For King and Country, or Kintail Place, etc

Front matter

FOR KING AND COUNTRY OR KINTAIL PLACE 'see p. 321 Carrier and his Guillotine working Day and Nighl Frontispiece., FOR KING AND COUNTRY OK KINTAIL PLACE BY JANE A. NUTT Author ol " Dorothy, an Autobiography,"' etc. WITH TWO MAPS AND THIRTEEN FULL-PAGE PLATES LONDON SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1891 [All Rights Reserved] *' Commonly suspicions are not admitted, but with examination, whether they be likely or no." — Bacon. " Ere the King's Crown go down, there are crowns to be broke." — Scott. " Is that a tale ye borrow ? Or is it some words ye've learned by rote, Or a lilt of dule and sorrow?" — Old Song. TO THE MEMORY OF F. L. JM. THIS IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. CONTENTS. CHAP PAGE A Prologue. I. Kintail Place i II. A Night at S. Ouen's 6 III. The Ball-room Beauty 22 IV. Mr. Jocelyn, Younger, of Riversdale ... 38 V. L. O. V. E 62 VI.

"Over the Water" 80 VII. The Mossy Cross 107 VIII. Days of Glory 122 IX. The "Gentle Cathelineau" 130 X. An Arrival from Jersey 149 XI. Safe for the Moment 177 XII. Beyond the River 198 XIII. Fading Hopes . . 222 XIV. The Death Agony 250 XV. The Chateau de Blain 279 XVI. The Black "Marats" . 307 XVII. Philippine 328 XVIII. A Walk through the Woods 350 Notes 365 An Epilogue. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Carrier and his Guillotine Frontispiece Kintail Place To face page 36 Double Map .1 .. 86 Soldiers : Blue and White „ ,. 102 Cannon and Clubs „ ,, 110 Single Map » ■■ 2°t> The Hollow Sticks of the Breton Envoys ... „ „ 226 The Bitterness of Death „ „ 260 Victor Hugo's Father at the Chateau d'Aux ... „ ,, 320 Jean Chouan on the Watch ,, „ 34S Execution of the Four Least-Guilty ..... „ „ 366 Aime, the Young Chouan Chief „ „ 368 Chouans and Bleus „ ,, 374 Wolves ........... ,, ,, 401 Done for at Last ,, |( IT was the month of roses, as we should generally say, although, in smiling Devonshire, May might well dispute with June that crown of summer glory.

The sun had set over the Dartmoor hills, the brilliant hues of crimson and gold were fast fading away, only to give place to the lovely roseate hue which overspread the western heavens, paling above into the tender green of a summer evening sky. The evening star, " the star of love," hanging beneath the crescent moon, gleamed like a gem of light over the still fields and " sleeping woods " in the valley, around which the near hills and more distant peaks loomed in the gloaming like mighty entrench ments. The compline bell of the Sisters' " Home," faintly heard in the distance, breathed, as it were, on the listening ear the very balm of " charity benign," and one might have dreamt that only sweet and restful thoughts could find place in such a scene. But it is not seldom the case that, where all around seems to call to peace, the unquiet heart makes troubles, if it does not find them ; and so, at that moment, thought Mrs. Lascelles, as she looked at her sister's harassed and discontented, though not ill-natured face.

Prologue

. fulness and honourable feeling. And it is utterly beyond my comprehension how a girl of whom they, and I, and you too, during the time she was with you, had had such a good opinion, could be guilty of this unblushing falsehood and deception." " Really," replied Edith, in an aggrieved tone, " I am so sur prised, after what I told you, at your still considering there can be any doubt in the matter, that I don't think you could have understood my letter. Perhaps I had better go over the circum stances of the case again." "Very well," said Mary patiently, "if you wish it; and here, in good time, comes Stephen, so we will see if any light can be thrown on the subject." " Yes," said Mr. Lascelles, with what Edith used to call his "quizzing look," and which she especially dreaded, as she usually saw it when her hasty imputations and uncharitable speeches were going to be weighed and commented on — "Yes, out with it, Edith. ' Each latent grief that labours at your heart, Whate'er you felt, and what you saw, relate.' " "Oh, Mary!" said Mrs. Aylesford, "it is too bad to bring Stephen to Lucy's rescue.

I believe that if I had, ' with these two eyes ' seen her break the necklace, he, if not you, would say, ' Previous good character should weigh.' However, this is how it all happened." Both the Rector and his wife knew by experience that, when Edith promised them an account of " how it all happened," they were in for a history abounding in digressions and deductions, but proportionately deficient in demonstration. Mr. Lascelles resigned himself to his fate with masculine heroism, whilst his wife fetched her knitting, and awaited her sister's disclosures. " You remember my telling you that the Lisles asked me to spend a few days with them in town ? Well, two or three days after my arrival, there was a grand ' disturbance,' I suppose in my honour — twenty to dinner, and an evening party of eighty or so. —How well those Lisles do things !

