University of Virginia Library

10. X.
THE FLIGHT FROM CHARLECOTE.

This unexpected encounter with Frances Villiers
astonished me beyond words; but the young lady
soon explained all, and I shall sum up her explanation
in a few sentences.

The king, when informed of Lord Essex's advance
upon Exeter to seize the queen, had hastened by
forced marches to relieve the place. This he had
effected. Essex retired before him, and the king,
entering the city, embraced at Bedford House the
poor child, to whom he gave the name Henrietta
Anne, as the queen desired. Compelled then to take
the field again, he left the babe at Exeter, in charge of
Lady Morton and Frances Villiers; and there the child
remained until the decisive battle of Naseby. Thereafter
she was not safe; and, as Lady Morton was very
ill, Frances Villiers took entire charge of the child,
flying first to the house of one friend of the royal cause,
then to another. Thus, in course of time, she took
refuge at Charlecote,—the Lucy family being relatives
of the Villiers and warm friends of the king. Here
the young lady and child had now been for many
months; but the time had come when they would be
compelled to seek a more secure hiding-place. All
this Frances Villiers related in her calm, composed
voice, which made the strange romance of the whole

affair seem the most commonplace series of events in
the world.

“And what, if I may ask, is your intention now, Miss
Villiers?” I said.

“To leave Charlecote, and, if possible, England, sir.
This neighborhood is not safe. There is a Sir Jervas
Ireton in the vicinity, who has gained information,
'tis said, of the presence of the princess. He will aim
therefore, as he is a flaming zealot, to seize the child
and deliver her up to parliament; and to avoid this
we must resume our wanderings.”

She spoke in her sweet, calm accents, looking tenderly
at the child. Something exquisite appeared in
her eyes:—was it the sacred maternal instinct? I think
that is in all women.

“But whither will you go?” I said.

“I have nearly resolved—I may say quite resolved—
to try to take the princess from the country,” she replied.

“But you will be arrested on the way.”

“Not if a good disguise be assumed, sir. I think I
might elude the king's enemies.”

“A disguise! what?”

“That of a beggar-woman and child.”

The plan seemed wild and impracticable. How
could this delicate young lady trudge through half
England on foot, with a child nearly two years old
toddling on beside her or borne on her back? But
as Miss Villiers spoke further, and developed her
scheme,—as, with cheeks glowing now with love and
devotion, she unfolded her resolve,—it began to assume
a new shape; I gradually passed to her side; and, despite
the opposition of Lady Lucy, it was decided,

before our interview terminated, that the romantic
attempt should be made, and that I should accompany
Miss Villiers.

Against that, I must do her the justice to say, the
young lady fought hard. Wholly destitute of primness
and prudery, she was yet a person who never forgot
the strictest rules of propriety; and it was long before
I could prevail upon her to consent to my companionship.
At last, however, she yielded,—Lady Lucy insisting
that if the attempt was made I must accompany
them; and it was determined that we should set out,
as soon as night had fallen, on the next evening.

I returned to Cecil Court to arrange my disguise
and prepare for my journey. I was all excitement and
agitation. Thus fate had once more thrown me with
the woman whom I loved more than I loved my own
life. I was to accompany her as companion, friend,
and defender, if necessary, on a long and perilous
journey, which would throw me into hourly contact
with her. I was to look into her eyes, hear the accents
of her voice, feel the pressure of her hand, and throughout
all I was to conduct myself as a friend, and only as
a friend. For I recalled my promise to poor Harry,
that I would never without his permission utter a word
of love to Frances Villiers. He was dead: that permission
could never be accorded: my best course,
therefore, was to remain away from temptation;—
and here I was to be thrown, every hour, day and
night, for days, weeks, it might be months, with the
woman whom I loved with my whole soul, between
whom and myself rose nevertheless that impassable
barrier, my solemn promise given to the dead!

Returning to Cecil Court, in a mood of greater
agitation than I had believed possible, I set about
procuring my disguise for the journey. This was
easily effected: the cast-off livery of a serving-man
supplied me with just what I required; and then, shutting
myself up with my father in the library, I revealed
my intent.

He warmly commended the design,—instead of opposing
it, as I had feared. Miss Villiers, he said, was
a true heroine, and the project was not so wild as it
seemed. He would provide me with gold for the
journey, and pray for my welfare. But we must
hurry: that man Ireton was coming, and would nose
out something.

