The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mistress Penwick, by Dutton Payne
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Title: Mistress Penwick
Author: Dutton Payne
Release Date: May 4, 2004 [EBook #12256]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISTRESS PENWICK ***
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Distributed Proofreading Team.
MISTRESS PENWICK
BY
DUTTON PAYNE
Contents
CHAPTER I
THE URSULINE LOSES A PUPIL
CHAPTER II
THE LORD OF CRANDLEMAR
CHAPTER III
THE BALL
CHAPTER IV
HIS LORDSHIP'S PROPOSAL
CHAPTER V
BACCHUS AND BACCHANTES
CHAPTER VI
JANET'S PHILOSOPHY
CHAPTER VII
THE BRANTLE
CHAPTER VIII
THE ANCIENT MONASTERY
CHAPTER IX
SIR JULIAN POMPHREY
CHAPTER X
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BUTLERY
CHAPTER XI
JACQUES DEMPSY
CHAPTER XII
CASTLE AND MONASTERY
CHAPTER XIII
AS NINE TOLLED FROM THE CHAPEL BELFRY
CHAPTER XIV
SERMONS NEW AND OLD
CHAPTER XV
THE EDICT OF BUCKINGHAM
CHAPTER XVI
BUCKINGHAM'S ADVENTURE
CHAPTER XVII
TELLS OF THE DOINGS OF ALL CONCERNED
CHAPTER XVIII
AT MONMOUTH'S VILLA
CHAPTER XIX
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE COACH
CHAPTER XX
UNPROCLAIMED BANNS
CHAPTER XXI
THE ESPOUSAL
CHAPTER XXII
CEDRIC IN THE TOILS
CHAPTER XXIII
THE COCOANUTS OF THE KING'S CELLAR
CHAPTER XXIV
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE TOWER
CHAPTER XXV
THE GARDEN OF YOUTH
CHAPTER I
THE URSULINE LOSES A PUPIL
"If the ship sails at dawn, then I must hasten to tell my mistress of
the departure, and--of her father's letter."
"I am loath to let yonder tide take her away so soon, Janet."
"But my master's words are a positive command to leave Quebec at
once," and Janet's eyes fell to the imperative line at the close of
her letter which read: "In God's name, good nurse, take my baby to
England in all haste."
"Aye, our noble patron's desire must be carried out!" and the Mother
Superior without further lament went from the small cell.
When the last echo of her footsteps had died away, Janet Wadham
cautiously opened the inner door and passed to the cell adjoining, and
to the low couch upon which lay her mistress in sound slumber.
Fondly she noted the beauty of her charge; the heavy waving hair
gleaming in the fading light a bronze-like amber, the white forehead,
the arched brow, the glow of health upon lip and cheek, the slender
neck, the slope of shoulders, and the outline of a perfect form.
Then the maid stirred and opened her eyes. Her whole body thrilled
with the awakening.
"Ah, 'twas like the bursting of a bud! How dost feel now, Mistress?"
"I am not ill at all. I am a martyr to thy imagination. Dost remember
the time, Janet, I drowsed in the chapel and thou didst make me drink
bitterwort for a fortnight?" and the girl's voice rung out in soft
laughter.
"Aye, I have not forgotten, nor why thou wert drowsy either, Mistress
Penwick."
"Nay, thou didst not know."
"I did so. Thou hadst a book of tales and read nights with the candle
shaded by thy mother's landskip fan, and I gave thee aloes for thy
folly."
"Thou dost always find me out, Janet; I shall be glad when I become a
woman as big as thou."
"Thou art a woman to-day, and thou wilt never be as big as I; so,
having age and not a hulking servant's body, be content. I have a
letter from my master, and in it is much that concerns thee--"
"Isn't there always much that concerns me?"
"But not such important concernings. He has gone on a long journey and
proposes one for thee, my lambkin." Katherine raised herself in bed.
"Nay, thou must not stir or I hush my tale! Thy father has provided
thee with a guardian and 'tis to him I take thee. We go to England
by the first boat,--nay, lay back, calm thyself or I take my wagging
tongue away; if thou dost so much as stir again, I leave thee. Thou
art to go to a great house over there and see grand folks with fine
airs and modish dress. Wilt be glad to see outside of convent walls?
'Tis nine years since I brought thee here a babe of six, and have
nursed thee well to this hour, and thy strength and health and beauty
show the care given thee." She suddenly arose and went to the window
to hide if possible her agitation; but when she looked forth on the
snow-covered city and on beyond at the long range of forest that lay
low and black against the arctic sky, she turned from the gloomy scene
and went again to the couch, quickly suppressing all thoughts save
those that were purely selfish: she would be glad to bid adieu to this
great, still northern world and leave behind forever old Quebec, even
though she must divide her treasure.
"I have been a mother to thee, child, and now I must divide my rule
with a cantankerous Scot--"
"Nay, a Scot and lives in England?"
"He lives in England and thy father speaks of bending somewhat thy
quick temper to the mould of self-control as a safer parry to Scotch
thrust; so I conclude the gentleman must be a Scot."
"Janet, 'tis these awful men that wear skirts like women. I remember
many years ago when I was in Sister Agnes' room, of seeing some of
those dreadful pictures of skirts and bandy-legs. They are unseemly
things for men to wear; it is as though one were uncivilised. I hate
him already for it!"
"Lambkin, thou must remember thy teachings. Sister Agnes would
admonish thee for saying hate. Besides thou dost not know the man, he
may be a second father to thee and cajole and pamper thy whims. He
may even eschew plaid frocks and don modish garments--that would
hide bandy-legs still less! Thy father said I must enjoin upon thee
respect, for his lordship's age; regard, for his wishes, and thou art
to obey his commands, as 'twas not possible for him to direct thee
otherwise than good. If at any time he should find thee in fault, be
the matter seemingly beneath notice, acknowledge thy wrongness, for he
hath a temper and might goad thee to greater blunder. His blood flows
hot and fast, and thou must cool and swage it with thy gentle dignity.
Inasmuch as thy moneys and estates are in my Lord Cedric's control,
thou art to receive such income from him without question. Thy father
further directs perfect submission to Lord Cedric in matters of
marriage, as he will bring suitors of high degree for thy choice and
thou wilt find among them a lover to thy liking." The rosy red flew
into the maiden's face and she trembled with a sweet new emotion she
did not understand.
"This is the first time thou hast ever spoken to me of lovers, Janet.
Indeed very strange things seem to be happening to-day. I feel like a
bird about to fly forth from its cradle-nest, I have forgotten how the
world appears. 'Tis broad and vast; it makes me dizzy to think between
these cramped walls that never seemed so narrow heretofore!" She
lay for a moment in deep thought, then,--"Where didst say father
journeyed?"
"He said not, but intimated 'twas a place of safety where he was
happy to go from political intrigue and war, and where he shall meet
friends."
"Why did he not inscribe some words to me?"
"He speaks of an epistle of welcome--and farewell to be given thee
by Lord Cedric upon thy arrival in England. 'Twill give thee greater
pleasure then."
"But Janet; a Scot! A blustering, red-faced Scot with petticoats! Hast
ever seen one outside of pictures?"
"Aye, Lambkin, and 'twas the unseemly kilt that was the better part;
for I have met a blustering red-faced Scot as thou sayest; and he
was boisterous and surly, giving vent to a choleric temper by coarse
oaths; and 'twas his plaid denoted a gentleman of high rank withal.
The long hair that swept his shoulders was as florid as his face, as
was also his flowing whiskers and mustachio, the latter being bitten
short and forming a bristling fringe over a slavering mouth,--what is
it, Mistress, thou art pale, has pain taken thee?"
"Nay, 'tis nausea, an awful loathing; I wish to remain here. Send at
once my desires to my father. I will not go to England, Janet!"
"'Tis better thou shouldst think of something else beside my Lord
Cedric, for instance, his great demesne, Crandlemar Castle, the most
beautiful of his several seats; the splendid horses and equipages;
and, thyself, Lambkin, think of thyself bedecked in gorgeous hued
brocades; be-furbelowed in rare lace and costly furs. And thou wilt
have a maid to build thy hair, tie shoulder knots and make smart
ribbons and frills, and furbish bijoux and gems. And thou wilt wear
perfume, and carry a nosegay and fan. And thou wilt sweep the most
graceful courtesy and queen it everywhere with thy sweet graciousness.
Thy father says thou shouldst become an idol to the old man's heart,
as my lord is without wife or daughter."
"If his demesne be in England, 'tis but right he should become as far
as possible a genuine Anglo-Saxon, and if I can turn him, I will. How
soon does the boat sail?"
"Within forty-eight hours we shall be upon the sea and thou wilt
have begun to whimper and bemoan its awful swell. 'Twill have more
evacuating power than teeth-curtailed mustachios upon thy heretofore
staunch stomach."
"Nay, I will not believe my Lord Cedric such a man; and yet thou hast
drawn a picture that will be ever before me until I see him. Sister
Agnes would say,--'there is a sinfulness in doubt and anxiety,
inasmuch as such thoughts lash the soul to uneasiness and draw it
from celestial contemplations. Think not on it!' neither will I,
but rather, I will fancy the morrow's sun glinting upon myriad
white-capped waves; the bosom of the ocean swelling with emotion
and--didst say 'twould make me ill, Janet?"
"I am afraid of it, 'twill be glorious if thou art not; for 'tis a
wonderful thing to see the rise and fall of sun and moon, and witness
storms that seldom fail to lend their fearfulness to the voyagers of
so long a journey."
"Wilt thou be afraid, Janet?"
"Nay, not I; 'twill be the elixir of ambrosia to breathe salt air
again, and the stronger and more mist-laden the better to knock out
foul exhalations sucked in these nine years from musty walls. 'Twill
be sweet to have the wind rap from us the various fungi that comes
from sunless chambers. Ah, a stiff breeze will rejuvenate thy fifteen
years one month to a lusty, crowing infant and my forty all-seasons to
a simpering wench."
"How splendid, Janet!" Katherine threw out her arms and drew a long,
deep breath. "'Twill be glorious to breathe pure, free air!"
"Aye, my Lambkin, and thy chest will broaden and be larger by two good
inches ere we see chalk cliffs and English waters. Thou wilt open
like a rose to the sunshine of the outer world. But, we are
anticipating--let us speak of the present. To-night we go to vespers
for the last time, and thou must bid thy friends adieu before I tuck
thee in thy cot as we arise and are off before day-dawn. Let thy
farewells be briefly spoken as if thou wert to be gone but a day.
'Twas thy father's wish thou shouldst not grieve at parting with thy
companions, or the Sisters or Mother. 'Tis best to leave them the
remembrance of a face happy, rather than one steeped in sorrow. Say
to them what thy heart dictates, but with a quick tongue and bright
countenance; 'twill tend to suppress tears and numb the pain at thy
heart. When thou art thus engaged I will prepare us for journeying.
Wilt thou wear thy Sunday gown?"
"'Tis none too good! couldst put on a ribbon to relieve its greyness?"
"Ah, Lambkin, thou hast begun already with thy fine lady's notions!
thou wilt be crying for high-heeled boots and built-up hair and stays,
stays, Mistress, stays wilt be thy first cry--oh, Lambkin, thou art
heavy-hearted and I am turning myself into a fool to physic thy
risibles;--I wish we were upon the sea at this moment; if it were
possible I should have taken thee while thou wert in sleep; but nay,
I could not; for thou art a maiden grown and art plump and heavy with
all. If I had taken thee so, thou wouldst have wept anyway, perhaps;
for 'tis thy nature to have thy own way. 'Twould be a cross to thy
father could he see thee now. I doubt not 'twould turn the Scot's
bull-scaring face to ashen hues, 'tis possible--" Katherine's soft
rippling laugh interrupted her, and at its sound Janet leant and
kissed the maid's pink-palmed hands as they lay upon the coverlet,
and taking them within her own fondled them, saying,--"And thou
wilt surprise my lord and his friends by thy rare playing of the
clavichord, and 'tis possible so great and wealthy a man will own a
piano-forte of which we have heard so much; and mayhap thou will be
presented at Court, and in great London town thou mayest see many
musicians from France, for 'tis not improbable they are brought over
the channel at the instance of his Majesty. Is it not grand to think
of all these things, Lambkin?"
"Aye, 'tis glorious! But Janet, let me up and dress me--ah, it seems
an age until the morrow!"
'Twas with greater care than usual Janet made ready her Mistress. And
after sundry admonitions about cold corridors and draughts, opened the
door and watched her in silence as she passed through, and down the
hall to vespers. And when evening prayer was over and Katherine had
gone to say adieu, Janet began to pack the chests for their early
flight; her heart exultant, save for the sorrow of not seeing her
master again as she believed and having some little fear of the new
one she was about to encounter.
CHAPTER II
THE LORD OF CRANDLEMAR
The adieux had been said, the night had come and gone, and with the
dawn the tide drew away carrying with it a large vessel upon the deck
of which stood Janet and Katherine wrapped in long traveling capes.
"'Tis the most wondrous sight I ever beheld! Thinkest thou the
Bethlehem Star could have been more beautiful than yonder Lucifer.
Indeed it seems, Janet, we see in all nature the reflection of the
Christ; the birth of dawn; the presence of the star; these black
waters. 'Tis awesome! Listen, Janet, thou must acknowledge thou
hearest something more than plaint of ocean. 'Tis something more than
sound. It fills me with an exultation I cannot analyze. Dost feel it,
Janet?"
"I cannot tell what I feel, Mistress." And Janet covered her mouth
to smother her laughter; first of all because she felt seasick, and
secondly the child's words stirred in her no such youthful enthusiasm.
She was not yet rejuvenated.
"And with all this glory of nature filling me I can less understand
Sister Phelia's words at parting. Her eyes seemed to burn to my very
soul as she said: 'Dost not feel as thou art leaving these sacred
walls that thou art passing from a retreat where the Blessed Virgin
ever guides thee?' 'I have felt her presence ever, said I. 'But 'tis
better to renounce the world and have strength to live in seclusion,'
she answered. I made bold and replied that I thought it required much
greater strength to go on the battlefield of the world and be good
than live within the impenetrable walls of a cloister where bin cannot
come. 'But, child, thou wilt see beautiful things made by the hand
of man that will fill thy heart leaving not room for the Divine
Presence.' 'Nay,' said I, 'I shall see God's work in every beauteous
thing and I shall trust Him for the gift of penetration to see through
filthy rags and distorted body the beauty of the soul.' 'Twas her wish
that I should write her once a year of my spiritual condition and to
think of her as being happy in her isolation. And with this strange
light about us, the farewell recurs to me and I wonder that human
beings could shut themselves from so beauteous a thing as Nature in
their fear of contamination by sin!"
"My Lambkin, 'they talk strongest who never felt temptation;' thou
art going into a world thou hast not seen, much less, felt its
power. Sister Phelia is right. We acknowledge the Divine Presence is
everywhere; she intimated thou wert leaving a place where sin was not,
to go where it abounded. There is one place, however, we may always be
sure of finding the divine atom whether we be in seclusion or abroad;
'tis in our own heart and called before the ages, 'Holy Ghost.' Many
of us fail to recognize it; others cry 'insolvency'; but the better
part draw on it with confidence. It honours our call and gives us
on demand, conscience, with which we can withstand all sin if we so
desire."
The second day upon the water Janet fell a victim to _mal-de-mer_, and
'twas Katherine who turned nurse; and after four or five days
Janet grew better and was half ashamed, veiling her confusion with
self-accusation: "'Tis good enough for me, 'twas wrong to be eating
pork, 'tis positively forbidden us. I lay it to that! I gave myself
over to eating to make up for a fast of nine long years. Thou hadst
not a qualm because thou hast been fed on wine and porridge and beef
gruel and whey. The clearness of thy body speaks for a pure stomach.
Let the awfulness of my condition warn thee. Thou must never grumble
when I take from thee weightier food than thou hast been used to. But,
Lambkin, we have had a glorious voyage inasmuch as we have had both
calm and storm; had I been privileged to do the ordering, we could not
have had better weather."
Janet and her mistress walked the deck when 'twas possible, from rise
to set of sun, and Katherine expanded until her convent dress became
straightened, and she retired to her bed while Janet let out seams,
augmenting it to her mistress' further comfort and development.
It was almost with regret that they espied land; for Janet was
anxious, and Katherine was apprehensive of the Scot, and as the white
cliffs appeared to rise higher they each wished the sea journey had
just begun.
At last they stood upon English soil, and so bewildered was Katherine
she could only cling to Janet's dress like a frightened child; there
was such a clamour, 'twas like pandemonium. The poor frightened thing
was inclined to believe that the people were mad and raving, and was
hardly called to concentration of thought when Lord Cedric's Chaplain
stood before them dumbfounded by her beauty.
He was a pale, little man, who managed with difficulty to collect his
senses and lead them to an equipage of imposing richness that stood
not far away. And immediately after chests and sundry articles of
travel were placed upon the coach, the rolling wheels carried them
through the town and on beyond, over plains and hills and lonely
moors, through forests of oak and beech, coloured in the grey of
winter. Nor did the ponderous vehicle stop save for a hurried
refreshment or a short night's rest at some wayside inn.
Lord Cedric's orders were not being strictly carried out. The Chaplain
was to bring back to the castle Janet Wadham and baby. Here was the
first-named, but where was the child? The little man was fearful he
had made some mistake, and grew exceedingly nervous when they at last
spied the battlements of Crandlemar Castle, and the child for whom he
had gone must be accounted for.
Night was falling as the equipage bearing Mistress Katherine and her
attendants passed between the massive stone pillars of the gate
into the long avenues bordered by leafless trees; and when yet some
distance from the castle, the occupants could catch glimpses of many
lighted windows. Katherine lay back on the cushions tired, timid,
half-fearful, wondering. Not so Janet; she craned body and neck
fearful lest some small detail of the visible grandeur might escape
her. In a moment more they had stopped at the great entrance, and
immediately the ponderous doors were thrown wide by two ugly little
dwarfs in magnificent livery. Out trooped other menials of perhaps
less age and greater dignity, quickly gathering from the equipage the
chests and bags and other articles of less cumbrousness. Mistress
Katherine, with Janet by her side, was so blinded by the glare of
lights and furbished gildings, she saw naught, but followed on up
winding stairs, stepping twice upon each broad step; through corridors
and alcoves and winding halls, and in her ears was the sound of men's
and women's soft laughter, and she breathed the perfume of flowers,
and inhaled as they passed some half-open door, the odour of _paudre
de rose_ and jasmine.
A woman older, less comely than Janet, and having the smirk of a
perfunctory greeting upon her flabby face, stood within the room
assigned to Mistress Katherine. As her eyes fell upon the maid, she
stepped back surprised, and with a confusion she essayed to hide in
her coarse voiced acknowledgment of their presence.
"The child, madam, where's the child? 'is Ludship sent me to take
charge of the hinfant and 'er nurse."
Janet's voice rang like steel as she said,--"Thou canst fondle me to
thy heart's content, but the 'hinfant his' a maiden grown and well
able to look after her own swathings; 'twould better serve thee and us
to get thee below and prepare thine 'hinfant' grown some meat and
wine with etceteras, and plenty of them, for she hath a lusty and
ever-present appetite. But stay, where wilt thou cradle thy babe's
nurse, in this room beyond the closet?" With a superhuman effort, as
it were,--the woman, confident of the importance of her position,
and the forbearance such an one should have in dealing with the less
consequential,--suppressed her choler and raised her eyebrows, and
spoke with the coldness of her betters.
"Thou wilt sleep there for a time, at least until 'is Ludship's guests
'ave gone; the nurseries 'ave been turned into guests' rooms,--'is
Ludship 'as Royalty beneath 'is roof and bade me take the--the child
to the furth'rest room and keep hits squawking 'ushed!" With a
deprecating gesture, she shuffled from the room.
'Twas a great square apartment, with low ceiling, a small hearthstone
and an immense bedstead with tester and outer coverings of flowered
chintz. The light from the two small candles upon the high
mantel-shelf were dimmed by the greater light from the hearth.
With a long, heavy sigh, which ended in a quiet half-hearted laugh,
Katherine flung herself back in a huge chair and said,--
"Art not afraid to lash tongues with a trusted servant of my Lord
Cedric? She may give thee an ill name."
"Nay, rather, if I had boxed' er hears' 'twould have been better.
Indeed, if thou hadst been absent I should have brawled it with her.
'Ludship'--'tis the cant of a pot house wench,--'is Ludship' to me,
who has been consorting with Sister Agnes and Phelia and Drusah and
the Mother Superior of the Ursuline. Wilt let me dress thee now?"
"Nay, Janet, I will cleanse my face and hands, have my supper--for I'm
nearly famished, and jump into yonder bed that hath a lid--"
"Why, Lambkin, that is a tester, 'tis the first thou hast seen! But,
Lambkin, I would have thee don thy pretty white dress and go down to
more cheerful surroundings."
"Nay, Janet, I could not raise courage. Have my supper brought up!"
"My blessed Lambkin, I will take thee down and see that they give thee
proper food for thy coach-jostled stomach. Thou shalt have a room and
table to thyself. I'll see to it. I thought upon it coming up to this
sky-begotten chamber. The toddy would freeze stiff and the pheasants
grow to clamminess on so long and frigid a journey. I will dress thee
and then will find my way down and make things ready for thy comfort
and privacy."
'Twas a soft, white, clinging gown, high-necked and long-sleeved, with
the perfume of incense in its folds, Janet vested her mistress in. The
thick rolls of hair framing her face glinted with bronze and amber
sheen. Her warm youthful blood coloured her countenance with the tints
of the peach blossom. Thus she stood gloriously beautiful; ready for
conquest.
Janet went below, nor was she gone long ere she came again to her
mistress' side.
"Didst see any signs of petticoats. Janet?"
"Nay, mistress," and her voice was sober and intense. "I tried to find
a servants' stairway, but it seemed all were grand and confusing. And
every moment lackeys rushed by me bearing trays of smoking viands,
and not even so much as looking my way. At last I found one I thought
would take the time to answer a question and I asked him the way
below. He answered me civilly and conducted me saying the while, that
'twas a grand party his Lord Cedric was having; members of the Royal
family being present; he even mentioned the Dukes of Buckingham and
Monmouth. The boy was so filled with good sense I am sure, Mistress,
he spoke truly and that we are within a very great man's house. I
found old flabby, and she took me to a cosy little room with a table
ready spread. So come, my Lambkin, when his Lordship finds not a baby
but a rare gem for his costly setting, his heart will bound with
pleasure and he will regret he did not prepare for a great lady
instead of an infant."
Timorously the maid followed Janet through intricate windings to the
broad stairway.
"Janet, take me through the servants' passage for this once!"
"Nay, thou art a lady, and as such must keep to the grand aisles." So
on they went traversing lofty corridors. In one of these they suddenly
came upon a young gallant of youthful beauty; a mould of elegance and
strength; his countenance was flushed and shaded by curling black hair
that fell loose upon his shoulders. In his shapely, white, bejewelled
fingers he held a blood-red rose, and as his eyes fell upon the most
beautiful face he had ever beheld, he caught his breath and held the
rose to his face to hide his devouring glances as she swept by him
under the soft light cast by the sconces above her head. In a moment
he was upon the stairway, breathless and panting, and leaning over,
dropped the rose at her feet. Her face grew as rosy as the thing
itself, but passing on made none other sign.
"'Tis a conquest thou hast made the first hour, and thou acknowledged
thy victory with naught but a modest maiden blush. But, Lambkin, his
body was not a match for thine; 'twas inclined to be too slender. I
shall pick for thee a beau like Sir Williams's Romeo."
They had now come to where the table awaited Katherine, and Janet
bustled about handing things for her mistress' convenience; then
hurried out to send in the warm food from the oven.
"Janet, didst say the bird was a pheasant?--'Tis grand tasting!"
"Aye, Mistress, and there was a score of other things that I would not
let thee eat; 'twould make pimples on thy snowy neck and shoulders."
"Dost think perchance the young man upon the stairway was the Duke
of Monmouth? He was very handsome, Janet, I think he was very, very
handsome."
"Thou dost have the names of the great upon thy tongue as commonly
as thou sayest Janet; 'tis more than probable he is a country squire
and--"
"Dear Janet, go get thy supper and get back to me, for I would rather
remain here alone than in yonder chamber. 'Tis grand to live in so
great a house, 'tis better than--than the convent. How soon shall
I have fine frocks and jewels and--a beau like yonder one on the
stairway?"
"Thou art becoming exercised prematurely; his Lordship may not
condescend to visit his puling babe before his guests depart. In such
case, thou wilt have time to cool thy haste. I will go now. Do not eat
too much, Lambkin." Janet looked back admiringly as she left the room;
her eyes upon her mistress' daintily ruddy face, smiling at her from
between two tall candles.
Every appointment of room and table was essentially English, and
Mistress Katherine cast her eye about wondering if 'twas so, or, were
they Scotch? She inclined to the former, and a sigh of relief and
happiness escaped her.
Suddenly there was a sound of hurrying footsteps with an accompanying
one of broad Scotch oaths in no low key. A lackey carrying a bag-pipe
rushed into the room and out again without noticing its occupant.
At his very heels was a big Scotchman of large and ridiculous
proportions; red hair, red face, red whiskers, red mustachios, and
bandy-legs, petticoats and all; and a tongue ripping out hot oaths.
In a moment Katherine was upon her feet, her eyes flashed forth
indignation. The keen eyes of the Scot saw her at a glance. He looked,
stared, then bent almost to the floor before her and waited thus for
her to speak. She, not accustomed to the masculine courtesies of
polite breeding, thought his attitude was too prolonged for either a
bow of homage or humiliation; and she straightway in a voice that was
tremulous with emotion, said:
"Has the bitterness of thy tongue taken root in thy stomach?" Quickly
he raised himself at her first word and gazed with enamoured looks at
the amber folds of hair, her glowing face; and with panting breath his
eyes rested upon the round fulness of her form as it palpitated with
rightful perturbance.
"Betake thyself before I inform Lord Cedric of thy presence!" And
she rapped smartly her knife-handle upon the table. "Betake thyself,
begone!" He did not stir nor find breath until she stood forth from
the table and he saw her beauteous being from head to dainty toe of
convent sandal. Then he found voice, and in broad Scotch begged her
clemency, advancing toward her the while and almost kneeling in his
humility.
"If I did not know the queen--"
"'Tis presuming for thee to speak of knowing her; thou dishonourest
the noble plaid thou wearest. Begone from me, sir, instantly. Begone,
I say!"
"Nay, I shall not begone. Tell me who thou art, I know thee not!"
"Tell thee? Nay, 'twould displease my lord if he knew I held converse
with thee thus. He would no doubt send thee from the castle."
"But who is thy lord, pray?"
"Lord Cedric of Crandlemar!"
"Ah, ah,--but it does not displease him. Lord Cedric says thou shalt
talk to him the balance of his days." The maid shrunk further from him
in sheer loathing. At the moment Janet entered, and the rough Scot
turned upon her, and in a voice of command, said,--
"Who is this maid, woman?" Janet scanned him for a moment and a bit of
truth flashed upon her.
"'Tis the honoured daughter of Sir John Penwick," and she bowed to the
floor.
"Ah! ah!!" He retreated in dismay and for a moment was silent,
encumbered with emotions of surprise, admiration, wonderment and
doubt. "Then thou art my ward and thou hatest me already--"
"Thou, thou Lord Cedric, the master of this great house?" And
Katherine in the confidence of Janet's presence, laughed in scorn and
swept from the room disdaining his commands to remain longer. For a
moment he stood stunned as it were; then started toward the door and
looked after their retreating forms, exclaiming the while,--
"Ah!--ah!! Thou a convent baggage ordering the lord of the castle from
thy presence. Never have I been so talked to before. Damn me, I love
thy gorgeous self, thy beauteous body; thou my ward to have and to
hold. I may if I choose say to thee, thou shalt, or thou shalt not.
Hey, hey, there, Christopher!" He knocked loudly upon the panelling
of the door. A lackey entered trepidated. "Go and bring in haste from
Wasson the letter written by Sir John Penwick. Haste thee, mind!" He
turned to the table as if the shadow of her being still rested there
and spoke the continuation of his thought. "'Tis a bit of paper,
Mistress Katherine, that has become of more worth than a king's
ransom. The last will and testament of Sir John Penwick bequeathing to
my father a priceless property,--Thou wert slow, Christopher, but I
forgive thee." He tore the letter from the lackey's hands and sat upon
the chair drawing the candle to his convenience and read aloud:
"'Cedric: When we parted twenty odd years ago 'twas in anger. I hope
thou hast forgotten it as I have.' My poor father had forgotten and
yearned to tell him so. 'I'm upon my death-bed and my consolation is
the remembrance of our mutual faith plighted to each other a short
time before our quarrel. 'Twas the bit of Scotch blood in thee that
brought us to contentious wrangle. I 'minded thee at the time thou
wouldst grieve for thy hot words, and 'tis a balm I send thee for thy
grieved heart; 'tis my baby Kate'--Baby, baby of course I thought
her so and sent her to a nurse's nookery at the top of the towers
to silence the wench's squawkings, and gave Stephen the care of the
freshest young heifer, that the youngster might not lack for proper
food, 'now under her nurse's care in the Ursuline Convent at Quebec.
The child has been environed with all that is pure and good, and will
come to thee with the sweet incense of the cloister clinging about
her. I have heard but once of thee, and 'twas that thy young wife died
leaving thee without heirs. If such be so, thou wilt find a solace in
my baby. Guard her as thine own. I have only enough gold to send her
with her nurse to thy protection.' She will be obliged to come to me
for all things, and I will spoil my own pleasure by giving her before
she asks. 'In my epistle to Janet Wadham I spoke of moneys and estates
being in thy hands. 'Tis a lie that will bring to thy mind more
vividly than aught else my personality--_suppressio veri_; but if thou
findest a like propensity in my babe, thou wilt deal gently but firmly
with her for its correction. I give into thy keeping more than house,
lands or titles. I would direct clemency toward my beloved servant;
she has proven most faithful. My wife truly loved her and at her
child's birth was constantly tended by the vigilant Janet; and 'twas
her desire she should remain always with the babe. Enclosed thou will
find a letter to be given to my daughter upon her arrival to thy care;
'tis a letter of both welcome and farewell. Some day thou must tell
her I am gone on my last journey, tell her when she is surrounded by
pleasant distractions that she may not grieve. She knows naught of
trouble, neither would I have her know. 'Tis possible she may have
some religious ideas that are not identical with thine. She may be
laden with all sorts of shrines, picture-books, candles, crosses and
beads; these religion's playthings thou of sterner mould wilt hardly
consider. My last wish and the one of greatest import to my child is
that thou find for her a spouse of rank and fortune; 'tis my desire
that she marry early to such an one. Ah, Cedric, if thou had hadst a
son, their union would have been our delight; for when thou seest my
Kate thou wilt see the most beautiful thing in life.'
"Aye, she is the most beautiful thing in life. She is mine, my very
own, her father gives her to me for marriage--marriage, and 'tis a
speedy one he asks, and she shall have it. I love her, love her, my
whole being throbs with mad desire. She is the sweetest maid on earth,
and I drink from the cup upon which her rich, red lips have rested;
ah, 'tis sweet!" He poured a bumper and drank, then flung from the
room with great strides.
CHAPTER III
THE BALL
Meanwhile Mistress Katherine sat before the fire in the tower nookery
while Janet unpacked the luggage.
"'Twould not be fitting for Lord Cedric to have such a man within his
house as guest!"
"Neither has he, Lambkin; 'tis his Lordship himself." Her voice rang
truth and Katherine turned dismayed,--
"Nay, Janet, the man was a drunken fool! Surely, surely thou dost not
mean thy sayings. He is not a fit person to be in so great a castle.
Thou art shamming!"
"I mean every word; 'tis my Lord _en masque_, for to-night there is to
be a great and magnificent spectacle."
"And what does that mean, Janet?"
"It means there is to be a masque ball, and my Lord Cedric is in his
costume, and he does not look like that at all. We may be sure he
appears quite the opposite when apparelled in his usual dress."
"But his tongue, he cannot change that!"
"Thou wilt have to wait and see for thyself, and fortune favours, for
now thou wilt not have long to wait. I saw his wicked young eyes--too
young for so old a man, as it appeared--directing enamoured darts upon
thee."
"But art thou not afraid of so oath-beladen tongue? He is dreadfully
profane!"
"He has already seen his peril and will drop his oaths like jetsam and
wilt come to thee with flotsamy oglings and tender nothings and bow
and smirk; and thou wilt find thyself an old man's sweetheart."
"Janet, can we not find some point of observation where we may look
upon the maskers unseen?"
"Thou art speaking my own mind. I will look about and find some
seclusion that thou mayest look and sate thine eyes upon Royalty; and
thou wilt gaze and gaze and make mental annotations, and to-morrow
thou wilt begin to preen thy feathers preparatory to flying forth; but
first thou must lie down and sleep three full hours, 'tis then the
ball will be at its height, and thou wilt feel refreshed and ready to
amuse me with thy observations. 'Twill be the grandest sight for thee.
I have seen many but none so gorgeous as this is to be."
Janet went upon a tour of exploration and finding what she desired in
the way of a quiet corner returned for Katherine. They passed down
flights of steps, through halls, and came to a large corridor that
opened upon a gallery which encircled the ballroom, save where it was
cleft by a great stairway. As they stood looking over the railing,
'twas like looking down upon an immense concave opal, peopled by the
gorgeously apparelled. Myriad tints seeming to assimulate and focus
wherever the eyes rested. Gilt bewreathed pillars, mouldings,
shimmering satin, lights, jewels, flowers, ceiling, gallery and
parquetry appeared like a homogeneous mass of opal. Mistress Katherine
could not speak, her perturbed spirit was silent, she held to Janet
and the curtain that hung at the arch, and breathed in the perfume.
"Canst see thy lord yonder?"
"Nay, I see all collectively, but nothing individually; my eyes fail
to separate this from that."
"Perhaps if thou couldst whip them to his ugly frame, 'twould prove an
antidote."
"'Twill come in time,--I can now discern that 'tis the folk that art
moving and not the flowers and lights. I see a red figure seeming
to hurry among the dancers, looking this way and that, peering and
peeping; he has lost something."
"'Tis more probable he is looking for what he has found; 'tis thy
stairway-beau with the rose; he has retrieved it and is hot upon the
chase again. He is looking for thee.--'Tis vain my lord-devil, thou
hadst better use the time to swathe thy feet in asbestos-flax."
The music of the passacaglia floated up and Katherine drank in its
minor sweetness. Presently the dance changed into the chaconne with
its prominent bass theme, again turning to the poetic and stately
sarabande.
"Now I do see the Scot; he is by far the most homely figure anywhere,
and yet, he is graceful, and it must be a very great beauty with him.
How could the master of so great a house look so?" The music changed
into a sprightly gavotte, Katherine's ears fairly tingled with the
confusion of sound. She lay her head upon Janet's bosom as if drunk
with the surfeit of music.
"'Tis more than I could have dreamed. Didst ever see anything so
beautiful before? It seems years ago since we were within convent
walls!"
"'Twill bring thy seeming nearer if thy lord proposes a speedy return
to the cloister."
"Nay, I would not go."
"Ah, then, enjoy the present and think of moments and not cycles. Here
thou shalt sit on this low divan, behind this tripod of roses; there,
thou canst hear what they whisper when the music ceases." They sat
ensconced in flowers and drapings of satin brocade, looking down
upon splendidly and wonderfully dressed princes and dukes, lords
and counts, with their ladies dancing the gavotte. There was the
perfection of beauty and stateliness and romance. The few unmasked
faces were smiling and bright with powder and rouge; dainty hands
flourished fans; and there was the low click of high heels upon
the parquetry. Jewels flashed and brocades gleamed; a shimmering
accompaniment completing the symmetry of the brilliant dance. It was
not long before Janet called her companion's attention to the lord of
the castle. He was dancing now with a very beautiful woman, even more
so than the one before.
"He steps lightly, being so bandied. Now I think on it, 'twere
possible his legs were cushioned thus to hide a senile thinness!
'Tis human nature when badgered by excess of limit to flounder into
limitless excess. Look upon the Burgomaster at thy feet with a surfeit
of good round legs, he is unfortunate for being in excess, he cannot
whittle down. 'Tis a queer being with whom he dances,--here comes a
queen, see, she stops beneath thee,--sh--'Constance,' my lord devil
calls her, 'Constance'; what thinkest thou, is she not beautiful?"
"See the bones in her neck, Janet, they protrude like pulpy blisters,
and she looks flat of chest for a waist so abbreviated."
"I see thine eyes are ever upon nature, and 'tis best if thy gaze can
penetrate the heart as well."
"Surely we have intuition, and I like not Constance."
"How about my lord with the rose?"
"I like him."
"Oh, impressionable youth! 'thou art the gilded sand from which the
kiss of a wave washes every impress.' Tune thy myriad atoms to imitate
the rock, and gird thyself with strength to meet the battery of
onrushing breakers that grind against thee! Be careful, my Lambkin,
fall not in love with the first handsome face thou seest." The music
ceased; there was naught of sound, but a babble of voice and soft, gay
laughter. The guests passed up the grand stairway, and between the
pillars that guarded the entrance to the vaulted gallery beyond.
Immediately beneath, where Katherine and her nurse sat, were Constance
and her Mephistophelian consort. The former was saying:
"And thou dost say she is extremely beautiful? In what particular is
this queen of thine so entrancing, is it in face or form?"
"Her face is divine, and her form ravishes one with delight."
"She is indeed fortunate to be such a goddess. If she is a
lady-in-waiting to the Royal suite she will depart to-morrow!" and
there was relief in the supposition. Constance continued: "I saw my
kinsman's list of invitation, and among them all there was not one
fitting thy description of this paragon, Adrian!"
"She had the bearing of a princess; she must be a person of note!"
"Adrian,"--and she grasped his arm tightly,--"dost think, thou knowing
the ways of men, Cedric could have some bright being here to keep
him from the dumps, and when guests are present, hides her in some
remoteness?" There was more in Constance' meaning than what she said.
"Nay, nay, any man would be proud to--yet, if Cedric loved he would be
very jealous!"
"Thinkest thou so?"
"I am positive. To-morrow, Constance, I will watch the departure of
the guests, and, if I find not the maid, I will let thee know, and we
will pounce upon my Lord Cedric and have him bring her to our notice."
"Nay, Adrian, I'll tell thee a better way. If she departs not with the
company to-morrow, I will search the castle and find her; for I know
every cranny. I will bring about a meeting, so thou mayest beau her
privately and win her love before Cedric knows aught; 'twill be a
grand joke to play upon him, and 'twill pay him back for trying to
hide from us the gem of his castle." They looked into each other's
eyes but an instant, and they each understood the other.
"'Tis a compact, Constance. 'Twill be sweet to meet her in secret.
God grant she may be a member of my lord's household!" Like a prayer
Constance uttered after him, as they traversed the room to the great
stairway,--"God grant it may not be so!"
"Unlike Hamlet's prayer, their words and thoughts both fly up, and to
such a prayer they will undoubtedly receive an answer; but whether
'twill be satisfactory to the one or the other, remains to be seen,
as the destination of their supplications was a long way this side of
heaven--" said Janet, as she wrapped her mistress in her grey convent
cape and led her without the gallery.
"Is it possible I was the object of discussion, Janet?"
"'Tis probable. The first trophy thou hast gained without appearing
upon the field."
"And what is that?"
"A woman's hate; thy rival hast given thee the first token of
success." They had reached the tower chamber and Janet began to
prepare her mistress for bed.
"I cannot understand thee, I cannot grasp thy meaning."
"Neither would I have thee understand; for if I took from thee thy
innocent mind, I would deprive thee of thy best weapon. Thou hadst
better chatter of thy poor, grey frock thou wilt don on the morrow."
Katherine stood before a small mirror divested of her outer garments.
The soft white thing that bound her graceful, sloping shoulders, had
fallen loose displaying her glorious white neck and bosom. Janet
caught the mirrored reflection and understood and answered,--
"Nay, thou hast no pulpy blisters, neither shalt have while I feed
thee on pap and rub thee with oil; nor yet a flat chest for thy
shoulders are sunk from prominence by its fulness."
"Shall I wear a low bodice thus, Janet?"
"Aye, Lambkin."
"And high-heeled boots and stays,--I must have stays before I appear
at my lord's table."
"Thou shalt not have that 'twould squeeze thy beauteous mould." The
faithful Janet unbound her nursling as if she had been a tiny babe and
swathed her in a soft, warm thing, and bade her get to bed. Katherine
jumped to the middle and lay panting, with happy eyes that had naught
of sleep in them, until on a sudden Janet's voice rung like a menace
on her ears.
"Thou hast forgotten thy rosary; thou hast neither said an _Ave Maria_
or a _Pater Noster_ since our arrival. Thou wouldst neglect thy
religion, and 'tis thy own, sweet precious self that will pay the
penalty."
"Nay, nay, Janet, I will say them ten times to make up for my
forgetfulness." She sprung from her bed.
"To bed, to bed; thou shalt not kneel upon the floor in this ice-bound
chamber. Here, take thy beads and say them once and close thy azure
eyes." Janet watched until the wax-like lids drooped, then softly made
fast the doors. She flung herself into a great chintz-covered chair
and fell asleep before the bright fire.
CHAPTER IV
HIS LORDSHIP'S PROPOSAL
She did not waken until aroused by the grinding of wheels upon the
gravel beneath the window. A servant brought coals and wood and
built a roaring fire that warmed her chilled bones. She ordered her
mistress' breakfast for eleven o'clock, and locking the door upon the
retreating lackey, settled herself in the chair again and fell asleep.
She was next awakened by a smart rap upon the door. The servant stood
upon the threshold gazing at the vision of beauty that had raised upon
her elbow in the bed, and was looking with inquiring eyes.
"His Lordship begs Mistress Penwick to step to the library after her
breakfast."
"Step, to be sure, thou hadst better bring a chariot to cart her
there, and 'twould be out of the question for her to go before getting
anything into her stomach to strengthen her for the journey."
"Shall I tell him so, mum?" said the servant, with a look of roguery
in his eyes.
"'Twould become thee better to tell him without asking if thou
shouldst. Avaunt, get thee gone on thy mission." Then turning to
Katherine,--"'Twould have to come sooner or later and 'tis best sooner
I'm thinking," and Janet stepped to draw the curtains to let in but a
sickly grey light. "Ah, there is a great snowstorm! and there seems to
be a large party about to set forth a hunting." And indeed there arose
to their ears a great noise of baying hounds and the tramping of
horses in the courtyard, and voices were raised high and merry. There
was a rattle of spurs and champing of bits; and as the two women
looked from the window the party set forth.
"Thou wilt go with me, Janet?"
"As far as the library door. I will listen and peep through the
keyhole when no one is passing."
A lackey came to conduct Mistress Katherine below. He looked surprised
at Janet as she followed them, neither was his curiosity appeased when
Mistress Penwick passed through the library door, and the severe-faced
Janet sat down upon a ponderous chair in the corridor just outside.
'Twas a great room with enormous fireplaces, and in front of one of
them stood Lord Cedric. There was a smile on his face as he noted
his ward's surprise. She looked upon him with interest and finally
spoke,--
"Lord Cedric sent for me; he is not here," and she retreated as if to
leave the room.
"Nay, do not leave until thou hast become acquainted with Cedric of
Crandlemar." He held out his hand to her longingly, pleadingly, and
stood thus before her; his figure of an Adonis silhouetted by the
flames that reached above his head in the great chimney behind him.
His face and form was a match for her own. A hunting-coat wrapped his
broad shoulders; his beauteous limbs were encased in high-field boots,
showing well his fine masculine mould.
"How many lords of Crandlemar are there?" she asked, almost
contemptuously.
"One, only," and he still held out his hand with a gesture of
entreaty. "I was the ill-humoured, boisterous man in Scotch attire
last night. I beg thee to forgive and forget it. Come--come--thou art
my ward."
"But my Lord Cedric is an old man, as old as my father, and is
Scotch."
"Thou art speaking of my father; he has been dead five years. Thy
father did not know of his death when he sent thee to England. And
my mother"--his voice trembled--"died when I was born. I was reared
without a woman's love. Angel was too old to teach me tenderness. She
has tried to guide me; but Kate--thy father calls thee so--I have had
no one to love me like thee. I have lived a wild, boisterous life in
Scotland most of the time, and after father died I went to France.
I have lived wickedly, Kate; I have given myself over to oaths,
and--and--and--drink;--'twas so last night when I saw for the first
time the woman I loved; who was as fair in face, form and soul, as all
I had ever pictured or dreamed. Wilt thou forget my course tongue and
try--try--to--to--to love me, Kate. Thou wilt say 'tis soon to speak
so to thee; but why keep back that 'tis best for me to say and thou to
know?" She could not mistake the ring of truth in his voice that was
now so pleading.
"Come, come,"--and as if a happy thought occurred, reached into his
pocket and drew forth a letter;--"here is thy proof that I am Lord
Cedric; thy father's letter," he held it toward her. She came and
reached her hand for it, timidly. His Lordship was one of the most
passionate of youths, nor could he restrain his ardour. He caught her
hand and drew her to him, meeting her graceful body with his own; his
hot breath was upon her hair, and he panted forth;--"Kate, Kate, I
love thee," his arm was reaching about her, when she called Janet
stoutly. The door was flung open and the nurse's face looked upon the
youth like an ominous thing of strength,--then surprise broke over it
and she spoke forth,--
"Who art thou, perfidious youth?"
"I am Cedric of Crandlemar, and I was saluting my ward." Janet took
her mistress from him as he half supported her, and sat down, drawing
her into her lap. Katherine fell to weeping.
"What has happened to thee, Lambkin?"
"I don't know," sobbed Katherine, "assure me if 'tis Lord Cedric."
"We will accept him, anyway, for 'tis a better subject than my Lord
Scot of last night." Thereupon Cedric fell upon one knee at Janet's
feet, and bent his handsome head to Katherine's hand and kissed it.
"Nay, nay, thy lips burn me, and I hate thee for it!" She wiped her
hand upon her dress, and turned her head from Janet's bosom and cast a
scornful glance through her tears.
"I love her, Janet, and she hates me. Her father gave her to me to
love and guard and--marry, 'tis in the letter so; and she shall--"
"Thou talkest too strong to so young a maid; thou must remember that
she is but fifteen, and never used to beaux. Thou art the first man
beside her father to so much as touch her hand."
"She fifteen, 'tis not possible!" and his enamoured glance swept her
form,--"'tis not possible." Mistress Katherine's colour blenched and
heightened, for the ardent masculine eyes made her like and hate
in turn; his countenance glowed with warm youthfulness which both
attracted and repulsed her; and she hid her face again upon Janet's
shoulder.
"'Tis rather young to become wife, but I cannot live away from her, I
must have her."
"Nay, thou must wait until she is past sixteen, and knows her own
mind."
"I cannot wait, Janet, I am too inflammable, she consumes me with her
beauty."
"Then I had better take her where thou canst not see her."
"Nay, nay, she shall not leave me for a day nor hour. She is mine
absolutely, and I'll have her. I have found what is more precious
than all else to me." As Katherine's eyes were hid, Janet placed her
fingers upon her lips, enjoining silence upon the passionate man
before her. 'Twas a simple thing, but Cedric knew from that moment
he had gained a powerful ally. He rose to his feet, and, in softened
tones, continued,--"'Tis the first time I have ever loved, and 'tis
natural I should be impetuous;" then in a tone that was full of
magnanimity,--"I will give thee time to rest from thy long journey
before we buy the wedding garments, I will give thee a whole week."
Then 'twas that Katherine spoke,--
"A whole week, indeed, I shall not marry thee at all, never, I hate
thee. Thou wilt give me my heritage and I will go from thy house; my
father gave it and me into thy father's care not thine, I will write
to him at once and tell him of this terrible mistake."
"Thy father is--" he caught himself in time.
"Thy father is--what?" And she looked at him closely.
"Is too far away over seas, and--might be hard to find."
"Then I will go to him."
"Thou wilt remain where thou art."
"Thou talkest like foolish children. 'Twould better become thee to
prattle of frocks and fixings for my Lady Penwick. Your Lordship will
see to it at once?" It was a happy suggestion. Cedric leant over
Katherine.
"Come, tell me what thou wilt have from London town? thou shalt have
all thy heart asks for."
"Thou art generous with my belongings." 'Twas an unfriendly cut.
"Come, Mistress, what will thou have, make out a list and I will send
it by a courier."
"I prefer to go myself."
"I have guests and cannot go with thee at the present,--and thou canst
not go without me; but thou shalt have the more for this very cause.
Come, tell me thy heart's desire. Be good to me Kate, I love thee so;
I must tell thee, it cuts me to the quick to have thee so set against
me. Thou wilt espouse me some day, sweet one?" Katherine stood up and
shot a withering glance full upon him.
"Nay, nay, nay,--thou wilt let me go from thee!"
"I beg thy pardon, Mistress Penwick, I will urge thee no more now; but
tell me thy wishes. Thou will have first of all, a beautiful hat with
feathers reaching to thy shoulder-tips, and dainty brocade gowns with
boots of the same hue, and jewelled fans, and ribbons and laces and
all kinds of furbelows, and I will give thee to-day some jewels,
rings, and--"
"And a necklace like Constance has?" put in Katherine, unthinkingly.
"Constance--where didst thou see her?" His voice and manner showed
annoyance. "Where didst see her, Kate?" There was a blush on her face
as she answered,
"At the ball."
"Thou wert not there," he said, incredulously.
"Janet and I looked on from the gallery, and Constance stood beneath
us. 'Twas a beautiful thing that encircled her throat."
"Aye, they were pearls; but thou shalt have a circlet that wilt not so
hide thy pink hued neck. To-day, Kate, I will give thee some gems
and thou shalt go with me to the great chests and see the laces they
contain;--and thy colours, Kate, what are thy favourite colours?"
"I love white and violet." A happy smile covered Cedric's face.
"'Tis my mother's choice and by that I hit upon thy fancy as thou
shalt soon see." Cedric racked his brain for more pleasant things to
say. "And thou shalt have a horse and learn to ride."
"Oh, Janet, to have a horse all my own! 'tis too good to be true; 'tis
a thing I have dreamt of." And the delighted girl flung herself at
Janet's feet and embraced her knees from sheer ecstasy. It seemed
peace had come to stay; and for a moment Cedric looked upon her with
eyes full of admiration and, yes, heart full of love; then,--
"Art sure thou hast thought of all thou wouldst have, is the list
complete, Janet; canst thou not suggest something more? I will send
it to one of the court mantua-makers and if thou sendest the proper
measurements our lady will soon be a modish butterfly." At the word
modish a sudden thought came to Katherine and she leant over and
whispered in Janet's ear; then Janet said:
"She must have a pair of stays with each frock."
"Nay, nay, she shall not have stays to pinch so fair a mould; she
shall not have stays, nay, nay, sweet Kate." 'Twas then Mistress
Penwick flew into a passion. She clinched her fists and her face grew
scarlet; she shook her head and threw glances like sword-thrusts at
Cedric, and said not a word but stamped her foot. As she did so, she
saw that in Cedric's eyes that made her calm her passion on a sudden.
'Twas steel against steel. It was Janet's voice that drew Katherine's
attention; for it had in it something it never had heretofore; it was
full of reproach.
"Lambkin, thou art too young for either stays or such a show of
passion. I beg thee to quench thy evil spirit, it does not become
thee." Katherine bent her head and turned from them toward the door.
