Beauchamp; or, The Error. Read online

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  COLLECTIONOFBRITISH AUTHORS.VOL. CVII.

  ----------

  BEAUCHAMP BY G. P. R. JAMES.IN ONE VOLUME.

  TAUCHNITZ EDITION.By the same Author.

  MORLEY ERNSTEIN (WITH PORTRAIT) 1 vol.FOREST DAYS 1 vol.THE FALSE HEIR 1 vol.ARABELLA STUART 1 vol.ROSE D'ALBRET 1 vol.ARRAH NEIL 1 vol.AGINCOURT 1 vol.THE SMUGGLER 1 vol.THE STEP-MOTHER 2 vols.HEIDELBERG 1 vol.THE GIPSY 1 vol.THE CASTLE OF EHRENSTEIN 1 vol.DARNLEY 1 vol.RUSSELL 2 vols.THE CONVICT 2 vols.SIR THEODORE BROUGHTON 2 vols.

  BEAUCHAMP;

  OR,

  THE ERROR.

  BY

  G. P. R. JAMES.

  _COPYRIGHT EDITION_.

  LEIPZIGBERNHARD TAUCHNITZ1846.

  BEAUCHAMP;OR,THE ERROR.

  CHAPTER I.The Attack and the Rescue.

  It was in the reign of one of the Georges--it does not matter which,though perhaps the reader may discover in the course of this history.After all, what does it signify in what king's reign an eventhappened, for although there may be something in giving to anyparticular story "a local habitation and a name," yet there isnothing, strange to say, which gives one--I speak from my ownexperience--a greater perception of the delusiveness of every thing onearth, than the study of, and deep acquaintance with the annals of amany-lined monarchy. To see how these spoilt children of fortune havefought and struggled, coveted and endeavoured, obtained or have beendisappointed, hoped, feared, joyed, and passed away--ay, passed, sothat the monumental stone and a few historic lines from friend andfoe, as dry as doubtful, are all that remains of them--it gives us asensation that all on earth is a delusion, that history is but thepages of a dream-book, the truest chronicle, but a record of theunreal pageants that are gone.

  However that may be, it was in the reign of one of the Georges--I wontbe particular as to the date, for Heaven knows I am likely to bemistaken in the curl of a whig, or the fashion of a sleeve-button, andthen what would the antiquaries say?

  It was in the reign of one of the Georges--thank Heaven, there werefour of them, in long and even succession, so that I may do any thingI like with the coats, waistcoats, and breeches, and have a vast rangethrough a wilderness of petticoats (hooped and unhooped, tight, loose,long, short, flowing, tucked up), to say nothing of flounces andfurbelows, besides head-dresses, in endless variety, patches, powder,and pomatum, fans, gloves, and high-heeled shoes. Heaven and earthwhat a scope!--but I am determined to write this work just as it suitsme. I have written enough as it suits the public, and I am very happyto find that I have suited them, but in this, I hope and trust, bothto please my public and myself too. Thus I wish to secure myself aclear field, and therefore do declare, in the first instance, that Iwill stand upon no unities of time or place, but will indulge in allthe vagaries that I please, will wander hither and thither at my owndiscretion, will dwell upon those points that please myself as long asI can find pleasure therein, and will leap over every unsafe ordisagreeable place with the bound of a kangaroo. That being settled,and perfectly agreed upon between the reader and myself, we will go onif you please.

  It was in the reign of one of the Georges--I have a great mind to dartaway again, but I wont, for it is well to be compassionate--when agentleman of six or seven-and-twenty years of age, rode along apleasant country road, somewhere in the west of England. It waseventide, when the sun, tired with his long race, slowly wendsdownward to the place of his repose, looking back with a beamingglance of satisfaction on the bright things he has seen, and like abenevolent heart, smiling at the blessings and the benefits he hasleft behind him.

