"There's some fearful tie
Between me and that spirit world, which God
Brands with His terrors on my troubled mind."
KINGSLEY.
The final blow had fallen upon Anne Woodford so suddenly that for
the first few days she moved about as one in a dream. Lady
Archfield came to her on the first day, and showed her motherly
kindness, and Lucy was with her as much as was possible under the
exactions of young Madam, who was just sufficiently unwell to resent
attention being paid to any other living creature. She further
developed a jealousy of Lucy's affection for any other friend such
as led to a squabble between her and her husband, and made her
mother-in-law unwillingly acquiesce in the expediency of Anne's
being farther off.
And indeed Anne herself felt so utterly forlorn and desolate that an
impatience of the place came over her. She was indeed fond of her
uncle, but he was much absorbed in his studies, his parish, and in
anxious correspondence on the state of the Church, and was scarcely
a companion to her, and without her mother to engross her love and
attention, and cut off from the Archfields as she now was, there was
little to counterbalance the restless feeling that London and the
precincts of the Court were her natural element. So she wrote her
letters according to her mother's desire, and waited anxiously for
the replies, feeling as if anything would be preferable to her
present unhappiness and solitude.
The answers came in due time. Mrs. Evelyn promised to try to find a
virtuous and godly lady who would be willing to receive Mistress
Anne Woodford into her family, and Lady Oglethorpe wrote with vaguer
promises of high preferment, which excited Anne's imagination during
those lonely hours that she had to spend while her strict mourning,
after the custom of the time, secluded her from all visitors.
Meantime, in that anxious spring of 1688, when the Church of England
was looking to her defences, the Doctor could not be much at home,
and when he had time to listen to private affairs, he heard reports
which did not please him of Peregrine Oakshott. That the young men
in the county all abhorred his fine foreign airs was no serious
evil, though it might be suspected that his sharp ironical tongue
had quite as much to do with their dislike as his greater refinement
of manner.
His father was reported to be very seriously displeased with him,
for he openly expressed contempt of the precise ways of the
household, and absented himself in a manner that could scarcely be
attributed to aught but the licentious indulgences of the time; and
as he seldom mingled in the amusements of the young country
gentlemen, it was only too probable that he found a lower grade of
companions in Portsmouth. Moreover his talk, random though it might
be, offended all the Whig opinions of his father. He talked with
the dogmatism of the traveller of the glories of Louis XIV, and
broadly avowed his views that the grandeur of the nation was best
established under a king who asked no questions of people or
Parliament, 'that senseless set of chattering pies,' as he was
reported to have called the House of Commons.
He sang the praises of the gracious and graceful Queen Mary
Beatrice, and derided 'the dried-up Orange stick,' as he called the
hope of the Protestants; nor did he scruple to pronounce Popery the
faith of chivalrous gentlemen, far preferable to the whining of
sullen Whiggery. No one could tell how far all this was genuine
opinion, or simply delight in contradiction, especially of his
father, who was in a constant state of irritation at the son whom he
could so little manage.
And in the height of the wrath of the whole of the magistracy at the
expulsion of their lord-lieutenant, the Earl of Gainsborough, and
the substitution of the young Duke of Berwick, what must Peregrine
do but argue in high praise of that youth, whom he had several times
seen and admired. And when not a gentleman in the neighbourhood
chose to greet the intruder when he arrived as governor of
Portsmouth, Peregrine actually rode in to see him, and dined with
him. Words cannot express the Major's anger and shame at such
consorting with a person, whom alike, on account of parentage,
religion, and education, he regarded as a son of perdition. Yet
Peregrine would only coolly reply that he knew many a Protestant who
would hardly compare favourably with young Berwick.
It was an anxious period that spring of 1688. The order to read the
King's Declaration of Indulgence from the pulpit had come as a
thunder-clap upon the clergy. The English Church had only known
rest for twenty-eight years, and now, by this unconstitutional
assumption of prerogative, she seemed about to be given up to be the
prey of Romanists on the one hand and Nonconformists on the other;
though for the present the latter were so persuaded that the
Indulgence was merely a disguised advance of Rome that they were not
at all grateful, expecting, as Mr. Horncastle observed, only to be
the last devoured, and he was as much determined as was Dr. Woodford
not to announce it from his pulpit, whatever might be the
consequence; the latter thus resigning all hopes of promotion.
