University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
BLACKHEATH; AN ATTEMPT AND A FAILURE.

Three days succeeding the queen's mask flew away, to Rosamond,
on wings of the swiftest—perhaps the pleasantest three
days she had ever known. The court, meanwhile, was full of
rumors, the least definite and the most singular imaginable.
The sudden and incomprehensible advancement of a young,
unknown soldier; representing no interest, urged forward by no
favorite, seemingly without recommendation beyond a foreign
order of merit, to a grade in the favorite regiment of the service
which great lords coveted, would have been in itself a nine
days' wonder. But to this were added the retirement of Rochester
from court, no one knew whither, no one pretended to
conjecture on what cause—the quasi disgrace of the Chevalier
de Grammont; who, though he was still constant in attendance
on the royal person, still sulked and held himself aloof, while no
one, Charles the least of all, appeared to notice his ill-humor, or
to regret his withdrawal, who a little while before had been the
magnus Apollo of Whitehall—the preferment of Major Bellarmyne
not only to his military grade, but to something nearly
approaching to familiarity with the easy monarch, who distinguished
him on every occasion, constantly required his presence,
selected him as the companion of his private walks, and would,
it was evident, have promoted him to the questionable honor of
favoritism, had not Armytage shown himself utterly intractable
and repugnant, as unfitted alike by temper and principle for the
envied but unenviable post—and last, not least, the reticence of
the king, who, usually so garrulous and free of access, held perfect
silence, and was entirely unapproachable on this subject, demeaning

himself in all other respects as if nothing had occurred
out of the ordinary course, and appearing even gayer and more
lighthearted than his wont.

The least of these events would have sufficed, even in busier
circles, where luxury and leisure are less prolific of idle surmises
and flippant scandal, to set the drones a-buzzing, and the whole
hive humming angrily, if not yet stinging. Dire, therefore, in
Whitehall, was the confusion of tongues; wonderful in Spring-Garden
the ruin of characters. Yet, for all this, seeing that
Major Bellarmyne was, not dubiously, the rising man of the day,
and in favor both with the king's and the queen's circles, it is
wonderful how soon all the handsomest women of the court discovered
a thousand manly charms and graces in his person, a
thousand attractions in his air and conversation, of which no
one had ever before suspected him; and how all the men
reported him a person of parts no less shining than solid, a
fellow of infinite wit, in short the most desirable of companions,
although a week before they would have passed him in the Mall
with a contemptuous wonder who that tall fellow might be, or
a sneer at the soldier of fortune.

Nor is it much more easy of explanation how Rosamond, who
had for months been left almost alone, in the midst of an unsympathizing
crowd, to endure persecutions which she could not
avoid, now that she was connected, both by similarity of name
and by the intimacy which the king undoubtedly fostered
between them, with the new hero of the minute, became the
object of so much friendly regard and attention, that it would
have been impossible, had he attempted it, for the count to
renew the importunities which had rendered her past life almost
insupportable.

Neither Rosamond, however, nor her newly acquired friend
and cousin—of whose existence she had never even heard

a week since—attached much importance, or paid much
regard to the fickle favors of the courtier crowd. To both of
them it was a new phase of existence; to her who had never
known one of her own blood, except her father, too far removed
from herself in years to be more than a tenderly loved
and dutifully reverenced parent, it was a new delight to find a
kinsman on whose strength she might repose, in whose honor
she might confide, in whose conversation she might find—
something long sought but undiscovered—truth blended with
wit, sincerity undivorced from the lighter graces, to whom she
could disclose much which it had sorely galled her to conceal,
almost as if he had been a dear elder brother.

And for him whose life had been spent for the most part
in the tented field, in the actual shock of the heady fight, or in
the dull monotony of the camp, who had mingled but little in
female society, and that little only ceremoniously according to
the formal routine of the continental courts, now to find himself
thrown, as if naturally, into close and intimate association
with one so beautiful, so frank, so charming in her innocence
and artless graces, one whom nothing should lead him to
regard as a stranger, but rather to protect and cherish as his
nearest of kin on earth, except those of the elder generation, it
possessed a pleasure greater far than the mere fascination of
novelty.

