Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage!
All hope in human aid I cast behind me.
Oh, who would be a woman?--who that fool,
A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman?
She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest,
And all her bounties only make ingrates. LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE.
The summer evening was closed, and Janet, just when her longer stay
might have occasioned suspicion and inquiry in that zealous household,
returned to Cumnor Place, and hastened to the apartment in which she
had left her lady. She found her with her head resting on her arms, and
these crossed upon a table which stood before her. As Janet came in, she
neither looked up nor stirred.
Her faithful attendant ran to her mistress with the speed of lightning,
and rousing her at the same time with her hand, conjured the Countess,
in the most earnest manner, to look up and say what thus affected
her. The unhappy lady raised her head accordingly, and looking on her
attendant with a ghastly eye, and cheek as pale as clay--“Janet,” she
said, “I have drunk it.”
“God be praised!” said Janet hastily--“I mean, God be praised that it is
no worse; the potion will not harm you. Rise, shake this lethargy from
your limbs, and this despair from your mind.”
“Janet,” repeated the Countess again, “disturb me not--leave me at
peace--let life pass quietly. I am poisoned.”
“You are not, my dearest lady,” answered the maiden eagerly. “What you
have swallowed cannot injure you, for the antidote has been taken before
it, and I hastened hither to tell you that the means of escape are open
to you.”
“Escape!” exclaimed the lady, as she raised herself hastily in her
chair, while light returned to her eye and life to her cheek; “but ah!
Janet, it comes too late.”
“Not so, dearest lady. Rise, take mine arm, walk through the apartment;
let not fancy do the work of poison! So; feel you not now that you are
possessed of the full use of your limbs?”
“The torpor seems to diminish,” said the Countess, as, supported by
Janet, she walked to and fro in the apartment; “but is it then so, and
have I not swallowed a deadly draught? Varney was here since thou wert
gone, and commanded me, with eyes in which I read my fate, to swallow
yon horrible drug. O Janet! it must be fatal; never was harmless draught
served by such a cup-bearer!”
“He did not deem it harmless, I fear,” replied the maiden; “but God
confounds the devices of the wicked. Believe me, as I swear by the dear
Gospel in which we trust, your life is safe from his practice. Did you
not debate with him?”
“The house was silent,” answered the lady--“thou gone--no other but he
in the chamber--and he capable of every crime. I did but stipulate he
would remove his hateful presence, and I drank whatever he offered.--But
you spoke of escape, Janet; can I be so happy?”
“Are you strong enough to bear the tidings, and make the effort?” said
the maiden.
“Strong!” answered the Countess. “Ask the hind, when the fangs of the
deerhound are stretched to gripe her, if she is strong enough to spring
over a chasm. I am equal to every effort that may relieve me from this
place.”
“Hear me, then,” said Janet. “One whom I deem an assured friend of yours
has shown himself to me in various disguises, and sought speech of me,
which--for my mind was not clear on the matter until this evening--I
have ever declined. He was the pedlar who brought you goods--the
itinerant hawker who sold me books; whenever I stirred abroad I was sure
to see him. The event of this night determined me to speak with him.
He awaits even now at the postern gate of the park with means for your
flight.--But have you strength of body?--have you courage of mind?--can
you undertake the enterprise?”
“She that flies from death,” said the lady, “finds strength of body--she
that would escape from shame lacks no strength of mind. The thoughts of
leaving behind me the villain who menaces both my life and honour would
give me strength to rise from my deathbed.”
“In God's name, then, lady,” said Janet, “I must bid you adieu, and to
God's charge I must commit you!”
“Will you not fly with me, then, Janet?” said the Countess, anxiously.
“Am I to lose thee? Is this thy faithful service?”
“Lady, I would fly with you as willingly as bird ever fled from cage,
but my doing so would occasion instant discovery and pursuit. I must
remain, and use means to disguise the truth for some time. May Heaven
pardon the falsehood, because of the necessity!”
“And am I then to travel alone with this stranger?” said the lady.
