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THE COMING OF THE KING
By JOSEPH HOCKING
_Author of "All Men are Liars" "The Scarlet Woman" "A Flame of Fire"
etc., etc._
ILLUSTRATIONS BY GRENVILLE MANTON
LONDON:
WARD LOCK & CO. LIMITED
1904
[Illustration: "'My name is Roland Rashcliffe, your Majesty.'" (_Page
130._)]
CONTENTS
I THE COMING OF KATHARINE HARCOMB 7
II THE SECRET OF THE BLACK BOX 17
III THE KING'S MARRIAGE CONTRACT 28
IV THE HAPPENING AT THE INN 39
V A MIDNIGHT MEETING 49
VI THE OLD HOUSE AT PYCROFT 59
VII THE MYSTERY OF PYCROFT 69
VIII HOW I ENTERED PYCROFT 79
IX FATHER SOLOMON AT BAY 89
X THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON 99
XI THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER 110
XII THE COMING OF THE KING 121
XIII AN ADVENTURE ON THE CANTERBURY ROAD 133
XIV HOW I SAW A MAN WHO BECAME FAMOUS! 142
XV MASTER STURGEON, THE GAOLER 153
XVI THE ESCAPE 164
XVII HOW I LEFT BEDFORD 174
XVIII JAMES, DUKE OF YORK 185
XIX THE SCENE AT THE PARISH CHURCH 195
XX THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON 205
XXI HOW I VISITED BEDFORD A SECOND TIME 216
XXII THE CHAPEL OF HERNE 227
XXIII THE JOURNEY TO WINDSOR 238
XXIV CHARLES II AS JUDGE 248
XXV THE JUDGMENT OF THE KING 258
XXVI FLEET PRISON 268
XXVII HOW I LEFT FLEET PRISON 278
XXVIII WHAT HAPPENED ON THE BEDFORD ROAD 288
XXIX THE PURITAN'S COTTAGE 298
XXX HOW I LEFT MY OLD HOME 309
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF KATHARINE HARCOMB
The history which I propose writing will, I believe, be of value for
various reasons. It will clear my name from various aspersions, and it
will enable me to explain what, to many, seem events of an extraordinary
nature. For I have done nothing which makes me fear the light, neither
have I any desire to offer excuses for the actions which shall be here
set down. What I have done I have done in good faith, knowing all the
time of the probable results which would follow.
Moreover, I think it is well that many of the happenings of the time of
which I write should be recorded, for surely the days of my youth were
strange days, full of intrigue, full of mystery; and more, they were
days in which one of the greatest battles ever known in our country was
fought, a battle which had momentous issues in the life of our people.
Not that I am able to give a description of many events which took
place. That would be impossible; but as I was drawn, in spite of myself
as it seems to me, to be an actor in many stirring scenes, I have had
peculiar opportunities for knowing the truth. In addition to this, I was
trained by my father to follow the custom of the times, and to describe
in a diary an account of my daily doings. I shall therefore be able, if
ever my memory fails me, to refer to the books which have been carefully
kept, and thus place a correct account of matters before those who
happen to read.
I had a peculiar training even for youths of that period. For from the
time of Archbishop Laud to the coming of King Charles II, nearly every
family of note took sides in the great struggle through which the
nation passed. Either a man was a Royalist or a Parliamentarian, a
believer in the supreme and unquestionable rights of the king, or a
supporter of the new order of things. There seemed no half-way house
wherein a man might rest. Thus the nation was divided into two great
camps, and if one was not in one of these camps he was in the other. But
I was trained to hold myself aloof from both, and to distrust them
equally.
The reason for this can be quickly told. During the great struggle
between Cromwell and the king, my father fought against the Ironside
General. Indeed, he gave of his substance freely. He impoverished
himself to replenish the king's coffers, and he armed his family
retainers in order to keep him on the throne. In the early days of the
war, moreover, he was an enthusiastic supporter of the king, and trusted
in his royal words implicitly. But after the Battle of Naseby, when the
king's papers were taken, and it was made known that Charles had
deceived on every hand, my father lost faith in him, and declared he
would never trust a king's word again. Not that he threw in his lot with
Cromwell, thus following the example of many others. Rather he cut
himself adrift from public affairs, and sought to live in seclusion.
But here a difficulty faced him. His resources were much diminished by
what he had devoted to the king's cause, and added to this, so much of
his property was taken from him in the troublous days which followed,
that while he still kept the old home near Epping Forest, he was scarce
able to maintain it. He was a country gentleman, bearing an old name,
who could barely afford to keep the horse he rode, or the servants who
waited at his tables. This (for my father was a very proud man)
embittered him much, and caused him to lose faith in friend and foe
alike. He despised the king who had deceived both his followers and
those who fought against him, and he spoke of the Presbyterians and
Independents as a crack-brained and sour-faced crew, who would make the
country a place unfit for a gentleman to live in.
