into three portions, and, notwithstanding the fact that she could well
have consumed the double portion, after her long fasting and wearying
day, she set it smilingly aside, and told her mother how it was
"Pierre's dole," and must not be eaten by them, but given to some one in
greater need.
There is sometimes more heroism in an act of such self-sacrifice than in
one of those deeds at which all the world exclaims; but Theresa had no
thought of being brave as she laid her plan before her mother, nor did
the widow praise her daughter. She took the girl's view that the ration
was not theirs, and must be passed on to somebody else.
"And, indeed, my child, we shall not have far to go, for, in truth, I
have begun to fear that those two old ladies up above us in the attic
must be well-nigh starving by this."
"What old ladies?" asked Theresa eagerly, as she set to work with
keen-set appetite upon her own portion.
"Ah, thou hast not seen them, like enough. I hear that the mistress is
called Madame de Berquin, and that she is of very good family; but she
has been ruined by this cruel siege, her house shattered, supplies cut
off, and she knows not where to turn. She and her old servant sought
refuge here a few weeks back, and I think they had money then, for the
servant went forth daily and came back with a basket. I would see her
pass and give her a good day, and she stopped once or twice just to take
breath and speak a few words, which is how I came to know that little
about them; but I have not seen her these last days, and I cannot well
get up the stairs. So thou shalt go, and take with thee some of this hot
coffee and the food. It may be they are in sore need. My heart has been
sad for them before, but what could I do?"
Theresa almost forgot her own hunger in her eagerness to pay this visit;
and, taking in the can some of the fragrant coffee, steaming hot, she
put the rest of the food in the basket and ran lightly upstairs with her
load.
At the door she knocked; the old servant opened it a little way and
looked suspiciously forth. All at once it seemed to Theresa that it
might not be quite easy to get old Madame de Berquin to accept the food
of which she stood in such sore need.
"What do you want?" asked old Jeanne suspiciously.
"I have brought Madame de Berquin's rations," answered Theresa, with a
sudden inspiration. "You know the city is on rations now, and, as we
live in the same house, I thought I might fetch Madame's with ours. It
is not very much, I fear, but----"
The old woman opened the door wider and beckoned Theresa in. Something
in the white, drawn face of the servant went to the girl's heart! her
aspect, and that of the attic itself, bespoke the direst poverty. Madame
de Berquin lay upon the bed; she looked almost like a corpse to the
girl; her eyes dilated with fear.
"She is not dead, but she would soon have died," said the old woman. "I
was praying it might be soon for both of us. She will not let me fetch
the rations; she will not have her name set down for a dole. How did you
get it from her?" and despite the almost wolfish hunger in her eyes, old
Jeanne seemed disposed to push the food away.
"I did not give your name; I did not know it," answered Theresa simply.
"I just got some with ours. They are in a great hurry at the office.
They do not ask many questions."
"Then may the saints and the good God reward you!" cried the old woman,
with a sob in her voice; "for verily I thought to see my dear mistress
perish of want before my eyes!"
Now, however, with Theresa's assistance, she raised the prostrate
figure, and Madame de Berquin revived as the hot, fragrant coffee passed
her lips. They gave her morsels of bread soaked in it. They fed her
gradually, as an infant is fed, until the light began to come back into
her eyes and the grey pallor of her cheeks to change to something more
lifelike.
"I shall come again to-morrow and bring some more," whispered Theresa,
as she slipped away at last; and the look which the old woman gave her
was reward enough.
But all days were not such good ones for Theresa as this one had been.
Sometimes she was in terrible fear as she went her way, for the bullets
seemed to be whizzing in the air about her, and the sounds of fearful
explosions all round made her doubt whether she should escape with her
life. And the long, long waiting in the biting cold, and the perils she
encountered from daring little gamins or ill-conditioned men, made her
daily journey a growing terror to her. But the thought of the crippled
mother and those two patient old women upstairs, all dependent upon her
for the food which kept life in them, nerved her to conquer her fears
and to persevere, in spite of all the dangers she had to face.