All those who have travelled or sojourned long abroad, know
well what a void they have felt about the heart on returning
to the old home and finding that for them it is no longer home
—that they are gone, all gone, those old familiar faces; that
the old friends are dead; the young friends dispersed, estranged,
occupied with new friends, new ties, new pleasures,
new associations; that, in quitting the land of the stranger

they have in truth broken off the later, though without recovering
the older, bonds of companionship.

Particularly had this been the case with Armytage Bellarmyne.
He had left England when little more than a mere
boy; his mother he had never known; brothers, sisters,
kinsmen, and kinswomen, he had none. Sir Reginald and his
daughter, who were, though his nearest relatives, but distant
cousins, had been in exile from a time beyond the date of his
earliest memory; in truth, he remembered not ever to have
heard of them at home.

But he had heard much, pitied much, sympathized much
abroad; for he had learned there, on all sides, of the doings
and the sufferings of the elder branch of his house, of the unfaltering
loyalty and faith, of the extreme poverty and unbending
integrity of the old cavalier, and something of the beauty
and high qualities of his daughter.

Having left home, known to no relations, and to few friends
beyond mere school-companions, the weariness, the void, the
sense of strangeness he experienced, finding himself, not figuratively,
but indeed a stranger in the land of his birth, were so
overpowering that he had indeed meditated returning—as he
had informed the king he wished to do—to take arms under
his old commander, who was in hourly expectation of being
called into the field against the redoubtable forces of the Turk,
who was then held in awe by the strongest powers of continental
Europe.

Here, then, were two young persons thrown together into
that most perfect and confidential of all solitudes, the solitude
of a crowd; because it is solitude without having the air of
being such, and, as being liable to slight interruptions, which
do not in truth interrupt it, awakens no sense of strangeness,
no idea of alarm, or suspicion of impropriety.

Far otherwise, indeed, for it seemed to be agreed by common
consent of all around them that they were to be partners,
companions on all occasions together; and who that has ever
been so placed, knows not how strongly that operates in facilitating,
almost in creating, intimacy.

Inclined from the first to be pleased—to like each the other
—every moment drew them nearer and nearer together;
topics of mutual interest were not wanting, for the young
soldier never wearied of listening to his artless companion's
descriptions of the old ivy-mantled abbey, grey and neglected
among its unshorn woods and fern-encumbered chase, a world
too wide for its shrunken demesnes; and the deep sympathy
he evinced for the aged, honorable veteran, sitting alone, in
his old age, in the grand gloom of his ancestral halls, brooding
over the ruins of his dilapidated fortunes, with no child, no
dear friend, no veteran companion, to fill his cup or smoothe
his pillow, or soften the downward path of his declining years;
with nothing to look forward to on earth but a deserted death-bed,
and the care of menials, would alone have bound Rosamond
to him with chains of steel, had there been nothing else
to draw them together.

But she, too, like Desdemona, would seriously incline her
ear to what he had to relate of foreign climes and customs,
and to the chances and romances, the gleams of chivalry and
touches of sweet mercy, which are the redeeming tints in the
black hue of battle-histories, the “one touch of nature” which
indeed makes the “whole world kin.”

And from liking, they imperceptibly glided on into loving,
without being led at all to examine into the nature of their
feelings, without suspecting or inquiring how things went with
them, until Armytage awoke and found that he had been
dreaming how pleasant it would be, and how excellent a use

of his father's hoarded stores and ponderous money-bags, to
redeem the sequestered acres and restore the antique glories of
Bellarmyne Abbey; and to cheer the sad and solitary days of
old Sir Reginald, by giving him a stout and soldierly son's
arm whereon to prop his tottering steps; and then, by an
easy transition, to fancy how delightful it would be to see
Rosamond presiding as the household deity, serene in youthful
beauty, the cherished daughter, adored wife, and charming
mother.

And Rosamond, too, began to count the minutes when
Armytage was absent, and to look wistfully for his tall figure
in the crowded ball or banquet-hall; and to thrill and blush
and tremble when she saw him coming; and to wonder why
she was such a little fool to shake and quiver like an aspen
leaf at his approach, when she was so glad to have him come.

