Hayslope Grange Part 9

Bertram and Bessie s.h.i.+vered at the bare idea of such a thing, and Maud, who felt she must say something in defence of the Parliament, said, "Nay, nay, Mistress Mabel, they will not put forth their hand against the King's majesty."

"But they will, I trow, if they have the power," said the lady. "And that G.o.d may rescue this nation from their hands, it behoves us to appear before Him in decent raiment of mourning at this time."

"Are we all to go into mourning?" asked Bessie, in some surprise.

"Would you be wearing ribbons and ruffles, and such light vanities at this time?" angrily demanded the lady.

Bessie looked down, feeling very much ashamed of herself, but hardly knowing how she had offended, until Bertram asked, "Will everybody wear mourning for the Archbishop, aunt?"

"Every honest Christian soul will nathless wish to do so," replied Mistress Mabel, with a severe look at Bessie.

The little girl felt the reproof, and when she went upstairs she put away all her bright ribbons and the gay dresses that had been worn at her sister's wedding. "I don't mind wearing the black hood and wimple, Maud," she said; "but then I thought people wore mourning because they felt sorry, and I can't feel so sorry about the Archbishop as I did about Harry going away."

"Of course not, dear, because----"

"But aunt seems to think we ought," interrupted the little girl; "and father never looked so sorry about Harry as he did to-day about the Archbishop."

"Your father may not let us see how sorry he is about Harry," said Maud, "but I am sure he is often thinking of him."

Maud spoke of this as though she were sure it was so, as in truth she was. She had noticed a great alteration in her guardian lately. His hair was rapidly changing from brown to silver white, his tall erect form was bowed as with the weight of an added twenty years; and she thought with a keen pang that if Harry did not soon come he would never see his father again. And then arose the question, where was Harry?--for no news had come but that one voice from the battle-field, telling them he was sick and wounded.

CHAPTER IX.

THE WOUNDED MESSENGER.

There was little fear that no fasts would be kept the month that the Archbishop was executed. So many were compelled to fast for want of food throughout England, that all the land might be said to mourn, although they did not put on the outward semblance of it, as Mistress Mabel did.

Just as the men were thinking of leaving their homes again in the early spring, came a faint rumour that peace might be established, and many a heart beat high with hope that the commissioners who were to meet at Uxbridge, and negotiate a reconciliation between the King and his people, might be able to conclude terms of adjustment satisfactory to both parties. Maud felt sure that peace would be established at last when she heard the news, and Bertram asked her in a whisper if Harry would come home then; but to this question she could only shake her head and look up at the clouds racing across the stormy February sky, and think that Harry had probably gone to the Father's home where ambition and injustice could never mar the peace of the one great family.

She had come to this conclusion, because she thought if he were living he would surely have tried to see or communicate with his father before this, in spite of what had happened.

The meeting at Uxbridge took place just as the first spring blossoms began to whisper that the earth was not the cold, lifeless thing it looked; that G.o.d had not forgotten the seeds in the time of their darkness, but that out of this He had made them spring forth, and through this He had made them strong. Thus thinking as she walked through the fields, Maud sometimes wondered whether these dark times was England's winter, out of which righteousness and truth would spring, and be more strong for the struggle they had endured. Of course to her this meant that the people would return to the King, and be more firm in their allegiance than ever, and she hoped that the first promise of such a result had already taken place.

But alas, for her, and the hopes of thousands like her, who had to endure silently, and witness misery they could not alleviate! the commission broke up without anything being done, and men were hurried from their homes to take up the sword, leaving the plough to be guided by women's hands. Roger and the rest of his companions again left Hayslope, and Maud went in and out and tried to comfort the women for their loss.

Master Drury seemed to feel the failure of the Uxbridge commission most keenly, although he did not say much about it; yet even Mistress Mabel could not fail to notice the whitening hair and the failing strength of her brother, and spoke to Maud about it too. She had noted the change long since, and now she felt sure that secret grief for Harry was preying upon her guardian's heart, and bowing him down with premature old age, and yet she dare not mention the name it would have been a relief for both to utter and to hear spoken.

So the spring pa.s.sed into summer without any outward change at Hayslope Grange, except a short visit from Mistress Mary Stanhope. At the end of June came tidings of a battle that had been fought a fortnight before at Naseby, in Northamptons.h.i.+re, where the King's army had been completely defeated, leaving on the field five thousand prisoners, an immense quant.i.ty of war material; and what was worse than all for the Royalists, the King's private cabinet of papers and letters was captured. This news came from Captain Stanhope, who had himself barely escaped being taken prisoner by Cromwell's Ironsides, and had got back to Oxford without even his sword.

This news seemed to affect Master Drury most deeply, and one day he suddenly announced to Mistress Mabel that he should join the royal troops and fight for King Charles. The lady looked as if she had not heard aright, and said something about herb tea and going to bed; but Master Drury silenced her by taking down his sword from where it hung against the wall, and ordering one of the servants to fetch his jack-boots.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MASTER DRURY TAKES DOWN HIS SWORD.]

"Marry, but you are not going to the King now," said Mistress Mabel, in affright.

"I am going to Oxford," calmly spoke Master Drury; and during the remainder of the day he was occupied in making preparations for his departure.

When Mistress Mabel found her brother was bent upon leaving them, and fully determined to join the army, she suddenly professed to be in great fear of the Parliament gaining all England, and begged her brother to remain and protect them--have the moat filled at once, and barricades placed round the house, for fear of an attack from Cromwell's army; for Cromwell's name began to be the more prominent now, although Fairfax was the commander-in-chief.

