A Reputed Changeling Read online

  CHAPTER VII: THE ENVOY

  "I then did ask of her, her changeling child."

  Midsummer Night's Dream.

  Mrs. Woodford was too good a housewife to allow herself any extrarest on account of her vigil, and she had just put her Juneatingapple-tart into the oven when Anne rushed into the kitchen with thewarning that there was a grand gentleman getting off his horse atthe gateway, and speaking to her uncle--she thought it must bePeregrine's uncle.

  Mrs. Woodford was of the same opinion, and asked where Peregrinewas.

  "Fast asleep in the window-seat of the parlour, mother! I did notwaken him, for he looked so tired."

  "That was right, my little maiden," said Mrs. Woodford, hastilywashing her hands, taking off her cooking apron, letting down herblack gown from its pocket holes, and arranging her veil-likewidow's coif, after which, in full trim for company, she sallied outto the front door, to avert, if possible, the wakening of the boy,whom she wished to appear to the best advantage.

  She met in the garden her brother-in-law, and Sir PeregrineOakshott, on being presented to her, made such a bow as had seldombeen seen in those parts, as he politely said that he was the bearerof his brother's thanks for her care of his nephew.

  Mrs. Woodford explained that the boy had had so bad a night that itwould be well not to break his present sleep, and invited the guestto walk in the garden or sit in the Doctor's study or in the shadeof the castle wall.

  This last was what he preferred, and there they seated themselves,with a green slope before them down to the pale gray creek, and thehill beyond lying in the summer sunshine.

  "I have been long in coming hither," said the knight, "partly onaccount of letters on affairs of State, and partly likewise becauseI desired to come alone, thinking that I might better understand howit is with the lad without the presence of his father or brothers."

  "I am very glad you have so done, sir."

  "Then, madam, I entreat of you to speak freely and tell me youropinion of him without reserve. You need not fear offence byspeaking of the mode in which they have treated him at home. Mypoor brother has meant to do his duty, but he has stood so far alooffrom his sons that he has dealt with them in ignorance, and theirmother, between sickliness and timidity, is a mere prey to the follyof her gossips. So speak plainly, madam, I beg of you."

  Mrs. Woodford did speak plainly of the boy's rooted belief in hisown elfish origin, and how when arguing against it she had found thealternative even sadder and more hopeless, how well he comportedhimself as long as he was treated as a human and rational being, buthow the taunts and jests of the young Archfields had renewed all themischief, to the poor fellow's own remorse and despair.

  Sir Peregrine listened with only a word of comment, or question nowand then, like a man of the world well used to hearing all before hecommitted himself, and the description was only just ended when theclang of the warning dinner-bell sounded and they rose; but as theywere passing the window of the dining-parlour a shriek of Anne'sstartled them all, and as they sprang forward, Mrs. Woodford first,Peregrine's voice was heard, "No, no, Anne, don't be afraid. It isfor me he is come; I knew he would."

  Something in a strange language was heard. A black face with roundeyes and gleaming teeth might be seen bending forward. Anne gaveanother shriek, but was heard crying, "No, no! Get away, sir. Heis our Lord Christ's! He is! You can't! you shan't have him."

  And Anne was seen standing over Peregrine, who had droppedshuddering and nearly fainting on the floor, while she stoodvaliantly up warding off the advance of him whom she took for thePrince of Darkness, and in her excitement not at first aware ofthose who were come to her aid at the window. In one second thenegro was saying something which his master answered, and sent himoff. Mrs. Woodford had called out, "Don't be afraid, dear children.'Tis Sir Peregrine's black servant"; and the Doctor, "Foolishchildren! What is this nonsense?" A moment or two more and theywere in the room, Anne, all trembling, flying up to her mother andhiding her face against her between fright and shame at not havingthought of the black servant, and the while they lifted upPeregrine, who, as he met his kind friend's eyes, said faintly, "Ishe gone? Was it the dream again?"

  "It was your uncle's blackamoor servant," said Mrs. Woodford. "Youwoke up, and no wonder you were startled. Come with me, both ofyou, and make you ready for dinner."

  Peregrine had rather collapsed than fainted, for he was able to walkwith her hand on his shoulder, and Sir Peregrine understood her signand did not attempt to accost either of the children, though as theDoctor took him to his chamber he expressed his admiration of thelittle maiden.

  "That's the right woman," he said, "losing herself when there is oneto guard. Nay, sir, she needs no excuse. Such a spirit may wellredeem a child's mistake."

