CHAPTER II: HIGH TREASON
"Whate'er it be that is within his reach,The filching trick he doth his fingers teach."
Robin Badfellow.
There was often a considerable distance between children and theirparents in the seventeenth century, but Anne Woodford, as the onlychild of her widowed mother, was as solace, comfort, and companion;and on her pillow in early morning the child poured forth in graveearnest the entire story of the changeling, asking whether he couldnot be "taken to good Dr. Ken, or the Dean, or the Bishop to be ex--ex--what is it, mother? Not whipped with nettles. Oh no! nor burntwith red hot pokers, but have holy words said so that the right onemay come back."
"My dear child, did you really believe that old nurse's tale?"
"O madam, she _knew_ it. The other old woman saw it! I alwaysthought fairies and elves were only in tales, but Lucy's nurse knowsit is true. And _he_ is not a bit like other lads, mamma dear. Heis lean and small, and his eyes are of different colours, look twoways at once, and his mouth goes awry when he speaks, and he laughsjust like--like a fiend. Lucy and I call him Riquet a la Houppe,because he is just like the picture in Mademoiselle's book, with agreat stubbly bunch of hair sticking out on one side, and though hewalks a little lame, he can hop and skip like a grasshopper, fasterthan any of the boys, and leap up a wall in a moment, and grin--ohmost frightfully. Have you ever seen him, mamma?"
"I think so. I saw a poor boy, who seemed to me to have had astroke of some sort when he was an infant."
"But, madam, that would not make him so spiteful and malicious!"
"If every one is against him and treats him as a wicked mischievouself, it is only too likely to make him bitter and spiteful. Nay,Anne, if you come back stuffed with old wives' tales, I shall notallow you to go home with Lucy Archfield."
The threat silenced Anne, who was a grave and rather silent littleperson, and when she mentioned it to her friend, the answer was,"Did you tell your mother? If I had told mine, I should have beenwhipped for repeating lying tales."
"Oh then you don't believe it!"
"It must be true, for Madge knew it. But that's the way always ifone lets out that one knows more than they think."
"It is not the way with my mother," stoutly said Anne, drawing upher dignified little head. And she kept her resolution, for thougha little excited by her first taste of lively youthfulcompanionship, she was naturally a thoughtful reticent child, with acharacter advanced by companionship with her mother as an onlychild, through a great sorrow. Thus she was in every respect moredeveloped than her contemporary Lucy, who regarded her with wonderas well as affection, and she was the object of the boyish devotionof Charley, who often defended her from his cousin Sedley'sendeavours to put down what he considered upstart airs in a littlenobody from London. Sedley teased and baited every weak thing inhis way, and Lucy had been his chief butt till Anne Woodford'sunconscious dignity and more cultivated manners excited his utmostspleen.
Lucy might be incredulous, but she was eager to tell that when hercousin Sedley Archfield was going back to 'chambers,' down from theClose gate came the imp on his shoulders in the twilight and twistedboth legs round his neck, holding tight on in spite of plunges,pinches, and endeavours to scrape him off against the wall, whichwere frustrated or retaliated by hair pulling, choking, till justere entering the college gateway, where Sedley looked to get hisrevenge among his fellows, he found his shoulders free, and heard"Ho! ho! ho!" from the top of a wall close at hand. All the morewas the young people's faith in the changeling story confirmed, andchild-world was in those days even more impenetrable to their eldersthan at present.
Changeling or no, it was certain that Peregrine Oakshott was theplague of the Close, where his father, an ex-officer of theParliamentary army, had unwillingly hired a house for the winter,for the sake of medical treatment for his wife, a sufferer from acomplication of ailments. Oakwood, his home, was about five milesfrom Dr. Woodford's living of Portchester, and as the families wouldthus be country neighbours, Mrs. Woodford thought it well to beginthe acquaintance at Winchester. While knocking at the door of thehouse on the opposite side of the Close, she was aware of an elfishvisage peering from an upper window. There was the queer mop ofdark hair, the squinting light eyes, the contorted grin crooking themouth, the odd sallow face, making her quite glad to get out ofsight of the strange grimaces which grew every moment more hideous.
