CHAPTER XXVII. PETER SANGHURST'S WOOING.
"Joan -- sweetest mistress -- at last I find you; at last my eyes beholdagain those peerless charms for which they have pined and hungered solong! Tell me, have you no sweet word of welcome for him whose heart youhold between those fair hands, to do with it what you will?"
Joan, roused from her reverie by those smoothly-spoken words, uttered ina harsh and grating voice, turned quickly round to find herself face toface with Peter Sanghurst -- the man she had fondly hoped had passed outof her life for ever.
Joan and her father, after a considerable period spent in wanderings inforeign lands (during which Sir Hugh had quite overcome the melancholyand sense of panic into which he had been thrown by the scourge of theBlack Death and his wife's sudden demise as one of its victims), had atlength returned to Woodcrych. The remembrance of the plague was fastdying out from men's minds. The land was again under cultivation; andalthough labour was still scarce and dear, and continued to be so formany, many years, whilst the attempts at legislation on this point onlyproduced riot and confusion (culminating in the next reign in thenotable rebellion of Wat Tyler, and leading eventually to theemancipation of the English peasantry), things appeared to be returningto their normal condition, and men began to resume their wonted apathyof mind, and to cease to think of the scourge as the direct visitationof God.
Sir Hugh had been one of those most alarmed by the ravages of theplague. He was full of the blind superstition of a thoroughlyirreligious man, and he knew well that he had been dabbling in forbiddenarts, and had been doing things that were supposed in those days to makea man peculiarly the prey of the devil after death. Thus when the BlackDeath had visited the country, and he had heard on all sides that it wasthe visitation of God for the sins of the nations, he had been seizedwith a panic which had been some years in cooling, and he had madepilgrimages and had paid a visit to his Holiness the Pope in order tofeel that he had made amends for any wrongdoing in his previous life.
He had during this fit of what was rather panic than repentance avoidedWoodcrych sedulously, as the place where these particular sins whichfrightened him now had been committed. He had thus avoided any encounterwith Peter Sanghurst, and Joan had hoped that the shadow of that evilman was not destined to cross her path again. But, unluckily for herhopes, a reaction had set in in her father's feelings. His blind,unreasoning terror had now given place to an equally wild and recklessconfidence and assurance. The Black Death had come and gone, and hadpassed him by (he now said) doing him no harm. He had obtained theblessing of the Pope, and felt in his heart that he could set theAlmighty at defiance. His revenues, much impoverished through theeffects of the plague, made the question of expenditure the mostpressing one of the hour; and the knight had come to Woodcrych with thedistinct intention of prosecuting those studies in alchemy and magicwhich a year or two back he had altogether forsworn.
Old Sanghurst was dead, he knew -- the devil had claimed one of his own.But the son was living still, and was to be heard of, doubtless, atBasildene. Peter Sanghurst was posing in the world as a wealthy man,surrounded by a halo of mystery which gave him distinction and commandedrespect. Sir Hugh felt that he might be a very valuable ally, and beganto regret now that his fears had made him so long an exile from hiscountry and a wanderer from home.
Many things might have happened in that interval. What more likely thanthat Sanghurst had found a wife, and that his old affection for Joanwould by now be a thing of the past? The knight fumed a good deal as hethought of neglected opportunities. But there was just the chance thatSanghurst might be faithful to his old love, whilst surely Joan wouldhave forgotten her girlish caprice, and cease to attempt a foolishresistance to her father's will. Had he been as much in earnest then ashe now was, the marriage would long ago have been consummated. But inold days he had not felt so confident of the wealth of the Sanghursts ashe now did, and had been content to let matters drift. Now he couldafford to drift no longer. Joan had made no marriage for herself, shewas unwed at an age when most girls are wives and mothers, and Sir Hughwas growing weary of her company. He wished to plunge once again into alife of congenial dissipation, and into those researches for magicwealth which had always exercised so strong a fascination over him; andthe first step necessary for both these objects appeared to be to marryoff his daughter, and that, if possible, to the man who was supposed tobe in possession of these golden secrets.
