MYSTERIES.
As soon as Maud had sufficiently rested she returned to Hayslope with
Master Drury, who, now that he had made up his mind to do so, was all
impatient to return home. His visit to Oxford had been a very painful
one, for his faith in the King had been completely broken, and yet he
had been forced to hear of his son's condemnation to an ignominious
death, for principles he began dimly to see were right.
The last lingering remnants of loyalty forbade his seeking to see that
son, as much as the fear of offending his son-in-law, and yet he longed
to fold Harry in his arms and look in his face once more.
When the travellers reached Hayslope they found the villagers in a
wildly excited state. Many of their relatives who had been fighting at
Naseby were held prisoners by the Parliament, and of course could not
return home this winter; and lads too young to serve as soldiers, and
the women, with Martin the blacksmith at their head, were wildly
clamouring for the destruction of the Parliament and all the rebels. The
poor wounded messenger had most mysteriously disappeared, Maud heard,
but on questioning some of them more closely, it seemed that he had more
than once been threatened by Martin, if he would not swear to serve the
King, while he stoutly refused, and at last he left the village with his
wound only half healed.
Poor old Dame Coppins was of course accused of having some hand in this
business. Without the help of witchcraft the man could not have escaped,
the women said, and for once Maud felt thankful to the unknown witch,
whoever she might be, who had done this service. She believed in
witchcraft almost as fully as the ignorant villagers, but she did not
believe Dame Coppins was a witch simply because she did not choose to
tell all the village her business--where she had come from, and what had
induced her to take the lonely cottage outside Hayslope,--and this was
the only reason they had for supposing her a witch.
Maud had tried to reason them out of this, had told them she was a poor
widow who had seen a great deal of trouble, and preferred a solitary
life; that she loved the Bible and feared God as much as any of them;
but it was all of no avail. That any one could exist without gossip was
to them impossible to understand, and they shook their heads sadly, and
thought Maud bewitched herself when she talked about Dame Coppins.
So the cottage in the lane was as lonely as ever, in spite of the
patronage extended to the widow by Maud and the two children at the
Grange.
For a day or two after her return Maud was not able to go to the
cottage, for Master Drury had scarcely reached home when he was taken
seriously ill, and Mistress Mabel's herbs and decoctions failed to
relieve his sickness for some time. Bertram and Bessie, however, went
each day, and brought back the report that the widow had seemed very
joyful when she heard that Maud had returned, and that her errand had
been so successful as to gain the prisoners their freedom.
Maud smiled when she heard this. "Marry, but their freedom is not gained
yet," she said, with something of a sigh.
"Dame Coppins says they are free, and on their way to London," said
Bessie.
Maud opened her eyes. Was the old woman a witch after all? Bertram's
next words quite confirmed her in this wild notion. "Maud," he said in a
whisper, "do you know that Harry was one of the prisoners."
"Who told you so?" asked Maud, quickly, for it had been agreed that this
intelligence should not reach the children, or even Mistress Mabel.
"Dame Coppins told me," replied Bertram; "she said he would have been
shot if you had not gone to Oxford with those papers," he added.
Maud actually shuddered with horror as the boy said this. "Bertram, you
must not go to Dame Coppins again," she said, quickly.
"Why not?" asked Bertram, in surprise.
"Prithee, I scarce can tell you, but--but you will keep it quite a
secret, Bertram, even from Bessie," said Maud--"this dreadful thing I am
going to tell you."
Bertram nodded. "Isn't she a good old woman?" he asked.
"Bertie, she's a witch," whispered Maud, in a tone of horror.
Bertram started back pale with fright. "I don't believe it, Maud," he
said: "she couldn't talk about God taking care of Harry, and pray for
Him to do it, if she was a wicked old witch. I do believe God took you
safe to Oxford in time because she prayed so much about it, and that
He's kept Harry safe in all the battles, that he might come home to us
again in answer to Dame Coppins's prayers."
Bertram spoke quickly, almost passionately, but Maud only shook her head
sadly. "I thought she was a good woman," she said, "but how could she
know what happened at Oxford if she was not a witch? Nobody here knows
that Harry was in prison--not even Mistress Mabel or the servants, so
that no one could tell her about it."
But Bertram was still unwilling to believe in Dame Coppins's wickedness,
until Maud said pettishly, "I do believe she has bewitched you, Bertie,
and you must not go to see her again."
"But I will go," said Bertram, beginning to lose his temper.
"Then I shall ask Mistress Mabel to forbid you going beyond the moat,"
said Maud.
This threat, which Bertram knew she would put into execution, made him
give the required promise not to go and see Dame Coppins until Maud had
discovered who had told her about Harry; which Maud feeling sure was a
dark mystery, that no one would ever be able to penetrate, made up her
mind not to try, now that she had extorted this promise from Bertram.
Some thoughts of the poor old woman's anxiety troubled her after she
left Bertram, and she wondered what effect their neglect might have upon
the mind of the villagers; but on this she resolved to keep eyes and
ears alike open whenever she went amongst them, so that she might
protect her from violence should any be attempted or contemplated.
But it seemed that the people had forgotten the witch in their rage
against the "Parliament rebels," and Maud could not discover whether the
old woman was being supplied with food or not; and very soon the fear
that she would be starved to death began to take possession of her mind.
