MORE TROUBLE AT CLOPTON.
Meanwhile, as misfortunes seldom come but in battalions, Sir Hugh
Clopton (even before he had heard of the appearance of the disease) had
been arrested of high treason, and carried off to London with several
other gentlemen of condition in the county, and who had likewise been
mixed up in the confession of Master Walter Neville.
It is indeed hardly possible to describe the dire confusion which ensued
upon this unexpected event taking place on the night of the feast at
Clopton Hall. Sir Hugh himself was the only person of his household and
family who seemed to retain his self-command. Walter Arderne would, at
first, have fain struck down the Queen's officer and expelled his men.
The faithful Martin was almost distraught. The serving men and retainers
were scared and indignant at the same time; and the guests in a state of
astonishment and dismay.
"Heed it not, my masters all," said Sir Hugh, "'tis a mistake
altogether. I a traitor to our blessed Queen! pah. I would she had but
such traitors in all her foes; methinks I know where this matter
originates, and shall set it right upon examination."
"I hope so," said the officer; "Nevertheless, there is one other I am to
secure within your household, but my people have just learnt he hath
fled on our approach."
"In the name of Heaven," said Sir Hugh, "who else lays under this
strange misconception?"
"A priest but lately come from over sea, commonly called Father
Eustace," said the officer.
"Eustace!" said Sir Hugh, "why he was here but now. Is he too accused?"
"He is," said the officer, "and must, if possible, be apprehended; some
of my party have followed on his trail."
"Any more of my family, household, or personal friends implicated?" said
Sir Hugh, somewhat bitterly. "I trust I shall set my accuser, whoever he
be, before my rapier's point, when I promise him such mercy as it
affords _no more_."
"I feel sorry to put any force upon you, Sir Hugh," said the officer,
"especially before this goodly company, but my orders are peremptory,
and I must convey you to Warwick to-night; to-morrow with all speed
towards London."
"Nay," said Sir Hugh, "good sir, you but express my own wishes in this
matter. To the Tower with me at once. An there be any limb or member o'
my body found guilty of this sin--torture it: an the Queen find that my
head hath entertained a thought against her--off with it: an my heart
hath conceived treason--tear it out. To horse then in God's name, and
let us put on without delay."
And truly did the good Sir Hugh bespeak himself, whilst most of the
guests standing in amaze around, and, with tears in their eyes, beheld
him made prisoner, and conveyed from his own domain. Under the
circumstances in which he found himself, it was a great relief to the
good knight that his daughter was saved from the grief and misery of
seeing and taking leave of him.
The coming of the officers and the arrest of her father it was hastily
arranged should be carefully concealed, and her attendants were enjoined
to say that a sudden summons from the Queen had obliged Sir Hugh
instantly to depart.
Meantime the faithful Martin undertook to remain in watchful attendance
upon her, whilst Arderne, whose feelings would not permit him to stay
behind, accompanied the party in charge of the old knight, and whom he
swore never to leave till he was again at liberty.
"I will gain audience of the Queen," he said, "instantly, and not leave
the Court until I know the vile traducer who hath thus denounced thee,
uncle. Thou a traitor, indeed! Thou soul of honour, loyalty and truth!
Treason hath no existence--no place to hide in aught where thou
abidest."
And thus (as is oft the case in life) the scene became on the sudden
overcast. At the moment of its brightness--the gaiety, the splendour,
and the happiness of the party were dashed; whilst those who had met
together with light hearts and fantastic spirits, dispersed with evil
foreboding and slow and heavy footsteps.
In a party of this sort, in Warwickshire, it was customary oft-times to
keep up the revel till dawn, whilst every nook and corner of the
dwelling was made available for those of the guests who chose to remain
afterwards.
With the good old English hospitality which despised form, Sir Hugh had
previously arranged for many of his most intimate friends to stay a few
days at Clopton and partake in the sport his preserves afforded. The
dogs and falcons were to have been put in requisition, and the heronry
and the thick covers around beat for game.
