not exactly say you are to marry her," he observed at length; "but, as it tells the young lady that, in perfect confidence of your honour and integrity, she is to do whatever you direct, I suppose we must take the consent for implied. Well, that is got over. Now then, the thing is, how to manage it. I don't care a rush for Sir John Newark; but I think you will find him difficult to manage. How will you ever smuggle her out of the house, and up here to the church, between the hours of eight and twelve?"
"I am afraid," replied Smeaton, "that the church must not be the place, and the hour somewhat different."
"But, my good Lord, my good Lord," said Parson Thickett, "the canon. You forget the canon. Canon one hundred and four. Why, I should be punished, and you might be punished, too, by the act affecting clandestine marriages."
"Which take place every day notwithstanding," added Smeaton.
"Ay, ay, by Hedge parsons, Mayfair parsons, and Fleet parsons, but not by a regular Doctor of Divinity. Why, I might be suspended for six months from the execution of my office, and I am not sure that they would not touch the temporalities. As for the office, deuce take it. I don't care much for that. I want a trip to London, and that would give me a holiday."
"Pray, how much might be the value in money of your loss, if suspended?" asked Smeaton.
"Why, the matter of well nigh fifty good pounds," replied the parson; "and that is a mat sum to risk."
"It is," assented the young nobleman; "but there is a way of insuring you against risk, my reverend friend. Suppose that, the moment you have concluded the marriage ceremony, I put into your hand this little rouleau, containing one hundred golden guineas of the late queen. You would be sure enough then. Moreover, the marriage need not be published immediately in this country; and, even if it were, I believe that none but the lady's lawful guardian could move in the business against you."
"That alters the affair very much," said Thickett, with a very comic twinkle of his eye. "I think it must be done."
"Good," replied Smeaton. "I see we understand each other. Perhaps you are not fully aware of all the privileges of your peculiar jurisdiction; but, at all events, in a case like this, now that the only real and substantial difficulty is removed--that respecting the consent of the lady's guardian--you must swallow any other little technical objections, which probably will never be taken notice of."
"Ah, my Lord, you have a winning way with you," said Doctor Thickett; "but you have not drunk a drop of your punch." And, with a resigned sigh, he filled himself another glass to the brim.
The rest of the arrangements were soon made. It was agreed that, on the following night, about the same hour, the worthy Doctor should walk down to the village of Ale, and there put himself entirely at Smeaton's command. The register of Emmeline's birth was then produced and copied; and, rewarding him well for his small trouble, Smeaton took himself back to Ale with Van Noost.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Important business came thick and fast upon all the magistrates of the western counties of England; for, though parties were very nearly balanced, and the prompt, vigorous, and judicious measures of the Whigs--somewhat unconstitutional as, perhaps, they were at times--overawed the Tories or Jacobites, and kept down any open outbreak, yet positive information was received, if not of a thoroughly organised and widely extended plot, at least, of an immense number of smaller and detached conspiracies, which only wanted time and opportunity to unite and co-operate. Exeter itself was but little tainted; but in nearly all other parts of Devonshire, in Dorsetshire, Somersetshire, and Gloucestershire, nightly meetings were held, at which some of the most influential persons in the county were present, and the very small body of troops quartered at Exeter were insufficient to perform the duties cast upon them in the neighbouring portions of the country.
The arrival of Captain Smallpiece, and the account which he gave--not a very accurate one--of the surprise of his party and the rescue of his prisoners, called forth a burst of anger and disappointment from the more bustling and vehement magistrates, and somewhat alarmed even the more prudent. Nothing was talked of but sending a larger force to scour the country and re-capture the young Earl of Eskdale and his companion, and proclamations were proposed, offering a great reward for his apprehension. In time, however, the counsels of the more prudent prevailed. They represented to their brethren that there was quite sufficient for the troops to do in several other directions; that, if they sent a large force down into the comparatively wild and scantily-populated district round Ale and Keanton, more important parts of the county must be left open for the movements of the disaffected, and many gentlemen whom it was desirable to secure would have ample time to escape; while, if but a small force was sent, it would only provoke a collision with the adverse peasantry, who would probably gather in great numbers on the first signs of determined hostility towards them. Captain Smallpiece had stated positively that the inn had been invaded by between forty and fifty men; and, though eager to go and take vengeance, he was desirous of having an effective force with him, and, therefore, laid great stress upon the probability of the number of opponents being increased.
General C---- made some allowance for exaggeration; but still he represented to the very zealous justices that it would be much better to let the effervescence in that quarter subside; and, by securing every suspected person of influence who could be easily and rapidly laid hold of, crush rebellion in the bud without any bloodshed.
"Take my word for it," he said, "when these poor misguided fellows find there is no one to lead or to support them, they will resume their ordinary occupations; and then, if it be judged necessary, the leaders can be apprehended and punished. In the meanwhile, this young Earl will either come in and make submission, or will fly beyond seas again, and the latter would be no bad thing. You must remember, gentlemen, you have proceeded somewhat sharply against him, upon authority the value of which you know best; and, although government considered it necessary to make sure of all suspected persons, and render them impotent for evil, yet there is no desire on the part of his Majesty or his minister, either to cram the jails with prisoners, or to treat as traitors those not actually apprehended in arms."
