The Lion's Whelp

"I would get quit of it."

"It is too beautiful. And when the poor King is dead! Oh, dear me! I could not bear to part with it. Do you wonder now that the news of Dunbar made me so cross and sad, and that I was distraught – past myself – after Worcester? All was lost that fatal night."

"I do not wonder, but – "

"Say you are sorry, plain out, Jane. I am past disguise with you, now, and must ask your pity. Think of my father and mother dead of grief, and of my three brothers, – two slain in battle, one wandering, I know not where. Remember that with my father's death, died all hope of the loaned money and the dukedom to the family, and all my own hopes regarding my lover. For without money and rank, I would be no bride for Prince Rupert; a milkmaid were as fit. And when father had been three days in his grave, and I lay at point of death, Anthony Lynn came with his Parliamentary title to our house and lands. I was at his mercy, at his charity, Jane."

"Well, and if so, many favours he and his have received from your family. All he is worth he owes to your father."

"He was kind and respectful; I am very sensible of that. It is a strange thing to count past benefits, Jane; 'tis like remembering eaten bread. If Anthony thought of my father's help, 'tis more than can be believed. But for my jewels, I am a very pauper – a dependent on Sir Thomas Jevery."

"He was your father's friend and partner in business – he is the husband of your aunt."

"'Tis confest; but for all that, I am here by his charity."

"Your aunt?"

"My aunt lives in the atmosphere of Sir Thomas' whims and wishes. What she will think, what she will do, depends upon what he thinks and what he does."

"'Tis commonly said that he is devoted to her."

"He loves her after the ordinary rate of husbands, I'll warrant." Then, speaking with her old peremptoriness, she said suddenly, "But for God's sake let me ask when you heard anything of Prince Rupert? Oh, Jane, I am sick with heart-hunger for some small intelligence of his doings or his whereabouts."

"He has filled the news-letters and papers lately."

"But I am not suffered to see them. 'Tis pretended they will make me ill; and Sir Thomas vowed when the doctor gave the order, that he was glad on it, and that he had long wanted an excuse to keep the pernicious sheets outside of his house. So, then, I hear nothing, and if I did hear, twenty to one I would be the better of it."

"I think you would, Matilda. What is harder to bear than trouble that is not sure? Still, to be the messenger of ill news is an ungrateful office."

"Any news will be grateful; be so much my friend, dear Jane, as to tell me all you have heard."

"You know that he was made Admiral of the Royalist Navy; but, indeed, he is said to be nothing else but a pirate, robbing all ships that he may support the Stuart family at The Hague. No sail could leave British waters without being attacked by him, until Blake drove him to the African coast and the West Indies."

"He is the bread-finder of the King as well as his defender. So much I knew, and 'tis well done in him."

"The latest news is the drowning of Prince Maurice."

"That is the worst of news. Rupert loved this brother of his so tenderly. They were not happy apart. Poor Rupert! His last letter said, 'he was kept waking with constant troubles'; this will be a crowning misfortune. Sir Hugh Belward told me that his disasters have followed one on the heels of the other; that he had no port, and that poverty, despair and revenge alone guided his course."

"Sir Hugh Belward! Was he not the companion of your brother Stephen —that night?"

"Yes. He is now at The Hague with the King, and he has been over on secret affairs. I saw him at de Wick the day before I left. He was so shocked at my appearance that he burst out weeping, and knelt down and kissed my hands. Aunt begged him to leave my presence, for indeed I was like to faint away."

"Then you must have heard all about the doings of Prince Rupert?"

"I had not heard of the drowning of Prince Maurice. That affliction will bring Rupert to shore, and then what will the King do for money?"

"He is said now to be in great need of it, though Prince Rupert sent home a rich prize this past summer; and 'tis further said he resigned his own share of it to his cousin, Charles Stuart."

"'Twould be most like him."

"Some English sailors taken on a prize were put on one of the Royalist ships, and they overpowered her officers, and brought the ship to London a few days ago. I like not to tell you what they said of Prince Rupert to the Parliament."

"It will not vex me, Jane. Evil is said of people so universally that no one is hurt by it."