Cedric called,
"Do not leave until we have all things settled! Kate, dost hear me
speaking?" She pretended deaf ears. "Kate," he said, with emphasis,
"dost hear me? Mistress Pen wick, hear me, heed, heed!" he thundered,
and stamped his foot, the spurs rattling upon the hearthstone. She
turned about reluctantly and rested her hand upon the great oaken
table, looking at Janet as if it had been she that had spoken. Cedric
drew himself up proudly, and spoke in a firm, full voice,
"I am thy father, brother, guardian, anything that love could be to
thee, and all that I have is thine, and when thou art with me thou
mayest do as thy heart dictates, but when thou shalt cross yonder
threshold thou shalt conduct thyself as becomes a daughter and
mistress of the castle. I have beneath my roof guests--my kinswoman,
Lady Constance, whom I have bidden to remain indefinitely, she being
so near of kin has been mistress here; but, from the moment thou
didst enter the portal of Cedric's house, 'twas thou became mistress,
thou--thou mistress of my home, and heart as well; thou wilt accept
the former mission, and I will fight with all of cupid's weapons until
thou dost accept the latter. 'Tis a pragmatic duty to follow my words
and understand them and demean thyself accordingly. To-night thou
wilt come to the drawing-room at the prandium hour, and 'twill be my
pleasure to seat thee at table, and 'twould be best if I acknowledged
our espousal."
"Nay, nay, I will not come then."
"Thou shalt come if thou art in the castle," Janet's scowling
face under cover of the high-backed chair stopped his lordship's
impetuosity, "hast a frock, Kate? thou shalt go to the chest and find
for thee some bright thing and I will send from Crandlemar a woman to
help thee with thy attire. Angel will come to take thee to see the
jewels, and thou shalt have those thou carest to take. I would see
thy choice, Kate. I can almost guess it now. So come, Kate, the storm
without should insure good cheer within; and with thy bright face the
castle will be aglow. Come, say _au revoir_, Kate." She held out her
hand and faltered forth _au revoir_. There was the language of the
convent in that one word and it rung sweet upon her ear. He took her
hand between his own and bent and kissed it tenderly, "_au revoir, au
revoir_" he said, then turned quickly from her.
Outside stood old flabby-face, as Janet pleased to call her, when
alone with Katherine, but designated by the servants as Sophia.
"His Ludship ordered Mistress Penwick's room changed."
"Thou dost mean, rather, he advised a change of room; 'twould be
difficult to convey the tower chamber elsewhere."
It was a beautiful room into which Sophia led them and beyond were
others belonging to the same suite, all in white and gold, with
mirrors and painted walls garlanded with cupids and floral wreaths,
and silken curtains at bed and windows; and cushions and beautiful
venuses and rare potpourri. And when they were quite alone Janet
strutted up and down the rooms enjoying the fulness of her cup.
"'Tis more than thou dreamed again, eh, Lady Pen wick? Thou hast
fallen heir to a queen's portion without the ennui of satiety."
"Truly 'tis a wondrous castle; but Janet can Lord Cedric espouse me
because he is my guardian?"
"Nay, child, but he loves thee, and he means to win thee if 'tis
possible. He is young and self-willed and passionful, and he will have
his own way. Dost like him, Lambkin?"
"Somewhat, but I hate him most."
"Thou wilt impeach thy sweet tongue by that viscid 'hate'; thou hadst
better indulge in less of devil's warfare and leave room for digestion
of gentle peace. Thou hast bloomed into a beauteous maid, but thy
temper hath blown also. My lord hast seen many beauties that he could
have for the asking, and they are doubtless meek and gentle creatures
with soft and ready answer; but if thy cantankerous untowardness
continues he will set thee down as a shrewish wench and will heartily
dislike thee."
"Nay, I would not have any one dislike me."
"Then cease thy uprisings." There came a low knock, and an old
grey-haired woman stepped into the room with that in her face Janet
stood up to honour. She advanced to Katherine and in a trembling voice
said,
"Thou art my lord's ward,--ah, I remember thy father well; thou art a
Penwick over and over again, I could see it with half an eye. I knew
thy father when he was a mere lad, so high; he had as bonny a face as
one cared to see. They tell me thou didst expect to see here my poor
master; is't so? Aye,--well thou hast found his son, the blessedst man
that walks the earth. He has a wicked, bad tongue at times, but he
means nothing. I nursed him and his father, and am longing for a wife
for his lordship." Then: "I am Angel Bodkin, and have come to conduct
thee to the vaults." She led them forth, talking all the while.
CHAPTER V
BACCHUS AND BACCHANTES
Lady Constance had exhausted every means of procuring the desired
information concerning the strange beauty in her kinsman's castle; and
she became fretted and annoyed and was about to give up all hope, when
she came suddenly upon the object of her search in the corridor; and
the beauteous maid, grey-gowned and sandal-shoon, flitted by without
deigning so much as a look. And my Lady Constance swept by with hate
of this formidable creature in her evil heart. She felt it was almost
understood that Lord Cedric would espouse her; she, Lady Constance
Clarmot. To be sure, she was somewhat of riper years than he, but that
counted for naught since they had always loved each other. She was
of a great family and proud and had of her own, titles and estates
and--yes, beauty. She fell to thinking of the many ways in which
Cedric had shown his love for her. He had consulted her on all
occasions upon the most trivial matters until the present instance.
"Could it be possible she is some soft-natured wench that hath fallen
beneath his eye and charmed him, and he has brought her here? Nay,
nay, he would not bring such an one beneath his roof while I remained,
and yet I have but just come and he hath kept her hid; 'tis possible
he will send her away at once." She soliloquized thus until the
candles were brought, and the curtains drawn to shut out the storm,
and she sat beneath her maid's hands heeding naught save her bitter
thoughts. "What had become of Adrian? Why had he not been in to see
her; surely by this time he had learned something being out the
whole afternoon hunting, perhaps side by side with Cedric." Thus
she fretted, and scolded her maid until it was time to go to the
drawing-room. It was a picturesque scene; the ancient castle with
its crenellated tower, from which now pointed a tall flag-pole,
the British Royal Ensign bound closely about it, its colours being
distinctly visible through its casing of ice; for an immense
quadruple-faced light was placed high up in the fork of a tree
opposite the great window of the vaulted saloon, casting its beam to
the very pinnacle of the ensign-staff; lighting the castle from end to
end upon its northern side, where the great avenues converged. A shaft
reluctantly and gloomily effused the near density of the forest;
another ray gladdening the expectant eyes of the guest from Londonway;
while yet another broad gleam sped the departing traveler over the
threshold of the forest into the gloom-environed pathway beyond. Upon
every shelving projection of the unhewn stone structure was ice. The
entire walls scintillated with a fairy brilliancy, and the trees as
they swayed back and forth propelled by the unceasing wind caused such
a coruscation of sparkles it fairly blinded the spectator. Beneath
the spreading branches were a host of men, horses and dogs. The gay
costumes of the huntsmen showing resplendent in the ice-bespangled
light. The horns were lowered, and there was a confusion of tongues
between groomsmen and lackeys; and there were shouts of welcome from
the wide-open doorway of the servants' hall; for 'twas here the game
was brought and laid upon the stone floor or hung upon pegs on the
wall for the inspection of the guests. Lord Cedric leapt from his
horse, throwing the reins to a waiting groom; strode into the hall
with rattling spurs and flung through the rooms and up the stairway to
his Lady Katherine's bower, and rapped smartly upon the panelling of
the door. The vision that met his amorous eyes sent him hot and cold;
and 'twas with difficulty he restrained himself from encircling her
full, glowing body.
"The hours I have been from thee have seemed weeks, and I was of no
use in the field; my gun would entangle in the low-hanging boughs;
and on the wold my steed's feet were caught in the dry gorse, until I
could not get near enough to shoot anything. On the other hand, Cupid
has arrowed me to the death, and I come,--a shade for thee to put life
into; and the sight of thee is a life-giving thing." Katherine's face
flamed with his warm words, and the consciousness of the beauty of her
new adornment; for she stood before him in an amber shimmering stuff
that clung to her lithe limbs, hiding not her slender ankle and her
arched satin shoe, as her dress caught about a stool that held it. The
short round waist betrayed the fulness of her form, and Cedric turned
his eyes away from sheer giddiness, drunk with love. He spoke to
Janet with quick breath:--"Bring her down to see the game."--Then,
suddenly,--"Where are thy jewels, Kate?" He espied a casket, and
hastening to it took from it rings, fitting them upon Mistress
Penwick's tapering fingers, until her hand was heavy. Of other jewels
she'd have none. "But thou must have a shoulder knot," said Cedric,
and he took from the casket a glittering shoulder brooch of opals and
clasped it in the satin of her frock, and drew from a tripod of white
and gold a flaming jacqueminot and gave it into her hand and led her
forth, followed closely by Janet. Down the great stairway he led
her proudly, through corridor and passage, until they reached the
servants' hall, where the clamour of voices and baying hounds was like
pandemonium; and at the sound Mistress Penwick drew back with fear.
For a moment Cedric was sorely tried to keep from bending to those
rose-bowed lips. She saw him hesitate, and stammered forth:
"Lead on, my lord!"
He swung open the door and instantly all eyes were set upon his fair
ward. First his Lordship's face was exultant, then seeing Mistress
Penwick's glances that pierced every masculine heart, and her dazzling
beauty drunk in by all; his face grew dark, and jealousy possessed
him, and fear crept in, and he vowed to wed her at the earliest
moment.
"'Tis Sir John Penwick's daughter, Mistress Katherine Penwick, my
father's ward," and he led her to their midst.
"She is a wondrous beauty," many murmured as they saw her.
"Dazzling, by God!" whispered some of the masculines that stood apart,
and there were others that spoke not a word, but stood spell-bound
at her majestic mien. A gorgeously apparelled figure swept to his
Lordship's side, and a little hand crept into his and black flashing
eyes looked up, and a soft voice whispered,--
"Thou didst never speak of--this, the most charming of thy
possessions, heretofore, Cedric. I knew not thou didst inherit so
beauteous a being from thy father. But Sir John,--England has not
heard of his death--"
"Sh! sh! she does not know," Cedric answered.
"Not know--ah!" and Lady Constance drew from him and looked at
Katherine with malice and thought evil; "'tis not Sir John's daughter,
'tis some trick Cedric plays upon his guests and me; it goes to show
that his relations to her are ill, and his intentions are to raise her
to our level. Nay, nay, Cedric, I will lift thee beyond such a thing.
When he has time alone, I will gain his ear and taunt him with a
debauched youth; free from heart or conscience; a rake to betray; and
I will win him from beauteous, youthful Bacchante. 'Tis his pleasure
to swear and swagger; but at twenty-three he should not begin to
carouse with female beauty. 'Tis time, and I will tell him so, for him
to bring a lady as wife to the castle. I will speak to him at once. He
has gone too far."
Lord Cedric drew Katherine to inspect the trophies of the chase, and
explained their kind and the mode of capture. She with others followed
him; the gentler folk raising frocks from pools and streams of blood,
thereby displaying high-heeled shoe and slender ankle and ruffles of
rare lace; and they gathered close about Mistress Penwick, drinking in
her simple convent ways of glance and gesture and fresh, young spirit.
Then his Lordship led them to the grand saloon. It was the glory
of the castle, this great room of forty feet in width and sixty in
length. The ceiling supported upon either side by slender Corinthian
pillars, was panelled and exquisitely frescoed with nude female
figures that were reflected in the highly polished floor of marquetry
woods. The walls were covered with old tapestries and rare pictures.
There were two immense windows; the one at the south end of the room
was quite twenty feet square of Egyptian style. The one to the north
reached from floor to ceiling and from side to side. It was draped by
a single ruby-coloured velvet curtain that was so artistically caught
by rope-like cords of silk that, by a draw, could be lifted upward
and to either side in luxurious folds, exposing the entire window. At
present the great saloon was lighted by seven immense lustres of fifty
candles each, and with twenty sconces each bearing fifteen candles.
The effulgent gleam cast from these myriad flames upon polished woods,
busts, statues, unique bric-a-brac, gildings, glass and ruby velvet
produced the perfection of old-time splendour. And now, as the gallant
beaux led in fair maidens, it gave the picture life. The great
north window disclosed the ice-bound trees in all their primitive
ruggedness. The snow and sleet were vigorously driven by the wind that
howled continuously. The light from the forked-tree cast through
the window rays that resembled moonlight, as they mingled with the
radiance within, while outside it twinkled with the sprightliness of
old-fashioned humour.
Cedric of Crandlemar was noted among beaux old and young of his
intimate acquaintance for the spicy diversions with which he
entertained his friends, when they were so fortunate as to be present
at his stag parties. Arriving home after a long absence, he opened
his castle upon St. Valentine's eve with a ball, wherein his guests
appeared in full court costume, in honour of the Royal guests. The
weeks following had been filled with stately entertainment; and now
his Royal and formal guests had departed, and the throng that passed
into the great saloon were youths and maidens of neighbouring
counties; some college friends and kinsmen. They entered with gay
abandon. The beaux were whetted to great curiosity, for 'twas
whispered among them that after a short evening with the ladies, there
were to appear a bevy of London-town dancing girls, who would give
them a highly flavoured entertainment; and, as if Bacchus had
prematurely begun to disport himself in brain and leg of each beau, he
set about to ogle and sigh and wish and--pull a stray curl upon some
maiden's forehead or touch her glowing cheek with cold fingers, and
some began to illustrate the _modus operandi_ of taking certain game,
while another danced a clog or contra-dance or Sir Roger de Coverley.
The maidens caught the spirit and answered back glance for glance, and
being equipped for conquest let go the full battery of their woman's
witchery. It made a charming spectacle of young and noble blood
indulging in the abandon of the hour. There were dames that set the
pace for modest maidenhood, that ogled with the younger beaux,--(as
they do to this day). Lady Bettie Payne swept her fingers over the
keys of an Italian spinet, that was ornamented with precious stones,
and sat upon a table of coral-veined wood; she sung soft and tenderly
of the amours of Corydon, and neither her voice nor the low tinkling
of the spinet reached to the further end of the room where Adrian
Cantemir played upon the grand harpsichord a dashing piece that was
intended to charm at least, the beauteous Katherine, who stood near.
Lord Cedric leant over and begged the Russian count to change the tune
to a gavotte. He did so, and Cedric brought forth Katherine and placed
her fair to watch his step till she might catch the changes. Thus he
trained her carefully and with precision, and when Cantemir saw the
trap that held him where he was and gave Lord Cedric the upper-hand,
he fell into the spleen and played out of time, and Cedric flung
around and caught his spur in Dame Seymour's petticoats, and he swore
beneath his breath, and Katherine smiled at his discomfiture and her
own untutored grace, and she made bold and took a step or two on her
own dependence. Then there chimed eight from the old French clock of
black boule that sat upon a cabinet of tortoise-shell, and it stirred
the swains to think of donning 'broidered waist-coats and high-heeled
shoon preparatory to the prandial hour, when fresh game and old wine
would strengthen stomach and head; and they bowed low over tapering
fingers and cast a parting dart at female hearts, and climbed the
great oaken stairway to don their fine beaux' dress.
'Twas eleven o' the clock when the gay company again entered the
saloon; gentlemen in fresh curled periwigs and marvels of laces and
'broiderings. They were gay with post-prandium cheer and flushed with
wine.
Lord Cedric clapped his hands and immediately from some curtained
passage or gallery there was music; each instrument seeming to lead
in contrapuntal skill. His Lordship led forth Katherine and others
followed in the movement of the passacaille. Mistress Penwick was
beneath a great lustre that shone down and set her shoulder knot
ablaze with brilliancy, when Lady Constance passed and noted it.
She bit her lip from sheer pain, for 'twas Cedric's mother's prized
brooch, and through her heart fell a thunderbolt of fear; for now she
knew he would not allow a baggage to wear a thing so valued by the
mother whose memory he so loved. She began to fear this beauteous
thing could not be ousted so easily from her kinsman's castle; and her
heart rebelled at thought of losing him for spouse. She raged within,
reproaching herself for not hastening in woman's way his avowal; then
she trembled and grew sick at heart, as she saw his glances that were
so full of love; glances for which she would give the world to win.
She, on a sudden, was famishing for this love she had heretofore held
aloof from and yet would rather die than loose, aye, die a thousand
deaths. In her heart she vowed vengeance on that 'twould come between
them, and the thought strengthened her for battle, and when again she
saw Cedric's eyes gazing with ardent desire upon Katherine, it was
with comparative calmness. There appeared also a strange thing to her,
that this beauty did not appear to notice Cedric--that is, with the
notice due so handsome, rich and titled beau. There was not another
in the room with so elegant and fine shape; of so great vigour and
strength; none that could be so shaken and yet tender with passion;
none that could so command with a look; none that had such pure, noble
blood. And strange to say, for the first time she saw his weaker side;
she saw he was both jealous and selfish; she could find a thousand
matters pertaining to his lands and estates that she could find fault
with. He was exacting and heartless with his tenants; not providing
for their welfare as he should, being so great a lord. He hardly
allowed them religious privileges. The church was attached to the
castle by a passage leading from the landing of the stairway in the
library, and he had complained that the singing and preaching annoyed
him, and had frequently closed the chapel for this cause, and yet
a woman that held sway over such a man's heart could mould him to
anything. Why, why had she not married him ere this? She would set
about it at once and bring all these matters concerning his estates
to his notice; 'twould look so noble; 'twas time the castle had a
mistress, and who would better grace it than the fair Lady Constance
of Cleed Hall? And in Adrian Cantemir she had an ally, for he was
madly and desperately in love with Lord Cedric's ward. "I should like
her for cousin; she would make Adrian a fine wife, indeed I think I
should become quite proud of her," said Constance, as if the matter
was already quite settled.
After dancing the stately gavotte, it appeared that the whole company
became heavy and wished for retirement; it might have been a ruse on
the part of beaux, and the fair ones fell into the trap; be it as it
may, the ladies retired. Janet had been waiting at the top of the
stairs for her mistress; but her smile of welcome turned to one of
disgust as she saw her appear with Lady Constance' arm about her.
"Thou art commencing early, Lady Judas; I have not preened my eyes
for nothing, and this I well know, thou art hot in pursuit of my Lord
Cedric, and thou shalt not have him. 'Tis Mistress Penwick that will
queen it here and make a noble consort for his Lordship," said Janet.
"May I come in a minute? Thou hast learnt I am Cedric's cousin, and I
feel as though I must know thee at once for his sake."
"Aye, thou art most welcome, Lady Constance," replied Katharine.
And they sat over the fire laughing and chatting. Katherine was all
excitement and full of clatter, for 'twas her first "company," and she
was a young lady and could now boast of tender looks and words from
beaux. And her volubleness led her to tell of her convent life, of her
sudden surprise and pleasure of coming to England; and on and on; and
blushing, she thought with Constance that Adrian Cantemir was indeed
very charming, and having become better acquainted with him, she felt
sure she admired him quite as much, or more than, any one else; and
she was so fond of music he fairly entranced her when he played.
"To-morrow he is to teach me battledore and shuttlecock in the
library."
"'Tis great sport and a game that requires some skill," said
Constance. And thus they talked for one good hour, and in the
adjoining room Janet fumed and fretted; for 'twas far past her child's
bedtime.
"Such late hours are not conducive to youthful roundness and a clear
colour," she grumbled. Constance yawned and declared she must retire;
but she was thirsty and must have a drink, and yet she supposed she
must do without, for all the maids and lackeys were abed.
"But the more I think of it, the more I want it. I will get it
myself."
"And I will accompany thee, for I would like not to go alone in so
great a house, when there is no one astir," said Katherine.
They started forth adown the stairs; and following silent, noiseless
like a wraith was Janet, expectant, eager; for she felt she was to
see the opening of a great battle. Constance led the way, carrying a
taper. As they traversed some passage, their ears caught the sound of
music. They listened a moment, then Constance proposed they snuff the
candle and draw near the sound; "for very like the beaux were having
an orgy," she said. And Katherine, full of adventure and deeming it a
fine, young lady's trick--she had heard talk of such things among the
older girls at the convent--opined "'twas the thing to do." And
they followed the passage until an arched and curtained doorway but
screened them from that 'twas within the grand saloon, and Constance
made bold to draw aside a finger-breadth of the sweeping curtain and
peep within.
"Ah! ah! 'tis a beauteous sight!" and she turned from what she saw
and drew the curtain to a generous opening; and the two with heads
together looked through.
Every candle had been snuffed and through the great north window came
the rays from the light in the forked tree that fell like moonlight
athwart the saloon. In the centre of the broad gleam was a sylph-like
form, keeping time to the music in a sort of phantom style of
movement; twisting, shimmering folds that appeared to effuse a
scintillation of opal shades. 'Twas the chaconne; slow, graceful and
full of romance, the full major lifting and seeming to float, at last
dying imperceptibly into the minor passacaille. About were seated,
carelessly and after the manner of men who had pulled at the bottle
for hours in the hunting field and were now somewhat overcome by
warmth and _ennui_, beaux old and young, 'suaging their appetite of
mouth and eye by wine and women.
"'Tis the King sets the pace!" said one, close to the curtain.
"Egad!" said another. "He not only sets it, but carries it along. He
has fine wenches at his beck and call." 'Twas evident 'twas but the
beginning of revelry; a sort of bacchanalian prelude to what might
come later. No sooner was this dance finished than another began.
Some lithe creature came forth to dance, in bright scarlet, the
passacaglia. The glasses were refilled and the noise became more
boisterous; and the scandal more flagrant. The candles were set aglow
again and tables were brought for those wishing to gamble. And one
richly dressed and full of wine sprung upon a table and held aloft a
glass and called forth:
"Here, here is to his Lordship of Crandlemar and to a long life of
free and easy celibacy." Now 'twas said Lord Cedric could drink more
without becoming undignified than any other man of his company, but it
seemed he gave himself to the spirit of the moment and had drunk deep.
When the young blood upon the table offered the toast, Cedric sprung
as if shot to the table, where he staggered and would have fallen, had
it not been for the youth who bore him up. Holtcolm, in his drunken
anxiety for his neighbour's steadiness, stood near him and with
tender, maudlin solicitude began to flick the grains of bergamot
scented snuff from the lace of Lord Cedric's steenkirk. At the same
time from the glass he held there spilled on his Lordship's brocaded
coat of blue and silver a good half-pint of wine. Cedric upon being
balanced had forgotten what he wanted to say, and turned to his
supporter.
"What was it Holt-colm--I was goin' to shay?" Neither could remember,
so his Lordship continued with what seemed to weigh upon his mind:
"'Tis thish: 'tis my deshire thish should be made a memorable--a night
worthy of remembrance. I'm about to espoushe my fair ward--and this is
positively my lasht appearance _en bout_--I know and am fully aware
_abondance de bien ne nuit_ until a better comes. To-night will be my
finale de-bauch--sho; tell the red beauty to come here." He sat down
upon the table and gazed with heavy, drooping lids upon the dancing
girl that came toward him. "Thou art a saucy baggage; but--hic--thou
art false of colour and--hic--flesh. Thy lips and cheeks are stained
with rouge--hic--and thy flesh--is--hic--pushed to prominence by high
stays--by God, it turns my stomach to--nausea." And he turned over and
lay flat upon the table. "Bring on another--shay--we must have the
moonlight beauty again." Katherine was well frightened and made
several efforts to persuade her companion to go away. It was part of
Constance' programme to cause Katherine's disgust at sight of Cedric's
wantonness. She felt it had been accomplished, and as there were other
matters to be about, she turned with her and together they groped back
up the stairs in the darkness, and found Janet feigning sleep in a
chair before the fire, Constance yawned and declared herself to be
tired out, and bade Katherine _adieu_. Janet closed the door after her
and in haste began putting her mistress to bed. And after giving her a
bath and rubbing, she snuffed the candles and went to her own room to
slip out again and go below stairs and find the curtained doorway,
there to watch and wait for that which was to come. She had seen as
much as Constance and Katherine, and she determined to see even more.
She would know how Lord Cedric appeared in his cups. There was nothing
anomalous in what was before her; 'twas as she had often seen in the
grand house in which she had served as maid; the same licentiousness,
wild riot and debaucheries that have been since the world stood. She
saw 'twas Cedric that drank as deep as any, and could rip out oaths
as trippingly as his swollen tongue would allow; but he was neither
vulgar nor lewd. Janet looked with pride at his clear flushed face,
so handsomely featured; his jewelled hands and fine round legs that
tapered to slender ankles. 'Twould be a fine pair when he espoused her
mistress, and she would help him to it as soon as he liked. Her heart
went out to him the more when she saw he cared not for the favours
offered him by the dancing wenches as they touched his flowing black
curls with caressing hands. He turned upon his stomach on the table
and hid his face in his hands and remained thus until the candles were
again snuffed and a maid came out into the improvised moonlight in
gipsy dress and a fortune-teller's cup and wand. She wore a masque and
veil tight wrapped about her head. She danced with less skill than
any that had come before. She lisped forth 'twas her trade to tell
fortunes, and thereupon a fop reached forth and pulled her to him, and
she began a startling story that had somewhat of truth in it; and to
each one her assertions or predictions had so much of truth in them it
provoked interest among them all. Lord Cedric called from the table:
"The wench tells ear-splitting truths; send her here, she shall give
my pasht, present--and future." If they had not been so blinded by
wine, they might have noticed her haste to go to his bidding. She
looked closely at his hand and the sediment of his wine-cup.
"Thou art madly and blindly in love!" said she, lispingly.
"Good! good!" was sent forth from those about; and Cedric struck his
fist upon the table,--
"'Madly'--yes; but by God not 'blindly'! haste on, wench."
"She loves admiration--"
"She would not be half a woman if she--"
"She is in love with one of Russian birth," went on the gipsy. Cedric
frowned and held quiet. "There is one who hast loved thee from early
childhood--a--a kinswoman--she would make thee a noble spouse and love
thee well with a warm nature to match thine own."
"Thou tellest false, for I know not such an one. I have loved many
kinswomen since childhood, and they have loved me, but not to
espousal!"
"'Tis here--her name--'tis--C-o-n-s--"
"Constance, by God! but there thy lisping tongue prattles ill, for she
loves me as a brother, and I love her as if she were my sister." Now
the gipsy drew back as if the man before her had stricken her, then
hastened to cover her emotion with a sudden look into the cup and an
exclamation of--
"Ah! ah!"
"What seest thou?" said Cedric.
"A thing that means more to thee than aught else; 'tis an awful thing
if thou shouldst choose wrong!"
"Haste, wench, what is it?" Cedric was growing impatient.
"Thy kinswoman will bring thee a fine heir--"
"By God, the other will bring me a dozen then!"
"Nay, 'tis not so, she--" She stepped close to his ear and whispered.
"Thousand devils, thou infernal, lying pot-house brawler--" and Cedric
glared fiercely upon her and bent forward, his hand falling upon his
sword-hilt; then he grew red at his hot action, and looked about to
see if 'twas noticed. "Get thee gone, thou saucy, lisping minx." The
poor thing was well-nigh distraught with fear of this man whose anger
came like a thunderbolt, and she fell heavy upon the lackey who
conducted her forth. She slipped through the corridors like a fast
fleeting shadow, and Janet followed her close and saw her enter a
certain chamber apart where she was met by one of the dancers; and
'twas Lady Constance that threw from her the gipsy attire and put a
bag of gold in the celebrated Babbet's waiting fingers; and with a
warning pressure of finger-on-lip, she came forth and fled to her own
grand apartments, and Janet watched until the latch clicked upon this
great mistress of beauty, title, wealth and virtue.
CHAPTER VI
JANET'S PHILOSOPHY
"This world of ours hangs midway 'twixt zenith and nadir: the superior
and inferior: the positive and negative; and 'tis a pertinent thought
that susceptible human nature takes on the characteristic of the one
or the other. One is away up in zenithdom or away down in nadirdom,
one is not content to go along the halfway place and see the good that
lies ever before them. But, again, there are natures that are not
susceptible to extremes; as a simile: a maid whose soul is ever
vibrant with the ineffable joys of the world to come, walks by the
seashore and mayhap beholds the full moon rise from the water and cast
to her very feet a pathway of gold, and she will quickly join herself
to those who see like visions, and pathway will lie against pathway
and produce a sea of gold; on the other hand, if she be a foolish
virgin and looks not before her, but tosses high head in pride or
walks with downcast eyes and smiles and blushes and smirks and flings
aside thoughts of deity, until she becomes submerged; on a sudden
Gabriel will blow and the world will cease revolving, and then--where
wilt thou be, oh, maid that hath fluttered from sweet to sweet and
forgotten thy prayers?" There came a great happy sigh from the
testered bed--
"Thou hast powerful breath, Janet, and 'twas an immense bitterwort
bush thou were beating about. I am sorry I forgot my prayers. I will
say them twenty times to-day, to make up."
"And it's the heathen that repeateth a prayer oft; thou hadst better
say 'God, have mercy upon my untowardness!' once, from thy heart, than
to say thy rosary from now until doom with thy mind upon a bumptious
Russian."
"What is the day, Janet?"
"'Tis as bleak and stormy as one could wish."
"What is the hour?"
"Eleven."
"Eleven? and I was to meet Count Adrian at this very hour. He is to
teach me battledore and shuttlecock."
"'Tis a fussy game, played more with the heart than hand; canst give
it up; let me rub thee to sleep again?"
"Nay, for I would not disappoint him or--myself."
An hour later she stood opposite the count in the great library,
swinging the battledore with grace. There was much soft laughter and
gay repartee; and Adrian followed the movements of Katherine's lithe
form, clad in the soft, clinging grey of the convent. She became
remiss; for Adrian's glances were confusing, and intentional laches
were made by him, that he might come near her, almost touching her
hair in bending to recover the ball. She was flushed and eager,
triumphant of a fine return, when the door flew open and in came a
number of gallants, among whom was Lord Cedric. His face flushed a
warm red and he shot a glance of jealousy at Adrian as he bent low
over Katherine's hand. After a few commonplace remarks, they passed on
up the stairway to the broad landing, on which was an arched door that
led to the passage opening into the organ loft of the chapel. In a few
moments there came the sound of the organ. Katherine swung low her
battledore and breathed forth:
"Let us listen; 'tis sweet, who plays, dost know?"
"'Tis St. Mar, a fine fellow; a soldier, duelist and gallant."
"'Thou dost flank duelist by two words that should scorn being so
separated!'"
"'Twas a happy wording; for if thou shouldst meet him, thou wilt
fall but two-thirds in love, whereas, if otherwise worded 'twould be
altogether."
"Thou art giving my heart an evil reputation; for after all 'tis not
so easy won."
"'Tis true, as I know, more than any one else, for my heart misgave
me from the moment I first set eyes on thy beauteous countenance; and
since I have been in wild despair, not knowing if thou hast a heart
for any save thy nurse and my Lord Cedric; for 'tis to them thy heart
seems bent." There was neither shadow nor movement of fair expression
on Mistress Penwick's face, as she answered calmly,--
"Thou sayest well. I love my nurse--she has been mother too, and I
honour Lord Cedric as a good man should be honoured, and one whom my
father chose to be his daughter's guardian and holder in trust of her
estates."
"Estates"--'twas a grand word and went straight to Cantemir's heart;
for 'twas something to espouse so beautiful a maiden that had demesne
as well.
Katherine was listening to the chords of the organ, and she bent
forward eagerly. Her thoughts flew back to the convent where she had
enjoyed a pure religious life undisturbed by the trammels of the great
outer world.
"Let us go," said she, "I would see who 'tis that plays!"
She led the way up the broad stairs and through the passage into the
organ loft, and at first sight of her Cedric was well-nigh beside
himself with delight; for he took it, she had come to be with him.
There was a young fop at the organ in rich and modish attire, but
otherwise of unattractive and common appearance.
Katherine cast upon him her entire attention, and there came that
in her face that drew the glance of every eye. 'Twas as if she was
entranced with the player, as well as the sounds he brought forth from
the organ. Cedric be-thought him 'twas an unfortunate oversight to
have learnt not to thrum upon some sort of thing wherewith to draw the
attention if not admiration of such a maid as this. And he straightway
made avowal to send at once for tutor and instrument; a violin, when
played as he might learn to, would perhaps be as successful in its
lodestone requirements as any other thrumming machine. "'Twas an
instrument could be handled to such an effect. A man could so well
show white, jewelled fingers; display a rare steenkirk to pillow it
upon; and withal, a man could stand free and sway his body gracefully
this way and that; yes, 'tis the thing to do; she may yet look at me
as she now looks at St. Mar!" so thought Cedric. The piece was soft
and gentle, with a pathetic motif running through it. Katherine became
so rapt she drew closer and closer, until at last she stood beside St.
Mar. He became confused and halted, and finally left off altogether
and turned to read the admiration in the azure blue of her eyes.
"Thou art from France, and dost thou know many of the great
musicians?"
"Aye, a great many--"
"Hast thou met the great Alessandro Scarlatti? I understand he created
a _furore_ as he passed through Paris from London."
"'Tis true, and I was most fortunate to hear him play portions of
'_L'Onesta nell Amore._' Queen Christina herself accompanied him to
Paris, and wherever he played she was not far away."
"We used much of his sacred music at the convent; 'tis such warm,
tender and sympathetic harmony. He must be a very great man!"
"He hath a son, Domenico, not two years old, who already shows a great
ear for his father's music; and they say he will even be a greater
musician than his father. It is possible Alessandro will visit
London."
"'Twould be wondrous fine! I will go and hear him play, surely
"--Cedric interrupted their musical converse,--
"'Tis cold for thee, I fear, in this damp place; I beg thee to allow
me to lead thee to the library." And without further words he led her
away, through the library and on beyond to the saloon, where he begged
her to favour him with songs he was quite sure she could sing, naming
those he most wished to hear.
Then in came Lady Bettie Payne with three or four others, and they
babbled and chattered, and as Lord Cedric stood near he heard them
speak of Lady Constance' indisposition.
"Ah, poor Constance, I was not aware she was ill!" said he, and he
went forth to inquire of her condition and find if aught could be done
for her enlivenment to health and spirits. When he returned and
saw Katherine so surrounded, and his guests engaged at cards and
battledore and music, and some in converse as to whether they should
ride forth to the chase, he was somehow stirred to think of Constance
lying alone in her chamber; and there recurred to him the tale of the
night before; 'twas she that loved him. He felt sorry for her if such
a thing were true; but 'twas not possible, and to convince himself he
would go to her and give her the brotherly kiss as heretofore, and
take notice if there was aught in her manner to denote verification of
the miserable gipsy's story. He would put an end to such feeling, if
'twere there. He sent word if he might see her for himself, and be
assured her illness was not feigned, in order she might shirk the
duty--like a wicked sister--of presenting her fair face for the
enlightenment of the gloom that seemed about to penetrate, from
without, the castle walls.
Constance lay propped amongst pillows, in a gorgeous _peignoir_ of
lace, arranged for the moment to display advantageously her plump arms
and a slender white neck encircled with pearls. Her brow was high and
narrow; her dark hair was carefully arranged in wavy folds upon
the pillow; her eyes, under drooping lids, glittered coldly and
imperiously. The nose was straight, and too thin for beauty. Her lips,
touched with rouge, were also thin and full of arrogance. There she
lay, impatient for the love of this one man, who was e'en now at the
door.
When Constance was a baby, she had watched Cedric upon his nurse's
knee taking his pap, and a little later amused him with her dolls. She
had played with him at bat and ball; had ridden astride behind him
upon a frisking pony; had learned and used the same oaths when none
were by to note her language but grooms and stable-boys--always when
Angel, the head nurse, was not about. She would outswear the young lad
and then tease him because he could not find words to equal hers.
They had played at "Lord and Lady," and rode about the terraces in
a miniature sedan chair, and cooks and scullions winked and nodded,
wisely and predictively. And when they came to man's and woman's
estate, Cedric's regard for her was as a brother's; but hers for
him, alas! was deep love. It seemed to her as if the world was just
beginning; a bright, glorious world full of untold wealth of love,
when she thought perhaps she might yet win him for her own; and indeed
she thought, as already possessing him. On his part there was
being born in his heart a great joy: that of a new and first love.
Heretofore he and Constance had known all things in common, and now
suddenly he was satiate of her. But Katherine, he had thought, was
so young and bright and beautiful; a child that had lived within the
cloister and had grown to maidenhood in sweet innocence. 'Twas like
finding in some tropic clime, embowered and shaded by thick, waxy
leaves, a glorious, ripe pomegranate, which he would grasp and drink
from its rich, red pulp, a portion that would cool and 'suage a
burning thirst; while Constance, by the side of Katherine, was like a
russet apple, into whose heart the worm of worldly knowledge had eaten
its surfeit and taken all sweetness away, and the poor thing hung low,
all dried and spiritless upon a broken bough to the convenience of any
passing hand. "Nay, nay; give me only the rich, ripe pomegranate; my
Katherine, Kate! Kate!" and blinded thus by the fever of desire to
possess only his sweet Kate, he swung wide the door of Constance's
room and passed to the bedside and leant over and kissed her.
She flushed red as she met his eyes--now cold and
unimpassioned--looking into the very depths of her own. He saw the
sudden scarlet that mantled her face, and knew--knew she loved him.
And his heart went out to her, for he was attached to the russet
thing, an attachment heretofore unnamed, but now--now suddenly
christened with that parsimonious appellation--pity; the object
of which is never satisfied. But he had naught else to give, for
Katherine had suddenly impoverished him.
"'Tis generous of thee, Cedric, to break from thy gay company; what
are they engaged in?"
"Various,--some at cards, others at music--"
"And what was thy pastime that thou couldst sever thyself so
agreeably?"
"I was listening to Bettie, and she on a sudden remarked of thy
indisposition. I straightway came to note thy ailing. I have talked
not with thee in private since thy arrival, and there is much news.
Hast seen her, Constance, to talk with her?"
"Whom meanest thou? There are many 'hers' in the house!"
"The beauty that flew to me over seas, of course; whom else could I
mean?"
"Oh! oh! to be sure; the maid from Quebec. Aye, I talked with her
some. Thou sayest she is Sir John Penwick's daughter?"
"Aye, and she's a glorious beauty, eh, Constance?"
"But how camest thou by her?"
Cedric reached to that nearest his heart and drew forth Sir John's
letter and gave it opened into Constance's hand. She read it with
blazing eyes and great eagerness; for 'twas a bundle of weapons she
was examining and would take therefrom her choice. She flashed forth
queries as to the probability of this or that with a semblance of
interest that disarmed Cedric and made him wonder if this woman
loved to such an extent, she could fling aside her own interests
and submerge all jealousy, all self-love into the purest of all
sacrifices, abnegation?
"What! no estates? That looks ill, for at one time Sir John was
affluent, for Aunt Hettie has told me of him many a time."
"But he lost it all, as I've heard ofttime from father; he has spoken
not infrequent of Sir John's high living; he had great demesne, a
great heart and great temper; and 'tis the last named that has fallen
clear and uncumbered to his daughter; and the heart will be found by
careful probing, no doubt; and the demesne she will have when she
condescends to take me as spouse."
"Thou, thou espouse her?" and Constance feigned surprise, as if 'twere
a new thing to her, when in reality she had suffered agony from its
repetition.
"Aye, and why not, pray? Am I not of ripe years and know my mind?"
"And why so?--because thou shouldst wed one of high degree and fortune
and worldly wisdom."
"Nay, thou art wrong. 'Tis enough that she is of noble blood from
father and mother; and I have fortune for us both; and worldly
wisdom--bah! Constance, dost thou expect her to know all the intrigues
of court, when she is but lightly past fifteen?"
"Fifteen?--Now by heaven, Cedric, thou wouldst not lie to me?"
"Nay, Con, I would not--I have no object in this case, 'tis a truth."
"Fifteen, and indeed she is well-formed for such youth!"
"And what a beautiful and innocent face she has, too?"
"Beauteous, admitted; but innocent of what?"
"Innocent of all we know; she knows naught of this great world. Janet
keeps all evil from her. We cannot conceive of such innocence in any
one. The child has eaten the simplest things all her life; milk and
gruel and beef-whey; 'tis no great wonder she is so pink and strong;
Janet says in hand-to-hand battle in their convent chamber, the child
hath thrown her oft in fair wit of strength;--such rough sport was not
indulged in openly and Janet taught her thrusts and flings to broaden
her chest and strengthen hip and back; she is stout and strong, and
yet she makes one think of a beautiful flower until she falls in
anger; then she shows a stout temper as well, and is wilful to all
save Janet, who governs her by some strange method I ne'er saw before;
for 'tis odd to see servant lead mistress. But, 'twas an awful thing
happened me; I knew not, or had forgotten rather, the arrival of the
babe Sir John speaks of. As thou knowest, I came home unexpectedly,
and I found the letter here. It had arrived some time before, and
I read it hastily, told Wasson my duty and passed the letter to a
convenient pocket, and thence until the night of the _masque_ forgot
all about the arrival of the infant. I was masqued, mad and raving at
Christopher for not mending my bag-pipe, and I rushed swearing after
him and Mistress Penwick heard my oaths, my broad Scotch ones thou
knowest I love to use when in anger. She hates me for it, and I can
do naught to win the confidence due me as her rightful guardian. So I
have settled upon an immediate espousal--"
"Immediate? Thou marry a child,--'tis unseemly--"
"Nay, 'tis not unseemly; 'tis the most proper thing to do. Janet
says so, too, and will urge her to accept me as soon as I wish to
wed--which shall be at the earliest moment."
"Janet, indeed! What right has a servant to forward the doings of
master and mistress? Thou hadst best wait and have her Grace of
Ellswold present her at Court and give the child at least one season
in London to improve her convent ways."
"Nay, Constance, if she were to grow one whit more beautiful, 'twould
kill me dead."
"I am afraid thou art easily slain; indeed, I never knew beauty was so
murderous before. Thou art surely beside thyself; she here alone in
this great castle without a mother's love to guide! No one to whom she
can tell her troubles! How must the poor child feel to be forced into
a marriage she most like--hates;"--and her ladyship's voice took
on such a tone of pity one would think she was about to break into
tears,--"'tis a barbarous act for thee to talk of marriage so soon to
a helpless being."
"There is nothing helpless about Kate, she can take her own part. She
hath wit and temper for a half dozen."
"But thou wilt acknowledge if she will have _her_ way she must leave
the castle; for thou art bent upon _thy_ way--thou wilt not listen to
reason; so, see to it, and wed her straightway if--if thou canst." He
was about to answer her with an oath, when suddenly Katherine stood in
the half-open door smiling over the top of a great bunch of roses.
On Constance' face was a look of triumph, as she noted Cedric's
confusion; but Katherine's words put Cedric at ease.
"I was told thou wert ill and that Lord Cedric was uneasy and had come
to thee; and I reproached myself for not coming earlier to see if thou
wert in need of aught." She placed the vase of roses on a table close.
Constance thanked her and took the tapering fingers and hugged them
between her own. Katherine looked down upon her thin, arrogant lips;
and as there always comes to the innocent--when dealing with those of
other mould--a warning, a feeling of repulsion, took possession of her
and she withdrew her hand, and, in a moment, her presence.
"'Tis a vision of loveliness more refreshing than the nosegay she
brought, thinkest thou not so, Constance?"
"Thou dost see with lover's eyes. How soon wilt thou espouse her;
thy house is somewhat taken up by company, who are to remain for
the summer, and how wilt thou get through the irksomeness of grand
ceremonies without great preparation, for much will be expected of thy
wealth and rank?"
"Damme, I'll have no pranks and ceremonies and entertainments; I
have not time. I must wed her at once. Canst thou not see, under the
circumstances, scandal-mongers will make eyes and prate of wrong for
me thus to have a young maid here alone?" Now indeed this thought had
not occurred to Constance in just this way; but now it struck her with
a mighty force, and she shot at him a piercing glance through the
half-closed imperious eyes.
"I had thought of it, but determined mine should not be the first
breath to breathe forth scandal, even in private converse with thee;
'twas an awful thing for her to come here knowing of thy youth."
"But she did not know, as that letter and thou thyself can testify."
"But the world--the Court where thou wilt go to hold sway--they know
not the circumstances."
"Now, by God, Constance, one would think thou wert an alien to King
Charles' Court. If Charles knew I had here this maid and had not yet
taken her to wife--why--why, he would take her away himself and laugh
me to scorn for my slothfulness. But all London knows by now, as I
have sent a message to my solicitors."
"But if she be set upon not marrying thee. What wilt thou do?" Lord
Cedric hung his head, as if in profound meditation; then, without
raising it, but remaining in a hopeless attitude, said:
"I will guard her from all evil. I will stand between her and harm and
wait. And thou must help me, Constance. Wilt thou persuade her?"
"Have I not always taken thy part, even--when thou wert in the wrong?"
When Cedric left Lady Constance, he sought Janet and poured into her
willing ears his woes. He feared lest some gallant should win his
Kate's love, and Janet must tell him of some way to win it for
himself.
Janet now loved Lord Cedric as if he were already Katherine's lord;
and she, knowing 'twould be one of the best matches in all England,
vowed 'twas best for them to marry at once; beside, Kate, being wilful
and having a tendency for men of foreign birth, with nothing in their
favour but a small share of good looks and some musical ability, might
see fit to plant her affections with such, and 'twas plain mischance
would kill Cedric outright, for he was passionate to self-destruction;
so when he said: "'Twould be instant death to me, Janet. What wouldst
thou advise me to do--thou dost so fully understand her?" she answered
him:
"'Tis somewhat the way with maidens to sigh for that not easily
attained, and it might serve thee to put forth an indifferent air and
incline thy attentions toward another and act a mighty cold lord and
coddle not her desires."
"That would take so long a time; I cannot wait. I will speak to her
once more, then I will be cold and indifferent as thou sayest. When
shall I have an opportunity to speak with her?"
"How soon dost expect the chests with my lady's raiment, my lord?"
"On the morrow they should be here."
"'Tis then she will think of thy goodness, and I will put in a word
for thee, and perchance thou wilt come to see if all things came, and
'twill give thee opportunity to speak of other things. She is wanting
many things for the Chapel; she wishes to reopen it; and 'tis in
matters of religion thy hot tempers will clash, for Mistress Penwick
is a Roman Catholic, and thou art of the English Church."
"Thou art a wise Janet! I will turn the people, and they shall become
Catholics."
"Nay, if thou dost undertake it, thy people will rise in arms against
thee."
"So be it, let her have her way. I'll bother her not in her simple
ideas of religion."
"Not so simple, my lord. Thou hast not seen the teachings of nine
years take root and spread and grow as I have. Dost think she would
allow thy Chaplain to bind thee to her? Nay, she will be wed by none
but a priest. But she is kindly intentioned and feels sorry for thy
poor Chaplain, who hath so hard a time to keep his flock together.
I look any day for her to carry in a cross and hang it behind his
pulpit, then--then he will faint away from fright of her."
"Nay, Janet, he will fall down and worship it, and--her."
CHAPTER VII
THE BRANTLE
Mistress Penwick sat in her chamber, trying to calm herself to reason;
for the chest had come from London-town laden with splendid raiment;
all had been unpacked and examined, and 'twas enough to cure all
grievances, the very sight of such adornings; but her ladyship
was disappointed that there were no stays. Janet for the time was
distraught and said:
"I would that had been sent that would mend thy untowardness and bring
thy temper to a comelier mould. 'Tis past time for thee to clothe
thyself in that in which thy noble lord hath seen fit to purchase for
thee; I heard some moments since the arrival of the hunters and it's
time--" There was a sounding rap and 'twas his Lordship's lackey
begging the admittance of his master. Janet bade Lord Cedric enter. He
came forth in riding-coat and field boots and rattling spurs. Mistress
Penwick vouchsafed a nod of recognition and turned her eyes away. The
hot blood mounted Cedric's face and at a look at Janet understood all
was not well; he essayed to speak with coolness:
"Art not happy with the contents of thy chest, Kate?"
"'Tis more than one could expect, but--sadly it lacked that I wished
for most--a thing that marks one as lady and not child in grown-up
people's clothes."
"And what might that be, Kate?" for indeed he had forgotten about her
order that stays be sent.
"Simple, modest, commonplace stays, my lord," and she said it slowly
and with a mighty air.
"Nay, nay--stays they did forget?" and he stamped his foot in seeming
wrath and broke forth:--"I'll thrash that damned lackey blue for
so forgetting!" and he turned as if to quit the room, but Mistress
Penwick ran to stay his hurry.
"Nay, thou wilt not hurt him, 'twas not his fault, 'twas not by his
hand the order was writ." And Cedric feigned further show of temper,
and Katherine's tapering fingers ventured upon either lapel of his
lordship's velvet coat, and he turned red and white and could hardly
contain himself with delight. Janet, fearing a confusion of her
master's words, put forth her arms and drew away Katherine's hands and
said, softly:
"His Lordship will not thrash the lad, if thou wilt don thy most
beautiful frock and forget the stays."
"That will I, if 'tis his desire; and--" she looked up into his
Lordship's face with a look that was almost tender--"thou wilt say no
word to the boy?" His voice was soft and pleading as he answered:
"Anything thou wouldst ask of me thus, thou couldst have it without
the asking."
"Then, my lord, when there is aught I would have, I may take it
without thy spoken yea?"
"Nay, not so; that would be highway robbery; for thou wouldst take
from me the dearest thing that has yet happened to me; 'tis thy sweet
pleading for that 'tis already thine."
"'Tis a generous thing for thee to say, but if I might have perfect
freedom to do all things as I desire--"
"And what are the 'all things' that thou wouldst desire?"
"I should like to have many changes made in the Chapel, and bring one
who is well able to play on the great organ. And 'twould be a wondrous
good thing to bring from the village of Crandlemar youths for the
training of a choir, such as I have heard are of much repute among the
poor lads for strength and sweetness of voice; and after all things
are made ready, have the Chapel opened again with pomp of priest and
solemn ceremony."
"If such are thy desires, I will put forward the work at once." Now
indeed Katherine forgot the sad lack of stays and for the moment
forgot all else save that the handsome Cedric stood before her flushed
and eager to gratify her every whim. He, one of the richest noblemen
in Great Britain, whom she could have for a look; the stretching out
of the hand. And she quite well knew that he was ready at the first
opportunity to renew the subject of marriage, and for this very thing
she turned from him thinking that some time she would consider his
proposal. So again he went from her presence with a throbbing in his
breast that was half-hope, half-despair and knew not what to do.
'Twas the last ball at Crandlemar Castle, for the hunting season was
over. A goodly company gathered from neighbouring shires, and Mistress
Pen wick was the mark of all eyes in a sweeping robe of fawn that
shimmered somewhat of its brocadings of blue and pink and broiderings
of silver. She had decorously plaited a flounce of old and rare lace
and brought it close about her shoulders and twined her mother's
string of pearls about her white throat, the longer strands reaching
below her waistband and caught low again upon the shoulder with a knot
of fresh spring violets. Cedric stood apart with his kinsman, his
Grace of Ellswold, who enjoyed the freedom of speech of all Charles'
Court; indeed it appeared that not only looseness of tongue but morals
also held sway in the most remote as well as the best known portions
of the kingdom. And at his Grace's first sight of Katherine he uttered
an oath and some other expression that savoured of common hackney; for
Cedric had been telling him of the soothsayer's words.
"The soothsayer spoke false and I'll wager thee the East Forest thou
hast coveted against thy Welsh demesne. I tell thee, Cedric, a jewel
hast thou found. Never have I seen her equal. And that is John
Penwick's daughter!" and he took a great pinch of snuff and looked
at Cedric. "She will make thee a fine wife,--but who is the man that
dangles after her now? Indeed, I would say thou hadst better watch out
for him. I do not like the look in his eyes; he is--"
"Egad, uncle! I would as soon think of being jealous of--of thee. He
is Constance' cousin from Russia, and as she is staying here for some
time, at her request I asked him also. Bah! I could never imagine him
as a rival!"
"Well, so be it; but how about the wager of the East Forest?"
"Thou art on the winning side. So thou couldst not wager without an
opponent, and 'twill be futile to find one, lest thou dost charge upon
some landless bumpkin."
"And how soon wilt thou espouse her?"
