CHAPTER VIA First PartingQueen Henrietta had been loath to part from Agnes, and she would have kept the child about her person had it been possible for her to do so, and had Agnes been a few years older; but to take a child just budding into girlhood alone, without any other companion, or without any definite object in view, to the French court seemed folly.It had been settled that Patience should make a home for her in England. The queen had spoken seriously to the king about Agnes, and he had settled a pension on her, "until I can do better," he said. "But we must first find out to whom her estates have passed. I'll enquire into the matter. I do not suppose I shall be able to restore them to her; but something shall be done either when she marries or comes of age. Till then I will give her a suite of apartments at Hampton Court.""That is good," said Henrietta, "and my little lady shall have her town house too, for I will leave Patience in charge of my private apartments in Somerset House. I do not care for all manner of people to have access to them, and so Agnes can come to town when she likes.""And to court when she is old enough," said Charles, with a merry laugh and twinkling eye."No, your majesty," answered Henrietta, "she must wait for that till my return, and until her position is settled. She has no womankind to watch over her except Patience, so she must abide at home.""As you please," said Charles carelessly. So the matter was settled.Henrietta explained all this to Patience, Agnes standing by and listening. They even went out to Hampton Court and looked at the apartments which the king had ordered to be prepared for her. The rooms were bright enough, looking out upon a sort of private garden, in a wing of the palace. The queen thought them poorly furnished, and added many little comforts and graceful remembrances, which made them look more home-like.At times over this unfortunate queen's soul, seared and wounded by sorrow, the old gaiety, the warm, affectionate nature with which she was endowed, would once more show itself, oftener perhaps to Agnes than to anyone else, even oftener than to her own daughter."She grows so like her mother," she said one day to Patience, tears filling her eyes, and then she would give Agnes some present, and make much of her."My little girl," she said at parting, "it costs me a great deal to leave you behind, but I think Patience is right. You have much to learn. Apply yourself to study; both you and Henrietta have been neglected. It does not matter for her--the women at the French court are for the most part ignorant, some of them can scarcely read or write; but your home will be in England--your father and mother desired it--and some women are very learned in England. I have left you good teachers, a tutor, and a governess, so see that your time is well employed."Then she kissed her.It was a very lonely little maiden who walked on the terrace of Somerset House, a beautiful dove-coloured greyhound, which the queen had given her, her only companion. The animal kept close to its little mistress, thrusting its long muzzle into her hand as if to console her, its speaking brown eyes looking up at her as if to say, "Never mind. We are both young; we shall see them again"; and so she paced up and down the terrace, then, bidding Duke lie down and wait for her, she entered the chapel--a lovely piece of architecture, the work of Inigo Jones--the doors of which were always kept open, though, now the queen was gone, they would be closed.It required considerable tact in those difficult religious times to bring up a child born of English parents in the midst of the French court. But Patience was a wise woman, broad-minded, and with what was then an almost unknown quality, a vast toleration. She held an anomalous position in the queen's household, even as Agnes herself did; but the marked deference the queen-mother showed her, made it evident that she was a person of high station. The education both of Agnes and the Princess Henrietta was left, to a very great extent, in her hands; it was the same with the religious teaching, the princess had the court chaplain, but Agnes knelt with Patience and learnt the great truths of religion from her lips; she guarded her soul as she guarded her body, she would allow of no religious discussions in her presence. To the grand services of the Church of Rome she did not take her. "You are too young, you would not understand," she said; but morning and evening she would go with her into one of the many beautiful churches in Paris, and in silence and devotion watch and pray. So the child learnt all reverence and the great gospel truths. The Bible was a familiar book to her, read in their quiet chamber. "When you are older you will learn many other things," she told her; and since they had come to England Agnes had awakened to the knowledge that the Christian Church was divided against itself. Sometimes the thought troubled her. Her soul was growing, she was striving to see and understand. Instinctively now, in this her first sorrow, she sought comfort where alone she knew it could be found, and so she entered the beautiful chapel and knelt and prayed that her friends might be given back to her. Then she crossed her arms on the back of the prie-Dieu, and her tears flowed fast and little sobs escaped her. Suddenly she felt a hand laid on her shoulder, and looking up she saw Patience. They both gazed into each other's eyes and smiled."Be comforted, sweetheart," whispered Patience; and the beauty of her face, the saintliness of it, struck Agnes as it had never done before.In truth, Patience, even in appearance, was by no means an ordinary woman. She had a marked personality, was tall and slight, holding herself very erect, always dressed in black, plainly but not inelegantly. She had a certain distinction about her. In age she could not have been more than forty, and she did not look that even. Under her white coif her brown hair waved softly; there were no wrinkles or marks of age upon her face; her hazel eyes were clear, but with an ineffable sadness in them--indeed, sadness was the note which Patience struck. She was seldom seen to smile; even when Agnes was a little child she played with her sadly; but she loved her so intensely that the child did not feel this sadness. She would sooner be with Patience than with anyone; Patience meant home to her. She seldom openly caressed her, but then her whole life toward Agnes was one caress, and instinctively the child felt this.Now she rose quickly from her knees, and threw her arms round her neck, murmuring:"At least I have you, my own dear Patience; you have not forsaken me.""Did you think that possible, my darling?" And taking her by the hand, she led her out into the open. With a short bark of joy and a prolonged whine, Duke sprang upon them."I was looking for you," said Patience, "and could not find you. Duke saw me coming along the terrace, and bounded whining to me. 'Where is Agnes?' I asked him. He turned, leapt towards the chapel, looking round to see that I followed him.""Ah, he is a dear dog!" said Agnes, laying her hand on his head. "Why were you looking for me, Patience? You knew I should not be far.""Because you forget you are alone now," was the quiet answer, "and you must not wander away; it is not safe for a young girl like you to be alone. You know how seldom I left you and the princess, and then you had an attendant.""I thought that was for the princess," said Agnes, "because of her high dignity. It does not matter about me; I am nobody."A slight smile played round Patience's mouth. "We are all somebody," she said; "we have our honour to safeguard, and a young maiden cannot be seen alone, in these times especially.""Is that why I am to have a governess?" asked Agnes sharply. "I do not like it; let me stay with you, Patience.""For you to run away as you have done now?" was the answer. "Besides, you need someone to teach you many things of which I am ignorant.""And I am to have a tutor too; I cannot require both," Agnes continued. "We shall be happier alone, Patience, you and I. I will promise you I will work and never run away; and when you want to leave me, to see after the queen's affairs, Ann Newbolt will come and sit with me or stay with me if her mother will let her. I cannot have a governess sending me to the right and to the left; it would drive me wild;that wouldmake me run away.""Well, we will see," said Patience; "I am not much inclined for it.""Oh, you are not inclined for it at all!" said Agnes. "Think of someone always present in our quiet evenings, or when we stroll about as we are doing now; a third party would not be pleasing to either of us. If I must needs always have someone with me, then there is old Martha; surely she will frighten anyone away, and snarl like an angry dog if man, woman, or child come within ten yards of me."Again Patience smiled--she never laughed. It was a sad smile, as if there lay beneath it a whole world of memories.They moved to the edge of the terrace and looked up and down the river. The waters sparkled and shone in the sunlight of this lovely June day. Barges went and came, boatmen shouted to one another, the sky was blue, the light of the sun was dazzling: it was one of those days which have a touch of Italy in them--the very air was warm with perfume, and the scene was so bright that it seemed to sweep away the great sadness which had oppressed Agnes."Yes, you will think about it, Patience," she persisted. "We must be happy together, you and I. After all, I knew the princess would go one day."Once