CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.
IN CAROUSAL.
"We'll drink--drink, And our goblets clink, Quaffing the blood-red wine; The wenches we'll toast, And the Roundheads we'll roast, The Croppies, and all their kind."
"A capital song! And right well you've sung it, Sir Thomas._Herrlich_!"
"Your Highness compliments me."
"_Nein--nein_. But who composed the ditty? It's new to me."
"Sir John Dertham. He who wrote the verses about Waller, and theirdefeat at Roundway Down--
"`Great William the Con- So fast did he run, That he left half his name behind him.'
"Your Highness may remember them?"
"Ha-ha-ha! That do I; and Sir John himself. A true Cavalier, and nobetter company over the cup. But come, gentlemen! Let us act up to thespirit of the song. Fill goblets, and toast the wenches!"
"The wenches! The wenches!" came in responsive echo from all sides ofthe table, as the wine went to their lips.
No sentiment could have been more congenial to those who had beenlistening to Colonel Lunford's song. For it was this man of infamousmemory who had been addressed as "Sir Thomas." He had late receivedknighthood from his King; such being the sort Kings delight to honour,now as then. And among the _convives_ was a King's son, the embryo"Merry Monarch," taking lessons in that reprobacy he afterwardspractised to the bestrumpetting England from lordly palace to lowly cot.
It was not he, however, who had complimented Lunsford on his vocalabilities; the "Highness" being his cousin, Prince Rupert, in whosequarters they were carousing; the place Bristol; the time some weekssubsequent to the taking of Monmouth by Massey. But the occasion whichhad called them together was to celebrate a success on the oppositeside; its re-capture by the Royalists, for Monmouth had been retaken. Asad mischance for the Parliamentarians; through no fault of Kyrle, who,on active duty, was away from it, but the _lache_ of one MajorThrogmorton, left in temporary charge.
Riotous with delight were they assembled within Rupert's quarters. Theyhad that day received the welcome intelligence, and were in spirit forunrestrained rejoicing. Ever since Marston Moor the King's cause hadbeen suffering reverses; once more the tide seemed turning in itsfavour.
But nothing of war occupied their thoughts now; the victory on the Wyehad been talked over, the victors toasted, and the subject dismissed forone always uppermost at a Cavalier carousal.
Several songs had been already sung, but that of Lunsford--so indecent,that only the chorus can be here given--tickled the fancies of all, andan _encore_ was demanded. A demand with which the festive Lunsfordreadily complied, and the ribald refrain once more received uproariousplaudits.
"Now, gentlemen!" said the host, on silence being restored, "fill again!We've but toasted the wenches in a general way. I'm going to proposeone in particular, whom you'll all be eager to honour. A fascinatingdamsel, who, if I'm not mistaken, Cousin Charles, has put a spell uponyour young heart."
"Ha-ha!" smirked the precocious reprobate, in a semi-protesting way."You _are_ mistaken, coz. None of womankind can do that."
"Ah! if your Royal Highness has escaped her witcheries, you're one ofthe rare exceptions. _Mein Gott_! she has turned the heads of more thanhalf my young officers, and commands them as much as I do myself. Well,she's worthy of obedience, if beauty has the right to rule, and weCavaliers cannot deny it that. So let us drink to her!"
By this all had replenished their cups, and were waiting to hear thename of her whose charms were so extolled by their princely host. Agood many could guess; and more than one listened to what he had beensaying with a feeling of unpleasantness. For he but spoke the truthabout the fascinations of a certain lady, and more than one present hadfelt their spell to the surrender of hearts. Not from this came theirpain, however, but from whisperings that Rupert himself had set covetouseyes on the lady in question, and well knew they what that meant--athing fatal to their own aspirations. Where the sun deigns to shine thesatellite stars have to suffer eclipse.
And just as these jealous subordinates anticipated, the damsel about tobe toasted was Mademoiselle Lalande.
"Clarisse Lalande?" at length called out the Prince, adding--"To thebottom of your cups, gentlemen!"
And to the bottom of their cups drank they, honouring the toast with acheer, in which might be detected some tone of irony.
The usual brief interval of silence, as lull in the midst of storm, wassucceeded by a buzz of conversation, not about any common or generalsubject, but carried on by separate groups, and in dialogue betweenindividuals.
Into this last had entered two gentlemen, who sate near the head of thetable; one in civilian garb, the other wearing the uniform of a cavalryofficer. Both were men of middle age, the officer somewhat the older;while a certain gravity of aspect distinguished him from the gayroysterers around. But for the insignia on his dress, he would havelooked more like Parliamentarian than Royalist.
The demeanour of the civilian was also of the sober kind, and marked byan air of distinction which proclaimed him a somebody of superior rank.
"'Tis no more than the truth," he said, turning to the officer, afterthe toast had been disposed of. "The Creole _is_ a fascinatingcreature. Don't you think so, Major Grenville?"
"I do, my Lord. Her fascination is admitted by all. But, perhaps, someof it is due to her rather free manners. With a little more modesty shemight not appear so attractive--certainly would not to most of thepresent company."
"Ah! true. There's something in that."
"A good deal, my Lord; despite the old adage. For modesty is a qualitythat does _not_ adorn Mademoiselle Lalande. A pity, too! The want ofit may ruin her reputation, if it hasn't done that already."
"What a moralist you are, Major! Your ideas have a strong taint ofPuritanism. I hope you're not going to turn your back on us gayCavaliers. Ha-ha-ha!"
The laugh told his Lordship to be in jest. He knew Major Grenville tobe a devoted adherent of the King, else he would not have bantered him.
"But," he continued, reverting to the topic with which they started,"morals apart, I've never seen a thing to give one such an idea ofwoman's power as she does--in that curious Indian dance. 'Tis awonderful picture, or rather embodiment, of feminine voluptuousness."
