CHAPTER VIII.
BESSIE'S DISTRESS.
Maud did not wait to hear anything more that the messenger had to tell;whether the Royalists had gained the victory or had to mourn defeat shedid not know, and hardly cared. This one fact was enough for her; Harrywas wounded--wounded and ill--perhaps dying among strangers. It might behe was prisoner even, and then an ignominious traitor's death awaitedhim. All the darkest possibilities of his fate rushed to her mind as shewalked down the lane to the cottage.
Here her grief was shared by Dame Coppins, who hardly knew what to sayto comfort her under such a trial, and could only point her to Him who,having "borne our griefs and carried our sorrows," can sympathise andcomfort under the sorest trials.
On reaching the Grange, Maud found that the news had travelled thitherbefore her--news of humiliation, that had put Captain Stanhope quite outof temper.
"By my faith, I cannot believe it!" he was saying, as Maud entered thekeeping-room. "Prince Rupert defeated by that son of a brewer and hishandful of sorry prentice lads? Master Drury, what think you is likelyto happen, forsooth?"
"This varlet messenger, may be, is mistelling the news," said MasterDrury, hoping it might be so, for he had thought the rebel troops wellnigh crushed out.
Maud wondered whether he had heard the news concerning Harry, and lookedacross at Mistress Mabel, but that stern, impassive face told nothing,and Mary's, in its proud resolve, no more; and she dared not utter theforbidden name before so many, and so went in search of the children, toascertain from them what news had come.
She saw in a moment that they had heard both items, for Bessie wassitting in a corner of the garden crying bitterly, while Bertram wasmarching up and down, telling her what he would do to rescue Harry whenhe was a man.
BESSIE'S GRIEF FOR HARRY.]
She sat down beside the little girl and tried to comfort her, but Bessiewould not be comforted. "It's very kind of you, Maud," she sobbed, "butyou are not Harry's sister--not a Drury, like Mary and I. If Mary wouldonly be a little sorry for him, I shouldn't cry so much, but now he'sonly got me and Bertram to be sorry."
"Oh, Bessie, think you not that I am sorry, too?" said Maud.
"Yes, you are sorry, Maud, I know," said the little girl, hardly knowinghow to express herself; "but you know you are not his sister, and so hewon't expect you to cry for him."
"Marry, will he not," said Maud, scarce able to keep from laughing. "Andwill he expect you to cry for him a great deal?" asked Maud, as thetears broke out afresh.
"Mary won't," sobbed Bessie; and she seemed bent upon doing her sister'sshare for her.
Maud could not help shedding a few tears in company, and Bessie threwher arms round her neck and kissed her for them. At length Maud said,"If Harry does not expect me to cry for him, there is something else hewill expect me to do, and that is to comfort his little sister;" and shetook the little girl in her arms, and laid the hot tear-stained cheekagainst hers, and whispered gentle loving words, that soothed thetroubled heart. It was just what Harry would have done--just what hewould have her do, she knew, and she did it as though he were near andwatching her.
For the next few days Captain Stanhope was in a restless state ofimpatience to ascertain whether the news brought to the village wascorrect, but they were not the days of newspapers, and an army might bewithin a few miles of Hayslope itself, and the inhabitants none thewiser; so it was not strange that he could hear nothing of the movementsof an army away in Yorkshire.
But all suspense was at an end in a day or two. A messenger arrivedbearing despatches for Captain Stanhope, and in them mention was made ofthe disastrous battle of Marston Moor. These despatches were commandsfor the Captain to collect all the men he had been able to get in hisrecruiting tour, and join the main body of the army in the west ofEngland.
So Mary's marriage, which was to have taken place in a few weeks, had tobe postponed until the autumn, or rather winter, for there could be nocertainty of his returning to Hayslope until then. There was always atruce of a few months during winter. Wars could not be carried onregardless of weather, as they are now, and thus it was that they oftenlasted years.
After the departure of the Captain, life seemed to pass more slowly andmonotonously than ever at Hayslope Grange. Out of the direct main road,strangers rarely came that way, and so little was known of how eventswere tending in the mortal strife going on so near them.
The trial of Archbishop Laud was still being carried on by the LondonParliament; Oxford was supporting the King in the combat with hissubjects, the north having yielded to Fairfax, the Parliamentarygeneral. This was all the news that came to Hayslope through all theremaining days of July and the sultry weeks of August. No word came fromHarry Drury, not a syllable that Maud was hungering to hear with ahunger that paled her cheek and was wasting her strength.
The harvest--what there was--had to be gathered in by women for the mostpart; and when Maud looked at these going out to their unwonted toil, ababy in one hand and a reaping-hook in the other, and thought of theburden of sorrow they had to carry as well, she reproached herself forweakly yielding to her grief; and yet it was hard to combat sometimes.
She had been compelled to rebel against Mistress Mabel's command to sitmore closely to her spinning and sewing. Not that she disliked preparingMary's house linen, but because she could not endure the scrutiny ofthose hard cold eyes, and to get away from them she did as Harry haddone many a time before--mounted Cavalier, and cantered away miles overthe fields, and then back to the village, to visit her friends there.
The months of September and October passed slowly enough, but about themiddle of November Roger and a few of the other men came back to thevillage for the winter. It could not be said that they were not welcome,and yet provisions were now so dear, owing to the scanty harvest andheavy taxes, that every extra mouth to fill was felt as a heavy burdenby their distressed families; and then, being winter time, there wasscarcely any work they could do in the fields and gardens.