  The season of the year was one that has served poets andromance-writers a great deal, and which with very becoming, butsomewhat dishonest gratitude, they have praised ten times more than itdeserves. It was, in short, spring--that season when we are oftenenticed to wander forth by a bright sky, as if for the express purposeof being wet to the skin by a drenching shower, or cut to the heart bythe piercing east wind--that coquettish season that is never for tenminutes in the same mind, which delights in disappointingexpectations, and in frowning as soon as she has smiled. Let those wholove coquettes sing of spring, for my part, I abhor the whole race ofthem. Nevertheless, there is something very engaging in that firstyouth of the year. We may be cross with its wild tricks and sportivemischief, we may be vexed at its whims and caprices as with those ofan untamed boy or girl, but yet there is a grace in its waywardness, asoftness in its blue violet eyes, a brightness in its uncontaminatedsmile, a lustre even in the penitential tears, dried up as soon asshed, that has a charm we cannot, if we would, shake off. Oh yes,youth and spring speak to every heart of hope, and hope is the magicof life! Do you not see the glorious promise of great things to bedone in that wild and wayward boy? Do you not see the bright assuranceof warmer and mellower days to come in that chequered April sky?Youth, and spring, and hope, they are a glad triad, inseparable inessence, and all aspiring towards the everlasting goal of thought--theFuture.

  It was the month of May--now if poets and romance-writers, as we havebefore said, have done injustice, or more than justice to spring, as awhole, never were two poor months so scandalously overpraised as Apriland May. The good old Scotch poet declares that in April,

  Primroses paint the sweet plain, And summer returning rejoices the swain,

  but rarely, oh, how rarely, do we ever see primroses busy at suchartistical work; and as for summer, if he is returning at all, it islike a boy going back to school, and lingering sadly by the way. Such,at least, is the case now-a-days, and if the advice of another oldpoet, who tells us,

  Stir not a clout, Till May be out,

  would seem to prove that in ancient times, as well as at present, Maywas by no means so genial a month, as it has pleased certainpersonages to represent it. Nevertheless, we know that every now andthen in May, comes in a warm and summer-like day, bright, and soft,and beautiful, full of a tempered sunshine, appearing after the colddays of winter, like joy succeeding sorrow, and entendered by thememories of the past, such was the sort of day upon which thetraveller we have spoken of rode on upon his way through a very fairand smiling country. The season had been somewhat early in itsexpansion; the weather had been unusually mild in March; frequent andheavy showers had succeeded in April, and pouring through the veins ofthe earth the bountiful libation of the sky, had warmed the bosom ofour common mother to a rich and lovely glow. The trees were all out inleaf, but yet not sufficiently unclosed to have lost the rich varietyof hues, displayed by the early buds. The colouring would have beenalmost that of autumn, so bright and manifold were the tints upon thewood, had it not been for a certain tenderness of aspect which spokeof youth and not decay. There was the oak in its red and brown, hereand there mingled with the verdant hue of summer, but beside it wavedthe beech, with its long arms robed in the gentlest and the softestgreen, the ash pointed its taper fingers in the direction where thewind was going, and the larch lifted up its graceful spire, fringedwith its grass-like filaments, while its beautiful cones, full oftheir coral studs, afforded ornaments, that queens might be proud towear. The fields were spangled with a thousand flowers, and every bankand h
edge was jewelled with vegetable stars; not only the pale violet,and the yellow primrose, but the purple columbine and the whitehawthorn, even the odorous-breathed cowslip, the wild geranium, and along list beside, were all spreading their beauty in the evening air,and glittering with the drops of a shower not long passed by.Overhead, too, the sky was full of radiance, warm yet soft, deep inthe azure, yet tinted with the evening light, as if the sunbeams werethe threads of a crimson woof woven in with the blue warp of the sky.

  But enough of this, it was a very fine evening, of a very fine day, ofa very fine season, and that surely was enough to make any man happywho had good health, a guinea in his purse, and had not committedeither murder or bigamy. The horseman seemed to feel the influence ofthe scene as much as could be expected of any man. When he was in agreen bowery lane, with the wild plants trailing up and down the redbanks, and he could neither look to the right nor to the left, hewhistled snatches of a popular song, when he rose the side of thehill, and could gaze over the world around, he looked at the greenfields, or the clear stream, or the woody coverts with searching andyet well satisfied eyes, and murmured to himself, "Capital sport here,I dare say."

