Ovingdean Grange by W. Harrison Ainsworth

“Ay, marry did I,” John rejoined; “but I did not include Mistress Dulcia amongst the tattlers. Heaven forbid! She is discretion itself, and would never breathe a word to jeopardize the captain.”

“Humph!” the colonel ejaculated. “At all events, she shall not nurse my son.”

“Then I won’t answer for his cure,” John answered, gruffly.

“Not so loud, I prithee, John. Thou wilt awake him. By Heaven, he opes his eyes!”

“Then acquaint him with your resolve.”

“What is’t, my father?” Clavering cried, from the couch.

“His honour the colonel deems it expedient that during your confinement to this chamber, you should be solely under my care, captain; as if you had not had enough of an old trooper’s rough nursing, and stood not in need of gentler care.”

“If I am to be deprived of Dulcia’s society, I will not remain here,” Clavering exclaimed, springing from the couch.

“I told your honour how it would be,” John cried, chuckling.

“Thou art in league against me, rascal,” the colonel ejaculated, shaking his hand at him. “And as to thee, Clavering, thou art a wilful and undutiful boy. A soldier should have a soldier’s attendance merely. But since thou art so weak and womanish that none save Dulcia will serve thy turn to watch over thee and tend thee, even be it as thou wilt.”

“My father!—”

“Get well as quickly as thou canst, that is all I ask.”

“Your honour hath ta’en the best way to ensure that object,” John observed.

“Hold thy peace!” the colonel cried. “Within yon closet thou wilt find all thou needest to perfect his cure: unguents of great virtue, sovran balsams, cordials, and an elixir prepared for me by my worthy friend Sir Kenelm Digby, which ought to call back the vital spark if it were on the eve of departure. Use what thou wilt; but mark me! if thy patient gets not well speedily, I’ll send for Master Ingram.”

“Nay, I shall be myself again in less than a week,” Clavering cried. “I am stronger already, and with the prospect of such attendance—”

“Peace, I say!” his father cried. “I have heard reasons enow, and have yielded against my better judgment. Aid me to attire myself,” he added to John, “and then I will leave my son master of the room. Thou wilt have to be groom of the chamber, as well as head-nurse, John, for none of the household will come nigh ye, except old Martin Geere. And now, give me my hose and doublet.”

At a somewhat later hour in the morning, though still comparatively early, Colonel Maunsel was joined in the library, whither he had repaired on going down stairs, by Mr. Beard and Dulcia, both of whom were under the impression that Clavering was gone; and one of them, at least, was much relieved by finding that such was not the case.

A bell having been rung for prayers, the greater part of the household assembled at the summons, and the clergyman read a portion of the Holy Scriptures to them; after which he knelt down, and the rest following his example, he offered up an extempore prayer for the preservation from all danger of the lord of the mansion and his son. All joined fervently in this supplication, but none more so than Dulcia.

Their devotions ended, the old Cavalier and his guests proceeded to the hall and partook of breakfast. Martin Geere was in attendance at the meal, which was of a substantial character, according to the habits of the period, and the colonel, when he could do so without observation, privily despatched him upstairs with a supply of eatables for his son. No mystery was made about John Habergeon, since his return was known to the household, and the old trooper could take care of himself in the buttery.

Breakfast over, Dulcia and her father rose to depart, when the colonel, calling the latter to him, said, in a low tone, “Go upstairs, child, to Clavering. Your society will cheer him, and help to while away the tedious hours of his captivity. You will find him in my chamber with John Habergeon. Be cautious, and, above all, arouse not Patty Whinchat’s suspicions.”