Mrs. Oakshott sat in an arm-chair beside a large fire in awainscotted room, with a folding-screen shutting off the window.Her spinning-wheel was near, but it was only too plain that 'feeblewas the hand, and silly the thread.' She bent her head in itswadded black velvet hood, but excused herself from rising, as shewas crippled by rheumatic pains. She had evidently once been apretty little person, innocent and inane, and her face had becomelike that of a withered baby, piteous in its expression of pain andweariness, but otherwise somewhat vacant. At first, indeed, therewas a look of alarm. Perhaps she expected every visitor to comewith a complaint of her unlucky Peregrine, but when Mrs. Woodfordspoke cheerfully of being her neighbour in the country, she wasevidently relieved and even gratified, prattling in a soft plaintivetone about her sufferings and the various remedies, ranging fromwoodlice rolled into natural pills, and grease off the church bells,to diamond dust and Goa stones, since, as she said, there was nocost to which Major Oakshott would not go for her benefit. He hadeven procured for her a pound of the Queen's new Chinese herb, andit certainly was as nauseous as could be wished, when boiled inmilk, but she was told that was not the way it was taken at my LadyCharnock's. She was quite animated when Mrs. Woodford offered toshow her how to prepare it.
Therewith the master of the house came in, and the aspect of affairschanged. He was a tall, dark, grave man, plainly though handsomelydressed, and in a gentlemanly way making it evident that visits tohis wife were not welcome. He said that her health never permittedher to go abroad, and that his poor house contained nothing thatcould please a Court lady. Mrs. Oakshott shrank into herself, andbecame shy and silent, and Mrs. Woodford felt constrained to takeleave, courteously conducted to the door by her unwilling host.
She had not taken many steps before she was startled by a sharpshower from a squirt coming sidelong like a blow on her cheek andsurprising her into a low cry, which was heard by the Major, so thathe hastened out, exclaiming, "Madam, I trust that you are not hurt."
"Oh no, sir! It is nothing--not a stone--only water!" she said,wiping it with her handkerchief.
"I am grieved and ashamed at the evil pranks of my unhappy son, buthe shall suffer for it."
"Nay, sir, I pray you. It was only childish mischief."
He had not waited to hear her pleadings, and before she was halfacross the Close he had overtaken her, dragging the coweringstruggling boy in his powerful grasp.
"Now, Peregrine," he commanded, "let me instantly hear you ask thelady's pardon for your dastardly trick. Or--!" and his other handwas raised for a blow.
"I am sure he is sorry," said Mrs. Woodford, making a motion to wardoff the stroke, and as the queer eyes glanced up at her in wonderinginquiry, she laid her hand on the bony shoulder, saying, "I know youdid not mean to hurt me. You are sorry, are you not?"
"Ay," the boy muttered, and she saw a look of surprise on hisfather's face.
"There," she said, "he has made his amends, and surely that maysuffice."
"Nay, madam, it would be a weak and ungodly tenderness that wouldspare to drive forth the evil spirit which possesses the child bythe use of the rod. I should fail in my duty alike to God and man,"he added, in reply to a fresh gesture of intercession, "did I notteach him what it is to insult a lady at mine own door."
Mrs. Woodford could only go away, heartily sorry for the boy. Fromthat time, however, both she and her little daughter were untouchedby his tricks, though every one else had some complaint. Peas wereshot from unknown recesses at venerable canons, mice darted outbefore shrieking ladies, frogs' clammy forms descended
on the napeof their necks, hedgehogs were curled up on their chairs, and thoughPeregrine Oakshott was not often caught in the act, no mischief evertook place that was not attributed to him; and it was popularlybelieved in the Close that his father flogged him every morning forwhat he was about to do, and his tutor repeated the castigationevery evening for what he had done, besides interludes at eachdetection.
