The Lions Whelp 2

The Lions Whelp 2

"Why did he not come to you for flannel and a plaster?"

 

"Come to me! That goes without saying. I went out of my way to help

him, and then he wished Master Israel was home, and said ’there was no

rheumatics when he was round looking after his men.’ I fired up, then,

when he spoke that way—laying to my account the wettings he gets coming

from the ale-house at nights; and then he muttered ’Women’s

ways—Will-be-so.’"

 

"Will is very provoking. I wish he would go to the wars."

 

"He likes the tap at Widow Tasburgh’s, and the blacksmith’s forge too

well—let alone the women in the kitchen, who are all quarreling about

him. And then there is this new girl, Susannah, who is more pretty than

need be; her face gets her too much favour with the men and too little

with the women. When Doctor Verity comes next, I must tell him to give

a few words suitable at the Evening Service. They are a lazy,

quarreling set, and every one of them does their work against the

collar."

 

"Father told me he was led to believe he would not be long away. He

said this campaign would be short and fierce, for General Cromwell looks

on its necessity as the unpardonable sin in Charles Stuart."

 

"Short and fierce! Well, then, General Cromwell is well able to put

fighting men up to that kind of thing."

 

"You are out with the General, mother, and all because you miss father

so much."

 

"I am out with the war, Jane. What is the good of it? Charles Stuart

alive, stands for his Prerogative just where Charles Stuart dead, did."

 

"The war is now an appeal to God. That is the good of it. You heard

what Doctor Verity said of its necessity—and you agreed with him.

Indeed, who could gainsay his words? He spoke as if he had heard God’s

command ’Up and be doing, and I will help you.’"

 

"Is God, then, the God of war? No, Jane. I will not believe it."

 

"God is the God of blessings, mother; but as the ploughshare breaks up

the earth for the corn seed, so does the red ploughshare of war break up

the heart of the nation for the blessing of freedom which shall follow

it."

 

"I know not; I know not; but I am sure if there were no kings and queens

in the world it would be little loss to God Almighty, or to any one

else."

 

At this moment there was the sound of wheels and the tramp of horses,

and Jane said, "It is Matilda de Wick. I know the roll of the carriage.

Dear mother, keep a bright face in her presence. She will see

everything, and draw conclusions from the smallest matter." Then Jane

lifted her sewing, and the wheel began to hum, and the door opened

swiftly and Matilda de Wick entered.

 

"I have just been at Ely," she said, "and if I live seven-and-fifty

years longer in this sinful world, I shall not forget the visit." Then

she laughed with a merry scorn, kissed Jane on the cheek, and laid off

her hat, heavy with white plumes. "It is good-bye to my senses," she

continued; "I am out of wisdom this afternoon—lend me your sobriety,

Jane. I have been visiting Lady Heneage, and I have heard so much of

the Cromwell’s full cup that, in faith, I think it has gone to my head.

Do I look sensible? I have no hope of my words, and I pray you excuse

whatever I may say."

 

"I trust Lady Heneage is well," said Mrs. Swaffham.

 

"She had need to be well. Her house is as full as the ark. Mrs.

Elizabeth Hampden is there, and daughter Flambord, and daughter Clayton,

and all their children and retainers. It is their last gathering before

they go away. Do you wish to know where they are going? To London, of

course. When people carry themselves to such a height, no other city is

big enough. But I ask pardon; I told you my words had lost their

senses."

 

"Why do you go to see Lady Heneage if you like her not and surely you

like her not, or you would not make a mock of her doings."

 

"I like to go where good fortune sits, Jane—and in these days no one can

expect honour that deserves it. You know also that the last Heneage

baby was named for me, and I got word that it was short-coated last

Sunday; and so I went to see the little brat. It is a beauty, if it

hold on to its good looks; and ’tis like to do so, for whatever Heneage

gets, Heneage keeps."

 

"And they are going to London? Is it really so?" asked Jane.

 

"’Tis not very civil to doubt it. I dare be sworn it is as true as a

thing can be, when the world is topsy-turvy. But that is not all of my

news—I heard also that Jane Swaffham was going to London—a thing I would

not believe without Jane’s assurance."

 

"It is very uncertain," replied Mrs. Swaffham. "Jane has an invitation

from Mary Cromwell, and if Doctor Verity comes here soon, he may find

the time to take her to London with him. We know not assuredly, as

yet."

 

"Jane must move mountains to go. The Cromwells are now living in the

stately Cockpit. They will hold court there, and Jane Swaffham will be

of it. ’Tis said all this honour for the Irish campaign."