more the tears gathered in her eyes; but they did not fall, for coming towards them was Reginald Newbolt.He made them a deep bow, his plumed hat sweeping the ground, and his young handsome face alight with kindly sympathy. He saw the tears in Agnes's eyes, but taking no note of them, said:"My mother has sent me to ask you on this lovely day to go with her in our barge to the park at Greenwich, which adjoins the palace. It is well in the country, and the air is fresher there than it is here in the city. You must come, because my mother so seldom proposes anything approaching a diversion. I have not known her go beyond the precincts of her own home for years. I think, Mistress Agnes, you have thrown your spell upon her."Agnes blushed. "I should like to go," she said. "Can we, Patience?""Why not?" was the quiet answer, for Patience knew that Mistress Newbolt had conceived this plan to divert Agnes from her sadness."Yes, we will go," she said. "Where is the barge?""At London Bridge. You can use your own till you get there, then you will use ours. Ann and mother will be waiting for us."A barge not unlike a Venetian gondola always stood moored to the steps leading down from the terrace to the water's edge, so they had not far to go. The distance to London Bridge was but short, and during the journey to Greenwich Agnes found herself made much of, not allowed to grieve or feel herself alone. She was verily a spoilt child, and whilst Patience and Mistress Newbolt sat beneath the trees in the Park, Agnes, Reginald, and Ann wandered into the quaint old garden of the palace known as "The Queen's House", filled with all the blossoms of summer, scented with great bunches of lavender and sweet marjoram. As they strolled about there the strength of her youth overcame the sorrow of her heart, and the great world in which Agnes had lived so lonely, fine gentlemen and ladies, valets and maid-servants, all those accessories to court life, seemed to drop away from her as useless and cumbersome. The sweetness and simplicity of nature, as she had never known it before, crept over her. She had lived all her life in palaces surrounded by etiquette, now for the first time in her life she walked with quiet folk, with neither queens nor princesses, only with this simple maiden Ann and this young man, who, notwithstanding his military attire, was so easy and kindly of manner that she had no fear of him. To divert her thoughts Reginald and his sister talked to her about things of which she knew little--the country, the flowers. They told her, too, of Newbolt Manor, and how pleasant it was up in the bonnie north."But you have not always dwelt there?" said Agnes."No," answered Ann, "we are new people. Cromwell gave it to my father for his services. One thing comforts me," continued Ann, "we have turned no one out, for there was no heir; the last owner was killed fighting for King Charles.""It would not have mattered if there had been an heir," said Agnes, a little bitterly; "we Royalists were dispossessed of all we had. What was the name of the people who came before you in the land?""De Lisle," said Reginald shortly.An old man busy weeding a pathway suddenly drew himself up and said sharply:"De Lisle! Who talks of the De Lisles? They were accursed and driven out, possessors of church lands. Fire and sword have purified them; they will come back again."He looked from one to another till his eyes rested on Agnes. Pointing at her, he added:"Yea, verily, they will come back to their own again. Hate drove them out; love will bring them back."There was a prophetic tone in his voice and a flash in his eye; both died out, and he went back to his weeding."Let us go into the park," said Agnes; "he has frightened me, I know not why."Passing through a side gate they entered the park, crossed a stretch of level grass, and came to the foot of a steep hill."Let's see who will reach the top first," said Ann gleefully. "Not you, Reginald, that would not be fair." And off she went, Agnes running beside her, the one a strong north-country girl, the other a fairy creature, who had never climbed a hill in her life. But Agnes was so light, so swift, that she outran her companion, and stood at the top of the hill clapping her hands and laughing with pleasure. Reginald with long strides had followed them."You are a fay," he said. "Now let us run down.""All of us!" exclaimed Agnes, excited with the unusual motion, and the fresh breezes which came from land and river."Give me your hand," said Reginald, "or you will be tripping."She would have resisted, but he took it. And it was well he did, for she had not reckoned on the impetus of a downhill race, and more than once her foot slipped on the green sward; but he held her firmly, and they reached the bottom, laughing merrily, her pretty golden hair all ruffled with the wind, her face flushed, and her eyes bright.Ann was equally joyous. They were a merry trio when they joined Patience and Mistress Newbolt under a great oak tree, where a cloth had been spread, pies, and cakes, and a heap of ripe strawberries presenting a tempting meal.Verily there are bright days in life which leave their mark in our hearts, and bring a rush of gladness to the eyes and a smile to the lips when we recall them.This day was a red-letter day; it had begun sadly, but it ended brightly. They re-entered the barge, and in the quiet evening twilight they floated up the great river on the top of the tide, and, landing once more at Somerset House, bade each other farewell, with a feeling of regret that so lovely a day had its ending.CHAPTER VIIA King's VengeanceFor some time past both Mistress Newbolt and Ann had noticed a great restlessness in Colonel Newbolt's speech and manner. He was given to great rages. If anyone came suddenly into the house, he would start up and question them as to their business; indeed, it seemed to his family as if he feared something.Ann told Reginald this one day, and the young man looked grave."I am not surprised," he answered. "Matters are getting serious; the king's exchequer is somewhat empty and difficult to refill, and those about him are not scrupulous as to the ways and means by which it may be replenished. You know that all the principal regicides, eighty or ninety odd, some of the best men, have already been dragged to the scaffold, and in most cases their property has been confiscated. But this does not suffice; there are hundreds of others, gentlemen and commoners, ministers, all sorts and conditions of men, who, if they did not vote for the king's death, did not vote against it. Many have been arrested and thrown into prison; some have fled to Geneva, where they are safe; others are in hiding; but some, like my father, have remained at home, fully persuaded that no harm is likely to befall them, seeing they have given their adhesion to Charles II. But I am much afraid this will not be enough. Courtiers are turning a cold shoulder to them, and I find myself somewhat put on one side."I should not be surprised at any moment if my father were called to account and in a certain measure made to refund, for the old Royalists are clamouring to be restored to their estates and to be rewarded for their fidelity. Charles tries to satisfy them in many cases, but not in all; he cannot, and there is much discontent. An empty exchequer and followers who have despoiled themselves for their masters are difficult to deal with. It is not a pleasant prospect, and both he and his ministers seem to think the only way of meeting it is by taking back what Cromwell gave, if it can be proved that the recipients were accessories to Charles's death.""And our father commanded a regiment of horse at Whitehall on the very day of the king's execution," said Ann, looking up."I know it," answered Reginald. "It was his duty; he was under orders. If this knowledge comes to the king's ears, then his command, probably his estates, will be taken from him and he will be brought to trial.""That is what troubles him, then," said Ann."It is enough to trouble any man," answered Reginald. "You see, he is trying to serve two masters, which never answers, in this world or the next.""What would you have him do?" asked Ann, aghast."Do! There is nothing to do," said Reginald, "until the bomb bursts; then, if there is still time and he can escape out of England, his life may be spared, but his estates will be forfeited, and Newbolt Manor will pass into other hands. A case of pure bartering," he added. "His majesty will rob Paul to pay Peter; it has ever been the same.""Can nothing be done?" asked Ann. "I do not care for the loss of Newbolt Manor, but I care for our father and our mother; it will break their hearts.""I see nothing for it but to wait," said Reginald. "It is not likely that our father will be passed over; indeed, I am not sure myself that I shall not come in for a certain amount of opprobrium.""They cannot touch you, you were only a child," said Ann."No, they cannot touch me. I am in the king's service, and I did him homage before he came to the throne; but still there are so many with better claims seeking advancement, it is difficult for me to hold my own."Even while they were speaking there was a sound of many steps outside in the street and in the hall, and a porter came in in haste."Sir," he said, "there are men here asking for the master in the king's name!"Ann's face turned deathly white."So soon!" she exclaimed."The sooner the better," Reginald answered; "it will be the quicker over.""My father is not here," he said, going into the hall and addressing the men. "I do not know even if he is in the house. You had better assure yourselves of this; but first let me see your order."The commander of the company handed him a sheet of parchment. The colour mounted to the young man's face as he read the order of his father's arrest, "to answer certain questions as to his having been treasonably concerned in the late king's death".