Ravenshoe Page 2

  CHAPTER I.

  AN ACCOUNT OF THE FAMILY OF RAVENSHOE.

  I had intended to have gone into a family history of the Ravenshoes,from the time of Canute to that of her present Majesty, following itdown through every change and revolution, both secular and religious;which would have been deeply interesting, but which would have takenmore hard reading than one cares to undertake for nothing. I had meant,I say, to have been quite diffuse on the annals of one of our oldestcommoner families; but, on going into the subject, I found I must eitherchronicle little affairs which ought to have been forgotten long ago, ordo my work in a very patchy and inefficient way. When I say that theRavenshoes have been engaged in every plot, rebellion, and civil war,from about a century or so before the Conquest to 1745, and that thehistory of the house was marked by cruelty and rapacity in old times,and in those more modern by political tergiversation of the blackestdye, the reader will understand why I hesitate to say too much inreference to a name which I especially honour. In order, however, that Imay give some idea of what the hereditary character of the family is, Imust just lead the reader's eye lightly over some of the principalevents of their history.

  The great Irish families have, as is well known, a banshee, or familiarspirit, who, previous to misfortune or death, flits moaning round theancestral castle. Now although the Ravenshoes, like all respectablehouses, have an hereditary lawsuit; a feud (with the Humbys of Hele); aghost (which the present Ravenshoe claims to have repeatedly seen inearly youth); and a buried treasure: yet I have never heard that theyhad a banshee. Had such been the case, that unfortunate spirit wouldhave had no sinecure of it, but rather must have kept howling night andday for nine hundred years or so, in order to have got through her workat all. For the Ravenshoes were almost always in trouble, and yet had afacility of getting out again, which, to one not aware of the cause, wassufficiently inexplicable. Like the Stuarts, they had always taken thelosing side, and yet, unlike the Stuarts, have always kept their headson their shoulders, and their house over their heads. Lady Ascot saysthat, if Ambrose Ravenshoe had been attainted in 1745, he'd have beenhung as sure as fate: there was evidence enough against him to hang adozen men. I myself, too, have heard Squire Densil declare, with greatpride, that the Ravenshoe of King John's time was the only Baron who didnot sign Magna Charta; and if there were a Ravenshoe at Runnymede, Ihave not the slightest doubt that such was the case. Through the Rosewars, again, they were always on the wrong side, whichever that mighthave been, because your Ravenshoe, mind you, was not bound to eitherside in those times, but changed as he fancied fortune was going. Asyour Ravenshoe was the sort of man who generally joined a party justwhen their success was indubitable--that is to say, just when thereaction against them was about to set in--he generally found himselfamong the party which was going down hill, who despised him for notjoining them before, and opposed to the rising party, who hated himbecause he had declared against them. Which little game is common enoughin this present century among some men of the world, who seem, as ageneral rule, to make as little by it as ever did the Ravenshoes.

  Well, whatever your trimmers make by their motion nowadays, theRavenshoes were not successful either at liberal conservatism orconservative liberalism. At the end of the reign of Henry VII. they wereas poor as Job, or poorer. But, before you have time to think of it,behold, in 1530, there comes you to court a Sir Alured Ravenshoe, whoincontinently begins cutting in at the top of the tune, swaggering,swearing, dressing, fighting, dicing, and all that sort of thing, and,what is more, paying his way in a manner which suggests successfulburglary as the only solution. Sir Alured, however, as I find, had doneno worse than marry an old maid (Miss Hincksey, one of the StaffordshireHinckseys) with a splendid fortune; which fortune set the family on itslegs again for some generations. This Sir Alured seems to have been anaudacious rogue. He made great interest with the king, who was so farpleased with his activity in athletic sports that he gave him a post inIreland. There our Ravenshoe was so fascinated by the charming mannersof the Earl of Kildare that he even accompanied that nobleman on avisit to Desmond; and, after a twelvemonth's unauthorised residence inthe interior of Ireland, on his return to England he was put into theTower for six months to "consider himself."