 

"Then it is well deserved," answered Jane with some heat.

 

"Jane," said Mrs. Swaffham, "I can not abide any more quarreling to-day.

If you and Matilda get on that subject, truth and justice will go to the

wall. Monstrous lies are told about Ireland, and you both suck them

down as if they were part of the Gospels." Then turning to Matilda she

asked, "Why does the Heneage family go to London?"

 

"Indeed, madame, now that Mr. Cromwell has become Captain-General, and

Commander-in-Chief, why should not all his old friends go to London?

London has gone mad over the man; even that supreme concourse of rebels

called Parliament rose up, bareheaded, to receive him when he last

honoured them with a visit."

 

"Just what they ought to have done," said Jane. "Is there any corner of

England not coupled gloriously with his name?"

 

"And Ireland?"

 

"Gloriously also."

 

"Pray, then, is it not extremely natural for his old friends to wish to

see his glory?"

 

"I am sure of one thing," answered Jane. "Public honours please not

General Cromwell. He would thank God to escape them."

 

"I do not say that the wish to see him honoured is universal," continued

Matilda. "Father Sacy thinks there are a few thousand men still living

in England who have not bowed the knee to this Baal."

 

"It is wicked to liken a good man to a devil, Matilda; and if mother

will sit and listen to such words, I will not. And, look you, though

Charles Stuart’s men turn up their noses and the palms of their hands at

General Cromwell, he stands too high for them to pull him down.

Cromwell will work and fight the time appointed him—and after that he

will rest in the Lord. For he is good, and just, and brave as a lion,

and there is not a man or woman can say different—not a man or woman

treading English ground to-day that can, in truth, say different!

Always he performs God’s will and pleasure."

 

"Or the devil’s."

 

"He is a good man. I say it."

 

"And he knows it; and that is where his hypocrisy comes in—I——"

 

"Children! Children! can you find nothing more lovely to talk about?

Matilda, you know that you are baiting Jane’s temper only that you may

see her lose it."

 

Then Matilda laughed, and stooping to her friend, kissed her and said,

"Come, little Jane, I will ask your pardon. It is the curse of these

days, that one must lie to one’s own heart, or quarrel with the heart

one loves. Kiss and be friends, Jane. I came to get your receipt for

lavender conserves, and this is nothing to it."

 

"Jane was conserving, yesterday," answered Mrs. Swaffham, "and she has a

new receipt from her sister Armingford for brewing a drink against

sleeplessness. It is to be made from the blue flowers picked from the

knaps."

 

"That is fortunate," said Matilda. "You know that my father has poor

health, and his liking for study makes him ailing, of late. He sleeps

not. I wish that I had a composing draught for him. Come, Jane, let us

go to the still-room." She spoke with an unconscious air of authority,

and Jane as unconsciously obeyed it, but there was a coldness in her

manner which did not disappear until the royalist lady had talked with

her for half-an-hour about the spices and the distilled waters that were

to prevail against the Earl’s sleeplessness.

 

When the electuary had been prepared, the girls became silent. They

were as remarkably contrasted as were the tenets, religious and civil,

for which they stood. But if mere physical ascendency could have

dominated Jane Swaffham, she was in its presence. Yet it was not

Matilda, but Jane, who filled the cool, sweet place with a sense of

power not to be disputed. Her pale hair was full of light and life; it

seemed to shine in its waving order and crown-like coil. Her eyes had a

steady glow in their depths that was invincible; her slight form was

proudly poised; her whole manner resolute and a little cold, as of one

who was putting down an offense only half-forgiven.

 

Matilda was conscious of Jane’s influence, and she called all her own

charms forth to rival it. Putting out of account her beautiful face and

stately figure as not likely to affect Jane, she assumed the manner she

had never known to fail—a manner half-serious and wholly affectionate

and confidential. She knew that Swaffham was always a safe subject, and

that a conversation set to that key went directly to Jane’s heart. So,

turning slowly round to observe everything, she said,

 

"How cool and sweet is this place, Jane!"

 

"It is, Matilda. I often think that one might receive angels among

these pure scents."

 

"Oh, I vow it is the rosemary! Let me put my hands through it," and she

hastily pulled off her white embroidered gloves, and passed her hands,

shining with gems, through the deliciously fragrant green leaves.

 

"I have a passion for rosemary," she continued. "It always perfigures

good fortune to me. Sometimes if I wake in the night I smell it—I smell

miles of it—and then I know my angel has been to see me, and that some good thing will tread in her footsteps."