Necessity--thou best of peacemakers,
As well as surest prompter of invention--
Help us to composition!
--ANONYMOUS.
While the fire continued, the two parties laboured in active union, like
the jarring factions of the Jews during the siege of Jerusalem, when
compelled to unite in resisting an assault of the besiegers. But when
the last bucket of water had hissed on the few embers that continued
to glimmer--when the sense of mutual hostility, hitherto suspended by
a feeling of common danger, was in its turn rekindled--the parties,
mingled as they had hitherto been in one common exertion, drew off from
each other, and began to arrange themselves at opposite sides of the
hall, and handle their weapons, as if for a renewal of the fight.
Bridgenorth interrupted any farther progress of this menaced hostility.
“Julian Peveril,” he said, “thou art free to walk thine own path, since
thou wilt not walk with me that road which is more safe, as well as more
honourable. But if you do by my counsel, you will get soon beyond the
British seas.”
“Ralph Bridgenorth,” said one of his friends, “this is but evil and
feeble conduct on thine own part. Wilt thou withhold thy hand from the
battle, to defend, from these sons of Belial, the captive of thy bow and
of thy spear? Surely we are enow to deal with them in the security
of the old serpent, until we essay whether the Lord will not give us
victory therein.”
A hum of stern assent followed; and had not Ganlesse now interfered, the
combat would probably have been renewed. He took the advocate for war
apart into one of the window recesses, and apparently satisfied his
objections; for as he returned to his companions, he said to them, “Our
friend hath so well argued this matter, that, verily, since he is of the
same mind with the worthy Major Bridgenorth, I think the youth may be
set at liberty.”
As no farther objection was offered, it only remained with Julian to
thank and reward those who had been active in his assistance. Having
first obtained from Bridgenorth a promise of indemnity to them for the
riot they had committed, a few kind words conveyed his sense of their
services; and some broad pieces, thrust into the hand of Lance Outram,
furnished the means for affording them a holiday. They would have
remained to protect him, but, fearful of farther disorder, and relying
entirely on the good faith of Major Bridgenorth, he dismissed them all
except Lance, whom he detained to attend upon him for a few minutes,
till he should depart from Moultrassie. But ere leaving the Hall, he
could not repress his desire to speak with Bridgenorth in secret; and
advancing towards him, he expressed such a desire.
Tacitly granting what was asked of him, Bridgenorth led the way to a
small summer saloon adjoining to the Hall, where, with his usual gravity
and indifference of manner, he seemed to await in silence what Peveril
had to communicate.
Julian found it difficult, where so little opening was afforded him, to
find a tone in which to open the subjects he had at heart, that should
be at once dignified and conciliating. “Major Bridgenorth,” he said at
length, “you have been a son, and an affectionate one--You may conceive
my present anxiety--My father!--What has been designed for him?”
“What the law will,” answered Bridgenorth. “Had he walked by the
counsels which I procured to be given to him, he might have dwelt safely
in the house of his ancestors. His fate is now beyond my control--far
beyond yours. It must be with him as his country decide.”
“And my mother?” said Peveril.
“Will consult, as she has ever done, her own duty; and create her
own happiness by doing so,” replied Bridgenorth. “Believe, my designs
towards your family are better than they may seem through the mist which
adversity has spread around your house. I may triumph as a man; but as
a man I must also remember, in my hour, that mine enemies have had
theirs.--Have you aught else to say?” he added, after a momentary pause.
“You have rejected once, yea, and again, the hand I stretched out to
you. Methinks little more remains between us.”
These words, which seemed to cut short farther discussion, were calmly
spoken; so that though they appeared to discourage farther question,
they could not interrupt that which still trembled on Julian’s tongue.
He made a step or two towards the door; then suddenly returned. “Your
daughter?” he said--“Major Bridgenorth--I should ask--I _do_ ask
forgiveness for mentioning her name--but may I not inquire after
her?--May I not express my wishes for her future happiness?”
“Your interest in her is but too flattering,” said Bridgenorth; “but you
have already chosen your part; and you must be, in future, strangers
to each other. I may have wished it otherwise, but the hour of grace is
passed, during which your compliance with my advice might--I will speak
it plainly--have led to your union. For her happiness--if such a word
belongs to mortal pilgrimage--I shall care for it sufficiently. She
leaves this place to-day, under the guardianship of a sure friend.”
“Not of----?” exclaimed Peveril, and stopped short; for he felt he had
no right to pronounce the name which came to his lips.
