The Lions Whelp 44

The Lions Whelp 44

"Not it," answered Mrs. Swaffham. "Matilda knows all about the plot;

that is most certain; but its discovery may be news to her, and if so,

she will not thank you for it, Jane. Why will she burn herself with

fire not on her hearthstone?"

 

"Prince Rupert is her lover. She will do anything he desires her to

do."

 

"If he truly loved her, he would not permit her to be put in danger."

 

"We do not know all, mother."

 

"That is the truth, Jane. We know very little about ourselves, let

alone our friends. Doctor Verity would say to us, ’Judge not; every

man’s shoes must be made on his own last.’"

 

Then Jane smiled, and the smile filled the silence like a spell. Mrs.

Swaffham went out of the room, and soon afterwards Doctor Verity came

in, asking cheerily as he entered, "How is it with you to-day, Jane?"

 

"I live as best I can, Doctor. I watch from the morning to the midnight

for a footstep that does not come."

 

"There is a desire that fulfils itself by its own energy, but this

desire is born of unfailing Hope, and of that unfaltering Faith that can

move mountains. Have you got it, Jane?"

 

"I am so weak, Doctor John. Pray for me."

 

"Pray for yourself. Why should any one pray for you? Pray for yourself,

though it be only to say, with the old Acadians, ’_Hold Thou my hands!_’

When you were a baby, and were fretful and restless, then your mother

held your hands. That steadied you. You were not used to the whirling

earth, or you had that sense of falling into the void all babies have,

and you trembled and cried out in your fear, and then your mother

instinctively held your little hands in hers, and you felt their clasp

strong as the everlasting hills, and went peacefully to sleep. Go to

God in the same way, Jane; you are only a little babe in His sight; a

little babe crying in the vast void and darkness, and trying to catch

hold of something to which you may cling. Say to the Father of your

spirit, ’_Hold my hands!_’"

 

And she rose and kissed him for his sweet counsel, and that night, and

many a night afterwards, she fell asleep whispering, "_Hold Thou my

hands_."

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XIII*

 

*CHANGES AT DE WICK*

 

 

"Friendship, of itself a holy tie,

Is made more sacred by adversity."

 

"A form of senseless clay—the leavings of a soul."

 

 

When Matilda received Anthony Lynn’s letter, she was immediately certain

that the old man’s conscience troubled him in the presence of death, and

that he wished to return de Wick to its rightful owners. Sir Thomas and

Lady Jevery were of the same opinion. "He can leave the estate to you,

Matilda," said Sir Thomas; "you have never been ’out’ for either Stuart,

and the Commonwealth takes no action on private opinions, only on overt

acts. Stephen is barred, but Lynn can leave de Wick to you, and having

neither kith nor kin, I think he ought to do so. He owes everything to

your father’s help and favour."

 

This idea took entire possession of Matilda; she thought it a duty to

her family to answer the request of Anthony Lynn favourably. It had

been a surprise to her, and there were more surprises to follow it. As

soon as Lady Jevery and her niece arrived at the gates of de Wick, they

were confronted with a remarkable change in the appearance of the place.

The great iron gates had been painted and rehung; the stone griffins

that ornamented the posts had felt the stone-cutter’s chisel in all

their parts, and been restored to their proper shape and position. The

wide walks were free of weeds, freshly graveled and raked, and the grass

of the chase was in perfect order. There were plenty of deer, also,

though Matilda knew well all the deer had disappeared long before her

father’s death.

 

As they came close to the house, they saw the flower garden aglow with

spring flowers and in such fine order as would have satisfied even Sir

Thomas Jevery. Anthony Lynn stood at the door to meet them. He looked

ill and frail, but hardly like death, and when he witnessed the delight

of the ladies at the changes made in de Wick, his face grew almost young

in its pleasure. Every room in the house was a fresh surprise; for

though all that was venerable through age of family association, and all

that was valuable and beautiful had been preserved, yet so much of

modern splendour and worth had been mingled with the old that the rooms

were apparently newly furnished. Magnificent draperies of velvet,

chairs covered with Spanish leather stamped in gold, carpets of richest

quality, pictures by rare masters, Venetian mirrors and glassware, all

that a luxurious and lavish taste could imagine and desire, were

gathered with fitting and generous profusion in the ancient rooms of de

Wick. Anthony Lynn accompanied the ladies through the house, finding a

fresh and continual joy in their exclamations of delight; and Matilda,

filled with astonishment at the exquisite daintiness of the suite called

the "Lady Matilda’s Rooms," said enthusiastically,

 

"Mr. Lynn, no man could better deserve to be lord of de Wick than you.

