A Reputed Changeling. Yonge Charlotte Mary

Чтение книги онлайн.

      A Reputed Changeling / Or Three Seventh Years Two Centuries Ago

      PREFACE

      I do not think I have here forced the hand of history except by giving Portchester to two imaginary Rectors, and by a little injustice to her whom Princess Anne termed ‘the brick-bat woman.’

      The trial is not according to present rules, but precedents for its irregularities are to be found in the doings of the seventeenth century, notably in the trial of Spencer Cowper by the same Judge Hatsel, and I have done my best to represent the habits of those country gentry who were not infected by the evils of the later Stewart reigns.

      There is some doubt as to the proper spelling of Portchester, but, judging by analogy, the t ought not to be omitted.

      CHAPTER I

      The Experiences Of Goody Madge

      “He is an ugly ill-favoured boy—just like Riquet à la Houppe.”

      “That he is!  Do you not know that he is a changeling?”

      Such were the words of two little girls walking home from a school for young ladies kept, at the Cathedral city of Winchester, by two Frenchwomen of quality, refugees from the persecutions preluding the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and who enlivened the studies of their pupils with the Contes de Commère L’Oie.

      The first speaker was Anne Jacobina Woodford, who had recently come with her mother, the widow of a brave naval officer, to live with her uncle, the Prebendary then in residence.  The other was Lucy Archfield, daughter to a knight, whose home was a few miles from Portchester, Dr. Woodford’s parish on the southern coast of Hampshire.

      In the seventeenth century, when roads were mere ditches often impassable, and country-houses frequently became entirely isolated in the winter, it was usual with the wealthier county families to move into their local capital, where some owned mansions and others hired prebendal houses, or went into lodgings in the roomy dwellings of the superior tradesmen.  For the elders this was the season of social intercourse, for the young people, of education.

      The two girls, who were about eight years old, had struck up a rapid friendship, and were walking hand in hand to the Close attended by the nurse in charge of Mistress Lucy.  This little lady wore a black silk hood and cape, trimmed with light brown fur, and lined with pink, while Anne Woodford, being still in mourning for her father, was wrapped in a black cloak, unrelieved except by the white border of her round cap, fringed by fair curls, contrasting with her brown eyes.  She was taller and had a more upright bearing of head and neck, with more promise of beauty than her companion, who was much more countrified and would not have been taken for the child of higher station.

      They had traversed the graveyard of the Cathedral, and were passing through a narrow archway known as the Slype, between the south-western angle of the Cathedral and a heavy mass of old masonry forming part of the garden wall of the present abode of the Archfield family, when suddenly both children stumbled and fell, while an elfish peal of laughter sounded behind them.

      Lucy came down uppermost, and was scarcely hurt, but Anne had fallen prone, striking her chin on the ground, so as to make her bite her lip, and bruising knees and elbows severely.  Nurse detected the cause of the fall so as to avoid it herself.  It was a cord fastened across the archway, close to the ground, and another shout of derision greeted the discovery; while Lucy, regaining her feet, beheld for a moment a weird exulting grimace on a visage peeping over a neighbouring headstone.

      “It is he! it is he!  The wicked imp!  There’s no peace for him!  I say,” she screamed, “see if you don’t get a sound flogging!” and she clenched her little fist as the provoking “Ho! ho! ho!” rang farther and farther off.  “Don’t cry, Anne dear; the Dean and Chapter shall take order with him, and he shall be soundly beaten.  Are you hurt?  O nurse, her mouth is all blood.”

      “I hope she has not broken a tooth,” said nurse, who had been attending to the sobbing child.  “Come in, my lamb, we will wash your face, and make you well.”

      Anne, blinded with tears, jarred, bruised, bleeding, and bewildered, submitted to be led by kind nurse the more willingly because she knew that her mother, together with all the quality, were at Sir Thomas Charnock’s.  They had dined at the fashionable hour of two, and were to stay till supper-time, the elders playing at Ombre, the juniors dancing.  As a rule the ordinary clergy did not associate with the county families, but Dr. Woodford was of good birth and a royal chaplain, and his deceased brother had been a favourite officer of the Duke of York, and had been so severely wounded by his side in the battle of Southwold as to be permanently disabled.  Indeed Anne Jacobina was godchild to the Duke and his first Duchess, whose favoured attendant her mother had been.  Thus Mrs. Woodford was in great request, and though she had not hitherto gone into company since her widowhood, she had yielded to Lady Charnock’s entreaty that she would come and show her how to deal with that strange new Chinese infusion, a costly packet of which had been brought to her from town by Sir Thomas, as the Queen’s favourite beverage, wherewith the ladies of the place were to be regaled and astonished.

      It had been already arranged that the two little girls should spend the evening together, and as they entered the garden before the house a rude voice exclaimed, “Holloa!  London Nan whimpering.  Has my fine lady met a spider or a cow?” and a big rough lad of twelve, in a college gown, spread out his arms, and danced up and down in the doorway to bar the entrance.

      “Don’t, Sedley,” said a sturdy but more gentlemanlike lad of the same age, thrusting him aside.  “Is she hurt?  What is it?”

      “That spiteful imp, Peregrine Oakshott,” said Lucy passionately.  “He had a cord across the Slype to trip us up.  I heard him laughing like a hobgoblin, and saw him too, grinning over a tombstone like the malicious elf he is.”

      The college boy uttered a horse laugh, which made Lucy cry, “Cousin Sedley, you are as bad!” but the other boy was saying, “Don’t cry, Anne None-so-pretty.  I’ll give it him well!  Though I’m younger, I’m bigger, and I’ll show him reason for not meddling with my little sweetheart.”

      “Have with you then!” shouted Sedley, ready for a fray on whatever pretext, and off they rushed, as nurse led little Anne up the broad shallow steps of the dark oak staircase, but Lucy stood laughing with exultation in the intended vengeance, as her brother took down her father’s hunting-whip.

      “He must be wellnigh a fiend to play such wicked pranks under the very Minster!” she said.

      “And a rascal of a Whig, and that’s worse,” added Charles; “but I’ll have it out of him!”

      “Take care, Charley; if you offend him, and he does really belong to those—those creatures”—Lucy lowered her voice—“who knows what they might do to you?”

      Charles laughed long and loud.  “I’ll take care of that,” he said, swinging out at the door.  “Elf or no elf, he shall learn what it is to play off his tricks on my sister and my little sweetheart.”

      Lucy СКАЧАТЬ