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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 26. A Petition To The General |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. A PETITION TO THE GENERAL It seemed to Fred Forrester a strange stroke of fate, when, after three days' slow and steady advance, feeling their way cautiously, as if at any hour they might meet the enemy, he rode with the advance to take possession of the Hall, for in spite of the colonel offering his own home again, the general kept to his decision that the Hall was the more suitable place for head-quarters. The day was bright as one of those when, full of boyish spirits, he used to run over to spend the day with Scarlett Markham; and where was he now? A fugitive, perhaps; who could say where? And Sir Godfrey, where was he? Fred felt very sad as he rode on, with the horses' hoofs trampling deeply into the soft green turf. But how beautiful it all seemed, with the rich red-brown stone of the old house contrasting so well with the green of the stately trees. The lake glistened like a sheet of silver in the sunshine, and all seemed familiar and welcome, and yet somehow as though connected with his life long, long ago, and as if it was impossible it could have been so short a time since he was a boy, and played about there. "I hope the men will be careful," he found himself thinking; "and that every one will be respectful to Lady Markham." He had not much time for thought after that, for the men were halted on the level grass land in front of the terrace garden, and he found himself one of the officers who, after an advance guard had ridden up to the front, and others had been despatched to form piquets surrounding the place, rode up in the train of the general. To Fred's surprise, Lady Markham and her daughter came to the broad step in front of the entrance, and the general touched his horse's sides with the spurs, and rode up. Fred was so near that he heard every word, and he bent forward, looking in vain for some token of recognition from the pale, careworn lady and her shrinking daughter, who received the general. The latter saluted Lady Markham gravely. "I regret to trouble you, madam," he said; "but we are compelled to take possession of your house for the present." Lady Markham bowed coldly. "We are at your mercy, sir," she said. "Nonsense, madam!" cried the general, shortly. "You and the pretty young lady there by your side need not talk about mercy. The stern necessities of war bring us here, so all I have to say is, be good enough to reserve such apartments as you need for yourselves. You and your servants will be perfectly unmolested." Lady Markham bowed once more. "The housekeeper is here," she said, "and will provide all we have. We have no men-servants now, to show where the stables and granary lie." "Pray don't trouble yourself about these matters, madam. My men will find what they want, and I dare say," he added sarcastically, "unless General Markham comes to look us up, and forces us to make more reprisals, we shall ride away, and you will find the Hall little the worse for our visit." A sudden change came over Lady Markham at the mention of her husband's name, and after a few minutes' hesitation, she stepped out to stand with joined hands, looking supplicatingly at the general. "My husband?" she said imploringly, "is--is he well?" "You ask me a question I cannot answer, madam," said the general, taking off his morion, and speaking in a quiet sympathising voice. "But there is one of my young followers who may be able to give you some information." He turned and made a sign to Fred, who touched his horse's flanks, and rode forward with a peculiar singing noise in his ears. "You!" said Lady Markham, looking at the young officer in a startled manner, and then turning from him with a look of disgust, while he saw that Lil shivered. "They look upon me as if I were some one who had been the cause of all this," he thought; but his countenance lightened directly, as Lady Markham turned to him again, and said gently-- "Forgive me, Fred. This meeting brought up the past. It seemed so terrible that my boy's companion should be among our enemies." As she spoke, she held out her hand, which Fred seized and held for a few moments before he could speak, and when he did give utterance to his words, they were in a voice broken by emotion. "I am not your enemy, Lady Markham," he said. "I would do anything to spare you pain. Lil, won't you shake hands?" The girl hesitated for a few moments, and then held out her little hand timidly, but only to turn to her mother directly, and cling to her as she strove to keep back her sobs. "Ask him--ask him," she whispered. "Yes. Tell us, Fred--my poor boy," said Lady Markham, in a low voice, so as to be unheard by the soldiers close at hand. "Where is my husband?" "The last I heard of him, Lady Markham, was that he was with the Cornish men beyond Plymouth. They are all on the king's side there." "But was he safe and well?" "Yes; quite safe and well, and Scarlett--" "Yes; pray go on. I dared not ask, for fear of hearing bad news." "I heard that he was quite well, too, and acting as his father's aide-de-camp." "Thank Heaven!" sighed Lady Markham, piously. "It is so long since we had heard