Chapter VII A King’s Vengeance
For some time past both Mistress Newbolt and Ann had noticed a great restlessness in Colonel Newbolt’s speech and manner. He was given to great rages. If anyone came suddenly into the house, he would start up and question them as to their business; indeed, it seemed to his family as if he feared something.
Ann told Reginald this one day, and the young man looked grave.
“I am not surprised,” he answered. “Matters are getting serious; the king’s exchequer is somewhat empty and difficult to refill, and those about him are not scrupulous as to the ways and means by which it may be replenished. You know that all the principal regicides, eighty or ninety odd, some of the best men, have already been dragged to the scaffold, and in most cases their property has been confiscated. But this does not suffice; there are hundreds of others, gentlemen and commoners, ministers, all sorts and conditions of men, who, if they did not vote for the king’s death, did not vote against it. Many have been arrested and thrown into prison; some have fled to Geneva, where they are safe; others are in hiding; but some, like my father, have remained at home, fully persuaded that no harm is likely to befall them, seeing they have given their adhesion to Charles II. But I am much afraid this will not be enough. Courtiers are turning a cold shoulder to them, and I find myself somewhat put on one side.
“I should not be surprised at any moment if my father were called to account and in a certain measure made to refund, for the old Royalists are clamouring to be restored to their estates and to be rewarded for their fidelity. Charles tries to satisfy them in many cases, but not in all; he cannot, and there is much discontent. An empty exchequer and followers who have despoiled themselves for their masters are difficult to deal with. It is not a pleasant prospect, and both he and his ministers seem to think the only way of meeting it is by taking back what Cromwell gave, if it can be proved that the recipients were accessories to Charles’s death.”
“And our father commanded a regiment of horse at Whitehall on the very day of the king’s execution,” said Ann, looking up.
“I know it,” answered Reginald. “It was his duty; he was under orders. If this knowledge comes to the king’s ears, then his command, probably his estates, will be taken from him and he will be brought to trial.”
“That is what troubles him, then,” said Ann.
“It is enough to trouble any man,” answered Reginald. “You see, he is trying to serve two masters, which never answers, in this world or the next.”
“What would you have him do?” asked Ann, aghast.
“Do! There is nothing to do,” said Reginald, “until the bomb bursts; then, if there is still time and he can escape out of England, his life may be spared, but his estates will be forfeited, and Newbolt Manor will pass into other hands. A case of pure bartering,” he added. “His majesty will rob Paul to pay Peter; it has ever been the same.”
“Can nothing be done?” asked Ann. “I do not care for the loss of Newbolt Manor, but I care for our father and our mother; it will break their hearts.”
“I see nothing for it but to wait,” said Reginald. “It is not likely that our father will be passed over; indeed, I am not sure myself that I shall not come in for a certain amount of opprobrium.”
“They cannot touch you, you were only a child,” said Ann.
“No, they cannot touch me. I am in the king’s service, and I did him homage before he came to the throne; but still there are so many with better claims seeking advancement, it is difficult for me to hold my own.”
Even while they were speaking there was a sound of many steps outside in the street and in the hall, and a porter came in in haste.
“Sir,” he said, “there are men here asking for the master in the king’s name!”
Ann’s face turned deathly white.
“So soon!” she exclaimed.
“The sooner the better,” Reginald answered; “it will be the quicker over.”
“My father is not here,” he said, going into the hall and addressing the men. “I do not know even if he is in the house. You had better assure yourselves of this; but first let me see your order.”
The commander of the company handed him a sheet of parchment. The colour mounted to the young man’s face as he read the order of his father’s arrest, “to answer certain questions as to his having been treasonably concerned in the late king’s death”.
Ann had followed him. He bent his head and whispered to her:
“Go to our mother, but do not tell her.”
She was trying to slip away, but she found her passage barred by the officer in command of the company.
“I regret it, madam,” he said; “but I cannot let you pass until the house has been searched and we are assured the colonel is not here.”
“I never told you he was not here,” said Reginald. “I bade you search for him.”
As he uttered these words, a door at the farther end of the hall opened, and the colonel came forward.
“What do you require of me?” he asked.
Before anyone could answer, Reginald handed him the paper.
“It is well,” he said; “I have expected this. I did not tell your mother nor you, children, because I would not have you needlessly anxious; now it has come to pass, I leave your mother to your care, Reginald. Deal gently with her. Nay, weep not, Ann. You are a soldier’s daughter; it is not seemly.” Notwithstanding his rough words, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
He shook Reginald by the hand, then saying:
“Gentlemen, I am ready for you,” passed out of the hall, and, mounting the horse that was waiting for him, rode away surrounded by a guard of soldiers.