[image]"THE COMMANDER OF THE COMPANY HANDED HIM A SHEET OF PARCHMENT"Ann had followed him. He bent his head and whispered to her:"Go to our mother, but do not tell her."She was trying to slip away, but she found her passage barred by the officer in command of the company."I regret it, madam," he said; "but I cannot let you pass until the house has been searched and we are assured the colonel is not here.""I never told you he was not here," said Reginald. "I bade you search for him."As he uttered these words, a door at the farther end of the hall opened, and the colonel came forward."What do you require of me?" he asked.Before anyone could answer, Reginald handed him the paper."It is well," he said; "I have expected this. I did not tell your mother nor you, children, because I would not have you needlessly anxious; now it has come to pass, I leave your mother to your care, Reginald. Deal gently with her. Nay, weep not, Ann. You are a soldier's daughter; it is not seemly." Notwithstanding his rough words, he took her in his arms and kissed her.He shook Reginald by the hand, then saying:"Gentlemen, I am ready for you," passed out of the hall, and, mounting the horse that was waiting for him, rode away surrounded by a guard of soldiers.Ann and Reginald remained alone with the frightened servants, who crowded around them. In a few words Reginald told them what had happened, adding, "I do not think there is any danger for my father's life; but that he will suffer imprisonment and be heavily fined is probable. I would entreat of you all to keep quiet, and in public not to make more ado than you can help."Reginald was a great favourite in the household; he was young and generous, and they served him willingly. So with a loud voice they all promised obedience, adding also their hope that their master would soon be amongst them again."I do not think there is the least fear but that he will," Reginald said assuringly, and so they dispersed, and Reginald and Ann remained alone.Ann was very pale, but she was not trembling. She had a courageous heart, and was at the present moment thinking more of her mother than of her father. She knew full well that her mother had always been averse from her husband joining the present king's cause, and she felt sure now that she would call this a just retribution; but she would not take it the less to heart, for under a cold exterior she had loved her husband dearly, and served him as a true and honourable wife.Whilst the two stood hesitating, the door opened and Patience and Agnes entered."What's happened?" asked Agnes. "We saw a troop of soldiers riding away; the street was full of them. They seemed to have a prisoner in their midst; we could not see who it was.""It was my father," said Reginald. "He has been arrested for consenting to the late king's death.""May the Lord help him!" said Patience. "Has there not been bloodshed enough already, that they must be ever seeking for more!""I do not think it is a case of blood," said Reginald, with something approaching a sneer in his voice. "I think money will settle this;" and the words and manner of the young man revealed a bitterness which had been growing in his heart for some time past. He and Ann had been so eager for King Charles to come back, they had welcomed him with such unfeigned joy, such belief that he would bring back all that was noble, all the greatness, the courage, and the bravery, the high moral tone which had been his father's, that whatever errors there had been in the past would cease now, indeed were already forgotten. Had not the whole race of Stuarts been chastised? Had not the whole nation suffered? And therefore they welcomed the king back as their chief good. The crown was his by Right Divine and by the will of the people. He had come back, and made merry, but he had no thought of forgiveness in his soul, only a fierce desire for vengeance against those who had slain his father and sent him into exile. That father had been a saint, and they slew him. The son was a great sinner, and they bowed down before him.Reginald thought, and others thought with him, of all the blood that had been shed. They had hoped that a great pardon would have sealed that homecoming, instead of which it was vengeance and blood; whilst in the very palace where they had witnessed the death of Charles I, there was revelry and evil living, and an ignoring of all sacred things.Their idol was broken, and their ideals had faded into nothingness. For the young this is a terrible experience: it cuts them to the heart, it wounds them to the soul. As men and women grow older they become accustomed to the daily and hourly disappointments of life. The shadow of death has passed over them, the lights have gone out; either they have grown hard and self-contained, or they have learnt to look beyond this world and patiently abide in faith, hope, and charity, until they shall pass into the kingdom of everlasting life. But the lesson has to be learnt, the road has to be trodden, and the pricks hurt their feet. The nobler the girl or the youth, the harder it is for them to lose their ideals.Reginald was passing through this phase. He had built so much on this home-coming of his king, he had thought of him almost as a god, from his youth upwards; the son of that blessed saint and martyr, how should he be less than a hero! The disillusion was great, the sorrow was greater. Had he been of a less sensitive, a less noble nature himself, he would have thrown all care to the wind, have joined the revellers, and been content to lead the wild life of the young Cavaliers who had returned with Charles from foreign lands, and who now thought of little else but of making up for the years which had been passed in poverty and exile. Those lean years had taught them no lesson of frugality or decorum; rather they had made them impatient of restraint, desirous of making up in folly and extravagances for the years they called wasted.Truly they were wasted, for they had brought forth no fruit. The lesson God would have taught to the race of Stuarts and their adherents had been of no avail. These men were like the Israelites of old, they had neither ears to hear nor eyes to see, and the few faithful ones, who loyally in England had waited for and prayed for their coming, were now sick at heart.Yet Reginald had no thought of throwing up his allegiance; it was based on too good a foundation--his God and his king. He could not serve one and forsake the other, and so, though his heart was sore within him, and he felt that dark days were coming both for him and his, as a brave man he looked straight before him, trusting in a higher power than his own to deliver them from evil.CHAPTER VIIIArrestedIt was Patience who sought Mistress Newbolt in her chamber and told her in a few words what had happened. It was even with her as her children had thought it would be."It is the Lord's justice," she said. "His will be done." She straightened herself, went down to her household, and rebuked Ann when she wept."Shall not the Lord chastise His children?" she said. "Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth. Indeed, I am well pleased that our God careth for us so well that He does chastise us; for, seeing we were so prosperous, I feared He held us to be of no account, but now I am exalted, and my spirit is glad within me, for the Lord has laid His hand on my house."This enthusiasm was wonderful; her face, which before had been sad, shone now with an inner light of satisfaction. She went about her duties with an energy and a briskness which had long failed her.The maid-servants exclaimed, "The mistress is of cheerful countenance; is it seemly that she should rejoice over the master's misfortune?"If she divined their thoughts she paid no heed to them."Poor ignorant souls, they cannot understand," she said to Patience, who, to tell the truth, herself did not understand why the wife should rejoice when her husband was sent to prison and was in danger of his life.She remembered how sorely she had grieved over the misfortunes which had befallen the royal standard, and how she had mourned for those who were then laid low."It is not natural," she said to Agnes; "we must accept the will of the Lord, but we are not bound to rejoice when He afflicts us."Reginald had left the house almost immediately after his father's departure, to find out where he had been taken to and what could be done to further his release, so Agnes and Patience remained with Ann and cheered her as best they could. Mistress Newbolt needed no cheering; she busied herself arranging her husband's clothes, packing them to send to his prison, wherever that might be, and she employed the maids in taking off the lace ruffles from his shirts, replacing them with plain linen ones."He shall not appear before his judges like a popinjay," she said, "but like a sober, righteous man.""Mother, you are wrong," said Ann. "He is a king's man now, and is serving the king. Why will you try to show forth to the world that he was ever aught else?""Because it is my duty, my joy," she answered, and she would not be gainsaid."Do not trouble," said Patience to Ann. "Let her have her own way. You can easily supplement what is lacking."The day seemed long to