News letters, public and private, were eagerly scanned. Though the
diocesan, Bishop Mew, took no active part in the petition called a
libel, being an extremely aged man, the imprisonment of Ken, so
deeply endeared to Hampshire hearts when Canon of Winchester and
Rector of Brighstone, and with the Bloody Assize and the execution
of Alice Lisle fresh in men's memories, there could not but be
extreme anxiety.
In the midst arrived the tidings that a son had been born to the
king--a son instantly baptized by a Roman Catholic priest, and no
doubt destined by James to rivet the fetters of Rome upon the
kingdom, destroying at once the hope of his elder sister's
accession. Loyal Churchmen like the Archfields still hoped,
recollecting how many infants had been born in the royal family only
to die; but at Oakwood the Major and his chaplain shook their heads,
and spoke of warming pans, to the vehement displeasure of Peregrine,
who was sure to respond that the Queen was an angel, and that the
Whigs credited every one with their own sly tricks.
The Major groaned, and things seemed to have reached a pass very
like open enmity between father and son, though Peregrine still
lived at home, and reports were rife that the year of mourning for
his brother being expired, he was, as soon as he came of age, to be
married to Mistress Martha Browning, and have an establishment of
his own at Emsworth.
Under these circumstances, it was with much satisfaction that Dr.
Woodford said to his niece: "Child, here is an excellent offer for
you. Lady Russell, who you know has returned to live at Stratton,
has heard you mentioned by Lady Mildmay. She has just married her
eldest daughter, and needs a companion to the other, and has been
told of you as able to speak French and Italian, and otherwise well
trained. What! do you not relish the proposal?"
"Why, sir, would not my entering such a house do you harm at Court,
and lessen your chance of preferment?"
"Think not of _that_, my child."
"Besides," added Anne, "since Lady Oglethorpe has written, it would
not be fitting to engage myself elsewhere before hearing from her
again."
"You think so, Anne. Lady Russell's would be a far safer, better
home for you than the Court."
Anne knew it, but the thought of that widowed home depressed her.
It might, she thought, be as dull as Oakwood, and there would be
infinite chances of preferment at Court. What she said, however,
was: "It was by my mother's wish that I applied to Lady
Oglethorpe."
"That is true, child. Yet I cannot but believe that if she had
known of Lady Russell's offer, she would gladly and thankfully have
accepted it."
So said the secret voice within the girl herself, but she did not
yet yield to it. "Perhaps she would, sir," she answered, "if the
other proposal were not made. 'Tis a Whig household though."
"A Whig household is a safer one than a Popish one," answered the
Doctor. "Lady Russell is, by all they tell me, a very saint upon
earth."
Shall it be owned? Anne thought of Oakwood, and was not attracted
towards a saint upon earth. "How soon was the answer to be given?"
she asked.
"I believe she would wish you to meet her at Winchester next week,
when, if you pleased her, you might return with her to Stratton."
The Doctor hoped that Lady Oglethorpe's application might fail, but
before the week was over she forwarded the definite appointment of
Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford as one of the rockers of his Royal
Highness the Prince of Wales, his Majesty having been graciously
pleased to remember her father's services and his own sponsorship.
"If your friends consider the office somewhat beneath you," wrote
Lady Oglethorpe, "it is still open to you to decline it."
"Oh no; I would certainly not decline it!" cried Anne. "I could not
possibly do so; could I, sir?"
"Lady Oglethorpe says you might," returned the Doctor; "and for my
part, niece, I should prefer the office of a gouvernante to that of
a rocker."
"Ah, but it is to a Prince!" said Anne. "It is the way to something
further."
"And what may that something further be? That is the question,"
said her uncle. "I will not control you, my child, for the
application to this Court lady was by the wish of your good mother,
who knew her well, but I own that I should be far more at rest on
your account if you were in a place of less temptation."
