Kitabı oku: «Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland», sayfa 22
CHAPTER XXVII
THE CASTLE WELL
"What vantage or what thing
Gett'st thou thus for to sting,
Thou false and flatt'ring liar?
Thy tongue doth hurt, it's seen
No less than arrows keen
Or hot consuming fire."
So sang the congregation in the chapel at Chartley, in the strains of Sternhold and Hopkins, while Humfrey Talbot could not forbear from a misgiving whether these falsehoods were entirely on the side to which they were thus liberally attributed. Opposite to him stood Cicely, in her dainty Sunday farthingale of white, embroidered with violet buds, and a green and violet boddice to match, holding herself with that unconscious royal bearing which had always distinguished her, but with an expression of care and anxiety drawing her dark brows nearer together as she bent over her book.
She knew that her mother had left her bed with the earliest peep of summer dawn, and had met the two secretaries in her cabinet. There they were busy for hours, and she had only returned to her bed just as the household began to bestir itself.
"My child," she said to Cicely, "I am about to put my life into thy keeping and that of this Talbot lad. If what he saith of this Langston be sooth, I am again betrayed, fool that I was to expect aught else. My life is spent in being betrayed. The fellow hath been a go-between in all that hath passed between Babington and me. If he hath uttered it to Walsingham, all is over with our hopes, and the window in whose sunlight I have been basking is closed for ever! But something may yet be saved. Something? What do I say?—The letters I hold here would give colour for taking my life, ay, and Babington's and Curll's, and many more. I trusted to have burnt them, but in this summer time there is no coming by fire or candle without suspicion, and if I tore them they might be pieced together, nay, and with addition. They must be carried forth and made away with beyond the ken of Paulett and his spies. Now, this lad hath some bowels of compassion and generous indignation. Thou wilt see him again, alone and unsuspected, ere he departs. Thou must deal with him to bear this packet away, and when he is far out of reach to drop it into the most glowing fire, or the deepest pool he can find. Tell him it may concern thy life and liberty, and he will do it, but be not simple enough to say ought of Babington."
"He would be as like to do it for Babington as for any other," said Cis.
The Queen smiled and said, "Nineteen years old, and know thus little of men."
"I know Humfrey at least," said Cis.
"Then deal with him after thy best knowledge, to make him convey away this perilous matter ere a search come upon us. Do it we must, maiden, not for thy poor mother's sake alone, but for that of many a faithful spirit outside, and above all of poor Curll. Think of our Barbara! Would that I could have sent her out of reach of our alarms and shocks, but Paulett is bent on penning us together like silly birds in the net. Still proofs will be wanting if thou canst get this youth to destroy this packet unseen. Tell him that I know his parents' son too well to offer him any meed save the prayers and blessings of a poor captive, or to fear that he would yield it for the largest reward Elizabeth's coffers could yield."
"It shall be done, madam," said Cicely. But there was a strong purpose in her mind that Humfrey should not be implicated in the matter.
When after dinner Sir Amias Paulett made his daily visit of inspection to the Queen, she begged that the young Talbots might be permitted another walk in the garden; and when he replied that he did not approve of worldly pastime on the Sabbath, she pleaded the celebrated example of John Knox finding Calvin playing at bowls on a Sunday afternoon at Geneva, and thus absolutely prevailed on him to let them take a short walk together in brotherly love, while the rest of the household was collected in the hall to be catechised by the chaplain.
So out they went together, but to Humfrey's surprise, Cicely walked on hardly speaking to him, so that he fancied at first that she must have had a lecture on her demeanour to him. She took him along the broad terrace beside the bowling-green, through some yew-tree walks to a stone wall, and a gate which proved to be locked. She looked much disappointed, but scanning the wall with her eye, said, "We have scaled walls together before now, and higher than this. Humfrey, I cannot tell you why, but I must go over here."
The wall was overgrown with stout branches of ivy, and though the Sunday farthingale was not very appropriate for climbing, Cicely's active feet and Humfrey's strong arm carried her safely to where she could jump down on the other side, into a sort of wilderness where thorn and apple trees grew among green mounds, heaps of stones and broken walls, the ruins of some old outbuilding of the former castle. There was only a certain trembling eagerness about her, none of the mirthful exultation that the recurrence of such an escapade with her old companion would naturally have excited, and all she said was, "Stand here, Humfrey; an you love me, follow me not. I will return anon."
