A PRECIOUS THING DISCOVERED LATE.
"One can't disturb the dust of years
And smile serenely."
AUSTIN DOBSON.
Audrey was left alone! And in what a room was she imprisoned! It was
her grandfather's own chamber!
The firelight played on the panelled walls with which she had once been
so familiar, and the figures on the tapestry curtains seemed to smile a
grim welcome to the daughter of the house. Here she had sat on her
grandfather's knee, and heard fairy tales and legends of old days; here
she had often watched by him when he grew old, and knelt at his side
when the vicar read prayers; here she had seen his good white head laid
in the coffin, and kissed the cold lips that had never bidden her
farewell. What a strange fate had brought her now back to say farewell
to her old home!
She sank back in the great chair that stood in its accustomed place by
the hearth, bewildered by the whirl of thoughts that chased each other
through her brain. The five years that had passed since last she sat
in that room, although they had dragged on slowly enough, seemed now to
her only a sort of parenthesis in her life. As she had left her old
home she had come back to it--the years of poverty and trouble seemed
but a bad dream--it would have been most natural to her to find herself
once more the mistress of Hunstanton Place.
In the cloister-like seclusion of Madam Isham's house Audrey had
learned little more of real life than she had known as a child; and in
that sheltered childhood what had she known? Her duty to God and to
her neighbours she had learned, and many wise theories of civil
government and of philosophy; but of the rough realities of life, of
suspicion, of caution, she knew nothing. Petted by her grandfather,
trusted by her father, adored by the servants and dependents to whom
her slightest wish was law, she had learned to look with affectionate
tolerance on the foolish ways of men, who being mostly old, or poor, or
scholars, could not be expected to be as wise or as practical as such a
young woman as Mistress Perrient. Now her little throne of feminine
superiority seemed tottering. She had been frightened by a beggar,
insulted by a jack-in-office, actually locked up by a constable! Her
theory of life--if it had struck her to use such long words--seemed
inadequate, and she did not see how to reconstruct it. She was
tired--she was sad--her musings grew more confused; the grateful sense
of being at home once more, the familiarity of her surroundings, the
rest after the hurried ride through the storm, the luxurious
chamber--so unlike the chilly attic where she had lain for many a
winter night--all conspired to lull her into forgetfulness. Half
dreaming, she murmured the words of the prayer said so often at her
grand-father's knee: "Lighten our darkness we beseech Thee, O Lord, and
by Thy great mercy defend us from all the perils and dangers of this
night," and suddenly she was indeed a child once more. Such a weary
little child, she could not keep her eyes open, it must surely be
bedtime! Was that nurse's step on the stairs? She was not tired; she
was no longer sleepy--that was forgotten! Nurse should not catch her!
Here, under the great table, was a splendid hiding-place. The carved
legs rose above her head like pillars, the Turkey carpet that covered
it hung all around like a tent--if only grandad did not betray her!
She would be quiet as a mouse, and he would never know she was there.
He was walking up and down the chamber, with his hands clasped behind
him; presently he turned and opened a cupboard, and brought out a
leather box, and oh! such a lovely long string of shining beads. "Oh,
grandad! grandad! be those for me?" she cried, springing from her
hiding-place. "No, sweetheart, not yet awhile," answered Sir Gyles,
lifting her on his knee; "these be the pearls good King Harry gave my
grandmother; thou shalt wear them when thou art a great girl and goest
to London town to see the king. But first thou must be tall--as tall
as the chimney-piece!"
Audrey woke with a start. She could almost hear the echo of the last
words in the air--"as tall as the chimney-piece." Was it a dream?
"Oh, grandad, grandad!" she cried. "Could you but come back and let me
be a little child once more. Never was there a girl so desolate in all
the world!" The sweet dream of childhood had broken down her
courage--and she burst into tears. And still the dream was with her.
How vivid it had been! It seemed like reality. Could it be reality?
Was it not a memory awakened by the sight of the old room? Yes--it
must be a memory; it certainly had once happened. Forgotten for years,
it came back to her now: how she had hidden under the table, and how
she had cried when her grandfather had said the pearls must be locked
up till she was a great girl, and how grandad had taken her on his knee
and told her the tale of Tom Tit Tot, and she had forgotten all about
the pearls, and set off next morning to hunt in the gravel pit for Tom
Tit Tot and his wonderful spinning wheel.