"The Court is very different from what it was in the last King's
time," pleaded Anne.
"In some degree it may be; but on the other hand, the influence
which may have purified it is of the religion that I fear may be a
seduction."
"Oh no, never, uncle; nothing could make me a Papist."
"Do not be over confident, Anne. Those who run into temptation are
apt to be left to themselves."
"Indeed, sir, I cannot think that the course my mother shaped for me
can be a running into temptation."
"Well, Anne, as I say, I cannot withstand you, since it was your
mother who requested Lady Oglethorpe's patronage for you, though I
tell you sincerely that I believe that had the two courses been set
before her she would have chosen the safer and more private one.
"Nay but, dear sir," still pleaded the maiden, "what would become of
your chances of preferment if it were known that you had placed me
with Lord Russell's widow in preference to the Queen?"
"Let not that weigh with you one moment, child. I believe that no
staunch friend of our Protestant Church will be preferred by his
Majesty; nay, while the Archbishop and my saintly friend of Bath and
Wells are persecuted, I should be ashamed to think of promotion.
Spurn the thought from you, child."
"Nay, 'twas only love for you, dear uncle."
"I know it, child. I am not displeased, only think it over, and
pray over it, since the post will not go out until to-morrow."
Anne did think, but not quite as her uncle intended. The
remembrance of the good-natured young Princesses, the large stately
rooms, the brilliant dresses, the radiance of wax lights, had
floated before her eyes ever since her removal from Chelsea to the
quieter regions of Winchester, and she had longed to get back to
them. She really loved her uncle, and whatever he might say, she
longed to push his advancement, and thought his unselfish abnegation
the greater reason for working for him; and in spite of knowing well
that it was only a dull back-stair appointment, she could look to
the notice of Princess Anne, when once within her reach, and
further, with the confidence of youth, believed that she had that
within her which would make her way upwards, and enable her to
confer promotion, honour, and dignity, on all her friends. Her
uncle should be a Bishop, Charles a Peer (fancy his wife being under
obligations to the parson's niece!), Lucy should have a perfect
husband, and an appointment should be found for poor Peregrine which
his father could not gainsay. It was her bounden duty not to throw
away such advantages; besides loyalty to her Royal godfather could
not permit his offer to be rejected, and her mother, when writing to
Lady Oglethorpe, must surely have had some such expectation. Nor
should she be entirely cut off from her uncle, who was a Royal
chaplain; and this was some consolation to the good Doctor when he
found her purpose fixed, and made arrangements for her to travel up
to town in company with Lady Worsley of Gatcombe, whom she was to
meet at Southampton on the 1st of July.
Meantime the Doctor did his best to arm his niece against the
allurements to Romanism that he feared would be held out. Lady
Oglethorpe and other friends had assured him of the matronly care of
Lady Powys and Lady Strickland to guard their department from all
evil; but he did fear these religious influences and Anne, resolute
to resist all, perhaps not afraid of the conflict, was willing to
arm herself for defence, and listened readily. She was no less
anxious to provide for her uncle's comfort in his absence, and many
small matters of housewifery that had stood over for some time were
now to be purchased, as well as a few needments for her own outfit,
although much was left for the counsel of her patroness in the
matter of garments.
Accordingly her uncle rode in with her to Portsmouth on a shopping
expedition, and as the streets of the seaport were scarcely safe for
a young woman without an escort, he carried a little book in his
pocket wherewith he beguiled the time that she spent in the
selection of his frying-pans, fire-irons, and the like, and her own
gloves and kerchiefs. They dined at the 'ordinary' at the inn, and
there Dr. Woodford met his great friends Mr. Stanbury of Botley, and
Mr. Worsley of Gatcombe, in the Isle of Wight, who both, like him,
were opposed to the reading of the Declaration of Indulgence, as
unconstitutional, and deeply anxious as to the fate of the greatly
beloved Bishop of Bath and Wells. It was inevitable that they
should fall into deep and earnest council together, and when dinner
was over they agreed to adjourn to the house of a friend learned in
ecclesiastical law to hunt up the rights of the case, leaving Anne
to await them in a private room at the Spotted Dog, shown to her by
the landlady.
