William Shakespeare as He Lived: An Historical Tale

by Henry Curling

At the present moment he felt that no locality would soothe the sadness of his thoughts so well as the leafy covert he was in.

Even whilst the heavy rain was pattering amidst the foliage, and dropping from the surcharged boughs; the air misty and moist; and the darksome glade rendered more gloomy by the murky atmosphere, there was indeed to his eye and mind, something fresh to be remarked around in the changeful hue of the herbs, plants, and thick foliage, as the driving clouds constantly varied them; nay (as we have said,) the gloomy and dull aspect of the wood at that moment better suited his troubled thoughts than a more bright and splendid scene.

Some slight intimation of the troubles of his friends at the Hall had reached him; he had received a hint of the arrest of Sir Hugh, and the absence of his friend Arderne. He also knew that the fair Charlotte was unwell; and naturally attributing her illness to the shock she had received at the arrest of her father, he hoped that a few days would restore her to health. Still a presentiment of evil, and which he conceived was consequent upon the unhappy state of the town in which he had lived, pervaded his mind.

He had occasionally visited the neighbourhood of the Hall, and made some inquiry after the inmates; but in the absence of the good knight, and his friend Arderne, he had not considered it consistent with propriety to introduce himself into the house, coming as he did from a place infected with the plague.

On this evening, however, he resolved to gain some more assured tidings of those he felt so much interested in; and after pondering upon the matter, he resolved to approach the hall.

There was a solitude and silence about the house, as he gazed at it from the belt of plantation by which he approached, that he could not account for. No smoke ascended, from those huge twisted chimneys; no sound (save an occasional dismal and long-drawn howl) came from the kennel. No person was to be seen, as of yore, flitting about, engaged in the numerous avocations of their daily duties. All looked dull and deserted.

He entered the court in rear, and proceeded to the stabling. The stables were for the most part empty, the steeds had been turned into the chase, and deserted by their attendants. He looked into the falconry; the hawks were upon the perch, and apparently well fed and attended to, for at that period a falconer would have as soon deserted his children as his hawks, but the attendants were at the moment absent; they had fled from the Hall, and located themselves in some out-buildings in the woods. As he entered the house, the same appearance of desertion struck his eye. He passed through a long passage, and gained the hall. There hung the old tattered banners, the unscoured armour, and the antlered heads of several large stags,—stags of ten,—all spoke of recent occupation and use. The cross-bow lay where it had been thrown a few days before; the thick hawking gauntlets and the dog-couples were mingled with whips and spurs, bits and bridles, and all the mélange of the chase and the country gentleman's occupation, but of servants or inhabitants there was no sign. He passed into the oak-pannelled room where he had first enjoyed the society of the family, and learned to love them for their worth. All looked desolate. The solitude and silence around made his presence seem an intrusion. The innate modesty of his disposition overcame his anxiety to hear tidings of the invalid. He felt as if prying into the secret sorrows of the owner of the mansion, and was about to withdraw, when the door opened, and Martin entered the room.

Martin started as he recognised the visitor, and a slight frown seemed to cross his brow. He was a curious compound, that man. He half disliked the youth for the virtues he at the same time admired in him, and which he saw had also won the love of the daughter of his patron, and which under no circumstance he considered could lead to a happy result,—now, however, all was at an end.

"Ah," he said, "art thou here? Art thou come to Clopton when all else desert it?"

"My anxiety to learn tidings of the family hath made me an intruder on your privacy," said Shakespeare. "I hope——"