Part 10 (2/2)
”Their hearts are dead within them,” said the Countess. ”They are like sheep penned up in the shambles, that the butcher may take his choice among them. In the obscure and brief communications which I have had by a secure hand, they do but antic.i.p.ate their own utter ruin, and ours--so general is the depression, so universal the despair.”
”But the King,” said Peveril,--”the King and the Protestant Royalists --what say they to this growing tempest?”
”Charles,” replied the Countess, ”with his usual selfish prudence, truckles to the storm; and will let cord and axe do their work on the most innocent men in his dominions, rather than lose an hour of pleasure in attempting their rescue. And, for the Royalists, either they have caught the general delirium which has seized on Protestants in general, or they stand aloof and neutral, afraid to show any interest in the unhappy Catholics, lest they be judged altogether such as themselves, and abettors of the fearful conspiracy in which they are alleged to be engaged. In fact, I cannot blame them. It is hard to expect that mere compa.s.sion for a persecuted sect--or, what is yet more rare, an abstract love of justice--should be powerful enough to engage men to expose themselves to the awakened fury of a whole people; for, in the present state of general agitation, whoever disbelieves the least t.i.ttle of the enormous improbabilities which have been acc.u.mulated by these wretched reformers, is instantly hunted down, as one who would smother the discovery of the Plot. It is indeed an awful tempest; and, remote as we lie from its sphere, we must expect soon to feel its effects.”
”Lord Derby already told me something of this,” said Julian; ”and that there were agents in this island whose object was to excite insurrection.”
”Yes,” answered the Countess, and her eye flashed fire as she spoke; ”and had my advice been listened to, they had been apprehended in the very fact; and so dealt with, as to be a warning to all others how they sought this independent princ.i.p.ality on such an errand. But my son, who is generally so culpably negligent of his own affairs, was pleased to a.s.sume the management of them upon this crisis.”
”I am happy to learn, madam,” answered Peveril, ”that the measures of precaution which my kinsman has adopted, have had the complete effect of disconcerting the conspiracy.”
”For the present, Julian; but they should have been such as would have made the boldest tremble to think of such infringement of our rights in future. But Derby's present plan is fraught with greater danger; and yet there is something in it of gallantry, which has my sympathy.”
”What is it, madam?” inquired Julian anxiously; ”and in what can I aid it, or avert its dangers?”
”He purposes,” said the Countess, ”instantly to set forth for London. He is, he says, not merely the feudal chief of a small island, but one of the n.o.ble Peers of England, who must not remain in the security of an obscure and distant castle, when his name, or that of his mother, is slandered before his Prince and people. He will take his place, he says, in the House of Lords, and publicly demand justice for the insult thrown on his house, by perjured and interested witnesses.”
”It is a generous resolution, and worthy of my friend,” said Julian Peveril. ”I will go with him and share his fate, be it what it may.”
”Alas, foolish boy!” answered the Countess, ”as well may you ask a hungry lion to feel compa.s.sion, as a prejudiced and furious people to do justice. They are like the madman at the height of frenzy, who murders without compunction his best and dearest friend; and only wonders and wails over his own cruelty, when he is recovered from his delirium.”
”Pardon me, dearest lady,” said Julian, ”this cannot be. The n.o.ble and generous people of England cannot be thus strangely misled. Whatever prepossessions may be current among the more vulgar, the House of Legislature cannot be deeply infected by them--they will remember their own dignity.”
”Alas! cousin,” answered the Countess, ”when did Englishmen, even of the highest degree, remember anything, when hurried away by the violence of party feeling? Even those who have too much sense to believe in the incredible fictions which gull the mult.i.tude, will beware how they expose them, if their own political party can gain a momentary advantage by their being accredited. It is amongst such, too, that your kinsman has found friends and a.s.sociates. Neglecting the old friends of his house, as too grave and formal companions for the humour of the times, his intercourse has been with the versatile Shaftesbury--the mercurial Buckingham--men who would not hesitate to sacrifice to the popular Moloch of the day, whatsoever or whomsoever, whose ruin could propitiate the deity.--Forgive a mother's tears, kinsman; but I see the scaffold at Bolton again erected. If Derby goes to London while these bloodhounds are in full cry, obnoxious as he is, and I have made him by my religious faith, and my conduct in this island, he dies his father's death. And yet upon what other course to resolve!----”
”Let me go to London, madam,” said Peveril, much moved by the distress of his patroness; ”your ladys.h.i.+p was wont to rely something on my judgment. I will act for the best--will communicate with those whom you point out to me, and only with them; and I trust soon to send you information that this delusion, however strong it may now be, is in the course of pa.s.sing away; at the worst, I can apprise you of the danger, should it menace the Earl or yourself; and may be able also to point out the means by which it may be eluded.”