All things having thus been arranged, I retired, not
to sleep, however, but to lie awake and think of Frances
Villiers. The morning came, and the day dragged on.
The sun slowly declined, and, retiring to my chamber,
I assumed my disguise. I descended then, embraced
Cicely, who started back in affright as I entered,
pressed my father's hand, and was just issuing forth,
when Sir Jervas Ireton was seen galloping rapidly up
the avenue.

No time was to be lost; and I ignominiously fled out
of the back door. My horse had just been saddled,
and was about to be brought. I leaped upon him, put
spur to his side, and went at full speed across the fields,
leaping fences and ditches, towards Charlecote.

Had I been seen? I could not answer that question.
I either saw or fancied that I saw some troopers
who rode in the suite of Sir Jervas Ireton hastily separate,
gesticulating and pointing me out. This might

have been fancy, however. Under any circumstances,
no time was to be lost. I went on at full speed,
stopped for nothing in the way, and, reaching the
grounds around Charlecote, galloped up the long avenue
to the house.

Lady Lucy met me at the door, and I hastily informed
her of the danger. I had probably been perceived.
If Ireton had knowledge of the presence of
the princess at Charlecote, he would have intelligence
enough to suspect that I had gone to give warning
of the danger. He would thus press forward at once.
No time was to be lost. Where was Miss Villiers?

The young lady replied to the question in person.
I could scarce realize that it was the elegant and highborn
maid of honor who now stood before me in the
dingy and tattered garb of a beggar-woman. The disguise
was perfect. The slender figure of the young
girl was a shapeless bundle of rags; her beautiful hair
had been remorselessly shorn; a huge hood covered
her head and scarce allowed her face to be seen; and
the fair skin had been pitilessly stained with some dye
which brought it to resemble the weather-beaten complexion
of a beggar-woman.

The princess had been metamorphosed in a manner
equally perfect. The little figure was bundled up in
an old gown and tattered cloak. On the delicate feet
were coarse shoes. It was not an aristocratic young
dame and the daughter of a king I saw before me,
but a mendicant and child in the last stage of poverty.

“Your disguise is excellent, Miss Villiers,” I said,
hurriedly; “but we have no time now for compliments.
Sir Jervas Ireton is coming!”

And I related, in brief words, my escape from Cecil
Court. I was still speaking, when Lady Lucy uttered
an exclamation. I looked through the window, and
saw the burly personage thundering straight up the
avenue, followed by his men.

“We must separate,” I said, “and endeavor to
leave the house instantly.”

Miss Villiers inclined her head. Save a slight color
in her proud cheeks, there was no indication of emotion.

“Endeavor to leave by the side court,” I said,
hastily. “I will go out by the rear gate and join you
on the road to Stafford, where the three elms crown
the hill.”

The rendezvous was a well-known spot, and I knew
Miss Villiers could not mistake it. She disappeared,
with the princess, towards a side door; and, running
to the rear of the house, I reached my horse, which
stood there, just as a trooper galloped around and
approached.

The incident was far from unacceptable. It was gall
and wormwood to me to skulk away thus before the
enemy of my family. I went up to the trooper, who
was an open-mouthed clodhopper, seized his bridle,
and, before he could realize my design, caught him by
the throat and dragged him from the saddle.

As I did so, he woke as it were from his astonishment,
and uttered a loud shout. I picked up his musquetoon,
which had fallen near him, dealt him a blow
on the head, which silenced him, and, leaping on my
horse, gained the dense foliage of the wood.

Sir Jervas Ireton appeared suddenly, spurring furiously

towards the fallen trooper. As he passed around
the house, another spectacle made my heart beat fast.
I saw Frances Villiers, in her disguise of a beggar-woman,
with the princess bundled up in a ragged
cloak on her back, quietly pass out of the house by the
side door, take a path which led to the wood, and
gain its shelter entirely unmolested.

Her enemies had either not seen her, or did not suspect
for an instant that their prey was thus escaping
them. Whatever the explanation may have been, the
young girl with her precious burden had passed safely
through the very midst of her enemies. Without further
apprehension, I leaped a low place in the park
wall, turned my horse loose, knowing that the intelligent
animal would find his way back to Cecil Court,
and rapidly ran in the direction taken by Miss Villiers.

In ten minutes I had joined her. I assisted her over
the wall; we hastened on by a path which I knew perfectly
well. Darkness quickly descended, and, taking
the young lady's hand, I led her on until we gained a
country road.

“Yonder is the north star, Miss Villiers,” I said,
“and this is the road to Campden. Give me the
princess.”

I took the child in my arms and walked on steadily.

“Every step we take now brings us nearer to
France!”