CHAPTER XXII.
Candles were lighted in a small, beautiful room at Danvers's New Church, and Ralph Woodhall sat at a table covered with delicacies which he could little have expected to find, at that season of the year, in that remote place. He gave small heed to them, however. He ate what was merely needful for sustenance, and drank several glasses of fine old wine, which were pressed upon him by the care of two old servants of the Danvers family--blue bottles, as they were called in those days--who, with less to do at any time than they altogether liked, were left behind by their lady in the country, when she journeyed far, in consideration of their age, which they themselves were not apt to believe in very much. They thought themselves strong and hearty as ever, and able to do any sort of work which might be assigned to them. But Hortensia was not one to overtask any one's willingness; and she had more consideration for their years than they had themselves. Right glad were they, then, to pay every attention to a favored guest during her absence; and old men, being very often apt at calculation, and especially at putting two stray ends of circumstances together and linking them, as it were, with cobbler's wax, reasoned internally upon the probability of the handsome young stranger--in regard to whose fortune and fate they knew nothing--becoming, ere long, their legitimate lord and master.
Toward the end of the meal, when some early fruits, at that time brought to perfection with great difficulty and at vast expense, had been put upon the table, Mr. Drayton himself appeared, and stood for a moment by the side of Ralph's chair, excusing the scantiness of the dinner on the ground of the short time allowed for preparation.
"We shall treat you better to-morrow, sir," he said; "but, in the mean time, is there any wine in the cellar you would like better? The keys are always left with me, and there is some very rich Burgundy, as well as Bordeaux wine of the finest quality--even imperial Tokay; for my late lord was a great judge, and the wines have only improved since his death, which, come Martinmas, will be thirteen years."
"Nothing more, Mr. Drayton--nothing more, thank you," replied Ralph; "I have had quite enough, and all has been very good."
"Perhaps, sir, you would like to look through the house," said Mr. Drayton, determined not to leave the young stranger to his own bitter thoughts if he could help it; "it is a curious old place, and, to my mind, looks better by candlelight than at any other time. I think old places always do; for there is something about them which makes one feel that their real light is gone, and that they can only be viewed pleasantly by something manufactured and modern. I think you would like to see it."
"Very well," replied Ralph, in an indifferent tone; "I will accompany you, Mr. Drayton, when you like."
"This minute, if you please, sir, if you have done your wine," replied Mr. Drayton. "Stay! I will call people to take the lights on before, and we will go through the whole suites of apartments, beginning with the yellow guest chamber, and going on to the green guest chamber, and the blue guest chamber."
"Yellow, and green, and blue guests!" said Ralph; "methinks that there must have been some heavier hearts than even my own here."
"Oh, sir, it is but a name," replied the good man; "and I dare say what we call the rooms has little to do with those who sleep in them. But now, sir, I will be ready in a moment;" and, ordering one of the menservants to take up two of the lights and precede them, he led the way with a step as slow and solemn as if the place had been a nunnery, and he had feared to interrupt the devout orisons of its inmates.
I will not detain the reader with much particular account of the various rooms and passages through which Ralph was led, but simply dwell upon the general aspect of the place, which was solemn, stalely, and meditative. The effect, too, was heightened by every ornament and decoration to be seen, for the late Lord Danvers had a consummate knowledge and a real taste for art. Thus along the old corridor, which had been converted to the purposes of a picture gallery, the young gentleman was led, pausing every now and then to examine more closely one or other of the portraits which hung upon the wall. The whole history of each was well known to Mr. Drayton, who gave it in full to his young companion--not, perhaps, without a little embellishment, in order to keep his attention engaged. At first Ralph walked listlessly enough; but gradually his mind assumed an interest in the subjects which were laid before him, and he stopped several times to gaze at the different portraits as he passed by, asking the names and history of the personages. Some were by Sir Peter Lely--some were by Vandyck; and the collection went as far back even as Holbein. The Danvers family, of course, figured conspicuously. There were Danverses of all ages, from the infant swathed up like an Egyptian mummy, to the white-bearded senior in his high-backed chair; men in suits of armor, with pages holding the casque, and a horse looking over the left shoulder; gentlemen in long gowns and venerable ruffs, and ladies in stiff bodices, or with collars buttoned up to the chin. But there were also a number of portraits representing persons either allied to the family by blood or affection, or figuring remarkably in history. Howards there were many--Percys not a few; and, in fact, the records of each age since the family rose to distinction had their representative on the walls. Among the rest were two full-length, portraits of ladies in the early spring of life. One was represented standing with a large Spanish fan in her hand, while a grayhound, raised upon his hind feet, and with his curling tail dropping gracefully nearly to the ground, had his fore feet upon a table supporting a globe of gold and silver fishes, which he seemed to be eyeing with intense curiosity and some appetite. The face of the lady was exquisitely beautiful; and Ralph had no occasion to inquire the name of the original, for the likeness to Hortensia was so strong, though the hair was a shade less dark, that no one who had seen her could fail to recognize her mother. The other portrait was of a somewhat taller lady, leaning upon a marble urn, which had something sepulchral in its character. Her eyes were raised, so as to seem gazing directly at the spectator; and her right hand was stretched out, as if she were offering it to the figure in the other picture. In those eyes there was that deep, intense expression which is never seen--no, never--except in persons whose feelings are strong and permanent; and the painter had caught that look, and expressed it with wonderful power, making even the beauty of the features and of the coloring subservient to that. It was a face that Ralph knew well; and to see the portrait of his own mother side by side with that of the late Lady Danvers, made him feel indeed as if there were nearer bonds between him and Hortensia than any thing like a sudden friendship or the acquaintance of a few short days could twine.