"At the first moment of her consent--"
"Consent 'tis thou art waiting for? Thou hadst better keep her close;
for if his Majesty gains inkling of such fresh, young beauty and finds
her out of bans, 'twill go hard with thee to sword thy way to a lady
in waiting or--perhaps----"
"'Sdeath, by God! I had not thought of that! 'Twould be too bold
and out of place, she being under my guardianship, to press her to
espousal without fair consent;--but I know best; 'twould be for her
own safety, is it not so, uncle?"
"If she knows naught of the frailties of all mankind and the Court in
particular, I should say as thou art her rightful guardian and the
suitor chosen of her father, and 'twas thy wish for her immediate
espousal, 'twould best serve thee to use all manner of means to gain
her consent, and if this prove abortive, I would abduct the maid and
have thy Chaplain ready to marry thee to her; and after he pronounces
thee man and wife, what can she do but love thee straightway for thy
strong handling; 'tis the way of women. I would marry such a beauty in
haste, ere another takes the vantage."
Lord Cedric chose Mistress Penwick for the brantle and led her forth.
They moved with such majestic grace, they attracted all eyes. It
seemed Cedric could not contain himself for love of Kate, and he vowed
to gain her ear this very night and know for a certainty if she would
ever marry with him.
It pleased Mistress Penwick to dance with Cedric, for she was more at
ease with him than any other, and she was hardly pleased when he bade
her rest and took her to another room, where they were quite alone.
But she would not sit down, and stood fanning and smiling up into his
face, saying half pettishly:
"Thou art soon tired; the brantle has just begun."
"Kate, hast thou patience?"
"Aye, but 'tis of dwarfish mould."
"Kate, dost love any human being?"
"Aye, 'tis a poor thing that loves not."
"Dost love me, Kate?"
"As a father or brother and as one should love her father's best
friend."
"Then--give me a--kiss as thou wouldst give thy brother." The hot
blood suffused her face. At sight of it, Cedric's heart leapt with a
mighty gladness.
"Not having had a brother, I know not how to give that thou
askest;--and 'tis unseemly of thee to ask for that that makes one
blush for very shame to be questioned of."
"Blushes are not always for shame--'tis for love, sometimes. Kate,
'tis time I knew thy heart, for thou knowest I am about to die for
love of thee. Dost not understand that thy father wished thee to marry
at an early age and to marry the son of his bosom friend to whom he
gave his daughter's keeping?"
"Nay, he said naught of my marriage with thee, as he knew not thou
wert in existence."
"Aye, of a truth he hath done so; it is here next my heart," and he
drew forth Sir John's letter. "Wilt read but the lines I show thee;
for there are secrets belonging to thy father and me alone?" He marked
the lines with his jewelled finger, his love locks falling against her
cheek as she read: "My last wish and the one of greatest import to my
child is that thou find for her a spouse of rank and fortune. 'Tis my
desire she marry early to such an one.--Ah! Cedric, if thou had hadst
a son, their union would have been our delight--"
"Ah! ah!" and Katherine's eyes grew wide. "Thou hast said naught of
this--as it appears here before me now; and it might have been too
late."
"Too late! What meanest thou?"
"The noble--nay, now I cannot tell thee, for 'tis a secret but half
mine."
"My God! who dares have secrets with thee save thy nurse and guardian;
whose damned heart hath played the lover to thee?" His hand fell upon
his sword and he drew it half way. "What guest hath so dishonoured
name as to make profit of that I have already made known as my
espoused? Tell me, Kate!" Seeing her frightened eyes, that were justly
so, he pushed back the jewelled hilt and threw his arm about her and
drew her close, so close she was well-nigh crushed by his warm and
passionate embrace and choked by pulverulent civet as her face was
pressed against the folds of his steenkirk. She felt the tumultuous
beating of his heart, and 'twas a great, new feeling came to her and
she trembled and swayed, and loved and hated both, in one brief moment
and drew from him and looked with angry eyes. "Kate, Kate, what saidst
the false lover; tell me every word. Did he ask thee for espousal?"
Now Mistress Penwick faltered and flushed, for she dare not tell him
who her suitor was and thought if she told him well what was said,
he would not press her for name, and 'twas meet she should tell him
truthfully. She feared his hot temper not a little, for she had heard
that one time he locked Lady Constance in the tower for two whole days
for telling him a falsehood.
"Aye, he asked me to espouse him."
"And what didst thou say?"
"I said him nay, 'twas too soon to wed, 'twould be wiser to speak a
year hence."
"And what answer did he make thee?"
"He said the king's sister, Princess Mary, when but ten married
William, Prince of Orange, and--"
"And what?" said Cedric, leaning forward his hand upon his sword, a
curse between his white teeth and a line of light from between
his half-closed lids like the flashing of a two-edged sword.
"What--'sdeath?" And Kate trembled forth--
"And fifteen was none too soon to wed."
"And did he say naught else appertaining thereto?"
"Nay, I know naught else he could say!" and the innocence of her
inquiring face proved his evil imagining a perjury. He caught his
breath in a flutter of sheer heart's-ease.
"Now who is this swain who hath taken advantage of my invitation and
come up from among the rustics yonder to make love to thee? I will
run him through the first time I meet his insolence. Who is he, Kate;
what's his name?" She vouchsafing no answer, aroused his suspicion.
"'Sdeath! what ails thy tongue? Haste thee, what is his name?" and he
glared at her, furiously, 'til she was well nigh cold with fright.
"Sooth, thou art strong with temper for the very meagre cause a maiden
will not bewray a poor man's name."
"Poor, indeed, when such as thou bestoweth upon him the priceless
gift of thy heart as a locker for his secrets; by God! give his name,
quick, ere I slay a dozen for one paltry fool that would rob me!"
She read aright the steely light 'neath his half-closed lids and was
distraught, for she dared not give him the name of one of his guests;
for the noble Russian Adrian Cantemir had pressed his suit and was
upheld by Lady Constance, who told him of Katherine's vast demesne,
knowing well he could not marry one without estates, as his were in
great depletion. And the noble Cantemir had well nigh won her heart by
his voice and music, and now that he was in danger of Lord Cedric's
anger, he became an object of commiseration, and not for her life
would she give his name to this raging man with murder in his heart.
"Nay, nay, my lord; give me grace. I have told thee truly all else,
and now I beg--"
"Dost thou say thou wilt not give his name? Then, by God, I will cut
my way to his black heart!" He drew his sword and strode forth to
slash the curtain that barred his way, and Katherine caught his
upstretched arm and fell upon her knees, bursting into tears. At sight
of tears and touch of fingers he dropped his sword and raised her
quickly, saying:
"Nay, nay, not tears. Dry them, Sweet, they wring my heart to greater
pain than all thy secrets, and for this one thou boldest I will take
thy shoulder-knot instead." She looked up surprised at the sudden
surcease of storm, and seeing his handsome face becalmed, she
wondered at the magic that had caused it, and her heart smote her for
withholding aught from one that loved her so. She hastily drew from
her shoulder the knot of violets that were still humid with freshness;
and as she drew the fastenings the lace fell from her shoulder,
disclosing her too-low cut bodice, and Cedric's quick eye saw why the
screen of lace was used, and with trembling fingers caught up the lace
and drew from his steenkirk a rare jewel and pinned it safe as deftly
as her maid. He touched her hand with his warm red lips, saying in
a voice resonant as music: "God bless thee, Kate, for thy sweet
modesty!" He thought if the modish beauties in yonder rooms could
boast of such perfect charm, 'twould not be hid by a fall of lace and
a shoulder knot of violets. And he pressed the nosegay to his heart
and left them there, folded within her father's letter. A calmness
settled upon him, such as had not come to him heretofore, and
trembling with happiness he led Katherine forth in the brantle; she
feeling quite like an heroine for being able to hold her secret from
this passionate man.
For all the convent had environed Mistress Pen wick with sacred
influences, and she had absorbed its most potent authority, religion,
yet even that was not efficacious to the annihilating that 'twas
born within; and one can but excuse the caprice and wantonness of a
coquette, when 'tis an inheritance. She adhered pertinaciously to the
requirements of a lady of title, and loved opulence and luxury and
admiration. She foresaw--young as she was and reared as she had been
with all simpleness--an opportunity, being a noblewoman and the ward
of a wealthy titled gentleman, to become a favourite at Court. This
idea, however, was not altogether original; for Lady Constance
had given her a graphic description of her presentation, and the
requirements due to all ladies of note. And while Katherine fully
intended to carry out her father's wishes for an early and noble
marriage; yet she felt there was no haste; she was sure it would be
his desire for her to enjoy one of those seasons at Court she had
heard so much converse of. 'Tis not much wonder, having been so short
a time in the great world and having won the hearts of two noblemen,
she should wish for fresh fields to conquer. But now was not the time
for a trip to London, for spring was upon them and there was much to
look after in Crandlemar. His Lordship had sadly neglected his duties
in keeping up the village and looking after the poor. The church
must be built up. It had not occurred to her that there were other
religions beside the Catholic; and when Lord Cedric's chaplain made
known to her the difficulties of arranging Catholic orders in a
Protestant Church, she could not understand. Janet explained to her
what she would be compelled to surmount to bring her religion to be
the accepted one in Crandlemar. Again her mind was turned to Count
Adrian, and she thought 'twould be well to wed with one of her
own faith, and he was as warm a Catholic as herself. Cedric was a
Protestant and a very poor one, indeed it seemed he had no religion.
And yet he had told her that he petitioned not to God for aught;
but 'twas his diurnal duty to thank Him for His benevolence and
chastening; ever deeming chastisement the surety of his alien thought
or action, and he speedily mended his ways or made an effort to; but
what great sin he had committed that her love should not be given him
was more than he could tell, and he should keep on trying to find out
what his faults were, that he might receive that he wished for most.
He wrangled not of religion, but ever kept the divine spark in his own
heart alive, if not fanned to flame. Indeed so indifferent was his
Lordship to the great questions of the times, he thought not of the
ancient monastery in the depths of the vast forest upon his estate,
where still resided recluses. 'Twas seldom he thought of these simple
monks. They lived in seeming quiet, enjoying the freehold of their
castle. But there was a storm brewing, and in its midst his Lordship
was to be severely reminded of their presence.
CHAPTER VIII
THE ANCIENT MONASTERY
Lord Cedric's guests all departed after the Saxon dance, save their
Graces of Ellswold, Lady Constance, Lady Bettie Payne and Count
Cantemir. And with their exit spring seemed to burst forth in sward,
bourgeon and bud, and the clinging tendrils upon the castle walls grew
heavy and pink with their greedy absorption of carbon dioxide from the
warm atmosphere. It seemed the unfolding of nature brought ten times
more pain and uneasiness and mad love to Lord Cedric's heart. He had
not yet learned who had been talking to Katherine of love. Janet
had mentioned Adrian Cantemir; he had laughed at her. Constance
had pointed to Lord Droylsden, a man of distinction and strong
personality, whose estates joined his own. This appeared more
plausible than the suit of Cantemir, and his Lordship watched
Katherine when she was with these two and soon found, so he thought,
it was for the latter she cared; indeed 'twas hard for him to follow
the trend of her vacillating mind.
'Twas a glorious, warm spring morning. Mistress Penwick had ridden
forth, attended by a groom, to the village. She spent the entire
morning in visiting the poor and sick and did not fail to note the
dilapidated state of the cottages. She rode home flushed and eager
with plans. She made known to Lord Cedric her desires to build up
these poor cottages. Without question he doubled the amount of money
she asked for, and paid her a large sum for immediate use among the
poor. Katherine's heart was touched by his goodness to her, and spoke
with more warmth than 'twas her wont and opined 'twould be a glorious
afternoon for their ride in the forest! He had kept his eyes
steadily from her; for 'twas his mood to play the disinterested and
unconcerned; but at this innovation on her part he raised his eyes and
spoke indifferently:
"Aye, if this weather continues, we will have roses in a fortnight."
"Speaking of roses reminds me; as I started forth this morning I saw
a gardener upon the upper terrace trimming about some bushes of
wonderful grace and beauty, and as I stepped among them I saw an
ancient sundial; 'tis the first I've yet seen, and I made bold to ask
him to plant some rare rose near it, that its leaves and blossoms
might enfold its cold marble whiteness and warm it to greater beauty."
"And didst not thou suggest some choice?"
"Nay; just so 'twas healthy and prolific of bloom."
"Then as thou hast named a rose, I will name its kind!"
He smiled significantly, and the hot blood flushed his cheek. She came
a step nearer and bent toward the table before him, her riding dress
wrapping her perfect mould.
"One thing more I would ask thee; 'tis that I might have a bolder
steed, the one thou gavest me is not near spiritful enough for one who
wishes to ride well and gayly. I would have one that shakes his head
and rattles his bit and stamps about uneasily." This was more than his
Lordship could stand, and he broke forth in a mirthful laugh,--
"Thou shalt have the most buoyant palfrey can be found; he shall have
a wicked black eye, and--an honest heart for his mistress." Cedric
arose and bent gracefully to the fingers of Katherine as she held
them out to him, then turned quickly to the fire and crushed a
half-famished ember beneath his heel as he heard her cross the
threshold. A moment after he strode out upon the upper terrace to the
gardener, who stood with bared head as his Lordship gave command to
plant by the dial a bridal rose.
The afternoon was glorious with the scent of a million shooting
sprouts, and delicate with the perfume of violets. But the sunshine
of the day was not to stay, for the party from the castle were scarce
three miles within the confines of the forest when the sun became
overcast. But they rode on, however, taking delight in the fine air,
and caring naught of cloud and threatening weather.
They soon came to intricate windings of the forest path, where two
might not ride side by side, and as the Duke of Ellswold rode in
behind his wife, he suddenly reeled and would have fallen had it not
been for his groom. They all turned quickly save Mistress Penwick and
Adrian, who had made the sharp turn and were galloping forward. Cedric
bade a lackey ride with all speed to the castle for a coach; and as
the anxious group waited, they wondered somewhat that Katherine and
Cantemir did not return. And Cedric's heart, while well-nigh taken up
by his uncle's state, had still room for jealousy, and he grew hot
with anger that for once he kept hid under the semblance of anxiety.
His Grace was tenderly lifted and taken to the conveyance that waited
upon the broader road some distance away. The little caravan moved
slowly, and before it reached the castle the wind began to blow
furiously, bringing heavy showers.
The physician from Crandlemar had been summoned, and after a hurried
examination gave them encouragement, saying that the duke had probably
been riding too fast and his condition was not dangerous.
A courier had been despatched for his Grace's physicians and all
things done for his comfort; and Cedric for the time relieved from the
anxiety of actual and impending danger concerning his kinsman, now
felt the full force of his disappointment in Mistress Penwick's
absence with Cantemir. He determined to ride forth in quest; and with
a groom laden with all sorts of cloaks for her protection from the
storm, that now raged furiously, started, feeling naught but the pain
at his heart.
The Catholics and Protestants being at variance throughout the
kingdom, and there were passing constantly under cover of forests and
unfrequented highways groups of riotous men of both parties; for the
life of him Cedric could not tell with which party he would rather his
Katherine would come in contact--she unattended save by a modish fop.
After reaching the depths of the forest, 'twas no easy matter to find
the exact paths they had traversed in the afternoon. The groom carried
a lantern, but 'twas Lord Cedric's order not to light it. There were
shooting lodges and forester's cabins, other abodes there were none
save the old monastery, and to which of these places to go was left
altogether to the toss of a penny. Beside, they were not sure of
finding a shooting lodge, should they start for it; the night was so
black and the paths so numerous and winding. Very often Cedric would
stop and listen for the tramp of horses' feet; but there was naught
save the occasional cracking of twigs as some wild thing jumped from
the roadside frightened, or the stir of the high wind in the giant
trees. On they rode, and Cedric's heart was first sorry for his
kinsman's ills, then--he would rant because Katherine had taken no
notice of his importunities, and he swore under his breath in good,
round Scotch oaths for his allowing her to go thus long without
espousal; and again he looked at the matter dispassionately. She was a
very young maid, without the protection of womankind of her own rank
or an aged guardian. Then began to find fault, and on a sudden saw she
loved admiration, and this sin became unpardonable and he became
so wrought upon, he swore he would lock her in the tower until she
consented to their espousal. Then he thought of Janet's words as he
left her but a short time before: "I would vouch for her innocence
with my life! Be not harsh with her, my lord!" and he ground his teeth
in rage for his _espionage_ of her. Then he thought of the king and
what if she came under his eye,--"Ah, 'sdeath! 'twould make me mad!"
and he laid spur to his horse and galloped on with hot curses in his
throat.
How long or how far they had ridden 'twas impossible to tell, until
suddenly they saw a light and at once Lord Cedric knew they were at
the monastery. He halted instantly and dismounted. Throwing the reins
to the groom, he crept cautiously forward alone. To his astonishment
he beheld a great number of horses about the enclosure, and he became
still more cautious. "'Tis a Catholic _rendezvous_, by God!" said he.
He followed close to the wall, and was about to reach the window when
the door was thrown wide open and a group of three stood upon the
threshold. Two of them, Cedric saw, as the light from within fell upon
their faces, were noted leaders of the Catholic party, the other was a
monk, and 'twas he that was speaking. His voice was low and intense:
"If his Majesty has but one glimpse, he will pitch the Castlemaine
overboard. This one is a religionist of no common order and will do
much for the cause; and when she has done this thing, I shall do all I
can to withdraw her from further communication with Charles. She shall
not become one of his household, she is too good for that."
"'Twas rare luck that brought her to thine abode this afternoon, for
our case was well-nigh hopeless, and soon it would have been too late,
for once Sir John gets to this country--sh! Didst hear something stir
hereabout?"
"Nay, 'twas naught but the wind; but when thou dost speak of Penwick,
thou hadst better whisper."
"'Twas a pity we came not earlier according to agreement, and we
should have feasted our eyes upon the beauty."
"If thou hadst been one-half hour sooner, thou wouldst have seen her
with the gay youth that will give her little peace 'til she doth say
the word. I tell thee both, the Virgin Mary doth plead our cause, and
no doubt 'twas through her agency the rain came upon the maid and
drove her here. We offered special prayer to Holy Mary this morning.
And the youth with her is also of the only religion. Mistress Penwick
was greatly frightened of my Lord Cedric; for she would go forth in
the heart of the storm, fearing a longer stay would bring uneasiness
to the castle; so I gave her protection, a guide and a promise to
receive her in a few days for the confessional and some religious
direction; and I feel sure she will visit me within the week."
"'Tis an easy way to reach the king's heart; he doth so love a pretty
face and fine parts; and we may be able to use the youth as well--eh?"
They said a good-night and passed on to their steeds, mounting and
riding away.
The monk returned to those within, and Cedric hurried away, anxious
only to see Katherine once more,--to behold her once again with his
own eyes and never, never again would he allow her to leave him. He
would not be turned aside again from his purpose, she must come to his
terms at once. Then he fretted and fumed, fearing she had fallen under
the stormy blast and had taken cold, and perhaps would have a fever.
Then he grew hot and angry with her for riding so fast and beyond
ear-shot of the company. And jealousy and all evil passions took
possession of him.
Meanwhile Mistress Penwick had arrived at the castle, and was grieved
when she heard of his Grace's condition, and sorry she had ridden
ahead and was so late getting home.
Janet had hurried her to her chamber and disrobed her of wet garments,
and bathed her in hot and cold baths, and was rubbing her with
perfumed olive oil when Lord Cedric arrived.
He went to his uncle's bedside, and finding him resting, quietly
hastened to his own apartments and sent to inquire of Mistress
Penwick.
'Twas Janet's pleasure to answer her lord's inquiry in person, and
after swathing her lady in fine flannels, she hastened to Lord
Cedric's presence.
She found him standing in satin breeches, silk hose and buckled
high-heeled shoes, and shirt of sheer white lawn and rare lace. He
raised his drooping eyelids lazily, and looked at Janet as he lifted
from the dressing-table before him rings--rare jewelled--and adjusted
them on his white fingers. At his side was a valet, placing fresh
sachets filled with civet within false pockets of the satin lining of
his lord's waistcoat. The cold, proud gleam from Cedric's dark orbs
daunted not Janet. She courtesied with grave respect. There was that
in her eyes, as she raised them, that called for the dismissal of the
lackeys. As they passed beyond to the ante-chamber, she approached and
spoke low in tones vibrant with suppressed emotion.
"My lord, as I am with thee in the chiefest thought of thine heart, I
make bold to inform thee of a virulent action that is about to be made
against thee; one flagrant of state intrigue and court duplicity."
"Damme, what now?" and his Lordship leaned heavily upon the table;
the conversation at the monastery recurring to his mind with force as
Janet proceeded.
"Not being able to contain my anxiety for Mistress Penwick, I wrapt
myself and went forth in the storm to watch and listen for aught of
her return. I passed some little distance within the confines of the
forest, and was soon put upon my guard by the approaching tramp of
horses' feet, and then, low-keyed voices, and in very truth I thought
my lady was come; instead, three horsemen came within a few feet of my
hiding and one said,--'We are even now hard by the Castle courtyard;
'tis possible the lackeys are waiting for the beauty who is perchance
now started from the monastery. Didst ever see such beauty?' They
halted and dismounted some distance from the open road. Then one
said,--''Twill send his Majesty to madness when he sees before him
such perfect mould, suing for his most gracious clemency toward our
cause.' ''Tis a wonder my lord of Crandlemar does not take such beauty
to wife,' said another. 'He may bid her farewell when once her fame
reaches the Court; and 'twill be there in less than two days from this
hour. Who will remain with the despatches while we find that rascal
Christopher?' ''Twill best serve for one to go, and two guard the
horses and bags. Thou hadst best go, Twinkham, thou art as subtle as
the wind. Prod the villain Christopher to haste and enjoin upon him
secrecy in the name of His Most Catholic Majesty, the Pope,--and do
not thou be hindered by some scullion wench.' These things I heard,
well-seasoned with imprecation against the king. I hastened from the
_rendezvous_ to my chamber and thought upon it, and--and there is
naught can be done, unless thou wed Mistress Penwick straightway."
His Lordship fell into furious rage, and vowed he would sever
Christopher's head from his rotting body with a cleaver, and honour
him not with a thought of Tyburn Hill. He would burn yonder monastery
and all within to ashes for the wind to carry away; and he would lock
Katherine in the tower with his own hands; and he started toward the
door, half-dressed as he was, and flung it wide open.
Her Grace of Ellswold stood upon the threshold with a warning finger
raised.
"Thou hast a clamourous tongue, Cedric; the doctor hath enjoined
silence, as holding for the moment the greatest good for his Grace."
"Now God forgive me! I was so wrought upon by foul communication I am
well nigh distraught.--How is his Grace?"
"He is resting quietly; but I thought but now, as I heard thy
voice--indistinctly, 'tis true,--his pulse did flutter extraly."
"Dear aunt, forgive; thou shalt not be thus annoyed again." He turned
and strode up and down the room with bent head.
Janet watched him narrowly, wondering the while that any female, of
whatsoever age, could withstand such fine mould, masculine grace and
handsome features; such strong heart and hot blood. What maid beside
her Lambkin would not be overjoyed to see him so mad with love of her?
Who could resist kneeling before him and pleading, and watch his anger
take flight; and feel his strong arms raise her and fold the maiden
bosom to his heart, where 'twould throb and flutter as he held it
close pressed--ah! 'twas not his anger that would kill, nay! nay!
'twas his tender passion.
"Janet, these are troublous times come upon us. They have come within
these walls. We have traitors about us. That knave Christopher shall
die by the hand of the lowest scullion in the kitchen; for 'twould
dishonour a better to mix with blood of swine. And thou wilt take thy
mistress to the tower and there be bolted in, and 'twill be given out
that her ladyship is ill and must needs have quiet--"
"If my lord values her health, 'twould be best to put her in a less
windy chamber; the room is large and ill-heated for damp, spring
days."
"Canst keep her safe where she is?"
"Aye, leave it to me, my lord."
"And thou shalt allow of no communication with those outside, save
her Grace, and Angel thou canst rely upon--stay--thou mayest allow
Constance to keep my lady company."
"Nay, my lord, I would refute the idea of safety in my Lady
Constance."
"'Sdeath, what meanest thou; art thou also turned from serving me?"
"My lord, dost remember the night thou didst have dancers from London?
Lady Constance sat late with Mistress Penwick, and at last complained
of thirst and they two stole below stair and I followed, and as if by
accident Lady Constance brought Mistress Katherine to the curtained
archway, and she saw thee swaying in thy cups, and after a while my
lady led mistress to her room while she hastened away to a room apart
and donned the garb of one of the dancing maids and came to thee as a
gipsy, and she told thee false things concerning Mistress Penwick--"
"Is what thou sayest true, or is't thou art going mad?"
"'Tis true, my lord, as Mistress Penwick will tell thee if thou carest
to ask."
"And Constance would do such an act?--" he spoke half aloud and
incredulously,--"Nay, I cannot and do not believe it! Thou must have
dreamt it, Janet,--and yet,--I did have like visions!--Thou art right;
no one shall see thy mistress, no one, mind, but Angel and her Grace.
'Tis possible the king may send for me within a few days; and if so, I
must go and leave thee to fight the battle alone. Art able, Janet?"
"Trust me, my lord."
"I can trust thee, good Janet. Look after her health; keep the windows
open for fine air, but let her not go from her chamber. How thinkest
thou she will take such imprisonment?"
"She will be angry, but so proud she will not petition for freedom;
she may even brag 'tis to her liking to be so rid of thee."
"'Sdeath, Janet, thy tongue can cut! Dost believe she cares a jot for
my anger?"
"Nay, not a jot, for 'tis the outcome of love, and 'tis my noble lady
Innocence that is well aware that thy anger will fall to spray when
she hath a notion to turn the tide."
"Nay, not again shall she win from me aught but cold looks 'til she
hath a mind to espouse me;--and yet my mind was made up to marry,
whether she consented or not; for the time has come when the one who
waits will wait still, and the one who rushes on, will take the prize,
whether by foul or fair means;--but nothing can be done to-night. In
the meantime I will steel my heart to harsh deeds, and, by God! I will
bear out my course. Janet, go now to thy mistress, and should I be
despatched for before I see thee again, there will be no one here
to defend her as thou canst do. Thou must not allow the servants to
attend upon her; thou must do it all thyself--a sweet duty! so, 'tis
left thee to defend with thy quick wit."
'Twas near noon the next day that Mistress Penwick arose and would
prepare her for a ride to the village, when Janet told her of the
imprisonment imposed upon her for safety. She at once became angry and
accused her nurse of being a traitor and tool for Lord Cedric.
"Nay, Lambkin, in truth, there are dark deeds abroad. Those monastery
celibates, who are well equipped to bandy with their equals, are mere
braying bumpkins when they have to do with embroidered waistcoats
and amorous hearts. They have surreptitiously corrupted one of Lord
Cedric's lackeys and the fellow is condemned to die."
"Condemned to die! and who hath done the condemning, pray?"
"His master, to be sure!"
"Ah! if he should put forth the accomplishment of such a deed, 'twould
be the act of a barbarian. What are the charges against him?"
"Just what it is I know not; but my lord deems the charge most grave
and--he may be even now dead."
"Janet, thou dost so frighten me. Does the matter concern my lord's
person,--is his life in danger?"
"Not his life but his love; 'tis for thy sake he does it."
"For my sake!--then it shall not be done; I will see to it. Let me go
to Lord Cedric straightway."
"His orders would not permit it."
"For shame, Janet; to save a man's life? Let me go; I am not afraid of
his anger."
"'Tis impossible; he would send me away if I disobeyed him."
"Then thou must bring him here, Janet."
"'Twill do no good to see him; he will not come. He is thoroughly out
of all patience with thy perverseness,--thou wilt never find another
such a noble lord and one 'twill love thee with such love;--and for a
face and figure--well, thou art surely blind to masculine beauty;--and
should his Grace go hence, my lord will be his Grace of Ellswold, and
second to none in the realm; he will become as much to the king as the
Duke of Buckingham, and will far outshine Monmouth and Shaftesbury."
"Nay, Janet, he will ne'er become great when he doth so confuse
justice with viciousness;--but, nurse, I would have thee haste. Tell
my lord that I beg his presence, if for a moment only; he surely would
not refuse so trifling a request."
"But it is not trifling, as he well knows thou art upon the keen edge
of want before thou wilt so much as smile upon him." At the moment
there struck upon Mistress Penwick's ears the tramp of horses' feet,
and straightway she ran to the window and leant out and saw Cedric
about to ride forth.
"My lord, my lord!" she cried, and dropped a rose to attract him. His
horse sprung aside and trod upon it; but Cedric looked up and saw
the anxious face embrazured by ivy-clad sill; and with involuntary
courtesy he speedily uncovered and waited thus her pleasure.
"May I have a word with thee, my lord?"
"Indeed, Mistress, it doth rack me with pleasure to accord thee so
slight a service," and he dismounted quickly and strode into the great
hall and bounded up the oaken stairway. It seemed to Mistress Penwick,
as she heard his rattling spurs, that 'twas a sound of strength, and
she felt a happy, exultant tremour, knowing her cause already won.
But for once there was not wisdom in her conceit. She made a sweeping
courtesy as he entered. He bent low before her, waiting her first
words.
"My lord, wilt thou permit me to inquire somewhat of thy mercy?"
"Thou dost make me insolvent of such a quality when thy keen
penetration doth not discover, without inquiry, its existence." She
was not daunted by his severe answer, but flushed slightly at his
imperturbance.
"Then, if thou dost acknowledge thyself so pampered, I beg thou wilt
conjoin to justice its semblance and forgive thy poor servant the
penalty of death."
"Ah! ah! and 'tis Christopher's cause thou art pleading. Happy
Christopher!" he sighed deeply. "If the King would thus condemn me,
Mistress Penwick wouldst thou thus care for me?"
"The query is of that so premature 'twould be impossible to frame a
reply,--hence I beg to continue converse upon an affair thoroughly
elaborated and arranged."
"'Twould grieve me to say at once 'nay'; for that would end at once
for me these supreme moments in thy presence; however, I will repeat
the adverb of negation with a rising inflection that thou mayst
continue with amplification."
"Dost thou mean to discontinue converse with me?"
"Nay, I beg not."
"Then thou meanest thou wilt not forgive thy poor servant, and wilt
impose such extreme penalty; and further importunities would be
useless?"
"I forgive the dead all things."
"My lord, he is not already dead?" and she fell from him aghast.
"Nay, but soon will be."
Mistress Penwick saw no softening in Cedric's manner, and she became
alarmed and threw some tenderness in her voice and spoke softly, that
she might lead or manage her lord by gentleness and tact.
"My lord, do not look so cold and hard." She drew nearer and her voice
became more pleading. "'Tis a little thing for thee to grant me this
one desire. I beg with all my heart for thy servant's life."
"Nay, I have given order for his despatch before sunset."
"Nay, nay, my lord, I beg." She came close to him and laid one hand
caressingly upon the silver fastenings of his coat and he turned white
and trembled and caught her hand within his own and bent down and
pressed his lips to her fingers. She saw her advantage and followed it
close.
"Wilt grant me this one thing, my lord, and I will hold myself--ready
to--hear thy suit renewed--if thou so will it?" His voice vibrant and
low with passion he could hardly restrain, broke forth,--
"Kate, Kate, I could not call so base a life worthy of thy
consideration, and I could not grant thee that 'twould sully thy sweet
tongue to barter for."
"Thou art most unrelenting, my lord!" The maid was angry for having
offered her lord the privilege of renewing his suit; which he didn't
seem inclined to do; and finding her pleadings were of no avail, and
being angry and annoyed, she broke into tears, knowing of a certainty
she would now have her way, even though her dignity was lowered.
Cedric could not stand and see her thus; he turned from her
quickly and was about to leave her, when she called to him almost
impatiently,--
"My lord, wilt grant his life until the morrow?" He hesitated, then
turned and bowing low, murmured,
"Until the morrow, Kate," and left the chamber.
CHAPTER IX
SIR JULIAN POMPHREY
"Now time is something to have gained! Janet, thou must go to yonder
monastery and bring a priest to shrive Christopher."
"And how didst thou know Christopher was shriveable?"
"'Tis unseemly of thee to make jest of divine ordinances."
"Nay, I would not jest but know where 'twas thou learnt of his
religion?"
"All of the Catholic faith know one another by intuition; 'tis
God-given."
"Then thou didst also know him to be a rascal?"
"Neither do I know it now. Wilt thou not find some way to bring a
priest hither? Pray, Janet, do; for if I let it go past, 'twill bring
me miserable thoughts and wicked dreams. Janet, thou didst once love
me and hadst a fond way of anticipating my desires; but thou hast on
a sudden forgotten thine whilom usages. Beshrew thee for falling away
from thine old friends and taking up with new ones. Lord Cedric's
nurse watches him from morn until eve and deigns not to cajole him or
win his desires from their natural bent."
"'Tis wisely said; for his desires are inclined in the right
direction. 'Twas but last night when he was well-nigh distraught with
thy absence with the Russian Jew that doth ogle thee, that Angel
brought his riding-cloak and threw it over his shoulders as he tore up
and down his chamber; and she said, lowly,--'Go, my lord, 'twill ease
thy mind to ride,' and he flew to horse. She is ever helping him to
thee."
"And now I would have thee to help me to my lord's good graces and my
desires; but thou art evil bent."
"Nay, my precious Lambkin, if I could I would help thee this night to
the nuptial altar; but as to helping thee to thy desires, 'twould be
helping thy peace of mind and him to utter ruin; and such calamity
would render thy young life incomplete; for without this noble lord
thy perfectness will be unfinished."
"Cease carving epitaphs, Janet, and help me assist this poor
unfortunate. How long will my lord be gone?"
"He has only gone to the village to meet the workmen who were to
renovate the nurseries and ride home with Lady Constance, who rode
away early this morning when thou were dreaming of Russia."
"Then I will write him my petition, and thou shalt give it to Angel
to give my lord, immediately upon his return." She sat down with
parchment and quill and wrote rapidly; and as Janet noticed not, she
wrote two letters instead of one. The first she folded evenly and put
beneath a book, the other she gave to Janet, who took it and left the
chamber to seek Angel. Mistress Penwick, thus left alone, wondered how
she should convey her other letter to Count Adrian. She approached the
window, and lo! upon the upper terrace paced her Grace of Ellswold and
Cantemir. 'Twas not the first hour that day the latter had so paraded
the sward, ever and anon casting glances toward Mistress Penwick's
windows. Again he glanced up and saw her wave a white paper and
immediately leave the window. He guessed at once 'twas something more
than indisposition that held her to her room. Again she looked; they
had turned from the window. She flung forth the paper and it floated
down as Janet came into the room.
'Twas late that evening Katherine sat in _peignoir_ and unbound hair,
ready for retiring, when there came a soft rap and a pleading voice
asking for admission. Now Janet was not one whit afraid of double
dealing when she was present, and being proud of Mistress Penwick and
not wishing it to appear that she was a prisoner, she opened the door
and in came Lady Constance smiling and shy, a hollow-hearted creature
of the world. Now it so happened that Lady Constance had kept herself
from Katherine for some little time, wishing not to be disturbed by
the maid's beauty; as it usually stirred her to frenzy and she wanted
perfect quiet for calm reasoning. It took some time to plan her
campaign that was already full started, and she now came forth from
her chamber refreshed, the course of her slothful blood hastened; her
eyes gleamed with impatience for action; her whole being changed,
rejuvenated, filled with a new life. She came also with a full
knowledge of all that had taken place in the _interim_ of her absence
from Katherine. She came well prepared for a bout, and blushed not at
the subterfuges and mean, paltry artifices, aye, a full battery of
chicaneries that awaited her use, as she crossed the maid's chamber
threshold. "'All is fair in love and war,'" she quoted--"'Tis an
egregious platitude adopted alike by king and fool!"
"I could not sleep without first seeing thee and knowing thy
condition. It must be more than hard for thee to keep thy chamber?"
said Constance.
"Nay, thou art wrong; the convent doth inure one to quiet and
solitude."
"Dost think thy ailments will allow thee to go abroad on the morrow?"
"I know not, I am at Janet's mercy and I cannot leave my seclusion
without her permission. I feel quite well, but Janet says I am ill."
"Oh! that I had a nurse to so fondle me; indeed, she has kept all
looks of illness from thee; thy face is as clear as if thou hadst been
fed on wild honey all thy days;--and such hair! Dost leave it thus for
the night?"
"The tangles would never submit, should I so leave it."
"'Tis my delight to fuss with hair and thine is so beauteous--" she
arose and went to Katherine and smoothed the amber threads--"See, when
I turn it thus, 'tis like rare bronze, and when I place it to the
light, 'tis a glorious amber. May I plait it for thee,--I should love
so much to do it?"
"If 'twill give thee pleasure thou mayest assuredly plait it," replied
Katherine. Janet now watched for a whispered word or some sign of
intercourse; but her vigilance was of no avail, for Lady Constance
deftly placed a tiny paper in Mistress Penwick's hair and plaited
tightly over it.
"'Tis such a pleasure to fuss with hair--and such fine threads, too;
indeed, I have half a mind to become a _peruquier_,--there, 'tis
finished!"
"How is his Grace, Lady Constance?"
"He bids fair to pass a comfortable night,--'tis too bad his
physicians cannot arrive before the day after the morrow. They have
also sent for Sir Julian Pomphrey--a favourite of the duke and an
intimate and college fellow of Lord Cedric. Sir Julian is a most
wonderful man. When but nine years of age, he entered Eton school,
and having pursued his studies there with great success for one of
such light years, he was sent to travel upon the continent, where he
studied in Geneva for some time; thence he went to Florence, remaining
there many months,--afterward visiting Rome and Geneva and other
continental cities of note. He returned to England a scholar, a
soldier, a gallant, a conqueror of female hearts,--in brief, he holds
all the requirements of a charming cavalier of King Charles' Court.
He has modish habits that so completely masque his strong will and
determination that before one is aware they are caught and wound in
the meshes of his duplicity. He is a literate, poet and musician."
"Thou dost indeed stir me to great interest, Lady Constance; he must
be a wonderful man. It seems we seldom have so many great qualities in
one human being. He must be quite along in years?"
"Nay, not at all! His very youthfulness is what makes him such a
wonder. If I remember rightly, he is but two years senior of Cedric,
and I will venture there is not ten pounds' difference in their
weight. They are very much the same mould, and their voices blend as
one, but Cedric has the handsomer face. Sir Julian, however, has a
countenance of no common order; 'tis like a rock of strength already
well lined and marked by the passions that have swayed him to battle
and death or--perchance a lover's intrigue. He is in great repute for
his smile that is transcendent in its beauty, but one can never tell
what note it rings, whether true or false; its condiment may be of
malice, hate, reserve, flippancy, deception. And one looks on and
fears to take part in his mirth, for the reason one knows not what
lies beneath in Sir Julian's heart."
"Indeed, and he is to arrive soon?--Sir Julian Pomphrey--I like the
name!"
"It is one of the best names in England. I shall be very glad to see
him, and hope he will come soon. When he gets word his Grace is so
ill, he will probably come as fast as the ship and post-horses can
travel. He is at present a special emissary to France. He did write
Cedric some time since that he was about to return to England, that
his work there was nearly finished."
"He will doubtless be playing fine French airs, and have much gossip
of the composers and will perchance bring music with him that will
stir us to greater study of execution."
"It may be, and it mayhap so move thee; but I am foreign from the
rudiments of counterpoint and technique and such lollipops of
harmony."
"Then it must be wearisome to hear me prate of the divine art, and
much more to hear my poor drummings on the harpsichord, I am sorry--"
"Nay, be not so. I am more content when thou art at practice than at
all other time, save when I am with thee thus, alone." And there was a
covert meaning in her flattery. "Now, my dear Katherine, if thou art
thus beset on the morrow, I will engage to come at thy retiring hour
and dress thy hair; 'twill give me such pleasure."
As Lady Constance retired from the chamber, Mistress Penwick stretched
her lithe body and yawned and expressed a desire for the bed. Soon
she was left alone, and she stole from her couch and knelt at the
hearthstone and read the missive eagerly and flushed not a little
at Count Cantemir's warm words of love that were a prelude to the
weightier matters appertaining. She crept back noiselessly and lay
pondering of many things. It seemed to her as if all earth breathed of
love; that she was the nucleus around which all flowers and perfume
and everything beautiful revolved. And now she was about to open a
mystic shrine, into which she would step and see and know and feel
with youth's ecstasy a strange development of essential existence. And
after wondering and speculating upon the affairs of love, she entered
into prayerful thought of Lord Cedric's servant, and soon fell into
sound slumber.
CHAPTER X
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BUTLERY
"'Behold thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair; thou hast
dove's eyes within thy locks; thy hair is as a flock of goats, that
appear from Mount Gilead.
"'Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which come
up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren
among them.
"'Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely; thy
temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks.
"'Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armory, whereon
there hang a thousand buckles--'"
"Nay, nay, Janet, thou must not idolize me thus, 'tis--"
"Beshrew thy conceit. 'Tis Solomon I repeat. Thou were not thought of
when 'twas writ."
Katherine raised upon her elbow and looked surprised at Janet, who
knelt by the bed.
"Thy tongue is sharp, Janet, for a day yet in its swaddling hours."
"Aye, 'twill be whetted two-edged e'er the day waxes old. 'To
everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the
heaven; a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a
time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to
heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep,
and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to
get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a
time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love and a time
to hate; a time for evil communication to be thrown from young maid's
window, a time to look for answer to a pleading letter sent to a
justly angered lord; a time when his Lordship deigns not to give
answer; a time when a young lord to a tender parchment pregnant
with importunities says: 'Damme, she would set one thief to shrive
another;' a time when his Lordship slams with a bang the outside cover
to a book _blasé_ of many turned leaves."
"Dear, dear sweet Janet; where is Lord Cedric? And has he said nothing
of Christopher?" The nurse averred that his Lordship had ridden forth
early, without giving his destination, and had left no word concerning
the servant.
"Perhaps my lord's better nature hath prevailed, and he will keep the
poor fellow in durance yet for a time," said Katherine, hopefully.
"Nay, his decision is irrevocable. He is not dealing in hearts now,
Lambkin."
There was no doubt in Mistress Penwick's mind but that his Lordship
would kill, or cause to be killed, the condemned lackey, and Janet
knowing, 'twas his Lordship's temper and not his heart that vowed the
death, dissembled and impressed upon her mistress that the deed was as
good as done.
Katherine's wit was sharpened by the exigency, and she managed to use
the window again as a post, only fearing--from Janet's anomaly of
Solomon's words--that some one waited below to capture the flying
missive. This issue was accomplished as the nurse was listening to the
Duke of Ellswold's message; when, late in the morning, the duke after
swallowing a stimulant declared he must have the more substantial
refreshment of Mistress Penwick's beauteous countenance.
The duke was too ill to remain up long; and though Katherine was less
than an hour from her chamber, the day was much shortened by the
diversion. As night approached she became more and more anxious about
Christopher. Indeed, it seemed to her as if the moments were hours
after candle-light. And she moved restlessly about her chamber and
listened and sighed for the return of his Lordship. Surely the silence
was more pronounced than usual; it became ominous to her, and she
spoke out quickly in a voice that was peevish:
"The castle is very quiet to-night. His Grace is not suffering again,
I hope? Wilt see, Janet? I'm in a perfect fever of impatience!"
"Nay, he is very comfortable. Her Grace is with him. Lady Constance,
Lady Bettie and the Russian are at cards."
"Will my lord arrive soon, dost think, Janet?"
"I know not. Why art thou so solicitous on a sudden of his outgoings
and incomings?"
"I would make another effort to save Christopher, if I could but
converse with my lord."
"And what wouldst thou give him in exchange for the fool's life?"
"Everything, Janet,--all that I have to give should be his."
"Then that includes thy heart, Lambkin?"
"Nay, dear nurse, my heart is already given."
"Of all the powers that be! And what knave hath attempted to steal
that that thou wert born without?"
"'Tis unjust of thee to speak thus. I have a mind not to tell thee!"
"Thou wilt tell me straightway, for thou wilt turn all colours when I
say Adrian Cantemir," and quickly Mistress Penwick turned her back, "I
am aggrieved at thy folly. What hath he said to thee? Tell me every
word, Lambkin."
"He hath said more than I could tell thee, Janet, in a whole hour."
"It is impossible! And what were all of these hour sayings,--love
pratings?"
"If I told thee, thou wouldst then know as much as both of us, and
there are but two in a marriage contract; so I will have to begin
barring secrets from thee."
"And did he tell thee what marriage meant to two people knowing not
their own minds?"
"He said 'twas a most perfect life. All was sunshine and flowers and
great happiness. First of all, he will take me to Russia, as 'tis his
pleasure to hasten home with me. Then we will visit the French and
English courts, and we will see all the beauties of this life. I shall
become known among the musicians and meet--"
"And said he naught of home-life, and the extent of his riches?"
"Nay, we are to live at Court always, free and happy, consorting ever
with kings and queens--"
"Did his High-mightiness ever consider that court dignitaries consort
not with a rogue who hath entrapt an angel for spouse?"
"I will not listen to thy rough tongue, Janet," and she straightway
closed her ears with her tapering fingers and walked up and down as a
spoilt child would do.
The prandium hour was past, and the evening far spent when Mistress
Penwick desired to retire.
"'Tis most likely his Lordship will not return to-night, Janet?"
"He has gone on a journey of some import, as Angel hath just said; so
I could not say when to look for his return."
Janet had been asleep some time when she was aroused by some subtle
thing that brought her upright and from thence to the floor and from
the floor to the closet that connected her apartment with that of her
mistress. The door was locked; this was an innovation that startled
Janet to a keen alertness. She rattled the knob and knocked upon the
panelling. Stooping, she saw the key was turned in the door. She
hurried from the place to her own room and into the hall, and from the
hall to a small corridor, and from thence to the grand corridor, where
opened the door of her mistress' ante-chamber. In she flew, and tried
the inner door. 'Twas fast locked, and the key gone. It seemed she
sped on wings as she descended the oaken stairway in her trailing
gown. She reached Lord Cedric's bed-chamber with trepidation and not a
little daunted; for should his Lordship be within 'twas possible his
anger would know no bounds; and while she loved his good hot temper,
she feared it when so justly aroused. Within the ante-chamber was
a steward and two or three lackeys, all asleep; she passed them
silently, and without hesitation opened the door. Lord Cedric sat
before the table in riding boots and spurs, divested of coat and
waistcoat; writing, and looked up surprised and amazed at one
who dared to so enter his presence; but he read that in Janet's
countenance that brooked not at delay.
"My lord, Mistress Penwick hath deserted her chamber, and I know not
where to find her, nor can think of where she may be gone." Lord
Cedric stood before her still and white as marble, his face glistened
with the cold sweat of fear.
"By God, Janet, thy tale doth take from me all strength!" Even as he
spoke he sunk down upon his chair. Janet brought from a stool hard by
a posset-pot and pressed it to his lips. He drank gurglingly, as if
his throat was paralyzed.
"Janet," he breathed forth, "call the lackeys." He had somewhat
recovered, and stood upright while his valet buckled on his sword. He
took from the table a polished dagger and placed it in his belt; he
called for candles and bade the lackeys lead on. Janet was well-nigh
distraught at this awful cloud of anger that was about to break forth
in the thunder of his tongue and stroke of sword. The steward of the
household was aroused, and keys were brought to unfasten Mistress
Penwick's door, that they might ascertain if she had fled afar.
Her hoods and hats were all in place upon the shelves of the
dressing-closet, but there was gone a white camelot cloak. The footman
near the outer entrance said none had passed since Lord Cedric's
arrival.
"But, my God! I have just arrived; who passed before?"
"Not one soul since nightfall, save the village doctor, your
Lordship."
Lord Cedric had enjoined perfect silence, fearing lest some noise
might disturb his Grace of Ellswold.
The lackeys bearing lighted tapers--behind them the young lord of the
castle, with the attendant Janet--moved solemnly like a procession.
They passed thus from room to corridor, from hall to gallery, and
through passages; examining secret exits and closets. They traversed
the long banquet-hall and were upon the threshold of a carved and
lofty doorway, when Janet espied upon the parquetry a cobweb bit of
lace protruding from beneath the tapestry of a chair. Lord Cedric's
keen eyes marked her movement as she essayed to reach it without his
notice. He turned quickly and fierce upon her, knocking his sword with
a loud noise upon the chair's carving.
"Give me thy treasure, Janet!" She gave it to him with something like
a sob; for 'twas her mistress' handkerchief, and she feared mightily
her lord's anger.
"Your Lordship! If it so turned out that she be holding some
_rendezvous_ with thy Russian guest--"
"Ah, 'sdeath!" he interrupted.
"I beg thou wilt forgive much, she being of such slender age and
knowing not the great wrong of clandestine--"
"Ah! ah! she holdeth court here in the chief butlery."
The door before them had been thrown open by the lackeys. They stood
upon either side for his Lordship to pass through. Beyond, framed in
the dark embrasure of the archway, stood Mistress Penwick in gleaming
white. Her hands behind her rested upon a table from which long leaves
depended to the floor, upon either side, her camelot cloak was thrown
carelessly upon the further end, its long fulness draping to the
floor, and in the centre of the polished top of the table rested a
tall, silver candlestick with lighted taper. Upon the hearthstone
there shot up a cheerful blaze, for the night was damp and chilly, and
the flickering light sent Mistress Penwick's hair first amber, then
bronze. Her face was still and white, and her eyes flashed wide and
boldly. Her heart beat high and her breath came fast and hard.
For a moment only his Lordship's glance fell upon her, then it swept
the room from end to end, and from ceiling to parquetry. Then occurred
a strange thing to them all; for 'twas ever Cedric's way to swear
and curse, using holy names and blasphemous phrases; and it startled
Katherine more than all, as he spoke low and calmly, holding out his
jewelled hand to her:
"Come, Mistress Penwick, I will escort thee to thy chamber; 'tis a
childish trick of thine to seek bread and butter at such unseemly
hours."
"But, my lord, I am not yet begun."
"Ah!--with one pair of shapely hands unused to spreading butter, it
doth take long in preparation." The snowy whiteness of his Lordship's
waist reflected upon his face, where now came and went its wonted
colour, as doubt and certainty fought for supremacy. He stepped nearer
and glanced behind her upon the table.
"Thou hast not even brought forth bread. I will aid thee," and he went
to 'the cupboards that lined the room, and opened and looked within
each large door, until he was satisfied of his search, and those about
stood watching and trembling, fearing lest some one should be found in
hiding.
"I find naught here of bread or butter, Mistress Penwick; we will have
to seek elsewhere!"
"And thou wilt not have far to seek, my lord; my whey sits freshly
made upon the cellaret in yonder closet adjoining; if thou wilt be so
kind as to bring it hither, Janet will provide me with bread," and
Katherine looked triumphant.
"I would first learn whom I follow. Who hath so cavalierly concocted
it for thee at this late hour? Where is the person, my lady?"
"One who is in the habit of following thy orders; but at mine he hath
made it; 'twas Tompkins." Her voice rung with so much of truth, his
Lordship was satisfied and looked at her with a lighter heart; then,
as she pointed toward the door--a mute command for him to bring the
whey--he frowned and drew back and spoke,--
"Hiary will bring it thee, for 'tis said a hand put forth by an angry
heart doth curdle that it toucheth and--I am of no mind to be either
kind or courteous." At these words, the colour that had come into
Katherine's face a moment before, left it.
As Hiary turned to do his lord's bidding, a door opened and Tompkins
entered with a lighted candle and large basket. Seeing the unexpected,
coughed to hide his confusion; indeed he knew not which way to turn,
when his Lordship walked to his side and raised the cover of the
basket and looked within.
"It appears that 'twas a feast thou wert preparing;--everything
suitable for a full meal. Here is fowl and cheese and mutton tarsal
and bread and ale,--Egad! we shall not want now, shall we, Mistress
Penwick? Set the table, Tompkins!"