“Why do you pause?” said Bridgenorth; “a sudden thought is often a
wise, almost always an honest one. With whom did you suppose I meant to
entrust my child, that the idea called forth so anxious an expression?”
“Again I should ask your forgiveness,” said Julian, “for meddling where
I have little right to interfere. But I saw a face here that is known to
me--the person calls himself Ganlesse--Is it with him that you mean to
entrust your daughter?”
“Even to the person who call himself Ganlesse,” said Bridgenorth,
without expressing either anger or surprise.
“And do you know to whom you commit a charge so precious to all who know
her, and so dear to yourself?” said Julian.
“Do _you_ know, who ask me the question?” answered Bridgenorth.
“I own I do not,” answered Julian; “but I have seen him in a character
so different from that he now wears, that I feel it my duty to warn you,
how you entrust the charge of your child to one who can alternately
play the profligate or the hypocrite, as it suits his own interest or
humour.”
Bridgenorth smiled contemptuously. “I might be angry,” he said, “with
the officious zeal which supposes that its green conceptions can
instruct my grey hairs; but, good Julian, I do but only ask from you the
liberal construction, that I, who have had much converse with mankind,
know with whom I trust what is dearest to me. He of whom thou speakest
hath one visage to his friends, though he may have others to the world,
living amongst those before whom honest features should be concealed
under a grotesque vizard; even as in the sinful sports of the day,
called maskings and mummeries, where the wise, if he show himself at
all, must be contented to play the apish and fantastic fool.”
“I would only pray your wisdom to beware,” said Julian, “of one, who,
as he has a vizard for others, may also have one which can disguise his
real features from you yourself.”
“This is being over careful, young man,” replied Bridgenorth, more
shortly than he had hitherto spoken; “if you would walk by my counsel,
you will attend to your own affairs, which, credit me, deserve all your
care, and leave others to the management of theirs.”
This was too plain to be misunderstood; and Peveril was compelled to
take his leave of Bridgenorth, and of Moultrassie Hall, without farther
parley or explanation. The reader may imagine how oft he looked back,
and tried to guess, amongst the lights which continued to twinkle in
various parts of the building, which sparkle it was that gleamed from
the bower of Alice. When the road turned into another direction, he sunk
into deep reverie, from which he was at length roused by the voice of
Lance, who demanded where he intended to quarter for the night. He
was unprepared to answer the question, but the honest keeper himself
prompted a solution of the problem, by requesting that he would occupy
a spare bed in the Lodge; to which Julian willingly agreed. The rest
of the inhabitants had retired to rest when they entered; but Dame
Ellesmere, apprised by a messenger of her nephew’s hospitable intent,
had everything in the best readiness she could, for the son of her
ancient patron. Peveril betook himself to rest; and, notwithstanding
so many subjects of anxiety, slept soundly till the morning was far
advanced.
His slumbers were first broken by Lance, who had been long up, and
already active in his service. He informed him, that his horse, arms,
and small cloak-bag had been sent from the Castle by one of Major
Bridgenorth’s servants, who brought a letter, discharging from the
Major’s service the unfortunate Deborah Debbitch, and prohibiting her
return to the Hall. The officer of the House of Commons, escorted by a
strong guard, had left Martindale Castle that morning early, travelling
in Sir Geoffrey’s carriage--his lady being also permitted to attend on
him. To this he had to add, that the property at the Castle was taken
possession of by Master Win-the-fight, the attorney, from Chesterfield,
with other officers of law, in name of Major Bridgenorth, a large
creditor of the unfortunate knight.
Having told these Job’s tidings, Lance paused; and, after a moment’s
hesitation, declared he was resolved to quit the country, and go up to
London along with his young master. Julian argued the point with him;
and insisted he had better stay to take charge of his aunt, in case she
should be disturbed by these strangers. Lance replied, “She would
have one with her, who would protect her well enough; for there was
wherewithal to buy protection amongst them. But for himself, he was
resolved to follow Master Julian to the death.”
Julian heartily thanked him for his love.
“Nay, it is not altogether out of love neither,” said Lance, “though I
am as loving as another; but it is, as it were, partly out of fear,
lest I be called over the coals for last night’s matter; for as for the
miners, they will never trouble them, as the creatures only act after
their kind.”
“I will write in your behalf to Major Bridgenorth, who is bound to
afford you protection, if you have such fear,” said Julian.
