"It was between the night and day,
When the Fairy King has power,
That I sunk down in a sinful fray,
And 'twixt life and death was snatched away
To the joyless Elfin bower."
SCOTT.
This motto was almost the account that the twisted figure, with
queer contortions of face, yet delicate feet and hands, and dainty
utterance, might have been expected to give, when Anne asked him,
"Was it you, really?"
"I--or my double?" he asked. "When?"
She told him, and he seemed amazed.
"So you were there? Well, you shall hear. You know how things
stood with me--your mother, my good spirit, dead, my uncle away, my
father bent on driving me to utter desperation, and Martha Browning
laying her great red hands on me--"
"Oh, sir, she really loved you, and is far wiser and more tolerant
than you thought her."
"I know," he smiled grimly. "She buried the huge Scot that was
killed in the great smuggling fray under the Protector, with all
honours, in our family vault, and had a long-winded sermon preached
on my untimely end. Ha! ha!" with his mocking laugh.
"Don't, sir! If you had seen your father then! Why did no one come
forward and explain?"
"Mayhap there were none at hand who knew, or wished to meddle with
the law," he said. "Well, things were beyond all bearing at home,
and you were going away, and would not so much as look at me. Now,
one of the few sports my father did not look askance at was fishing,
and he would endure my being out at night with, as he thought, poor
man, old Pete Perring, who was as stern a Puritan as himself; but I
had livelier friends, and more adventurous. They had connections
with French free-traders for brandy and silks, and when they found I
was one with them, my French tongue was a boon to them, till I came
to have a good many friends among the Norman fishermen, and to know
the snug hiding-places about the coast. So at last I made up my
mind to be off with them, and make my way to my uncle in Muscovy. I
had raised money enough at play and on the jewels one picks up in an
envoy's service, and there was one good angel whom I meant to take
with me if I could secure her and bind her wings. Now you know with
what hopes I saw you gathering flowers alone that morning."
Anne clasped her hands; Charles had truly interfered with good
cause.
"I had all arranged," he continued; "my uncle would have given you a
hearty welcome, and made our peace with my father, or if not, he
would have left us all his goods, and secured my career. What call
had that great lout, with a wife of his own too, to come thrusting
between us? I thought I should make short work of him, and give him
a lesson against meddling--great unlicked cub as he was, while I had
had the best training at Berlin and Paris in fencing; but somehow
those big strong fellows, from their very clumsiness, throw one out.
And he meant mischief--yes, that he did. I saw it in his eyes. I
suppose his sulky rustic jealousy was a-fire at a few little
civilities to that poor little wife of his. Any way, when he bore
me down like the swing of a windmill, he drove his sword home. Talk
of his being innocent! Why should he never look whether I were dead
or alive, but fling me headlong into that pit?"
Anne could not but utter her eager defence, but it was met with a
sinister smile, half of scorn, half of pity, and as she would have
gone on, "Hush! your pleading only fills up the measure of my
loathing."
Her heart sank, but she let him go on, listening perhaps less
attentively as she considered how to take him.
"In fact," he continued, "little as the lubber knew it, 'twas the
best he could have done for me. For though I never looked for such
luck as your being out in the court at that hour, I did think the
chance not to be lost of visiting the garden or the churchyard, and
there were waiting in the vault a couple of stout Normans, who were
to come at my whistle. It seems that when I came tumbling down in
their midst, senseless and bleeding like a calf, they did not take
it quite so easily as your champion above, but began doing what they
could for me, and were trying to staunch the wound, when they heard
a trampling and a rumbling overhead, and being aware that our
undertaking might look ugly in the sight of the law, and thinking
this might be pursuers, they carried me off with all speed, not so
much as stopping to pick up the things that have made such a
commotion. Was there any pursuit?"
"Oh no; it must have been the haymakers."