With stealthy stop she disappeared behind a mound covered by a thicket of brambles, but Humfrey was much too anxious for her safety not to move quietly onwards. He saw her kneeling by one of those black yawning holes, often to be found in ruins, intent upon fastening a small packet to a stone; he understood all in a moment, and drew back far enough to secure that no one molested her. There was something in this reticence of hers that touched him greatly; it showed so entirely that she had learnt the lesson of loyalty which his father's influence had impressed, and likewise one of self-dependence. What was right for her to do for her mother and Queen might not be right for him, as an Englishman, to aid and abet; and small as the deed seemed in itself, her thus silently taking it on herself rather than perplex him with it, added a certain esteem and respect to the affection he had always had for her.
She came back to him with bounding steps, as if with a lightened heart, and as he asked her what this strange place was, she explained that here were said to be the ruins of the former castle, and that beyond lay the ground where sometimes the party shot at the butts. A little dog of Mary Seaton's had been lost the last time of their archery, and it was feared that he had fallen down the old well to which Cis now conducted Humfrey. There was a sound—long, hollow, reverberating, when Humfrey threw a stone down, and when Cecily asked him, in an awestruck voice, whether he thought anything thrown there would ever be heard of more, he could well say that he believed not.
She breathed freely, but they were out of bounds, and had to scramble back, which they did undetected, and with much more mirth than the first time. Cicely was young enough to be glad to throw off her anxieties and forget them. She did not want to talk over the plots she only guessed at; which were not to her exciting mysteries, but gloomy terrors into which she feared to look. Nor was she free to say much to Humfrey of what she knew. Indeed the rebound, and the satisfaction of having fulfilled her commission, had raised Cicely's spirits, so that she was altogether the bright childish companion Humfrey had known her before he went to sea, or royalty had revealed itself to her; and Sir Amias Paulett would hardly have thought them solemn and serious enough for an edifying Sunday talk could he have heard them laughing over Humfrey's adventures on board ship, or her troubles in learning to dance in a high and disposed manner. She came in so glowing and happy that the Queen smiled and sighed, and called her her little milkmaid, commending her highly, however, for having disposed of the dangerous parcel unknown (as she believed) to her companion. "The fewer who have to keep counsel, the sickerer it is," she said.
Humfrey meantime joined the rest of the household, and comported himself at the evening sermon with such exemplary discretion as entirely to win the heart of Sir Amias Paulett, who thought him listening to Mr. Blunden's oft-divided headings, while he was in fact revolving on what pretext he could remain to protect Cicely. The Knight gave him that pretext, when he spoke of departing early on Monday morning, offering him, or rather praying him to accept, the command of the guards, whose former captain had been dismissed as untrustworthy. Sir Amias undertook that a special messenger should be sent to take a letter to Bridgefield, explaining Humfrey's delay, and asking permission from his parents to undertake the charge, since it was at this very crisis that he was especially in need of God-fearing men of full integrity. Then moved to confidence, the old gentleman disclosed that not only was he in fear of an attack on the house from the Roman Catholic gentry in the neighbourhood, which was to take place as soon as Parma's ships were seen on the coast, but that he dreaded his own servants being tampered with by some whom he would not mention to take the life of the prisoner secretly.
"It hath been mooted to me," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "that to take such a deed on me would be good service to the Queen and to religion, but I cast the thought from me. It can be nought but a deadly sin—accursed of God—and were I to consent, I should be the first to be accused."
"It would be no better than the King of Spain himself," exclaimed Humfrey.
"Even so, young man, and right glad am I to find one who thinks with me. For the other practices, they are none of mine, and is it not written 'In the same pit which they laid privily is their foot taken'?"
"Then there are other practices?"
"Ask me no questions, Mr. Talbot. All will be known soon enough. Be content that I will lay nothing on you inconsistent with the honour of a Christian man, knowing that you will serve the Queen faithfully."
Humfrey gave his word, resolving that he would warn Cicely to reckon henceforth on nothing on his part that did not befit a man in charge.
CHAPTER XXVIII
HUNTING DOWN THE DEER
Humfrey had been sworn in of the service of the Queen, and had been put in charge of the guard mustered at Chartley for about ten days, during which he seldom saw Cicely, and wondered much not to have heard from home: when a stag-hunt was arranged to take place at the neighbouring park of Tickhill or Tixall, belonging to Sir Walter Ashton.
The chase always invigorated Queen Mary, and she came down in cheerful spirits, with Cicely and Mary Seaton as her attendants, and with the two secretaries, Nau and Curll, heading the other attendants.
"Now," she said to Cicely, "shall I see this swain, or this brother of thine, who hath done us such good service, and I promise you there will be more in my greeting than will meet Sir Amias's ear."
But to Cicely's disappointment Humfrey was not among the horsemen mustered at the door to attend and guard the Queen.
"My little maid's eye is seeking for her brother," said Mary, as Sir Amias advanced to assist her to her horse.