Joan, however, knew nothing of the hopes and wishes filling her father'smind. She was glad to come back to the home she had always loved thebest of her father's residences, and which was so much associated in hermind with her youthful lover.
She believed that so near to Guildford she would be sure to hear news ofRaymond. Master Bernard de Brocas would know where he was; he might evenbe living beneath his uncle's roof. The very thought sent quick thrillsof happiness through her. Her face was losing its thoughtful gravity ofexpression, and warming and brightening into new beauty. She had almostforgotten the proximity of Basildene, and Peter Sanghurst's hatefulsuit, so long had been the time since she had seen him last, until thesound of his voice, breaking in upon a happy reverie, brought all theold disgust and horror back again, and she turned to face him with eyesthat flashed with lambent fire.
Yet as she stood there in the entrance to that leafy bower which was herfavourite retreat at Woodcrych, Peter Sanghurst felt as though he hadnever before seen so queenly a creature, and said in his heart that shehad grown tenfold more lovely during the years of her wanderings.
Joan was now no mere strip of a girl. She was three-and-twenty, and hadall the grace of womanhood mingling with the free, untrammelled energyof youth. Her step was as light, her movements as unfettered, as in thedays of her childhood; yet now she moved with an unconscious statelygrace which caused her to be remarked wherever she went; and her face,always beautiful, with its regular features, liquid dark eyes, and full,noble expression, had taken an added depth and sweetness andthoughtfulness which rendered it remarkable and singularly attractive.Joan inspired a considerable amount of awe in the breasts of thoseyouthful admirers who had flitted round her sometimes during the days ofher wanderings; but she had never given any of them room to hope to bemore to her than the passing acquaintance of an hour. She had receivedproffers of life-long devotion with a curious gentle courtesy almostlike indifference, and had smiled upon none of those who had paid her court.
Her father had let her do as she would. No suitor wealthy enough toexcite his cupidity had appeared at Joan's feet. He intended to make awealthy match for her before she grew much older; but the right personhad not yet appeared, and time slipped by almost unheeded.
Now she found herself once again face to face with Peter Sanghurst, andrealized that he was renewing, or about to renew, that hateful suitwhich she trusted had passed from his mind altogether. The face sheturned towards him, with the glowing autumn sunshine full upon it, wasscarcely such as could be called encouraging to an ardent lover. ButPeter Sanghurst only smiled as she stood there in her proud youngbeauty, the russet autumn tints framing her noble figure in vivid colours.
"I have taken you by surprise, sweet lady," he said; "it is long sincewe met."
"Long indeed, Master Peter -- or should I say Sir Peter? It hath beentold to me that you have been in the great world; but whether or notyour gallantry has won you your spurs I know not."
Was there something of covert scorn in the tones of her cold voice?Sanghurst could not tell, but every smallest stab inflicted upon hisvanity or pride by this beautiful creature was set down in the accounthe meant to settle with her when once she was in his power. His feelingstowards her were strangely mixed. He loved her passionately in a fierce,wild fashion, coveting the possession of that beauty which maddenedwhilst it charmed him. She enchained and enthralled him, yet she stunghim to the quick by her calm contempt and resolute avoidance of him. Hewas determined she should be his, come what might; but when once he hadwon the mastery over her, he would make her
suffer for every pang ofwounded pride or jealousy she had inflicted upon him. The cruelty of theman's nature showed itself even in his love, and he hated even whilst heloved her; for he knew that she was infinitely his superior, and thatshe had read the vileness of his nature, and had learned to shrink fromhim, as purity always shrinks from contact with what is foul and false.
