might still have known Charlotte de la Tremouille.”
The Lady Peveril was little in the custom of giving way to sudden emotion, but in the present case she threw herself on her knees in a rapture of mingled joy and grief, and, half embracing those of the stranger, exclaimed, in broken language —
“My kind, my noble benefactress – the princely Countess of Derby – the royal queen in Man – could I doubt your voice, your features, for a moment – Oh, forgive, forgive me!”
The Countess raised the suppliant kinswoman of her husband’s house, with all the grace of one accustomed from early birth to receive homage and to grant protection. She kissed the Lady Peveril’s forehead, and passed her hand in a caressing manner over her face as she said —
“You too are changed, my fair cousin, but it is a change becomes you, from a pretty and timid maiden to a sage and comely matron. But my own memory, which I once held a good one, has failed me strangely, if this gentleman be Sir Geoffrey Peveril.”
“A kind and good neighbour only, madam,” said Lady Peveril; “Sir Geoffrey is at Court.”
“I understood so much,” said the Countess of Derby, “when I arrived here last night.”
“How, madam!” said Lady Peveril – “Did you arrive at Martindale Castle – at the house of Margaret Stanley, where you have such right to command, and did not announce your presence to her?”
“Oh, I know you are a dutiful subject, Margaret,” answered the Countess, “though it be in these days a rare character – but it was our pleasure,” she added, with a smile, “to travel incognito – and finding you engaged in general hospitality, we desired not to disturb you with our royal presence.”
“But how and where were you lodged, madam?” said Lady Peveril; “or why should you have kept secret a visit which would, if made, have augmented tenfold the happiness of every true heart that rejoiced here yesterday?”
“My lodging was well cared for by Ellesmere – your Ellesmere now, as she was formerly mine – she has acted as quartermaster ere now, you know, and on a broader scale; you must excuse her – she had my positive order to lodge me in the most secret part of your Castle” – (here she pointed to the sliding panel) – “she obeyed orders in that, and I suppose also in sending you now hither.”
“Indeed I have not yet seen her,” said the lady, “and therefore was totally ignorant of a visit so joyful, so surprising.”
“And I,” said the Countess, “was equally surprised to find none but these beautiful children in the apartment where I thought I heard you moving. Our Ellesmere has become silly – your good-nature has spoiled her – she has forgotten the discipline she learned under me.”
“I saw her run through the wood,” said the Lady Peveril, after a moment’s recollection, “undoubtedly to seek the person who has charge of the children, in order to remove them.”
“Your own darlings, I doubt not,” said the Countess, looking at the children. “Margaret, Providence has blessed you.”
“That is my son,” said the Lady Peveril, pointing to Julian, who stood devouring their discourse with greedy ear; “the little girl – I may call mine too.” Major Bridgenorth, who had in the meantime again taken up his infant, and was engaged in caressing it, set it down as the Countess of Derby spoke, sighed deeply, and walked towards the oriel window. He was well aware that the ordinary rules of courtesy would have rendered it proper that he should withdraw entirely, or at least offer to do so; but he was not a man of ceremonious politeness, and he had a particular interest in the subjects on which the Countess’s discourse was likely to turn, which induced him to dispense with ceremony. The ladies seemed indeed scarce to notice his presence. The Countess had now assumed a chair, and motioned to the Lady Peveril to sit upon a stool which was placed by her side. “We will have old times once more, though there are here no roaring of rebel guns to drive you to take refuge at my side, and almost in my pocket.”
“I have a gun, madam,” said little Julian, “and the park-keeper is to teach me how to fire it next year.”
“I will list you for my soldier, then,” said the Countess.
“Ladies have no soldiers,” said the boy, looking wistfully at her.
“He has the true masculine contempt of our frail sex, I see,” said the Countess; “it is born with the insolent varlets of mankind, and shows itself so soon as they are out of their long clothes. – Did Ellesmere never tell you of Latham House and Charlotte of Derby, my little master?”
“A thousand thousand times,” said the boy, colouring; “and how the Queen of Man defended it six weeks against three thousand Roundheads, under Rogue Harrison the butcher.”
“It was your mother defended Latham House,” said the Countess, “not I, my little soldier – Hadst thou been there, thou hadst been the best captain of the three.”
“Do not say so, madam,” said the boy, “for mamma would not touch a gun for all the universe.”
“Not I, indeed, Julian,” said his mother; “there I was for certain, but as useless a part of the garrison – ”
“You forget,” said the Countess, “you nursed our hospital, and made lint for the soldiers’ wounds.”
“But did not papa come to help you?” said Julian.
“Papa came at last,” said the Countess, “and so did Prince Rupert – but not, I think, till they were both heartily wished for. – Do you remember that morning, Margaret, when the round-headed knaves, that kept us pent up so long, retreated without bag or baggage, at the first glance of the Prince’s standards appearing on the hill – and how you took every high-crested captain you saw for Peveril of the Peak, that had been your partner three months before at the Queen’s mask? Nay, never blush for the thought of it – it was an honest affection – and though it was the music of trumpets that accompanied you both to the old chapel, which was almost entirely ruined by the enemy’s bullets; and though Prince Rupert, when he gave you away at the altar, was clad in buff and bandoleer, with pistols in his belt, yet I trust these warlike signs were no type of future discord?”
“Heaven has been kind to me,” said the Lady Peveril, “in blessing me with an affectionate husband.”
“And in preserving him to you,” said the Countess, with a deep sigh; “while mine, alas! sealed with his blood his devotion to his king2 – Oh, had he lived to see this day!”
“Alas! alas! that he was not permitted!” answered Lady Peveril; “how had that brave and noble Earl rejoiced in the unhoped-for redemption of our captivity!”
The Countess looked on Lady Peveril with an air of surprise.
“Thou hast not then heard, cousin, how it stands with our house? – How indeed had my noble lord wondered, had he been told that the very monarch for whom he had laid down his noble life on the scaffold at Bolton-le-Moor, should make it his first act of restored monarchy to complete the destruction of our property, already well-nigh ruined in the royal cause, and to persecute me his widow!”
“You astonish me, madam!” said the Lady Peveril. “It cannot be, that you – that you, the wife of the gallant, the faithful, the murdered Earl – you, Countess of Derby, and Queen in Man – you, who took on you even the character of a soldier, and seemed a man
The Earl of Derby and King in Man was beheaded at Bolton-on-the-Moors, after having been made prisoner in a previous skirmish in Wiggan Lane.
