It was on the evening of the brightest day which had shone for the
last fortnight, when the Earl of Eskdale, accompanied by Mr. William
Newark, under the name of Somerville, and followed by their two
servants, rode into the small town of Rothbury. They found the place
all gay and busy, the news of the advance of Lord Kenmure having
reached it some hours before, and spread joy and expectation amongst
the disheartened gentlemen of Northumberland. Half-a-dozen times, in
riding through the little street, the young nobleman was stopped to
inquire how far distant was the Scottish force; and his reply of "Half
a day's march" seemed to give universal satisfaction.
One of the readiest to accost him was Van Noost, who, after having
received his answer to the first question, ran on by the side of the
Earl's horse, telling him, with great pride and satisfaction, that he
had taken upon himself the duty of engineer and armourer that he had
repaired and polished innumerable guns and pistols, and cast some
thousands of bullets for the service of the forces.
"Your Lordship's quarters are quite ready for you, too," he cried. "I
have taken care of that. All the Keanton men are lodged together in
those two white houses; and in the one on this side is a capital
apartment for you, next to the quarters of Master Richard. By the
way," he continued, "a boy has arrived from Ale Manor with a large
packet for you, which should have come to hand six days ago; but the
poor lad has had to hunt us all over the country; and it is wonderful
how he has escaped the enemy; for he has been in the very heart of
General Carpenter's dragoons at Newcastle, and brought us intelligence
of all his doings."
A few steps more took them to the house which Van Noost had pointed
out; and Richard Newark came down to the door to meet his noble
friend. He greeted him with every mark of joy and satisfaction; but
glanced his eye, from time to time, towards Smeaton's companion with a
look of inquiry and distrust. He rambled on, indeed, in his usual way,
saying, as the Earl dismounted and gave directions regarding the
horses and the servants:
"Well, Eskdale, so you have brought us the Scots. Now there is hope of
doing something; for all this marching and countermarching is poor
stuff; and I have felt like one out of a flock of sheep, driven hither
and thither by the shepherd's dog. The man does not hear me. The
Scotch wind has blown away his hearing. Eskdale, I say, there is a
large packet come for you from Ale, addressed to you in Madame
Culpepper's own peculiar cipher. I had a thousand minds to break it
open; for I longed for news, and I am sure there must be some for me.
But a seal--I don't like fingering a seal. Strange that a little bit
of red resin, under the effect of our prejudices, should be stronger
than an iron box!"
Smeaton shook him warmly by the hand, and, requesting his companion of
the march to follow, entered the house with his young friend, who
asked, in a low voice--
"Who have you got there? His face does not please me."
"It is, nevertheless, the face of a relation of yours," replied
Smeaton. "I will introduce him to you as soon as we are alone; but let
me see this packet. It may contain news of importance."
At the top of the first flight of steps were two good rooms, one of
which, on the right hand, was retained for the use of the young
nobleman; and here he found the packet which had been mentioned.
Breaking it open at once, he perceived that it contained two letters
for himself, and two for Richard Newark. Giving the latter instantly
to his young friend, he invited Somerville to seat himself before he
opened the letters which bore his own address, although one of them,
in a small delicate hand--more like that of a lady in the present day
than one of those times--seemed too precious to be long delayed. As
soon as he had shown this piece of attention to his guest, he
retreated into the window, and eagerly broke the seal of the letter
addressed as I have mentioned. He was not deceived. Emmeline's name
was at the bottom of the lines that were written upon the page; and,
with a beating heart, he read words which might well have come from a
more experienced mind or a less tender and affectionate heart. Yet
love and tenderness were evident throughout, as the contents may show.
"My beloved Husband,--I snatch a moment and an opportunity to write to
you, knowing what you must feel, but not knowing what you are doing.
Anxious as I am to hear where you are, and all that you can tell me of
your proceedings, I fondly believe that you are more anxious still to
hear of your Emmeline. I am in London, in a small lodging near the
Tower, at number thirty-two, in Tower Street, surrounded by the
servants of my cousin, Sir John Newark, and, as he believes, cut off
from all communication with other persons by their means. Amongst
them, however, is one planed there by her who has befriended us at Ale
Manor, and who has found means to assure me that he is devoted alone
to my service. He will contrive to convey this to Devonshire. The time
allowed me is but short.
"And now, what shall I say to you, my dear husband? I need not speak
of love and gratitude. I need not tell you how my whole heart is
devoted to you. I need not say how earnestly I wish it were possible
for you to come yourself, and either claim me as your own in the face
of all the world, or take me home in secret to spend my life with you
in quiet retirement and content. But I must beseech you on no account
to venture near this city, unless you can do so in perfect safety; to
sacrifice for Emmeline no security, to run no risk, and above all, not
to let affection for her--that eagerness to see her which I am sure
you feel--nor the indignation which you must experience at the conduct
you have met with, induce you to take any part in the struggle for the
crown of these realms, which your own calm and ever just judgment does
not warrant. I am sure you will not, and yet I write these words
because I feel that it will be a comfort to you to know that Emmeline
has no selfish wish to be gratified at your expense. Consult your own
honour; consult your own dignity. Think of her; love her for ever, but
do not let one thought of her, one feeling for her, influence you in
circumstances where duty and honour are concerned, knowing that your
honour is far dearer to her than her own happiness or her own life.