The Countess listened with a countenance in which the anxiety of maternal affection, which prompted her to embrace Peveril's generous offer, struggled with her native disinterested and generous disposition. ”Think what you ask of me, Julian,” she replied with a sigh. ”Would you have me expose the life of my friend's son to those perils to which I refuse my own?--No, never!”
”Nay, but madam,” replied Julian, ”I do not run the same risk--my person is not known in London--my situation, though not obscure in my own country, is too little known to be noticed in that huge a.s.semblage of all that is n.o.ble and wealthy. No whisper, I presume, however indirect, has connected my name with the alleged conspiracy. I am a Protestant, above all; and can be accused of no intercourse, direct or indirect, with the Church of Rome. My connections also lie amongst those, who, if they do not, or cannot, befriend me, cannot, at least, be dangerous to me. In a word, I run no danger where the Earl might incur great peril.”
”Alas!” said the Countess of Derby, ”all this generous reasoning may be true; but it could only be listened to by a widowed mother. Selfish as I am, I cannot but reflect that my kinswoman has, in all events, the support of an affectionate husband--such is the interested reasoning to which we are not ashamed to subject our better feelings.”
”Do not call it so, madam,” answered Peveril; ”think of me as the younger brother of my kinsman. You have ever done by me the duties of a mother; and have a right to my filial service, were it at a risk ten times greater than a journey to London, to inquire into the temper of the times. I will instantly go and announce my departure to the Earl.”
”Stay, Julian,” said the Countess; ”if you must make this journey in our behalf,--and, alas! I have not generosity enough to refuse your n.o.ble proffer,--you must go alone, and without communication with Derby. I know him well; his lightness of mind is free from selfish baseness; and for the world, would he not suffer you to leave Man without his company. And if he went with you, your n.o.ble and disinterested kindness would be of no avail--you would but share his ruin, as the swimmer who attempts to save a drowning man is involved in his fate, if he permit the sufferer to grapple with him.”
”It shall be as you please, madam,” said Peveril. ”I am ready to depart upon half-an-hour's notice.”
”This night, then,” said the Countess, after a moment's pause--”this night I will arrange the most secret means of carrying your generous project into effect; for I would not excite that prejudice against you, which will instantly arise, were it known you had so lately left this island, and its Popish lady. You will do well, perhaps, to use a feigned name in London.”
”Pardon me, madam,” said Julian; ”I will do nothing that can draw on me unnecessary attention; but to bear a feigned name, or affect any disguise beyond living with extreme privacy, would, I think, be unwise as well as unworthy; and what, if challenged, I might find some difficulty in a.s.signing a reason for, consistent with perfect fairness of intentions.”
”I believe you are right,” answered the Countess, after a moment's consideration; and then added, ”You propose, doubtless, to pa.s.s through Derbys.h.i.+re, and visit Martindale Castle?”
”I should wish it, madam, certainly,” replied Peveril, ”did time permit, and circ.u.mstances render it advisable.”
”Of that,” said the Countess, ”you must yourself judge. Despatch is, doubtless, desirable; on the other hand, arriving from your own family-seat, you will be less an object of doubt and suspicion, than if you posted up from hence, without even visiting your parents. You must be guided in this,--in all,--by your own prudence. Go, my dearest son--for to me you should be dear as a son--go, and prepare for your journey. I will get ready some despatches, and a supply of money--Nay, do not object. Am I not your mother; and are you not discharging a son's duty? Dispute not my right of defraying your expenses. Nor is this all; for, as I must trust your zeal and prudence to act in our behalf when occasion shall demand, I will furnish you with effectual recommendations to our friends and kindred, entreating and enjoining them to render whatever aid you may require, either for your own protection, or the advancement of what you may propose in our favour.”
Peveril made no farther opposition to an arrangement, which in truth the moderate state of his own finances rendered almost indispensable, unless with his father's a.s.sistance; and the Countess put into his hand bills of exchange to the amount of two hundred pounds, upon a merchant in the city. She then dismissed Julian for the s.p.a.ce of an hour; after which, she said, she must again require his presence.
