Maud Melville's Marriage. A story of the seventeenth century

Front matter

A PRIVATE AUDIENCE. Page 2Q8. \ * Me vi le's Marriaqe _^_^_^_^_i QJ CL oJ-tne [e-z+enteenth Certtury BOYISH HOMAGE. Page 21. T. N E f.SO\ Sc SOUS LOITX>02i '' ' ■ i '- B i R G ti ■-■- •■ E M CO R '■ MAUD MELVILLE'S MARRIAGE a Storv? ot the Seventeenth Centura BY E. EVERETT-GREEN Author of "Winning the Victory," "Temples Trial,' "The Heiress of Wylniington, &c. Sc. T. NELSON AND SONS London. Edinburgh, and A'ew York 'S03 <§ssorttcnt5. I. TROUBLED DAYS, ... ... ... 9 II MATRIMONIAL PROJECTS, ... ... ... 26 III. THE LITTLE BRIDE, ... ... ... 43 IV. DYING COUNSEL, ... ... ... Cl V. THE PLOT, ... ... ... ... 81 vi. Oliver's mission, ... ... ... 97 VII, A JOURNEY*, ... ... ... ... 112 VIII. IN LONDON, ... ... ... ... 128 IX. THE PRISON, ... ... ... ... 143 X. BAD NEWS, ... ... ... ... 1C3 XI. MAUD'S RESOLUTION, ... ... ... 181 XII.

Introduction

. IN turning over last year some family papers that had lain hidden away in an old-fashioned cabinet, untouched for perhaps a century, I lighted upon an incomplete autobiographical story by a remote an cestress of mine, together with a mass of memoranda and correspondence, most of it bearing upon the one episode of her life which she had evidently contem plated describing in full for the benefit of her de scendants. Whether she did succeed in this task, and the blanks in the MS. be due to subsequent loss, or whether she went to work in an irregular w7ay and never completed the story, I am unable to say. From internal evidence I am disposed to conjecture that Lady Maud Melville did not absolutely pen any of the narrative herself, but that the work was under taken by some child or grandchild of hers, who heard the story from her lips and wrote down fragments as they were recounted, leaving blanks to be filled up

INTRODUCTION.

. later from the memoranda and letters evidently care fully collected for the purpose. This, how7ever, is only a theory, and may not be correct. My task has been to master the entire contents of the papers, to make out from them a consecutive narrative, and, where it has been possible, to let the heroine tell her tale in her own words. The incidents of her life at this time were exceedingly romantic and interesting. If the following story does not convey this impression, the fault will be mine, not that of the Lady Maud Melville. MAUD MELVILLE'S MARRIAGE.

Chapter I. Troubled Days

THE midsummer sun of the year of grace 1G80 was shining bravely in the sky, as brightly and as bravely as if no plots and plans and social and political factions were rending the peace of private families, and threatening once again to shake the basis of the throne itself. And, indeed, the quiet, peaceful aspect of the country, removed from the centres of stirring life, would give an impression that all was going smoothly and well ; for news in those days travelled slowly and uncertainly, and people grew up in a placid ignorance of what was passing around, incomprehensible to us who have been brought up to the penny post, the electric telegraph, and the steam power of the nineteenth century. Not very long ago, the metropolis had been thrown into an uproar by the infamous revelations of Titus Oates and his worthy followers, and the public mind had not yet recovered its balance from the scare pro duced by the so-called Popish plot.

Parliament was shortly to meet, when the burning question of the Exclusion Bill was to be brought up for final settle ment, and party feeling was running high, the tide of popularity setting strongly against the Court and Tory party, and in favour of the Whigs. Whig and Tory were new nick-names just intro duced at this epoch, amid many others (such as Bir minghams, Abhorrers, Tantivies) which have since become obsolete. Long-sighted politicians, or men possessed of keen insight into the spirit of the times and the public mind, were able to foretell from the very triumph and elation of the Whig party the reaction that speedily followed ; but for the present, the King and the Court party were intensely unpopular, and their opponents rode the flood-tide of popularity, which threatened for the moment to carry all before it.

Tory gentlemen, especially if suspected of the smallest leaning towards Popery, stood in terror of their very lives. Any vile fabrication, plotted amid thieves and outcasts in the lanes and alleys of White friars or the wards of Newgate, obtained easy cre dence amongst a prepossessed and violently agitated populace. Heads had fallen before this on testimony that was shortly afterwards proved to be utterly fallacious ; and no one knew whose turn might not come next. These were difficult and perilous times to live in, and a man's greatest safeguard was his insignificance or poverty. Yet, as has before been hinted, despite the many anxieties of the times, life in rural districts went on as a rule very tranquilly ; for news travelled slowly, and was frequently quite untrustworthy, and often days and even weeks went by without bringing any thing of a disturbing character to the ears of the in habitants of country mansions.

