Boscobel: or, the royal oak

"I won't trust you by halves," said Juliana. "The king is about to embark at midnight for France. Major Careless, with whom I was conversing in the garden, will sail with him."

"Oh! I hope they will soon return!" cried the hostess. "I hope you will soon be wedded to the major! He is worthy of you. I am glad you have told me this, though the information is so astounding, that it has quite upset me. But I shall be right in a few minutes."

Now that this explanation had taken place with the hostess, Juliana felt quite at ease with the good dame, and was very glad to spend the rest of the evening with her in her room.

To Charles the hours seemed to pass very slowly, and he longed for midnight, but he was in extremely good spirits, and all his attendants exerted themselves to amuse him.

Every half-hour – indeed, more frequently – some one went out to ascertain the state of the weather. The night was fine and starlight, and a light breeze from the north-west was just what was desired. Charmouth, as the reader is aware, is about half a mile from the shore, but as an eminence intervenes the sea is not visible from the little town.

These constant reports of the favourable state of the weather helped to keep up the king's spirits. Missing Juliana, and deeming it necessary to maintain his part as her intended husband, he went in search of her and found her in the hostess's room. Dame Swan was with her at the time, and the extreme deference now paid him by the hostess soon showed him that she had been let into the secret.

Feeling, therefore, that further disguise was useless, he addressed her in his own proper character, and quite enchanted her with his affability.

"I was not aware of the great honour intended me, my liege," she said, "or I would have made more fitting preparations for your reception."

"You have done quite enough, my good dame," said Charles. "In strict fulfilment of your promise, you have kept your house free from guests at a busy time, so that I have been perfectly private, and if I had departed without making any disclosure to you, I should have desired others to thank you in my name."

Quite overwhelmed by his majesty's condescension, the hostess could make no reply.

"I must, also, compliment you on your discernment," pursued the king, smiling. "You quickly perceived that I wanted some necessary qualifications for the part I attempted to play, and that I was not exactly the person with whom this charming young gentlewoman would have made a runaway match. A great liberty has been taken with her – excusable, only, under the circumstances – but you will understand that her loyalty alone induced her to consent to the scheme."

"Yes, but I played my part so indifferently, that I do not deserve your majesty's thanks," said Juliana.

"Nay, the fault was mine," rejoined the king. And he added in a low voice, "I ought to have changed parts with Major Careless."

CHAPTER XV.

THE WATCHERS BY THE SEA

By this time, most of the inhabitants of the little town who had been at Lyme fair had returned, and a great number of them flocked to the inn, and made so much disturbance, that the hostess was fain to serve them, but she would not let them into the parlour, and after they had emptied a few pots of cider – that being the liquor for which Charmouth was renowned – they quietly departed.

Half an hour later, every house in the village – except the little inn, was closed – and its inmates had apparently retired to rest, since not a light could be seen in any of the windows.

To avoid any chance of danger to his majesty, it had been arranged that Colonel Wyndham, attended by Harry Peters, should ride to the mouth of the Char about an hour before midnight, and there await the long-boat. On its arrival, Peters was to gallop back and give information to the king, who would be prepared to start on the instant with his companions for the place of rendezvous. The horses would be ready saddled, so that no delay could occur.

Soon after eleven o'clock, the colonel, having received his majesty's last commands, prepared to set out. Reuben Rufford, the ostler, brought out the horses, and both the colonel and Harry Peters noticed that the fellow appeared very inquisitive, and held up his lantern, so as to throw its light on their faces. When they were gone, Reuben observed to his mistress that he thought they could be about no good, but she rebuked him sharply, and he went back to the stable.

Riding singly along the narrow green lane, already described as leading to the sea-shore, Colonel Wyndham and Peters presently arrived at the mouth of the Char.

The place was perfectly solitary. They had encountered no one in the lane, and no one was to be seen on the beach. The only sound that could be heard was that of the waves breaking on the sandy shore. It was within half an hour of high water, and the tide was flowing rapidly.

