CHAPTER LX.
THE ROYAL LOVER.
The night upon which the king had been promised that the young Ellen, with whom he was so deeply enamoured, would come to his apartments, at length arrived, and set in with squally fierceness.
For the whole day the sun had been obscured by clouds, and although it was not until evening actually arrived that any rain had fallen, yet it had threatened to do so numberless times, and the scud of heavy clouds had been coursing through the air at a terrible rate.
The wind, though, about sunset—when a dashing rain began to fall—had sensibly moderated, and it was only now and then that it whistled about the old towers and chimneys of St. James’s Palace.
The two dissolute and unscrupulous men to whom the king had, rather in defiance of the pledge he gave to Sir Richard Warbeck, given an account of his intended adventure—namely, Blood and the pageSimon—were quite ready to play their part in the comedy, which they knew was about to take place.
The ruin of a young girl, who confided in the truth and honesty of one, who, under a false name, affected to love her, was to them a common-place affair.
And without a thought or regret for the evil they were about to do, they joined heart and hand in the infamous plan for the destruction of the fair Ellen.
If we were to say that the king had no terrors upon the subject, we should, perhaps, be, at his age, giving him the discredit of a greater familiarity with vice than he really had.
The career of dissipation which he had fallen into was in consequence of evil councillors surrounding him; and it is certain that, during the day, he had several misgivings with regard to the course he agreed to pursue in this affair.
By appointment, Colonel Blood met the king in his own apartments about one hour before the time appointed for the meeting with young Ellen.
And whatever might have been his own qualms of conscience, they were soon smothered by the reckless manner in which those two dissolute persons, Blood and Simon, spoke of the affair.
In fact, as is ever the case with a young mind that is thrown into vicious company, there was a lack of sufficient courage to assert better principles than were enunciated by that company.
“Well, sire,” said Blood, gaily, “you are a lucky fellow, upon my life.”
“Think you so?”
“Think I so? I am sure of it. Is he not now, Simon?”
“De-ci-ded-ly,” said Simon, “His majesty is always lucky.”
“Well, then, I suppose I am,” said the king.
“You are,” added Blood, “in more ways than one.”
“But are all the hindrances got rid of?”
“All, sire.”
“Good; and we three alone, then, now occupy this suit of apartments?”
“Precisely so, sire; and I have also said should any inquiry be made for you, you are not here.”
“Good again; and the fair one is to be here at the hour of midnight. Is it not so?”
“It is, sire.”
“Very well, then, I act the bridegroom, Blood acts the parson, and Simon here acts the clerk. Who is to be the only witnesses of this marriage?”
“By jove, I should like to change places with you, for from the transient glances I have had of the fair girl, she is positively bewitching.”
The king was about to make some reply, but such a gust of wind, accompanied by a heavy dash of rain, at that moment came against the windows of the room in which they sat, that they all three sprang to their feet, with the full expectation that the casement was about to be blown in upon them at that moment.
“What a night!” said the king. “Surely she will not come. What think you, gentlemen, shall we indeed see the fair one to-night?”
“I say, yes,” replied Blood; “I know she will be brought here for a certainty.”
“And so do I,” said Simon, “for what, after all, will not love adventure? And that she is desperately enamoured of your majesty, there cannot be a doubt upon any of our minds.”
“Not the least,” said Blood; “of course not.”
“Well,” said the king, “there is certainly something in that; but as it is now near the time, I think it but civil that I should be near the door to receive her when she does come.”
“Be it so, sire,” said Blood; “and while you are gone, we will get ready for the parts we may be about to play. By the bye, which room will you take her into, your majesty?”
“The room next to this.”
“Well, perhaps it will be better to do so, sire; and yet the next room that opens to the garden is most private, is it not?”
“Not so; lights can be seen through its windows; but that, to be sure, would not matter much. Hark!”
“It is the old clock.”
The old clock chimed the three-quarters past eleven, and the king, waving his hand to his friends, left the room, and took his way through a magnificent suite of chambers.
A handsome small saloon was already lighted, and into it the king at once made his way.
And, flinging his cap and cloak upon the table, he shook a small silver bell that was at hand.
A female attendant appeared as if by magic.
“Oh, is that you, Lady Gordon?” said the king.
“Yes, sire.”
“Well, there is a young lady here, I believe; she has not long arrived.”
