embarrassment, called a parliament, it seemed the order of the day for everybody to rejoice; and Sir Oliver tried to do his part by protesting that all the mischief was over now, and that he hoped the people were sensible of His Majesty’s condescension: but Henrietta heard some very deep sighs as the old gentleman sat thinking; and he swore so fearfully at the noise of the bell-ringing and shouting which came on the wind, on the day of the assembling of parliament, and he was so inexorable about keeping the drawbridge up that day, that no member of his household should escape to join in any rejoicings, that she could not but have misgivings about this sudden reconciliation between the Crown and the people. In a day or two, it was clear that he did not choose to know anything that passed in the House of Commons. He advised her to read and believe nothing of the speeches made by her father and his friends. The diurnal writers were poor devils of poets and the like, who would sit up all night and write anything for half-a-crown: they wrote to please their patrons: and not one thing in twenty that they said was true. Within three weeks, however, Sir Oliver believed, without reservation, the news of the day, as sent abroad by these very writers. The story ran that the King had dissolved the parliament, finding that the Commons were bent upon discussing their own grievances, instead of replenishing his purse. Sir Oliver swore his gayest oaths, flung his wig up to the ceiling, caught Henrietta in his arms, and shouted victory! When it occurred to him that it might not be altogether exhilarating to her that her father, and nearly all her relations were baffled in the great work and interest of their lives, he kissed her tenderly, told her it was nothing more than a proper lesson which would make them wiser, and foretold that they would be quiet now that they had had their wish of a parliament, and had found that it would not do.
Henrietta’s best hope was that she should be enlightened by Helen, who was expected after the next Sabbath: but on the Sunday night her uncle abruptly informed her that he had been obliged to defer Helen’s visit for a short time,—perhaps a week, perhaps longer. Henrietta should decide that point. As she looked up at him in surprise, he shuffled in his chair, half laughed, half whistled, whispered in her ear that he wanted her to go a little journey with him,—not very far, nor for very long; and then burst out into one of his loud songs, to stop all inquiries. In sending her to her chamber, very early, he advised her to be stirring betimes, and to see that her maid packed up her very best dresses and ornaments. They might not be wanted; but it was as well to be provided. They were to start after breakfast; and Henrietta’s maid was, on no account, to go with her. No matter what the inconvenience might be: not a word must be said about the maid going.
Henrietta might be excused for wondering, while her hair was brushed that night, whose wits were astray now.
Early as she was up in the morning, she was aware that the old gentleman was stirring before her. She heard his loud voice, and his tread, upstairs and down. He was never careless of his dress, as some old gentlemen become after long living alone. He considered a good style of dress to be an important external distinction between loyalist gentry and their Puritan neighbours; and therefore he was always to be found in handsome trim, except when returning from sport in the marshes. But this morning there were some additional touches which showed that his mind had been employed on the details of his appearance. He seized upon Henrietta, on her entering the breakfast-room, turned her round with his finger and thumb, and viewed everything she wore with a critical eye. It was strange,—this anxiety about her being well dressed, while yet she was forbidden to take her maid. Again, it was strange that provisions and wine were put into the coach, if the journey was not to be a long one. It showed that it was to be a posting journey. For an instant it flashed before Henrietta’s mind that some scheme for conveying her home was in her uncle’s brain; but second thoughts showed that this could not be. There had been time enough, however, for her face to be crimsoned, and then to grow pale, as the image of Harry awaiting her at the gate of Hampden flitted across her mind. Sir Oliver observed it, put his arm round her, bade her fear nothing, and moreover whispered that he would tell her whatever she wished to know, as soon as they were safe off, and could talk comfortably in the coach. He was as good as his word.
“What would’st thou give, little one,” said he, as soon as they were on the road, “to pay thy duty to a certain namesake of thine?”
“The Queen!” cried Henrietta, starting from her seat.
“Aye, the Queen! But see, child, you must keep your seat. In such roads as these . . .”
“I will, sir. I will sit quite still if you will tell me where we are going. Where is the Queen?”
“Where we shall be before midnight, if our post-horses are as good as my messenger engages that they shall be. He has been travelling all night to secure our horses in the King’s name. Do you know a place called ‘Loyalty,’ Henrietta?”
“Is not Basing House in Hampshire called so?”
“It is; and to Basing House we are going. We are bringing loyalty to ‘Loyalty,’ as the King’s Secretary is pleased to observe in this letter. Hum! no. I will not show you this letter; but here is one within it which concerns you. The truth is, the King has privately summoned a few friends of his, of the eastern and southern counties, to meet and confer with him; and Basing House is the rendezvous. I conceive that the Court are apprehensive of disaffection in the eastern district, where our family is widespread, and in a manner powerful, and that I am on that account honoured with this summons. It is a sign of the privacy observed by the King that the business is managed through a lady of the Bedchamber. Here is the lady’s letter.”
Lady Carlisle’s first inquiry was whether her little friend Henrietta had forgotten her. If she