Redgauntlet: A Tale Of The Eighteenth Century
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‘His situation as an attainted person abrogates such rights,’ said Fairford, hastily.
‘Surely,’ replied the priest, smiling at the young lawyer’s readiness; ‘in the eye of those who acknowledge the justice of the attainder – but that do not I. However, sir, here is the guarantee – look at its contents, and do not again carry the letters of Uriah.’
Fairford read these words: —
‘GOOD FRIEND, ‘We send you hither a young man desirous to know the situation of your ward, since he came under your paternal authority, and hopeful of dealing with you for having your relative put at large. This we recommend to your prudence, highly disapproving, at the same time, of any force or coercion when such can be avoided, and wishing, therefore, that the bearer’s negotiation may be successful. At all rates, however, the bearer hath our pledged word for his safety and freedom, which, therefore, you are to see strictly observed, as you value our honour and your own. We further wish to converse with you, with as small loss of time as may be, having matters of the utmost confidence to impart. For this purpose we desire you to repair hither with all haste, and thereupon we bid you heartily farewell. P. B.’
‘You will understand, sir,’ said the father, when he saw that Alan had perused his letter, ‘that, by accepting charge of this missive, you bind yourself to try the effect of it before having recourse to any legal means, as you term them, for your friend’s release.’
‘There are a few ciphers added to this letter,’ said Fairford, when he had perused the paper attentively, – ‘may I inquire what their import is?’
‘They respect my own affairs,’ answered the father, briefly; ‘and have no concern whatever with yours.’
‘It seems to me, however,’ replied Alan, ‘natural to suppose’ —
‘Nothing must be supposed incompatible with my honour,’ replied the priest, interrupting him; ‘when such as I am confer favours, we expect that they shall be accepted with gratitude, or declined with thankful respect – not questioned or discussed.’
‘I will accept your letter, then,’ said Fairford, after a minute’s consideration, ‘and the thanks you expect shall be most liberally paid, if the result answer what you teach me to expect.’
‘God only commands the issue,’ said Father Buonaventure. ‘Man uses means. You understand that, by accepting this commission, you engage yourself in honour to try the effect of my letter upon Mr. Redgauntlet, before you have recourse to informations or legal warrants?’
‘I hold myself bound, as a man of good faith and honour, to do so,’ said Fairford.
‘Well, I trust you,’ said the father. ‘I will now tell you that an express, dispatched by me last night, has, I hear, brought Redgauntlet to a spot many miles nearer this place, where he will not find it safe to attempt any violence on your friend, should he be rash enough to follow the advice of Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees rather than my commands. We now understand each other.’
He extended his hand towards Alan, who was about to pledge his faith in the usual form by grasping it with his own, when the father drew back hastily. Ere Alan had time to comment upon this repulse, a small side-door, covered with tapestry, was opened; the hangings were drawn aside, and a lady, as if by sudden apparition, glided into the apartment. It was neither of the Misses Arthuret, but a woman in the prime of life, and in the full-blown expansion of female beauty, tall, fair, and commanding in her aspect. Her locks, of paly gold, were taught to fall over a brow, which, with the stately glance of the large, open, blue eyes, might have become Juno herself; her neck and bosom were admirably formed, and of a dazzling whiteness. She was rather inclined to EMBONPOINT, but not more than became her age, of apparently thirty years. Her step was that of a queen, but it was of Queen Vashti, not Queen Esther – the bold and commanding, not the retiring beauty.
Father Buonaventure raised himself on the couch, angrily, as if displeased by this intrusion. ‘How now, madam,’ he said, with some sternness; ‘why have we the honour of your company?’
‘Because it is my pleasure,’ answered the lady, composedly.
‘Your pleasure, madam!’ he repeated in the same angry tone.
‘My pleasure, sir,’ she continued, ‘which always keeps exact pace with my duty. I had heard you were unwell – let me hope it is only business which produces this seclusion.’
‘I am well,’ he replied; ‘perfectly well, and I thank you for your care – but we are not alone, and this young man’ —
‘That young man?’ she said, bending her large and serious eye on Alan Fairford, as if she had been for the first time aware of his presence, – ‘may I ask who he is?’
