The neighbours in the village loved, and were sorry for, their lady, and used to send her little presents; there was a large garden in which Diggory Stokes, who had also served her father, raised vegetables for her use; the cow wandered in the deserted park, and so they contrived to find food; while all the work of the house was done by Rose and Deborah. Rose was her mothers great comfort, nursing her, cheering her, taking care of the little ones, teaching them, working for them, and making light of all her exertions. Everyone in the village loved Rose Woodley, for everyone had in some way been helped or cheered by her. Her mother was only sometimes afraid she worked too hard, and would try her strength too much; but she was always bright and cheerful, and when the days work was done no one was more gay and lively and ready for play with the little ones.
Rose had more trial than anyone knew with Deborah. Deborah was as faithful as possible, and bore a great deal for the sake of her mistress, worked hard day and night, had little to eat and no wages, yet lived on with them rather than forsake her dear lady and the children. One thing, however, Deborah would not do, and that was to learn to rule her tongue and her temper. She did not know, nor do many excellent servants, how much trial and discomfort she gave to those she loved so earnestly, by her constant bursting out into hasty words whenever she was vexedher grumbling about whatever she disliked, and her ill-judged scolding of the children. Servants in those days were allowed to speak more freely to their masters and mistresses than at present, so that Deborah had more opportunity of making such speeches, and it was Roses continual work to try to keep her temper from being fretted, or Lady Woodley from being teased with her complaints. Rose was very forbearing, and but for this there would have been little peace in the house.
Walter was thirteen, an age when it is not easy to keep boys in order, unless they will do so for themselves. Though a brave generous boy, he was often unruly and inconsiderate, apt not to obey, and to do what he knew to be unkind or wrong, just for the sake of present amusement. He was thus his mothers great anxiety, for she knew that she was not fit either to teach or to restrain him, and she feared that his present wild disobedient ways might hurt his character for ever, and lead to dispositions which would in time swallow up all the good about him, and make him what he would now tremble to think of.
She used to talk of her anxieties to Doctor Bathurst, the good old clergyman who had been driven away from his parish, but used to come in secret to help, teach, and use his ministry for the faithful ones of his flock. He would tell her that while she did her best for her son, she must trust the rest to his Father above, and she might do so hopefully, since it had been in His own cause that the boy had been made fatherless. Then he would speak to Walter, showing him how wrong and how cruel were his overbearing, disobedient ways. Walter was grieved, and resolved to improve and become steadier, that he might be a comfort and blessing to his mother; but in his love of fun and mischief he was apt to forget himself, and then drove away what might have been in time repentance and improvement, by fancying he did no harm. Teasing Deborah served her right, he would tell himself, she was so ill-tempered and foolish; Diggory was a clod, and would do nothing without scolding; it was a good joke to tease Charlie; Eleanor was a vexatious little thing, and he would not be ordered by her; so he went his own way, and taught the merry chattering Lucy to be very nearly as bad as himself, neglected his duties, set a bad example, tormented a faithful servant, and seriously distressed his mother. Give him some great cause, he thought, and he would be the first and the best, bring back the King, protect his mother and sisters, and perform glorious deeds, such as would make his name be remembered for ever. Then it would be seen what he was worth; in the meantime he lived a dull life, with nothing to do, and he must have some fun. It did not signify if he was not particular about little things, they were womens affairs, and all very well for Rose, but when some really important matter came, that would be his time for distinguishing himself.
In the meantime Charles II. had been invited to Scotland, and had brought with him, as an attendant, Edmund Woodley, the eldest son. As soon as he was known to have entered England, some of the loyal gentlemen of the neighbourhood of Forest Lea went to join the King, and among their followers went Farmer Ewins, who had fought bravely in the former war under Edmund Mowbray, several other of the men of the village, and lastly, Diggory Stokes, Lady Woodleys serving man, who had lately shown symptoms of discontent with his place, and fancied that as a soldier he might fare better, make his fortune, and come home prosperously to marry his sweetheart, Deborah.
CHAPTER II
Walter ran down to the village at full speed. He first bent his steps towards the Half-Moon, the little public-house, where news was sure to be met with. As he came towards it, however, he heard the loud sound of a mans voice going steadily on as if with some discourse. Some preachment, said he to himself: theyve got a thorough-going Roundhead, I can hear his twang through his nose! Shall I go in or not?
While he was asking himself this question, an old peasant in a round frock came towards him.
Hollo, Will! shouted Walter, what prick-eared rogue have you got there?
