In Doublet and Hose: A Story for Girls

by Lucy Foster Madison

  CHAPTER XXII

  AS IT FELL OUT

  When consciousness returned to Francis Stafford she was lying on a couchin the presence chamber with her mother bending over her.

  "Mother," she cried as a full realization of all that had taken placerushed over her. "He is gone! My father is gone, and he hath cursed me!"And she burst into a flood of tears.

  "Think not on it, child," said the mother, her own eyes streaming. "Thoudidst try him greatly. It was ill in thee not to return to us, but thouart young and full well do I ken the allurements that court life holdsfor youth. But this thy father could have pardoned had this been all."

  "My mother, art thou too against me?" The girl struggled to a sittingposition, her indignation giving her strength. "Dost thou believe that Ibetrayed my father, or that I lingered at court from choice? Then whatavails it if I tell thee all? Am I not thy child, and wherefore should Ido so evil? Would that I had died ere this had come upon me!"

  She flung herself back upon the couch and wept bitterly. Her mother,alarmed at the intensity of her grief, strove to soothe her.

  "Let me make my moan, mother. If my father would have but listened, hewould have known that I did not betray him; but he would not. He wouldnot!"

  "Judge him not too harshly, Francis. Now tell me the cause of thy delay.Why thou didst not send us word? Why thou didst not return?"

  "Who was there to do my bidding? I would not have been here even yet hadI not heard the queen and her ministers planning to arrest theconspirators. So soon as I heard my father's name I left the courtwithout leave, and came hither with all dispatch to warn him."

  "Tell me all, Francis," urged her mother. "All that hath happened theefrom the beginning. I fear me much that thy father hath done theewrong."

  "He hath," said Francis bitterly. "Grievous wrong! And as I live bybread, there hath never been aught but love toward him in my heart. Butnow----Oh, my mother," she cried with another outburst of woe, "my heartis broken!"

  "There, child! weep not so much. Thy father will repent him of hisinjustice when he learns the truth. Dry thine eyes and tell all that hathbefallen thee."

  Presently, when she had become calmer, Francis complied with the request,and told her mother all that had occurred since she left her.

  "And thy hair! Thy pretty hair!" cried Lady Stafford weeping when Francisrelated that incident. "Ah, child, I repent me that ever I consented tolet thee leave me. But continue, I pray thee! I would know all."

  And the girl continued her narrative to its close. Her mother clasped herclose when she finished it.

  "We have done thee great wrong, my daughter. Forgive me and thy fatheralso. We should have known that thou wouldst not have done this thing,but when we did not hear, and thou didst not come, we marveled at itgreatly. This morning Anthony Babington came, and told us that all wasknown to the queen through thy treachery. And thou must be lenient towardus that we believed him."

  "But why didst thou, mother! Have I been so ill a daughter that ye mustbelieve the first word against me? I can not forgive it."

  "Not now, my child, while thy hurt is recent, but later thy mother mustnot sue to thee in vain. But, Francis, come to my tiring room. I mislikethat garb. Methinks it hath caused all our woe. Come, and let me see theein thy proper attire once more."

  "Nay;" said Francis resolutely, "from this time forth I wear none other.'Twas at my father's bidding that I donned it. I will discard it onlywhen he calls me 'daughter' again. Otherwise I shall go to my graveFrancis Stafford, the page."

  "Francis, Francis," wailed the lady, "thou art distraught. Entertain notsuch purpose, I entreat. Soften thy proud heart, and be not stubbornwhen thy mother pleads with thee. For my sake, child, remove thatdress."

  "Nay, mother;" replied she obdurately, "seek not to change my purpose,for it is fixed. This page's dress I wear until my father takes me oncemore to his heart."

  "Thou art as unyielding and inflexible as thy sire," cried her mother."What can I do between ye? Have thy way, thou wilful girl! Naught remainsfor thy mother but to pray that the day may be hastened when all will bewell with us again."

