CHAPTER XX: THE FLIGHT
"Storms may rush in, and crimes and woes Deform that peaceful bower;They may not mar the deep repose Of that immortal flower.Though only broken hearts be found To watch his cradle by,No blight is on his slumbers sound, No touch of harmful eye."
KEBLE.
The news was even worse and worse in that palace of despondency andterror. Notice had arrived that Lord Dartmouth was withheld fromdespatching the young Prince to France by his own scruples and thoseof the navy; and orders were sent for the child's return. Then camea terrible alarm. The escort sent to meet him were reported to havebeen attacked by the rabble on entering London and dispersed, sothat each man had to shift for himself.
There was a quarter of an hour which seemed many hours of fearfulsuspense, while King and Queen both knelt at their altar, praying inagony for the child whom they pictured to themselves in the hands ofthe infuriated mob, too much persuaded of his being an imposture topity his unconscious innocence. No one who saw the blanched cheeksand agonised face of Mary Beatrice, or James's stern, mute misery,could have believed for a moment in the cruel delusion that he wasno child of theirs.
The Roman Catholic women were with them. To enter the oratory wouldin those circumstances have been a surrender of principle, but nonethe less did Anne pray with fervent passion in her chamber for pityfor the child, and comfort for his parents. At last there was astir, and hurrying out to the great stair, Anne saw a man in plainclothes replying in an Irish accent to the King, who was supportingthe Queen with his arm. Happily the escort had missed the Prince ofWales. They had been obliged to turn back to London without meetinghim, and from that danger he had been saved.
A burst of tears and a cry of fervent thanksgiving relieved theQueen's heart, and James gave eager thanks instead of the reprimandthe colonel had expected for his blundering.
A little later, another messenger brought word that Lord and LadyPowys had halted at Guildford with their charge. A Frenchgentleman, Monsieur de St. Victor, was understood to have undertakento bring him to London--understood--for everything was whisperedrather than told among the panic-stricken women. No one who knewthe expectation could go to bed that night except that the King andQueen had--in order to disarm suspicion--to go through theaccustomed ceremonies of the coucher. The ladies sat or lay ontheir beds intently listening, as hour after hour chimed from theclocks.
At last, at about three in the morning, the challenge of thesentinels was heard from point to point. Every one started up, andhurried almost pell-mell towards the postern door. The King andQueen were both descending a stair leading from the King's dressing-room, and as the door was cautiously opened, it admitted a figure ina fur cloak, which he unfolded, and displayed the sleeping face ofthe infant well wrapped from the December cold.
With rapture the Queen gathered him into her arms, and the fatherkissed him with a vehemence that made him awake and cry. St. Victorhad thought it safer that his other attendants should come in bydegrees in the morning, and thus Miss Woodford was the only actuallyeffective nursery attendant at hand. His food was waiting by thefire in his own sleeping chamber, and thither he was carried. Therethe Queen held him on her lap, while Anne fed him, and he smiled ather and held out his arms.
The King came, and making a sign to Anne not to move, stoodwatching.
Presently he said, "She has kept one secret, we may trust her withanother."
"Oh, not yet, not yet," implored the Queen. "Now I have both mytreasures again, let me rest in peace upon them for a little while."
The King turned away with eyes full of tears while Anne was lullingthe child to sleep. She wondered, but durst not ask the Queen,where was the tiler's wife; but later she learnt from Miss Dunord,that the woman had been so terrified by the cries of the multitudeagainst the 'pretender,' and still more at the sight of the sea,that she had gone into transports of fright, implored to go home,and perhaps half wilfully, become useless, so that the weaningalready commenced had to be expedited, and the fretfulness of thepoor child had been one of the troubles for some days. However, heseemed on his return to have forgotten his troubles, and Anne hadhim in her arms nearly all the next day.
