The White Gauntlet

Marion Wade was a woman – just such an one as might be supposed to wield the destinies of a nation. Her political sentiments were no secret to the royalist officer. His own creed, and its partisans, were often the victims of her satirical sallies; and he could not doubt of her republican inclinings.

It might be only that sort of sympathy thus existed between her and Holtspur?

Had he been an eye-witness to her behaviour – throughout that eventful day on which the conspirator had made his escape – he might have found it more difficult to reconcile himself to this pleasant belief. Her sad countenance, as, looking from the lattice, she once more beheld her lover in the power of his enemies – once more in vile bonds – might have proved, to the most uninterested observer, the existence of a care which love alone could create. Could he have seen her during the interval which transpired – between the time when the prisoner was borne off towards his perilous prison, and the return of the mounted messenger who told of his escape – he might have been convinced of an anxiety, which love alone can feel.

With what unspeakable joy had Marion listened to this last announcement! Perhaps it repaid her for the moments of misery, she had been silently enduring.

Deep as had been the chagrin, consequent on that event, Scarthe had found some consolation in the thought, that, henceforth, he should have the field to himself. He would take care that his rival should not again cross the threshold of Sir Marmaduke’s mansion, nor in any way obtain access to his daughter’s presence till he had settled the question of his own acceptance, or rejection.

During all this while, Sir Marmaduke and his people in their behaviour towards their uninvited guests, appeared civil enough.

Though one closely acquainted with the relationship – or narrowly scrutinising the intercourse between them – could not have failed to perceive that this civility was less free, than forced.

That it was so – or rather that a friendship existed even in appearance – needs but little explanation.

Sir Marmaduke’s conduct was ruled by something more than a vague apprehension of danger. The arrest of his fellow-conspirator was significant; and it was not difficult to draw from that circumstance a host of uncomfortable conclusions.

The course he was pursuing towards Scarthe, was not only opposed to his inclinations, but exceedingly irksome to him. There were times when he was almost tempted to throw off the mask; and brave the worst that might come of it. But prudence suggested endurance – backed by the belief that, ere long, things might take a more favourable turn.

The king had been compelled to issue a writ – not for the election of a new parliament, but for the re-assembling of the old one. In that centred the hopes and expectations of the party, of which Sir Marmaduke was now a declared member.

Marion’s politeness to Scarthe was equally dashed with distrust. It had no other foundation than her affection for her father. She loved the latter, with even more than filial fondness: for she was old enough, and possessed of sufficient intelligence, to understand the intrinsic nobility of his character. She was not without apprehension, that some danger overshadowed him; though she knew not exactly what. Sir Marmaduke had not made known to her the secret, that would have explained it. He had forborne doing so, under the fear of causing her unnecessary anxiety; and had simply requested her, to treat the unwelcome intruders with a fair show of respect.

The hint had been enough; and Marion, subduing her haughty spirit, yielded faithful obedience to it.

Scarthe had no reason to complain of any slights received from the daughter of his host. On the contrary, her behaviour towards him appeared so friendly, that there were times when he drew deductions from it, sufficiently flattering to himself.

Thus tranquilly did affairs progress during the first few weeks of Scarthe’s sojourn at Bulstrode – when an event was announced, that was destined to cause an exciting change in the situation. It was a Fête champètre, to be given by Sir Frederick Dayrell, lord of the manor of Fulmere – at which a grand flight of falcons was to form part of the entertainment. The elite of the county was to be present, including Sir Marmaduke Wade and his family, and along with them his military guests – Captain Scarthe and Cornet Stubbs.

Volume Three – Chapter Eleven

The beautiful park of Bulstrode was radiant with the earliest rays of the sun. The dew still glittered upon the grass; and the massive chestnuts threw elongated shadows far down the sloping declivities. The stag, that had been slumbering undisturbed during the night, springing from his soft couch of moss, strode forth to make his morning meal upon the tempting sward. The birds had already chaunted their orison to the opening day; and, forsaking their several perches, were fluttering merrily from tree to tree. All nature was awake.

Though the hour was an early one, the inmates of the mansion seemed not to be asleep. Half-a-dozen saddled horses, under the conduct of as many grooms, had been led forth from the courtyard; and were standing in front of the house, held in hand, as if awaiting their riders.

Two were caparisoned differently from the rest. By the peculiar configuration of their saddles, it was evident, they were intended to be mounted by ladies.

