The events which I have narrated in the last chapter occupied nearly
two hours, although, in their recapitulation, they fill so small a
space. It was thus four o'clock, or somewhat more, before Sir John
Newark reached the door of his inn, impatient to return as soon as
possible to the Manor House. As we have seen, many of the party which
he had now espoused followed him away from the place of meeting. Some
mounted their horses and rode into the country; some strayed to the
right or left, as soon as they were in the street; some went one way,
some another, and but few accompanied Sir John Newark, even a short
distance. Sir John was not loved or trusted by any one. All readily
availed themselves of his help; all admired the skill and dexterity
with which he took advantage of an enemy's mistakes, and sometimes of
a friend's; but they did not altogether feel safe in his private
society.
There was one garrulous old knight, however--a Sir James Mount--who
had no fears of any kind. Wrapped up in his talkative egotism, he
thought little of the character and actions of his associates,
chattered away gaily to any one who came near him, sometimes very
sillily, sometimes well enough, and was ever ready with a smart
repartee, at which he himself laughed, to lead the chorus right; and,
being full of anecdote and a great gossip-monger, was tolerated and
even courted by most of the gentlemen round, though he sadly wearied
them till they had contrived to make him dead drunk. This worthy
baronet adhered to the side of Sir John Newark all the way to the inn,
at which, it would seem, he himself also had put up.
"You posed them, Sir John--you posed them," he said, as they issued
from the door. "That smart Mr. Seely got a rap--a rap--a rap, I think.
Puppy! his knuckles will ache. It is very droll that I am not good at
public speaking--at public speaking--at public speaking, for I am
fluent enough--fluent enough--fluent enough, in conversation, I
think."
Sir John Newark made no reply; nor, indeed, was any necessary. Sir
James Mount paused for a moment to take breath--for he had been
walking fast, with a peculiar dancing sort of step; but it was not
long before he began again, saying; "Better times coming, Sir John,
better times coming, I think; and the king shall have his own again. I
dare say, now, you have got some news from over the water--over the
water--over the water."
Sir John Newark replied this time; for a good number of people were in
the street; and Sir James's conversation was getting somewhat
dangerous.
"The last news I have heard of any kind, Sir James," he replied, "was
that you had nearly pulled down the old house at Mount Place, and were
building a very splendid mansion in its stead."
"Yes, yes, yes," answered the other, tripping along on the tips
of his toes. "_Diruit--diruit--diruit, ædificat, mutat quadrata
rotundis--rotundis--rotundis_. Not exactly the whole house; only the
wings--only the wings--only the wings."
"Getting yourself new wings, Sir James," said Newark, "will make the
people say 'tis to fly with."
"Only to fly higher--to fly higher--to fly higher," replied Mount.
"Higher, higher, higher!" echoed Sir John Newark, with a cynical
smile; "that is like the skylark. But you were born to _mount_; and so
that is natural."
"True, true, true," answered his companion, laughing, and very much
pleased at the exceedingly lame pun. "Like the skylark--born to
mount--pretty, very pretty!" And he took out his tablets and wrote it
down, talking all the time with marvellous perseverance. "Born to
mount," he repeated three times, "like the skylark, must have wings,
you know, Sir John--must have wings--must have wings. Shall we dine
together? I have something very important--important--important, to
discharge my mind of."
"I fear that I cannot stay to receive your fire," replied Sir John
Newark. "You know I have a guest at Ale Manor, and must be back to
entertain him."
"Ay, that's just the thing--just the thing--just the thing," said the
old knight. "Is he Lord Eskdale or not--or not--or not?"
They had at this moment just reached the great arched entrance of the
inn; and, without answering the question, Sir John called aloud for
his horses. He was doomed, however, to disappointment and the society
of Sir James Mount; for one of his servants, coming forward, informed
him that they had just discovered that one of the horses had lost a
shoe, and that his own beast seemed very lame. Sir John Newark was
angry; but he uttered none of the oaths and exclamations common in
that day, and merely, in a thoughtful and moderate tone, directed the
one horse to be shod and the other to be examined by a farrier. Sir
James Mount instantly fixed upon the servant, commended his own
farrier to him, gave him particular directions where to find him,
volunteered an opinion upon the cause of the horse's lameness, without
having seen him, and recommended strongly a plaster of soap and boiled
turnips, repeating one part of every sentence at least thrice, and
sometimes more.
Whilst this was going on, Sir John Newark was meditating what he
should next do. It was very difficult, on all occasions, to get rid of
Sir James Mount; and, taking into consideration the improbability of
his succeeding in an attempt to do so, and the length of time he
should probably be obliged to stay, he made up his mind to engage him
to dine in a private room, saying to himself--"I shall, at all events,
get from him every piece of news that is going about the country, and
shall prevent him from doing mischief with his tongue for an hour and
a half at least."
