The Weird Of The Wentworths Volume I Part 28

We must retrograde in our story, and once more return and pick up the dropped st.i.tch at Seaview, from the doors of which the carriage bearing Ellen and her abductors had just driven off. We need no longer hide from our readers the true state of affairs, nor lead them to believe, as Ellen did, her companions were officers of the law. The police officer with the long beard was none other than Sir Richard Musgrave; his a.s.sistants Bill Stacy, Farmer Forbes, and his son Archy, who acted as Jehu on the occasion; and they were driving, not to Edinburgh but to Cessford's Peel, in which castle the final scenes of this awful play were to be enacted. The night had been wisely chosen, first from its being Sat.u.r.day, and the approaching Sunday would come aptly between--secondly from its being a peculiarly dark and rainy evening, and less liability of pursuit being crowned with any success. Contrary to Sir Richard's expectations, now that succour seemed impossible, Ellen Ravensworth nerved herself up for the worst, and did not give way and in a flood of tears supplicate his mercy; on the contrary, she sat beside him apparently little concerned at her fate; her eye was clear, her countenance calm, and without speaking a word she silently seemed offering pet.i.tions to the Great Protector for his protection under these trying circ.u.mstances. She was innocent, there was nothing to make her terrified, her innocence was at once buckler and sword; she felt sure it would shine forth; she was not living in an uncivilized state; she would be tried by lawful judges; she would have her own father to plead her cause; she would have the powerful a.s.sistance of the Earl, her plighted lord--she could feel sure but of one result, she had still higher protection--His aid who has promised to protect frail innocence! and she was certain G.o.d would defend the right, and not suffer her to ask his aid in vain. Whilst such high thoughts filled her mind the carriage swept on. "I must be now close to Edinburgh," she thought, and then another thought struck her, by this time her father would be returned--what would be his agony to find his daughter even suspected of such a crime, and he, her own beloved lord, what would he think? how would he receive the news that his promised bride was an inmate of the prison cell? The wife of Caesar must be free even of suspicion,--Lord Wentworth's bride should not even be suspected,--had she given any cause for this? she could not think so, but this second train of thoughts was terrible! Still the carriage rolled on, the horses still dragged it forward at a furious pace--why were not the lights of Edina seen? A horrible thought struck her: she was not going to Edinburgh. She glanced out of the window. It was no thought but reality; on each side rose dark woods, she could dimly see them by the reflection of the carriage lamps.

She started up; the officer, thinking she meditated an escape, seized her by the wrist, saying--

"Not so fast, my gentle lady, you escape not thus."

Was it only fancy, or had she heard that voice before?

"Believe me, sir," she said, throwing herself at his feet, "believe me, I tried not to escape, but tell me,--tell me for His sake who made us,--where are you taking me to?"

Sir Richard answered not; perhaps he saw she was suspicious; and, afraid his voice might betray him forebore; for whatever part he took in the matter, he had no wish she should find out his disguise.

"Oh, sir, I beseech you, tell me! As you are a man--a man of honour--tell me!--it is not prison to which you are taking me, you are no police officer; whoever you may be, tell me."

There was still no answer.

"Have you no pity? have you no heart?" cried the unfortunate beauty, her firmness now giving way, and the large tear standing in her blue eye.

"Oh, if you have a sister, by her love I adjure you, tell me! by your mother's love, oh, tell me! Can you see a distressed maiden, can you see her tears, and yet feel no pity? I will forgive you all, I will pardon all your treachery, if you will only release me--take me to my father!"

"Lady, I am not the soft changeling to be turned from my purpose by a woman's tears. I do not ask your pardon, nor do I wish it; you will find ere long where you are bound to; you are witty, you have found out shrewdly the arrest is a sham, now see if you can guess the arresters?"

Ellen seeing entreaty prevailed not, now tried threats.

"Then if you are beneath your s.e.x, if you have not even the heart of a soulless lion, for even he is said to respect a maiden, hear me and fear the vengeance both of G.o.d and man--see what the Earl of Wentworth will do!"