Indeed two or three did remain at Clopton the next day; not for the
purpose of recreating themselves with the old knight's hawks, but from
their anxiety about the illness of the fair Charlotte, and in the hope
of seeing her re-appear from her room with renewed health.
Such, however, was not to be the case, as she grew rapidly worse, and it
was found necessary to summon the leech from Stratford. Soon after his
arrival, the faithful Martin, with a face of alarm, took upon himself to
dismiss the guests. His charge, he said, was extremely ill. Her
complaint was pronounced by the leech to be both infectious and
dangerous, and under such circumstances, it was advisable for them to
shorten their visit. "Neither should I be acting rightly," he added, "if
I concealed it, although the rumour may possibly be without foundation,
but I have just heard the plague hath broken out in Stratford."
Thus were the halls of Clopton--and which but a few short hours before
had displayed such a scene of gaiety and revelling,--as suddenly changed
to gloom and melancholy.
The domestics seemed to glide about with noiseless step, hardly having
heart to arrange the different rooms, so that many of them were left in
the confusion and disarray they had been in when the mirth of the party
was so suddenly interrupted; and, if the succeeding day was fraught with
melancholy, the night was filled with terrors. Strange and awful sounds
were heard in some of the rooms. Sounds which none could account for or
discover the meaning of, although, at first attributing them to natural
causes, the domestics made search through those parts of the house where
they had been heard.
Coming thus at a time of grief and misfortune, and following sickness
and the rumours of so dire a disease as the plague, these sounds had an
ominous and awful appearance. The domestics, much as they loved their
employers, and commiserated them in their present distress, were so much
scared, that several fled from the Hall to their own homes; and, as the
mysterious sounds continued night after night growing more violent, and
even extending from the part of the house to which they had at first
been confined; with the exception of two or three of the upper servants,
the numerous domestics of the establish meat had almost all deserted it.
The faithful Martin was sorely troubled. Living in an age when men's
minds were easily affected by superstitious terrors, and a general
belief existed in supernatural agency, he however possessed an uncommon
degree of firmness and mental energy. At first he tried to laugh at the
terrors and complaints of the different servants, as they brought
continued reports of dreadful sounds existing in the western wing of the
Hall, and where the secret hiding-places existed. Then, as his own ears
confirmed their reports, he shut himself up, well armed, for a whole
night in the apartments where the spirit was said to be most
troublesome.
On this night, which was the third after the departure of Sir Hugh, the
sounds were most terrific and awful. As if the evil genius of the house
of Clopton was either rejoicing over the present state of the family, or
impatient for their utter destruction, it seemed inclined to drive the
inmates to despair by its violence.
Martin, having thrown himself upon the bed in the apartment we have
before seen tenanted by the maniac Parry, was reclining in a half-dozing
state, a couple of huge petronels in his belt and a drawn rapier upon
tho table, when he was suddenly conscious of some one entering the room,
and sitting down beside the bed.
As he had carefully locked the door he was in something surprised at
this visitation; but suspecting that some influence from without was at
work, and distrusting the Jesuitical priest Eustace, after a while he
quietly and cautiously rose, and then leaping suddenly from the bed,
confronted the supposed visitant petronel in hand.
To his astonishment, however, no person was there,--"He looked but on a
stool." The door, which had been violently burst in, was still wide
open, but no one was in the room besides himself. This was the more
extraordinary as Martin was confident he had distinctly heard the person
enter, and with swift step passing into the apartment, seat itself by
his bedside. Nay, so quick and sudden seemed the visit, that though a
bold and determined man, Martin had felt paralyzed and unable to move
for the first minute or two. His heart beat violently; he was certain
some one was within a few inches of him as he lay, and yet he could not
move a limb; till at length, shaking off the feeling, he rose to
confront the intruder. Pistol in hand, he looked in every part of the
small room, "searching impossible places" in his anxiety. He then
descended the narrow staircase, and looked into every nook and corner of
the apartment beneath, but found not even a cobweb amiss.