These last words, which were taken as a rebuke, created a good deal of ill-feeling, and roused a pettish spirit of resistance. None of the magistrates judged fit to interfere with the actual movements of the troops; but they insisted upon issuing a proclamation, offering a reward for the apprehension of the Earl of Eskdale; and some information which reached Exeter during that evening made them plume themselves mightily upon their sagacity. Four men were sent out, two in one direction, and two in another, to paste up the proclamations on the doors of dwelling-houses and farms; and, in their tour round the country, they obtained intelligence of a strange messenger having passed across towards Exmouth, and of his having called at the farm of Blacklands, where he asked particularly if the Earl of Eskdale was at Keanton, and then inquired the way to Ale Manor, but without going along the road pointed out. These tidings had scarcely been received in Exeter, when intelligence came from Exmouth of the appearance of this strange messenger in the town, of his having held communication with several disaffected persons, of his selling his horse, which was completely foundered by hard riding, and of his purchasing another, with which he rode away over the downs towards Dorsetshire.
On hearing this, General C---- took a pinch of snuff, coolly remarking--
"Then we shall, probably, soon hear more. He won't get to Colyford uncaught."
Though he treated the matter lightly, to all appearance, the old general did not regard the journey of this messenger as at all unimportant. The persons and the places he visited, proved sufficiently the object of his coming; and, by his arrest, it was reasonably supposed that much information as to the feelings and intentions of many persons might be obtained. The old officer was as quiet as ever, but very active. He knew and understood well that the apprehension of a single stranger, a mere bearer of letters and messages, was a very different and much more simple affair than the arrest of a nobleman in the midst of a tenantry who bore a feudal, I might almost say, a clannish, affection to his house. A number of couriers, armed, but in a civil garb, went forth from Exeter that evening. They were not unsuccessful. The stranger was met with, just crossing the border into Dorsetshire, by one of those sent to seek him. He was a stout fellow, and armed; and the courier bespoke him quietly. The stranger, however, was very uncommunicative, and showed himself desirous of getting rid of all company; but the other pursued him closely, and never left him till he could obtain assistance for his apprehension. He was then immediately seized and conveyed to Exeter, where, upon being searched, a great number of letters were found upon his person, many of them in hands well known in the county, and all of them bearing one peculiar address; namely--"To the General commanding-in-chief for his Majesty." They were all broken open and read without ceremony; and the man himself was then subjected to a long examination, which revealed a great deal more, and gave point to all the ambiguous expressions contained in the letters.
A change now took place in all the proceedings of the authorities at Exeter. Persons, whose apprehension had been before a great object, were now left to escape, or to act as they pleased, and immediate measures were adopted against individuals who had been hitherto neglected or unsuspected. Troops were called in from different quarters, and marched in the most opposite directions; and many of the good quidnuncs of the capital, when they heard of these movements without understanding their causes, blamed severely the vacillating conduct of the people at Exeter, and prognosticated a general rising in the west.
For a dull chapter, this is long enough. The consequences of all these proceedings will be seen; and, in the mean time, we will go to matters of more individual interest.
CHAPTER XXVII.
It blew a gale of wind right up the long valley between Ale harbour and Aleton. The night was dark and cloudy. The sky, if not constantly covered with black vapours, was so frequently shrouded by them as only to allow the momentary gleam of a star. On, on, the clouds hurried confusedly over the firmament, like the thoughts of the human mind in a moment of sudden perplexity.
A stout man, well lined within and well cased without, battled sturdily with the blast as he walked down the valley. Many impediments did he meet with; his cravat was nearly torn from his neck; his long black garments fluttered like streamers in the wind; and, more than once, his three-cornered hat was blown off and sent hurrying away along the road. At length, after having caught it for the third time, with a some what ungodly oath, he tied it tightly upon his head with a pocket-handkerchief, and pursued his way in greater security. He was often half strangled, it is true; still he had not now, as before, to double the distance by the constant pursuit of his hat. Puffing and snorting, and venting many a malediction on those who had brought him such a journey on such a night, he made his way forward, supported by the thought of a hundred guineas as the reward of all his toils. About a mile from Aleton, he passed a man upon the road, who seemed to know him, for he said, "Good night, Master Parson," and walked on; but, at the entrance of the hamlet, he was encountered by our good friend, Van Noost, who whispered--
"Is not this an unlucky night?"
"Ay, by Jove!" answered Parson Thickett. "I wonder what people are thinking of, to choose such nights for being married on."
"They must think less who go to sea on such a night," said Van Noost. "I would not, for all the world. I would rather stay on shore and have my head cut off."
The parson only laughed, and, walking on, they were soon at Grayling's cottage-door, which readily opened to admit them. The doctor was easily consoled for his long walk on that stormy night, for comforting appliances were within Grayling's cottage, and Smeaton took care that he should be well supplied. The old fisherman himself was in a somewhat grumbling and surly mood, and more than once went out, stayed a few minutes, and returned. Poor Van Noost sat by the fire-side, with his eyes fixed upon the flame, unable to cheer himself, even by the strong waters. From time to time he lifted his ear and listened, as the leaden casements of the cottage rattled and shook in the blast which came rushing up the stream, and though to the children he was good-humoured and kindly as ever, it was evidently with a painful effort that the little statuary forced himself to notice them.
Smeaton, too, was grave and thoughtful. The idea of exposing Emmeline, in a night like that, to the fury of the stirred-up ocean in an open boat, was one that he could not entertain. Had he been alone, with any purpose to accomplish, he would not have hesitated for a moment; but we often feel fears for others which we know not for ourselves; and, even if he could have sheltered her from the cold blast and the dashing spray, he would not have risked a life so precious to him upon that tempestuous sea. Still, the thought of delaying their departure, even for a few hours, was very grievous to him. He knew right well how much may intervene between the cup and the lip. He had a sort of anxious dread about the morrow, and he hoped, and half persuaded himself, that the wind would go down as the night advanced.
Towards ten o'clock, however, old Graying returned after a short absence, bringing his nephew and another man with him.