And seeing that the de Wicks had to leave their ancient home, I am glad

it has fallen to you—and I am sure my father is glad, also."

 

Then the old man burst into that thin, cold passion of weeping so

significant of age, and so pitiful in its helplessness. "It is your

father’s doing, Lady Matilda," he sobbed. "It is my dear lord’s wisdom.

Pardon me now. This evening I will tell you all." He went away with

these words, and the two women looked at each other in amazement.

 

In the evening he came to them. They were sitting by the fire in the

now magnificently furnished great salon, and he asked permission to

place his chair between them. Matilda made room for him, and when he had

sat down and placed his terribly thin hand on its arm, she laid her

lovely young hand upon his; and he looked into her face with that

adoring affection which is often seen in the eyes of a favourite

mastiff.

 

"When these dreadful wars first began," he said, "Earl de Wick foresaw

their ending; and after Marston Moor he said to me, ’I know this man,

Oliver Cromwell, and there is none that will stand against him. It is

my duty to save de Wick; will you help me?’ And I said to him, ’My dear

lord, I owe you all I am, and all I have.’ Then we had many long talks,

and it was agreed that I should join the Puritan party, that I should

pretend a disapproval of the Earl and his ways—but a disapproval

tempered with regret—so that men might not suspect my opposition. The

King was even then sending to de Wick for money, and I was supposed to

supply it on the de Wick silver and valuables. In reality, the Earl

sent these things to my care, and he himself gave the gold. For in

those years he had much specie, the result of his trading partnership

with Sir Thomas Jevery. The silver, the old pictures, the fine

tapestries, and Eastern pottery all came to my home in St. Ives. People

said unkind things of me, but my dear lord loved me. Then there came a

time when de Wick was bare, and the King still wanted money. And the

Earl promised to borrow from me one thousand pounds, in consideration of

letters royal making the Lady Matilda Countess de Wick in her own right,

if her brother Stephen had no heirs of his body. His Majesty being in

great straits, readily granted the request, and the proper papers were

made. And I looked well to it that no necessary formality was lacking,

and the thousand pounds were paid, not by me, but by Earl de Wick. His

store was then gone, but he had secured the succession of de Wick in his

own blood and name; for you will see, my dear lady, if ever you have to

assume this title, when you marry, your husband must take the name of de

Wick."

 

"But if I never marry any one?"

 

"Oh, that is an impossible contingency! You would owe that debt to all

the de Wicks that ever lived and died; and you would pay it, whether you

liked to, or not."

 

"Yes, I should," she answered promptly.

 

"Here are the papers relating to your succession," he continued; "and

here are those relating to my trust in the matter of the de Wick silver

and valuables. They are all now in their proper places, and when I go

to my old friend, I can tell him so. When he was dying, he said to me,

’Anthony, the next move will be the sale of de Wick house and lands.

Stephen is already outcast, but I have given you the money to buy it.

Let no one outbid you. Keep it in your own care until my King comes

back to his throne, and my children to their home.’ I bought de Wick

for seven hundred pounds less than the money entrusted to me for its

purchase. The balance is here at your hand. The only contingency not

provided for, was my death, and as I know that is speedily certain, I

wish your promise that these papers be placed in Sir Thomas Jevery’s

charge. I know it is what my lord would advise."

 

Matilda took the papers silently. Her father’s loving thoughtfulness

and Anthony’s loving fidelity, affected her deeply. Lady Jevery was

weeping, and the old man himself raised a face wet with tears to

Matilda. She stooped and kissed him. She promised all he asked.

"But," she added, "you have made no mention of the refurnishing of the

house, nor yet of the money that must have been spent on the garden and

chase."

 

"That outlay was my own little pleasure," he answered. "It has made the

long, lonely months here full of hope. I always thought I knew how to

make a great house look like a great house should look;" and with

pardonable pride he added, "I think you both liked it."

 

He found in their hearty admiration all the recompense he wished. "You

will let me die here?" he asked, "here, where my old friend died? you

will let me sit in his chair, and die in his bed? It is all I ask,

unless you will stay awhile and brighten my last days."

 

The favours asked were affectionately granted, and Matilda virtually

became mistress of her old home. Anthony was seldom seen, but Stephen

de Wick came and went, and brought with him men whose names were not

spoken, and whose business meant much more than the packs of cards which

appeared to be all they cared for. In fact, Matilda was soon neck deep

in Prince Rupert’s plot, and there was no doubt in her mind that the

month of May would end the life of Oliver Cromwell, and bring the King to his throne and the de Wicks to their earldom.