And the good-natured king chuckled and laughed within
himself, perfectly content and delighted at the success of his
plans. He knew how the elder branch of the Bellarmynes
had lost all in his own and his father's cause; and now that
he had begun to think about it at all, he both thought and
felt strongly. If he could easily have redressed their grievances,
he had done so eagerly; but, in truth, he had not the
power to redress them by any means. The sequestered lands
had been sold to innocent third parties, and these were secured
by amnesty at the restoration. There were no means of indemnifying
the impoverished and ruined cavaliers; the court
was needy, thriftless, improvident, indebted, and, between his
ladies, and his favorites, and his pleasures, the king was for the
most part penniless.

But he had conceived this plan of rewarding his staunch
old veteran, and of building up his broken fortunes by means
of the vast wealth of the London merchant; making, at the

same time, two very charming young persons happy, bringing
together a dissevered family connection, reinstating a fine old
hereditary estate, a fine old hereditary name—in a word, if not
of doing a good action, at least of bringing about a good
result. To effect this he was willing—yes! he was even
willing to take some personal trouble. It was rather amusing,
by the way, than the reverse. He had made up his mind,
if he could bring it about, to create a new peerage, in which
Sir Reginald should be first baron, with remainder to the
citizen's son, if that might facilitate matters; and, as he saw
all things in progress as he would have them, he began to wax
proud and happy in self-approbation, and to fancy himself a
sort of Deus ex machinâ, descending to solve a knot indissoluble
by the efforts of his faithful subjects.

It occurs, not so seldom as we are apt to imagine, however,
that some sudden incident or occurrence—accidents, perhaps,
in the true sense of the word, are not—will often either produce,
or mature and expedite results which the most skilful
management and the wisest counsels would have failed to
bring to so felicitous a termination. Times will occur when all
things appear to keep in one consentient current, accidentally,
as it were, tending—yet with a purpose so evident, a direction
so manifest, that it is impossible to doubt the interposition of
an unknown, overruling will—to one desired or dreaded event,
one favorable or disastrous end; and so it fell out in this
instance.

A grand stag-hunt was to be held in honor of some foreign
prince of one of the small German states, who happened to
be on a visit at Whitehall; and all the court circle were
ordered to attend on an appointed day, the court itself adjourning
for the time to Windsor Castle, and those who were
not so fortunate as to be of the royal party taking up their

quarters, wherever they might find them, in the town of
Windsor, or the adjacent villages, as Datchet, Egham, Staines,
and Kingston-upon-Thames, all of which were crowded with
gay guests and splendid retinues of horses, livery servants, and
followers of all kinds.

Major Bellarmyne was one of the fortunate few who were
ordered to attend at the castle; and, on the eve of his departure,
received his appointment as chief equerry to his majesty,
which of course relieved him from duty with his regiment.

The day appointed for the hunt—a rare occurrence for fête
days—dawned auspiciously, warm, soft, and slightly overclouded,
precisely such a day as huntsmen love, and lady equestrians do
not hate, as there was neither sun enough to offend their fair
complexions, nor wind to disturb their plumes, or ruffle their
flowing draperies.

At an early hour the heath was alive with gay and animated
groups; large tents were pitched on a rising ground, with the
royal banner floating above them, in which a superb collation
was to be served at noon; while the bands of the Lifeguards
and Oxford Blues, then as now the magnificent household troops
of the British sovereign, made the wild echoes ring with the
symphonies of their brazen instruments. Deer, which had been
taken in toils in Windsor forest, were on the ground in carts,
to be released and coursed by the fleet and superb English greyhounds,
a breed of dog which had already been brought to a
high degree of perfection by Lord Oxford and others; and the
wide, open, undulating stretches of the heath being excellently
appropriate to the sport, and the day in every light propitious,
great sport was anticipated. Nor did the result deceive the
expectation. Course succeeded course, proving alike the speed
and strength of the noble red deer, and the unrivalled ardor,
courage, and condition of the gallant greyhounds.

The king was in the highest spirits and good humor, for out
of the first five matches his dogs had won three, and the best
of his kennel had not yet been slipped. It was about ten
o'clock—for our ancestors, if they had many vices, had at least
the one virtue of rising early in the morning, and on that day
the beauties of King Charles's court were mounted and a-field,
radiant in fresh beauty, almost as soon as Aurora herself—when
the king observing that Bellarmyne, according to the duties of
his office, followed closely at his heels, called to him, pointing
as he spoke to a fair bevy of maids-of-honor with their attendant
cavaliers, among whom the graceful figure of Rosamond
Bellarmyne was conspicuous.