"No doubt. The place was in no great favour with our own people;
they were in awe of the big Scot, who is in comfortable quarters in
my grave, and the Frenchmen could not have found their way thither,
so it was let alone till Mistress Martha's researches. So I came to
myself in the boat in which they took me on board the lugger that
was waiting for us; and instead of making for Alderney, as I had
intended, so as to get the knot safely tied to your satisfaction,
they sailed straight for Havre. They had on board a Jesuit father,
whom I had met once or twice among the Duke of Berwick's people, but
who had found Portsmouth too hot to hold him in the frenzy of
Protestant zeal on the Bishops' account. He had been beset, and
owed his life, he says, to the fists of the Breton and Norman
sailors, who had taken him on board. It was well for me, for I
doubt if ever I was tough enough to have withstood my good friends'
treatment. He had me carried to a convent in Havre, where the
fathers nursed me well; and before I was on my legs again, I had
made up my mind to cast in my lot with them, or rather with their
Church."
"Oh!"
"I had been baulked of winning the one being near whom my devil
never durst come. And blood-letting had pretty well disposed of
him. I was as meek and mild as milk under the good fathers.
Moreover, as my good friend at Turin had told me, and they repeated
it, such a doubly heretical baptism as mine was probably invalid,
and accounted for my being as much a vessel of wrath as even my
father was pleased to call me. There was the Queen's rosary drawing
me too. Everything else was over with me, and it seemed to open a
new life. So, bless me, what a soft and pious frame I was in when
they chastened me, water, oil, salt and all, on what my father raged
at folks calling Lammas Day, but which it seems really belongs to
St. Peter in the Fetters. So I was named Pierre or Piers after him,
thus keeping my own initial."
"Piers! oh! not Piers Pigwiggin?"
"Pierre de Pilpignon, if you please. I have a right to that too;
but we shall come to it by and by. I can laugh now, or perhaps
weep, over the fervid state I was in then, as if I had trodden down
my snake, and by giving up everything--you, estate, career, I could
keep him down. So it was settled that I would devote myself to the
priesthood--don't laugh!--and I was ordered off to their seminary in
London, partly, I believe, for the sake of piloting a couple of
fathers, who could not speak a word of English. It was, as they
rightly judged, the last place where my father would think of
looking for me, but they did not as rightly judge that we should
long keep possession there. Matters grew serious, and it was not
over safe in the streets. There was a letter of importance from a
friend in Holland, carrying the Prince of Orange's hypocritical
Declaration, which was to be got to Father Petre or the King on the
night--Hallowmas Eve it was--and I was told off to put on a secular
dress, which I could wear more naturally than most of them, and
convey it."
"Ah, that explains!"
"Apparition number one! I guessed you were somewhere in those
parts, and looked up at the windows, and though I did not see you, I
believe it was your eyes that first sent a thrill through me that
boded ill for Roman orders. After that we lived in a continual
state of rumours and alarms, secret messages and expeditions, until
I, being strong in the arm and the wind and a feather-weight, was
one of those honoured by rowing the Queen and Prince across the
river. M. de St. Victor accepted me. He told me there would be two
nurses, but never knew or cared who they were, nor did I guess, as
we sat in the dark, how near I was to you. And only for one second
did I see your face, as you were entering the carriage, and I
blessed you the more for what you were doing for Her Majesty."
He proceeded to tell how he had accompanied the Jesuit fathers, on
their leaving London, to the great English seminary at Douai, and
being for the time convinced by them that his feelings towards Anne
were a delusion of the enemy, he had studied with all his might, and
as health and monotony of life began to have their accustomed effect
in rousing the restlessness and mischievousness of his nature, with
all the passions of manhood growing upon him, he strove to force
them down by fasting and scourging. He told, in a bitter, almost
savage way, of his endeavours to flog his demon out of himself, and
of his anger and disappointment at finding Piers Pilgrim in the
seminary of Douai, quite as subject to his attacks as ever was Perry
Oakshott under a sermon of Mr. Horncastle's.
Then came the information among the students that the governor of
the city, the Marquis de Nidemerle, had brought some English
gentlemen and ladies to visit the gardens. As most of the students
were of British families there was curiosity as to who they were,
and thus Peregrine heard that one was young Archfield of the
Hampshire family, with his tutor, and the lady was Mistress Darpent,
daughter to a French lawyer, who had settled in England after the
Fronde. Anne's name had not transpired, for she was viewed merely
as an attendant. Peregrine had been out on some errand in the town,
and had a distant view of his enemy as he held him, flaunting about
with a fine lady on his arm, forgetting the poor little pretty wife
whom no doubt he had frightened to death."