them all except to Mistress Newbolt, whose pale face had a red spot on either cheek from the excitement of her heart. Her muslin kerchief was crumpled, a thing Ann had never seen before, and her hands trembled as she went about her work.Once Agnes crept on tiptoe to the small closet which Mistress Newbolt called her own, where she was wont to read and pray. Opening the door gently she looked in. The window was wide open, and Mistress Newbolt stood before it grazing up into the sky, which was dark, threatening rain; but sunshine or rain, storm or clouds, were naught to her, her soul had soared beyond these earthly signs of fair weather or foul. Her hands were clasped, her face was turned upwards as if she saw a vision, and from her lips a quick flow of words poured forth so rapidly that Agnes had difficulty in following them.It was more conversation than prayer, as if she were speaking to the Almighty as to a familiar friend, thanking Him for having thus cast His eye upon them, and chastening her husband for his sin. She prayed also for Reginald and Ann, that they might be reclaimed and brought back into the true fold. Then came an impassioned act of worship:"Glory be to Thee, oh Lord Most High!" and so on.Agnes stood transfixed. She had never heard the like before. It moved her as if a great wave had swept over her. She listened, drinking in the words with wonder and astonishment."It must be even as the prophets of old spoke," she thought. "I wonder if she is right and we all wrong;" and even as she was thus thinking Mistress Newbolt turned round, saw her, came quickly, took her in her arms, and almost carried her to the open window, crying in exultation:"Lord, behold this child! Make her Thine; teach her Thy ways; make her worship Thee, the only true God, in truth and equity."So tight were her arms wound round her that Agnes could not move. She held her as if she would have almost carried her up to heaven in her exultation. Looking into her face it struck Agnes as strangely beautiful; she had never seen it thus before. Her eyes were as coals of fire; the lips parted as the impassioned words dropped from them.Suddenly the woman collapsed. She loosened her hold of Agnes, staggered, and would have fallen had not the girl upheld her; but she threw her off, and, casting herself on the ground, broke forth into fierce weeping. The bands of iron which had bound her soul gave way and she could only cry:"Save me, oh God, save me, for Thy mercy's sake!"With that delicate instinct which is inherent in some souls, Agnes felt that this was no place for her, that she had no right to look upon the weakness of this strong woman, and quietly, with tears pouring down her face, she left the room, closing the door behind her.She paused for a moment on the landing, then, descending the stairs, found her way into the little sitting-room, where Ann and Patience were waiting for her. The discomposure of her face revealed to them at once that something unusual had happened."Have you seen my mother?" asked Ann, coming forward."Oh, it is too terrible, too terrible!" said Agnes, her tears bursting forth again, and, letting herself fall on the settle beside Patience, she clung to her for protection."What has happened, dear? tell me," said Patience softly."Nothing has happened," was the quiet answer, "but her grief is terrible to see.""I will go to her," said Ann, rising."It is of no use," said Agnes, standing before her; "let her be. Her soul is wrestling with the Lord; she wants no human help; we do not understand her.""I know what you mean," said Ann, "I have seen her in that state before. When my father declared that he would welcome King Charles and join himself to the royal cause, she was three days and nights shut up in her own room and would see no one; she would eat nothing but bread and water, and we heard her pacing up and down, talking to herself, apostrophizing the Almighty, praying aloud. Sometimes she would sing psalms or hymns. As I tell you, she remained three days in this state, and then she came forth haggard and thin, but quite calm. 'I have left it in God's hands,' she said; 'what He doeth will be well done.' Go home, dear friend," Ann continued. "You can give us no help, we must await events. I do not think my father's life is in danger, but how long he will be deprived of liberty, what his punishment will be, we cannot tell until his trial, and that may be retarded for many months. We were going to Newbolt Manor for a few weeks. Now, of course, we must remain here. I am sorry, because my mother's health suffers from the confinement in London, but I know nothing will move her hence so long as my father is in prison.""Of course not," said Patience. "We shall also remain in town for the present. The king has gone with his court to Hampton, and I do not care to be there when that is the case, for there is no peace--the gardens are full of gallants and fine ladies--so we will remain at Somerset House until the king returns to town.""I am glad of it," said Ann; "it is a comfort to feel that you are near me. We have many acquaintances, but few friends.""You must count us as friends," said Patience."I will gladly do so," answered Ann. "I feel as if I have known you all my life.""Therefore, if you have any fear, send for us," said Patience. "Now we will bid you farewell."The distance between the Newbolts' house in Drury Lane and Somerset House could be traversed in a few minutes, but nevertheless the streets were by no means pleasant for women to walk through alone, therefore Patience and Agnes had come in sedan-chairs, which were waiting in the courtyard. These were now brought forward into the house, as was the custom, and, taking a tender adieu of Ann, they got in and were carried out. Agnes drew the curtain on one side, waved a last adieu, and then Ann turned away and went up to the first story, where was her mother's apartment.She was sad at heart, and felt at a loss as to how she should comfort her, for she knew full well that there was no disguising the fact that her father had been a prominent man under Cromwell, also that he had commanded a body of horse at the late king's execution. One thing alone was in his favour: his name was not on the list of those who had voted for the king's death.It was late at night when Reginald returned. He had no good news. His father, he had ascertained, was in Newgate, but he had not been able to gain access to him."I fear much," he said, "that there is a traitor somewhere, for why have we been thus suddenly attacked? The king was quite aware from the first that my father was a Parliamentarian; the only thing he did not know was that he was present at the late king's death. It is upon this charge that my father has been arrested. We cannot clear him; it is quite hopeless; we can only trust to the king's clemency, and that," he continued, "is of no great account. I am much afraid that I shall be obliged to resign my commission, and thus, though I am blameless, I must suffer, and the king will lose a good servant.""Do you think he will be arraigned for treason?" asked Ann."No, that he cannot be," was the answer, "seeing that he was only captain at that time of a body of horse. He obeyed orders, and he kept the street clear in the precincts of Whitehall, but he was not actually on the spot.""And though he has never allowed that it was so," said Ann, "in his heart I believe he grieved that the execution was carried out.""His refraining from giving his vote was a proof of it," said Reginald. "Where is our mother?""In her own apartment," said Ann. "It is no use your trying to go to her; she will see no one. Agnes was with her, and I think she frightened the child; she has been very much excited all day. Martha tells me she has gone to bed, which is proof that she has worn herself out. She may be more composed to-morrow. You see, she considers our father's arrest a retribution.""And she may not be quite wrong," said Reginald. "If he had only voted against instead of keeping silent, he would have been not only safe from molestation, but honourably revered.""That he could not do," said Ann. "I have heard him say that though he disapproved of the king's execution, he did not see how otherwise order and justice were to be restored, or the Civil War ended.""The whole thing is ineffably sad," said Reginald; "it is too late in the day now to discuss the pros and cons. Go to bed, Ann, and sleep; you will need all your strength and courage to face the next few months." And so they bade each other good-night and parted.So worn out was Ann that her head was no sooner on the pillow than she slept; but Reginald sat till an unusually late hour in the house-parlour thinking matters over and trying to find out who could have betrayed his father.He rose at last, and stretched himself, muttering, "It is folly and to no purpose my seeking to find the man; there are so many witnesses of my father's presence at Whitehall. We must abide by the results; but I will see Sir Nicholas Crisp to-morrow, he has always been kindly disposed towards me, and stands high in the king's esteem. He may perchance speak a word in my father's favour." With this he also retired to his chamber to await the events of the morrow.
CHAPTER VI
A First Parting
Queen Henrietta had been loath to part from Agnes, and she would have kept the child about her person had it been possible for her to do so, and had Agnes been a few years older; but to take a child just budding into girlhood alone, without any other companion, or without any definite object in view, to the French court seemed folly.