"They declared, then, that the delight of Prince Rupert and his crews was in swearing and plundering, and in sinking all English ships they could lay their talons on; but also, they added to this account, that there was a chaplain on the Admiral's ship, and that they rode still on Sundays, and did the duties of the day in the best manner they could – the same at evening. Many believed not this report, and many made a mock at, what they conclude, is a travesty of true worship."

"Indeed, Jane, the Puritans have not all the religion in the world, though they think so. However, if Prince Maurice be dead, I am sure that Rupert will not keep the high seas wanting him. Thank you for this intelligence, Jane. 'Twill be some comfort to hear that Rupert is on dry land again."

This conversation had many asides and deviations, and the night was far spent when Matilda was willing to sleep. And in the morning, while they eat breakfast together, the subject was renewed; for sorrow is selfish, and Matilda forgot that she had never even asked after the welfare of Jane's family. As they talked, Lady Jevery joined them. She bid Delia bring her some capon and white wine, and then thanked Jane for her visit, adding —

"I have brought you the key to my private entrance. It will admit you to Matilda's apartments when you wish, without the delays of a formal reception; and 'twill be the greatest token of kindness if you come often."

She spoke gently, and was soft and moth-like in all her movements, but her affection for her niece was unmistakable. While she talked, Jane's eyes wandered over the richly furnished room, noting its draperies of rose velvet, beautifully painted, its carved bedstead and quilted satin coverlet, its dressing-table with little gilded Venetian ewers for perfumes, and India boxes for powders – and also the fine breakfast service of French china before her. Lady Jevery's "charity" to her niece was certainly magnificent, and Jane felt no anxiety concerning her friend's material comforts.

She returned to her home soon after breakfast, and her mother met her with a smiling face. "I was going to send the coach for you," she said, "for there is to be company to-night;" and then she looked at Jane so intelligently that the girl understood at once what was meant.

"Is it Cluny?" she asked, blushing brightly.

"Yes. He has asked for an interview with your father, and I suppose that it is granted, for I was told of the matter."

"Mother, dear, you will speak in our favour?"

"If needs be, Jane. But I am of this opinion – some one has spoken already."

"Do you mean the Lord General?"

"I wouldn't wonder if he has said the two or three words that would move your father more than any woman's talk or tears. Keep your bravery, Jane; father likes women that stand up for themselves. When we were first married, I tried crying for my way, and I never got it. It is a deal better with men like your father and brothers to stand up for your rights. They know what that means, but they think a crying woman is trying to get the better of them."

Jane understood this advice, and she was not a girl inclined to cry for her way or her wish, yet she was glad to be thus early warned of the stand she might have to take. After all, it was one so loving and simple, so well defined in her own mind, and so positively accepted, that there was little need for preparation.

"I have made a resolve to marry Cluny, if Cluny be of the same mind," she said to herself, "and I have made a resolve to marry no one else, whether Cluny be of the same mind or not. I will let no one impose a husband on me. This thing I will stand boldly for; it has the witness of my heart, and love is too great to need lying or deceit."

It was evening when Cluny came, and he was taken at once to the room in which General Swaffham was smoking his good-night pipe. He looked steadily at the young man as he entered, but the look was one of inquiry and observation rather than of displeasure.

"Good-evening, sir," he answered to Cluny's greeting. "Sit down. You have requested speech with me; talk straight out then."

"I am here, General, to ask for your daughter's hand. I love her."

"Come, come, Lord Neville! Do you expect to drive the wedge head foremost? Ere you ask so great a gift, give me some good reasons for expecting it."

"We love each other, sir."

"So! but you must forethink, and straightforward is the best course. You cannot live on love – you two. No, sir!"

"I have my sword and the Lord General's favour. And my mother left me an estate in Fifeshire. 'Tis no great matter, but it is between me and the wolf's mouth."

"Very good for a young man; for a married man, very poor. If you were wanting to know how in God's name you were to provide for your household and pay your debts, would it do to ask your sword, or to send to Fifeshire – or to the stars – for the gold? That is a father's question, sir."

"It is a lover's also. I have enough for our necessities, and somewhat for our comfort, – and we are both willing to take love as security for our contentment." And though the words were such ordinary ones, the young man's heart throbbed in them, and the father felt it.