The night was dark, but clear, and they looked out for the Eider Duck, and fancied they could distinguish her in the offing, about a mile out. A light could be seen at the head of Lyme Cobb, which looked like a huge black ship moored to the shore. The dark sloping cliffs were wrapped in gloom, but nothing was to be feared in that direction, for the road along the beach was impassable in this state of the tide.

For some time the watchers remained with their gaze fixed upon the sea, hoping to descry the boat, anxiously listening for the sound of oars. They heard nothing except the wearisome and monotonous sound of the waves.

Hitherto scarcely a word had passed between them, but now the colonel could not help expressing astonishment that the boat did not make its appearance.

"Have a little patience, sir," said Peters. "It will soon be here, I'll warrant you. Stephen Limbry will not prove false."

"I think not," said the colonel. "Hark! 'tis the hour!"

As he spoke a distant bell struck twelve, so slowly that in the deep stillness the strokes could be counted.

The appointed hour had come, but no boat came with it.

In vain the colonel and his servant strained their gaze towards the spot where they supposed the boat was lying. No boat could be seen.

Sometimes they fancied they could descry it, but the delusive object, whatever it might be, quickly vanished.

Another hour passed by, and found them at their post, still gazing at the sea, still hoping the boat would come, vainly hoping, as it proved.

The tide had turned, but had not yet perceptibly receded.

Though staggered and uneasy, Colonel Wyndham had not lost faith in the shipmaster.

"Should Limbry turn out a traitor, I will never trust man again," he said.

"Perhaps the seamen have gone ashore to the fair, colonel, and he has not been able to get them back again," rejoined Peters.

"The delay is unaccountable," cried the colonel. "His majesty will be distracted."

"Shall I ride back, and inform him that no boat has yet come ashore?" said Peters.

"That would make matters worse," rejoined the colonel. "Stay till you can take him good news."

They waited for another hour, and for an hour after that, patiently – striving to persuade themselves that the boat would still come.

The tide having now retreated to a considerable distance, the colonel rode upon the sand, and dashed into the water in his anxiety to discern the object he so fruitlessly sought.

No boat met his gaze; and the sky having become clouded, the sea looked dark and sullen. His own breast was full of sombre thoughts. The hopes that had animated him a few hours ago were gone, and had given place to bitter disappointment.

Still, though his hopes were crushed, he clung despairingly to his post, nor would he quit it, or allow Peters to depart, till day broke.

When the first streaks of dawn fell upon the sea, he looked out for the treacherous bark, and beheld her lying within half a mile of the Cobb. She had not quitted her position since yesterday.

However, it was useless to tarry longer. Even if the boat were sent now it would be impossible to embark in it at low water. Bidding Peters follow him, and in a state of mind bordering on distraction, he rode along the lane to Charmouth.

But how could he face the king?

CHAPTER XVI.

HOW THE GREY MARE PROVED THE BETTER HORSE

Limbry was not altogether in fault, though appearances were against him.

Like many other men, he was under the governance of his spouse. And, as we shall now proceed to show, it was owing to Dame Limbry that the king's well-planned escape to France was frustrated. It may be remembered that she had expressed to her daughter a resolution to ascertain the nature of the important business on which Captain Ellesdon and the two Cavaliers desired to see Limbry at the inn. But she did not succeed. Strange to say, the shipmaster for once kept his own counsel, and this unwonted reticence on his part only served to inflame his wife's curiosity the more. Feeling his inequality in a contest with such a determined woman, Limbry showed his discretion by keeping out of her way as much as possible, and did not even acquaint her with his intention to go to sea; but desirous to propitiate her, he urged her to take her daughter to Lyme fair. As it turned out, he could not have acted more injudiciously. While at the fair, Dame Limbry heard the terrible Proclamation, and a suspicion immediately crossed her that the two gentlemen she had seen were fugitive Cavaliers from Worcester. The suspicion was converted into certainty, when about nine o'clock at night, just after she and her daughter had returned from Lyme, Limbry, who had been absent from home all day, came in, and instead of sitting down like a good husband and father to chat with them, went up-stairs at once to his own room, in order to pack up some linen.

While he was thus employed, his wife, who had followed him, entered the room, closed the door, and putting on an injured expression of countenance, which she knew so well how to assume, asked him, in a tone that made him quake, what he was about.