CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
LOOKING FORWARD TO A FIGHT.
Some truth was there in the report that had reached Rob Wilde, of theKing being chased out of London. Though not literally chased, after hisdisplay in the House of Commons, ludicrous as unconstitutional, he foundthe metropolis too hot for him. Moreover, there was a whisper aboutimpeaching the Queen; and this arch _intrigante_, notwithstanding herhigh notions of Royal right, was now in a fit of Royal trembles.Strafford had lost his head, Laud was in prison, likely to lose his; howknew she but that those bloodthirsty islanders might bring her own underthe axe? They had done as much for a Queen more beautiful than she.Mobs daily paraded the streets, passing the Palace; the cry, "Nobishops!" came in through its windows, and Charles trembled as hethought of his father's significant epigram, "No bishop, no king." Soout of Whitehall they slipped--first to Windsor to pack up; the Queen,in fine, clearing out of the country, by Dover, to Holland.
It was a backstairs "skedaddle" with her; carrying off as much plunderas she could in the scramble--chests of jewels of unknown but fabulousvalue, as that represented as having been found in the isle of MonteCristo. Enough, at all events, to hold Court abroad; maintain regalsurroundings; even raise an army for the reconquest and re-enslavementof the people she had plundered.
It is unpleasant to reflect on such things, far more having to speak ofthem. Sad to think that though England is two centuries and a halfolder since Charles Stuart and Henrietta de Medici did all in theirpower to outrage her people and rob them of their rights, this samepeople is to-day not a wit the wiser. The late Liberal victory, as itis called, may be urged as contradicting this allegation; but againstthat is to be set the behaviour of England's people, as represented bytheir Parliament for the last six years, sanctioning and endorsing deedsthat have brought a blight on the nation's name, and a cloud over itscharacter, it will take centuries to clear off. And against that, too,the spirit which seems likely will pervade in this new LegislativeAssembly, and the action it will take. When the Long Parliamentcommenced its sittings, the patriots composing it never dreamt ofletting crime go unpunished. Instead, their first thoughts and actswere to bring the betrayers of their country to account. "Off with hishead--so much for Strafford!"
"To the Tower with Laud and the twelve recalcitrant bishops!"
"Clear out the Star Chamber and High Commission Court!" "Abolishmonopolies, Loans of Privy Seal, Ship-tax, Coal and Conduit money, withthe other iniquitous imposts!" And, _presto_! all this was done as bythe wand of a magician, though it was the good genius then guiding thedestinies of England. Off went Strafford's head; to the Tower was takenLaud; and the infamous royal edicts of a decade preceding were sweptfrom the statute-book, as by a wet sponge passed over the score of atapster's slate.
What do we see now? What hear? A new Parliament entering on powerunder circumstances so like those that ushered in the "Long" as to seemalmost the same. And a Ministry gone out who have outraged the nationas much as did the Straffords, Digbys, and Lauds. But how different theaction taken towards them! No Bill of Attainder talked of, no word ofimpeachment, not even a whisper about voting want of confidence.Instead of being sent to a prison, as the culprits of 1640, they of 1880walk out of office and away, with a free, jaunty step and air of boldeffrontery, blazoned with decorations and brand new titles bestowed onthem--a very shower, as the sparks from a Catherine wheel!
Verily was the lot of Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, laid inunlucky times. Had he lived in these days, so far from losing his head,it would have been surmounted by a ducal coronet. And Laud, already atthe top of the ecclesiastical tree, with no possibility of hoisting himto higher earthly honours, would have had heavenly ones bestowed on himby being enrolled among the saints.
Though merely writing a romance, who will say that in this matter I amromancing? The man that does must be what Sir Richard Walwyn pronouncedhim who is not a Republican; and back to Sir Richard's _dictum_ I referhim.
Soon as Charles had got his Queen safe out of harm's way, he betookhimself to York, there to enter upon more energetic action. For therehe felt safer himself, surrounded by a host of hot partisans. Inpolitical sentiment, what a curious reversion has taken place since thenbetween the capitals of the North and South--almost an exchange! ThenYork was all Royalist, and as a consequence filled with the foes ofLiberty; London full of its friends. Now the former has mounted to thevery hill-top of Liberal aspiration; the latter sunk into the slough ofa shameful retrogression!
But the thing is easily explained. Those who dwell in the kingdom'scapital are nearer to the source of contamination. There Bung andBeadledom, with their vested rights, hold sway; there the scribblers whowear plush find encouragement and promotion; while the corruptinginfluence of modern finance has nursed into life and strength a swarm ofgamblers in stocks, promoters of bubble companies, tricksters in trade,and music-hall cads--a sorry replacement of the honest mercers andtrusty apprentices of the Parliamentary times.
Once separated from his Parliament, the King had an instinct that allfriendly intercourse between it and himself would soon be at an end;this nursed into conviction by the Hertfords, Digbys, and other like"chicks" who formed his _entourage_. Active became he now in adoptingprecautions, and taking measures to sustain himself in the struggle thatwas imminent. And now more industrious than ever in the way of moneyraising; anew granting monopolies, and sending letters of Privy Seal allover the land, wherever there seemed a chance of enforcing theirdemands--for demands were they, as we have seen. To Sir John Wintourhad been entrusted some scores of these precious epistles, withauthority to deliver them, collect the proceeds, and send them on toreplenish the royal exchequer; and it was one such Reginald Trevor sawtorn into scraps on the porch of Hollymead House.
This same Sir John was what Scotchmen would call a "canny chiel."Courtier, and private secretary to the Queen, he had come in for agoodly share of pilferings from the public purse; among other jobshaving been endowed with the stewardship of the Forest of Dean, with allits privileges and perquisites. Appointed one of the Commissioners ofArray for West Gloucestershire, he had built him a large mansion in theneighbourhood of Lydney--the White House as called--though it is notthere now, he with his own hand having afterwards set the torch to it.But then, on the clearing out of the Court from London, Sir John hadcleared out too, going to his country residence by Severn's side, whichhe at once set about placing in a state of defence. None more clearlythan he foresaw the coming storm.
It seemed to him near now when Reginald Trevor returned to the WhiteHouse and reported his reception at Hollymead, with the defiant messageto himself and his King. But Sir John was not a man of hot passions orhasty resolves. Long experience as a courtier had taught him to subduehis temper, or, at all events, the exhibition of it. So, instead ofbursting forth into a furious display, he quietly observed,--
"Don't trouble yourself, Captain Trevor, about what Ambrose Powell hassaid or done. It won't help his case any. But," he added reflectingly,"there seems no particular call for haste in this business. Besides,I'm expecting an addition to the strength of our little garrison.To-morrow, or it may be the day after, we shall have with us a man, if Imistake not, known to you."
"Who, Sir John?"
"Colonel Thomas Lunsford."
"Oh! certainly; I know Lunsford well. He was my superior officer in thenorthern expedition."
"Ah! yes; now I remember. Well; I have word of his being _en route_hither with some stanch followers. When he has reported himself,allowing a day or two for rest, we'll beat up the quarters of thisrecusant, and make him repent his seditious speech. As for the money,he shall pay that, every pound, or I'll squeeze it out of him, ifthere's stock on the Hollymead estate, or chattels in his house worth somuch."
There was something in the "recusant's" house Reginald Trevor thoughtworth far more--one of the recusant's daughters. Of that, however, hemade no mention. To speak of it lay not in the line of his dutie
s; andeven thinking of it was now not near so sweet as it had been hitherto.Little as he liked Colonel Lunsford, he would that night have been gladof him for a boon companion--in the bowl to help drown the bitterremembrance of his adventures of the preceding day.