"Well, well," he answered, "yet I could wish you were altogether an Englishman."

"My mother was of a noble Scotch family, the Cupars of Fife. I would not willingly lose anything she gave me, sir."

"Lord Neville, I have seen the Scots in the late unhappy war, enough of them, and more than enough – greedy creatures, never losing sight of the spoil. I saw a good deal of the country also – beggary, nakedness, hunger, ever-lasting spite, envy and quarreling. But in every land God has His elect and reserve, and I doubt not that Lady Neville was among them."

"She was the purest-hearted of women. A word against her goes to my heart like a sword."

"Nay, nay, I meant no unkindness in particular; I spoke of generalities. You are not a Scot, but I hear that you are a Presbyterian. If you marry my daughter, I wish you to become an Independent."

"'Twould be an impossible thing, sir. I sucked Presbyterianism in my mother's milk. Even in heaven, it would grieve her to know I had become an apostate."

"An apostate! The veriest nonsense. There is not an ounce of difference between a Presbyterian and an Independent – but the ounce is the salt and the savour. You will become an Independent. The Lord General is an Independent."

"He never asked me to become one."

"You never asked him for his daughter, his youngest child, his darling."

"Forgive me, sir; Mistress Swaffham has no objection to my faith."

"Because, if men have not every good quality, some woman invents all they lack for them. Mistress Swaffham assures herself she can change your creed."

"I hope that she judges me of better mould. I can no more change a letter in my creed than a feature in my face."

"That is John Knoxism! It won't do, Lord Neville. If I was asking you to become a Fifth Monarchy Man, or one of those unbaptised, buttonless hypocrites, who call themselves Quakers, you might talk about the letters of your creed. Pooh! Pooh!"

"Sir, not for any woman born, will a man, worth the name of a man, give up his creed or his country. Mistress Swaffham would not ask this thing of me. She takes me as I am. I love her with all my soul. To the end of our life days, I will love and cherish her. Whether you credit me thus far, or not, I can say no more. I am a suppliant for your grace, and I know well that I have nothing worthy to offer in return for the great favour I ask from you."

Dauntless, but not overbold, the fine, expressive face of the suppliant was very persuasive. General Swaffham looked at him silently for a few moments and then said, "I will not be unkind to either you or my daughter; but there must be no leap in the dark, or in a hurry. Take five years to learn how to live together fifty years. At the end of five years, if you are both of a mind, I will do all I can for your welfare."

"Your goodness is very great, sir; make it more so by bringing it nearer to us. Five years is a long time out of life."

"That is what youth thinks. Five years' service for fifty years of happiness. You gave your teachers far more time to prepare you for life. Now go to school five years, for love. I waited six years for my wife, Jacob waited fourteen for Rachel."

"Sir, we live not by centuries, as Jacob did – if it would please you to say two years."

"I have said five, and verily it shall be five; unless these strange times bring us some greater stress or hurry than is now evident. Cannot you wait and serve for five years? If not, your love is but a summer fruit, and Jane Swaffham is worthy of something better."

"Sir, I entreat. I am no coward, but I cannot bear to think of five years."

"I have said my say. There is nothing to add or to take from it – save, to remind you, Lord Neville, that there is more heroism in self-denial than in battle."

Then Cluny perceived that entreaty would only weaken his cause, and he advanced and offered his hand, saying, "I am much in your debt, sir. 'Tis more than I deserve, but Love must always beg more than his desert." And General Swaffham stood up and held the slim brown hand a moment. He was moved beyond his own knowledge, for his voice trembled perceptibly as he answered —

"You have time and opportunity to win your way to my heart, then I will give you a son's place. Go and ask Jane; she will tell you I have done kindly and wisely." And Cluny bowed and went silently to seek his betrothed.

There was a sense of disappointment in his heart. Perhaps also an unavoidable feeling of offense. The Lord General had looked into his face and trusted him; yea, about great affairs, public and private. He had asked no five years' trial of his honour and honesty; and such thought gave an air of dissatisfaction and haughtiness to the young man that struck Jane unhappily as he entered the room in which she was sitting.