Actually, their menage consists of a factotum butler, a young footman, not much more than a page, Ada's maid, a cook, a housemaid, and a girl to help the cook. I shall never manage what they do, without running Douglas hopelessly in debt." " Ada Lisle has £1,500 a year of her own, and her mother always brings two footmen to her daughter's parties," said Mrs. Lascelles. " Ah ! well, Mary, you always take such a matter-of-fact view of things, but if you could have seen that fairy-like plateau that the old Parsee gave Colonel Lisle, the lovely silver palms and fruit " " My dear Edith," interrupted Mr. Lascelles, " did you think that the fairy lightness of this plateau had anything to do with Lucy's trouble ? " " Oh, Stephen ! do let me tell my story in my own way, if you want it told at all. However, I really will rush through it, if you will have a moment's patience.

" I thought," Edith continued, " that for this grand affair I must be rather grand too, so I put on that lovely old-gold satin, trimmed with a lien of peacock-blue here and there — you know I showed it to you, Mary, with some other dresses last night — wasn't that exquisite point of Grannie's charmingly arranged ? But I declare I never knew anything so frightful as the way dressmakers run up bills now — what do you think was the charge for that dress at Madame — — ? " Here a slight groan from the much-enduring Rector recalled Edith to her " sheep " — why that enlightened body, so remarkable for linguistic attainments, the British public, should think fit to translate " moutons " by "muttons," I know not — and she went on with her story. " It seemed a good opportunity to wear that splendid row of pearls with the diamond cross that has been so long in Douglas's family, and that he thinks so much of; you know Lady Jane gave it to me when we married.

There was dancing in the evening, and we did not break up until past two o'clock, with the prospect besides of a breakfast-party a few doors off, that we might join some enthusiasts in a private view of the Botanic Gardens. I believe though that a good deal of their ardour was due to the prospective presence of royalty. " I was dreadfully tired, and told Lucy to leave me, and to put away the trinkets in the morning. However, in the morning, I was so late and hurried that she could not arrange them at once, but as I went downstairs, I desired her to be careful about them, and to lay the necklace in its case, and place it in the wardrobe. Of course it ought to have been locked up as usual, but I felt so sure it would be perfectly safe in the Lisles' house, that I had kept it in the wardrobe ever since my arrival ; every day I was expect ing a cousin of Douglas's, Louisa Aylesford, who said she remembered it when a child, and would like to see it again, so I wanted to have it at hand.

I came home before luncheon ; we were to drive down to Richmond in the afternoon to a garden party, to which the Lisles had a pressing invitation from some old friends, and I had, of course, to make a change in my dress. I remember asking Lucy if the pearls were put away, and she said, ' Yes, that they were safe in the wardrobe.' " You know I left the Lisles the next day owing to the dreadful accident that happened to the cook's poor child. She was a widow, and a great favourite of Ada's, who used often to tell her to send for her little twin girls, and let them have a run in the large house, and give them some tea, when she herself was going out with her husband. They were nice, well-behaved, pretty little things of about seven years old, and the very day before the party they had tea with Guy and Mary upstairs.

The afternoon we went to Richmond they had come again to see their mother, and have some play, and had been chasing each other up and down stairs, when — so her sister said— one of them exclaimed, ' See how like a fairy I am,' and gave a great swing round the banisters. She must have swung herself over, although the poor little survivor was too much frightened to remember, for a loud scream was heard, and she was found lying on the floor of the hall, and she died almost immediately. The news came to us at Richmond, and poor Ada was so shocked that Colonel Lisle would not let her return home. I went back with him and the children just to get my things packed up, and to be off the following day ; and it was not until I reached Aunt Margaret's, the next on my list of visits, that I opened the case of pearls.

To my dismay, I found the string of the necklace broken, and, on counting the pearls, one was missing. I cannot tell you how shocked I was at Lucy's duplicity. She positively declared that she had never opened the case after she put it away that morning, and I am certain it was in the wardrobe, because I looked there the last moment for some gloves which I had bought the day before to match my dress, and found them under the case. I had just sent Lucy downstairs with Guy and Mary to say that I was quite ready ; — I was obliged to take my two with me, Ada teased so that they might go to Richmond to play with the children at the house we were bound for. " I really do not see a loophole for Lucy's escape. No one went into the room excepting herself, Ada's maid, and the housemaid, a confidential servant, who has been with them for five-and-twenty years, first with Ada's mother, and then with herself; the maid had had leave to go out for a couple of days, and I know that she was gone some time before we starred, because Lucy altered something in Ada's dress — the other servants never came into that part of the house.

