Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (260 page)

“Let him lie there and be d-d!” muttered Thornton. “I care naught about him, and t’ Duke deserves what he’s like to get. He sudn’t vex folk so. What need had he to go three or four-hundred mile to see an ow’d worn out rake? Edward’s raight enow abâat that. He’s allus brewing bitter drink for hisseln, and now he mun sup it for aught I know. I wish he’d his raight wit. Where’s Hartford?”

“Just returned to the Hall from Gazemba. But he’ll be of no use. He’ll go to bed too.”

“I niver knew sich bother,” continued the worthy General. “I hate t’ thoughts o’ folk being ridden down wi’ troopers. It’s not natural like. But if they mess wi’ them they sudn’t do, I care n’t if t’ cannon be pointed at ‘em. Hasaiver ya mun flay ‘em first Castlereagh — flay ‘em first and let’s hear what he says hisseln when he comes. Happen if he once gets among ’em they’ll think better on’t.”

“I hope they will,” echoed Julia, wringing her hands. “I hope they will. Do you think, Thornton, they’ll try to do him harm?”

“Who cares?” answered Sir William gruffly.

“I am sure you do,” said she, “for all you’re so cross about it.”

“Julia, be quiet!” returned he.

Julia was quiet; and Miss Moore looked at her from under the dark shadow of her eyelashes with an expression almost of scorn — a momentary expression which vanished instantly.

“The Duke will pass Girnington gates on his way to the city,” she observed in an indifferent tone.

“Yes,” said Castlereagh. “But you will hardly distinguish the carriage if you watch for it. It is quite a plain one, like any private gentleman’s with six horses and three postillions.”

“Perhaps one might distinguish the Duke himself,” she replied, regarding Castlereagh with the same side-glance out of the corner of her eye.

“Jane, talk sense!” said Thornton testily, and she raised her head and fixed on him a look kindling with sudden astonishment and anger. But she did not speak, and by biting in her under-lip seemed to control the emotion which was darkening her face with crimson. Thornton now asked Lord Stuartville to step with him into his study, and the party broke up.

CHAPTER 7

Charles Townshend watches Zamorna’s return to Zamorna City

All business seemed suspended on the morning of the 26th of June. A spirit of excitement pervaded the population of Zamorna, as though at the time of a general election. Few ladies were to be seen in the streets, but groups of gentlemen or mechanics loitered by every lamp-post. Most of the mills were idle, for the men would not come to their work. At ten o’clock the court-house doors were thrown open, and, contrary to Lord Stuartville’s prediction, Lord Hartford’s carriage was the first that drew up at the steps below. Special constables began to appear, leaving the magistrate’s room and crossing the street to Stancliffe’s. As noon approached, the crowd thickened. A dense mass began to form in front of the hotel.

It was now that from a window in the second story I saw the whole. It was a fine day — the sun burning high, the sky of its deepest summer azure — but nobody seemed to feel the scorching heat. Harried expectation appeared in every face. This would have been a capital position for a stranger, for the greatest men of the province crossed the street at every instant. General Thornton, I saw, had arrived, for he was standing on the inner steps, and pointing out to Mr Walker, a principal mill owner, a heavy red flag which hung stirless from a tall banner-staff held by two grimy operatives just opposite. As the flag occasionally deployed its sullen folds, rather to the swaying of its pole than to any breeze felt in the sultry air, it revealed these words: ‘Angria scorns Traitors — Northangerland to the block’; on the reverse: ‘No Percy influence’. Lord Stuartville walked up, and I heard him say distinctly, “We’ll not put down that banner! It has a good motto.” Indeed, it was evident that the nobility and gentry of the town were by no means at war with the lower orders. On the contrary, they were pleased with this demonstration of feeling against the arch-enemy, whose stinging insults were fresh in the memory and keen in the hearts of each. They only wished to keep this feeling within bounds to prevent any unseemly and impolitic ebullition.

