Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story

  Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

  Crown and SceptreA West Country StoryBy George Manville FennIllustrations by J NashPublished by Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, London.

  Crown and Sceptre, a West Country Story, by George Manville Fenn.

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  I groaned a bit when I saw that this story was about the Civil War inEngland, in the mid-seventeenth century. But I soon realised that itwas a very good story, told in the tension-laden Fenn style.

  We start off in the Devon coombes (valleys near the sea) with twofamilies that are close friends. The Markhams live at The Hall, whilethe Forresters live at The Manor. There are two teenage boys: ScarlettMarkham and Fred Forrester. The boys come upon secret passages andsecret chambers in the Hall, and also some other long-forgotten shaftsand wells leading to the outside.

  Then came the Civil War, in which the Roundheads fought for a countrysubservient to Parliament, while the Cavaliers fought for the King.The Markhams and their household became Cavaliers, while the Forresterswere Roundheads. Thus the two families became, at least in theory,deadly enemies. Needless to say, it didn't always work out exactly likethat, and the boys at least, now young officers, and the familyretainers, sometimes helped one another in ways the fathers would notapprove of.

  The manor is burnt down, and Sir Godfrey Markham very seriously wounded.It is only by Scarlett's knowledge of the secret passages that he issaved. We will not spoil the rest of the story for you by telling youthe rest of it, but we assure you that it very well written, and did notat all merit my initial groans. Another very good read, or listen.

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  CROWN AND SCEPTRE, A WEST COUNTRY STORY, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.

  CHAPTER ONE.

  IN THE WEST COUNTREE.

  "Derry down, derry down, derry down!"

  A cheery voice rolling out the chorus of an old west-country ditty.

  Then there was a run of a few yards, a sudden stoppage, and a round, redmissile was thrown with considerable force after a blackcock, which roseon whirring wings from among the heather, his violet-black plumageglistening in the autumn sun, as he skimmed over the moor, anddisappeared down the side of a hollow coombe.

  "Missed him," said the thrower, thrusting his hand into his pocket, andbringing out a similar object to that which he had used as a missile,but putting it to a far different purpose; for he raised it to hismouth, drew back his red lips, and with one sharp crunch drove two rowsof white teeth through the ruddy skin, cut out a great circular piece ofapple, spat it out, and threw the rest away.

  "What a sour one!" he cried, as he dived after another, which proved tobe more satisfactory, for he went on munching, as he made his short cutover the moor towards where, in a sheltered hollow, a stone buildingpeeped from a grove of huge oaks.

  The sun shone brightly as, with elastic tread, the singer, a lad ofabout sixteen, walked swiftly over the elevated moorland, now descendinginto a hollow, now climbing a stiff slope, at whose top he could lookover the sea, which spread away to north and west, one dazzling plain ofdamasked silver, dotted with red-sailed boats. Then down another slopefacing the south, where for a moment the boy paused to deliver a sharpkick at something on the short fine grass.

  "Ah, would you!" he exclaimed, following up the kick by a jump whichlanded him upon a little writhing object, which repeated its firstattack, striking with lightning rapidity at the lad's boot, before lyingcrushed and helpless, never to bask in the bright sun again.

  "Serve you right, you nasty poisonous little beast!" cried the boy,crushing his assailant's head beneath his heel. "You got the worst ofit. Think the moor belonged to you? Lucky I had on my boots."

  He dropped upon the ground, drew off a deer-skin boot, and, with hisgood-looking, fair boyish face all in wrinkles, proceeded to examine thetoe, removing therefrom a couple of tiny points with his knife.

  "What sharp teeth adders have!" he muttered. "Not long enough to gothrough."

  The next minute he had drawn on his boot, and set off at a trot, whichtook him down to the bottom of the slope, and half up the other side ofthe coombe, at whose bottom he had had to leap a tiny stream. Then,walking slowly, he climbed the steeper slope; and there was a doubleastonishment for a moment, the boy staring hard at a noble-looking stag,the avant-guard of a little herd of red deer, which was grazing in thehollow below.