It struck me that the cook's children might have had something to do with it ; so, before saying anything about the necklace, I asked Lucy in a casual way, to put her off her guard, if she knew how they had been spending that unhappy afternoon. She said that when she went upstairs, after seeing me off, they were flying up and down like little mad things. She was making a morning dress for me, and sat working in her room with the door ajar for half-an-hour or so, and all the time she heard them running, or else they were talking together. Then, all on a sudden, there was a sort of rush and a scream, and when she ran down, the poor child was lying senseless in the hall." Edith paused — a stern, satisfied look stole over her face — the look which said that justice was required, and that justice should be done.

" Could anything be plainer, Mary ? Should I not have been justified in insisting on her returning to her mother immediately ? " " No, indeed," replied her sister ; " something tells me that there is a missing link here, if we could but find it. All confidence, all trust, would rest on a foundation of sand when once we could believe that the trial of a life, whether that life has been a long or a short one, can reveal nothing of the character, the aspirations, the motives, of those around us — that any friends or dependents, on whom we most entirely rely, may, in a moment, by a single inexplicable occurrence, be justly displaced from the pedestal they had occupied in our thoughts, and be thrown aside as unworthy even of a hope that all will be cleared up at last. Besides, we should remember what irreparable injury we are, doing to our own souls by yielding to a habit of distrust and suspiciousness.

We are inevitably tempted by pride, our deadliest, most subtle foe, to be pleased if we are proved right, although that proof must be found in the sin of another; and then obstinacy, her hateful offspring, comes in, urging us never to give up our suspicion, even although circumstances may deprive it of all probability, unless it can indisputably be shown that we are in the wrong. I certainly would not think of advising you to keep Lucy, considering the opinion you have of her ; but this is a most annoying, nay, dis tressing affair altogether. You know what a proud race she comes of, and they count kin with all the great border families. Her great-grandfather was out in the '45 ; loyalty and prosperity not going hand-in-hand in those days, I believe this Mr. Johnstone was absolutely reduced to beggary after he escaped to France.

He married at an advanced age, and his widow, with their two boys, emigrated to Jersey at the Revolution. Lucy's grandfather became a teacher of languages at S. Helier's, and married a young lady belonging to the ancicnne noblesse of France, mademoiselle de l'Ecuraye, I think she was called. She was a penniless orphan, her mother having died soon aftershe had escaped with her from France, through Holland, to Jersey, in 1795. Happily, her greatgrandmother, a Mrs. St. John, then living in the north of England, heard of her destitution, and placed her at a first-rate school in Jersey, and on the old lady's death, an aunt, Mrs. Jocelyn, con tinued the kind work. When the girl had passed her twenty-first birthday, she went on a visit to Jersey, where she again met this Mr. Johnstone, who had been, and was still, a teacher at her former school.

These two wise people made up their minds to marry, and of course no one could prevent their doing so. Mrs. Jocelyn helped them to start housekeeping, and sent them money from time to time. If a small sum, it was all frittered away ; if a larger one, it was sure to go in some unfortunate speculation. They seem to have become poorer and poorer, and at last, on Mrs. Johnstone's death, her husband left the island, carrying off his boy with him ; he afterwards enlisted, and was at Waterloo — the best thing he ever did, I should think. The boy, when he grew up, obtained some small appointment in the Customs ; he, too, married a lady, the daughter of a poor country clergyman, and you know she is now living in a cottage close to the entrance to Maybury Chase. I remember Alice Lancaster saying one day in a letter that she and John had been staying at some grand old place in the north — I forget the name — belonging to the Jocelyns, and that they mentioned their connection with the Johnstone family."

" Well, now that you have given us yourimpressions, Edith," said the Rector, " I will tell you that I have had a talk with Lucy. She is very gentle, but I can see that only the strong curb she tries to put on herself enables her to repress an outburst of indignation and distress. She says that she would not have remained with you for an hour had you not been going to Maybury. But Sir John and Lady Lancaster and her mother and every one there would believe her to be innocent, and after all our goodness, as she calls it, to her mother and herself, and your kindness until this unhappy affair, she could not bear, bitterly though she feels your suspicions, to be the cause of the great annoyance she is sure her presence would entail on you. I find, what I did not know before, that since her last visit home there has b A

PROLOGUE.