"I trust neither of them, my son," he would often say to me. "I gave my
blood and my fortune to the king, and he deceived me by lying promises
and false statements: as for this Puritan crew, they have robbed me of
my possessions until I, who at the time of the Short Parliament was a
rich man, have not the means of giving my only son either a good horse
to ride, or money to put in his purse."
"I will gain both, father," I said, for in those days I was ardent and
hopeful, believing that everything was possible to a brave heart and a
strong arm.
"But how?" cried my father. "The king's cause is dead, even if it would
have benefited thee by fighting for it. As for these canting Puritans,
no man can gain aught from them, unless he will quote Scripture, and cry
'Down with the Prayer-book.' In truth there is no cause which an
honourable man can espouse, and thus carve his way to fortune."
"The opportunity will come some day," I replied confidently.
My father shook his head. "It cannot be," he said. "England is governed
by canting hypocrites, and there is not a man in the country whom we can
trust. I tell thee Roland, I am sorely grieved for thee. I have no
fortune to give thee, neither are there means whereby a man bearing the
name of Rashcliffe can honourably win one. Marriage seems impossible.
Not one maid do I know, who would wed a penniless lad like thee; by that
I mean a maid of family and dowry. I am known among men as penniless
Rashcliffe, and such a name makes it impossible for my son to make a
suitable marriage."
"But surely there must be means whereby a man may carve his way to
fortune?"
"Tell me about them, Roland. Where can we find them? Those who, like I,
have been foolish enough to trust the king and fight for his cause are
left wellnigh penniless and friendless. We have been deceived, tricked
as if by a cunning card-player. I tell you there is no honour among
kings. As for the Puritans, could you play the knave in order to gain
their favour? Could you mimic their pious whine, and curse both bishops
and Prayer-book?"
"No, I could not," I replied, for although my father had taught me to
have no faith in men, he still tried to teach me to be an honourable
gentleman.
"I know," he went on, "that many hope for the death of Cromwell. Well,
that may happen any day, and then what shall we see? In all probability
Oliver will make provision whereby his son shall take his place. But
even if he doth not, and Charles were to come back, would such as I be
benefited? Would the new king see to it that my estates were restored to
me? The new King Charles would be the son of the old King Charles. The
new king would be a Stuart, and never again can I trust a Stuart."
"Is there no hope then?" I asked despondently, for the constant
repetition of such speeches had made me believe that no man was to be
trusted.
"There is no hope except you can get men in your power," replied my
father.
"In my power?" I repeated, for I scarce knew what he meant.
"Ay, in your power, Roland. There is a secret in most men's lives. If
you can find that secret, you are a force to be reckoned with. You then
have the means whereby you can fight your way into position. Look here.
Charles Stuart is now in France. Supposing Oliver Cromwell were to die,
and the people, tired of Puritan rule, were to welcome him back to the
kingdom. Do you think he would remember that I, Philip Rashcliffe, am
impoverished by fighting for his father? If I went to him, and said,
'Sire, I have scarce a horse to ride on, scarce a crown to put in my
purse; I have lost all through fighting for your father's throne,' do
you think he would cause the Rashcliffe lands to be restored? Nay, he
would say, aloud, 'Master Rashcliffe, we will look into this matter, and
you may trust us to see that justice shall be done;' but to himself he
would say, 'What is there to be gained by doing aught for this man? He
is plain and blunt, and I shall gain nought by troubling about him.
Besides, there be a hundred others who come with the same tale. Let me
to my wine.' Ay, but if Charles discovered that I knew something which
affected him deeply, then would he for self-preservation desire to do me
justice."
"But that would be blackmailing," I cried.
"Nay, it would not; it would be simply using the means at my disposal
for getting back my own."
"Know you of aught, that you say this?" I asked, at which my father
shook his head.
It will be seen from this that I was taught to trust no man or party.
Moreover, as the years went by my father influenced me by his own
desponding views, so that I, unlike most youths, felt no ardour for any
cause, and believed but little in any man. As to women, I knew nothing
of them, for, besides our kitchen wenches and servant maids, scarcely a
woman ever entered Rashcliffe Manor. My father desired no company, and
even if he had so desired, he was too poor to give hospitality in a way
befitting his station. As for myself I was too proud to seek
acquaintance among those of lower degree than myself, while those of my
own rank had, through my father's seclusion, shut their doors against
his son. Thus I knew nought of women. I believed that, poor as I was, no
woman of name and fortune would deign to notice me, and it was not for
my father's son to go unbidden to the houses of those who still retained
their wealth.