"It is no use, my lord," said the younger Grayling. "The Ale is getting heavier every minute, and it is so dirty in the wind's eye, that there is no chance of a lull before noon to-morrow. As to getting off to-night, that you cannot do. We might get a boat out of the bay, indeed; but she would not live five minutes off the head. I have seldom seen such a sea running as there is now on the Cobstone; for you see, my lord, the wind being south-western by south----"
But Smeaton interrupted him, saying--
"I will take your opinion, my good friend. There is no use in explaining; I should not understand you if you did. For my own life I should not care; but, where others are concerned, I must be more cautious."
"We don't care much for our own lives either, my lord," said the fisherman; "but I think you would find it a hard matter to get any one to go off with you to-night, especially if there is to be a lady in the boat."
"Then I suppose I shall have to come down to-morrow?" whispered Parson Thickett to the young nobleman, near whom he was sitting.
"No, no, my reverend friend," replied Smeaton. "Your office can be performed in a hurricane as well as in the calmest weather; and, in a few minutes, we will go to the place where your assistance will be necessary. We must, however, have the cottage clear first, and obtain intelligence that all is safe."
"Ay, ay," added the parson. "Make sure of that."
After staying a few minutes, conversing with his uncle, the younger Grayling went away with the other man who had accompanied him; and, soon after, the children were sent to their beds. Smeaton looked anxiously at his watch; and then, gazing out at the door, he said--
"I think my servant is coming now."
But he was disappointed. A man arrived who was a bearer of what, to Smeaton, was bad news. The new comer was a stout peasant, of a somewhat superior class, who looked round, shook hands with old Grayling and his wife, whom he called uncle and aunt, and then, doffing his hat, advanced to the young nobleman, and presented him a letter.
"That, my lord, is from Farmer Thompson, my cousin," he said. "I undertook to bring it over; for we find that some of our people are not to be trusted."
Smeaton broke open the letter, and read the contents with an anxious eye, and a look of considerable emotion.
"What is all this?" he said, at length. "I do not understand it."
"Why, it is all true, my lord," replied the young man, bending down his head, and speaking in a whisper. "I saw it, and read it myself, posted upon the very walls of Keanton, setting a price upon your lordship's head, with the royal arms at the top, and 'God save the King' at the bottom. It made all the good men amongst us quite mad."
"It is not that I am speaking of at all, my good friend." returned Smeaton. "The proclamation here mentioned, perhaps, might be expected; though, I must say, such proceedings, after the assurances I have received, are by no means right and justifiable. But what I allude to, are these latter words." And, holding the paper to the light, he read:
"According to your lordship's orders, I have sounded the tenantry, and find almost every man under forty ready to obey you in all things. Some of them, however, have not arms. But about twenty are fully prepared, and will be ready to mount at a moment's notice as soon as your lordship arrives. The rest can follow you by one or two at a time, in a day or so, as soon as the arms come from Exmouth."
He ceased reading, and looked in the young man's face, as if for explanation.
"Well, my lord," said the other, "I don't understand you."
"Nor I this intelligence," added Smeaton. "I sent no orders to sound the tenantry, or to levy men."
"Such orders certainly came, my lord," replied the young man; "not by your own servant, but by another person, who seemed to know all about you."
"This is some base fraud," said Smeaton, musing. "However, my good friend, stop and refresh yourself for a little, while I write a letter to your cousin. Tell him that I thank him for his zeal, but that nothing could be farther from my thoughts than to authorise any raising or arming of the tenantry. I hope, however, this has been done so cautiously as not to call the attention of the magistrates upon you."
"We all met on horseback," said the young man, with a laugh, and a shrug of his shoulders, "upon the green before the great gates; but I don't know that any one saw us."
Smeaton thought gravely, and then replied--
"If it be possible, I will ride over before daybreak to-morrow. Stay, I will write."
Going hastily up to his room above, he wrote a few words in the same sense as those he had just uttered; and, on descending, found the young man quite ready to depart. Parson Thickett, too, was becoming impatient to return to his own dwelling, for it was now past eleven o'clock; and, with a long bleak walk before him, he did not at all relish delay. Smeaton was evidently no less anxious; but still a quarter of an hour elapsed before the man Higham appeared. At the end of that time, however, he entered the cottage, with his gay saucy look, expecting, probably, to find no one except the old fisherman in the lower room; but, as soon as he saw his lord, he said, respectfully--
"They are all gone to bed, my lord, and I dare say will soon be in a comfortable doze; for Sir John and half the servants have ridden hard to-day, and the rest have drunk hard, which comes to much the same thing."
"Now then, my reverend friend," said Smeaton, rising, "we will go, if you please. Van Noost, you must come with us. Higham, go on before to within a yard or two of the place where the small path quits the carriage road to the house. There stop, and make sure that no one comes that way without our having notice by some means."
"I understand," replied the man. "Wrangle, quarrel, talk loud, whistle, shout, or something! I understand. I'll manage it, my lord."
Thus saying, he walked out of the cottage, and Smeaton and the reverend doctor followed.
The young nobleman led his companion round between the two next cottages, desiring Van Noost to go a little in advance, and then said, in a low tone--"There is one question I wish to ask you, Doctor Thickett, which is this:--The marriage you are about to celebrate will be a good and perfect marriage, notwithstanding some slight informalities--is it not so?"
"Just, just," replied the parson. "They may suspend me; but they cannot unmarry you. They may punish you by the statute for a clandestine marriage; but they cannot make the marriage of no effect. Marriage is like a good thrashing; when once inflicted, it cannot be got rid of."
"And now, my good friend," pursued Smeaton, pausing, "you must suffer me, I believe, to tie a handkerchief over your eyes."
