Boscobel: or, the royal oak

But the imperturbable Will Jones deliberately filled a horn cup with ale, emptied it, and then marched off, leaving the butler and the other servants perfectly astounded at his coolness.

CHAPTER V.

HOW THEY SET OUT ON THE JOURNEY

About half an hour afterwards, Charles, fully equipped for the journey, rode round from the stables to the front of the house. He was mounted on the horse about which there had been so much discussion, and had a pillion behind him, and a musket at the saddle-bow. He was accompanied by Lutwyche, who was likewise mounted on a "double horse," intended for Mr. Petre and his wife.

It may be incidentally remarked that this sociable and agreeable mode of travelling was customary at the time, and continued to be common enough in certain parts of the country up to the close of the last century, and even later.

Having arrived in the middle of the night, Charles had scarcely seen the old mansion, but while waiting with Lutwyche for the coming forth of the party, he had an opportunity of examining it, and was much struck with its aspect. Ordinarily, it must be owned the house had a somewhat gloomy look, but it was seen to peculiar advantage on that bright and cheerful September morning, and Charles thought he could have passed a few days there very pleasantly, if his enemies would have allowed him.

He was still surveying the house, noting its picturesque outline of gables, when the front door was thrown open by March, the butler, and several persons issued forth. Foremost among them was Mr. Petre, a stout, hearty country gentleman, with nothing very remarkable about him. Mr. Petre was of a good Buckinghamshire family, and was married, as we have already intimated, to Jane Lane's elder sister. He was closely followed by his wife, who possessed considerable personal attractions, and behind Mrs. Petre came Jane Lane and her mother. Mrs. Lane was a sister of Sir Hervey Bagot, of Blithfield, and a very fine old gentlewoman.

The horses were now led to the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Petre having mounted, the king's turn came. He was not very successful in his first essay, and got sharply reprimanded for his awkwardness by Mrs. Lane. Totally unacquainted with the real rank of the supposed groom, the old lady had regarded him curiously, and was quite puzzled by his appearance and manner. She felt sure he did not understand his work, and wondered that Colonel Lane should engage such a man. But when Will Jones in assisting his young mistress to mount her horse, despite all hints given him, offered her the wrong hand, the old lady could no longer contain herself, but called out:

"Why, how now, thou clumsy fellow! Art thou such a block-head as not to know thy right hand from the left? Thou art not fit for thy place."

"Chide him not, dear mother," said Jane. "He has had but little experience."

"So it would appear," replied the old lady, dryly.

"Excuse me, madam, I hope to do better in time," said Charles, modestly. "I shall use my best endeavours to please my young mistress."

And as he spoke he sprang into the saddle with a grace and quickness that surprised the old lady.

"By my troth, now that he has taken his seat on horseback, the fellow looks like a Cavalier," remarked Mr. Petre to his wife.

"Yes; he may not understand the duties of a groom – but he sits a horse well – that's certain," replied Mrs. Petre.

At this juncture, a large party appeared at the other end of the terrace. Colonel Lane came from the stables accompanied by Lord Wilmot and Careless, and followed by Randal, the head falconer, bearing on his wrist a hawk in her hood and bewits. With Randal were two other falconers, one of whom was furnished with a hoop on which two or three hawks were perched, while the other had a hawking-pole and a couple of spaniels in leash.

Of course, Colonel Lane and his friends were on horseback, and the whole party, viewed in connexion with the old mansion, formed a cheerful picture, which the king contemplated with undisguised pleasure.

"Methinks Will Jones would prefer joining that hawking-party to riding on with me," remarked Jane, in a low voice.

Charles sighed, but made no other response.

At this moment Colonel Lane rode up to Mr. Petre, and said:

"Pray don't wait for us. We shall come on slowly, for we may chance on a heron in the park, and we are certain to find plenty of partridges in the corn-fields. We shall always be in your rear as a guard, and if we don't overtake you before, we shall find you at Packington Hall, where you will halt for a couple of hours."

Colonel Lane then rode up to Charles, and said, in a significant tone:

"Should anything happen on the road, Will, turn back and thou wilt find us."

Charles promised obedience, and doffing his cap to Mrs. Lane, who was exchanging adieux with Mr. Petre and his wife, rode on. Colonel Lane and his party did not follow them for some minutes, and by that time those in advance had nearly reached the gates of the park.