Returning to his couch he re-fastened the door, trimmed his lamp, placed
it in the chair beside his bed, examined his petronel, and again lay
down with the weapon firmly grasped in his hand. "If there be any deceit
in this," he said to himself, "and which I feel inclined to believe is
the case, I will make sure work of it with the practiser. A bullet
through his heart or lungs, will lay his ghostship in the Red Sea."
There had never been much good feeling in existence between the shrewd
Martin and the priest Eustace. At the present moment the former held the
Jesuit in especial dislike. He had a suspicion that the difficulties in
which Sir Hugh was now placed, arose from some intrigues of the priest,
whom he knew to be of an unscrupulous and designing nature. The present
noises he conceived to be some contrivance of this iron-hearted bigot,
in order to scare the servants of the establishment from that wing of
the building, and he accordingly resolved to make a severe example of
whoever he detected. This idea nerved him to so great a degree, that the
extraordinary sounds he heard at first failed in completely frightening
him. The situation, however, was not altogether a pleasant one. The
silence, the loneliness, the dangerous illness of his favourite
Charlotte, the peril in which the old knight was placed, all crowded
themselves upon his imagination as he lay and watched.
For some time nothing occurred to disturb his melancholy reflections,
reflections which at length took him from the present horror of the
time; and led on to other thoughts, till, at length, the heavy summons
of sleep began to weigh upon his eyelids.
At this moment the clock from the old tower in the stabling struck two.
Scarcely had it done so when a distant whirling sound was heard; it
seemed at first like a rushing wind stirring the trees in the shrubbery
without, and steadily advancing towards the house. It increased in sound
as it did so, till it appeared to enter the house, and rushing up the
staircase with fearful violence the door again was dashed open with a
tremendous burst, the lamp was extinguished at the same moment, and the
room seemed filled with some strange and unnatural visitants.
Starting up at the moment of the door being burst in, Martin discharged
his pistol full at the entrance, and at the very instant the light was
extinguished. He then jumped, sword in hand, into the middle of the
room, whilst a rushing sound, as of persons moving about, was all around
him.
The darkness, added to the horrors of his situation, almost unmanned the
bold Martin, and spite of his determined character his heart now beat
violently and his hair bristled on his head. Nay, so impressed was he
with the idea that some spectral beings were in the apartment, and even
in his own vicinity,--nay, perhaps, that the enemy of mankind was at his
very elbow and about to clutch him, that, as he uttered a hasty prayer
for the protection of Heaven, he executed several furious backstrokes
round the apartment, cutting a huge gash in the bed furniture,
demolishing the back of an elaborately carved oaken chair, and bringing
down a cumbrous mirror, smashed into a dozen pieces with as many blows.
Indeed, the natural sounds of this ruin in some measure did away with
the awe the supernatural noises had created. There is always some relief
in action in such cases. The coward, for instance, makes use of his
legs, in the midst of apprehension, the brave man takes to his arms, and
as the strange sounds gradually subsided, seeming to traverse through
the rooms below in their progress, Martin ceased from his exertions.
He was, however, now completely converted to the opinion of the
domestics that there was something most strange and most unnatural in
this visitation. He felt awed and struck with dread, and, lowering the
point of his weapon, he stood in the centre of the apartment listening
attentively as the noise passed through the lower rooms. "There is
surely something in all this," he said to himself, "which is beyond my
comprehension. 'Tis a sound of warning. I fear me some dire misfortune
is in store. Peradventure Sir Hugh is dead: great Heaven, perhaps
executed on the scaffold! Alas, my poor Charlotte! But no, it cannot be
so. Heaven help us in our need, for we seem a doomed people here."
A deep sigh sounded close to his ears as he finished his soliloquy, so
heavy, so long drawn, and so startling, that his blood curdled in his
veins. He felt that he could no longer remain in the apartment, and
hastily leaving it he descended the stairs, and opening the sliding
pannel, passed into the rooms usually habited when Sir Hugh was at home.
Here he felt in something reassured, and groping his way to the door
which admitted to the garden, he threw it open and sought relief in the
free air.