"Pooh, pooh! what Is the use of that?" exclaimed the doctor, laughing. "I know where you are taking me, just as well as you do. I would not have gone so quietly if I had thought you were taking me into the lion's den except by a back way. Why, the priest's chamber, and the way in and out, has been a tradition at the rectory ever since those puritanical times when many an honest parson was forced to take refuge from skull-cap and Geneva, broadsword and bandolier. There used to be a key up at the church; but, by Jove, my predecessor was fool enough to give it to Sir John. How you got in, I cannot make out."
Smeaton did not think it necessary to explain, but led the parson on, and found Van Noost at the well with the door open. Doctor Thickett was, with some difficulty, got across the water; and then, when the door was closed, a match was kindled and a lamp lighted.
"Now tread cautiously," said Smeaton, leading the way, with the light in his hand.
When they entered the priest's room, however, it was still vacant; and, trusting to the promises he had received, the young nobleman did not venture to proceed any farther.
"This has been a chapel once, I think," observed Doctor Thickett, looking round the room. "Some notice of it is in the books up at the church. There," added he, pointing to one of the sides, "is where the communion-table must have stood."
Smeaton held up his finger to enjoin silence; and, in a minute or two after, a slight sound was heard at the extremity of the room adjoining the next chamber. Cautiously, and as noiselessly as possible, the state bed in the other room was drawn back, and the door which it concealed was opened. All eyes were turned to that side, and there was certainly some emotion, if not some anxiety, in the breast of each. The light shone, however, upon the figure of the old housekeeper, who advanced quietly, holding Emmeline by the hand. The poor girl trembled a good deal, with agitation rather than fear, and her face was very pale. But Smeaton advanced at once, and took her hand, whispering some low tender words, which instantly called her eyes to his face, and the warm glow into her cheek again.
Mrs. Culpepper had stopped the moment they were in the room; and now, looking anxiously in her foster-son's face, she whispered--"What an awful night it is, my lord! Everything is ready; but--"
"It is quite impossible," interrupted Smeaton, "to expose this dear girl on the sea in such a tempest; still, as this worthy clergyman has come here to perform the ceremony, the marriage had better take place to-night; and, before to-morrow, I trust the wind will have gone down. What say you, dearest Emmeline?"
"Oh, certainly," replied Emmeline. "I shall feel more happy--more--more certain of what I am doing, and what is right to do, when I am your wife, than I do now. Besides, new difficulties might spring up."
"You are right, dear young lady, you are right," said Mrs. Culpepper. "Once wedded to him, wherever he may find you, he has a right to claim you; and, against whatever wrong is done you, he has a right to protect you. Besides, he is bound to take care of himself for your sake."
The young nobleman smiled, with a glad and happy look at his beautiful bride, and then led her on towards the spot where Doctor Thickett and Van Noost were standing.
The stout priest would fain have said something jocose; but Emmeline's timid look, and Smeaton's dignified bearing, at the moment restrained him, and he contented himself with asking--"This is all with your consent and full consideration, Mistress Emmeline?"
"Entirely," she replied, without raising her eyes to the face of the clergyman, which she knew right well, and did not much like.
"Well then, we have nothing to do but to begin," said Doctor Thickett; and, opening the book, he read the service for the celebration of marriage from beginning to end, without sparing them one word of it; and, when he had finished, he added, "Well, that is done and tight. They cannot untie that knot, let them tug as they will."
"Thank God!" exclaimed Smeaton, pressing, Emmeline's hand in his own. "But we must each have some proof that this dear knot is tied, Doctor Thickett."
"Wall, I will register it as soon as I get home," said the priest. "I could not bring the great lumbering book with me."
"Doubtless," assented the young Earl; "but, if you please, we will each have a certificate under your hand, and those of the witnesses present, that the marriage has taken place. Van Noost, you have an inkhorn with you, I think."
"Everything ready, everything ready," cried Van Noost. "Here is ink, and pen, and paper, and a table. So now, Doctor, write away."
"Ah, well. I came to read, not to write; but I may as well do it," said the parson, sitting down to the table, and beginning to scrawl in a large but crabbed hand. "There, my lord, that is for you. There, my lady, that is for you. And now, this is my first fee and reward, by immemorial privilege," he added, pressing his great lips upon Emmeline's cheek.
She shrunk from him, unable to resist her sensation of dislike; but he only laughed, and, turning to Smeaton, received from him the full reward which had been promised. "And now," he said, aloud, "I had better take myself home. My part of the affair is over."
"Show him the way, Van Noost," said Smeaton. "I will join you at Grayling's cottage very shortly."
The statuary was prompt to obey, and led the fat parson forth, taking. Mrs. Culpepper's candle to light them.
Emmeline had borne up well; she had replied clearly and distinctly when taking upon her the irrevocable vows which bound her to the man she loved; but it must not be supposed she had undergone no deep emotions. Every thrilling sensation had been felt; every wide-extending association had presented itself; all the hopes, all the anxieties, all the bright dreams, all the shadowy forebodings, all the realities, all the imaginings, which attend the pledging of a young and innocent heart to the one loved and trusted, had hurried through her bosom and her brain in those few brief minutes. Yet she had borne up; she had seemed calm after her first entrance into the room. Love, and strong resolution, had given her power to conquer all agitation, till the words were spoken, the vow was uttered, and she was his for ever. Then, however, the mingled emotions rushed back upon her, together with the overpowering feeling that the great change was accomplished; that she was not her own, but his; that her fate was no longer lonely; that she was one with him she loved; and, had it not been for the arm which glided round her, she would have sunk to the ground where she stood.