But Master Drury shook his head. "Cromwell will never come into Ess.e.x,"

he said. "You forget King Charles has the Divine right to this land and its people. He will be the more firmly seated on his throne by-and-by for these troubles," he added.

Before his departure he spoke to Maud, bidding her come to him at Oxford if anything happened needing his presence at home. She could ride well now, he said, and Cavalier could bring her the whole journey.

Maud looked almost as surprised to hear this as Mistress Mabel had done when her brother first announced his intention of joining the army, for she had never been to Oxford in her life, and travelling was not very safe even for a man now Prince Rupert's wild troopers were about. But she felt thankful for the permission to do this, though at the same time she hoped that she should not need it.

Harvest-time was drawing near again now, and Mistress Mabel was more busy than ever among the maids, and Maud spent all her time between the two children and the village. Sometimes Bessie and Bertram went with her on her visits of charity, and one or other occasionally read to Dame Coppins from Harry's old Bible, or listened while the old woman told them some story of his kindness to her. One day as they were returning from a visit to the cottage, they were startled to see a crowd of women gathered round the blacksmith's shed, and Bertram, in his usual impetuous fas.h.i.+on, ran forward to see what was the matter. Maud was mounted on Cavalier, and Bessie on her brother's pony, while Bertram, being on foot, managed to edge himself to the front of the little crowd, and presently came running back, crying, "Maud, Maud, the man is dying!

somebody has been beating him." Several of the women were coming towards her by this time, and she sprang from her horse and stepped forward to meet them.

"Prithee, what is the matter?" she asked, seeing their anxious faces.

"Is the poor man much hurt?"

"By my faith, I think he's dying; but he says he _must_ get to Oxford first, to deliver up some papers he is bearing to the King," said one of the women.

"And what saith the blacksmith to his going on his journey?" asked Maud.

"That he will not live an hour with the wound he has received in his side. Nought but keeping him quite still, as well as careful dressing, will stanch the bleeding, Martin says, and he knows of such matters."

"Then he must not suffer the poor man to depart," said Maud, in the tone of one accustomed to be obeyed, as she stepped up to the blacksmith. She spoke loud enough for the stranger to hear, as she had intended; but he feebly shook his head, while Martin completed the temporary bandaging of his wound.

"Marry, stranger, you had better tarry here awhile, for your life will pay for this journey if you do not," said the blacksmith.

"Nay, nay, I must away to Oxford. I have been sore hindered already, and lives more valuable than mine depend upon the speedy delivery of these papers;" and as he spoke he attempted to rise, but fell back into the blacksmith's arms with a faint groan.

"He must not undertake this journey," said Maud; and she ordered him to be carried into a cottage near, saying she would come and speak to him about the papers as soon as he had somewhat revived. Meanwhile she ordered Martin to look to Cavalier, while the women attended to the stranger; and then she sent Bertram home with Bessie, and a message to Mistress Mabel not to be alarmed if she did not come back to the Grange that night.

By that time the traveller had recovered from the fainting fit, and Maud went into the cottage. "I am Mistress Maud Harcourt, and Master Drury of the Grange is my guardian," she said. "He is at Oxford just now, but if you will entrust your despatches to me, I will take them to him there, and he will place them in the hands of those to whom they are directed."

The stranger looked at the young lady's glowing resolute face, and laid his hands upon the papers "I could trust you," he said, "but will you swear that these shall not pa.s.s out of your hands, save to those directed to receive them?"

"I swear," said Maud, solemnly.

"It seemeth I must perforce stay here," sighed the man. "Prince Rupert's troops have chased me miles out of my way, or I should have reached Oxford ere this; and if it were not for the faintness that comes over me when I move, I would even now continue my journey."

"I will explain all that," said Maud, "but time presses. Now give me the papers, for my horse is in readiness, and I would fain depart ere messengers come from Mistress Mabel to hinder me."

It was a large packet, sealed with the seal of the Parliament, that the stranger delivered into her hands, and which she contrived to conceal within her dress. Then the stranger gave her directions for her journey, for he it seemed was well acquainted with the road; and carefully noting these in her mind, and looking at her purse to see she had money with her, she took her departure, the villagers scarcely comprehending that she was going to Oxford until she was out of sight.

Then it was suggested that one of the lads could have gone instead, and a message came from Mistress Mabel, ordering Maud to return to the Grange at once; but she was some miles on her way by this time, for Cavalier was fresh, and inclined for a sharp canter, and Maud kept him at full speed, for the pressure of those papers was a constant reminder that life or death hung upon their speedy delivery.

Whether it was the life of friend or foe she did not think. Whoever it was, he was dear to some heart doubtless--dear as Harry was to her, and that thought was enough to keep down all fatigue, and make her urge Cavalier forward whenever he seemed inclined to lag. It never occurred to her that if Prince Rupert's troops had driven the messenger so far out of the usual route, it would be impossible for her to escape them, neither did she think, even if she knew, the distance she had to travel.

Hour after hour she urged her good horse forward, and as it was fine dry weather, the usual muddy, unkept roads were comparatively easy to travel, and she had accomplished a good portion of the journey before the evening closed in.

She halted at a little village where the people were in a terribly frightened condition on account of the doings of Prince Rupert in the neighbourhood. Some of his followers had fired a farm-house the night before, after carrying off all that they wanted; and the numbers of people--quiet dwellers in lonely houses--or travellers, whom his troopers had wantonly killed, were very numerous, it seemed, and there was great surprise that Maud should have undertaken such a journey.