Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the Online
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?"