No Quarter!

“A good deal, my Lord; despite the old adage. For modesty is a quality that does not adorn Mademoiselle Lalande. A pity, too! The want of it may ruin her reputation, if it hasn’t done that already.”

“What a moralist you are, Major! Your ideas have a strong taint of Puritanism. I hope you’re not going to turn your back on us gay Cavaliers. Ha-ha-ha!”

The laugh told his Lordship to be in jest. He knew Major Grenville to be a devoted adherent of the King, else he would not have bantered him.

“But,” he continued, reverting to the topic with which they started, “morals apart, I’ve never seen a thing to give one such an idea of woman’s power as she does – in that curious Indian dance. ’Tis a wonderful picture, or rather embodiment, of feminine voluptuousness.”

“All that I admit,” returned the Major. “But for true womanly grace – ay, abandon, but of a very different kind – you should see a cousin she has, a real English girl, or, to speak more correctly, Welsh.”

“All the same. But who is the cousin so highly endowed?”

“A Miss Powell, the daughter of a wealthy gentleman, who, I’m sorry to say, is not on our side; instead, one of our bitterest enemies.”

“Might you mean Master Ambrose Powell, of Hollymead House, up in the Forest of Dean?”

“The same. Your Lordship seems to know him?”

“Certainly I do, or did; for it’s several years since I’ve seen him. But he had two daughters then, Sabrina and Vaga. One is not likely to forget the names. Are not both still living?”

“Oh yes.”

“The elder, Sabrina, was nearly grown up when I saw them last, the other but a slip; but both promised to be great beauties.”

“If your Lordship saw them now, you’d say the promise has been kept. They are that, beyond cavil or question.”

“But from what you’ve said, I take it you regard one of them as superior to the other. Which, may I ask? At a guess I’d say Sabrina. As a girl I liked her looks best; came near liking them too well. Ha-ha! Have I guessed correctly?”

“The reverse, my Lord; that is, according to my ideas of beauty.”

“Then you award the palm to Vaga?”

“Decidedly.”

“Well, Major, I won’t question your judgment, as I can’t till I’ve seen the sisters again. No doubt they will be much changed since I had the pleasure of last meeting them. But they should now be of an age to get married; Sabrina certainly. Is there no talk of that?”

“There is, my Lord.”

“Regarding which?”

“Regarding both.”

“Ah! And who the respective favourites?”

“Say respective finances, your Lordship. They’re engaged. So report has it.”

“And who are to be the Benedicts? Who is Mistress Sabrina to make happy?”

“Sir Richard Walwyn, ’tis said.”

“Dick Walwyn, indeed! An old classmate of mine at Oxford. Well, she might do worse. And the little yellow-haired sprout? She was a bright blonde, I remember, with wonderful tresses, like a Danäe’s shower. Who’s to be the possessor of all that auriferous wealth?”

“One of the Trevors.”

“There’s one of them on the Prince’s staff, I understand. Is it he?”

“No; a cousin – son of Sir William of Abergavenny.”

“What! the young stripling who used to be at Court – one of the gentlemen ushers?”

“The same, my Lord.”

“Quite an Adonis he; so the Queen thought, ’twas said. Mistress Vaga must have all the fascinations you credit her with to have made conquest of him. But he’s not with the King now?”

“No; nor on the King’s side neither. He turned coat, and took service under the Parliament, in Walwyn’s troop of Horse. ’Tis supposed the Danäe’s shower your lordship speaks of had a good deal to do with his conversion.”

“Very likely that. Cupid’s a powerful proselytiser. Well, I should like to see the Powell girls again; their father too, for old friendship’s sake. By the way, where are they?”

“I am not well informed about their present whereabouts. Some twelve months ago they were here in Bristol, staying at Montserrat House with Madame, his sister. When we took the place, Master Ambrose thought it wise to move away from it, for reasons easily understood. He went hence to Gloucester, where, I believe, he has been residing ever since – up till within the last few days. Likely they’re at Hollymead just now; at least I heard of Powell having returned thither, thinking he would be safe with Monmouth in Massey’s hands. Since it isn’t any longer, he may move back to Gloucester; and the sooner the better, I should say. He has sadly compromised himself by acting on one of the Parliament’s Committees; and some of ours will show him but slight consideration.”

“Indeed, I should be sorry if any serious misfortune befell him, or his. An odd sort of man with mistaken views politically; still a man of sterling good qualities. I hope, Major, he may not be among the many victims this unnatural war is claiming all over the land.”

“I echo that hope, my Lord.”

And with these humane sentiments their dialogue came to a close, so far as that subject was concerned.

Two men had been listening to it with eager ears – Prince Rupert and Colonel Lunsford, who sate by his side. Amidst the clinking of goblets, and the jarring din of many voices, they could not hear it all; still enough to make out its general purport.

They seemed especially interested when the Major spoke of the Powells having returned to Hollymead. It was news to them; glad news for a certain reason. Often since that morning after the surrender of Bristol had the princely voluptuary given thought to the “bit of saucy sweetness, with cheeks all roses,” he had seen passing out of its gates for Gloucester. Just as at first sight her sister had caught the fancy of the brutal Lunsford, so had she caught his; and the impression still remained, despite a succession of amours and love escapades, with high and low, since.

In more than one of his marauds through the Forest of Dean, Lunsford along with him, he had paid visit to Hollymead House; only to find it untenanted, save by caretakers – the family still in the city of Gloucester. Many the curse hurled he, and his infamous underling, at that same city of Gloucester; where the Cavalier who had not cursed it?

Overjoyed, then, were the two by what had just reached their ears, the Prince interrogating in undertone, —

“You hear that, Lunsford?”

“I do, your Highness.”

“Gott sei dank! Just what we’ve been wishing and waiting for. We may now visit Hollymead, with fair hope of the sweet fraüleins being there to receive us. Then, mein Colonel, then —nous verrons!”

After delivering himself in this polyglot fashion, he caught hold of his goblet, and clinking it against that of Lunsford, said in a confidential whisper, —

“We drink to our success, Sir Thomas?”

There had been a third listener to the dialogue between Major Grenville and the nobleman, who also overheard the words spoken by Rupert to the new-made knight. But, instead of gladdening, the first gave him pain; which the last intensified to very bitterness. His name made known, the reason will be divined. For it was Reginald Trevor.

Chapter Fifty Two

At Home Again