Presently Oliver Cromwell died, and I thought my father seemed to be
possessed of new hope; but when Richard, his son, was chosen Lord
Protector in his place, he simply shrugged his shoulders like a
Frenchman, and said that the country was not yet tired of psalm-singing.
During the months that followed he went often to London, in order, as he
said, to find out what Monk and Lambert were doing, and when at length
Richard Cromwell ceased to be Lord Protector, he grimly remarked that we
"should soon see gay doings."
A little later the whole country was in a state of excitement. Charles
was recalled to England, the Royalists were jubilant, while the Puritans
looked forward with dread to the dark days which they felt sure were
near at hand.
"We will go to meet the king," cried my father.
"What!" I cried in astonishment, for my father had declared that he
would never again have aught to do with a Stuart.
"Ay, we will go and meet him, Roland. You and I will ride together.
There are still two good horses left in the stables, and we will dress
ourselves in a way befitting gentlemen, and we will go to Dover, and
shout 'God save the King!' with the rest of the crowd."
"But why?" I asked, for I felt no love for the man whom the people were
already calling "His Gracious Majesty King Charles II, the Lord's
Anointed One."
"Ay, and that you shall know before the sun goes down," he replied.
I looked at him in astonishment, for he had cast off the old look of
hopelessness and indifference so common to him, and seemed to believe
that brighter days were coming.
"Do you believe in the new king?" I asked.
"I believe a Stuart!" he replied, with scorn. "Nay, not so my son."
"Men speak of him as a man with an open and generous nature," I
suggested.
"Ay, and I knew him before he had to fly from the country," he replied.
"I tell you he is a Stuart. He hath the vices of both his father and his
grandfather. He will lie and deceive like Charles his father, and he
will turn his Court into a pigsty, like his grandfather James. In six
months from now Whitehall will be filled with swashbucklers and
wine-bibbers. Bad men and worse women will rule the country. God only
knows what will become of the Puritans, in spite of his fair promises.
But what of that? We will go and meet him!"
"But you will gain nought."
"Ay, I will, but there will be much to do first."
"Much to do!"
"Ay, much for thee to do, Roland. I have hopes that the Rashcliffe lands
will be mine again, and that my son will hold up his head among the
highest."
"You think you will gain the favour of the king?"
"Nay, but perchance I may gain his fear."
"His fear?"
"Ay, his fear. Or, better still, thou shalt gain his fear."
"But why should the king fear me? I can do nought against him. I have no
power."
"Knowledge is power," replied my father.
"But I have no knowledge."
"Nay, but thou shalt be in the way to get it before the sun goes down."
At this I made no reply, but I looked at him in astonishment.
"I do not speak wildly or foolishly," said my father. "I tell thee again
thou shalt know something of importance before the sun goes down. And
now get on the back of that colt Black Ben, which hath been lately
broken to the saddle, and ride him across the park lands yet left to us.
Get accustomed to his step, my boy, for when we meet the king, it is my
desire that King Charles may take note what a fine horseman you are."
I went to the stables, therefore, and saddled Black Ben, a colt which
had been a kind of playmate to me, and which had required very little
breaking in order to allow me to ride him. For however he might treat
another rider, to me he was gentleness itself. I was proud of Black Ben,
for he was the first horse I ever possessed on which the neighbours cast
eyes of envy. Indeed, my father had been offered a good price for him,
but although he wanted the money sadly he refused to sell it.
"No," he said, "thou hast a horse at last, Roland, and thou shalt keep
it. I will sell some milch cows before Black Ben shall go."
He was a large noble animal, as black as the wing of a raven, and free
from spot or blemish of any sort. I had never tested his speed, but I
knew that there was not a horse between me and London town that I could
not pass if I gave Black Ben rein.
He gave me a whinny as he saw me, and presently rubbed his nose against
my sleeve by way of greeting.
"You are going to meet the new king, Black Ben, my boy," I said as I
patted him, and again he whinnied as though he understood me.
A few minutes later I was flying across the park on Ben's back. I was at
this time nearly twenty-three years of age, and having taken after my
father, was not a light man, but he bore me as though I were a feather.
When I reached the park gates I saw old Adam Winkley, who still lived at
the cottage and called himself the gatekeeper, although there was no
need of his services.
"Ah, Mester Roland," he said as I came up, "I do 'ear as 'ow the new
king is comin'."
