estates from her father. She had been carefully educated, and was
learned in many languages. She had acted all her life from principles
laid down by herself, and different from those which governed the
actions of other people. She had bad health, suffering excruciating
pain at frequent intervals from headache, which it is supposed unsettled
her reason. At her principal seat, Oulton, in Dorsetshire, she
collected around her celebrities and uncommon persons, "Excentrics" as
they were called, principally great physicians and quacks, and religious
persons and mystic theologians. Van Helmont, the great alchemist, spent
much time there, attempting to cure her disorder or allay her
sufferings, and Dr. Henry More of Cambridge condescended to reside some
time at Oulton. It was a great freestone house, surrounded by gardens,
and by a park or rather chase of great extent, enclosing large pieces of
water, and surrounded by wooded and uncultivated country for many miles.
At the time at which we are arrived, however, her health was better than
it afterwards became, and she was chiefly ambitious of occupying an
important position in politics, and of seeing every species of life.
She was connected with some of the principal persons on both sides in
the civil contention, and passed much time both in London and in Oxford.
In both these places, but especially in the royal quarters, where
greater license was possible, she endeavoured to be included in anything
of an exciting and entertaining character that was going on. Whatever
it was, it afforded her an insight into human nature and the manners of
the world. Such a character does not seem a likely one to be willing to
submit to the restraints of the married life, and indeed Lady Cardiff
had hitherto rejected the most tempting offers, and, as she had attained
the mature age of thirty-two, most people imagined that she would not at
that time of life exchange her condition. It appeared, however, that her
fate had at last met her in the handsome person of Eustace Inglesant,
and the secret which Eustace had told his brother was already beginning
to be whispered in Oxford, and opinions were divided as to whether the
boldness of the young man or his good fortune were the most to be
admired.
When Inglesant left his brother and walked under the starry sky to his
lodgings at Wadham, his mind was ill at ease. He had taken a great
interest in Lady Fentham and her husband; indeed, his feelings towards
the former were those of an attached friend, attracted by her lively
innocence and good nature. He was, as the reader will remember, still
very young, being only in his twenty-second year. He was sincerely and
vitally religious, though his religion might appear to be kept in
subordination to his taste, and he had formed for himself, from various
sources, an ideal of purity, which in his mind connected earth to
heaven, and which, at this period of his life at any rate, he may have
been said faultlessly to have carried out. The circumstances of his
youth and early training, which we have endeavoured to trace, acting
upon a constitution in which the mental power dominated, rendered
self-restraint natural to him, or rather rendered self-restraint
needless. It was one of the glories of that age that it produced such
men as he was, and that not a few; men who combined qualities such as,
perhaps, no after age ever saw united; men like George Herbert, Nicholas
Ferrar, Falkland, the unusual combination of the courtier and the monk.
Yet these men were naturally in the minority, and even while moulding
their age, were still regarded by their age with wonder and a certain
kind of awe. It is not meant that John Inglesant was altogether a good
specimen of this high class of men, for he was more of a courtier than
he was of a saint. He was a sincere believer in a holy life, and
strongly desirous of pursuing it; he endeavoured conscientiously to
listen for the utterances of the Divine Voice; and provided that Voice
pointed out the path which his tastes and training had prepared him to
expect, he would follow it even at a sacrifice to himself; but he was
not capable of a sacrifice of his tastes or of his training. On the
other hand, as a courtier and man of the world, he was profoundly
tolerant of error and even of vice (provided the latter did not entail
suffering on any innocent victim), looking upon it as a natural incident
in human affairs. This quality had its good side, in making him equally
tolerant of religious differences, so that, as has been seen, it was not
difficult to him to recognize the Divine prompting in a Puritan and an
opponent. He was acutely sensitive to ridicule, and would as soon have
thought of going to Court in an improper dress as of speaking of
religion in a mixed company, or of offering any advice or reproof to any
one. In the case which was now disturbing his mind, his chief fear was
of making himself ridiculous by interfering where no interference was
necessary.