‘Another time, madam; you shall learn his history after he is gone. His presence renders it impossible for me to explain further.’
‘After he is gone may be too late,’ said the lady; ‘and what is his presence to me, when your safety is at stake? He is the heretic lawyer whom those silly fools, the Arthurets, admitted into this house at a time when they should have let their own father knock at the door in vain, though the night had been a wild one. You will not surely dismiss him?’
‘Your own impatience can alone make that step perilous,’ said the father; ‘I have resolved to take it – do not let your indiscreet zeal, however excellent its motive, add any unnecessary risk to the transaction.’
‘Even so?’ said the lady, in a tone of reproach, yet mingled with respect and apprehension. ‘And thus you will still go forward, like a stag upon the hunter’s snares, with undoubting confidence, after all that has happened?’
‘Peace, madam,’ said Father Buonaventure, rising up; ‘be silent, or quit the apartment; my designs do not admit of female criticism.’
To this peremptory command the lady seemed about to make a sharp reply; but she checked herself, and pressing her lips strongly together, as if to secure the words from bursting from them which were already formed upon her tongue, she made a deep reverence, partly as it seemed in reproach, partly in respect, and left the room as suddenly as she had entered it.
The father looked disturbed at this incident, which he seemed sensible could not but fill Fairford’s imagination with an additional throng of bewildering suspicions; he bit his lip and muttered something to himself as he walked through the apartment; then suddenly turned to his visitor with a smile of much sweetness, and a countenance in which every rougher expression was exchanged for those of courtesy and kindness.
‘The visit we have been just honoured with, my young friend, has given you,’ he said, ‘more secrets to keep than I would have wished you burdened with. The lady is a person of condition – of rank and fortune – but nevertheless is so circumstanced that the mere fact of her being known to be in this country would occasion many evils. I should wish you to observe secrecy on this subject, even to Redgauntlet or Maxwell, however much I trust them in all that concerns my own affairs.’
‘I can have no occasion,’ replied Fairford, ‘for holding any discussion with these gentlemen, or with any others, on the circumstance which I have just witnessed – it could only have become the subject of my conversation by mere accident, and I will now take care to avoid the subject entirely.’
‘You will do well, sir, and I thank you,’ said the father, throwing much dignity into the expression of obligation which he meant to convey. ‘The time may perhaps come when you will learn what it is to have obliged one of my condition. As to the lady, she has the highest merit, and nothing can be said of her justly which would not redound to her praise. Nevertheless – in short, sir, we wander at present as in a morning mist – the sun will, I trust, soon rise and dispel it, when all that now seems mysterious will be fully revealed – or it will sink into rain,’ he added, in a solemn tone, ‘and then explanation will be of little consequence. – Adieu, sir; I wish you well.’
He made a graceful obeisance, and vanished through the same side-door by which the lady had entered; and Alan thought he heard their voices high in dispute in the adjoining apartment.
Presently afterwards, Ambrose entered, and told him that a horse and guide waited him beneath the terrace.
‘The good Father Buonaventure,’ added the butler, ‘has been graciously pleased to consider your situation, and desired me to inquire whether you have any occasion for a supply of money?’
‘Make my respects to his reverence,’ answered Fairford, ‘and assure him I am provided in that particular. I beg you also to make my acknowledgements to the Misses Arthuret, and assure them that their kind hospitality, to which I probably owe my life, shall be remembered with gratitude as long as that life lasts. You yourself, Mr. Ambrose, must accept of my kindest thanks for your skill and attention.’
Mid these acknowledgements they left the house, descended the terrace, and reached the spot where the gardener, Fairford’s old acquaintance, waited for him, mounted upon one horse and leading another.
Bidding adieu to Ambrose, our young lawyer mounted, and rode down the avenue, often looking back to the melancholy and neglected dwelling in which he had witnessed such strange scenes, and musing upon the character of its mysterious inmates, especially the noble and almost regal-seeming priest, and the beautiful but capricious dame, who, if she was really Father Buonaventure’s penitent, seemed less docile to the authority of the church than, as Alan conceived, the Catholic discipline permitted. He could not indeed help being sensible that the whole deportment of these persons differed much from his preconceived notions of a priest and devotee. Father Buonaventure, in particular, had more natural dignify and less art and affectation in his manner, than accorded with the idea which Calvinists were taught to entertain of that wily and formidable person, a Jesuitical missionary.
