The White Gauntlet

“Ah, Lora! this sport, like many others, may be pleasanter alone, than in company – that is, company one don’t care for.”

“Dear me cousin! you’d make believe, that there isn’t one, among the grand people we are going to meet to-day, worth caring for?”

“Not one – of my knowing.”

“What! our very gallant guest, who is to be our escort – not Captain Scarthe?”

“I should have expected you to say Cornet Stubbs, instead.”

“Ha, ha, ha! No, no! He’s too stupid to be a pleasant companion for me.”

“And Captain Scarthe is too much the opposite to be a pleasant companion for me. In truth, of the two I like Stubbs best – spite of his vulgar patronymic.”

“You are jesting, Marion? Stubbs, Stubbs, – Cornet Stubbs! How would it sound as Colonel Stubbs? Not a whit better. No: not if he were General Stubbs. Mistress Stubbs? I wouldn’t be called so for the world! Lady Stubbs? No, not for a coronet!”

“Between Stubbs, and Scarthe, I see not much to choose.”

“Marion, you mistake. There’s a warlike sound about Scarthe. I could imagine a man of that name to be a hero.”

“And I could imagine a man of that name to be a poltroon – I do.”

“What! not our Captain Scarthe? Why everybody calls him a most accomplished cavalier. Certes, he appears so. A little rude at first, I acknowledge; but since then, who could have acted more cavalierly? And to you, cousin, surely he has been sufficiently attentive, to have won your profound esteem?”

“Say rather my profound detestation. Then you would come nearer speaking the truth: he has won that.”

“You don’t show it, I’m sure. I’ve seen you and Captain Scarthe very happy together – very happy indeed – if one may judge from appearances.”

“Wheels within wheels, coz. A smiling cheek don’t always prove a contented heart; nor is a smooth tongue the truest indication of courtesy. You have seen me polite to Captain Scarthe – nothing more; and for that, I have my reasons.”

“Reasons!”

“Yes; good reasons, dear Lora. But for them, I shouldn’t go hawking to-day – least of all, with him as my companion. Captain Scarthe may be a hero in your eyes, my gay cousin; but he is not the one that’s enthroned within my heart; and you know that.”

“I do – I do, dear Marion. I was only jesting. I know Captain Scarthe is not your hero; and can tell who is. His name begins with Henry, and ends with Holtspur.”

“Ah, there you have named a true hero! But hark you, my little parrot! Don’t be prattling these confidences. If you do, I’ll tell Walter how much you admire Captain Scarthe, or Cornet Stubbs. Of which do you wish him to be jealous?”

“Oh, Marion! not a word to Walter about Stubbs. Do you know I believe, that he’s a little jealous of him already. He don’t like his attentions to me – not a bit, Walter don’t. I’m sure neither do I; but I can’t help them, you know – so long as we must meet three or four times a day. I think the refusal I gave might have been sufficient. It was flat enough. But it hasn’t; and would you believe it, he still continues his attentions, as if nothing had happened between us? Pray don’t make Walter worse; else there might be a fight between them; and then – ”

“The valiant cornet might crack Walter’s crown?”

“No! that he couldn’t; though he is bigger than Walter. He’s not braver, I’m sure. That he isn’t, the ugly impertinent.”

“What! has he been impertinent to you?”

“Not exactly that; but he don’t seem to know much about politeness. How different with Captain Scarthe. He is polite.”

“I suppose – after a fashion.”

“Dorothy Dayrell thinks him perfection. I’m sure that girl’s in love with him. Why is she always riding up to Bulstrode, if it isn’t to have an opportunity of seeing him? I’m sure, it’s neither of us she comes to visit.”

“She’s quite welcome to come – if it be for the purpose you suppose.”

“Ay! and it’s for nothing else than to get into his company, that she gives the hawking party to-day. She’s a dangerous designing creature – that’s what she is.”

“If her design be to catch Captain Scarthe, I hope she may succeed in it. I’m sure I shan’t be the one to stand in her way.”

“Well!” rejoined Lora, “I’m determined to keep my eyes on her this very day; and see how she behaves. Oh! you don’t know how I detest that girl; and why, do you think?”

“Really, I cannot tell.”

“Well! it is because I know that she is your enemy!”

“I never gave her cause!”

“I know that.”

“Perhaps you know why it is so?”

