'I hope to God my Lord Wilmot will find the place, ay, and this Colonel Wyndham as well!' Lassels said, suddenly perceiving the danger of travelling into unknown country without any very certain asylum to go to.
But the King refused to consider the possibility of my lord's failing to reach Trent. 'He will arrive there, be sure. Though, if the way be as rough as Pope warned us, I would give much to hear his remarks upon it.'
The way which Rogers led Wilmot was difficult enough to reduce his lordship, at the end of the first day's ride, to a state of peevishness which was only partially dispelled by his finding his old acquaintance, Edward Kirton, residing at Castle Cary, and perfectly ready to do all that lay in his power to assist the King. Castle Cary, a little grey town, with steeply climbing cobbled streets, lay only six miles to the north of Trent, but thinking that it would be safer to approach Colonel Wyndham's house after dusk, Wilmot did not set out again upon the following day, which was Tuesday, until an advanced hour.
As he rode towards Trent, his spirits began to lighten, for every mile that he covered seemed to carry him farther into a dreaming countryside that was remote from the turmoil of the world he had lately been living in. Hollow lanes, so narrow that two packhorses could scarcely go abreast, led twisting through a rich land of pastures, or dipped into the shadows of deep woods. Scarcely anyone was encountered upon the road, Rogers taking care to skirt the few hamlets. The lanes were very rough and dirty, smelling of cow dung, which strove successfully with the scent of the meadow sweet growing by the ragged hedges. Wilmot wrinkled his aristocratic nose, and Robert Swan rode silent and disapproving behind him.
But there was nothing in Trent itself to offend the most fastidious taste. A lovely, lost village, it nestled amongst trees, its houses, built of oolitic stone, softly grey against a background of green and russet foliage. At the southern end of the village was the Church, and close by, secluded from the road by a grey wall, and deep gardens, the manor house itself.
The size and style of the manor made Wilmot at once fearful lest the household should be too large a one for safety; and when he came to the front door, and dismounted, he would not go in, but sent Rogers in his stead, to draw Colonel Wyndham out to him.
This caution seemed to be justified, for the butler who presently opened the door led Rogers across the hall to a large parlour where several people were assembled.
Perceiving that the Colonel was entertaining guests, Rogers stayed diffidently by the door, but the butler crossed the room to his master's side, and spoke to him where upon the Colonel looked round, and seeing Rogers, who was known to him, came towards him, a pleasant smile warming his eyes.
He was a tall man, and very thin, with a long, sensi tive face. His brown hair, which he wore in Cavalier ringlets, receded from a lofty brow, and his cheeks fell into hollows beneath his cheek-bones. When he smiled, a number of little wrinkles appeared about his eyes and mouth, and the eyes themselves, which, though not dark, were remarkably fine, lost the faint look of strain which was nearly always in them. He greeted Rogers kindly, saying in his light, well-bred voice: 'Well, Rogers? – it is Rogers, is it not? What is your errand to me? Have you come from Dirham to find me?'
'Yes, sir.' Rogers's gaze flickered past the Colonel to the knot of gentlemen behind him, and returned again to the Colonel's face.
The significance of this glance was not lost on the Colonel. He went a little apart with Rogers, and said in a lowered tone: 'What is it? Is it some weighty matter?'
'Sir, I am sent to acquaint you that a gentleman, a friend of yours, desires this favour of you, that you will be pleased to step forth and speak with him.'
The smile had quite faded from the Colonel's face; he looked suddenly very alert, but on his guard. 'Who is this gentleman? What is his business?'
Rogers shook his head. 'Nay, sir, I know nothing, only that he is called by the name of Morton.'
The Colonel looked hard at him for a moment, but asked no more questions, merely saying: 'Very well; I will come.'
