The Coming of the King

"The people of God will fare badly, methinks."

"Nevertheless, the new king hath promised that every man shall be forgiven for what he hath done."

"The new king! The son of Charles Stuart, a traitor and a liar whom our great Oliver beheaded! As well expect mercy from a wolf."

"Hush, man! If we be heard we shall be taken note of. Let us be wise as serpents and harmless as doves."

And this kind of thing I found everywhere as I rode through London streets. On the one hand was a kind of lawless joy, which prevailed greatly; and on the other fearful foreboding as to the coming days.

But I stayed not long in London, for I was eager to make my way to Folkestone. The wedding contract hidden in the black box was more to me than the rejoicings of the Royalists, or the fears of the Separatists.

It took me two days to reach Folkestone; indeed, I did not reach this town till the evening of the second day. Moreover, the second day of my journey had been rainy, and I was both wet and tired when I reached the Barley Sheaf Inn, which looked homely and comfortable, for the which I was very thankful. As the evening was rainy, I thought I should perchance be the only traveller; but no sooner had the ostler taken my horse from me than I saw two persons ride up, which interested me greatly. Perhaps this was because they both seemed anxious to hide their faces. The one was, as far as I could judge, a strongly-built man, but of what age I could not judge; the other was a woman, clad from head to foot in a long cloak. Moreover, she wore a hood, which almost hid her face. Nevertheless, I caught one glimpse of it as she passed in at the door. It was as pale as death, while her eyes were full of terror.

"Private rooms," said the man, "and that without delay."

After they had passed out of sight I fell to wondering who they were; but I never dreamed then that their fate would be linked with mine in such a wondrous way.

CHAPTER IV

THE HAPPENING AT THE INN

After I had partaken of food, I made my way to the harbour for the purpose of finding out when a boat might be leaving for the neighbourhood of Boulogne. By this time the rain had ceased, and although the night was wellnigh upon the town I was able to see something of its character. Not that it was of any great note. It consisted of only a few narrow streets, which being wet, looked miserable and squalid. The bold outline of the cliffs impressed me greatly, however, and I judged that on fair days the whole district must be pleasant to behold.

I found as I passed through, that here as well as in London the sole subject of conversation was the coming of the new king, and of the changes his coming would bring about. Here also as in London, men had it that it would go hard with those who had fought against the late king, and especially against those who had put him to death. Nevertheless none, as far as I could discover, spoke against him; rather they even praised the profligacy of which all seemed to believe him guilty.

But much to my disappointment I could hear of no vessel that would leave for the French coast, at least for three days, and as I had not enough money to hire one for myself I had to content myself with the prospect of spending that time in the vicinity of Folkestone. I was not at all dismayed at this, for I reflected that I might be able to discover something of Master Elijah Pycroft, and might not indeed have to go to France at all.

When I returned to the inn I found my way into a large low room where several persons were sitting. Some were playing cards, others were drinking, as it seemed to me for the sake of drinking, while others still were laughing at their own wit for want of something better to laugh at.

No one seemed to take note of my entrance, save one, who pointed to a seat by his side, as if to bid me welcome.

"What will you drink?" he asked.

"What is the house noted for?" I asked, for although I determined not to drink, remembering the old adage that "when the drink's in the wit's out," I thought it best to attract no notice by failing to fall in with the custom.

"Sack, my master, sack," replied the man. "There is no better sack between here and London town than can be bought at the Barley Sheaf, and what is more a man can drink his fill and no questions asked. We be no longer troubled by a sour-faced Independent constable who is ever on the watch for a man who seeks to be merry."

"Did they trouble you much in Cromwell's days?"

"Trouble me! Marry, and that they did. No man pleased unless he carried a Bible at his belt, and sung psalms through his nose. Why a man could in no wise make merry. The man who kept a dog or a cock was watched day and night, while those who were suspected of having a Prayer-book in his house was almost as much in danger as those who read the Bible in Queen Mary's days. Why even the town crier had to speak through his nose, as though he were singing psalms in church."

