CHAPTER XIII.

August 1st, 1714.

“Does my mistress know of this?” Esmond asked of Frank, as they walked along.

“My mother found the letter in the book, on the toilet-table.  She had writ it ere she had left home,” Frank said.  “Mother met her on the stairs, with her hand upon the door, trying to enter, and never left her after that till she went away.  He did not think of looking at it there, nor had Martin the chance of telling him.  I believe the poor devil meant no harm, though I half killed him; he thought ’twas to Beatrix’s brother he was bringing the letter.”

Frank never said a word of reproach to me for having brought the villain amongst us.  As we knocked at the door I said, “When will the horses be ready?” Frank pointed with his cane, they were turning the street that moment.

We went up and bade adieu to our mistress; she was in a dreadful state of agitation by this time, and that Bishop was with her whose company she was so fond of.

“Did you tell him, my lord,” says Esmond, “that Beatrix was at Castlewood?” The Bishop blushed and stammered:  “Well,” says he, “I . . .”

“You served the villain right,” broke out Mr. Esmond, “and he has lost a crown by what you told him.”

My mistress turned quite white, “Henry, Henry,” says she, “do not kill him.”

“It may not be too late,” says Esmond; “he may not have gone to Castlewood; pray God, it is not too late.”  The Bishop was breaking out with some banale phrases about loyalty, and the sacredness of the Sovereign’s person; but Esmond sternly bade him hold his tongue, burn all papers, and take care of Lady Castlewood; and in five minutes he and Frank were in the saddle, John Lockwood behind them, riding towards Castlewood at a rapid pace.

We were just got to Alton, when who should meet us but old Lockwood, the porter from Castlewood, John’s father, walking by the side of the Hexton flying-coach, who slept the night at Alton.  Lockwood said his young mistress had arrived at home on Wednesday night, and this morning, Friday, had despatched him with a packet for my lady at Kensington, saying the letter was of great importance.

We took the freedom to break it, while Lockwood stared with wonder, and cried out his “Lord bless me’s,” and “Who’d a thought it’s,” at the sight of his young lord, whom he had not seen these seven years.

The packet from Beatrix contained no news of importance at all.  It was written in a jocular strain, affecting to make light of her captivity.  She asked whether she might have leave to visit Mrs. Tusher, or to walk beyond the court and the garden wall.  She gave news of the peacocks, and a fawn she had there.  She bade her mother send her certain gowns and smocks by old Lockwood; she sent her duty to a certain Person, if certain other persons permitted her to take such a freedom; how that, as she was not able to play cards with him, she hoped he would read good books, such as Doctor Atterbury’s sermons and “Eikon Basilike:”  she was going to read good books; she thought her pretty mamma would like to know she was not crying her eyes out.