Then came the day when her bravery met with an unexpected reward. She
was waiting to cross that terrible boulevard. She had been waiting long,
and still she dared not face the peril. She heard the bullets biting the
stones, and a shell had exploded in the centre of the road just as she
came up. She began to fear that she was losing her nerve, that she was
growing less brave rather than more, when suddenly she was held riveted
to the spot by the sight of a boy, about seven or eight years old,
dressed as a gentleman's child, who came running along gaily, rather as
though he had escaped from restraint, and dashed into the middle of the
broad roadway. Then suddenly he threw up his hands, gave a quick cry,
and fell forward.
[Illustration: Theresa forgot everything in the sight of the child's
peril.
_Page_ 183.]
Theresa forgot everything in the sight of the child's peril. Dashing
forward, she caught him up in her arms, dropping basket and can and
everything, and staggered across the road with him, just as a pale-faced
gentleman, in semi-military dress, came rushing up in a terrible state
of anxiety and excitement.
"Etienne, Etienne, what hast thou done?"
The little boy had given forth one lusty yell at the sight of blood on
his tunic, but a hasty survey satisfied the father that it was a scratch
rather than a wound the child had received, and the colour began to come
back to his face.
"My brave girl," he said, turning to Theresa, "how can I thank you for
this great service? Do you know that scarcely had you snatched up the
boy and got him away than the ground where he was lying was torn up by
some fragments of a shell? Had he lain there a few seconds longer he
must have perished!"
"Ah, how glad I am I was there just then," said Theresa simply.
"Were you not frightened, my child? Did you not know the peril of
passing that street?"
"Oh, yes; I know. I am rather frightened, but I have to go by every day
to get food. I must be going now, or I shall lose my turn."
"Nay, nay; come back with me, and my wife shall fill the basket to-day,"
answered the gentleman, with a kindly authority that the girl could not
resist; and, as she walked beside him, Etienne, proud of his adventure
and his little hurt, hanging to his father's hand, Theresa found herself
closely questioned as to herself and her circumstances, and heard a
wondering exclamation pass the gentleman's lips as she spoke the name of
Madame de Berquin.
That day saw the end of Theresa's troubles about food; for, from
thenceforward till the close of the siege, General Varade, whose little
son she had saved, made the care of her and her mother and of Madame de
Berquin his especial task. He knew something of the history and family
of the latter, came to see her, and would have moved her into better
quarters had she wished it; but she had grown so fond of Theresa and her
mother that until better days should come she preferred to remain where
she was.
"It is to thy bravery, my child, that we owe all this," she once
remarked; and Theresa, looking quite astonished, answered:
"Oh, Madame, I was never brave. I was always scolding myself for being
such a coward!"
But others when they heard these words smiled.
JANE LANE
Those were anxious days for the adherents of the Stuarts. The late King
had perished upon the scaffold, and his family were in exile in foreign
lands. The iron rule of Cromwell had England in its grip. But anxious
eyes were fixed upon that gallant attempt of the King's son--King
Charles II., as the loyalists already called him--to win back for
himself the kingdom his father had lost, and overset the military
thraldom beneath which the people now groaned.
It was a time of intense suspense and heartbreaking anxiety. It seemed
impossible that the young King, crowned in Scotland, and on his way to
the south, could overthrow those redoubtable troops commanded by their
redoubtable General, the great Oliver Cromwell himself. And yet hope
which springs eternal in the human breast filled the hearts of the
cavaliers with bright anticipations of coming triumph; anticipations
that were changed to dire fears and forebodings when the news of the
result of the Battle of Worcester became known.
At Bentley Hall, in Staffordshire, the loyal family of the Lanes were
following the fortunes of their Prince with the keenest solicitude; and
yet, as family life goes on its way in spite of wars and rumours of
wars, so it befell that Jane, the beautiful unwedded daughter of the
house, was making preparation for a journey to Abbotsleigh, the home of
her married sister, where she had been rather urgently summoned, as Mrs.
Norton was ill, and desired much the companionship of her favourite
sister.
As Abbotsleigh was in Gloucestershire, and as the journey would involve
the passage through the Parliamentary lines and through the disturbed
portion of the country, a pass had been obtained for Jane and her party
from the Parliamentary General.
