Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  My conscience will serve me to run from this Jew. _Merchant of Venice_.

  We will now return to Lady Constance de Grey, whose fate must nolonger be left in uncertainty; and taking up the thread of ournarrative at the moment Sir Osborne quitted her, on the eventfulevening which destroyed all his fond expectations, we will, in ourhomely way, record the events that followed.

  It may be remembered, that at the very instant the knight parted fromgood Dr. Wilbraham at the door of the young lady's apartment in thepalace at Richmond, a letter was put into the clergyman's hands, to bedelivered to the heiress of De Grey, for such was the style of theaddress. No time was lost by Dr. Wilbraham in giving the letter intohis lady's hands; and on being opened, it proved to be one of thoseanonymous epistles which are seldom even worth the trouble ofdeciphering, being prompted always by some motive which dares not avowitself.

  However, as Lady Constance was very little in the habit of receivingletters from any one, and certainly none to which the writer dare notput his name, mere curiosity, if nothing else, would have prompted herto read it through; the more especially as it was written in a fineand clerkly hand, and in a style and manner to be acquired alone byhigh and courtly education. Although the letter is still extant, weshall not copy it, having already given one specimen of thecompositions of that day, and not at all wishing to depreciate thetimes of our hero and heroine in the estimation of our more cultivatedreaders. Let it be considered as sufficient, then, that we merely say,the letter professed to be a warning from a friend, and informed theyoung lady that the most rigorous measures were about to be adoptedtowards her, in case of her still refusing to comply with Wolsey'scommand in respect to her marriage with Lord Darby. The writer thenhinted that perpetual seclusion in a convent, together with theforfeiture of all her estates, would be the consequence, if she couldnot contrive to fly immediately; but that, if she could, her person atleast would be at liberty, and that a friend would watch over herproperty; and, as a conclusion, he advised her to leave Richmond bywater, as the means which would leave the least trace of her course.

  So singularly did this letter anticipate not only her own fears, butalso her own plans, that it instantly acquired, in the eyes of LadyConstance, an authenticity which it did not otherwise possess; andplacing it in the hands of Dr. Wilbraham, she asked his opinion uponits contents.

  "Pshaw!" cried the clergyman when he had read it; "pshaw! lady, it isall nonsense! The very reverend lord cardinal will never try to makeyou marry against your will. Do not frighten yourself about it, mydear lady; depend on it, 'tis all nonsense. Let me see it again." Butafter he had read it over once more, Dr. Wilbraham's opinion seemed insome degree to change. He considered the letter, and reconsidered it,with very thoughtful eyes, and then declared it was strange that anyone should write it unless it were true; and yet he would not believethat either. "Pray, lady, have you any idea who wrote it?" demandedhe.

  "I can imagine but one person," said Lady Constance, "who couldpossess the knowledge and would take the pains. Margaret, leave us,"she continued, turning to the waiting-woman. "I have heard, my dearDr. Wilbraham," she proceeded, as soon as they were alone, "that youwere in former times acquainted with an old knight called Sir Cesar. Imet him yesterday when I was out in the park." Lady Constance paused,and a slight blush came into her cheek, as she remembered that thegood clergyman knew nothing of the affection which subsisted betweenherself and Darnley; and feeling a strong repugnance to say that hewas with her at the moment, she hesitated, not knowing how to proceed.

  Dr. Wilbraham relieved her, however, by exclaiming, the instant shestopped, "Oh, yes, lady; in truth I know him well. He was the dearestand the best friend of my Lord Fitzbernard; and though unhappily givento strange and damnable pursuits--God forgive him!--I must say he wasa friend to all the human race, and a man to be trusted and esteemed.But think you this letter came from him?"

  "He is the only one," replied Constance, "on whom my mind could for amoment fix as having written it."

  "It is very likely," answered the clergyman: "it is very likely; andif it comes from him, you may believe every word that it contains. Hisknowledge, lady, is strange, is very strange, and is more than good,but it is sure. He is one of those restless spirits that must ever bebusy; and, human knowledge not being sufficient for his eager mind, hehas sought more than he should seek, and found more than is for thepeace of his soul."