  This Alured seems to have been a deuce of a fellow, a very good type ofthe family. When British Harry had that difference we wot of with theBishop of Rome, I find Alured to have been engaged in some five or sixRomish plots, such as had the king been in possession of facts, wouldhave consigned him to a rather speedy execution. However, the king seemsto have looked on this gentleman with a suspicious eye, and to have beenpretty well aware what sort of man he was, for I find him writing to hiswife, on the occasion of his going to court--"The King's Grace lookedbut sourly upon me, and said it should go hard, but that the pitcherwhich went so oft to the well should be broke at last. Thereto I makinganswer, 'that that should depend on the pitcher, whether it were iron orclomb,' he turned on his heel, and presently departed from me."

  He must have been possessed of his full share of family audacity tosharpen his wits on the terrible Harry, with such an unpardonable amountof treason hanging over him. I have dwelt thus long on him, as he seemsto have possessed a fair share of the virtues and vices of his family--afamily always generous and brave, yet always led astray by bad advisers.This Alured built Ravenshoe House, as it stands to this day, and inwhich much of the scene of this story is laid.

  They seem to have got through the Gunpowder Plot pretty well, though Ican show you the closet where one of the minor conspirators, one Watson,lay _perdu_ for a week or so after that gallant attempt, more I suspectfrom the effect of a guilty conscience than anything else, for I neverheard of any distinct charge being brought against him. The Forty-five,however, did not pass quite so easily, and Ambrose Ravenshoe went asnear to lose his head as any one of the family since the Conquest. Whenthe news came from the north about the alarming advance of theHighlanders, it immediately struck Ambrose that this was the bestopportunity for making a fool of himself that could possibly occur. Heaccordingly, without hesitation or consultation with any mortal soul,rang the bell for his butler, sent for his stud-groom, mounted every manabout the place (twenty or so), armed them, grooms, gardeners, and all,with crossbows and partisans from the armoury, and rode into the cross,at Stonnington, on a market-day, and boldly proclaimed the Pretenderking. It soon got about that "the squire" was making a fool of himself,and that there was some fun going; so he shortly found himselfsurrounded by a large and somewhat dirty rabble, who, with cries of"Well done, old rebel!" and "Hurrah for the Pope!" escorted him, histerror-stricken butler and his shame-stricken grooms, to the Crown andSceptre. As good luck would have it, there happened to be in the townthat day no less a person than Lord Segur, the leading Roman Catholicnobleman of the county. He, accompanied by several of the leadinggentlemen of the same persuasion, burst into the room where the Squiresat, overpowered him, and, putting him bound into a coach, carried himoff to Segur Castle, and locked him up. It took all the strength of thePopish party to save him from attainder. The Church rallied rightbravely round the old house, which had always assisted her with swordand purse, and never once had wavered in its allegiance. So while noblerheads went down, Ambrose Ravenshoe's remained on his shoulders.

  Ambrose died in 1759.

  John (Monseigneur) in 1771.

  Howard in 1800. He first took the Claycomb hounds.

  Petre in 1820. He married Alicia, only daughter of Charles, third Earlof Ascot, and was succeeded by Densil, the first of our dramatispersonae--the first of all this shadowy line that we shall see in theflesh. He was born in the year 1783, and married, first in 1812, at hisfather's desire, a Miss Winkleigh, of whom I know nothing; and second,at his own desire, in 1823, Susan, fourth daughter of LawrencePetersham, Esq., of Fairford Grange, county Worcester, by whom he hadissue--

  Cuthbert, born 1826;

  Charles, born 1831.

  Densil was an only son. His father, a handsome, careless, good-humoured,but weak and superstitious man, was entirely in the hands of thepriests, who during his life were undisputed masters of Ravenshoe. LadyAlicia was, as I have said, a daughter of Lord Ascot, a Staunton, asstaunchly a Protestant a house as any in England. She, however, managedto fall in love with the handsome young Popish Squire, and to elope withhim, changing not only her name, but, to the dismay of her family, herfaith also, and becoming, pervert-like, more actively bigoted than hereasy-going husband. She brought little or no money into the family; and,from her portrait, appears to have been exceedingly pretty, andmonstrously silly.