from them. Now I can feel more at rest." She seemed to gain strength from the news; and after a pause she went on-- "Tell your leader," she said, "that I am grateful, for my child's sake. He has been most courteous. I did not expect this consideration." "Oh, Lady Markham, I am sure that you have nothing to fear. The discipline is so strict among our men. They will only take food and shelter for a night or two. Any act of disorder would be punished." Lady Markham drew a breath of relief. "You are our enemy, Fred," she said softly, "and when we meet again, I shall not forget to tell my husband of the treatment we have received. There, Lilian and I will go to our room. You know the place by heart. See that everything is done for your officers' comfort. Let them learn that Sir Godfrey Markham can show hospitality, even to his foes." She bowed stiffly, and, taking her daughter's hand, was withdrawing into the house, when Lil snatched her hand away, and stepped quickly to Fred's side. "I hate you," she whispered. "You are dear father's and Scar's cruel enemy; but please, please, Fred, don't let them do us any harm." "Don't be afraid, dreadful enemy," said Fred, smiling, as he saw the depth of his old playmate's hatred. "I'll do everything I can, Lil dear, for all your sakes. Good-bye, if I do not see you again." She gave him a quick look, which seemed in an instant to bring up sunny days when he had swung her on the lawn, rowed on the lake, and climbed the apple-trees to get her fruit; and then she was gone, and he was listening to the trampling of horses, the shouting of orders, and he was called away. Directly after, he was making use of his knowledge of the place to fulfil Lady Markham's wishes, and over these he worked the harder, because he felt that by hastening the production of the necessaries for the troops, much waste and destruction would be spared. The result was that in less than an hour the Hall was occupied by the little force, which was in high good humour with its pleasant quarters, while sentries were put in different directions, and every precaution taken against surprise. "Capital quarters, my boy," said the general, as he sat with his officers in the old oak dining-room; "and I wish your father was here to share them. But you have not taken care of yourself in all this business." "Oh, I have snatched a little food, sir," replied Fred. "I'm not hungry, but--" "Well, what is it? Speak out. What do you want?" Fred hesitated for a moment, as if collecting himself. "You know that the Manor is only two miles from here, sir?" "Eh? So near. No; I knew it was somewhere about this part," said the general, smiling. "Oh, I see, my boy. Well, it's quite right, but risky. And besides, we may stay here a week or we may stay a minute. How do I know how soon the enemy may rout us out? No, Fred, my boy, love must give way to duty. I cannot spare my young officer, even to go and see his mother, much as I should like to say 'Yes.'" "You mistake me, sir," said Fred, colouring a little. "I would not have asked leave at this busy time for that." "Then what do you want, my boy?" "Lady Markham and her daughter, sir. This is no place for them." "Humph! No. But we have no time for paying attentions to ladies." "No, sir; but what I want to do is a little thing. We may stay here some time, and other troops join us." "Yes, I am expecting reinforcements. What do you want to do?" "As this may be quite a rendezvous for some time, to get them away." "I cannot undertake such duties, my boy; but Lady Markham and her daughter are free to go anywhere." "Thank you, sir. That is what I want; but the only asylum for them is our old home, and they would not go there unasked." "Well, ask them." "It would be of no use." "My good lad, I am tired out. I want to snatch a few hours' sleep. What is it you want?" "I want to take half a dozen men to ride over and fetch my mother here. They were once dear friends, and if my mother came, she could persuade Lady Markham, for her child's sake, to go back with her." The general sat frowning for a few minutes, during which he poured out a little wine in a long Venice glass, filled up with water, and drank. "Yes," he said in a quiet, decided voice, as he set down his glass, "take a sergeant and half a dozen--no, a dozen men, ride over and do the business as quickly as you can, so that the men and their horses may get back and rest. It means a double journey, you see. No; no thanks. Despatch!" Fred looked his thanks, and retired with the promptness loved by his leader; and a very short time later, just as the turret clock was striking ten, he rode out with his little detachment, being challenged again and again by the mounted sentries placed along the road which skirted the west end of the lake. "Only think of it, Master Fred," whispered Sergeant Samson Dee, as they rode slowly along beneath the light of the stars--"going home in this way. What will the mistress say?" They were not long in hearing. As they rode over the familiar ground, Samson was very silent, for he was thinking of the old garden, while Fred felt a swelling sensation at his breast as every object so well-known peered cut of the surrounding darkness. There was the pond in which Dodder took refuge one day after he had broken out of the