Sir James was delighted with the proposal, and, although the hour was
somewhat late for the early habits of that period, the number of
gentlemen who had visited the town in the course of the day had
created great activity at the inn, and dinner was easily procurable.
As soon as it was upon the table in the little parlour to which they
were shown, Sir John Newark, who had been kept in some uneasiness by
the incessant loquacity of his companion, dismissed the man who
brought in the dishes, saying, as soon as he was gone, with a meaning
nod, to worthy Sir James--
"It is better to be alone when we may have important subjects to talk
of."
"True, true, true," returned the other. "In such things, I am always
discreet--discreet--discreet. I know how to be silent--silent--silent,
Newark. No one can keep a secret better than I can, in case of need. I
was just at that moment--at that moment--at that moment, thinking of
Lord Eskdale; but I was as mum as a mouse--mum as a mouse--mum as a
mouse, while the man was in the room."
Sir John Newark had by this time made up his mind as to the course he
should pursue in case of the Earl of Eskdale's name being again
mentioned, and he instantly caught at Sir James's words, saying.
"Ay, the Earl of Eskdale. Can you tell me anything about him? He must
now be advancing in life."
"Poo, poo! you are thinking of the father," replied Sir James. "He
died last year, quite a young man; not fifty, I should think--I should
think--I should think--married very early, you know, and left one
son--know them all quite well--Lady Eskdale is an old friend of mine."
"Is that the young Lady Eskdale or the old Lady Eskdale!" asked Sir
John Newark; and then, seeing that he had a little betrayed himself,
he added, to cover the mistake, "I suppose the young lord is married."
"Married--married--married! Oh dear, no. He is not married," said Sir
James; "was not a month ago, at all events; I was over the water upon
a little business--business--business. I could not see the old lady,
because she was very ill in bed--in bed--in bed; but I inquired into
all the particulars of the family, and found them better off than most
over there, on account of the Keanton estate--estate--estate."
Sir John Newark was not a little puzzled and alarmed by his worshipful
companion's words, and fell into deep thought; but, as the other
paused, he said, mechanically, merely to fill up the gap-"Ay, about
Keanton?"
"Why, you know," answered Sir James, in his usual rapid manner, "it
was never forfeited, because it was settled upon _her_. People
thought that she had dissuaded her husband from joining our friends.
That was not true; but it saved her property, which was settled
somehow--somehow--somehow, and they have taken care to keep it very
quiet. The tenants pay their rents to an agent--an agent--an agent,
and as little said as possible; for, although Shrewsbury spared them,
out of generosity, and Marlborough because he got something by it, I
dare say, others might have made a snatch at Keanton, which is better
than a penny loaf--a penny loaf--a penny loaf."
"But, I suppose, if the old lady should die, the property would fall
to the Crown?" said Sir John Newark, becoming again interested.
"Oh, no! oh, dear no!" replied Sir James. "The young man was a mere
boy when the father was attainted; and, as they had good interest with
the late Queen, they got a special act of grace in his favour. It is
not generally known; but it is true--true--true, I can assure you. So
he is right on both sides of the house. If King James comes and
prospers, he'll get the Scotch estates and this too, and if the
Elector makes his hold good, and Eskdale keeps quiet, he'll get
Keanton at all events."
"It is a fine property, and might be made better," said Sir John
Newark.
"Yes--yes--yes," rejoined the other knight. "I know it well. It is not
ten miles from me. Know every inch of it--very good ground--too much
up and down--overrun with wood; but very good tenants--all of them
strong loyalists. We might call them all out in a moment of need. But
so, this is not the young lord at your house, after all?"
"I only know him as Colonel Smeaton," said Sir John Newark,
thoughtfully; for the intelligence he had received produced some
vacillation in his mind. "You heard, too, what Lord Stair said of him.
Nevertheless, he has all the air and manner of a nobleman; however,
Lord Stair would not, I should think--"
"That is nothing--nothing--nothing," interrupted Mount. "_Nom de
guerre_ perhaps. I recollect he did take some name like that when
serving with the Austrian troops in Spain and Italy. That is nothing.
Lord Stair is a very shrewd secret man--would not tell tales of his
own friends, desperate Whig as he is. He knows better than that. I
should like to see this young man. Tell you in a minute who he is--who
he is--who he is."
As Sir John had not fully made up his mind, he took no notice of this
broad hint, and Sir James did not receive an invitation to Ale Manor.