Outside, the twilight was heavy with the scent of musk carnations, and late roses, and the sharp sweetness of lavender. There was at first no sign of Wilmot, but upon the Colonel's walking towards the stable, where Rogers informed him that his unknown visitor would be waiting, he soon saw, pacing up and down, a portly figure, half enveloped in a cloak, bearing a hooded hawk upon his wrist. He stopped short, staring with narrowed eyes, and then strode quickly forward. 'My Lord Wilmot!'
Wilmot, who had turned at the sound of his approach, awaiting him with his hat drawn low over his brows, gave a start, and said in a somewhat chagrined tone: 'You know me, then?'
'Know you?' repeated the Colonel. 'My dear lord, how should I not know you? You are not altered in the least degree since the day when I first enrolled under your command!'
'Not altered!' exclaimed Wilmot peevishly. 'I do not know how you can talk such nonsense, Wyndham! Can you not see that I am travelling in disguise?'
'Nay, I see no disguise. My lord, how may I serve you? I thank God you are safe! What news –'
'But this hawk, man! the lure I have here! these clothes I wear, which are so travel-stained I do not know myself in them!' Wilmot interrupted.
'I should have known you anywhere,' replied the Colonel. 'But your news, my lord, your news! You were surely at Worcester fight!'
'Of course I was at Worcester fight!' said Wilmot. 'I am now seeking to escape from England, and have sought you out to open to you a very dangerous, secret matter. Wyndham, I know I may trust you!'
'You may certainly do so. Be plain with me, my lord, for I am still as ever your man! Do you seek my aid?'
'Ay, for the King!' Wilmot said, sinking his voice to a whisper.
'The King? The
King
?' Wyndham seemed for an instant to be stunned. Then he grasped Wilmot's right wrist in his bony fingers. 'He is not dead?'
'Dead? No!' Wilmot replied. 'He is one day behind me upon the road to this place, and looks to you to give him aid and shelter.'
The uncomfortably hard grasp on his arm was removed; the Colonel put his hand up to shade his eyes for an instant, saying in a shaken voice: 'We believed him dead. He was reported slain at Worcester. My lord, these blessed tidings you bring quite unman me!'
'So report has slain him!' said Wilmot. Some of his natural sprightliness came back to him. 'It is very well! Indeed, nothing could be better! But for all I wish the rebels may continue to think him dead, he is very much alive, my dear Colonel, and will be with you to-morrow, unless you can show me good cause why he should not venture here. Will you receive him into your house? for I must tell you that he knows himself to be a perilous guest, and will go nowhere save his host be willing to run that risk which he must incur.'
'Willing to receive him! You should know, my lord, that for his preservation I value neither life, nor family, nor fortune! But come you in! What am I about to keep you standing here? In truth, you have set my thoughts in such a whirl I scarce know what I am doing!'
He called to one of his grooms, who was speaking with Robert Swan some little distance away, gave my lord's hawk into his charge, instructed him to see the horses stabled, and led Wilmot towards the house.
Since Wilmot had never been known to any of the gentlemen gathered together in the parlour, the Colonel thought it would be best to introduce him to them, under the name of Morton, as though he had been an ordinary visitor. Accordingly, he led him into the parlour, and had the satisfaction of seeing that not one of the three honest squires there showed more than a casual interest in him. They made him welcome after their own blunt fashion, and would have been pleased to have engaged him in conversation about the state of the crops, the prospects for the season's fox-hunting, or the shocking state of the country, had he been less aloof. But his lordship, who had never consorted upon equal terms with small country squires, found their talk tedious, and their opinions common place. The faint hauteur which dwelt in his eyes, and the curve of his mouth, grew more marked, and caused the Colonel to feel some misgiving. Fortunately, his fellow-guests were more interested in their own concerns than in his lordship's manners, and beyond deciding that he was a proud, townified fellow, wasted no thoughts upon him.
When the company was presently summoned to supper, Wilmot for the first time encountered the Colonel's lady, who, with a young kinswoman of the Wyndhams, Mrs Juliana Coningsby, met the gentlemen in the dining-parlour.