Colonel Lane had gone himself to see to this matter, and Jane was
awaiting his return in some anxiety. He had not been with the King's
forces on the field of Worcester, though he was very loyal in his
disposition towards him, and was privately working in the royalists'
cause. But it was possible, as his sister knew, that he might be
suspected, and have some difficulty in gaining what he was seeking to
obtain; and she awaited his return with great impatience and some
nervous trepidation.
The sound of horses' feet in the courtyard below brought a flood of
colour to her cheek. She ran to a window, and sought to peer out into
the autumnal evening's gloom, but though she could see little, she heard
the tones of her brother's voice, and at once she rushed to the room of
her mother to announce to her the welcome tidings that the traveller had
returned.
Soon word reached the ladies upstairs that the Colonel had not come
alone. Lord Wilmot had accompanied him, and would remain a few hours,
till his horse was rested, and the ladies made preparation for meeting
him at supper in an hour's time. Lord Wilmot was only slightly known to
them; but they received him courteously, and learned from him a good
many details of the disastrous fight at Worcester, and the hopelessness
of any farther resistance to the Parliamentary leaders.
"But His Majesty is safe, I trust?" questioned the old lady anxiously.
Lord Wilmot made guarded reply:
"His Majesty is with friends, who are forwarding him to the coast where
he must take ship for France once more."
"Pray heaven he fall not into the hands of his foes!" cried Mrs. Lane
earnestly; and the two men breathed a fervent "Amen."
Jane heard that her pass had been obtained, and that was a relief to
her, since she greatly desired to be with her sister. But she observed
that her brother and their guest were somewhat absorbed and anxious in
manner, and she was not surprised, when they rose from table, that her
brother made her a sign that he had somewhat to say to her.
Their father was at this time not very well, and Mrs. Lane excused
herself to her guest, saying that she must go to her husband. They did
not seek to detain her; but the Colonel beckoned to Jane to follow them
into a small parlour, where they would be safe from prying eyes or
listening ears; and after he had kicked the logs into a cheery blaze, he
suddenly faced round upon her, and said:
"Sister, we are about to trust you with a weighty secret. It concerns
the King!"
"The King! Where is he?"
"He has been flying in disguise, this way and that, from the ardent
pursuit of the Parliamentary soldiers. He has had many narrow escapes. A
worthy miller and his sons have done good service by sheltering him;
before that he was at White Ladies. To-night he is at Mosley with our
good friend Mr. Whitegrave. To-morrow night he must come to Bentley!"
"To Bentley!--here?" cried Jane, clasping her hands.
"Ay, here to Bentley; and none must know it but you, fair sister, and I;
and if you ask wherefore comes he here?--I answer you that it is that he
may travel as your groom and servant when you ride forth to
Abbotsleigh. To Bristol, by hook or by crook, he must be smuggled; and
how to pass him through the Parliamentary lines is, indeed, a hard nut
to crack. But see this pass--it makes provision for Mistress Jane Lane,
her servants and friends, the latter being named as you see: our cousin
Robert Lascelles, and Mr. Petre with his wife. But as for servants,
there is no special mention as to them. Sister, you must ride pillion
behind your King, and treat him as your servant!"
Jane's colour came and went, as well it might. She lacked not courage
nor discretion; yet the magnitude of this great responsibility, so
suddenly and strangely thrust upon her, seemed for a moment too great to
contemplate.
"Alas, brother!" she cried, "and if by some folly I should betray my
King to his foes!"
"Nay, think not of such a thing," said Lord Wilmot, speaking for the
first time, "yet think of yourself, fair maiden. Should the thing become
known, it may go something hard with you at the hands of the Governor of
this unhappy realm."
The colour had come back to Jane's fair face. She looked fearlessly into
the eyes of the speaker. "That is nought," she said quietly. "Could any
ask a better fate than to lay down life in such a cause? If I may save
the King, what matters all the rest?"
"That is the answer I looked to have from Jane," spoke the brother; and
so the matter was settled.
It was agreed by all that the secret should be kept from the household.
The sick father and old mother should not be burdened with the
responsibility of the knowledge. Colonel Lane and Lord Wilmot were to
ride to Mosley that same night when the late moon had risen, and upon
the following evening they would return to Bentley, bringing in their
train the new groom, William Jackson, who would be told off the
following day to accompany his sister on her ride to Abbotsleigh.