Maud had hoped that she should hear something of Harry when the men cameback, and how much her returning health and strength had depended uponthis she did not know until the hope was taken away and the faintsickening languor again stole over her frame. It might have grown uponher more than it did, but the wants of the poor people in the village,and the demands of Mistress Mabel, that she should assist in thepreparations for Mary's wedding, left her very little time to spend insitting alone and thinking of Harry.
Mary was to be married at Christmas, and go with Captain Stanhope toOxford. The two seemed mutually pleased with each other, and quitesatisfied with their bargain, but Maud could not tell whether they lovedeach other. She hoped they did, but Mary never gave her an opportunityof speaking upon this subject, and indeed the preparations for thecoming event seemed to occupy her mind so fully that she had no thoughtfor anything else.
This wedding afforded the villagers the most satisfaction, perhaps, forMaster Drury was to give them an ox to be roasted on the green, and theprospect of a good dinner was very pleasant to them under the presentcircumstances. Captain Stanhope gave them a barrel of ale in which todrink his bride's health, but Mary seemed to think no one wantedanything but herself.
She packed up all the books and little trifles lying about that hadbelonged to Harry, and when Maud ventured to remonstrate with her aboutthis, saying that Bertram would want them by-and-by if Harry did notreturn, she retorted, "Harry Drury never will return to this house,Maud, and Bertram will be expelled too if you continue to encourage himin thinking Harry right in what he has done."
Maud looked surprised. "What can you mean?" she exclaimed.
"Marry, nothing but what is true. You are teaching Bertram to thinkHarry right in rebelling against the King, and his father, too,"retorted Mary.
"I do not think Harry is wrong in following the guidance of hisconscience," said Maud, slowly; "but I have not sought to teach Bertramthat Harry's way is right for him. I have only told him to keep the fearof G
od before his eyes, and follow the teaching of His Holy Spirit, as Ibelieve Harry has done."
"And so you think it is this that has made Harry a traitor," said Mary,with rising anger.
"I don't think Harry is a traitor," said Maud, calmly. "It is the Kingwho has----"
"By my troth I will not listen to such dreadful words," interruptedMary, and she went out of the room; but she evidently did not alter heropinion, for she confiscated to her own use every article that hadformerly belonged to her brother.
After the wedding festivities were over, and Mistress Mary Stanhope haddeparted with her husband to Oxford, the house seemed more dull thanever, and Mistress Mabel more severe and exacting.
About the middle of January came news that thrilled every one withhorror, and put Master Drury into a fever of mingled anger and sorrow. Aman had stopped at the blacksmith's shed on his way from London, andbrought the news that Archbishop Laud had been beheaded on Tower Hillthe day before he left.
Mistress Mabel was speechless with indignation for a few minutes, andher first act was to take the bright cherry-coloured bow off Bessie'shair.
The little girl looked up in surprise, and saw her aunt taking theruffles from her own neck and wrists. "This is not the time for suchbravery as this," said the lady, looking angrily at the ribbons andruffles. Bessie wondered what they had to do with it, while MistressMabel stood upright, watching her brother as he walked up and down theroom, murmuring, "They have slain the Archbishop--murdered the Lord'sanointed."
"For which all good Christians ought to fast and mourn," put in MistressMabel; "and I hope, brother, that you will see to it that your householdis not lacking in this matter," she added.
"Nay, nay, I leave all such to you," said Master Drury; "order whateveris seemly at this time. I know not what has come to this evil-mindedgeneration," he added.
"An evil generation they are, as you say," quoth Mistress Mabel. "Wherewill their iniquity end? They will put forth their hand against the Kingnext, I trow."
Bertram and Bessie shivered at the bare idea of such a thing, and Maud,who felt she must say something in defence of the Parliament, said,"Nay, nay, Mistress Mabel, they will not put forth their hand againstthe King's majesty."
"But they will, I trow, if they have the power," said the lady. "Andthat God may rescue this nation from their hands, it behoves us toappear before Him in decent raiment of mourning at this time."
"Are we all to go into mourning?" asked Bessie, in some surprise.
"Would you be wearing ribbons and ruffles, and such light vanities atthis time?" angrily demanded the lady.
Bessie looked down, feeling very much ashamed of herself, but hardlyknowing how she had offended, until Bertram asked, "Will everybody wearmourning for the Archbishop, aunt?"
"Every honest Christian soul will nathless wish to do so," repliedMistress Mabel, with a severe look at Bessie.
The little girl felt the reproof, and when she went upstairs she putaway all her bright ribbons and the gay dresses that had been worn ather sister's wedding. "I don't mind wearing the black hood and wimple,Maud," she said; "but then I thought people wore mourning because theyfelt sorry, and I can't feel so sorry about the Archbishop as I didabout Harry going away."
"Of course not, dear, because----"
"But aunt seems to think we ought," interrupted the little girl; "andfather never looked so sorry about Harry as he did to-day about theArchbishop."
"Your father may not let us see how sorry he is about Harry," said Maud,"but I am sure he is often thinking of him."
Maud spoke of this as though she were sure it was so, as in truth shewas. She had noticed a great alteration in her guardian lately. His hairwas rapidly changing from brown to silver white, his tall erect form wasbowed as with the weight of an added twenty years; and she thought witha keen pang that if Harry did not soon come he would never see hisfather again. And then arose the question, where was Harry?--for no newshad come but that one voice from the battle-field, telling them he wassick and wounded.