The old housekeeper left them, to watch, in the passage, though she had little fear of any interruption; and, to Emmeline and her young husband, it seemed but a moment, though an hour had passed when she again appeared, with a face of some anxiety and alarm.
"I hear horses' feet, my lord," she said. "Quick! You had better speed away. I know not what it may be; but it is strange at this hour of night. Some one will soon be up; for the sounds are on the road near the house. Quick, my lord, quick! Away!"
"Hark, hark!" cried Emmeline. "There are people speaking loud and angrily. Oh, Henry, go, go, for Heaven's sake!"
A brief moment given to thought--one more embrace--and Smeaton was gone. Emmeline followed the old housekeeper out of the room; and the secret entrance was closed as noiselessly as possible. The fair girl, the bride, the wife, retired to her own solitary chamber, while the lover and the husband took his way to his place of refuge.
When were they to meet again? Who can ever say who asks himself that question when parting from another?
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Sleep was not destined that night to visit the eyes of the young Earl of Eskdale. He made his way through the passages to the stone door near the well--opened it cautiously, and looked around. Nobody was to be seen; and the sounds which had alarmed them above had ceased. Closing the door and locking it, he hastened back to the cottage of Grayling, seated himself with the old man, who was still up by the fire, and inquired whether he had heard any noise. But the sounds had not reached the hamlet; and, after waiting half an hour, the old man went out to seek intelligence. When he returned, he brought the servant, Thomas Higham, with him, whose explanation was so far satisfactory, that it showed Smeaton, or, at least, led him to believe, that no fresh peril was to be apprehended for the time. The high words which had been heard by the lover and his fair bride had passed between the servant and a messenger from Exeter, and were provoked by Higham himself, in order to give early intimation to his master that the household was likely soon to be disturbed.
"You see, my Lord," he said, "the truth is, Sir John rode a great part of the way to Exeter this morning, having been summoned thither, I dare say, upon your affairs. But he would not go the whole way, because he had required that assurance should be given him on the road, that his house should not be taken possession of during his absence; and no messenger met him. The fellow says he was detained, and could not come on till to-night. I dare say, he got drunk and forgot all about it; but I picked a quarrel with him in order to let you hear."
"Then it was merely the messenger with whom you were speaking?" said Smeaton. "Do you know what reply he brought to Sir John?"
"Oh, yes!" answered Higham. "I got that out of him in his passion. He said we were all insolent alike, Sir John and his servants (one of whom he took me to be); and that the magistrates at Exeter would give no such assurances to anybody, till Sir John had explained his conduct."
"Is he gone?" demanded his master.
"Oh, yes, my Lord," replied Higham. "I kept hiding in the wood till I heard him trotting back again; and then I was just coming hither, when I met old Stockfish here."
"Then I will ride over at once to Keanton," said Smeaton, "if you can get me your horse out of the stable."
"Why, it is only the pack-horse, my Lord," replied Higham; "and though it is as strong as a lion, it is as slow as a bear."
"It matters not," replied his master. "It would take too long to get either of the others from the farm. Bring it down to the end of the hamlet as speedily as possible, and then remain here till I come back, in order that they may think you are riding it yourself."
The man sped away; the horse was soon brought; and, about two in the morning, Smeaton was on his road towards Keanton. On his arrival, he found that, though most persons in the little village were asleep, two Or three of the principal farmers were congregated at the house of Thompson, waiting for his arrival. He was received with every sort of respect; but, nevertheless, there was a somewhat gloomy and dissatisfied look about the men, which gave him some key to their feelings. They said that the message they had received in his name had so completely misled them, that every preparation had been made for taking up arms, and without much secresy or disguise.
"If we stand hesitating, my Lord," said one of the men, boldly, "the people of Exeter, who have had spies amongst us, won't fail to be down upon us when we least expect them; and then we shall be marched away to prison. Nobody doubted, my Lord, that the order came from you; for the only thing that surprised us was, that you had not given it long before. We are, every one of us, willing to shed our blood for our right King, under the command of your Lordship, whose good father was ever ready to draw the sword in a just cause; but we should not like to spend the rest of our lives in jail without striking a blow, right or wrong."
Smeaton was a good deal mortified, for there was but little time to give long explanations as to his motives, or to show the worthy men around him how hopeless was the course they were inclined to pursue. He told them, however, briefly but clearly, that he credited in no degree the assertion, so frequently made by the Jacobite party, that the majority of the people of England were anxious for the return of the Stuarts. He had convinced himself, he said, that such was not the case; and he added, what seemed to surprise them very much, that he thought the people of any country had a right to some voice in the disposal of the crown. It must be remembered that the divine right of kings had at that period been rarely questioned; that where, as in the case of England, it had not only been questioned but set aside, the new doctrine of the people's rights had only made way with one party; and that that party had shown themselves so far doubtful of their own position as to choose for their sovereign a member of the same family whose head they had repudiated. The men to whom Smeaton spoke had been bred up under his ancestors, with the notion of this divine right inculcated upon them from infancy, almost as a part of their religion; and it is not, therefore, to be wondered at that they marvelled exceedingly to hear their young lord pronounce doctrines which to them seemed little less than treasonable. They could comprehend his arguments much better, however, when he went on to explain to them that the chances of an insurrection even in the north of Great Britain being successful were exceedingly small at that time; and that no chance whatever existed of a rising in the west of England prospering for above a day. He showed them that, from the information they themselves possessed, it was clear that all the principal leaders of the Jacobite party in Devonshire and Somersetshire had been secured, by orders of the government; and that no force could be raised sufficient to resist the troops which were ready to act against the Pretender.
"Yes, my lord," replied the farmer who had before spoken; "but we might make our way across the country, to help our friends in the north; and that I shall do, for one, now I have made up my mind."
