CHAPTER XXIV: IN THE MOONLIGHT
I have had a dream this evening,While the white and gold were fleeting,But I need not, need not tell it.Where would be the good?
Requiescat in Pace.--JEAN INGELOW.
Anne Woodford sat, on a sultry summer night, by the open window inArchfield House at Fareham, busily engaged over the tail of a kite,while asleep in a cradle in the corner of the room lay a little boy,his apple-blossom cheeks and long flaxen curls lying prone upon hispillow as he had tossed when falling asleep in the heat.
The six years since her return had been eventful. Dr. Woodford hadadhered to his view that his oath of allegiance could not beforfeited by James's flight; and he therefore had submitted to beousted from his preferments, resigning his pleasant prebendal house,and his sea-side home, and embracing poverty for his personal oath'ssake, although he was willing to acquiesce in the government ofWilliam and Mary, and perhaps to rejoice that others had effectedwhat he would not have thought it right to do.
Things had been softened to him as regarded his flock by theappointment of Mr. Fellowes to Portchester, which was a Crownliving, though there had been great demur at thus slipping into afriend's shoes, so that Dr. Woodford had been obliged to asseveratethat nothing so much comforted him as leaving the parish in suchhands, and that he blamed no man for seeing the question of Divineright as he did in common with the Non-jurors. The appointmentopened the way to the marriage with Naomi Darpent, and the pair werehappily settled at Portchester.
Dr. Woodford and his niece found a tiny house at Winchester, nearthe wharf, with the clear Itchen flowing in front and the greenhills rising beyond, while in the rear were the ruins of Wolvesey,and the buildings of the Cathedral and College. They retained noservant except black Hans, poor Peregrine's legacy, who was anexcellent cook, and capable of all that Anne could not accomplish inher hours of freedom.
It was a fall indeed from her ancient aspirations, though there wasstill that bud of hope within her heart. The united means of uncleand niece were so scanty that she was fain to offer her servicesdaily at Mesdames Reynaud's still flourishing school, where thefreshness of her continental experiences made her very welcome.
Dr. Woodford occasionally assisted some student preparing for theuniversity, but this was not regular occupation, and it was poorlypaid, so that it was well that fifty pounds a year went at leastthree times as far as it would do in the present day. Though hisgown and cassock lost their richness and lustre, he was as muchrespected as ever. Bishop Mews often asked him to Wolvesey, andallowed him to assist the parochial clergy when it was not necessaryto utter the royal name, the vergers marshalled him to his own stallat daily prayers, and he had free access to Bishop Morley'sCathedral library.
The Archfield family still took a house in the Close for the wintermonths, and there a very sober-minded and conventional courtship ofLucy took place by Sir Edmund Nutley, a worthy and well-to-dogentleman settled on the borders of Parkhurst Forest, in the Isle ofWight.
Anne, with the thought of her Charles burning within her heart, wasa little scandalised at the course of affairs. Sir Edmund was ahighly worthy man, but not in his first youth, and ponderous--aWhig, moreover, and an intimate friend of the masterful governor ofthe island, Lord Cutts, called the "Salamander." He had seen MissArchfield before at the winter and spring Quarter Sessions, andthough her father was no longer in the Commission of the Peace, theresidence at Winchester gave him opportunities, and the chiefobstacle seemed to be the party question. He was more in love thanwas the lady, but she was submissive, and believed that he would bea kind husband. She saw, too, that her parents would be muchdisappointed and displeased if she made any resistance to soprosperous a settlement, and she was positively glad to be out ofreach of Sedley's addresses. Such an entirely unenthusiasticacceptance was the proper thing, and it only remained to provide forLady Archfield's comfort in the loss of her daughter.
For this the elders turned at once to Anne Woodford. Sir Philipmade it his urgent entreaty that the Doctor and his niece would takeup their abode with him, and that Anne would share with thegrandmother the care of the young Philip, a spirited little fellowwho would soon be running wild with the grooms, without theattention that his aunt had bestowed on him.
Dr. Woodford himself was much inclined to accept the office ofchaplain to his old friend, who he knew would be far happier for hiscompany; and Anne's heart bounded at the thought of bringing upCharles's child, but that very start of joy made her blush andhesitate, and finally surprise the two old gentlemen by saying, withcrimson cheeks--
"Sir, your Honour ought to know what might make you change yourmind. There have been passages between Mr. Archfield and me."
Sir Philip laughed. "Ah, the rogue! You were always littlesweethearts as children. Why, Anne, you should know better than toheed what a young soldier says."
"No doubt you have other views for your son," said Dr. Woodford,"and I trust that my niece has too much discretion and sense ofpropriety to think that they can be interfered with on her account."