  To this strong-minded couple was born, two years after their marriage, ason who was called Densil.

  This young gentleman seems to have got on much like other younggentlemen till the age of twenty-one, when it was determined by thehigher powers in conclave assembled that he should go to London, and seethe world; and so, having been cautioned duly how to avoid the flesh andthe devil, to see the world he went. In a short time intelligence cameto the confessor of the family, and through him to the father andmother, that Densil was seeing the world with a vengeance; that he wasthe constant companion of the Right Honourable Viscount Saltire, thegreat dandy of the Radical Atheist set, with whom no man might playpicquet and live; that he had been upset in a tilbury with MademoiselleVaurien of Drury-lane at Kensington turnpike; that he had fought theFrench _emigre_, a Comte de Hautenbas, apropos of the Vaurienaforementioned--in short, that he was going on at a deuce of a rate: andso a hurried council was called to deliberate what was to be done.

  "He will lose his immortal soul," said the priest.

  "He will dissipate his property," said his mother.

  "He will go to the devil," said his father.

  So Father Clifford, good m
an, was despatched to London, with posthorses, and ordered to bring back the lost sheep _vi et armis_.Accordingly, at ten o'clock one night, Densil's lad was astounded byhaving to admit Father Clifford, who demanded immediately to be led tohis master.

  Now this was awkward, for James well knew what was going on upstairs;but he knew also what would happen, sooner or later, to a Ravenshoeservant who trifled with a priest, and so he led the way.

  The lost sheep which the good father had come to find was not exactlysober this evening, and certainly not in a very good temper. He wasplaying _ecarte_ with a singularly handsome, though supercilious-lookingman, dressed in the height of fashion, who, judging from the heap ofgold beside him, had been winning heavily. The priest trembled andcrossed himself--this man was the terrible, handsome, wicked, witty,Atheistical, radical Lord Saltire, whose tongue no woman couldwithstand, and whose pistol no man dared face; who was currentlybelieved to have sold himself to the deuce, or, indeed, as some said, tobe the deuce himself.

  A more cunning man than poor simple Father Clifford would have made somecommon-place remark and withdrawn, after a short greeting, takingwarning by the impatient scowl that settled on Densil's handsome face.Not so he. To be defied by a boy whose law had been his word for tenyears past never entered into his head, and he sternly advanced towardsthe pair.

  Densil inquired if anything were the matter at home. And Lord Saltire,anticipating a scene, threw himself back in his chair, stretched out hiselegant legs, and looked on with the air of a man who knows he is goingto be amused, and composes himself thoroughly to appreciate theentertainment.

  "Thus much, my son," said the priest; "your mother is wearing out thestones of the oratory with her knees, praying for her first-born, whilehe is wasting his substance, and perilling his soul, with debauchedAtheistic companions, the enemies of God and man."

  Lord Saltire smiled sweetly, bowed elegantly, and took snuff.

  "Why do you intrude into my room, and insult my guest?" said Densil,casting an angry glance at the priest, who stood calmly like a blackpillar, with his hands before him. "It is unendurable."

  "_Quem Deus vult_," &c. Father Clifford had seen that scowl once ortwice before, but he would not take warning. He said--

  "I am ordered not to go westward without you. I command you to come."

  "Command me! command a Ravenshoe!" said Densil, furiously.

  Father Clifford, by way of mending matters, now began to lose _his_temper.

  "You would not be the first Ravenshoe who has been commanded by apriest; ay, and has had to obey too," said he.

  "And you will not be the first jack-priest who has felt the weight of aRavenshoe's wrath," replied Densil, brutally.

  Lord Saltire leant back, and said to the ambient air, "I'll back thepriest, five twenties to one."

  This was too much. Densil would have liked to quarrel with Saltire, butthat was death--he was the deadest shot in Europe. He grew furious, andbeyond all control. He told the priest to go (further than purgatory);grew blasphemous, emphatically renouncing the creed of his forefathers,and, in fact, all other creeds. The priest grew hot and furious too,retaliated in no measured terms, and finally left the room with his earsstopped, shaking the dust off his feet as he went. Then Lord Saltiredrew up to the table again, laughing.