While reflecting on these things, he looked back so frequently at the house, that Dick Gardener, a forward, talkative fellow, who began to tire of silence, at length said to him, ‘I think you will know Fairladies when you see it again, sir?’
‘I dare say I shall, Richard,’ answered Fairford good-humouredly. ‘I wish I knew as well where I am to go next. But you can tell me, perhaps?’
‘Your worship should know better than I,’ said Dick Gardener; ‘nevertheless, I have a notion you are going where all you Scotsmen should be sent, whether you will or no.’
‘Not to the devil, I hope, good Dick?’ said Fairford.
‘Why, no. That is a road which you may travel as heretics; but as Scotsmen, I would only send you three-fourths of the way – and that is back to Scotland again – always craving your honour’s pardon.’
‘Does our journey lie that way?’ said Fairford.
‘As far as the waterside,’ said Richard. ‘I am to carry you to old Father Crackenthorp’s, and then you are within a spit and a stride of Scotland, as the saying is. But mayhap you may think twice of going thither, for all that; for Old England is fat feeding-ground for north-country cattle.’
CHAPTER XVII
NARRATIVE OF DARSIE LATIMER
Our history must now, as the old romancers wont to say, ‘leave to tell’ of the quest of Alan Fairford, and instruct our readers of the adventures which befell Darsie Latimer, left as he was in the precarious custody of his self-named tutor, the Laird of the Lochs of Solway, to whose arbitrary pleasure he found it necessary for the present to conform himself.
In consequence of this prudent resolution, and although he did not assume such a disguise without some sensations of shame and degradation, Darsie permitted Cristal Nixon to place over his face, and secure by a string, one of those silk masks which ladies frequently wore to preserve their complexions, when exposed to the air during long journeys on horseback. He remonstrated somewhat more vehemently against the long riding-skirt, which converted his person from the waist into the female guise, but was obliged to concede this point also.
The metamorphosis was then complete; for the fair reader must be informed, that in those rude times, the ladies, when they honoured the masculine dress by assuming any part of it, wore just such hats, coats, and waistcoats as the male animals themselves made use of, and had no notion of the elegant compromise betwixt male and female attire, which has now acquired, PAR EXCELLENCE, the name of a HABIT. Trolloping things our mothers must have looked, with long square-cut coats, lacking collars, and with waistcoats plentifully supplied with a length of pocket, which hung far downwards from the middle. But then they had some advantage from the splendid colours, lace, and gay embroidery which masculine attire then exhibited; and, as happens in many similar instances, the finery of the materials made amends for the want of symmetry and grace of form in the garments themselves. But this is a digression.
In the court of the old mansion, half manor-place, half farm-house, or rather a decayed manor-house, converted into an abode for a Cumberland tenant, stood several saddled horses. Four or five of them were mounted by servants or inferior retainers, all of whom were well armed with sword, pistol, and carabine. But two had riding furniture for the use of females – the one being accoutred with a side-saddle, the other with a pillion attached to the saddle.
Darsie’s heart beat quicker within him; he easily comprehended that one of these was intended for his own use; and his hopes suggested that the other was designed for that of the fair Green Mantle, whom, according to his established practice, he had adopted for the queen of his affections, although his opportunities of holding communication with her had not exceeded the length of a silent supper on one occasion, and the going down a country-dance on another. This, however, was no unwonted mood of passion with Darsie Latimer, upon whom Cupid was used to triumph only in the degree of a Mahratta conqueror, who overruns a province with the rapidity of lightning, but finds it impossible to retain it beyond a very brief space. Yet this new love was rather more serious than the scarce skinned-up wounds which his friend Fairford used to ridicule. The damsel had shown a sincere interest in his behalf; and the air of mystery with which that interest was veiled, gave her, to his lively imagination, the character of a benevolent and protecting spirit, as much as that of a beautiful female.