Even Lord Wakefield's Priory House, situated only twelve or fourteen miles from London itself, seemed in those days to lie remote and tranquil in the midst of silvan solitude. Lord Wakefield himself visited the metropolis from time to time, going thither some times on horseback, sometimes in his coach-and-six, always well attended by armed servants, for fear of an attack from highwaymen ; but his wife seldom accompanied him, being a lady of quiet tastes and habits, who preferred the sanctuary of her own home and the society of her children to any attractions the city had to offer ; and of his five children, only his eldest son, Viscount Cottingham, had so far accompanied him on these journeys. At this time the Vis count was a fine young fellow of eighteen, more polished in manners and address than most country bred youths of that period, and very full of the in iquities of the Court party and the enormities of Tories in general.

His father, who had lived through many startling revolutions of public opinion and senti ment, often warned him to be more cautious and dis creet in his language and bearing ; but the young man, who was hot-headed and enthusiastic, heeded these warnings but little, having inherited the in stincts of his parents, without the tolerant charity of his mother or the cautious sagacity of his father. However, he was but a youth, and his parents hoped that greater coolness and wisdom would come with advancing years. Lord Wakefield's ancestors had been of plebeian origin, and had bought their peerage in the days of James I. The present Lord Wakefield was only the second earl ; and his father, who had but lately risen from the ranks, had embraced the popular side in the days of the Civil War. He himself had fought under Cromwell in the battles against the Royalist troops ; and the Priory House and lands had been bought with the money which had been bestowed upon him as a reward for faithful service.

Lord Wakefield was, however, of that cool, cautious temperament that looks ever ahead, and does not for get that change is the order of the day in this uncer tain world of ours. Although perfectly faithful to the cause he had embraced, he was never a violent partisan, and always threw his influence on the side of moderation and tolerance. The military despotism that had succeeded the re-establishment of popular rights had been regarded by him with deep disap proval ; and it was without any absolute insincerity that he had welcomed the restoration of Charles II. His calm loyalty had stood him in good stead. There had been no attempt to wrest from him the broad acres so lately acquired ; he, like the majority of his compeers, was included in the general indemnity, and when he presented himself at Court, he was graciously received by the sovereign.

Lord Wakefield had married, at the age of thirty, a fair Puritan maiden, by name Mistress Phœbe Fells, who, though not of high title or rank, had charmed him by her tranquil beauty and by the virtues and graces of her mind. She had married him for love, and the rank and affluence to which she had been raised had no charms for her. Stanch to the principles in which she had been reared, she could not be per suaded to accompany her husband to Court, but re mained ever at home, tending her children, visiting the sick and poor around her, and ordering her household in the strict, gentle, and godly fashion in which she had herself been trained. There was nothing of the harsh, bigoted, intolerant Puritan about Lady Wakefield. Her own goodness of heart and gentle tenderness of disposition (decidedly in advance of the times she lived in) gave her a nameless charm that won all hearts.

Her children adored, her servants respected her. The Priory House was in her time a very happy home, and the family of the Earl seemed blessed by prosperity without and peace and goodwill within. In times like these such immunity alike from political anxiety and from domestic strife was a boon highly to be valued. Lord Wakefield, not with out reason, counted himself a happy man, and his friends endorsed that sentiment. Prosperity did not, however, harden his heart. He was and ever had been a faithful friend and a man of considerable benevolence ; and in no way had he shown this favourable side of his character in a better light than in his treatment of his old friend and comrade, Sir Charles Melville. This Sir Charles was not related (so far as I can ascertain) to George Lord Melville who was accused of treason after the Rye House Plot, convicted during his absence abroad, and only restored to favour in the reign of William III.

Sir Charles came of an old family long settled in England. His father was TROUBLED DA YS. 15 a baronet of James the First's creation. He might o have had a peerage, but having come of a race of knights and gentlemen, he preferred to be known, as so many of his forefathers had been, as Sir Charles Melville of the Manors of Hartsbourne, Marcolls, and Slackdeacons. Sir Charles and the present Lord Wakefield (then Viscount Cottingham) were at school and college together, and a warm friendship existed between them. When the Civil War broke out, and they espoused different sides (for the Melvilles were al ways red-hot Royalists), the personal friendship was not smothered in party faction or political differences. Though they had met face to face in hostile armies, they had felt as friends rather than as foes ; and the friendship that can stand a test as severe as that, is worthy to be called by that often misused term.