"I fear neither, most sage damsel; this evening I shall sup with his lordship; is there any message from his distressed lady love?"

"Who, and what are you? I should know the voice--I thought not mortal man could be so devoid of all human feelings--are you a fiend incarnate?"

"You may think me so if you please--you have then no message for my Lord. Shall I tell him Ellen Ravensworth spends the evening with her feere?"

Ellen could bear it no longer, but burst into tears.

"Ha, my proud damosel dissolves at last; like most storms, hers too ends in rain! but here we are at last, my fair lady, and I must begone. Ho!

for the Towers!"

The carriage which had been descending a steep road here stopped, and Sir Richard leaped forth, and with mock politeness handed Ellen out.

Again she thought of flight into the dark woods, but once more her retreat was cut off by Stacy and Forbes.

"Show our maiden fair to her dormitory," said Sir Richard, "and I must be off."

"Unhappy man, bad as you are leave me not to these ruffians; you will at least not hurt your victim!"

"Nor will they; Bill, do you hear, see the young lady up stairs; as you value your life touch her not, nay speak not to her,--I must away."

Mounting a horse that stood ready at the door, Sir Richard galloped off, and left Ellen to Bill's and Forbes' tender mercies, whilst he himself rode to the Towers with Archy Forbes; he reached it a few minutes after Mr. Ravensworth's arrival, and divesting himself of his disguise at the stables entered with the coolness of a thorough paced villain, joined in the conversation, and professed himself as surprised as any one.

It was too dark for Ellen to see much beyond an old tower to which she was hurried, and dark woods around. Following the two gaolers, she pa.s.sed through a low, strong door, clamped with bra.s.s, and entered the hall of the tower, and commenced ascending a winding stone staircase; there were now only these two men with her, and half way up the taller departed by a side door, leaving her alone with Stacy.

"Kind hearts are sometimes hidden beneath a rough exterior, old man,"

said Ellen; "pity the distress of a wronged, helpless woman!"

"You have mistook Bill's colours, my pretty little craft; Bill Stacy's not a kind heart, his heart is as rough as his phisog," answered the old man.

"But many a rough heart has opened to a golden key--give me my liberty, send me to the Towers, and you shall have gold enough to gratify your highest wish; it shall be given with no grudging hand, take this ring as a pledge."

"Bribe not, gal! and think not Bill will strike colours to gold--he has more than he wants, keep your ring--and here we are--go in there, and try not to corrupt my dochter--or gorramighty yer shall swing for it."

With these words he pushed Ellen into a large room, and shut the door.

Baffled a third time, Ellen gave herself up for lost--she staggered into the room, and threw herself on the first chair, and again gave way to hopeless grief.

"Madam," said a soft voice, "do not distress yourself; bear up, things are not so bad as they appear."

Ellen looked up to see the speaker! By her side stood a fair Spanish beauty, with braided hair, and large l.u.s.trous eyes. Ellen was not totally untinctured with some of the superst.i.tions of her country, and for a moment she fancied she was an angel sent from heaven; her beauty--the strange situation she was in--the horrid remembrances of her arrest and drive--all worked on her mind, and she fancied it must be a vision, and not reality; but angels do not weep--and a tear stood in the young beauty's eye; she thought she knew the voice too--had heard it before--she was in a trance, surely--she would wake, and find it all a creation of her brain?

The room was hung with tapestry, which bent in and out with each gust of the wind--it was handsomely, but anciently furnished--everything was of the olden date. The room had two narrow windows--a huge old fashioned fireplace--one door only; opposite the windows was a large wardrobe, of which part formed a bookcase. In the far corner of the room were two beds with curtains of murrey-coloured silks, on which were tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, once bright, but now tarnished; several old pictures, hung on the walls, seemed lifelike in the half-gloom, half-glimmer of a solitary lamp on the large inlaid table in the centre of the room. These thoughts, suggested by the appearance of this fair lady in the ancient looking room, took Ellen's mind far shorter time to think of, than it has the writer to write them. She was awaked from her reverie by the soft voice again, "Madam--weep not--distress not yourself so."