“Major Bellarmyne,” he said, “for all we have named you
our equerry in chief, it is not with the purpose of tying you to
our horse's tail, or keeping you dangling after us from matins
to midnight. Away with you, sir; yonder is metal more
attractive, if I be not the worse mistaken, than the best stag
that ever ran upon four legs over lifted lea or mountain heather.
Away! we will summon you, if we need your presence.”

De Grammont, with a group of other gentlemen and nobles,
was about the king and his princely guest when the courteous
words were uttered; but Armytage paused not to see who heard
or heard not, but galloped away joyously to join her whom he
had already begun to admit to himself as the mistress of his
heart.

By this time, as was unavoidable from the nature of the sports,
the company had become much scattered, many of the chases
having been long and nearly straight on end; and, as each deer
was taken, a fresh one was driven up, as fast as four horses
could convey the light cart which contained it to the scene of
the last capture, so that there was no general rallying point for
the straggling groups, but the scene of action varied from point

to point, over the wide extent of wild heath, open downs, and
forest land, which was then included in the royal chase of
Blackheath.

In spite of this, however, many minutes did not elapse before
Armytage had found his lady, who, infinitely the best rider of
the whole field of beauties, though but indifferently mounted,
was riding with Miss Bagot, who was but a timid horsewoman,
and a single cavalier only, the young Lord Dynevor, who greatly
affected the society of that graceful nymph; the rest of their
party having just separated from them in order to approach
nearer to the royal presence.

Scarcely had he exchanged the first salutations with his fair
lady before a noble hart, with no less than ten tines to his antlers,
being what is technically called a hart royal, was uncarted,
and, taking their direction, came sweeping gracefully past them,
followed by three choice greyhounds, and close behind these by
the king, his royal guest, and the best mounted of the courtiers.
The fears of Miss Bagot, and the indifference of Rosamond's
hunter, soon threw our party far in the rear; for the stag was
strong and ran wild, pointing towards the Surrey hills, and,
though they contrived to keep the hunt in sight, they were at
least a mile distant when the gallant beast was run into and
pulled down, on a heathery knoll crowned by a single fir tree,
near to which they might see the straggling hunters, as they
came up one by one, gathering towards the person of the sovereign.

It was during the gallop, which they were forcing to the best
powers of both riders and ridden, that the attention of Armytage
was attracted to the strange apparition of a carriage and
six horses, one of the huge, cumbersome wheeled caravans of
the time, followed by two mounted servants, without liveries
or badges, manœuvring hither and thither among the intricate,

deep-soiled, and sunken lanes which intersect the surface of the
heath; but he thought nothing of the circumstance, except to
point it out to the party, with a laughing expression of wonder
as to who could be so fond of the chase as to follow a stag-hunt
in a coach and six.

He had scarce spoken of it, when the vehicle and its train
were lost to sight in the skirts of a wide tract of hazel coppice,
which covered the country for many miles of space, in the direction
of Luckfield and St. Leonard's forest; and almost at the
same moment, a man in the royal livery galloped up at full
speed, exclaiming—“Major Bellarmyne, Major Bellarmyne! His
majesty is instant to see Major Bellarmyne!”

There was nothing for it but, however unwilling, to obey;
and bowing low to Rosamond and Miss Bagot—“I leave you,
my lord,” he said, “even as I found you, one cavalier to two
fair ladies; a grave charge to protect and entertain them.”

And, setting spurs to his fine, thorough-bred charger, which
was quite fresh, he was soon at a distance; while the servant
in royal livery uncovered as the ladies passed, and dropped into
the rear as if to attend them.

Nothing which had passed as yet had excited any surprise
in Bellarmyne's mind; but as he rode up at full speed, with his
horse a little blown, pulled up, and uncovering close to the
king's side stood, evidently waiting orders, the inquiring look of
Charles perplexed him.

“So please your majesty, I am here at your orders.”

“So I perceive, sir,” said Charles laughing. “To what do I
owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“Your majesty sent after me.”