“Bethink thee, Janet, may not this prove some deeper and darker scheme
to separate me perhaps from you, who are my only friend?”
“No, madam, do not suppose it,” answered Janet readily; “the youth is an
honest youth in his purpose to you, and a friend to Master Tressilian,
under whose direction he is come hither.”
“If he be a friend of Tressilian,” said the Countess, “I will commit
myself to his charge as to that of an angel sent from heaven; for than
Tressilian never breathed mortal man more free of whatever was base,
false, or selfish. He forgot himself whenever he could be of use to
others. Alas! and how was he requited?”
With eager haste they collected the few necessaries which it was thought
proper the Countess should take with her, and which Janet, with speed
and dexterity, formed into a small bundle, not forgetting to add such
ornaments of intrinsic value as came most readily in her way, and
particularly a casket of jewels, which she wisely judged might prove of
service in some future emergency. The Countess of Leicester next changed
her dress for one which Janet usually wore upon any brief journey, for
they judged it necessary to avoid every external distinction which might
attract attention. Ere these preparations were fully made, the moon
had arisen in the summer heaven, and all in the mansion had betaken
themselves to rest, or at least to the silence and retirement of their
chambers.
There was no difficulty anticipated in escaping, whether from the house
or garden, provided only they could elude observation. Anthony Foster
had accustomed himself to consider his daughter as a conscious sinner
might regard a visible guardian angel, which, notwithstanding his guilt,
continued to hover around him; and therefore his trust in her knew no
bounds. Janet commanded her own motions during the daytime, and had a
master-key which opened the postern door of the park, so that she could
go to the village at pleasure, either upon the household affairs, which
were entirely confided to her management, or to attend her devotions
at the meeting-house of her sect. It is true the daughter of Foster was
thus liberally entrusted under the solemn condition that she should not
avail herself of these privileges to do anything inconsistent with the
safe-keeping of the Countess; for so her residence at Cumnor Place
had been termed, since she began of late to exhibit impatience of the
restrictions to which she was subjected. Nor is there reason to suppose
that anything short of the dreadful suspicions which the scene of that
evening had excited could have induced Janet to violate her word or
deceive her father's confidence. But from what she had witnessed, she
now conceived herself not only justified, but imperatively called upon,
to make her lady's safety the principal object of her care, setting all
other considerations aside.
The fugitive Countess with her guide traversed with hasty steps the
broken and interrupted path, which had once been an avenue, now totally
darkened by the boughs of spreading trees which met above their head,
and now receiving a doubtful and deceiving light from the beams of the
moon, which penetrated where the axe had made openings in the wood.
Their path was repeatedly interrupted by felled trees, or the large
boughs which had been left on the ground till time served to make them
into fagots and billets. The inconvenience and difficulty attending
these interruptions, the breathless haste of the first part of their
route, the exhausting sensations of hope and fear, so much affected the
Countess's strength, that Janet was forced to propose that they should
pause for a few minutes to recover breath and spirits. Both therefore
stood still beneath the shadow of a huge old gnarled oak-tree, and both
naturally looked back to the mansion which they had left behind them,
whose long, dark front was seen in the gloomy distance, with its huge
stacks of chimneys, turrets, and clock-house, rising above the line
of the roof, and definedly visible against the pure azure blue of the
summer sky. One light only twinkled from the extended and shadowy mass,
and it was placed so low that it rather seemed to glimmer from the
ground in front of the mansion than from one of the windows. The
Countess's terror was awakened. “They follow us!” she said, pointing out
to Janet the light which thus alarmed her.
Less agitated than her mistress, Janet perceived that the gleam was
stationary, and informed the Countess, in a whisper, that the light
proceeded from the solitary cell in which the alchemist pursued his
occult experiments. “He is of those,” she added, “who sit up and watch
by night that they may commit iniquity. Evil was the chance which sent
hither a man whose mixed speech of earthly wealth and unearthly or
superhuman knowledge hath in it what does so especially captivate my
poor father. Well spoke the good Master Holdforth--and, methought,
not without meaning that those of our household should find therein a
practical use. 'There be those,' he said, 'and their number is legion,
who will rather, like the wicked Ahab, listen to the dreams of the false
prophet Zedekiah, than to the words of him by whom the Lord has spoken.'
