CHAPTER FORTY SIX.
AWAITING WAR NEWS.
"What a life we've been leading, Sab! Shut up in cities as birds in acage! Now nearly two years of it, with scarce ever a peep at the dear,delightful country. Oh! it's a wretched existence."
"It's not the pleasantest, I admit."
"And in this prosaic city, Gloucester."
"Ah, Vag, don't speak against Gloucester. Think what her citizens havesuffered in the good cause. And how well they have borne themselves!But for their bravery and fidelity, where might we be now? Possibly inBristol. How would you like that?"
"Not at all," returned Vag, with a shrug and grimace, the name ofBristol recalling souvenirs aught but agreeable to her.
"Well," resumed Sabrina, "life there is not prosaic, anyhow--if there bepoetry in scandal. Very much the reverse, I should say, supposing halfof what's reported be true. But I wonder how our foolish aunt, andequally foolish cousin, are comporting themselves under the changedcircumstances?"
"Oh! they're happy enough, no doubt; everything just as they wished it.Plenty of titled personages flitting and figuring around--at least threeprinces of the blood royal, with an occasional chance of their seeingthe King himself. Won't Madame open wide the doors of Montserrat House.As for Clarisse, I shouldn't be surprised at her making a grandmarriage of it, becoming baroness duchess, or something of that sort.Well, I won't envy her."
Vaga Powell could afford to speak thus of her Creole cousin, with lightheart now, all envy and jealousy having long since gone out of it.
"Let us hope nothing worse," rejoined the elder sister, with a doubtinglook, as though some painful thought were in her mind. "Clarisse isvery, very imprudent, to say the least of it."
"And very wicked, to say nothing more than the most of it. But whatneed we care, Sab, since we neither of us ever intend going near theLalandes again? After the way they behaved to us, well--"
"Well, let us cease speaking of them, and turn to some pleasantersubject."
"Ay, if that were possible. Alas! there's none very pleasant now--everyday new anxieties, new fears. I wish this horrid war were at an end,one way or the other, so that we might get back to dear old Hollymead."
"Don't say one way or the other, Vag. If it should end in the Kingbeing conqueror, Hollymead will be no more a home for us. It would evencease to belong to us."
"I almost wish it never had."
"Why that?"
"You should know, Sab. But for my father sending him there after thoseworthless things, he would not now be--"
"Dear Vaga!" interrupted the elder sister entreatingly. "For your lifedo not let father hear you speak in that strain. 'Twould vex him verymuch, and, as you yourself know, he has grieved over it already."
"Ah, true. I won't say a word about it again, in his hearing, anyhow--you may trust me. But it's hard to think of my dear Eustace being in aprison--shut up in a dark dungeon, perhaps hungering, thirsting, and,worse than all, suffering ill-treatment at the hands of some crueljailer."
She was justified in calling him her "dear Eustace" now, and giving himall her sympathies. Since that night of perverse misconceptions atMontserrat House there had been many an interview between them; thethread of their interrupted dialogue by Ruardean Hill had been taken upagain, and spun into a cord which now bound them together by vows ofbetrothal.
Of their engagement Sabrina was aware, and under the like herself, shecould well comprehend her sister's feelings. True, her betrothed wasnot in a prison, but she knew not how soon he might be--or worse, deadon the battlefield. Invincible as she believed him, war had its adversefates, was full of perils, every day, as the other had said, fraughtwith new anxieties and fears. Concealing her own, she essayed to dispelthose of her sister, rejoining,--
"Nonsense, Vag. Nothing so bad. Why should they treat him withcruelty?"
"You forget that they call him renegade. And they on the King's sideare most spiteful against all who turn from them. Think how his owncousin acted towards him; and 'tis said his father disowned him.Besides, other prisoners have been scandalously treated by theCavaliers, some even tortured. And they may torture him."
"No fear of their doing that. Even if disposed they're not likely tohave the opportunity."
"But they have it now."
"Not quite."
"I don't comprehend you, Sab."
"It's very simple. Heartless as many of the Royalists leaders are, andvindictive, they will be restrained by the thought of retaliation. Atthis time our people hold two prisoners to their one. A large number ofthese Monmouth men, with their officers, have been taken at Beachley,and that will insure humane treatment to your Eustace. So make you mindeasy about him."
It became easier as she listened to the cheering words, almost reassuredby others spoken in continuation.
"In any case," pursued Sabrina, "his captors are not likely to have thetime for _torturing_, as you put it. Richard's last letter says he andhis troops were at High Meadow House--the Halls', near Staunton, youknow?"
"That Papist family; great friends of Sir John and Lady Wintour. Iremember their place. Well?"
"He was there in advance, awaiting the Governor to come up, with everyhope of their being able to take Monmouth. If they succeed, and theywill--I feel sure they will, Vag--then Eustace will be a free man, andall of us go back to Hollymead, with not much danger of being againmolested."
"Oh?" exclaimed the younger sister, overjoyed by the prospect thusshadowed forth, "wouldn't that be delightful! Back at the dear oldplace. Once more our walks and rides through the Forest. Our hawking,too. Bless me! my pretty Pers and your Mer, I suppose they won't knowus! I trust Van Dom hasn't neglected them, nor my Hector either."
And so she ran on, in the exuberance of her new-sprung hopes seeminglyforgetting him around whom they all centred. Only for an instantthough. Without Eustace Trevor by her side the Forest walks and rides,with Hollymead and its hawking,--would have less attraction for her now.Wherever he might be, that were the place of her choice, thenceforthand for ever. So soon the thought of his being in a prison, with fearsof something worse, came back in all its bitterness.