"Ah!" came in an asperate tone from the now trembling and frightened
maid. His Lordship heard it and saw her turn white and tremble. Slowly
he walked to the hearthstone, eyeing her askance, then he swept his
brow where the cold perspiration lay in beads;--then turned to her
again with a world of love for her in his eyes and a great crushing
self-pity; and the menials looked away from the abject misery they
beheld in their lord's face; Tompkins fumbled nervously with his
burden, daring not to look up; Janet leant forward, intent, pained,
sorrowing, scanning the two countenances she loved best on earth. His
Lordship stretched forth his arms and with a great sob that broke upon
that one word "Kate," he took a step forward and essayed again to
speak, but the words would not come. Then with a great effort he
seemed to fling all tenderness from him and spoke most harshly,--
"Where hast thou hid thy lover, Mistress Penwick, tell me where he
is!" She drew herself up quickly to her full height and smiled, for
this was one thing and she had thought another, and the reality was
better than her fancy. And she said, as she drew a long, relieved
breath,--
"He is safe, my lord!"
"Nay, nay, by God! he is not nor ever will be again. He hath so dealt
with me and my honour, even though I stand within mine own threshold
'twould be heinous to allow him to leave it with life in his accursed
body. I tell thee now, there is nothing of hell or heaven that can
take thee from me. Dost hear--dost hear, maid?" He again wiped his
brow and looked about him. "It does somewhat appear as if my brain
were turning!--Janet--bring thy maid here to me! Janet made a step
forward, but was checked by Katherine's warning look.
"Mistress Penwick, remove thyself from the table; Tompkins, set it,
set it, set it quickly I say!" Tompkins put the basket upon the table
and turned to a linen closet and brought therefrom a cloth and made
as if to spread it upon a small table near him. His Lordship saw his
move, and broke forth in angry tones,--"The table of honour, there,
there Tompkins!" As he shook his fingers toward it, his hand fell back
upon the hilt of his sword.
"Nay, I forbid him to do it," said Katherine.
"By all the foul fiends! raise the leaves or I smite thee down," said
Lord Cedric to the frightened Tompkins. And he drew and leaned forward
his body well nigh to the floor. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. As
Tompkins raised the leaves Mistress Penwick threw herself between his
Lordship and the table. With one bound Cedric swayed aside and like
one frenzied, gazed beneath the table, and there looked out to him the
white face of Christopher.
His Lordship broke forth into such a wild laugh, even the affrighted
and condemned servant crept from his hiding and looked on amazed.
Finally, when his laughing had well-nigh ceased, his Lordship drew
from his belt the dagger and threw it across the room at Hiary,
saying,--"There; stick him as thou wouldst a wild boar--no probing,
mind; but death!"
"Nay, nay, my lord! my lord!" broke from Mistress Pen wick, and Janet
ran to her crying,--"My lord, not so harsh a deed before my lady's
eyes!"
"Ah! ah! and she hath carved my heart to pieces! Commit thy office,
Hiary!" The lithe lackey sprang upon Christopher and drove the knife,
it appeared, to the hilt, and with a gurgling cry the lad fell.
Mistress Penwick looked on wild-eyed with terror. His Lordship came
near and leant close to her ear and said,--
"Thou hast turned thy charms to ill account, thou stirrest me to evil
deeds. Didst thy love help thee to this _rendezvous_, and was he
satisfied to leave thee when he heard my sword flap upon the chair
without to fight thy battles alone, or did he sate his desire on thy
innocent face and fled aforetime to prepare for a greater sating? Now
by God, none shall wrest thee from me again. Arouse the chaplain!
Come, Mistress, thou shalt have a husband who loves thee within the
hour, and the morrow's sun will look in on a sweet young wife with a
light heart."
He laid hold on her without violence, she drew from him even more
frightened than heretofore.
"Come, we will wed straightway and before dawn thou wilt have
forgotten my haste and stout urging," and he started forth drawing her
with him by force. She struggled wildly and cried,--
"Nay, nay; I'll not marry with one who would strike down and kill the
unfortunate; nay, nay!" and she screamed again and again.
From the doorway came a voice of thunder, its power seemed to crush
out all other presence. 'Twas but one word, but it rung and vibrated
and stirred each breast with its vehemence.
"Cedric!"
His Lordship let go the maid and turned and sprang to the open arms of
him who called. The awful tension of his nerves relaxed and he uttered
in rapid succession,--
"Julian, Julian, Julian!" and fell to sobbing, his form trembling with
his emotion.
"Hath gore of _canaille_ sapped thy noble blood and impregnated in
thy veins vile clots to turn thee purple with choler?" and he pushed
Cedric from him. "What doeth this _couchant_ dog here?" He turned and
stirred the prostrate form of Christopher. "'Tis ill to so fall upon
the seething caldron of thy passion, the noxious fumes of which
penetrate yonder to our kinsman's couch of suffering--and at the same
time thou dost pound to pomace the heart of yonder Junoesque figure."
"Julian, thy tongue hath an awful strength, it doth goad me to
something like reason. I was indeed rough, but I was looking after
mine own. The maiden there is plighted to me for espousal and I was
taking her to the chaplain."
"It may be thou dost take her rightfully; but if 'twere me I would
bring her to it by soft and gentle words, not by handling. It doth
take away the sweetness."
"Indeed, Julian, I have used all things worth using to gain her. I
have played all parts and have asked and sued and prayed, aye, begged.
I have honoured and loved and pampered her every whim; I have coerced
and threatened,--all to no avail; indeed, I have gone mad for very
effort to please."
"Hast thou tried cold indifference and haughtiness? It oft haps that a
maid is won by a lofty and arrogant mien." Sir Julian Pomphrey glanced
askance at Mistress Penwick, who lay with her face buried upon Janet's
ample bosom. "Methinks 'twould be a good beginning, if thou wouldst
renew thy suit by sending the maid to her chamber and let her espouse
Morpheus and 'suage her grief upon a bosom thou needst not be jealous
of." Janet arose and led forth Katherine. Lord Cedric stepped after
them and held out his hands and sobbed,--
"Kate, Kate, forgive, forgive!" She deigned not a backward look.
As they passed from sight, he fell upon his knees and shook with his
great emotion and groaned aloud in his misery.
Sir Julian Pomphrey dressed as a gentleman of France in riding
apparel; his overhanging top-boots displaying a leg of strength
and fine proportions; the curls of his periwig sweeping his broad
shoulders; his hands, half-hid by rare lace, gleaming white and
be-jewelled; a mustachio so flattened with pomade it lay like a black
line over his parted lips, through which shone strong white teeth,
was veritably a man of noble character and distinction. He was the
counterpart of Lord Cedric in all save visage and temperament.
Gracefully he strode across the room with the confidence of one
who had already mastered the situation; planned for his Lordship a
complete victory, and there was naught left to do but carry out the
methodical arrangements thus quickly formulated. He placed his hand
lightly upon Cedric's shoulder. His touch was like magic, for his
Lordship started.
"Cedric, I have rid hard and would seek my bed. Come with me and calm
thyself. Yonder maid thou shalt have, so sure as thou dost do my
bidding; and she will sigh and draw quick breath and preen herself
to gain from thee one amorous glance; and will do penance for her
untowardness and offer hecatombs as high as zenith will allow."
"Dost think so, Julian? It gives me hope to hear thee thus speak."
"Indeed, I may say--'tis done--even though 'twere precipitately
avowed;--but oft, 'tis the premature babe that doth become the most
precocious child, and 'tis well to foster that 'tis fecund."
"But, Julian, she hath another lover,--and now that I think on't,
didst thou meet a knave upon horse, perhaps, attended by a swaggering
groom as thou cam'st through the village or thereabouts?"
"Thou hast said it. A half-league beyond Crandlemar there past me at
furious speed a devil-upon-horse. I hallowed once and again to no
avail, so I prodded the fellow with my sword to assist his respiratory
organs, as he flew by. 'Twas a kindly act, for he immediately found
his breath and--swore."
"And didst notice his livery?"
"Nay, for the trees were too ostentatious and flaunted their new,
green finery impudently and hid Neptune's satellite or--'twas cloudy,
I could not see. Come, come, I must and thou, too, have sleep if
the God thereof doth not wantonly spend too much time with thy
mistress;--but thou shalt soon offset him and I may have, for one
night at least, his undivided attention."
"Ah, heaven, that thy words may prove true. 'Tis hard to bide the
time. Come, let us begone from this foul nest that reeks of blood."
CHAPTER XI
JACQUES DEMPSY
To Katherine's untutored vision of social and religious matters,
all appeared like a placid sea; but beneath, political dissension
complicated by religious wrangling produced a vigorous under-current
into which she was to be drawn.
The exegencies of poverty and exile through which King Charles had
passed made him resolve not to "go again upon his travels," and for
this cause he tolerated the Episcopal religion, of which system the
cavaliers were votaries; and they supported the royal prerogative.
Being an alien to honour, truth and virtue, he was not stirred to
a wholesome interest of importunities, save when a voluptuously
beautiful female solicited his attention. Now 'twas Lady Constance'
plan to forward Count Cantemir's suit with Mistress Penwick and hasten
a marriage that could only be clandestine, owing to Lord Cedric's
vigilance. If this scheme should prove abortive, it was her intention
to bring the maid to the king's notice. Here were two lines of battle,
each surrounded by skirmishing detachments. She was subtle in the
extreme, and arranged warily these side issues, which had more of
death and utter destruction in them than an open onset.
Rigidly she had kept from Cantemir the knowledge of Mistress Penwick's
insolvency, likewise the death of her father; knowing the condition of
the count's fortunes, she feared he would retreat; his love for the
maid might be of such a nature 'twas possible he would not take
part in the ugly skirmish against her. So Constance had set
about systematically to bring Mistress Penwick and Adrian to an
understanding of each other.
He believed Katherine to be a wealthy heiress of Sir John Penwick, who
was being held as hostage at some point in America. At her marriage
her estates would be placed in her own hands. All these things Lady
Constance could vouch for, as she had read the letter herself that Sir
John had written Lord Cedric. Mistress Penwick was at a marriageable
age, and her father being ill and hopelessly bound by ties of war
never expected to see her again and had made provision for her future
happiness. Knowing these things, and being in love beside with so
beautiful and youthful creature, Cantemir was well-nigh mad to win
her, without any urging from Constance.
On the other hand, Mistress Penwick never forgot his slender grace and
pale, patrician features, as she beheld him first upon the stairway
the evening of her arrival. He had ingratiated himself into all her
thoughts of music and court life and religious duties. Being like her
a Catholic, he sat by the hour and spoke of their ill usage by the
nobles of England, and insinuated that the cavaliers (Lord Cedric
being one, of course) were combined to rout out the Catholics and
confiscate all their properties, both public and private.
At one time Lady Constance said to Katherine that her father, Sir
John, was an Episcopalian and she had made answer,--"'Twould be absurd
to suppose him anything else than a Catholic." Upon this, Constance
spoke to Adrian, and he, casually as it were, asked Mistress Penwick
if she were not afraid her demesne would be seized by the Protestants.
Thus she had come gradually to know of the chasm between the two great
religious orders, and had even written her father of the dangers in
which she believed she was placed. These letters of course were kept
by Janet. The seals remained unbroken and the missives were carefully
laid aside until Mistress Penwick should know the truth. And neither
she nor Janet receiving news from him, stirred her to confide her
fears to Cantemir, who questioned her of the letter which her father
wrote, bidding her to depart for England. She became startled and
uneasy, when she remembered that Janet had refused to show her the
letter and having promised herself to Cantemir in marriage, she spoke
of the matter to him. But her love of and confidence in Janet was
deeper than she thought, and at his first words against her, she fell
from him. He said 'twas possible Janet, being so great a Protestant,
she would undoubtedly take his Lordship's part against her, should any
serious trouble arise. He even went so far as to suggest that perhaps
there was a-foot a ruse to get from her those possessions her father
had written of. Katherine rebelled at these insinuations and thought
that "dear, good, sweet Janet would never take a pin from her Lambkin
to save Church or State. And Lord Cedric, too, even though he would
condemn his servant, he would never take her property, he loved her
too well for that; beside, he was a gentleman of honour, even though
his evil temper did goad him to fearful deeds." She tried to make
herself believe that she truly loved Cantemir, and 'twas her religious
duty to marry him; but when he spoke either against Cedric or Janet,
she was quite sure she hated him.
In pursuance of Lady Constance' diplomacy, she had assisted Cantemir
in arranging the _rendezvous_ for himself first, and finally for
Christopher, who was to escape with provision for a long journey, as
'twas not certain what Lord Cedric would do if he found him at the
monastery. And Katherine had this night pledged to wed the count in
three days' time. Even as they were arranging their plans Cantemir's
valet had rushed to him saying that his Lordship's page had come to
his apartments, and finding him gone his master had vowed death to any
who would intrigue at such hours with his promised wife. Cantemir, a
polished, hollow-hearted, selfish sycophant and coward, made more so
perhaps by Constance' influence over him, at Katherine's command, as
it were, had taken flight.
Constance listened eagerly the next morning, as she sat 'neath her
maid's hands, to every detail of the evening's adventure; but her
disappointment at such mischance was greatly allayed by the unexpected
presence of Sir Julian Pomphrey. He was second only to Lord Cedric in
her affections. Her greatest desire was to gain his Lordship's love;
if she could not have that, then she would try for the king's favour
whereby she would be able to live at court and be ever near Sir
Julian, whose mistress she had been and might be again.
She had begun well to bombard for the accomplishment of her first
desire.
As soon as possible she rode forth, passing beyond Crandlemar village,
where a short way from its confines she came upon a certain innocent
looking tree that had some six feet above its broad trunk a loosened
knot, which could be removed at will. She plucked it forth and looked
within. It was empty and barren of even a bird's nest. Constance had
no compassion for its loneliness when she laid therein a small, white
piece of paper and filled the orifice with the rough knot. She rode
away content and doubting not that Count Cantemir would soon have her
letter.
He had halted some five leagues beyond Crandlemar at an inn remote
from the highway, the landlord of which was a monk, dissembling his
name to Jacques Dempsy of the Cow and Horn, and his religion to
anything that was the king's pleasure.
The two sat in the deserted drinking-room; their heads bent together
and speaking in subdued tones. Cantemir's hand rested upon his leg,
that had been freshly washed and bound by the landlord.
Sir Julian's sword-prick had goaded Cantemir to an anger that was
'suaged neither by good old wine nor the council of the monk.
He fretted for an opportunity to thrust his assailant in the
back--anywhere. "Surely," said he, "the day is not far when I shall
kill that devil Pomphrey," His groom had seen Sir Julian full in the
face at a small opening in the trees.
"Sh!" said Dempsy, "there is other work for thee now. 'Tis best for
thee to bide here awhile, at least until a courier shall return from
the tree, where thou sayest thy cousin will place the billet. And if
everything is well, then there will be found for thee a guide to lead
thee through the forest to the monastery, where thou shalt first sign
thyself for the strict carrying out of our plans; then thou shalt be
wed, if there is no remissness, and carried safely to London, where
thou shalt remain until thy lady has audience, and gains that we seek
of the King. Ah! there are times when we sigh and almost weep for
those good old _pro_-Reformation days, when such ecclesiastical bodies
as ours took their grievances to--Rome. Bah! to have to bribe a
profligate king for--the signing of his name. What does he know about
bequests and inheritances--" The count started and Dempsy all alert
broke in with,--"and freeholds. Thou dost know, count, the monastery
is a freehold in the very centre of Lord Cedric's lands; but--I am
telling secrets; forget what I said." The count fell back listlessly,
a gap made in his thoughts by the sudden disappearance of a clue.
"Charles treats us as mendicants; but if he should chance to see the
coffers of our order, he would know we had received something else
beside a crust for shriving." The count looked up again so quickly,
Dempsy caught himself and wondered what he had been saying, and what
his last words were; for he had been thinking aloud, as it were.
"Aye, aye, I was saying if Charles could see the riches of our
coffers, he would know the sale of Indulgences had not been a little.
Thou seest, count, we have here at the monastery great treasure, our
coffers are filled with priceless articles of virtue that will, no
doubt, be carried to Rome and be laid in the reliquary of Santa Maria
Maggiore or St. Andrew Corsini or St. Peters. We have some priceless
bones--" Adrian shuddered and relaxed his attention--"they have brought
us great, good fortune; we have bits of clothing--thou dost well know
most of the saints were plainly attired--that some day will be worth
much, perhaps not in my day nor thine, but when age comes, when we
grow a little further from the saints. Ah! I see, thou hast not much
interest in my converse--treasure is nothing to thy love-sick heart,
eh! count?"
"Nay, not dead men's bones, indeed thou hast rare wine for such
cumbrous relics that can be turned to naught! And didst thou shrive
the saint for the use of his bones a hundred years hence?"
"Thou art growing facetious, count. Dost think of no virtue but thy
maid's? And art thou sure she will not fall back from her promise to
thee?"
Cantemir, filled with his own ideas, gave perfunctory acquiescence and
continued in his own line of thought. And what with a busy brain that
was not over-strong, and a ride of some length and dampness, with a
sore leg, he became feverish and the monk took him to bed in great
haste, where he remained for the best part of a week; the seriousness
of his disease not a little augmented by the desire for immediate
action.
CHAPTER XII
CASTLE AND MONASTERY
The next morning after Christopher's sudden disaster, the castle
seemed to have awakened from a long apathy. The servants clattered
under breath of their wounded fellow. The arrival of his Grace of
Ellswold's physicians held gossip in the castle in abeyance, as all
were anxious of their decision; but the presence of Sir Julian seemed
to fill the sails of the becalmed household with a stiff breeze, which
at a favourable moment would raise anchor and fly forth on a joyous
sea.
The physicians gave out that there was no immediate danger, but his
illness was serious and there must neither be noise nor excitement. It
was out of the question to move his Grace either to his own estates or
elsewhere for baths or sea air.
Lord Cedric and Sir Julian sat with him an hour after the doctor's
examination, Sir Julian, conversing of the freshest gossip at court,
without the usual condiment of inflammables which would be apt to
rouse his Grace not a little.
There being now no traitor--unless perchance Constance might be termed
one--in the house, and no danger of Mistress Pen wick being left
without the close surveillance of Janet, she was no longer kept
prisoner. And, while she was greatly wrought upon by the sad havoc of
the previous night, her youth and gay spirits and Janet's exhortations
upon the age, giving license to all sorts of uprisings and display of
temper and unwarranted vengeance, somewhat quieted her, and she arose
as sprightly as ever, all the more determined to free herself from
Lord Cedric. If she had stopped for self-analysis, she would have
found that she was bent on gaining her independence at no matter
what cost; regardless of consequences. That her desire was more of
adventure than ambition. And she also would have found that she cared
naught for Cantemir and a very great deal for Lord Cedric. She had
never given thought to a separation from her beloved Janet; while even
classing her as antagonistic to her desires, she never ceased to love
her; for this woman had made herself a mother in every respect, aye,
even more watchful and exacting. While acting in a servant's capacity,
doing the most menial of service, she developed in the maid those
seemingly trifling motives of mind and soul which in the end make up
the character of a life; and very few mothers ever have the tact to
so understand these very minute details that so develop a child's
passion. Janet had ever developed in her charge an inclination for all
beauty; not failing, however, to show wherein weakness crept; where
grace of countenance oft screened defect of character. Indeed this
maid was one of Janet's own creation, save in flesh and blood, and no
one knew any better than she, herself, the vanity to rout the faults
and frailties inherited. She strove the harder to overthrow such
imperfections by perfecting and cultivating the maid's receptive mood.
She was ever fencing with her in words, working out in detail exchange
of thought wherein Katherine might, if 'twere in her, make a clever
reply. At times Mistress Penwick would pick up such threads of Janet's
teaching as would bring her to a semblance of conscience of present
environment, and she would see in a vague way the right and wrong of
things. For the moment she would read all in Cantemir's handsome
face that it masqued and would turn from it only to become lost in
contemplation of what life would be if she were free from Cedric's
guardianship, never thinking of the greater bondage of espousing a
knave. Ever and anon her eyes sought the young lord of the castle,
forgetting she was his ward--and there would come to her such a
feeling of overwhelming conviction she was for the moment submerged
in ecstasy, and with the hot blush still upon her face she would flee
from him as if he were an evil tempter. He brought her near to that
great unknown, upon whose threshold she stood trembling and expectant,
eager to know what was before her. And so, not understanding her own
mind, and being of such tender years, drifted along with the tide that
was carrying her to destruction. Her mind was set upon her own way,
and sheer perversity deigned not to let her see the hands stretched
toward her.
The afternoon sun fell aslant the black oak parquetry where sat her
Grace of Ellswold, Lady Constance and Mistress Penwick, engaged with
limning and embroidery. Lord Cedric and Sir Julian entered, attired
in the most modish foppery of the time. The latter was saying, as he
soundly rapped his pouncet-box,--
"His demeanour is too provincial, too provincial--ah!"--and he bent
low with grave formality to Mistress Penwick as Cedric presented him;
then turning to the duchess continued,--"I was saying, your Grace,
that Dryden is provincial in his demeanour, when compared to his Grace
of Buckingham."
"Indeed, Julian, thou dost speak lightly of such gigantic genius;
beside, 'twould not be fair to compare sun and moon; and how could we
do without either the one or the other?"
"To which dost thou comparison his Grace?"
"The moon, of course!" said the Duchess.
"And to what planet is my lord a satellite?"
"Nay, I know not; thou dost question of one who knows little of
astronomy; but I think perhaps Mars, as the planet doth resemble earth
more closely than any other."
"Bravo, 'tis a rare simile; and I take it thou didst speak in
derogation;--no matter how true the _inuendo_, it is ever the material
we most appreciate and enjoy, and the sun being nearly ninety-three
million miles from the earth, 'tis too remote to be interesting."
"Indeed, Julian, Dryden in five minutes' converse will stir one to
seriousness by his fancy, to tears by his pathos, and to thoughts of
deity by his sublimity."
"'Tis only a great, good, noble nature like thine that could be so
stirred; believe me, your Grace, thou didst dissemble these emotions
from pure charity."
"Well, well, we must all admit that 'tis not his character that
commands our respect and esteem, but his prose and poesy. We all love
Buckingham, but in our appreciation of him we must not exclude reason
and put him before all others,"--and her Grace turned abruptly to
Mistress Penwick. "Here is an admirer of Dryden's compositions, she
clings pertinaciously and with all the ardour of strong youth to his
satire of 'Absalom and Achitophel,' although 'tis a bitter lampoon on
Monmouth and Shaftesbury; two men she heartily admires." Sir Julian
leant over the Duchess and spoke softly,--
"I was not aware Mistress Penwick had been presented?" And his keen
eyes scanned every lineament of her face and mould. Lord Cedric was
watching askance, and his face grew red with a stroke of passion as
he noted Sir Julian's look of evident admiration, and jealousy for
a moment swept the young lord's heart, and he cursed in thought
the wicked feeling that in connection with his noble friend could
predicate of naught but the foul fiends. Indeed, so open were Sir
Julian's glances that the maid herself became confused and said, with
some embarrassment,--
"My imagination is ofttime profligate, and I indulge--in fancy--in
exchange of word and thought with those great and exalted personages
whose noble compeers I have the good fortune to consort with daily."
And she laid her hand caressingly upon the Duchess' arm.
"Then 'twould serve thee greatly to place thee within the shadow of
Whitehall, aye, Mistress?"
"'Twould be a great happiness, Sir Julian."
"Dost know of any greater, my lady?" It seemed his eyes would pierce
her very soul.
"I must admit it; I have a great desire," and her face grew rose-hued
and her heart fluttered with the bold words she was about to utter--
"Ah, thou dost wish for, or have a desire to enter the--"
"The distinguished service of a Lady of Honour." As one looked upon
her great beauty, 'twas a wonder she was not born a queen.
Upon hearing the maid's words, Constance in jealous rage fell to
inordinate laughter and shook her work to the floor, and as Lord
Cedric stooped to regain it he whipped out,--
"And why, pray, art thou so amused; 'tis most like Julian to promote
this idea, and she will straightway wish to leave us. I am sure one
glimpse of her would set the whole court on fire."
"Such startling metaphor, unless indeed thou dost allude to the colour
of her hair!" She spoke with so much malice and hate Lord Cedric was
stirred to amazement, and for the first time his eyes were opened to
Constance' hate of one whom he loved beyond all else on earth. He had
thought her merely jealous of the maid, but now he saw 'twas hatred.
Sir Julian paid no heed to aught save Mistress Penwick's brave colour
as it came and went, and the fervour of her eyes as they looked into
his. He came nearer to being shaken than ever before in his twenty odd
years of slow and fast living.
"If I might be so honoured by the privilege, I would present thy
desire straightway to the Duchess here, who would no doubt place thee
at once at court." Mistress Penwick arose, unable to contain her
perturbed spirit, and said,--
"Sir Julian, how can I ever--" and she stopped, so stirred was she
with her emotion; very much as a child is wrought to wonderment by the
sight of a marvelous toy. Julian offered his arm, and they sauntered
up and down the room, Sir Julian boldly playing his part. If Katherine
had been less innocent, she might have seen that he was not sincere.
He said:
"I see no reason why thou shouldst not begin preparation at once
for thy journey. The Duke is progressing finely and her Grace could
perhaps accompany thee as well now as at another time. Wilt thou
prepare at once, Mistress Penwick?" If the king had already sent for
her, he could not have talked with more confidence; but there was
something he must know. As he insisted on an immediate journey, she
turned scarlet, and bit her lip, and frowned.
"There are a few matters I must see to; I could hardly leave within a
week;--there is no hurry!"
"On the contrary there is a great hurry, for I must leave at once,
and I would escort thee. I think I shall leave by dawn to-morrow."
Katherine's brow puckered still more as she stood upon the seesaw of
duty and ambition, perplexed to know which way to turn. It appeared
the better quality was innate and her brow cleared, as she said,--
"'Twould be impossible to go so soon. I could not ask her Grace to
leave when the Duke is so ill; for, beside a long journey, much time
might be required ere I should be presented. I must have time--a lady
should have a great number to attend her--"
"Thou hast a host in thy nurse, Janet; she is quite enough for the
journey, and at London there will be a matron for each finger of thy
hand. I can see no reason why thou shouldst not start at once, if the
Duchess so decides." They were quite alone now, and Katherine,
being well cornered and being young and given to confiding, felt so
irresistibly drawn toward this man at her side, she looked up into his
face and said,--
"Canst thou not guess, after all thou didst see last night, why I am
kept from going?"
"I cannot; methinks 'twould be a happy moment to say _adieu_ to such
scenes."
"Then thou dost not know I am to wed Count Cantemir, Lady Constance'
cousin?"
"I think thy heart an alien to love; for if thou wouldst sooner become
a Lady of Honour than wed one to whom thou hast 'trothed thyself, 'tis
sure thou hast no love; 'tis caprice or--what one wills to call it,
and thou hadst better fly from a marriage that has not love in it."
"But I know not what to do. I have given my promise to wed, and I want
to go to London."
"Then I beg to assist thee to thy heart's desire as soon as thou
hast found what its desire is; and I insist thou dost examine the
weather-vane of thy mind and discern its bent. I am by thy side,
groping in darkness for that thou wouldst have. I am bound to serve
thee."
"Sir Julian, thou dost nonplus my understanding of myself absurdly.
I agree I have more minds than one, and 'tis disconcerting to try in
haste to ascertain which is the best. Indeed, I do not wish to make a
false step and do that 'twould make me sorry ever after."
"'Twould be well to have one to guide thee in thine uncertainty. I
should aspire to such an office with alacrity, if thou wouldst but
give me one encouraging glance." For a moment they looked into each
other's eyes, then Katherine's lids dropped and she became as clay
in his hands. And before she was aware, she had told him all things.
These matters were not altogether new to Sir Julian, for Lord Cedric
had discoursed at length upon them, but the nucleus he sought was
found, and he listened perfunctorily to all else, feasting his eyes
upon her face and listening only to the music of her voice.
"Then why, may I ask, didst thou discard Cedric's suit?"
"He is tyrannical and cruel, and even though my heart should incline
toward him, 'twould not be meet for me to wed with one of another
faith."
"'Tis possible thou couldst win him to thy way of thinking."
"Nay, I should not try it; for I have cast all thought of him aside."
"Then thou dost acknowledge having had a tenderness for him? 'Tis well
thou dost so fling him aside, he is unworthy of thy consideration."
"Not so; he is most noble, but--but--I know not what,--he is haughty
and full of temper and given to harsh language--"
"Yet he is not a fit companion for thee, sayest thou?"
"Thou dost greatly misunderstand me; he is on the contrary a most
delightful person to converse with and every whit fit to be a
King;--but we are not suited to each other."
"Was it not thy father's desire for thee to soon wed and to this man?"
"Even so; but he knew not my Lord Cedric but his father; beside--"
"Well--"
"I am expecting to hear from my father in the near future--"
"Ah!"
"--and 'tis possible he will come to me or send and make some change.
I have asked him to appoint another guardian for me and my estates."
"'Twould be a wise thing to do, no doubt; but 'tis possible Cedric has
used already thine inheritance." Mistress Penwick flushed hotly.
"Nay, thou dost judge him ill; he is above such a thing." And Sir
Julian knew what the poor maid knew not herself, and he felt 'twas a
safe thing to carry through his adventure.
"Then there are two things that weigh upon thee. Thou knowest not
whether to wed or become a Lady of Honour. I will warn thee that thou
must not dwell long upon them, for 'tis possible if thou dost
not decide very early, I will be able to help thee to nothing
but--myself."
Mistress Penwick flushed warmly and smiled back at him; and her desire
for admiration drove her on and on, and she soon forgot all else save
the man by her side, and it appeared that no matter how he tried to
break the spell of her witchery, he could not leave her for a moment.
It fell out that before three days had passed, they were deep in
admiration of each other. Cedric was racked by doubt and fear, yet
never for an instant letting go his faith in Julian. Constance was
happy that Katherine was so diverted, keeping thereby Cedric from any
rash moves, and giving herself time to visit the tree that often held
so much of importance. And she managed to outwit the ubiquitous Janet
and hailed with joy the day of the great battle when Mistress Penwick
was to be removed from her pathway forever.
The disappearance of Adrian Cantemir was not spoken of--as if 'twere
a matter of too small import;--and yet he hovered ominously in their
minds; and Katherine most of all desired to forget her promise and
every word she had spoken to him, and Constance understood and would
not let her forget, planning night and day to bring them together
again....
To look back from the lower terrace at the castle was to see a
gorgeous display of blossom. The ivy-clad walls stood a rich
background to the splendour of tinted flower. Indeed, the scene
appeared not unlike an enormous nosegay lying upon a hill of moss. The
night had brought showers, and from every minute projection of twig,
leaf or petal glistened limpid drops, some swelling with honey
and falling like dew upon the young sward. The birds twittered
ceaselessly, and some young thing preening upon a light blossomy twig
scattered down, anon, perfume upon some shy young fawn, and he leapt
away frightened by so dainty a bath and plunged knee-deep in crystal
pools and sent the stately swans skimming hurriedly to a quiet and
sheltered cove.
From the Chapel came indistinctly the sound of the organ in a prelude,
it would seem, to the day. 'Twas Sir Julian's wont to rise early and
draw--it may be--inspiration from the full vibrant chords of sweet
harmony.
From an upper casement leant forth Mistress Penwick with a face as
delicately tinted as the blossoms of the peach that flaunted their
beauty at some distance. She appeared to be arranging violets--that
still sparkled with rain--in an oblong porcelain box that lay flat
upon the casement. Her white jewelled fingers flitted in and out of
the blue depths. Her small white teeth were but half eclipsed and
there fluttered forth from her parted lips a low humming that keyed
and blended with the organ. Her soft white dress enveloped her mould
loosely; her long flowing sleeves, prefaced by rare lace, displaying
her pink, round arm. She wore not the look of care; for she had thrown
all such evil weight upon one who played in yonder sacred shrine
so tranquilly, as if nothing but his own sins rested--and they but
feather-weight--upon his soul. On he played, and she arranged her
flowers, and up the avenue came horses' feet and Lady Constance
unattended came riding near the castle and called up to the vision of
beauty that leant from the window,--
"'Tis a glorious morning for riding forth. I have had a fine jaunt and
met nothing but the post-boy,"--and here she showed a billet and rode
close to the wall and hid it neath the ivy--"and a famous adventure
which I've half a mind to pursue, after--I've 'suaged my hunger. If I
ride thus every morning, I shall soon have an arm as pink and round
and perfect in mould as thine own. Hast thou broken fast?"
"I have had my simple allotment, and have been down on the lower
terraces and gathered these violets, and am now hungry again and
Janet has gone for a wing of fowl and some wine." At these words Lady
Constance looked about her cautiously and spoke in low tones,--
"Everything is ready for thy flight. I saw Adrian this morning. He is
handsomer than ever and eager to see thee, and counts the hours 'til
nightfall. If 'tis possible thou art to escape unnoticed to the
monastery, where the nuptials will be performed at once, then thou art
to depart immediately for Whitehall, where thou wilt be made much of
by the King and he will more like detain thy husband under pretext,
and mayhap offer him some honour for the sake of keeping thy beauty
in England."--With a wave of the hand Mistress Penwick bade Lady
Constance depart as Janet stood within the door.
The castle was astir early, as if there was naught but a glorious day
before them, and they would make it of much length. It seemed as if a
great peace had settled upon those ivy-clad walls, or it might be the
calm that is the solemn presage of storm, and Sir Julian himself quiet
beyond his wont seemed to portend the calamities that were to ensue;
and after his breakfast stood at a window watching the dripping trees
and whistling so softly one could not tell whether 'twere he or the
birds chirping without. Cedric and Lady Constance played at battledore
and shuttlecock. Mistress Penwick sat apart, busy with thought and
needle. His Grace of Ellswold sat up that morning, his wife and
physicians by his side, and all were happy with the great improvement.
Meanwhile, at the monastery all was commotion. The day there would be
far too short to accomplish all that was to be done. Three couriers
had arrived since dawn with important dispatches. In the midst of
the monks, who sat upon long benches that flanked either side of a
spacious gallery, sat Adrian Cantemir, reading the last message.
Opposite, at the table, were three monks apparently engaged upon their
own affairs, but subtly watching the puzzled countenance of their
guest. Finally their patience seemed to have run out and Constantine,
the monk directly _vis-a-vis_ to Cantemir, coughed, cleared his throat
and in low gutterals said,--
"Thy countenance is unfair; 'tis a perjury on thy happy heart." Adrian
looked up with a start, so lost was he in contemplation. His letter
was prophetic of evil, and he was afraid.
"'Tis ill news, and thou wert not far wrong to bring forth thine
arms. The secrets to be intrusted to my wife it seems have already
reached--"
"The King?" and with the words it appeared each Abbé was upon his feet
and leaning forward intent.
"Nay, but the arch-fiends Buckingham and Monmouth. And with the King's
consent they leave for a hunting bout and they ride hither. It says
that the former in masque saw my meeting this morning with Lady
Constance, and he followed and made love to her." The Abbés stood in
utter dismay and dejection. At last, Dempsy of the Cow and Horn began
in deep, full tones the first movement of the "Kyrie eleison, Christe
Eleison, Kyrie eleison," and one by one every voice leapt up in a
God-have-mercy, and the walls echoed and without the birds seemed to
take it up, and it was carried to a listening ear not far from the
shadow of the wall. Then the prayer ceased and La Fosse--half soldier,
half priest--spoke in ringing tones.
"And what else does thy billet say? Why are we to be attacked; are we
not upon our own ground?"
"It is mooted that should my wife gain the King's ear, she will
influence him to consent not only on this thy matter but others of
great importance that now pend. It is said that Buckingham has boasted
of rare sport in routing a full score of knaves; taking treasure--"
Cantemir's eyes swept keenly the visage of Constantine--of great
value, beside the beauteous maid that is to arrive; for he says 'tis
sure she will be worth as much to them as the King. He refers to
himself and Monmouth, who mean to take my wife prisoner this very
night."
"'Tis enough," said La Fosse, with a deprecating gesture. "We must put
on the armour of strength and gird ourselves for battle. We have all
to fight for that that is honourable: home, virtue and religion. What
more could we ask for to strengthen us?"
"'Tis well said," quoth Constantine. "Judging from thy billet, we are
not to be attacked until the maid hath arrived. Is it known, also, at
what hour she is to come?"
"If they know so much, they perhaps know even all."
"Then we must hasten the hour by two, and 'twill incur no disadvantage
save to bring the maid to a greater discretion and show of wit; for
'twill be harder for her to escape at nine than eleven."
"Methinks 'twill be a greater task to warn the maid of the setting
forth of the hour." Adrian looked up hopefully; for he was of no
mind to meet his wife upon the threshold of a battle, and two hours
earlier, 'twould be time and to spare, and he spoke out bravely,--
"I'll see to the message," and he was guilty of a low-bred wink at
Dempsy.
"Then 'twill serve to set aside this matter for the next," and La
Fosse looking at Cantemir and speaking softly and deferentially bade
him leave them for the present.
Adrian left the room by the door he had entered it, and passing
through a hall reentered the chamber that had been assigned him.
The Russian, though a coward, was wary at times and allowed it to
carry him into danger, and as an example he changed his riding garb
for his cavalier costume, discarding his spurred boots for high-heeled
slippers and deigning not to don coat or waistcoat started forth in
search of--he must think what? He was without servant, as 'twas safer
to leave him at the Cow and Horn;--especially one who has corners on
his conscience. He must search for--the kitchen. This place was below
stairs, and he stole this way and that to find a flight of steps.
Treading softly, listening intently and looking ravenously for
opportunity to plunder, for there was treasure somewhere about the
monastery, this was certain, and he might as well have part of it as
Buckingham and Monmouth to have it all. And in case of any mischance
and Mistress Penwick be lost to him, he must have something to live
upon. Constance would never forgive him for allowing the maid to
escape him, and consequently would not give him large loans as
heretofore. But if he should gain the fair prize, some day he would
give back to his church even more than he had taken. As he thus
thought, he forgot for a moment his present surroundings and was
suddenly reminded by a touch on the shoulder,
CHAPTER XIII
AS NINE TOLLED FROM THE CHAPEL BELFRY
He started quickly and looked up shuddering, and saw a tall, slender
monk with cowl so drawn not a feature could be seen. The Abbé spoke
low and hoarsely, as though a cold prevented better utterance,--
"What seekest thou?"
"The kitchen," Cantemir answered, with a great show of bravery.
"And what there to find, my young man?"
"Pen and paper. I must write to Mistress Penwick."
"Ah yes, ah yes, my son. I had forgotten. Curve thy sentences to the
point, without being so broad in assertion another might understand.
Thou hadst better put it this way--"
"Indeed I thought I had my meaning well covered. I had proposed to
say--"
"Ah, we are not alone; step this way." The monk turned to a panelling
that gave way by a touch, and to Cantemir's surprise they were alone
in a dark and vaulted passage; indeed they were unable to discern
aught. Quickly the Abbé drew his companion from the panelling through
which they had passed; and 'twas hardly done when three monks followed
with lighted candles. The foremost was Constantine, carrying an
enormous bunch of keys. Their long robes swept Cantemir's feet. He
drew a quick breath, and before it sounded his companion placed his
hand over his mouth. Now this hand smacked not of holy mould or
monastic incense, but rather of rare perfume; but Cantemir was
frightened and did not notice the worldliness of the admonishing hand.
The monks proceeded down the passage; stopping near the centre they
lifted from the floor a trapdoor. A ladder was brought and swung down
the opening and the three descended.
"Now, my son, thou hadst better write thy billet, and if thou dost not
find one to carry it, I will be along directly and do the service for
thee. I must visit the village and the tree, my son. Now I'll give
thee a bit of advice. Never again go about looking for anything where
'tis supposed there is treasure. If it had not been for my timely
interruption, my brothers there would have found thee and not
so easily forgiven thy inclination for discovery. Go, go in
peace--remember always, that discretion is the wit of safety."
Cantemir was frightened, and glad to get away, for he feared the
Abbé's smooth tones masqued treachery, and he slid through the
panelling and in very earnest sought the kitchen.
The deceitful monk hastened toward the open trap and kneeling gazed
for a moment below. There came up a foul odour that made him flinch
and draw back; he drew his handkerchief and placed it to his nose and
leant again and looked. There was a faint glimmer that showed in which
direction the lights were. He lay flat and putting his head beneath
the opening, saw the priests leaning over a chest. Quickly he prepared
to descend and was upon the second rung of the ladder, when the
panelling again opened and a half-dozen faces looked through; anger
and indignation upon all but one, and that was the Russian's, which
bore joy of a discovery. He had gone to the refectory with good intent
to write his letter; but finding a small company of monks gathered
there and they appearing much perturbed, he asked the cause. One
said there was a strange Abbé in the monastery, whose hands were as
bejewelled as any fop's, and that a number had gone in search of him.
The false monk's hand had betrayed him, as 'twas seen from a window as
he uncovered it to open the door. Now Cantemir thought it a good, safe
moment to become a hero and straightway told of his encounter; saying
he was in search of the refectory and had lost his way; making a
plausible story. He was carried forth with the party in search and
now came toward the opening in the passage with drawn sword, his face
wearing the masque of bravery.
The man upon the ladder was the same that had listened to the "Kyrie
eleison" from without, and before it concluded had made his way
inside: the Duke of Buckingham.
He jumped like a cat under cover of his pursuer's noisy entrance and
slipped away from the opening. Quickly he drew from him the robe and
cowl and flung them down upon the ladder and drawing his sword stood
waiting and almost eager for a fight. He did not forget, however,
that there is often a practiced and keen thrust from the folds of a
priest's habit. But they were confident the false Abbé was beneath,
and with less noise and more subtleness moved toward the opening. As
they did so, his Grace swung round and cautiously approached the wall
where the panelling was. "Aye, aye," he heard, as the foremost man
found the robe. Straightway they all rushed below stair, and as
the head of the last man disappeared, his Grace went through the
panelling, and within five minutes stood safe in the forest, happy
with the knowledge he had gained.
It was near the hour of five when Lady Constance rode forth alone. She
left the courtyard unnoticed and hurried to the village and through it
and on beyond toward the tree and passed it and galloped some distance
beyond, then seeing she was not followed made a quick turn and
retraced, But there came from a bend in the road a horseman that rode
warily. She again turned to see if any came, and seeing no one stopped
at the tree and brought from its cavity a letter. As she replaced the
knot, there was such a sudden sound of horses' feet behind her she
dropped the billet and her unknown squire leapt from his horse to
recover it, and stood uncovered before her with such a long, low bow
of homage he had most time to read the missive. Lady Constance was
flattered and felt surely that one with such courtly dress and bearing
could be nothing less than a Duke and his wearing of a full masque
made her doubly sure of it. She flushed and reached out her hand for
the letter and spoke in her most seductive tones,--
"My lord,"--he looked up and saw on her pretty, though characterless
face a smile that warranted a further acquaintance. He placed the
letter in her hand slowly, then caught her hand and held it firmly;
indeed their hands touched and lingered together with such intention
it conveyed much more meaning than words. Constance had all the
outward show of a great lady, but at soul she was putrescent. There
came such a heartrending sigh from her cavalier she spoke in a most
tender tone,--
"And why such sighing?"
"Is it not enough, sweet lady?"
"I am at a loss?"
"Nay, rather 'tis I that am at loss; for I had sought to gain thy
favour undivided, and I meet with thee only to give into thy hands a
trysting billet that lifts thy glorious orbs above me." He bowed low
in mock humility. Constance' heart fluttered at his ardent words.
"I would fain know who thus sues for a woman's love; 'tis possible--"
He lowered his masque. "Ah, his Grace of Monmouth!" She well-nigh
prostrated herself upon the saddle, in lieu of the fine courtesy
she would have swept had her position been more favourable. His
words--such gloriously sweet words when uttered by the lips of a
Duke--fed her vanity. Her face flushed as she thought of what his
love must be. He saw his vantage and drew nearer--it may be a hair's
breadth over the line of respect--indeed 'twould have been an
innovation had he not done so, as the time warranted nothing else but
a show at virtue.
"Your Grace finds a maid that is heart whole; but I would aid others
to their desire. I but act as post-boy 'twixt tree and castle."
"Thou art cold and cruel. I can see well thou dost hold tightly to thy
bosom thy billet; thou art afraid 'twill betray thee. Thou art the
maid herself that doth own it?" Constance had a burning curiosity to
know why Monmouth was in the neighbourhood of Crandlemar, and though
he insinuated he had come purposely to see her, yet she was not blind
and wondered what diplomacy she could use to gain from him the desired
knowledge. Could it be possible he had come on behalf of the King,
and if so, for what business? The Catholics surely had not been so
indiscreet as to allow their affairs to reach the King's ears? And if
so, why should he send to them? It was not at all likely any one knew
of the monastery so hidden away in a dense forest. Could it be that
the beauty of Mistress Penwick had become notorious at Whitehall and
that the Duke was hunting for her? These thoughts passed speedily
through her brain, while the ogling Monmouth waited for her answer to
his accusation. She spoke with a shy little twist of her head, vainly
trying to blush like little innocence.
"How can I hold out against thee, Duke? Thou dost steal my secret;
here, then, read it for thyself." With a lightening glance he finished
reading what he had begun before.
"I was right, sweet Katherine; 'tis a trysting letter, and thou art
to go to him to-night at nine? Thou shalt not; I'll have thee for
myself." Now they had made a great mistake. Constance thought to
convince the Duke she had no lover. He misunderstood and believed
her to be the Katherine he had come after. She, thinking to gain his
secret, allowed him to think so, and quickly took up her new part.
"Thou dost embarrass me, Duke!"
"In very truth," said he, "we have heard of thy great beauty at
Whitehall, and have come hither to claim thee for ourselves. Thou
shalt be my very own, sweet Katherine. The King was about to send
forth to Crandlemar to enquire of his Grace of Ellswold. We asked for
the service, that we might gain sight of thy rare beauty. We are about
to pay our respects to the Duke who lies yonder, and at the King's
order bring him important news. We have heard, however, his condition
is most critical, and we cannot see him until high noon to-morrow, as
the midday finds him stronger. And I must see thee, sweet one, again
before the night is over. I cannot wait for the morrow's noon." He
caught her hand and pressed his lips to it, resting himself against
the horse, his arm thrown carelessly across Constance' knee. She
deemed it an honour to be in such close proximity to the royal Duke,
and grew red with his amorous glances and soft-spoken words and the
familiarity of his arm upon her.
"Indeed, it doth seem to me also like a very long time to wait," and
she sighed heavily. At this Monmouth drew her down and kissed her upon
her thin, arrogant lips. She, well-nigh beside herself, exclaimed in a
thin, high voice,--
"Ah, ah, Duke, thou dost kill me--I must hasten away from thee. I must
go." She spurred her horse; but the Duke caught the rein and held it
fast.
"Nay, nay, thou shalt not yet be gone. Wouldst thou be so cruel to
leave me now at Love's first onset? I will not have it!"
"But I must hasten,--I am riding alone, and some one will be sent for
me if I do not soon return to the castle."
"Thou must give me promise first, sweet one!"
"Promise,--promise of what?" and she listened eagerly to his next
words.
"Dost thou not covet a Prince's favour?" Constance' heart fluttered
mightily, and she thought--"A fig for Cedric's love of me. He loves
not at all, compared with this man's warm passion. Cedric loves me not
at all, anyway. I will be a Prince's favourite," and she answered,--
"I never covet that which is beyond my reach." 'Tis often a true thing
that when we sit within our dark and dismal chamber without comfort,
hope or happy retrospection, there stands upon the threshold a joyous
phenomenon of which we have never so much as dreamt as being in
existence; and this had come to Constance. If the Duke loved her, what
would it matter if Cedric did love Katherine? She could not compel him
to love her.
"Ah, sweet Katherine, how can one covet that they already possess? I
would teach thee to enjoy all that such beauty as thine is heir to.
Thou wilt come to me to-night?"
"To-night!" and Lady Constance fairly gasped.
"To-night, fair one, on the stroke of nine thou wilt pass through the
postern door of the castle and fall into my arms,--here, take this,
sweet, to pledge thyself." He slipped from his finger a ring of
marvellous beauty and essayed to place it upon her hand.
"Nay, I cannot. I should be seen to go forth at so early an hour,--and
I know thee not!"
"Thou art not afraid of me? Nay, I am one of the most gentle and
tender--"
"But where wilt thou take me, your Grace?"
"I will take thee to my heart, and if thou art unhappy, thou mayest
return when thou desirest; but 'twill be my pleasure to keep thee with
me alway; we will go to London." Constance, having read the letter,
knew it would not do for her to leave the drawing-room at the same
hour with Katherine, and she hardly knew what to do.
"Indeed, I have no wish to see a duel upon my Lord Cedric's grounds,
thou must come later. My love will perhaps wait an hour,--thou mayest
come at twelve."
"And allow him to come first and steal thee; nay, I protest."
Constance felt somewhat dubious. The Duke saw it, and hastened to
reassure her.
"If thou wilt sit near the window on the stroke of nine, I will let
thy lover go; but if thou dost pass from my sight, I will run the
fellow through; and thou mayest come to me at twelve!"
To this Constance agreed, and allowed him to place the ring; and he
kissing her again with fervour, let her go, exultant.
'Twas a glorious, clear, warm night. The castle was aglow and merry.
Lady Bettie Payne and Sir Rodger Mac Veigh and Sir Jasper Kenworthy
and sundry other shire folk had come to while away a spring night. The
gentlemen were playing at cup and ball; Lady Constance and Lady Bettie
were gossiping of Court scandal, when in swept her Grace of Ellswold
with Mistress Penwick, the latter such a vision of loveliness the game
was suspended for a moment, and Constance and Bettie looked up to see
why all eyes were turned from them.
The maid wore a pale-hued brocade gown of sweeping length of skirt,
and short, round bodice and low-neck and long sleeves that tightly
encased her plump, pink arms. Her mother's pearls lay glistening about
her slender neck, and falling low was caught again by some caprice
of mode high where met sleeve and waist, and here a rare bunch of
fragrant violets shone bravely as a shoulder knot.
Lord Cedric saw her first, and was well-nigh drunk with her beauty,
and he advanced and bent low, kissing her hand that trembled in his
own. He raised his eyes to hers, she looking fairly at him with a
ready smile.
"Kate, Kate--" Such a flood of emotion came upon him he was bereft of
speech. She looked at him surprised, and wondered if he knew aught.
Could it be that Sir Julian had found out anything and had spoken to
Cedric? She was sure she had kept this last secret safe from all save
Constance, and had not been with Sir Julian for a whole day, fearing
he would find out by looking at her. Nay, he knew nothing,--beside, if
he did, he would shield her from Cedric's anger by keeping so great
a secret. And yet it almost seemed as if the young lord knew of her
desperate act; 'twas written on his face, she saw the pain upon it;
and yet, how could it be? These thoughts flashed through Katherine's
brain, and she tried to move from him, but an inscrutable presence
held her, and she felt she must not leave him, perhaps forever, with
that face so full of pain, and she spoke out a word she had never
used before and one which touched his Lordship as nothing else could,
'twas:
"Cedric." He caught his breath with sheer excess of joy, and bent
again and whispered,--
"What, Kate; what is it?" 'Twas enough, she laughed quietly and turned
to Sir Julian, who had come to her side. Lady Constance was not long
in finding an opportunity to speak alone with her.
"Oh, sweet," she said. "I haven't had a chance to talk with thee of my
adventure," and she drew the maid aside and began volubly to speak
of her encounter of the early morning. "He was most certainly of the
Court. I cannot possibly mistake his manner. Indeed, I am certain
he is a noble lord, and no doubt is here to bear Cantemir
escort--perhaps--" and she leant close to Katherine--"it might be the
King himself, who knows?" Her listener flushed and thought--
"Was it possible she was to receive such honour, and why not?" She had
heard from Constance and Cantemir himself that his house was a very
wealthy and important one in Russia and that the English royalty and
nobles made much of him. She, with her poor knowledge of the world,
thought Constance spoke truth.