It was not till late in the evening that Anne knew what the King hadmeant. Then, while she was walking up and down the room, amusingthe little Prince with showing by turns the window and his face in alarge mirror, the Queen came in, evidently fresh from weeping, andholding out her arms for him, said, after looking to see that therewas no other audience--
"Child, the King would repose a trust in you. He wills that youshould accompany me to-night on a voyage to France to put thislittle angel in safety."
"As your Majesty will," returned Anne; "I will do my best."
"So the King said. He knew his brave sailor's daughter was worthyof his trust, and you can speak French. It is well, for we go underthe escort of Messieurs de Lauzun and St. Victor. Be ready atmidnight. Lady Strickland or the good Labadie will explain more toyou, but do not speak of this to anyone else. You have leave now,"she added, as she herself carried the child towards his father'srooms.
The maiden's heart swelled at the trust reposed in her, and theKing's kind words, and she kept back the sense of anxiety and doubtas to so vague a future. She found Mrs. Labadie lying on her bedawake, but trying to rest between two busy nights, and she was thentold that there was to be a flight from the palace of the Queen andPrince at midnight, Mrs. Labadie and Anne alone going with them,though Lord and Lady Powys and Lady Strickland, with the Queen'sItalian ladies, would meet them on board the yacht which was waitingat Gravesend. The nurse advised Anne to put a few necessaryequipments into a knapsack bound under a cloak, and to leave othergarments with her own in charge of Mr. Labadie, who would despatchthem with those of the suite, and would follow in another day withthe King. Doubt or refusal there could of course be none in suchcircumstances, and a high-spirited girl like Anne could not but feela thrill of heart at selection for such confidential and signalservice at her age, scarcely seventeen. Her one wish was to writeto her uncle what had become of her. Mrs. Labadie hardly thought itsafe, but said her husband would take charge of a note, and ifpossible, post it when they were safe gone, but nothing of theKing's plans must be mentioned.
The hours passed away anxiously, and yet only too fast. So many hadquitted the palace that there was nothing remarkable in packing, butas Anne collected her properties, she could not help wonderingwhether she should ever see them again. Sometimes her spirit roseat the thought of serving her lovely Queen, saving the littlePrince, and fulfilling the King's trust; at others, she was full ofvague depression at the thought of being cut off from all she knewand loved, with seas between, and with so little notice to heruncle, who might never learn where she was; but she knew she had hisapproval in venturing all, and making any sacrifice for the Kingwhom all deserted; and she really loved her Queen and little Prince.
The night came, and she and Mrs. Labadie, fully equipped in cloaksand hoods, waited together, Anne moving about restlessly, the elderwoman advising her to rest while she could. The little Prince, allunconscious of the dangers of the night, or of his loss of a throne,lay among his wraps in his cradle fast asleep.
By and by the door opened, and treading softly in came the King inhis dressing-gown and night-cap, the Queen closely muffled, LadyStrickland also dressed for a journey, and two gentlemen, the onetall and striking-looking, the other slim and dark, in their cloaks,namely, Lauzun and St. Victor.
It was one of those supreme moments almost beyond speech ormanifestation of feeling.
The King took his child in his arms, kissed him, and solemnly saidto Lauzun, "I confide my wife and son to you."
Both Frenchmen threw themselves on their knees kissing his hand witha vow of fidelity. Then giving the infant to Mrs. Labadie, Jamesfolded his wife in his arms in a long mute embrace; Anne carried thebasket containing food for the child; and first with a lantern wentSt. Victor, then Lauzun, handing the Quee
n; Mrs. Labadie with thechild, and Anne following, they sped down the stairs, along thegreat gallery, with steps as noiseless as they could make them, downanother stair to a door which St. Victor opened.
A sentry challenged, sending a thrill of dismay through the anxioushearts, but St. Victor had the word, and on they went into the privygardens, where often Anne had paced behind Mrs. Labadie as thePrince took his airing. Startling lights from the windows fell onthem, illuminating the drops of rain that plashed round them on thatgrim December night, and their steps sounded on the gravel, whilestill the babe, sheltered under the cloak, slept safely. Anotherdoor was reached, more sentries challenged and passed; here was astreet whose stones and silent houses shone for a little space asSt. Victor raised his lantern and exchanged a word with a man on thebox of a carriage.