Perhaps frequent usage had toughened his skin, or he had becomeexpert in wriggling from the full force of the blow, or else, asmany believed, the elfish nature was impervious; for he was as readyas ever for a trick the moment he was released, like, as his brothersaid, the dog Keeper, who, with a slaughtered chick hung round hisneck in penance, rushed murderously upon the rest of the brood.
Yet Mrs. Woodford, on her way through the Cathedral nave, was awareof something leaning against one of the great columns, crouchingtogether so that the dark head, supported on the arms, restedagainst the pillar which fluted the pier. The organ was pealingsoftly and plaintively, and the little gray coat seemed to heave aswith a sob. She stood, impelled to offer to take him with her intothe choir, but a verger, spying him, began rating him in a tone fitfor expelling a dog, "Come, master, none of your pranks here! Benot you ashamed of yourself to be lying in wait for godly folk ontheir way to prayers? If I catch you here again the Dean shall hearof it, and you shall smart for it."
Mrs. Woodford began, "He was only hearkening to the music," but shecaught such a look of malignity cast upon the verger as perfectlyappalled her, and in another moment the boy had dashed, head overheels, out at the nearest door.
The next report that reached her related how a cloud of lime hadsuddenly descended from a broken arch of the cloister on the solemnverger, on his way to escort the Dean to the Minster, powdering hiswig, whitening his black gown from collar to hem, and not a littleendangering his eyesight.
The culprit eluded all pursuit on this occasion; but Mrs. Woodfordsoon after was told that the Major had caught Peregrine listening atthe little south door of the choir, had collared him, and floggedhim worse than ever, for being seduced by the sounds of the popishand idolatrous worship, and had told all his sons that the likechastisement awaited them if they presumed to cross the threshold ofthe steeple house.
Nevertheless the Senior Prefect of the college boys, when about tocome out of the Cathedral on Sunday morning, found his gown pinnedwith a skewer so fast to the seat that he was only set free at theexpense of a rent. Public opinion decided that the deed had beendone by the imp of Oakshott, and accordingly the whole of theWykeham scholars set on him with hue and cry the first time they sawhim outside the Close, and hunted him as far as St. Cross, where hesuddenly and utterly vanished from their sight.
Mrs. Woodford agreed with Anne that it was a very strange story.For how could he have been in the Cathedral at service time when itwas well known that Major Oakshott had all his family together athis own form of worship in his house? Anne, who had been in hopesthat her mother would be thus convinced of his supernatural powers,looked disappointed, but she had afterwards to confess that CharlesArchfield had found out that it was his cousin Sedley Archfield whohad played the audacious trick, in revenge for a well-meritedtunding from the Prefect.
"And then saddled it on young Oakshott?" asked her mother.
"Charley says one such matter more or less makes no odds to the Whigape; but I cannot endure Sedley Archfield, mamma."
"If he lets another lad bear the blame of his malice he cannotindeed be a good lad."
"So Charley and Lucy say," returned Anne. "We shall be glad to beaway from Winchester, for while Peregrine Oakshott torments slyly,Sedley Archfield loves to frighten us openly, and to hurt us to seehow much we can bear, and if Charley tries to stand up for us,Sedley calls him a puny wench, and a milksop, and knocks him down.But, dear madam, pray do not tell what I have said to her ladyship,for there is no knowing what Sedley would do to us."
"My little maid has not known before what boys can be!"
"No; but indeed Charles Archfield is quite different, almost as ifhe had been bred in London. He is a very gentleman. He never isrude to any girl, and he is courteous and gentle and kind. Hegathered walnuts for us yesterday, and cracked all mine, and I am tomake him a purse with two of the shells."