It had been settled that Patience should make a home for her in England. The queen had spoken seriously to the king about Agnes, and he had settled a pension on her, "until I can do better," he said. "But we must first find out to whom her estates have passed. I'll enquire into the matter. I do not suppose I shall be able to restore them to her; but something shall be done either when she marries or comes of age. Till then I will give her a suite of apartments at Hampton Court."
"That is good," said Henrietta, "and my little lady shall have her town house too, for I will leave Patience in charge of my private apartments in Somerset House. I do not care for all manner of people to have access to them, and so Agnes can come to town when she likes."
"And to court when she is old enough," said Charles, with a merry laugh and twinkling eye.
"No, your majesty," answered Henrietta, "she must wait for that till my return, and until her position is settled. She has no womankind to watch over her except Patience, so she must abide at home."
"As you please," said Charles carelessly. So the matter was settled.
Henrietta explained all this to Patience, Agnes standing by and listening. They even went out to Hampton Court and looked at the apartments which the king had ordered to be prepared for her. The rooms were bright enough, looking out upon a sort of private garden, in a wing of the palace. The queen thought them poorly furnished, and added many little comforts and graceful remembrances, which made them look more home-like.
At times over this unfortunate queen's soul, seared and wounded by sorrow, the old gaiety, the warm, affectionate nature with which she was endowed, would once more show itself, oftener perhaps to Agnes than to anyone else, even oftener than to her own daughter.
"She grows so like her mother," she said one day to Patience, tears filling her eyes, and then she would give Agnes some present, and make much of her.
"My little girl," she said at parting, "it costs me a great deal to leave you behind, but I think Patience is right. You have much to learn. Apply yourself to study; both you and Henrietta have been neglected. It does not matter for her--the women at the French court are for the most part ignorant, some of them can scarcely read or write; but your home will be in England--your father and mother desired it--and some women are very learned in England. I have left you good teachers, a tutor, and a governess, so see that your time is well employed."
Then she kissed her.
It was a very lonely little maiden who walked on the terrace of Somerset House, a beautiful dove-coloured greyhound, which the queen had given her, her only companion. The animal kept close to its little mistress, thrusting its long muzzle into her hand as if to console her, its speaking brown eyes looking up at her as if to say, "Never mind. We are both young; we shall see them again"; and so she paced up and down the terrace, then, bidding Duke lie down and wait for her, she entered the chapel--a lovely piece of architecture, the work of Inigo Jones--the doors of which were always kept open, though, now the queen was gone, they would be closed.
It required considerable tact in those difficult religious times to bring up a child born of English parents in the midst of the French court. But Patience was a wise woman, broad-minded, and with what was then an almost unknown quality, a vast toleration. She held an anomalous position in the queen's household, even as Agnes herself did; but the marked deference the queen-mother showed her, made it evident that she was a person of high station. The education both of Agnes and the Princess Henrietta was left, to a very great extent, in her hands; it was the same with the religious teaching, the princess had the court chaplain, but Agnes knelt with Patience and learnt the great truths of religion from her lips; she guarded her soul as she guarded her body, she would allow of no religious discussions in her presence. To the grand services of the Church of Rome she did not take her. "You are too young, you would not understand," she said; but morning and evening she would go with her into one of the many beautiful churches in Paris, and in silence and devotion watch and pray. So the child learnt all reverence and the great gospel truths. The Bible was a familiar book to her, read in their quiet chamber. "When you are older you will learn many other things," she told her; and since they had come to England Agnes had awakened to the knowledge that the Christian Church was divided against itself. Sometimes the thought troubled her. Her soul was growing, she was striving to see and understand. Instinctively now, in this her first sorrow, she sought comfort where alone she knew it could be found, and so she entered the beautiful chapel and knelt and prayed that her friends might be given back to her. Then she crossed her arms on the back of the prie-Dieu, and her tears flowed fast and little sobs escaped her. Suddenly she felt a hand laid on her shoulder, and looking up she saw Patience. They both gazed into each other's eyes and smiled.
"Be comforted, sweetheart," whispered Patience; and the beauty of her face, the saintliness of it, struck Agnes as it had never done before.
In truth, Patience, even in appearance, was by no means an ordinary woman. She had a marked personality, was tall and slight, holding herself very erect, always dressed in black, plainly but not inelegantly. She had a certain distinction about her. In age she could not have been more than forty, and she did not look that even. Under her white coif her brown hair waved softly; there were no wrinkles or marks of age upon her face; her hazel eyes were clear, but with an ineffable sadness in them--indeed, sadness was the note which Patience struck. She was seldom seen to smile; even when Agnes was a little child she played with her sadly; but she loved her so intensely that the child did not feel this sadness. She would sooner be with Patience than with anyone; Patience meant home to her. She seldom openly caressed her, but then her whole life toward Agnes was one caress, and instinctively the child felt this.
Now she rose quickly from her knees, and threw her arms round her neck, murmuring:
"At least I have you, my own dear Patience; you have not forsaken me."
"Did you think that possible, my darling?" And taking her by the hand, she led her out into the open. With a short bark of joy and a prolonged whine, Duke sprang upon them.
"I was looking for you," said Patience, "and could not find you. Duke saw me coming along the terrace, and bounded whining to me. 'Where is Agnes?' I asked him. He turned, leapt towards the chapel, looking round to see that I followed him."
"Ah, he is a dear dog!" said Agnes, laying her hand on his head. "Why were you looking for me, Patience? You knew I should not be far."
"Because you forget you are alone now," was the quiet answer, "and you must not wander away; it is not safe for a young girl like you to be alone. You know how seldom I left you and the princess, and then you had an attendant."
"I thought that was for the princess," said Agnes, "because of her high dignity. It does not matter about me; I am nobody."
A slight smile played round Patience's mouth. "We are all somebody," she said; "we have our honour to safeguard, and a young maiden cannot be seen alone, in these times especially."
"Is that why I am to have a governess?" asked Agnes sharply. "I do not like it; let me stay with you, Patience."
"For you to run away as you have done now?" was the answer. "Besides, you need someone to teach you many things of which I am ignorant."
"And I am to have a tutor too; I cannot require both," Agnes continued. "We shall be happier alone, Patience, you and I. I will promise you I will work and never run away; and when you want to leave me, to see after the queen's affairs, Ann Newbolt will come and sit with me or stay with me if her mother will let her. I cannot have a governess sending me to the right and to the left; it would drive me wild;that wouldmake me run away."
"Well, we will see," said Patience; "I am not much inclined for it."
"Oh, you are not inclined for it at all!" said Agnes. "Think of someone always present in our quiet evenings, or when we stroll about as we are doing now; a third party would not be pleasing to either of us. If I must needs always have someone with me, then there is old Martha; surely she will frighten anyone away, and snarl like an angry dog if man, woman, or child come within ten yards of me."
Again Patience smiled--she never laughed. It was a sad smile, as if there lay beneath it a whole world of memories.
They moved to the edge of the terrace and looked up and down the river. The waters sparkled and shone in the sunlight of this lovely June day. Barges went and came, boatmen shouted to one another, the sky was blue, the light of the sun was dazzling: it was one of those days which have a touch of Italy in them--the very air was warm with perfume, and the scene was so bright that it seemed to sweep away the great sadness which had oppressed Agnes.
"Yes, you will think about it, Patience," she persisted. "We must be happy together, you and I. After all, I knew the princess would go one day."
Once more the tears gathered in her eyes; but they did not fall, for coming towards them was Reginald Newbolt.
