Chapter 39 - No Quarter! by Mayne Reid
A Princely Admirer
“Mein Gott, what a sweet fraülein! A pair of them! Wunderschön!”
It was Prince Rupert who so exclaimed, his eyes turned upon two young girls in a gaze of more than ordinary interest.
Ladies they were, as grace, garb, and other surroundings proclaimed them. On horseback, an elderly gentleman along with them, riding in front; and behind a small retinue of servants, male and female. They had just issued out of the gate as part of the stream of people hastening away from the city, and were coming on towards the spot occupied by the Royalist commander and his staff.
Still looking after the Forest troop, not yet out of sight, Reginald Trevor faced round on hearing the Prince’s exclamatory words. Chafed already by the sharp retort of his cousin, what he saw now gave him a fresh spasm of chagrin. Ambrose Powell and his daughters setting off on a journey, evidently for Gloucester, whither Eustace was going too!
Lunsford had also caught sight of them, showing almost as much excitement, with more surprise. Just out of Berkeley Castle, where he had been incarcerated ever since the affair of Edgehill, he had not heard of the Powell family being in Bristol. And now beholding the woman whose beauty had so impressed him while tax-collecting in the Forest of Dean, it gave him a start, succeeded by a feeling of vexation to see she was going away, again to be beyond his reach.
By this the travelling party had got opposite, and were passing on. Poorly mounted all, on horses very different from those they would have been riding around Ruardean. But the sorriness of their nags made no difference as regarded the looks of the ladies. Dignity as theirs was not dependent on extraneous trifles, and for their beauty the very contrast, with the excitement of the situation, but rendered it the more piquant and conspicuous.
The cheeks of both flushed burning red as they came opposite the group of officers. No wonder, with so many eyes bent in bold gaze upon them. They heard words, too, offensive to female ears.
“It’s a pity, Vag,” said Sabrina, in an undertone, “we didn’t think of putting on our masks.”
“Oh! I don’t care,” rejoined the younger sister, with a jaunty toss of the head. “They may look their owlish eyes out—it matters not to me.”
Just then her own eyes encountered another pair, which brought a change over her countenance—Reginald Trevor’s. He was gazing at her with an intensity of expression that ill bore out the indifference he pretended when parting with her at the Lalandes’ ball. A frown it was now, equally affected, as she knew. And just because of knowing this she did not return it; instead, gave him a look half-kind, half-pitying. If a little coquettish, she was not cruel; and she felt repentful, remembering how on that night she had misled him.
At the same time there was a crossing of eyes between her sister and another officer close by Sabrina saw the man who had so impudently ogled her at Hollymead, knowing him to be Colonel Lunsford. In a similar manner was he acting now, only to get from her a glance of contemptuous scorn, which would have rebuked any other than a brazen Cavalier.
He did quail under it a little, feeling in his heart that if he ever received favour from that lady it would have to be a forced one.
“Who are they?” interrogated the Prince, after they had passed, still following them with his eyes. “You appear to know them. Colonel?”
It was Lunsford to whom he addressed himself, observing the look of recognition with which the latter was regarding them.
“Those ladies? Is it they your Royal Highness deigns to inquire about?” And he pointed to the party which had so interested all.
“Ya! Or only one of them, if you like—she with the golden locks. I care not to know the other.”
Reginald Trevor had overheard this with a singular revulsion of feeling. Bitter as it was to him to see Vaga Powell depart, it would now have been worse, the thought of her remaining in Bristol. Angry he was with her, but not so spiteful nor wicked, as to wish her a fate like that. Well knew he what danger there was to any woman whose beauty tempted Rupert.
Diametrically opposite were the feelings of Lunsford as he listened to the Prince’s declared preference. He had feared it was for the elder sister, which would spoil his own chances should such ever come. Relieved, he made answer,—
“They are sisters, your Royal Highness; the daughters of the gentleman you see along with them.”
“Egad! a rich father in the way of womankind. I wouldn’t mind pilfering a part of his wealth. That bit of saucy sweetness, with cheeks all roses, ought to be pleasant company. I haven’t seen anything to equal her in all your England.”
“Then, your Royal Highness, why do you allow them to go?” said Lunsford, speaking in an undertone. “As you see, they’re setting off for Gloucester, and it may be some time before an opportunity—”
“Ah! true,” interrupted the Prince, reflectively.
“If your Highness deign to say the word, they’ll be brought back. It’s not yet too late.”
The suggestion was selfish as it was base. For he who made it but wished them detained on his own account.
For a moment Rupert seemed inclined to fall in with it; and might have done so, but for a reflection that got the better of him.
“Nein, Colonel!” he said at length. “We dare not.”
“What dares not your Royal Highness?”
“That you propose. You forget the terms of capitulation? To infringe them would cause scandal, and of that we Cavaliers have had accusation already—as much as we can well carry. Ha-ha-ha!”
The laugh told how little he cared for it, and how lightly it sat upon his conscience.
“Your Highness, I’m aware of all that,” persisted Lunsford. “But these are excepted people—that is, the father.”
“How so?”
“Because of his being one of the King’s worst and bitterest enemies. But that’s not all. He’s been a recusant—is still. I myself attempted to levy on him for a loan by Privy Seal—three thousand pounds—the King required. I not only failed to get the money, but came near being set upon, and possibly torn to pieces, by a mob of Dean Foresters—very wolves—his adherents and retainers. Surely all that should be sufficient justification for the detaining of him and his.”
Prompted by his vile passions again, the Royal Sybarite seemed inclined to act upon the diabolical counsel. But, although the war’s history already bristled with chronicles of crime, nothing quite so openly scandalous, as that would be, had yet appeared upon its pages. Many such there were afterwards, when this Prince and his gallants had more corrupted England’s people, and better accustomed them to look lightly on the breaches of all law and all decency.
At a later period Rupert would not have regarded them, as indeed he did not twelve months after in this same city of Bristol. Of his behaviour then thus wrote one of his attached servitors to the Marquis of Ormonde,—
“Prince Rupert is so much given to his ease and pleasure that every one is disheartened that sees it. The city of Bristol is but a great house of bawdry.”
Things were not so on that day succeeding its surrender, and public opinion had still some restraint upon him. Enough to deter him from the outrage he would otherwise willingly have perpetrated.
“Never mind, Colonel,” he at length said resignedly. “We must let the birds go, and live in hopes of seeing them again. You know their roosting place, I suppose?”
“I do, your Royal Highness.”
“So, well! When we’ve settled things with the sword, which we soon shall now, I may want you to pilot me thither. Meanwhile, laszt es gehen.”
At which the dialogue ended, unheard by all save Reginald Trevor. And he only overheard snatches of it; still enough to make him apprehensive about the fate of Vaga Powell. If he wanted her for himself it was not in the way Prince Rupert wanted her.