Books: Under the Storm
C >>
Charlotte M. Yonge >> Under the Storm
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 | 11 |
12 |
13 |
14
"An officer! Aye is he. A captain of his Ironside troop, very like
to be Colonel ere long."
Stead was absolutely bewildered, and could not find speech, beyond an
awkward "Where?"
"Where was he when I last saw him? Charging down the main street of
Worcester, where the malignants and Charles Stewart made their last
stand. Smiting them hip and thigh with the sword of Gedaliah, nay,
my tongue tripped, 'twas Gideon I would say."
"Aye," said the woodward, "Squire had the tidings two days back in a
news letter. It was a mighty victory of General Cromwell."
"In sooth it was," returned the groom; "and I hear he hath ordered a
solemn thanksgiving therefore."
"But Jephthah," put in Patience, "you are sure he was not hurt?"
"The hand of Heaven protecteth the godly," again through his nose
spoke the guest. "He was well when I left him; being sent south by
my master to attend my mistress, and so being no more among them that
divide the spoil."
"Where have you served, sir?" demanded the woodward.
"I am last from Scotland," was the answer. "A godly land!"
"Ah! I know nought of Scotland," said the woodward. "I was disbanded
when my Lord Essex gave up the command, more's the pity, for he was
for doing things soberly and reasonably, and ever in the name of the
poor King that is gone! You look too young to have seen fire at
Edgehill or Exeter, sir."
"Did I not?" said the youth. "Aye, I was with my father, though only
as a boy apart on a hill."
The reminiscences that were exchanged astonished Steadfast beyond
measure, and really made him doubt whether what had previously passed
had not been all a dream. The language was so like Jephthah's own
too, all except that one word "fair" applied to Emlyn; and Patience,
Rusha, and the Pierces were entirely without a suspicion, that their
guest was other than he seemed. How much must have been picked out
of little Ben, without the child's knowing it, to make such acting
possible?
And how was the woodward, who was so much delighted with the visitor,
to be shaken off? Stead stood silent, puzzled, anxious, and
wondering what to do next, a very heavy and awkward host, so that
even Patience wondered what made him so shy.
Suddenly, however, a whistle, and the sharp yap of a dog was heard
across the stream. Nanny Pierce exclaimed, "There are those rascal
lads after the rabbits again!" and the gamekeeper's instinct awoke.
Pierce shook hands with his fellow soldier, regretted he could not
see more of him, and received his promise that if he came that way
again, he would share a pottle of ale at the lodge; and then tramped
off after his poachers over the stream.
Groom William then kissed the young women (the usual mode of
salutation then), Nanny Pierce and all, thanked Patience, and looked
about for the goodly little malignant, as he called Emlyn, but she
was nowhere to be seen, and Stead hurried him off through the wood.
"Ho! ho! sly rascal," said Charles, as they turned away. "You're
jealous! You would keep the game to yourself."
Stead had no answer to make to this banter, the very notion of Emlyn
as aught but the orphan in his charge was new to him.
They were not yet beyond the gulley when from between the hazel
stems, out sprang Emlyn, and kneeling on the ground caught the King's
hand and kissed it.
"Fairy-haunted wood!" cried Charles, and indeed it was done with
great natural grace, and the little figure with the glowing cheeks,
her hood flying back so as to shew her brilliant eyes sparkling with
delight and enthusiasm, was a truly charming vision. "It is like one
of the masques of the merry days of old." And as he retained her
hand and returned the salute on her lips, "Queen Mab herself, for who
else saw through thy poor brother sovereign's mean disguise?"
"I had seen your Majesty with the army," replied Emlyn, modestly
blushing a good deal.
"Ah! The Fates have provided me with a countenance the very worst
for straits like mine. But that matters the less since it is only my
worthy subjects who see through the grey coat. I would lay my crown,
if I had it, to one of those crispy ringlets of yours, that Queen Mab
was the poacher who drew off the crop-eared keeper."
"'Tis Robin Goodfellow, please your Majesty, who leads clowns
astray," said Emlyn in the same tone.
"Sometimes a horse I'll be, sometimes a hound," quoted the King.
Stead could only listen in amazement without a word to say for
himself. Near the confines of the wood, he had to leave Emlyn to
guide the King over a field-path while he fetched Mrs. Jane Lane and
the horse to meet them beyond, as it was wiser for the King not to
shew himself in the village. Again Charles jested on his supposed
jealousy of leaving the fair Queen Mab alone in such company, and on
his blunt answer, "I only feared the saucy child might be
troublesome, sir."