At this he laughed as though he had made a good joke.

"But all will be changed now?" I suggested.

"Ay, but they be changed already, young master," said another man who was listening. "Already Old Nol's people be seeking to make friends with those who be shouting 'God save the king!' while a man may kiss his sweetheart, and no questions be asked. And what would you? The king, who hath received fifty thousand pounds from Parliament to buy himself good clothes, and good wine, hath sent word to us that we must drink his health in the best wine and ale that our town affords."

"Ay," said the other, "and painters be everywhere washing out the State's arms and painting the Lion and the Unicorn instead. I do hear, too, that the king hath given orders that all the vessels built by Old Nol are to be renamed, as his Majesty doth much dislike the present names."

"Have you heard aught concerning what will be done to those who took part in the king's father's death?" I asked.

"I would not stand in their shoes for something," he replied significantly.

"In spite of the Act of Oblivion," I suggested.

"Act of Oblivion! Think you that the new king will forget the name of those who killed his father? Why I do hear that Sir Charles Denman is even now being followed by those who were faithful to Charles I."

"Sir Charles Denman, who is he?" I asked, for I had never heard his name before.

"Never heard of Sir Charles Denman! Why where have you lived, young master? He was one who cried loudest for the death of Charles I, and who hath ever since Richard Cromwell died done his utmost to persuade General Monk against having aught to do with the new king. He hath spoken words which are said to be treasonable, and what is more is as fanatical a preacher as Hugh Peters himself."

"Ay, but there are no edicts out against him?" I queried.

"But there are, young master; at least so men say. Some have it that the king, no sooner was he invited to come back to his throne, than he sent secret instructions that Sir Charles should be arrested and imprisoned until his Majesty's pleasure be known."

"Know you aught of Sir Charles?" I asked.

"Nay, I know naught, but men have it that he is a dangerous man, and not to be trusted. I have been told that his very preaching is only a cloak to cover up his misdoings. Men say he hath never married, and yet he is accompanied on his journeys by one who ought to be his wife. It is said, too, that he whips her as a man might whip a spaniel. A sullen, cruel man whom no one loves."

At this I was silent, whereupon the man went on.

"Some have it that he is married to this woman, who is of low degree, while other gossips say that he hath stolen her from her father's house, because she will inherit a great fortune when her father dies."

"Have you ever seen him?"

"Nay, but I am told he is the best swordsman in the kingdom, that he is deadly with the pistol, and that he shews no mercy anywhere?"

"And are all the people loyal around here?" I asked.

"Ay, what would you?"

"And all the old families will receive the new king with open arms?"

"Ay, all as far as I know."

"I do not know the names of these families – at least not of all," I said, feeling my way towards the information I desired, "but you as an important man doubtless know them all."

"Ay," he replied, sitting back in his chair with a look of importance on his face. "There be the Jeffries and old Sir Michael Oldbury, and Admiral Billton, and Squire Barton, and my Lord Bridgman, and others. Most of them nod to me when they come to town."

"I think I have heard of a Master Pycroft," I said, "know you him?"

He shook his head. "No," he replied, "there be no man of note within ten miles of Folkestone who bears that name."

At this my heart seemed to sink in my shoes, for it seemed as though I had come on a fool's errand. Still I kept a brave face, and answered as though the matter were of no import.

"I must have mistaken the name," I said, "or perchance he lived in some other part of the country."

"Stay," said the man, "there is an old place called 'Pycroft,' but it hath been in ruins for years. It is an old house among the Pycroft woods, and is said to be haunted. No man lives there, but I have heard that an old miser had it long years ago. He was killed for his money, and ever since the place hath been infested by evil spirits. Years ago, about the time the king was beheaded, I mind me that I passed by it, but not a soul was to be seen. The windows were broken, and the gardens were all covered with weeds. Neither sight nor sound of living being could I see or hear. Even the birds seemed afraid to sing."