"Have pity on me--oh! you have a tender, kind heart--you must have; a face so fair is the mirror of a good heart."

"Hush, lady--my father is at the door--these walls have ears--speak not so loud--and, moreover, do not ask for what I cannot grant. I will try and make you happy in your confinement,--I can do no more; and, lady, listen, your harsh or kind captivity depends entirely on yourself; if you submit without trying to escape, everything that can make you happy will be done for you; if you try either by bribe or subtlety to escape, you will only find harsher gaolers than I am."

"I will trust you then--happy I cannot be, but nothing will harm me whilst you are here. But, oh! at least tell me why I am confined here; this is a free country, and without law the meanest subject of his Majesty cannot be imprisoned."

"Alas, lady! I do not even know your name--far less do I know why you are here--I am your guardian only."

"Then G.o.d's will be done--you will at least stand by me in my distress."

"And now, madam, will you not retire to rest?--you need fear nothing."

"No, I will not; I trust you--I do not those who are here besides. I will not--I could not sleep, and yet I do not fear; I have secreted a dagger--see it," she cried, holding a small Indian blade which she had contrived to possess herself of unseen by Sir Richard, and which had belonged to her eldest brother; "before Ellen Ravensworth submits to wrong she will bury this in her heart--death before dishonour."[G]

"Keep it, lady; you may require it yet," said Juana, in a low tone.

"Oh, my G.o.d, shield me; but what said you--you do then know why I am here?"

"I guess, but cannot be certain; keep your weapon, I will not deprive you of your last resource; but let no one else know of it--there are those here who would."

The young Spaniard then arose, saying, "You need fear no harm to-night--rest, for you are weary with crying, and terror; I pledge my sacred word no one enters this room to-night."

"Then I will trust you, you could not play me false; but I part not with thee," she said, addressing the dagger; "thou wilt be a sure friend."

The two young girls then retired to rest; Juana slept, not so Ellen, who lay awake the livelong night, conjecturing in vain why she was there.

Three things consoled her: first her trust in a higher Power; secondly her faith in the Earl, who she knew was even then searching for her, and as she could not be very far she had hopes he might soon find her out; her third and last consolation, was the knowledge that in her extremity death was in her own power.

Slowly the hours of darkness rolled away--oh! how long they seemed, as she tossed on her restless pillow, and listened to the heavy fall of the sentinel's step that guarded her room's entrance,--it was probably the fierce-looking old man who she had found out was her companion's father; she was surely a mild offspring from so rough a sire! The more Ellen thought the more inextricable seemed the web she strove to unravel--why was she there--who had he been who brought her--who were those rough men, and this fair girl who guarded her? She tried to recall voices she felt sure she had heard, first her arrestor's, secondly the lady's who guarded her--she felt sure she had heard both, but where she could not recollect.

The night pa.s.sed away slowly, the dawning lightened the room, by-and-by the sun shone--at last it was a fine day; she slipped from her couch, and hurried to the window. Oh! mystery of mysteries! it was then in Cessford's Peel she was confined. Beneath her, forty feet below at the least, was the green meadow, and the round stone, and the trees and hills beyond; she heard the roar of the burn, now swollen, and strange thoughts flitted through her mind. The scene where she had been so happy was before her, the burn up whose banks she had wandered rushed by; but how different was her present lot! how inscrutable it seemed! She returned, and falling on her knees by her bedside besought G.o.d to end this misery. Doubtless He heard her prayer, but prayers are not always so soon answered as the pet.i.tioner expects. Juana awoke too; she was a Roman Catholic, and repeated her devotions after the prescribed form of her creed; they then dressed, and before long a waiting girl of surpa.s.sing beauty, but quite of a different order, brought in a simple breakfast. More and more puzzled was Ellen when she saw this girl's face--she had surely seen _her_ before! When she had left the room Ellen recalled the face, it was that of Jeanie Forbes, the country belle to whom she had seen the Marquis talking.