On gaining the high road to Darlaston and Wednesbury, the horsemen proceeded side by side, in order that the ladies might converse together, and Jane did not seem to feel the king's presence as a restraint, for she chatted very pleasantly with her sister. Charles, of course, took no part in the conversation, and never spoke unless addressed, but he was amused by what he heard. Mrs. Petre talked about the events at Worcester, and wished to have a particular description of the king from her sister.

"I have already described him to you," said Jane.

"Yes, you told me he did not realise the notions you had formed of him; that his manner was somewhat light and reckless; and that he wanted the gravity and dignity of his father."

"You must have misunderstood me," observed Jane, uneasily. "I said he had many royal and noble qualities."

"But you added that he rarely displayed them."

"If I said so, I did him an injustice. I never think of his majesty – never speak of him, save with enthusiasm."

"Colonel Lane is equally enthusiastic," remarked Mr. Petre. "In his eyes the king has not a fault."

"He is a brave and chivalrous monarch," cried Jane, "and deserves far greater success than he has obtained."

"I am sure I should know the king were I to see him," observed Mr. Petre. "Colonel Lane has often described him to me as tall and well-made, but harsh-featured, and dark as a gipsy."

"Why that description would exactly apply to Will Jones," said Mrs. Petre.

"So it would," remarked her husband, laughing heartily.

Having passed through Wednesbury, they were now on the road to Birmingham, but not desiring to enter the latter town, they soon struck off into a by-road, which led them through a very beautiful country, where one large park succeeded another, and the only houses that came in sight were large and important. Most of the persons who resided in these old mansions were friends of the Lanes, but Jane and her sister called upon none of them, but pursued their journey for nearly three hours without halt of any kind.

Hitherto they had encountered no obstacle of any kind, and Charles, though he ran the greatest risk, enjoyed the ride far more than any one else in the party. Without addressing him, Jane contrived to give him such information as she thought would be interesting, and whenever they skirted a large park, or came in sight of an ancient mansion, she mentioned the name of the owner.

Mrs. Petre was lively and chatty, but her husband was full of secret anxiety, being apprehensive, as we have said, of an encounter with Roundhead troopers. This anxiety was entirely on his own account, for he had no suspicion of the important charge committed to him. Had he been consulted, we fear he would have shrunk from such a heavy responsibility.

CHAPTER VI.

WHAT PASSED BETWEEN WILL JONES AND THE BLACKSMITH

They were now in the fair county of Warwick, and only a few miles from Packington Hall, the seat of Sir Clement Fisher. Crowning an eminence, said to be as high as any ground in England, this fine old mansion commanded a magnificent prospect over a most lovely country. From its elevated position, the stately pile could be descried afar, and on learning to whom it belonged, Charles regarded the house with great interest, and was well pleased by reflection that Jane might one day become its mistress. The mansion was embosomed in a grove haunted by rooks, and the park contained much noble timber.

Suddenly Mr. Petre called out to the supposed groom:

"Why, Will, thy horse has cast a shoe. Luckily, we are near a village, where thou wilt be sure to find a blacksmith."

Presently they came to a pretty little inn, very pleasantly situated on the outskirts of the village, and having a large tree in front of it, encircled by a bench. Here the party alighted, and Mr. Petre ordered a pottle of sack, while Charles took his horse to the smithy, which was at no great distance from the inn. Bryan Compton, the smith, was a big, burly fellow, with a broad honest face begrimed by smoke. His brawny arms were bared to the shoulder, and a leather apron was tied round his waist. Pleased by his physiognomy, Charles took it into his head that the man must be a Royalist, but in this he was mistaken. The blacksmith proved to be a sturdy, outspoken Republican.

Not happening to be busy at the time, Bryan set to work at once, and having selected an iron plate, was heating it in his forge, when Charles asked him, "What news?"

"Nay, I ought to ask you that question," rejoined Bryan. "We hear but little in this retired village, and I reckon it would be no news to you to learn that that harebrained Charles Stuart has been routed at Worcester. He deserved to be beaten if only for bringing the Scots to England."

"You are right," said Charles, "and I think he must have found out his mistake. It seems the Scots wouldn't stand by him."

"Stand by him! not they! They soon ran away from Old Noll. I hope they're all driven out of the country."

"But I've heard say there were many English nobles and gentlemen with Charles Stuart," remarked the king. "Have any of them been taken?"

"Not that I know of," replied the smith. "There's one person I should like to capture," he added, working away vigorously at the bellows.