At which the King laughed the more, and even Emlyn smiled a little.
All was safely accomplished, and when Steadfast had brought Mrs. Lane
to the deep lane, they found the King and Emlyn standing by the
stile, and could hear the laughter of both as they approached.
"He can always thus while away his cares," said Jane Lane in quite a
motherly tone. "And well it is that he is of so joyous a nature."
Perhaps it was said as a kind of excuse for the levity of one in so
much danger chattering to the little woodland maid so mirthfully, and
like one on an equality. When they appeared, Charles bestowed a kiss
on Emlyn's lips, and shook hands cordially with Steadfast, lamenting
that he had no reward, nor even a token to leave with them.
Stead made his rustic bow, pinched his hat, and muttered, "It is
enough to--"
"Enough reward to have served your Majesty," said Emlyn, "he would
say."
"Yea, and it is your business to find words for him, pretty one,"
said the King. "A wholesome partnership--eh? He finds worth, and
you find wit! And so we leave the fairy buried in the woodland."
And on the wanderers rode, while Steadfast and Emlyn turned back over
the path through the fields; and she eagerly told that the King had
slept at Blythedale on his way to Worcester, and that though Sir
Harry was dead, his son was living in Holland. "And if the King gets
there safely, he will tell Master George, and if my uncle is with
him, no doubt he will send for me, or mayhap, come and fetch me."
There was a shock of pain in Steadfast's heart.
"You would be glad?"
"Poor old Stead. I would scarce be glad to quit you. I doubt me if
the Hague, as they call it, would show me any one I should care for
as much as for your round shoulders, you good old lubber! But you
should come too, and the King would give you high preferment, when he
comes to his own again, and then we won't be buried alive in this
Hermit's Gulley."
She danced about in exultation, hardly knowing what wild nonsense she
talked, and Stead was obliged to check her sharply in an attempt to
sing
"The king shall enjoy his own again."
"But Stead," asked Ben, after long reflection, "how could Groom
William know all about brother Jeph?"
A question Stead would not hear, not wishing to destroy confidence in
His Majesty's veracity.
CHAPTER XVIII.
JEPH'S GOOD FORTUNE.
"Still sun and rain made emerald green the loveliest fields on earth,
And gave the type of deathless hope, the little shamrock, birth."
IRISH BALLAD.
The King's visit left traces. Emlyn had become far more restless and
consciously impatient of the dullness and seclusion of the Hermit's
Gulley. Not only did she, as before, avail herself of every pretext
for going into the village, or for making expeditions to Bristol, but
she openly declared the place a mere grave, intolerable to live in,
and she confided to Jerusha that the King had declared that it was a
shame to hide her there--such charms were meant for the world.
The only way of getting into the world that occurred to her was going
into service at Bristol, and she talked of this whenever she
specially hated her spinning, or if Patience ventured to complain of
her gadding about, gossipping with Nanny Pierce or Kitty Blane, or
getting all the young lads in Elmwood round her, to be amused and
teased by her lively rattle.
Patience began to be decidedly of opinion that it would be much
better for all parties that the girl should be under a good mistress.
Both she and Rusha were over sixteen years old; and though it was
much improved, the house was hardly fit for so many inhabitants, and
both Goody Grace and Dame Blane had told Patience that it would be
better, both for the awkward Rusha and the gay Emlyn, if they could
have some household training.
Mistress Elmwood, at the Hall, had noted the family at church, and
observed their perfect cleanliness and orderliness, and it was
intimated that at the Ladyday hiring, she would take Rusha among her
maidens.
Shy Rusha cried a great deal, and wished Emlyn would go instead, but
Mrs. Elmwood would not have hired that flighty damsel on any account,
and Emlyn was sure it would be but mopish work to live under a
starched old Puritan. Mrs. Lightfoot was therefore applied to, to
find a service for Emlyn Gaythorn, and she presently discovered one
Mistress Sloggett, a haberdasher's wife of wealth and consideration,
who wanted a young maidservant.
Emlyn was presented to her by the bakester, undertook for everything,
and was hired by the twelvemonth, going off in high glee at the
variety and diversion she expected to enjoy at the sign of the "Sheep
and Shears," though clinging with much tenderness to her friends as
they parted.
"Remember, Emlyn, this is the home where you will always be welcome,"
said Stead.
"As if I wanted to _remember_ it," said Emlyn, with her sweet smile.
"As if I did not know where be kind hearts."
The hovel seemed greatly deserted when the two young girls were gone.