"I must always feel toward her as a brother," he thought; "and she has nobly proved toward me that she regards me as such. One of my first acts must be to disabuse her mind of the idea that I would so lightly draw my sword against my cousin Henry's life."
Then turning to Mr. Drayton, he asked, "Is there any picture of Lady Danvers here?"
"Only one, sir, in her own morning room," replied the steward; "it was taken when she was quite a child, and she would never sit for one afterward. This is the room;" and, taking a step or two forward, he opened a door on the left.
The lights the servant carried slowly penetrated the gloom, and Ralph gazed round with deep interest at the arrangement of the place where so fair and interesting a creature as Hortensia made her ordinary abode. Nowhere could his eye rest without finding some proof of her fine taste, and of a certain spirit of order, neatness, and decoration rarely met with in one so young. Antique cabinets of ebony, with silver hinges and locks, were in several parts of the room, containing, doubtless, many little treasures of virtù. A large table in the middle, supported by richly-carved and twisted columns of dark-black oak, was covered with miniatures, carvings in ivory, pieces of rare china, curious ancient ornaments, one or two small books in very antique bindings, and two or three small statues in bronze or ivory, which might, perhaps, have employed the hand of Cellini or Bologna. There, too, were a number of specimens of the cinqui-cento art, placed beneath glass covers to keep them from the dust; a crucifixion in ivory, where the intense passion of the expression seemed to make the dead material live; a drinking-cup of silver, from the sides of which stood out in bold relief some scores of figures holding up wreaths of flowers to the brim, as if to catch the drops of wine that might rim over, and every figure differing from the other, but anatomically perfect and full of grace; a salt-cellar of gold, used probably at high festivals in days of yore, where, on a large cockle-shell, intended to contain the salt, stood the figure of Neptune waving his trident over the heads of two sea-horses, while round about were exquisitely grouped, with arms sometimes linked together, sometimes cast round each other's necks or shoulders in every different attitude that can be conceived, the numberless deities of the wave.
On the walls around, between the various cabinets and the windows, were a number of small and beautiful pictures from the hands of the greatest masters. They were principally landscapes though here and there a figure-piece of the Dutch or Flemish school found admittance, where the subject fitted it for a lady's eyes. There was only one large picture in the room, and that was the portrait of a young girl, some what fancifully dressed, putting aside with her hand the green leaves and branches of a tree, and seeming to look out from the shadowy bower beneath upon those who gazed upon her in return. The face was full of life, and light, and intelligence, and joy. Youth was evidently holding revel in her heart, and the spirit of the free green-wood seemed over all. Although Lady Danvers's eyes had deeper things in them now--although the expression was now generally more thoughtful, more timid, and the form, there in the bud, had blossomed into womanly loveliness, yet Ralph had no difficulty in recognizing Hortensia in the delicate features and wild graces of the child. He paused longer there, and with deeper interest than he had done any where else; and as the servant continued to hold up the lights before him, and Mr. Drayton stood a step behind, a slight smile came upon the face of the latter, arising apparently from some conclusions that he was drawing in his own mind.
"This is my lady's dressing-room," he said, after a while, opening a door beyond, "and this is her bed-room."
Ralph followed, and gazed round. Here, it was evident, the same spirit resided; but the bed-room itself was very simply arranged. There was a fire-place for a wood-fire, with a mantel, piece of rich white marble, supported by two beautiful columns; and the andirons, according to the ancient mode, were decorated with two large dogs' heads beautifully sculptured in brass. Above the mantel-piece was another picture of the late Lady Danvers. The chairs were of green velvet, and the hangings of the bed the same. The pillow and the sheet were edged with lace; and as Ralph gazed at the spot where Hortensia laid her head to rest, he said to himself, with a strange feeling that he did not stop to analyze, "May peace and happiness ever rest there with her!"
Turning away with the good steward, he proceeded through a number of other rooms; but, though the house had some historical associations, and a number of those old dreamy stair-cases, passages, and halls, which filled the unoccupied mind with strange imaginings, no part had such an interest for him as that which he had visited first; and he returned to the room in which he had been sitting with the more painful feelings busy in his heart, but mingled with some pleasanter thoughts, by all that he had seen in the apartments of Hortensia.
"I will now, Mr. Drayton," he said, "write some letters, and then retire to rest."
"Ay, sir, it is always better," said Mr. Drayton, in that commonplace tone which somewhat jars with strong emotions, "to write a letter at night, take counsel with one's pillow, and read it over before one sends it in the morning. It seems my lady has made some mistake about this duel, and it has taken you by surprise. You had better think well, sir, before you act in any way, for one does not always do the wisest when one acts in a hurry."