"Passages!" repeated Sir Philip thoughtfully. "Mistress Anne, howmuch do you mean by that? Surely there is no promise between you?"
"No, sir," said Anne; "I would not give any; but when we parted inFlanders he asked me to--to wait for him, and I feel that you oughtto know it."
"Oh, I understand!" said the baronet. "It was only natural to anold friend in a foreign land, and you have too much sense to dwellon a young man's folly, though it was an honourable scruple thatmade you tell me, my dear maid. But he is not come or coming yet,more's the pity, so there is no need to think about it at present."
Anne's cheeks did not look as if she had attained that wisdom; buther conscience was clear, since she had told the fact, and thefather did not choose to take it seriously. To say how she herselfloved Charles would have been undignified and nothing to thepurpose, since her feelings were not what would be regarded, andthere was no need to mention her full and entire purpose to wed noone else. Time enough for that if the proposal were made.
So the uncle and niece entered on their new life, with some loss ofindependence, and to the Doctor a greater loss in the neighbourhoodof the Cathedral and its library; for after the first year or two,as Lady Archfield grew rheumatic, and Sir Philip had his old friendto play backgammon and read the Weekly Gazette, they becameunwilling to make the move to Winchester, and generally stayed athome all the winter.
Before this, however, Princess Anne had been at the King's House atWinchester for a short time; and Lady Archfield paid due respects toher, with Anne in attendance. With the royal faculty of rememberingeverybody, the Princess recognised her namesake, gave her hand to bekissed, and was extremely gracious. She was at the moment in theheight of a quarrel with her sister, and far from delighted with thepresent regime. She sent for Miss Woodford, and, to Anne'ssurprise, laughed over her own escape from the Cockpit, adding, "Youwould not come, child. You were in the right on't. There's nogratitude among them! Had I known how I should be served I wouldnever have stirred a foot! So 'twas you that carried off the child!Tell me what he is like."
And she extracted by questions all that Anne could tell her of thelife at St. Germain, and the appearance of her little half-brother.It was impossible to tell whether she asked from affectionateremorse or gossiping interest, but she ended by inquiring whetherher father's god-daughter were content with her position, or desiredone--if there were a vacancy--in her own household, where she mightget a good husband.
Anne declined courteously and respectfully, and was forced to hintat an engagement which she could not divulge. She had heardCharles's expressions of delight at the arrangement which gave hisboy to her tender care, warming her heart.
Lady Archfield had fits of talking of finding a good husband forAnne Woodford among the Cathedral clergy, but the maiden was sonecessary to her, and so entirely a mother to little Philip, thatshe soon let the idea drop. Perhaps it was periodically revived,when, about three ti
mes a year, there arrived a letter from Charles.He wrote in good spirits, evidently enjoying his campaigns, and withno lack of pleasant companions, English, Scotch, and IrishJacobites, with whom he lived in warm friendship and wholesomeemulation. He won promotion, and the county Member actually cameout of his way to tell Sir Philip what he had heard from theImperial ambassador of young Archfield's distinguished services atthe battle of Salankamen, only regretting that he was not fightingunder King William's colours. Little Philip pranced about cuttingoff Turks' heads in the form of poppies, 'like papa,' for whosesafety Anne taught him to pray night and morning.
Pride in his son's exploits was a compensation to the father, whodeclared them to be better than vegetating over the sheepfolds, likeRobert Oakshott, or than idling at Portsmouth, like SedleyArchfield.
That young man's regiment had been ordered to Ireland during thecampaign that followed the battle of Boyne Water. He had suddenlyreturned from thence, cashiered: by his own story, the victim ofthe enmity of the Dutch General Ginkel; according to anotherversion, on account of brutal excesses towards the natives andinsolence to his commanding officer. Courts-martial had only justbeen introduced, and Sir Philip could believe in a Whig inventiondoing injustice to a member of a loyal family, so that his doorswere open to his nephew, and Sedley haunted them whenever he had noother resource; but he spent most of his time between Newmarket andother sporting centres, and contrived to get a sort of maintenanceby bets at races, cock-fights, and bull-baitings, and by extensivegambling. Evil reports of him came from time to time, but SirPhilip was loth to think ill of the son of his brother, or toforbode that as his grandson grew older, such influence might bedangerous.
In his uncle's presence Sedley was on his good behaviour; but if hecaught Miss Woodford without that protection, he attempted rudecompliments, and when repelled by her dignified look and manner,sneered at the airs of my lady's waiting-woman, and demanded howlong she meant to mope after Charley, who would never look so low."She need not be so ungracious to a poor soldier. She might have toput up with worse."