At former times, the romance attending his short-lived attachments had been of his own creating, and had disappeared as soon as ever he approached more closely to the object with which he had invested it. On the present occasion, it really flowed from external circumstances, which might have interested less susceptible feelings, and an imagination less lively than that of Darsie Latimer, young, inexperienced, and enthusiastic as he was.
He watched, therefore, anxiously to whose service the palfrey bearing the lady’s saddle was destined. But ere any female appeared to occupy it, he was himself summoned to take his seat on the pillion behind Cristal Nixon, amid the grins of his old acquaintance Jan who helped him to horse, and the unrestrained laughter of Cicely, who displayed on the occasion a case of teeth which might have rivalled ivory.
Latimer was at an age when being an object of general ridicule even to clowns and milkmaids was not a matter of indifference, and he longed heartily to have laid his horse-whip across Jan’s shoulders. That, however, was a solacement of his feelings which was not at the moment to be thought of; and Cristal Nixon presently put an end to his unpleasant situation, by ordering the riders to go on. He himself kept the centre of the troop, two men riding before and two behind him, always, as it seemed to Darsie, having their eye upon him, to prevent any attempt to escape. He could see from time to time, when the straight line of the road, or the advantage of an ascent permitted him, that another troop of three or four riders followed them at about a quarter of a mile’s distance, amongst whom he could discover the tall form of Redgauntlet, and the powerful action of his gallant black horse. He had little doubt that Green Mantle made one of the party, though he was unable to distinguish her from the others.
In this manner they travelled from six in the morning until nearly ten of the clock, without Darsie exchanging a word with any one; for he loathed the very idea of entering into conversation with Cristal Nixon, against whom he seemed to feel an instinctive aversion; nor was that domestic’s saturnine and sullen disposition such as to have encouraged advances, had he thought of making them.
At length the party halted for the purpose of refreshment; but as they had hitherto avoided all villages and inhabited places upon their route, so they now stopped at one of those large ruinous Dutch barns, which are sometimes found in the fields, at a distance from the farm-houses to which they belong. Yet in this desolate place some preparations had been made for their reception. There were in the end of the barn racks filled with provender for the horses, and plenty of provisions for the party were drawn from the trusses of straw, under which the baskets that contained them had been deposited. The choicest of these were selected and arranged apart by Cristal Nixon, while the men of the party threw themselves upon the rest, which he abandoned to their discretion. In a few minutes afterwards the rearward party arrived and dismounted, and Redgauntlet himself entered the barn with the green-mantled maiden by his side. He presented her to Darsie with these words: —
‘It is time you two should know each other better. I promised you my confidence, Darsie, and the time is come for reposing it. But first we will have our breakfast; and then, when once more in the saddle, I will tell you that which it is necessary that you should know. Salute Lilias, Darsie.’
The command was sudden, and surprised Latimer, whose confusion was increased by the perfect ease and frankness with which Lilias offered at once her cheek and her hand, and pressing his as she rather took it than gave her own, said very frankly, ‘Dearest Darsie, how rejoiced I am that our uncle has at last permitted us to become acquainted!’
Darsie’s head turned round; and it was perhaps well that Redgauntlet called on him to sit down, as even that movement served to hide his confusion. There is an old song which says —
– when ladies are willing,
A man can but look like a fool;
And on the same principle Darsie Latimer’s looks at this unexpected frankness of reception, would have formed an admirable vignette for illustrating the passage. ‘Dearest Darsie,’ and such a ready, nay, eager salute of lip and hand! It was all very gracious, no doubt – and ought to have been received with much gratitude; but, constituted as our friend’s temper was, nothing could be more inconsistent with his tone of feeling. If a hermit had proposed to him to club for a pot of beer, the illusion of his reverend sanctity could not have been dispelled more effectually than the divine qualities of Green Mantle faded upon the ill-imagined frank-heartedness of poor Lilias. Vexed with her forwardness, and affronted at having once more cheated himself, Darsie could hardly help muttering two lines of the song we have already quoted:
The fruit that must fall without shaking
Is rather too mellow for me.