And he further insisted--'Ah, my brethren, there be many Zedekiahs among
you--men that promise you the light of their carnal knowledge, so you
will surrender to them that of your heavenly understanding. What are
they better than the tyrant Naas, who demanded the right eye of those
who were subjected to him?' And further he insisted--”
It is uncertain how long the fair Puritan's memory might have supported
her in the recapitulation of Master Holdforth's discourse; but the
Countess now interrupted her, and assured her she was so much recovered
that she could now reach the postern without the necessity of a second
delay.
They set out accordingly, and performed the second part of their journey
with more deliberation, and of course more easily, than the first hasty
commencement. This gave them leisure for reflection; and Janet now,
for the first time, ventured to ask her lady which way she proposed to
direct her flight. Receiving no immediate answer--for, perhaps, in the
confusion of her mind this very obvious subject of deliberation had
not occurred to the Countess,--Janet ventured to add, “Probably to your
father's house, where you are sure of safety and protection?”
“No, Janet,” said the lady mournfully; “I left Lidcote Hall while
my heart was light and my name was honourable, and I will not return
thither till my lord's permission and public acknowledgment of our
marriage restore me to my native home with all the rank and honour which
he has bestowed on me.”
“And whither will you, then, madam?” said Janet.
“To Kenilworth, girl,” said the Countess, boldly and freely. “I will see
these revels--these princely revels--the preparation for which makes the
land ring from side to side. Methinks, when the Queen of England feasts
within my husband's halls, the Countess of Leicester should be no
unbeseeming guest.”
“I pray God you may be a welcome one!” said Janet hastily.
“You abuse my situation, Janet,” said the Countess, angrily, “and you
forget your own.”
“I do neither, dearest madam,” said the sorrowful maiden; “but have you
forgotten that the noble Earl has given such strict charges to keep
your marriage secret, that he may preserve his court-favour? and can you
think that your sudden appearance at his castle, at such a juncture, and
in such a presence, will be acceptable to him?”
“Thou thinkest I would disgrace him,” said the Countess; “nay, let go my
arm, I can walk without aid and work without counsel.”
“Be not angry with me, lady,” said Janet meekly, “and let me still
support you; the road is rough, and you are little accustomed to walk in
darkness.”
“If you deem me not so mean as may disgrace my husband,” said the
Countess, in the same resentful tone, “you suppose my Lord of Leicester
capable of abetting, perhaps of giving aim and authority to, the base
proceedings of your father and Varney, whose errand I will do to the
good Earl.”
“For God's sake, madam, spare my father in your report,” said Janet;
“let my services, however poor, be some atonement for his errors!”
“I were most unjust, dearest Janet, were it otherwise,” said the
Countess, resuming at once the fondness and confidence of her manner
towards her faithful attendant, “No, Janet, not a word of mine shall do
your father prejudice. But thou seest, my love, I have no desire but
to throw my self on my husband's protection. I have left the abode he
assigned for me, because of the villainy of the persons by whom I was
surrounded; but I will disobey his commands in no other particular. I
will appeal to him alone--I will be protected by him alone; to no other,
than at his pleasure, have I or will I communicate the secret union
which combines our hearts and our destinies. I will see him, and receive
from his own lips the directions for my future conduct. Do not argue
against my resolution, Janet; you will only confirm me in it. And to own
the truth, I am resolved to know my fate at once, and from my husband's
own mouth; and to seek him at Kenilworth is the surest way to attain my
purpose.”