And the shadow of returned anxiety was again visible on the brow ofSabrina. A fortified town to be taken there would needs be fighting ofa desperate kind--her lover in the thick of it. A forlorn hope forstorming, who so like as her soldier knight to be the leader of it? Hehad been so at Beachley, and proud was she on hearing of hisachievements there. But at the thought of his now again undergoing suchrisk, with all the uncertainties of war--that he might fall before theramparts of Monmouth, even at that moment be lying lifeless in itstrenches--her heart sank within her.
For a time both were silent. Then Sabrina, with another effort tocast-off the gloomy reflections, which she saw were also affecting hersister, said,--
"Richard promised to write again last night, or early this morning, ifthere should be anything worth writing about. He hasn't written lastnight, or the letter would have been here now. If this morning, I maysoon expect it. His messengers are never slow, and a man on a swifthorse should ride from High Meadow House to Gloucester in two hours, ora little over."
From her belt she drew a quaint, three-cornered watch to ascertain thecorrect time. Correct or not, its hands pointed to 10 a.m. A messengerfrom the High Meadow could have been there before if sent off at anearly hour, and on an errand calling for courier-speed.
Perhaps no reason had arisen for such, and consoling herself with thisreflection, she resumed speech, saying,--
"Anyhow, we may make sure of getting news before noon, some kind orother. The Governor will be sending a despatch to the Committee, andone may have already reached them. We shall know when father returns."
The last remark had reference to the fact of Ambrose Powell being one ofthe Parliamentary Commissioners for the Gloucester district, and justthen in committee.
But the anticipated news reached them without being broug
ht by him. Asthey stood conversing in an embraced window, which, terrace-like,overhung the street, they heard a clattering of hoofs, almost at thesame instant to see a horseman coming on at quick pace. When oppositethe house in which they were, he halted, flung himself out of thesaddle, and disappeared from their sight under the projecting balcony.Long ere this they had recognised Sir Richard's henchman Hubert.
There was a loud rat-tat-tat at the street door, and soon after a gentletapping against that of their room, which both recognised as from theknuckles of Gwenthian, simultaneously exclaiming, "Come in."
In came she with a letter that seemed terribly soiled and crumpled.
"Hubert has brought this, my lady," she said, holding it towardsSabrina, for whom the sharp-witted Welsh maid knew it was meant. "Poorman! he be wet to the skin, and all over mud, and looks as if justdropped out of a duck pond."
The "poor man" was but a mild, evasive form of expressing her sympathy.Had she put it as she felt, it would have been "dear man," for long agohad Gwenthian entered into tender relations with the trumpeter.
Neither of the sisters gave ear to what she was saying, for the elderhad snatched the letter out of her hand, and torn it open on theinstant, while the younger stood by in eager, anxious attitude.
There was contentment in Sabrina's eyes as she glanced at thesuperscription. It became joy on reading the first words writteninside, and she cried out, in tone of enthusiastic triumph,--
"Glorious news, sister! They've taken Monmouth?"
"They have! Heaven be praised!" Sabrina was about to read the letteraloud, when some words caught her eye which admonished first running itover to herself hastily, as the other was all impatience. It ran:--
"My love,--We are inside Monmouth, thanks to little strategy I was able to effect, with the help of an old Low Country comrade, Kyrle, of Walford, whom you may know. For all, we had some sharp fighting by the bridge gate, where Kyrle proved himself worthy of his ancient repute as soldier and swordsman. Had we failed there this letter would not have been written, unless, perhaps, inside a prison. And now on that subject I'm sorry to say E. Trevor is still in one, but, unluckily, not at Monmouth. Taken by Harry Lingen from the Hereford side, they have carried him off that way, likely to Goodrich Castle. What's worse, he has been wounded; whether severely or not, I haven't yet been able to ascertain. Soon as I can learn for certain where he is, and what the nature of his hurt, you shall hear from me, as I know your sister will be in a sad state of anxiety. We've made many prisoners, and now, commanding Monmouth, may hope to gather in a good many more. If we succeed in clearing the Wye's western bank of the wolves so long infesting it you may all safely return to Hollymead."
The letter did not conclude quite so abruptly. There were someexpressions tenderer and of more private nature, which she was scarcepermitted to read, much less dwell upon. For Vaga, all the while gazingin her face with a look of searching interrogation, saw a shadow passover it, and unable longer to bear the suspense, cried out,--
"There's something wrong? Ah! it's Eustace; I know it is!"
"Nothing wrong with him more than we knew of already. He is still aprisoner; but, of course, not at Monmouth, or he'd have been released.They have taken him away from there, as Richard thinks, to GoodrichCastle."
There was that in her manner, with the words and their tone ofutterance, which led to a suspicion of either subterfuge or reticence.And Vaga so suspecting, with another searching look into her eyes,exclaimed,--
"You've not told me all. There's something in that letter you fear tocommunicate. You need not, Sab. I'll try to be brave. Better for meto know the worst. Let _me_ read it."
Thus appealed to the elder sister gave way. The thing she desired toconceal must become known sooner or later. Perhaps as well, if notbetter, at once.
Tearing off that portion of the sheet on which were the words oftenderness concerning only herself, she passed the other into the handsof her sister, saying,--
"All's there that interests you, Vag; and don't let it alarm you.Remember that wounds are always made more of than--"
"Wounded!" came the interrupting cry from Vaga's lips, intoned withagony. "He's wounded--it may be to death! I shall go to Goodrich. Ifhe die, I die with him!"