What he had heard, however, induced the former to hurry his departure
at any cost, and, after a few minutes more, spent in conversation,
eating, and drinking, he called for his chief groom, and inquired for
the report of the farrier. That report was unfavourable; the beast
would not be in a condition to travel for two or three days; and,
taking leave of Sir James Mount, Sir John Newark instantly proceeded
to purchase a new horse in order to set out for Ale Manor at once.
Before all this could be accomplished, the saddles put on, and every
preparation made, it was nearly seven o'clock, and the knight looked
forward to being obliged to end his journey in darkness. He was well
accompanied, however, for those were somewhat dangerous times; and,
before he was quite out of the city of Exeter, he found that he was
destined to have more companions. Coming at full speed down the
street, Sir James Mount, followed by two servants, overtook him about
a hundred yards beyond the old gates, much to the other's annoyance.
"I will ride with you as far as Aleton Church," said Sir James. "It is
only five miles out of my way--out of my way--out of my way, and we
can talk as we go. There is something I want to tell you in your ear.
Come close--put down your head. Do you know," he continued, in a
whisper, "a party of horse, under Captain Smallpiece, has just gone
out of the town with Best, the justice, and they are right upon
the road before us, as if they were going either to your house or
mine--or mine--or mine? We had better reconnoitre them from the tops
of the hills, and see which way they take. It would not be pleasant to
be at home when such a visit happens."
"Certainly not," returned Sir John Newark, though, to speak truth, he
did not exactly mean what he said. He had his own views, however, and
he rode on by the side of his chattering companion, buried in thought.
"They are gone to Ale to see for my young guest," he thought. "If he
is apprehended, it will serve him right for deceiving me about his
marriage. Ay, and it may drive him, though somewhat too fast, on the
way I would have him go. If I could but find a means of giving him an
intimation to keep out of the way for a time, before the military
arrive at Ale, it would do very well. But the party will never let me
pass them; and, if I traverse the hills with all these men, we shall
be discovered. This babbling old ass, who is not contented with saying
a foolish thing without repeating it thrice, would ruin any scheme he
had to do with. It would be better to seem to humour him, and to
follow his suggestion of reconnoitring. They must stop to water their
horses somewhere; and, perhaps, we can pass them then."
Thus thinking, he rode on up the slope of a hill in front, and soon
after caught sight of the party of horse winding through the valley
below. Well acquainted with every step of the country, he was enabled
to follow them unseen amongst the green lanes and hedgerows, keeping a
wary eye upon them all the way, while Sir James Mount continued to
pour a perpetual stream of idle prattle into his ear, which annoyed
him without distracting his attention from the object in view. The
troop went more slowly indeed than suited the wishes or purposes of
Sir John Newark; but at length they began to ascend towards the steep
bare downs which ran along the sea-coast, on the borders of Devonshire
and Dorset. The man[oe]uvres of the reconnoitring party now became
more difficult; for, though the road was often cut between deep banks,
it was often exposed upon the bare side of the hill, and worthy Sir
James became very unruly. He had no diffidence of his own powers, and
he would at once have taken the command of an army, although he had
never seen a cannon fired in all his life; nor was he willing at all
to submit to the cooler discretion of his companion, who sought to
pass quietly through the hollow ways, while those whom they were
following crossed the more open ground, and to gallop over the wide
exposed downs, while the soldiers were hidden by any cut or dip in the
road. Struggling with these difficulties as best he might, Sir John
Newark, with his companions, came in sight of the little church of
Aleton, with the scattered hamlet below, just as the setting sun was
spreading a thin veil of purple light over the broad naked face of the
hill. The soldiers had then reached the straggling houses of the
village; and, to the surprise of all who watched them, they were seen,
not only taking the bits out of their horses' mouths, but removing the
saddles, as if they intended to remain there all night.
Sir James Mount was full of conjectures as to their purposes; but Sir
John Newark's resolution was soon taken, and he exclaimed--
"Well, I cannot remain watching them all night, and I do not intend to
slink into my own house by a back way. If you will take my advice, Sir
James, you will ride away by the short cut over the hills. I shall go
on and talk with them."
He saw a little hesitation in his elderly companion's face, and, to
put an end to it, he added--
"For my own part, I have nothing to fear. But I think that journey of
yours 'over the water,' as you call it, may prove unpleasant in its
results. We could not well spare you just at present."
"No, that must not be--must not be--must not be. I think--I think--I
think I had better go. You keep them talking, Sir John, while I gallop
over the hills. They cannot chase me, now, for their saddles are off.
But, upon my life, I believe they are putting them on again.
Good-bye--good-bye?"