While Janet hastily revolved in her mind the difficulties and
uncertainties attendant on the unfortunate lady's situation, she was
inclined to alter her first opinion, and to think, upon the whole, that
since the Countess had withdrawn herself from the retreat in which she
had been placed by her husband, it was her first duty to repair to his
presence, and possess him with the reasons for such conduct. She knew
what importance the Earl attached to the concealment of their marriage,
and could not but own, that by taking any step to make it public
without his permission, the Countess would incur, in a high degree, the
indignation of her husband. If she retired to her father's house without
an explicit avowal of her rank, her situation was likely greatly to
prejudice her character; and if she made such an avowal, it might
occasion an irreconcilable breach with her husband. At Kenilworth,
again, she might plead her cause with her husband himself, whom Janet,
though distrusting him more than the Countess did, believed incapable
of being accessory to the base and desperate means which his dependants,
from whose power the lady was now escaping, might resort to, in order to
stifle her complaints of the treatment she had received at their hands.
But at the worst, and were the Earl himself to deny her justice and
protection, still at Kenilworth, if she chose to make her wrongs public,
the Countess might have Tressilian for her advocate, and the Queen for
her judge; for so much Janet had learned in her short conference with
Wayland. She was, therefore, on the whole, reconciled to her lady's
proposal of going towards Kenilworth, and so expressed herself;
recommending, however, to the Countess the utmost caution in making her
arrival known to her husband.
“Hast thou thyself been cautious, Janet?” said the Countess; “this
guide, in whom I must put my confidence, hast thou not entrusted to him
the secret of my condition?”
“From me he has learned nothing,” said Janet; “nor do I think that he
knows more than what the public in general believe of your situation.”
“And what is that?” said the lady.
“That you left your father's house--but I shall offend you again if I go
on,” said Janet, interrupting herself.
“Nay, go on,” said the Countess; “I must learn to endure the evil report
which my folly has brought upon me. They think, I suppose, that I have
left my father's house to follow lawless pleasure. It is an error which
will soon be removed--indeed it shall, for I will live with spotless
fame, or I shall cease to live.--I am accounted, then, the paramour of
my Leicester?”
“Most men say of Varney,” said Janet; “yet some call him only the
convenient cloak of his master's pleasures; for reports of the profuse
expense in garnishing yonder apartments have secretly gone abroad, and
such doings far surpass the means of Varney. But this latter opinion is
little prevalent; for men dare hardly even hint suspicion when so high a
name is concerned, lest the Star Chamber should punish them for scandal
of the nobility.”
“They do well to speak low,” said the Countess, “who would mention the
illustrious Dudley as the accomplice of such a wretch as Varney.--We
have reached the postern. Ah! Janet, I must bid thee farewell! Weep not,
my good girl,” said she, endeavouring to cover her own reluctance to
part with her faithful attendant under an attempt at playfulness; “and
against we meet again, reform me, Janet, that precise ruff of thine for
an open rabatine of lace and cut work, that will let men see thou hast
a fair neck; and that kirtle of Philippine chency, with that bugle lace
which befits only a chambermaid, into three-piled velvet and cloth of
gold--thou wilt find plenty of stuffs in my chamber, and I freely bestow
them on you. Thou must be brave, Janet; for though thou art now but
the attendant of a distressed and errant lady, who is both nameless and
fameless, yet, when we meet again, thou must be dressed as becomes the
gentlewoman nearest in love and in service to the first Countess in
England.”
“Now, may God grant it, dear lady!” said Janet--“not that I may go
with gayer apparel, but that we may both wear our kirtles over lighter
hearts.”
By this time the lock of the postern door had, after some hard
wrenching, yielded to the master-key; and the Countess, not without
internal shuddering, saw herself beyond the walls which her husband's
strict commands had assigned to her as the boundary of her walks.
Waiting with much anxiety for their appearance, Wayland Smith stood
at some distance, shrouding himself behind a hedge which bordered the
high-road.
“Is all safe?” said Janet to him anxiously, as he approached them with
caution.
“All,” he replied; “but I have been unable to procure a horse for the
lady. Giles Gosling, the cowardly hilding, refused me one on any terms
whatever, lest, forsooth, he should suffer. But no matter; she must
ride on my palfrey, and I must walk by her side until I come by another
horse. There will be no pursuit, if you, pretty Mistress Janet, forget
not thy lesson.”
