Chapter XXII Found
It was Sunday morning, just a week since the fire had broken out and consumed the city. The bells of the churches that remained uninjured were ringing out, and crowds were passing over the ruins to reach the churches, there to confess their sins and their misdoings, and to pray the Lord to stay His wrath, and not utterly destroy His people.
No such scene of desolation was ever witnessed before, and let us pray it may never be witnessed again in the capital of the English nation. She had fallen very low, and now her people humbled themselves, acknowledging the hand of God which had chastised and yet had not slain them.
A man, a woman, and a girl were making their way from the crowded banks of the river up the Strand towards Somerset House. When they reached it they found the gates closed and guarded by soldiers, for the people who remained in the city were afraid of the many marauders and thieves who had escaped from the prisons and places of detention during the last few days. Newgate had been burnt down, and it had been impossible to keep a close watch over the prisoners, so that, now the danger of fire was over, a great fear of rapine, theft, and murder fell upon the honest inhabitants.
Those who could afford it, themselves set watchmen before their houses, and barred and bolted their doors. In the court-yard of Somerset House there were both soldiers and sailors mingled together. There was also a watch-box, used at night by the watchman, but at present a soldier stood in it with fixed bayonet. Seeing all this array, the three strangers slunk back and began conversing together.
“What shall we do?” asked Ben Davies. “To whom shall we address ourselves to gain admittance?”
“Oh, it will be quite easy!” said Agnes, who was still in her peasant’s dress. “I must know if Patience is here. If she is not, then perhaps Martha will be.”
Even as she spoke, Martha’s portly figure came through the gate out into the street. She was accompanied by Peter Kemp, to whom she was saying in a loud voice, hugging a book of prayers in her arms:
“Indeed, if ye have never prayed before, it would be well if ye did so now. Come along with me.”
Peter looked somewhat sheepish, but he had no time to answer, for Agnes sprang forward, exclaiming:
“Martha, Martha, take me to Aunt Patience!”
“Ah, my lamb!” said Martha, “where have you sprung from?”
“Oh, never mind that, never mind anything!” said Agnes; “only take me to Aunt Patience.” And she clung to the woman.
“I’ll take you fast enough,” said Martha, tears rolling down her face. “Maybe it will be the saving of her.” And she turned back, holding Agnes’s hand tightly in hers.
They heard a scuffling behind them, and, looking round, they saw the guards driving back Ben Davies and his wife.
“Oh, let them come!” Agnes said, “they are my friends. Go and fetch them, Peter; I must go to Aunt Patience.” And she ran across the court-yard, not heeding the groups of sailors who instinctively moved on one side to let her pass. Old Martha followed her as fast as she could, but Agnes ran on through the great vestibule. Her foot was on the first step of the stairs when a hand was laid on her shoulder, and looking up she saw Parson Ewan.
“Agnes!” he exclaimed.
“Aunt Patience—take me to Aunt Patience!” she cried, not heeding him.
“Come!” said Parson Ewan; and they went quickly on together, without speaking.
They paused at the door of Patience’s sitting-room.
“Agnes,” said the parson, “your aunt has been ill—very ill, indeed; and the last few days have tried her beyond measure. We must be careful. Jessie is with her. I will call her out, and I will go into your aunt and tell her you are here.”
“Be quick, then,” said Agnes. “Joy does not kill; she will get well now I am here.”
She had raised her voice a little, and as the door of the room opened, a voice they both knew called out:
“Agnes, Agnes!”
“She has heard me,” said the girl, and, running forward, she found herself in Patience’s arms.
“My darling, my well-beloved!” said the elder woman, sinking into a chair and drawing Agnes on to her knees; and the two loved each other with kisses and with tears, in silence, because their hearts were overflowing.
Parson Ewan closed the door and left them alone.
Ben Davies and his wife were conducted by Peter Kemp to the servants’ hall, and were being questioned, but they were very reticent. Ben Davies simply said that the Lady Agnes had been given into their charge, he did not even know by whom. Her very name had been hidden from them for many months. When they did know it, but for the war they would have brought her to England at once. Then a young commander, who knew the lady, had found them in Holland, and bidden them keep her quiet until the war should be over; but she was so impatient to come home, that she had persuaded Ben to hire a larger barge and to put out to sea.
They came up by the Medway and had expected to be in London in a day or so, when the fire broke out, and they had had to lay to. As soon as it was possible, the Lady Agnes had insisted on pushing forward. She would not let them rest. Her one cry was:
“Aunt Patience, Aunt Patience!”
Presently Parson Ewan came in, accompanied by Reginald Newbolt, who said sharply:
“Well, Ben, you haven’t obeyed orders.”