“I do!”

“Tell me?”

“Because you are beautiful.”

“If that be her reason, she should be your enemy as much as mine?”

“Oh, no! I have not the vanity to think so. My beauty is only prettiness; while yours – ah! cousin Marion, you are beautiful in my eyes – a woman! What must you be in the eyes of a man?”

“You’re a simpleton, Little Lora. You are much prettier than I; and as for Dorothy Dayrell – don’t every one call her the belle of the county? I’ve heard it a score of times.”

“And so have I. But what signifies that? Though you’re my senior, Marion, I think I have as much wisdom as you in matters of this kind. Besides I’m only a spectator, and can judge between you. I believe that the ‘belle of the county,’ and the ‘belle of the ball-room,’ are never the most beautiful of those, with whom they are compared. Very often such reputation is obtained, not from beauty, but behaviour; and from behaviour not always the best.”

“Go on in that way, Lora; and we shall esteem you as the Solon of our sex.”

“Nay, nay; I speak only sentiments such as anyone may conceive. You and Dorothy Dayrell are just the two to illustrate them. While everybody calls her the belle of the county, everybody thinks you to be so. Indeed cousin! you are truly beautiful – so beautiful, that even the peasant children of the parish gaze upon you with wonder and delight!”

“Fulsome flatterer!”

“In troth! ’tis true; and that’s why Dorothy Dayrell dislikes you. She wants to be everything; and knows that you take her laurels from her. On the day of the fête, she did everything in her power to captivate the man, whom she pretended to disparage!”

“Holtspur?”

“Yes: I saw her. She used all her arts to attract his attention. Ah, Marion! he had only eyes for you. And now that he is gone, she’s set herself to attract Captain Scarthe. My word! won’t she try to-day? Sweet coz! I don’t want you to act the hypocrite; but can’t you – yes you can – flirt a little with Scarthe – just to give her a chagrin? Oh! I should so like to see that girl suffer what she deserves, – a chapter of humiliation!”

“Foolish child! you know I cannot do that? It is not according to my inclination – and just now less than ever in my life.”

“Only for an hour – to punish her!”

“How should you like to be so punished yourself? Suppose some one, to-day, were to flirt with Walter; or he with some one?”

“Then I’d flirt with Stubbs!”

“Incorrigible coquette! I think you like Walter; but only that: Ah, Lora! you know not what it is to love!”

“Don’t I though – ”

“Mistress Marion?” cried a groom, showing his face at the door of the chamber, “Sir Marm’duke be mounted. They’re only waitin’ for you, and Miss Lora!”

The man, after delivering his message, retired.

“Lora!” whispered Marion, as they issued forth from the room; “not a word of what you know – not to anyone! Promise me that; and I may give you the satisfaction you have asked for.”

During the conversation between the cousins, the two men, who were the chief subjects of it, were engaged in a dialogue of a somewhat kindred character. Scarthe’s sitting apartment was the scene; though neither of the speakers was seated. Both were on their feet; and in costume for the saddle – not military – but merely booted and spurred, with certain equipments covering their dresses, that betokened an intention of going forth upon the sport of falconry.

A splendid jer-falcon – perched upon the back of a chair, and wearing his hood – gave further evidence of this intention; while their gloves drawn on, and their beavers held in hand, told that, like the two ladies, they were only awaiting a summons to sally forth.

Scarthe, following a favourite habit, was pacing the floor; while the cornet stood watching him with attention: as if he had asked counsel from his superior, and was waiting to receive it.

“And so, my gay cornet;” said Scarthe, addressing the subaltern in his usual bantering way, “you’re determined to try her again?”

“Yes, by Ged! – that is if you approve of it.”

“Oh! as to my approval, it don’t need that. It’s not a military matter. You may propose to every woman in the county for aught I care; twenty times to each, if you think fit.”

“But I want your advice, captain. Suppose she should refuse me a second time?”

“Why that would be awkward – especially as you’re sleeping under the same roof, and eating at the same table with her. The more awkward, since you say you’ve had a refusal already.”

“It wasn’t a regular offer. Besides I was too quick with it. There’s been a good deal since, that gives me hope. She’ll think better of it now – if I don’t mistake her.”

“You are not quite sure of her, then?”

“Well – not exactly.”

“Don’t you think you had better postpone your proposal, till you’re more certain of its being favourably received?”