Even her question stung his vanity, and there was a savage gleam in hiseye as he answered:
"Nay, my spurs are still to be won; for what was it to me whether I wonthem or not unless I might wear them as your true knight? Sweetestmistress, these weary years have been strangely long and dark since thelight of your presence has been withdrawn from us. Now that the sun hasrisen once again upon Woodcrych, let it shine likewise upon Basildene.Mistress Joan, I come to you with your father's sanction. You doubtlessknow how many years I have wooed you -- how many years I have lived foryou and for you alone. I have waited even as the patriarch of old forhis wife. The time has now come when I have the right to approach you asa lover. Sweet lady, tell me that you will reward my patience -- that Ishall not sue in vain."
Peter Sanghurst bent the knee before her; but she was acute enough todetect the undercurrent of mockery in his tone. He came as a professedsuppliant; but he came with her father's express sanction, and Joan hadlived long enough to know how very helpless a daughter was if herfather's mind were once made up to give her hand in marriage. Her safetyin past days had been that Sir Hugh was not really resolved upon thepoint. He had always been divided between the desire to conciliate theold sorcerer and the fear lest his professed gifts should prove butillusive; and when he was in this mood of uncertainty, Joan's steady andresolute resistance had not been without effect. But she knew that heowed large sums of money to the Sanghursts, who had made frequentadvances when he had been in difficulties, and it was likely enough thatthe day of reckoning had now come, and that her hand was to be the priceof the cancelled bonds.
Her father had for some days been dropping hints that had raiseduneasiness in her mind. This sudden appearance of Peter Sanghurst,coupled with his confident words, showed to Joan only too well howmatters stood.
For a moment she stood silent, battling with her fierce loathing anddisgust, her fingers toying with the gold circlet her lover had placedupon her finger. The very thought of Raymond steadied her nerves, andgave her calmness and courage. She knew that she was in a sore strait;but hers was a spirit to rise rather than sink before peril and adversity.
"Master Peter Sanghurst," she answered, calmly and steadily, "I thoughtthat I had given you answer before, when you honoured me by your suit.My heart is not mine to give, and if it were it could never be yours. Ipray you take that answer and be gone. From my lips you can never haveany other."
A fierce gleam was in his eye, but his voice was still smooth and bland.
"Sweet lady," he said, "it irks me sore to give you pain; but I have yetanother message for you. Think you that I should have dared to come withthis offer of my heart and hand if I had not known that he to whom thyheart is pledged lies stiff and cold in the grip of death -- nay, haslong since mouldered to ashes in the grave?"
Joan turned deadly pale. She had not known that her secret had passedbeyond her own possession. How came Peter Sanghurst to speak of her ashaving a lover? Was it all guesswork? True, he had been jealous ofRaymond in old days. Was this all part of a preconcerted and diabolicalplot against her happiness?
Her profound distrust of this man, and her conviction of his entireunscrupulousness, helped to steady her nerves. If she had so wily a foeto deal with, she had need of all her own native shrewdness andcapacity. After a few moments, which seemed hours to her from theconcentrated thought pressed into them, she spoke quietly and calmly:
"Of whom speak you, Sir? Who is it that lies dead and cold?"
"Your lover, Raymond de Brocas," answered Sanghurst, rising to his feetand confronting Joan with a gaze of would-be sympathy, though his eyeswere steely bright and full of secret malice -- "your lover, who died inmy arms after the skirmish of which you may have heard, when the Englisharmy routed the besieging force around St. Jean d'Angely; and in dyinghe gave me a charge for you, sweet lady, which I have been longing eversince to deliver, but until today have lacked the opportunity."
Joan's eyes were fixed upon him wide with distrust. She was in absoluteignorance of Raymond's recent movements. But in those days that was thefate of those who did not live in close contiguity. She had been a roverin the world, and so perchance had he. All that Sanghurst said might betrue for aught she could allege to the contrary.
Yet how came it that Raymond should confide his dying message to hissworn and most deadly foe? The story seemed to bear upon it the impressof falsehood. Sanghurst, studying her face intently, appeared to readher thoughts.