In addition to the grooms in charge of the horses there were other attendants standing or moving about. There were falconers, with blinded hawks borne upon their wrists and shoulders; and finders, with dogs held in leash – each clad in the costume of his craft.

In the boudoir of Marion Wade were two beautiful women. Marion herself was one; Lora Lovelace the other.

The high-crowned beaver hats; the close-fitting habits of green velvet; the gauntlets upon their hands; and the whips in them, proclaimed the two ladies to be those, for whom the sidesaddle horses had been caparisoned.

Both had given the finishing touch to their toilettes, before forsaking their separate chambers. They had met in Marion’s sitting-room – there to hold a moment’s converse, and be ready when summoned to the saddle.

“Walter promises we’ll have fine sport,” said the little Lora, tripping across the chamber, light as a fawn, and gay as a lark. “He says the mere has not been disturbed for long – ever so long – and there have been several broods of herons this season – besides sedge-hens, snipe, and woodcock. We shall find game for goshawks, kestrels, jer-falcons, merlins, and every sort. Won’t it be delightful?”

“Pleasant enough, I dare say – for those who can enjoy it.”

“What, Marion! and will not you – you so fond of falconry, as often to go hawking alone?”

“Ah, Lora! this sport, like many others, may be pleasanter alone, than in company – that is, company one don’t care for.”

“Dear me cousin! you’d make believe, that there isn’t one, among the grand people we are going to meet to-day, worth caring for?”

“Not one – of my knowing.”

“What! our very gallant guest, who is to be our escort – not Captain Scarthe?”

“I should have expected you to say Cornet Stubbs, instead.”

“Ha, ha, ha! No, no! He’s too stupid to be a pleasant companion for me.”

“And Captain Scarthe is too much the opposite to be a pleasant companion for me. In truth, of the two I like Stubbs best – spite of his vulgar patronymic.”

“You are jesting, Marion? Stubbs, Stubbs, – Cornet Stubbs! How would it sound as Colonel Stubbs? Not a whit better. No: not if he were General Stubbs. Mistress Stubbs? I wouldn’t be called so for the world! Lady Stubbs? No, not for a coronet!”

“Between Stubbs, and Scarthe, I see not much to choose.”

“Marion, you mistake. There’s a warlike sound about Scarthe. I could imagine a man of that name to be a hero.”

“And I could imagine a man of that name to be a poltroon – I do.”

“What! not our Captain Scarthe? Why everybody calls him a most accomplished cavalier. Certes, he appears so. A little rude at first, I acknowledge; but since then, who could have acted more cavalierly? And to you, cousin, surely he has been sufficiently attentive, to have won your profound esteem?”

“Say rather my profound detestation. Then you would come nearer speaking the truth: he has won that.”

“You don’t show it, I’m sure. I’ve seen you and Captain Scarthe very happy together – very happy indeed – if one may judge from appearances.”

“Wheels within wheels, coz. A smiling cheek don’t always prove a contented heart; nor is a smooth tongue the truest indication of courtesy. You have seen me polite to Captain Scarthe – nothing more; and for that, I have my reasons.”

“Reasons!”

“Yes; good reasons, dear Lora. But for them, I shouldn’t go hawking to-day – least of all, with him as my companion. Captain Scarthe may be a hero in your eyes, my gay cousin; but he is not the one that’s enthroned within my heart; and you know that.”

“I do – I do, dear Marion. I was only jesting. I know Captain Scarthe is not your hero; and can tell who is. His name begins with Henry, and ends with Holtspur.”

“Ah, there you have named a true hero! But hark you, my little parrot! Don’t be prattling these confidences. If you do, I’ll tell Walter how much you admire Captain Scarthe, or Cornet Stubbs. Of which do you wish him to be jealous?”

“Oh, Marion! not a word to Walter about Stubbs. Do you know I believe, that he’s a little jealous of him already. He don’t like his attentions to me – not a bit, Walter don’t. I’m sure neither do I; but I can’t help them, you know – so long as we must meet three or four times a day. I think the refusal I gave might have been sufficient. It was flat enough. But it hasn’t; and would you believe it, he still continues his attentions, as if nothing had happened between us? Pray don’t make Walter worse; else there might be a fight between them; and then – ”

“The valiant cornet might crack Walter’s crown?”

“No! that he couldn’t; though he is bigger than Walter. He’s not braver, I’m sure. That he isn’t, the ugly impertinent.”

“What! has he been impertinent to you?”

“Not exactly that; but he don’t seem to know much about politeness. How different with Captain Scarthe. He is polite.”