“She has that honour, sire.”
“I hope that she has been treated as belies her rank and honour.”
“Her rank and—and——Did you say virtue?”
The king bit his lips to keep himself from laughing outright.
And then, with feigned anger, he said,
“Lady Gordon, do you think it impossible for a virtuous girl to find her way to this house? Do you dare to assert that because a young lady is brought here in rather a mysterious manner, she is henceforth to have a slur cast upon her name? I am really ashamed of you, Lady Gordon.”
“I humbly crave your pardon, I really did not know——”
“Pshaw! you ought to know!”
“As you please, sire.”
“Tell me at once, has the lady, who was brought here to-night, been treated with respect and consideration or not? Answer me that.”
“I can assure you, sire, upon that point, that she has been treated with the greatest possible respect and attention; and I can further say that I have been informed that she is rather impatient under her imprisonment.”
“Ah, indeed!”
“Even so, sire.”
“Has she made any attempt to escape?”
“I cannot say that, sire; but she has, in terms of indignant remonstrance, demanded her freedom, and proclaimed that she was innocent of all crime.”
“Humph! Did she talk of her father?”
“No, sir; but she spoke of Sir Richard Warbeck.”
“It is very strange that she should refer less to her father than to old Sir Richard, to whom she is no relative.”
“Yes, sire, and if you please, and——”
“Peace, Lady Gordon! I was only communing with myself; you know nothing of all this.”
The lady bowed very low and retired a few paces, when the king rather abruptly said,
“Send Lady Connell to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lady Gordon retired, and the king rose and paced the room.
It was evident he was rather at a loss what to do.
In the course of a few minutes Lady Connell made her appearance, and with rather a stately curtsey, saluted the king.
THE DEPARTURE.
THE DEPARTURE.
THE DEPARTURE.
“Oh, Connell,” he said, “how are you?”
“I am quite well. May I ask if you are the same?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. All right. Sit down. Well, how about this girl, eh? What does she say?”
“The child, you mean?”
“The what?”
“The child that was brought here to-night.”
“Child, eh?—hem! Excuse me, I don’t know anything about a child. I allude to Ellen Harmer. I may as well name her at once, for I hear from Gordon that she has proclaimed who she is.”
“It is to that same girl I allude. I call her, I think justly, a child.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Yes, I think every female a child under thirty years of age.”
“Oh, lord! Well, Connell, we won’t quarrel about that at all events. How is the baby?”
“You jest.”
“No, on my soul no; but I thought you would like to be met with in your own way, but if you prefer the term “child” better, how is the child?”
“She is well enough.”
“Or ill enough—which is it?”
“Ill enough in temper, but well enough in health, I take it,” said Lady Connell, tossing up her head. “You’ll find her in the next room.”
“Many thanks. Go to her and say that a gentleman wishes to speak to her, if she will grant him an audience.”
Lady Connell sailed out of the room, and presently returned to say that Ellen had, upon the ground that she was detained against her will like a prisoner, refused to reply to the message in any terms at all.
“You will go to her, I presume,” said Lady Connell, “and announce yourself?”
“No!”
“No! Why?”
“That is—I don’t know. Ellen Harmer is very virtuous, and is a young lady of surpassing charms. I don’t know what course to adopt. She might know me again. Being the daughter of a true old gentleman, I fear I shall have to leave the house as I came into it.”
“It’s quite a gratification,” said Lady Connell, with a toss of her head again, “it’s quite a gratification to find you are so scrupulous—much more so than you used to be.”
“More scrupulous than I used to be? How do you mean?”
“I mean that you have not shrunk from appealing to the affections of a young lady, despite her rank or birth.”
“Have I not? That’s all you know about it. I have ever respected rank, and real virtue more so. To whom do you allude, if indeed you allude to any one at all?”
“To Margaret, my daughter.”
“To what?”
“To Margaret, the daughter of—”
“Oh! oh! oh!—ha! ha! ha! Good. Oh, that is good!”
“Sire!”
“Excuse my laughing, Lady Connell; but you are talking of the little blue-eyed wench you called your daughter, or your niece, are you not?”
“I mentioned the name, and the descendant of a race of kings!”
“Milesian kings?”
“Yes, Milesian kings; but none the less kings, and I am quite surprised that you should feel any hesitation in regarding the daughter of a mere English miller when you felt none regarding Margaret, a descendant of a long line of kings.”