Moreover, he deliberately incited Philip to mischief, putting foulwords into the little mouth, and likewise giving forbidden food anddrink, lauding evil sports, and mocking at obedience to anyauthority, especially Miss Woodford's. Philip was very fond of hisNana, and in general good and obedient; but what high-spirited boyis proof against the allurements of the only example before him ofyoung manhood, assuring him that it was manly not to mind what thewomen said, nor to be tied to the apron-strings of his grand-dame'sabigail?
The child had this summer thus been actually taken to the outskirtsof a bull-fight, whence he had been brought home in great disgraceby Ralph, the old servant who had been charged to look after hisout-door amusements, and to ride with him. The grandfather wasindeed more shocked at the danger and the vulgarity of the sportthan its cruelty, but Philip had received his first flogging, andhis cousin had been so sharply rebuked that--to the great relief ofAnne and of Lady Archfield--he had not since appeared at FarehamHouse.
The morrow would be Philip's seventh birthday, a stage which wouldtake him farther out of Anne's power. He was no longer to sleep inher chamber, but in one of his own with Ralph for his protector, andhe was to begin Latin with Dr. Woodford. So great was his delightthat he had gone to bed all the sooner in order to bring the greatday more quickly, and Anne was glad of the opportunity of finishingthe kite, which was to be her present, for Ralph to help him flyupon Portsdown Hill.
That great anniversary, so delightful to him, with pony and whipprepared for him--what a day of confusion, distress, andwretchedness did it not recall to his elders? Anne could not choosebut recall the time, as she sat alone in the window, looking outover the garden, the moon beginning to rise, and the sunset lightstill colouring the sky in the north-west, just as it had done whenshe returned home after the bonfire. The events of that sad morninghad faded out of the foreground. The Oakshott family seemed to haveresigned themselves to the mystery of Peregrine's fate. Only hismother had declined from the time of his disappearance. When it wasascertained that his uncle had died in Russia, and that nothing hadbeen heard of him there, it seemed to bring on a fresh stage of herillness, and she had expired at last in Martha Browning's arms, herlast words being a blessing not only to Robert, but to Peregrine,and a broken entreaty to her husband to forgive the boy, for hemight have been better if they had used him well.
Martha was then found to hold out against the idea of his beingdead. Little affection and scant civility as she had received fromhim, her dutiful heart had attached itself to her destined lord, andno doubt her imagination had been excited by his curious abilities,and her compassion by the persecution he suffered at home. At anyrate, when, after a proper interval, the Major tried to transfer herto his remaining son, she held out against it for a long interval,until at last, after full three years, the desolation anddisorganisation of Oakwood without a mistress, a severe illness ofthe Major, and the distress of his son, so worked upon her feelingsthat she consented to the marriage with Robert, and had ever sincebeen the ruling spirit at Oakwood, and a very different one fromwhat had been expected--sensible, kindly, and beneficent, andallowing the young husband more liberty and indulgence than he hadever known before.
The remembrance of Peregrine seemed to have entirely passed away,and Anne had been troubled with no more apparitions, so that thoughshe thought over the strange scene of that terrible morning, therapid combat, the hasty concealment, the distracted face of theunhappy youth, it was with the thought that time had been a healer,and that Charles might surely now return home. And what then?
She raised her eyes to the open window, and what did she behold inthe moonlight streaming full upon the great tree rose below? It wasthe same face and figure that had three times startled her before,the figure dark and the face very white in the moonlight, but likenothing else, and with that odd, one-sided feather as of old. Ithad flitted ere she could point its place--gone in a single flash--but she was greatly startled! Had it come to protest against thescheme she had begun to indulge in on that very night of all nights,or had it merely been her imagination? For nothing was visible,though she leant from the window, no sound was to be heard, thoughwhen she tried to complete her work, her hands trembled and thepaper rustled, so that Philip showed symptoms of wakening, and shehad to defer her task till early morning.
She said nothing of her strange sight, and Phil had a happysuccessful birthday, flying the kite with a propitious wind, andriding into Portsmouth on his new pony with grandpapa. But therewas one strange event. The servants had a holiday, and some of themwent into Portsmouth, black Hans, who never returned, being one.The others had lost sight of him, but had not been uneasy, knowinghim to be perfectly well able to find his way home; but as he neverappeared, the conclusion was that he must have been kidnapped bysome ship's crew to serve as a cook. He had not been very happyamong the servants at Fareham, who laughed at his black face andDutch English, and he would probably have gone willingly withDutchmen; but Anne and her uncle were grieved, and felt as if theyhad failed in the trust that poor Sir Peregrine had left them.