She lay back lazily in the chair, smiling over the old memories, and
her eyes wandered over the fire-lit room. It had been arranged
differently in those days: grandfather's table stood by the window, and
what cupboard was it he had opened? There was no room on that side for
a great standing cupboard. It had been very big--big and black, like a
closet. A closet! She started. Could it indeed not have been a
cupboard, but a secret closet? What folly! If there had been a closet
there she must have known of it! But the impression was so strong on
her that she could not sit still. She lit the candles in the great
pewter candlesticks and smiled as she stirred the logs to do so, and
saw that her head just reached the carved chimney-board. "I am taller,
by a head, than when I last lit a candle here," she thought. "Now I am
indeed a big girl! But to reach just where grandfather's hand went, I
shall need a stool and a tall one at that. Good, I reckon this will
serve."
She mounted on the carved footstool, and candle in hand she surveyed
the wall, drawing her finger carefully along the lines of the
panelling, and pressing every little ornament that might conceal a
spring. "I verily believe there was something here," she murmured.
"Hereabouts he put his hand, and I have never thought on it from that
day to this! It opened like a door," and as she said the words she
thought the panel gave way a little, and her heart almost stopped
beating. She pressed again, more firmly; there was a creak--the whole
side of the room seemed swinging towards her. She sprang off the
stool, and saw that a door had indeed opened before her. Audrey raised
the candle and peered into the darkness within. The closet was indeed
as large as a small room; opposite to her its back was panelled like
the bedchamber, but on either side the walls were fitted with shelves
and loaded with boxes, papers, and bunches of keys.
[Illustration: Audrey raised the candle and peered into the darkness.
[page 135.]
She stood gazing, the candle flickered, suddenly she caught sight of
the well remembered red leather casket, and with a cry of delight she
set down the candle and seized it. Here, indeed, was the long chain of
pearls she had cried for so bitterly, and the curiously enamelled Tudor
Rose hanging as a jewel from it.
"How strange that daddy knew not of this hiding-place," she cried;
"yet, grandad never troubled him with such matters; he were likelier to
have told me than daddy. This must be one of the priests' holes he
often told me tales of, where the recusant gentlemen hid their priests,
but he never said we had one in our own house! Doubtless here lies the
record of how our money was lost, but I reck little of that now I have
the Perrient pearls safe. Ah, but here is a purse of gold pieces!
That will speed me well whether I escape Justice Tomkins' clutches, or
he claps me up in jail! More wonders! Money bags! I shall lose my
wits for wonder! Four bags! Five! Why 'tis a very treasure trove!
And now for the papers. Alack what a many and how dusty! Why, to
count them over would be half a night's work! And as for reading this
crabbed hand, I doubt I shall make nothing of it, without I ask Master
Reed's help, and that I am scarce like to do! Bills--more bills--they
will not keep me long. List of ministers to deliver to the Triers,
letters from Parliament men, news letters; why, what is this? "Note of
monies lent to Master Vonsturm of Leyden," "Note of monies lent to
Master Leyds of Amsterdam," "Note of half share in the ship _Maria
Dirk_ trading from Rotterdam." "That's where the money is!" she
gasped. "Oh, cunning old grandad! You sent it over seas safe from
both king and Parliament! Master--what's his name? Von Sturm, must
have deemed us all dead! He'll be mightily disappointed! My faith,
these papers must not lie hid here! Yet if they take me to jail, they
may search me; the papers were safer here than in my pockets in that
hazard. I must bethink me. But first I must needs rummage for more
treasures. Here is my grandfather's great writing-box and his seal and
pens; methinks I may find Master Tom Tit Tot himself next!"
Her smile faded as suddenly as if the imp she spoke of had appeared.
In the desk lay only one paper, endorsed in trembling handwriting:
"Draught of my letter to Major-General Harrison concerning the marriage
of my granddaughter. February ye first 1659."
"My marriage! Grandad never said a word to me of marriage! I was but
sixteen! I marvel whom he proposed to marry me to?" And with rather a
pale smile she unfolded the letter.