"Ay, so it is said."
"Well, God bless the king! I be always a king's man, I be. I be noan for
Old Nol's crew. Not but what they can fight. Give Old Nol his due, he've
made the furriners see that the English caan't be bait."
"We didn't need Old Nol to make them know that," I replied.
"Well, as to that, Mester Roland, forgive me for not havin' the same
opinion as you; but I fought in the wars with your father, and I shall
go lame to the end of my days because of it, and I know somethin' of
fightin'. This I knaw, the furinners never feared the English so much as
they did durin' Old Nol's time. Not that I believed in him. I bean't a
young man, but I still like a carouse I do, and I like good ale, and
plenty of it, and I say let people enjoy themselves. And I reckon we
shall see a change soon. When young Charles do come, we shall no longer
have these sour-faced Independents rulin' the roost, and so I say with a
full heart, God bless King Charles."
I let the old man talk in this way for old time's sake. He had served
our family all his life, and although others had left during our fallen
fortunes, he had remained faithful.
"And when do the king come, Mester Roland?"
"Next Tuesday, I have heard, but I am not quite sure."
"Then I shall start to walk to Dover town on Monday morning, so as to be
in time to see him land."
"Ah, then I shall see you there. Both my father and I are going."
"I be right glad. I be in hopes that the new king will do your father
justice, Master Roland, and that we shall see gay doings at Rashcliffe
again. God save the king, I say."
At this moment my attention was drawn from old Adam by a woman who was
walking towards my father's house. As far as I could judge she was
somewhat advanced in years, although she walked with a strong sturdy
step. She gave a hasty glance in my direction, and then kept her face
steadily towards the house.
"Know you who that is?" I asked of Adam.
"No!" replied old Adam; "it can't be she?"
"Can't be who?"
"Can't be Katharine Harcomb; and yet she has her walk. But Katharine is
dead. I've heard it many a time." This he said as though he were talking
to himself rather than to me.
"But who is Katharine Harcomb? I never heard her name."
"No, she left Rashcliffe before you were born, and yet she was maid to
your mother. She was a gay one, was Katharine. What Katharine didn't
know wasn't worth finding out. Ay, and a handsome maid she was too. As
for darin', there was nothing she wouldn't do. One day she dressed in
your mother's fine clothes and the other servants didn't know her, she
looked such a grand lady. They all curtsied to her, thinking she was
some visitor who had come unbeknowing to them. Ay, Katharine could act
the lady, she could. Why, it is said the young king fell in love with
her when he was Prince Charles, but of that I'll say nothing. Still,
this woman can't be she, although she's got her look and her walk.
Katharine died years ago--there can be no doubt about that."
By this time the woman was out of sight, while I turned my horse's face
towards London, and rode a few miles in that direction before returning
to the house.
It was drawing towards evening when I got back, and on entering the
house I found that my father had given orders that he should be informed
of my return.
"Roland," he said when at length I went to him, "will you come with me
into the library?"
"Yes," I said, wondering at his grave demeanour.
When I entered the library I almost gave a start, for in the room was
the woman I had seen in the park. She looked up at me, and there was, as
I thought, a bold and defiant expression in her eyes. She did not look
like a woman of birth and breeding, and yet no one would regard her as a
common serving woman. She possessed an air approaching gentility, and
although her clothes were much worn, they were of good material.
"More mother than father," I heard her say.
I looked at her awkwardly, for I knew not how to address her, and
although I lifted my hat and bowed as I would to a lady of my own
degree, I did so constrainedly, not feeling comfortable in her presence.
"This is Mistress Katharine Harcomb," said my father. "She dwelt here
before you were born."
The woman gave a laugh, which was half-defiant, half amused.
"Ay, I dwelt here before you were born, Master Roland; since then I have
been dead, and now I am alive again."
I did not like the woman. Not that she was evil-looking; rather, she
must have been very fair to look upon twenty years before, and even now
she retained much of the beauty of youth. But her voice was harsh, the
lines around her mouth suggested scorn and bitterness, while the strong
chin should have belonged to a man rather than to a woman. I could see
in a moment that she was not a woman to be trifled with; indeed, she
evidently possessed that imperious strength of will like unto that by
which Queen Elizabeth made strong men quail before her.
"I pray you to pay good heed to what Mistress Harcomb hath to tell us,"
said my father, "for it is no light matter concerning which she would
speak."
I know not why, but my heart became heavy. I felt sure that the
knowledge which my father had spoken of as power to bend the will of
kings was somehow associated with this strong imperious looking woman
who gazed steadily into my eyes.