Ann and Reginald remained alone with the frightened servants, who crowded around them. In a few words Reginald told them what had happened, adding, “I do not think there is any danger for my father’s life; but that he will suffer imprisonment and be heavily fined is probable. I would entreat of you all to keep quiet, and in public not to make more ado than you can help.”
Reginald was a great favourite in the household; he was young and generous, and they served him willingly. So with a loud voice they all promised obedience, adding also their hope that their master would soon be amongst them again.
“I do not think there is the least fear but that he will,” Reginald said assuringly, and so they dispersed, and Reginald and Ann remained alone.
Ann was very pale, but she was not trembling. She had a courageous heart, and was at the present moment thinking more of her mother than of her father. She knew full well that her mother had always been averse from her husband joining the present king’s cause, and she felt sure now that she would call this a just retribution; but she would not take it the less to heart, for under a cold exterior she had loved her husband dearly, and served him as a true and honourable wife.
Whilst the two stood hesitating, the door opened and Patience and Agnes entered.
“What’s happened?” asked Agnes. “We saw a troop of soldiers riding away; the street was full of them. They seemed to have a prisoner in their midst; we could not see who it was.”
“It was my father,” said Reginald. “He has been arrested for consenting to the late king’s death.”
“May the Lord help him!” said Patience. “Has there not been bloodshed enough already, that they must be ever seeking for more!”
“I do not think it is a case of blood,” said Reginald, with something approaching a sneer in his voice. “I think money will settle this;” and the words and manner of the young man revealed a bitterness which had been growing in his heart for some time past. He and Ann had been so eager for King Charles to come back, they had welcomed him with such unfeigned joy, such belief that he would bring back all that was noble, all the greatness, the courage, and the bravery, the high moral tone which had been his father’s, that whatever errors there had been in the past would cease now, indeed were already forgotten. Had not the whole race of Stuarts been chastised? Had not the whole nation suffered? And therefore they welcomed the king back as their chief good. The crown was his by Right Divine and by the will of the people. He had come back, and made merry, but he had no thought of forgiveness in his soul, only a fierce desire for vengeance against those who had slain his father and sent him into exile. That father had been a saint, and they slew him. The son was a great sinner, and they bowed down before him.
Reginald thought, and others thought with him, of all the blood that had been shed. They had hoped that a great pardon would have sealed that homecoming, instead of which it was vengeance and blood; whilst in the very palace where they had witnessed the death of Charles I, there was revelry and evil living, and an ignoring of all sacred things.
Their idol was broken, and their ideals had faded into nothingness. For the young this is a terrible experience: it cuts them to the heart, it wounds them to the soul. As men and women grow older they become accustomed to the daily and hourly disappointments of life. The shadow of death has passed over them, the lights have gone out; either they have grown hard and self-contained, or they have learnt to look beyond this world and patiently abide in faith, hope, and charity, until they shall pass into the kingdom of everlasting life. But the lesson has to be learnt, the road has to be trodden, and the pricks hurt their feet. The nobler the girl or the youth, the harder it is for them to lose their ideals.
Reginald was passing through this phase. He had built so much on this home-coming of his king, he had thought of him almost as a god, from his youth upwards; the son of that blessed saint and martyr, how should he be less than a hero! The disillusion was great, the sorrow was greater. Had he been of a less sensitive, a less noble nature himself, he would have thrown all care to the wind, have joined the revellers, and been content to lead the wild life of the young Cavaliers who had returned with Charles from foreign lands, and who now thought of little else but of making up for the years which had been passed in poverty and exile. Those lean years had taught them no lesson of frugality or decorum; rather they had made them impatient of restraint, desirous of making up in folly and extravagances for the years they called wasted.
Truly they were wasted, for they had brought forth no fruit. The lesson God would have taught to the race of Stuarts and their adherents had been of no avail. These men were like the Israelites of old, they had neither ears to hear nor eyes to see, and the few faithful ones, who loyally in England had waited for and prayed for their coming, were now sick at heart.
Yet Reginald had no thought of throwing up his allegiance; it was based on too good a foundation—his God and his king. He could not serve one and forsake the other, and so, though his heart was sore within him, and he felt that dark days were coming both for him and his, as a brave man he looked straight before him, trusting in a higher power than his own to deliver them from evil.