Crown and Sceptre is a Webnovel created by George Manville Fenn.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
“Don’t be afraid, dreadful enemy,” said Fred, smiling, as he saw the depth of his old playmate’s hatred. “I’ll do everything I can, Lil dear, for all your sakes. Good-bye, if I do not see you again.”
She gave him a quick look, which seemed in an instant to bring up sunny days when he had swung her on the lawn, rowed on the lake, and climbed the apple-trees to get her fruit; and then she was gone, and he was listening to the trampling of horses, the shouting of orders, and he was called away.
Directly after, he was making use of his knowledge of the place to fulfil Lady Markham’s wishes, and over these he worked the harder, because he felt that by hastening the production of the necessaries for the troops, much waste and destruction would be spared.
The result was that in less than an hour the Hall was occupied by the little force, which was in high good humour with its pleasant quarters, while sentries were put in different directions, and every precaution taken against surprise.
“Capital quarters, my boy,” said the general, as he sat with his officers in the old oak dining-room; “and I wish your father was here to share them. But you have not taken care of yourself in all this business.”
“Oh, I have s.n.a.t.c.hed a little food, sir,” replied Fred. “I’m not hungry, but–“
“Well, what is it? Speak out. What do you want?”
Fred hesitated for a moment, as if collecting himself.
“You know that the Manor is only two miles from here, sir?”
“Eh? So near. No; I knew it was somewhere about this part,” said the general, smiling. “Oh, I see, my boy. Well, it’s quite right, but risky. And besides, we may stay here a week or we may stay a minute.
How do I know how soon the enemy may rout us out? No, Fred, my boy, love must give way to duty. I cannot spare my young officer, even to go and see his mother, much as I should like to say ‘Yes.'”
“You mistake me, sir,” said Fred, colouring a little. “I would not have asked leave at this busy time for that.”
“Then what do you want, my boy?”
“Lady Markham and her daughter, sir. This is no place for them.”
“Humph! No. But we have no time for paying attentions to ladies.”
“No, sir; but what I want to do is a little thing. We may stay here some time, and other troops join us.”
“Yes, I am expecting reinforcements. What do you want to do?”
“As this may be quite a rendezvous for some time, to get them away.”
“I cannot undertake such duties, my boy; but Lady Markham and her daughter are free to go anywhere.”
“Thank you, sir. That is what I want; but the only asylum for them is our old home, and they would not go there unasked.”
“Well, ask them.”
“It would be of no use.”
“My good lad, I am tired out. I want to s.n.a.t.c.h a few hours’ sleep.
What is it you want?”
“I want to take half a dozen men to ride over and fetch my mother here.
They were once dear friends, and if my mother came, she could persuade Lady Markham, for her child’s sake, to go back with her.”
The general sat frowning for a few minutes, during which he poured out a little wine in a long Venice gla.s.s, filled up with water, and drank.
“Yes,” he said in a quiet, decided voice, as he set down his gla.s.s, “take a sergeant and half a dozen–no, a dozen men, ride over and do the business as quickly as you can, so that the men and their horses may get back and rest. It means a double journey, you see. No; no thanks.
Despatch!”
Fred looked his thanks, and retired with the promptness loved by his leader; and a very short time later, just as the turret clock was striking ten, he rode out with his little detachment, being challenged again and again by the mounted sentries placed along the road which skirted the west end of the lake.
“Only think of it, Master Fred,” whispered Sergeant Samson Dee, as they rode slowly along beneath the light of the stars–“going home in this way. What will the mistress say?”
They were not long in hearing.
As they rode over the familiar ground, Samson was very silent, for he was thinking of the old garden, while Fred felt a swelling sensation at his breast as every object so well-known peered cut of the surrounding darkness. There was the pond in which Dodder took refuge one day after he had broken out of the field to escape capture, and there stuck so tightly in the mud that cart ropes had to be thrown over him, and he was dragged out looking the most drenched and deplorable object possible.
There, looming up under the stars, was the great hollow elm where the owls regularly bred and slept all day. Another minute, and the horses’
hoofs were slashing up the babbling water of the stream which crossed the road–the tiny river where they had so often waded after trout and stone loaches.
There at last, calm and still in the starlight, lay the Manor, and the young officer felt a wild kind of joy, which he had to fight down, lest he should seem childish before his followers, for the impulse of the moment was to leap from the horse and rush through the garden, over the lawn, and up to the doorway, shouting for joy.
But discipline, the desire to seem manly, and a strange feeling of dread kept him calm and stern beyond his years, the feeling of dread soon dominating the other sensations. For how could he tell but that a party of the enemy had ridden up to his dear old home, as they had that evening ridden up to Scarlett’s, and were perhaps behaving with far less consideration than they had shown? and how did he know that his old habitation was not a ruin, and his mother a wanderer far away.
A curious dimness came over his sight at these terrible thoughts, and he felt as if he were going to fall from his horse. His old injuries throbbed and stung, and it seemed to him that his fears were correct, for the old Manor did not look as it should be. Surely the windows were all bare of gla.s.s, the great chimney stack was down, and the ivy which clothed the front torn away and scorched by fire.
The giddy sensation increased, and he involuntarily clutched the pommel of his saddle as he bent forward, staring wildly at the dear old place, when he was suddenly brought to himself by the voice of Samson, who said aloud–
“All fast asleep. Oh, Master Fred, I wonder how my dear old garden looks.”
The misty, giddy sensation had gone, and in a firm voice Fred cried, “Halt!”
For there before him, dimly seen in the starlight, lay the old Manor, quite unscathed, for the tide of war had not yet swept over that part of the pleasant land.
Fred dismounted, pa.s.sed through the little oaken gate, and walking up the path, was about to rap at the door with the hilt of his sword.
But the trampling of horses and a loud neigh like a challenge had awakened those within. A well-known cas.e.m.e.nt was opened, and a familiar voice exclaimed–
“Who’s there?”
“Mother!” whispered Fred, hoa.r.s.ely.
There was a cry of joy from the open window; then a clicking noise of flint and steel, a light gleamed blue and faint on the ivy leaves which framed the cas.e.m.e.nt; then a brighter light, and in a few minutes the lower windows were illumined; there was the sound of the bolts being shot, and directly after Fred was in the little hall, clasped in his mother’s arms.
“My boy!” she whispered in a deep voice. Then, in a quick, agitated manner, “Your father?”
“Safe and well, mother.”
“And you have come to stay? Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d.”
“No, not to stay,” he cried earnestly, “but to ask you to perform a duty, an act of kindness towards–“
“Some wounded men? Yes, yes, my boy; bring the poor fellows in.”