_For my loving friend Major-General Harrison, these._
SIR,--As touching the question of the marriage whereof we have more
than once held discourse, and whereof you as at this present write to
me, my mind being as yours in the matter, I see not wherefor we should
not come to a speedy settlement. Seeing that I am now a very old man,
I do only desire, if it be God's will, to see my beloved child given
happily in marriage, before I say my Nunc Dimittis. Your young
kinsman, Richard Harrison, is but now departed from me, and as I judge,
he doth in all respects uphold the report you have made me of him. He
seemeth a godly and a gallant young gentleman, and a modest, and if it
please God to dispose his heart and that of my granddaughter to an
understanding, I doubt not but that you and I shall agree concerning
the money to be settled. My desire being, to find for this child, who
is my chief earthly joy and blessing, not so much a wealthy husband as
an entrance into a godly family and one whereto I am so much bound in
love as with yours. I desire not to defraud your good wife of any
fortune you have gathered, neither any children whom it may yet please
the Lord to bless you with, but as my granddaughter will have all that
I possess, I do desire that it should be settled upon her and her
children. It's no bad division that the man should bear the sword and
the woman the purse, so she be one in whom her husband's heart may
safely trust. When Captain Harrison is on his return to Scotland, if
you will make him your messenger concerning your resolution as to
settlements, he can then have speech of my granddaughter and shall
understand her mind in the matter, for I do purpose she shall only be
joined in marriage there where she is likewise joined in godly
affection. I speak not of my son, as in the disposal and ordering of
all such matters he doth dutifully submit himself unto me, and I doubt
not he will be of my mind in this matter."
Audrey's face grew whiter and whiter as she spelt out the painfully
written words, and, as she ended, she staggered back against the wall
and covered her face with her hands. Any thought of marriage, save as
a vague sort of fairy tale, was so remote from her mind, that this
formal negotiating of her destiny struck her like a blow, and she felt
absolutely sick with the shock. To her proud and virginal mind it
mattered nothing that this was an old story, forgotten for two years
past. It was nothing to her that marriages at that time were almost
invariably a matter of family arrangement. She had been brought up
with so much more personal liberty and independence than most girls of
her day, that the idea that she had been talked over, bargained for,
was unendurable! And gradually, as the whole plan came home to her, a
burning flush crept over her face. She felt outraged, insulted. Wild
indignation with every one filled her heart. Her grandfather, General
Harrison, Richard, every one was detestable. No one was to be trusted!
They had dared to talk of her, to dispose of her, as if she were a mere
chattel! Better poverty, neglect, anything, than such an insult. But
then there rushed back on her with a sudden revulsion of feeling, all
that might have been, all she had once possessed, and she dashed the
letter on the ground and burst into a passion of tears. Alone,
friendless, she realized her position--she was brought face to face
with all she had lost. While she looked on her grandfather as a feeble
old man depending on her young strength, he had foreseen how helpless
she would be one day, he had known what a woman needed, he had been
planning her future for her. A future of wealth and dignity, a gallant
and handsome young husband, loving kins-folk, all as gay as a fairy
tale, and all vanished like a fairy dream!
Her tears were partly remorseful--that she could have been angered at
any thought of his, shamed her! But she could not but give some sorrow
to all that was gone--her grandfather dead and forgotten, her father in
exile, she herself a prisoner, General Harrison--she shuddered to
remember his fate, Richard Harrison--"Alas, I had not thought Captain
Harrison was one of those summer friends who forsook us when our wealth
was lost! 'Tis pity I should have discovered what he hath made such
good speed to forget!" She stood a while sunk in thought, then she
shook herself. "Fie, what a peevish maid I grow! This was but talk
between grandfather and the poor general; and then grandfather died and
the general ran mad on the Fifth Monarchy, and was put in prison, and,
most like, Captain Harrison never heard a word of the matter! 'Tis
midsummer madness to dwell on it now. Fie! Audrey Perrient, a modest
maiden should not waste thoughts on such matters! But 'tis lucky I
knew not of this when I found him fainting in the woods, or I protest I
should have been too shamefaced a fool to have succoured him?"