  He seemed to be fond of variety, for sometimes he trotted his horse,sometimes made him canter, sometimes brought him into a walk, but itwould appear that there was a certain portion of humanity minglingwith the latent motives for these proceedings, inasmuch as the walkwas either up or down a steep hill, the canter over a soft piece ofturf wherever it could be found, and the trot, where the road wastolerably level. Ever and anon, too, he patted the beast's neck, andtalked to him quite friendly, and the horse would have answered him inthe same tone, beyond doubt, if horses' throats and tongues had beenformed by nature with the design of holding long conversations. Suchnot being the case, however, all the beast could do to express hissatisfaction at his master's commendations, was to arch his neck andbend down his under lip till it touched his chest, and put hisquivering ears backwards and forwards in a very significant manner. Itwas a handsome animal, of a bright bay colour, about fifteen hands anda half high, strongly built, yet showing a good deal of blood, and itscoat was as soft and shining as satin. There was a good deal of reddust about its feet and legs however, which showed that it had made asomewhat long journey, but yet it displayed no signs of weariness, itshead had no drowsy droop, like that of a county member on the backbenches at three o'clock in the morning after a long debate. Oh no,there was muscle and courage for forty miles more, had it beennecessary, and the noble beast would have done it right willingly. Thehorseman rode him well--that is to say, lightly, and though he wastall, muscular, and powerful in frame, many a man of less weight wouldhave wearied his horse much more. His hand was light and easy, hisseat was light and easy, and his very look was light and easy. Therewas no black care sat behind that horseman, so that the burden was notburdensome, and the pair went on together with alacrity and goodfellowship. The gentleman's dress was in very good taste, neither toosmart nor too plain, well fitted for a journey, yet not unfitted for adrawing-room in the morning. This is enough upon that subject, and Iwill not say another word about it, but as to his face, I must have aword or two more--it was gay and good-humoured, and though it might becalled somewhat thoughtless in expression, yet somehow--I know notvery well from what cause--when one examined it one was convinced thatthe thoughtless look was more a matter of habit than of nature. He wasdark in complexion, but with a healthy glow in his cheeks, and thoughcertainly his face was not as perfect as that of the Apollo ofBelvidere, yet few would have scrupled to pronounce him a good-lookingman. There was also an easy, almost careless swinging, rapid air abouthim, which generally engages kindly feelings, if it cannot secure muchrespect; and one could not watch him come cantering over the lea, withhis open, smiling face, without judging he would make an entertaining,good-humoured companion, with whom any body might pass a few hoursvery pleasantly.

  Thus he rode along, blithe as a lark, till the sun went down in glory,showing at the distance of about a couple of miles, the spire of asmall church in a small town--or perhaps I had better call it avillage, for I am not sure that it had grown up to townhood in thosedays.

  The hint I have given that he could see the spire of the church musthave shown the reader, that at the moment of the sun's setting he wason the brow of a hill, for there are no plains in that part of thecountry, and it was well wooded also. Down from the spot at which hehad then arrived, in a line very nearly direct towards the spire,descended the road, crossing first a small patch of common, perhapsnot twenty acres in extent, and then entering between deep, shadybanks, as it went down the hill, not only arched over with shrubs, butcanopied by the branches of tall trees. There was quite sufficientlight in the sky to show him the entrance of this green avenue, and hesaid to himself, as he looked on, "Wat a pretty approach to thevillage; how peaceful and quiet every thing looks."

  He was not aware that he had work to do in that quiet road, nor thatit was to be of anything but a peaceful character, but so it is withus in life, we never know what is before us at the next step. We mayscheme, and we may calculate; we may devise, and we may expect, but,after all, we are but blind men, led we know not whither by a dog, andthe dog's name is, Fate.