He passed a restless night, and the next morning went to Trinity Chapel,
then much frequented for the high style of the music. He was scarcely
here before Lady Isabella and young Lady Fentham, who lodged in that
college, came in, as was their habit, dressed to resemble angels in
loose and very inadequate attire. At another time he might not have
thought much of it, but, his suspicions being aroused, he could not
help, courtier as he was, contrasting the boldness of this behaviour
with the chaste and holy life of the ladies at Little Gidding; and it
made him still more restless and uncertain what to do. He avoided the
ladies after Chapel, and returned to his own rooms quite uncertain how
to act. It came at last into his mind to inquire of the Secretary
Falkland whether Sir Richard Fentham was expected shortly in Oxford, as
his journeys were very irregular, and generally kept a profound secret.
He went to Lord Falkland and asked the question, telling him that he did
so from private reasons unconnected with the State. Falkland declined
at first to answer him; but on Inglesant's taking him a little more into
his confidence, he confided to him, as a great secret, that Sir Richard
was expected that very night, and further, that he would pass through
Newnham in the afternoon, where he would meet a messenger with
despatches. Upon learning this startling piece of news, Inglesant
hastened to his brother's rooms, but found he was too late, Eustace
having been gone more than two hours, and as he started considerably
after the ladies' coach, there could be no doubt but that the party was
already at Newnham. Inglesant went to the stables where his horses were
kept, and having found one of his servants, he ordered his own horse to
be saddled, as he was going to ride alone. While it was being prepared
he attempted to form some plan upon which to act when he arrived at
Newnham, but his ingenuity completely failed him. Merely to walk into a
room where some ladies and gentlemen were at dinner, to which he was not
invited, and inform one of the ladies that her husband was in the
neighbourhood, appeared an action so absurd that he discarded the
intention at once. When his horse was brought out and he mounted and
rode out of Oxford towards the south, telling his servant he should be
back at night, he probably did not know why he went. He rode quickly,
and arrived in about an hour. The Plough at Newnham (it has long
disappeared) stood upon the banks of the river, in a picturesque and
retired situation, and was much frequented by parties of pleasure from
Oxford. The gardens and bowling-greens lay upon the river bank, and the
paths extended from them through the fields both up and down the river.
It was apparent to Inglesant that a distinguished party was in the
house, from the servants loitering about the doors, and coming in and
out. More than one of these he recognized as belonging to Lord H----.
The absurdity of suspecting any mischief from so public a rendezvous
struck Inglesant as so great, that he was on the point of passing the
house. He however alighted and inquired of one of the men whether any
of his brother's servants were about. The man, who knew him, replied
that Mr. Eustace Inglesant had dined there with his lordship and the
ladies, but was then, he believed, either in the garden or the fields
with Lady Cardiff; he had brought no servants with him. Having got thus
into conversation with the man, Inglesant ventured to inquire, with as
careless a manner as he could assume, if Lady Isabella were there.
Lady Isabella, the man said, had dined there, but after dinner had gone
on a little farther in her coach, and attended by her servants, he
believed to make some call in the neighbourhood.
Then Inglesant knew that he had done right to come.
"I have a message to Lady Ann Fentham," he said to the man, "but not
being of the party, I would rather have sent it through my brother. As
I suppose it is useless to attempt to find him, I shall be glad if you
will tell me in which room the lady is, for I suppose his lordship is
with her."
"His lordship left orders that he was not to be disturbed," said the man
insolently; "you had better try and find your brother."
"Nevertheless, I must give her my message," said Inglesant quietly;
"therefore, pray show me upstairs."
"I don't know the room," said the man still more rudely, "and you cannot
go upstairs; his lordship has engaged the house."
During the conversation the other men had gathered round, and it seemed
to Inglesant that his lordship must have brought all his servants with
him, for the house appeared full of them. None of the ordinary servants
of the place were to be seen.
Inglesant had no arms but his riding sword, and even if he had had, the
use of them would have been absurd.