The close of the war found Viscount Cottingham Lord Wakefield, owing to the death of his father from wounds received at Marston Moor ; and the son reaped the reward of their double loyalty to the popular cause in the grant of money which had en abled him to purchase the Priory lands, taken from a " malignant " who had sought safety in exile when his cause became desperate. One of Lord Wakefield's main reasons for casting longing glances upon that particular property was its close proximity to the estate of his friend Sir Charles Melville. The Lord of the Manors before-named was a near neighbour to the owner of the Priory ; and Lord Wakefield was desirous to be near his friend, to stand between him and the severity of the suc cessful Puritans, who would certainly make him pay dearly now for his loyalty to the crown.

It was mainly due to his kindly and courageous intervention that his friend was left in possession of his ancestral estate, on condition of paying a fine that almost re duced him to bankruptcy. But the fine was paid in due course, and the estate, though impoverished, was beginning to recover itself, when the era of the Re storation brought better clays to the old cavalier ; and he now had the satisfaction of repaying in some measure the kindness of his friend in past days. True, Lord Wakefield's peril was nothing like what his own had been, for the Earl's conduct had been more temperate throughout ; and Charles II. had little idea of stirring up strife by harsh treatment of his smaller foes. Still there was a coldness in the higher circles towards those who had taken arms against the late King; and it was undoubtedly clue to the influence and favourable representations of Sir Charles Mel ville that the Earl had been so favourably received at Court.

The friendship had thus been cemented by mutual gratitude, and it had stood the test of time and trial without waning or fading on either side. For nearly twenty years life had been flowing very calmly and smoothly for both these old comrades and friends. Lord Wakefield was now a man of some fifty-six summers, and Sir Charles was but a year or two older. His appearance, however, would lead the spectator to judge him to be many years the senior of his companion ; for his face was seamed -with wrinkles, his figure bowed slightly as if with age or infirmity, whilst Lord Wakefield's carriage w7as up right and alert, his figure vigorous and athletic, his eye as keen and far-seeing as in the days of his youth. As a matter of fact, Sir Charles's health was much undermined by some undefined malady, whose nature was little understood in those clays of rudimentary science.

He was a widower with one son, Rupert, a fine handsome lad of nearly fourteen summers. Anxiety for the future of this lad in these difficult and dangerous times preyed upon the father's mind a good deal, and was often a subject of conversation between him and his good friend Lord Wakefield. The two men were slowly pacing the wide terrace walk that lay before the south front of the old Priory House. A spacious arbour of clipped yew bordered it at either end, and yew trees, clipped to the shape of fox or peacock, alternated with large stone vases at intervals of some twenty yards all along the wTalk. In the centre was a flight of stone steps leading down to the lawn and garden beneath, and beyond that lay the wide expanse of well-tim bered park. It would be a stretch of the real truth to assert that the lawns were like velvet, the gardens a blaze of flowers, and the paths free from weeds, and edged with the precision of a modern well-kept gar den.

In those days things were on a rougher scale. Farther away, in the north or west of England, there was little idea of ornamentation about a garden. Vegetables and small fruit flourished beneath the windows of the reception rooms, and sheep and horses grazed peacefully on many lawns. Lord Wakefield's house, however, was near enough to the centre of civilization and fashion to own a garden that was a garden and not a wilderness ; and to eyes accustomed to the neglect of many such places it looked very trim and bright, creditable alike to gardener and owner. The elastic verdure of the turf, and the fine growth of beech and oak, gave the place a beauty and character of its own that nothing could destroy ; and the graceful grouping of some half-dozen children upon the grass at play would have made attractive a less well-favoured spot.

One of this group — none other, in fact, than the young Viscount Cottingham — could no longer indeed be ranked as a child. He was a fine young spark of eighteen summers, wore a wig, like a grown man, and a dress that he was not ashamed of at Whitehall itself. He carried a sword, too, and managed it not ungracefully ; and though he was walking about upon the lawn with his great hound at his heels, he took small part in the diversions of his younger com panions. He thought himself as far removed from them in age as he certainly was in character and temperament. The second son, Oliver, lay under a tree, with a book on the ground before him. Studious boys were in those days more the exception than in the time preceding and the time following this par ticular period. The Civil War was perhaps the cause of the indifference to education and literature that prevailed at this juncture ; but whatever the cause, the fact undoubtedly remained that book-learning was decidedly at a discount, and Oliver's studious habits were thought remarkable, and seemed to promise him a brilliant future — at least such was the fond hope of his parents.

