"For which the Lord be thanked!" said Inez fervently. "What is it, mydear?"
"This letter," she said.
"Yes?"
"I want Messire Laurence van Rycke to have it, after I have gone."
"He shall have it, my saint."
"He may be from home."
"I shall find him."
"He must have it before midday."
"He shall have it."
"Promise!"
"I'll swear it."
The old woman took the letter with the ring which her mistress held outto her, and then only did Lenora feel that she had done all that lay inher power to reconcile her duty to her King with her sentiment for thosewho had been kind to her.
III
How Lenora spent the rest of the long, wearisome, interminable morningshe never afterwards could have told you. The very atmosphere aroundher oppressed her well-nigh unbearably. There were the farewells to besaid to the family--to the High-Bailiff who was apologetic andobsequious, to Clemence who cried, and to Laurence who looked sadlyenquiring and reproachful.
Fortunately Mark had paved the way for these farewells in his usual airyand irresponsible manner. It was the Spanish custom--so he had assuredhis mother--that brides, after spending twenty-four hours under theirhusband's roof, returned to their parents or guardians for a few weeks.Clemence had smiled incredulously when she had heard this--but hadallowed herself anon to be persuaded. There were such queer marriagecustoms in different parts of the world these days. (Why! in many partsof Germany the bridegroom was, according to tradition, soundly thrashedby his friends directly after the religious ceremony--it was in orderthat he should be prepared for the many vicissitudes of connubial life.And there were other equally strange customs in foreign lands.) Spainwas a curious country--Clemence was prepared to admit, and ... ah, well!perhaps it was all for the best! She had been attracted by thebeautiful girl whom indeed a cruel fate seemed to have tossed into thevery midst of a family with whom she had absolutely nothing in common.Clemence had been sorry for her in her gentle, motherly way but she hadmistrusted her ... and just now all Clemence's thoughts were centred onher country's wrongs, on the great fight for political and religiousliberty which had received so severe a blow, and which the noble Princeof Orange was still determined to carry on with the help of God.
And so--though Clemence cried a little, and though her kind heart achedfor the young girl who looked so pathetic and so forlorn when she badeher good-bye--she nevertheless felt a sense of relief when sheremembered all that had been talked of and planned in this house lastnight, and thought of the packet of papers which were locked away withher most precious jewels. She kissed the girl tenderly, and spoke ofthe happy day when she would come back to her new home never to leave itagain. Lenora, pale, like a young ghost, with dark rings under hereyes, and lips that quivered with the sobs she was vainly trying tosuppress, made an effort to respond, and then hurried out of the room.But when she saw Laurence he was alone in the hall and she contrived towhisper to him: "You remember the ring?"
He nodded eagerly.
"I shall soon send it you," she said, "and ask you to do something formy sake."
"Command me," he implored, "and it shall be done."
IV
Then at last the farewells were all spoken and Lenora and her husbandstarted on their way. It had rained in torrents all themorning--therefore departure was delayed until long past midday. Thewagons for the effects were to be round almost immediately, but theirprogress would be very slow owing to the bad state of the roads.
The road between Ghent and Brussels runs parallel with the Schelde forthe first two or three leagues. The river had overflowed its banks, andin places the road was so deep under water that the horses sank in italmost up to their bellies. Everywhere it was fetlock-deep in mud, andmore like a ploughed field than a chaussee owing to the continualpassage recently of cavalry and artillery.
Mark and Lenora were travelling alone, which was distinctly unseemly ina lady of her rank, but the distance was not great, and Inez had to beleft behind to finish up the packing, whilst Mark refused to take aserving man with him, declaring that the roads were perfectly safe nowand free from footpads, and that they would surely be in Brussels beforenightfall. Lenora, who was an absolute stranger in the country and didnot know one Flemish town from another--and who moreover had done thejourney from Brussels to Ghent ten days ago in a covered coach drawn byfour horses--was ready to accept any suggestion or any itinerary withthe blindness of ignorance.
She hardly noticed that they seemed to be making very slow progress, northat the sky which had cleared up brilliantly in the early part of theafternoon was once more heavily overcast. Mark at first had made one ortwo attempts at cheerful conversation, but since Lenora only answered inmonosyllables he too relapsed into silence after awhile.
The flat, monotonous country--sodden with rain--looked unspeakablydreary to the girl accustomed to the snow-clad vistas of the Sierras andthe blue skies of Castille. As they left Ghent further and furtherbehind them, the country bore traces of the terrible ravages of Alva'srelentless occupation. Poverty and wretchedness were writ largely uponevery tiny village or hamlet which they passed: everywhere the housesbore a miserable and forlorn aspect, with broken chimneys and shatteredroofs, trees cut down to make way for the passage of cavalry or merelyfor the supplying of firewood for Alva's army. In the little town ofWetteren through which they passed, the houses looked deserted anddilapidated: the people looked ill-clad and sullen, and as they crossedthe market-place a crowd of beggars--men, women and children inmiserable rags--flocked around their horses' heels begging for alms.