“Nay, for that matter, it is not altogether fear, more than altogether
love,” answered the enigmatical keeper, “although it hath a tasting of
both in it. And, to speak plain truth, thus it is--Dame Debbitch and
Naunt Ellesmere have resolved to set up their horses together, and have
made up all their quarrels. And of all ghosts in the world, the worst
is, when an old true-love comes back to haunt a poor fellow like me.
Mistress Deborah, though distressed enow for the loss of her place, has
been already speaking of a broken sixpence, or some such token, as if
a man could remember such things for so many years, even if she had not
gone over seas, like woodcock, in the meanwhile.”
Julian could scarce forbear laughing. “I thought you too much of a man,
Lance, to fear a woman marrying you whether you would or no.”
“It has been many an honest man’s luck, for all that,” said Lance; “and
a woman in the very house has so many deuced opportunities. And then
there would be two upon one; for Naunt, though high enough when any of
_your_ folks are concerned, hath some look to the main chance; and it
seems Mistress Deb is as rich as a Jew.”
“And you, Lance,” said Julian, “have no mind to marry for cake and
pudding.”
“No, truly, master,” answered Lance, “unless I knew of what dough they
were baked. How the devil do I know how the jade came by so much? And
then if she speaks of tokens and love-passages, let her be the same
tight lass I broke the sixpence with, and I will be the same true lad to
her. But I never heard of true love lasting ten years; and hers, if it
lives at all, must be nearer twenty.”
“Well, then, Lance,” said Julian, “since you are resolved on the thing,
we will go to London together; where, if I cannot retain you in my
service, and if my father recovers not these misfortunes, I will
endeavour to promote you elsewhere.”
“Nay, nay,” said Lance, “I trust to be back to bonny Martindale before
it is long, and to keep the greenwood, as I have been wont to do; for,
as to Dame Debbitch, when they have not me for their common butt,
Naunt and she will soon bend bows on each other. So here comes old Dame
Ellesmere with your breakfast. I will but give some directions about
the deer to Rough Ralph, my helper, and saddle my forest pony, and your
honour’s horse, which is no prime one, and we will be ready to trot.”
Julian was not sorry for this addition to his establishment; for Lance
had shown himself, on the preceding evening, a shrewd and bold fellow,
and attached to his master. He therefore set himself to reconcile his
aunt to parting with her nephew for some time. Her unlimited devotion
for “the family,” readily induced the old lady to acquiesce in his
proposal, though not without a gentle sigh over the ruins of a castle in
the air, which was founded on the well-saved purse of Mistress Deborah
Debbitch. “At any rate,” she thought, “it was as well that Lance should
be out of the way of that bold, long-legged, beggarly trollop, Cis
Sellok.” But to poor Deb herself, the expatriation of Lance, whom she
had looked to as a sailor to a port under his lee, for which he can run,
if weather becomes foul, was a second severe blow, following close on
her dismissal from the profitable service of Major Bridgenorth.
Julian visited the disconsolate damsel, in hopes of gaining some light
upon Bridgenorth’s projects regarding his daughter--the character of
this Ganlesse--and other matters, with which her residence in the
family might have made her acquainted; but he found her by far too
much troubled in mind to afford him the least information. The name
of Ganlesse she did not seem to recollect--that of Alice rendered her
hysterical--that of Bridgenorth, furious. She numbered up the various
services she had rendered in the family--and denounced the plague
of swartness to the linen--of leanness to the poultry--of dearth and
dishonour to the housekeeping--and of lingering sickness and early death
to Alice;--all which evils, she averred, had only been kept off by her
continued, watchful, and incessant cares.--Then again turning to the
subject of the fugitive Lance, she expressed such a total contempt of
that mean-spirited fellow, in a tone between laughing and crying, as
satisfied Julian it was not a topic likely to act as a sedative; and
that, therefore, unless he made a longer stay than the urgent state of
his affairs permitted, he was not likely to find Mistress Deborah in
such a state of composure as might enable him to obtain from her any
rational or useful information.
Lance, who good-naturedly took upon himself the whole burden of Dame
Debbitch’s mental alienation, or “taking on,” as such fits of _passio
hysterica_ are usually termed in the country, had too much feeling to
present himself before the victim of her own sensibility, and of his
obduracy. He therefore intimated to Julian, by his assistant Ralph, that
the horses stood saddled behind the Lodge, and that all was ready for
their departure.