“But there’s a way to make certain. It’s about that, I want you to advise me.”

“Let me hear your ‘way’?”

“Well; you see, captain, though the girl’s only the niece of Sir Marmaduke, she loves him quite as much as his own daughter does. I don’t think she cares about that stripling – farther than as a cousin. What’s between them is just like sister and brother: since she’s got no brother of her own. They’ve been brought up together – that’s all.”

“I can’t help admiring your perspicuity, Cornet Stubbs.”

Perspicuity was just that quality with which the cornet was not gifted; else he could hardly have failed to notice the tone of irony, in which the compliment was uttered.

“Oh! I ain’t afraid of him at all events!”

“What then are you afraid of? Is there any other rival, you think, she’s likely to prefer to you? May be young Dayrell; or that rather good-looking son of Sir Roger Hammersley? Either of them, eh?”

“No – nor any one else.”

“In that case, why are you in doubt? You think the girl likes you?”

“Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. She appears to change every day. But I’ve reason to believe, she likes me now; or did yesterday.”

“How do you know that? Has she told you so?”

“No – not in words; but I think so from her way. I hinted to her, that I intended to have a private talk with her upon an important matter, when we should be out on this hawking party. She appeared delighted at the idea – did, by Ged! Besides; she was in tip-top spirits all the evening after; and several times spoke of the pleasure she expected from to-morrow’s sport – that is to-day. Now, what could that mean, unless – ”

“Unless the pleasure she anticipated from your proposing to her. But if her liking be only on alternate days – as you say – and she was so fond of you yesterday, she might be in the contrary mood to-day? For that reason I’d advise you to suspend proceedings till to-morrow.”

“But, captain; you forget that I’ve got a way that will insure her consent – whether it be to-day or to-morrow.”

“Disclose it, my sagacious cornet.”

“If I should only give her a hint – ”

“Of what?”

“You know how Sir Marmaduke is in your power.”

“I do.”

“Well; if I only were to slip in a word about her uncle being in danger; not only of his liberty but his life – ”

“Stubbs!” cried the cuirassier captain, springing forward fiercely, and shaking his clenched fist before the face of his subaltern; “if you slip in a word about that – or dare to whisper the slightest hint of such a thing – your own life will be in greater danger, than that of Sir Marmaduke Wade. I’ve commanded you already to keep your tongue to yourself on that theme; and now, more emphatically do I repeat the command.”

“Oh! captain,” stammered out the terrified Stubbs, in an apologetic whine; “if you don’t approve, of course I won’t say a word about it. I won’t, by Ged!”

“No; you had better not. Win the consent of your sweetheart, after your own way; but don’t try to take advantage of a power, that does not appertain to you. A contingency may arise, for disclosing that secret; but it is for me, not you, to judge of the crisis.”

The further protestations of the scared cornet were cut short by the entrance of a messenger; who came to announce that the party, about to proceed on the hawking excursion, was ready to start, and only waited the company of Captain Scarthe and Cornet Stubbs.

Five minutes later, a cavalcade of splendid appearance might have been seen passing through Bulstrode Park, towards one of the side gates that opened out to the eastward.

It consisted of Sir Marmaduke Wade, his son, daughter and niece – the two officers, his guests – with a large following of grooms, falconers, and other attendants; a number of them on horseback, with hawks perched upon their shoulders; a still larger number afoot – conducting the retrievers, others chiens de chasse, employed in the venerie of the time.

On clearing the enclosure of the park, the gay procession turned in a southerly direction – towards the beautiful lake of Fulmere; which, fed by the Alder “burn,” lay embosomed between two parallel spurs of the beech-embowered Chilterns.

Volume Three – Chapter Twelve

The Lake “Fulmere” is no longer in existence; though a village – so picturesque, as to appear the creation of a painter’s fancy – still retains the name. The “mere” itself – yielding to the all-absorbing spirit of utilitarianism – has disappeared from the landscape – drained off by the brook “Alderburne,” and the rivers Colne, and Thames, to mingle its waters with the ocean. Its bed has become a meadow – the residue of its waters being retained in sundry stagnant pools, which serve to supply the neighbouring markets with cress, and the pharmacopoeia of the village apothecaries with “calamus root.”

