No Quarter!

Beside this, still another face in retirement, which many admired as much as either – Sabrina’s. Notwithstanding the preference shown by the frivolous Trojan, stately, queenly Juno had her charms too.

Among the gentlemen received by Madame Lalande, and the fair triune forming her staff, were three who had peculiar relations with them – at least with the young ladies – Sir Richard Walwyn, Eustace and Reginald Trevor. They came not in together; the last by some minutes preceding the other two. But, without bettor knowledge of antecedents, it may seem strange his being there at all. Nothing much of this, however, was there about it; nor did Eustace show any surprise at seeing his cousin in the room, which he did soon as entering. He knew Reginald was in the city, and the reason – no voluntary sojourner, but one of the prisoners enjoying “parole.” As a captain in Sir John Wintour’s troop of horse he had been with Lord Herbert’s Monmouthshire levies in their farcical siege of Gloucester, so abruptly raised by Waller; where he escaped death by being made captive, and sent for safe keeping to Bristol. Though Colonel Lunsford was not there also, that worthy had been served in the same way at an earlier period. Having cried “quarter” at Edgehill, and there surrendered up his precious person, it was now being taken care of by the gaoler of Warwick Castle. But for that adverse incident he might have been in Bristol too, and figuring, as other fine Cavaliers, at the Lalandes’ ball.

Though Reginald Trevor had been now some weeks in the city, and on parole, before that night he and his cousin had not met. As known, Eustace was for a time absent on scout with Sir Richard. But even after his return Reginald had shunned him, and neither had seen aught of the other since that angry parting at Hollymead. Now that chance had brought them together again, it was to meet with no increased cordiality; instead diminished, what had occurred since having but widened the gap between them. Still the hostility was all on Reginald’s side, by him felt keenly and bitterly. He had suffered humiliation; a soldier of fortune he was now, not only thrown out of employ but a prisoner. And, if not one of his captors, there among them in amicable association was his cousin, to whom he had sworn giving “No Quarter!” should they ever cross swords in the field of fight.

By good fortune they had not done so yet; and whether he desired it, the other did not – had no such wish. Instead, would have been willing there and then to shake hands with him, and be friends again.

With a half-formed resolve to make offer of reconciliation Eustace approached his cousin. To get a reception which flung him back upon himself, and his sensibilities.

Though few their words exchanged, they were sharp and cutting, as might have been their swords.

“So you’ve done what you said you would?”

It was Reginald who spoke.

“Done what?”

“Turned traitor to your King. And to your father too?”

“But not to my conscience, nor my God. They are more to me than loyalty to any King, as you call it – even more than affection for my poor deluded father, however much I feel for him.”

“Feel for him, indeed! Ha, ha! But you can go on as you’ve begun. Your Cropheads have it all their own way here, and now; but the tide will turn sooner than you may think for. As for yourself, Eust, you may thank your stars you weren’t among the rabble that overpowered me at Highnam. I sent half-a-dozen to their long account, and like as not you’d have been one of them.”

The implied superiority, even without the cruelty, was an impertinence. But Eustace Trevor, instead of taking it in that sense, and making angry retort, treated it rather as a joke, with a light laugh rejoining —

“Possibly had I been there, Rej, you wouldn’t be here.”

At which he turned away, leaving his dark-browed cousin to count the change in satire that had been given him in full.

Chapter Thirty One

A Labyrinth of Jealousies

No more on that night came the cousins together. If by chance they met, it was to pass one another as strangers unacquainted, exchanging neither speech nor look. Further attempt at reconciliation Eustace meant not to make now; he rather regretted having gone so far already.

As for Reginald, he would not have listened to it. A sentiment inspired hostility to his cousin, far stronger than any vexation at his having forsaken the King’s cause – altogether different. For it was jealousy; the same he had first felt during that exciting scene at Hollymead, and since brooded over till it had become an all-pervading passion. Eustace had replaced him in the affections of Vaga Powell – or he at least suspected it – that was provocation enough for antipathy, even hatred. And almost this he now entertained for him.