"Lady," he said, "if you will but listen to my tale, methinks I canconvince you of the truth of my words. You think that because we wererivals for your hand we were enemies, too? And so of old it was. But,fair mistress, you may have heard how Raymond de Brocas soothed thedying bed of my father, and tended him when all else, even his son, hadfled from his side; and albeit at the moment even that service did notsoften my hard heart, in the times that followed, when I was left aloneto muse on what had passed, I repented me of my old and bitter enmity,and resolved, if ever we should meet again, to strive to make amends forthe past. I knew that he loved you, and that you loved him; and I vowedI would keep away and let his suit prosper if it might. I appeal to you,fair mistress, to say how that vow has been kept."
"I have certainly seen naught of you these past years," answered Joan."But I myself have been a wanderer."
"Had you not been, my vow would have been as sacredly kept," was thequick reply. "I had resolved to see you no more, since I might nevercall you mine. I strove to banish your image from my mind by going forthinto the world; and when this chance of fighting for the King arose, Iwas one who sailed to the relief of the English garrison."
She made no response, but her clear gaze was slightly disconcerting; helooked away and spoke rapidly.
"Raymond de Brocas was on board the vessel that bore us from England'sshores: ask if it be not so, an you believe me not. We were brothers inarms, and foes no longer. I sought him out and told him all that was inmy heart. You know his nature -- brave, candid, fearless. He showed hisnobility of soul by giving to me the right hand of fellowship. Ere thevoyage ended we were friends in truth. When the day of battle came werode side by side against the foe."
Joan's interest was aroused. She knew Raymond well. She knew hisnobility of nature -- his generous impulse to forgive a past foe, tobury all enmity. If Sanghurst had sought him with professions ofcontrition, might he not have easily been believed? And yet was such anone as this to be trusted?
"In the melee -- for the fighting was hard and desperate -- we wereseparated: he carried one way and I another. When the French were drivenback or taken captive I sought for Raymond everywhere, but for longwithout avail. At last I found him, wounded to the death. I might noteven move him to our lines. I could but give him drink and watch besidehim as he slowly sank.
"It was then he spoke of thee, Joan." Sanghurst's voice took a new tone,and seemed to quiver slightly; he dropped the more formal addresshitherto observed, and lapsed into the familiar "thou." "The soletrouble upon that pure soul was the thought of thee, left alone andunprotected in this harsh world. He spoke of thee and that love he borethee, and I, who had also loved, but had resigned all my hopes for loveof him, could but listen and grieve with him. But he knew my secret --his clear eyes had long ago divined it -- and in talking together ofthee, Joan, as we had many times done before, he had learned all therewas to know of my hopeless love. As he lay dying he seemed to be musingof this; and one short half-hour before he breathed his last, he spokein these words --
"'Sanghurst, we have been rivals and foes, but now we are friends, and Iknow that I did misjudge thee in past days, as methinks she did, too.'(Joan, this is not so. It w
as not that ye misjudged me, but that I havesince repented of my evil ways in which erst I rejoiced.) 'But thou wiltgo to her now, and tell her what has befallen her lover. Tell her that Idied with her name on my lips, with thoughts of her in my heart. Andtell her also not to grieve too deeply for me. It may be that to diethus, loving and beloved, is the happiest thing that can befall a man.But tell her, too, that she must not grieve too bitterly -- that shemust not lead a widowed life because that I am taken from her. Give toher this token, good comrade; she will know it. Tell her that he to whomshe gave it now restores it to her again, and restores it by the hand ofhis best and truest friend, trusting that this trusty friend will someday meet the reward he covets from the hand of her who once gave thetoken to him upon whom the hand of death is resting. Give it her, andtell her when you give it that her dying lover's hope is that she willthus reward the patient, generous love of him who shall bring it to her.'"
As he spoke these words, Sanghurst, his eyes immovably fixed upon thechanging face of the beautiful girl, drew from his breast a small packetand placed it within her trembling hands.