"I'll tell thee why I thought he was the King. He was the form, grace
and elegance of his Royal Highness and kept his masque securely tied.
I'm sure it was he. And this evening,--ah, ah, how can I ever tell
thee, Katherine, the honour I felt! Indeed we do not know how
important Adrian is until we see those with whom he consorts. To-night
I met--who dost guess it was, Katherine?"
"Nay, I could never guess, for I know not whom Adrian's friends are;
but if thy friend of the morning was the King, 'tis certain the
setting sun brings thee one less titled."
"'Tis so, but one who may be a King. Thou wilt never tell, Katherine?"
"Nay, never."
"'Twas the King's son, his Grace the Duke of Monmouth."
"Ah, ah, a Prince! Thou art indeed favoured. And how came it about? I
am very curious." Lady Constance related part of her interview with
the Duke, embellished and with many deviations--
"He said they were to be at the monastery as witnesses and intimated
that the King had heard of thy wonderful beauty and grew so impatient
to see thee he must either come himself or send some one he could
trust. Monmouth said thy request was already granted in the King's
mind, and he only waited to see thee to give it utterance. Thou dost
know what a good Catholic he is, and hearing they were to send thee to
ask certain things of his clemency, he has sent the Duke with other
special guard to render speed and safety to thy journey to Whitehall,
where great honour will be shown Adrian's fair bride." Constance so
entered into the very soul of her lies, she half believed them as she
gave them utterance.
The young maid was well-nigh beside herself with pleasure at the
honours that were to attend her, and she gave up all idea of a
backward step. And when Constance proclaimed she was to accompany her,
her heart leapt up with joy. She gave no place to doubt now, 'twas an
unknown quantity, and her voice trembled as she said--"It makes me
perfectly content, if thou art to accompany me. Thou wilt go with
me to the monastery, Constance?" For once her ladyship answered
truthfully, but she did not know it:
"Nay, I am to join thee some time after twelve; I know not just when
or where; but we are to be together. I owe this especial favour to the
Duke. I am so glad thou art espoused, or will be in a short while, or
I should be insanely jealous. Look, Katherine!" and Constance under
cover of her handkerchief showed the ring.
"Isn't it beautiful?" said Katherine.
Mistress Penwick, like many another of her beauty and age, was
inclined to be of ill-spirit when another of her sex seemed to be in
favour; and at Constance' sudden acquaintance with the King's son,
and able to wear his ring, she was piqued, and almost wished it was
herself instead; for in such intimacy there could be nothing else but
a very near and exalted position at Court. The poor child--innocent
of all evil seeing naught in the gaining of Royal favour but the
achievement of all that was high, holy, beautiful and perfect--now
for a brief moment scorned her own poor estate and fell to envying
Constance, and was of a notion not to go at all to the monastery;--but
if she didn't, then her religion would suffer; for who could go to the
King in her place? She knew she was beautiful, and knew its influence,
and was sure the King would not refuse her. Now if Lord Cedric had not
forbidden her going to the monastery for confession, she could have
known what they wished and gone openly with Lady Constance or Sir
Julian, or perhaps just with Janet to his Majesty and gained his
favour and at once have become a Lady of Honour. But no, 'twas not
thus, and things were as they were, and she could not change them or
retrace.
She would not engage in any game, but played upon the harpsichord and
sung some of her sweetest songs; Lord Cedric ever coming to her side
to turn her music or offer some little service. He was aflame with
hope, for had she not called him "Cedric"?
How dear it sounded; if he might only hear her say it again. He came
to her side and whispered,--
"'Twas sweet of thee to call me Cedric!"--His hand for a moment rested
upon the violets at her shoulder,--"Kate, why didst thou not wear the
opal shoulder-knot instead of these violets?"
"Because--I value it more than aught else, and I would not wear it on
all occasions, for 'twas thy mother's choicest brooch."
"Indeed, I love it, also, Kate, for the same reason; but I would
rather see thee wear it, for I love thee, Kate, thee, thee, thee." His
voice was like a sob stirring her to a pity that made her sick and
weak, and she turned from him hastily and began singing softly,--
"When love with unconfined wings hovers within my gates;
And my divine Althea brings to whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair and fetter'd to her eye;
The gods that wanton in the air, know no such liberty.
"'Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take that for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love, and in my soul am free;
Angels alone that soar above enjoy such liberty!'"
"Thou dost sing the words of the beautiful and amiable Richard
Lovelace; I have heard my father speak of him with great affection.
The lines to Althea--his sweetheart--were written in prison. She
thought him dead and married some one else. He loved her more than
life,--dost believe in such love, Kate?"
"Aye, why not?--Ah, Sir Julian, hast finished,--who was victor?"
"I am modest, my Lady."
"But never too modest to hold thine own." As she spoke thus to Sir
Julian, the sands of the hour-glass ran out and nine tolled from the
Chapel belfry. Before the bell had ceased, Constance had drawn Cedric
and Julian into a game of cards, she placing herself opposite the
window, and Katherine had stepped into an adjoining passage, and
taking up her camelot cloak, with flying feet and beating heart
hastened to the postern-door and slipped bolts and bars and stood
without in the calm, warm night.
CHAPTER XIV
SERMONS NEW AND OLD
"The reign of Charles the Second seemed to be impregnated with a free
and easy moral atmosphere that engendered lewdness in human product.
It is said by a great historian that Thomas Hobbes had, in language
more precise and luminous than has ever been employed by any other
metaphysical writer, maintained that the will of the prince was the
standard of right and wrong, and that every subject ought to be ready
to profess Popery, Mahometanism, or Paganism, at the royal command.
Thousands who were incompetent to appreciate what was really valuable
in his speculations eagerly welcomed a theory which, while it exalted
the kingly office, relaxed the obligations of morality and degraded
religion into a mere affair of state. Hobbism soon became an almost
essential part of the character of the fine gentleman. All the
lighter kinds of literature were deeply tainted by the prevailing
licentiousness. Poetry stooped to be the pander of every low desire.
Ridicule, instead of putting guilt and error to the blush, turned her
formidable shafts against innocence and truth. The restored Church
contended indeed against the prevailing immorality, but contended
feebly, and with half a heart. It was necessary to the decorum of
her character that she should admonish her erring children, but her
admonitions were given in a somewhat perfunctory manner. Her attention
was elsewhere engaged. Little as the men of mirth and fashion were
disposed to shape their lives according to her precepts, they were yet
ready to fight for her cathedrals and places, for every line of her
rubric and every thread of her vestments. If the debauched
cavalier haunted brothels and gambling houses, he at least avoided
conventicles. If he never spoke without uttering ribaldry and
blasphemy, he made some amends by his eagerness to send Baxter and
Howe to gaol for preaching and praying. Thus the clergy, for a time,
made war on schism with so much vigour that they had little leisure to
make war on vice."
"Charles the Second wished merely to be a King who could draw without
limit on the treasury for the gratification of his private tastes, who
could hire with wealth and honours persons capable of assisting him
to kill the time, and who, even when the state was brought by
maladministration to the depths of humiliation and to the brink of
ruin, could still exclude unwelcome truth from the purlieus of his
own seraglio, and refuse to see and hear whatever might disturb his
luxurious repose. Later in life, the ill-bred familiarity of the
Scottish divines had given him a distaste for Presbyterian discipline,
while the heats and animosities between the members of the Established
Church and the Nonconformists, with which his reign commenced, made
him think indifferently of both. His religion was that of a young
prince in his warm blood, whose inquiries were applied more to
discover arguments against belief than in its favour."
"The wits about the Court, who found employment in laughing at
Scripture, delighted in turning to ridicule what the preachers said in
their sermons before him, and in this way induced him to look upon the
clergy as a body of men who had compounded a religion for their own
advantage. So strongly did this feeling take root in him that he at
length resigned himself to sleep at sermon-time--not even South or
Barrow having the art to keep him awake. In one of these half-hours
of sleep, when in Chapel, he is known to have missed, doubtless with
regret, the gentle reproof of South to Lauderdale during a general
somnolency:--'My lord, my lord, you snore so loud you will wake the
King.'"
"He was altogether in favour of extempore preaching, and was unwilling
to listen to the delivery of a written sermon." (Indeed, if we had
more people like him in this day, we would hear far more of the gospel
and far less of politics and jokes which so demoralize the pulpit and
take away all sacredness. The King was right, as all mankind will
agree, in his idea of preaching.) "Patrick excused himself from a
chaplaincy, 'finding it very difficult to get a sermon without book.'
On one occasion the King asked the famous Stillingfleet 'how it was
that he always reads his sermons before him, when he was informed that
he always preached without book elsewhere?' Stillingfleet answered
something about the awe of so noble a congregation, the presence of
so great and wise a prince, with which the King himself was very well
contented,--'But, pray,' continued Stillingfleet, 'will your Majesty
give me leave to ask you a question? Why do you read your speeches
when you can have none of the same reasons?' 'Why truly, doctor,'
replied the King, 'your question is a very pertinent one, and so will
be my answer. I have asked the two Houses so often and for so much
money, that I am ashamed to look them in the face.'"
"This 'slothful way of preaching,' for so the King called it, had
arisen during the civil wars; and Monmouth, when Chancellor of the
University of Cambridge, in compliance with the order of the King,
directed a letter to the University that the practice of reading
sermons should be wholly laid aside."
There was much ignorance in the seventeenth century; but 'twas of the
people's own choosing; 'twas not of necessity. Lewdness was preferable
to purity; it was easier had. And when the King led the pace, why not
they of lesser rank and fortunes? But was there ever a thing created
in all the world without its right and wrong sides? It seemed there
was no room in Charles' time for aught but evil. "The ribaldry of
Etherege and Wycherley was, in the presence and under the special
sanction of the head of the church, while the author of the Pilgrim's
Progress languished in a dungeon for the crime of proclaiming the
gospel to the poor."
As time waxed, even the vigilant persecutors became passive, relaxed
themselves into indifference; but before immorality was aware the
still, small voice was heard. The seed that was twelve years in
planting had taken root and Pilgrim's Progress became known and John
Bunyan stood without the prison gates to preach and pray at will, to
keep on extending that influence that lives to-day. And for once the
King did not go to sleep when, through caprice or curiosity, he went
to hear him preach.
"When Bunyan went to preach in London, if there was but one day's
notice, the meeting house was crowded to overflowing. Twelve hundred
people would be found collected before seven o'clock on a dark
winter's morning to hear a lecture from him. In Zoar St. Southwark,
his church was sometimes so crowded that he had to be lifted to the
pulpit stairs over the congregation's heads." He strove not for
popularity, as could be seen in the one little circumstance when "a
friend complimented him, after service, on 'the sweet sermon' which he
had delivered. 'You need not remind me of that,' he said. 'The devil
told me of it before I was out of the pulpit.'"
"Charles Doe, a distinguished nonconformist, visited him in his
confinement. 'When I was there,' he writes, 'there were about sixty
dissenters besides himself, taken but a little before at a religious
meeting at Kaistor, in the county of Bedford, besides two eminent
dissenting ministers, Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Dun, by which means the
prison was much crowded. Yet, in the midst of all that hurry, I heard
Mr. Bunyan both preach and pray with that mighty spirit of faith and
plerophory of Divine assistance, that he made me stand and wonder.'"
The sweet spirit of a minister is treasured and kept green in the
memory of his flock, no matter how recalcitrant they may be. This is
shown by the reading once a year in Bedford Church of John Gifford's
letter to his parish people, written over two hundred years ago. It
says: "Let no respect of persons be in your comings together. When you
are met as a church, there's neither rich nor poor, bond nor free, in
Jesus Christ. 'Tis not a good practice to be offering places or seats
when those who are rich come in; especially it is a great evil to take
notice of such in time of prayer or the word; then are bowings and
civil observances at such times not of God." It was the "holy Mr.
Gifford" that was often in conference with John Bunyan; "the latter as
the seeking pilgrim, the former the guiding evangelist." With such
men as these the sweet spirit was kept aflame and eventually changed
England and made her the great country she is. But in those licentious
days this sweet spirit shone from its impure surroundings like the
_ignis fatuus_, and 'twas a great, wicked world that Mistress Penwick
stood all alone in that early summer night.
A nightingale sung afar in some bowery of blossom, and for a moment
she listened.
"'Tis an ode to the night he sings, 'tis too clear and high and full
of cadence for a nuptial mass,--nay, nay, I shall not marry to-night,
I will go and see what dear father Constantine wishes and return to
this home that has never seemed so fair to me before;--and my lord is
handsome and so, too, is Sir Julian and I'm fond of their Graces of
Ells wold and Janet,--Janet, I love her best of all. Nay, nay, I'll
not be married. I will go and see and return. Janet will not look for
me above stair before eleven at least. I shall be home again ere I'm
missed." She thought thus as she hurried on through the courtyard and
beyond, where waited Father Dempsy.
In a second, it seemed, they were galloping away, Mistress Penwick
throwing back a long, sweeping glance at the great, stone pile behind
her. The train of her brocade skirt hung almost to the ground; her
fair, sloping shoulders, her exquisite face framed in a high roll of
amber beauty, made a picture,--a rare gem encircled by a gorgeous June
night.
On they rode without converse; Dempsy was a brave man, yet he feared
and justly, too, that Mistress Pen wick might be taken from him before
they reached the monastery, therefore he enjoined silence, and the
best speed of their horses, and kept a hand upon his sword.
He drew a sigh of relief when he beheld the dark outline of the
cloister that appeared quiet and undisturbed.
As they approached, Cantemir came from the open door and lifted
Mistress Penwick from her horse in a most tender fashion, and would
have held her close and imprinted a kiss upon her forehead had she not
drawn from him and raised her hand to his lips.
"'Tis a cold greeting, Katherine, after these long, weary days of
separation."
"Nay, not so. 'Tis thy warmth that is premature." And without deigning
further opportunity for converse, she swept over the threshold of the
monastery.
There was much business to be attended to before the ceremony could
take place, and the time was limited; for in one hour it was believed
the cloister would be attacked by the Duke of Buckingham and his
party, and the maid must be far on her way before the attack.
There was none but Mistress Penwick, herself, that thought else than
that a marriage contract was to be sealed. She on a sudden felt a
great repulsion for Adrian Cantemir, and she resolved not to wed him.
As she stood in the large hall that served as council chamber and
for all functions of importance, she cast her eye about for those
answering to the description of his Grace of Monmouth and that
other--was it the King? She felt sure she would know him; but upon the
long benches there were none but sombre cowled figures with crucifix
and--aye, swords gleamed from beneath the folds of their long gowns
and touched the floor. Her eyes flashed wide with surprise, and she
felt proud and loved the bravery of her religion. But to what it
portended she thought on for a moment seriously and concluded Royal
personages must be present, or why else such precaution?
As the business had to do with Mistress Penwick only, Cantemir was
asked to withdraw. As soon as the business was entered upon, the
maid's doubts of the surrounding company were dispelled and she knew
none of the Royal party would dare be even an unknown guest at such a
meeting.
At the conclusion of the council she held an important secret, more
important to herself than she dreamt. It made her bold, and she
straightway arose and spoke out clearly,--
"If the reverend fathers would agree upon a certain matter, I will
start at once upon my journey. I feel my mission to the King to
be more important than all else to me, and for the success of my
undertaking I deem it best I should go as maid and not wife to his
most Royal presence." This was a startling but most acceptable
assertion. It had been much spoken on by the Abbés but by common
consent they agreed if the maid wished to marry the Russian, why--they
would offer no objections; so they had left the matter.
"Dost think, Mistress Penwick, thou canst settle readily the case with
the Count?"
"'Twill be easy and quickly done. Call him hither!" said she. The
Russian came with eagerness and some impatience, for he feared a delay
might plunge him into a lively skirmish.
Katherine went to his side, and placing her fingers upon his arm,
said,--
"Thou wilt escort me to the King?"
"Most gladly, and where else in life thou shalt choose to go."
"'Tis the present that indicates the future,--wilt come at once
without ceremony?"
"Nay, nay, I protest. I must have thee as wife, first, Mistress
Penwick!"
Constantine leant toward them from the table and looked with purpose,
a frown emphasizing his shrewd glance,--
"We have not time for further controversy, and if the maid will say
the word, the ceremony will be performed now." The Abbé knew the maid
would give in to circumstances sooner than the determined Count, and
thus hastened her. All eyes were upon the two, and Katherine hearing
in the priest's voice a tone of insistence, stood for a moment
motionless and evidently debating her course.
As she opened her lips, there was a sudden sound of horses' feet.
In a moment a thundering knock upon the door's panelling demanded
admittance.
"Who seeks an opening so roughly?" thundered La Fosse.
"Cedric of Crandlemar!"
"The devil!" cried Cantemir, as he fell back in consternation and
fear. Indeed he would rather meet the King of devils than this
hot-headed Cedric. Katherine was not at a loss to read Count Adrian's
countenance, and straightway bade them open the door. La Fosse spoke
as his hand rested on the locker,--
"Art alone, my lord?"
"Aye, quite alone!" came in a voice so shaken Katherine fell to
trembling in very fear. Cedric threw wide the door and stood within,
facing them all. His face gleamed like marble, so colourless and still
it seemed. His body swayed by love and anger, knew not which way to
turn, but appeared to sway from side to side. His breath came
in quick, sharp pants. His hair, damp as if from fine rain, was
dishevelled. His dark eyes shot forth sparks of angry fire that burnt
all who fell beneath their glance.
"Who brought hither the maid? Did yonder pandering fool? Aye, 'twas
thou. I see it plain. Come, come, draw fool; draw ere I run thee
through and dishonour sword by attacking thee, unarmed; draw, I say,
fool!"
Count Adrian's face was ghastly. Lord Cedric raised his sword and made
a lunge at him. La Fosse was too quick for Cedric. He sprang between
and parried the pass with astounding dexterity. The monk intended it
for a finale stroke; but not so Cedric. He began a fight that was not
to be so easily ended, and he drove his sword in fury. The good monk
only wished to parry; but alas! he caught the spirit of battle and
fought. Constantine made as if to draw the maid from the scene, while
others sought to interfere with the combatants. 'Twas of no avail.
Katherine could not be moved from where she stood, white and still
as a statue; neither could they interpose between the Abbé and his
Lordship. Sorrow and dismay were written on every face, for 'twas sure
one or the other must fall of those two masters of the sword. Already
there fell at La Fosse's feet drops of blood. When Katherine saw them,
she sprang forward and cried,--
"Stop, stop in God's name, stop!" As she was about to fling herself
between them, Cedric fell heavily to the floor, a stream of blood
flowing from his breast. With a wild scream Katherine fell upon her
knees at his side and pressed her dainty handkerchief to the wound,
and began to fondle him and speak in his ear that she loved him. Aye,
she was sure now, there could be no doubt, and as she pressed her lips
to his cold, white face she saw his eyelids flutter. She looked up
quickly into the priest's face; he answered her look with wholesome
words.
"The wound is slight, my child; he will recover." She fell back,
blushing with shame for her bold avowals, and knew not which way to
turn to hide her confusion; for she was sure all present had marked
her warm words and actions.
Immediately Lord Cedric was carried to an inner room, and Katherine
turned about to look for Cantemir, as did a half-dozen others; he had
disappeared and where he stood were a score of masqued figures. When
they saw they had the attention of the company, one lifted high his
sword and cried,--
"Hail, merry monarchs of the Sylvan Chapel! We have come to escort
the maid to the King!" While this avowal struck the Abbés with
consternation, they had expected a different mode of attack, and
they were not displeased that it had taken another course. They had
expected the treasure would be demanded of them with all their papers.
These they would fight for. The secret for which Mistress Penwick was
to visit the King, the Abbés were now sure the Royal party knew not.
The papers she carried could give them no clue even though they gained
possession of them, and the maid would never divulge what she was to
say to his Majesty.
"Her escort is provided," said La Fosse, who stood nearly exhausted,
leaning upon the table, his sword still in his hand.
"Ah, but if we choose to offer her a more honourable one! Indeed the
knave of a Russian, who lies without, has but just put the matter in
our hands. He was to escort her, but at sight of blood he faints and
begs us take forthwith his promised wife to Whitehall." One could not
mistake the courtly grace and fine figure of his Grace of Buckingham.
Behind him was a form equally imposing, and the handsome mouth and
chin of the Duke of Monmouth could be seen as he tilted his masque for
a better view of the maid, whom he supposed was the same he had met in
the evening. But with half an eye he saw his mistake. Never was he so
moved at first sight of a face before. He drank in her loveliness in
rapturous drafts, and swayed from side to side examining with critical
eye the outline of her fair mould. She had thrown her cloak from her
and stood slightly in front of Constantine, as he, holding a candle
at her elbow, leant close to her ear, whispering and holding a small
paper for her to read. As she read, her eyes flashed, her bosom rose
and fell neath the covering of her short, full waist; and Monmouth's
eyes seemed ravished by it. It had been his misfortune, he thought, to
see long, modish, tapering stays that bruised his fancy as it did
the wearer's body, and to behold such slender waist crowned by full,
unfettered maiden roundness, pedestalled by such broad and shapely
hips was maddening. He had not dreamt of such beauty when his Grace of
Buckingham had suggested the trip into the forest.
"We will have some sport finding a beauty and a secret. If it pleases
your Grace, I will have the secret and thou the maid," said he to
Monmouth, and the latter had come all the way from Whitehall, for
he knew the Duke would waste no time looking for aught but a King's
portion. Never was there another such a beauty; she would be the gem
of his seraglio. She looked up, her dark orbs casting a sweeping
glance upon those about.
"I will return to Crandlemar for the night; call my escort!" said she.
Now it was plain this was a ruse of Constantine's own making, and had
whispered it as she had pretended to read. Buckingham laughed cruelly
and scornfully, provoking smothered mirth from behind the masques of
his followers.
"Thou hadst better set out directly, if thou wouldst gain audience
with the King ere he leaves Whitehall."
"I am in no hurry, to-morrow will do as well. I like not advice
unsought. I'll have none of it. I will go where, when and how as I
please!"
"And coercion smacks of a power residing not in these parts. I am
delegated, Mistress Penwick, to bring thee straightway to the Royal
presence."
"And why, may I ask, am I so called to his Majesty?"
"Thou art a hostage!" and Buckingham took a pinch of snuff with as
much ease and grace as if standing in a crowded drawing-room.
CHAPTER XV
THE EDICT OF BUCKINGHAM
"I--I, a hostage! and who gave me as such, pray?"
"There is not time for further inquisition; we have a long journey
before us. Come, Mistress!"
"Nay, nay, I protest; I'll not go with thee--"
"Mistress Penwick, I beg thee in my own behalf,"--and the Duke bowed
before her so courteously, he half won her good will, then--"and I
command thee in the name of the King," and with these words he put
forth his hand as it were to take that of Katherine. A sword swept
lightly over the maid's fingers, at which the two Dukes drew back with
haughty indignation, which meant that reparation must be immediate for
this insult to those who came upon his Majesty's affairs; for indeed
they feigned well that they were carrying out the King's orders. La
Fosse, having now regained his breath and some strength, essayed to
draw Mistress Penwick from the scene that was about to ensue; but a
young man flung himself between them and drove back the monk at the
point of his sword, thus beginning the fight.
Katherine was well-nigh fainting from actual fear and apprehension.
If she were a hostage, 'twas her duty to go and it might favour her
cause. Doubtless these men were gentlemen, and what matter now who
accompanied her to the King? Adrian had proven himself a knave. Poor,
dear Cedric lay ill of his wound and he could not attend her if he
would. These things flashed through her mind as she watched the flash
of steel. Then on a sudden it came to her who these masqued figures
might be. Her heart gave a great bound, and she sprang into the midst
of those fighting and raised her voice, crying forth,--
"Cease, cease, fight no more; I will go with thee." A priest near her
whispered,--
"'Tis thy honour we fight for now, hold thy peace; 'tis not best for
thee to go with them, 'twould be thy utter ruin and the undoing of our
affairs!" His warning came too late; all had heard Katherine speak;
and although two forms already lay upon the floor, there were other
motives stronger than the thirst for blood, which on a sudden seemed
quenched, and faces pale and blood-stained turned upon Buckingham as
he coolly and with much dignity lifted Katherine's cloak from the
table and placed it about her shoulders, then had the audacity to
offer his arm. She ignored it, turned to Constantine and fell upon her
knees; he blessed her, then whispered hurriedly in her ear. She arose
and passed down the bloody aisle, which was flanked on either side by
an array of shining steel. As she approached the door, it was flung
wide by a figure that startled her, so like was it to Lord Cedric's,
but the light fell aslant his countenance and as she swept by saw
'twas Sir Julian Pomphrey.
A chaise stood some little distance from the cloister, into which
Katherine was placed with great courtesy by his Grace of Buckingham.
She sunk back among the cushions with half-closed eyes; heeding not
those that rode at either window of the equipage; she was trying to
collect her thoughts and by degrees they shaped themselves and she was
thinking of that that had but transpired. First of all, she consoled
herself like the selfish girl she was: Cedric would not die; 'twas a
sweet consolation, and she smiled; her thoughts dwelling not for a
moment on her own conduct that had brought him to suffer such pain.
Then she lay back even more luxuriously as she thought that Sir Julian
would not have opened the door for her, had she been going into
danger. To tell the truth, she sighed happily in contemplation of
further exploit. She grew bolder and bolder, fearing naught but some
slight mischance that might prevent her being a Maid of Honour; for
never, never could she go back to Cedric after she had made assertion
of love in his ear, and his eyelids had trembled. Nay, nay, she could
not bear to look him in the face again. Alas! she made vow she never
would. If she was not made a lady of her Majesty's household, she
would seek the patronage of some titled woman, who could help her.
Not for a moment did she think of the perils that surrounded and grew
closer about her unprotected self with every turn of the wheels that
carried her on.
It appeared now as if all barriers to the King's presence had been
levelled and Katherine's hopes matured to confidence. She drew her
cloak about her with sedulous care, as if in so doing she wrapped and
hid from the whole world her own poor cunning. She found in her
lonely condition no embarrassment, conceiving that her position as
intermediary between her Church and the State was sufficient reason
for her abrupt leaving of home. Sir Julian would doubtless explain
matters to the Duke and Duchess, whom she believed were more than half
of her faith. They would see she had been highly honoured by being
entrusted with a great secret.
It appeared as if the chaise would never cease to lung and swagger
over rough, unused roads, and when at last it did mend its way,
Katherine had ceased thinking and fallen fast asleep, nor did she wake
during hours of travel, until the great coach came to a sudden halt.
She looked through the window. Dawn streaked the East with uncertain
intention, knowing not whether to open the day with rain or sunshine.
A little to the left was the dark outline of an inn, nestling upon the
threshold of a forest, from the window of which fell aslant the way
a line of light. The door of the equipage was opened, and a stately
cavalier stood to assist her down the step. She leapt lightly to the
ground, taking the proffered arm, as the way was dark and uneven.
Within the large, cheery room they entered, burnt a crackling fire;
for the morning was damp and chilly. Katherine stole a glance at her
companion and saw the handsome features of Monmouth. He had removed
his masque and now stood uncovered before her.
"I hope Mistress Penwick has not suffered from her long ride?"
"Nay, sir; on the contrary, I feel refreshed." Her manner told him
plainly his address was not displeasing to her. His eyes rested
amorously upon her; for 'twas naught but strong, healthful youth
could predicate such reply and vouch for its assertion by such rich
colouring of cheek, such rare sparkling of eyes and such ripeness of
lips.
She sat at the chimney-nook, her satin gown trailing at her side,
her cloak thrown over the back of the high chair. Their Graces were
engaged aside with the landlord and servants.
"We will rest here until noon, anyway," one said, "and if they have
not arrived we will set out without them." Katherine heard and thought
'twas Constance whom they were expecting; and when a table was drawn
close to the fire and covers laid for four, there being but three to
sit down, Katherine looked askance at the vacant place; the Dukes
exchanged glances and his Grace of Buckingham turned to her quickly,
introducing himself, then Monmouth, and explained that at the last
moment Lady Constance had been prevailed upon to accompany them to
London and was expected every moment.
Mistress Penwick had flushed at the presentation of two such noble
names, but at his following assertion, which corroborated with
Constance' own words, made her not a little jealous; for the handsome
young Monmouth had already shown his regard (God pity her innocence)
for Lady Constance by giving her a valuable ring, and now had
contrived to make her of their party that he might be constantly with
her.
She straightway became very sober-minded, vouchsafing no remarks and
inviting none. Her pique would have given way had she but heard the
Duke's conversation a few moments previous.
"Damme!" said young Monmouth, "I have kidnapped the wrong girl.
'Tis not my fault; thou saidst, Duke, to take any pretty girl from
Crandlemar castle, and I have captured Lady Constance, whom, I took
it, was the girl in question; and I made up my mind thou shouldst not
choose beauty for me. I shall throw her on thy shoulders to dispose
of."
The Dukes, bent on provoking the maid to her former manner, began
witty tales of wayside inns. Their demeanour was so noble, their
stories so terse and pretty, their converse of such elegant and pure
wording, she relaxed and fell into their mood and told what few
convent stories she could boast. Their Graces were charmed by
her beauty, her sweet resonant voice and the simple and innocent
narratives, and not a little pleased by the result of their diplomacy.
* * * * *
When Mistress Penwick had gone from the grand salon the evening
before, Lord Cedric was not long in discovering her absence; for his
eyes and thoughts ever sought her. He had been greatly stirred by some
unknown thing, perhaps that we call premonition ('tis God's own gift,
if we would but heed its warning), but the game being well under way
and Constance calling his attention to an immediate and imperative
move, he was dissuaded from his inclination to arise and inquire of
the maid's absence. It was not for long, however, either the game or
his kinswoman's cunning could hold his Lordship from seeking her.
Quietly he beckoned a lackey and whispered aside. A few minutes
elapsed when the servant stood by his master, while beyond in the
doorway was Janet, who for once in her life was quite pale. Swiftly
Lord Cedric strode to her, saying,--
"Hast thou looked for her everywhere, Janet?"
"Aye, my lord, in her own chamber and--"
"But perhaps she has gone to the kitchens or pantries, for hunger doth
assail her not infrequent and at unusual hours."
There was a bit of bitterness and sarcasm in his voice and he ground
his heel as he turned about to give orders. In a moment servants
were hunting in every direction throughout the castle. It was soon
ascertained she was not within the great house. Cedric grew wild with
passion and tore up and down like one gone mad. Sir Julian could not
restrain him, a thing that had not happened heretofore. Angel, his old
nurse, was called; she bade him ride forth for her.
At this a horse was made ready, and his lordship mounted and rode
away. Sir Julian protesting all the while.
As the clatter of horses' hoofs had fairly died away and Sir Julian
stood just where Cedric had left him, debating with his several ideas,
a soft touch was laid almost tenderly upon his arm; had it been the
soft, slimy trailing of a serpent, 'twould not have so startled
him. He turned suddenly and caught the slender hand, with no fine
affection,--
"I see it all quite plainly, thou art the cruel spider that hath woven
a silken mesh for that innocent child, and thou shalt tell me before
the sands of the hour-glass mark ten moments of time, where has flown
Mistress Penwick,--so speak, speak quickly, Constance!"
His voice and manner brooked no delay, and her ladyship thinking that
even now Katherine was Cantemir's wife, spoke out with a semblance of
injured dignity that melted under Sir Julian's scathing contempt
to silly simpering. The noble character of Sir Julian seemed to
silhouette that of her ladyship in all its ugly blackness.
"She is, I presume, by now, the Countess Cantemir--made so by an Abbé
at the monastery."
Pomphrey was a-road; the clatter of bit and spur brought a smile to
Constance' face, and she cried forth with all the venom in her poor,
foul being:
"Two mad fools,--both gone crazy over a convent wench, who is now my
Lady Cantemir--my cousin,--the wife of a fortune hunter!" She fled
within doors like one pursued and stopped not until she reached her
own chamber.
Midnight approached phantom-like, and as stealthily Lady Constance
crept to the postern door. Behind her fell a shadow athwart the floor,
a shadow that was not hers but of one that moved as warily. She
listened as she held the door ajar, fearing to look back. As she
thrust the door wide, a figure from without moved toward her.
"Who is there?" she whispered.
"Monmouth!" was the answer; and out she stepped, well pleased to
be free from that shadow she felt was pursuing her. Her hand was
immediately taken and eager eyes sought the ring. It was hardly
visible, so dense was the shadow of the trees.
"Come this way, Lady Penwick," came in a voice that was not that of
Monmouth's, which had sounded so much like music to her a few, short
hours before, or that had spoken the word "Monmouth" even that moment.
She, drawing back in her uncertainty, was captured by strong arms, a
hood was thrown over her head, and she was lifted and carried in hot
haste to a chaise, and helped therein without much formality. As her
escort leapt in behind her, there swept in the other door another
figure, also intent upon being accommodated by a seat in a London
equipage; and before any one was aware of a _de trop_ comrade, the
doors were shut with a bang and horses started at a gallop. Under
cover of the noise her ladyship's vizor was lifted and she, half
smothered, drew breath and stared about her in the darkness.
"Thou didst bring thy servant with thee, Lady?"
"Who doth dare inveigle me from the protection of my cousin, Lord
Cedric?"
"I, my lady; a simple gentleman of his Grace of Monmouth's suite,--and
at his order."
"Ah--" 'twas long drawn and somewhat smacked of satisfaction. "Who is
this female?"
"Is she not thine?"
"Nay, not mine. She doth play the hocus," said her ladyship.
"Who art thou, then, woman; how came yonder door to pamper thy whim?"
The surprised guardsman rapped smartly upon the window, then pulling
it up leant out and asked for a torch. As there were none a-light,
he waited some moments; as he did so, there came an answer from the
figure opposite,--
"I am Mistress Penwick's waiting-woman." The answer was satisfactory
to the guard.
"'Tis Janet, as I live," interrupted Lady Constance. She was not sorry
to have a companion of her own sex, and Janet would make herself
generally useful, if the ride was long and her ladyship should fall
ill, as she was certain to do. She knew also Janet's motive for
following her. She was interested in nothing but her mistress.
As the road seemed rough and endless, Constance became anxious of her
destination and began to inquire, as if in great anger, why she
was thus taken and for what purpose. All questions being answered
perfunctorily, she relaxed into silence. At last she asked broadly,--
"Where are we to stop for refreshment, man; I am near dead with
fatigue?"
"We stop at Hornby's Inn, my lady, there to meet his Grace."
Janet sat quiet, nor did she speak again until she stood before
Mistress Penwick at the inn, where she sailed in as if nothing in the
world had happened, but inwardly she fairly wept with joy to find her
nurseling happy and unharmed.
The rain was falling heavily as Lady Constance entered the room where
sat Katherine with the two Dukes. Dawn seemed to have gone back into
night, for 'twas so dark candles twinkled brightly and lighted up the
maiden's face as she spun a story of convent ghosts. Hate flung open
gates through her ladyship's eyes and fell a battery upon Katherine's
face. 'Twas but a thrust of a glance, but their Graces noted it as
they arose to greet her. Katherine was answering in an undertone
Janet's questions as Monmouth spoke aside to her Ladyship. Constance
was not to be delayed, even by his Grace, and she hastened to the
table and greeted Katherine as Lady Cantemir.
"Nay, not so!" said the maid; whereupon Constance gasped, covering
her defeat by a great show of wonder and surprise. She fell to
questioning, her inquiries being overthrown by Buckingham, who
adroitly turned the conversation upon another matter.
Monmouth was wild with delight over the prize he had captured, and
as they sat at meat he was pondering upon where he should hide the
beauty, for he feared his father's predilections, and 'twas sure he
would not run the risk of any such mischance and he tossed about in
his mind the advisability of taking her to London. As these thoughts
crowded upon him he grew grave and frowned. Constance, feeling her
disappointment most keenly, saw the tangle upon the Duke's brow. It
arrested the quick pulsing of her own discontent and turned her mind
into a channel of evil even more treacherous than any ideas that
had assailed her heretofore. It meant, in case of defeat, her own
downfall. She would barter, if need be, her own soul away. Of such
character were her ladyship's ambitions. She was impatient for the
final bout that was to settle all things.
Even the haughty Duke of Buckingham was moved by Mistress Penwick's
youth, beauty and innocence. And yet he thought 'twas pitiful she
should go unclaimed by Court. Her secret must be had at whatever cost,
and seeing the maid was neither dismayed nor at loss by being thrown
with the king's son and the famous Buckingham, 'twas certain nothing
less than extreme measures would draw from her her secret. Whether
these measures were foul or fair was not of much consequence to him.
If the maid was to favour any, he would withdraw, giving place to
Monmouth, providing of course 'twas in his power to do so. And that
'twould be his power he did not doubt.
Mistress Penwick saw Monmouth's frown also, and looked up at him
smiling and asked,--
"Thou must not ponder upon ghosts.--When do we journey, your Grace?"
"When thou art well rested and say the word." His face broke into
sunshine and the maid could not fail to see the admiration that fell
upon her from his Grace's eyes. She flushed rose red. He caught her
hand as they arose from table, and pressed it warmly, and with a
tenderness that was apparent to Buckingham and Constance. Should he
press his suit upon her now or wait? He thought best to wait, as Janet
quickly came to her mistress at a motion of the hand that the Duke
reluctantly released. He allowed her to pass to her chamber without
his escort. Constance passed unnoticed by him from the room, and being
well-worn by her long ride, also went above stair, where she tumbled
upon her bed in tears, most unlike Katherine who was rubbed and
swathed in blankets by the faithful Janet.
* * * * *
Sir Julian Pomphrey had sent to the castle and procured conveyance and
Ellswold's physicians for the young lord, who lay very white and weak
at the monastery. Owing to his serious wound, they had moved very
slowly, reaching home near three o'clock in the morning. The Duchess
was greatly shocked by Cedric's condition and most indignant with
Mistress Penwick and Constance.
The matter was blown about by servants, and before the dismal rainy
day was ended, all Crandlemar knew of the goings-on at the castle
and were greatly stirred that their lord had been so used by the
Catholics. 'Twas inflammable matter that meant the possible uprising
in arms of the whole village. It was said the Protestants were
aggrieved that Lord Cedric had thus long allowed the monks freehold,
and now that he was helpless they would take it upon themselves to
drive them away at the point of the sword and see if, by so doing,
greater fortune would not fall to them, for such bravery would
certainly bring them to their lord's notice and mayhap he would build
up many of his houses and do better by them than heretofore.
Over the ale mugs at the village inn 'twas whispered by the landlord
that the day before two men, wearing masques, had left the place
together, one bearing under his saddle-bag a monk's robe; and a
crucifix had fallen from his pocket as he mounted.
The men grew more and more excited and fell to pledging themselves to
clean out the ancient monastery before another day should close.
A pale young man in fashionable attire sat apart, drinking deep and
listening with satisfaction to the village swains and their elders'
talk; his eye in imagination upon the dark passage in the monastery
that hid the trapdoor and--no doubt the treasures of the cloister that
lay beneath.
'Twas Cantemir; he had escaped unharmed from the clutches of
Buckingham and Monmouth. The former had caught him hastening from the
monastery and seizing compelled him to give the information he sought
and to give up all papers on his person; which he did cheerfully.
Finding him a cowardly knave, the Duke flung him from him with
disgust. Buckingham had heard, to be sure, that the maid they sought
was a hostage; but whether this was true, or would lead to matters of
more consequence, he had yet to learn.
Buckingham, after a few hours' sleep, left Hornby's Inn, returning
to the village of Crandlemar. He wore no masque this time and boldly
entered the inn to refresh himself and prepare for a visit to the
castle. He took little heed of the slender young man who now lay, very
much drunken, upon a long bench; but ordered the best wine and sat
down before a table that was already accommodating some half-dozen
men. He appeared not to hear their excited whispers, and feigned
preoccupation until he was quite sure his manner had been noted, then
as if modesty held him, he spoke,--
"Is there not in these parts a monastery upon the estates of the
noble Lord Cedric of Crandlemar?" He hardly raised his eyes, so
indifferently did he put the question.
"There is, sir," one said.
"Then where hath flown my lord's religion?"
This struck consternation upon the group; for 'twas certain they
loved their patron's good name, even though he did forget their
importunities, and this sudden thrust struck home. One whispered
aside,--
"Perhaps 'tis one come to spy upon our lord's intentions and take him
to the Tower." At this one honest, brave man arose and leant with
rustic grace across the table toward the stranger and said,--
"His lordship lies ill yonder," pointing over his shoulder toward the
castle, "and we loyal subjects to his Majesty, claim the right to
drive from Protestant soil the shackles of Catholic freeholds,
and 'tis our intention to come upon them--what say you, fellows,
to-night?"
"Aye, aye!" rang from nearly a score of tongues.
"'Tis well," said the cavalier, "for to-morrow might have been too
late."
"What might that mean, sir?"
"It means that Catholic lands and holds are sometimes confiscated and
in some cases the boundary lines are not known, and some good King
might send some noble lord to the Tower to search for the required
limitations of his demesne."
Every man's hand sought a weapon and eye met eye in mutual concourse.
"To-night, then, to-night we'll put to rout the enemy!" they cried.
The cavalier, pleased with the reception of his hint, asked for his
horse.
He arrived at the castle to be most cordially received by the Duchess
and Sir Julian. If Buckingham was ever unbending, it was to Sir
Julian.
As they met, Buckingham bent lower than his wont to hide a guilt that
was not perceptible to any one else but Julian, and the latter was not
slow to note it. The Duchess, not knowing who had carried off either
Constance or Mistress Penwick, was very free in her conversation and
spoke at once of Lord Cedric's injury and of the naughty beauty that
had driven him to it. Buckingham's countenance was changed by the
assumed expression of either surprise or regret, as was necessary and
suited.
Upon his arrival he was not allowed to see either the Duke or Cedric,
and as his business called for a speedy return to London, he must
leave early after supper, adding that he regretted the importunity
of the hour, as it detained the king's business with his Grace of
Ellswold.
This of course changed the physicians' minds, and Buckingham was
allowed to have converse with the Duke and finished that he came to do
at the castle.
But Sir Julian had somewhat to say, and ordered his horse to accompany
the Duke on his return journey.
This was not unlooked for, and Buckingham, fearing no _imbroglio_,
intended to hasten Sir Julian's speech, as there was no time to spare.
They started forth 'neath the dripping trees.
"Where is Mistress Penwick, George?"
"With her nurse, Julian."
"And where the nurse?"
"At Hornby's."
"Where is Monmouth's place of hiding her?"
"That is more, I dare say, Julian, than he knows himself."
"How long will they remain at the inn?"
"Until I return."
"Then--?"
"Then, London way is my desire, and I doubt not 'tis Monmouth's also."
"Dost love me, Duke?"
"Aye, as always. What is thy desire?"
"Canst thou keep the maid safe for thirty-six hours?" For a moment
there was no answer; then calmly and cold came the word "No."
"By God! is it so bad that you, you George, cannot take care of her?"
"'Tis the worst of all!"
"Is she safe then now--now?"
"If the eye of the nurse doth not perjure its owner, I would say she
was safe for all time."
"Good--"
"But, Pomphrey, one would wonder at thy devotion to Cedric?"
"I loved him, first."
"That does not say thou lovest thy second love better, eh?"
"By heaven, I love her, there--thou hast it." Buckingham gave vent to
his natural inclination and laughed boldly.
"Then, follow her. We may presume she will be safe kept 'til London
gives her rest and wine and finds a locker for her nurse."
"Then my errand is finished. I will bid thee _adieu_."
CHAPTER XVI
BUCKINGHAM'S ADVENTURE
Buckingham, returning to the village, where his escort met him, then
went to a small unused cabin in the thick woods beyond. Here he
changed his attire, making ready for a quick journey and one fraught
with some adventure.
As he donned his clothes, ever and anon he paused to hear the low
murmuring of voices that came up from the village. 'Twas evident the
mob was gathering.
An hour he waited impatiently, when his servant entered, saying that
the mob had started and were hurrying along the high-road at great
speed.
The Duke mounted and rode after them, quite far enough in the rear
for them not to hear his horse's step or see as he passed where some
cottage light fell aslant the road.
By the time they came in sight of the monastery, he was exasperated
beyond measure to be so held behind and was in no mood to wait the
mob's leisure. He leapt from his horse and threw rein to his man.
No light was to be seen. It appeared the monks had either deserted
their dwelling or fortified it by fastening with boards the windows
and doors. The latter was the case. The besiegers with all sorts of
sticks, stones and bludgeons began at once to bombard the building
that stood dark and seemingly impregnable. Buckingham stood some
distance from them, as if indeed he were of different mould and could
not mingle with their steaming, smoking, foul-smelling bodies, that
reeked of gin and poor tobacco. He waited only for an entrance to be
made, that he might pass in without the labour of making an opening
for himself. Indeed, his arm, unused to such rough strength, would
become unfit to handle the sword of a gentleman.
He was leant upon one knee behind a strip of iris that bordered a
forest path, when suddenly he heard the crash of glass and heard a
triumphant yell from the mob. He sprang from his hiding and crept
toward the place. A window had been broken in and the fight had
already begun. The monks were well equipped for battle with weapon,
strength and stout hearts and a good stone wall for shelter, but their
numbers were weak.
The siege was destined to be a long and bloody one, unless the
ponderous door could be broken, for the mob could not enter fast
enough through the small casement. Should this be done, it was evident
the monks would be obliged to either take flight, surrender or be
foully murdered.
Buckingham could not enter the window without taking part in the
fight, and mayhap run a great risk to his person.
He was not long in discovering, however, that the doorway was being
bombarded successfully, and soon the massive door must succumb.
At last there was a thundering crash, and broken oak panels flew
through the air.
The men rushed in. Buckingham in a moment was in their midst and
fighting his way through them. He flung himself aside and escaped the
fighting mass by a small door that led him to a passage, where he
regained his breath and looked out for his bearings.
He found his way through many winding passages to the panel. This he
opened and quickly strode through to the trapdoor, which stood agape.
From beneath came the sound of voices. He knelt and looked down. There
was no light to guide him. Cautiously he descended the ladder, finding
his way warily toward the place where he had seen the chest and whence
now came the voices. One was saying:
"It's gone, the damn knaves have secreted it; we must have a light,
Anson, or the horde above stair will be upon us, and all the fires of
hell could hardly show us out of this dungeon." Whereupon the flint
was struck and the forms of three men were dimly outlined.
They began running about nervously in different directions to find the
chest; his Grace keeping from view by following in their shadow. Back
they went again to the spot where it had stood, and as the light
fell full in their faces Buckingham recognized the pale, chiselled
countenance of Cantemir. There were two servants with him, which,
judging from their eagerness, evidently expected perquisites.
The sound above stairs was growing more and more noisome, as if the
monks were being pressed back in the direction of the secret passage.
'Twas evident the Abbés intended this move; for unless there was
egress 'twould be a veritable slaughter hole and from the first they
had kept together, preferring the direction of retreat.
Suddenly one of the men in front of Buckingham leant down and traced
with his finger on the dusty stone,--
"They have moved it in this direction, and there is no mistaking it,"
and he pointed from the ladder.
They followed the direction, holding the light low, and came at once
upon what appeared to be a solid stone wall. Inadvertently the man
bearing the lighted taper rested his arm for a moment against the
stones. Instantly a blaze flared up and showed a very cleverly
concocted wall. A canvas had been padded in shape of unhewn stone and
painted in imitation; the oil in the paint had ignited and despoiled
the illusion.
The blaze was quenched in a moment, the canvas door pried open and the
three men passed beyond, carefully closing the door behind them.
Buckingham was close upon them.
They fled rapidly along, Cantemir following his servants and ever
glancing behind with eyes staring with fear.
Buckingham was not to be caught by fear-staring eyes and kept well in
shadow.
The passage was narrow with many windings and appeared to be
interminable.
The men began to run, which was very incautious under the
circumstances, for in a moment they were precipitated into a small
chamber occupied by two stalwart monks. The latter had barely time to
throw themselves upon the defensive ere they were attacked.
Cantemir had the advantage, as the monks were encumbered with their
long robes.
Then ensued a short fight, in which Cantemir's men won the day--he
remaining well in the background.
One of the servants was wounded and lay helpless upon the floor, his
head falling against some object that held him in a semi-upright
posture. Cantemir turned with the torch he had taken from the floor,
and looked about him, stumbling over the prostrate bodies of the monks
as they lay wounded. Noting his injured servant's position, he ran to
him, and seeing the thing upon which his head rested, kicked his body
from the chest, as if the fellow had been his enemy's dog, instead of
his own serving man.
With a cudgel he and his comrade opened the chest, after first finding
it too heavy to carry at speed and for an indefinite distance.
Cantemir's eyes waxed big with greed and delight, as he looked
within. He spread out his long fingers, as if to grasp all the chest
contained.
"These small caskets must be filled with jewels. Anson, fasten the
torch somehow and put these in the bags. Here are some rare laces,
looted from some dead Croesus, I warrant,--put those in too;--those
infernal papers--they can be of no consequence--"
"Then I will take them, my lord," said the servant. Cantemir eyed him
with no fondness and slipped the papers within his own bag.
Buckingham, watching them from his little cove in the rocks, caught a
sound that made him start. It was very distant and indistinct, yet he
was quite certain some one was coming, and without further delay he
cried out and drew his sword upon the man nearest him, which happened
to be Anson.
The fellow used his sword fairly, but no match for his adversary.
Buckingham run him through before the Russian had regained his
presence of mind.
As the unfortunate Anson fell, the Duke turned to Cantemir, who was
separated from him by two prone figures and the chest. The Count held
the advantage and meant to use it by springing ahead into the opening.
There was no opportunity for Buckingham to either reach him or head
him off. Cantemir had caught up the filled bags and was smiling
insolently across at him. Buckingham was exasperated, not by the
fellow's triumph, but at his own helplessness to cut him off. But
there was no time to be lost; those other sounds were growing nearer.
The Duke made a bound toward the opening. Cantemir, with an exultant
laugh, sprung also toward the opening, but his laugh was turned into
a yell of fear, as his leg was caught in a death-like grip by the
servant he had kicked from the chest.
In an instant Buckingham was upon him and binding his arms tight
behind; the poor, cowardly knave begging at every breath for his life.
He was completely undone with fright, his heart melted and his knees
bent.
"And would it not be thy meed to run thee through also, for serving
thy wounded knave with a kick? 'twas inhuman--by God! 'tis a pity it
takes a man with a soul to suffer the tortures of hell, for thou wilt
never get thy deserts!" He looked down and saw the poor servant's eyes
raised to his pleadingly. The Duke drew from his pocket a flask of
wine and gave it to him; then gathered the bags that lay filled by the
chest and hurriedly looked at their contents. As he did so the wounded
knave feebly raised his voice,--
"I will be killed if I am found here."
"Nay, a gentleman--" and he cast a scornful glance at
Cantemir,--"would not kick thee when thou art down; say nothing of
our most noble fathers putting to flight what small life thou hast in
thee. What is thy name?"
"Christopher," came in weakened tones from his pallid lips.
In another moment the Duke was gone with his looted treasures.
He flew along at a most undignified gait, bearing his pack as a
labourer. His shoulders, unused to such burden, grew tired. He
began to wonder if the passage would never end. He was growing more
exhausted than he cared to own, and beside, he apprehended he was
pursued.
At last he felt almost compelled to leave one of the bags behind, and
stopped to think which, one he should leave. Yet he was a-mind to
carry them all if he broke his back; and beside, it was so dark he was
unable to tell which was the more important.
As he stood undecided he heard distinctly the fast approach of
footsteps. He gathered his strength and bags and flung along, somewhat
refreshed by the change of burdens. As he made a turn, the fresh
outside air blew upon him. He grew cautious and moved more slowly,
listening now in both directions. He might not be overtaken, but some
one might be at the opening of the passage. There was no light or
sound beyond, and soon he stood in the deep darkness of the outer
night 'neath dripping trees. Warily he stepped, lest some cracking
twig exposed his presence.