Anne well knew what such a meeting betided, and with a certain
prevision, had armed herself with some knotting, wherewith she sat
down in a bay window overlooking the street, whence she could see
market-women going home with empty baskets, pigs being reluctantly
driven down to provision ships in the harbour, barrels of biscuit,
salt meat, or beer, being rolled down for the same purpose, sailors
in loose knee-breeches, and soldiers in tall peaked caps and cross-
belts, and officers of each service moving in different directions.
She sat there day-dreaming, feeling secure in her loneliness, and
presently saw a slight figure, daintily clad in gray and black, who
catching her eye made an eager gesture, doffing his plumed hat and
bowing low to her. She returned his salute, and thought he passed
on, but in another minute she was startled to find him at her side,
exclaiming: "This is the occasion I have longed and sought for,
Mistress Anne; I bless and thank the fates."
"I am glad to see you once more before I depart," said Anne, holding
out her hand as frankly as she could to the old playfellow whom she
always thought ill-treated, but whom she could never meet without a
certain shudder.
"Then it is true?" he exclaimed.
"Yes; I am to go up with Lady Worsley from Southampton next week."
"Ah!" he cried, "but must that be?" and she felt his strange power,
so that she drew into herself and said haughtily--
"My dear mother wished me to be with her friends, nor can the King's
appointment be neglected, though of course I am extremely grieved to
go."
"And you are dazzled with all these gewgaws of Court life, no
doubt?"
"I shall not be much in the way of gewgaws just yet," said Anne
drily. "It will be dull enough in some back room of Whitehall or
St. James's."
"Say you so. You will wish yourself back--you, the lady of my
heart--mine own good angel! Hear me. Say but the word, and your
home will be mine, to say nothing of your own most devoted servant."
"Hush, hush, sir! I cannot hear this," said Anne, anxiously
glancing down the street in hopes of seeing her uncle approaching.
"Nay, but listen! This is my only hope--my only chance--I must
speak--you doom me to you know not what if you will not hear me!"
"Indeed, sir, I neither will nor ought!"
"Ought! Ought! Ought you not to save a fellow-creature from
distraction and destruction? One who has loved and looked to you
ever since you and that saint your mother lifted me out of the
misery of my childhood."
Then as she looked softened he went on: "You, you are my one hope.
No one else can lift me out of the reach of the demon that has beset
me even since I was born."
"That is profane," she said, the more severe for the growing
attraction of repulsion.
"What do I care? It is true! What was I till you and your mother
took pity on the wild imp? My old nurse said a change would come to
me every seven years. That blessed change came just seven years
ago. Give me what will make a more blessed--a more saving change--
or there will be one as much for the worse."
"But--I could not. No! you must see for yourself that I could not--
even if I would," she faltered, really pitying now, and unwilling to
give more pain than she could help.
"Could not? It should be possible. I know how to bring it about.
Give me but your promise, and I will make you mine--ay, and I will
make myself as worthy of you as man can be of saint-like maid."
"No--no! This is very wrong--you are pledged already--"
"No such thing--believe no such tale. My promise has never been
given to that grim hag of my father's choice--no, nor should be
forced from me by the rack. Look you here. Let me take this hand,
call in the woman of the house, give me your word, and my father
will own his power to bind me to Martha is at an end."
"Oh, no! It would be a sin--never. Besides--" said Anne, holding
her hands tightly clasped behind her in alarm, lest against her will
she should let them be seized, and trying to find words to tell him
how little she felt disposed to trust her heart and herself to one
whom she might indeed pity, but with a sort of shrinking as from
something not quite human. Perhaps he dreaded her 'besides'--for he
cut her short.
"It would save ten thousand greater sins. See, here are two ways
before us. Either give me your word, your precious word, go silent
to London, leave me to struggle it out with my father and your uncle
and follow you. Hope and trust will be enough to bear me through
the battle without, and within deafen the demon of my nature, and
render me patient of my intolerable life till I have conquered and
can bring you home."