He made them a deep bow, his plumed hat sweeping the ground, and his young handsome face alight with kindly sympathy. He saw the tears in Agnes's eyes, but taking no note of them, said:
"My mother has sent me to ask you on this lovely day to go with her in our barge to the park at Greenwich, which adjoins the palace. It is well in the country, and the air is fresher there than it is here in the city. You must come, because my mother so seldom proposes anything approaching a diversion. I have not known her go beyond the precincts of her own home for years. I think, Mistress Agnes, you have thrown your spell upon her."
Agnes blushed. "I should like to go," she said. "Can we, Patience?"
"Why not?" was the quiet answer, for Patience knew that Mistress Newbolt had conceived this plan to divert Agnes from her sadness.
"Yes, we will go," she said. "Where is the barge?"
"At London Bridge. You can use your own till you get there, then you will use ours. Ann and mother will be waiting for us."
A barge not unlike a Venetian gondola always stood moored to the steps leading down from the terrace to the water's edge, so they had not far to go. The distance to London Bridge was but short, and during the journey to Greenwich Agnes found herself made much of, not allowed to grieve or feel herself alone. She was verily a spoilt child, and whilst Patience and Mistress Newbolt sat beneath the trees in the Park, Agnes, Reginald, and Ann wandered into the quaint old garden of the palace known as "The Queen's House", filled with all the blossoms of summer, scented with great bunches of lavender and sweet marjoram. As they strolled about there the strength of her youth overcame the sorrow of her heart, and the great world in which Agnes had lived so lonely, fine gentlemen and ladies, valets and maid-servants, all those accessories to court life, seemed to drop away from her as useless and cumbersome. The sweetness and simplicity of nature, as she had never known it before, crept over her. She had lived all her life in palaces surrounded by etiquette, now for the first time in her life she walked with quiet folk, with neither queens nor princesses, only with this simple maiden Ann and this young man, who, notwithstanding his military attire, was so easy and kindly of manner that she had no fear of him. To divert her thoughts Reginald and his sister talked to her about things of which she knew little--the country, the flowers. They told her, too, of Newbolt Manor, and how pleasant it was up in the bonnie north.
"But you have not always dwelt there?" said Agnes.
"No," answered Ann, "we are new people. Cromwell gave it to my father for his services. One thing comforts me," continued Ann, "we have turned no one out, for there was no heir; the last owner was killed fighting for King Charles."
"It would not have mattered if there had been an heir," said Agnes, a little bitterly; "we Royalists were dispossessed of all we had. What was the name of the people who came before you in the land?"
"De Lisle," said Reginald shortly.
An old man busy weeding a pathway suddenly drew himself up and said sharply:
"De Lisle! Who talks of the De Lisles? They were accursed and driven out, possessors of church lands. Fire and sword have purified them; they will come back again."
He looked from one to another till his eyes rested on Agnes. Pointing at her, he added:
"Yea, verily, they will come back to their own again. Hate drove them out; love will bring them back."
There was a prophetic tone in his voice and a flash in his eye; both died out, and he went back to his weeding.
"Let us go into the park," said Agnes; "he has frightened me, I know not why."
Passing through a side gate they entered the park, crossed a stretch of level grass, and came to the foot of a steep hill.
"Let's see who will reach the top first," said Ann gleefully. "Not you, Reginald, that would not be fair." And off she went, Agnes running beside her, the one a strong north-country girl, the other a fairy creature, who had never climbed a hill in her life. But Agnes was so light, so swift, that she outran her companion, and stood at the top of the hill clapping her hands and laughing with pleasure. Reginald with long strides had followed them.
"You are a fay," he said. "Now let us run down."
"All of us!" exclaimed Agnes, excited with the unusual motion, and the fresh breezes which came from land and river.
"Give me your hand," said Reginald, "or you will be tripping."
She would have resisted, but he took it. And it was well he did, for she had not reckoned on the impetus of a downhill race, and more than once her foot slipped on the green sward; but he held her firmly, and they reached the bottom, laughing merrily, her pretty golden hair all ruffled with the wind, her face flushed, and her eyes bright.
Ann was equally joyous. They were a merry trio when they joined Patience and Mistress Newbolt under a great oak tree, where a cloth had been spread, pies, and cakes, and a heap of ripe strawberries presenting a tempting meal.
Verily there are bright days in life which leave their mark in our hearts, and bring a rush of gladness to the eyes and a smile to the lips when we recall them.
This day was a red-letter day; it had begun sadly, but it ended brightly. They re-entered the barge, and in the quiet evening twilight they floated up the great river on the top of the tide, and, landing once more at Somerset House, bade each other farewell, with a feeling of regret that so lovely a day had its ending.
CHAPTER VII
A King's Vengeance
For some time past both Mistress Newbolt and Ann had noticed a great restlessness in Colonel Newbolt's speech and manner. He was given to great rages. If anyone came suddenly into the house, he would start up and question them as to their business; indeed, it seemed to his family as if he feared something.
Ann told Reginald this one day, and the young man looked grave.
"I am not surprised," he answered. "Matters are getting serious; the king's exchequer is somewhat empty and difficult to refill, and those about him are not scrupulous as to the ways and means by which it may be replenished. You know that all the principal regicides, eighty or ninety odd, some of the best men, have already been dragged to the scaffold, and in most cases their property has been confiscated. But this does not suffice; there are hundreds of others, gentlemen and commoners, ministers, all sorts and conditions of men, who, if they did not vote for the king's death, did not vote against it. Many have been arrested and thrown into prison; some have fled to Geneva, where they are safe; others are in hiding; but some, like my father, have remained at home, fully persuaded that no harm is likely to befall them, seeing they have given their adhesion to Charles II. But I am much afraid this will not be enough. Courtiers are turning a cold shoulder to them, and I find myself somewhat put on one side.
"I should not be surprised at any moment if my father were called to account and in a certain measure made to refund, for the old Royalists are clamouring to be restored to their estates and to be rewarded for their fidelity. Charles tries to satisfy them in many cases, but not in all; he cannot, and there is much discontent. An empty exchequer and followers who have despoiled themselves for their masters are difficult to deal with. It is not a pleasant prospect, and both he and his ministers seem to think the only way of meeting it is by taking back what Cromwell gave, if it can be proved that the recipients were accessories to Charles's death."
"And our father commanded a regiment of horse at Whitehall on the very day of the king's execution," said Ann, looking up.
"I know it," answered Reginald. "It was his duty; he was under orders. If this knowledge comes to the king's ears, then his command, probably his estates, will be taken from him and he will be brought to trial."
"That is what troubles him, then," said Ann.
"It is enough to trouble any man," answered Reginald. "You see, he is trying to serve two masters, which never answers, in this world or the next."
"What would you have him do?" asked Ann, aghast.
"Do! There is nothing to do," said Reginald, "until the bomb bursts; then, if there is still time and he can escape out of England, his life may be spared, but his estates will be forfeited, and Newbolt Manor will pass into other hands. A case of pure bartering," he added. "His majesty will rob Paul to pay Peter; it has ever been the same."
"Can nothing be done?" asked Ann. "I do not care for the loss of Newbolt Manor, but I care for our father and our mother; it will break their hearts."
"I see nothing for it but to wait," said Reginald. "It is not likely that our father will be passed over; indeed, I am not sure myself that I shall not come in for a certain amount of opprobrium."
"They cannot touch you, you were only a child," said Ann.
"No, they cannot touch me. I am in the king's service, and I did him homage before he came to the throne; but still there are so many with better claims seeking advancement, it is difficult for me to hold my own."
Even while they were speaking there was a sound of many steps outside in the street and in the hall, and a porter came in in haste.
"Sir," he said, "there are men here asking for the master in the king's name!"
Ann's face turned deathly white.
"So soon!" she exclaimed.
"The sooner the better," Reginald answered; "it will be the quicker over."