"Oh! you little know how tenderly he speaks of her."
"Tenderly!--that's the way they speak of me at Oakwood, eh? Human,
not to say elf, nature, could not withstand giving the fellow a
start. I sped off, whipped into the Church, popped into a surplice
I found ready to hand, caught up a candle, and!--Little did I think
who it was that was hanging on his arm. So little did I know it
that my heart began to be drawn to St. Germain, where I still
imagined you. Altogether, after that prank, all broke out again. I
entertained the lads with a few more freaks, for which I did ample
penance, but it grew on me that in my case all was a weariness and a
sham, and that my demon might get a worse hold of me if I got into a
course of hypocrisy. They were very good to me, those fathers, but
Jesuits as they were, I doubt whether they ever fathomed me. Any
way, perhaps they thought I should be a scandal, but they agreed
with me that their order was not my vocation, and that we had better
part before my fiend drove me to do so with dishonour. They even
gave me recommendations to the French officers that were besieging
Tournay. I knew the Duke of Berwick a little at Portsmouth, and it
ended in my becoming under-secretary to the Duke of Chartres. A man
who knows languages has his value among Frenchmen, who despise all
but their own."
Peregrine did not enter into full details of this stage of his
career, and Anne was not fully informed of the habits that the young
Duke of Chartres, the future Regent Duke of Orleans, was already
developing, but she gathered that, what the young man called his
demon, had nearly undisputed sway over him, and she had not spent
eight months at St. Germain without knowing by report of the
dissolute manners of the substratum of fashionable society at Paris,
even though outward decorum had been restored by Madame de
Maintenon. Yet he seemed to have been crossed by fits of vehement
penitence, and almost the saddest part of the story was the mocking
tone in which he alluded to these.
He had sought service at the Court in the hope of meeting Miss
Woodford there, and had been grievously disappointed when he found
that she had long since returned to England. The sight of the
gracious and lovely countenance of the exiled Queen seemed always to
have moved and touched him, as in some inexplicable manner her eyes
and expression recalled to him those of Mrs. Woodford and Anne; but
the thought had apparently only stung him into the sense of being
forsaken and abandoned to his own devices or those of his evil
spirit.
One incident, occurring some three years previously, he told more
fully, as it had a considerable effect on his life. "I was
attending the Duke in the gardens at Versailles," he said, "when we
were aware of a great commotion. All the gentlemen were standing
gazing up into the top of a great chestnut tree, the King and all,
and in the midst stood the Abbe de Fenelon with his little pupils,
the youngest, the Duke of Anjou, sobbing piteously, and the Duke of
Burgundy in a furious passion, stamping and raging, and only
withheld from rolling on the ground by the Abbe's hand grasping his
shoulder. 'I will not have him killed! He is mine,' he cried. And
up in the tree, the object of all their gaze, was a monkey with a
paper fluttering in his hand. Some one had made a present of the
creature to the King's grandsons; he was the reigning favourite, and
having broken his chain, had effected an entrance by the window into
the King's cabinet, where after giving himself the airs of a
minister of state, on being interrupted, he had made off through the
window with an important document, which he was affecting to peruse
at his leisure, only interrupting himself to hurl down leaves or
unripe chestnuts at those who attempted to pelt him with stones, and
this only made him mount higher and higher, entirely out of their
reach, for no one durst climb after him. I believe it was a letter
from the King of Spain; at any rate the whole Cabinet was in agony
lest the brute should proceed to tear it into fragments, and a
musqueteer had been sent for to shoot him down. I remembered my
success with the monkey on poor little Madam Archfield's back--nay,
perhaps 'twas the same, my familiar taking shape. I threw myself at
the King's feet, and desired permission to deal with the beast. By
good luck it had not been so easy as they supposed to find a musquet
fit for immediate use, so I had full time. To ascend the tree was
no more than I had done many times before, and I went high in the
branches, but cautiously, not to give Monsieur le Singe the idea of
being pursued, lest he should leap to a bough incapable of
supporting me. When I had reached a fork tolerably high, and where
he could see me, I settled myself, took out a letter, which