Well, time passed on. The tumult swelled and the crowd thickened. The whole air seemed hoarse with sound. Impatient expectation was at its height. People looked up to the town-clock, which shewed, in vivid sunlight, its hand on the stroke of twelve: another second, and every ear heard the deep, strong stroke of iron reverberate on the air. From Trinity Church and the minster it pealed more musically. Their chime was hardly hushed, when a few flags on the farthest outskirts of the crowd were seen to wave agitatedly. They crowded forward, and then were hurried back. A wild, deepening sound arose. One felt a sensation of panic, as it rushed on through the swaying, agitated ranks, gathering strength in its rapid approach. At last, close under the Hotel windows, “He is coming - he is coming!” was shouted from a hundred voices. Within the house the announcement rose, and footsteps stamped up the staircase. My chamber door burst open, and twenty persons were at my back, pressing one behind another to get a glimpse from the window; I saw, as I leaned far out, every sash along the wide front similarly occupied.

The magistrates were all now out on the court-house steps. I looked for Edward Percy, but doubtless he was in bed; at any rate he was not there. Meantime, a dark furrow opened in the crowded distance — I know not how, for the street had seemed too densely packed to admit another man. Slowly wading through, I perceived the heads of horses and the mounted figures of postillions. At this moment, the groan began — the scornful, abhorrent, malignant groan of the populace. It filled one with dread — the sound grew so loud and furious, the people thronged and swayed with such frantic motion, while above them the two gigantic standard bearers wildly waved their vast and gory ensign. All, meantime, stretched to gaze at the approaching carriage. It delved its way through the solid mass with difficulty, but still on it came. The horses tossed their heads high as they backed to the hard curb of the postillions. They were now near. My strained eyes viewed the whole distinctly. The carriage was open and large: it contained three figures. There was a deep interest in watching these three, and trying to discover how their present situation affected them.

One, in a white hat and blue frogged dress coat, was bending forwards and directing the postillions earnestly. He seemed anxious, I thought, for the carriage to be drawn up close by the court-house; he looked towards the gentlemen there, and glances of intelligence seemed to pass between them and him. These — I mean the magistrates — had all uncovered. Lord Stuartville appeared in front; his curls were shining in the sun; he held his hat in one hand and with the other was motioning to the people to part their ranks. General Thornton, likewise hat in hand, was hastily giving orders to a man whom I knew to be his own attendant; I saw him point to the barracks. As to Lord Hartford, he stood back silent and upright: his deep eye wandered over the people and fixed fiercely on the carriage. Lord Richton (of course the owner of the blue frogged coat and white hat could be no other) is said not to have the nerves of a lion, yet he can exhibit much self-possession in cases of considerable apparent danger. I was amused by watching the calmness of his face, divested either of smile or frown and expressing in its light eyes, always quick in their motions, a sort of concern wholly unmixed with either fear or anger. He seemed to take upon himself the office of dictator and manager, and very busy he appeared, now telegraphing with the group on the court-house steps, and now checking or urging the postillions as prudence seemed to demand. The other male occupant of the carriage was very still. He leaned back in what seemed a very careless posture; a hat with a broad brim and slouched much forwards shaded his face; he said nothing; he looked at nobody. The only token of life I saw him give was taking a gold snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket, tapping it thrice, extracting a pinch of snuff with his finger and thumb, then replacing the box and buttoning his coat well over it.

A more interesting object was presented by the third figure of this group — a lady, and, of course, the Duchess of Zamorna. She was dressed with that sort of stylish simplicity peculiar to herself — a light summer pelisse, gracefully fitted to her figure; a pretty simple bonnet, tyed with a broad ribbon; no veil, no flower, no plume. Her very hair was smoothed out of its native luxuriance of curl, and plainly parted on her forehead: this mode, which suits so few, suited her. It seemed to impart additional serenity to her forehead, additional straightness and delicacy to her nose; it relieved by more striking contrast her fair, transparent complexion, and gave her eyes a touch of something saintly. I cannot tell whether she was afraid, or grieved or mortified; your great people will not reveal their emotions to the eyes of common men; however, she was wholly colourless except a faint tinge in the lips.

“No Percy influence!” shouted and howled the frantic mob. “Down with Northangerland — roll his bloody head in the dirt!” and they shook the insulting banner high over his daughter, involving her figure for a moment in the sullen fiery shade reflected from its folds. Meantime, the person in the broad brim sat like any wet Quaker whom the spirit had not yet moved. His carriage, however, having by dint of Richton’s skilful pilotage at length reached the court-house, now cast anchor at the steps, the cessation of motion seemed to remind him that he was in rather a peculiar situation. He gave a look straight before him, then to the right hand, the left, and finally over his shoulder. After a moment’s meditation he lifted his forefinger and beckoned to the Earl of Stuartville. I was surprised to see him do anything half so intelligent. A conference of three minutes ensued, in which Stuartville’s part seemed to consist in answering a string of running questions delivered as fast as the lips of the inquirer could move. Broad-brim then drew himself up, lifted his beaver a little, rose all at once to his feet in the carriage, and in so doing uncovered his head. A breeze passing through his hair waved it from temples and brow. He stood confessed.