  "Your estates are entailed, Ravenshoe, I suppose?" said he.

  "No."

  "Oh! It's your deal, my dear fellow."

  Densil got an angry letter from his father in a few days, demanding fullapologies and recantations, and an immediate return home. Densil had noapologies to make, and did not intend to return till the end of theseason. His father wrote declining the honour of his furtheracquaintance, and sending him a draft for fifty pounds to payoutstanding bills, which he very well knew amounted to severalthousands. In a short time the great Catholic tradesmen, with whom hehad been dealing, began to press for money in a somewhat insolent way;and now Densil began to see that, by defying and insulting the faith andthe party to which he belonged, he had merely cut himself off from rank,wealth, and position. He had defied the _partie pretre_, and had yet tofeel their power. In two months he was in the Fleet prison.

  His servant (the title "tiger" came in long after this), a half groom,half valet, such as men kept in those days--a simple lad from Ravenshoe,James Horton by name--for the first time in his life disobeyed orders;for, on being told to return home by Densil, he firmly declined doingso, and carried his top boots and white neckcloth triumphantly into theFleet, there pursuing his usual avocations with the utmost nonchalance.

  "A very distinguished fellow that of yours, Curly" (they all hadnicknames for one another in those days), said Lord Saltire. "If I werenot Saltire, I think I would be Jim. To own the only clean face amongsix hundred fellow-creatures is a pre-eminence, a decided pre-eminence.I'll buy him of you."

  For Lord Saltire came to see him, snuff-box and all. That morning Densilwas sitting brooding in the dirty room with the barred windows, andthinking what a wild free wind would be sweeping across the Downs thisfine November day, when the door was opened, and in walks me my lord,with a sweet smile on his face.

  He was dressed in the extreme of fashion--a long-tailed blue coat withgold buttons, a frill to his shirt, a white cravat, a wonderful shortwaistcoat, loose short nankeen trousers, low shoes, no gaiters, and alow-crowned hat. I am pretty correct, for I have seen his picture, dated1804. But you must please to remember that his lordship was in the veryvan of the fashion, and that probably such a dress was not universal fortwo or three years afterwards. I wonder if his well-known audacity wouldbe sufficient to make him walk along one of the public thoroughfares insuch a dress, to-morrow, for a heavy bet--I fancy not.

  He smiled sardonically--"My dear fellow," he said, "when a man comes ona visit of condolence, I know it is the most wretched taste to say, 'Itold you so;' but do me the justice to allow that I offered to back thepriest five to one. I had been coming to you all the week, but Tuesdayand Wednesday I was at Newmarket; Thursday I was shooting at yourcousin Ascot's: yesterday I did not care about boring myself with you;so I have come to-day because I was at leisure and had nothing better todo."

  Densil looked up savagely, thinking he had come to insult him: but thekindly compassionate look in the piercing grey eye belied the cynicalcurl of the mouth, and disarmed him. He leant his head upon the tableand sobbed.

  Lord Saltire laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, and said--

  "You have been a fool, Ravenshoe; you have denied the faith of yourforefathers. Pardieu, if I had such an article I would not have thrownit so lightly away."

  "_You_ talk like this? Who next? It was your conversation led me to it.Am I worse than you? What faith have you, in God's name?"

  "The faith of a French Lycee, my friend; the only one I ever had. I havebeen sufficiently consistent to that, I think."

  "Consistent indeed," groaned poor Densil.

  "Now, look here," said Saltire; "I may have been to blame in this. But Igive you my honour, I had no more idea that you would be obstinateenough to bring matters to this pass, than I had that you would burndown Ravenshoe House because I laughed at it for being old-fashioned. Gohome, my poor little Catholic pipkin, and don't try to swim with ironpots like Wrekin and me. Make submission to that singularly_distingue_-looking old turkey-cock of a priest, kiss your mother, andget your usual autumn's hunting and shooting."

  "Too late! too late, now!" sobbed Densil.