Patience sorely missed Rusha, her diligent little helper, and
latterly her companion too; and the lack of Emlyn's merry tongue made
all around seem silent and tedious. Steadfast especially missed the
girl. Perhaps it was due to the King's gibes that her absence fully
opened to him the fact that he knew not how to do without her. After
his usual fashion, he kept the discovery to himself, not even talking
to Patience about it, being very shamefaced at the mere thought,
which gave a delicious warmth to his heart, though it made him
revolve schemes of saving up till he had a sufficient sum, with which
to go to the squire and propose to meet him half-way in rebuilding
the old house; not such an expensive matter as it would be in these
days. There, in full view of all that passed down Elmwood Lane,
Emlyn could not complain of solitude, he thought! But there was this
difficulty in the way, that Jephthah had never resigned his claims as
eldest son, and might come home at any time, and take possession of
all the little farm at which Steadfast had worked for seven years.
The war was over, and nothing had been heard of Jeph, except the
king's apocryphal history, since his visit after the taking of
Bristol. Patience had begun to call him "poor Jeph," and thought he
must have been killed, but Stead had ascertained that the army had
not been disbanded, and believed him still to be employed.
At length, one market day, Mrs. Lightfoot told him, "There has been
one asking for you, Kenton, Seth Coleman, the loriner's son, that
went soldiering when your brother did. He landed last week from
Ireland with a wooden leg, and said he, 'Where shall I come to the
speech of one Steadfast Kenton? I have a greeting from his brother,
the peculiarly favoured,' or some such word, 'Jephthah Kenton, who
told me I should hear tidings of him from Mrs. Bakester Lightfoot, at
the sign of the "Wheatsheaf."' I told him where you abode, and he
said he knew as much from your brother, but he could not be tramping
out to Elmwood on a wooden leg. So says I 'I will send Steadfast
Kenton to you next market day.' You will find him at the sign at the
'Golden Bridle,' by the Wharf Stairs."
Stead had no sooner disposed of his wares than he went in search of
the loriner's shop, really one for horse furniture. There was a
bench outside, looking out on the wharf and shipping, and on it was
seated the returned soldier, with a little party round him, to whom
he was expounding what sounded more military than religious:
"And so, the fort having been summoned and quarter promised, if so be
no resistance were made, always excepting Popish priests, and-- Eh!
What now? Be you an old neighbour? I don't remember your face."
"I have seen you, though. I am Jephthah Kenton's brother, that you
asked for."
"I mind you were but a stripling in those days, and yet in gross
darkness. Yea, I have a letter for thee from my comrade, who is come
to high preferment."
"Jeph!"
"Yea, things have prospered with him. He was a serjeant even before
we sailed for Ireland, and there he did such good service in hunting
out Popish priests and rebels in their lurking places in the bogs and
mountains, that the Lord General hath granted him the land that he
took with his sword and his bow, even a meadow land fat and fertile,
Ballyshea by name, full of the bulls of Bashan, goodly to look at.
And to make all sure, he hath taken to wife the daughter of the
former owner of the land a damsel fair to look upon."
"Jeph! But sure--the Irish are Papists."
"Not the whole of them. There are those that hold to Prelacy and
call themselves King's men, following the bloody and blinded Duke of
Ormond. Of them was this maid's father, whom we slew at the taking
of Clonmel, where I got this wound and left my good right leg. So is
the race not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but time and
chance happeneth to all. When I could hobble about once more on
crutches, I found that the call had come to divide and possess the
gate of the enemy, and that the meads of Ballyshea had fallen to
Serjeant Kenton. Moreover, in the castle hard by, dwelt the widow
and her daughter, who cried to General Lambert for their land, and
what doth he say to Jephthah, but 'Make it sure, Kenton. Take the
maid to wife, and so none will disturb you in the fair heritage.'
Yea, and mine old comrade would have me sojourn with him till I was
quite restored, so far as a man with one limb short may be. I tell
you 'tis a castle, man."
"Our Jeph lord of a castle?"
"Aye, even so. Twice as big as Elmwood Hall, if half were not in
ruins, and the other half the rats run over like peas out of a bag.
While as to the servants, there are dozens of them, mostly barefoot
and in rags, who will run at the least beck from the old mistress or
the young mistress, though they scowl at the master. But he is
taking order with them, and teaching them who is to be obeyed."
"Then our Jephthah is a great man?"