fortunately was in my pocket, read it with the greatest
deliberation, the monkey watching me all the time, and finally I
proceeded to fold it neatly in all its creases. The creature
imitated me with its black fingers, little aware, poor thing, that
the musqueteer had covered him with his weapon, and was waiting for
the first sign of tearing the letter to pull the trigger, but
withheld by a sign from the King, who did not wish to sacrifice his
grandson's pet before his eyes. Finally, after finishing the
folding, I doubled it a second time, and threw it at the animal. To
my great joy he returned the compliment by throwing the other at my
head. I was able to catch it, and moreover, as he was disposed to
go in pursuit of his plaything, he swung his chain so near me that I
got hold of it, twisted it round my arm, and made the best of my way
down the tree, amid the 'Bravos!' started by the royal lips
themselves, and repeated with ecstasy by all the crowd, who waved
their hats, and made such a hallooing that I had much ado to get the
monkey down safely; but finally, all dishevelled, with my best cuffs
and cravat torn to ribbons, and my wig happily detached, unlike
Absalom's, for it remained in the tree, I had the honour of
presenting on my knee the letter to the King, and the monkey to the
Princes. I kissed His Majesty's hand, the little Duke of Anjou
kissed the monkey, and the Duke of Burgundy kissed me with arms
round my neck, then threw himself on his knees before his
grandfather to ask pardon for his passion. Every one said my
fortune was made, and that my agility deserved at least the cordon
bleu. My own Duke of Chartres, who in many points is like his
cousin, our late King Charles, gravely assured me that a new office
was to be invented for me, and that I was to be Grand Singier du
Roi. I believe he pushed my cause, and so did the little Duke of
Burgundy, and finally I got the pension without the office, and a
good deal of occasional employment besides, in the way of
translation of documents. There were moments of success at play.
Oh yes, quite fairly, any one with wits about him can make his
profit in the long-run among the Court set. And thus I had enough
to purchase a pretty little estate and chateau on the coast of
Normandy, the confiscated property of a poor Huguenot refugee, so
that it went cheap. It gives the title of Pilpignon, which I
assumed in kindness to the tongues of my French friends. So you
see, I have a station and property to which to carry you, my fair
one, won by myself, though only by catching an ape."
He went on to say that the spot had been chosen advisedly, with a
view to communication with the opposite coast, where his old
connection with the smugglers was likely to be useful in the
Jacobite plots. "As you well know," he said, "my father had done
his utmost to make Whiggery stink in my nostrils, to say nothing of
the kindness I have enjoyed from our good Queen; and I was ready to
do my utmost in the cause, especially after I had stolen a glimpse
of you, and when Charnock, poor fellow, returning from reconnoitring
among the loyal, told me that you were still unmarried, and living
as a dependent in the Archfields' house. Our headquarters were in
Romney Marsh, but it was as well to have, as it were, a back door
here, and as it has turned out it has been the saving of some of
us."
"Oh, sir! you were not in that wicked plot?"
"Nay; surely _you_ are not turned Whig."
"But this was assassination."
"Not at all, if they would have listened to me. The Dutchman is no
bigger than I am. I could have dropped on him from one of his trees
at Hampton Court, or through a window, via presto, and we would have
had him off by the river, given him an interview to beg his uncle's
pardon, and despatched him for the benefit of his asthma to the
company of the Iron Mask at St. Marguerite; then back again, the
King to enjoy his own again, Dr. Woodford, archbishop or bishop of
whatever you please, and a lady here present to be Marquise de
Pilpignon, or Countess of Havant, whichever she might prefer. Yes,
truly those were the hopes with which I renewed my communications
with the contraband trade on this coast, a good deal more numerous
since the Dutchman and his wars have raised the duties and driven
many good men to holes and corners.
"Ever since last spring, when the Princess Royal died, and thus
extinguished the last spark of forbearance in the King's breast, I
have been here, there, and everywhere--Romney Marsh, Drury Lane,
Paris, besides this place and Pilpignon, where I have a snug harbour
for the yacht, Ma Belle Annik, as the Breton sailors call her. The
crew are chiefly Breton; it saves gossip; but I have a boat's crew
of our own English folk here, stout fellows, ready for anything by
land or sea."