He ascertained his surrounding was a thicket, and was about to make
his way into its labyrinthine density, step by step; for the way
was difficult, when there was a tramping of horses' hoofs upon the
rain-soaked road that appeared to be in close proximity.
Under cover of the noise he swept hastily and boldly through the
briery bushes that were thickly entangled, and was able to make
considerable headway whence he had come, when the noise ceased and a
peculiar whistle rang out; then there were a few moments of quiet, as
if those who signalled were listening for an answer.
There appeared to be a chaise with several outriders, as Buckingham
thought, by the tramp of horses' feet, and a creaking of wheels
pulling heavily along.
As he gazed anxiously in their direction, a torch was suddenly set
a-glow and a horseman rode up with it to the mouth of the subterranean
passage. He leant from his steed and examined the ground closely,
noting doubtless the footprints that led away from the road and
directly to the place where the Duke stood. He turned abruptly back to
the group upon the highway and conversed in low tones.
Buckingham was not a little perturbed, for a horseman could with less
trouble than it takes to tell it, track and overtake him in a moment's
time. He fain would have a few minutes to ease his burden, but his
peril was great. There was no doubt but what these men were monks,
come to assist their fellows with the chest and convey them to a place
of safety.
Indeed, the secret of the chest must be royal, but whether in jewels
or papers he did not know, nor was it the time and place to find out.
If he only knew in which pack was the bone of contention he would
certainly lighten his burden.
Again he lifted the bags and strode on lightly, for he still could be
heard to the highway, if one should listen.
He had not gone far, however, when there was a shout from the
subterranean opening and much confusion following upon it.
The Duke was now thoroughly aroused. Doubtless the monks within the
passage had at that moment arrived at its mouth, there to make known
to their comrades the robbery of the chest's contents. They were in
pursuit; he could hear the bushes crackling beneath horses' feet.
Never before had the wily Duke felt so hard pressed. He could afford
to be taken himself, for he was sure of a release sooner or later;
but his whole being revolted at the idea of losing the riches of his
burden and above all--the secret, the secret that would make his
fortunes thribble, the secret that would make him more powerful than
heretofore. The King's favour would be boundless. And George Villiers
turned abruptly and--fell into a swollen ravine that was throbbing
with its over-filled sides. He straightened himself to his full height
and thanked God for the stream, for truly 'twas life-giving water.
He waded in and found it hardly came to his waist in the deepest part.
After crossing to its farthest bank, he kept the watery path for
nearly a league, thereby throwing his pursuers effectually off the
trail. But where his course trended, 'twas impossible to tell, as
there was no moon, and the stars were veiled by thick cloud that
vomited forth rain in gusts.
The leather bags were very near rain-soaked and had become so heavy
'twas impossible for anything less than a beast of burden to carry
them further, so leaving the friendly stream, he walked some little
distance from it, gaining to his surprise an open road. This was not
what he wished, and was turning from it when he stumbled and fell
prone. Being hot with anger and fatigue, he reached for the obstacle
that had so unmanned him to damn it. 'Twas a large, round knot. It
struck his memory, as he held it, with a thought of the morning
before.
"_Eureka_!" he cried, as he felt the very presence of the tall tree by
the public highway that led from Crandlemar, London way. He arose and
reached for the aperture.
"Egad, 'tis there!"
Fortunately the royal tree was not far from the unused cabin that had
afforded him accommodation some hours before. He immediately sat down
upon the bags and rested.
There passed him several horsemen and a chaise; whether they were his
whilom companions of the thicket or not he did not care. It was
sure they were in haste to leave the village as far behind them as
possible.
When the sound of the horses' hoofs had died away, he again donned his
leathery burden and made for the depths behind him.
He was not long in reaching the _rendezvous_, and was met by his
anxious servant, who had but just arrived from seeking him.
The exhausted Duke gave orders for one hour's rest, then fell upon a
pile of blankets that were spread upon the damp and open floor.
An hour later saw the Duke astride his horse, that stood with flaring
nostrils, caring not a whit for his extra burden of saddle-bags and
flew along the wet road, regardless.
Hours after his master jumped from his back at Hornby's.
The morning was far advanced and Mistress Penwick was fretting under
the delay.
Monmouth had plead that the weather was too wet and Lady Constance was
too ill to proceed until the following day.
The maid had demurred, saying Janet might remain with her ladyship;
but Monmouth was not quite at liberty to take Katherine without first
seeing Buckingham, whom he thought should have arrived early in the
morning.
As Buckingham came into the great room of the inn, Katherine proposed
they set out at once, as she would reach Whitehall, if possible,
before Sunday.
It was not the Duke's wish to proceed further without resting himself
and horse; but being anxious to please Mistress Penwick, he said
'twould be his pleasure to start at her convenience; whereupon she
relaxed her ardour, finding no opposition, and asked him if he thought
the weather would permit. He answered that the weather must permit,
and that they could easily reach their destination without killing
more than three relays.
"Nay, nay, your Grace, if one horse only were to die, I would not
permit such hurry!"
Suffice it; the Duke had his rest, and being of no mind to remain
longer, at five o'clock in a gale of wind and rain set forth.
They had but common post-chaises as any squire would have, as these
travelled about without drawing the attention that a London coach
would. They rattled and slid along at their own convenience on the
muddy road, and the postilion were soon reeking with mire thrown from
the horses' feet.
For five hours the chaise jostled Constance, until she declared she
would go no farther. Buckingham, who rode with his secret in the
chaise that followed, said if they stopped to rest over night, they
could not reach Whitehall before the King should leave.
This was a ruse planned by himself and Monmouth, as the latter had
settled where he should take Katherine, and the former, not having had
time to examine the contents of the bags, was loath she should see the
King ere he had done so.
Katherine, seeing that Constance' lips were blue and her face pale,
and forgetting her ladyship's evil ways, agreed they should stop at
the first inn and there lie until the next morning; Janet having
declared privately to her mistress that she should not waste any time
with her ladyship.
Though the night was black and the road uncertain, yet they maintained
a fair pace over the open downs, having left the shadowy trees behind;
but there were no lights ahead and the prospects of getting shelter
for the night were dubitable.
Constance became more and more impatient, pulling up the window every
few minutes to inquire if any lights were to be seen, each time
letting in a shower of rain that deluged her dress. This dampness was
soon felt by her ladyship, whose temper could hardly keep her warm,
and she called for blankets. There were none. At this knowledge she
grew worse, and cried that she was in a chill and must have aid from
somewhere.
For a truth, her teeth were chattering and her hands were cold, but
it was nothing but mimosis brought on by the evil caldron that boiled
within her wicked body. She had heard Buckingham tell Katherine that
the King would be gone from Whitehall if they were delayed. Her plans
were now made, and this sudden illness was a ruse to detain the maid.
No, she must not see the King. She must now, first of all, become
Monmouth's mistress, then Cedric in his wild despair would turn again
to her; his playfellow, his old love, Constance.
Whether the postilion were in their master's confidence or not is not
certain, but just before midnight they plunged into a narrow, miry
road that traversed wastes and low coppices; the plash of the horses'
feet showed the tract to be marshy and full of pools. Her ladyship
looked out across the dreary fen and exclaimed,--
"I'll be damned, they have set us out like ducks!" At her words
Katherine drew from her with disgust. It was the first she had heard
her swear; but she had not yet seen her true nature.
On a sudden the chaise made a lunge and stopped in a deep rut. Some
one plodded laboriously to the door and thrust in a rain-soaked
visage, saying,--
"Their Graces beg your patience, as we cannot move until help comes.
There is a light ahead, and we hope to get on directly."
It was hours, however, before the lumbering equipages were pried out
and started on. The light beyond had paled as dawn broke. They were
once more upon the causeway, and the horses' feet beating with loud
and even step upon the wet road.
Constance had calmed, and with the other occupants slept through the
long delay. Nor did she wake until they had entered a thick wood where
the branches of the trees swept tumultuously against the window. Then
she opened her eyes with a start and saw Katherine still sleeping,
her head pillowed on Janet's bosom. Her limbs were stiff from their
cramped position. Vainly she essayed to stretch, and cried out as a
rheumatic pain took her. She swore roundly and vowed she would alight
at the first hut they should come upon.
It seemed hours before they came to a long, low stone building,
evidently an old-time lodge. It was covered with ivy that trembled and
glistened in the wind and rain.
The chaises stopped at the door, which was thrown open by an outrider
who knocked up the locker with his whip handle.
The opening disclosed great, high-backed pews and an altar and pulpit.
It was indeed a place of refuge to the weary travellers. It was dry
and clean and afforded rest. Katherine stepped inside first, and
immediately knelt and crossed herself. Monmouth did the same, knowing
that the maid's eyes were upon him.
They took seats not far from the altar and settled themselves
comfortably; for the servants had gone to find food and fresh horses.
Katherine was stirred by the sacredness of the day and place, and
took little part in the conversation that was becoming more and more
animated, as the Dukes and Constance drank heavily of wine brought
from Monmouth's box in the chaise. And when meat, bread and cheese
were brought and more wine was drank, her ladyship became maudlin and
cast her eye about for diversion.
It fell upon the pulpit, and she tripped up to it, passing over the
sacred altar in vulgar _insouciance_.
It pained Katherine to see the place so lightly esteemed, and she gave
a little cry of "Oh!" as Constance threw open the Bible and began to
preach in mockery of the Methody parson.
Buckingham's face was as stolid as Janet's; Monmouth's bearing a smile
that was bastard of mirth.
Hardly was her ladyship started, when a tall form, strong boned and
sinewy, strode through the open door. His ruddy face disclosed what
appeared to be a stern and rough temper. His forehead was high; his
nose well set over a mouth moderately large. His habit was plain and
modest. The rain dripped from his red hair and the bit of mustachio
that he wore on his upper lip. His quick, sharp eye noted the men and
women that sat apart, and then turned like a flash upon the woman in
the pulpit.
As Constance saw the man full in the face, there was a bathos in her
zeal, and she stopped, open-mouthed, and closed the book.
Neither Buckingham nor Monmouth could see the countenance of him that
entered, so they held quiet and wondered at her ladyship's behaviour.
Katherine had bent her head upon the back of the seat.
The tall man proceeded up the aisle, his eyes upon the titled woman
whose face was now covered with a genuine blush. For the first time in
her life she felt ashamed. She felt a presence near her that was not
altogether of this earth's mould.
At last regaining a semblance of her usual _aplomb_, she stepped from
the pulpit and made toward the door, where others were entering. She
looked back when half-way down the aisle and beckoned to the others of
her party to follow. As she did so, there came from the pulpit a voice
so rich and sweet, so penetrating the soul, the woman trembled and
listened.
It was the "Kyrie Eleison" sung in a new tune with clear, strong
English words, and they rung and rung in Constance' ears, as they
continued to do for the rest of her days.
"He is a Ranter. Let us stay and hear him?" Monmouth said.
"Nay," said Katherine; "I am without covering for my head. Let's
begone, the meeting is gathering. What a glory is in his countenance,
and his voice is like music!"
"The lack of a bonnet need not hinder. Thou art a lady and
privileged."
"Nay, nay. I would know who he is?" Monmouth plucked the sleeve of
a passer-by and inquired. The man answered with a question put in a
whisper,--
"Hast never read 'Pilgrim's Progress'?" The Duke threw back a glance
at the form in the pulpit, then strode forward and jumped into the
chaise.
CHAPTER XXII
TELLS OF THE DOINGS OF ALL CONCERNED
The house stood surrounded by a beautiful lawn that sloped gradually
to the river. Trees in full leaf and woody perennial plants in full
blossom, dotted the sward. The long, low stone building was covered
with vines that hung in rich purple bloom. All was quiet, refined,
subdued--without pomp. Not so was the chief inmate of this charming
abode. She stood gowned in filmy white, waiting for Janet to spread
her repast, but the nurse moved at leisure, resolving to give the maid
meat for thought, as she did for the body. She said:
"When a maid is without father or mother, and away from her rightful
guardians, and has presented her such frocks as thou dost wear, 'tis
the maid's duty to find out whence such gorgeous and unmonastic
apparel comes."
"But, Janet, I do know. The Abbés have made provision for me. They
bade me leave the castle without incumbrance, and the chest was sent
for my necessity. I mean to pay it all back when I return--or when I
send to Lord Cedric."
"And when will that be, Lambkin?"
"When the King gives me audience."
"And thou art expecting the Duke of Monmouth to bring the word from
Whitehall?"
"He said 'twas his pleasure so to do."
"Now God pity me this day; I would I had never seen it!"
"Why wearest thou so sorry a face, Janet?"
"For thy too fat zeal. Is it not enough to make an ingrowing visage?"
"How so?" said Katherine in feigned _insouciance_.
"A surfeit of good, like a too-full cup, boils over and falls to ill."
"Then, Janet, surfeit sin 'til it bubbles up, runs over,--perhaps a
better cup to fill."
"Alack, alas, for youth's philosophy!"
"At what art thou driving, nurse; thou canst neither affect
Shakespeare nor the Bible!"
"Have I not always loved thee, Lambkin; search thy memory; did I ever
tell thee lies or use the veil of falsehood to cover from thee that
which I would not have thee know?"
"Nay; but thou hast used artifice 'til it is threadbare, and I now
behold its naked warp."
"But hast well served, thou canst not deny. It has made thee the sweet
innocent bud thou art, and we will enshrine its shade, though it hath
no soul to join it hereafter, and I will resort to vulgar frankness,
employed by the truculent commonplace, and say we live in an age of
swaggering, badgering, immoral-begotten, vice-ridden, irreligious
decrepitude--" Katherine made a hissing noise with her teeth, as if
she had been suddenly and severely pricked by a pin, then put up her
hands and stopped her ears--this day, Mistress Penwick thou shalt know
the character of thy King--Nay, thou shalt know. I will tell thee that
'twill poison thy mind of one of so great station--"
"Wouldst thou assail his morals, Janet?"
"'Tis impossible to assail that a man hath not."
"Then 'twould be a field for sweet mission to teach him morals."
"And wouldst thou delegate thyself to such an office?"
"Aye, why not?"
"Because he would steal thy knowledge ere thou hadst found his heart,
and thou wouldst find thyself insolvent of virtue."
"Thou hast overreached artifice, Janet, and gone back to Bible days
and corrupted them by borrowing parabolic speech to waste upon
deaf-eared seventeenth century maid."
"Ah, Lambkin; with closed ears thou dost not becalm sight and wit,
they cease not to fructify under suasion of childhood impregnations.
I fear not for thee, if thou art forewarned. If thou art taken to the
King, he will straightway be enamoured of thy beauteous face and will
wish to have thee near him, and because he is of so great a title, he
will expect to mould thee to his desires, whether 'tis thy will or
not. He may perhaps overawe thee, and thou wilt feel flattered by his
approaches, which will seem sincere to thy untutored perceptions.
'Twill be thy first meeting with a King. There is one thing most sure,
thou wilt not think him handsome; he has not the rich colouring that
so marks Lord Cedric's face, nor yet the clearness of countenance. The
King is most swarthy, gross featured and unfitted to thy fancy.
And how wouldst thou like such to approach thee and fondle thy
hand--perhaps imprint thy cheek with a caress, or his long fingers to
go a foraging on thy slender neck?"
"Nay, nay, Janet; I should most surely hate such an one. I am sure I
should hate! hate!"
"But 'tis surely to what thou art coming."
"But, Janet, the Duke of Monmouth is the King's son, and his Grace of
Buckingham his friend; and with these two at my side, what harm could
come to me?"
"Should the King propose to keep thee with him, could they lie like
slaves or dogs across thy threshold in the dead hours of night to keep
unwelcome visitors from thy door?" Katherine's eyes appeared on a
sudden to open wide upon a thing she had not dreamed of before.
"Indeed, Janet, I think I see the trend of thy parables. He is then
debauched and given to entering rooms not his own at any hour he
chooses. I will be most careful and avoid spending the night."
"But he may insist on thy presence, and no one dare gainsay the Royal
will."
"I am for the time of his dominion, but we can claim at any moment
King Louis' protection, and therefore I may defy him if I wish?"
"'Twill be like jumping from the river into the sea. I understand,
Lambkin, thou art bent upon paying well for thy popish idolatry. If
his Majesty sets black eyes on thee, thou art undone. If thou art
determined to go, we must have some way to prevent his falling in love
with thee. Thou wilt be willing to do this for me and--thyself, Love?"
"Then I might not become that I so much wish--a Lady of Honour!"
"That phrase, my Lambkin, is paradoxical--'Lady of Honour.'"
"Janet, thou dost turn all sweets to bitterness!--Then I will mottle
my face and wear a hump and be spurned outright. 'Twill ill serve me.
'Twill not accord a safe issue."
"Thou must not forget the King hath a tender heart for distress, and
now I think on it, 'tis possible, if thou didst so disfigure thyself,
thou wouldst gain his reply the quicker. We will mottle thy face with
leprous spots and cover thee with old woman's clothes, placing a hump
upon thy shoulder. And no one shall be privy to our scheme but his
Grace, and my lord of Buckingham, if they are to attend us." Janet
felt satisfied with the turn affairs had taken.
"I think I shall enjoy it hugely. 'Twill be fine sport to so puzzle
the King, and when he sees me as I am--" and Mistress Penwick turned
proudly to a mirror--"he will be pleased!"
"We will not think of that now, Lambkin. When dost thou expect her
ladyship?"
"She did not say, but I think perchance she will come before the Duke
of Monmouth returns."
"And he will not come before the morrow, didst thou say?"
"When I demurred at not going straight to his Majesty, he said 'twould
be meet for me to remain here until he should first see him; then
he should return in a day. Those were his words, Miss Wadham,
_verbatim_,--now thou dost know everything I do, but--the church
secret; and if thou wert not insolvent for ways and means, thou
wouldst have had that." With a sudden step, the maid flung her arms
about Janet, who ever felt hurt when called Miss Wadham.
Katherine sat to her evening meal with many flutterings of pleasure in
her young and guileless heart. Her first thought was of Cedric. He was
going to live and doubtless would follow her as soon as he was able,
and she would again see his handsome features and hear him admonish
her with a tenderness she was sure he would show after being so
frightened by her absence. It did not come to her that she should be
in sackcloth and ashes for causing him such woeful pain and misery.
She only tried to remember how he looked, as many a love-sick maiden
hath done heretofore. She pictured the rich colouring of his cheeks
and how his dark eyes had looked into hers; and she remembered how
once he had thus beheld her, his glance sweeping her face, then he had
taken her hand and pressed his lips to it passionately. Her face grew
rose red and she trembled with ecstasy. She, so perfect in mould
and health, was capable of extravagant and overpowering emotion; a
rapturous exaltation that filled her and took possession of her whole
being. She tried to turn her thoughts to Sir Julian, and wondered
vaguely why he had not come to London. He had intended leaving the
castle before this; and why had he not found her? He might know she
would like to inquire of those at home,--the Duke of Ellswold and the
others that were ill. The thought seemed to grow upon her, and she
wondered more and more why no one had been sent after her, and how
very welcome Sir Julian would be. Could it be that Lord Cedric was too
ill for him to leave?
The Dukes had fairly left Constance and Katherine at the very door of
this villa belonging to one of Monmouth's friends, and proceeded at
once to Whitehall, where they needs must report of their visit to the
Duke of Ellswold. The King detained them near his person, much to
the annoyance of Buckingham and serious discomfort to Monmouth. The
latter, so anxious for the companionship of Mistress Penwick, could
not help but show his uneasiness and hurry to withdraw, which made his
Majesty still more obstinate.
Two days Katherine had been thus alone at the villa, little knowing
the idea of bringing her cause to the King's notice was the most
foreign to either Buckingham or Monmouth, the latter wishing to
promote his own cause with her until she should become satisfied to
remain at his side, without seeking further Court favour. The former
gentleman had among his looted treasures certain papers that made
necessary, for his own personal aggrandizement, the strict seclusion
of Mistress Penwick.
Lady Constance had been so thwarted--her mode of battle proving so
abortive--she resolved to fight as things came in her way, without
method or forethought. There was only one settled arrangement; that
was the full and complete destruction of this woman that had come
between her and Cedric. She had gone, after a few hours of rest at the
villa, to the mercer's for silks and velvets and furbelows to array
herself for conquest and take--now that she had fair hold on Royalty
itself--some masculine heart; if not the heart, the hand without it;
if not Cedric's, be it whose it might, so it were titled and rich. She
also sought Cantemir and news from Crandlemar.
As she stood at the polished counter in the mercer's shop, she glanced
without and saw--or thought as much--Lord Cedric himself, pale, yet
stepping in full strength from a chair. She quitted the counter and
hastened to the entrance and looked up and down the busy street with
longing eyes. But there was no sign of my lord's handsome figure.
After securing her purchase, she repaired at once to Lord Taunton's--a
kinsman of Cedric's--'twas possible he would be stopping there. But he
was not.
She rode from place to place, hoping at every turn to see him; but to
her chagrin she found him not, even at a certain inn in Covent Garden,
where he had been wont to stay. She drove in her cream-hued coach to
the Mall, but he was not to be found.
Her first act after reaching London had been to dispatch a letter
posthaste to the castle, telling of her abduction by the Duke of
Monmouth, who, she believed was determined to bring herself and
Mistress Penwick to the King's notice, as he avowed Court was not
Court without such faces. She, being so widely known and so well
connected, had been allowed her freedom, on condition that she
returned promptly and keep their hiding place a secret. Then came that
she felt would touch Cedric.
"I overheard some converse about your Lordship, a hint that some knave
gave thee a slight wound. Now, if this be true, if thou art hurt at
all--which I cannot allow myself to think--tell me, tell me, Cedric,
and I will fly from Court and all the world to thee, my sweet cousin,
my playfellow, my beloved friend, now."
This letter fortunately did not reach Cedric in time to give him a
relapse, as he was on his way to London when the courier arrived at
the castle.
He had drawn rein at Tabard Inn, Southwark. It abutted on the Thames
and was opposite the city, and it suited his fancy to stop here,
rather than ride into London. His business was private and not far
from his present quarters. His wound had healed enough to give him no
trouble, and action kept his mind easy. He had seen Constance with
as fleeting a glimpse as hers had been of him. It was quite enough,
however, he wishing never to set eyes upon her again.
That evening he went to seek Buckingham at the Royal Palace. He had no
austere regard for the pomp and splendour of the Court at best, and
now he was almost unconscious of his surroundings. His azure-hued
costume was magnificent in its profusion of embroidery and precious
stones. There were none more handsome of face or figure. Courtiers and
wits abounded, but none more courtly or witty than he, when he was
moved. None bowed before his Majesty's dais with more grace, appearing
more a king than he who filled the Royal chair. He erred not in the
most minute detail of demeanour. There was no one in the realm that
held more of his Majesty's regard.
After being detained some moments at the Royal chair, he went to seek
Buckingham, whose first words smote him foolishly.
"It is said, my lord, that Love hath Cupid's wings, and I verily
believe William was right, or else how couldst thou have fluttered
from a couch of painful wounds to London either by chaise or a horse?
Ah!--Love is nascent; after cycles of time it may become mature enough
to be introduced into Court--eh!--my lord?"
"Contemporary chronicles relate that the mind is capable of greater
suffering than the body, and when both are affected, if we give
precedence to the employment of the mind, the body is at once cured;
hence my sound chest. Hast thou seen Sir Julian?"
"He is with Monmouth in his chamber. They have been drinking deep, or
at least the Duke, who is pouring out in Pomphrey's ear confidences
almost too maudlin to be understood;" and there was a covert sneer
on the haughty lips of his Grace. At the name of Monmouth and the
knowledge that he was not with Katherine, Cedric's great tension
appeared to snap asunder. For a moment Buckingham gazed at his
companion as if in him there were undiscovered mines. Then suddenly
his mind and eye returned to the tangible, and he run his arm through
that of Cedric's and drew him away. When they were quite alone, the
Duke, without the shadow of compunction, said,--
"You, my lord, are ambitious of nothing but domesticity. Is it not
so?" His Lordship looked up with a start. If there was one thing he
hated more than another, it was intrigue. And though he was ever
environed by it, yet 'twas not his business now. He had come seeking
Buckingham for the purpose of asking his assistance with the Duke
of Monmouth, and at these words, so foreign from his interests, he
frowned slightly and answered,--
"'Twould be difficult to say at what I aspire, seeing the thing I
coveted most is taken from me. If that were mine, it might open up a
vista of aspirations I had ne'er thought on heretofore I see only one
thing at the present worth possessing."
"And to possess that--thou art one of the richest nobles in the
realm--eh! Cedric?" His Lordship thought he saw the trend of his
Grace's mind, and felt better.
"I'm rich to be sure, egad! What's the game, faro, loo, crib,
langquement or quinze?" and he tapped his pouncet-box nervously.
"We have always been good, true friends, my lord. Your father and mine
have shared in many and continued vicissitudes, and for this cause
alone, barring our friendships of more recent years, I would give thee
a secret of which I am only half owner."
"And what is this secret, your Grace? I am interested."
"A secret cut into is only half a secret, and--"
"Ah! ah! how stupid I have grown! By all means, we are dealing in
fractions, and to get the other half I must either pay or go a-hunting
for it."
"And thou, being hot-foot after most precious game, methought 'twould
best serve to give thee a clue, as to the value of the secret, that
thou couldst determine whether 'twas worth the finding;--whether 'twas
worth the leaving off pursuit of that thou art after,"--and the Duke
threw open his waistcoat and revealed its lining of rare satin and a
pocket that contained a paper written upon in a writing that made Lord
Cedric start, for he recognized it as Sir John Penwick's. And there
recurred to him the conversation he overheard at the monastery, when
one said,--"and once Sir John gets to this country." But nay; his
very last words in his own waistcoat pocket? So he spoke out
disdainfully,--
"And thou dost embroider thy facings with dead men's autographs?"
"They are the better preserved, my lord," said the Duke, with a smile.
"Then I am to understand the secret doth nearly concern Mistress Pen
wick, and if I should show her favour, I would pay well for a sequel
to that thou art about to unfold, eh! Duke?"
"Aye, pay well; for the demand will be more than thou dost imagine,"
and he took the paper and gave it into Cedric's hands.
At a glance Cedric saw that the outside paper only was written on by
Sir John; the inner document, containing the whole story, being made
in a strange hand. And Cedric said to himself,--"Aye, 'tis a ruse.
Sir John is dead and I'll wager on't."
"Thou mayest occupy my chamber, which for the present is here." The
Duke left the anxious Cedric to read at leisure.
Lord Cedric knew 'twas not his Grace's way to waste time on things of
no moment, and he therefore apprehended evil and his fingers trembled;
his dark eyes grew large as he read; his face changing from red
to white as the different emotions were awakened; his white teeth
crushing his lips. Sir John Penwick had left England, taking all his
worldly goods--which were of no mean value--with him. He settled his
possessions in the New World. These in time became very great and he
was known as one of the wealthiest men in the locality in which he
lived. After six years of married life, a great grief came upon him;
his wife died, leaving him a baby girl of five. This so unsettled
him--having loved his wife beyond measure--he turned again to warfare,
having interest and inclination for naught else. He sent his baby
daughter with her nurse, Janet Wadham, to the Ursuline Convent
at Quebec, where they remained until coming to England. Sir John
travelled about from one country to another, engaging in all kinds of
intrigue and war. One Jean La Fosse--a Jesuit priest--had been for
many years the tried and true friend of Sir John, having been in his
early years a suitor to Lady Penwick. This friendship had grown so
stout that when they met again in the New World, Sir John put his
possessions, in trust, into La Fosse's keeping. When Sir John was
taken prisoner, a sort of treaty had been entered into between the
French and English, and hostages were required for prisoners of
importance. La Fosse was now holding high office in the ranks of his
adopted country--England. Therefore, when hostage was asked by the
English for Sir John Penwick, La Fosse saw the chance he had waited
for for years, and his John was every inch an Englishman, and since
being prisoner of the French, determined as far as possible to place
his belongings with his own country. He had thought it all out and
wrote his desires to La Fosse. Of course, what belonged to Sir John
belonged to England, but his possessions were on French soil and his
daughter in a French convent. And now Sir John felt 'twould be an
opportunity to place his child forever in the hands of his own
country. La Fosse had so shaped affairs, that Sir John was at his
mercy, and at Sir John's proposal that his child should be held as
hostage for himself, he had answered that the babe was of too tender
years to be accepted unless accompanied by lands, tenements and
hereditaments. This was a happy thought to Sir John, and his old trust
of La Fosse came back. "After all," he thought, "the French would
rather give up my child than a man, but my possessions they would
never give." So, not suspecting La Fosse's duplicity, he gave him
legal right to place his property as hostage also. The child was to
remain at the convent, unless England preferred to have her under
their own _régime_. La Fosse was sure Sir John would never again be
free and could never, of course, claim his lands. He went so far as
to make sure--as sure as was in his power--that Penwick should not be
released. He, being a man of shrewdness, at once manipulated affairs
without the knowledge of his sovereign or the higher powers about him.
In a very short time these possessions were built upon by the Jesuits,
who, through La Fosse, claimed all right and title. But La Fosse was
forgetful. He never gave the babe a second thought, it being of no
consequence whatever. It would, no doubt, sicken and die without a
mother's care. He was aware of its whereabouts, but even that in time
was forgotten, his mind being occupied by more pertinent thoughts.
This was a great victory for the Catholics, whose lands had been
confiscated in England, and La Fosse felt he had dealt a master stroke
for his religion. But no mortal man can equal Time as an adept in
chicanery. He brings forth truths unheard of or dreamt by poor
humanity.
Years went by and La Fosse was suspicioned. At the first smell of
smoke, La Fosse fled. No one knew whither. He escaped, however, to
the monastery upon Lord Cedric's estates. The sudden appearance of
Mistress Penwick at the monastery was believed to be a direct answer
to their prayers. When, too, it was found without a doubt she was Sir
John's daughter, they felt she belonged to them to do with as they
pleased, so all things were accomplished for the benefit of the only
divine church. Their rights in the New World were now being meddled
with and this God-send was to give them, with her own hand, all right
and title to the property in question.
Sir John had vaguely heard while in prison of Jean La Fosse's
duplicity, and at once sought to save his daughter from his hands by
sending her to his old friend, Lord Cedric of Crandlemar. He, angry at
himself for being so duped, and heartbroken at his loss of property,
knew of nothing else to do but call upon his Lordship for his child's
protection; yet he was too proud to tell him why these calamities
had come upon him. Indeed, any man would take him for a fool for so
trusting another. He had been ill when writing those letters. He never
expected to arise from bed again and thought 'twas best to say he was
dying; 'twould perhaps touch Cedric's heart as nothing else would!
Thus ended a document that was still incomplete, and his Lordship sat
wondering and thinking. This meant that the Catholics were exposing
Katherine to the King's pleasure. She was being sent to him for
a title--a title that was to give them all her possessions. And
Buckingham held the clue that would save those lands or--or her
father--if he were alive. Aye, he should have all the money he asked;
for the Catholics should not have their way. "They shall not, by God,
they shall not!"
"They shall not!" quoted Buckingham behind him.
CHAPTER XVIII
AT MONMOUTH'S VILLA
Lord Cedric looked about him. He had heard no sound and was surprised
and not well pleased that Buckingham had so caught him off his guard;
for he now understood that the Duke was undoubtedly deriving some
benefits from this fiendish plot, and the greater his perturbation the
easier mark for his Grace.
"The maid proposes at all hazards to see the King. Monmouth is as
determined she shall not. However, if she escapes the Duke, she will
visit Whitehall and present her plea to his Majesty for his signature.
He is--after seeing her--not supposed to refuse her anything. And not
knowing the value of these lands will sign the paper, thereby giving
the Catholics the property. Then if he sees fit--which of course he
will--will retain the beauty as a Maid of Honour. If he should refuse
the plea, she is to hand him a sealed paper, which will give him the
knowledge that he has before him a hostage who wishes his signature to
the willing of her property to her beloved Church. They do not count
on his putting two and two together and seeing their scheme. They
think he will be so infatuated, that 'twill be 'aye, aye, aye,' to her
every look. She only knows half the contents of the thing she presses
'neath the folds of her dress."
"By God, Buckingham, this is despicable! She to be made the tool of
her religion!"
"There are other complications, my lord. Providing thou art successful
in running the gauntlet with Monmouth first, then the King, thou,
thyself, art in danger of the Tower or Tyburn-tree." With a bound
Cedric was upon his feet and sprang toward the Duke,--
"A thousand devils, man, I care not for myself,--'tis the maid;
beside--what have I done, why am I so threatened?"
"The scheme for thy destruction is already set a-foot. If thou
shouldst get the maid in any wise, it appears thou art doomed. Take my
advice, look to thyself and let the--"
"'Sdeath! finish it not!" and there was that in the young lord's eyes
that curtailed the Duke's words, and he stood frowning at Cedric and
thinking what next to say.
"When thou art acquainted with the circumstances, my lord, thou wilt
see thy peril. One Christopher, whom I once befriended with a bottle
of wine in a certain close passage, came tottering to me, asking for
my patronage, which I accorded him, as he was a sorry spectacle. As a
reward for my seeming kindness, he told me that the knave Cantemir
was arousing the Protestants by speaking of the monastery being a
_rendezvous_ for all good Catholics, naming the lord of Crandlemar as
one of them. The knave is working with both factions. He has gained
some powerful help. These are to come upon the King and demand a
confiscation of thy lands, thou art also to be sent to Tower or
Tyburn-tree for the murder of thy servant--"
"Enough, enough, my heaven! I did kill the bastard Christopher."
"Ah! not so. 'The bastard Christopher' is still on his legs and gives
Cantemir's plans away; for the knave kicked him when he was down. Thou
art to have thy head, but--"
"Nay, my friend, tell me no more. Ah!--is there any limit to this
devil's industry! I have to thank thee to-night, on the morrow--"
"I'm expecting to leave Whitehall early--" Cedric started.
"Will Monmouth bear thee company?"
"Nay, his Majesty seems on a sudden to have an undue fondness for
him."
"God strengthen it."
"'Tis a pity there is such thing, else his Grace would not care to
go."
"And thou and I might not have been brought into this world."
"And Adam have had eyes only for the serpent, not even coveting the
apple."
"_Adieu_, my lord!"
"_Adieu_, your Grace!"
The candles were just a-light within the villa, where the thick
foliage of tree and vine brought a premature gloaming. Outside fell
upon the sward the last rays of the setting sun. In the depths of the
shadowy leaves the glow-worms displayed their phosphorescent beauty;
the lampyrid beetles plied between gloom and obscurity, impatient for
the mirror of night to flaunt therein their illumined finery. In
the distance was heard the lusty song of the blowsy yokels, as they
clumsily carted homeward the day's gathering. The erudite nightingale
threw wide the throttle of his throat and taught some nestling kin the
sweetness of his lore.
From the villa doorway passed out Mistress Pen wick in fluttering
white, with the waxy jasmine upon breast and hair. Down she came,
unattended, through aisles bordered by fragrant blossoms, traversing
the way from door to postern-gate with quick, light steps.
She was not aware Monmouth had left a strong guard and orders to allow
no one to enter save those he made provision for.
As her hand rested upon the gate, a guard stepped from behind a bower
of iris and gently opened it for her. She was somewhat taken aback by
his presence. The stalwart guard strode after her; she, noticing it,
turned about and said sweetly for him to hold the gate open 'til she
returned, that she would only be gone a very few minutes.
"My lady is alone upon the highway, and I could not suffer her to be
so, begging permission."
"Nay, I wish to be alone. Remain at the gate."
"It may not be, my lady; 'tis his Grace's order to give thee proper
escort outside the gate."
"Ah, then--" she turned from him and beckoned to a monk who appeared
to be walking aimlessly upon the opposite side of the way, but at her
bidding moved with alacrity. When the guard saw her intention, he
begged her to consider the Duke's wish that she should communicate
with no one.
"I was not aware, sir, that I am held as prisoner. I'm quite sure his
Grace was only kindly intentioned for my safety;--and as for further
vigilance, 'tis beyond his power to use it." The three now stood at
the gate. The monk looking intently at the guard, said,--
"Where hath flown thy religion, Eustis?"
"'Tis a poor religion that hath not the grace to offer its adherents
an honest living."
"Ah! then thy faith is hinged upon the _largesse_ of the damned.
There!--take for the nonce thy meed in honest coin." The Abbé gave him
a piece of gold and passed within the gate. The sun now dropped from
sight, leaving the villa terraces in sombreness, and brought into
prominence glow worm and firefly and the sheen of Mistress Penwick's
frock.
"I have watched for thee ever since thou arrived, hoping to catch
thine eye.--Hast guarded the billet to the King, my child?"
"Here it is." She took from her bosom the letter. The keen eyes of the
Abbé saw the seal was intact and quickly put out his hand deprecating
what her act implied.
"'Twas not that, my child; 'twas the fear that thou hadst been robbed,
as we have. We trust thee with all our hearts," and she read not
hypocrisy in the feint of benignancy.
"Thou hast been deceived into thinking that the Duke of Monmouth or
Buckingham will arrange a meeting between thee and the King. The
former Duke is evil-intentioned toward thee."
"Ah, my Father; thou dost sorely grieve me! If thou didst not say it,
'twould be hard to believe; for surely he has been most kind to me."
"But 'tis true, nevertheless. He is now with the King and fretting for
being so detained from thee. He means to offer thee the protection of
his favour; which means thou art to become an inmate of his seraglio.
Dost understand me, my child?"
"Ah!--I understand," and Mistress Penwick looked up into the face that
the darkness veiled.
"And I have heard that the King is sometimes poorly intentioned" The
monk coughed behind his hand and moved uneasily,--"'Tis said of him,
as other like things are reported; but 'tis false. He is a good
Catholic at heart, and he will offer thee no insult, else we would
not allow thee to approach him. Our first thought is to get thee from
Monmouth's hold and place thee in safety elsewhere. The noble Lady
Constance is helping us and hopes that by to-night to have arranged
certain matters, so with our aid thou mayest be able to see his
Majesty very soon. One of the Brotherhood will accompany thee to his
presence or meet thee there; for we are anxious of the issue. Thou
wilt--" The conversation was interrupted by the sound of wheels. The
guard came running to them, crying half aloud,--
"Methinks some one of importance is about to arrive, as there is a
coach and outriders and a score of mounted escort. If thou, Father,
art found here, I'm doomed. I prithee hide thyself;--and my lady's
gown can be seen for a league. Hide here, behind this bunch of iris,
'til the cavalcade hath passed."
It was in truth the young Duke of Monmouth, who was hurrying with the
impatience of young, warm blood to his mistress. For all Katherine was
indignant with him for having such wicked intentions toward her, yet
she was moved by the fact that he was a Prince, the son of the King;
and susceptible as are all womankind to masculine beauty, she hardly
could withhold her admiration. She did not fear him, on the contrary
she wished to play with firebrands and see how he would appear in her
eyes, now that she understood him. On a sudden she wished to see him
more than any one else in the world, Lord Cedric excepted; and in her
adventurous heart vowed to torment and give him pangs to remember her
by. Her pride was wrought upon. That any one should presume to love
her without thought of espousal! and Janet's words came back to her
with great force, making her see her error in accompanying the Duke.
There were a few hasty words spoken by the monk as he left her, and
passed through the postern-gate, where none save Eustis saw his tall
form. Katherine took her time, as she crossed the lawn to her former
seat, stopping here and there to gather a nosegay; exulting all the
time at his Grace's discomfort when he found her not within doors.
Suddenly she thought of Christopher and of what might happen to the
servants if the Duke undertook to vent his displeasure upon them. At
the thought, she leant forward, straining her ear for any signs of
violence; but she only heard Janet say,--
"My eyes have not been off her, your Grace. I'm just taking her a
wrap."
"Give it to me," the Duke said in a voice surprisingly calm and
gentle. It piqued Katherine. It was disappointing not to hear a
fierce voice like Cedric's was wont to be. She saw the Duke's form
silhouetted by a bush of white blossom and heard from his lips a
quaint love ditty. It so set her very susceptible heart to fluttering
she knew not whether to be glad or sorry that he was there. She was
weaving a garland in a peculiar manner learned at the convent. The
finished strands she placed under the bench upon which she sat,
pretending the while neither to see nor hear his Grace as he walked
about from bush to bush, singing softly. But he soon caught the
glimmer of her dress, and he came bounding toward her.
"Pray what does Mistress Penwick out alone on so dark a night?"
"Ah!"--she started in feigned alarm, dropping her flowers and rising
hurriedly--"'tis your Grace of Buckingham. I admit I was startled."
She made a sweeping courtesy.
"We who love never forget its voice, Mistress. I believed that thou
wouldst never be able to find it in Buckingham's tones; for if 'twas
there, thou only could note its tenderness." He so ignored her
feint--and she knew he understood that she knew not whether to keep up
her hypocrisy or recant.
"Didst see the King, your Grace, upon my affair?" He stooped to
recover the flowers she had dropped. She hindered him, fearing lest he
should see her schoolgirl play beneath the bench.
"Ah! ah! what hast thou hid there?" She exulted.
"Nothing, your Grace, only--the flowers are not worth the exertion."
"Aye, they are worth the bended knee of a thousand, when dropped from
such fair hands," and he again essayed to reach them; but she stood
between, and holding her hand out to him, said,--
"Nay. I pray thee come. I am going to the villa. 'Tis growing damp."
She timidly made as if to go. He on the instant drew his sword and
lunged beneath the bench and drew out upon its point the maid's
flowers. He laughed at his disappointment, for he was certain some one
was beneath. She felt ashamed of her childish pastime and hastened
within doors. He followed, carrying the interwoven hearts upon the
point of his sword. He held them high for inspection as he entered the
lighted room, and was transported with delight when he saw the design,
and complimented her upon its significance.
"Thou dost seem to know that two hearts are to be entwined, at any
rate! Even if a voice full of passion doth corrupt thine ears to
hearing tones that are vibrantless of love." He broke into a
great laugh and looked upon Katherine's blushing face with tender
admiration. "Come, Mistress, I have played thee very uncavalierly,
inasmuch as I have not answered thy question. Sit with me and sup.
There--his Majesty is indisposed. He will not be able to see thee for
at least a week. Then I am to bring the most beautiful woman in the
world to Court."
"I am very sorry; my business is imperative--"
"Imperative!--imperative! that such words should fall from cherry lips
that will become irresistible should they turn to pouting;--so take
heed and tempt me not." He had already swallowed several glasses of
wine and was fast becoming audacious.
Janet stood behind Mistress Penwick's chair; her face appearing
immutable. The Duke bade the maid drink her wine. She touched her lips
to the glass and set down the cup. He swept it passionately to his
own. Katherine's boldness was fast declining. She began to wish that
something would happen to take the Duke's attention from her. Even
Constance' presence would be a relief. If she were only in the garden
again--free--she would fly to some place of safety.
He lowered his voice into a passionate whisper and leant over,
catching her hand as she would withdraw it. He began to draw her
toward him. Her fear was evident, for Monmouth, drunk as he was, saw
it, and fell to coaxing. His voice, not yet maudlin, was sweet and
impassioned.
"Thou were not afraid when that Russian knave claimed thee and was
about to carry thee off, and now thou hast the King's son to guard and
love thee--love--dost hear it, my Precious? And I came to claim thee
this night, to tell thee all I know, to make the little Convent Maid
wise." He threw his arm about her, almost drawing her from the chair.
Katherine was white and trembling, knowing not which way to turn.
"Indeed, sir, I know not thy meaning."
"My meaning? Dost not thou know what love is? Of course thou dost
not--if thou didst, it might be I should not care to be thy tutor.
Come, I will teach thee this night--now, my Pretty,--now. Come, come
with me." He arose and essayed to draw her toward the door that led
to an inner chamber. Katherine was well nigh to swooning, and perhaps
would have, had not there fell upon her ear the sound of some one
entering the house. "Ah, heaven!" she thought, "if it were only Father
La Fosse or Sir Julian or even--ah!" She did hear Constance' voice.
"Aye, even Constance could think of some way for her to escape." She
knew Janet was behind her chair, but she might have lost her usual wit
and have become incapable of helping at the very moment she was most
needed. Monmouth drank another glass of wine, then withdrew from
his chair and leant over that of the maid, drawing her close in his
embrace. He was now so drunk he did not hear the door creak as Janet
and Katherine did; the former, seeing the pale, triumphant face of
Constance reflected in a mirror, as she stood half-way inside the
door. Katherine tried to disengage herself by reaching for another
glass of wine. The Duke reached it for her and would hold it to her
lips; but she, looking up at him with a feint of a smile, said in
coaxing tones,--
"I was getting it for thee; your Highness will drink it?"
"Could I refuse--there!--there! Come!--" He put his arms about her
and was carrying her forth, when Janet plucked him by the sleeve and
whispered something in his ear. He loosed for a moment her trembling
form and she began to weep. These tears made him forget Janet's words,
and he turned again to Katherine.
"There, there, my wife; thou dost break my heart at each sob. Here,
see here what I brought thee," and he placed on her arm a circlet of
rubies. "There, hush thy tears. I will not teach thee anything but how
kind I may be--there, sit thee down. I will let thee wait until thou
art accustomed to man's caresses." Monmouth's heavy drinking trended
to strengthen his good humour, else he might have resented roundly the
interruption of his love-making by the entrance of Lady Constance. He
held out his hand to her, saying,--
"Come, my lady; see my poor dear. The poor child is affrighted at my
love-making. Thou wouldst not be so frightened, Constance,--eh?"
"I am not a child, your Highness, to fall to weeping if so honourable
a gentleman as some should choose to kiss my hand." The Duke reached
to the table and pressed another cup of wine to his lips, that were
already stiffened by excess.
"Come, Sweet; give me one kiss--" and he bent over her close.
"Nay, nay, I'll not suffer thee." And Katherine drew from him with
flashing eyes.
"Come, silly child; one, just one." She fled from his reach. He sought
to catch her but was stopped by Constance who whispered something
hurriedly. The Duke turned upon Janet and frowned, then broke into a
mocking laugh, and with a sly wink at Constance, said,--
"Thou art a trickster, good nurse; thou didst play upon me foully.
Good, good nurse! Come, go quickly. Thou shalt see no more
love-making; I forbid thee; kiss thy nestling and go. I will watch
over her. Come, my sweet, come!" His Grace took the maid in his strong
arms, and though his legs threatened collapse, bore her toward the
door.
Janet saw the look of devilish menace and triumph upon Lady Constance'
face and--beyond--what did she see behind the curtain of the window
that looked upon the garden? Surely 'twas something more than the
evening breeze that stirred those hangings. 'Twas a familiar face
that looked from behind the folds; aye, of a truth, 'twas Sir Julian
Pomphrey's. When Monmouth, half carrying Katherine, reached the door
and stood some little way beyond its deep embrazure, he turned to
Janet again, saying,--
"Go, good nurse. I wait for thine exit. Come, begone!"
"I beg your Grace to forgive the lie I told and give pledge of thy
forgiveness by taking this." She handed him a brimming cup.
"Then, good nurse, I forgive thee. Here is to the maid thou dost let
go and to the woman I shall bring back." He threw back his head and
lifted the cup. As it touched his lips a handkerchief fell about his
eyes and a strong hand covered his mouth and the Duke lay helpless
upon the floor.
Janet carried the half-fainting maid from the room. As she did so, Sir
Julian and Lord Cedric, who had also come through the window, carried
the young Duke to another chamber; binding him fast; keeping his eyes
well blindfolded and their own tongues still. Constance was left
standing in the middle of the floor in dumb surprise and chagrin. In a
moment Lord Cedric returned, and his voice rang steel as he faced her,
nor was there shadow of pity as he saw her white face grow ghastly in
fear.
"Thou, Constance, art the receptacle of all the damned ills flung from
mortals, whether of the mind or body. As for soul, that unknown thing
to thee--thou canst not recognize in another and therefore canst take
on nothing of it save its punishment hereafter, when thou shalt have
no choice of condiment. Thy heart lies festering in the rheum that
exuviates from its foul surroundings. Conscience thou art bankrupt of,
and in its place doth lurk the bawd that envenoms thy senses and turns
thy narrow body into prodigious corruption--"
"Cedric,--my God; stay thy tongue!"
"Nay, nay; my tongue is a well-matched Jehu for thy devil's race. I
would I might scorch thee with it, to give thee foretaste of that to
come; perchance 'twould seethe thy rottenness to the quick--if thou
of that art not also bereft--and turn thee from thy course. Thou dost
pander for the King's son and steal an innocent maid of unripe years
to gratify his lust--ah, 'sdeath! thou art but a pernicious wench,
as false as hell. And when the nurse whispered that 'twould save the
child from shame, thy protrusile tang-of-a-serpent didst sibilate in
his ready ear a denial--"
"Cedric, Cedric; cease, I pray!" And Constance fell upon her knees
sobbing. But the young lord's storm had not yet spent itself, and he
sped on in fury:
"I would thy noxious blood had all run out ere mingling with its
better, and I had naught of so foul a taint within. If I held the
apothecary's skill, I would open my veins and purge from them thy
jaundiced blood and let in slime of snakes and putrid matter to
sweeten the vessel thus set free--"
"My lord, we must hasten. The maid is ready to depart with her
nurse," said Sir Julian. As the young lord turned to him, Lady
Constance--crushed and broken--said,--
"Couldst thou not see why I have so misused my better self; have thine
eyes been blind all these years not to see how I have loved thee,
Cedric--thee--thee--with all my heart and soul?"
"I would not hear thee prate of anything so sacred as love,--'tis
sacrilege."
"Nay, not so, Cedric! I love thee more than heaven. I love thy scorn,
if to be free from it were to deprive me of thy presence. I would
follow thee to the end of time, even though thy brow lowered in ever
threatening storm--"
"Nay! thou shalt not follow me. Would I draw such as thou to yonder
maid? From this moment thou art none of mine, and I fling thee from me
as I would a snake.--Thou didst think to take Mistress Katherine from
me; put her beyond my reach, first, by marriage, then by ruin. Thanks
to heaven, both of thy infernal schemes miscarried and she is again in
my keeping. And soon I shall fold her to me as my own; pillow her head
here, Constance, here, where thou sayest thou shouldst love to lie. I
shall press her to my heart as wife, wife--ah! I have at last touched
the quick within thee. We may hope there is some redemption--some
possibility of bringing thee back from thy foulness--"
"Come, Cedric, come; we are late!" cried Sir Julian at the door. Lord
Cedric turned to go, but Constance flew to his side and grasped his
hand,--
"Nay, nay; thou shalt not leave me thus. Thou shalt not leave me to go
to one who cares not one jot for thee! Cedric, turn not away. Do not
leave me here. Cedric, hear me, take me, take me with thee! I will be
so good--"
Again Sir Julian came and called hastily,--"Indeed, my lord, there is
a chaise upon the highway, and if we mistake not 'tis the King's."
Cedric loosed himself from Constance and hurried from the room. She
flew after him; but he had passed Sir Julian and flung himself upon a
horse. Pomphrey saw her plight, and, whether from pity, gallantry, or
intrigue, lifted her quickly--before she had time to withdraw from
him--into a coach. Cedric remonstrated with him; but Julian was
confident of his motive and started the coach at full speed. They flew
along in the opposite direction from whence came the King.
It was his Majesty, who had heard of his son's hiding with some
beauteous maid and was resolved to play a trick and come upon him
unawares.
It was feared, when he should find Monmouth in such a plight, he would
pursue the offenders, if for nothing but to see with his own eyes the
maid who had so wrought upon his son's affections.
The coaches bearing Katherine and Constance sped along at a rapid
swing. The one bearing Katherine, with Janet by her side, was some
distance ahead; Constance alone in the rear. Cedric and Julian rode at
either side of the first coach, their horses in full gallop.
They reached Southwark after two hours' hard riding. Katherine was
not aware of Lord Cedric's presence, and he avoided meeting her or
attracting her attention in any way. He was content with the thought
that she was near him.