The man spoke in a dogged and determined tone; and several others who were present, though they said little, seemed much inclined to follow his example. The time thus ran on for about an hour in fruitless discussion; and then it became necessary for the young nobleman to return to his place of refuge. He could, therefore, only entreat those by whom he was surrounded to pause and consider well before they acted upon a resolution which might hurry them into dangers they had not yet fully calculated.
With this advice he left them; and, according to custom on such occasions, his conduct became the subject of much comment after he was gone. Some blamed him as a waverer; some of the more rash affected to doubt his courage; and others marvelled at what could possess him; when some one, in a jocular manner, alluded to the pretty lady at Ale Manor as the probable cause of their lord's hesitation and reluctance. As usual, when any likely solution of a difficult question is suggested, every one seized on the idea thus started; poor Emmeline was looked upon as a sort of Cleopatra who kept their Marc Antony in the toils of love; and the good farmers set themselves seriously to consider whether no means existed of forcibly withdrawing their young lord from this entanglement.
In the meanwhile, Smeaton rode back towards Ale; but, as always happens when speed is required, more than one impediment came in his way. It was still blowing hard, although the gale was somewhat more moderate; and the young nobleman's horse laboured and panted up the hills as if his lungs were unsound. This, however, would only have produced a delay of about a quarter of an hour; but a much more serious obstacle soon presented itself. The beast cast a shoe; no means of replacing it were near at hand; and it was impossible to proceed with anything like speed.
Embarrassed and annoyed, the young nobleman nevertheless pursued his way, though day dawned and the sun rose when he was fully six miles from the village of Ale. Two courses were before him: either to ride on boldly and risk a meeting with those whom he wished to avoid, or to hide in some of the hollows of the hills till night fell, taking his chance of obtaining food from the shepherds or herdsmen who fed their cattle on the downs. But a feeling of recklessness had come over him, proceeding not alone from the conversation which had just passed, but also from a perception of the manifold dangers of his position and of the difficult situation in which he was placed; and he had determined to go forward at all hazards, when he perceived some one on foot, apparently watching him from the summit of one of the neighbouring hills. As soon as the man got sight of Smeaton riding below, he ran down towards him as fast as possible; and the young Earl conjectured that there was an intention of cutting him off on the road towards Ale.
"I can deal with one at least," he thought, and pushed on somewhat more rapidly, although his horse now went very lamely.
But the person on the hill ran fast, and cut him off at a turning in the path he was pursuing, when, to Smeaton's surprise, he beheld the face and figure of his servant, Higham, who, holding up his hand to prevent his farther advance, besought him not to ride on, on any account.
"You cannot get to the village, my Lord, but by passing round the Manor house, and it is in possession of the soldiers from Exeter. They have taken Sir John out of his bed this morning, and intend to carry him away to Exeter, a prisoner. He talks very high, but looks low, and so I thought I might as well run on to tell you, and keep myself out of harm's way."
"Sir John Newark!" exclaimed Smeaton, in utter amazement; for the character of the knight was in no degree a secret to him, notwithstanding all the pains taken to conceal his real views and objects. "Are you sure, Higham, that I am not the real object of the search, and that Sir John is not arrested either from his having hidden me in his house so long, or as a sort of security for my discovery?"
"Lord bless you, no, my Lord!" replied Higham. "Sir John Newark is lagged for Sir John Newark's own doings. He has played fast and loose with every government for many a long year, and has won a precious deal by the game--at least, so the people here say. He has made people in London fancy he is much more powerful in Devonshire than he is; and so, whenever he wanted anything, he made a show of going over to the other party, and got what he required. Now, if he wanted Keanton, for instance, and thought that the Whigs were likely to win the day, he would become very high church indeed, and pretend to be plotting with your Lordship just to be bribed to give it up and betray you. But such a man is caught out in the end. He cannot carry on such a game without making some mistake, and the magistrates here are desperate sharp. I was in the house when the soldiers came, and it oozed out amongst them that Sir John was charged upon some letter found on a messenger, in which he had gone a little too far. As to seeking for your Lordship, they never asked for you at all; and, though they got possession of the house quietly enough, they knew better than to go into the village to make any search. They would have been thrashed out soon enough. All they wanted was Sir John, and him they have caught and put in a bag. But nevertheless, I think it would be better for you to keep out of the way till the men are gone and have taken their prisoner with them; for there is a great chance, if they found you, that they would bag you too. As soon as they are gone, you have got the game in your own hands; for there will be nobody at Ale to stop your doing what you like, and I can go and watch from the top of Ale Head to see when they pass up the road."
The words of Higham were like the voice of Hope, promising bright things which might, or might not, be performed; but if a doubt previously existed in the mind of Smeaton, as to whether he should or should not go forward, it was at once removed. To try to make his way into Ale, so long as the soldiery were at the Manor House, would have been madness; and, consequently, choosing his course at once, he determined to retreat a little way into the hollows, and to send the man up to the high ground above Ale Head, whence a considerable portion of the road the soldiers were obliged to travel was visible. He accordingly sought out a spot whence he could keep his eye upon his servant, whilst Higham watched the road, and arranged with his master a sort of code of signals for the purpose of communicating what his observations discovered from the height, without obliging the Earl to descend. But the man had not been more than ten minutes at the highest point of the coast when, by stretching out his right arm in the same direction as the road to Exeter, he indicated that the guard and their prisoner had set out.
Waiting a few minutes, to give time for their passing out of sight, the young nobleman moved his horse slowly forward, choosing the soft turf to ride over as the best for his horse's unshod feet; but, the moment he altered his position, Higham ran down again to meet him, and informed him that it would be better to wait a little; for, though the greater number of the soldiers were out of sight, yet two were far in the rear of the rest, and might recall the others in a moment.