One by one they were handed in, the Queen, the child, the nurse,Anne, and Lauzun, St. Victor taking his place outside. As if in adream they rattled on through the dark street, no one speakingexcept that Lauzun asked the Queen if she were wet.
It was not far before they stopped at the top of the steps calledthe Horseferry. A few lights twinkled here and there, and werereflected trembling in the river, otherwise a black awful gulf, fromwhich, on St. Victor's cautious hail, a whistle ascended, and acloaked figure with a lantern came up the steps glistening in therain.
One by one again, in deep silence, they were assisted down, and intothe little boat that rocked ominously as they entered it. There thewomen crouched together over the child unable to see one another,Anne returning the clasp of a hand on hers, believing it Mrs.Labadie's, till on Lauzun's exclaiming, "Est ce que j'incommode saMajeste?" the reply showed her that it was the Queen's hand that sheheld, and she began a startled "Pardon, your Majesty," but the sweetreply in Italian was, "Ah, we are as sisters in this stress."
The eager French voice of Lauzun went on, in undertones certainly,but as if he had not the faculty of silence, and amid the plash ofthe oars, the rush of the river, and the roar of the rain, it wasnot easy to tell what he said, his voice was only another of thenoises, though the Queen made little courteous murmurs in reply. Itwas a hard pull against wind and tide towards a little speck ofgreen light which was shown to guide the rowers; and when at lastthey reached it, St. Victor's hail was answered by Dusions, one ofthe servants, and they drew to the steps where he held a lantern.
"To the coach at once, your Majesty."
"It is at the inn--ready--but I feared to let it stand."
Lauzun uttered a French imprecation under his breath, and danced onthe step with impatience, only restrained so far as to hand out theQueen and her two attendants. He was hotly ordering off Dusions andSt. Victor to bring the coach, when the former suggested that theymust find a place for the Queen to wait in where they could findher.
"What is that dark building above?"
"Lambeth Church," Dusions answered.
"Ah, your Protestant churches are not open; there is no shelter forus there," sighed the Queen.
"There is shelter in the angle of the buttress; I have been there,your Majesty," said Dusions.
Thither then they turned.
"What can that be?" exclaimed the Queen, starting and shuddering asa fierce light flashed in the windows and played on the wall.
"It is not within, madame," Lauzun encouraged; "it is reflectedlight from a fire somewhere on the other side of the river."
"A bonfire for our expulsion. Ah! why should they hate us so?"sighed the poor Queen.
"'Tis worse than that, only there's no need to tell Her Majesty so,"whispered Mrs. Labadie, who, in the difficulties of the ascent, hadbeen fain to hand the still-sleeping child to Anne. "'Tis theCatholic chapel of St. Roque. The heretic miscreants!"
"Pray Heaven no life be lost," sighed Anne.
Sinister as the light was, it aided the poor fugitives at that deadhour of night to find an angle between the church wall and abuttress where the eaves afforded a little shelter from the rain,which slackened a little, when they were a little concealed from theroad, so that the light need not betray them in case any passengerwas abroad at such an hour, as two chimed from the clock overhead.
The women kept together close against the wall to avoid the drip ofthe eaves. Lauzun walked up and down like a sentinel, his armsfolded, and talking all the while, though, as before, his utteranceswere only an accompaniment to the falling rain and howling wind;Mary Beatrice was murmuring prayers over the sleeping child, whichshe now held in the innermost corner; Anne, with wide-stretchedeyes, was gazing into the light cast beyond the buttress by the fireon the opposite side, when again there passed across it that formshe had seen on All Saints' Eve--the unmistakable phantom ofPeregrine.