Once a broad sheet of crystal water covered the cress-beds of Fulmere – a sheet with sedgy shores, in which sheltered the bittern, and blue heron, the bald coot, the water-hen, and the gold-crested widgeon.

It was so on that day, when Dorothy Dayrell – the daughter of Sir Frederick, Lord of the Manor of Fulmere – invited her friends to be present at a grand entertainment – including falconry – the spectacle to be exhibited upon the shores of the lake.

Dorothy Dayrell was something more than pretty. She was what might be termed a “dashing creature,” – a little devilish, it is true – but this, in the eyes of her male acquaintances, only rendered her prettiness more piquant. Following the fashion of her father, she was of the true Tory type – devotedly attached to King and State – and blindly believing in that theory – worthy the conception of a community of apes – the “right divine.”

Silly as is the belief, it was then entertained, as, now. At that time, human bipeds of both sexes were just as parasitical, as they are at the present hour; and as loudly proclaimed their ignoble longings for King Stork, or King Log. Not, however, quite so unanimously. The word “republic” was beginning to be heard, issuing from the lips of great statesmen, and true patriots. It was beginning to find an echo in remote villages, and cottage homes, throughout all England.

Not that such sentiments had ever been spoken in the village of Fulmere. To have pronounced them there, would have been deemed rank treason; and the rustic giving utterance to them, would have found himself in the pillory, almost before the speech could have passed from his lips.

Dorothy hated the idea of a republic; as small-souled people do now, and have done in all ages. We regret having to place the fair Dayrell in this category; but we must succumb to the requirements of truth; and this compels us to say that Mistress Dorothy, physically, petite, was morally little-minded. Her pretty face, however, concealed the defects of her selfish soul; and, aided by many wiles and winning ways, rendered her sufficiently popular in that large social circle, of which she was, or wished to be, both the star and the centre.

Some proof of her popularity was the crowd that responded to her call, and was present at her hawking party. Scores of people of “first quality” – dames of high degree, and cavaliers appropriate to such companionship – collected upon the shores of Fulmere Lake; cast resplendent shadows upon its smooth surface; and caused its enclosing hills to resound with the echoes of their merry voices.

It is not our purpose to detail the various incidents of the day’s sport: how the party, having met at an appointed place, proceeded around the shores of the lake; how the herons rose screaming from the sedge, and the hawks shot like winged arrows after them; how the owners of the predatory birds bantered one another, and wagers were laid and lost by betters of both sexes; and how – when the circuit of the lake had been accomplished, and the adjacent reedy marshes quartered by the spaniels, until cleared of their feathered game – the gay company wended their way to the summit of the adjoining hill; and there, under the shadows of the greenwood trees, partook of an al fresco banquet, which their knightly entertainer had provided for them.

Nor need we describe the conversation – varied of course – always lively under such circumstances; often witty – after the wine has flowed freely.

One topic alone claims our attention – as it did that of the company. It was introduced by Mistress Dorothy herself – to whom of course every one obsequiously listened.

“I regret,” said this charming creature, addressing herself to her splendid surrounding, “that I’ve not been able to provide you with a more spirited entertainment. After that, we witnessed the other day in Bulstrode Park, our fête will appear tame, I know. Ah! if we only had the black horseman here. How cruel of you, Captain Scarthe, to have deprived us of that pleasure?”

“Mistress Dayrell,” replied the officer, on whom the speech had made anything but a pleasant impression, “I regret exceedingly that in the performance of my duty – in dealing with a rebel – I should – ”

“No apologies, Captain Scarthe!” interposed Sir Frederick, coming to the rescue of the embarrassed cuirassier. “We all know that you acted, as becomes a loyal servant of his Majesty. It would be well if others, in these doubtful times, would display a like energy.” Here Sir Frederick glanced sarcastically towards his neighbour knight – between whom and himself there was not the most cordial friendship. “The only regret is, that the fellow – whoever he may be – was permitted to escape; but, I dare say, he will soon be retaken, and meet with his deserts.”

“And what would you deem his deserts, Dayrell?” quietly asked Sir Marmaduke Wade.

“The block!” replied the fiery Sir Frederick, who had been partaking rather freely of his own wine. “What else for an adventurer like him, who conspires against his king? I’d chop off his head like a cabbage.”

“By so doing,” rejoined Sir Marmaduke, in a tone of satirical significancy, “you would only cause a score of like heads to sprout up in its place.”