"The Black Gang," said Anne faintly.
"Don't suppose I have meddled in their exploits on the road," he
said, "except where a King's messenger or a Royal mail was
concerned, and that is war, you know, for the cause. Unluckily my
personal charms are not easily disguised, so that I have had to lurk
in the background, and only make my private investigations in the
guise of my own ghost."
"Then so it was you saved the dear little Philip?" said Anne.
"The Archfield boy? I could not see a child sent to his destruction
by that villain Sedley, whoever were his father, for he meant
mischief if ever man did. 'Twas superhuman scruple not to hold your
peace and let him swing."
"What was it, then, on his cousin's part?"
Peregrine only answered with a shrug. It appeared further, that as
long as the conspirators had entertained any expectation of success,
he had merely kept a watch over Anne, intending to claim her in the
hour of the triumph of his party, when he looked to enjoy such a
position as would leave his brother free to enjoy his paternal
inheritance. In the failure of all their schemes through Mr.
Pendergrast's denunciation, Sir George Barclay, and one or two
inferior plotters, had succeeded in availing themselves of the
assistance of the Black Gang, and had been conducted by Peregrine to
the hut that he had fitted up for himself. Still trusting to the
security there, although his name of Piers Pilgrim or de Pilpignon
had been among those given up to the Privy Council, he had insisted
on lingering, being resolved that an attempt should be made to carry
away the woman he had loved for so many years. Captain Burford had
so disguised himself as to be able to attend the trial, loiter about
the inn, and collect intelligence, while the others waited on the
downs. Peregrine had watched over the capture, but being unwilling
to disclose himself, had ridden on faster and crossed direct,
traversing the Island on horseback, while the captive was rounding
it in the boat. "As should never have been done," he said, "could I
have foretold to what stress of weather you would be exposed while I
was preparing for your reception. But for this storm--it rages
louder than ever--we would have been married by a little parson whom
Burford would have fetched from Portsmouth, and we should have been
over the Channel, and my people hailing my bride with ecstasy."
"Never!" exclaimed Anne. "Can you suppose I could accept one who
would leave an innocent man to suffer?"
"People sometimes are obliged to accept," said Peregrine. Then at
her horrified start, "No, no, fear no violence; but is not something
due to one who has loved you through exile all these years, and
would lay down his life for you? you, the only being who overcomes
his evil angel!"
"This is what you call overcoming it," she said.
"Nay; indeed, Mistress Anne, I would let the authorities know that
they are hanging a man for murdering one who is still alive if I
could; but no one would believe without seeing, and I and all who
could bear witness to my existence would be rushing to an end even
worse than a simple noose. You were ready enough to denounce him to
save that worthless fellow."
"Not ready. It tore my heart. But truth is truth. I could not do
that wickedness. Oh! how can you? This _is_ the prompting of the
evil spirit indeed, to expect me to join in leaving that innocent,
generous spirit to die in cruel injustice. Let me go. I will not
betray where you are. You will be safe in France; but there will
yet be time for me to bear witness to your life. Write a letter.
Your father would thankfully swear to your handwriting, and I think
they would believe me. Only let me go."
"And what then becomes of the hopes of a lifetime?" demanded
Peregrine. "I, who have waited as long as Jacob, to be defrauded
now I have you; and for the sake of the fellow who killed me in will
if not in deed, and then ran away like a poltroon leaving you to
bear the brunt!"
"He did not act like a poltroon when he saved the life of his
general, or when he rescued the colours of his regiment, still less
when he stood up to save me from the pain of bearing witness against
him, and to save a guiltless man," cried Anne, with flashing eyes.
Before she had finished her indignant words, Hans was coming in from
some unknown region to lay the cloth for supper, and Peregrine, with
an imprecation under his breath, had gone to the door to admit his
two comrades, who came into the narrow entry on a gust of wind as it
were, struggling out of their cloaks, stamping and swearing.
