Roger Kyffin's Ward

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The great mass of the neighbourhood were invited to the grounds. All the arrangements were reported complete; but Madam Everard kept looking up anxiously at the sky, which threatened every instant to send down its waters upon the earth. The clouds gathered closer and closer, and some time before the hour at which the royal family were expected to arrive the rain began to descend. It was melancholy to look at the tents growing darker and darker as the water poured down on them, and to see the flags which should have been blowing out joyfully drooping on the flagposts. The rain pattered against the window panes, and the air blew in with a damp feel, which gave promise of a drenching day. Madam Everard became very unhappy; even the young ladies lost their spirits. The Colonel was the only person who seemed unconcerned.

“I have done my best,” he observed, “and there is no man more ready to make allowance than the King, God bless him.” The Colonel had been page to George the Second, and had been attached to the court of the present King, and knew him well, and, moreover, his many trials and difficulties. ”‘Uneasy is the head that wears a crown.’ Our good King finds it so, and few of his subjects have greater domestic as well as public trials to go through.”

Harry Tryon had been very busy and highly flattered by the confidence which the Colonel and Madam Everard had placed in him. Whether or not he still contemplated fighting the Baron de Ruvigny cannot now be said.

Seeing Madam Everard’s anxiety, he offered in spite of the rain to mount a horse and gallop off to ascertain whether the royal party were coming or not. His offer was accepted, and he was soon galloping away through the street of Lynderton on the high road to Lyndhurst, by which it was expected the King would come. He met on his way an open carriage and four horses, full, as it seemed to him, of old women wrapped up in red cloaks and hoods, such as were worn by the peasantry. He had got to the turnpike kept by an old woman, Mammy Pocock by name, when he inquired whether the royal family had come by.

“Why, bless you, yes; that be they,” said the old woman, pointing along the road. “They stayed in here ever so long, but at last they thought Madam Everard would be waiting for them, and so they borrowed my cloak, and they sent out, and borrowed as many cloaks and shawls as could be found in all the cottages near. It was curious to see the Queen and princesses laughing as they put them on.”

Harry was going to hurry back with the news, when he saw a party of four or five horsemen coming along the road. By this time the rain had somewhat ceased. He drew up on one side to see who the strangers were. He had little difficulty in recognising in the old gentleman who rode first with his coat buttoned up, but without any great coat, the King of England. Sir George Rose and two or three other gentlemen accompanied his Majesty. One of them, apparently, was urging him to stop at the tollgate, and dry his clothes.

“A little wet won’t hurt a man! a little wet won’t hurt a man!” answered the King. “The sun will soon come out, and answer the purpose better than a fire.”

As Harry knew that the Queen would arrive at Stanmore before he could get there, and that the King would be delayed for some time at Lynderton he followed the cavalcade at a respectful distance.

As they reached the entrance of the town the rain altogether ceased, and the sun shone forth, and shouts of welcome rent the air, and the band played a joyous tune, and the Mayor and the whole corporation in state came forth to welcome his Majesty, and to accompany him to the entrance of the town-hall. He there was ushered up, and led to a seat at the farther end, where he graciously received an address from the mayor, who, with the members of the corporation, were formally introduced.

Conspicuous at the other end of the room was a gaunt personage in scarlet robes trimmed with yellow fringe, bearing in his hand an enormous gilt club, so it looked.