He knew he was playing a risky game, and that one false move might losehim his one chance. It was all the veriest guesswork; but he believed hehad guessed aright. Whilst Raymond had been stretched upon the rack,swooning from extremity of pain, Sanghurst's eyes, fixed in gloatingsatisfaction upon the helpless victim, had been caught by the sight ofthis token about his neck, secured by a strong silver cord. To possesshimself of the charm, or whatever it might be, had been but the work ofa moment. He had felt convinced that it was a lover's token, and hadbeen given to Raymond by Joan, and if so it might be turned to goodaccount, even if other means failed to bend the stubborn will of theyouth who looked so frail and fragile.
Raymond had escaped from his hands by a species of magic, as it hadseemed to the cruel captors, when he had tasted but a tithe of what theyhad in store for him. Baffled and enraged as Sanghurst was, he had stillthe precious token in his possession. If it had been given by Joan, shewould recognize it at once, and coupled with the supposed dying messageof her lover, surely it would not be without effect.
Eagerly then were his eyes fixed upon her face as she undid the packet,and a gleam of triumph came into them as he saw a flash of recognitionwhen the little heart was disclosed to view.
Truly indeed did Joan's heart sink within her, and every drop of bloodebbed from her cheek; for had not Raymond said that he would never partfrom her gift whilst he had life? and how could Peter Sanghurst havebecome possessed of it unless his tale were true? He might be capable ofrobbing a dead body, but how would he have known that the token wasgiven by her?
A mist seemed to float before the girl's eyes. At that moment she wasunable to think or to reason. The one thought there was room for in hermind was that Raymond was dead. If he were lost to her for ever, it waslittle matter what became of herself.
Sanghurst's keen eyes, fixed upon her with an evil gleam, saw that thecharm was working. It had worked even beyond his hopes. He was so wellsatisfied with the result of this day's work, that he would not evenpress his suit upon her farther then. Let her have time to digest herlover's dying words. When she had done so, he would come to her again.
"Sweet lady, I grieve that thou shouldst suffer though any words I havebeen forced to speak; but it was a promise given to him who is gone todeliver the message and the token. Lady, I take my leave of thee. I willnot intrude upon thy sacred sorrow. I, too, sorrow little less for himwho is gone. He was one of the brightest ornaments of these days ofchivalry and renown."
He caught her hand for a moment and pressed it to his lips, she scarceseeming to know what he did or what he said; and then he turned away andleft her alone with her thoughts, a strangely malicious expressioncrossing his face as he knew himself hidden from her eyes.
That same evening, when father and daughter were alone together in theroom they habitually occupied in the after part of the day, Sir Hughbegan to speak with unwonted decision and authority.
"Joan, child, has Peter Sanghurst been with thee today?"
"He has, my father."
"And has he told thee that he comes with my sanction as a lover, andthat thou and he are to wed ere the month is out?"
"He had not said so much as that," answered Joan, who spoke quietly anddreamily, and with so little of the old ring of opposition in her voicethat her father looked at her in surprise.
She was very pale, and there was a look in her eyes he did notunderstand; but the flush of anger or defiance he had thought to see didnot show itself. He began to think Sanghurst had spoken no more than thetruth in saying that Mistress Joan appeared to have withdrawn heropposition to him as a husband.