They proposed to remain at Tabard Inn at least until the next night,
when they would set out under cover of the darkness for Crandlemar,
where Lord Cedric had given orders to have all things ready for
his immediate espousal. He knew that Katherine loved him, and felt
sanguine that after passing through so many vicissitudes she would
come to her senses and give up the ideas of churchly duties and
religious requirements.
Lady Constance feared the worst, now that Cedric was once more with
Katherine. What could she do to stave the matter off? She knew
Cantemir would hardly be able to place Cedric in the Tower before
another week. She was tempted to poison or kill in some way the maid.
Aye, she would kill her--that would be safest. Then Cedric could not
have her. They would be parted forever.
CHAPTER XIX
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE COACH
In the meantime his Majesty had entered the villa and found his son
bound and in drunken sleep. Seeing he was uninjured, the King fell
to laughing at his plight, his ringing tones awakening Monmouth. The
King's gentlemen unbound him and brought him to a chair. The youth was
not long in collecting himself, quickly making a tale for his father's
ears.
"I have caught thee, James,"--said the King,--"but where, oh! where is
the maid? Has she flung thee off and escaped with thy guard, who left
the gates wide, or didst thou expect us and had them placed so for our
convenience?"
"'Tis certain, Sire, I have been foully treated. I have been drugged
and some valuable papers taken I had got hold on."
"And who held the papers before thee, a pretty wench, eh?" Monmouth
glanced suspiciously at Buckingham, who stood behind the King.
"Now indeed, Sire, I should like thy opinion upon her, and--she hath
a secret, as the Duke there can testify." Buckingham started, but met
the King's glance with a stolid countenance.
"And what is this secret, George?"
"'Tis something the Papists have enveigled the maid into bringing to
thy notice, your Majesty," and the Duke cast a contemptuous glance at
Monmouth, who had made a wrong move.
"Then, by God! why was she detained? Why did any one take the papers
from her?" His Majesty looked not too kind at his son, who was now
fair caught. "We will send for her posthaste." The lackeys were
questioned of the direction taken by the coaches that had just left
the grounds, and a courier was sent after them, bearing the Royal
command to Mistress Penwick to appear before his presence within three
days.
The courier did not reach the inn until the party were about to set
forth, on account of being turned repeatedly from his course by
designing lackeys left along the way for the purpose.
Sir Julian, Katherine and Janet were standing at the coach door when
Lady Constance came hurrying down the stairs to join them, unasked;
for she was of no mind to let Cedric carry off Katherine without her.
She felt it would be worse than death. As she opened her mouth to ask
of Cedric--for she saw he was not with the party--the King's messenger
rode into the courtyard. Mistress Penwick received the order from the
courier with her own hand, and was rejoiced at it; Lady Constance flew
to her chamber in an ecstasy; Sir Julian roundly disappointed at the
news he must send Cedric, who had gone on toward Crandlemar. There
was no help for them now. They were under the King's order; but--what
might not happen in three days?
Sir Julian was as adamant when Constance proposed a trip to London,
and would under no circumstances allow her to leave the inn. Janet
kept Katherine in complete seclusion, fearing lest some new thing
should come upon them. She did not fail, however, to tell Sir Julian
of the monk's visit to the grounds of the villa and of his project to
accompany her to the King, when an audience should be granted.
"I am glad thou didst apprise me of this, Janet, for it gives me an
idea. I have seen lurking about several of the Order and have watched
them carefully."
The morning of the eventful day arrived. Mistress Penwick was already
gowned in a sombre old woman's dress. A hump was fastened to her
shoulder; her face was darkened skillfully and leprous blotches
painted thereon. She stepped like a Queen, for all that, and 'twas
feared her falseness would become evident to the King's eye.
Lady Constance was to remain at the inn, a prisoner, until Sir Julian
saw fit to release her. With curious eyes she watched for Katherine,
whom she conceived would be decked in irresistible finery. She even
pictured her beauty, clad in that soft brocade of peach and green that
so became her figure and enhanced the richness of her youthful bloom.
"Ah! ah!" she cried under her breath, as she saw the maiden's masque,
and fairly bit her lips in rage at the clever ruse about to be played
upon the King. Back she flew from the window and pranced up and down
her chamber in rage, her brain on fire. She sought in its hot depths
some way--some way. "It must be done. The King must know. It would be
the convent wench's ruin--and what would his Majesty not do for one
who should give him hint?" She was not kept under close guard. She
could go about the corridors as she chose. Out she flew into one of
these and saw near by a scullion furbishing a brass knob.
"Come, fool, hast thou a close mouth?" she said, almost in a whisper.
"Aye, too close for the comfort of my stomach."
"Then here--but first, bring me from anywhere thou canst a gentleman's
suit that will cover me in plenty--not too scant, remember, and bring
a horse from where thou likest to the door below. Haste thee, and thou
shalt have this." She jingled a well-filled purse in his face. Off he
ran in hot haste, soon returning with the desired outfit; no doubt
looted from some gentleman's closet near by. Quickly she donned it;
but here and there were slight alterations to be made, and her fingers
were all a-tremble, slackening speed to a meagre haste. She donned a
red-hued periwig and cockle hat, then strutted back and forth, proud
of her fine appearance, as, indeed, she looked a roguish fop of no
mean parts. She flung out into the passage and asked the lad if the
horse was ready.
"Aye, Sir!" he said, impudently. She flung him a bag of gold with a
show of masculine strength. Out it flew through the open window, down
to the pavement, frightening the steed from his groom, who first
stopped to pluck the bag before giving chase to the wily horse. Down
came the scullion, followed close by the gay young fop, who waited
impatiently outside the door. The guard looked on indifferently,
his eyes fixed upon the groom, rather than the young man that paced
restlessly up and down the courtyard.
At last Lady Constance dashed out upon the highway with a smile of
cunning on her face, a devil's flash from her eyes, a haughty curving
on her lips, and her heart beating faster and faster, the nearer she
drew to the King's palace. "One masque is as fair as another, and
methinks the King's eye will open wider at my boldness than at
Mistress Penwick's plain dissembling, should he require a fair show of
our feigning. He will love me for my daring and for bringing him the
knowledge aforetime of the maid's deception. And when the wench smiles
in triumph, he will bring her down upon her knees by one fair blow of
tongue. 'Twould be like his Majesty to deprive her of decent covering,
if I can only make her designing plain to him." On she rode in high
good humour with her adventure; for if this move was without laches or
mischance, 'twould be a triumph indeed. The maid would be ruined and
her own fortunes made.
The coach arrived at the Royal Palace upon the stroke of four.
Mistress Penwick was conducted to the King's ante-chamber. She was
visibly nervous; trying vainly to calm the fast beating of her heart.
When at last she was called, Sir Julian walked beside her to the
threshold of his Majesty's chamber. The King, ever _insouciant_,
had never thought to ask Monmouth the maid's name, and when she was
presented as "Mistress Wick," and he beheld her form and attire,
he was amazed. He felt he had been made a dupe; that Monmouth had
purposely made him believe this girl was beautiful for some subtle
cause, perhaps just to gain an audience for her;--then, as he saw the
spots upon her face, he recoiled and a horrible thought came. Had she
some loathsome disease and been sent to him that he might--He started,
his blood boiling with indignation. "Treason," he cried in his heart,
and before the maid had arisen from her knees, he called for her
dismissal. She was taken precipitately from the King's presence before
she had time to open her mouth.
The King was greatly wrought upon, giving Monmouth the blame. The
matter must be sifted. He would write an order for his son's arrest,
and--yes, the woman must be taken also.
Sir Julian saw it all in Katherine's disappointed and half-angry face,
but without giving her time to relate her grievances, rushed her to
the coach, putting her into it with very little ceremony. They were
fairly flying from the Palace, turning from the sight of a young fop
as he came at full gallop through the throng that crowded near the
Royal House.
The youth made known his desire to see the King, saying the matter was
an imperative one. Even as he spoke, his Majesty came from within and
heard the breathless request.
"What now, my pretty rogue; what is thy wish?"
"May I speak with thee apart?" said the lad, as he knelt and kissed
the King's hand. "'Tis something of import--a trick is about to be
played upon thee." The King took alarm.
"We are about to start forth, my lad. Come, thou mayest walk by our
side, and if thy speech is as neat and comely as thy body, 'tis
possible ere we reach the end of yonder corridor thy tongue will have
won for thee the Royal favour." The King leant upon Constance as they
swaggered along down the passage.
"May I be so bold as to inquire of your Majesty if there has not come
to thee a woman with swart marks upon her face and a hump on her back,
preferring a petition for thy signature to some lands now held by the
Catholics?" The King started and looked now with great interest upon
the girlish fop, and speaking slowly as he answered,--
"Why, yes; she hath come and gone. What of her?"
"She hath played foully upon her King. I would give, Sire, half my
life to have seen your Majesty compel her to wash the painted spots
from her face and take from her shoulder the false hump, and she--"
"Ah! ah!" came from the thoroughly awaked King.
"--is the greatest beauty in England." For the first time Constance
gave Katherine her dues.
"Dost thou speak truth, lad?"
"I fear my King too much to speak otherwise, unless, indeed, it were
to save his life."
"Then--" said the King, with flashing eyes.--"We shall have her back;
we'll send for her at once; and, my pretty lad, thou shalt remain here
to see the fun, with your King. 'Twill be rare sport, eh?" He gave
Constance so sound a smack upon the shoulder, it came near to knocking
her flat. It brought the tears and made her bite her tongue. The King
fairly roared with laughter.
Buckingham heard the King's order to recall the woman. He also knew
the King's informant, and for reasons of his own sent straightway one
to intercept his Majesty's messenger.
Lady Constance, believing that Sir Julian, with Katherine, would
return to Tabard Inn, mentioned it. This, of course, allowing they
followed Constance' suggestion, gave Sir Julian a good start and
Buckingham's messengers time to reach their several destinations.
The night had come with even greater heat than the day. The sultry
gloaming foretold a near-by storm. Clouds were brewing fast and thick,
with ominous mutterings. Already every inch of blue sky was overcast
with a blackness that was heavy and lowering. Occasionally the sullen
thunder was prefaced by a jaundiced light that swathed the skies from
end to end. The coach bearing Katherine and Janet left the causeway
and entered a thick forest. The great trees seemed even larger; their
silence becoming portentous. There was not a breath of air. Katherine
fanned herself with Janet's hat, but hardly did her efforts create a
breeze large enough to move the threads of hair that waved above her
forehead.
They had proceeded but a short way into the forest when the postilion
got down to light the lamps.
Sir Julian rode close to the window and spoke of the approaching
storm. The stillness was ominous; there being no sound save the plash
of a muskrat as he skurried through a dismal, dark pool near by.
Katherine jumped at the noise and her small hand grasped the arm of
Sir Julian, as it lay across the ledge of the window. She gave a
little gasp--just enough to touch Sir Julian tenderly.
"'Tis nothing but a lusty genet, my dear," and his hand closed over
hers for a moment. There was something about that touch that thrilled
them both; he leant farther toward her as another flash came through
the trees and was sure he saw a flush upon her face. The lights from
the lanterns flashed up, then--stood silent and unmoved, the boy's
breath who stood over them was swallowed in the hot air. Then the
coach began to move and at the same time the giant trees stirred in
a peculiar way. They, like a vast army, bent low with a sound as of
heavy artillery rumbling over a bridge that covered vacuous depths.
Then they began a deafening noise, their branches sweeping hard
against the coach windows.
Katherine lay back languidly against the cushions, still trembling
from the gentle pressure of Sir Julian's hand. For a moment only she
enjoyed this sweet dissipation, then turned from it as if duty called
her to think of her visit to the King. She consoled herself that she
had done all she could now. When she reached Crandlemar, she should
be better able to collect her thoughts and see what would be the next
best thing to do. She longed to see Lord Cedric and the Duke and
Duchess. She even fell to imagining how the grand, old place would
look in midsummer. It seemed like she had been gone months. Would
Cedric be changed, she wondered? Would he be pale and fragile looking?
So great was Sir Julian's haste, and so great was the heat, the horses
were soon exhausted and began to lag. Sir Julian thought they were
near an inn, as it soon proved. He flung open the door and almost
lifted Katherine from the coach, so great was his haste. Supper
was awaiting them and Katherine for the moment alone, near an
open window,--the room appeared close to suffocation with humid
heat--waited for Sir Julian to take his seat at her side. Janet was
arranging a posset. Suddenly Katherine heard a soft voice behind her;
it was low and intense. Hardly could she distinguish it from the
soughing of the wind in the trees. She half-turned her head to listen
as Sir Julian came toward her. But she caught the words:
"Abbé ---- will be in the coach upon thy return. Enjoin silence upon
thy nurse and be not afraid."
She thought Sir Julian looked at her suspiciously; but was quite sure
he had not seen or heard the person behind her.
Janet, while in the coach had bathed the maid's face and taken from
her the garb of disguise, and Katherine now looked her sweet self
again, flushed and thoughtful over this new adventure. She was most
like her father, ever looking for new fields to conquer. Sir Julian
asked her if she would be frightened at a severe storm. She answered
it made her somewhat nervous to be abroad.
"Then I will ride inside with thee--"
"Nay, I could not think of allowing thee. The air is too oppressive."
Sir Julian insisted, but to no avail. As they were about to leave the
inn, Katherine whispered to Janet that an Abbé would be in the coach
and enjoined silence and deaf ears.
"I did not catch his name, but I'm quite sure his voice rung like Abbé
La Fosse's. They have doubtless heard I am on my way to the castle,
and, knowing 'twould be impossible to see me there, they have taken
this way, being impatient to know how fell my suit with the King."
Janet for once had no answering word, but uttered a groan of seeming
dissent and followed her mistress, who leant upon Sir Julian's arm.
The dim light cast from the lanterns was well-nigh swallowed up in the
intense gloom. The rain was already falling rapidly and Sir Julian
opined that it was a hopeful sign, as it presaged no sudden gust that
would tear things to pieces. The door of the coach slammed to and the
horses started at gallop through the windy forest. Mistress Penwick,
now for the first time alone, that is without the surveillance of
Cantemir or Eustis, with a beloved Father of her church, flung herself
upon her knees at his side, saying:
"Beloved Father, my visit to the King was fruitless; he received me
most coldly." The Abbé lifted her from her knees as she spoke, placing
her beside him. Her face was close to his, for the noise of the
horses' hoofs and the rattling of spurs and bits and the ever-rumbling
thunder made speech difficult. His face turned toward her was hid
in the shadow of his cowl, and he drew the hood even closer as he
answered,--
"We feared it, mightily," and his voice was barely heard above the
noise.
"But it grieves me more than I can tell."
"Nay. Thou must not let it."
"But it does, I cannot help it; and I see also thy disappointment, for
thy hands tremble."
"We have had much to unnerve us, and I am still under restraint."
"I would thou hadst sent a better _embassage_!"
"We could not have found a fairer." At these words Mistress Penwick
shrunk from him, remembering her disguise; which, though it was a
custom of the time for one to go masqued when and where they pleased,
upon whatsoever mission, yet she felt guilty to positive wickedness
for having so cloaked her beauty, and did not the Father's words imply
that her charms should have won success? For a moment she remained
silent. A flash of lightning fell broad through the open window. She
quickly glanced at Janet, who appeared to be asleep in her corner.
Katherine bent her face close to the Abbé's and whispered,--
"Father, might I not here make my confessions? I would have come to
thee at the monastery if it had been possible. The confessional has
not been open to me since I left the convent, and I feel I must
confess. I must now; for I know not when I shall be able again to have
converse with a priest. May I, Father?"
"'Tis a noisome, stormy night and thy nurse there--"
"I will speak low, beside I care not if she does hear that that
doth concern myself; for, indeed she understands me better than I
understand myself. Then I may speak, Father?"
"I will hear that I deem needful for the peace of thy soul; if
perchance thy soul be wrought upon unhappily; and for sins innocently
done I absolve thee already." Mistress Penwick half knelt by the
cowled figure and placed her elbows upon his knees, and after saying
the prayers of contrition leant her face close to his.
"I have been guilty of what I believe to be a very great sin. Father,
I disguised myself to go before the King!" She trembled and bent her
head. The priest's voice was calm and unperturbed.
"And why didst thou that?"
"I heard 'twas an unsafe thing for a maid boasting of some fairness to
visit the King."
"Why so?"
"I have heard he keeps them for his own pleasure, allowing not their
return."
"And didst thou think we would have let thee go to him, had it not
been safe?"
"But I thought, good Father, living as closely as thou dost, thou
didst not know of the matters of the world, and I ventured to use my
own judgment, meaning no harm. But I will go to him unmasqued if thou
dost appoint it so. I intend to do so. Shall I not?"
"Nay, thou hast done all and more than is expected of thee."
"How, more?"
"'Twas brave to go at all after hearing of his Majesty's demeanour."
"But I was not very much afraid; indeed, I became very calm as I
entered his presence."
"If I understand, thou wert ambitious to become a Maid of Honour."
"At one time, but having better acquaintance with the Court, I feel my
ardour has cooled."
"We have gone somewhat astray, my child. We will finish thy
confessions for I soon must leave thee. Indeed, if this is the weighty
part of thy sins, there is no need to confess any more."
"One thing I am particularly anxious to inquire of thee. Since love
comes and we cannot help it, 'twould be wrong not to give it place?"
"If the love is love and not masquerading passion, and it comes from
one who is not altogether unworthy of thee?"
"Indeed, he is most worthy, barring his religion, which is Protestant.
I would have advice upon this matter, for I believe the love is
mutual."
"My child, if his heart is good and true, and thou lovest him, and he
thee, the manner of worshipping God should not be of question, since
one shows his love one way and another another. The common scullion,
who, from year's end to year's end sees not inside the holy sanctuary,
may carry in his heart the divine image of God and pay him homage
every breath he draws; while he who walks in sacred robes and abides
ever in the shadow of the cross, taking part in all the forms, pomps,
vanities and varied monotony, may have Satan within him and breathes
out flames of hell as he intones. We can in all things beside religion
discern punctilio. There is no sect that has the control of the Holy
Spirit; it is the exclusive property of the individual who gains the
right and title of it by the keeping of the ten commandments. So, if
thou art sure thou dost love the youth, and art most sure he loves
thee sincerely, then--"
"Then, indeed, I am most happy; for I am sure he is noble and good
and--loves me."
"When didst thou learn that he loved thee; for if I mistake not, thou
wert recently bent upon marrying one Adrian Cantemir, who, I must
declare, is altogether unworthy of a maid who doth possess such
virtue."
"I have learned to since--since--I can't tell when--I knew I loved
him--yesterday--the day before. I know it now. I tremble when I think
of how well I love him. I have been so uncertain, Father. I thought I
loved this one, and then another, and for a time I was not sure I knew
what love was. Then it came to me on a sudden that I would rather die
than live all my life without the one I so desired. And yesterday I
knew of a certainty that I loved and that I was loved."
"Yesterday?"--and the priest winced, and there was pain in the tone of
his voice as he uttered the word.
"Aye, yesterday--I was thinking. I thought of his kindness to me--of
the deference he has shown me, of his great patience toward me; and I
saw how well he loved me."
"Was it the King's son, my child?"
"Nay, one not nearly so gentle as the Duke. He is more noble at heart
and hath a most noble name. He hath a handsome countenance, more
even than the Duke's, and Janet says he hath the finest mould in all
England. Indeed, I do not know so much about such things, but I am
sure his hands are near as small as mine, but with a grasp like iron.
He is wonderfully strong and hath an awful stamp when in rage, and his
temper is most violent and bad, and his tongue is vicious;--indeed,
Father, I know not what to do with his oaths. They frighten me."
"Perhaps if thou shouldst go to him and ask in all gentleness, he
would leave off blasphemy."
"But I have no influence with him. When anger takes him, he is
terrible."
"Then I'm afraid he does not love thee."
"Aye, he loves me; but wants his own way, and--to be sure, I love him
quite as well when he does have his way--which is not often. Janet
says I provoke him to swear." Again the priest started and his white
hands trembled suspiciously.
"And how dost thou so provoke him, child?"
"He would marry me straightway and give me not time to know whether I
wanted him or not, and I refused and he fell into an awful fury and
swore oaths and I could not stop him,--Father, I said I hated him, and
now he so believes, and I would have him think otherwise; yet I would
not tell him for the world. When I meet him, it shall be--with cold
looks."
"Then how is he to know thy mind?"
"I know not." Katherine shook her head dolefully.
"Then when he greets thee, why not smile at him and look thy
feelings?"
"I know not, only 'tis my way. I shall love to hear him plead again. I
hated to hear it once; but now--'twill be like music."
"What if he is cold to thee?"
"If he is cold, I will go to him and ask him to forgive me for what I
have done."
"Then thou art culpable?"
"Aye, I fear I am, for he now suffers for my fault, or rather for his
love of me."
"But if he greets thee with all love and holds out his arms to thee?"
"Then I shall be most happy, but shall act indifferently."
"I am afraid thou dost treat a serious matter lightly; for 'tis a
fickle thing; if he meets thee with open arms, thou wilt be cruel;
if he greets thee coldly, thou wilt be indifferent--for fear of thy
maiden scruples. What if he takes thee unawares?"
"How, unawares?"
"He might trick thee into a thing thou couldst not recede from. If
thou didst find thyself so placed, wouldst thou forgive him and love
him just the same?"
"I must always love him, no matter what trick he plays;--but he will
play me no trick. If he should again threaten to lock me up, as he has
done heretofore, I would go to him and say,--'Nay, I will marry thee
now, Cedric!'"
"God, Kate! Kate!" And the priest threw his arms about her, almost
crushing her in his great embrace. The cowl slipt from his head and
his dark curls swept her face as he bent over her. Instantly she knew
him and straightway fell into a rage.
"Thou, thou, Lord Cedric, dare to receive confession from one whose
life thou hast no part in. Dost thou know the penalty of such
wickedness? All evil will be visited upon thee for playing the part of
a holy priest. Indeed, of all the sins I had deemed thee capable, I
had ne'er thought of one so wicked as this!" She fell back in
the corner of the coach in such fury, she could not find further
utterance.
CHAPTER XX
UNPROCLAIMED BANNS
"Indeed, Mistress Penwick, I asked not for thy confessions. But now
that I have heard them, 'tis my meed to be punished by thy sharp
tongue for that I could not help. Come, Sweet, forgive and love me.
Have I not suffered enough?"
"Lambkin, I am out of all humour with thee. Thou art half a termagant,
I admit!"
"And thou, too, wert privy to this deception. I am truly without
friends!" and the maid began to weep softly behind her handkerchief.
Lord Cedric was beside himself with his folly.
"If I only could have withstood thee; but how could I with thy tender
words and thy closeness--"
"There is nothing accomplished but mistakes!" Janet ventured, being
impatient with both Cedric and Kate.
"--Kate!--Kate! dost not thou know how I have longed for thee; how my
heart has ached in thine absence? Those two whole days I lay abed were
like so many years, and when I thought of thy danger, I fell into a
fever and I arose and leapt upon the fleetest steed and rode until my
fever cooled; and then--when I had thee once more, I could not keep
from thee longer; I resolved upon this plan that I might be with thee,
and ride by thy side. And thou dost murder me outright. Thou dost kill
me, Kate! I was a fool to undertake it, I know; but I thought of two
whole days I should be separated from thee and felt I could not bear
to wait. Thy words, Kate, were so sweet. Kate, come to me once more
and see how loving I can be. Let me dry thy tears,--let thy head rest
here upon my heart and close thine eyes and dream--dream, Kate, of
what we must be to each other, and then wake and find me bending over
thee. Come, Sweet, come!" He sought her elusive fingers and tried to
draw her to him with a tenderness she could hardly withstand; but she
would not unbend, drawing from him, sinking further into the corner.
"And did Sir Julian know of this ruse of thine?" she asked, haughtily.
"Janet, methinks the maid speaks with thee!"
"What is it, Lambkin? I was not listening."
"I will wait until the storm ceases, perhaps thou wilt find thy
hearing by then." There was a long silence within the coach. The tears
of Mistress Penwick were dried and she sat sullen, deliberately trying
to hate Lord Cedric. There came a sudden burst of thunder that turned
the tide of her thoughts from him to Sir Julian, who rode by her
window constantly. At every flash of lightning she saw his spurs
glisten, saw the foam fly from the bits of his horse's bridle. He rode
there in the storm, heedless of all but her safety and comfort, he
that had wounds on his body that spake of great deeds of nobleness and
valour! Why should he care for her so? Like a flood he swept into
her heart, and she accepted his presence with gladness--shutting out
Cedric as well as she was able. She inclined her head toward the
window and watched the handsome figure of Sir Julian with a new
interest. His form, so like that of Cedric, she began to compare with
ancient warriors she had read about and seen pictures of,--then his
tender and meaning hand pressure recurred to her, and she flushed
mightily. After awhile she fell to thinking of the Duke of Monmouth,
the tender thoughts of whom she had not yet resigned,--such were the
vacillations of the mind of strong, warm, youthful Mistress Penwick.
The storm grew furious, and the wind blew such a gale it appeared at
times as if the trees swept the earth. They bended and swung rudely,
brushing hard against the windows. In the midst of its severity the
coach came to a stand-still and Lord Cedric threw open the door. Janet
leant quickly toward him,--
"I pray thee not to go forth in the storm, my lord; 'tis enough to
give thee thy death."
"Nay, nay, Janet, 'twill not be summer rain that will kill me, but
cold looks and threatening mien." And he stepped out into the night.
"What, Lambkin, if Lord Cedric should catch cold and die? 'Twould kill
thee, too; for remorse would give thee no rest."
"I never so disliked him as I do now. I never want to see him again.
How shall I look him in the face after confessing such things? I shall
die of shame. That is all he wanted to hear me say, and--he heard
it--and that is all the benefit he will get." Again she fell to
weeping, finding she could wring no sympathy from Janet, who sat
coldly listening to her nursling's plaints.
They reached Crandlemar late the second evening, tired and weary. The
Duchess of Ellswold greeted them with a happy countenance, so pleased
that she could make known to them that her lord was better and the
physicians had given permission to remove him to his own county seat.
Her greeting to Katherine in particular was evidently a forced one;
she feeling sorely distressed at her capricious nature.
Never did the great old seat look so beautiful as it did in its
midsummer glory. Mistress Penwick had arisen early and walked out upon
the rich greensward. She wandered from place to place, enjoying the
gorgeous fullness of leaf and bloom. She felt a strange disquiet, a
longing for love and knowing not the meaning of her unrest vainly
tried to find comfort in the beauty of the outer world, that only
inclined her heart the more to its desire. She passed from flower to
flower, endeavouring to 'suage the uprisings of Cupid. Suddenly she
heard the organ peal forth, and straightway she entered the library
to hear those great, soothing chords the better. She, being shaken by
love, fell upon her knees and tried to pray for comfort, for she felt
at the moment she had not one to comfort her. Janet had been taciturn,
showing not her affection as had been her wont heretofore. The tears
came, and she wept aloud. Then the organ ceased and a moment later Sir
Julian stood upon the landing of the stairway, looking down upon her.
Without noise he descended and stood by her side. His voice, when he
spoke, appeared shaken as if a storm of love wrought upon it.
"Katherine! It pains me to see thee thus. Can I not give thee some bit
of comfort?"
"I am comforted already, Sir Julian; thy music did that."
"Then why dost still remain with bowed head and thy sobs unassuaged?"
"I do not know. I must either laugh or cry and--'tis easier to do the
latter."
"Come! Mistress Penwick, what can I do for thee? Ask, I pray,
anything, for thy happiness--Katherine--" and for the first time in
his life he looked guiltily about him. But no one was near to hear
him, and he continued lowly--"thou dost know, surely, that man cannot
look on thee without loving?" and he raised her from her knees.
"I am unloved," she answered, the social lie tinging her cheek to a
brighter hue.
"Not so, for I love thee."
"Thou, thou, Sir Julian, who art used to spurning woman's heart?"
"Not spurn, nay! I have not found one yet I could do that to, and on
the other hand I have found but one I could love, and--that is thine."
"Ah, Sir Julian. I wonder if thou dost love me. 'Tis a great thing to
be loved by one who has fought in great battles."
"And thou dost not know that the battle of hearts is much deadlier
than that of arms?"
"I do not know; but thou seemest like a warrior of olden time. And for
thee to love me!"
"Is it enough? Wilt thou give thyself to me?" There was a silence so
long and unbroken Katherine was made to realize that her reply was
not to be lightly uttered, so she answered with all the strength of a
plaything of caprice,--
"If thou wilt have it so, Sir Julian, I will be thine."
She had hardly finished, when he laid his lips, to her astonishment,
coldly and with formal grace upon her forehead.
"I will not ask thee if thou lovest me, but will say instead dost
think thou mayest?"
"But I think I love thee now--"
"Nay, sweet Mistress, thou dost not--" A look of fear came into her
eyes. Had Lord Cedric told her confessions? Nay, nay! he would not,
she knew.
"How dost come by so much knowledge?" she said, coquettishly.
"I have ascertained by subtleness, but--let it pass. Let us talk of
thee now. When wilt thou marry me? If thou art kind, thou wilt say at
once."
"Nay, I shall not say that--but--whenever thou dost wish it."
"Of a surety? When I name the hour, wilt thou not gainsay?"
"Nay, my lord. I will not gainsay."
"Then--at eleven, Katherine." She caught her breath quickly and cried
forth,--
"This day, Sir Julian! Indeed, thou art in haste, I--I--"
"Thou hast given thy word. At eleven, Katherine."
"By sands or dial?"
"Ah, sweet Katherine, both shall have a bridal favour. We will confer
with each. When the golden sand runs out at the eleventh hour, the
dial will be alone and in shadow; for if it please thee, we must be
wed secretly and in haste. I noticed but awhile ago how beautiful the
dial was. So the sands shall give us the hour, the dial the altar, and
the nightingale the nuptial mass."
"But the priest, Sir Julian--"
"He shall give us the blessing--"
"Nay, nay; where wilt thou find a priest?" This was not an unexpected
question, and Sir Julian was ready for it.
"Lord Cedric's Chaplain can wed us as securely as one of thy church,
and as there is no one else, he will serve, will he not, Katherine?"
"Until we find a better."
"Then, not to arouse suspicion, to-night at eleven thou wilt come to
the sun-dial and I will meet thee at the foot of the stair that leads
from thy chamber to the terrace, and then--'twill be soon over and
thou, thou, Katherine, will be--wife. Wilt not regret it,--art sure?"
he repeated as she shook her head negatively.
"But why do all men appear in such haste to wed? I would have time to
at least think upon it."
"Dost forget that at any moment may come a courier from the King to
recall thee; and if so, thou wouldst be obliged to go and be separated
from us, perhaps forever? Thou dost not know what may befall thee
at any moment. Thou dost belong to France, and art hostage to
England--thou wilt be ready at eleven?"
"Aye, at eleven."
"We will be cautious and not speak above a whisper. The Chaplain will
speak low, too; but he is a good soul and would make us fast wed
whether we heard him or not." Again he kissed her forehead; she turned
rose-red and ran from him hastily. She thought not once of Cedric. Had
she done so, 'tis possible she never would have gone to the dial that
summer night. She flew to her chamber aflame with this new thing she
thought was love. And felt relief that soon Sir Julian, the strong and
brave, would take away all her discomfort. He would fight her battles
for her, go with her to the King and stand by her side and his Majesty
would not dare to offer her insult. It would be a sweet task to
convert Sir Julian to her faith. He would became a great Catholic
leader. Her breast fairly swelled with pride in anticipation.
CHAPTER XXI
THE ESPOUSAL
Night had come richly laden with the perfume of many flowers, that the
darkness seemed to make more pungent, and more distinct to the ear
the night sounds. There was no moon, and the thick foliage produced a
deep, dark density, mysterious and sweet. The grand terraces about the
castle were still, save for the buzz of summer insects and the low,
sleepy twittering of birds. There was not a star to be seen and only
the glow-worm lent an occasional lilliputian effulgence to the great,
dark world. All within the castle appeared to have retired earlier
than usual; perhaps for the purpose of an earlier awakening, as their
Graces of Ellswold were to set out early on the morrow morning, aiming
to make some great distance on their journey before the heat of
midday. At a quarter after the hour of ten Janet had kissed her
mistress, leaning over her pillow with even more affection than usual.
"Good-night, my Lambkin, my child, my precious maid--good-night and
God bless thee!" then snuffed the candles and left her.
Katherine gave no thought to regret, indeed she went so far as to
smile at Janet's consternation, when she should find out that for
once her "Lambkin" had fooled her. Quickly she leapt from her bed and
dressed herself for the first time alone. Though her fingers were deft
and skillful at the tapestry frame, and neat and clever at limning,
they were slow and bungling when drawing together the laces of her
girdle, indeed 'twas very insecurely done, and when she was dressed
she had forgotten her stays, and but for the lateness of the hour
would have disrobed and donned them. It seemed like an endless task to
try and dress again by the poor light of the single candle, screened
by her best sunshade in the far corner of the room. She had donned
a pale, shimmering brocade. About her neck she twined her mother's
pearls, and took up the opal shoulder knot of Cedric's mother's and
was about to fasten it when some subtle thought stole the desire from
her, and she laid it back in the casket with a sigh. Instead, she
placed a bunch of jasmine as her shoulder-brooch, and extinguishing
the light went forth to meet her husband by the sun-dial.
She passed out by the door that led on to a small balcony and a-down
the flight of outside stairs that were covered with vines in purple
bloom. Although the darkness was almost impenetrable, she could
distinguish a form waiting at the foot of the stair. For an instant
she paused and whispered timourously,--
"Who art thou?"
"Julian," came as softly back, and a white hand was stretched out to
her. Down she flew, intrepid.
"Would I send another to meet thee; didst thou think to turn back, my
Katherine?"
"Nay, I should not have turned back; but 'twas assuring to hear thy
name. I am not afraid, yet--yet I tremble."
"And 'tis sweet of thee so to do; 'tis maidenly that thou shouldst;
'tis the way of woman. Thou art not afraid, yet thou dost tremble;
thou dost try to be brave, yet thou must be assured, and I am here by
thy side to assure thee ever," he whispered in her ear.
Down they swept across the upper terrace. Slowly they crossed the
greensward, with fairy-like light of firefly to illumine the way;
speaking as lovers will, with bated breath. The wind blew gently now
and again, casting a shower of petals upon them as they passed. When
the leaves shone white, the cavalier would say:
"We are so blessed, nature herself doth sprinkle the bridal path with
flowers;"--or, when there fell a darksome shower, Katherine would
press close to her lover's side and say,--
"Indeed, Julian, these are petals from those blood-red roses that have
hung in such profusion all summer. It may have some significance. I
believe I must return; 'tis not too late to recede."
Then the cavalier drew her closer than before, and so tenderly did
plead with her, she forgot her fears. So step by step they neared the
thicket where stood the ancient sun-dial that was well-nigh hid with
bridal roses.
The Chaplain stood ready; his fragile, pale countenance, hid by the
darkness. There was no faltering now. Katherine did not think to turn
back; that her heart was not with Sir Julian, that she would ever
regret this greatest moment in her life, but stood resolute.
The Chaplain began the ceremony at once, and so softly one could
scarcely hear a yard away. Katherine was agitated with the thought
that she was really being wedded, and hardly heeded when the Chaplain
raised or lowered his voice; appearing almost like one in a dream, so
blinded was she with the glamour of her new estate.
At last the Chaplain said the final words, pronouncing the twain as
one, and gave his blessing in a somewhat stronger voice that carried
in it a note of triumph, and was about to step down from the pedestal
of the dial when there flew out from the darkness a young man with
drawn sword, who dashed immediately upon the young husband. Barely had
the cavalier time to draw aside his wife, and drawing his sword as he
did so, when his _de trop_ guest made a fierce attack upon him. The
young husband cried out as he met the thrust,--
"Nay, nay, nay, by God nay!" It appeared his antagonist was becalmed
of speech, for he answered not but struggled to do so. Failing to find
his voice, however, he gave a lunge, which was met by a parry that
made him mad, and for a moment ground his teeth as fiercely as he
wielded his sword. The young cavalier threw himself on guard in carte,
which sent his opponent to giving such thrusts that quickly betrayed
his lack of skill and also his deadly intentions. These were met by
quick parries. Then the mad antagonist made a sweeping bend and thrust
at the cavalier's heart. This was met with a disengage. The mad youth,
well spent with anger and want of breath, broke out pantingly,--
"Thou wouldst play the honourable as thou playest the part of Sir
Ju--" His last word was cut short by a quick thrust of steel that
felled him to the sward. Mistress Katherine stood as if frozen, her
hands held tightly in those of the Chaplain, who whispered that it
might cost her husband his life should she interfere. He also assured
her, saying that the adversary was no swordsman, as she herself soon
saw. Some one came running from the castle at the same time Katherine
knelt beside the fallen man. But her husband whispered quickly,--
"Nay, nay; arise, Sweet; he is unworthy thy solicitude. Come with me.
I gave him but a puny thrust. The Chaplain will look after him." He
put his arm about her and raised her up and drew her away, saying,
much out of breath,--"I must not be seen, dost know?" She took fright,
fearing her lord's danger. Quickly they traversed the terrace and
reached the stair leading to Katherine's chamber. As she laid her hand
upon the railing, she said timourously,--"I would hear how serious is
the wound before I go inside!"
"But, Katherine," he whispered, "'twas no more than the prick of a
pin; beside, dost not thou have anxiety for thy lover's freedom; hast
forgotten our lord's temper when he finds I have so disgraced his
house by fighting 'neath the very windows? And if the fellow can talk
and tells of the marriage, why, I'm undone, and they will begin a
search." All the while he led her further up the stair, she unwitting,
until they stood fairly inside the threshold and his foot struck
against some obstacle.
"Sh-sh!" she enjoined, "Janet is within yonder room and will hear
thee; she may already be awake and prying about to know what is astir
upon the terrace!"
"Indeed, I think thou hadst better hide me!"
"Nay, I cannot; I know of no place. Dost thou not know of a safe
hiding?"
"I am safest here in thy chamber, I am sure. I know of no other place.
And if Janet come--which I hardly think possible--thou must fly to her
lighted taper and blow it out, and tell some sweet fib,--say the light
pains thine eyes."
"A ruse holds not good with Janet. I cannot play upon her wit."
"Then, Sweet, I will lock the door and--"
"Nay, nay, she will hear thee, and will come to see if I have been
awakened."
"Then I had best keep quiet and wait to see what will happen."
"There is naught else for thee to do, for surely thou canst not go
below, thou wouldst be seen, and--"
"--and, what, Sweet?"
"--and be taken prisoner."
"And wouldst thou be pained, Sweet?" He drew her close, his dark curls
swept her face as he bent his head. Nor did he wait for an answer, but
plied her with another question that the moment and the closeness gave
license to. "Wilt give, Sweet, the nuptial kiss--'tis my due?" She
raised her head from his shoulder ever so slightly to answer him, but
the words came not, for his lips were upon hers. She was thrilled with
his tenderness; 'twas more than she ever could have thought. And as
he held her close, she, not unwilling, declared separation would be
instant death. She wondered how she ever could have withstood love so
long. And he kissed her again and again, saying heaven could not offer
greater favour. "Dost feel happy now, Sweet?"
She answered not, but stood, her head leant against the rare and
scented lace of his steenkirk, held captive, trembling with an ecstasy
too sweet to be accounted for.
"Thou dost tremble, Kate; has thy fear not left thee yet?"
"Nay," came soft and breathless from her full red lips. "I am still
afraid."
"But what dost thou fear now, so close wrapped?"
"I know not; 'tis a strange fear. If thou shouldst be taken from me,
I should die; 'tis this I fear most of all, and even for a
separation--nay, nay, I could not live."
"Oh, Sweet, 'tis excess of gladness that thou art wife--wife, the word
alone fills me with rapturous exaltation. Wouldst be glad if we had
never met thus, should separation come?"
"Nay, a thousand times, nay, these moments are worth more than all my
life heretofore."
"Hast forgotten, I must leave the castle before very long, and an
_adieu_ must be said to thee?"
"I have not forgotten, but 'twill only be for a day. 'Twould be
hazardous for thee to go until everything is quiet about."
"And until I have quieted thy fears; until I have told thee of a
strong man's love--my love for thy glorious, youthful beauty. Thy
hair, Kate, is more precious than all the amber and bronze the world
holds; 'tis rich, soft and heavy, with glorious waves. Thy face so
filled with love's blushes warms my breast where it doth lie. The
glory of thy eyes that are ever submerging me in their azure depths.
Thy slender, white neck and graceful sloping shoulders. Indeed, Sweet,
thou art wonderfully made. There could not be a more perfect being.
And thou art mine, Sweet; 'tis a wonder that rough man could be so
blest. Thou dost often feign coldness, Kate, and now I wonder where
thou didst find such condition. 'Twas most unnatural, and how thou
couldst so well assume it--but I have found thy true heart. Sweet
Kate, thou hast at last fallen victim to Cupid's darts, and fortune
hath played me fair and put me in the way to receive such priceless
gift, whose dividends are to be all my own." His warm words came so
fast and he was so passionate and tender that Katherine took fright
and thought 'twas not like Sir Julian to be so, and yet to have him
otherwise? nay, she loved him thus, and she remembered the moment he
had pressed her hand as they rode through the forest; aye, he could be
as loving and tender as--as--She did not finish the thought, for her
lord's jewelled fingers had caught her hand and his arm held her
close, pressing her tenderly; his lips resting upon hers until she
grew faint with his ardour.
At last night paled into dawn. The cocks began to crow lustily. About
the edges of the great windows in the chamber the light began to peep
as if loath to cast one disturbing glance athwart the room. There was
a fluttering sigh from the folds of the maiden's handkerchief as her
lover bent over her, saying,--
"_Adieu_, Sweet, _adieu_ once more. Let me kiss thy eyelids close
until they pent these tears that parting hath wrung from thee, and
yet, were they not, I would be without weapon, void of panoply,
equipped not--"
"But thy urgent tongue and tenderness doth armour thee for conquest!"
"Aye, 'tis love's armour; but thy tears make me strong to enter strife
with men. I know 'tis love drives thee, and when that love is for me,
I can win all battles."
"Thou must haste before dawn, or thou wilt be taken; for we do not
know whether the young man still lives; and Lord Cedric will kill thee
if he can."
"There is no doubt but what he lives. His Grace's physicians have no
doubt healed the burden of his pain long ago. But do not thou think of
him, think only of this sweet night and--dream of our meeting again.
And if his lordship keeps thee prisoner, tell Janet thou art fast wed
and she will help thee to our _rendezvous_ to-morrow. Pray, Sweet,
that the day may be short, for now I see only cycles of time until the
set of morrow's sun."
Dawn broke into a new day. Sunshine bathed old Earth in golden
splendour. The day grew warm, as higher and higher leapt Phoebus,
until he rested high and hot upon Zenith's bosom, causing all mankind
to pant by his excess.
Slowly Katherine raised her lazy eyelids until the shining blue
beneath lay in quivering uncertainty. She smiled up at Janet, saying,
sleepily,--
"I've a notion not to arise to-day. 'Twill be long and wearisome, and
hot. What is the use? There is nothing in the world to get up for!"
"Indeed there is a very great deal to get up for. 'Tis a glorious day.
The gardens are aglow with beauty and the air is fine, though warm."
"I know, Janet, and 'tis thy desire that I arise, but the castle seems
most empty. Their Graces have departed and--"
"Nay, not so. There has been a great change in the Duke, and the
physicians will not allow his leaving his couch."
"Ah, I'm sorry! What time did this change take place?" said Katherine
with a feeling of subtleness that for once she had tricked Janet and
knew of great things that had happened in the deep night, when her
faithful nurse thought her in dreamland.
"Her Grace says there was a great change in him yesterday, that she
noticed it as he ate his dinner."
"And was there no change in the night?" said Katherine sagely.
"Speak out, Lambkin, that 'tis on thy mind--if thou dost mean, was he
disturbed when the castle was aroused?--why, no, he was not."
"But how didst thou know there was an arousal?"
"I did play the simpering bride's maid, and stood for witness to thine
espousal."
"Ah! ah! ah! Janet, I can keep no secret from thee!" Quickly she
sprang to the floor. Her foot struck her lover's sword. She stooped
and raised it, and there flashed forth from the jewel encrusted handle
the noble armourial bearings, charged upon a gold escutcheon, of Lord
Cedric's house. Wonderingly, she examined it and swept her brow with
the back of her slender hand. Slowly she spoke, and in a voice vibrant
with portent, her eyes now wide open.
"This--this doth trend to set my brain a-whirl, and doth connive to
part sense from understanding and mind from body. To be sure, 'twas
dark,--and allowing that I was well-nigh intoxicated with love--my
brain could truly swear 'twas Sir Julian; and yet this he flung aside
doth confute reason, and I must either ponder upon the this and that
in endeavouring to conjoin mental and physical forces to sweet amity
or give over that reaching wife's estate hath made of me a sordid
fool, as hath it oft made woman heretofore. My senses up until I met
one of two at the foot of the stair, I could make affidavit on. The
mould of either could well trick the other, providing their heads were
as muddled as mine, and in this matter I am also clear. 'Twas meet
to speak lowly and the voice was not betrayed. But--there was some
restraint at first; for his words came slow and with much flaunting of
French--indeed 'twas overdone.--And the duel--ah! ah!--'twas Cedric's
'Nay, nay, nay!--' with an oath that had no note of Sir Julian in it.
And hard he strove not to fight, nor did he until the other cried out
to him--I see it all plainly; 'twas Cedric, 'twas Cedric! If I could
mistake all else, I could not mistake his passion; 'twas: 'Kate' this,
and 'Kate' that. Sir Julian never called me else than Katherine. And
his words were over plain, and in truth they became not so slow and
studied, and there was a leaving off of French. 'Twas he! Ah! and he
was so sweet and gentle and near drowned me by his tenderness--'twas
such sweet love--" Quickly she hid her blushing face in the pillow,
for she forgot she was speaking aloud.
"Hast thou then married mind to body? If thou hast them well mated and
art sure thou art through espousing, I will straightway wed thee to
thy clothes, that thou mayest first pay thy respects to their Graces,
then go out into the sunshine and walk thee up and down for the half
of an hour, where, 'tis most like thou wilt find thy lord, who is too
impatient to remain indoors."
"Nay, I shall not see him!"
"Tut, Lambkin! thou wouldst not play the shrew to so noble a lord,
that soon, no doubt, will be a great Duke?"
"He hath tricked and deceived me. I will punish him for it. Nay; I
have no mind to see him. I could not bear it, Janet. 'Twas this he
meant, for I wondered when he said he had fought two duels and had
been victor in both. Nay; he shall not see me nor I him." And with
these thoughts came others, and thus she fostered malice, promoting
but a puny aversion that she cherished the more for its frailty.
"Art thou set upon affecting the manners of an orange girl?"
"Janet, I would not make feint at that I am not."
"Neither would I, if 'twere me, make feint at that thou art. If thou
hast the name of Lady, I would fit my demeanour to the word. And it
should be an easy thing, for thou art born to the manner."
"But bad nursing doth corrupt good blood!"
"And a froward child doth denote a spared rod!"
"And moral suasion is oft an ethical farce!"
"A votary of non-discipline is impregnable to ethics."
"Oh, Janet, dear Janet, I am weary. How is the young man that was
wounded?"
"The same as ever; save his ardour is somewhat cooled."
"Thou dost speak as if thou hadst known him."
"Indeed, any cock of the hackle is essentially commonplace."
"But he carried the sword of a gentleman?"
"Thou dost mean he carried a gentleman's sword."
"Dost thou know who he is, Janet?"
"I have not inquired."
"In other words, thou didst see him. And 'twas--I am sure--Adrian
Cantemir."
"'Twas none other."
"I will go down now and see their Graces."
"Art sure thou wilt not see thy lord?"
"Aye, quite!"
"Then--here this is for thee." She handed her a dainty billet,
scented with bergamot. Katherine took it in trembling haste, her face
rose-hued. It read: "To My Lady of Crandlemar. Greeting to my sweet
wife, Kate. I await my reprimand and sword. When I am so honoured, I
shall enlist to serve thee with my presence, which, until then, is
held by thee in abeyance. Thou canst not rob me of my thoughts,
which hold naught else but thee; nor yet that dainty girdle that did
encompass thy fair and slender mould. I have it on my heart, close
pressed; but it doth keep that it lieth on in turmoil by such
proximity. I know thou dost love me, even though I tricked thee. Janet
was to tell thee this morning who thy true lord is, for, Sweet, I
would have no other image but mine in thy heart, for soon--soon--aye,
in a very short time--I may be a prisoner in the Tower. Do not think,
Sweet, this is a ruse--but should I be taken where I might not see thy
face, 'twould be sweet to know thou didst hold my image, dear.
Forgive me, Sweet, and--_au revoir!_--Perhaps thy heart will relent
before--before the nightingale sings.--Relent, sweetheart, wife." Kate
pressed the billet to her lips without thinking, then turned her
back quickly to hide the action; but 'twas too late. Janet had been
watching every movement and was satisfied.
"I wish I had not opened it; such letters are disturbing. Janet, go
below and find if I may see her Grace without meeting any one." When
alone, she devoured again and again the billet, and as Janet returned,
thrust it quickly within the bosom of her gown.
"His lordship has returned from the terrace and is in the picture
gallery. Her Grace wishes to see thee and waits breakfast."
For an hour Katherine was with the Duchess, who talked very plainly of
the possible death of her husband and the duties of a great estate and
noble name that would fall to Cedric and his wife to keep up. Nor
did she let the young wife go without telling her into what an awful
condition she might not only lead herself but Cedric, when she allowed
her caprice to manage her better self. It did her ladyship much good,
and she sauntered out upon the lawn and shyly sought the sun-dial and
brought from it a nosegay of bridal-roses and fled, shamefaced, with
them to her own chamber, there to seat herself by the open window to
wait and watch for her young lord.
CHAPTER XXII
CEDRIC IN THE TOILS
In the French colony where lay the valuable lands of Sir John Penwick,
there was a lively insurrection of the English. The Papist party, who
had built and lived upon the property for the past ten years, was
strong, having among the Protestants lively adherents who were
Catholics at heart and wore the Protestant cloak that they might the
better spy upon them. The English, being so much the weaker, had been
lead by a few men who were bought by the Catholics. La Fosse had had
to do with these few men only, when he had made a show of settling
Sir John's affairs. These men had heretofore held the secret of the
hostage; but recent events had stirred them to strife and they had
fallen at variance over the spoil. The secret had been let out. The
English rose in arms when the French suggested that such a small
colonial matter should be settled among themselves; 'twas a shame to
bother the Crown.
Upon the sudden outburst, Sir John made his escape from prison. The
French said he had been stolen by the English and immediate reparation
must be made; his person or a ransom must be had. Or, if they would
give up all claim to the property and child,--the latter being
produced at once--the French were willing to call the matter
settled. Indeed, this was all they wished, and if Sir John could be
conveniently made away with forever, and it proven that the English
had accomplished it, they would certainly be entitled to his
hereditaments.
Buckingham held the key to the situation. He saw a way to pay a ransom
for Sir John; also a way to gain enough gold from the enterprise to
make himself independent for life. He found Sir John in London,
but not until after Cantemir had gained the former's confidence.
Buckingham took alarm at Cantemir's knowledge and insisted upon Sir
John removing to a place of greater seclusion; it being feared that he
would be murdered.
Sir John was fond of the Duke, and beside taking his advice, he laid
bare his heart and told him of his great distress over Katherine.
Cantemir had said that she was being held dishonourably by the old
lord's son, who was profligate and only sought her favour without
marriage.
Buckingham assured him to the contrary, and made him acquainted with
the true circumstances; not failing to tell him of Mistress Penwick's
unsettled disposition; her ambitions, and intractable nature; that
she was refractory and vexatious; petulant and forever thwarting Lord
Cedric's advances.