Her tongue faltered as she tried to say such a secret unsanctioned
engagement would be treachery, but he cut off the words.
"You have not heard me out. There is another way. I know those who
will aid me. We can meet in early dawn, be wedded in one of these
churches in all secrecy and haste, and I would carry you at once to
my uncle, who, as you well know, would welcome you as a daughter.
Or, better still, we would to those fair lands I have scarce seen,
but where I could make my way with sword or pen with you to inspire
me. I have the means. My uncle left this with me. Speak! It is
death or life to me."
This last proposal was thoroughly alarming, and Anne retreated,
drawing herself to her full height, and speaking with the dignity
that concealed considerable terror.
"No, indeed, sir. You ought to know better than to utter such
proposals. One who can make such schemes can certainly obtain no
respect nor regard from the lady he addresses. Let me pass"--for
she was penned up in the bay window--"I shall seek the landlady till
my uncle returns."
"Nay, Mistress Anne, do not fear me. Do not drive me to utter
despair. Oh, pardon me! Nothing but utter desperation could drive
me to have thus spoken; but how can I help using every effort to win
her whose very look and presence is bliss! Nothing else soothes and
calms me; nothing else so silences the demon and wakens the better
part of my nature. Have you no pity upon a miserable wretch, who
will be dragged down to his doom without your helping hand?"
He flung himself on his knee before her, and tried to grasp her
hand.
"Indeed, I am sorry for you, Master Oakshott," said Anne,
compassionate, but still retreating as far as the window would let
her; "but you are mistaken. If this power be in me, which I cannot
quite believe--yes, I see what you want to say, but if I did what I
know to be wrong, I should lose it at once; God's grace can save you
without me."
"I will not ask you to do what you call wrong; no, nor to transgress
any of the ties you respect, you, whose home is so unlike mine; only
tell me that I may have hope, that if I deserve you, I may win you;
that you could grant me--wretched me--a share of your affection."
This was hardest of all; mingled pity and repugnance, truth and
compassion strove within the maiden as well as the strange influence
of those extraordinary eyes. She was almost as much afraid of
herself as of her suitor. At last she managed to say, "I am very
sorry for you; I grieve from my heart for your troubles; I should be
very glad to hear of your welfare and anything good of you, but--"
"But, but--I see--it is mere frenzy in me to think the blighted elf
can aspire to be aught but loathsome to any lady--only, at least,
tell me you love no one else."
"No, certainly not," she said, as if his eyes drew it forcibly from
her.
"Then you cannot hinder me from making you my guiding star--hoping
that if yet I can--"
"There's my uncle!" exclaimed Anne, in a tone of infinite relief.
"Stand up, Mr. Oakshott, compose yourself. Of course I cannot
hinder your thinking about me, if it will do you any good, but there
are better things to think about which would conquer evil and make
you happy more effectually."
He snatched her hand and kissed it, nor did she withhold it, since
she really pitied him, and knew that her uncle was near, and all
would soon be over.
Peregrine dashed away by another door as Dr. Woodford's foot was on
the stairs. "I have ordered the horses," he began. "They told me
young Oakshott was here."
"He was, but he is gone;" and she could not quite conceal her
agitation.
"Crimson cheeks, my young mistress? Ah, the foolish fellow! You do
not care for him, I trust?"
"No, indeed, poor fellow. What, did you know, sir?"
"Know. Yes, truly--and your mother likewise, Anne. It was one
cause of her wishing to send you to safer keeping than mine seems to
be. My young spark made his proposals to us both, though we would
not disturb your mind therewith, not knowing how he would have dealt
with his father, nor viewing him, for all he is heir to Oakwood, as
a desirable match in himself. I am glad to see you have sense and
discretion to be of the same mind, my maid."
"I cannot but grieve for his sad condition, sir," replied Anne, "but
as for anything more--it would make me shudder to think of it--he is
still too like Robin Goodfellow."