“No more than the wise widow of Tekoa forgot the words which Joab put
into her mouth,” answered Janet. “Tomorrow, I say that my lady is unable
to rise.”
“Ay; and that she hath aching and heaviness of the head a throbbing at
the heart, and lists not to be disturbed. Fear not; they will take the
hint, and trouble thee with few questions--they understand the disease.”
“But,” said the lady, “My absence must be soon discovered, and they
will murder her in revenge. I will rather return than expose her to such
danger.”
“Be at ease on my account, madam,” said Janet; “I would you were as
sure of receiving the favour you desire from those to whom you must make
appeal, as I am that my father, however angry, will suffer no harm to
befall me.”
The Countess was now placed by Wayland upon his horse, around the saddle
of which he had placed his cloak, so folded as to make her a commodious
seat.
“Adieu, and may the blessing of God wend with you!” said Janet, again
kissing her mistress's hand, who returned her benediction with a
mute caress. They then tore themselves asunder, and Janet, addressing
Wayland, exclaimed, “May Heaven deal with you at your need, as you are
true or false to this most injured and most helpless lady!”
“Amen! dearest Janet,” replied Wayland; “and believe me, I will so
acquit myself of my trust as may tempt even your pretty eyes, saintlike
as they are, to look less scornfully on me when we next meet.”
The latter part of this adieu was whispered into Janet's ear and
although she made no reply to it directly, yet her manner, influenced,
no doubt, by her desire to leave every motive in force which could
operate towards her mistress's safety, did not discourage the hope which
Wayland's words expressed. She re-entered the postern door, and locked
it behind her; while, Wayland taking the horse's bridle in his hand,
and walking close by its head, they began in silence their dubious and
moonlight journey.
Although Wayland Smith used the utmost dispatch which he could make,
yet this mode of travelling was so slow, that when morning began to dawn
through the eastern mist, he found himself no farther than about ten
miles distant from Cumnor. “Now, a plague upon all smooth-spoken
hosts!” said Wayland, unable longer to suppress his mortification and
uneasiness. “Had the false loon, Giles Gosling, but told me plainly two
days since that I was to reckon nought upon him, I had shifted better
for myself. But your hosts have such a custom of promising whatever is
called for that it is not till the steed is to be shod you find they are
out of iron. Had I but known, I could have made twenty shifts; nay, for
that matter, and in so good a cause, I would have thought little to have
prigged a prancer from the next common--it had but been sending back
the brute to the headborough. The farcy and the founders confound every
horse in the stables of the Black Bear!”
The lady endeavoured to comfort her guide, observing that the dawn would
enable him to make more speed.
“True, madam,” he replied; “but then it will enable other folk to take
note of us, and that may prove an ill beginning of our journey. I
had not cared a spark from anvil about the matter had we been further
advanced on our way. But this Berkshire has been notoriously haunted,
ever since I knew the country, with that sort of malicious elves who
sit up late and rise early for no other purpose than to pry into other
folk's affairs. I have been endangered by them ere now. But do not
fear,” he added, “good madam; for wit, meeting with opportunity, will
not miss to find a salve for every sore.”
The alarms of her guide made more impression on the Countess's mind than
the comfort which he judged fit to administer along with it. She looked
anxiously around her, and as the shadows withdrew from the landscape,
and the heightening glow of the eastern sky promised the speedy rise of
the sun, expected at every turn that the increasing light would expose
them to the view of the vengeful pursuers, or present some dangerous
and insurmountable obstacle to the prosecution of their journey. Wayland
Smith perceived her uneasiness, and, displeased with himself for having
given her cause of alarm, strode on with affected alacrity, now talking
to the horse as one expert in the language of the stable, now whistling
to himself low and interrupted snatches of tunes, and now assuring
the lady there was no danger, while at the same time he looked sharply
around to see that there was nothing in sight which might give the
lie to his words while they were issuing from his mouth. Thus did
they journey on, until an unexpected incident gave them the means of
continuing their pilgrimage with more speed and convenience.