Whatever the political disagreement among the others assembled at Montserrat House, there was no open exhibition of it Royalists and Roundheads stood in groups, or moved about, chatting in a familiar, many of them friendly, way. Officers who had been face to face on the battlefield, and done their best to take one another a lives, here met in mutual good humour, with laughing allusion to the changed circumstances. And when the dancing commenced, gentlemen might be seen, noted adherents of the Parliament, some wearing its uniform, with ladies as their partners strongly affected to the King’s cause; while, in the couples vis-à-vis to them, the political sentiments would be reversed.

But the majority of those who danced, being the gay jeunesse, had no thought of politics, nor care for them one way or the other. They left, that to their elders, and those more seriously disposed; to themselves the delights of the dance being the controlling influence of the hour.

Still there were some, even of the youthful, with whom this was but a secondary consideration. Sabrina Powell preferred strolling about the grounds with Sir Richard Walwyn, for they had much to say to one another. Of late their opportunities of meeting had been few and far between, and they were fiancée.

Different with Vaga. She was an ardent worshipper of Terpsichore, and few equalled her in the accomplishment of dancing – scarce any excelling. She was up in every set; and, could she have multiplied herself to count a score, would have found a partner for every unit. A very host sought, with eagerness, to engage her.

There was one who observed this with a secret vexation – Clarisse. Not that she was without her share of aspiring partners; she had them in numbers equalling those of her “country cousin.” But even that did not satisfy her; craving universal incense she wanted all.

Possibly, she would have cared less had the rival belle been any other than Vaga Powell. But already between the two had sprung up rivalry of a nature different from any competition as to who should shine brightest at a ball. In a word, they were both in love with Eustace Trevor, and each knew, or suspected it, of the other.

On this night Clarisse had the advantage. Though her mother ostensibly gave the entertainment, she herself was the promoter of it – in a manner mistress of the ceremonies. As such, commanding the music, the arrangement of the dances, and, to a certain extent, who should dance with whom. Not much cared she, however, to exercise this control over other than Eustace Trevor, which she did so effectually, that the two danced together oftener than seemed consistent with ballroom etiquette, and far too frequently to escape observation.

Remarks were made about it, and by the partisans of both sides. “That explains Madame Lalande’s defection from our cause,” said the Cavaliers. “We now know why this entertainment is being given,” remarked the Parliamentarians; “clearly for Captain Eustace Trevor.”

And Vaga Powell! What thought she? How did she feel about it? As one at first perplexed, then sorely pained. She who, on the summit of Ruardean Hill, had talked so lightly of love – almost boasted of never having experienced the sentiment – was now within its toils and suffering its torments.

And but little of its delights had she yet known – nothing beyond hopes and vague anticipations. For from the hour when Eustace Trevor plucked the ostrich feathers from his hat, replacing them by those of the egret, she and he had never another opportunity of taking up the thread of the dialogue her sister had so inopportunely interrupted. Several interviews between them since, but all under surveillance or constraint. This, however, had failed to change or weaken the sentiment with which he had inspired her; perhaps strengthened it. True to her profession of constancy, when she said – “If I ever had loved a man, I think I should love him still,” she did love him still; on that night with a passion burning as it was bitter.

And the very thing that was filling her heart with gloom gave joy to another. Glad was Reginald Trevor to see his cousin Eustace paying attentions in the quarter where he seemed paying them – to Clarisse Lalande. During all the intervening time since he himself had suffered rebuff, or fancied it, despair had never quite mastered him. As most young Cavaliers, he believed himself a lady – slaughterer irresistible; and to the belief of his having made a conquest of Vaga Powell he would still have confidently clung; but his cousin, of late having better opportunity, had destroyed his chances. And now, seeing Eustace apparently neglectful of her, while all attention to Clarisse Lalande, the old confidence returned to him: he had been labouring under a misconception, and Vaga Powell loved him after all!