“I couldn’t, sir,” answered Ben; “the young lady would not let me. When I told her I had no money to charter a ship, she said it did not matter, that I could promise the owner what I chose; she was sure she was rich, she was sure the money would be found, and my wife took sides with her. What could I do? So I chartered a boat, and we crossed over; but when we came within reach of London, and saw the fire raging, still she would not go back. So we waited in the river until we could move on, which we did as soon as possible. She seemed to have no fear, and but one thought—to get home.”
“Well, you had better remain here for the present,” said Reginald. “Martha will take care of your wife.”
“Please, your honour, I must go back to my ship to-night,” said Ben Davies, “and my wife cannot leave the little one. Fortunately my mother came with us, and took charge of the child; but my wife must be back before night.”
“Very well,” said Reginald; “tell me in what dock your ship is lying and I will go to you. You must not go without seeing the Lady Agnes. Stay here and take proper refreshment. I will see to your getting back the quickest way possible.”
“Thank you, sir!” said Ben Davies; then, speaking in a low voice so that no one else could hear, he said:
“You will not betray me, sir? You will not let evil happen to me because I listened to that wicked man?”
“No, I will not,” said Reginald, “I promise you. You have redeemed yourself. You shall go scot-free. Indeed, I expect you will be rewarded for your care of the Lady Agnes.”
“Thank you kindly, sir!” said the man. And then Reginald and Mr. Ewan left the hall.
That same evening there was a great consultation, and it was agreed that the very next day Mr. Ewan, Patience, and the two girls, with their men and women servants, should start north. They would have to go very slowly because of Patience. It was impossible for her to travel on horseback, so a carriage had to be hired, and everything done to ensure the least possible fatigue for her.
Patience wrote to the king, telling him how Agnes had been found. She dwelt but slightly on her disappearance. All she said was: “She was carried away from us by some misadventure or by some evil design, which the Lord has frustrated, and she has mercifully been given back to my arms. Surely her angels have watched over her that her foot should not slip. With your majesty’s leave I am taking her back to Westmorland to my home, seeing she has none of her own—De Lisle Abbey, her ancestral home, having passed into the hands of strangers. I would entreat your majesty to inform the queen-dowager of these facts; and also I would remind your majesty that her father died serving that saint and martyr, your most gracious majesty’s father, and of your promise to befriend the child, who is fatherless and motherless, with nothing she can call her own. As regards myself, I shall not be here long to protect her. The late events have shattered my health, and I am going home to die; then she will be alone. Praying your majesty’s goodness for the orphan, I kiss your majesty’s hand, and leave her to your tender mercy.
“PATIENCE BEAUMONT.”
“I will take the letter,” said Reginald, “and you, Delarry, shall accompany me.”
“Willingly,” said the young Irish officer; and the two went off together.
The conduct of the young men had been so remarkable during the late events of the fire that they were in high favour with both the king and the Duke of York, to whom they had access at any hour of the day or night.
When the king had read the letter, he looked at Reginald with that peculiar expression of bonhomie which was so familiar to his courtiers.
“Are not you the present possessor of the De Lisle estates?” he asked.
“Yes, sire,” answered Reginald boldly; “they were given my father in return for his services in the Parliamentary army. But let not that trouble your majesty; I am ready to restore them to their rightful owner.”
“And their rightful owner is this Lady Agnes Beaumont De Lisle,” said the king. “Well, Captain Newbolt, I have a bit of advice to give you, and at the same time a tangible recognition of your services during the Dutch War, of which my cousin, Prince Rupert,” and he turned to the prince, who was standing by him, and smiled, “has given me full account. Go courting this lady; make her your wife. It will not be very difficult, seeing she is the fairest maiden at our court, and my mother has kept her hidden as a pearl in an oyster shell. It is for you to bring her forth, and when you present her at our court as your wife, I will create you Sir Reginald De Lisle, and ratify to you and to her conjointly the estates of which you have defrauded her; so shall we do away with all difficulties. What say you to this, my cousin?” And he turned once more to Prince Rupert.
“That your majesty has as usual solved the question with your happy wit. What can be better than love, and marriage, and wedding-bells?”
But Reginald answered:
“I am only too willing, your majesty; but there is one thing I would beseech of you, namely, to restore the estate to Lady Agnes without delay, and with no regard as to whether I win her hand or not.”
“But unless you wed her you cannot be Sir Reginald De Lisle,” said the king.
“Then, with your permission, I will be Sir Reginald something else,” said the young man boldly; “but I would have the Lady Agnes left free, quite free, to wed me or not as it seems best to her.”
“But you will go a-courting her?” said Charles, laughing.
“Ah, verily I will!” answered Reginald, drawing himself up, “and I hope to win her.”
“Have it your own way,” said the king. “Send us the parchments concerning the De Lisle estate and we will make them over to the young lady, and you, you will be penniless and a soldier of fortune. Now, begone, and do not tarry on the road, but win your spurs and a wife.”
Reginald bent his knee before the king and kissed his hand; then rose and went his way.