"Oh, how I long to see you! How I long to tell you, dear Henry, all I
have suffered, all I have thought, all I have felt--to pour out my
whole soul and heart to him who has alone seen and known them. But let
not my longing have the least weight with you. Act as if I had never
existed, or as if you had never known me; but let the memory of your
Emmeline be as the miniature-portrait of one well loved, ever nearest
to your heart, and think, whenever you think of her, that she is
blessing you, and praying for you, and beseeching Heaven to guide,
preserve, and prosper you in whatever course your own wisdom and God's
grace shall lead you.
"I know not how to end my letter. The words seem so strange that I
have to write; and yet I am--I feel--I know I am--
"Your affectionate and dutiful wife,
"EMMELINE ESKDALE."
Smeaton, with all his warm and strong enthusiasm was not a man of
that soft and melting character which tender feelings, and what was
then called "sentiment," easily moved to tears. In those days, and for
nearly a century afterwards, there was what I may call a lachrymose
school, which was weeping on every occasion where anything touching
presented itself or could be found. He was not of this school, and
hardly knew of its existence; yet the words of his dear and beautiful
Emmeline brought the moisture into his eyes, and he turned to the
window that no one might mark what he considered a weakness.
The other letter contained merely a few lines from Mrs. Culpepper; but
they were not of much significance, merely informing him that Sir John
Newark was lodged in the Tower to await trial, that the accompanying
epistle had come from the Lady Emmeline, together with the letters
addressed to Mr. Richard Newark, and that she herself, Mrs. Culpepper,
was most anxious to hear of his proceedings, pointing out at the same
time the boy who brought the letters as one, whose wit and conduct
justified the fullest confidence.
In the mean while, Richard Newark had opened the two letters addressed
to himself, which were both in his father's hand, and had been written
evidently under the idea that they might be opened and read before
they were forwarded. The first was dated Exeter, and contained but a
few lines, which were to the following effect:
"My dear son,--I beseech you, as soon as you receive these, to set out
and join me without any delay. Should I be removed from Exeter before
your arrival, you will easily gain intelligence of where I am, along
the road. Follow quick, and delay not, as you value the love of
"Your affectionate father,
"JOHN NEWARK."
The second letter was more in detail, and in not so mild a tone. It
told the young gentleman that his father was detained a prisoner in
the Tower, that his cousin Emmeline was lodging in the neighbourhood,
desiring an opportunity of serving her uncle and guardian, and that
she required protection and assistance in her desolate and solitary
course. Sir John then went on to say, clearly with a view of conveying
his complete submission and attachment to the government, that he had
heard, with great pain, a rumour that his son had taken part with
those who were attempting to subvert the existing government, and
establish the sway of _the Pretender_, and he went on to command him,
on his duty to his father, to separate himself from all such rash and
disloyal persons, and immediately make the best of his way to London,
taking up his abode in the house which had been engaged for his cousin
Emmeline.
Richard Newark concluded the reading of his letters with one of his
wild laughs, and then turned his look to Smeaton, who was still
standing in the window, with his eyes fixed upon the lines he had
received from Emmeline.
"Well, noble Earl," said the lad, "what news have you?"
Smeaton beckoned him up, and, with a sudden determination, put
Emmeline's letter in his hand.
Richard Newark started at the first words, and his cheek became
somewhat pale. For the moment he went no farther, but laid his finger
on the line--"My beloved husband." He said nothing; but his look was a
question, and Smeaton answered--"Even so, Richard." At the same time,
he slightly raised his finger and looked towards the other side of the
room, where Somerville, or William Newark, was seated, fondling the
hilt of his sword, and observing everything while he affected to
observe nothing. Richard caught Smeaton's hand in his own, and wrung
it hard, saying, in a low voice:
"I am sorry I have dragged you into this thing. You should have gone
after her. You can go even now."
"Impossible, Richard," replied Smeaton, in the same low tone; "but
_you_ can, and you must. My station, my age, my name, my family, all
forbid me to quit this cause when I have once embarked in it. Such is
not the case with you. Emmeline requires protection, assistance, and
support. To you I trust her in the fullest and most implicit
confidence, and I beseech you to fly to her and to give her that aid
which I cannot--I must not--attempt to afford."
"No, no," cried Richard, aloud, with a laugh, "no, no!" And then,
suddenly breaking off, he exclaimed: "But you promised to introduce me
to a relation, noble Earl. Confer the favour, I beseech you. I am poor
in such things. I have but one father and a cousin in my purse; and I
am avaricious of more wealth."
Smeaton put away his letters, and introduced his young companion to
William Newark, begging Richard to get hold of their Quartermaster and
find good quarters for their visitor.
Richard suffered his cousin to shake him by the hand, but eyed him
still like a shy fiery horse, glancing askance at the approach of an
unskilful rider. The other, however, was all ease and self-possession,
rejoiced exceedingly, as he said, to see his young cousin, spoke with
expressions of regret of Sir John's confinement in the Tower, and
cursed the chance which deprived the cause of so strong an arm and so
skilful a head.
He then began to talk of his quarters, and Richard led him away to
seek them with an air which he seemed to think very satisfactory, but
which Smeaton, who knew the lad better, judged to be anything but an
indication of amicable feelings towards his newfound friend. The young
nobleman's thoughts, however, were soon engrossed in other matters;
for Emmeline's letter reawakened many a pleasant, many a painful train
of reflections, and he gave himself up to memories for more than half
an hour, before he turned his steps towards the quarters of General
Forster.