  "But if he make a good use of his knowledge," said Constance, "surelyit cannot be very wicked, my dear sir."

  "It is presumptuous, lady," replied the clergyman; "it is mostpresumptuous to seek what God has concealed from our poor nature."

  "But if this letter be from him," said the lady, "and the bad tidingsthat it brings be true, what ought I to do? You, whom my dear fatherleft with me, asking you never to quit me---you must be my adviser,and tell me what to do in this emergency; for sure I am that you willnever advise me to marry a man whom I do not love, and who does noteven love me."

  "No, no, heaven forbid! especially when you would rather marryOsborne," said the good clergyman with the utmost simplicity, lookingupon it quite as a matter of course, which required no particulardelicacy of handling: "and a much better thing too, lady, in everyrespect," he continued, seeing that he had called up a blush inConstance's cheek, and fancying that it arose from a fear of hisdisapproving her choice. "If you will tell the lord cardinal all thecircumstances, depend upon it he will not press you to do anything youdislike. Let him have the whole history, my dear lady; tell him thatyou do not love Lord Darby, and that he loves another; and then showhim how dearly Darnley loves you, and how you love him in return; andthen----"

  "Oh, hush, hush! my dear Dr. Wilbraham!" cried the lady, with theblood glowing through her fair clear skin, over neck, and face, andforehead. "Impossible, indeed; quite impossible! You forget."

  "Oh! yes, yes, I did forget," replied the chaplain. "Osborne does notwish his name to be known; I did forget. Very true! That isunfortunate. But cannot you just insinuate that you do love some oneelse, but do not like to mention his name?"

  Lady Constance now endeavoured to make the simple clergymanunderstand, that under any circumstances she would be obliged to limither reply to the cardinal to a plain refusal to wed Lord Darby; andthough he could not enter into any feelings of reluctance on her partto avow her regard for Darnley, yet he fully comprehended that she wasbound to hold undivulged the confidence of others. However, he did notcease to lament that this was the case, fully convinced in his ownmind, that if she had been able to inform Wolsey of everything, theprelate, whom he judged after his own heart, would have unhesitatinglyaccorded his sanction to all her wishes, whereas, at present, herrefusal might be attributed to obstinacy, being unsupported by anyreasons; and thus, indeed, he observed, Sir Cesar's prediction mightbe fulfilled, and she obliged to fly to screen herself from theconsequences. Dr. Wilbraham having admitted that there might be anecessity for flight, the mind of Constance was infinitely quieted,that being a point on which she had long, long wished to ascertain hisopinion, yet had timidly held back, believing him to be unacquaintedwith the most powerful motive that actuated her. Nothing now remainedbut to learn whether he would so far sanction her proceedings as toaccompany her; and she was considering the best means of proposing itto him, when she received a message to inform her that the cardinalwaited her in the little tapestried hall.

  The moment which was to decide her fate she plainly perceived to benow arrived; but, with all the gentle sweetness of her character, afund of dauntless resolution had descended to her from a long line ofwarlike ancestors, which failed not to come to her aid in moments ofdanger and extremity; and though she had long dreaded the interview towhich she was now called, she prepared to undergo it with courage andfirmness. In obedience to the cardinal's command, then, she descendedto the hall, accompanied by two of her women, who, though neitherlikely to suffer anything themselves, nor in
formed of their mistress'ssituation, yet felt much more alarm at the thoughts of approaching theimperious Wolsey than even she herself did, burthened as her mind waswith the certainty of offending a man the limit of whose power it wasnot easy to define.