"Sir John is determined to take it at his ease," added the man; "for he has got his great coach and six horses, with a servant on horseback at each wheel. It looks, for all the world, like the Lord Mayor's coach, and goes as slow; but, at all events, it will serve his purpose, and both make him comfortable in the inside, and delay the people who have him in custody."
"Then, do you think he meditates escape?" asked the young Earl.
"That is as it may be, my lord," replied Higham. "If he hopes for any one to help him, he is quite mistaken; for the fishermen would not stir a finger for him, and the peasantry do not like him much better, as far as I can hear. He is a sorry fellow, and a proud one, and won't find many friends in the world; but, perhaps, he thinks to get off by some trick, and then, if he does join the prince's army, he will have taken the first strong resolution he ever did in his life--but he won't do that. He will hold fast by the ruling power in the end, depend upon it; for Sir John is his own sovereign, and nobody is so despotic with him as his own interest."
Smeaton mused awhile, and then moved slowly forward again, sending his servant a little in advance to see that the country was clear. No obstacle, however, presented itself. The cavalcade was out of sight; the grounds round Ale Manor were perfectly solitary, and not even a herd or a labourer was to be seen. Dismounting from his horse, where the road to the Manor House turned into the wood, the young Earl descended on foot to the village, from which a sound of loud talking came up the side of the hill. He found the greater part of the people of the place--men, women, and even children--assembled in one of the little gardens which, fenced with large flat stones, lay here and there between the cottages. All seemed in a state of great excitement; but it was evidently not excitement of an angry character; for some laughed, while others talked loud, though in no very sad tone.
As soon as Smeaton was seen advancing, by those on the outside of the little crowd, one stout fellow waved his hat and cried, "Hurrah!" and congratulations poured thick upon him as he advanced amongst them.
"Ay, my Lord, we were in a bit of a fright about you," said old Grayling, grasping his hand unceremoniously in his great, broad, hard fist; "but not much either, for we sent out people to see that they did not get hold of you."
"Perhaps, he does not know that the soldiers have been here, uncle," said the younger Grayling.
"No, not here, Dick, not here," said the stout old man. "They dared not put their noses in here, if they had been five times their number. Up at the house they might do what they liked. That was no business of ours. But they are gone now, and have a long march to Exeter. So that all is safe for a day or two."
"Then I suppose I can safely go up to the house," said the young nobleman. "I wish to hear the particulars of all this business."
"Ay, safe enough," replied the old man, with a meaning laugh; "safer, I fancy, than when you lived there quite at your ease, my lord. A bad friend is worse than a bad enemy."
"But won't you have something to eat, sir?" inquired Dame Grayling. "I'll get you something in a minute."
Smeaton, however, declined, and turned his steps by the shortest path towards the house, thinking, with joy, it must be acknowledged, of the removal of many obstacles in his way by the arrest of Sir John Newark. Bitterly was he destined to be disappointed, as is often the case when we suffer our hopes to be elated without a full knowledge of the circumstances. He found everything quiet and tranquil about the house, though he could hear some of the servants, as he approached, talking together in the stable-court, and his eye ran over the windows, to see if Emmeline was at any of them. Nobody, however was visible, and he lifted the latch of the great door, to go in as usual. But the door was locked, and he had to ring the bell and wait several minutes before he gained admission. The servant, who appeared at length, was one of the younger men; and, putting on a rueful aspect, with perhaps a touch of hypocrisy, he was proceeding to inform the young nobleman of the sad event which had occurred, when Mrs. Culpepper herself glided into the hall, saying, with a low curtsey--
"If you will walk into the saloon, my lord, I will tell you all about it."
Smeaton followed her, with some anxiety, for there was an ominous gloom upon her face, which he did not think the mere arrest of Sir John Newark was likely to produce.
"You have heard what has happened!" she said, immediately the door was closed.
"That Sir John Newark has been made prisoner, and sent to Exeter," replied Smeaton.
"To London--to London," returned Mrs. Culpepper. "He will not even be examined at Exeter, they say, but be sent off to Newgate or the Tower at once. He has long been playing double with them, and now they have found, upon a courier, a letter of his to the Earl of Mar, which, by the explanations of the messenger, they make out to be full of treason. But that is not the worst of it. He has taken the Lady Emmeline with him, whether she would or not. We knew not what to do--whether boldly to tell of her marriage, or still to keep it secret. To say that she was married to you would have been to make matters worse, and now, I will own, I am at my wits' end."
This was a terrible blow to Smeaton; one, indeed, on which he had never calculated, and difficulties presented themselves in all ways. If he lingered in that part of the country till tidings were obtained from London, he was sure to be taken, and probably kept a prisoner at Exeter; while, on the other hand, the intelligence he had received from the fishermen had shown him that every road between Devonshire and the capital was strictly watched and guarded; so that it was next to impossible for him to pass in that direction without discovery. Still, however, his mind was turned towards making the attempt at least, and the only consideration was, how to do so in safety. He could devise no means; but good Mrs. Culpepper came to his aid with a plan which seemed feasible.
"To try and get over the whole distance by land," she said, "is hopeless; but the boatmen will easily take you round, and land you on some quiet part of the coast near Abbotsbury or Weymouth, whence you can easily get to London under another name, and I don't know that London is not as good a hiding-place as any in the land."
Smeaton's inclinations led him that way. Hope, too, unextinguishable Hope, was busy in his breast, telling him that in the capital much could be done which he would vainly attempt to do by letter. He would see Lord Stair, he thought; he would cast himself upon his honour, upon his generosity. He would explain his own conduct, and recall to that nobleman the assurances he had given him not long before. Then, when freed from the perils which now surrounded him, he could, with safety to her and to himself, claim his beautiful bride, and set at defiance the arts of open enemies or pretended friends.