“My good woman, don’t make me laugh in this way, that’s a dear old soul; now, don’t.”
“Laugh, sire?”
“Yes, to be sure. Come, say no more, we will go and speak to this——”
The king dashed out of the room just as Lady Connell, with a preparatory shake of the head, was about to say something further regarding her daughter.
The three rooms adjoining consisted of reception-room, a refreshment-room, and a bed-chamber; and when the king got to the door of the reception room, he found a servant on duty, who had the key of it.
“You are sure the lady is here?” said the king.
“Yes, sire.”
“Open the door and lock it after me.”
“Yes, sire.”
Without the least change of countenance, the servant opened the door for the king, who at once passed into the reception-room.
The door was shut behind him, and locked; but a glance told him that Ellen was not in that room.
Now there was something of the gentleman about the king, notwithstanding all his libertinism, therefore he thought it would be ungentlemanly to proceed further without Ellen knowing of his presence.
He took an irresolute glance around the room; and while he is debating in his own mind what course to pursue, we may give the reader a slight idea of the appearance of the suite of apartments.
The reception-room the king was in was a very pretty one, and hung with tapestry that was not defaced by any hideous representations of human figures which were ever failures in such material; but had upon it a real flowering pattern that succeeded perfectly well, and had rather a charming effect.
The furniture of this room was of white and gold.
The next room was covered with crimson plush paper.
The furniture was of rosewood, polished up to a great height of brilliancy.
The sleeping chamber was the gem of the whole suite, for it was got up quite regardless of expense in blue and silver, and presented the most enchanting appearance of brightness and elegance.
If the apartments she occupied could have cheered the melancholy of Ellen Harmer, certainly she ought to have been happy enough in them.
The king for one moment knew not what to do.
A certain sense of fear came over him as he noiselessly walked towards the beautiful bed-room.
In a chair beside the glowing fire sat Ellen Harmer, and the soft light of waxen tapers made the maiden to appear even more lovely than she really was.
With an impatient gesture the king advanced towards her and knelt upon one knee.
“Dearest Ellen,” he began, in tones of great earnestness; “dearest Ellen, how I have longed for this interview!”
“I was brought here, sire,” was the maiden’s reply, “by force, and, as a gentleman, as a nobleman, as my king, I demand to know why and wherefore?”
“Dear creature, do not pout so beautifully; do not flash those lovely eyes, I beseech you. It was by my orders you were brought hither.”
“Indeed, sire. And was such an action worthy of a king?”
“Nay, do not discuss that point with me, fair one, for you know that Cupid knows no law. Come, fairest of the fair, listen to my tale of love, I beseech thee. We are here alone; no one can hear us, no one can see us; the doors are locked, we are alone!”
“False man!” said Ellen; “would you thus enveigle me to destroy mine honour? Let me go, I say!”
“You cannot.”
“But I will.”
“Nay, dear Ellen, listen to me. We are alone, I say.”
“Nay; not alone,” said a voice behind some tapestry.
“Ha!” said the king. “What, rats behind the arras!”
“No rat, sire,” said a bold youth, advancing into view.
It was Ned Warbeck.
In his hand he held a sword.
The point was gory, and the brave youth looked flushed and excited.
“What means this,” gasped the king, with a hand upon his own sword.
“Mean, sire!” answered Ned, proudly; “it means that Colonel Blood is a villain! It means that he caused the abduction of this fair maid from my uncle’s house! It means that he has proved himself a hypocrite and a liar! And, finally, it means that I watched for him, and found my way hither over his vile body!”
“What, dead! Blood dead?”
“That I know not, sire, nor care,” said Ned Warbeck, boldly. “He confronted me, sword in hand; I left him gasping on the back stairs.”
“And what would you with me?”
“Nothing, sire, but that this injured maid may be restored to her old father’s arms.”
“Rash youth,” said the king, “know you not that I could with one word call around me a whole regiment of soldiers?”
“I know it,” Ned replied, with an ironical bow; “you could do so, of course, sire, but you are much too wise to attempt it.”
This was uttered with so much emphasis and meaning, that it staggered the king.
And, without saying another word, Ned Warbeck conducted Ellen Harmer from the apartment by the secret back stairway; and before the king could utter a word, the door was locked upon him, and the fair fugitive was safe in the hands of friends.