  At the door of the hall stood two of the cardinal's ushers, by whomshe was introduced into the chamber to which Wolsey had retired afterleaving the king, and where, seated in a chair of state, he waited herapproach with many an ensign of his pomp and power about. As sheentered, he fixed his eye upon her, scarcely rising from his seat, butstill slightly bending his head in token of salutation. The high bloodof De Grey, however, though flowing in a woman's veins, and one of thegentlest of her sex, was not made to humble itself before the upstartprelate; and moving forward unbidden, Lady Constance calmly seatedherself in a chair opposite to that of the cardinal, while her womenplaced themselves behind her; and thus, in silence, she waited for himto speak.

  "Lady," said Wolsey, when she was seated, "at the time I saw you last,I proposed to you a marriage, which in point of rank, of fortune, andof every other accessory circumstance, is one which may well becounted amongst the best of the land, and for which I expected to haveyour thanks. Instead thereof, however, I received, at the moment of mydeparture for York, a letter wherein, with a mild obstinacy and anhumble pride, you did reject what was worthy of your best gratitude. Amonth has now waned since then, and I trust that calm reflection hasrestored you to your sense of what is right; which being the case, allthat is past shall be pardoned and forgot."

  "Your proposal, my lord cardinal," replied Lady Constance, "wasdoubtless intended for my happiness, and therein you have my mostsincere gratitude; but yet I see not how I can have merited eitherreproof or pardon, in a matter which, alone concerning myself, no onecan judge of but myself."

  "You speak amiss, lady," said Wolsey, haughtily; "ay, and very boldlydo you speak. Am not I your guardian by the English law? and are younot my ward? Say, lady, say!"

  "I am your ward, my lord," replied Lady Constance, her spirit risingunder his oppression, "but not your slave; you are my guardian, butnot my master."

  "You are nice in your refinements, lady," said the cardinal; "but if Iam your guardian, I am to judge what is good for you, till such timeas the law permits you to judge for yourself."

  "That time is within one month, my lord," answered Constance; "andeven were it longer, I never yet did hear that a guardian could forcea ward to wed against her will, though I at once acknowledge his rightto forbid her marriage where he may judge against it."

  "Nay!" exclaimed Wolsey, "this is somewhat too much. This bold spirit,lady, becomes you not, and must be abated. Learn, that though I ingentleness rule you but as a ward, and for your own good control yourstubborn will, the king, your sovereign, may act with a stronger hand,and, heedless of your idle fancies, compel you to obey."

  "Then to the king, my sovereign, I appeal," said Constance, "sure thathis justice and his clemency will yield me that protection which, Godhelp me! I much need."

  "Your appeal is in vain, proud girl!" cried the cardinal, risingangrily, while the fiery spirit flashed forth from his dark eye. "Istand here armed in this case with the king's power, and commissionedto speak his will; and 'tis in his name that I command you, onThursday next, at God's altar, to give your hand to your noble cousin,Lord Darby; ay, and gratefully to give it, without which you may fallto beggary and want; for know, that all those broad lands which now soswell your pride are claimed by Sir Payan Wileton, in right of maledescent, and may pass away like a shadow from your feeble hand,leaving you nought but your vanity for dowry."

  "Then let them pass," said Constance, firmly; "for I would sooner athousand times be landless, friendless, hopeless, than wed a man I donot love."

  "And end your days in a nunnery, you should have added to thecatalogue of woes you call upon your head," said the cardinal,sternly; "for, as I live, such shall be your fate. Choose either togive your vows to your cousin or to heaven, lady; for no other choiceshall be left you. Till Thursday next I give you to decide; and whileyou ponder, York Place shall be your abode. Lady, no more!" he added,seeing her about to speak; "I have not time to argue against your finewit. To-night, if I reach Westminster in time, I will send down yourlitter; if not, to-morrow, by eight of the clock; and be you prepared.I have done."

  Constance would not trust her voice with any reply; for the veryefforts she had made to conceal her agitation had but served to renderit more overpowering, and it was now ready to burst forth in tears.Repressing them, however, she rose, and bending her head to thecardinal, returned to her own apartments. Here Dr. Wilbraham awaitedher in no small anxiety, to know the event of her conference withWolsey, which, as it had been so short, he judged must be favourable.Lady Constance soon undeceived him, however; and shocked and indignantat the cardinal's haughty and tyrannical conduct, he at once agreedwith the lady that she had no resource but flight.

