In the days of Charles (the Martyr!) a state prisoner was not such a rara avis as at present. Laud had his list, and Strafford also—that noble but truculent tool of a tyrant—who ended his life by becoming himself a state prisoner—the most distinguished of all.
A gentleman denounced, and taken to the Tower, was anything but a rare event; and created scarce more sensation than would at the present day the capture of a swell-mobsman.
The arrest of Henry Holtspur passed over as a common occurrence. His rescue and escape were of a less common character; though even these served only for a nine days’ wonder in the mind of the general public. There were few who understood exactly how the rescue had been brought about; or how that crowd of “disloyal knaves”—as they were termed by the king’s partisans—had come to be so opportunely assembled in front of the “Rose and Crown.”
No one seemed to know whither the fugitive had betaken himself—not even rumour. It was only conjectured that he had sought concealment—and found it—in that grand hiding place, safe as the desert itself: London. For those attainted with “treasonable proclivities” towards the tyrant king, the great city was, at that time, a safer asylum than any other part of his kingdom.
The cuirassier captain had done all in his power, to hinder the event from obtaining general publicity. He had not reported at head quarters, either the arrest or what followed; and he had been equally remiss of duty, in permitting the circumstances of Holtspur’s rescue to pass without investigation.
He still clung to the hope of being able to effect his recapture; and to that end he employed—though in a clandestine manner—all the influence he could bring to his aid. He despatched secret agents into different parts of the country; and no communication—not even a letter—could enter the mansion of Sir Marmaduke Wade, without Captain Scarthe knowing the nature of its contents.
During this period, his position in the quarters he occupied, may be regarded as somewhat anomalous. A certain intimacy had become established between him and the family of his host. How far it was friendly, on either side, was a question.
A stranger, or superficial observer, might have fancied it so—on the part of Scarthe even cordial.
Ever since the first day of his residence under the roof of Sir Marmaduke, he had held his troopers in strict subordination: so strict as to have given these worthies no slight offence. But Captain Scarthe was a commander not to be trifled with; and his followers knew it.
For every little incident of trouble or annoyance, occurring to the inmates of the mansion, ample apologies were rendered; and it might have been imagined, that the king’s cuirassiers had been sent to Bulstrode as a guard of honour to attend upon its owner, rather than a “billet” to live at his expense!