  When he saw that he was so near the village, he slackened his pace,and proceeded at a walk, wishing, like a wise and experiencedequestrian, to bring his horse in cool. At the first trees of the roada deeper shade came into the twilight. About half a mile farther itbecame quite dark under the boughs, whatever it might be in the openfields; the darkness did not make him quicken his pace, but the minuteafter he heard some sounds before him which did. It is not very easyto explain what those sounds were, or by what process it was, thatstriking upon the tympanum of his ear, the two or three air-wavesconveyed to his brain a notion that there were people in danger ordistress at no great distance. There was a word spoken in a sudden andimperative tone, and that was the first sound he heard, and then therewas a voice of remonstrance and entreaty, a woman's voice, and thensomething like a shriek, not loud and prolonged, but uttered as if theperson from whose lips it came caught it as it was issuing forth, andstrove to stifle it in the birth; some loud swearing and oaths werenext heard, mingled with the noise of quick footfalls, as if some onewere running fast towards the spot from the side of the village, andthe next moment the horseman perceived, at the first indistinctly, andthen clearly, a number of objects on the road before him, the largest,if not the most important of which was a carriage. At the head of thehorses which had drawn it stood a man with something in his hand whichmight be a pistol. At the side of the vehicle were two more, with asaddled horse standing by, and they were apparently dragging out ofthe carriage a lady who seemed very unwilling to come forth, but fromthe other side was hurrying up, as hard as he could run, anotherpersonage of very different appearance from the three other men. Bythis time he was within ten yards of them, and our horseman, from hiselevation on his beast's back, could see the head and shoulders of himwho was approaching, and judged at once that he was a gentleman.

  I have said that under the trees it was quite dark, and yet that hecould see all this, but neither of these is a mistake, whatever thereader may think, for just at that part of the highway where thecarriage stood, it was crossed by another road which let in all thatremained of the western light, and there the whole scene was beforehis eyes, as a picture, even while he himself was in comparativedarkness. Impulse is an excellent thing, and a great deal morefrequently leads us right than reason, which in cases of emergency, isa very unserviceable commodity. It is only necessary to have a cleverimpulse, and things go wonderfully well. The horseman stuck his spursinto his horse's sides: previously he had been going at a trot, sincethe first sounds struck his ear, now it became a canter, and two orthree springs brought him up to the carriage. He was making straightfor the side, but the man who was at the horses' heads seemed toregard his coming as unpleasant, and shouting to him in a thunderingvoice to keep back, he presented a pistol
straight at him with asharp, disagreeable, clicking sound, which, under variouscircumstances, is peculiarly ungrateful to the human ear, especiallywhen the muzzle of the instrument is towards us, for there is noknowing what may come out of the mouth at the next minute. But thehorseman was quick, active, and not accustomed to be daunted by alittle thing like a pistol, and therefore, holding his heavyriding-whip by the wrong end, though in this instance it proved theright one, he struck the personage opposite to him a thundering blowover the arm. That limb instantly dropped powerless by his side, andthe pistol went off under the horse's feet, causing the animal to reara little, but hurting no one. In an instant the horse was turned, andamongst the party by the carriage; but that party was by this timeincreased in number, though not fortified by unanimity, for the personwho had been seen running up, was by this time engaged in fiercestruggle with one of the original possessors of the ground, while theother kept a tight grasp upon the lady who had just been dragged outof the carriage. With the two combatants our horseman thought it bestnot to meddle in the first instance, though he saw that the object ofone of them was to get a pistol at the head of the other, who seemedneither unwilling nor unable to prevent him from accomplishing thatobject, but they were grappling so closely, that it was difficult tostrike one without hitting the other, especially in the twilight; andtherefore, before he interfered in their concerns, he bestowed anotherblow, with the full sweep of his arm, upon the head of the man who washolding the lady, and who seemed to take so deep an interest in whatwas going on between the other two, as not to perceive that any onewas coming up behind him. He instantly staggered back, and would havefallen, had not the wheel of the carriage stopped him, but thenturning fiercely round, he stretched out his arm, and a flash andreport followed, while a ball whistled past the horseman's cheek, wentthrough his hair, and grazed his hat.

  "Missed, on my life," cried the horseman; "take that for your pains,you clumsy hound." And he again struck him, though, on this occasionthe person's head was defended by his arm.