  "It is very strange! very strange, indeed!" cried the good man. "Ihave often heard that the lord cardinal is haughty and cruel, andindeed men lay to his charge that he never does anything but for hisown interests; but I would never believe it before. I thought that Godwould never have placed so much power in the hands of so bad a man;but His ways are inscrutable, and His name be praised! Now, my dearlady, what is to be done? Where are we to go? Had not I better go andtell Osborne, in order that he may know all about it?"

  "On no account," replied Constance; "however painful it may be, mygood friend--and painful indeed it is, I acknowledge"--and while shespoke, the long-repressed tears burst forth, and rolled rapidly overher face; "I must go without even bidding him adieu. I would not forthe world involve him at this time in a business which might bringabout his ruin. He shall be innocent even of the knowledge of myflight, so that Wolsey shall have no plea against him. When his fateis fixed and the storm is blown away, I will let him know where I am;for I owe him that at least. Even for you, my good Dr. Wilbraham, Ifear," she continued. "If you fly with me, may it not bring down uponyour head some ecclesiastical censure? If so, for heaven's sake, letme go with Margaret alone."

  "Why, it may, indeed," answered the chaplain thoughtfully. "I hadforgot that. It may indeed. What can be done?"

  "Then you shall stay," replied Lady Constance, with some degree ofmournfulness of accent at the thought of the friendless lonelinesswith which she was going to cast herself upon the wide, inhospitableworld. "Then you shall stay indeed."

  "What! and leave you to wander about alone, I know not whither?" criedthe young clergyman. "No, my child, no! Did all the dangers in theworld hang over my head, where you go, there will I go too. If Icannot protect you much--which, God help me! is not in my power--atleast I can console you under your sorrows, and support you duringyour pilgrimage, by pointing continually to that Being who is theprotector of the widow and the orphan, the friend of the friendlessand the desolate. Lady, I will go with you. All the dangers in theworld shall not scare me from your side."

  A new energy seemed to have sprung up in the bosom of the clergyman;and by his advice and assistance Lady Constance's plans andarrangements for her flight were very soon completed.

  It was agreed that herself, Dr. Wilbraham, and Mistress Margaret, thewaiting-woman, should immediately take boat, and proceed by water tothe little village of Tothill, from whence a walk of five minuteswould bring them to the house of the physician Dr. Butts, who, as theold chaplain observed, was, though his nephew, a man of an active andpiercing mind, and would probably find some means to facilitate theirescape to France. By landing some little way from his house, theyhoped to prevent their route from being traced afterwards, and thus toevade pursuit, as to be overtaken and brought back would involve farmore danger than even to remain where they were and dare the worst.

  All this being determined between Lady Constance and the clergyman,Mistress Margaret was called in, and informed of as much of the planas was necessary to enable her to make up her mind whether she wouldaccompany her young lady or
not. Without a moment's hesitation, shedecided upon going, and having received her orders, proceeded toarrange for their journey such articles of apparel as were absolutelynecessary, together with all her lady's money and jewels. She also wasdeputed to inform the other servants that Lady Constance thought itbest to follow the lord cardinal to York Place immediately, instead ofwaiting for the litter which he had promised to send, and that sheonly permitted herself and Dr. Wilbraham to accompany her.

  Everything being ready, a man was sought to carry the two large bagsto which their luggage was restricted; and Constance prepared to putin execution the very important step on which she had determined. Herheart sank, it is true, and her spirit almost failed, as Dr. Wilbrahamtook her by the hand to lead her to the boat; but remembering to whatshe would expose herself if she staid, she recalled her courage andproceeded on her way.

