Roger Willoughby: A Story of the Times of Benbow

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“I fear much, Alice, that he will be influenced by no other consideration beyond the amount you can offer him,” said Mr Willoughby.

Strong in the justice of her cause, and prompted by her devotion to Stephen, in spite of the savage nature of the Judge, her aim was to see him before he entered the Court; for she heard that once there, inflamed and excited by his drams of spirits, and by his remarks to prisoners, witnesses, counsel, and jury, she was less likely to induce him to listen to her petition, or to understand its object. She had therefore to remain all night in an agony of doubt and fear in a room next to Mr Willoughby’s. She awoke at early dawn from hearing a noise in the street, and, looking out of her window, the first figure she recognised was that of Andrew Battiscombe; there were two other gentlemen whom she knew by having seen them in court, and who she heard were condemned to death. Her eye ranged over the others, in dread lest Stephen might be seen; but he was not there. She felt relieved, and yet she knew how he must be grieving for the loss of his brother. She hurriedly dressed, in the hopes of being able to say a few words of comfort to poor Andrew, to hear from him of his parting with his brother, also to tell him of her intention of having an interview with the Judge. Scarcely, however, had she reached the street than the mournful procession, guarded by a strong band of soldiers, was ordered to march on. She would have rushed forward to speak to Andrew, as others were doing to their friends and relatives, but the soldiers closed round them, and kept every one off. She returned to her room to finish her toilet, so that she might be prepared to set out with Mr Willoughby as soon as it was likely that the Judge would have risen. Mr Willoughby was soon ready, and as it was understood the Judge breakfasted early, she was eager to start. She had nerved herself up for the encounter, fully prepared for whatever might be said to her. She had heard of the language Jeffreys was accustomed to use towards people of all classes, and she did not suppose her sex and youth would enable her to escape. She was glad, however, to lean on Mr Willoughby’s arm as they approached the house where the Chief Justice had taken up his quarters. Alice had a letter ready, requesting to see him on an important matter. In a short time the servant, to whom she had given the letter, appeared and said that the Chief Justice would see her. Mr Willoughby thought it prudent to remain in the court below. He knew that, should he go in with her, unpleasant questions would be asked, and he would probably be branded as a Puritan, and perhaps sent off to prison to undergo his trial. Alice, without trembling, followed her guide and was ushered into a large room, at the further end of which sat the Chief Justice before a plentifully-spread breakfast-table. His eyes were ferrety, his nose and cheeks fiery red, his countenance even in rest had a savage expression.

“Well, young woman, who are you, and what do you want?” he asked in a gruff tone.

“Please, my lord, I am grand-daughter of a Cavalier who died fighting for his king; my father was a loyal gentleman, and I have been brought up by my guardian, Colonel Tregellen, an old Cavalier. I have had no sympathy with the late Duke of Monmouth, and yet I come to plead for the life of one who has been implicated in his rebellion.”

“Some crop-eared knave with whom thou hast fallen in love, wench,” growled the Chief Justice. “Out on thee, for an idle baggage!”

“I come to plead for the life of my betrothed husband,” said Alice. “And, my lord, there are those who value him for his honesty and other good qualities, and are ready to pay as large a sum of money as they can collect, to obtain his pardon, and I am authorised to hand it over to your Lordship, that you may do with it as you think fit.”

Jeffrey’s eyes sparkled as he turned them towards Alice. “What is the name of this precious youth, thy betrothed husband, wench? I warrant he thinks thou art worth living for.”

“Stephen Battiscombe,” answered Alice.

“Why, he is one I yesterday sentenced to death; he should have been hung by this time, so you are too late, wench.”

“Please you, my lord, it was his elder brother, Andrew Battiscombe,” said Alice. “Were he even more criminal than he is, surely the death of one in the family is sufficient to satisfy the ends of justice.”