  Mrs. Woodford had reassured the children, so that they were morethan half ashamed, though scarce willing to reappear when she hadmade Peregrine wash his face and hands, smooth the hair ruffled inhis nap, freshly tying his little cravat and the ribbons on hisshoes and at his knees. To make his hair into anything but elflocks, or to obliterate the bristly tuft that made him like Riquet,was impossible, illness had made him additionally lean and sallow,and his keen eyes, under their black contracted brows and darklashes, showed all the more the curious variation in their tints,and with an obliquity that varied according to the state of thenerves. There was a satirical mischievous cast in the mould of theface, though individually the features were not amiss except fortheir thinness, and in fact the unpleasantness of the expression hadinsensibly been softened during this last month, and there wasnothing repellent, though much that was quaint, in the slightfigure, with the indescribably one-sided air, and stature morebefitting ten than fourteen years. What would the visitor think ofhim? The Doctor called to him, "Come, Peregrine, your uncle, SirPeregrine Oakshott, has been good enough to come over to see you."

  Peregrine had been well trained enough in that bitter school of hometo make a correct bow, though his feelings were betrayed by hisyellow eye going almost out of sight.

  "My namesake--your father will not let me say my godson," said SirPeregrine smiling. "We ought to be good friends."

  The boy looked up. Perhaps he had never been greeted in so human amanner before, and there was something confiding in the way thosebony fingers of his rested a moment in his uncle's clasp.

  "And this is your little daughter, madam, Peregrine's kind playmate?You may well be proud of her valour," said the knight, while Annemade her courtesy, which he, in the custom of the day, returned witha kiss; and she, who had been mortally ashamed of her terror,marvelled at his praise.

  The pair of fowls were by this time on the table, and good mannersrequired silence on the part of the children, but while SirPeregrine explained that he had been appointed by his Majesty asEnvoy to the Elector of Brandenburg, and gave various interestingparticulars of foreign life, Mrs. Woodford saw that he was keeping aquiet watch over his nephew's habits at table, and she was thankfulthat when unmoved by any wayward spirit of mischief they were quitebeyond reproach. Something of the refinement of his poor mother'stastes must have been inherited by Peregrine, for a certaindaintiness of taste and habit had probably added to his discomfortsin the austere, not to say rude simplicity imposed upon the childrenof the family.

  When the meal was over the children were dismissed to the garden,but bidden to keep within call, in case Sir Peregrine should wish tosee his nephew again. The others repaired again to the garden seat,with wine and fruit, but the knight begged Mrs. Woodford not toleave them.

  "I am satisfied," he said. "The boy shows gentle blood andbreeding. There was cause enough for fright without cowardice, andthere is not, what I was led to fear, such uncouthness orungainliness as should hinder me from having him with me."

  "Oh, sir, is that your purpose?" cried the lady, almost as eagerlyas if it had been high preferment for her own child.

  "I had thought thereon," said the envoy. "There is reason that heshou
ld be my charge, and my brother is like to give a ready consent,since he is sorely perplexed what to do with this poor untowardslip."

  "He would be less untoward were he happier," said Mrs. Woodford."Indeed, sir, I do not think you will repent it, if--" and shepaused.

  "What would you say, madam?"

  "If only all your honour's household are absolutely ignorant of allthese tales."

  "That can well be, madam. I have only one body-servant with me,this unlucky blackamoor, who speaks nothing save Dutch. I hadalready thought of leaving my grooms here, and returning to Londonby sea, and this could well be done, and would cut off all channelsof gossiping. The boy is, the chaplain tells me, quick-witted, anda fair scholar for his years, and I can find good schooling forhim."

  "When his head is able to bear it," said Mrs. Woodford.

  "Truly, sir," added the Doctor, "you are doing a good work, and Itrust that the boy will requite you worthily."

  "I tell your reverence," said Sir Peregrine, "crooked stick thoughthey term him, I had ten times rather have the dealing with him thanwith those comely great lubbers his brothers! The question now is,shall I tell him what is in store for him?"

  "I should say," returned Dr. Woodford, "that provided it is certainthat the intention can be carried out, nothing would be so good forhim as hope. Do you not say so, sister?"

  "Indeed I do," she replied. "I believe that he would be a verydifferent boy if he were relieved from the misery he suffers at homeand requites by mischievous pranks. I do not say he will or can bea good lad at once, but if your honour can have patience with him, Ido believe there is that in him which can be turned to good. If heonly can believe in the better nature and higher guidings, and pray,and not give himself up in despair." She had tears in her eyes.