  In the ante-chamber, however, she had a painful scene to go through;for her women, not deceived by Mistress Margaret's tale, clung roundtheir lady for what they deemed might be a last farewell. All of them,born upon her father's lands, had grown up as it were with her; andfor some good quality, called from amongst the other peasantry to thehonour of serving the heiress of De Grey, had become attached to herby early habit, as well as by the affection which her gentle mannersand sweet disposition were certain to produce in all those by whom shewas surrounded. Many a bitter tear was shed by the poor girls as theysaw their lady about to leave them: and Constance herself, unable torefrain from weeping, thereby not only encouraged their grief, butconfirmed their fears. Angry with herself for giving way to herfeelings when she felt the absolute necessity of governing themstrictly, Constance gently disengaged herself from her maids, andpromising to let them hear of her soon, proceeded to the water-side,where they easily procured a boat to convey them down the river.

  The irrevocable step was now taken, and Constance and the chaplainboth sat in silence, contemplating the vague future, and striving,amidst all the dim, uncertain shapes that it presented, to ascertain,even as far as probability went, what might be their fate. But thedark, impenetrable curtain, drawn ever between to-day and to-morrow,still barred their view, leaving only room for hope and fear to rangewithin the wide circle of unceasing doubt.

  Long before arriving at Tothill, the sun had gone down; and the coldwind, blowing from the river, chilled Lady Constance as she sat in theopen boat without any other covering than a long veil added to herordinary apparel. Notwithstanding this, she judged it best to bidtheir two rowers continue their course as far as Westminster, fearingthat the little knowledge of the localities possessed either by Dr.Wilbraham or herself might cause them to lose their way if theypursued their original intention of landing at Tothill, and hopingthat the darkness, which was now coming thick upon them, would atleast conceal their path from the boat to the house of Dr. Butts. Toensure this, as soon as they had landed. Mistress Margaret took one ofthe bags, and the good clergyman the other, and having satisfied theboatmen for their labour, the whole party began to thread the narrow,tortuous lanes and streets constituting the good town of Westminster.After various turnings and windings, however, they discovered thatthey were not on the right track, and were obliged to ask their way ofan old locksmith, who was just shutting up his shop. The directionthey received from the worthy artificer was somewhat confused, andcontained so many _rights_ and _lefts_, that by the time they hadtaken two more turnings, each person of the three had got a differentreading of the matter, and could in no way agree as to their fartherproceeding.

  "He said we were to go on, in this street, till we came to a lantern,I am sure," said Dr. Wilbraham.

  "No, no, sir," cried Mistress Margaret; "it was the next street afterwe had turned to the left. Did he not say, Take the first street tothe right, and then the first again to the right, and then the secondto the left, and then go on till we came to a lantern?"

  Dr. Wilbraham denied the position, and the matter was only terminatedby Constance proposing that they should proceed to the second turningat least. "Then, if we see a light in the street to the left," shecontinued, "we may reasonably suppose that that is the turning hemeant, unless before that we find a lantern here too, and then we canbut ask again. But make haste, my dear Dr. Wilbraham, for there is aman behind who seems as if he were watching us!"

  This last observation quickened all their motions, and proceeding asfast as possible, they found that Mistress Margaret was in the right;for immediately in the centre of the second turning to the leftappeared a lantern, shedding its dim, small light down the longperspective of the street; which, be it remarked, was highly favouredin having such an appendage, few and scanty being the lights that, inthat age, illuminated the streets of London after dark, and those, asin the present instance, being the boon of private individuals.Pursuing their way, then, towards this brilliant luminary, with many alook behind to ascertain whether they were followed, which did notappear to be the case, they found another street, diverging to theright, which shared in the beneficent rays of the lantern, and whichalso conducted into a known latitude, namely, a sort of little square,that was instantly recognised by the chaplain as being in theimmediate proximity of his nephew's dwelling.

  The house of Dr. Butts now soon presented itself; and entering thelittle court before it, the clergyman was just about to knock againsta door which fronted them, when some one, entering the court from thestreet, laid hold of his arm, saying, "Stop, stop, if you please! youmust come with me to my lord cardinal."