Sybil, Benjamin Disraeli [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

softened by marriage, would show her the castle; Lady Maud was in ecstasies with all that Sybil said or did: while Mr. Mountchesney who had thought of little else but Sybil ever since Lady Maud’s report of her seraphic singing, and who had not let four-and-twenty hours go by without discovering, with all the practised art of St. James’, the name and residence of the unknown fair, flattered himself he was making great play when Sybil, moved by his great kindness, distinguished him by frequent notice. They had viewed the castle, they were in the music-room, Sybil had been prevailed upon, though with reluctance, to sing. Some Spanish church music which she found there called forth all her powers: all was happiness, delight, rapture, Lady Maud in a frenzy of friendship, Mr. Mountchesney convinced that the country in August might be delightful, and Lady Joan almost gay because Alfred was pleased. Lady de Mowbray had been left in her boudoir with the Morning Post. Sybil had just finished a ravishing air, there was a murmur of luncheon⁠—when suddenly Harold, who had persisted in following his mistress and whom Mr. Mountchesney had gallantly introduced into the music-room, rose and coming forward from the corner in which he reposed, barked violently.

“How now!” said Mr. Mountchesney.

“Harold!” said Sybil in a tone of remonstrance and surprise.

But the dog not only continued to bark but even howled. At this moment the groom of the chambers entered the room abruptly and with a face of mystery said that he wished to speak with Mr. Mountchesney. That gentleman immediately withdrew. He was absent some little time, the dog very agitated; Lady Joan becoming disquieted, when he returned. His changed air struck the vigilant eye of his wife.

“What has happened, Alfred?” she said.

“Oh! don’t be alarmed,” he replied with an obvious affectation of ease. “There are some troublesome people in the park; stragglers I suppose from the rioters. The gatekeeper ought not to have let them pass. I have given directions to Bentley what to do, if they come to the castle.”

“Let us go to mama,” said Lady Joan.

And they were all about leaving the music-room, when a servant came running in and called out “Mr. Bentley told me to say, sir, they are in sight.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Mountchesney in a calm tone but changing colour. “You had better go to your mama, Joan, and take Maud and our friend with you. I will stay below for a while,” and notwithstanding the remonstrances of his wife, Mr. Mountchesney went to the hall.

“I don’t know what to do, sir,” said the house steward. “They are a very strong party.”

“Close all the windows, lock and bar all the doors,” said Mr. Mountchesney. “I am frightened,” he continued, “about your lord. I fear he may fall in with these people.”

“My lord is at Mowbray,” said Mr. Bentley. “He must have heard of this mob there.”

And now emerging from the plantations and entering on the lawns, the force and description of the invading party were easier to distinguish. They were numerous, though consisting of only a section of the original expedition, for Gerard had collected a great portion of the Mowbray men, and they preferred being under his command to following a stranger whom they did not much like on a somewhat licentious adventure of which their natural leader disapproved. The invading section therefore were principally composed of Hellcats, though singular enough Morley of all men in the world accompanied them, attended by Devilsdust, Dandy Mick, and others of that youthful class of which these last were the idols and heroes. There were perhaps eighteen hundred or two thousand persons armed with bars and bludgeons, in general a grimy crew, whose dress and appearance revealed the kind of labour to which they were accustomed. The difference between them and the minority of Mowbray operatives was instantly recognizable.

When they perceived the castle this dreadful band gave a ferocious shout. Lady de Mowbray showed blood; she was composed and courageous. She observed the mob from the window, and reassuring her daughters and Sybil she said she would go down and speak to them. She was on the point of leaving the room with this object when Mr. Mountchesney entered and hearing her purpose, dissuaded her from attempting it. “Leave all to me,” he said; “and make yourselves quite easy; they will go away, I am certain they will go away,” and he again quitted them.

In the meantime Lady de Mowbray and her friends observed the proceedings below. When the main body had advanced within a few hundred yards of the castle, they halted and seated themselves on the turf. This step reassured the garrison: it was generally held to indicate that the intentions of the invaders were not of a very settled or hostile character; that they had visited the place probably in a spirit of frolic, and if met with tact and civility might ultimately be induced to retire from it without much annoyance. This was evidently the opinion of Mr. Mountchesney from the first, and when an uncouth being on a white mule, attended by twenty or thirty miners, advanced to the castle and asked for Lord de Mowbray, Mr. Mountchesney met them with kindness, saying that he regretted his father-in-law was absent, expressed his readiness to represent him, and enquired their pleasure. His courteous bearing evidently had an influence on the Bishop, who dropping his usual brutal tone mumbled something about his wish to drink Lord de Mowbray’s health.

“You shall all drink his health,” said Mr. Mountchesney humouring him, and he gave directions that a couple of barrels of ale should be broached in the park before the castle. The Bishop was pleased, the people were in good humour, some men began dancing, it seemed that the cloud had blown over, and Mr. Mountchesney sent up a bulletin to Lady de Mowbray that all danger was past and that he hoped in ten minutes they would all have disappeared.

The ten minutes had expired: the Bishop was still drinking ale, and Mr. Mountchesney still making civil speeches