field to escape capture, and there stuck so tightly in the mud that cart ropes had to be thrown over him, and he was dragged out looking the most drenched and deplorable object possible. There, looming up under the stars, was the great hollow elm where the owls regularly bred and slept all day. Another minute, and the horses' hoofs were slashing up the babbling water of the stream which crossed the road--the tiny river where they had so often waded after trout and stone loaches. There at last, calm and still in the starlight, lay the Manor, and the young officer felt a wild kind of joy, which he had to fight down, lest he should seem childish before his followers, for the impulse of the moment was to leap from the horse and rush through the garden, over the lawn, and up to the doorway, shouting for joy. But discipline, the desire to seem manly, and a strange feeling of dread kept him calm and stern beyond his years, the feeling of dread soon dominating the other sensations. For how could he tell but that a party of the enemy had ridden up to his dear old home, as they had that evening ridden up to Scarlett's, and were perhaps behaving with far less consideration than they had shown? and how did he know that his old habitation was not a ruin, and his mother a wanderer far away. A curious dimness came over his sight at these terrible thoughts, and he felt as if he were going to fall from his horse. His old injuries throbbed and stung, and it seemed to him that his fears were correct, for the old Manor did not look as it should be. Surely the windows were all bare of glass, the great chimney stack was down, and the ivy which clothed the front torn away and scorched by fire. The giddy sensation increased, and he involuntarily clutched the pommel of his saddle as he bent forward, staring wildly at the dear old place, when he was suddenly brought to himself by the voice of Samson, who said aloud-- "All fast asleep. Oh, Master Fred, I wonder how my dear old garden looks." The misty, giddy sensation had gone, and in a firm voice Fred cried, "Halt!" For there before him, dimly seen in the starlight, lay the old Manor, quite unscathed, for the tide of war had not yet swept over that part of the pleasant land. Fred dismounted, passed through the little oaken gate, and walking up the path, was about to rap at the door with the hilt of his sword. But the trampling of horses and a loud neigh like a challenge had awakened those within. A well-known casement was opened, and a familiar voice exclaimed-- "Who's there?" "Mother!" whispered Fred, hoarsely. There was a cry of joy from the open window; then a clicking noise of flint and steel, a light gleamed blue and faint on the ivy leaves which framed the casement; then a brighter light, and in a few minutes the lower windows were illumined; there was the sound of the bolts being shot, and directly after Fred was in the little hall, clasped in his mother's arms. "My boy!" she whispered in a deep voice. Then, in a quick, agitated manner, "Your father?" "Safe and well, mother." "And you have come to stay? Thank God, thank God." "No, not to stay," he cried earnestly, "but to ask you to perform a duty, an act of kindness towards--" "Some wounded men? Yes, yes, my boy; bring the poor fellows in." "No, no, mother, not towards men," said Fred, holding her tightly to his side, "to one who was once your dearest friend--to her and her child." "Lady Markham? Oh, Fred, my boy, they are still dear to me, though this terrible war keeps us apart. But they are there. Oh, why do you stop? Bring them in at once." "No, no, dearest mother, you are too hasty," whispered Fred. "They are at their own place. But it is taken by our troops. It is to be a little camp for us, perhaps for weeks. It is no place for them. General Hedley consents, and I want you to come and fetch them here." "Yes, yes, my boy; but Lady Markham would not leave her home." "Yes, she will, at your persuasion, mother. You must come at once." Mistress Forrester drew a long breath, stifled a sob, and said firmly-- "I will be ready in a few minutes." "Shall I saddle Dodder, mistress, or will you ride pillion behind the captain?" said a gruff voice at the door. "Ah, Samson, my good, true lad," cried Mistress Forrester, "I am glad to hear your voice again." She ran forward, and held out her hand. "And it's like the sweet music of the birds to hear yours, mistress," said the rough fellow, kissing the extended hand. "Quick, my boy!" whispered Mistress Forrester. "Give your men refreshment. Saddle the pony, Samson. I will soon be down." She ran to the staircase, and Samson tramped off to the old stable, thrust his hand in the thatch over the door, where, to use his expression, "the key always laid," and a neigh of recognition greeted him as soon as he spoke. In five minutes he was leading the pony round to the gate, where he was in time to find a huge black jack of cider being passed round with horns to the men, one of the maids having hastily dressed and come down. Directly after, in her dark riding-habit and hat, Mistress Forrester was at the door, was helped into the saddle by her son, and the little cavalcade was on its way back through the dark lanes, and over the stretch of moor. _ |
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