as the process had continued, Henrietta had been no less cheerful than usual, though the affair was of a nature which could not be passed over in silence. It was discussed in all companies as an event, when it was not argued as a political question. There was a prevalent belief that Lord Strafford could never be brought to punishment; but that, if he were, all would be lost for the royal cause. As Henrietta was serene, as well as silent, it was supposed by her family that she felt full assurance of his safety. The greater was her grief when she saw what must come to pass.
It was a lovely month of April; and on one of its brightest days, towards sunset, a groom of Mr. Hampden’s came riding at full speed up to the hall door, desiring to see Harry without a moment’s delay. Harry was in the fields; and till he could be fetched, Henrietta questioned the man, who could only tell her that he brought a letter which he was to deliver into Mr. Carewe’s own hand, and that Mr. Carewe was expected at Mr. Hampden’s lodging in Gray’s Inn Lane in the course of the night. Henrietta bestirred herself to pack his portmanteau, and have supper on the table; and then she waited till he should come forth from his conference with the messenger.
He thanked her for speeding his departure, saying that there was a riot imminent in London. Yes, it was about Lord Strafford. The King had gone to the House of Lords, to declare his opinion . . .
“I am sure Lord Strafford did not send him,” Henrietta exclaimed.
“Certainly not: Lord Strafford considers it a step fatal to himself.”
“His Majesty will take care of that,” Henrietta replied, very severely. “For a time the Earl will have to retire from public business: that much must be yielded to the clamour: but not a hair of his noble head will be touched while the King reigns; and his retirement will repair his health (so wasted in the King’s service!) and he will emerge from his disgraces—the great statesman of his time!”
Harry shook his head mournfully, and his wife smiled in his face.
“My love, there is more going forward than you know. The matter has been brought to extremity by the discovery of a plot. The people are up in defence of the parliament—”
“There is always talk of plots,” said Henrietta. “Who now believes in them?”
“All believe in this plot; for the King’s handwriting is in the hands of the Commons.”
“It is a forgery, Harry.”
Harry was silent. In a moment his wife sprang from her seat.
“Let me go with you, Harry! I will be ready before you have supped: I will ride fast. You shall arrive not one minute later for my being with you.”
“Impossible, my love. It is a scene for men only.”
“Lady Carlisle is there. I must learn the truth. Harry, I must go! If you will not wait, I will follow.”
“Hear me, Henrietta! This plot has brought the King to extremity. The army was to have marched up from the North, and taken possession of London. There was to have been a camp round the Parliament House, and another at the Tower . . . . You have hoped—I see it by your face—that Lord Strafford would have escaped to France—”
“And who has prevented it?” cried Henrietta. “The King and the Earl have no traitors in their train. Loyal men are loyally served. This is the work of some miserable, double-damned spy of the parliament! Lord Strafford is safe, however. Mr. Pym may hunt him like a bloodhound; but he is too noble game to be torn by—”
“Let us say no more,” said Harry. “My love, you do not know what you ask about this going to London.”
“Harry, I must go. I have reasons.”
“There are reasons why you would repent it within one hour. I grieve to say it; but the King is disgraced; the Queen is in terror—”
“I must go,” Henrietta persisted.
“Stay till you hear from me, Henrietta. If I find it possible, I will send for you. Till then,—do you hear me?—you remain here, or with my mother.”
“You never yet laid your commands upon me, Harry.”
“Never before: but I do now. Lady Carlisle would tell you that I am right. Yes, ask her. But whether she is to be found—”
Henrietta laughed somewhat scornfully. Loyal and dutiful persons were in no hurry to hide, she said. Where there was most danger, there would the Court be. The King himself, it seemed, had confronted the Lords, in defence of his best and greatest servant.
Harry caressed and comforted his wife, entreated her to send for her sisters, and not to pine. He would write: he would send for her the first possible moment. It would not do. Henrietta was indignant, was unbelieving, was cold, was all but insulting; and her husband rode away with a heavy heart.
He supposed that it would be many days before his return: but he was at his own door again the next day but one. Not being expected at home, he rode round by Hampden to tell his news there, the story of the army plot, the story of the King’s intrusion upon the Lords,—the story of the mob of three thousand citizens who demanded Strafford’s death, and denounced all who were supposed to favour him; the story, too, of the royal consternation and its effects. Mr. Hampden said the point of revolution was reached; and he had summoned Harry to consult with him about rallying the tenantry to the parliament cause, and preparing for defence, if the army should be brought down to overawe the constituencies of the leading members of the House. Harry had Mr. Hampden’s commission to act for him in Buckinghamshire, as Richard had enough to do in his own county, and among his father’s connections.
“Go home, now, to poor Henrietta,” said Lady Carewe. “She looked just now—”
“Have you seen her already? Mother, you are very good to us!”