  "H--l and d--n," cried the other, seizing his horse's bridle andtrying to force him back upon his haunches, but another blow, thatmade him stagger again, showed him that the combat was not likely toend in his favour, and darting past, he exclaimed, "Run, Wolf, run.Harry is off!" And before our friend on the bay horse could strikeanother blow at him, he had sprung upon the back of the beast thatstood near, and without waiting to put his feet into the stirrups,galloped off as hard as he could go. In regard to the other two whowere wrestling, as we have said, in deadly strife, the game they wereplaying had just reached a critical point, for the gentleman who hadcome up, had contrived to get hold of the barrel of the pistol, and atthe very instant the other galloped away, the respectable person hecalled Wolf received a straightforward blow in the face, which madehim stagger back, leaving his weapon in the hand of his opponent.Finding that his only advantage was gone, he instantly darted roundthe back of the carriage to make his escape up the other road.

  "Jump down and stop him, post-boy," cried the horseman, pursuing himat the same time without a moment's pause, but the post-boy's legs,though cased in leather, seemed to be made of wood, if one might judgeby the stiff slowness with which they moved, and before he had got hisfeet to the ground, and his whip deliberately laid over the horse'sback, the fugitive finding that the horseman had cut him off from theroad, caught the stem of a young ash, swung himself up to the top ofthe bank, and disappeared amongst the trees.

  "Hark, there is a carriage coming," said the horseman, addressing thestranger, who had followed him as fast as two legs could follow four.They both paused for an instant and listened, but to their surprisethe sound of rolling wheels, which they both distinctly heard,diminished instead of increasing, and it became evident that somevehicle was driving away from a spot at no great distance.

  "That's droll," said the horseman, dismounting; "but we had better seeafter the ladies, for I dare say they are frightened."

  "No doubt they are," replied the other, in a mild and musical voice,leading the way round the carriage again. "Do you know who they are?"

  "Not I," answered the horseman, "don't you?"

  "No, I am a stranger here," answered the other, approaching the sideof the carriage, to which the lady who had been dragged out had nowreturned.

  She was seated with her hands over her eyes, as if either crying withagitation or in deep thought; but the moment the gentleman who hadcome up on foot addressed her, expressing a hope that she had not beenmuch alarmed, she replied, "Oh, yes, I could not help it, but mymother has fainted. We must go back, I fear."

  "It is not far, I think, to the village, Madam," said our friend thehorseman, "and we will easily bring the lady to herself again; but itis a pity she fainted too. These things will happen, and if they havenot got your money there is no great harm done."

  "I am better, Mary," said a voice from the other side of the carriage,faint and low, yet sweet and harmonious. "Are they gone--are you quitesure they are gone?"

  "Oh, dear, yes, Madam," replied the horseman, while the lady next himlaid her hand tenderly upon her mother's. "One of the worthiesscampered off on horseback after he had fired at me, and the other wastoo quick for us all, thanks to your stiff-jointed driver. What becameof the other fellow I don't know."

  "You are not hurt, Sir, I hope," said the younger of the two ladies,gazing timidly at him through the half light.

  "Not in the least," he replied. "The man missed me, though it wasn't abad shot after all, for I felt it go through my hair--but an inch oneside or the other makes a wonderful difference--and now, ladies, whatwill you do?"

  A. murmured consultation took place between the two tenants of thecarriage, while a whispered conference was held by the gentlemen whocame to their assistance. It is wonderful how often in this worldseveral parties of the good folks of which it is composed, are allthinking, ay, and even talking, of the same thing, without any onegroup knowing what the other is about.

  "I'm doubtful of that post-boy," said the gentleman on foot to thegentleman who had been on horseback.

  "Ay, and so am I," replied the other. "He's in league with them,depend upon it. All post-boys are so. Their conscience is like the innleather breeches, wide enough to fit any thing. I wonder how far thesetwo ladies are going?"

  "I cannot tell," answered the other, "but it will be hardly safe forthem to go alone."

  "Can I speak to you, Sir, for a moment," said the voice of the youngerlady from the carriage, and the horseman advancing a step, leanedagainst the doorway, and put his head partly in, bending down his ear,as if he were perfectly certain that he was going to hear a secret.

  "My mother thinks, and so do I," continued the younger lady, "that theman who drives us must have been bribed by those people who attackedus, for he drove very slowly as soon as ever he came near this spot.He stopped, too, the moment they called to him."