The preparations for his journey were not of a nature to divert the thoughts which speedily pressed on him. He found that half-an-hour's conversation had once more completely changed his immediate prospects and plans for the future. He had offered to the Countess of Derby a service, which her uniform kindness had well deserved at his hand; but, by her accepting it, he was upon the point of being separated from Alice Bridgenorth, at a time when she was become dearer to him than ever, by her avowal of mutual pa.s.sion. Her image rose before him, such as he had that day pressed her to his bosom--her voice was in his ear, and seemed to ask whether he could desert her in the crisis which everything seemed to announce as impending. But Julian Peveril, his youth considered, was strict in judging his duty, and severely resolved in executing it. He trusted not his imagination to pursue the vision which presented itself; but resolutely seizing his pen, wrote to Alice the following letter, explaining his situation, as far as justice to the Countess permitted him to do so:-- ”I leave you, dearest Alice,” thus ran the letter.--”I leave you; and though, in doing so, I but obey the command you have laid on me, yet I can claim little merit for my compliance, since, without additional and most forcible reasons in aid of your orders, I fear I should have been unable to comply with them. But family affairs of importance compel me to absent myself from this island, for, I fear, more than one week. My thoughts, hopes, and wishes will be on the moment that shall restore me to the Black Fort, and its lovely valley. Let me hope that yours will sometimes rest on the lonely exile, whom nothing could render such, but the command of honour and duty. Do not fear that I mean to involve you in a private correspondence, and let not your father fear it. I could not love you so much, but for the openness and candour of your nature; and I would not that you concealed from Major Bridgenorth one syllable of what I now avow. Respecting other matters, he himself cannot desire the welfare of our common country with more zeal than I do. Differences may occur concerning the mode in which that is to be obtained; but, in the principle, I am convinced there can be only one mind between us; nor can I refuse to listen to his experience and wisdom, even where they may ultimately fail to convince me. Farewell--Alice, farewell! Much might be added to that melancholy word, but nothing that could express the bitterness with which it is written. Yet I could transcribe it again and again, rather than conclude the last communication which I can have with you for some time. My sole comfort is, that my stay will scarce be so long as to permit you to forget one who never can forget you.”
He held the paper in his hand for a minute after he had folded, but before he had sealed it, while he hurriedly debated in his own mind whether he had not expressed himself towards Major Bridgenorth in so conciliating a manner as might excite hopes of proselytism, which his conscience told him he could not realise with honour. Yet, on the other hand, he had no right, from what Bridgenorth had said, to conclude that their principles were diametrically irreconcilable; for though the son of a high Cavalier, and educated in the family of the Countess of Derby, he was himself, upon principle, an enemy of prerogative, and a friend to the liberty of the subject. And with such considerations, he silenced all internal objections on the point of honour; although his conscience secretly whispered that these conciliatory expressions towards the father were chiefly dictated by the fear, that during his absence Major Bridgenorth might be tempted to change the residence of his daughter, and perhaps to convey her altogether out of his reach.
Having sealed his letter, Julian called his servant, and directed him to carry it under cover of one addressed to Mrs. Debb.i.t.c.h, to a house in the town of Rus.h.i.+n, where packets and messages intended for the family at Black Fort were usually deposited; and for that purpose to take horse immediately. He thus got rid of an attendant, who might have been in some degree a spy on his motions. He then exchanged the dress he usually wore for one more suited to travelling; and, having put a change or two of linen into a small cloak-bag, selected as arms a strong double-edged sword and an excellent pair of pistols, which last he carefully loaded with double bullets. Thus appointed, and with twenty pieces in his purse, and the bills we have mentioned secured in a private pocket-book, he was in readiness to depart as soon as he should receive the Countess's commands.
The buoyant spirit of youth and hope, which had, for a moment, been chilled by the painful and dubious circ.u.mstances in which he was placed, as well as the deprivation which he was about to undergo, now revived in full vigour. Fancy, turning from more painful antic.i.p.ations, suggested to him that he was now entering upon life, at a crisis when resolution and talents were almost certain to make the fortune of their possessor. How could he make a more honourable entry on the bustling scene, than sent by, and acting in behalf of, one of the n.o.blest houses in England; and should he perform what his charge might render inc.u.mbent with the resolution and the prudence necessary to secure success, how many occurrences might take place to render his mediation necessary to Bridgenorth; and thus enable him, on the most equal and honourable terms, to establish a claim to his grat.i.tude and to his daughter's hand.
Whilst he was dwelling on such pleasing, though imaginary prospects, he could not help exclaiming aloud--”Yes, Alice, I will win thee n.o.bly!” The words had scarce escaped his lips, when he heard at the door of his apartment, which the servant had left ajar, a sound like a deep sigh, which was instantly succeeded by a gentle tap--”Come in,” replied Julian, somewhat ashamed of his exclamation, and not a little afraid that it had been caught up by some eavesdropper--”Come in,” he again repeated; but his command was not obeyed; on the contrary, the knock was repeated somewhat louder. He opened the door, and Fenella stood before him.