It may be guessed with what feelings Jane watched for the return of the
party upon the next evening, and how keenly she scrutinised the face and
figure of the new servant riding behind her brother. He had a swarthy
skin and very dark eyes, and a rough head of short hair that gave him
something the look of either a Roundhead or a country bumpkin, and in
his actions he seemed to be ungainly and loutish. Jane's eyes glistened
as she realised that here was a Prince--a King as in her heart she
called him--masquerading under the guise of a clown, and her heart beat
high as she realised that she was to have the honour of assisting in the
next stages of his difficult and perilous escape to the coast.
She had no speech with him that night; she heard her brother hand him
over to the head servants with an injunction that he should be well
cared for, as he was to ride with Mistress Jane upon the morrow. It was
only on that morrow, when she descended to the courtyard dressed for the
saddle, that she was brought face to face with her strange attendant.
Her colour came and went with excitement as their eyes met, and for one
instant she saw an answering gleam in his before they dropped, and he
stood in decorous immobility at the horse's head.
It was a strong animal, as was needed to carry double, though Jane's
light weight was no great burden. The mother herself descended to see
her daughter depart, and to give her many last charges concerning her
sick sister.
She gave a glance at the new serving man, in his sober suit of grey, and
when Colonel Lane made him a sign to assist his mistress to mount, there
was something so odd in his manner, an awkwardness partly assumed,
partly the result of the strangeness of the office, that caused the old
lady to laugh merrily, and say to her son in no very modulated tones:
"Faith, but my daughter has a goodly horseman to ride before her! Where
didst pick up the rogue, my son?"
Jane was covered with confusion at hearing such words spoken; but in the
bustle of the departure of the cavalcade, this was not observed, and
when they were safely out at the gate, Charles spoke in a low and
mirthful tone:
"Be not displeased, fair Mistress; such words as those are sweet to the
ears of a fugitive. It is when men bow before me, and seek in secret to
kiss my hand, that my heart sinks within me. For, however loyal and true
they be, I would sooner they held me for the rogue I personate, than for
their hunted King."
The party proceeded gaily on its way for a while. Lord Wilmot rode
beside them and in advance, his hawk on his wrist, his dogs by his side,
looking like a sportsman enjoying his favourite recreation. Mr.
Lascelles generally rode with him, and Mr. Petre and his wife kept close
together with their own servants. Jane and the King, being well mounted,
sometimes drew ahead, though they were careful not to be far from their
party, till at last the horse they were riding began to drag a little.
He got behind the rest of the company, and at last seemed inclined to
limp.
"Methinks he has lost a shoe," quoth Jane; and Charles, springing to the
ground, found that this was indeed the case. By this time the rest of
the party was considerably in advance; and Jane lighted off the horse
and looked anxiously about her.
"We are not far from the village of Bromsgrove," she said, "and there is
a farrier there who will shoe the nag. But I would one of the servants
were here to take him."
"Here is the servant!" answered Charles, smiling, as he laid his hand
on the bridle, "if you will show the way, sweet Mistress, we will soon
have the horse at the forge door."
[Illustration: "Well, now, I did hear as young Charles Stuart himself
was taken," answered the smith.
_Page 193._]
There was nothing else for it, though Jane shook with apprehension as
they entered the village, and their presence before the forge attracted
the usual small crowd of idlers.
But if the lady were anxious, Charles seemed sufficiently at his ease,
as he held up the horse's foot for the smith to examine.
"What's the news?" asked the King of the man, as the task of shoeing was
nearly accomplished.
"Why, I don't know as there has been any since the beating of those
rascally Scots at Worcester," answered the other.
"Have they taken any of the English rogues that joined with the Scots?"
asked Charles, with his habitual _sang froid_.
"Well, now, I did hear as young Charles Stuart himself was taken,"
answered the smith; "anyhow, they're so sharp on the look-out for him,
that they're main sure he can never leave the country without falling
into their hands."
"If they get that rogue into their hands," quoth Charles, "I reckon
they'd best hang him forthwith; for he's been the cause of all the
trouble, bringing the Scots into the country to fight, just as things
were getting settled and comfortable again."