A very short time spent in Mrs Wyndham's company was enough to assure Wilmot that the Colonel had not married a Parliamentarian. An elegant, well-bred woman, with a thought ful brow, and mild, steadfast blue eyes, Anne Wyndham would have scorned to conceal a political opinion that was to her almost a religion. Lord Wilmot was soon satisfied that there was nothing to be feared in admitting her into the secret of the King's identity. He found her pleasant to talk to, but had a horrible suspicion that she was bookish, a quality he abominated in women. He supposed some would call her handsome, but to his eye her body was too slender, and her countenance lacked sparkle. Mrs Juliana Coningsby, who was seated opposite to him at the table, was far more to his taste. His gaze rested approvingly on the swell of plump breasts rising in lovely white mounds from the confinement of a low-cut dress of red brocade. Her neck, with its thick creamy throat, might be trifle short for perfection, but he considered that her head was charmingly set upon it, and liked the artless way her hair was arranged in glossy, chestnut-coloured curls that bobbed on her shoulders with every movement of her head. No need to fear bookishness in Juliana: his lordship would have been willing to stake his fortune on those roguish eyes never having wasted more time upon a printed page than they had been forced to do. A warm, seductive armful, thought his lordship, and wondered what his Royal master would make of her. She was not a bold, luscious beauty like Lucy Barlow, his mistress, though her ripe mouth invited; there was a suggestion of fastidiousness about its curves, which Mrs Barlow's lips quite lacked; but she had a way of looking through her lashes, and a peeping dimple, that made a man's blood quicken and tingle in his veins. My lord, whose thoughts were just now far from dalliance, was himself conscious of it, and hoped that the King would not find this fruit too inviting to be left unplucked.
He discovered presently that Juliana resided at Trent in the position of waiting-gentlewoman to old Lady Wyndham, who, the Colonel explained, was confined to her own apartments that evening with a slight indis position. Both Juliana and Anne Wyndham retired upstairs before the company finally dispersed and the Colonel was at liberty to enter into private discussion with Wilmot. As soon as the last of the three neighbouring squires had left the house, he took my lord into a small parlour, and, having carefully shut the door, begged him to give him an account of the King's movements since Worcester fight. Wilmot's description of his adventures during the first days of his flight moved him so much that he was obliged to get up, and walk about the room to conceal his emotion. When he heard of the part being played by Jane Lane, his quick sympathies were at once roused, and he said impulsively: 'She must be a noble woman! I am right glad she is on her way to my house. Anne will delight in her!'
This led Wilmot to enquire what security there was for the King at Trent House. The Colonel replied: 'The best, for there is a secret hiding-place opening into one of my mother's apartments. I have been considering that one of those rooms would be fittest for his Majesty, since they are in a way secluded, and not commonly visited by any of the servants other than two Catholic maids who wait particularly on her. Both of these wenches I believe we may trust; also (and for certain), Henry Peters, my own man. But more of this when we have consulted with my mother! Meanwhile, I must devise some means of dispersing the rest of the household to-morrow morning. This village, my lord, is a hotbed of the most beastly Puritanism, and I want no eyes that I cannot vouch for to spy upon his Majesty's arrival.'
Lord Wilmot regarded his finger-tips. 'I do not ask you if you can trust your lady, Colonel; but I must ask you if you can be sure that woman's – ah – natural alarms – may not lead her to look with misgiving upon your harbouring the person of his Majesty?'
He looked up to see a radiant smile in the Colonel's eyes. 'She shall speak for herself, my lord,' Wyndham said simply.
In the morning she did so, the Colonel having brought Wilmot into his mother's private parlour, upon the first floor, where she was. She moved forward to greet him, holding out her hand to him. 'My lord, how shall I thank you – the harbinger that brings such glad tidings to us?'
He took her hand, bowing with remarkable grace in one so portly. 'You have a brave spirit, madam. I do not doubt but that his Majesty will think himself fortunate in having you for his friend.'