A sudden movement, unexpected, generally checks affairs, for a moment at least, in whatever channel they may chance to be running. On the present occasion, this rising of the Duke of Zamorna lulled the yell which had given him such hoarse welcome to his kingdom. The hush first dropped on those immediately round him; others caught the feeling that there was something to be seen, something to be heard, and they too were silent. The calm spread, and ere long nothing was to be heard but the dull ocean-murmur of a mighty and expectant multitude. He, meantime, remained erect, the breast of his coat open, one hand resting on his side. The other at first held his hat, till Richton relieved him of it without his apparently being conscious it was gone. He seemed to wait and watch till the living vortex round him sunk into tranquillity. Comparative silence stole over it: every eye sought his. So mute was the pause of expectation, one’s heart quaked at the thought of its being broken.

“I wish,” said the Duke of Zamorna, “I wish, lads, you’d all something to do at home.”

His voice was familiar, and so were his features. The people seemed disposed to hear more, and, after pushing his long fingers through his hair, he spoke again.

“Is there a man among you wise enough to render a reason for the bonny display you’re making just now?”

(”Yes! Yes!” exclaimed several voices.)

“I say no! Is it because I have been to see an old acquaintance and distant relative of mine who is a feeble invalid?”

(”Your Grace has been taking on wi’ Northangerland again and we hate him,” replied a single voice in the crowd.)

“What do you say, my lad?” said the Duke, who, it seems, had not distinctly heard the observation. The man repeated it.

“Taking on with Northangerland!” continued his Grace. “That’s a vague sort of expression. I’ve been to the south, looking after my own and my kinsfolk’s concerns, and concerning myself no more about politics than most of you do about religion.”

“Have you leagued with Northangerland?” asked one of the bannermen sternly.

The Duke turned upon him with a dark and changed aspect. He eyed his rebellious standard and said coldly, “Take down that flag.”

“No!” shouted the bannerman. “This is the flag of the people.”

“Take it down,” replied his Grace in a deepened tone, and he savagely glared at the magistrates. They instantly despatched six special constables to execute the Duke’s mandate. Loud uproar ensued; the huge flag was tossed up and down as its bearers struggled to retain what the constables were resolved to seize; the yelling of the mob redoubled; and all at once, with hideous roar, a rush was made on the royal carriage. A frightful scene ensued. The gentlemen who had crowded the court-house steps and windows sprang into the crowd. A dismal shriek was heard as the startled horses — no longer obedient to the postillions — plunged in terror amongst the densely wedged crowd. Their wild eyes and streaming manes were seen tossed over the sea of human heads, as their iron hoofs, prancing madly, crushed all around them. I looked in agony at the Duchess; she was bending back, and had hid her face in the cushions of the carriage. As for Zamorna, with teeth fast set and the curls of his bare head shadowing his fierce eyes, he looked hellish; he gave not a word either to his wife or Lord Richton; his glance was fixed in one direction. At last, as a thundering beating sound and a dense cloud of dust rose in the quarter where he looked, he got up, and speaking with a very loud distinct voice said, ”Men of Zamorna, three hundred horsemen are upon you. I see them; they are here; you will be ridden down in five minutes if you do not bear back instantly from the carriage.” There was no time: with horse-hair waving and broad sabres glancing, with loud huzza and dint of thunder, the cavalry charged on the mob. Lord Stuartville led the van, waving his hat and mounted on a horse like a devil. Nothing could stand this, not even the mad mechanics and desperate operatives of Zamorna. They flew like chaff; it was the whirlwind chasing the sand of the desert. Causeway and carriage were cleared; the wide street lay bare in the fierce sun behind them. A few wounded men alone were left with shattered limbs, lying on the pavement. These were soon taken off to the infirmary, their blood was washed from the stones, and no sign remained of what had happened. When I looked for the royal carriage, it stood in front of Stancliffe’s, empty; a cloak was flung over the seat and two grooms were taking out the horses. Sic transit etc.