To satisfy herself upon this point she resolved to walk down the lane
late one afternoon, when she would not be expected. Before she had
reached the cottage, however, she saw a litter borne between two men
carried into the garden, and then from this was lifted what looked like
a huge roll of cloth, and taken into the house, while Dame Coppins came
and looked all round to make sure no one was in the lane. She did not
see Maud, for she had concealed herself behind a tree, but the young
lady had a good view of the old woman's face, and saw that there was
little fear of her dying of starvation yet. As soon as she could she
slipped out of her hiding-place and walked quickly up the lane. She was
afraid of going near the cottage now, and she wondered what fresh
wickedness Dame Coppins had been at. No wonder the people were afraid of
her when such mysterious doings as that were going on.
Maud thought she had more than sufficient evidence to prove that Dame
Coppins was a witch now, and began seriously to consider whether she
ought not to inform against her; and she might have done this, only
Master Drury was taken ill again. Maud began to think this must be the
witch's work, when all Mistress Mabel's remedies failed, but she dared
not say so, for fear the servants should tell the villagers, and they
should attempt to drown her again; and so she suggested that a physician
should be sent for to see her guardian. Mistress Mabel looked scornful
at first, but finally relented, and a boy was despatched to the town,
and returned with the grave-looking doctor, in plumed hat, scarlet
cloak, and immense ruffles at his wrists. He looked grand enough to do
anything if grandeur would do it, but he shook his head when he heard
all Master Drury's ailments. Beyond this he would not commit himself,
and so very little information was gained from his visit, and they could
only wait in hope that his medicine would soon effect some improvement
on the patient.
Meanwhile news had arrived that Prince Rupert had been compelled to
surrender Bristol and several other places in the west, and that another
battle disastrous to Charles had been fought at Rowton Moor. The King
had been completely defeated, and compelled to retire to Oxford for the
winter, and Captain Stanhope and his wife were coming to Hayslope. This
was the news brought by one or two of the men who came back to the
village to tell of the death or imprisonment of others who had gone
forth with them that sweet spring day a few months before. So the winter
came in gloomy enough, and men grew fiercer each day about the strife
that was raging in the land. In Hayslope all the rage was against the
London Parliament, and many vowed that if one of Cromwell's troopers
showed himself there he should be killed, whoever he might be. This
threat did not disturb Maud much, even if she heard it, for she did not
think it was likely any of the Parliament men would come there, and she
could only feel glad that the messenger had gone away before the arrival
of these half-frenzied men. She still visited occasionally among the
villagers, and contributed to their wants as far as she could; but a
good deal of her time was occupied with Master Drury now, and Dame
Coppins was almost forgotten, apparently.
She was therefore greatly surprised one day to receive a message from a
village lad, saying she was wanted down the lane. She had no doubt who
wanted her, but she did not intend going; she would not give Dame
Coppins the opportunity of bewitching her any more; and so merely
saying, "Prithee, I will think about it," she walked home as fast as she
could.
That evening, about six o'clock, just as they were about to assemble for
supper, one of the maids came to her and whispered that she was wanted;
a man, who refused to say who he was or where he came from, demanded to
see her.
Maud shivered: such mysterious messages were disagreeable, and she was
just about to say she would not go, when Mistress Mabel appearing in the
passage settled the matter; for had she heard her refuse, there would
have been an instant inquiry, and the lady would not have rested until
she found out all about the supposed witch and Maud's charities in the
village.
So to prevent this she threw a cloak over her head, and followed the
maid, without speaking, to where a muffled figure stood outside the
door. She had only stepped off the threshold, when a gust of wind blew
the door close, and at the same moment her wrist was seized, and she was
dragged away from the house; and before she could even scream, or give
any alarm, she was lifted on to a horse, and the man sprang up before
her, and galloped away into the village.
[Illustration: ABDUCTION OF MAUD.]
All the horrible tales Maud had ever heard of people being carried off
by witches rushed to her mind when she saw that they were turning round
by the blacksmith's shed. All was dark and still, but she tried to
scream, in hopes of raising some alarm; but fear had paralyzed her
tongue, and she could not utter a sound. She was like one in all the
horrors of a nightmare, and believed she was on a phantom horse,
although she could hear it splashing though the wet mud, precisely as
Cavalier did the day before, when she was out riding with Mistress
Stanhope.
At length they stopped just opposite the widow's cottage, as Maud
expected, for she had no doubt that this ride was of the witch's
planning; and feeling powerless to resist, she suffered herself to be
lifted down, and expected to be carried into the house. But instead of
this, a familiar, though scarcely remembered, but very human voice,
said, "Go in, Mistress Maud, I will look after Cavalier." But Maud did
not move, although the man stepped to the horse's head. Before she could
make up her mind, however, to run away, the cottage door opened, and a
weak, quivering voice, said, "Roger, Roger, is that you?"
Without answering, the man left the horse and came to Maud. "Prithee, be
not so sorrowful," he said; "there's hope for him yet, if we can only
get a physician to him soon, and Dame Coppins says----"
But Maud staggered back as he would have led her into the house. "Tell
me what it is, and who you are," she gasped.
The man was perplexed. "Marry, but you know me, Mistress Maud. I'm
Roger, Master Drury's servant, and the letter told all about the rest, I
trow."
What the "rest" was Maud had not time to ask, for at that moment the
cottage door opened again, and Dame Coppins drew her inside.