So much had Spanish occupation done for this proud country which only avery few years ago had boasted that not one of its children ever lackedclothing or food. Tears of pity gathered in Lenora's eyes: she, ofcourse, did not know that the misery which she witnessed was due to herpeople, to her country and to her King ... and in no small measure toher father. She gave the poor folk money and said kindly words ofcompassion to them. Then she turned to Mark.
"It is dreadful," she said naively, "to see so much misery in the land,when our Sovereign Lord the King does so much for its welfare. It isthese wretched internal dissensions, I suppose, that are ruining thecountry. Surely all those abominable rebels must see that theirobstinacy and treachery redounds upon their own kith and kin."
"They ought to see that, oughtn't they?" was Mark's dry and curtcomment. And Lenora, chilled by such strange indifference, once morerelapsed into her former silence.
V
When they neared the walls of Dendermonde, Mark announced that his horsehad cast a shoe. He dismounted, and leading his horse by the bridle headvanced to the city gate. Here, however, both he and Lenora weresummarily stopped by a young provost who demanded to see their papers ofidentification, their travelling permits, and their permit to enter thisfortified city.
To Lenora's astonishment Mark, who was always so good-humoured andplacid, became violent and abusive at this formality imposed upon him.It was in no way different to those which the municipality of Ghentwould have enjoined on any stranger who desired to enter the city.These had been rendered necessary by the many stringent edictsformulated by the Lieutenant-Governor against the harbouring of rebelsin fortified towns, and all law-abiding citizens were in consequenceobliged to provide themselves with the necessary passes and permitswhenever they desired to travel.
Lenora--whose ignorance of every law, every formality, every dutyimposed upon this once free and proud country by its Spanish masters wasunbounded--could not quite understand why her husband, who was the sonof a high civic dignitary, had not taken care that all his papers werein order, before he embarked upon this journey. It surely had been hisduty to do that, in order to save himself and his wife from thehumiliation of being thus held up at a city gate by an insolent provost,who h
ad the power to make his authority felt, and was not sparing ofabuse of loutish Netherlanders who were wilfully ignorant of the law, orelse impudent enough to flout it. An unpleasant quarrel between the twomen would undoubtedly have ensued and would inevitably have ended indisaster for Mark, but for the intervention of Lenora who spoke to theprovost in Spanish.
"I am this noble gentleman's wife," she said haughtily in response to aninsolent look from the young soldier, "and the daughter of senor Juan deVargas, who will make you responsible, sirrah, for any inconvenience youmay cause me."
At mention of the all-powerful and dreaded name, the provost's mannerimmediately underwent a change. At the same time he was not prepared toaccept the statement quite so unconditionally as Lenora had supposed.
"This noble gentleman," he retorted half-sullenly, "hath no paperswhereby I can verify the truth of what he asserts. He has none wherebyhe can prove to me that he is the son of the High-Bailiff of Ghent, andthat you are his wife and the daughter of don Juan de Vargas."
"You have my word for both these assertions, you accursed fool,"exclaimed Mark hotly.
"And I'll make you rue your insolence, you dog of a Netherlander,"retorted the provost, "and teach you how to treat a soldier of theKing...."
"Mark, I entreat you, not in my presence," broke in Lenora hastily, forshe saw that her husband--apparently beside himself with rage--was aboutto commit one of those foolish and purposeless acts of violence whichwould have resulted for them both in a veritable chaplet ofunpleasantness: imprisonment in a guard-room, bringing up before asheriff, interrogations, abuse and insults, until the High-Bailiff orher father could be communicated with--a matter probably of two or threedays, dependent on the good will of the very sheriff before whom theywould appear.
It was positively unthinkable. Lenora could not understand how Markcould be so foolish as to lose his temper, when he was so obviously inthe wrong, nor how he could have been so thoughtless in the matter ofthe papers.
She managed by dint of tactful speech and the power of her beautifulpersonality to pacify the wrath of the provost, and to half-persuade himto believe her assertion that she was indeed the daughter of don Juan deVargas. At any rate the young soldier was by now sufficiently impressedby the sound of that dreaded name to decline any further responsibilityin this difficult matter.
He allowed the travellers to pass through the city gates: "And to remainwithin the city for two hours," he added significantly; "if you wish tostay the night, you must obtain permission from the Schout."
Mark eased his temper by muttering a few more imprecations under hisbreath, then he seemed content and somewhat pacified, and finally ledLenora's horse and his own quietly through the inner fortifications, andthence across the Flax Market to the Grand' Place.
VI
Mark established his young wife in the ingle-nook of the _tapperij_ inthe highly-respectable tavern of the "Merry Beggars," opposite the ClothHall.
He enjoined the host and hostess to take every care of the noble lady,and then he went off himself in search of a farrier.
Fortunately at this hour--it was just three o'clock in theafternoon--the _tapperij_ was practically deserted. In one corner bythe window, two middle-aged burghers were playing hazard, in another asoldier was fast asleep. Mine host was passing kind; he brought a roomyarmchair up to the hearth for the pretty lady, threw a fresh log uponthe fire, kicked it into a blaze and placed a footstool at Lenora'sfeet. His wife--a buxom though sad-eyed Flemish vrouw--brought her somewarm milk and a piece of wheaten bread. Lenora ate and drank withrelish for she was both hungry and tired, and when she had finishedeating, she leaned back in the big armchair and soon fell comfortablyasleep. She had had practically no rest the night before: her nerveswere overstrung, and her eyes hot with weeping. There was also a heavyload on her heart--a load chiefly weighted by the packet which wasdestined for her father and which she still carried carefully hidden inthe bosom of her gown.