. been an attachment between her and her cousin, Harry Johnstone, a handsome young fellow we used to see hanging about, and who has been waiting for an appointment John Lancaster now thinks he has got for him. In the meantime Johnstone has been acting as assistant gamekeeper, living at the cottage latterly with his father's cousin, Lucy's mother. Lucy says that if he were to have an inkling she had been accused of such mean wickedness, she should dread the consequences, and she implores permission to stay here until you leave Maybury. Her grandfather, I know, saved the life of John's father at Waterloo, and this young fellow did the same for John himself when they were out shooting last year ; so the Lancasters think no end of them all, and that they can never do enough for them. I daresay this will all end by Lucy's accompanying her cousin to Queensland, or at least following him, under proper charge, very shortly, although her mother thinks her too young to undertake the duties of a colonist's wife, and wishes her to wait until Harry's prospects are more definite.

She would have difficulty in finding a situation where she would be treated with the kind consideration which you, I must say, have shown her." " Oh ! " said Mrs. Lascelles," " no one can tell how painful it all is to me ; the more I hear and talk of it, the worse the whole matter seems to become. Of course, appearances are strongly against Lucy, and it is a most perplexing affair, but really I am perfectly unable to believe that she had anything to do with it. What do you think, Stephen," she continued, " as Lucy is to remain here, of my sending Eliza with Edith, if she likes to take her ? I could manage very well in her absence for a time, as there is fruit to pick, and a good deal of plain work that Lucy can do, and possibly before long something may turn up which will set all doubts and suspicions at rest."

"Oh! very well," said Edith crossly; "if you have such quixotic notions, I would not, on any account, interfere with them. It is a matter of perfect indifference to me whether Lucy goes at once to her mother or remains here. I knew she was not in the circumstances to which her birth entitled her, although I had never heard any particulars, and I always considered this in my requirements, so far as she was concerned. However, I have done with the whole affair now ; I shall look out for a proper attendant, and only hope I may be successful in hearing of one very shortly. Guy is going to school, and I am quite tired of these lady nursery governesses." " Anyhow, it is prayer-time now," said her brother, as the bell of the little Rectory chapel began its summons ; " so we can leave this weary subject in abeyance, and turn our thoughts to brighter things.

I am convinced that Edith is labouring under a mistake ; I only hope it may not bring any trouble on her before it is cleared up." The Rectory chapel, to which Mr. Lascelles bent his steps, was near the house, and was used instead of the more distant church for the daily services and the early celebrations, — its proximity to the village making it very convenient for the parishioners. The Rector felt he was indeed rewarded a thousandfold for all the care and trouble its erection had given him, when he found how the means of grace, thus placed within easier reach, were gradually sought and prized by many of his loved flock. The congregation rose as their priest entered. Edith, who had already taken her place by her sister, glanced round, and saw Lucy's drooping head, as she stood a little apart from every one else.

It was a fair and lovely face, but it was piteous to see the expression of distress which it wore. Mrs. Aylesford remembered how that look of grief had been stamped, as it were, on her countenance, from the moment she called her into her room at Mrs. Margaret Darley's to accuse her of the deepest duplicity and falsehood. All through the monotone of the psalms and prayers that sad, pleading look seemed perpetually coming before her, and it was in a somewhat perturbed frame of mind that she drove off the next morning to catch the train for the town in the neighbourhood of which she was to spend the next few days with her cousins, Sir John and Lady Lancaster. XX " Oh, Mother ! " exclaimed the children, as they jumped into the railway carriage, " what fun to be going to Maybury ! Uncle Stephen told us yesterday that Reg has a pony, and he has been riding him with a horse-cloth that Mary may have a ride.

What a jolly cousin he must be ! " " Yes," said Mary, a lively damsel of six, " and he must be such an immense big boy, eleven years old ! So it's very nice, isn't it ? But why didn't Lucy come, Mother ? She looked so sorry, and Eliza is so stupid, and I don't think she'd run races with me in the garden, as Lucy used to do." Mrs. Aylesford thought it unnecessary to inform her small daughter that her amusements must be of a quieter character at Sir John Lancaster's, as far as the maid was concerned, and the arrival of the train at the next station soon put Lucy's sorrowful face out of Mary's head. A journey of three or four hours brought the travellers to the little country town station, the nearest to Maybury Chase. " Oh, Mother, Mother ! there must be Sir John, and the carriage for you, and there must be Reg — look, look — in that dear little pony carriage," — and the children shouted with delight.