"You may say that--a bigger man than the squire at Elmwood, or at
Leigh I can tell you. Only I would give all that bare mountain and
bog, full of wild, Popish, red-haired kernes for twenty yards in a
tidy street at Bristol, with decent godly folk around me. Murdering
or being murdered, I have marvelled more than once whether the men of
Israel were as sick of it in Canaan as I was at Drogheda, but the cry
ever was, 'Be not slack in the work.' But I will bring you
Jephthah's letter. He could not write when he went off, but he could
not be a serjeant without, so we taught him--I and Corporal Faith-
Wins."
Jephthah's handwriting was of a bold description doing honour to his
tutors, but the letter was very brief, though to the purpose--
"Dear Brothers and Sisters,
"This is to do you, to wit, that by the grace of Heaven on my poor
endeavours I am come to high preferment. A goodly spoil hath fallen
unto me, namely, the castle and lands of Ballyshea, and therewith the
daughter of the owner, deceased, by name Ellen Roche, whom I have
espoused in marriage, and am bringing to the light of truth. I have
castle, lands, flocks and herds, men-servants and maid-servants in
abundance, and I give thanks to Him who hath rewarded His servant.
"Therefore I wholly resign to you, my brethren, Steadfast and Benoni,
any rights of heirship that may be mine in respect of the farmstead
of Elmwood, and will never, neither I nor my heirs, trouble you about
it further. Yet if Ben, or my sisters Patience and Jerusha, be
willing to cross over to me in this land of promise they shall be
kindly welcome, and I shall find how to bestow them well in marriage.
Mine old comrade, Seth Coleman, will tell them how to reach the
Castle of Ballyshea, and how to find safe convoy, and tell you more
of the estate wherewith it has pleased Heaven to reward my poor
services.
"And so commending you to His holy keeping, no more from your loving
brother,
"JEPHTHAH KENTON."
The spelling of this was queer, even according to the ways of the
time, but it was not hard to understand, and it might well fill
Steadfast with amazement.
He longed to share the tidings with Emlyn, but he did not feel as if
it would be right to let anyone hear before Patience. Only as he
went back and called again at Mrs. Lightfoot's for his basket, she
asked whether he had found Seth Coleman, and if his brother had come
to such preferment as was reported.
"Yea," said Steadfast, "he hath a grant of land, and a castle, and a
wife."
"Eh, now! Lack-a-day! 'Tis alway the most feather-pated that fly
highest."
Cromwell's Ironsides feather-pated! But that did not trouble
Steadfast, who all the way home, as he rode his donkey, was thinking
of the difference it made in his prospects, and in what he had to
offer Emlyn to be able to feel his tenure so much more secure.
Patience and Ben listened in utter amazement ending in a not
complimentary laugh on the part of the former. "Our Jeph lord of a
castle? I'd like to see him."
"Would you? He has a welcome and a husband ready for you and Rusha
both?"
"D'ye think I would go and leave you for Jeph, if he were lord of ten
castles?"
And Ben, whose recollections of Jeph were very dim, exclaimed, "Lord
of a castle! I shall have a crow over Nick Blane now!"
Rusha, who was well content with her service at the hall, had no mind
for such a terrible enterprise as a journey "beyond seas" to Ireland,
and mayhap Jeph's prospective husband was a less tempting idea,
because a certain young groom had shown symptoms of making her his
sweetheart.
Steadfast thought often of telling the great secret of his heart to
his faithful sister Patience, but his extreme shyness and modesty,
and the reserve in which he always lived, seemed to make it
impossible to him to broach the subject, and there might be a certain
consciousness that Emlyn, while his own pet, had been very
troublesome to Patience.
Stead was two-and-twenty, a sturdy well-grown fellow, but the hard
work he had been obliged to do as a growing lad, had rounded his
shoulders, and he certainly did not walk like the men who had been
drilled for soldiers. His face was healthy and sunburnt, with fair
short hair and straightforward grey eyes. At the first glance people
would say, "What a heavy-looking, clownish young man," but at the
second there was something that made a crying child in the street
turn to him for help in distress, and made the marketing dames secure
that he told the truth about his wares.
Patience was rather startled by seeing him laboriously tying up a
posy of wild rose, honeysuckle, and forget-me-not, and told him the
Bristol folks would not buy those common wild flowers.
"They are for none of them," replied Stead, a little gruffly, and
colouring hotly at being caught.
"Oh!" said Patience, in her simplicity. "Are they for Emlyn? I do
not think her mistress will let you see her."
"I shall," said Stead. "She ought to know of our good fortune."
"He has forgotten that Emlyn is not our sister after all," said
Patience, as she went back to her washing.
"She might as well," said Ben, who could not remember the hut without
Emlyn.