"You know who I am," he said, looking the man steadily in the face, "one
of the King's gentlemen whom they call the Queen's favourite page. I
bring a message to Lady Fentham from her husband, the Secretary to the
Prince's council; do you think your lord will wish you to stop me?"
As he spoke he made a step forward as though to enter, and the man,
evidently in doubt, stepped slightly on one side, making it possible to
enter the house. The rest took this movement to imply surrender, and
one of the youngest, probably to gain favour, said, "The lady is in the
room opposite the stairs, sir." Inglesant walked up the low oak
staircase to the door, the men crowding together in silence at the
bottom of the stairs.
Inglesant tried the latch of the door, though he did not intend to go in
without knocking.
The door was fastened, and he knocked.
For a moment there was silence, and then a voice said, angrily, "Who is
there?"
"A message from Sir Richard Fentham," said Inglesant.
There was another and a longer pause, and then the same voice said,--
"Is Sir Richard without?"
"No," replied Inglesant; "but he may be here any moment; he is on the
road."
The door was immediately opened by his lordship, and Inglesant walked
in.
The moment he did, Lady Fentham, who was in the further part of the
room, started up from the seat in which she was lying, and throwing
herself on Johnny's shoulder said,--
"Help me, Mr. Inglesant, I have been cruelly deceived."
Inglesant took no notice of her, but turning to Lord H---- he said with
marked politeness,--
"I have to beg your lordship's pardon for intruding upon your company,
but I am charged to let Lady Fentham know that Sir Richard is expected
in Oxford to-night, and may pass this house at any time, probably in a
few minutes. I thought Lady Fentham would wish to know this so much
that I ventured to knock, though your servants told me you wished to be
private."
His words were so chosen and his manner so faultless and devoid of
suspicion, that Lord H---- could find nothing in either to quarrel with,
though he was plainly in a violent passion, and with difficulty
controlled himself. It had also the effect of calming Lady Fentham, who
remained silent; indeed, she appeared too agitated to speak. It was an
awkward pause, but less so to Inglesant than to the other two.
"I wished," he continued, still speaking to Lord H----, "to have sent my
message by my brother, but I find he is walking in the fields, and Lady
Isabella appears to have gone in her carriage to make a call in the
neighbourhood. I presume she will call for you, Lady Fentham, on her
way back."
Lady Fentham made a movement of anger, and Lord H---- roused himself at
last to say,--
"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Inglesant, for the great trouble you have
taken. I assure you I shall not forget it. Lady Fentham, as Sir Richard
will so soon be here"--he stopped suddenly as an idea struck him, and
looking full at Inglesant, said slowly and with marked emphasis,
"Supposing Mr. Inglesant to"--to have spoken the truth he would have
said, but Johnny's perfectly courteous attitude of calm politeness, the
utter absence of any tangible ground of offence, and his own instincts
as a gentleman, checked him, and he continued,--"has not been
misinformed, you will not need my protection any further. I will leave
you with Mr. Inglesant; probably Lady Cardiff will be back before long."
He took his leave with equal courtesy both to the lady and Inglesant,
and went down to his men.
Ann Fentham sank into her chair, and began to sob bitterly, saying,--
"What shall I say to my husband, Mr. Inglesant? He will be here
directly, and will find me alone. What would have happened to me if you
had not come?"
"If I may offer any advice, madam, I should say, Tell your husband
everything exactly as it happened. Nothing has happened of which you
have need to be ashamed. Sir Richard will doubtless see that you have
been shamefully deceived by your friends, as far as I understand the
matter. You can trust to his sympathy and kindness."
She did not reply, and Inglesant, who found his situation far more
awkward than before, said, "Shall I seek for Lady Cardiff, madam, and
bring her to you?"
"No, don't leave me, Mr. Inglesant," she said, springing up and coming
to him; "I shall bless your name for ever for what you have done for me
this day."
