Hayslope Grange Part 11

"Then all the world will know what a just and gentle monarch he is,"

said Maud.

"Alas! they will see that what these rebels say of him is true; that he hath tried to sell his people to a foreign foe," groaned Master Drury.

"All his doings with the Irish rebels, and his negotiations with foreign princes to bring troops over here, are given in these papers."

Maud started to her feet, flushed with indignation. "It is not true,"

she said. "It would be unkingly--beneath the majesty of our royal Charles. It is a fabrication of the Parliament rebels."

"I would fain think so if I could," sighed Master Drury; "but, Maud, I have heard from those who knew all the King's matters that these letters are true copies of what were in the cabinet."

Maud dropped into her seat as though she had been shot. "The King is false and untrue, then," she gasped, "and Harry is right after all."

"Hush, prithee, hush!" said Master Drury. "You know not what you say, Maud;" but he did not speak as though he were angry that Harry's name had been uttered.

"Marry, but I cannot hold my peace when true and n.o.ble men are risking their lives to fight for this false king," said Maud.

"I will not fight," quietly spoke Master Drury. "I will go back with you to Hayslope."

"Prithee, but you will see Harry before you leave Oxford?" said Maud, a faint colour stealing into her cheek as she spoke.

Master Drury was deeply moved. It was evident he was longing to see his son, but he said in a faint voice, "Nay, nay, I dare not see him. Mary Stanhope has spread the report that I have cast him off as a traitor rebel, and my loyalty to the King would be suspected if I were to see him now;" and he heaved a deep sigh as he spoke.

"But it is true that you think the King false?" said Maud. "Harry did the same, and avowed it."

Master Drury winced at the implied reproach. "Nay, nay, I cannot go so far as that," he said; "if I were I should be a rebel."

"Then you must be false to yourself to _seem_ true to the King," said Maud, boldly; "and that is why there are so many true and honest men among the rebels, and why they are so strong. It is not their hatred of oppression only, nor their wish to save England's liberties, as they say; but they cannot do otherwise if they would be true to themselves--true to G.o.d, who has said, 'Fear G.o.d,' first, and then 'Honour the king.'"

Maud was speaking for Harry, and that gave her courage, or she would never dared to have said so much to her guardian. But it was all in vain. Family honour demanded the sacrifice of principle--at least, so thought Master Drury--and he would not allow Maud to seek an interview with Harry, or claim acquaintance with the all but executed traitor.

CHAPTER XI.

MYSTERIES.

As soon as Maud had sufficiently rested she returned to Hayslope with Master Drury, who, now that he had made up his mind to do so, was all impatient to return home. His visit to Oxford had been a very painful one, for his faith in the King had been completely broken, and yet he had been forced to hear of his son's condemnation to an ignominious death, for principles he began dimly to see were right.

The last lingering remnants of loyalty forbade his seeking to see that son, as much as the fear of offending his son-in-law, and yet he longed to fold Harry in his arms and look in his face once more.

When the travellers reached Hayslope they found the villagers in a wildly excited state. Many of their relatives who had been fighting at Naseby were held prisoners by the Parliament, and of course could not return home this winter; and lads too young to serve as soldiers, and the women, with Martin the blacksmith at their head, were wildly clamouring for the destruction of the Parliament and all the rebels. The poor wounded messenger had most mysteriously disappeared, Maud heard, but on questioning some of them more closely, it seemed that he had more than once been threatened by Martin, if he would not swear to serve the King, while he stoutly refused, and at last he left the village with his wound only half healed.

Poor old Dame Coppins was of course accused of having some hand in this business. Without the help of witchcraft the man could not have escaped, the women said, and for once Maud felt thankful to the unknown witch, whoever she might be, who had done this service. She believed in witchcraft almost as fully as the ignorant villagers, but she did not believe Dame Coppins was a witch simply because she did not choose to tell all the village her business--where she had come from, and what had induced her to take the lonely cottage outside Hayslope,--and this was the only reason they had for supposing her a witch.

Maud had tried to reason them out of this, had told them she was a poor widow who had seen a great deal of trouble, and preferred a solitary life; that she loved the Bible and feared G.o.d as much as any of them; but it was all of no avail. That any one could exist without gossip was to them impossible to understand, and they shook their heads sadly, and thought Maud bewitched herself when she talked about Dame Coppins.

So the cottage in the lane was as lonely as ever, in spite of the patronage extended to the widow by Maud and the two children at the Grange.

For a day or two after her return Maud was not able to go to the cottage, for Master Drury had scarcely reached home when he was taken seriously ill, and Mistress Mabel's herbs and decoctions failed to relieve his sickness for some time. Bertram and Bessie, however, went each day, and brought back the report that the widow had seemed very joyful when she heard that Maud had returned, and that her errand had been so successful as to gain the prisoners their freedom.

Maud smiled when she heard this. "Marry, but their freedom is not gained yet," she said, with something of a sigh.

"Dame Coppins says they are free, and on their way to London," said Bessie.

Maud opened her eyes. Was the old woman a witch after all? Bertram's next words quite confirmed her in this wild notion. "Maud," he said in a whisper, "do you know that Harry was one of the prisoners."

"Who told you so?" asked Maud, quickly, for it had been agreed that this intelligence should not reach the children, or even Mistress Mabel.

"Dame Coppins told me," replied Bertram; "she said he would have been shot if you had not gone to Oxford with those papers," he added.