"True--true, Mr. Drayton," said Ralph, in an absent tone, "I will think before I act; but still I must not suffer an imputation to rest upon me which I do not deserve;" and, after having procured writing materials, he proceeded to indite several letters, of which I shall only give one as a specimen. It was addressed to Lord Woodhall, and was to the following effect:
"My honored and very dear Lord,
"I have this evening, and only this evening, learned the sad and terrible event which has occurred in your family, and which has deprived me not only of a very dear relation, but of one who has been my friend from boyhood. Though your lordship's grief must naturally be greater than that of any other person, believe me that mine, upon receiving this intelligence, would have been hard enough to bear without any aggravation. But coupled with the sad information comes the strange tidings that by some mistake, to me unaccountable, my name has been mingled with the transaction which deprived you of your dear son, and me of my friend and cousin. I can not leave you to suppose for one moment that I would have drawn my sword upon your son; but I have further to declare that there was no quarrel or dispute between us whatsoever; that we parted on the night of Wednesday last in perfect friendship and good feeling; and that I have never either seen or heard from him since, as I set out early on the morning of Thursday to escort Lady Danvers westward, and have never been in Norwich from that hour to this. Nay, more, it is utterly impossible that I could have been there, as I am willing to prove at any time, by accounting for every moment of my time, and producing persons who were with me. If, notwithstanding my most solemn assurance, your lordship still entertains doubts of the fact I mention, which can not be removed by private investigation, I am not at all unwilling to abide fair and open trial; and if I do not show that there was no possibility whatsoever of my having been on the spot, and at the hour where and when the unfortunate transaction took place, let me be condemned as a murderer.
"One thing, however, I would fain avoid, which is lengthened imprisonment; but if it is publicly given forth on what day the charge against me can be tried, I pledge you my word of honor, as a man and a gentleman, I will come forward at the place named, and surrender myself to abide the result.
"With the hope that God may comfort you in the sad affliction with which He has been pleased to visit you, and that He may shower every blessing upon yourself and your daughter, I have the honor to subscribe myself, my lord, your lordship's most faithful and humble servant,
"Ralph Woodhall."
Another letter of similar import was addressed to the Duke of Norfolk, another to his own father, and another to Lady Danvers.
He would fain have written to Margaret also, but paused, hesitated, and finally abandoned his intention.
When these were all concluded, he sent for Gaunt Stilling, to consult with him as to the best means of dispatching the letters from that part of the country, communications by post being in those days not very rapid and not very secure.
"I will have them conveyed, sir," said Stilling, taking the letters, "though Norwich and London are far apart, and Lincolnshire a good way off too; but if the object of these letters is what I guess, I think you might save yourself the trouble and expense, which will not be small."
"What do you guess the object is?" asked Ralph.
The man paused for an instant, and then answered, "To tell all these people that you are not the man who killed Mr. Henry Woodhall."
"Do you not think it worth my while to clear myself of shedding my cousin's blood?" asked Ralph, with some feeling of anger at the man's cool tone.
"Certainly, sir," replied Stilling; "but I think it is done already, in all probability. Either you do not know well the person who first placed me with you, or he has not told you how his eyes are always on those in whom he takes an interest. His eyes need no perspective glasses, sir, and he is just as well aware of the whole facts as you or I--better, indeed, most likely, than either of us. Nor will he let the knowledge sleep, depend upon it. He will make your cause good with those who are most concerned, whether you ask him or not."
Ralph smiled faintly. "You seem to have great faith," he said; "but I must not trust to any thing like a chance in such matters. I should like the letters to go."
"Well, sir, they shall go," replied Gaunt Stilling; "but one must trust to chance in all matters. For instance, I must give this letter for London to the king's post: there's a chance of his being stopped on the way. This must be sent to Lady Danvers by a special messenger, who is just as likely to miss her as not. The Duke of Norfolk will be gone from Norwich by this time, and--"
Ralph waved his hand somewhat impatiently. "I wish them to go," he said; "there is no chance, at least, of the messenger not reaching London."
"The greatest in the world," answered Gaunt Stilling; "but I see, sir, that you are not aware of all that is going on. Do you know that the country between this and London is all in a flame? If civil war has not broken out already, it won't be long first, and depend upon it that no letter will reach London, without being stopped and examined, for this month to come. I haven't got all the particulars right, but you shall hear more to-morrow morning, for I have got friends in Lyme, where this matter first broke out, and I have sent over a boy to inquire."
"Give me the letters," said Ralph Woodhall, "and I will decide to-morrow, when we have heard more."
Thus saying, he took them back, determined, on account of the difficulties Stilling threw in his way, to see them dispatched himself. The news of insurrection made but small impression upon his mind at the moment, occupied so fully as it was by personal feelings; but he asked a few questions in an indifferent tone; and, receiving nothing but a report of vague rumors, to which he attached but little importance, he retired to bed, determined to rise early on the following morning, and transact his business for himself.