The night was dark and a drizzling rain descended; he stepped on to the
grass-plat and looked up at the apartment of his sick charge. A light
was in the room, a pale and sickly gleam, which seemed to speak of
watching and woe at that dead hour. As he passed beneath the window he
thought he perceived a figure gliding away, but the night was too dark
for him to be quite certain; still he felt sure that he had seen the
outline of a form which, gloomy as was the night, he recognized.
"'Tis he, I feel assured," said Martin. "I cannot mistake that form,
even so indistinctly seen, for there is none other like him. Alas! alas!
'tis even so. He watches her window even in such a night as this. I saw
they loved each other from the first. Well, we are in the hands of
heaven, and 'tis wrong to murmur. If our ills are reparable, to complain
is ungrateful; if irremediable, 'tis vain. Whatever happens must have
first pleased God, and most pleased him; or it had not happened. There
is no affliction which resignation cannot conquer or death cure."
As Martin resigned himself to this comfortable doctrine he turned and
re-entered the house.
The dawn was now beginning to break, and he resolved to knock at the
chamber door of the invalid and make some inquiry after her.
The first grey tint of morning began to render objects in the room
visible as he passed through it. There stood the spinnet upon which
Charlotte had so lately played, the music-book open. There was her lute
lying beside the music, and where it had been laid on the night of the
party, and beside that lay the hood and jesses of her favourite hawk.
Whilst Martin regarded these remembrances of one now unable to use or
enjoy them, a pang of grief shot through his heart, that sorrowful
feeling with which we look upon the relics of the dead, and whom we have
loved dearly when in life; and with that feeling came the conviction
that she who once played so sweetly on that instrument, and so bravely
wore those trappings of her gallant bird,--she, the young, the
beautiful, was already parted perhaps for ever from the pleasures of the
earth,--sick, prostrate, dying,--nay, even at that moment perhaps dead.
With heavy heart and evil foreboding he ascended the great staircase and
sought Charlotte's room. His step was heard by the nurse who attended on
the invalid, and gently opening the door she came forth to meet him.
The nurse was one of the old servants of the family; she was pale as
death Martin observed as he advanced along the corridor. "We have had a
fearful night," she said.
"But your charge?" said Martin, "I trust in Heaven she is better."
"Worse, Martin, worse," she replied; "worse than I can bring myself to
tell thee. She is now asleep, but hath been delirious all the night."
"Now the gods help us," said Martin.
"Amen," said the nurse; "she hath raved much and talked wildly. To thee,
Martin, I will confess it, she hath spoken much of one she loves."
"I dare to say so," said Martin, musing.
"But not of _him_ of whom she should so speak," said the nurse.
"Not of him our good old master would like to have heard her speak in
such loving terms. Mayhap I should surprise you were I to say on whom
her affections seem fixed."
"I think not," said Martin, significantly.
"You think not?" said the nurse, "and wherefore?"
"Because I know her secret as well as if she had told it me," said
Martin. "I have seen it from the first."
"Hark!" said the nurse, "she is again in one of those fits. Hear you
that name, and thus called on."
"I do," said Martin; "'tis as I thought. May I see her? Methinks I
cannot be satisfied till I look upon her sweet face, if but for a
moment."
"Remain here whilst I go in, and I will then summon you," said the
nurse. "Ah me, 'tis very sad!" and the nurse passed into the room,
closing the door behind her.
Martin seated himself on the bench beneath the window at the end of the
corridor, and as he gazed upon the portraits of the Clopton family
hanging on either hand, his reflections became even more saddened. In
that array of beautiful females and noble-looking cavaliers, how many
died early! Amongst those scowling and bearded men of middle age,
arrayed in all the panoply of war, how many had perished in their
harness! There was Hugo de Clopton, the crusader, the fiercest of a
brave race, who had smote even a crowned king in Palestine rather than
brook dishonour. There was the templar, who had died at the stake in
France, true to his vow; and Blanch Clopton, whom the lascivious John
had solicited in vain, and who had been celebrated at tilt and tourney
throughout Christendom as "La belle des belles."
