He warmly invited us to remain and finish up the wine, and then one of the gentlemen at the table, whether of design or not, mentioned the extraordinary reports which had just reached London concerning the trial at York, and I, encouraged thereto by a subtle look and a question of his Royal Highness, told the whole story, assisted by Sir Peter. It was listened to with the deepest interest.
Lady Arabella Stormont was known to every person there, and the Prince remarked that he had danced with her at the last birthnight ball. Her infatuation for Overton was well known and freely commented on, and the strange measures that women will sometimes venture upon in the interest, as they think, of the man they love, was exemplified in her testifying against Giles Vernon. Sir Thomas Vernon’s hatred of his heir was also well known,—and as the web was unfolded to the Prince he listened with an air of the profoundest thought, and his comment was significant,—
“The king can pardon.”
He had pity on us and did not press us to remain to cards, so we left Carlton House about an hour after entering it, and with hearts immeasurably lighter. Our first thought was to hasten back to our lodgings to send off our good news to Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne by the northern mail.
Sir Peter told me then that the Prince had directed him to go to Windsor in the morning and remain, and that he himself would bring him back on the Sunday morning, if the counter signatures to his Majesty’s could not be had before. The Prince was quite familiar with the procedure, and engaged to get the pardon from the king without difficulty.
Early next morning Sir Peter left me. It was agreed that I should proceed on the Sunday morning to the Bear and Churn, a tavern and posting station near London, on the northern road, to arrange in advance for the best cattle, in order that not a moment might be lost in returning to York. So, after two miserable days alone in London, while Sir Peter was at Windsor, I was glad on Sunday morning to be on the northern road, preparing for our rapid return to York. The Bear and Churn was directly on the highway, and was well out of London, being surrounded by green fields and orchards.
It was a beautiful morning, more like April than February. The greenness of the earth, the blueness of the heavens, the quiet of the country, after the rattle and roar and dun skies of London, were balm to my soul.
I reached the inn by ten o’clock; and, having arranged for their best horses, and sent word two stations ahead, I sat down to pass the day as best I might. I wrote a long letter to Daphne, and then, it being about twelve o’clock, I went out for a walk.
There was a pretty pathway, through a little grove, toward a rolling field, next the highway. I took this path, and presently came face to face, at a turn in the path, with Overton. He was singularly dressed for a man of his quality and profession.
He wore black clothes, with plain silver buckles at the knees, and black silk stockings and shoes. His hair, unpowdered, was tied with a black ribbon; but he wore no crape or vestige of mourning. I had ever thought him the handsomest man in England; but in this garb, so different from the brilliant uniform or other exquisite dress in which I had heretofore seen him, he looked like an Apollo. He greeted me gravely, but not impolitely; and we walked along together. He had heard of my marriage, and felicitated me on it.