Some truth was there in the report that had reached Rob Wilde, of the
King being chased out of London. Though not literally chased, after his
display in the House of Commons, ludicrous as unconstitutional, he found
the metropolis too hot for him. Moreover, there was a whisper about
impeaching the Queen; and this arch _intrigante_, notwithstanding her
high notions of Royal right, was now in a fit of Royal trembles.
Strafford had lost his head, Laud was in prison, likely to lose his; how
knew she but that those bloodthirsty islanders might bring her own under
the axe? They had done as much for a Queen more beautiful than she.
Mobs daily paraded the streets, passing the Palace; the cry, "No
bishops!" came in through its windows, and Charles trembled as he
thought of his father's significant epigram, "No bishop, no king." So
out of Whitehall they slipped--first to Windsor to pack up; the Queen,
in fine, clearing out of the country, by Dover, to Holland.
It was a backstairs "skedaddle" with her; carrying off as much plunder
as she could in the scramble--chests of jewels of unknown but fabulous
value, as that represented as having been found in the isle of Monte
Cristo. Enough, at all events, to hold Court abroad; maintain regal
surroundings; even raise an army for the reconquest and re-enslavement
of the people she had plundered.
It is unpleasant to reflect on such things, far more having to speak of
them. Sad to think that though England is two centuries and a half
older since Charles Stuart and Henrietta de Medici did all in their
power to outrage her people and rob them of their rights, this same
people is to-day not a wit the wiser. The late Liberal victory, as it
is called, may be urged as contradicting this allegation; but against
that is to be set the behaviour of England's people, as represented by
their Parliament for the last six years, sanctioning and endorsing deeds
that have brought a blight on the nation's name, and a cloud over its
character, it will take centuries to clear off. And against that, too,
the spirit which seems likely will pervade in this new Legislative
Assembly, and the action it will take. When the Long Parliament
commenced its sittings, the patriots composing it never dreamt of
letting crime go unpunished. Instead, their first thoughts and acts
were to bring the betrayers of their country to account. "Off with his
head--so much for Strafford!"
"To the Tower with Laud and the twelve recalcitrant bishops!"
"Clear out the Star Chamber and High Commission Court!" "Abolish
monopolies, Loans of Privy Seal, Ship-tax, Coal and Conduit money, with
the other iniquitous imposts!" And, _presto_! all this was done as by
the wand of a magician, though it was the good genius then guiding the
destinies of England. Off went Strafford's head; to the Tower was taken
Laud; and the infamous royal edicts of a decade preceding were swept
from the statute-book, as by a wet sponge passed over the score of a
tapster's slate.
What do we see now? What hear? A new Parliament entering on power
under circumstances so like those that ushered in the "Long" as to seem
almost the same. And a Ministry gone out who have outraged the nation
as much as did the Straffords, Digbys, and Lauds. But how different the
action taken towards them! No Bill of Attainder talked of, no word of
impeachment, not even a whisper about voting want of confidence.
Instead of being sent to a prison, as the culprits of 1640, they of 1880
walk out of office and away, with a free, jaunty step and air of bold
effrontery, blazoned with decorations and brand new titles bestowed on
them--a very shower, as the sparks from a Catherine wheel!
Verily was the lot of Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, laid in
unlucky times. Had he lived in these days, so far from losing his head,
it would have been surmounted by a ducal coronet. And Laud, already at
the top of the ecclesiastical tree, with no possibility of hoisting him
to higher earthly honours, would have had heavenly ones bestowed on him
by being enrolled among the saints.
Though merely writing a romance, who will say that in this matter I am
romancing? The man that does must be what Sir Richard Walwyn pronounced
him who is not a Republican; and back to Sir Richard's _dictum_ I refer
him.
Soon as Charles had got his Queen safe out of harm's way, he betook
himself to York, there to enter upon more energetic action. For there
he felt safer himself, surrounded by a host of hot partisans. In
political sentiment, what a curious reversion has taken place since then
between the capitals of the North and South--almost an exchange! Then
York was all Royalist, and as a consequence filled with the foes of
Liberty; London full of its friends. Now the former has mounted to the
very hill-top of Liberal aspiration; the latter sunk into the slough of
a shameful retrogression!
But the thing is easily explained. Those who dwell in the kingdom's
capital are nearer to the source of contamination. There Bung and
Beadledom, with their vested rights, hold sway; there the scribblers who
wear plush find encouragement and promotion; while the corrupting
influence of modern finance has nursed into life and strength a swarm of
gamblers in stocks, promoters of bubble companies, tricksters in trade,
and music-hall cads--a sorry replacement of the honest mercers and
trusty apprentices of the Parliamentary times.
Once separated from his Parliament, the King had an instinct that all
friendly intercourse between it and himself would soon be at an end;
this nursed into conviction by the Hertfords, Digbys, and other like
"chicks" who formed his _entourage_. Active became he now in adopting
precautions, and taking measures to sustain himself in the struggle that
was imminent. And now more industrious than ever in the way of money
raising; anew granting monopolies, and sending letters of Privy Seal all
over the land, wherever there seemed a chance of enforcing their
demands--for demands were they, as we have seen. To Sir John Wintour
had been entrusted some scores of these precious epistles, with
authority to deliver them, collect the proceeds, and send them on to
replenish the royal exchequer; and it was one such Reginald Trevor saw
torn into scraps on the porch of Hollymead House.
This same Sir John was what Scotchmen would call a "canny chiel."
Courtier, and private secretary to the Queen, he had come in for a
goodly share of pilferings from the public purse; among other jobs
having been endowed with the stewardship of the Forest of Dean, with all
its privileges and perquisites. Appointed one of the Commissioners of
Array for West Gloucestershire, he had built him a large mansion in the
neighbourhood of Lydney--the White House as called--though it is not
there now, he with his own hand having afterwards set the torch to it.
But then, on the clearing out of the Court from London, Sir John had
cleared out too, going to his country residence by Severn's side, which
he at once set about placing in a state of defence. None more clearly
than he foresaw the coming storm.
It seemed to him near now when Reginald Trevor returned to the White
House and reported his reception at Hollymead, with the defiant message
to himself and his King. But Sir John was not a man of hot passions or
hasty resolves. Long experience as a courtier had taught him to subdue
his temper, or, at all events, the exhibition of it. So, instead of
bursting forth into a furious display, he quietly observed,--
"Don't trouble yourself, Captain Trevor, about what Ambrose Powell has
said or done. It won't help his case any. But," he added reflectingly,
"there seems no particular call for haste in this business. Besides,
I'm expecting an addition to the strength of our little garrison.
To-morrow, or it may be the day after, we shall have with us a man, if I
mistake not, known to you."
"Who, Sir John?"
"Colonel Thomas Lunsford."
"Oh! certainly; I know Lunsford well. He was my superior officer in the
northern expedition."
"Ah! yes; now I remember. Well; I have word of his being _en route_
hither with some stanch followers. When he has reported himself,
allowing a day or two for rest, we'll beat up the quarters of this
recusant, and make him repent his seditious speech. As for the money,
he shall pay that, every pound, or I'll squeeze it out of him, if
there's stock on the Hollymead estate, or chattels in his house worth so
much."
There was something in the "recusant's" house Reginald Trevor thought
worth far more--one of the recusant's daughters. Of that, however, he
made no mention. To speak of it lay not in the line of his duties; and
even thinking of it was now not near so sweet as it had been hitherto.
Little as he liked Colonel Lunsford, he would that night have been glad
of him for a boon companion--in the bowl to help drown the bitter
remembrance of his adventures of the preceding day.