  "My good madam, I can believe it all," said Sir Peregrine. "Shortof being supposed an elf, I have gone through the same, and it wasnot my good father's fault that I did not loathe the very name ofpreaching or prayer. But I had a mother who knew how to deal withme, whereas this poor child's mother, I am sure, believes in hersecret heart that he is none of hers, though she has enough sensenot to dare to avow it. Alas! I cannot give the boy the woman'stending by which you have already wrought so much," and Mrs.Woodford remembered to have heard that his wife had died atRotterdam, "but I can treat him like a human being, I hope indeed asa son; and, at any rate, there will be no one to remind him of theseold wives' tales."

  "I can only say that I am heartily rejoiced," said Mrs. Woodford.

  So Peregrine was summoned, and shambled up, his eyes showing that heexpected a trying interview, and, moreover, with a certain twinkleof mischief or perverseness in their corners.

  "Soh! my lad, we ought to be better acquainted," said the uncle."D'ye know what our name means?"

  "Peregrinus, a vagabond," responded the boy.

  "Eh! The translation may be correct, but 'tis scarce the mostcomplimentary. I wonder now if you, like me, were born on aWednesday. 'Wednesday's child has far to go.'"

  "No. I was born on a Sunday, and if to see goblins and oafs--"

  "Nay, I read it, 'Sunday's child is full of grace.'"

  Peregrine's mouth twitched ironically, but his uncle continued,"Look you, my boy, what say you to fulfilling the augury of yourname with me. His Majesty has ordered me off again to represent theBritish name to the Elector of Brandenburg, and I have a mind tocarry you with me. What do you say?"

  If any one expected Peregrine to be overjoyed his demeanour wasdisappointing. He shuffled with his feet, and after two or three"Ehs?" from his uncle, he mumbled, "I don't care," and then shranktogether, as one prepared for the stripe with the riding-whip whichsuch a rude answer merited: but his uncle had, as a diplomate,learnt a good deal of patience, and he said, "Ha! don't care toleave home and brothers. Eh?"

  Peregrine's chin went down, and there was no answer; his hairdropped over his heavy brow.

  "See, boy, this is no jest," said his uncle. "You are too big to betold that 'I'll put you into my pocket and carry you off.' I am inearnest."

  Peregrine looked up, and with one sudden flash surveyed his uncle.His lips trembled, but he did not speak.

  "It is sudden," said the knight to the other two. "See, boy, I amnot about to take you away with me now. In a week or ten days' timeI start for London; and there we will fit you out for Konigsberg orBerlin, and I trust we shall make a man of you, and a good man.Your tutor tells me you have excellent parts, and I mean that youshall do me credit."

  Dr. Woodford could not help telling the lad that he ought to thankhis uncle, whereat he scowled; but Sir Peregrine said, "He is notready for that yet. Wait till he feels he has something to thank mefor."

  So Peregrine was dismissed, and his friends exclaimed with somewonder and annoyance that the boy who had been willing to bedecapitated to put an end to his wretchedness, should be soreluctant to accept such an offer, but Sir Peregrine only laughed,and said--

  "The lad has pith in him! I like him better than if he came like aspaniel to my foot. But I will say no more till I fully have mybrother's consent. No one knows what crooks there may be in folks'minds."

  He took his leave, and presently Mrs. Woodford had a fresh surprise.She found this strange boy lying flat on the grass, sobbing as ifhis heart would break, and when she tried to soothe and comfort himit was very hard to get a word from him; but at last, as she asked,"And does it grieve you so much to leave home?" the answer was--

  "No, no! not home!"

  "What is it, then? What are you sorry to leave?"

  "Oh, _you_ don't know! you and Anne--the only ones that ever weregood to me--and drove away--_it_."

  "Nay, my dear boy. Your uncle means to be good to you."

  "No, no. No one ever will be like you and Anne. Oh, let me staywith you, or they will have me at last!"

  He was too much shaken, in his still half-recovered state, by theevents of these last days, to be reasoned with. Mrs. Woodford wasafraid he would work himself into delirium, and could only soothehim into a calmer state. She found from Anne that the children hadsome vague hopes of his being allowed to remain at Portchester, andthat this was the ground of his disappointment, since he seemed tobe attaching himself to them as the first who had ever touched hisheart or opened to him a gleam of better things.

  By the next day, however, he was in a quieter and more reasonablestate, and Mrs. Woodford was able to have a long talk with him. Sherepresented that the difference of opinions made it almost certainthat his father would never consent to his remaining under her roof,and that even if this were possible, Portchester was far too muchinfected with the folly from which he had suffered so much; and hisuncle would take care that no one he would meet should ever hear ofit.