"My father is not here," he said, going into the hall and addressing the men. "I do not know even if he is in the house. You had better assure yourselves of this; but first let me see your order."
The commander of the company handed him a sheet of parchment. The colour mounted to the young man's face as he read the order of his father's arrest, "to answer certain questions as to his having been treasonably concerned in the late king's death".
[image]"THE COMMANDER OF THE COMPANY HANDED HIM A SHEET OF PARCHMENT"
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[image]
"THE COMMANDER OF THE COMPANY HANDED HIM A SHEET OF PARCHMENT"
Ann had followed him. He bent his head and whispered to her:
"Go to our mother, but do not tell her."
She was trying to slip away, but she found her passage barred by the officer in command of the company.
"I regret it, madam," he said; "but I cannot let you pass until the house has been searched and we are assured the colonel is not here."
"I never told you he was not here," said Reginald. "I bade you search for him."
As he uttered these words, a door at the farther end of the hall opened, and the colonel came forward.
"What do you require of me?" he asked.
Before anyone could answer, Reginald handed him the paper.
"It is well," he said; "I have expected this. I did not tell your mother nor you, children, because I would not have you needlessly anxious; now it has come to pass, I leave your mother to your care, Reginald. Deal gently with her. Nay, weep not, Ann. You are a soldier's daughter; it is not seemly." Notwithstanding his rough words, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
He shook Reginald by the hand, then saying:
"Gentlemen, I am ready for you," passed out of the hall, and, mounting the horse that was waiting for him, rode away surrounded by a guard of soldiers.
Ann and Reginald remained alone with the frightened servants, who crowded around them. In a few words Reginald told them what had happened, adding, "I do not think there is any danger for my father's life; but that he will suffer imprisonment and be heavily fined is probable. I would entreat of you all to keep quiet, and in public not to make more ado than you can help."
Reginald was a great favourite in the household; he was young and generous, and they served him willingly. So with a loud voice they all promised obedience, adding also their hope that their master would soon be amongst them again.
"I do not think there is the least fear but that he will," Reginald said assuringly, and so they dispersed, and Reginald and Ann remained alone.
Ann was very pale, but she was not trembling. She had a courageous heart, and was at the present moment thinking more of her mother than of her father. She knew full well that her mother had always been averse from her husband joining the present king's cause, and she felt sure now that she would call this a just retribution; but she would not take it the less to heart, for under a cold exterior she had loved her husband dearly, and served him as a true and honourable wife.
Whilst the two stood hesitating, the door opened and Patience and Agnes entered.
"What's happened?" asked Agnes. "We saw a troop of soldiers riding away; the street was full of them. They seemed to have a prisoner in their midst; we could not see who it was."
"It was my father," said Reginald. "He has been arrested for consenting to the late king's death."
"May the Lord help him!" said Patience. "Has there not been bloodshed enough already, that they must be ever seeking for more!"
"I do not think it is a case of blood," said Reginald, with something approaching a sneer in his voice. "I think money will settle this;" and the words and manner of the young man revealed a bitterness which had been growing in his heart for some time past. He and Ann had been so eager for King Charles to come back, they had welcomed him with such unfeigned joy, such belief that he would bring back all that was noble, all the greatness, the courage, and the bravery, the high moral tone which had been his father's, that whatever errors there had been in the past would cease now, indeed were already forgotten. Had not the whole race of Stuarts been chastised? Had not the whole nation suffered? And therefore they welcomed the king back as their chief good. The crown was his by Right Divine and by the will of the people. He had come back, and made merry, but he had no thought of forgiveness in his soul, only a fierce desire for vengeance against those who had slain his father and sent him into exile. That father had been a saint, and they slew him. The son was a great sinner, and they bowed down before him.
Reginald thought, and others thought with him, of all the blood that had been shed. They had hoped that a great pardon would have sealed that homecoming, instead of which it was vengeance and blood; whilst in the very palace where they had witnessed the death of Charles I, there was revelry and evil living, and an ignoring of all sacred things.
Their idol was broken, and their ideals had faded into nothingness. For the young this is a terrible experience: it cuts them to the heart, it wounds them to the soul. As men and women grow older they become accustomed to the daily and hourly disappointments of life. The shadow of death has passed over them, the lights have gone out; either they have grown hard and self-contained, or they have learnt to look beyond this world and patiently abide in faith, hope, and charity, until they shall pass into the kingdom of everlasting life. But the lesson has to be learnt, the road has to be trodden, and the pricks hurt their feet. The nobler the girl or the youth, the harder it is for them to lose their ideals.
Reginald was passing through this phase. He had built so much on this home-coming of his king, he had thought of him almost as a god, from his youth upwards; the son of that blessed saint and martyr, how should he be less than a hero! The disillusion was great, the sorrow was greater. Had he been of a less sensitive, a less noble nature himself, he would have thrown all care to the wind, have joined the revellers, and been content to lead the wild life of the young Cavaliers who had returned with Charles from foreign lands, and who now thought of little else but of making up for the years which had been passed in poverty and exile. Those lean years had taught them no lesson of frugality or decorum; rather they had made them impatient of restraint, desirous of making up in folly and extravagances for the years they called wasted.
Truly they were wasted, for they had brought forth no fruit. The lesson God would have taught to the race of Stuarts and their adherents had been of no avail. These men were like the Israelites of old, they had neither ears to hear nor eyes to see, and the few faithful ones, who loyally in England had waited for and prayed for their coming, were now sick at heart.
Yet Reginald had no thought of throwing up his allegiance; it was based on too good a foundation--his God and his king. He could not serve one and forsake the other, and so, though his heart was sore within him, and he felt that dark days were coming both for him and his, as a brave man he looked straight before him, trusting in a higher power than his own to deliver them from evil.
CHAPTER VIII
Arrested
It was Patience who sought Mistress Newbolt in her chamber and told her in a few words what had happened. It was even with her as her children had thought it would be.
"It is the Lord's justice," she said. "His will be done." She straightened herself, went down to her household, and rebuked Ann when she wept.
"Shall not the Lord chastise His children?" she said. "Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth. Indeed, I am well pleased that our God careth for us so well that He does chastise us; for, seeing we were so prosperous, I feared He held us to be of no account, but now I am exalted, and my spirit is glad within me, for the Lord has laid His hand on my house."
This enthusiasm was wonderful; her face, which before had been sad, shone now with an inner light of satisfaction. She went about her duties with an energy and a briskness which had long failed her.
The maid-servants exclaimed, "The mistress is of cheerful countenance; is it seemly that she should rejoice over the master's misfortune?"
If she divined their thoughts she paid no heed to them.
"Poor ignorant souls, they cannot understand," she said to Patience, who, to tell the truth, herself did not understand why the wife should rejoice when her husband was sent to prison and was in danger of his life.
She remembered how sorely she had grieved over the misfortunes which had befallen the royal standard, and how she had mourned for those who were then laid low.
"It is not natural," she said to Agnes; "we must accept the will of the Lord, but we are not bound to rejoice when He afflicts us."
Reginald had left the house almost immediately after his father's departure, to find out where he had been taken to and what could be done to further his release, so Agnes and Patience remained with Ann and cheered her as best they could. Mistress Newbolt needed no cheering; she busied herself arranging her husband's clothes, packing them to send to his prison, wherever that might be, and she employed the maids in taking off the lace ruffles from his shirts, replacing them with plain linen ones.
"He shall not appear before his judges like a popinjay," she said, "but like a sober, righteous man."
"Mother, you are wrong," said Ann. "He is a king's man now, and is serving the king. Why will you try to show forth to the world that he was ever aught else?"
"Because it is my duty, my joy," she answered, and she would not be gainsaid.
