These arrangements made, the king and Colonel Gunter dismounted, and leaving their steeds with the others, crossed a bridge over the little brook running through the valley, and immediately afterwards entered the town. Their object being to elude observation, they walked quickly, Colonel Gunter, as acquainted with the place, keeping slightly ahead of the monarch. After proceeding to a short distance up North street, they plunged into a narrow alley on the left, and having tracked a series of “twittens,” without encountering any material check in their progress, except such as was offered by a fat fishwoman, who compelled them both to seek temporary refuge in an open doorway while she passed by, they issued forth in West street—if street a few scattered houses ought to be called—at the lower end of which, within a hundred yards of the sea, stood the hostel of which they were in search.
Charles II at Ovingdean Grange
II
THE “GEORGE” AT BRIGHTELMSTONE
THE George Inn, which still exists, though, since the event we are about to relate it has very properly altered its designation, and is now known as the King’s Head, was a comfortable house, noted for good liquor and for the civility of the host, whose name was of good augury to the guest, being no other than Bonfellow Smith.
The hostel, which stood on the west side of the straggling street, was detached from the adjacent habitations, and was further separated from the dwelling on its northerly side by a large yard. It was a commodious, well built structure, with bay-windows, projecting porch with carved posts and lintel, gable roof covered with shingle, and large chimneys of the true Sussex build, and wore altogether a not uninviting aspect. Such, at least, was the impression produced upon Charles as he followed his conductor into the house.
Master Bonfellow Smith, host of the George, had nothing of the Puritan in his appearance or deportment. He was all smiles and civility—indeed, his manner might almost be termed obsequious—while it was abundantly manifest from his rotund person, rosy gills, and double chin, that he was by no means accustomed to mortify the flesh. Originally, he had filled the office of groom of the chamber in the royal establishment at Whitehall, and was then a great man—a very great man. But times had changed. Rebellion and revolution were in the ascendant; the royal household was broken up and dispersed; and our groom of the chamber retired in disgust to his native village of Brightelmstone, and eventually became landlord of the comfortable hostel where we find him. Master Bonfellow Smith was lucky enough to possess a wife who proved of infinite use to him in his business. Like her husband, she had filled a subordinate situation in the royal household at Whitehall, having been tire-maiden to one of the queen’s gentlewomen, and, like him, she could not forget her former importance; but being a person of great prudence, she accommodated herself to existing circumstances, and did not allow her recollections of bygone grandeur to interfere with the discharge of her duties as a landlady. Mrs. Smith was some years younger than her spouse; and had been accounted very pretty by pages and other gallants at Whitehall. She was still a comely woman, though on rather a large scale. It was by this worthy couple that Charles was welcomed on entering the inn.
Bowing obsequiously to his guests, on hearing that they meant to take supper, and expected two or three friends to join them at it, the host directed his wife to bring lights—it was now growing rapidly dusk—and ushered the gentlemen into a roomy chamber on the right, which looked very snug and comfortable, inasmuch as a cheerful fire was burning on the hearth. The apartment was wainscoted with black oak, and well provided with elbow chairs of the same material. A solid oak table stood in the centre of the floor, and a bow-window at the side looked into the inn yard.
Buxom Mrs. Smith followed close upon the king’s heels with the lights, and was about to set them down upon the table, when Charles turned and looked her full in the face. Her features seemed familiar to him, though he could not call to mind under what circumstances he had previously beheld them. But if the king’s memory was at fault, Mrs. Smith’s was not. She instantly recognized the young monarch in his disguise, uttered a faint scream, and began to gasp and shake so violently that the candles threatened to fall from her hold.