"I will set out at once," he said, after having given a few minutes to thought. "Yours is the best plan, my dear Nanny; and I will lose no time in executing it. I have at least one good friend in London, who has the will and the power to see justice done me."
"Pray take some refreshment before you go," said the housekeeper, in the tone of old affection. "You have turned pale with all these bad news, and look harassed and grieved."
"Well indeed may I, Nanny," replied the young Earl, laying his hand kindly on her arm. "Were there nothing else, surely the loss of my dear Emmeline, within ten short hours after she became mine, is enough both to grieve and agitate me. But I need no refreshment, and shall not be content till I am on my way."
"Nay, but stay a little," said the old housekeeper. "I can send down and order the boat directly, while you take some food, and besides, Richard, I am sure, will be glad to go with you as soon as he comes back."
"Has he not gone with his father!" exclaimed Smeaton, in great surprise.
"Oh, no, my lord," replied the housekeeper. "He was not here at the time. He has not been in the house since five o'clock this morning, when he rode away on one of his wild expeditions. We all thought he had gone to seek you at Keanton."
"I did not meet with him," said Smeaton; "but doubtless he will be glad to follow his father; and, though his presence may be some embarrassment to me, yet, poor boy, it is well that he should go with me."
"Better tell him all, my lord," observed Mrs. Culpepper. "You may trust his word if he promises secresy; for, though a little twisted by one thing or another, God gave him good wits at the first, and a good heart too. Hark! That must be his horse. Yes, he is calling for a groom. He must have heard what has happened; for that is not his usual way of speaking. Stay:--I will get you both some food and wine. He will want it as much as you."
She had hardly left the room when Richard Newark entered it; his manner of speech and bearing were wholly, almost miraculously, changed, as, with a heated face and eyes full of wild light, he exclaimed, "Ah, you have heard the tidings, Eskdale! They have taken away my father, which was what I always expected, and Emmeline too, which, I did not expect; for she meddled with nothing, and he meddled with everything. Now, what do you intend to do? I know what I intend to do, if the chain and collar will let me."
"I propose," replied Smeaton, "to take boat at once, land somewhere near Weymouth where we are not known, and thence make our journey to London under fictitious names. I take it for granted that you are anxious to follow your father; and, if you like to accompany me, I shall be glad, although there is no need of your doing so; for doubtless you would be permitted to pass unquestioned. As for me, the plan I propose offers the only chance of my being able to reach the capital except as a prisoner. But you must decide at once, Richard."
"What do you want in the capital?" asked. Richard Newark. "What have you to do in that great ugly mixture of dirt, brick houses, and coal smoke?"
"I have much business, and important business, there," answered Smeaton. "Lord Stair pledged his word to me that I should remain safe and unquestioned in this country for a time, if I meddled in no degree with politics. I have not done so, and yet you know how I have been treated."
Richard Newark laughed, and shook his head with a thoughtful and abstracted air. "I must not say what I would fain say," he remarked--"no, no, I must not. It is very odd that one's fate is so often managed for one! You have been played upon, Smeaton."
"At all events," replied Smeaton, "I have written two letters to Lord Stair, to neither of which I have received an answer. He is a man of honour and a gentleman, who will not deny his plighted word; and I must go to London to claim its fulfilment."
"There are two reasons why you must not," said Richard, "and good ones too, whatever you may think. First, you can't; and, secondly, there would be no good in going if you could. Listen to me, listen to me. A ship of war is lying off the mouth of the bay, sent down, as I learn, to watch the coast and search every boat. That is for the 'can't.' Now for the 'good of going.' Lord Stair is not in London. He is in command of the troops in Scotland; and, if you want him, noble Lord, you must go north." Then, opening the door, he shouted, "Where is the Flying Post that came yesterday? It was in this room last night."
In answer to his call, a servant brought him one of the newspapers of the day, where, amongst other brief and uncommented announcements, appeared a paragraph, stating that the Earl of Stair had set out on the morning preceding to take command of the troops in Scotland, and keep the rebels in check till a larger army could be assembled to chastise them.
Smeaton looked at the date of the paper, which, as it had come by an express courier, was very recent.
"If I set out at once," he said, "I may, by hard riding, catch him in Yorkshire or Northumberland. It states here that he will be in York on Monday next--somewhat slow travelling in a business of such importance; but doubtless he has reinforcements with him. I will get my horses in, and ride off at once."
"I will be one with you," added Richard Newark; "for I am travelling north too."
"Will you not go to join your father?" asked the young Earl, in much surprise.
"Not I," replied the lad. "I could give him no help; and he would not have it if I could. My father is quite sufficient for himself, noble Lord--at least, he thinks so, and he never thanks any one for meddling with his affairs, though he meddles with other people's often enough, whether they thank him or not. But now let us get ready. I do not know whether these people have carried off your baggage or not. Mine will be soon trussed. Heaven send me occasion to use the sword you gave me! But you had better go to Keanton first, and take people enough to force the way, in case Hanover and Pulteney should try to stop you. If you don't go there, your people, I can tell you, will set out by themselves, and perhaps do more than you like or think of. I was there half an hour after you this morning, and how I missed you I do not know."
For a minute or two Smeaton did not reply, but remained in deep thought.
"So be it," he said at length. "Come down, Richard, and join me at the end of the village as soon as you are ready. I must send for my horses, and, in the mean time, will bid my servant pack up the baggage which was left here."
"Be sure first that it has not been taken away," observed the lad.