Part 11 (2/2)
”Hear me, then,” said Cromwell, ”and let no syllable escape thee. Knowest thou not the young Lee, whom they call Albert, a malignant like his father, and one who went up with the young Man to that last ruffle which we had with him at Worcester-May we be grateful for the victory!”
”I know there is such a young gentleman as Albert Lee,” said Wildrake.
”And knowest thou not-I speak not by way of prying into the good Colonel's secrets, but only as it behoves me to know something of the matter, that I may best judge how I am to serve him-Knowest thou not that thy master, Markham Everard, is a suitor after the sister of this same malignant, a daughter of the old Keeper, called Sir Henry Lee?”
”All this I have heard,” said Wildrake, ”nor can I deny that I believe in it.”
”Well then, go to.-When the young man Charles Stewart fled from the field of Worcester, and was by sharp chase and pursuit compelled to separate himself from his followers, I know by sure intelligence that this Albert Lee was one of the last who remained with him, if not indeed the very last.”
”It was devilish like him,” said the cavalier, without sufficiently weighing his expressions, considering in what presence they were to be uttered-”And I'll uphold him with my rapier, to be a true chip of the old block!”
”Ha, swearest thou?” said the General. ”Is this thy reformation?”
”I never swear, so please you,” replied Wildrake, recollecting himself, ”except there is some mention of malignants and cavaliers in my hearing; and then the old habit returns, and I swear like one of Goring's troopers.”
”Out upon thee,” said the General; ”what can it avail thee to practise a profanity so horrible to the ears of others, and which brings no emolument to him who uses it?”
”There are, doubtless, more profitable sins in the world than the barren and unprofitable vice of swearing,” was the answer which rose to the lips of the cavalier; but that was exchanged for a profession of regret for having given offence. The truth was, the discourse began to take a turn which rendered it more interesting than ever to Wildrake, who therefore determined not to lose the opportunity for obtaining possession of the secret that seemed to be suspended on Cromwells lips; and that could only be through means of keeping guard upon his own.
”What sort of a house is Woodstock?” said the General, abruptly.
”An old mansion,” said Wildrake, in reply; ”and, so far as I could judge by a single night's lodgings, having abundance of backstairs, also subterranean pa.s.sages, and all the communications under ground, which are common in old raven-nests of the sort.”
”And places for concealing priests, unquestionably,” said Cromwell. ”It is seldom that such ancient houses lack secret stalls wherein to mew up these calves of Bethel.”
”Your Honour's Excellency,” said Wildrake, ”may swear to that.”
”I swear not at all,” replied the General, drily.-”But what think'st thou, good fellow?-I will ask thee a blunt question-Where will those two Worcester fugitives that thou wottest of be more likely to take shelter-and that they must be sheltered somewhere I well know-than, in this same old palace, with all the corners and concealment whereof young Albert hath been acquainted ever since his earliest infancy?”
”Truly,” said Wildrake, making an effort to answer the question with seeming indifference, while the possibility of such an event, and its consequences, flashed fearfully upon his mind,-”Truly, I should be of your honour's opinion, but that I think the company, who, by the commission of Parliament, have occupied Woodstock, are likely to fright them thence, as a cat scares doves from a pigeon-house. The neighbourhood, with reverence, of Generals Desborough and Harrison, will suit ill with fugitives from Worcester field.”
”I thought as much, and so, indeed, would I have it,” answered the General. ”Long may it be ere our names shall be aught but a terror to our enemies. But in this matter, if thou art an active plotter for thy master's interest, thou might'st, I should think, work out something favourable to his present object.”
”My brain is too poor to reach the depth of your honourable purpose,” said Wildrake.
”Listen, then, and let it be to profit,” answered Cromwell. ”a.s.suredly the conquest at Worcester was a great and crowning mercy; yet might we seem to be but small in our thankfulness for the same, did we not do what in us lies towards the ultimate improvement and final conclusion of the great work which has been thus prosperous in our hands, professing, in pure humility and singleness of heart, that we do not, in any way, deserve our instrumentality to be remembered, nay, would rather pray and entreat, that our name and fortunes were forgotten, than that the great work were in itself incomplete. Nevertheless, truly, placed as we now are, it concerns us more nearly than others,-that is, if so poor creatures should at all speak of themselves as concerned, whether more or less, with these changes which have been wrought around,-not, I say, by ourselves, or our own power, but by the destiny to which we were called, fulfilling the same with all meekness and humility,-I say it concerns us nearly that all things should be done in conformity with the great work which hath been wrought, and is yet working, in these lands. Such is my plain and simple meaning. Nevertheless, it is much to be desired that this young man, this King of Scots, as he called himself-this Charles Stewart-should not escape forth from the nation, where his arrival has wrought so much disturbance and bloodshed.”
”I have no doubt,” said the cavalier, looking down, ”that your lords.h.i.+p's wisdom hath directed all things as they may best lead towards such a consummation; and I pray your pains may be paid as they deserve.”
”I thank thee, friend,” said Cromwell, with much humility; ”doubtless we shall meet our reward, being in the hands of a good paymaster, who never pa.s.seth Sat.u.r.day night. But understand me, friend-I desire no more than my own share in the good work. I would heartily do what poor kindness I can to your worthy master, and even to you in your degree-for such as I do not converse with ordinary men, that our presence may be forgotten like an every-day's occurrence. We speak to men like thee for their reward or their punishment; and I trust it will be the former which thou in thine office wilt merit at my hand.”
”Your honour,” said Wildrake, ”speaks like one accustomed to command.”
”True; men's minds are likened to those of my degree by fear and reverence,” said the General;-”but enough of that, desiring, as I do, no other dependency on my special person than is alike to us all upon that which is above us. But I would desire to cast this golden ball into your master's lap. He hath served against this Charles Stewart and his father. But he is a kinsman near to the old knight Lee, and stands well affected towards his daughter. Thou also wilt keep a watch, my friend-that ruffling look of thine will procure thee the confidence of every malignant, and the prey cannot approach this cover, as though to shelter, like a coney in the rocks, but thou wilt be sensible of his presence.”
”I make a s.h.i.+ft to comprehend your Excellency,” said the cavalier; ”and I thank you heartily for the good opinion you have put upon me, and which, I pray I may have some handsome opportunity of deserving, that I may show my grat.i.tude by the event. But still, with reverence, your Excellency's scheme seems unlikely, while Woodstock remains in possession of the sequestrators. Both the old knight and his son, and far more such a fugitive as your honor hinted at, will take special care not to approach it till they are removed.”
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