  The boy came so suddenly upon the stag, that the great fellow stood atgaze, his branching antlers spreading wide. Then there was a rush, andthe little herd was off at full speed, bucks, does, and fawns, seemingalmost to fly, till they disappeared over a ridge.

  "That's the way!" said the lad. "Now, if Scar and I had been out withour bows, we might have walked all day and never seen a horn."

  As the lad trudged on, munching apples and breaking out from time totime into scraps of song, the surroundings of his walk changed, for hepassed over a rough stone wall, provided with projections to act as astile, and left the moorland behind, to enter upon a lovely park-likeexpanse, dotted with grand oaks and firs, among which he had notjourneyed long before, surrounded on three sides by trees, he came infull sight of the fine-looking, ruddy stone hall, glimpses of which hehad before seen, while its windows and a wide-spreading lake in frontflashed in the bright sunshine.

  "Whoa hoo! whoa hoo! Drop it! Hoi!" shouted the boy; but the objectaddressed, a great grey heron, paid no heed, but went flapping slowlyaway on its widespread wings, its long legs stretched straight outbehind to act as balance, and a small eel writhing and twisting itselfinto knots as it strove in vain to escape from the scissor-like bill.

  "That's where the eels go," muttered the boy, as he hurried on,descending till he reached the shores of the lake, and then skirting it,with eyes searching its sunlit depths, to see here some golden-bronzepike half-hidden among lily leaves, shoals of roach flashing theirsilver sides in the shallows, and among the denser growth of weedsbroad-backed carp basking in the hot sunshine, and at times lazilyrolling over to display their golden sides.

  "Oh yes, you're big and old enough, but you don't half bite. I'd ratherhave a day at our moat any time than here, proud as old Scar is of hisbig pond."

  As the lad reached the head of the lake, where the brown, clear watersof a rocky stream drained into it from the moor above, he caught sightof a few small trout, and, after crossing a little rough stone bridge,startled a couple of moor-hens, who in turn roused up some bald coots,the whole party fluttering away with drooping legs towards the other endof the lake. Here they swam about, twitching their tails, and dividingtheir time between watching the now distant intruder and keeping a sharplook-out for the great pike, which at times sought a change of diet fromconstant fish, and swallowed moor-hen or duckling, or even, preferringfour-footed meat to fowl, seized upon some unfortunate rat.

  "Hi, Nat!" shouted the boy, as he neared the grassy terrace in front ofthe hall, and caught sight of a sturdy-looking young man busy in thegarden.

  "Hullo, Master Fred!"

  "Where's Master Scarlett?"

  "Where's Master Scarlett, sir?" said the man, slowly and deliberatelystraightening his back, and resting upon the tool he handled.

  "Yes. Don't you say he has gone with them, or I'll never give you a mugof cider again."

  "Well, I wasn't going to say as Master Scar's gone with 'em," said theman, with a look of wonder in his eyes. "He was here a bit ago, thoughI didn't see him."

  "Then, how do you know he was here?"

  "Because nobody else wouldn't--"

  "Wouldn't what?
"

  "Well, you see, Master Fred, it was like this here. I was a-stoopingover the bed, tidying up the edge o' the grass, when--whop!"

  "What, did he hit you, Nat!" said the boy, grinning.

  "Well, sir, he did and he didn't, if you can understand that."

  "No, I can't. What do you mean?"

  "This here fox-whelp come and hit me side o' the head, and it must ha'been him as throwed it; and that made me know as he was at home."

  As the man spoke, he took a cider apple from his pocket, a hard, green,three-parts-grown specimen of the fruit, and involuntarily began to rubthe place where he had been struck.

  "Yes; that looks as if he was at home, Nat," said the boy, showing hiswhite teeth.

  "Yes, Master Fred, that looks as if he was at home; but you