“Not I, sir, on my honor! When? By whom? I have
not even thought about you since I sent you to wait on Miss
Bellarmyne.”

“Not twenty minutes since, by one of the grooms of the
household.”

“There is some trick here, sir; or, at the least, some scurvy
jest. Odds fish! who hath done this, gentlemen?” cried
Charles, looking angrily about him. “I like not such freedoms.”

Bellarmyne's eye glanced half-suspiciously over the group;
the Chevalier de Grammont was no longer near the king's
person. An instinct or intuition made him turn his head and
gaze eagerly in the direction where he had last seen the coach
and six.

He saw it now issuing, at full gallop, from the coppice, about
a quarter of a mile from the spot where he had last seen it,
thundering along amid a cloud of dust towards London. Its
followers had increased to six persons, and one, who rode the
last, was evidently a man of distinction.

“By God!” cried Armytage, forgetful of the presence in
which he stood, and striking his clenched hand on his thigh—
“By God! he has carried her off!”

“Who, sir? Carried whom off? What do you mean?”
cried Charles, too much excited to observe the breach of etiquette.

“Mistress Bellarmyne, sire—the Chevalier de Grammont!
Here comes her horse, and Miss Bagot, and my Lord Dynevor
to tell us of it.”

“Odds fish! he shall repent it,” cried the king, very angrily.
But Bellarmyne had not waited to hear his reply, but had put
spurs to his horse and was already a hundred yards distant,
riding, as straight as a crow flies, toward the heads of the coach
horses, which were forced to describe a sort of semicircle round
the hillock on which the king sat, owing to the intricacies of
the lane, and the difficult nature of the ground.

“After him, gentlemen!” cried the king. “Away with you!
Crofts, Brouncher, Sydney, Talbot, Tollemache—Ride, ride,
my favor to him who stops yonder carriage. Bring them before
us, both; and have all care to the lady. Ride, ride, or we shall
have hot blood spilt.”

But it was in vain that they spurred; for Bellarmyne rode
as if the devil drove him.

Two or three broad, bright, bankfull brooks crossed his line,
but he swept over them in his stroke as if they were but cart-ruts.

Now a white handkerchief was waved from the window of
the carriage. A stiff stone wall, full five feet high, opposed his
progress—in went his spurs, down went his elbows, and, with a
hard pull at his head, the good horse cleared it. There was
now only a smooth slope of two hundred yards, or a little more,
between him and the lane, along which the lumbering carriage
was rolling and jolting at headlong speed; but the servants, who
followed it, were spurring out and drawing their swords as if to
intercept him.

But he gave his good horse the rein and spur, shot ahead of
the foremost, and in a moment he was abreast of the leaders,
calling vehemently on the postillion to stop if he would save his
life. But the boy only spurred on the more fiercely, and struck
at the young officer with his whip.

In virtue of his office of equerry, holsters were at his saddlebow,
with his pistols loaded. He drew one, and, without relaxing
his speed, shot the horse on which the boy rode, through the
heart. It bolted upright into the air and fell dead, the others
plunged over it, one or two stumbled and went down, the coach
was overset.

The next moment De Grammont came up at full speed—

“You have shot my horse—how dare you? You shall answer
for it.”

“Think yourself lucky,” he replied, “that I have not shot
you!”

The chevalier answered by an insulting word in French; and
scarcely was it uttered before Armytage's sheathed sword
crossed his shoulders with a smart blow.

Both sprang to the ground, drew, and their rapiers were
crossed in a moment; but by this time the gentlemen, who had
followed at the order of Charles, galloped in, one by one.

“Swords drawn in the king's sight,” cried Crofts, who came
first. “Fie! gentlemen! hold your hands! You are under
arrest!”

Rosamond had fainted; but by aid of the ladies of the court,
she was soon restored to consciousness, if not to ease of mind.

The first words Charles spoke when the offenders were brought
before him were addressed to De Grammont. “Chevalier,” he
said, “I have heard that my brother, Louis XIV., desires your
return to Paris. Major Bellarmyne, you will surrender yourself
to the authorities. You have to learn, sir, that swords are not
to be drawn in our presence; and that justice and punishment
both belong to the king.”