Inglesant stayed with the lady until it was plain Lord H---- had left
the house with his servants, and he then left her and went into the
garden to endeavour to find his brother and Lady Cardiff; but in this he
was not successful, and returned to the house, where he ordered some
dinner--for he had eaten nothing since the morning--and seated himself
at the window to wait for Sir Richard. He had sat there about an hour
when the latter arrived, and drew his rein before the house before
dismounting. Inglesant greeted him and went out to him in the porch.
Fentham returned his greeting warmly.
"Your wife is upstairs, Sir Richard," Inglesant said; "she came down
with Lady Isabella Thynne, and is waiting for her to take her back."
Fentham left his horse with the servant and ran upstairs straight to his
wife, and as Inglesant followed him into the house he met Lady Cardiff
and his brother, who came in from the garden. Eustace Inglesant was
radiant, and introduced Lady Cardiff to his brother as his future wife.
He took them into a private room, and called for wine and cakes. Johnny
thought it best not to tell them what had occurred, but merely said that
Sir Richard and his wife were upstairs; upon which Eustace sent a
servant up with his compliments, asking them to come and join them.
Both Lady Cardiff and Eustace appeared conscious, however, that some
blame attached to them, for they expressed great surprise at the absence
of Lady Isabella, and took pains to inform Johnny that they had left
Lady Fentham with her, and had no idea she was going away. Sir Richard
and Lady Fentham joined the party, and appeared composed and happy, and
they had not sat long before Lady Isabella's coach appeared before the
door, and her ladyship came in. The ladies returned to Oxford in the
coach, and the gentlemen on horseback. Nothing was said by the latter
as to what had occurred until after they had left Eustace at his
lodgings, and Johnny was parting with Fentham at the door of Lord
Falkland, to whom he was going. Then Sir Richard said,--
"Mr. Inglesant, my wife has told me all, and has told me that she owes
everything to you, even to this last blessing, that there is no secret
between us. I beg you to believe two things,--first, that nothing I can
do or say can ever repay the obligation that I owe to you; secondly,
that the blame of this matter rests mostly with me, in that I have left
my wife too much."
Inglesant waited for several days in expectation of hearing from Lord
H----, but no message came. They met several times and passed each
other with the usual courtesies. At last Eustace Inglesant heard from
one of his lordship's friends that the latter had been very anxious to
meet Johnny, but had been dissuaded.
"You have not the slightest tangible ground of offence against young
Inglesant," they told him, "and you have every cause to keep this affair
quiet, out of which you have not emerged with any great triumph.
Inglesant has shown by the line of conduct he adopted that he desires to
keep it close. None of the rest of the party will speak of it for their
own sakes. Were it known, it would ruin you at once with the King, and
damage you very much in the estimation of all the principal men here,
who are Sir Richard's friends, and such as are not would resent such
conduct towards a man engaged on his master's business. Besides this
you are not a remarkably good fencer, whereas John Inglesant is a pupil
of the Jesuits, and master of all their arts and tricks of stabbing.
That he could kill you in five minutes if he chose, there can be no
doubt."
These and other similar arguments finally persuaded Lord H---- to
restrain his desire of revenge, which was the easier for him to do as
Inglesant always treated him when they met with marked deference and
courtesy.
The marriage of Lady Cardiff and Eustace Inglesant was hurried forward,
and took place at Oxford some weeks after the foregoing events; the King
and Queen being present at the ceremony. It was indeed very important
to attach this wealthy couple unmistakably to the royal party, and no
efforts were spared for the purpose. Lady Cardiff and her husband,
however, did not manifest any great enthusiasm in the royal cause.
The music of the wedding festival was interrupted by the cannon of
Newbury, where Lord Falkland was killed, together with a sad roll of
gentlemen of honour and repute. Lord Clarendon says,--"Such was always
the unequal fate that attended this melancholy war, that while some
obscure, unheard-of colonel or officer was missing on the enemy's side,
and some citizen's wife bewailed the loss of her husband, there were on
the other above twenty officers of the field and persons of honour and
public name slain upon the place, and more of the same quality hurt."
In this battle Inglesant was more fortunate than in his first, for he
was not hurt, though he rode in the Lord Biron's regiment, the same in
which Lord Falkland was also a volunteer.