Mrs. Woodford smiled, but there was a short thrill of anxiety in hermotherly heart as her glance brought up a deeper colour into Anne'scheeks. There was a reserve to bring that glow, for the child knewthat if she durst say that Charles called her his little sweetheartand wife, and that the walnut-shell purse would be kept as a token,she should be laughed at as a silly child, perhaps forbidden to makeit, or else her uncle might hear and make a joke of it. It was notexactly disingenuousness, but rather the first dawn of maidenlyreserve and modesty that reddened her cheek in a manner her motherdid not fail to observe.
Yet it was with more amusement than misgiving, for children playedat courtship like other games in mimicry of being grown up, and abaronet's only son was in point of fact almost as much out of thereach of a sea captain's daughter and clergyman's niece as a princeof the blood royal; and Master Archfield would probably becontracted long before he could choose for himself, for his familywere not likely to take into account that if Captain Woodford hadnot been too severely wounded to come forward after the battle ofSouthwold Bay he would have been knighted. On the strength of whichAnne, as her companions sometimes said, gave herself in consequencemore airs than Mistress Lucy ever did.
Sedley, a poor cousin, a destitute cavalier's orphan, who had beenplaced on the foundation at Winchester College in hopes that hemight be provided for in the Church, would have been far more on herlevel, and indeed Lady Archfield, a notable matchmaker, had alreadyhinted how suitable such a thing would be. However, the presentschool character of Master Sedley, as well as her own observations,by no means inclined Mrs. Woodford towards the boy, large limbed andcomely faced, but with a bullying, scowling air that did not augurwell for his wife or his parish.
Whether it were this lad's threats, or more likely, the fact thatall the Close was on the alert, Peregrine's exploits were lessfrequent there, and began to extend to the outskirts of the city.There were some fine yew trees on the southern borders, towards thechalk down, with massive dark foliage upon stout ruddy branches,among which Peregrine, armed with a fishing-rod, line, and hook, satperched, angling for what might be caught from unconsciouspassengers along a path which led beneath.
From a market-woman's basket he abstracted thus a fowl! His "Ho!ho! ho!" startled her into looking up, and seeing it apparentlyresuscitated, and hovering aloft. Full of dismay, she hurriedshrieking away to tell the story of the bewitched chick at themarket-cross among her gossips.
His next capture was a chop from a butcher boy's tray, but thisinvolved more peril, for with a fierce oath that he would berevenged on the Whiggish imp, the lad darted at the tree, in vain,however, for Peregrine had dropped down on the other side, and creptunseen to another bush, where he lay perdu, under the thick greenbranches, rod and all, while the youth, swearing and growling, wasshaking his former refuge.
As soon as the coast was clear he went back to his post, andpresently was aware of three gentlemen advancing over the down,pointing, measuring, and surveying. One was small and slight, assimply dressed as a gentleman of the period could be; another wasclad in a gay coat with a good deal of fluttering ribbon and richlace; the third, a tall well-made man, had a plain walking suit,surmounted by a flowing periwig and plumed beaver. Coming closebeneath Peregrine's tree, and standing with their backs to it, theyeagerly conversed. "Such a cascade will drown the honours of theVersailles fountains, if only the water can be raised to such aheight. Are you sure of it, Wren?"
"As certain as hydraulics can make me, sir," and the lesser manbegan drawing lines with his stick in the dust of the path indemonstration.
The opportunity was irresistible, and the hook from above deftlycaught the band of the feathered hat of the taller man, slowly andsteadily
drawing it up, entirely unperceived by the owner, on whosewig it had rested, and who was bending over the dust-traced diagramin absorbed attention. Peregrine deferred his hobgoblin laughter,for success emboldened him farther. Detaching the hat from hishook, and depositing it safely in a fork of the tree, he nextcautiously let down his line, and contrived to get a strong hold ofone of the black locks on the top of the wig, just as the wearer wasobserving, "Oliver's Battery, eh? A cupola with a light to be seenout at sea? Our sailors will make another St. Christopher of you!Ha! what's this'"
For feeling as if a branch were touching the structure on his head,he had stepped forward, thus favouring Peregrine's manoeuvres sothat the wig dangled in the air, suddenly disclosing the bare skullof a very dark man, with such marked features that it needed not thegentlemen's outcry to show the boy who was the victim of hismischief.
