Poor Jenny escaped into the parlour, with a longing wish in her heart for the old farmhouse kitchen, where n.o.body thought of putting a lock upon her lips. She felt she was buying her dignities very dear.

What was she to do all this long Sunday afternoon? Being Sunday, of course she could not employ herself with needlework; and though she was fond of music, and was a fairly good performer on the virginals, she did not dare to make a noise.

She was not much of a reader, and if she had been, there were no books within her reach but the Bible and a cookery book, on the former of which, for private reading, Jenny looked as a mere precursor of the undertaker.

Sunday afternoon and evening, at the farmhouse, were the chief times of the week for enjoyment. There were sure to be visitors, plenty of talk and music, and afterwards a dance: for only the Puritans regarded the Sabbath as anything but a day for amus.e.m.e.nt, after morning service was over. Farmer Lavender, though a sensible and respectable man in his way, was not a Puritan; and though his mother did not much like Sunday dancing, she had not set her face so determinately against it as to forbid it to the girls.

The long use of _The Book of Sports_, set forth by authority, and positively compelling such ways of spending the Sabbath evening, had blunted the perception of many well-meaning people. The idea was that people must amuse themselves, or they would spend their leisure time in plotting treason! and the rulers having been what we should call Ritualists, they considered that the holiness of the day ended when Divine service was over, and people were thenceforward ent.i.tled to do anything they liked. Yet there in the Bible was the Lord's command to "turn away from doing their pleasure on His holy day."

CHAPTER THREE.

THE GOLD THAT GLITTERS.

Jenny, crushed by Millicent, crept into a corner of the parlour, from which she amused herself in the only way she could find--watching the family and their guest, Lord Wilmot. They sat in the bay window, conversing in low tones, a few words now and then reaching Jenny in her corner, but only just enough to give her an idea that they were speaking of the young fugitive King, and of the sore straits to which he might be reduced. His stay at Boscobel House, and his subsequent adventure in the oak, so well known in future years, were discussed at length, for it was only a few days since they had happened.

"What a mercy the leaves were on the trees!" said Mrs Lane.

"Ay, in very deed," replied the Colonel. "Had the boughs been bare, His Majesty had been taken without fail."

"I saw him two days gone," added Lord Wilmot, "and a sorry sight he was: his dress a leather doublet, with pewter b.u.t.tons; a pair of old green breeches and a coat of the same; his own stockings, the embroidered tops cut off; a pair of old shoes, too small for him, cut and slashed to give ease to his feet; an old, grey, greasy hat, without lining, and a noggen shirt of the coa.r.s.est linen."

The word _noggen_ originally meant made of hemp, and had come to signify any texture which was thick, rough, and clumsy.

"Poor young gentleman!" exclaimed Mrs Lane.

"What a condition for the King of England!" said the Colonel, indignantly.

"Ay, truly," answered Lord Wilmot. "The disgrace is England's, not his own."

Mr Lane was one of the party this evening. He was an elderly man, and an invalid, mostly keeping to his own quiet room. Mrs Lane, who was younger, and much more active, managed the house and estate with the help of her son; and the Colonel having for some years been practically the master, was generally spoken of as such among the tenants. The old man now rose, and said that he would go back to his own chamber. The Colonel gave his arm to his father to help him upstairs; and Mrs Jane, turning from the window, caught sight of Jenny's tired, dull look.

"Come, we have had enough of talk!" said she. "Sweep the rushes aside, and let us end the evening with a dance."

"You were best to dance after supper," responded her mother, glancing at the clock. "There is but a half-hour now."

Mrs Jane a.s.sented to this, and going to the virginals, called Jenny to come and sing. The half-hour pa.s.sed rapidly, until the server, or waiter, came to say that supper was served in the hall, and the party sat down.

