Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire

by William Harrison Ainsworth

Leonard replied, that he was utterly ignorant of the king's movements; and explaining whence he came, the captain left him. The intelligence he had thus accidentally obtained was far from satisfactory to the apprentice. For some distance, their road would be the same as that about to be taken by the monarch and his attendants, amongst whom it was not improbable Rochester might be numbered; and the possibility that the earl might overtake them and discover Amabel filled him with uneasiness. Concealing his alarm, however, he urged his steed to a quicker pace, and proceeded briskly on his way, glad, at least, that he had not lost Solomon Eagle's gift to Nizza. Amabel's weakly condition compelled them to rest at frequent intervals, and it was not until evening was drawing in that they descended the steep hill leading to the beautiful village of Henley-upon-Thames, where they proposed to halt for the night.

Crossing the bridge, they found a considerable number of the inhabitants assembled in the main street and in the market-place, in expectation of the king's passing through the town on his way to Oxford, intimation of his approach having been conveyed by avant-couriers. Leonard proceeded to the principal inn, and was fortunate enough to procure accommodation. Having conducted Amabel and Nizza to their room, he was repairing to the stable with Blaize to see after their steeds, when a loud blowing of horns was heard on the bridge, succeeded by the tramp of horses and the rattling of wheels, and the next moment four valets in splendid livery rode up, followed by a magnificent coach. The shouts of the assemblage proclaimed that it was the king. The cavalcade stopped before the inn, from the yard of which six fine horses were brought and attached to the royal carriage, in place of others which were removed. Charles was laughing heartily, and desired his attendants, who were neither numerous nor well-armed, to take care they were not robbed again between this place and Oxford; "Though," added the monarch, "it is now of little consequence, since we have nothing to lose."

"Is it possible your majesty can have been robbed?" asked the landlord, who stood cap in hand at the door of the carriage.

"I'faith, man, it is possible," rejoined the king. "We were stopped on Hounslow Heath by a band of highwaymen, who carried off two large coffers filled with gold, and would have eased us of our swords and snuff-boxes but for the interposition of their captain, who, as we live, is one of the politest men breathing—is he not, Rochester?"

Leonard Holt, who was among the crowd of spectators, started at the mention of this name, and he trembled as the earl leaned forward in answer to the king's question. The eyes of the rivals met at this moment, for both were within a few yards of each other, and Rochester, whose cheek was flushed with anger, solicited the king's permission to alight, but Charles, affirming it was getting late, would not permit him, and as the horses were harnessed, and the drivers mounted, he ordered them to proceed without delay.

Inexpressibly relieved by his rival's departure, Leonard returned to the house, and acquainted Amabel with what had occurred. Quitting Henley betimes on the following morning, they arrived in about three hours at Wallingford, where they halted for some time, and, then pursuing their journey, reached Wantage at four o'clock, where they tarried for an hour. Up to this hour, Leonard had doubted the possibility of reaching their destination that night; but Amabel assuring him she felt no fatigue, he determined to push on. Accordingly, having refreshed their steeds, they set forward, and soon began to mount the beautiful downs lying on the west of this ancient town.

Crossing these heights, whence they obtained the most magnificent and extensive views of the surrounding country, they reached in about three-quarters of an hour the pretty little hamlet of Kingston Lisle. Here they again paused at a small inn at the foot of a lofty hill, denominated, from a curious relic kept there, the Blowing Stone. This rocky fragment, which is still in existence, is perforated by a number of holes, which emit, if blown into, a strange bellowing sound. Unaware of this circumstance, Leonard entered the house with the others, and had just seated, himself, when they were, astounded by a strange unearthly roar. Rushing forth, Leonard found Blaize with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth applied to the stone, into which he was blowing with all his force, and producing the above-mentioned extraordinary noise.

Shortly after this, the party quitted the Blowing Stone, and having toiled up the steep sides of the hill, they were amply repaid on reaching its summit by one of the finest views they had ever beheld. In fact, the hill on which they stood commanded the whole of the extensive and beautiful vale of the White Horse, which was spread out before them as far as the eye could reach, like a vast panorama, disclosing a thousand fields covered with abundant, though as yet immature crops. It was a goodly prospect, and seemed to promise plenty and prosperity to the country. Almost beneath them stood the reverend church of Uffington overtopping the ancient village clustering round it. Numerous other towers and spires could be seen peeping out of groves of trees, which, together with the scattered mansions and farmhouses surrounded by granges and stacks of hay and beans, gave interest and diversity to the prospect. The two most prominent objects in the view were the wooded heights of Farringdon on the one hand, and those of Abingdon on the other.

Proceeding along the old Roman road, still distinctly marked out, and running along the ridge of this beautiful chain of hills, they arrived at an immense Roman encampment, vulgarly called Uffingham Castle, occupying the crown of a hill. A shepherd, who was tending a flock of sheep which were browsing on the delicious herbage to be found within the vast circular space enclosed by the inner vallum of the camp, explained its purpose, and they could not but regard it with interest. He informed them that they were in the neighbourhood of the famous White Horse, a figure cut out of the turf on the hillside by the Saxons, and visible for many miles. Conducting them to a point whence they could survey this curious work, their guide next directed them to Ashdown Lodge, which lay, he told them, at about four miles' distance. They had wandered a little out of their course, but he accompanied them for a mile, until they came in sight of a thick grove of trees clothing a beautiful valley, above which could be seen the lofty cupola of the mansion.

Cheered by the sight, and invigorated by the fresh breeze blowing in this healthful region, they pressed forward, and soon drew near the mansion, which they found was approached by four noble avenues. They had not advanced far, when a stalwart personage, six feet two high, and proportionately stoutly made, issued from the covert. He had a gun over his shoulder and was attended by a couple of fine dogs. Telling them he was called John Lutcombe, and was the Earl of Craven's gamekeeper, he inquired their business, and, on being informed of it, changed his surly manner to one of great cordiality, and informed them that Mrs. Buscot—such was the name of Amabel's aunt—was at home, and would be heartily glad to see them.