The Duke concluded this friendly visit by insinuating strongly--that
Sir John might infer--that the friendship which amounted to nothing
less than love, between himself and Lord Cedric, would alone--barring
the question of a beautiful daughter--suffice to bring the latter to
a full appreciation of Sir John's case. And if a ransom was decided
upon, as being the surest means for his immediate safety, my Lord
Cedric would pay and not feel its loss.
"And," went on the Duke, "when chance or design brings thee together,
if thou wouldst not be made to feel utterly unhappy, mention not the
matter to him. He is eccentric like the old lord, and would fall
into the spleen, which condition, when entered into by his lordship,
becomes of the temperature of that nondescript bourne the other side
of Paradise."
Buckingham knew that two emissaries were upon the seas from the New
World. They were coming to interest the King in behalf of Sir John. So
far the Duke had kept everything from his Majesty and must also keep
these "bumpkins" from tormenting him with importunities of so rustic a
nature as "western lands."
But the Duke had made provision,--should his designs be curtailed by
laches--delegating himself to the post of intercessor, whereby he
could fool both the King and the emissary. Serious injury would be
done to no one, unless Cedric might feel poor for a short time. But
what were the odds; the Duke of Ellswold would soon die and Cedric's
wealth would be unlimited. He would, with a handsome young wife,
forget his finances ever were in depletion.
Buckingham had already disposed of some of Sir John's jewels and
rare laces, brought over by La Fosse and stored in the chest at
the monastery. There was, however, in the great Duke a vein of
compunction, and for its easement he had refrained from selling some
rare and costly miniatures belonging to Sir John's wife, evidently
handed down through a long line of consanguinity. These he resolved in
some way to return; perhaps he should find it convenient to present
them to Mistress Penwick.
And so the thick, fierce clouds rolled up and gathered themselves
together, hanging low, over the head of handsome, careless, rich,
young Lord Cedric.
The village of Crandlemar was indignant that he had allowed to
exist for so long a time the privilege of the monastery. And these
exceptions, with a hint of some foul murder committed at the castle,
reached the nobles roundabout and stirred up a general demur. Beside,
it was whispered in the shire-moot that the woman about to be espoused
by him was a rank Papist and had already placed popish pictures about
the Chapel that was contiguous to the castle. This was all that
possibly could be said against her, as she was known to be most
gracious to the poor Protestants in and about Crandlemar; giving
equally to both factions with a lavish hand. But these matters were
all brought up to militate against his lordship.
Lord Cedric was already feeling the first thrusts of his enemy,
Misfortune; for 'twas very evident that his Grace of Ellswold was
near his death. Warming-pans were of no avail. He grew very cold; his
extremities were as ice; while the attendants of his bed-chamber were
as red as cooked lobsters from the natural heat of the midsummer's day
and the steaming flannels that were brought in at short intervals.
Her Grace walked back and forth outside his door continually, Lord
Cedric joining her at times.
The Castle seemed inured to quiet by his Grace's long illness; but now
there fell a subtle silence that presaged the coming of an unwholesome
visitant. In a room apart lay Adrian Cantemir, weak and sick, but
cursing every breath he drew; excited at times to actual madness, and
saying,--Why had he come a minute too late? Why had he not followed
his own inclinations and broken away from the gambling table at the
inn an hour earlier? such thoughts making him absolutely furious.
He had arrived some time after dark at Crandlemar village, and,
putting up at the hostelry, he resolved to pay his visit to the castle
early on the morrow. He was now beginning to feel that he was destined
to gain his point, or why had he so far thwarted Lord Cedric, and why
had he escaped the anger of the monks by a well worded and quickly
manufactured tale, and even gained their help by it, when they found
him bound in the passage, left so by Buckingham. So he had felt
somewhat at ease, but love and ambition were strong and stirred him to
leave wine and cards and ride out into the open; and, unwitting it may
be, to the castle gates. He travelled without groom; so fastening his
horse, he entered the avenue a-foot, soon reaching the dark pile of
stone which appeared in absolute darkness. Aimlessly he left the
avenue and sauntered across the terraces. He had heard a peculiar low
murmuring of voices and drew near only to hear Katherine made the
wife of another man; hardly understanding until the Chaplain gave the
blessing. He knew what Katherine did not; that she was the wife of
Lord Cedric and not Sir Julian. He flung himself with all his fury
upon the bridegroom to no avail, as has been seen.
These inflammable thoughts, as Cantemir rehearsed them over and over,
set his brain afire and before night he was in a fever. The kind and
gentle Lady Bettie Payne, who had arrived late in the afternoon, had
gathered nosegays and made bright his chamber, for she truly had
compassion upon him. He called her Katherine, as she gave him cooling
draughts with her own hand.
Lord Cedric was somewhat surprised the next evening to that of his
wedding to see the Duke of Buckingham standing in the great hall of
the castle. And when the Duke's business was thrust upon him, there
came also dark forebodings; a separation of indefinite length from his
young wife, should he be taken to the Tower. Great was his surprise
at the Duke's first words, for they were that Katherine's father was
alive and well and in London. He gave quickly the whole story of Sir
John's escape, also the attempt to recapture him. Then came what his
Lordship expected;--a request for a fortune. Of course, while Cedric
thought the amounts asked would not be wholly a loss, yet he knew the
amounts allowed of a great margin of perquisites, and to whom these
perquisites would go, he could guess. However, without question or
complaint, he agreed to give what the Duke asked for; indeed the
matters were settled there and then.
"If Sir John's life is in danger, I know of no better place of safety
than here. He had better come with all haste--'twould be my wife's
desire!"
"Wife, so soon?" And the great Duke raised his eyebrows--a small
action, but with him it had a world of meaning in it. "I congratulate
thee, my lord, but--if her ladyship knew the danger that would beset
her father upon such a journey, I feel sure she would wait patiently
a time that must of necessity be of some length. I beg my lord not to
think of bringing Sir John hither. As I hinted before, if this matter
is brought out and he is proven guiltless of those little matters
hinted of, then he could meet her without this heaviness that so
weights him. I am sure if such a thought as meeting his daughter were
mentioned, he would heartily beg for its postponement and--especially
now that she is my Lady of Crandlemar." It stood Buckingham much in
hand to keep Sir John and Lord Cedric from meeting, for he had, not
only told truth, but had heartlessly impugned the former's character
to line his own pocket with the latter's wealth. The truth of the
matter was that he was tight caught in a network of financial and
political intrigue, and this was the only means to disentangle
himself.
After this first business was settled, a second affair was introduced
and the Duke spoke of his lordship's matters at Court. He said:
"The King is hard pressed by the nobles--or a portion of them. They
insisted that thou wert aiding the Catholics in such a manner that
the lives of Protestants in this vicinity were in danger. They even
whisper that a plot is being formulated to murder Monmouth. The King
felt it incumbent to send for thee, and as the courier was about
to start forth, he received word that the messenger he had sent in
pursuit of my Lady of Candlemar had been foully dealt with by no other
hand than thine. This stirred the King into a frenzy and straightway
he charged thee with treason and--one comes now to take thee to the
Tower or wherever it pleases his Majesty to put thee. Indeed, he may
have so far forgiven thee by the time thou dost see London, he will
offer thee half his bed or--any unusual favour. So take heart. The
King loves thee." The illness of Ellswold precluded the Duke from
paying any visits within the castle, and he hastened back to London.
Lord Cedric felt if he could only tell Katherine that her father was
well and in London, it might bring a reconciliation, and his eyes
wandered to the hour-glass, and as he noted the golden sands, he
thought there was yet time for a lover's quarrel and then a sweet
making-up, which should have no limit of time; but, alas! such
blissful moments would doubtless be cut short by the arrival of
the King's messenger. All of a sudden a wicked thought came, as he
remembered how but a few moments before she had turned coldly from him
as he met her in the gallery, and he resolved 'twould be a good time
to make her feel a little of how he had suffered. Separation from her
was all he feared now, and she could not help that. She was fast tied
to him, and he was satisfied; and now why not torment some of those
Satanic whims out of her. "Aye, 'tis the thing to do!" Even as he
thought of her, she had gone with Janet and Lady Bettie to Cantemir's
chamber, for the latter in a lucid moment begged Lady Bettie to bring
her to him. He gave her the letter he bore from her father, requesting
her to come to him at once. She was quite beside herself with joy;
yet, such is human nature, she on a sudden was in no hurry to leave
Lord Cedric. Then she thought he might go with her--but she never
would ask him. So after much thinking and feverish deliberation, she
sent the letter to him by Janet. Cedric compared the handwriting with
the letter he still carried of Sir John's. There was no doubt that the
chirography was the same. He was again thwarted by the Russian. He was
to gain his wife's ear by this very news. But there were other ways,
and he said,--
"I have but a few moments to spend with her ladyship; go to her and
tell her so; say that a courier is now upon the highway and--will soon
arrive to conduct me to Tyburn-tree by order of the King--"
"Good heavens, surely your Lordship is not serious!"
"I have been forewarned, Janet. Go, tell her the news. Do not mince
the sorry tale. Let her have the weight of it--if weight it be for her
pent affection. Indeed, make it strong, blandish it with no 'ifs' or
'mayhaps' or 'possible chances of a change of mind with the King.'
Thou must make up quickly a whole catalogue of the horrors enacted at
Tyburn. Go, go, hasten thyself, good nurse. I will wait for her here."
Hardly had Janet disappeared when the door again was thrown open and
the footman announced a gentleman upon the King's errand. 'Twas indeed
his Majesty's guardsman with his order, and Cedric listened with
flushed face and beating heart, not to what he said, but for the sound
of a silken rustle upon the great hall parquetry; and as he heard it,
he raised his voice and said sternly to the courier,--
"And this means Tyburn-tree--a farewell forever to my friends--" There
was at these last words a suspicious trembling in his tones that was
not wholly natural,--"an _adieu_ to all this world that begun for me
only--yesterday at the singing of the nightingale--" the sentence was
left unfinished, for Katherine now fell at his feet and embraced his
knees and said with blanched lips,--
"What is this horrible tale, my lord? Say 'tis not so!" Great unbroken
sobs made her voice tremble, and there was such extreme misery in her
face and attitude the guardsman was about to utter a protest, for the
order had said nothing of Tyburn, and at such unwarranted display of
grief at a summons--why he would put a stop to it; but his lordship
put up his hand. "Say 'tis not so," she repeated.
"Nay, I cannot say it, for I know not what lies before me." Katherine
was unable to control her grief, and as it broke out, the guardsman
discreetly walked to the farther end of the room. Cedric had raised
her from the floor and half-supported her as she poured out her grief
in words of pleading and entreaty; but Cedric was as adamant, he would
not bend to offer any hope. This unbending quality she could not
understand, and took it as an omen of ill. In very truth she felt she
was to lose for all time her heart's idol. And when Cedric spoke to
the guard and told him he was ready to go, she cried "Nay, nay, nay!"
in such awful agony he came near relenting. She turned white and would
have fallen, had not Cedric supported her. Janet had already entered
the room and now came running to her mistress, whom she took in her
arms. Cedric turned to the guardsman, saying,--
"My wife is ill. If thou wilt return to London, I will follow within a
day or so!"
"In the name of the King I beg my Lord of Crandlemar--"
Janet broke in at this and said with a ringing voice,--
"Thy order is for the Lord of Crandlemar?"
"It is, madam."
"Then I will tell thee, sir, Lord Cedric of Crandlemar is not here.
This is the Duke of Ellswold." She turned to his lordship as she spoke
and saw his face grow white. He loved his uncle tenderly. There was a
moment of palpable silence; the guardsman bowed to the floor, and the
long plumes of his hat swept it in homage, as he raised his hand to
his breast. Katherine had swooned and did not hear Janet's assertion,
nor did she hear the King's other order for the Duke of Ellswold.
The King was aroused and would allow of no mischance. Cedric must go
before his Majesty at once.
After a few moments in the death chamber, Cedric started for London.
Before they had reached the confines of the city, however, the news of
the old Duke's demise had reached the King, who was in high humour,
and the result was, a courier had been sent to tell Cedric to return
to his castle until after the funeral. So Cedric, accompanied by the
King's guard, rode on to the Seat of the Dukes of Ellswold, where in
the old Abbey there was much pomp in the putting away of the late
Duke.
It was a great disappointment to Cedric not to see Katherine, and
he was grieved to learn she had not, after so many days, entirely
recovered from her swoon. He was consoled, however, by his aunt's
assertion that her illness was not serious. He turned from Ellswold
and hastened back London way, impatient to know why he was sent for,
and to have matters settled satisfactorily for all time, that he might
with an unburdened heart go to Crandlemar and claim his Duchess; who,
he now knew, would be the sweet and loving wife she should. He was
truly sad at the loss of his uncle, and for this cause alone he rode
into London with downcast appearance. He feared not the evils of the
Tower or Tyburn-tree or the menace of either Catholic or Protestant
party; neither the importunities of Buckingham; had he not now a great
fortune?--ah! but death had brought it him,--and the bitter was mixed
with the sweet. There were other matters to menace his peace of mind
that had not come until that very moment. What if the Crown should
confiscate his property; what was he to do with his wife? There was
his aunt, Sir Julian and Lady Bettie Payne, they would care for her.
Then his thoughts wandered to Constance, and for a while he half
believed he had forgiven her. Then he wondered if she had aught to do
with his present condition.
The King in the meantime was not to be duped by Lady Constance. She
prided herself upon being discreet, but she was not enough so for the
King's sharp eyes.
"Odd's fish," said he, "the boy is a woman!" And though he had a
saturnine and harsh countenance, his disposition was both merry and
lenient. He teased her unmercifully, threatening to promote so fine
a lad to a gentleman of his bed-chamber. He bade a woman bring some
clothing suitable for a female and gave the lady into the hands of
female attendants.
The easy manner of the time gave the courtiers license to taunt her.
This made her very uncomfortable. The queen's ladies' eyes were upon
her. The King's mistresses, not recognizing her as a rival, poked fun
at her from behind their fans. But Lady Constance would bear a great
deal for the sake of gaining her point. She had posted herself upon
the King's affairs with the Duke of Ellswold, and was in a state of
great expectation when she heard that the latter was to be brought to
the Tower immediately after his uncle's funeral. His entire demesne
was out of his hands, he was sadly impoverished; this she bought from
Buckingham's menials. It greatly delighted her, for she had more
wealth than she knew what to do with, and Cedric, seeing her so
pampered by his Majesty, would surely begin to see what a great lady
she was, and perhaps would offer her some attention. She did not know
that Katherine was already the Duchess of Ellswold. She heard from
Monmouth that Mistress Penwick was to be brought to the palace at the
same time Cedric was brought to London, and that 'twas not altogether
sure whether his Grace of Ellswold would be taken to the Tower or be
made a Royal guest, as the King was first cursing, then praising the
new Duke. So Constance began to picture Cedric standing before her,
his face flushed as she remembered it to be, his eyelids that he knew
so well how to lower, then raise ever so slightly, sending forth from
beneath an amorous glance that made her tremble with a sweet thrill
of pleasure. Thus she lived from hour to hour, waiting for his Grace,
little guessing the awful disappointment that awaited her. She fairly
counted the moments.
To her great joy she saw him again. He was brought to the palace,
instead of to the Tower. When the King saw the Duke, he forgot, or
appeared to forget, that the Duke was a prisoner, and openly embraced
him and had him placed near his own apartments. His Majesty was in
high good humour, hearing from the Duke's own lips that he had nothing
to do with the hiding away of his messenger, and explaining sundry
other matters to his satisfaction. "The Duchess," for so the Duke
spoke of Katherine for the first time before his Majesty, was unable
to arise from her couch, and therefore could not as yet be brought
to the palace. The King said he was pleased that so noble a Duke had
gained his point, even though he had outwitted his King.
"Odd's fish, and to be separated so soon! it must not be!"
Lady Constance was joyous when she saw Cedric arrive without
Katherine, but at once it made her very curious to know why the "wench
was left behind; for was it not the King's order?" She sent a maid to
inquire among the servants of the Duke. When the maid returned and
told her that Katherine was the Duke's wife, she fainted away. But
after a few hours of awful depression and heart-sickness she again
nerved herself to battle harder, if possible, than heretofore.
The Duke's trial was begun, and nothing it seemed could be absolutely
proven against him. It appeared the King shut his eyes and ears to
anything that would incline against his Grace. Not so Constance, who
worked secretly. She was determined, if possible, to see him go to the
Tower, as the only immediate means of separating him from his wife,
who was expected any week at the Royal abode. She informed some of
the nobles that were against him that their principal witness, Adrian
Cantemir, lay ill from a sword thrust at Crandlemar Castle. To be
sure, they had almost forgotten the young man, who had been such a
leader in the beginning. This held the case in suspension and the Duke
still a prisoner; but the King gave him no time for thought; they
rode, walked, drank, theatred and supped together. If 'twere not for
the Duke's love for his wife, and his mourning for his uncle, which
cast so deep a shadow over his natural gaiety, 'twas possible he might
have been drawn by his Majesty into intrigues of a feminine character.
Constance was ever throwing herself in his path, but he deigned not a
glance her way. She appeared content to watch him, whether he paid her
any attention or not. She was careful to learn of his fortunes, as the
King to appease the Protestant nobles had confiscated the Ellswold
estates and everything else that Buckingham had not taken. But this
sort of thing was a matter of form with his Majesty. His mind was
fully made up. He was not to be frighted or cajoled. He even went so
far as to assure the Duke that as soon as his character was proven,
giving the nobles no chance to gainsay, he should at once take
possession of his estate. The Duke, however, had only his jewels to
borrow on, and that was insufferable to his pride. He had a large
retinue to support, servants that were aged; these he must look after.
Thus matters stood for weeks and months.
Cantemir was at last able to be moved, and was brought to London,
where he again tried to communicate with Sir John Penwick, but
Buckingham intercepted all letters. There also came word from the new
Lord of Crandlemar, that he was about to take up his abode in England.
This made Ellswold uneasy and impatient; for he had not money
sufficient to place his Duchess in his town house, had he been at
liberty to do so, for the great place had not been kept in repair and
it must be renovated according to her own ideas. If his trial could
only be at once and he could go for her and take her to Ellswold! The
King saw his unusual depression and gained from him a confession of
his troubles, and without letting the Duke know, sent for the Duchess,
who he said should remain at the palace until the Duke should be free
to go. When his Majesty told the Duke--for he could not keep the
secret--the latter was grateful and felt it was the only alternative,
and was much comforted that soon he should see and be with his
Duchess, who, he had learned had regained her colour and was in good
spirit.
"The King, not caring for the pomp and state his predecessors had
assumed, was fond of exiling the formality practiced by a sovereign
and taking on the easy manners of a companion. He had lived, when in
exile, upon a footing of equality with his banished nobles, and had
partaken freely and promiscuously in the pleasures and frolics by
which they had endeavoured to sweeten adversity. He was led in this
way to let distinction and ceremony fall to the ground as useless and
foppish, and could not even on premeditation, it is said, act for a
moment the part of a King either at parliament or council, either
in words or gesture. When he attended the House of Lords, he would
descend from the throne and stand by the fire, drawing a crowd about
him that broke up all regularity and order of the place." In this free
and unrestrained way he had put his arm through the Duke's and said
confidently,--
"The House of Ellswold shall be honoured in an unusual way; that at
least should be a great comfort to thee; but I promise, no matter how
the Council act in these matters of thine, thou shalt soon enjoy the
comfort of thy new estate at Ellswold."
CHAPTER XXIII
THE COCOANUTS OF THE KING'S CELLAR
Matters at Crandlemar were comparatively quiet. There was nothing
unusual, unless indeed it was the assiduousness of the young Duchess,
who from morning until night ceased not to offer hecatombs for the
safety and freedom of her lord. She prayed, fasted and sacrificed for
her every desire. She gave alms, offering condolence and sympathy.
In her petitions she threw aside all contumely, calling the poorest,
sister. She allowed not her thoughts to go astray, striving
continually for a pure and meek heart, begging forgiveness for her
untowardness toward her husband. Perhaps one of the most remarkable of
her acts was the one performed at twilight--discovered by Janet, the
wise.
The nurse went to seek her one evening, and found the young woman in
a dense cloud of blue that emanated from a costly thurible, which she
was swinging before the crucifix in the Chapel. Ascending with the
sweet incense was a psalm of contrition uttered from a truly penitent
heart. A tall candle burned, lighting up the white-robed figure, and
the filmy incense that enveloped it to a saintly vision. Though Janet
watched her mistress thus environed with sacredness, yet the deep
impression was somewhat charged with a sense of humour; "for," she
opined to herself, "people are so much more ridiculous in mending a
breach than they are in making it!" But Janet was not a Catholic, and
beside, she made few mistakes and could condone an offence only when
made by one she loved. Knowing Katherine as she did, she admired the
outward show more than the spirit, and thought of the two the former
was more stable. Katherine often prayed aloud, and Janet hearing her,
caught the burden of her prayer, and there was actual pain in her
voice when she cried out that Cedric might be forgiven for the murder
of Christopher. Now Janet knew that the lad had only been slightly
injured by Hiary and had fully recovered, and she determined to send
for him, and at the Vesper service introduce him into the Chapel and
thereby cause to cease her mistress' plaints. And so it came about in
the late autumn, when Crandlemar was about to receive its new master
from Wales, and the plate and all belongings of the Duke had been sent
to Ellswold, and Katherine herself was to set forth for London within
a few days, she entered the Chapel for her customary devotions. As she
prayed, she was aroused by the opening of the outer door. She looked
up and saw Christopher before her. Janet was surprised at her calmness
and was amazed when Katherine said to him that she had been expecting
to see him all day, as she had heard the evening before that he was
alive and had been seen near the castle grounds. Now it was impossible
to make Katherine think it was a direct answer to prayer, though Janet
did her best. But as it proved, a great weight had fallen from the
Duchess' heart, for she became perfectly joyous and positively
neglected her devotions in the Chapel. She was delighted to set forth,
for the moment had actually arrived, and within a few days she would
see Cedric, and, she hoped, her father also; but the latter's abode
was unknown to her, save only that 'twas in London.
The night of her arrival at the Royal Palace had closed down dark
and stormy. The King and Queen, with the ladies and gentlemen of the
Court, had repaired to the Duke of York's theatre to see played the
"Black Prince," written by the Earl of Orrery. The King had insisted
upon the Duke of Ellswold accompanying them, but the latter declared
the play would be a torture, when he should be thinking that perhaps
his wife might arrive in his absence. Other thoughts also assailed
him, of which he hinted not to the King; but he was confident
Constance meant mischief, and he was unwilling to give her any chance
to put the weight of her anger on the Duchess.
The great cream-hued chariot bearing Katherine rolled past the Mall
and up to the palace. The sleet was falling rapidly and the wind
blowing such a gale the sound of the coach was not heard by the Duke,
as he paced his chamber. She was trembling and eager, and heard not
the admonitions of Janet and Angel to mind the ice-clad step that was
let down. She was expectant and eager to see her spouse; but she stood
within her apartment and Janet was loosening her capes when the Duke
came bounding to her side. He took her in his arms and gazed and
gazed, and they minded not the presence of the two nurses, who on a
sudden became busy unpacking her Grace's chests. He kissed her until
her face was rose-red, and she was drunken with love.
When Lady Constance heard that Katherine had arrived, she became very
impatient to catch one glimpse of her. She had heard many things about
the young wife, and she had her suspicions and upon them she formed
a plan to throw a taunt upon her Grace, bringing both Monmouth and
Cantemir into the case. She resolved to make Katherine as unhappy
as possible. She scrupled at nothing. Now the fair Constance prided
herself upon being a prisoner of the King; but she was not so certain
of his favour that she dare make one single open move against
Katherine. She must taunt her in secret; but how to do this was
puzzling, for she kept her apartment, partly from fatigue after her
long ride, and it may be from a disinclination to go abroad. So she
bided her time and ungraciously as she saw the popularity of the noble
woman grow and grow; she was fast becoming a great favourite. Indeed,
she was constantly visited by the King and Queen, and the greatest
ladies of the Court. The Queen had grown very fond of her, spending
hours in her company and oftentimes taking her for a walk or ride.
Before the Duchess had been within the Palace a month, she was
imitated in every way. Great ladies became so familiar, they would
take up her articles of the toilet and copy the manufacturer's name.
They in a short time were using the same concoction of rouge and
perfumes. Their maids must learn what Janet did for her mistress in
the way of baths, for "never was there such healthful and dainty
complexion." And when the Duke began buying cocoanuts by the wagon
load at an enormous expense, and 'twas known that her Grace drank the
milk of it by the quart, the King's cellar became too small to hold
the quantities that were brought to the ladies of the Court. And 'twas
said many of the young fops also used the milk for their complexion.
Constance had not yet ordered any of this fruit, but she ascertained
where the Duke's were kept and how it might be possible to obtain a
few of them for an object that was at least original. Before, however,
she resorted to the arts of chemistry, there was an opportunity to
give the Duchess a thrust. Two great chests were being unbound in
the corridor just outside of her Grace's door. Constance knew they
contained an elaborate and costly _layette_; so she hurried to her own
apartment and wrote in a disguised hand a billet that threw out the
worst of insinuations, and as a finale she added a _pasquinade_ copied
hastily from some low and bitter lampoon. She returned through the
corridor, and, unnoticed, thrust the paper into a crevice of one of
the chests. But Katherine never saw the billet, she was not disturbed
in the least, and her ladyship soon saw some one else had gotten hold
of it, for there was not a shadow on her Grace's face. This goaded
Constance to a perfect fury, and she resolved upon extreme measures.
One very dark and stormy day she left the palace dressed as a servant,
and drove in a public conveyance to an old chemist's, who resided in
a remote portion of the city. Here she procured materials that if
properly handled and successively served would bring the youthful
Duchess to her death. She resolved in this case to work slowly and
cautiously, allowing of no mischance. It so happened the chemist did
not have the articles she required, but promised for a liberal sum to
procure them from a certain celebrated physician. This of course would
take some time. But the physician was in France and would not return
for at least a fortnight. So a fortnight went by and another and
another, until Constance' patience was exhausted, and as she went to
the shop for the last time, vowing to wait no longer, if the chemist
had not the things, lo! they were there; and after learning how simple
it was to use them, she hastened to the palace, there to be met by the
news that the Duchess had brought forth a son of rousing weight and
strength. Constance fell into a fever, and was obliged to keep her bed
for some weeks; then she arose and after being seen again among the
ladies of the Court and appearing as unconcerned as possible, when
speaking of the Ellswold heir, she found her way below stair and made
siege upon the King's cellar and looted a good dozen cocoanuts.
She had procured from the chemist a protrusile instrument for letting
fluid through the hard outer covering, and in this manner intended to
inoculate the milk of the nut with a slow poison. These, of course,
after such treatment, would be returned to their fellows, and the
death of Katherine with that of the young lord would be assured.
After a few trials she succeeded in obtaining a result that was
entirely satisfactory, if the hole thus made could be effectually
plugged. She filled the aperture with a viscous matter that would in
a few moments harden if placed in the sun, and to this end she opened
the window and laid the cocoanut in the sun's rays upon the sill.
She was quite alone, yet she feared; indeed, so deadly was her intent,
she jumped at every noise, and upon hearing some sound without,
slipped on tip-toe from the window to the door and listened, then
cautiously drew the bolt and looked without. The corridor seemed even
more quiet than usual. Her fears were subdued and as she turned about
to close the door, a suction of air caught the curtain and swelled
it through the open window, thereupon sweeping the cocoanut to the
ground, where it fell at the very feet of his Majesty. When Constance
saw what the vile wantonness of the wind had done, she fell upon her
knees in wild despair and tremblingly remained thus for an instant
only, for a bit of hope sprang up. She arose and quickly ran to the
window,--she hesitated, then, ever so slowly she peeped over the sill,
and there stood the King with the nut in his hand. "Ah!" she said,
drawing back quickly, for they were not looking up, and she felt
relief that they did not see her, but unfortunately for her, a lackey
was standing some little distance from his Majesty and saw everything.
Of course treason was suspected. It was thought the nut had been
dropped to crush the King's head; but upon examination 'twas found
there oozed from a small opening curdled milk. The Royal chemist was
summoned, and in a moment all knew that the fruit was poisoned. The
lackey had already told the King from what window it fell. Constance
was cold with fright. She forgot her love, ambition, revenge, her
whole paraphernalia of desires, in this disaster.
Out she went into the corridor to ascertain, if possible, what was
a-foot below stairs. "Would they be able," she thought, "to find from
whence the nut came?" At the very idea she fled back to her chamber
and gazed about in agony, for there lay every condemning thing in the
floor, and where was she to hide them, for a search would certainly
be made in a few moments. A hiding-place must first be found for
the nuts. She looked at the bed; surely that would be searched. She
thought to sew them in the sleeves of her gowns, but that would look
bulky and there was not time. She flew about in wild anxiety. She
listened at the door to the sounds below, and, seeing a lackey, asked
what the noise meant. He said a cocoanut had been dropped and they
were going to search for the one who did it. Again her ladyship
fled to her chamber and began to look behind chairs and screens and
portable cabinets; but to no avail; she found no safe hiding. At last,
the great, high, nodding tester caught the glance of her anxious eye.
She hastily placed first a small table--the only one she was able to
carry--then a chair upon the bed, and with the one upon the other
was able to see the top of the tester. But alas! it was cone-shape.
Invention, however, was not out of Constance' line, and quickly she
placed a box upon the pinnacle and in it five cocoanuts. There
were yet at least a half-dozen more to hide, beside the poison and
instrument. She thought to place these in one of her great hats
and raise them to the tester also. As she was about to mount the
improvised lift, she heard approaching footsteps. Hardly had she
withdrawn the table and chair and placed the hat--well bent--beneath
the low stool whereon she had been sitting, and arranged the folds of
her heavy brocade like a valance about her, when the door was thrown
open.
"My God!" said she, under her breath; "'tis the King himself!"
His Majesty accompanied by a number of gentlemen in waiting, entered
the room. He appeared in high, good humour, and inclined to be
facetious. He advanced straight to her. She, hardly rising from the
stool, made a deep curtesy. It was well done, without disarranging the
full folds of her stiff brocade, that inclined to stand whether she
so honoured the King or not. He laid his hand familiarly upon her
shoulder, bearing somewhat upon it, until she turned quite red, either
from his intent or her own guilt.
"We are looking for secrets. Hast thou any, my little beauty?"
"Your Majesty doth honour me greatly; first by thy presence and
secondly by thy thought that I might have a secret--as if woman could
keep even the shade of one from her King!"
"But sometimes there is more happiness in the shade than in the
substance." His keen eyes did not leave her face. But hers were turned
with an apprehensive stare upon the King's gentlemen, who were looking
and prying impudently here and there about the rooms and closets. Her
gowns were even pressed here and there among their paddings. Tables
and cabinets were opened; the bed was examined. They lifted the heavy
valance and one got upon his knees and prodded beneath with his sword.
As he withdrew with a very red face, some one shook the curtains with
such vigour the tester miscarried and down rolled, one by one, the
cocoanuts. The King fairly yelled with laughter, holding on to his
sides, his gentlemen joining him with mirth restrained somewhat by the
seriousness of the case.
"Indeed, the young Duchess hath turned all heads by her gorgeous
beauty, and all would be like her, whether or no!" said the King
between great bursts of laughter. Lady Constance' mind was ready and
caught quickly at his words, and she turned to him with a gay laugh
that somewhat veiled her terrible fear and nervousness.
"Indeed, 'tis the fashion to use the cocoanut milk for drinking and
ointment, and the silly wenches of maids doth steal it dreadfully and
I was compelled to hide them."
"But 'twill do thee no good, 'tis not thy nature to be round. Hast
thou seen the young heir? He is a lusty fellow; and 'tis well worth a
journey to the nursery to see him," and he took her hand and raised
her to her feet. "Come, we will go and call upon his lordship."
There was an agonized expression on Constance' face as she was
compelled to move at the King's bidding. Slowly she moved. It
seemed every motion was full of painful effort. All eyes, for some
unaccountable reason, appeared to turn to the train of her dress that
rustled subtlely; even Constance turned to look back and down with
bulging eyes on that silken train, and though she moved ever so
cautiously the bristling folds caught upon the edge of the stool and
turned it over, the cocoanuts, poison bottle and all falling a-sprawl.
The King bent down and picked up the vial, then dropped it quickly,
saying,--
"Odd's fish, the female that did don man's attire and flirt about with
foppish airs is trying to play the hen and has made a nest and gone
to setting on spoiled eggs that will hatch nothing but shades, and
wraiths, and mandrakes!" And he lifted a cocoanut, from which the milk
was oozing out slowly and in a curdled state.
"And who, mistress of the chemist's shop, hath taught thee his art?"
"'Tis a great and awful thing that hath happened; indeed, oh! King, I
knew not the things were under the stool--"
"Then 'twas unfortunate thou shouldst remain seated before thy King;
in this case 'twas condemning." And he turned and cried,--
"Hi! hi! call the guard! Thou shalt go into durance until I have
sifted this dairy business." Before the unfortunate woman could open
her mouth to plead further, the King was gone and two stalwart guards
stood at either side of her, ready to conduct her behind bolts and
bars.
Now the King was inclined to be easy with all his subjects, but when
treason lay so open before him, he was quick to punish. Constance,
being a cousin of the Duke of Ellswold, he put the case before him. On
the instant, the Duke gave a solution to Constance' aims, explaining
everything to the King. He also--for he dreaded what the King might
do--said 'twas possible she was not of sound mind. His Majesty saw the
Duke's drift and declared that death should not come upon her, but she
should be imprisoned. This satisfied the Duke, for he was seriously
afraid for the young heir and his wife.
Now Constance was utterly without hope. She was degraded at Court,
nevermore to rise again, and of course this state of things would be
known at every street corner. Even though she could make her escape,
where could she go? Who would accept her as the noble Lady Constance
again? She would wander up and down the world, friendless; while
Katherine would have love, wealth and honour, all one could wish for,
all there was in life to have.
"Nay, nay, nay!" she cried in her agony. "I shall have one more
chance." She threw out her arms to the air and ground her teeth and
dragged herself from end to end of her bare and lonely cell. "One more
chance," she cried, "and 'twill be death to her; aye, death!"
CHAPTER XXIV
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE TOWER
Sir Julian had been striving for months to make peace with the young
Duchess; but all effort appeared futile, until Providence suddenly
stepped in and aided him. Cantemir had turned religious, owing to the
taking hold upon him of a mortal disease; and though he had not been
about to undo any of his schemes in Cedric's case, yet he intended to
do so as soon as he was able. He was not idle, however, as he wrote
many letters and received visits from the ones who were foremost in
the fight. Nor was he long in discovering that their feelings were
already changed toward Ellswold, for they saw 'twas unpopular to be
striving against the King's desires, and against a nobleman who would
be very powerful when he should regain his fortunes. The Count wrote
to Pomphrey, saying he wished to speak face to face with him.
At this interview the Russian unburdened his heart of all malice and
hatred, and gave vent to ill-gotten secrets, of which Buckingham's
schemes were foremost. So open and frank was the Count in his
assertions there was no doubt in Sir Julian's mind but what he had
created an wholesome feeling with his conscience; and for himself,
recognized the interview as nothing more nor less than the comely
intervention of Providence.
Sir Julian determined upon an immediate _rendezvous_ with Sir John
Penwick, to the end that a concerted movement might effectually bring
the Duke to his senses. He loved Buckingham, but he loved the Duchess
of Ellswold more, and for this cause of peace, intended to hedge the
Duke about with an impenetrable wall.
Buckingham soon saw that the strings were closing about him, and that
'twas Sir Julian who held the taut ends. But the great Duke had still
one more move, a move so venturesome, so involved with hazard, that
when 'twas made, the King himself admired and paid homage to its
projector.
The Duke knew that Sir Julian, with a whisper in the King's ear,
could send him to the Tower. So at the point of Sir Julian's
sword--metaphorically--he was forced to go to the King and straighten
matters as best he could. This the great Duke did, with the most
exquisite urbanity. He knew well the King's humour, and the most
propitious moment in it, and propinquity played him fair, and there
vibrated in his Majesty's ear the dulcet tones of George Villiers
magnetic voice, saying,--
"Oh, King! may I tell thee of what foul issue fulsome Nature hath
brought forth, and what travail I suffer for--"
"Odd's fish! what hast thou been doing, George, what hast thou--"
"Oh, King!" and the Duke bowed upon his knee and touched with his lips
the great ring upon his Majesty's hand; "I did engender with a brain
unwebbed by wine, a body ample of strength and health, my soul
absolved, my heart palpitant with pure love and rich intention; but
corruptible Nature hath adulterated and brought forth an oaf, to which
I lay no claim--"
"Egad! Duke; we'll wager a kilderkin of chaney oranges at four pence
each and a dozen cordial juleps with pearls that thy conscience is
about to bewray thee."
"Your Royal Highness doth honour me by the assumption that such a
kingly component is mine. I cannot gainsay thy assertion, but who but
my King could touch to life the almost undefined limning of moral
faculty that has been my poor possession heretofore--"
"And who but thy King would give to thy swart issue a, no doubt,
condign interest; come, curtail loquacity!"
"Then, your Majesty, to be brief, I have raised for thee the subsidies
thou were too modest to ask the House for--"
"Odd's fish, and this is thine oaf; oaf, callest thou it, when it
has brought unspeakable joy to thy King? Not so, 'tis an issue that
outshines in weight, point of beauty and actual worth that bouncing
youngster of Ellswold's."
"But, oh! King, I counted not upon the exigencies of thy love. I
thought only of the pleasure 'twould give thee to have subsidies
without plea, and I have made two of thy favourites my victims. How
should I know that the Duke and Duchess of Ellswold were to become
nestlings in thy cradle of love?" The King's face darkened, but for a
moment only, as the sunshine of full coffers had penetrated the vista
of his needs, and a cloud even though it bore the after-rain was not
to darken his expectations. "I beg thine indulgence to allow me to
presume upon fancy. Supposing Sir John Penwick was alive and had
committed a crime that made it impossible for him to seek the aid of
his beloved King; that the said Sir John has vast possessions in the
New World that rightfully belonged to the English crown as hostage for
his own life, that had been in the hands of the French; that these
matters had been brought to the King's ear, but his Royal Highness had
been troubled with weightier affairs at home, and that one of his very
lowly but loyal subjects had undertaken, without aid of Government,
to secure these possessions for his King, calling to his aid the
generosity of Ellswold, who was willing to give all without knowing
why, save 'twas for his King and--"
"And Penwick has proven guiltless and comes to his King to claim his
rightful possession;--and the subsidies--"
"Are still thine, and thou shalt have them within a fortnight, if thou
wilt grant me one small request, oh! King."
"Thou hast it. Be brief."
"Of my appointment, a new keeper of the Tower." The King started and
half turned from the Duke, while through his mind ran hurriedly the
names of "Chasel, Howard, Baumais" and "who hath he in mind." Then
like a flash came the thought of Lady Constance, and he turned about
quickly and said with severity,--
"Thou hast our word," and with a gesture gave the Duke his _congé_.
That very night just as the early moon began to whiten the Towers of
old London, the key turned in the door of Lady Constance' cell; but
turned so lazily--either from indolence or an unaccustomed hand--that
her ladyship looked up and saw to her surprise a new gaoler. He
smiled, thereby giving to the heart of its object a great thrill of
joy, for it meant kindliness and kindliness is often predicated of
selfishness or a desire for things one has not.
"What is thy name, fool?"
"Just plain Fool," and he gave her due obeisance.
"And why so?"
"Is it not enough to be so christened by so great a lady?"
"Then thou art not a subsidiary but chief factotum?"
"Aye, the other is ill and I have spent the afternoon in learning
the--names."
"Thou shouldst be well paid for so short a season.--Is he serious?"
"I hope so, good lady."
"Oh! if thou wouldst make profit of thy time, begin by bringing hither
for my supper good ale and wine, with sugar and spices; and I will
brew thee such a horn as thou hast ne'er thought on before. And thou
for each good turn shalt drink a wassail to thy buxom wench and shalt
have money for the basset-table."
It is needless to say that Buckingham knew his man, and Constance'
desires for one whom she could bribe. The latter's first and only
desire was for means of escape, and to this end tried to bribe the
keeper for man's attire. This was not the Duke's aim, and Constance,
being thwarted, struck quickly upon another means.
She succeeded in getting the promise of a visit from Cantemir, who was
little able to be about, but he intended to see her of his own accord,
that he might move her to a lively interest in the salvation of her
soul.
In anticipation of his visit, Constance had obtained through the
gaoler certain drugs of nondescript virtues. These she carefully hid
and made her final preparations for a speedy flight.
Cantemir stopped for a moment, as he stepped from the chair, and
looked up at the prison walls, that were made grey and indistinct by
the clouded moon and falling rain. Religion had changed him even more
than the ravages of disease. His true self had awakened, and the
beauty of it had devoured the Satanic expression that was wont to lie
upon his countenance. His face fairly beamed with a light that came
from within, where his soul stirred now free from sin's fetters.
He was conducted by the keeper through the windings of the sombre
corridors to the cell of Constance, who greeted him with the words:
"Now, Adrian, we can excuse wantonness in the devil, but never
slothfulness in religion. We have no shrines here as abroad; what has
kept thee from thy captive cousin?"
"I am not late, Constance; thou art impatient, and as for shrines, I
carry one in my heart all the time, and thou must have one, too--"
"Damn! We have no time to prate. I must get out of this vile
hole.--Hast thou seen the devil Duchess lately?"
"Aye, yesterday I saw her riding out. She is very beautiful, but she
has changed--"
"Changed--how?"
"She has grown fleshy--"
"Ah! say not 'fleshy' but fat! fat! Now what good fortune is this? The
Duke will be getting a divorce, for he doth abominate a fat woman.
Good, good! I must see her. I shall pay her a visit before I leave for
France."
"Thou wilt have far to journey, for they leave at once for Ellswold.
The case will be settled within a few days at most."
"A few days at most? Legal folderol, a mere shade of a trial. Aye; I
must see her Grace. I have a message for her."
"I will serve thee; Constance, I will take thy message--" Adrian was
interrupted by the entrance of the gaoler, who brought in cordial
juleps. Her ladyship made the fellow drink, before she would allow him
to go. Then, as he left them again, she said,--
"Thou canst not; it is a message no one can deliver but me," and as if
to seal her words she poured down a good, round bumper.
"What dost mean, Constance? Thou art too subtle for me!"
"Too subtle? Hast thou lost the art of penetration? Then I'll tell
thee, thou--the 'Ranter,' as they call thee. Thou who hast become
Bunyan's squire. I am going to poison my lady or give her a dagger
thrust. She must die."
"Thou art the devil, Constance; but there is one who can outwit the
devil, and he will do it, too."
"What hast thou to say about it?"
"Thou shalt not do it."
"What wilt thou do to prevent it?"
"I will put the house of Ellswold on their guard."
"Thou wilt not help me to escape, and thou wilt run with tales to
Ellswold. Thou wouldst keep me here, that I might soon die, so thou
couldst have my estates. Poor, puny thing, that art upon death's
threshold now. Thou wouldst have me die, so thou couldst live
luxuriously and use as much of my wealth as thou couldst, leaving
behind a paltry residue for the Crown. Thou wouldst indeed!" said
Constance, scornfully, as she fumbled in the folds of her dress for
the small bottle hidden there.
"Constance," said Cantemir, under his breath, as he lifted one of the
mixtures before him, "thou must not kill. Let me awaken thy better
nature--"
"Nay; she must die!"
"I will not remain longer with thee, if thou dost hold such foul
intent. Take back thy words. I will give thee no rest until thou dost.
There is a God who will sweeten thy ill feeling for Katherine--"
"Shut thy mouth, fool!" and she spoke with such fury Adrian's heart
sank within him, and his head fell upon his arms upon the table. "Thou
wilt have a season of prayer, then; so be it. Maybe, if thou prayest
with thy whole heart for sixty seconds, mine will change," and as she
said the words, she dropped some deadly thing into his glass.
The wine was not moved nor discoloured, and as Cantemir raised his
head, took hold upon it, and lifted and drank it nearly half.
"I love thee, cousin, with a Christian spirit, and I cannot see thee
lose thy--soul." A shiver passed through his thin frame, and when
he again began to speak, he drooled sick'ningly. "I say thou shalt
not--kill her--and some one--else says it--I will watch thee in
spirit--"
Constance wished him to die quickly, that she might not be obliged to
look upon prolonged horrors. She could easily arrange his position,
with his head upon the table, to look quite natural, as if in drunken
sleep, and when the keeper came, she would give him a like portion,
before he could make any discovery, and when they were both
despatched, she would don Cantemir's attire and take the keeper's
keys and be gone. She quickly poisoned another glass, then looked at
Cantemir. So horrible was the glassy glare in his eye, she made as
if to arise from the table, but he leant over and grasped her hand.
Constance' face was livid with fear, and beside, she heard the gaoler.
As the keys were turned in the door, Cantemir's head dropped back
against the chair, and he sat upright, but dead; his hand fastened
tight upon his cousin's. She screamed and fell, half-fainting, across
the table. The keeper sprung to her aid, and took hold of the full
goblet of wine and pressed it to her lips. She tried to recover
herself, seeming to know 'twas not the time to indulge in a fainting
fit; but the strain was too much, her body was stronger than her mind,
and she mechanically took the goblet and poured the contents down
her throat. A thought must have come to her with the rapidity of
lightning, for she jerked the goblet from her mouth, spilling the dark
fluid over her. She glared at the empty cup with distended eyeballs,
and screaming once wildly, fell heavily across the table.
It had turned out differently and better than Buckingham had thought;
and after making a hasty trip into France, whence he was immediately
recalled by his King--who was luxuriating in the easement of pecuniary
difficulties--he journeyed to Ellswold to present to the young
Duchess certain rare laces, gems and porcelains he had found--so he
intimated--among the Russian Count's possessions.
CHAPTER XXV
THE GARDEN OF YOUTH
The meeting of Katherine and her father was a joyous one. As Sir John
pressed her to his heart, Janet knelt at his feet, kissing the hand
he held out to her. And there stood by the Duke of Ellswold and Sir
Julian, the latter having received at last the most gracious welcome
from the Duchess.
But yet Pomphrey was not happy; his conscience troubled him beyond
measure. So he set about to make himself right with the world. He
argued that adoration should be given to God only, and when one was so
selfish and thoughtless to give it to another being, it was time he
looked to his soul. And for the correction of this serious fault,
he left Ellswold and went into France, and in a short time became a
devout _religieux_.
Lady Bettie Payne was so wrought upon by this great change in Sir
Julian's life, for a fortnight she remained within her chamber, trying
to feel what 'twould be like to live the life of a nun. But this
season of devotion was suddenly interrupted by a visit from St. Mar,
of whom she was very fond. He asked her hand in marriage and was
accepted.
In course of time a family of three boys and two girls were born to
the Duke and Duchess. A great christening party was in preparation.
The Duchess was worried about the christening robe, that had not yet
arrived, and she said to Janet,--
"Indeed, Janet, this delay reminds me of my anxiety over the chests
that were to bring me my first finery--dost remember, at Crandlemar?"
"Aye. It does not take much of a memory to think back seven years!"
"Seven years! Why, Janet, thou art growing old!"
"Nay, sweet Mistress; but the two generations I now nurse are very
young."
"'Tis true.--But what thinkest thou could detain the chest? Father
Pomphrey cannot be kept waiting for a christening robe. And to think
of Lady Ann being baptized in a common frock! 'Twould make Bettie St.
Mar laugh; she already feels quite jealous because we are the first
to have Father Pomphrey. And methinks, Janet, now that she is in
expectancy--she will so vibrate 'twixt France and England,--fearing
she will not be near Father Pomphrey for the christening--that little
Julian and François will forget which is home."
"She need not do that; he could go to France."
"Nay, not so; for he leaves at once for Rome and will not return to
England ere summer, meaning not to stop at all in France."
"Ah! that makes me think of what I heard him say to Monsieur St. Mar
in the nursery. 'Twas something about a christening. Monsieur said:
'Thou art expected at Crandlemar Castle?' and Father Pomphrey
answered: 'Aye, sometime before next Michaelmas.'"
"Then Lady Bettie will remain in England mayhap."
"'Tis possible."
"What did he say of the children, Janet?"
"Of my lord Duke's and thine?"
"Aye."
"He said not a word of them in particular, but fondled all alike,
calling each by name, and now I think on't, I wonder he could remember
a dozen or so, when he has not yet been three days in the castle.
'Twas 'Lady Mary' and 'Sir Jasper' and 'Lady Jane' and 'Lady Kate' and
'Lord Ivor'; and for each he had a story. And Monsieur grew tired, and
my lord Duke asked Sir Julian if the children did not tire him also,
and he answered: 'Duke, there is a peculiarly wholesome knowledge
that we cannot obtain save through a child's mind; and while in the
companionship of children, we are surrounded by a field of flowers,
whose glory fructifies the good germ within us, and Wisdom--that
tallest flower, that knows no harvest--springs up at prime, blossoms
forth at compline and grows a fragrant staff, upon which man leans in
the night of life.' Then they walked away, and I heard no more."
"Dear Father Pomphrey--" Then for a moment the Duchess looked with a
far-away expression out upon the snow-covered landscape, then, on
a sudden, she said, almost pettishly,--"But, Janet, what keeps the
chest?"
"Perhaps 'tis Providence."
"What dost mean; how Providence?"
"Thou hast ordered the robe to be so perfect, so in accordance with
the Royal mode, the child will be in torment. Indeed, I am afraid
'twill make the little lady ill to be so encased. Ah! but thou art
great folk, and, as Dent hath said, such people 'spend their time in
tricking and trimming, pricking and pinning, pranking and pouncing,
girding and lacing and braving up themselves in most exquisite
manner;--these doubled and redoubled ruffles, these strouting
fardingales, long locks and fore tufts;--it was never a good world
since starching and steeling, buskes and whalebones, supporters and
rebatoes, full moons and hobbyhorses came into use.' I doubt not that
Father Pomphrey himself will demur at such cruelty."
But the chest came in time, and Katherine was satisfied.
The castle was filled with guests, and the nurseries full of
bright young children waiting impatiently to be taken to the great
picture-gallery, where, under the limned faces of many generations,
the christening was to take place.
An altar had been raised; and upon it was the golden service, a little
apart the font, and upon either side of the long gallery were flowers
banked 'neath specially honoured portraits.
At the appointed hour the children defiled down the long room, then
came the other guests, and finally Sir Julian Pomphrey in his robe of
office--Father Pomphrey, so elegant, loving, good; a princely priest.
Then came Janet with little Lady Ann in her arms; the child appearing
like an Egyptian mummy in white bands. The Duke and Duchess looked
handsome and proud, And when the celebration was concluded, all form
was dissipated, the children gathering about the youngster for a
"peep," then scampered to the flowers. And as the elder folk looked
on, some one opined that the human nosegay was more gorgeous of
apparel and glow of cheek than the Ayrshire rose or the twisted
eglantine. Then suddenly the children gathered about a single portrait
of remarkable rich colouring, and little Lady Margaret came running
and saying with a lisp,--
"Come, see, Father; 'tis the prettiest picture here, and there are no
flowers 'neath it."
"What, no flowers?" and Father Pomphrey looked down in feigned
surprise.
"Why, here _is_ a flower!" and the child lifted a crushed immortelle
from the parquetry and gave it to the priest, who quickly made the
sign of the cross and said something almost inaudible about the flower
being prophetic; and then he leant close to the child's ear, saying,--
"Will Lady Margaret do something for Father Pomphrey?"
"Aye, anything--"
"Remember always to pray for the soul of Lady Constance Clarmot." Then
raising the flower, he said abstractedly,--"What gems of thought we
find in the Garden of Youth!"
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