  "Perhaps not bribed, my dear Madam," replied the gentleman, "all thesepost-boys, as they are called, favour your honest highwaymen, eitherin hopes of a part of the booty, or merely out of fellow feeling. Theyare every one of them amateurs, and some of them connoisseurs of thearts of the road. You must have some protection, that's certain, and Ithink it would be better for you to turn back and get some people fromthe village to accompany the carriage."

  "I'm afraid that can hardly be," said the elder lady. "We are alreadyvery late, and this has delayed us. My brother may be dead ere wearrive, for I'm going on a sad errand, Sir, he having been suddenlyseized with gout in the stomach, and sent to call me to him in hislast moments; however, it is not very far, and I trust that nothingmore will happen."

  "No, no, Madam, you must not go without protection," replied thegentleman in a good-humoured tone. "I will ride with you and see yousafe--how far is it?"

  "About five miles, I am afraid," answered the lady.

  "Oh, that's nothing, that's nothing," cried their companion. "It willbut make me an hour later at supper." And turning to the othergentle
man, he continued, "I wish, Sir, if you pass the inn called theWhite Hart--"

  "I lodge there myself," returned the stranger.

  "Then pray tell the people there to have me a chicken ready in anhour. It will be roasting while I am riding, so that will be one wayof killing time, and not losing patience."

  Thus saying, with a gay laugh, he sprang upon his horse's back, andaddressing the post-boy, exclaimed, while the other gentleman shut thedoor, and bade the ladies adieu, "Now, boy, into the saddle, andremember, if these ladies are interrupted again, the first head thatis broken shall be yours."

  The man made no reply, but got up with more alacrity than he had gotdown, and was soon trotting along the road at a rapid rate.

  The horseman kept close to the carriage all the way, and after a rideof about five-and-thirty minutes, through pleasant lanes and fields,they came to what seemed the gates of a park, but the porter's lodgewas dim and unlighted, and the post-boy gave the horseman asignificant hint that he had better get down and open the gates, asthere was nobody there to do it for him. The gentleman, however,managed the feat dexterously without dismounting, and the carriagerolled through and entered a long avenue of magnificent chesnuts.Between the boughs of the trees, every here and there, were to be seenglimpses of soft green slopes, studded with wild hawthorns, and massesof dark wood beyond, and at the end of about three quarters of a milemore, appeared a fine old stone house, with a somewhat flat butimposing-looking face, like that of an old country gentleman, with agreat idea of his own importance.

  As the horseman looked up to the house, however, which was raised upona little terrace, and approached by a gentle rise, he could not helpthinking, "That does not look very much like the dwelling of a mandying of gout in the stomach; it looks more like that of one gettingup a good fit;" for three windows on the ground floor, having verymuch of a dining-room aspect about them, were thrown up to admit theair, and in addition to a blaze of light, there came forth the soundsof merry laughter, and several persons talking.

  The post-boy drove up to the great door, however, and the horseman,springing to the ground, rang the bell, after which, returning to theside of the carriage, he leaned against it, saying,

  "I trust your relation is better, Madam, for the house does not seemto be one of mourning."

  The lady did not reply directly to his words, but she said, "I hope ifyou remain in this part of the country, Sir, you will give me anopportunity of thanking you, either here, or at my own house, for thegreat service you have rendered me. The people of the inn will directyou, for it is only ten miles on the other side of Tarningham."

  "I shall certainly have the honour of waiting on you to inquire howyou do," replied the horseman, and then adding, "these people do notseem inclined to come," he returned to the bell, and rang itvigorously.

  The next moment the door was opened, and a capacious butler appeared,and the stranger, without more ado, assisted the ladies to alight,remarking as he did so, that the younger of the two was a very prettygirl, some nineteen or twenty years of age.

  "How is my brother now?" demanded the elder lady, who wore a widow'sdress.

  "Quite well, Ma'am, thank you," answered the butler, in the mostcommonplace tone possible, and before she had time to make any moreinquiries, the stranger who had come to her rescue, wished her and herdaughter good night, and mounting his horse, rode down the avenueagain.