Hush, hush, Master Walter! said the old man, taking off his hat very respectfully. Best take care what you say, there be plenty of red-coats about. Theres one of them now preaching away in marvellous pied words. It is downright shocking to hear the Bible hollaed out after that sort, so I came away. Dont you go nigh him, sir, specially with your hat set on in that
Never mind my hat, said Walter, impatiently, it is no business of yours, and Ill wear it as I please in spite of old Noll and all his crew.
For his forefathers sake, and for the love of his mother and sister, the good village people bore with Walters haughtiness and discourtesy far more than was good for him, and the old man did not show how much he was hurt by his rough reception of his good advice. Walter was not reminded that he ought to rise up before the hoary head, and reverence the old man, and went on hastily, But tell me, Will, what do you hear of the battle?
The battle, sir! why, they say it is lost. Thats what the fellow there is preaching about.
And where was it? Did you hear? Dont you know?
Dont be so hasty, dont ye, sir! said the old slow-spoken man, growing confused. Where was it? At some townsome town, they said, but I dont know rightly the name of it.
And the King? Who was it? Not Cromwell? Had Lord Derby joined? cried Walter, hurrying on his questions so as to puzzle and confuse the old man more and more, till at last he grew angry at getting no explanation, and vowed it was no use to talk to such an old fool. At that moment a sound as of feet and horses came along the road. Tis the soldiers! said Walter.
Ay, sir, best get out of sight.
Walter thought so too, and, springing over a hedge, ran off into a neighbouring wood, resolving to take a turn, and come back by the longer way to the house, so as to avoid the road. He walked across the wood, looking up at the ripening nuts, and now and then springing up to reach one, telling himself all the time that it was untrue, and that the King could not, and should not be defeated. The wood grew less thick after a time, and ended in low brushwood, upon an open common. Just as Walter was coming to this place, he saw an unusual sight: a man and a horse crossing the down. Slowly and wearily they came, the horse drooping its head and stumbling in its pace, as though worn out with fatigue, but he saw that it was a war-horse, and the saddle and other equipments were such as he well remembered in the royal army long ago. The rider wore buff coat, cuirass, gauntlets guarded with steel, sword, and pistols, and Walters first impulse was to avoid him; but on giving a second glance, he changed his mind, for though there was neither scarf, plume, nor any badge of party, the long locks, the set of the hat, and the general air of the soldier were not those of a rebel. He must be a cavalier, but, alas! far unlike the triumphant cavaliers whom Walter had hoped to receive, for he was covered with dust and blood, as if he had fought and ridden hard. Walter sprung forward to meet him, and saw that he was a young man, with dark eyes and hair, looking very pale and exhausted, and both he and his horse seemed hardly able to stir a step further.
Young sir, said the stranger, what place is this? Am I near Forest Lea?
A flash of joy crossed Walter. Edmund! are you Edmund? he exclaimed, colouring deeply, and looking up in his face with one quick glance, then casting down his eyes.
And you are little Walter, returned the cavalier, instantly dismounting, and flinging his arm around his brother; why, what a fine fellow you are grown! How are my mother and all?
Well, quite well! cried Walter, in a transport of joy. Oh! how happy she will be! Come, make haste home!
Alas! I dare not as yet. I must not enter the house till nightfall, or I should bring danger on you all. Are there any troopers near?
Yes, the village is full of the rascals. But what has happened? It is not true that He could not bear to say the rest.
Too true! said Edmund, leading his tired horse within the shelter of the bushes. It is all over with us!
The battle lost! said Walter, in a stifled tone; and in all the bitterness of the first disappointment of his youth, he turned away, overcome by a gush of tears and sobs, stamping as he walked up and down, partly with the intensity of his grief, partly with shame at being seen by his brother, in tears.
Had you set your heart on it so much? said Edmund, kindly, pleased to see his young brother so ardent a loyalist. Poor fellow! But at least the King was safe when I parted from him. Come, cheer up, Walter, the right will be uppermost some day or other.
But, oh, that battle! I had so longed to see old Noll get his deserts, said Walter, I made so sure. But how did it happen, Edmund?
I cannot tell you all now, Walter. You must find me some covert where I can be till night fall. The rebels are hot in pursuit of all the fugitives. I have ridden from Worcester by byroads day and night, and I am fairly spent. I must be off to France or Holland as soon as may be, for my life is not safe a moment here. Cromwell is bitterer than ever against all honest men, but I could not help coming this way, I so much longed to see my mother and all of you.
You are not wounded? said Walter, anxiously.
Nothing to speak of, only a sword-cut on my shoulder, by which I have lost more blood than convenient for such a journey.
Here, Ill lead your horse; lean on me, said Walter, alarmed at the faint, weary voice in which his brother spoke after the first excitement of the recognition. Ill show you what Lucy and I call our bower, where no one ever comes but ourselves. There you can rest till night.