Each and all of these portraits, it seemed to him, had a curious history
attached to them--a sad and stern tale in life's romance--and as he sat
and regarded them he thought upon their descendant now lying sick in
their close vicinity--her father accused of treason and a prisoner, at a
time so inopportune.
"Strange," he thought to himself, "that this family, so noble in
disposition, so high in their sense of honour, should seem thus marked
out and pursued by fate.
"'Tis true the good Sir Hugh hath been called, by the clergy of his own
persuasion, but a luke-warm member of the true Church; an irreligious
man.
"Nay, Eustace hath upbraided him with leaning towards heresy; and the
Protestant churchmen at Stratford, again, hath accused him of being
neither of the one religion or the other--altogether a heathen.
"These churchmen are both men, however, who wrangle and fight so much
about religion, vice and virtue, that they have no time to practice
either the one or the other; whilst the good Sir Hugh hath, during life,
been so fully engaged in acts of benevolence, that saving the hours he
hath spent amongst his horses and dogs, he hath indeed little leisure to
think about such controversies."
Whilst Martin sat thus chewing the cud of bitter fancy, the old
attendant returned to him. "She again sleeps," she said, weeping, and
you may look upon her sweet face once more. "But oh, Martin, I fear me we
are indeed in trouble; you will scarce behold that countenance, even yet
so beautiful, without terror."
"Is she already so changed?" said Martin. "In the name of Heaven, what
can be her complaint?"
"No noise," said the attendant, "but go in, and judge for yourself."
In a few moments Martin returned. Horror was in his countenance. "Her
face is filled with livid spots!" he said. "We are indeed unhappy; she
has caught----"
"The plague," said the nurse, as Martin hesitated, apparently unable to
repeat the words. "The plague; 'tis even so, and she will not outlive
this day."
"I will hasten to Stratford, and bid the leech again visit her
instantly," said Martin.
"'Twere best," said the attendant, "be quick; but I fear me it is of
little avail." And Martin, with fearful and hasty steps, left the
corridor, and descended to the stabling of the Hall.
Besides Martin and the attending nurse, there was one other who watched
with anxiety over the fate of the poor invalid, and who, albeit
circumstances made it unpleasing to him openly to display the interest
he felt, yet who sought in every way to gather some tidings of her state
of health.
Amidst the general trouble in which the town was now involved, private
griefs were less thought of, and consequently, although the inhabitants
of the Hall were, by the good folks of Stratford-upon-Avon, known to be
in some strait, whilst everybody was in apprehension for himself,
commiseration there was little of, and intercourse there was none. Nay,
the small remaining portion of domestics at Clopton had become so
greatly alarmed by the visitation of the previous night, that they
neglected their duties on this day, and remaining huddled together in
the servants' hall, meditated altogether deserting the locality.
In addition to the supernatural sounds, they were now scared by a
suspicion of the nature of the disease which had seized their young
lady.
It was under such circumstances that, when Martin descended to the
stables in order to dispatch a messenger for the doctor, he could at
first find no one willing to undertake the message.
"I would willingly do anything I could to benefit the young lady," said
one, "but I am about to leave the Hall."
"I cannot go into the town," said another, "for it is said that death is
rife in its streets; and the folks are stricken as they walk. It would
be a tempting of the disease an I were to run into it."
"Nay! we have had warning enough here," said another; "and albeit I
respect Sir Hugh, I fear to remain, after what we have heard last night.
Besides, if the truth must out, I believe the sickness hath come to
Clopton; and folks must look to themselves. I have friends at
Kenilworth, and I must seek them. They say too, that Sir Hugh hath been
found guilty of a conspiracy against the life of the Queen, and I like
it not."
"Hounds!" said Martin--"unworthy even to tend upon the generous animals
you are hired to feed. Begone! pack--seek another roof, where you can
batten on cold bits, and return kindness with base ingratitude." So
saying, Martin saddled one of the steeds, and mounting himself, galloped
into the town.