"What imp is there?" cried the King, spying up into the tree, whilehis attendant drew his sword, "How now?" as Peregrine half climbed,half tumbled down, bringing hat and wig with him, and, whether bydesign or accident, fell at his feet. "Will nothing content you butroyal game?" he continued laughing, as Sir Christopher Wren helpedhim to resume his wig. "Why, what a shrimp it is! a mere goblinsprite! What's thy name, master wag?"
"Peregrine Oakshott, so please you," the boy answered, raisinghimself with a face scared indeed, but retaining its queerimpishness. "Sir, I never guessed--"
"Young rogue! have you our licence to waylay our loyal subjects?"demanded the King, with an affected fierceness. "Know you not 'tisrank treason to discrown our sacred Majesty, far more to dishevel ordestroy our locks? Why! I might behead you on the spot." To hisgreat amazement the boy, with an eager face and clasped hands,exclaimed, "O sir! Oh, please your Majesty, do so."
"Do so!" exclaimed the King astounded. "Didst hear what I said?"
"Yes, sir! You said it was a beheading matter, and I'm willing,sir."
"Of all the petitions that ever were made to me, this is thestrangest!" exclaimed Charles. "An urchin like this weary of life!What next? So," with a wink to his companions, "Peregrine Oakshott,we condemn thee for high treason against our most sacred Majesty'sbeaver and periwig, and sentence thee to die by having thine headsevered from thy body. Kneel down, open thy collar, bare thy neck.Ay, so, lay thy neck across that bough. Killigrew, do thy duty."
To the general surprise, the boy complied with all these directions,never flinching nor showing sign of fear, except that his lips wereset and his cheek whitened. As he knelt, with closed eyes, the flatcold blade descended on his neck, the tension relaxed, and he sank!
"Hold!" cried the King. "It is gone too far! He has surely notcarried out the jest by dying on our hands."
"No, no, sir," said Wren, after a moment's alarm, "he has onlyswooned. Has any one here a flask of wine to revive him?"
Several gentlemen had come up, and as Peregrine stirred, some winewas held to his lips, and he presently asked in a faint voice, "Isthis fairyland?"
"Not yet, my lad," said Charles, "whatever it may be when Wren'swork is done."
The boy opened his eyes, and as he beheld the same face, and the toofamiliar sky and trees, he sighed heavily, and said, "Then it is allthe same! O sir, would you but have cut off my head in goodearnest, I might be at home again!"
"Home! what means the elf?"
"An elf! That is what they say I am--changed in the cradle," saidPeregrine, incited to confidence by the good-natured eyes, "and Ithought if I were close on death mine own people might take me home,and bring back the right one."
"He really believes it!" exclaimed Charles much diverted. "Tell me,good Master Elf, who is thy father, I mean not my brother Oberon,but him of the right one, as thou sayst."
"Mr. Robert Oakshott of Oakwood, sir," said Peregrine.
"A sturdy squire of the country party," said the King. "I am muchminded to secure the lad for an elfin page," he added aside toKilligrew. "There's a fund of excellent humour and drollery inthose queer eyes of his! So, Sir Hobgoblin, if you are proofagainst cold steel, I know not what is to be done with you. Get youback, and devise some other mode of finding your way home tofairyland."
Peregrine said not a word of his adventure, so that the surprise ofhis family was the greater when overtures were made through SirChristopher Wren for his appointment as a royal page.
"I would as soon send my son at once to be a page to Beelzebub,"returned Major Oakshott.
And though Sir Christopher did not return the answer exactly inthose terms, he would not say that the Puritan Major did not judgerightly.