The King returned to Oxford, where Inglesant found every one in great
dejection of mind; the conduct of the war was severely criticized, the
army discontented, and the chief commanders engaged in reproaches and
recriminations.
One afternoon Inglesant was sent for to Merton College, where the Queen
lay, and where the King spent much of his time; where he found the
Jesuit standing with the King in one of the windows, and Mr. Jermyn, who
had just been made a baron, talking to the Queen. The King motioned
Inglesant to approach him, and the Jesuit explained the reason he had
been sent for.
The trial of Archbishop Laud was commencing, and in order to incite the
people against him Mr. Prynne had published the particulars of a popish
plot in a pamphlet which contained the names of many gentlemen, both
Protestant and Catholic, the publication of which at such a moment
excited considerable uneasiness among their relations and friends.
"I wish you, Mr. Inglesant," said the King, "to ride to London. Mr.
Hall has provided passes for you, and letters to several of his friends.
The new French Ambassador is landing; I wish to know how far the French
Court is true to me. Prynne's wit has overreached himself. His charges
have frightened so many, that a reaction is setting in in favour of the
Archbishop, and many are willing to testify in his favour in order to
exonerate themselves. You will be of great use in finding out these
people. Seek every one who is mentioned in Prynne's libel; many of them
are men of influence. Your familiar converse with Papists, in other
respects unfortunate, may be of use here."
Inglesant spent some time in London, and was in constant communication
with Mr. Bell, the Archbishop's secretary. He was successful in
procuring evidence from among the Papists of their antipathy to Laud,
and in various other ways in providing Bell with materials for defence.
Laud was informed of these acts of friendship, and being in a very low
and broken state, was deeply touched that a comparative stranger, and
one who had been under no obligation to him, should show so much
attachment, and exert himself so much in his service, at a time when the
greatest danger attended any one so doing, and when he seemed deserted
both by his royal master and by those on whom he had showered benefits
in the time of his prosperity. He sent his blessing and grateful
thanks, the thanks of an old and dying man, which would be all the more
valuable as they never could be accompanied by any earthly favour.
Inglesant's name was associated with that of the Archbishop, and the
Jesuit's aim in sending him to London was accomplished.
*CHAPTER X.*
Inglesant was of so much use in gaining information, and managed to live
on such confidential terms with many in London in the confidence of
members of the Parliament, that he remained there during all the early
part of the year, and would have stayed longer; but the enemies of the
Archbishop, who pursued him with a malignant and remorseless activity,
set their eyes at last upon the young envoy, and he was advised to leave
London, at any rate till the trial was over. He was very unwilling to
leave the Archbishop, but dared not run the risk of being imprisoned and
thwarting the Jesuit's schemes, and therefore left London about the end
of May, and returned straight to Oxford.
He left London only a few days before the allied armies of Sir W. Waller
and the Earl of Essex, and had no sooner arrived in Oxford than the news
of the advance of the Parliamentary forces caused the greatest alarm.
The next day Abingdon was vacated by some mistake, and the rebels took
possession of the whole of the country to the east and south of Oxford;
Sir William Waller being on the south, and the Earl of Essex on the
east. It was reported in London that the King intended to surrender to
the Earl's army, and such a proposition was seriously made to the King
by his own friends a few days afterwards in Oxford. The royal army was
massed about the city, most of the foot being on the north side;
Inglesant served with the foot in Colonel Lake's regiment of musketeers
and pikes, taking a pike in the front rank. It was a weapon which the
gentlemen of that day frequently practised, and of which he was a
master. Several other gentlemen volunteers were in the front rank with
him. The Earl's army was drawn up at Islip, on the other side of the
river Cherwell, having marched by Oxford the day before, in open file,
drums beating and colours flying, so that the King had a full view of
them on the bright fine day. The Earl himself, with a party of horse,
came within cannon shot of the city, and the King's horse charged him
several times without any great hurt on either side. It was a gay and
brilliant scene to any one who could look upon it with careless and
indifferent eyes.