"Your father says we are to wait five years, sweet Jane; and 'tis a hard condition. I know not how I am to endure it."

And Jane smiled and began to talk over with her lover the hard condition, and somehow it became an easy and reasonable one. They soon saw it through Love and Hope and Wisdom, and so at the beginning of their probation, they rejoiced in the end of it. Cluny was hopeful of getting some military appointment in Edinburgh, and then the estate that was "no great matter" would be a home, at no inconvenient distance. And he described the old place with its ivy-covered walls and ancient rooms, and its garden, dark with foliage, until Jane knew all its beauties and possibilities. They were so happy and so full of happy plans, that they were laughing cheerfully together when the General came in with his wife and household for evening prayers. And it touched and pleased Cluny that he was mentioned by name in the family petition, and so, as it were, taken publicly and affectionately into it. He felt this all the more when the servants, in leaving the room, included him in their respectful obeisance to their master and mistress. It restored to him the sense of home, and he carried that strength and joy with him to his duty, and day by day grew to more perfect manhood in it.

Life soon settled itself to the new conditions of the Swaffhams. The General, in spite of his wife's and daughter's disapproval, bought the Sandys House near Russel Square, and some of the most precious heirlooms of old Swaffham were brought up to London to adorn it, For it was now certain that the Lord General would not agree to part with his faithful friend and ally; and, indeed, Swaffham's influence in the army could not well be spared, for it was evident enough that there was such ill-will between the army and the Parliament as might easily become a very dangerous national condition.

"So we may be here the rest of our lives, Jane, and we may as well get our comforts round us," said Mrs. Swaffham, and there was a tone of fret in her voice she did not try to hide. "William won't marry as a good man should at his age," she continued, "and Tonbert thinks himself too young to wive; and Cymlin is for Lady Matilda de Wick or no other woman, and so the dear old place will run to waste and mischief. And there are the fine milch cows – and the turkeys. Who will attend to them when I am not there to see they get attention? Nobody."

"Will and Tonbert know how to manage, mother."

"Yes, if it comes to meadow and corn land, or horses, or dogs. I am thinking of the house and the dairy and the poultry yard. Men don't bother themselves about such things; and my boys won't marry, and my girls won't let marrying alone. I am sure I don't know what to make of it all."

In spite of her complaining, however, she was well content in London. Social by nature, fond of the stir and news of life, enjoying even the shadow of her old friends' power and splendour, and taking the greatest interest in all public events of the time, she was pleased rather than otherwise at the Lord General's determination to keep her husband near him.

Neither was Jane at all averse to London. Cluny was in London, and Matilda was there, and most of the girls whom she had known all her life long. And it was not difficult to adapt herself to the new home, with its long galleries and large rooms full of beautiful paintings and handsome furniture. The little figure in its sober-tinted raiment took on a prouder poise, richer clothing seemed necessary and fitting; and insensibly, but continually, the fashion of the Swaffhams' life shook off its rusticity and became after the manner of the great Puritan town in which their lot had been cast.

And if Jane accepted willingly this change in life, Matilda took her phase of it still more enthusiastically. She was not long in discovering that it was in her power to be virtual mistress of the Jevery mansion. Her youth, her beauty and her many sorrows inclined Sir Thomas Jevery's heart to sympathy, and this prepossession grew rapidly to devoted affection. What the Lady Matilda de Wick desired became a law in Jevery House, and Matilda's desires were not remarkable for their moderation. She had her own apartments, her own servants, and her own company at her own hours, and Sir Thomas settled on her an income which he pretended had been an agreement between Earl de Wick and himself – a statement Matilda neither inquired about nor disputed.

No stipulations were made concerning her friends, and indeed Sir Thomas was not averse to a distinct royalist party in his house, if it was reasonably prudent. He himself entertained all parties, affecting to be inclined to men through higher motives than political prejudices. "Izaak Walton and John Milton, Mr. Evelyn and Sir Harry Vane, are all equally welcome at my table," he would say; "we have a common ground to meet on, which is beyond the reach of politics."