"He hath another charge which will keep him at home," replied Paulett, somewhat gruffly, and they rode on.
It was a beautiful day in early August, the trees in full foliage, the fields seen here and there through them assuming their amber harvest tints, the twin spires of Lichfield rising in the distance, the park and forest ground through which the little hunting-party rode rich with purple heather, illuminated here and there with a bright yellow spike or star, and the rapid motion of her brisk palfrey animated the Queen. She began to hope that Humfrey had after all brought a false alarm, and that either he had been mistaken or that Langston was deceiving the Council itself, and though Sir Amias Paulett's close proximity held her silent, those who knew her best saw that her indomitably buoyant spirits were rising, and she hummed to herself the refrain of a gay French hunting-song, with the more zest perhaps that her warder held himself trebly upright, stiff and solemn under it, as one who thought such lively times equally unbefitting a lady, a queen, and a captive. So at least Cis imagined as she watched them, little guessing that there might be deeper reasons of compassion and something like compunction to add to the gravity of the old knight's face.
As they came in sight of the gate of Tickhill Park, they became aware of a company whose steel caps and shouldered arquebuses did not look like those of huntsmen. Mary bounded in her saddle, she looked round at her little suite with a glance of exultation in her eye, which said as plainly as words, "My brave friends, the hour has come!" and she quickened her steed, expecting, no doubt, that she might have to outride Sir Amias in order to join them.
One gentleman came forward from the rest. He held a parchment in his hand, and as soon as he was alongside of the Queen thus read:—
"Mary, late Queen of Scots and Queen Dowager of France, I, Thomas Gorges, attaint thee of high treason and of compassing the life of our most Gracious Majesty Queen Elizabeth, in company with Antony Babington, John Ballard, Chidiock Tichborne, Robert Barnwell, and others."
Mary held up her hands, and raised her eyes to Heaven, and a protest was on her lips, but Gorges cut it short with, "It skills not denying it, madam. The proofs are in our hands. I have orders to conduct you to Tickhill, while seals are put on your effects."
"That there may be proofs of your own making," said the Queen, with dignity. "I have experience of that mode of judgment. So, Sir Amias Paulett, the chase you lured me to was truly of a poor hunted doe whom you think you have run down at last. A worthy chase indeed, and of long continuance!"
"I do but obey my orders, madam," said Paulett, gloomily.
"Oh ay, and so does the sleuth-hound," said Mary.
"Your Grace must be pleased to ride on with me," said Mr. Gorges, laying his hand on her bridle.
"What are you doing with those gentlemen?" cried Mary, sharply reining in her horse, as she saw Nau and Curll surrounded by the armed men.
"They will be dealt with after her Majesty's pleasure," returned Paulett.
Mary dropped her rein and threw up her hands with a gesture of despair, but as Gorges was leading her away, she turned on her saddle, and raised her voice to call out, "Farewell, my true and faithful servants! Betide what may, your mistress will remember you in her prayers. Curll, we will take care of your wife."
And she waved her hand to them as they were made, with a strong guard, to ride off in the direction of Lichfield. All the way to Tickhill, whither she was conducted with Gorges and Paulett on either side of her horse, Cis could hear her pleading for consideration for poor Barbara Curll, for whose sake she forgot her own dignity and became a suppliant.
Sir Walter Ashton, a dull heavy-looking country gentleman of burly form and ruddy countenance, stood at his door, and somewhat clownishly offered his services to hand her from her horse.
She submitted passively till she had reached the upper chamber which had been prepared for her, and there, turning on the three gentlemen, demanded the meaning of this treatment.
"You will soon know, madam," said Paulett. "I am sorry that thus it should be."
"Thus!" repeated Mary, scornfully. "What means this?"
"It means, madam," said Gorges, a ruder man of less feeling even than Paulett, "that your practices with recusants and seminary priests have been detected. The traitors are in the Counter, and will shortly be brought to judgment for the evil purposes which have been frustrated by the mercy of Heaven."
"It is well if treason against my good sister's person have been detected and frustrated," said Mary; "but how doth that concern me?"
"That, madam, the papers at Chartley will show," returned Gorges. "Meantime you will remain here, till her Majesty's pleasure be known."
"Where, then, are my women and my servants?" inquired the Queen.
"Your Grace will be attended by the servants of Sir Walter Ashton."
"Gentlemen, this is not seemly," said Mary, the colour coming hotly into her face. "I know it is not the will of my cousin, the Queen of England, that I should remain here without any woman to attend me, nor any change of garments. You are exceeding your commission, and she shall hear of it."