With eyes that seemed red with recent tears, and with a look of the deepest dejection, the little mute, first touching her bosom, and beckoning with her finger, made to him the usual sign that the Countess desired to see him--then turned, as if to usher him to her apartment. As he followed her through the long gloomy vaulted pa.s.sages which afforded communication betwixt the various apartments of the castle, he could not but observe that her usual light trip was exchanged for a tardy and mournful step, which she accompanied with low inarticulate moaning (which she was probably the less able to suppress, because she could not judge how far it was audible), and also with wringing of the hands, and other marks of extreme affliction.
At this moment a thought came across Peveril's mind, which, in spite of his better reason, made him shudder involuntarily. As a Peaksman, and a long resident in the Isle of Man, he was well acquainted with many a superst.i.tious legend, and particularly with a belief, which attached to the powerful family of the Stanleys, for their peculiar demon, a Bans.h.i.+e, or female spirit, who was wont to shriek ”foreboding evil times;” and who was generally seen weeping and bemoaning herself before the death of any person of distinction belonging to the family. For an instant, Julian could scarcely divest himself of the belief that the wailing, jibbering form, which glided before him, with a lamp in her hand, was a genius of his mother's race, come to announce to him as an a.n.a.logous reflection, that if the suspicion which had crossed his mind concerning Fenella was a just one, her ill-fated attachment to him, like that of the prophetic spirit to his family, could bode nothing but disaster, and lamentation, and woe.
CHAPTER XIX.
Now, hoist the anchor, mates--and let the sails Give their broad bosom to the buxom wind, Like la.s.s that woos a lover. --ANONYMOUS.
The presence of the Countess dispelled the superst.i.tious feeling, which, for an instant, had encroached on Julian's imagination, and compelled him to give attention to the matters of ordinary life. ”Here are your credentials,” she said, giving him a small packet, carefully packed up in a sealskin cover; ”you had better not open them till you come to London. You must not be surprised to find that there are one or two addressed to men of my own persuasion. These, for all our sakes, you will observe caution in delivering.”
”I go your messenger, madam,” said Peveril; ”and whatever you desire me to charge myself with, of that I undertake the care. Yet allow me to doubt whether an intercourse with Catholics will at this moment forward the purposes of my mission.”
”You have caught the general suspicion of this wicked sect already,” said the Countess, smiling, ”and are the fitter to go amongst Englishmen in their present mood. But, my cautious friend, these letters are so addressed, and the persons to whom they are addressed so disguised, that you will run no danger in conversing with them. Without their aid, indeed, you will not be able to obtain the accurate information you go in search of. None can tell so exactly how the wind sets, as the pilot whose vessel is exposed to the storm. Besides, though you Protestants deny our priesthood the harmlessness of the dove, you are ready enough to allow us a full share of the wisdom of the serpent; in plain terms, their means of information are extensive, and they are not deficient in the power of applying it. I therefore wish you to have the benefit of their intelligence and advice, if possible.”
”Whatever you impose upon me as a part of my duty, madam, rely on its being discharged punctually,” answered Peveril. ”And, now, as there is little use in deferring the execution of a purpose when once fixed, let me know your ladys.h.i.+p's wishes concerning my departure.”
”It must be sudden and secret,” said the Countess; ”the island is full of spies; and I would not wish that any of them should have notice that an envoy of mine was about to leave Man for London. Can you be ready to go on board to-morrow?”
”To-night--this instant if you will,” said Julian,--”my little preparations are complete.”
”Be ready, then, in your chamber, at two hours after midnight. I will send one to summon you, for our secret must be communicated, for the present, to as few as possible. A foreign sloop is engaged to carry you over; then make the best of your way to London, by Martindale Castle, or otherwise, as you find most advisable. When it is necessary to announce your absence, I will say you are gone to see your parents. But stay--your journey will be on horseback, of course, from Whitehaven. You have bills of exchange, it is true; but are you provided with ready money to furnish yourself with a good horse?”
”I am sufficiently rich, madam,” answered Julian; ”and good nags are plenty in c.u.mberland. There are those among them who know how to come by them good and cheap.”
”Trust not to that,” said the Countess. ”Here is what will purchase for you the best horse on the Borders.--Can you be simple enough to refuse it?” she added, as she pressed on him a heavy purse, which he saw himself obliged to accept.
”A good horse, Julian,” continued the Countess, ”and a good sword, next to a good heart and head, are the accomplishments of a cavalier.”
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