"All that I admit," returned the Major. "But for true womanly grace--ay, _abandon_, but of a very different kind--you should see a cousin shehas, a real English girl, or, to speak more correctly, Welsh."
"All the same. But who is the cousin so highly endowed?"
"A Miss Powell, the daughter of a wealthy gentleman, who, I'm sorry tosay, is not on our side; instead, one of our bitterest enemies."
"Might you mean Master Ambrose Powell, of Hollymead House, up in theForest of Dean?"
"The same. Your Lordship seems to know him?"
"Certainly I do, or did; for it's several years since I've seen him.But he had two daughters then, Sabrina and Vaga. One is not likely toforget the names. Are not both still living?"
"Oh yes."
"The elder, Sabrina, was nearly grown up when I saw them last, the otherbut a slip; but both promised to be great beauties."
"If your Lordship saw them now, you'd say the promise has been kept.They are that, beyond cavil or question."
"But from what you've said, I take it you regard one of them as superiorto the other. Which, may I ask? At a guess I'd say Sabrina. As a girlI liked her looks best; came near liking them too well. Ha-ha! Have Iguessed correctly?"
"The reverse, my Lord; that is, according to my ideas of beauty."
"Then you award the palm to Vaga?"
"Decidedly."
"Well, Major, I won't question your judgment, as I can't till I've seenthe sisters again. No doubt they will be much changed since I had thepleasure of last meeting them. But they should now be of an age to getmarried; Sabrina certainly. Is there no talk of that?"
"There is, my Lord."
"Regarding which?"
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"Regarding both."
"Ah! And who the respective favourites?"
"Say respective _finances_, your Lordship. They're engaged. So reporthas it."
"And who are to be the Benedicts? Who is Mistress Sabrina to makehappy?"
"Sir Richard Walwyn, 'tis said."
"Dick Walwyn, indeed! An old classmate of mine at Oxford. Well, shemight do worse. And the little yellow-haired sprout? She was a brightblonde, I remember, with wonderful tresses, like a Danae's shower.Who's to be the possessor of all that auriferous wealth?"
"One of the Trevors."
"There's one of them on the Prince's staff, I understand. Is it he?"
"No; a cousin--son of Sir William of Abergavenny."
"What! the young stripling who used to be at Court--one of the gentlemenushers?"
"The same, my Lord."
"Quite an Adonis he; so the Queen thought, 'twas said. Mistress Vagamust have all the fascinations you credit her with to have made conquestof him. But he's not with the King now?"
"No; nor on the King's side neither. He turned coat, and took serviceunder the Parliament, in Walwyn's troop of Horse. 'Tis supposed theDanae's shower your lordship speaks of had a good deal to do with hisconversion."
"Very likely that. Cupid's a powerful proselytiser. Well, I shouldlike to see the Powell girls again; their father too, for oldfriendship's sake. By the way, where are they?"
"I am not well informed about their present whereabouts. Some twelvemonths ago they were here in Bristol, staying at Montserrat House withMadame, his sister. When we took the place, Master Ambrose thought itwise to move away from it, for reasons easily understood. He went henceto Gloucester, where, I believe, he has been residing ever since--uptill within the last few days. Likely they're at Hollymead just now; atleast I heard of Powell having returned thither, thinking he would besafe with Monmouth in Massey's hands. Since it isn't any longer, he maymove back to Gloucester; and the sooner the better, I should say. Hehas sadly compromised himself by acting on one of the Parliament'sCommittees; and some of ours will show him but slight consideration."
"Indeed, I should be sorry if any serious misfortune befell him, or his.An odd sort of man with mistaken views politically; still a man ofsterling good qualities. I hope, Major, he may not be among the manyvictims this unnatural war is claiming all over the land."
"I echo that hope, my Lord."
And with these humane sentiments their dialogue came to a close, so faras that subject was concerned.
Two men had been listening to it with eager ears--Prince Rupert andColonel Lunsford, who sate by his side. Amidst the clinking of goblets,and the jarring din of many voices, they could not hear it all; stillenough to make out its general purport.
They seemed especially interested when the Major spoke of the Powellshaving returned to Hollymead. It was news to them; glad news for acertain reason. Often since that morning after the surrender of Bristolhad the princely voluptuary given thought to the "bit of saucysweetness, with cheeks all roses," he had seen passing out of its gatesfor Gloucester. Just as at first sight her sister had caught the fancyof the brutal Lunsford, so had she caught his; and the impression stillremained, despite a succession of _amours_ and love escapades, with highand low, since.
In more than one of his marauds through the Forest of Dean, Lunsfordalong with him, he had paid visit to Hollymead House; only to find ituntenanted, save by caretakers--the family still in the city ofGloucester. Many the curse hurled he, and his infamous underling, atthat same city of Gloucester; where the Cavalier who had not cursed it?
Overjoyed, then, were the two by what had just reached their ears, thePrince interrogating in undertone,--
"You hear that, Lunsford?"
"I do, your Highness."
"_Gott sei dank_! Just what we've been wishing and waiting for. We maynow visit Hollymead, with fair hope of the sweet _frauleins_ being thereto receive us. Then, _mein_ Colonel, then--_nous verrons_!"
After delivering himself in this polyglot fashion, he caught hold of hisgoblet, and clinking it against that of Lunsford, said in a confidentialwhisper,--
"We drink to our success, Sir Thomas?"
There had been a third listener to the dialogue between Major Grenvilleand the nobleman, who also overheard the words spoken by Rupert to thenew-made knight. But, instead of gladdening, the first gave him pain;which the last intensified to very bitterness. His name made known, thereason will be divined. For it was Reginald Trevor.