It was gone into the darkness in another second; but a violent starton her part had given a note of alarm, and brought back the Count,whose walk had been in the opposite direction.
"What was it? Any spy?"
"Oh no--no--nothing! It was the face of one who is dead," gaspedAnne.
"The poor child's nerve is failing her," said the Queen gently, asLauzun drawing his sword burst out--
"If it be a spy it _shall_ be the face of one who is dead;" and hedarted into the road, but returned in a few moments, saying no onehad passed except one of the rowers returning after running up tothe inn to hasten the coach; how could he have been seen from thechurch wall? The wheels were heard drawing up at that moment, sothat the only thought was to enter it as quickly as might be in thesame order as before, after which the start was made, along the roadthat led through the marshes of Lambeth; and then came the inquiry--an anxious one--whom or what mademoiselle, as Lauzun called her, hadseen.
"O monsieur!" exclaimed the poor girl in her confusion, her bestFrench failing, "it was nothing--no living man."
"Can mademoiselle assure me of that? The dead I fear not, theliving I would defy."
"He lives not," said she in an undertone, with a shudder.
"But who is he that mademoiselle can be so certain?" asked theFrenchman.
"Oh! I know him well enough," said Anne, unable to control hervoice.
"Mademoiselle must explain herself," said M. de Lauzun. "If he bespirit--or phantom--there is no more to say, but if he be in theflesh, and a spy--then--" There was a little rattle of his sword.
"Speak, I command," interposed the Queen; "you must satisfy M. leComte."
Thus adjured, Anne said in a low voice of horror: "It was agentleman of our neighbourhood; he was killed in a duel lastsummer!"
"Ah! You are certain?"
"I had the misfortune to see the fight," sighed Anne.
"That accounts for it," said the Queen kindly. "If mademoiselle'snerves were shaken by such a remembrance, it is not wonderful thatit should recur to her at so strange a watch as we have beenkeeping."
"It might account for her seeing this revenant cavalier in anypassenger," said Lauzun, not satisfied yet.
"No one ever was like him," said Anne. "I could not mistake him."
"May I ask mademoiselle to describe him?" continued the count.
Feeling all the time as if this first mention were a sort ofbetrayal, Anne faltered the words: "Small, slight, almostmisshapen--with a strange one-sided look--odd, unusual features."
Lauzun's laugh jarred on her. "Eh! it is not a flattering portrait.Mademoiselle is not haunted by a hero of romance, it appears, somuch as by a demon."
"And none of those monsieur has employed in our escape answer tothat description?" asked the Queen.
"Assuredly not, your Majesty. Crooked person and crooked mind gotogether, and St. Victor would only have trusted to your big honestrowers of the Tamise. I think we may be satisfied that thedemoiselle's imagination was excited so as to evoke a phantomimpressed on her mind by a previous scene of terror. Such thingshave happened in my native Gascony."
Anne was fain to accept the theory in silence, though it seemed toher strange that at a moment when she was for once not thinking ofPeregrine, her imagination s
hould conjure him up, and there was astrong feeling within her that it was something external that hadflitted across the shadow, not a mere figment of her brain, thoughthe notion was evidently accepted, and she could hear a muttering ofMrs. Labadie that this was the consequence of employing youngwenches with their whims and megrims.
The Count de Lauzun did his best to entertain the Queen with storiesof revenants in Gascony and elsewhere, and with reminiscences of hiseleven years' captivity at Pignerol, and his intercourse withFouquet; but whenever in aftertimes Anne Woodford tried to recallher nocturnal drive with this strange personage, the chosen and veryunkind husband of the poor old Grande Mademoiselle, she never couldrecollect anything but the fierce glare of his eyes in the light ofthe lamps as he put her to that terrible interrogation.
The talk was chiefly monologue. Mrs. Labadie certainly slept,perhaps the Queen did so too, and Anne became conscious that shemust have slumbered likewise, for she found every one gazing at herin the pale morning dawn and asking why she cried, "O Charles,hold!"