And away Sir James went, as fast as he could go, while his companion
slowly rode on towards the hamlet.
At some little distance from the houses, Sir John Newark beckoned up
one of the servants, on whom he thought he could most rely, and said,
in a low voice--
"It is probable that I may stay here some time. You contrive to get
away as soon as it is quite dark. Ride on to the house, and tell
Colonel Smeaton, in my name, that I think it will be better for him to
be out of the way for a few hours. Tell old Mrs. Culpepper to put him
where he can lie concealed, and, if he is inquired for, let it be said
that he is gone away for a few days."
The servant nodded his head quietly, and Sir John rode on.
Round the door of the little public-house was gathered a group of five
or six soldiers, already taking deep draughts of ale; and,
dismounting, the knight exclaimed--
"Holloa, my men, what has brought you into this part of the world? We
are seldom treated with such a sight here."
"I don't know, sir," answered one of the men, civilly; "but Captain
Smallpiece is indoors, taking a glass to comfort him, with the
Justice."
"Are you going to halt long?" asked Sir John Newark, in a careless
tone. "I shall be glad of your escort, if you are going my way."
"An hour and a half, sir, to feed and rest the horses," replied the
man. Having so far satisfied himself, Sir John Newark entered the inn,
and walked straight into the only guest-chamber it possessed.
The Justice and the Captain, not being able to obtain wine, were
discussing the contents of a small bowl of punch, apparently much to
their satisfaction, when the unexpected appearance of Sir John Newark
startled them in their potations.
"Why, Sir John!" exclaimed the magistrate, "we thought you were at Ale
Manor, by this time."
"You made a mistake, gentlemen," said Sir John Newark, drily. "I had
business which detained me in Exeter. But may I ask what is the
meaning of all this military display, which 'startles the land from
its propriety?' Here, drawer, bring me some punch. My horses are so
tired they can go no farther, just yet; and I may as well enjoy this
worshipful society in the approved manner."
The Justice looked at the Captain, and the Captain looked at the
Justice; but at length the latter replied--
"Why, the truth is, Sir John, we were going to pay _you_ a visit at
Ale Manor, and luckily having met with you here, we trust that we
shall have the pleasure of your company on the road."
"That depends upon circumstances, gentlemen," observed the other quite
calmly. "If you have business with me, it can probably he transacted
here as well as at my house."
"Not exactly," answered Justice Best. "The fact is this; the high
sheriff and several of our brother magistrates are not quite satisfied
in regard to this servant of Colonel Henry Smeaton. They think you may
have been deceived, Sir John. It is very easy, you know, to assume a
rude and vulgar manner; and, having received very distinct information
that the Earl of Eskdale, whom we all know to have been attainted in
King William's reign, took his way towards your house, they imagine
that this servant may be the man, and they wish him to be apprehended
on suspicion."
Sir John Newark laughed aloud.
"What need of a troop of soldiers to arrest a single lackey?" he
asked.
"Why, your fishermen in the village are said to be somewhat mutinous,"
replied the Justice; "and, in case of resistance, you know--"
"You do not suppose, sir, that I would resist or countenance
resistance to lawful authority?" interrupted Sir John Newark. "But, if
this mare's nest is so very important a one, I think you might have
ridden on to find it, without stopping at this house to drink punch."
"We had another little business here, besides," rejoined the Justice,
who stood in some awe of Newark; "but our doing so has procured us the
advantage, I hope, of your company on the way:"
"Nothing of the kind, sir," retorted Sir John, sharply. "I certainly
shall not go with you to see a gentleman, my guest, and the intimate
friend of my Lord Stair, insulted in my house, by the pretence that
his servant is the Earl of Eskdale, forsooth! You may go on when you
please. I shall stay here till this unpleasant business is over. But
let me warn you that it be conducted legally; for it shall be strictly
looked to, depend upon it."
As he spoke, a man entered with a leathern apron, a dirty face, a bowl
of punch in one hand, and a tallow candle in the other; for, by this
time, night was falling fast. Sir John Newark's eyes rested on him,
for an instant, and a confused doubtful sort of sensation took
possession of him, which we all of us feel when we see a face that we
know but to which we cannot affix a name. Suddenly, however, the scene
of the statuary's house in London came back upon his mind, and the
round, odd-shaped, never-to-be-forgotten form of Van Noost, was there
before him, in a disguise partaking somewhat of the tapster and
somewhat of the blacksmith. A single glance of intelligence passed
from one face to the other; but not a word of recognition was uttered.
Van Noost set down the candle and the bowl, went back to the tap for a
fresh ladle and glass, and then, rolling out of the room, closed the
door behind him.