The Flight of Georgiana: A Story of Love and Peril in England in 1746

by Robert Neilson Stephens

The road lay at first between fields, and here and there great trees stretched their boughs shelteringly over it. Sometimes green banks rose on one hand or both, and at a certain place a stream joined the road and went singing along in its company for half a mile. Then the way emerged upon an open common, which undulated on one side in rounded waves of heather till the purple mass met the gray sky, and on the other side to the border of a wood. But presently Everell was again in cultivated country, with stone farm-buildings set now and then upon lawny slopes among the fields.

One great house, of which the chimneys rose in the midst of trees, and which was to be approached by a driveway of some hundreds of yards from a gate and lodge at the roadside, held Everell’s attention for a moment. The guide volunteered the information that this was Thornby Hall. Everell repeated the name carelessly, looked a second time, and thought no more of it. Had he been able to foresee the future, he would have given the place a longer inspection.

Two or three miles more brought them to a village. The guide said that here was the only public-house of entertainment in the near neighbourhood, and that if he went farther he was in danger of getting benighted on his return. Nothing could have suited Everell’s own plan better than this clear hint. He dissembled his content, however, and put on a frown of disappointment as he gazed at the mere ale-house—a low and longish building whose unevenness of line betokened its antiquity—before which the boy had drawn up. Everell feigned a reluctant yielding to necessity; dismounted peevishly, and showed a petulant resignation in asking the rustic-looking landlord who appeared at the door if a decent room was to be had for the night.

The landlord, a drowsy little old man, who was too dull, too humble-minded, or too philosophical to resent any doubt of the excellence of his house, replied that the best room was at his honour’s service. Whereupon Everell, for the hearing of his guide, inquired urgently about the possibility of getting a horse in the morning to carry him to Burndale. Being assured on this point, also, Everell dismissed the guide, and had his single piece of baggage taken into his room, which proved to be not merely the best room, but the only room, properly so-called, in addition to the long apartment which served as kitchen, bar, living-room of the family, and general clubroom of the village; the chambers up-stairs being mere lofts under the roof.

Everell ordered a supper of bacon and eggs, which were cooked by the landlord’s fat, middle-aged daughter, and served by the old man himself. Turning quite reconciled to his accommodations as soon as his guide had left the scene, Everell drew the host into conversation, and, as the old fellow proved to be an amiable and honest soul, even in the matter of his charges, the traveller was shortly in possession of as many facts, legends, and reports concerning the gentry of this and adjacent parishes as his host had accumulated in years. All this information went through Everell’s mind as through a sieve, with the exception of the circumstance that the old red-brick place, with the ivy and the gables, crowning the slope at the right, with a park behind it, which old red-brick place his honour would have seen had he ridden a little farther on, and would see when he rode that way in the morning, was Foxwell Court. This piece of news did not come out till Everell had finished his meal, and he might have learned a vast deal about the Foxwells, for the old man’s face brightened as if at the opening of a fresh and copious subject; but the young gentleman, with his usual precipitancy, rose and declared his intention of stretching his legs. Though he had cautiously refrained from being the first to mention Foxwell Court, he no sooner knew where it was, and how near, than he felt himself drawn as by enchantment in its direction.

As he stepped out upon the green space before the inn, a post-chaise came rattling by at a round speed. It was empty, and Everell recognized it as the one which had accompanied the coach from the inn yard that day: it was now returning from Foxwell Court, as it ought to have been doing sooner. The postilion, no doubt, had wasted time in the sociability of the servants’ hall, and was now making his horses fly to avoid belatement. He stared a moment at Everell, and was gone. Thinking nothing of this meeting, so brief and casual, Everell walked rapidly off toward Foxwell Court.

The sun had come out toward evening, and now shone bright on the weathercock and spire of the parish church that stood embowered some distance from the road, on Everett’s left, as he proceeded. A short walk brought him to the end of the village street of low gray cottages in their small gardens. Thence a little bridge bore him across a stream that came murmuring down through a large field from the wooded land Northward. Looking ahead on that side of the road, he perceived the curved gables of an old house of time-dulled brick partly clad in ivy. It stood rather proudly at the top of a broad slope and against a background of woods or park, its upper windows ablaze with the sunlight. The lower part of the building was hidden by the walls of a forecourt and by a dilapidated-looking gate-house which dominated them. At the near end of the mansion appeared a shapeless remnant of broken tower and wing, ruinous and abandoned: from these ruins a wall extended to the verge of a slight precipice and, there turning at a right angle, ran back to the wood. Over the top of this wall were visible the signs of a neglected garden or orchard.

The further, or Western, end of the house was flanked by trees and greenery, but the slope of rich green turf which descended in one long and gentle swell from the forecourt to the road was clear lawn. This great convex space of green was separated from the adjacent fields, and from the road, by a rude hedge of briar. Everell, having gazed a few moments from the bridge, walked on along the road, intending, if possible, to describe the circuit of the house at a respectful distance before attempting any near approach. He came to the barred opening in the hedge through which the private road led from the highway to the gate-house of the forecourt, but he let only his eyes travel up the curving way. As the hedge grew on lower ground beyond the roadside ditch, Everell had the house in full sight while he was passing. He came at length to where the hedge turned for its ascent, and here he found that a narrow lane ran between it and the field adjoining.

He was speedily over the barred gate that shut this lane from the road. Ascending toward the park behind the house, he frequently lost sight of the latter by reason of the height of the hedge, which was, moreover, accompanied on that side by a line of oaks. As it came to the level of the forecourt, the hedge was interrupted by a gate. Looking across the bars of this, Everell could see not only the house but, nearer to him, stables and other outbuildings skilfully concealed by shrubbery and trees. His observation from the gateway being rewarded by nothing to the purpose, and that he might make the most use of the remaining light, Everell went on through the lane toward the park, to which he now saw it gave access. Passing the trees which prevented his view of the Western end of the house, he came abreast of a terrace which lay between the North front and the park, and which he could see across the hedge when he stood on tiptoe. A few more steps, and a vault over a five-barred gate, took him into the park itself, from the shades of which—for it was not kept clear of small growth, and offered plentiful covert of bush and bracken and other brush—he gazed upon the house as he turned and strolled Eastward.

The balustrade of the terrace was broken here and there; and the mansion itself, where the ivy allowed its surface to be seen, was weather-worn and unrepaired. Yet, by virtue of its design and situation, the house had a magnificence. This, however, did not much affect Everell at the time, sensitive though he was to such impressions. What concerned him was, that he saw no face at any window, nor heard any voice from any part of the mansion except below stairs.