  "Not at all, my dear fellow," said Saltire, taking a pinch of snuff;"the partridges will be a little wild of course--that you must expect;but you ought to get some very pretty pheasant and cock-shooting. Come,say yes. Have your debts paid, and get out of this infernal hole. A weekof this would tame the devil, I should think."

  "If you think you could do anything for me, Saltire."

  Lord Saltire immediately retired, and re-appeared, leading in a lady byher hand. She raised the veil from her head, and he saw his mother. In amoment she was crying on his neck; and, as he looked over her shoulder,he saw a blue coat passing out of the door, and that was the last ofLord Saltire for the present.

  It was no part of the game of the priests to give Densil a cold welcomehome. Twenty smiling faces were grouped in the porch to welcome himback; and among them all none smiled more brightly than the old priestand his father. The dogs went wild with joy, and his favouriteperegrine scolded on the falconer's wrist, and struggled with herjesses, shrilly reminding him of the merry old days by the dreary saltmarsh, or the lonely lake.

  The past was never once alluded to in any way by any one in the house.Old Squire Petre shook hands with faithful James, and gave him a watch,ordering him to ride a certain colt next day, and see how well forwardhe could get him. So next day they drew the home covers, and the fox,brave fellow, ran out to Parkside, making for the granite walls ofHessitor. And, when Densil felt his nostrils filled once more by thefree rushing mountain air, he shouted aloud for joy, and James's voicealongside of him said--

  "This is better than the Fleet, sir."

  And so Densil played a single-wicket match with the Holy Church, and,like a great many other people, got bowled out in the first innings. Hereturned to his allegiance in the most exemplary manner, and settleddown to the most humdrum of young country gentlemen. He did exactly whatevery one else about him did. He was not naturally a profligate orvicious man; but there was a wild devil of animal passion in him, whichhad broken out in London, and which was now quieted by dread ofconsequences, but which he felt and knew was there, and might break outagain. He was a changed man. There was a gulf between him and the lifehe had led before he went to London. He had tasted of liberty (orrather, not to profane that Divine word, of licentiousness), and yet notdrunk long enough to make him weary of the draught. He had
heard thedogmas he was brought up to believe infallible turned to unutterableridicule by men like Saltire and Wrekin; men who, as he had the wit tosee, were a thousand times cleverer and better informed than FatherClifford or Father Dennis. In short, he had found out, as a great manyothers have, that Popery won't hold water, and so, as a _pis aller_, headopted Saltire's creed--that religion was necessary for the governmentof States, that one religion was as good as another, and that, _caeterisparibus_, the best religion was the one which secured the possessorL10,000 a year, and therefore Densil was a devout Catholic.

  It was thought by the allied powers that he ought to marry. He had noobjection and so he married a young lady, a Miss Winkleigh--Catholic, ofcourse--about whom I can get no information whatever. Lady Ascot saysthat she was a pale girl, with about as much air as a milkmaid; on whichtwo facts I can build no theory as to her personal character. She diedin 1816, childless; and in 1820 Densil lost both his father and mother,and found himself, at the age of thirty-seven, master of Ravenshoe andmaster of himself.

  He felt the loss of the old folks most keenly, more keenly than that ofhis wife. He seemed without a stay or holdfast in the world, for he wasa poorly educated man, without resources; and so he went on moping andbrooding until good old Father Clifford, who loved him dearly, gotalarmed, and recommended travels. He recommended Rome, the cradle of thefaith, and to Rome he went.

  He stayed at Rome a year; at the end of which time he appeared suddenlyat home with a beautiful young wife on his arm. As Father Clifford,trembling and astonished, advanced to lay his hand upon her head, shedrew up, laughed, and said, "Spare yourself the trouble, my dear sir; Iam a Protestant."

  I have had to tell you all this, in order to show you how it came aboutthat Densil, though a Papist, bethought of marrying a Protestant wife tokeep up a balance of power in his house. For, if he had not married thislady, the hero of this book would never have been born; and this greaterproposition contains the less, "that if he had never been born, hishistory would never have been written, and so this book would have hadno existence."