And poor Bayard? said Edmund.
I think I could put him into the out-house in the field next to the copse, hide his trappings here, and get him provender from Ewinss farm. Will that do?
Excellently. Poor Ewins!that is a sad story. He fell, fighting bravely by my side, cut down in Sidbury Street in the last charge. Alas! these are evil days!
And Diggory Stokes, our own knave?
I know nothing of him after the first onset. Rogues and cowards enough were there. Think, Walter, of seeing his Majesty strive in vain to rally them, when the day might yet have been saved, and the traitors hung down their heads, and stood like blocks while he called on them rather to shoot him dead than let him live to see such a day!
Oh, had I but been there, to turn them all to shame!
There were a few, Walter; Lord Cleveland, Hamilton, Careless, Giffard, and a few more of us, charged down Sidbury Street, and broke into the ranks of the rebels, while the King had time to make off by S. Martins Gate. Oh, how I longed for a few more! But the King was saved so far; Careless, Giffard, and I came up with him again, and we parted at nightfall. Lord Derbys counsel was that he should seek shelter at Boscobel, and he was to disguise himself, and go thither under Giffards guidance. Heaven guard him, whatever becomes of us!
Amen! said Walter, earnestly. And here we are. Here is Lucys bank of turf, and my throne, and here we will wait till the sun is down.
It was a beautiful green slope, covered with soft grass, short thyme, and cushion-like moss, and overshadowed by a thick, dark yew-tree, shut in by brushwood on all sides, and forming just such a retreat as children love to call their own. Edmund threw himself down at full length on it, laid aside his hat, and passed his hand across his weary forehead. How quiet! said he; but, hark! is that the bubbling of water? he added, raising himself eagerly.
Yes, here, said Walter, showing him where, a little further off on the same slope, a little clear spring rose in a natural basin of red earth, fringed along the top with fresh green mosses.
Delicious! said the tired soldier, kneeling over the spring, scooping it up in his hand to drink, opening his collar, and bathing hands and face in the clear cool fountain, till his long black hair hung straight, saturated with wet.
Now, Bayard, it is your turn, and he patted the good steed as it sucked up the refreshing water, and Walter proceeded to release it from saddle and bridle. Edmund, meanwhile, stretched himself out on the mossy bank, asked a few questions about his mother, Rose, and the other children, but was too tired to say much, and presently fell sound asleep, while Walter sat by watching him, grieving for the battle lost, but proud and important in being the guardian of his brothers safety, and delighting himself with the thought of bringing him home at night.
More was happening at home than Walter guessed. The time of his absence seemed very long, more especially when the twilight began to close in, and Lady Woodley began to fear that he might, with his rashness, have involved himself in some quarrel with the troopers in the village. Lady Woodley and her children had closed around the wood fire which had been lighted on the hearth at the approach of evening, and Rose was trying by the bad light to continue her darning of stockings, when a loud hasty knocking was heard at the door, and all, in a general vague impression of dread, started and drew together.
Oh my lady! cried Deborah, dont bid me go to the door, I could not if you offered me fifty gold caroluses! I had rather stand up to be a mark
Then I will, said Rose, advancing.
No, no, Mistress Rose, said Deborah, running forward. Dont I know what is fit for the like of you? You go opening the door to rogues and vagabonds, indeed! and with these words she undrew the bolts and opened the door.
Is this the way you keep us waiting? said an impatient voice; and a tall youth, handsomely accoutred, advanced authoritatively into the room. Prepare to but as he saw himself alone with women and children, and his eyes fell on the pale face, mourning dress, and graceful air of the lady of the house, he changed his tone, removed his hat, and said, Your pardon, madam, I came to ask a nights lodging for my father, who has been thrown from his horse, and badly bruised.
I cannot refuse you, sir, said Lady Woodley, who instantly perceived that this was an officer of the Parliamentary force, and was only thankful to see that he was a gentleman, and enforced with courtesy a request which was in effect a command.
The youth turned and went out, while Lady Woodley hastily directed her daughters and servant. Deborah, set the blue chamber in order; Rose, take the key of the oak press, Eleanor will help you to take out the holland sheets. Lucy, run down to old Margery, and bid her kill a couple of fowls for supper.
As the girls obeyed there entered at the front door the young officer and a soldier, supporting between them an elderly man in the dress of an officer of rank. Lady Woodley, ready of course to give her help to any person who had suffered an injury, came forward to set a chair, and at the same moment she exclaimed, in a tone of recognition, Mr. Enderby! I am grieved to see you so much hurt.