"Do not trouble," said Patience to Ann. "Let her have her own way. You can easily supplement what is lacking."
The day seemed long to them all except to Mistress Newbolt, whose pale face had a red spot on either cheek from the excitement of her heart. Her muslin kerchief was crumpled, a thing Ann had never seen before, and her hands trembled as she went about her work.
Once Agnes crept on tiptoe to the small closet which Mistress Newbolt called her own, where she was wont to read and pray. Opening the door gently she looked in. The window was wide open, and Mistress Newbolt stood before it grazing up into the sky, which was dark, threatening rain; but sunshine or rain, storm or clouds, were naught to her, her soul had soared beyond these earthly signs of fair weather or foul. Her hands were clasped, her face was turned upwards as if she saw a vision, and from her lips a quick flow of words poured forth so rapidly that Agnes had difficulty in following them.
It was more conversation than prayer, as if she were speaking to the Almighty as to a familiar friend, thanking Him for having thus cast His eye upon them, and chastening her husband for his sin. She prayed also for Reginald and Ann, that they might be reclaimed and brought back into the true fold. Then came an impassioned act of worship:
"Glory be to Thee, oh Lord Most High!" and so on.
Agnes stood transfixed. She had never heard the like before. It moved her as if a great wave had swept over her. She listened, drinking in the words with wonder and astonishment.
"It must be even as the prophets of old spoke," she thought. "I wonder if she is right and we all wrong;" and even as she was thus thinking Mistress Newbolt turned round, saw her, came quickly, took her in her arms, and almost carried her to the open window, crying in exultation:
"Lord, behold this child! Make her Thine; teach her Thy ways; make her worship Thee, the only true God, in truth and equity."
So tight were her arms wound round her that Agnes could not move. She held her as if she would have almost carried her up to heaven in her exultation. Looking into her face it struck Agnes as strangely beautiful; she had never seen it thus before. Her eyes were as coals of fire; the lips parted as the impassioned words dropped from them.
Suddenly the woman collapsed. She loosened her hold of Agnes, staggered, and would have fallen had not the girl upheld her; but she threw her off, and, casting herself on the ground, broke forth into fierce weeping. The bands of iron which had bound her soul gave way and she could only cry:
"Save me, oh God, save me, for Thy mercy's sake!"
With that delicate instinct which is inherent in some souls, Agnes felt that this was no place for her, that she had no right to look upon the weakness of this strong woman, and quietly, with tears pouring down her face, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
She paused for a moment on the landing, then, descending the stairs, found her way into the little sitting-room, where Ann and Patience were waiting for her. The discomposure of her face revealed to them at once that something unusual had happened.
"Have you seen my mother?" asked Ann, coming forward.
"Oh, it is too terrible, too terrible!" said Agnes, her tears bursting forth again, and, letting herself fall on the settle beside Patience, she clung to her for protection.
"What has happened, dear? tell me," said Patience softly.
"Nothing has happened," was the quiet answer, "but her grief is terrible to see."
"I will go to her," said Ann, rising.
"It is of no use," said Agnes, standing before her; "let her be. Her soul is wrestling with the Lord; she wants no human help; we do not understand her."
"I know what you mean," said Ann, "I have seen her in that state before. When my father declared that he would welcome King Charles and join himself to the royal cause, she was three days and nights shut up in her own room and would see no one; she would eat nothing but bread and water, and we heard her pacing up and down, talking to herself, apostrophizing the Almighty, praying aloud. Sometimes she would sing psalms or hymns. As I tell you, she remained three days in this state, and then she came forth haggard and thin, but quite calm. 'I have left it in God's hands,' she said; 'what He doeth will be well done.' Go home, dear friend," Ann continued. "You can give us no help, we must await events. I do not think my father's life is in danger, but how long he will be deprived of liberty, what his punishment will be, we cannot tell until his trial, and that may be retarded for many months. We were going to Newbolt Manor for a few weeks. Now, of course, we must remain here. I am sorry, because my mother's health suffers from the confinement in London, but I know nothing will move her hence so long as my father is in prison."
"Of course not," said Patience. "We shall also remain in town for the present. The king has gone with his court to Hampton, and I do not care to be there when that is the case, for there is no peace--the gardens are full of gallants and fine ladies--so we will remain at Somerset House until the king returns to town."
"I am glad of it," said Ann; "it is a comfort to feel that you are near me. We have many acquaintances, but few friends."
"You must count us as friends," said Patience.
"I will gladly do so," answered Ann. "I feel as if I have known you all my life."
"Therefore, if you have any fear, send for us," said Patience. "Now we will bid you farewell."
The distance between the Newbolts' house in Drury Lane and Somerset House could be traversed in a few minutes, but nevertheless the streets were by no means pleasant for women to walk through alone, therefore Patience and Agnes had come in sedan-chairs, which were waiting in the courtyard. These were now brought forward into the house, as was the custom, and, taking a tender adieu of Ann, they got in and were carried out. Agnes drew the curtain on one side, waved a last adieu, and then Ann turned away and went up to the first story, where was her mother's apartment.
She was sad at heart, and felt at a loss as to how she should comfort her, for she knew full well that there was no disguising the fact that her father had been a prominent man under Cromwell, also that he had commanded a body of horse at the late king's execution. One thing alone was in his favour: his name was not on the list of those who had voted for the king's death.
It was late at night when Reginald returned. He had no good news. His father, he had ascertained, was in Newgate, but he had not been able to gain access to him.
"I fear much," he said, "that there is a traitor somewhere, for why have we been thus suddenly attacked? The king was quite aware from the first that my father was a Parliamentarian; the only thing he did not know was that he was present at the late king's death. It is upon this charge that my father has been arrested. We cannot clear him; it is quite hopeless; we can only trust to the king's clemency, and that," he continued, "is of no great account. I am much afraid that I shall be obliged to resign my commission, and thus, though I am blameless, I must suffer, and the king will lose a good servant."
"Do you think he will be arraigned for treason?" asked Ann.
"No, that he cannot be," was the answer, "seeing that he was only captain at that time of a body of horse. He obeyed orders, and he kept the street clear in the precincts of Whitehall, but he was not actually on the spot."
"And though he has never allowed that it was so," said Ann, "in his heart I believe he grieved that the execution was carried out."
"His refraining from giving his vote was a proof of it," said Reginald. "Where is our mother?"
"In her own apartment," said Ann. "It is no use your trying to go to her; she will see no one. Agnes was with her, and I think she frightened the child; she has been very much excited all day. Martha tells me she has gone to bed, which is proof that she has worn herself out. She may be more composed to-morrow. You see, she considers our father's arrest a retribution."
"And she may not be quite wrong," said Reginald. "If he had only voted against instead of keeping silent, he would have been not only safe from molestation, but honourably revered."
"That he could not do," said Ann. "I have heard him say that though he disapproved of the king's execution, he did not see how otherwise order and justice were to be restored, or the Civil War ended."
"The whole thing is ineffably sad," said Reginald; "it is too late in the day now to discuss the pros and cons. Go to bed, Ann, and sleep; you will need all your strength and courage to face the next few months." And so they bade each other good-night and parted.
So worn out was Ann that her head was no sooner on the pillow than she slept; but Reginald sat till an unusually late hour in the house-parlour thinking matters over and trying to find out who could have betrayed his father.
He rose at last, and stretched himself, muttering, "It is folly and to no purpose my seeking to find the man; there are so many witnesses of my father's presence at Whitehall. We must abide by the results; but I will see Sir Nicholas Crisp to-morrow, he has always been kindly disposed towards me, and stands high in the king's esteem. He may perchance speak a word in my father's favour." With this he also retired to his chamber to await the events of the morrow.