“Let them sprout up! We’ll serve them the same way. We shall still have the power to do so – in spite of this parliament of traitors, which the king has been so foolish as to think of recalling around him.”

“Oh, dear father!” interrupted the pretty Dorothy, in a tone of pseudo-sentimentality.

“Don’t talk of chopping off heads. What a pity it would be if Captain Scarthe’s late prisoner were to lose his! I’m so glad he escaped from you, captain.”

“Why is this, girl?” asked Sir Frederick, turning rather sharply upon his daughter. “Why would it be a pity? I’ve heard you this very morning express the opposite opinion!”

“But I did not know then – that – that – ”

“Know what?” interrogated several of the party, who encompassed the fair speaker.

“That there were others interested in the fate of the unfortunate man. Ah! deeply so!” A malicious glance towards Marion Wade did not escape the attention of the latter; and it was also noticed by Scarthe.

“Others interested in his fate. Who, pray?” demanded Sir Frederick, looking inquiringly towards his daughter.

“His wife, for one,” replied Dorothy, laying a peculiar emphasis on the words.

“His wife!” simultaneously echoed a score of voices. “The black horseman a Benedict! Holtspur married! We never knew that.”

“Nor I,” continued the pretty imparter of the startling intelligence – “not till an hour ago. I’ve just heard it from cousin Wayland here; who came this morning from court – where, it seems, Master Holtspur is well-known; though not by the name he has chosen to make celebrated among us simple rustics of Buckinghamshire.”

“’Tis quite true,” said a youth in courtier costume, who stood close to her who had thus appealed to him. “The gentleman my cousin speaks of is married. I thought it was known to everybody.”

“How could it, dear Wayland?” asked Dorothy, with an air of charming simplicity. “Master Holtspur was not known to any one here – except, I believe, to Sir Marmaduke Wade and his family; and, if I mistake not, only very slightly to them?”

A significant curling of the speaker’s pretty nostril accompanied this final remark – which was intended as an interrogative.

“That is true,” answered Sir Marmaduke. “My acquaintance, with the gentleman you speak of, is but slight. I was not aware of his being a married man; but what has that to do – ”

“O, ladies and gentlemen!” interrupted the freshly arrived courtier, “perhaps you are not aware of the real name of this cavalier who has been calling himself Holtspur. He has been of some notoriety at court; though that was before my time; and I’ve only heard of it from others. There was a scandal, I believe – ”

“Come, come, Wayland!” cried his fair cousin, interrupting him. “No scandals here. Keep it, whatever it be, to yourself.”

“His name! his name!” shouted a score of voices; while twice that number of ears – piqued by the word “scandal” – were eagerly bent to listen to the threatened disclosure.

The courtier gave utterance to a name, known to most of the company; and which ten years before had been oftener pronounced in connexion with that of England’s queen. Only in whispers, it is true, and less discreditable to Henry than Henrietta.

The announcement produced an effect upon the auditory of a very peculiar character. It was certainly not so damaging to him, who was the subject of their criticisms: for in the minds of many there present, the man of bonnes fortunes was a character to be envied rather than despised; and the favourite page – whose mysterious disappearance from court, some ten years before, had given rise to a “royal scandal” – could not be otherwise than interesting.

The knowledge that Henry Holtspur, the black horseman – the mysterious – the unknown – was identical with Henry – , once a queen’s page – the recipient of royal smiles – perhaps, in that assemblage gained him more friends than enemies. Such as were still disposed to be hostile to him, could no longer avail themselves of that mode of reviling – still so customary among the “elite” – by calling him an “adventurer.” This had he been in the true sense of the term – an adventurer, but one to be envied by his enemies.

Even the heart of the dashing Dorothy, became suddenly softened towards him, on hearing the new revelation made by her cousin Wayland. That expression of sympathy for him – supposed by her auditory to have been ironical – was a more sincere sentiment, than usually fell from her lips.

The scandal was not discussed among Sir Frederick’s guests – at least not in open assembly. The whisperings of side groups may have referred to it; but it was too old to be interesting – even to the most industrious dealers in crim. con. gossip.

The general conversation became changed to a theme more appropriate to the occasion; though a small congenial group, who had gathered around the young Wayland, were treated to some further details – relating to the matrimonial affairs of the patriot conspirator.