In the middle of the day, they had been much more restrained in
their behaviour. There had at that time been a slight clearance in
the sky, though the wind was as furious as ever, and they were in
haste to despatch the meal and go out again to endeavour to stand on
the heights and to watch some vessels that were being tossed by the
storm. Almost all the conversation had then been on the chances of
their weathering the tempest, and the probability of its lasting on,
and they had hurried away as soon as possible. Anne had not then
known who they were, and only saw that they were fairly civil to
her, and kept under a certain constraint by Pilpignon, as they
called their host. Now she fully knew the one who was addressed as
Sir George to be Barclay, the prime mover in the wicked scheme of
assassination of which all honest Tories had been so much ashamed,
and she could see Captain Burford to be one of those bravoes who
were only too plentiful in those days, attending on dissolute and
violent nobles.
She was the less inclined to admit their attentions, and shielded
herself with a grave coldness of stately manners; but their talk was
far more free than at noon, suggesting the thought that they had
anticipated the meal with some of the Nantz or other liquors that
seemed to be in plenty.
They began by low bows of affected reverence, coarser and worse in
the ruffian of inferior grade, and the knight complimented Pilpignon
on being a lucky dog, and hoped he had made the best use of his time
in spite of the airs of his duchess. It was his own fault if he
were not enjoying such fair society, while they, poor devils, were
buffeting with the winds, which had come on more violently than
ever. Peregrine broke in with a question about the vessels in
sight.
There was an East Indiaman, Dutch it was supposed, laying-to, that
was the cause of much excitement. "If she drives ashore our fellows
will neither be to have nor to hold," said Sir George.
"They will obey me," said Peregrine quietly.
"More than the sea will just yet," laughed the captain. "However,
as soon as this villainous weather is a bit abated, I'll be off
across the Island to do your little errand, and only ask a kiss of
the bride for my pains; but if the parson be at Portsmouth there
will be no getting him to budge till the water is smooth. Never
mind, madam, we'll have a merry wedding feast, whichever side of the
water it is. I should recommend the voyage first for my part."
All Anne could do was to sit as upright and still as she could,
apparently ignoring the man's meaning. She did not know how
dignified she looked, and how she was daunting his insolence. When
presently Sir George Barclay proposed as a toast a health to the
bride of to-morrow, she took her part by raising the glass to her
lips as well as the gentlemen, and adding, "May the brides be happy,
wherever they may be."
"Coy, upon my soul," laughed Sir George. "You have not made the
best of your opportunities, Pil." But with an oath, "It becomes her
well."
"A truce with fooling, Barclay," muttered Peregrine.
"Come, come, remember faint heart--no lowering your crest, more than
enough to bring that devilish sparkle in the eyes, and turn of the
neck!"
"Sir," said Anne rising, "Monsieur de Pilpignon is an old neighbour,
and understands how to respect his most unwilling guest. I wish you
a good-night, gentlemen. Guennik, venez ici, je vous prie."
Guennik, the Breton boatswain's wife, understood French thus far,
and comprehended the situation enough to follow willingly, leaving
the remainder of the attendance to Hans, who was fully equal to it.
The door was secured by a long knife in the post, but Anne could
hear plainly the rude laugh at her entrenchment within her fortress
and much of the banter of Peregrine for having proceeded no further.
It was impossible to shut out all the voices, and very alarming they
were, as well as sometimes so coarse that they made her cheeks glow,
while she felt thankful that the Bretonne could not understand.
These three men were all proscribed traitors in haste to be off, but
Peregrine, to whom the yacht and her crew belonged, had lingered to
obtain possession of the lady, and they were declaring that now they
had caught his game and given him his toy, they would brook no
longer delay than was absolutely necessitated by the storm, and
married or not married, he and she should both be carried off
together, let the damsel-errant give herself what haughty airs she
would. It was a weak concession on their part to the old Puritan
scruples that he might have got rid of by this time, to attempt to
bring about the marriage. They jested at him for being afraid of
her, and then there were jokes about gray mares.
The one voice she could not hear was Peregrine's, perhaps because he
realised more than they did that she was within ear-shot, and
besides, he was absolutely sober; but she thought he silenced them;
and then she heard sounds of card-playing, which made an
accompaniment to her agonised prayers.