Julian took the hint, and they were soon mounted, and clearing the road,
at a rapid trot, in the direction of London; but not by the most usual
route. Julian calculated that the carriage in which his father was
transported would travel slowly; and it was his purpose, if possible,
to get to London before it should arrive there, in order to have time to
consult, with the friends of his family, what measures should be taken
in his father’s behalf.
In this manner they advanced a day’s journey towards London; at the
conclusion of which, Julian found his resting-place in a small inn upon
the road. No one came, at the first call, to attend upon the guests and
their horses, although the house was well lighted up; and there was a
prodigious chattering in the kitchen, such as can only be produced by
a French cook when his mystery is in the very moment of projection. It
instantly occurred to Julian--so rare was the ministry of these Gallic
artists at that time--that the clamour he heard must necessarily be
produced by the Sieur Chaubert, on whose _plats_ he had lately feasted,
along with Smith and Ganlesse.
One, or both of these, were therefore probably in the little inn; and
if so, he might have some opportunity to discover their real purpose
and character. How to avail himself of such a meeting he knew not; but
chance favoured him more than he could have expected.
“I can scarce receive you, gentlefolks,” said the landlord, who at
length appeared at the door; “here be a sort of quality in my house
to-night, whom less than all will not satisfy; nor all neither, for that
matter.”
“We are but plain fellows, landlord,” said Julian; “we are bound for
Moseley-market, and can get no farther to-night. Any hole will serve us,
no matter what.”
“Why,” said the honest host, “if that be the case, I must e’en put one
of you behind the bar, though the gentlemen have desired to be private;
the other must take heart of grace and help me at the tap.”
“The tap for me,” said Lance, without waiting his master’s decision. “It
is an element which I could live and die in.”
“The bar, then, for me,” said Peveril; and stepping back, whispered to
Lance to exchange cloaks with him, desirous, if possible, to avoid being
recognised.
The exchange was made in an instant; and presently afterwards the
landlord brought a light; and as he guided Julian into his hostelry,
cautioned him to sit quiet in the place where he should stow him; and if
he was discovered, to say that he was one of the house, and leave him
to make it good. “You will hear what the gallants say,” he added; “but I
think thou wilt carry away but little on it; for when it is not French,
it is Court gibberish; and that is as hard to construe.”
The bar, into which our hero was inducted on these conditions, seemed
formed, with respect to the public room, upon the principle of a
citadel, intended to observe and bridle a rebellious capital. Here sat
the host on the Saturday evenings, screened from the observation of
his guests, yet with the power of observing both their wants and their
behaviour, and also that of overhearing their conversation--a practice
which he was much addicted to, being one of that numerous class of
philanthropists, to whom their neighbours’ business is of as much
consequence, or rather more, than their own.
Here he planted his new guest, with a repeated caution not to disturb
the gentlemen by speech or motion; and a promise that he should be
speedily accommodated with a cold buttock of beef, and a tankard of
home-brewed. And here he left him with no other light than that which
glimmered from the well-illuminated apartment within, through a sort of
shuttle which accommodated the landlord with a view into it.
This situation, inconvenient enough in itself, was, on the present
occasion, precisely what Julian would have selected. He wrapped himself
in the weather-beaten cloak of Lance Outram, which had been stained, by
age and weather, into a thousand variations from its original Lincoln
green; and with as little noise as he could, set himself to observe the
two inmates, who had engrossed to themselves the whole of the apartment,
which was usually open to the public. They sat by a table well covered
with such costly rarities, as could only have been procured by much
forecast, and prepared by the exquisite Mons. Chaubert; to which both
seemed to do much justice.
Julian had little difficulty in ascertaining, that one of the travellers
was, as he had anticipated, the master of the said Chaubert, or, as he
was called by Ganlesse, Smith; the other, who faced him, he had never
seen before. This last was dressed like a gallant of the first order.
His periwig, indeed, as he travelled on horseback, did not much exceed
in size the bar-wig of a modern lawyer; but then the essence which he
shook from it with every motion, impregnated a whole apartment, which
was usually only perfumed by that vulgar herb, tobacco. His riding-coat
was laced in the newest and most courtly style; and Grammont himself
might have envied the embroidery of his waistcoat, and the peculiar cut
of his breeches, which buttoned above the knee, permitting the shape
of a very handsome leg to be completely seen. This, by the proprietor
thereof, had been stretched out upon a stool, and he contemplated its
proportions, from time to time, with infinite satisfaction.
The conversation between these worthies was so interesting, that we
propose to assign to it another chapter.