Sir Amias Paulett here laid his hand on Gorges' arm, and after exchanging a few words with him, said—
"Madam, this young lady, Mistress Talbot, being simple, and of a loyal house, may remain with you for the present. For the rest, seals are put on all your effects at Chartley, and nothing can be removed from thence, but what is needful will be supplied by my Lady Ashton. I bid your Grace farewell, craving your pardon for what may have been hasty in this."
Mary stood in the centre of the floor, full of her own peculiar injured dignity, not answering, but making a low ironical reverence. Mary Seaton fell on her knees, clung to the Queen's dress, and declared that while she lived, she would not leave her mistress.
"Endure this also, ma mie," said the Queen, in French. "Give them no excuse for using violence. They would not scruple—" and as a demonstration to hinder French-speaking was made by the gentlemen, "Fear not for me, I shall not be alone."
"I understand your Grace and obey," said Mary Seaton, rising, with a certain bitterness in her tone, which made Mary say— "Ah! why must jealousy mar the fondest affection? Remember, it is their choice, not mine, my Seaton, friend of my youth. Bear my loving greetings to all. And take care of poor Barbara!"
"Madam, there must be no private messages," said Paulett.
"I send no messages save what you yourself may hear, sir," replied the Queen. "My greetings to my faithful servants, and my entreaty that all care and tenderness may be shown to Mrs. Curll."
"I will bear them, madam," said the knight, "and so I commend you to God's keeping, praying that He may send you repentance. Believe me, madam, I am sorry that this has been put upon me."
To this Mary only replied by a gesture of dismissal. The three gentlemen drew back, a key grated in the lock, and the mother and daughter were left alone.
To Cicely it was a terrible hopeless sound, and even to her mother it was a lower depth of wretchedness. She had been practically a captive for nearly twenty years. She had been insulted, watched, guarded, coerced, but never in this manner locked up before.
She clasped her hands together, dropped on her knees at the table that stood by her, and hid her face. So she continued till she was roused by the sound of Cicely's sobs. Frightened and oppressed, and new to all terror and sorrow, the girl had followed her example in kneeling, but the very attempt to pray brought on a fit of weeping, and the endeavour to restrain what might disturb the Queen only rendered the sobs more choking and strangling, till at last Mary heard, and coming towards her, sat down on the floor, gathered her into her arms, and kissing her forehead, said, "Poor bairnie, and did she weep for her mother? Have the sorrows of her house come on her?"
"O mother, I could not help it! I meant to have comforted you," said Cicely, between her sobs.
"And so thou dost, my child. Unwittingly they have left me that which was most precious to me."
There was consolation in the fondness of the loving embrace, at least to such sorrows as those of the maiden; and Queen Mary had an inalienable power of charming the will and affections of those in contact with her, so that insensibly there came into Cicely's heart a sense that, so far from weeping, she should rejoice at being the one creature left to console her mother.
"And," she said by and by, looking up with a smile, "they must go to the bottom of the old well to find anything."
"Hush, lassie. Never speak above thy breath in a prison till thou know'st whether walls have ears. And, apropos, let us examine what sort of a prison they have given us this time."
So saying Mary rose, and leaning on her daughter's arm, proceeded to explore her new abode. Like her apartment at the Lodge, it was at the top of the house, a fashion not uncommon when it was desirable to make the lower regions defensible; but, whereas she had always hitherto been placed in the castles of the highest nobility, she was now in that of a country knight of no great wealth or refinement, and, moreover, taken by surprise.
So the plenishing was of the simplest. The walls were covered with tapestry so faded that the pattern could hardly be detected. The hearth yawned dark and dull, and by it stood one chair with a moth-eaten cushion. A heavy oaken table and two forms were in the middle of the room, and there was the dreary, fusty smell of want of habitation. The Queen, whose instincts for fresh air were always a distress to her ladies, sprang to the mullioned window, but the heavy lattice defied all her efforts.
"Let us see the rest of our dominions," she said, turning to a door, which led to a still more gloomy bedroom, where the only articles of furniture were a great carved bed, with curtains of some undefined dark colour, and an oaken chest. The window was a mere slit, and even more impracticable than that of the outer room. However, this did not seem to horrify Mary so much as it did her daughter. "They cannot mean to keep us here long," she said; "perhaps only for the day, while they make their search—their unsuccessful search—thanks to—we know whom, little one."
"I hope so! How could we sleep there?" said Cicely, looking with a shudder at the bed.
"Tush! I have seen worse in Scotland, mignonne, ay and when I was welcomed as liege lady, not as a captive. I have slept in a box like a coffin with one side open, and I have likewise slept on a plaidie on the braw purple blossoms of freshly pulled heather! Nay, the very thought makes this chamber doubly mouldy and stifling! Let the old knight beware. If he open not his window I shall break it! Soft. Here he comes."