As she hastily entreated pardon, Lauzun was heard to murmur, "Jeparie que le revenant se nomme Charles," and she collected hersenses just in time to check her contradiction, recollecting thathappily such a name as Charles revealed nothing. The little Prince,who had slumbered so opportunely all night, awoke and receivedinfinite praise, and what he better appreciated, the food that hadbeen provided for him. They were near their journey's end, and itwas well, for people were awakening and going to their work as theypassed one of the villages, and once the remark was heard, "Theregoes a coach full of Papists."
However, no attempt was made to stop the party, and as it would bedaylight when they reached Gravesend, the Queen arranged herdisguise to resemble, as she hoped, a washerwoman--taking off hergloves, and hiding her hair, while the Prince, happily again asleep,was laid in a basket of linen. Anne could not help thinking thatshe thus looked more remarkable than if she had simply embarked as alady; but she meant to represent the attendant of her Italian friendCountess Almonde, whom she was to meet on board.
Leaving the coach outside a little block of houses, the partyreached a projecting point of land, where three Irish officersreceived them, and conducted them to a boat. Then, wrapped closelyin cloaks from the chill morning air, they were rowed to the yacht,on the deck of which stood Lord and Lady Powys, Lady Strickland,Pauline Dunord, and a few more faithful followers, who had come morerapidly. There was no open greeting nor recognition, for thecaptain and crew were unaware whom they were carrying, and, on thediscovery, either for fear of danger or hope of reward, might havecaptured such a prize.
Therefore all the others, with whispered apologies, were hoisted upbefore her, and Countess Almonde had to devise a special entreatythat the chair might be lowered again for her poor laundress as wellas for the other two women.
The yacht, which had been hired by St. Victor, at once spread hersails; Mrs. Labadie conversed with the captain while the countesstook the Queen below into the stifling crowded little cabin. It wasaltogether a wretched voyage; the wind was high, and the pitchingand tossing more or less disabled everybody in the suite. The Queenwas exceedingly ill, so were the countess and Mrs. Labadie. Nobodycould be the least effective but Signora Turini, who waited on herMajesty, and Anne, who was so far seasoned by excursions atPortsmouth that she was capable of taking sole care of the littlePrince, as the little vessel dashed along on her way with her cargoof alarm and suffering through the Dutch fleet of fifty vessels,none of which seemed to notice her--perhaps by express desire not tobe too curious as to English fugitives.
Between the care of the little one, who needed in the tossing of theship to be constantly in arms though he never cried and when awakewas always merry, and the giving as much succour as possible to hersuffering companions, Anne could not either rest or think, butseemed to live in one heavy dazed dream of weariness and endurance,hardly knowing whether it were day or night, till the welcome soundwas heard that Calais was in sight.
Then, as well as they could, the poor travellers crawled from thecorners, and put themselves in such array as they could contrive,though the heaving of the waves, as the little yacht lay to, did notconduce to their recovery. The Count de Lauzun went ashore as soonas a boat could be lowered to apprise M. Charot, the Governor ofCalais, of the guest he was to receive, and after an interval ofconsiderable discomfort, in full view of the massive fortifications,boats came off to bring the Queen and her attendants on shore, thistime as a Queen, though she refused to receive any honours. LadyStrickland, recovering as soon as she was on dry land, resumed herPrince, who was fondled with enthusiastic praises for his excellentconduct on the voyage.
Anne could not help feebly thinking some of the credit might be dueto her, since she had held him by land and water nearly ever sinceleaving Whitehall, but she was too much worn out by her nights ofunrest, and too much battered and beaten by the tossings of hervoyage, to feel anything except in a languid half-conscious way,under a racking headache; and when the curious old house where theywere to rest was reached, and all the rest were eating with ravenousappetites, she could taste nothing, and being conducted by acompassionate Frenchwoman in a snow-white towering cap to a strawmattress spread on the ground, she slept the twenty-four hours roundwithout moving.