So strange are the contradictions of the human heart--of a woman's heartabove all--that ofttimes to-day as her horse ambled slowly along besideMark's she had caught herself wishing--hoping--that something unforeseenwould occur which would make it impossible for her to go toBrussels--something which would force her to go back to Ghent with thecontents of that packet still a close secret within her heart. In themorning she had watched the skies anxiously, hardly aware that withinher innermost soul she was hoping that the continuous rains had made theroads impassable--broken down a bridge--that some sign in fact wouldcome to her from God that she was absolved from that awful oath, thefulfilment of which seemed indeed an impossible task.
Then would come a terrible revulsion of feeling: she would remember thatthe Prince of Orange was even now in Ghent, with two thousand men whowere to be armed by him so that they might fight against their King andthreaten the life of the Lieutenant-Governor, the King's own chosenrepresentative. And she would hate and despise herself for her cowardlyirresolution--her very prayer to God appeared like blasphemy--and shewanted to urge the horses forward, she fretted at every delay, for delaymight mean the murder of the Duke of Alva, and the standard of rebellionhoisted up in triumph above the Town House of Ghent.
Women will understand and pity her--those at least who once in theirlife have been torn 'twixt duty and sentiment. Lenora was not one ofthe strong-minded of her sex: she was very young--a mere girl reared inthe tranquillity of convent life, and then suddenly thrown into thevortex of political intrigue, of cruel reprisals and bitter revolt; andheart and mind within her fought a terrible battle which threatened toruin her entire life.
But in the meanwhile she was sorely in need of rest. The _tapperij_ wasso quiet and the ingle-nook was rendered quite private by a tall screenbetween it and the rest of the room. The soldier in the corner wassnoring with insistent monotony, a big blue-bottle droned against thewindow, and a pleasing glow and cheerful crackling came from the fire inthe hearth.
Lenora slept peacefully.
CHAPTER X
ENEMIES
I
When she woke, Mark was sitting as he was so fond of doing on a lowstool close to the hearth, with one long leg stretched out to the blaze,his elbow resting on his knee, his face overshadowed by his hand.Lenora--even as she first opened her eyes--saw that he was looking ather. A quick blush rose to her cheeks.
"Is it time to go?" she asked quickly.
"Not yet," he replied.
She was a little startled and looked around her, puzzled and anxious.The room had looked so light and cheerful when she had entered it--twolarge bow windows gave on the Grand' Place--and the weather had remainedclear and bright. But now it seemed so dark, almost as if twilight wasfading fast.
"What hour is it?" she questioned, and looked about her anxiously for aclock.
"I do not know," he replied airily.
"But your horse?"
"Still at the farrier's: he was busy and could not shoe her at once."
"But I am sure that it must be getting late," she said with a suddennote of anxiety in her voice.
"Very late, I am afraid," he said lightly.
"Then should we not be starting for Brussels?"
"We cannot. I have no horse."
"You can hire one, surely?"
"Not in this town."
"But I must be in Brussels by nightfall," she urged.
"I am afraid that this is impossible in any case. The powers that reignsupreme in this town would not--if you remember--allow us into it, andnow they will not allow us out."
"But that is impossible," she exclaimed, "monstrous!..."
"Monstrous, as you say, Madonna," he rejoined with a smile. "But do youfeel equal to scaling the city walls?"
"Oh!"
"I fear me that that would be the only thing to do, if indeed you desireto be in Brussels this night ... and even then, I doubt but that th
eywould bring us back."
"Then, Messire," she asked, trying to appear as calm, as detached, as heseemed to be, "do you mean to tell me that we must spend thenight--here?"
"It is a pretty city..." he suggested.
"That we cannot now start for Brussels?"
"Impossible. The Schout of Dendermonde hath refused to allow us out ofthis city until we have proved to his satisfaction that we are neitherspies of the Prince of Orange, nor emissaries of the Queen of England."
"You should have seen to it, Messire," she said haughtily, "that all ourpapers were in order. This is an exceedingly mortifying and unpleasantcontretemps."
"I did not know the French word for it, Madonna," he rejoined withexasperating good-humour, "but I know that it must be somewhatunpleasant ... for you."
She tried to meet his glance, without that tell-tale blush spreadingimmediately over her cheeks: and she could have cried with vexation whenshe saw that the merry twinkle was more apparent in his grey eyes thanit had been since their wedding day.
"I believe," she said slowly, "that you, Messire, have devised thisscheme from beginning to end. You neglected your paperspurposely--purposely you quarrelled with the provost at thegate--purposely you have caused me to be detained in this miserablecity...."
"A pretty city, Madonna," he interposed imperturbably, "the church wasbuilt three hundred years ago ... the Cloth Hall..."
Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders Page 16