The three youngest of Lord Wakefield's children were girls, the eldest of whom, the Lady Maud, was a strikingly handsome child of ten summers, tall, and well grown, with lustrous dark eyes, short curly hair, and features exquisitely moulded and full of vivacity and animation. Plainly she was the leading spirit in the games that day. Her little sisters appeared rather as faithful satellites than as separate individualities ; and their boy-playfellow, Rupert Melville, paid open homage to the little queen of the revels. There was something picturesque and charming in the contrast presented by the courtly air and parti-coloured raiment of the boy, his loosely curling hair and bright open face, and the far plainer attire of the little girl as she dispensed or withheld her favours. She was dressed in accordance w7ith her mother's taste, in a plainer and more quiet fashion than was usual in the houses of the nobility, and the short curls clustering round the shapely head offered a marked contrast to Rupert's love-locks and the heavy wigs of the men of that period.

But Lady Wakefield exercised her own taste in matters wThere her girls were concerned ; and whilst they were still young, her husband never interfered. Presently the game, whatever it was, seemed to come to a conclusion, and the children, flushed and warm with their exertions, ceased their gambols in the sunshine. Rupert gave his hand to little Lady Maud, and led her to a mossy bank amid the roots of a noble oak tree ; and when she had seated her self, he threw himself upon the ground at her feet in an attitude of boyish homage. She, on her part, plucked a few wild flowers, and, after a show of wilfulness or coyness, held them out to him. The little drama enacted so unconsciously before their eyes attracted the attention of both the fathers, who were still pacing the terrace in earnest converse.

They paused to watch the gestures of the youthful pair, although they were far too distant from them to hear a word of the talk passing between them. " By my troth, Charles, it looks as if the young ones were playing our game to some good purpose." A smile, half of pleasure, half of sadness, crossed the baronet's face. " Your little maid would win a heart more hard to be touched than Rupert's ; but she is bare ten years old, alas ! and long before she comes to years of discretion may have turned her eyes another way. Suitors w7ill never be lacking to the fair children of Lord Wakefield." The father looked round with a smile of pride upon the group on the grass below. In truth, any father might have been pardoned for experiencing a glow of complaisant satisfaction in the contemplation of so many well-grown olive-branches.

" Belike you speak the truth there, Charles, pro vided some turn of fortune's wheel does not carry me downwards towards destruction, ere my children come to those so-called years of discretion. And yet Rupert has ever been the most devoted of cavaliers to my little maid, and she calls him openly her ' sweetheart,' albeit her mother likes not well such play as that, nor such light talk of what she deems so sacred. Yet, as I say to her oft, to whom better could we give our child than to the son of our best and oldest friend ? And why should not the children begin young ? The child is father to the man. She shakes her head at that ; yet, in sooth, she cannot but smile, for Rupert is almost as a son to her, and she loves him only second best to her own children." " Ay, marry does she," answered Sir Charles.

" Poor motherless lacl ! She has ever filled the mother's place in his heart. Small wonder that he loves her and hers with all the warmth of a loving nature. His boyhood would have been but dreary had it not been for you and yours." " Why, as for that, Charles, Rupert has brought as much pleasure as he has received. My little daugh ters are ever lamenting that he is not their real brother ; for Cottingham is too much the fine gentle man and Oliver too much the student to be play fellows to them. I tell my little Maud that the day will come when she will cease to wish that Rupert were her brother." " I would it might be so," answered the baronet with his sad smile. " I would the future of my boy were as -well assured as a connection with your house would make it." " In good sooth, Charles, you are needlessly de pressed by the passing wave of ill feeling towards your party.

Surely in the days of good King Charles it is a strange thing to hear his father's old supporter talk in so doleful a strain. Depend upon it, the cloud will roll away, and all danger quickly pass. Like enough, ere long we shall see the tide turn, and an other of those strange reactions set in which will, in its turn, make me tremble for my safety, as you tremble now7 for yours. These are strange times, Charles, and the aspect of the future is uncertain. Methinks it would be no bad policy on either side to unite our families by a bond too strong to be broken. The influence of a kinsman will do more than the inter cession of a mere friend. In unity is strength. The union of our two houses has ever been in my thoughts. It is a subject that has many times been named be tween us two." " Ay, that is so.