So Matilda quickly outgrew those griefs for which there was no remedy; she regained her health and much of her radiant beauty, and she spent many hours every day in adorning herself. For the first time in her life she had money enough to indulge this passion, and Sir Thomas declared she was in the right to do so. "A lovely woman in a shabby gown," he said, "is a sin against nature; she is like a queen without her crown and robes."

With such encouragement to fine attire, Matilda was not sparing in her orders for silks and brocades, furs and laces, and India goods of all descriptions. She had inherited her mother's jewels, and she was considering one morning a string of Orient pearls, wondering if they could be worn with her new damasse gown, when Jane entered her dressing-room.

"Jane Swaffham," she cried with delight, "I'll swear I was just wishing for you. But what is the matter? Are you for a funeral? Or – is there another plot against Cromwell's life discovered? If so, I am not in it. I do believe there are tears in your eyes."

"Indeed, all England weeps to-day. Have you not heard that General Ireton is dead?"

"A just retribution. Indeed, I will rejoice at it. More than any one else, more than Cromwell himself, he drove his late Majesty to the scaffold. He had no pity for the poor Queen, he was glad to make her a widow. I have no pity for the widow of Ireton. Let her drink of the cup her husband filled for a better woman. Let her drink it to the dregs."

"She lacks not any sympathy that can comfort so great a loss; a loss public, as well as personal, for my father says Ireton was nearer to Cromwell than any other man – the wisest, bravest soldier, the truest patriot – "

"Jane, do be more sparing of your praises, or you will have none left for your prime idol."

"I must tell you that I have new praises for Cromwell. I have seen him this morning in a strange light – holding his weeping daughter to his heart; weeping with her, praying with her; 'tis said, 'like as a father pitieth his children,' but indeed Cromwell was more like a mother. When I entered the room Mrs. Cromwell told Mrs. Ireton I was present, and she cried out, 'Oh, Jane, he is dead! He is dead!' and then Cromwell with streaming eyes answered her in a tone of triumph – 'Nay, but he has PREVAILED, Bridget. He has prevailed against the kingdom of death! Be comforted, dear child.' I cannot tell you how good it was to be there – in the house of mourning."

"I never found it good, and I was there for years. But with such a brother as Stephen, I may be there again, and that soon enough. Stephen keeps me on cracking ice night and day."

"But he is in safety now, Matilda?"

"He is never safe – and partly your fault, Jane."

"I will not credit that, and 'tis a piece of great unkindness to make me accountable."

"He is always pining to see you, and always fearing that some one is your servant in his absence; and so he is willing to take all risks if he may but come to England." Then looking steadily at Jane, she added, "He is here now. Will you see him?"

"I will not," answered Jane positively. "I will not come to question about him if he is discovered. Do not ask me to put myself in such a strait, Matilda. It is far better I should be able to say, 'I have not seen him.'"

"You are a very proper, prudent young woman. I think you must have set your heart on that young sprig of a Puritan noble I saw at Swaffham. What was his name?"

"I am sure you have not forgotten it, but if so, it is little worth my repeating."

"As you like it. I have heard this and that of him from Mr. Hartlib who is a friend of that quarrelsome John Milton. Mr. Hartlib comes here frequent. He is full of inventions; only last night he brought Uncle Jevery one for taking a dozen copies of any writing at once, and this by means of moist paper and an ink he has made. I heard of Lord Cluny Neville, and of a hymn he has written which Mr. Milton has set to music. He talked as if it was fit for the heavenly choir. Something also was said about his marrying Mary Cromwell. Fancy these things! Marvels never cease."

"The Lady Mary Cromwell may look much higher," answered Jane. "Lord Neville told us that his sword was his fortune."

"The Lady Mary may see, if she looks at home, that a sword is a very good fortune. In these unholy wars, the faithful saints have given themselves the earth – that is the English earth – not to speak of Scotland and Ireland, and such trifles. Look at it, Jane, if you have any fancies the Neville way."

"If I had, the Lady Mary would not trouble me. I have seen them together: and indeed I know that she has other dreams."

"Perhaps she dreams of marrying the King, though he is a wicked malignant. 'Tis said she is the proudest minx of them all."

"She would not say 'tush!' to a queen."

"The great Oliver may lay his ten commandments on her."