"Faith, and thou art right; and an honest knave to boot!" said the
smith, as he finished his task. And Charles, after paying for the shoe,
led the horse to the tree where his mistress stood waiting, smiling in
her face as he observed the sudden pallor that had overspread it.
"Oh, my dear lord!" whispered Jane softly, as he swung her more deftly
this time to her seat; but Charles only laughed as he mounted in front.
"Nay, Mistress, but if I get not my little jest out of all my troubles,
I should belike go mad. Let us laugh and be merry while we may. Who
knows what the morrow may bring forth?"
A little farther along the road they found the rest of the party
awaiting them in some anxiety. Lord Wilmot had gone on in advance, not
being one of those for whom Jane's pass was made out; but the others
were waiting for them to come up, and were in much anxiety lest they had
been detained by some evil hap.
They had now to ford the River Avon not far from Stratford, and proposed
to stop for the night at the house of Mr. Tombs at Longmaston; but as
they approached the ford they saw a most unwelcome sight. A troop of
Parliamentary horse-soldiers had made a sort of bivouac on the river's
bank, and were lying about by the ford, whilst their horses grazed and
drank.
"We can never pass them!" cried Mr. Petre in great alarm; and forthwith
turned round with his wife and servants, and sought to persuade the
others to follow him, and find another route; but Charles whispered a
word in Jane's ear, making no effort to follow the faint-hearted Petre;
and Mr. Lascelles remained beside them.
"To fly is the greatest folly," spoke the King. "See, the fellows are
eyeing us already. Let us wave farewells to our good Petre, as if he
were riding a part of the way, and had turned back at the ford. But let
us press on. You have your pass, Mistress Jane. If we want the whole
troop after us all hue and cry--why then let us follow friend Petre!"
There was sound sense in Charles's words. As soon as the other members
of the party showed that they were proceeding on their way, the soldiers
ceased their significant handling of the horses' bridles and saddles,
and only watched the oncoming riders with ordinary attention. Jane's
heart was in her mouth as one of the men, whom she took to be an
officer, rode up and examined the pass she held out towards him. But he
looked only at her and the paper; he spared no glance for the stolid
serving man in front, and the party was permitted to ride on unmolested
and unquestioned.
Jane drew a long breath of relief as she dismounted in the courtyard
after this first day's ride. There was still another night to be passed
before they reached Abbotsleigh; and she did not yet know exactly
whether she might have to accompany the party even farther, in her
capacity of mistress to the serving man. But at least a halt of a few
days was to be made at her sister's house; and she felt as though her
responsibilities would then come in part to an end.
Charles seemed in a merry mood when they rode forth upon the morrow. Of
course she never saw him when once they had called a halt for the night.
He went to the servants' quarters, she to be entertained by the ladies
of the house, her friends; and since the fewer who knew the secret the
better it would be, she could not breathe a word of the matter lying so
heavy on her heart.
But the King beguiled the way by low-toned tales for her amusement,
though they seemed rather terrible to her too.
"I was bidden last night to wind up the jack," said Charles, with a
twinkle in his eye; "and never a notion had I how the thing was done! We
princes are taught a vast number of useless accomplishments; but how
often have I wished these last weeks that I had been taught to cook
viands or mend my clothes! I made such a bungle of it that the virago
came at me with a rolling-pin in her hands. Odds fish! but what a rating
I got! 'What countryman art thou, stupid-head, that thou canst not wind
up a jack?' she cried; and I had to answer: 'I am a poor tenant's son
of Colonel Lane of Staffordshire; and we seldom have roast meat; and
when we do we don't make use of a jack. We put it in the oven.' Was that
well answered, Mistress Jane?"
"Ah, my liege, I cannot bear that you should be thus served and rated!
We should all be seeking your comfort on bended knee."
"Well, well, sweet Mistress, the day may come when the King will have
his own again; but, meantime, let us enjoy a laugh over the fortunes of
fallen royalty. Perhaps it comes not amiss for a prince to learn
sometimes that, after all, he is but common clay!"
That night there was no friendly house to shelter Jane and her party, so
they put up at the Crown Inn at Cirencester; and as there was always
peril in such places of recognition, Charles affected to have an ague
upon him, and retired promptly to bed.