"What! and leave you to wander about alone, I know not whither?" cried the young clergyman. "No, my child, no! Did all the dangers in the world hang over my head, where you go, there will I go too. If I cannot protect you much--which, God help me! is not in my power--at least I can console you under your sorrows, and support you during your pilgrimage, by pointing continually to that Being who is the protector of the widow and the orphan, the friend of the friendless and the desolate. Lady, I will go with you. All the dangers in the world shall not scare me from your side."
A new energy seemed to have sprung up in the bosom of the clergyman; and by his advice and assistance Lady Constance's plans and arrangements for her flight were very soon completed.
It was agreed that herself, Dr. Wilbraham, and Mistress Margaret, the waiting-woman, should immediately take boat, and proceed by water to the little village of Tothill, from whence a walk of five minutes would bring them to the house of the physician Dr. Butts, who, as the old chaplain observed, was, though his nephew, a man of an active and piercing mind, and would probably find some means to facilitate their escape to France. By landing some little way from his house, they hoped to prevent their route from being traced afterwards, and thus to evade pursuit, as to be overtaken and brought back would involve far more danger than even to remain where they were and dare the worst.
All this being determined between Lady Constance and the clergyman, Mistress Margaret was called in, and informed of as much of the plan as was necessary to enable her to make up her mind whether she would accompany her young lady or not. Without a moment's hesitation, she decided upon going, and having received her orders, proceeded to arrange for their journey such articles of apparel as were absolutely necessary, together with all her lady's money and jewels. She also was deputed to inform the other servants that Lady Constance thought it best to follow the lord cardinal to York Place immediately, instead of waiting for the litter which he had promised to send, and that she only permitted herself and Dr. Wilbraham to accompany her.
Everything being ready, a man was sought to carry the two large bags to which their luggage was restricted; and Constance prepared to put in execution the very important step on which she had determined. Her heart sank, it is true, and her spirit almost failed, as Dr. Wilbraham took her by the hand to lead her to the boat; but remembering to what she would expose herself if she staid, she recalled her courage and proceeded on her way.
In the ante-chamber, however, she had a painful scene to go through; for her women, not deceived by Mistress Margaret's tale, clung round their lady for what they deemed might be a last farewell. All of them, born upon her father's lands, had grown up as it were with her; and for some good quality, called from amongst the other peasantry to the honour of serving the heiress of De Grey, had become attached to her by early habit, as well as by the affection which her gentle manners and sweet disposition were certain to produce in all those by whom she was surrounded. Many a bitter tear was shed by the poor girls as they saw their lady about to leave them: and Constance herself, unable to refrain from weeping, thereby not only encouraged their grief, but confirmed their fears. Angry with herself for giving way to her feelings when she felt the absolute necessity of governing them strictly, Constance gently disengaged herself from her maids, and promising to let them hear of her soon, proceeded to the water-side, where they easily procured a boat to convey them down the river.
The irrevocable step was now taken, and Constance and the chaplain both sat in silence, contemplating the vague future, and striving, amidst all the dim, uncertain shapes that it presented, to ascertain, even as far as probability went, what might be their fate. But the dark, impenetrable curtain, drawn ever between to-day and to-morrow, still barred their view, leaving only room for hope and fear to range within the wide circle of unceasing doubt.
Long before arriving at Tothill, the sun had gone down; and the cold wind, blowing from the river, chilled Lady Constance as she sat in the open boat without any other covering than a long veil added to her ordinary apparel. Notwithstanding this, she judged it best to bid their two rowers continue their course as far as Westminster, fearing that the little knowledge of the localities possessed either by Dr. Wilbraham or herself might cause them to lose their way if they pursued their original intention of landing at Tothill, and hoping that the darkness, which was now coming thick upon them, would at least conceal their path from the boat to the house of Dr. Butts. To ensure this, as soon as they had landed. Mistress Margaret took one of the bags, and the good clergyman the other, and having satisfied the boatmen for their labour, the whole party began to thread the narrow, tortuous lanes and streets constituting the good town of Westminster. After various turnings and windings, however, they discovered that they were not on the right track, and were obliged to ask their way of an old locksmith, who was just shutting up his shop. The direction they received from the worthy artificer was somewhat confused, and contained so many rights and lefts, that by the time they had taken two more turnings, each person of the three had got a different reading of the matter, and could in no way agree as to their farther proceeding.
"He said we were to go on, in this street, till we came to a lantern, I am sure," said Dr. Wilbraham.
"No, no, sir," cried Mistress Margaret; "it was the next street after we had turned to the left. Did he not say, Take the first street to the right, and then the first again to the right, and then the second to the left, and then go on till we came to a lantern?"