Maud actually shuddered with horror as the boy said this. "Bertram, you must not go to Dame Coppins again," she said, quickly.

"Why not?" asked Bertram, in surprise.

"Prithee, I scarce can tell you, but--but you will keep it quite a secret, Bertram, even from Bessie," said Maud--"this dreadful thing I am going to tell you."

Bertram nodded. "Isn't she a good old woman?" he asked.

"Bertie, she's a witch," whispered Maud, in a tone of horror.

Bertram started back pale with fright. "I don't believe it, Maud," he said: "she couldn't talk about G.o.d taking care of Harry, and pray for Him to do it, if she was a wicked old witch. I do believe G.o.d took you safe to Oxford in time because she prayed so much about it, and that He's kept Harry safe in all the battles, that he might come home to us again in answer to Dame Coppins's prayers."

Bertram spoke quickly, almost pa.s.sionately, but Maud only shook her head sadly. "I thought she was a good woman," she said, "but how could she know what happened at Oxford if she was not a witch? n.o.body here knows that Harry was in prison--not even Mistress Mabel or the servants, so that no one could tell her about it."

But Bertram was still unwilling to believe in Dame Coppins's wickedness, until Maud said pettishly, "I do believe she has bewitched you, Bertie, and you must not go to see her again."

"But I will go," said Bertram, beginning to lose his temper.

"Then I shall ask Mistress Mabel to forbid you going beyond the moat,"

said Maud.

This threat, which Bertram knew she would put into execution, made him give the required promise not to go and see Dame Coppins until Maud had discovered who had told her about Harry; which Maud feeling sure was a dark mystery, that no one would ever be able to penetrate, made up her mind not to try, now that she had extorted this promise from Bertram.

Some thoughts of the poor old woman's anxiety troubled her after she left Bertram, and she wondered what effect their neglect might have upon the mind of the villagers; but on this she resolved to keep eyes and ears alike open whenever she went amongst them, so that she might protect her from violence should any be attempted or contemplated.

But it seemed that the people had forgotten the witch in their rage against the "Parliament rebels," and Maud could not discover whether the old woman was being supplied with food or not; and very soon the fear that she would be starved to death began to take possession of her mind.

To satisfy herself upon this point she resolved to walk down the lane late one afternoon, when she would not be expected. Before she had reached the cottage, however, she saw a litter borne between two men carried into the garden, and then from this was lifted what looked like a huge roll of cloth, and taken into the house, while Dame Coppins came and looked all round to make sure no one was in the lane. She did not see Maud, for she had concealed herself behind a tree, but the young lady had a good view of the old woman's face, and saw that there was little fear of her dying of starvation yet. As soon as she could she slipped out of her hiding-place and walked quickly up the lane. She was afraid of going near the cottage now, and she wondered what fresh wickedness Dame Coppins had been at. No wonder the people were afraid of her when such mysterious doings as that were going on.

Maud thought she had more than sufficient evidence to prove that Dame Coppins was a witch now, and began seriously to consider whether she ought not to inform against her; and she might have done this, only Master Drury was taken ill again. Maud began to think this must be the witch's work, when all Mistress Mabel's remedies failed, but she dared not say so, for fear the servants should tell the villagers, and they should attempt to drown her again; and so she suggested that a physician should be sent for to see her guardian. Mistress Mabel looked scornful at first, but finally relented, and a boy was despatched to the town, and returned with the grave-looking doctor, in plumed hat, scarlet cloak, and immense ruffles at his wrists. He looked grand enough to do anything if grandeur would do it, but he shook his head when he heard all Master Drury's ailments. Beyond this he would not commit himself, and so very little information was gained from his visit, and they could only wait in hope that his medicine would soon effect some improvement on the patient.

Meanwhile news had arrived that Prince Rupert had been compelled to surrender Bristol and several other places in the west, and that another battle disastrous to Charles had been fought at Rowton Moor. The King had been completely defeated, and compelled to retire to Oxford for the winter, and Captain Stanhope and his wife were coming to Hayslope. This was the news brought by one or two of the men who came back to the village to tell of the death or imprisonment of others who had gone forth with them that sweet spring day a few months before. So the winter came in gloomy enough, and men grew fiercer each day about the strife that was raging in the land. In Hayslope all the rage was against the London Parliament, and many vowed that if one of Cromwell's troopers showed himself there he should be killed, whoever he might be. This threat did not disturb Maud much, even if she heard it, for she did not think it was likely any of the Parliament men would come there, and she could only feel glad that the messenger had gone away before the arrival of these half-frenzied men. She still visited occasionally among the villagers, and contributed to their wants as far as she could; but a good deal of her time was occupied with Master Drury now, and Dame Coppins was almost forgotten, apparently.

She was therefore greatly surprised one day to receive a message from a village lad, saying she was wanted down the lane. She had no doubt who wanted her, but she did not intend going; she would not give Dame Coppins the opportunity of bewitching her any more; and so merely saying, "Prithee, I will think about it," she walked home as fast as she could.

That evening, about six o'clock, just as they were about to a.s.semble for supper, one of the maids came to her and whispered that she was wanted; a man, who refused to say who he was or where he came from, demanded to see her.

Maud shivered: such mysterious messages were disagreeable, and she was just about to say she would not go, when Mistress Mabel appearing in the pa.s.sage settled the matter; for had she heard her refuse, there would have been an instant inquiry, and the lady would not have rested until she found out all about the supposed witch and Maud's charities in the village.