Sir Walter Ashton appeared, louting low, looking half-dogged, half-sheepish, and escorting two heavy-footed, blue-coated serving-men, who proceeded to lay the cloth, which at least had the merit of being perfectly clean and white. Two more brought in covered silver dishes, one of which contained a Yorkshire pudding, the other a piece of roast-beef, apparently calculated to satisfy five hungry men. A flagon of sack, a tankard of ale, a dish of apples, and a large loaf of bread, completed the meal; at which the Queen and Cicely, accustomed daily to a first table of sixteen dishes and a second of nine, compounded by her Grace's own French cooks and pantlers, looked with a certain amused dismay, as Sir Walter, standing by the table, produced a dagger from a sheath at his belt, and took up with it first a mouthful of the pudding, then cut off a corner of the beef, finished off some of the bread, and having swallowed these, as well as a draught of each of the liquors, said, "Good and sound meats, not tampered with, as I hereby testify. You take us suddenly, madam; but I thank Heaven, none ever found us unprovided. Will it please you to fall to? Your woman can eat after you."
Mary's courtesy was unfailing, and though she felt all a Frenchwoman's disgust at the roast-beef of old England, she said, "We are too close companions not to eat together, and I fear she will be the best trencher comrade, for, sir, I am a woman sick and sorrowful, and have little stomach for meat."
As Sir Walter carved a huge red piece from the ribs, she could not help shrinking back from it, so that he said with some affront, "You need not be queasy, madam, it was cut from a home-fed bullock, only killed three days since, and as prime a beast as any in Stafford."
"Ah! yea, sir. It is not the fault of the beef, but of my feebleness. Mistress Talbot will do it reason. But I, methinks I could eat better were the windows opened."
But Sir Walter replied that these windows were not of the new-fangled sort, made to open, that honest men might get rheums, and foolish maids prate therefrom. So there was no hope in that direction. He really seemed to be less ungracious than utterly clownish, dull, and untaught, and extremely shy and embarrassed with his prisoner.
Cicely poured out some wine, and persuaded her to dip some bread in, which, with an apple, was all she could taste. However, the fare, though less nicely served than by good Mrs. Susan, was not so alien to Cicely, and she was of an age and constitution to be made hungry by anxiety and trouble, so that—encouraged by the Queen whenever she would have desisted—she ended by demolishing a reasonable amount.
Sir Walter stood all the time, looking on moodily and stolidly, with his cap in his hand. The Queen tried to talk to him, and make inquiries of him, but he had probably steeled himself to her blandishments, for nothing but gruff monosyllables could be extracted from him, except when he finally asked what she would be pleased to have for supper.
"Mine own cook and pantler have hitherto provided for me. They would save your household the charge, sir," said Mary, "and I would be at charges for them."
"Madam, I can bear the charge in the Queen's service. Your black guard are under ward. And if not, no French jackanapes shall ever brew his messes in my kitchen! Command honest English fare, madam, and if it be within my compass, you shall have it. No one shall be stinted in Walter Ashton's house; but I'll not away with any of your outlandish kickshaws. Come, what say you to eggs and bacon, madam?"
"As you will, sir," replied Mary, listlessly. And Sir Walter, opening the door, shouted to his serving-man, who speedily removed the meal, he going last and making his clumsy reverence at the door, which he locked behind him.
"So," said Mary, "I descend! I have had the statesman, the earl, the courtly knight, the pedantic Huguenot, for my warders. Now am I come to the clown. Soon will it be the dungeon and the headsman."
"O dear madam mother, speak not thus," cried Cicely. "Remember they can find nothing against you."
"They can make what they cannot find, my poor child. If they thirst for my blood, it will cost them little to forge a plea. Ah, lassie! there have been times when nothing but my cousin Elizabeth's conscience, or her pity, stood between me and doom. If she be brought to think that I have compassed her death, why then there is naught for it but to lay my head on the same pillow as Norfolk and More and holy Fisher, and many another beside. Well, be it so! I shall die a martyr for the Holy Church, and thus may I atone by God's mercy for my many sins! Yea, I offer myself a sacrifice," she said, folding her hands and looking upward with a light on her face. "O do Thou accept it, and let my sufferings purge away my many misdeeds, and render it a pure and acceptable offering unto Thee. Child, child," she added, turning to Cicely, "would that thou wert of my faith, then couldst thou pray for me."
"O mother, mother, I can do that. I do pray for thee."
And hand in hand with tears often rising, they knelt while Mary repeated in broken voice the Miserere.