"That's my good girl," said her uncle. "And do you know, child,
there are the best hopes for the Bishops. There's a gentleman come
down but now from London, who says 'twas like a triumph as the
Bishops sat in their barge on the way to the Tower; crowds swarming
along the banks, begging for their blessing, and they waving it with
tears in their eyes. The King will be a mere madman if he dares to
touch a hair of their heads. Well, when I was a lad, Bishops were
sent to the Tower by the people; I little thought to live to see
them sent thither by the King."
All the way home Dr. Woodford talked of the trial, beginning perhaps
to regret that his niece must go to the very focus of Roman
influence in England, where there seemed to be little scruple as to
the mode of conversion. Would it be possible to alter her
destination? was his thought, when he rose the next day, but loyalty
stood in the way, and that very afternoon another event happened
which made it evident that the poor girl must leave Portchester as
soon as possible.
She had gone out with him to take leave of some old cottagers in the
village, and he finding himself detained to minister to a case of
unexpected illness, allowed her to go home alone for about a quarter
of a mile along the white sunny road at the foot of Portsdown, with
the castle full in view at one end, and the cottage where he was at
the other. Many a time previously had she trodden it alone, but she
had not reckoned on two officers coming swaggering from a cross road
down the hill, one of them Sedley Archfield, who immediately called
out, "Ha, ha! my pretty maid, no wench goes by without paying toll;"
and they spread their arms across the road so as to arrest her.
"Sir," said Anne, drawing herself up with dignity, "you mistake--"
"Not a whit, my dear; no exemption here;" and there was a horse
laugh, and an endeavour to seize her, as she stepped back, feeling
that in quietness lay her best chance of repelling them, adding--
"My uncle is close by."
"The more cause for haste;" and they began to close upon her. But
at that moment Peregrine Oakshott, leaping from his horse, was among
them, with the cry--
"Dastards! insulting a lady."
"Lady, forsooth! the parson's niece."
In a few seconds--very long seconds to her--her flying feet had
brought her back to the cottage, where she burst in with--"Pardon,
pardon, sir; come quick; there are swords drawn; there will be
bloodshed if you do not come."
He obeyed the summons without further query, for when all men wore
swords the neighbourhood of a garrison were only too liable to such
encounters outside. There was no need for her to gasp out more;
from the very cottage door he could see the need of haste, for the
swords were actually flashing, and the two young men in position to
fight. Anne shook her head, unable to do more than sign her thanks
to the good woman of the cottage, who offered her a seat. She leant
against the door, and watched as her uncle, sending his voice before
him, called on them to desist.
There was a start, then each drew back and held down his weapon, but
with a menacing gesture on one side, a shrug of the shoulders on the
other, which impelled the Doctor to use double speed in the fear
that the parting might be with a challenge reserved.
He was in time to stand warning, and arguing that if he pardoned the
slighting words and condoned the insult to his niece, no one had a
right to exact vengeance; and in truth, whatever were his arguments,
he so dealt with the two young men as to force them into shaking
hands before they separated, though with a contemptuous look on
either side--a scowl from Sedley, a sneer from Peregrine, boding ill
for the future, and making him sigh.
"Ah! sister, sister, you judged aright. Would that I could have
sent the maid sooner away rather than that all this ill blood should
have been bred. Yet I may only be sending her to greater temptation
and danger. But she is a good maiden; God bless her and keep her
here and there, now and for evermore, as I trust He keepeth our good
Dr. Ken in this sore strait. The trial may even now be over. Ah,
my child, here you are! Frightened were you by that rude fellow?
Nay, I believe you were almost equally terrified by him who came to
the rescue. You will soon be out of their reach, my dear."
"Yes, that is one great comfort in going," sighed Anne. One
comfort--yes--though she would not have stayed had the choice been
given her now. And shall the thought be told that flashed over her
and coloured her cheeks with a sort of shame yet of pleasure, "I
surely must have power over men! I know mother would say it is a
terrible danger one way, and a great gift another. I will not
misuse it; but what will it bring me? Or am I only a rustic beauty
after all, who will be nobody elsewhere?"
Still heartily she wished that her rescuer had been any one else in
the wide world. It was almost uncanny that he should have sprung
out of the earth at such a moment.