Sir John, a handsome, soldier-like man, came to the carriage door at this moment. " My dear Edith, how glad I am to see you again ! Alice was so sorry she couldn't come too, but a neighbour of ours wrote this morning to say she intended calling in the afternoon, as she particularly wished to speak to Lady Lancaster. So I am come to present myself, and represent her. "Oh!" he continued, in the midst of his greetings to the children, as they, and the maid, and their luggage emerged from the carriages, "Reg would bring that pony-trap of his for his cousins ; the man with him is as steady as old Time, so perhaps you'll trust your young ones to Reg as their charioteer." The children evidently thought that they had been transported into fairyland at this proposition, and rushed along the platform to the other side of the gate, where Reg was awaiting them.

" Now this is capital," he exclaimed, as Guy, beaming with delight, announced that they were all ready, and broke forth into admiring superlatives over the beauty of the black pony and the gay little cart ; " Guy, you jump in, and put Mary between us — Richard will sit behind, and admire my driving. Yesterday one might have got half-a-crown between my wheels and a dog-cart we passed, but to-day I bet you a tizzy would have been smashed when I drove by the Vicar's old grey, and that ramshackle con veyance of his." Guy's eyes danced in ecstasy at the thought of sharing in the glory of such exploits, although he could not make out how coins of the realm could ever insert themselves between passing carriages. As for Mary, she contented herself with open-mouthed admiration of Reg, the pony, the cart, and everything.

Sir John and Edith had soon taken their places in the mail phaeton with the groom and maid in attendance, whilst a cart followed with Edith's very imposing amount of luggage. " Those children of yours are perfectly charming," said Sir John, as the horses settled into their trot of ten miles an hour ; " what a splendid son and heir for dear old Douglas, and so like him. And what a darling little fairy Mary is — very like her aunt Mary, only with different colouring ; the soft expression of those blue eyes is bewitching ; one would never think that either of the youngsters had ever felt an Indian sun. I'm only sorry for the cause which gives us the pleasure of welcoming their mother here again, but I hope you're well enough to enjoy a little gaiety. Sir Robert Ardell is just now canvassing the county round us, so we invited him to look upon Maybury as his headquarters.

To help mm in making acquaintance with the people in the neighbourhood, we have a ball to-night, and to-morrow a monster picnic at that ruined place you remember about ten miles off. The Artillery band is coming over, and I anticipate great results." " By-the-by," said Sir John, after chatting about everything past, present, and future, with his lively companion, " who's that demure young lady behind us, and where's Lucy Johnstone ? Uncommonly pretty girl she is, and there is such a tinge of .-I

PROLOGUE.

. XXII romance about her family history. One of the cousins, such a handsome, strapping young fellow, for whom I have the greatest regard, is down here now, acting as my keeper, and looking forward with extreme delight to your arrival. Why on earth didn't you bring Lucy?" Receiving no answer, Sir John looked round, and was surprised to see Edith's face flushed with irritation and perplexity, as he had so often seen it in her schoolgirl days. He felt sure that something had been going wrong about Lucy, and dropped the subject ; only relieving his feelings by a long, low whistle as he stopped the carriage at a wayside fountain, close to a gate leading into the Chase, beside a lovely thatched cottage covered with roses and woodbine. " Look there," he said, to Edith's infinite relief, as she hoped all enquiries about Lucy would now be forgotten ; "we've been making grand improvements since you were here in the old days.

You remember this little lodge, and the steep lane down to the house from the gate? We nearly had two or three bad carriage accidents in the winter time, so we only use it now for a short cut when riding, and we have built a lodge with another approach, about half a mile further on, to make the descent more gradual. Mrs. Johnstone lives in the cottage with Harry ; I thought that he had better take charge of his future mother. And what do you think of my new fountain ? " There was an arch of rough-hewn stone, nearly covered with ivy, carefully trimmed, however, so as to show the words which were carved on it : " The actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust." Under the arch, in a recess deep enough to allow of a seat each side, was tlie basin, full of sparkling, icy-cold water, constantly trickling from the rough stone of which the walls were built.

Over the fountain was carved a small cross, and the words, " Fear God. Honour the King." And above was the inscription : Sir John Lancaster Was borne down this lane to his home, Christmas Eve, 1642, Desperately wounded at Edge-hill Fight. Rode up again to his death at Lansdown June 1, 1643. " Oh, John ! " exclaimed Edith, as the impatient horses were allowed to go on, " it is perfect — what an honour for me that his blood flows in my veins ! and it is like reading your heart to read those words ! How you would like now to change places with that Sir John, or at least to ride up that lane to your death in such a cause ! " Sir John had no time to own the soft impeachment before they came in sight of the pretty new lodge, which he pointed out at some distance in front of them, and as they passed through the gates, and bowled merrily down the long drive, exchanging the dusty, sheltered road for the delightful air and deep shade under stately oaks and " large limes," Edith was too much ab sorbed in pleased admiration and in old recollections for further remarks.