And yet it was pity for her too – she was a very pretty young woman – his fancy had scarcely overrated her in that respect – and the slight derangement of the beautiful brown locks which escaped in natural ringlets from under her riding-hat, with the bloom which exercise had brought into her cheek, made her even more than usually fascinating. Redgauntlet modified the sternness of his look when it was turned towards her, and in addressing her, used a softer tone than his usual deep bass. Even the grim features of Cristal Nixon relaxed when he attended on her, and it was then, if ever, that his misanthropical visage expressed some sympathy with the rest of humanity.
‘How can she,’ thought Latimer, ‘look so like an angel, yet be so mere a mortal after all? How could so much seeming modesty have so much forwardness of manner, when she ought to have been most reserved? How can her conduct be reconciled to the grace and ease of her general deportment?’
The confusion of thoughts which occupied Darsie’s imagination, gave to his looks a disordered appearance, and his inattention to the food which was placed before him, together with his silence and absence of mind, induced Lilias solicitously to inquire, whether he did not feel some return of the disorder under which he had suffered so lately. This led Mr. Redgauntlet, who seemed also lost in his own contemplations, to raise his eyes, and join in the same inquiry with some appearance of interest. Latimer explained to both that he was perfectly well.
‘It is well it is so,’ answered Redgauntlet; ‘for we have that before us which will brook no delay from indisposition – we have not, as Hotspur says, leisure to be sick.’
Lilias, on her part, endeavoured to prevail upon Darsie to partake of the food which she offered him, with a kindly and affectionate courtesy corresponding to the warmth of the interest she had displayed at their meeting; but so very natural, innocent, and pure in its character, that it would have been impossible for the vainest coxcomb to have mistaken it for coquetry, or a desire of captivating a prize so valuable as his affection. Darsie, with no more than the reasonable share of self-opinion common to most youths when they approach twenty-one, knew not how to explain her conduct.
Sometimes he was tempted to think that his own merits had, even during the short intervals when they had seen each other, secured such a hold of the affections of a young person who had probably been bred up in ignorance of the world and its forms that she was unable to conceal her partiality. Sometimes he suspected that she acted by her guardian’s order, who, aware that he, Darsie, was entitled to a considerable fortune, might have taken this bold stroke to bring about a marriage betwixt him and so near a relative.
But neither of these suppositions was applicable to the character of the parties. Miss Lilias’s manners, however soft and natural, displayed in their ease and versatility considerable acquaintance with the habits of the world, and in the few words she said during the morning repast, there were mingled a shrewdness and good sense, which could scarce belong to a miss capable of playing the silly part of a love-smitten maiden so broadly. As for Redgauntlet, with his stately bearing, his fatal frown, his eye of threat and of command, it was impossible, Darsie thought, to suspect him of a scheme having private advantage for its object; he could as soon have imagined Cassius picking Caesar’s pocket, instead of drawing his poniard on the dictator.
While he thus mused, unable either to eat, drink, or answer to the courtesy of Lilias, she soon ceased to speak to him, and sat silent as himself.
They had remained nearly an hour in their halting-place, when Redgauntlet said aloud, ‘Look out, Cristal Nixon. If we hear nothing from Fairladies, we must continue our journey.’
Cristal went to the door, and presently returned and said to his master, in a voice as harsh as his features, ‘Gilbert Gregson is coming, his horse as white with foam as if a fiend had ridden him.’
Redgauntlet threw from him the plate on which he had been eating, and hastened towards the door of the barn, which the courier at that moment entered; a smart jockey with a black velvet hunting-cap, and a broad belt drawn tight round his waist, to which was secured his express-bag. The variety of mud with which he was splashed from cap to spur showed he had had a rough and rapid ride. He delivered a letter to Mr. Redgauntlet, with an obeisance, and then retired to the end of the barn, where the other attendants were sitting or lying upon the straw, in order to get some refreshment.
Redgauntlet broke the letter open with haste, and read it with anxious and discomposed looks. On a second perusal, his displeasure seemed to increase, his brow darkened, and was distinctly marked with the fatal sign peculiar to his family and house. Darsie had never before observed his frown bear such a close resemblance to the shape which tradition assigned it.