"But so it is to be," answered her father, quickly and imperiously,trying to seize this favourable moment to get the matter settled. "Ihave long given way to thy whimsies -- far too long -- and here art thoua woman grown, older than half the matrons round, yet never a wife asthey have long been. I will no more of it. It maketh thee and me alikeobjects of ridicule. Peter Sanghurst is my very good friend. He hashelped me in many difficulties, and is ready to help me again. He hasmoney, and I have none. Listen, girl: this accursed plague has carriedoff all my people, and labourers are asking treble and quadruple fortheir work that which they have been wont to do. Sooner would I let thecrops rot upon the ground than be so mulcted by them. The King does whathe can, but the idle rogues set him at defiance; and there be manybeside me who will feel the grip of poverty for long years to come.Peter Sanghurst has his wealth laid up in solid gold, not in fields andwoods that bring nothing without hands to till or tend them. Marry buthim, and Woodcrych shall be thy dower, and its broad acres and noblemanor will make of ye twain, with his gold, as prosperous a knight anddame (for he will soon rise to that rank) as ye can wish to be. Girl, myword is pledged, and I go not back from it. I have been patient with thyfancies, but I will no more of them. Thou art mine own daughter, my ownflesh and blood, and thy hand is mine to give to whom I will. PeterSanghurst shall be thy lord whether thou wilt or no. I have said it; letthat be enough. It is thy part to obey."
Joan sat quite still and answered nothing. Her eyes were fixed upon thedancing flames rushing up the wide chimney. She must have heard herfather's words, yet she gave no sign of having done so. But for that SirHugh cared little. He was only too glad to be spared a weary battle ofwords, or a long struggle with his high-spirited daughter, whose forceof character he had come to know. That she had yielded her will to hisat last seemed only right and natural, and of course she must have beenby this time aware that if her father was really resolved upon thematch, she was practically helpless to prevent it.
She was no longer a child; she was a woman who had seen much of theworld for the times she lived in. Doubtless she had begun to see thatshe must now marry ere her beauty waned; and having failed to make agrander match during her years of wandering, was glad enough to returnto her former lover, whose fidelity had doubtless touched her heart.
"Thou wilt have a home and a dowry, and a husband who has loved theelong and faithfully," added Sir Hugh, who felt that he might now adopt amore paternal tone, seeing he had not to combat foolish resistance."Thou hast been a good daughter, Joan; doubtless thou wilt make a goodwife too."
Still no reply, though a faint smile seemed to curve Joan's lips. Shepresently rose to her feet, and making a respectful reverence to herfather -- for daily embraces were not the order of the day -- glidedfrom the room as if to seek her couch.
"That is a thing well done!" breathed the knight, when he found himselfonce more alone, "and done easier than I had looked for. Well, well, itis a happy thing the wench has found her right senses. Methinks goodPeter must have been setting his charms to work, for she never could bebrought to listen to him of old. He has tamed her to some purpose now."
Meantime Joan had glided up the staircase of the hall, along severalwinding passages, and up and down several irregular flights of narrowsteps, till she paused at the
door of a room very dim within, but justlighted by the gleam of a dying fire. As she stepped across thethreshold a voice out of the darkness accosted her.
"My ladybird, is it thou, and at such an hour? Tell me what has befallenthee."
"The thing that thou and I have talked of before now, Bridget," answeredJoan, speaking rapidly in a strange low voice -- "the thing that thouand I have planned a hundred times if the worst should befall us. It istenfold more needful now than before. Bridget, I must quit this house atsunset tomorrow, and thou must have my disguise ready. I must to France,to find out there the truth of a tale I have this day heard. Nat will gowith me -- he has said so a hundred times; and I have long had moneylaid by for the day I ever knew might come. Thou knowest all. He is aman of the sea; I am his son. We have planned it too oft to be takenunawares by any sudden peril. Thus disguised, we may wander where wewill, molested by none. Lose no time. Rise and go to Nat this verynight. I myself must not be seen with him or with thee. I must conductmyself as though each day to come were like the one past. But thouknowest what to do. Thou wilt arrange all. God bless thee, my faithfulBridget; and when I come back again, thou shalt not lack thy reward!"
"I want none else but thy love, my heart's delight," said the old nurse,gathering the girl into her fond arms; and Joan hid her face for onemoment upon that faithful breast and gave way to a short burst ofweeping, which did much for her overcharged heart.
Then she silently stole away and went quietly to her own chamber.
In the Days of Chivalry: A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince Page 27