Indeed, but for a lingering belief in this, he would not have been there. No thought of ball or supper had brought him to Montserrat House, but the hope of holding speech with her. For, notwithstanding all that had occurred, he entertained such hope. True, he had offended her father; but that was in the exercise of his duties, and under some provocation. Perhaps it was forgotten, or might be forgiven; perhaps she had more than forgiven it already. This night he would know.

An opportunity of speaking with her soon offered. There was little difficulty in his obtaining that. Madame Lalande kept no guard over her nieces, having enough to do in looking after her chère Clarisse. And their father was not with them. If within the house he was not a partaker in its gaieties. With no relish for such, he had declined taking part in them. But liberal in this, as in everything else, he placed no constraint on the inclinations of his girls. They were free to dance, as to walk, ride, or go hawking.

The two were standing together as Reginald Trevor approached them. He had but bowed as he was received on entering, and felt gratified at having his salutation returned. Still more now when permitted to enter into conversation with them; finding, if not affability, anything but the distant coldness he had half anticipated. The truth was they had heard many things about him in the interval; that, though fighting for a cause they detested, he had fought gallantly, and gained renown. It is woman’s nature to look leniently on the faults of a man who comports himself with courage; and these girls were both of generous disposition. Besides, he was now a defeated man; if not humiliated, a prisoner. Enough that to claim their compassion, and he had it.

Only a few words were exchanged between him and Sabrina – commonplace, and relating to things of a past time. There was one she more desired conversing with; and, turning away, left Reginald Trevor alone with her sister. Long ere then she had learnt where Vaga’s predilection lay, and could trust this young lady to take care of herself.

“I suppose you’ve quite forgotten me, Mistress Vaga?” he said, when Sabrina was out of hearing.

“You give me credit for a very short memory, Captain Trevor,” she promptly returned, but in no unkindly tone. “Why should you think I’ve forgotten you?”

“Oh! so many matters and events since I last had the pleasure of seeing you. And you’ve met so many other people, more interesting than myself, I could hardly hope for your bearing me in mind.”

He spoke in a subdued, humble way, unlike his old swagger; which had the effect of still farther inclining her to kindness. As yet, however, it was but sympathy for his misfortunes.

“But, Captain Trevor, all that would not justify me in forgetting a friend; as I think you were, and would have continued, but for these troubles that have turned so many friends to foes.”

“No one regrets them more than I; and for the best of reasons.”

He had a reason for regretting them in the fact of his being a prisoner. No light matter just then; for, though not kept confined in a prison, he might at any moment be cast into one, only to be led forth from it to execution. The King had not yet ceased fulminating his threats of retaliation; and, should these be carried out, he, in all likelihood, would be among the foremost of its victims.

He was not speaking the truth, however, in saying he regretted the troubles. As a soldier of fortune they were bread to him, promising fame with promotion. He might look to regaining his liberty by exchange, or otherwise, and once more get upon the ladder of ascent.

Nor had the reasons he spoke of aught to do with his being a prisoner; though she seemed, or affected, so to understand them.

“Indeed, yes,” she rejoined, “you have been very unfortunate, Captain Trevor. I’m sorry you should have been taken; still more, fighting on the side you were.”

“Oh, thank you!” he returned, encouraged by her kind words, and without heeding the last clause. “But ’tis not for that I care. What makes me regret the war is the loss of friendships. And,” he added, speaking in a lower tone, but more impressively, “the fear of having lost yours.”

“But you have not, sir – so much as it is worth. My father was angry in those days; so were we all. But, then, you were not to blame – we could not think that, did not – knowing you acted under orders.”

“Ah! never had I an order to execute so much against my wish, never one with such disagreeable consequences, separating me so long from – ”

He hesitated to say whom or what. But, mistaking her look of simple inquiry for one of a more interested nature, he completed the speech with one other word – “yourself.”

She started, looking a little confused, but remained silent; which he, again misinterpreting, took as a permission to go on, which he did, with increased fervour.

“Yes, Mistress Vaga! that was my chief regret, never out of my mind for a moment since. Many the night on watch and guard have I thought of you. Sleepless they would have been, even without duty to keep me awake.”