  "There's little good in that," said the boy moodily. "I'm a thingthey'll jibe at and bait any way."

  "I do not see that, if you take pains with yourself. Your unclesaid you showed blood and breeding, and when you are better dressed,and with him, no one will dare to mock his Excellency's nephew.Depend upon it, Peregrine, this is the fresh start that you need."

  "If you were there--"

  "My boy, you must not ask for what is impossible. You must learn toconquer in God's strength, not mine."

  All, however, that passed may not here be narrated, and itapparently left that wayward spirit unconvinced. Nevertheless, whenon the second day Major Oakshott himself came over with his brother,and informed Peregrine that his uncle was good enough to undertakethe charge of him, and to see that he was bred up in godly ways in aProtestant land, free from prelacy and superstition, the boy seemedreconciled to his fate. Major Oakshott spoke more kindly than usualto him, being free from fresh irritation at his misdemeanours; buteven thus there was a contrast with the gentler, more persuasivetones of the diplomatist, and no doubt this tended to increasePeregrine's willingness to be thus handed over.

  The next question was whether he should go home first, but both theuncle and the friends
were averse to his remaining there, amid theunavoidable gossip and chatter of the household, and it wastherefore decided that he should only ride over with Dr. Woodfordfor an hour or two to take leave of his mother and brothers.

  This settled, Mrs. Woodford found him much easier to deal with. Hehad really, through his midnight invocation of the fairies, obtainedan opening into a new world, and he was ready to believe that withno one to twit him with being a changeling or worse, he could avoidperpetual disgrace and punishment and live at peace. Nor was heunwilling to promise Mrs. Woodford to say daily, and especially whentempted, one or two brief collects and ejaculations which sheselected to teach him, as being as unlike as possible to the longextempore exercises which had made him hate the very name of prayer.The Doctor gave him a Greek Testament, as being least connected withunpleasant recollections.

  "And," entreated Peregrine humbly, in a low voice to Mrs. Woodfordon his last Sunday evening, "may I not have something of yours, tolay hold of, and remember you if--when--the evil spirit tries to layhold of me again?"

  She would fain have given him a prayer-book, but she knew that wouldbe treason to his father, and with tears in her eyes and somethingof a pang, she gave him a tiny miniature of herself, which had beenher husband's companion at sea, and hung it round his neck with thechain of her own hair that had always held it.

  "It will always keep my heart warm," said Peregrine, as he hid itunder his vest. There was a shade of disappointment on Anne's facewhen he showed it to her, for she had almost deemed it her own.

  "Never mind, Anne," he said; "I am coming back a knight like myuncle to marry you, and then it will be yours again."

  "I--I'm not going to wed you--I have another sweetheart," added Annein haste, lest he should think she scorned him.

  "Oh, that lubberly Charles Archfield! No fear of him. He ispromised long ago to some little babe of quality in London. You maywhistle for him. So you'd better wait for me."

  "It is not true. You only say it to plague me."

  "It's as true as Gospel! I heard Sir Philip telling one of the bigblack gowns one day in the Close, when I was sitting up in a treeoverhead, how they had fixed a marriage between his son and his oldfriend's daughter, who would have ever so many estates. So I'd givethat"--snapping his fingers--"for your chances of being my LadyArchfield in the salt mud at Fareham."

  "I shall ask Lucy. It is not kind of you, Perry, when you are justgoing away."

  "Come, come, don't cry, Anne."

  "But I knew Charley ever so long first, and--"

  "Oh, yes. Maids always like straight, comely, dull fellows, I knowthat. But as you can't have Charles Archfield, I mean to have you,Anne--for I shall look to you as the only one as can ever make agood man of me! Ay--your mother--I'd wed her if I could, but as Ican't, I mean to have you, Anne Woodford."

  "I don't mean to have you! I shall go to Court, and marry somenoble earl or gentleman! Why do you laugh and make that face,Peregrine? you know my father was almost a knight--"

  "Nobody is long with you without knowing that!" retorted Peregrine;"but a miss is as good as a mile, and you will find the earls andthe lords will think so, and be fain to take the crooked stick atlast!"

  Mistress Anne tossed her head--and Peregrine returned a grimace.Nevertheless they parted with a kiss, and for some time the thoughtof Peregrine haunted the little girl with a strange, fatefulfeeling, between aversion and attraction, which wore off, as a follyof her childhood, with her growth in years.