As Jenny took her place, she saw Robin Featherstone making room at the lower table for a stranger--a young man, aged about two or three and twenty, dressed in a tidy suit of grey cloth, and apparently a new servant. His complexion was unusually dark, and his hair jet black. He was not handsome, and as Jenny did not admire dark complexions, she mentally set him down as an uninteresting person--probably Lord Wilmot's man.

The good-natured steward, on her right hand, noticed Jenny's look at the new comer.

"That is Mrs Jane's new man," said he kindly; "he goeth with you into Somerset. My Lord Wilmot hath spoken for him to the Colonel, and commends him highly, for a young man of exceeding good character."

Young men of good character were not attractive people to Jenny; a young man with good looks would have had much more chance of her regard.

"His name is William Jackson," added the steward.

Jenny was rather sorry to hear that this uninteresting youth would have to go with them to Bristol; the rather, because it destroyed the last vestige of a faint hope she had entertained, that Robin Featherstone might be chosen for that purpose.

The worst of all her grievances was, that she seemed completely cut off from his delightful society. She had really seen far more of him at the farm than she did now, when she was living in the same house. And then to have all her rose-coloured visions for the future destroyed--Jenny felt herself a badly used young woman.

Supper ended, the dance followed according to Mrs Jane's decree, led off by herself and Lord Wilmot; and Jenny, to her great satisfaction, found herself the partner of the enchanting Robin.

"Mrs Jenny, I have not had so much as a word with you since yestereven!" said that gentleman reproachfully.

"No, in very deed," a.s.sented Jenny; "and I hear you go not into Somerset, Mr Featherstone."

"No such luck!" lamented the valet. "I'm to be mewed up here. That black crow yonder will rob me of all your sweet smiles, my charmer."

"Indeed he won't!" said Jenny. "I don't like the look of him, I can tell you."

At that moment the new servant, and his partner, the dairy-maid, whisked round close beside them, and Jenny saw, from the amused twinkle in his dark eyes, that Jackson had overheard her disparaging remark.

"He looks as if he hadn't washed himself this week," observed Mr Featherstone, whose complexion was fair.

"He's an ill-looking fellow," replied Jenny.

"Do you hear what they say of you?" asked Fortune, the dairy-maid, of her partner.

"I hear 'em," was Will Jackson's reply.

"Won't you knock him down?"

"I think not. Wouldn't be convenient to the Colonel."

"I doubt you're chicken-hearted," replied she.

"Think so?" said Will Jackson, quite calmly.

"Well, you're a queer fellow!" said Fortune.

"Hold you there!" was the reply; "I shall be queerer anon."

The Monday was a very busy day, for Mrs Jane proposed to set forth with the lark on the Tuesday morning. She had obtained a pa.s.s from the Parliament for herself and friends, and four others were to accompany her; her cousin Mr Lascelles, and his wife, and a neighbouring lady and gentleman named Petre. Jenny was very busy all day packing trunks and bags under the instructions of her young mistress. In the afternoon, as they were thus employed, Mrs Lane came rather hastily into the room.

"Jane, child," she said to her daughter, "I am really concerned that you should have no better attendance in your journey than that fellow Jackson. I do indeed think we must send him back, and get you a more suitable man."

Mrs Jane was on her knees, packing a little leather trunk. She looked up for a moment, and then resumed her work, giving all her attention to a troublesome box, which would not fit into the s.p.a.ce that she had left for it.

"Is he unsuitable, madam? I pray you, how so?"

"Child, the man doth not know his business. He is now in the yard, looking to your saddle and harness; and he doth not know how to take the collar off the horse. d.i.c.k bade him lift the collar off Bay Winchester, and he was for taking it off without turning it. And really, some of his--"

The sentence was never finished.

"O, Madam! O, Mrs Jane!" cried Millicent, coming in with uplifted hands. "That horrid creature. I'm certain sure he's a Roundhead!

Robin has heard him speak such dreadful words! Do, I beseech you, madam, tell the Colonel that he is cherishing a crocodile in his bosom.