I wish it yet more than you can do ; for I feel that my life is not like to be prolonged many years, and I would fain leave my boy to the guardianship of kinsmen of his own. But they are mere children still." " What of that ? None too young to wed, as things go in these days. Why, we have brides of five years old, who scarce can say the words they are bidden by the priest. My little Maud would gladly take a part in any ceremony where she would be the queen; and if you ask her is she willing to be Rupert's wife, you would not find her backward in assent." Sir Charles smiled slightly, yet the smile was tinged with sadness ; and he shook his head as he made answer, — " Methinks, Wakefield, that such a marriage would be little to the liking of your wife. She would not wish a child of hers to take so solemn a vow whilst yet too young to understand its import.

The little maid loves Rupert well, it is true, but she is of too tender years to pledge herself for life." Lord Wakefield's face was full of thought ; he turned the objection over in his mind. " There is truth in what you say : Lady Wakefield has thoughts and scruples little in accord with the spirit of the times, and I care not to cross her more than need be. Yet she ever submits to my wishes if I speak with authority and decision, and it may be in this case it would be wise to do so." " Nay, Wakefield ; I would not you did this, and on behalf of me and mine. As things stand at this juncture, the gain of the alliance would all be on my side, and it would grieve me that it should be done in defiance of the wishes of one whom I sincerely respect and love. It would ill requite her goodness to my boy, to bestow upon him the hand of her child against the mother's will.

Let us wait awhile and see how matters go with us. I would not that the advantage of the alliance should be all on our side." " That will not long be the case," answered Lord Wakefield ; " we have passed through too many changes not to live in expectation of more. I will speak to my wife upon the subject, and see how she would approve the thought of mating the children thus young. I am well convinced myself, and long have been, that such a union would be to the advan tage of both houses." " If Lady Wakefield gives consent, I myself should rejoice in the alliance ; but I could not wish it to be made without her goodwill and approbation." And there for the present the matter dropped.

Chapter II. Matrimonial Projects

IN the times of which we write the marriages of mere children were by no means uncommon. Boys and girls of tender years were often thus mated by their parents, from motives of policy or friendship ; after which the bride returned to her nursery and the bridegroom to his school or school-room, and in those days of difficult travelling it was often years before the youthful pair so much as saw one another again. When circumstances permitted, and the children had grown up to early manhood and woman hood, the bride left her father's house for that of her husband. Sometimes there was a second ceremony as a sort of sequel to the first, although there was no moral or legal necessity for it. Sometimes, on the other hand, in these stormy, troublous times, political faction and party strife drove the young couple far apart, and they lost sight of one another, never to MATRIMONIAL PROJECTS. 27 meet again.

It was easy, in those days of lax moral ity, to get these marriages annulled, if the contract ing parties wished it; and indeed they were often annulled without reference to the young people them selves, if the relatives of one or the other could ob tain sufficient influence in high quarters to cancel the marriage. It was no wonder, then, that a woman of Lady Wakefield's opinions and training looked with disfavour upon marriages such as these ; and when her husband sounded her upon the desirability of mating young Rupert with their daughter Maud, she spoke strongly against any such step. It was not a lack of affection for Rupert that dictated this refusal. She loved the lad almost as a son, and would gladly have welcomed him as such in very deed, had he been of an age to take upon him self the solemn vows of wedlock.

Had he and Maud been six or seven years older, she would have been the last to oppose the marriage ; for as boy and girl they loved each other well, and there was great like lihood that such affection would develop with the flight of time into something of the true nature of a wedded love. But the mother could not bring her mind to permit her child to take vows the meaning of which she could not fairly understand, or bind herself before she could learn what it really meant to link her lot with that of another. For the time, therefore, the plan dropped. There did not seem any immediate hurry. Sir Charles Melville, in all things chivalrous and sensitive, shrank from urging on a step which, just at this juncture, appeared more to his advantage than that of his friend ; whilst Lord Wakefield, though desiring the alliance — distrusting the present security of his lot — could not bring his mind to press forward any scheme against which his wife had set her mind.

He loved her, and he respected her deeply, and he had resolved never to oppose her needlessly. He spoke out plainly as to his own wishes, but for the present he was content to waive them in favour of hers. Lady Wakefield, on her side, knowing well the temperament of her husband, his caution, foresight, and desire to stand well with all men, and swim, as far as possible, with the tide, felt very certain that should the day come when this marriage appeared very politic for the strengthening of his o*wn position, no considerations which she could urge would be able to hinder its taking place. She was able herself to see that it was an alliance that might be advantageous to them, and she knew also that the matter was often in his thoughts. She was a good wife, a tender mother, and a far-seeing woman ; and she was very well convinced that she might ere long be called upon to submit in this thing to the will of the husband she had vowed to love, honour, and obey.