Stead had better luck than Patience foreboded from a household where
the servants were kept very strictly, for there was a good deal of
curiosity in Bristol about the report that a lad from the
neighbourhood had won an Irish heiress and castle, and when Stead
presented himself at the door of the house under the overhanging
gable, and begged to see Emlyn Gaythorn to give her some tidings, the
maid who opened it exclaimed, "Is it anent the castle in Ireland?"
Stead awkwardly said "Aye, mistress." And as it became evident that
the readiest way of learning the facts would be his admission, he was
let into the house into a sort of wainscotted hall, where he found
the mistress herself superintending three or four young sempstresses
who were making shirts for the gentlemen of the garrison. Emlyn was
among them, and sprang up looking as if white seams were not half so
congenial as nutting in the gulley, but she looked prettier than
ever, as the little dark curls burst out of the prim white cap, she
sniffed the flowers with ecstasy, and her eyes danced with delight
that did Stead's heart good to see. He needed it, for to stand there
hat in hand before so many women all staring at him filled him with
utter confusion, so that he could scarcely see, and stumbled along
when Mrs. Sloggett called, "Come here, young man. Is it true that it
is your brother who has won a castle and a countess in Ireland?"
"Not a countess, ma'am," said Stead, gruff with shyness, "but a
castle."
Mrs. Sloggett put him through a perfect catechism on Jeph and his
fortunes, which he answered at first almost monosyllabically, though
afterwards he could speak a little more freely, when the questions
did not go quite beyond his knowledge. Finally he succeeded in
asking permission to take Emlyn and show her his brother's letter.
Mrs. Sloggett was gracious to the brother of the lord of a castle,
even in Ireland, and moreover Emlyn was viewed in the light of one of
the Kenton family.
So leave was granted to take Master Kenton (he had never been so
called before) out into the garden of pot-herbs behind the house, and
Emlyn with her dancing step led the way, by a back door down a few
steps into a space where a paved walk led between two beds of
vegetables, bordered with a narrow edge of pinks, daisies, and
gilliflowers, to a seat under the shade of an old apple tree, looking
out, as this was high ground, over the broad river full of shipping.
"Stead! Stead, good old Stead," she cried, "to come just as I was
half dead with white seam and scolding! Emlyn here! Emlyn there!
And she's ready with her fingers too. She boxed mine ears till they
sang again yesterday."
"The jade," muttered Stead. "What for?"
"Only for looking out at window," said Emlyn. "How could I help it,
when there were six outlandish sailors coming up the street leading a
big black bear. Well, Stead, and are you all going to live with Jeph
in his castle, and will you take me?"
"He asks me not," said Stead, and began to read the letter, to which
Emlyn listened with many little remarks. "So Patience and Rusha wont
go. I marvel at them, yet 'tis like sober-sided old Patty! And
mayhap among the bogs and hills 'tis lonelier than in the gulley. I
mind a trooper who had served in Ireland telling my father it was so
desolate he would not banish a dog there. But what did he say about
home, Stead, I thought it was all yours?"
Stead explained, and also the possibility of endeavouring to rebuild
the farmhouse. If he could go to Mr. Elmwood with thirty pounds he
thought it might be done. "And then, Emlyn, when that is saved (and
I have five pounds already), will you come and make it your home for
good and all?"
"Stead! oh Stead! You don't mean it--you-- Why, that's
sweethearting!"
"Well, so it is, Emlyn," said Stead, a certain dignity taking the
place of his shyness now it had come to the point. "I ask you to be
my little sweetheart now, and my wife when I have enough to make our
old house such as it was when my good mother was alive."
"Stead, Stead, you always were good to me! Will it take long, think
you? I would save too, but I have but three crowns the year, and
that sour-faced Rachel takes all the fees'"
"The thing is in the hands of God. It must depend on the crops, but
with this hope before me, I will work as never man worked before,"
said Stead.
"And I will be mistress there!" cried Emlyn.
"My wife will be mistress wherever I am sweet."
"Ah, ha!" she laughed, "now I have something to look to, I shall heed
little when the dame flouts me and scolds me, and Joan twits me with
her cousin the 'prentice."
They had only just time to go through the ceremony of breaking a
tester between them before a shrill call of "Emlyn" resounded down
the garden. Mrs. Sloggett thought quite time enough had been wasted
over the young man, and summoned the girl back to her sewing.
Emlyn made a face of disgust, very comical and very joyous, but as
the good dame was actually coming in search of her no more could
pass.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 | 11 |
12 |
13 |
14