  Just then there came a clattering of hoofs in the courtyard, and thesound of voices. Lady Stafford sprang to her feet in alarm.

  "What is it?" she cried. "Oh, child, what if they have taken thyfather?"

  "'Tis the queen's men," said Francis starting up. "They seek my father,but they seek in vain. I have foiled them."

  A sense of exultation swept over her, causing her to forget for the timeher father's distrust. She faced the men who entered the apartmenttriumphantly.

  "What seek ye?" she demanded with scorn.

  "Thy father, boy, and thee," was the reply. "We know that thou hastwarned him so that he hath given us the slip. But marry! the game is butafoot, and we the greyhounds who will bring him to bay. Of him anon. Hereis a warrant for one Francis Stafford. Art thou he?"

  "I am," answered the girl haughtily.

  "Then, Francis Stafford, son of William, Lord Stafford, in the name ofthe queen, I arrest thee on a charge of high treason."

  "Arrest thee, Francis?" cried her mother flinging her arms about thegirl. "Oh, child, why thee?"

  "I was with my father at Chartley, mother," said Francis calmly. "If hebe guilty of treason, why, then so am I."

  "But I knew not that thou wert in danger," sobbed the mother. "Oh,Francis, why didst thou not go with thy father? Why didst thou not tellhim of it? Why, why?"

  "I did not think of it," answered Francis simply. "I thought only ofhim."

  "How thou hast been misjudged," exclaimed the lady weeping bitterly. "Oh,cruel, cruel fate that hath befallen thee!"

  "Cease thy lamentation, woman," commanded the officer sternly. "Makeready to accompany thy son to London."

  "I?"

  "My mother!" exclaimed Francis and her mother in one breath.

  "Thou. Thou canst no longer remain here, because this Hall and its estateare forfeited to the crown by the treason of its owner. 'Tis the queen'scommand that thou dost go with thy son to London there to be immured inthe Tower. Make ready, madam. Ye two must this hour to the queen."

  "But what crime have I committed?" asked the poor lady in dismay.

  "I know not, madam. 'Tis the queen's command," was the reply.

  "'Tis the worst of all crimes, my mother," said Francis with irony. "Thouart too fair. 'Tis a fault unforgivable by Elizabeth."

  "Hush, child," whispered the lady quickly. "Make our sad plight no worseby thy railing."

  "Stay, boy!" cried Wainwright as Francis started to leave the apartmentwith her mother. "Remain where thou art. I would have speech with thee."

  Wonderingly, the girl paused, and Master Wainwright, making a peremptorymotion to Lady Stafford to leave them, continued:

  "Thou art too elusive to be out of my sight, young sir. Now answer thesequeries. Wert thou in the dwelling of old Margery when we entered it?"

  "Marry! what is it to thee where I was," answered Francis, desiring notto get the dame into trouble.

  "Be not too pert, sir page. I wrung from the old woman that thou wert,after I found that we o'erslept. Now, boy, was it due to thee or to thewitch that we slept so long?"

  "To me, master," replied the girl boldly. "Upon my shoulders cast allblame. Impute nothing to the old woman. I did all, for I knew that I mustdistance thee to warn my father. And thou wert outstripped! Thou wertclose after the game but he took to soil, and the track is lost, goodmaster."

  "Crow on, my bantam," cried Wainwright angrily. "Thou wilt sing anothertune when Sir Francis Walsingham hath thee. And mark me, sirrah! Thetrack will be regained, and the game brought to cover ere thou dostreach the Tower. Then upon Tower Hill thou canst behold its breakingup."

  Francis turned pale as death at this reference to what would be herfather's fate if taken.

  "Ah, that hipped thee, young cock! Dost ken what happens to traitors?'Twill be thy fate as well as thy father's. Dream on't, master! Now mustyou and you
r mother take horse for London."

  "To-day?" said Francis faintly, a sense of weakness coming over her. "Oh,sir, not to-day, beseech you. I have ridden so much. I am so tired!"

  "This day shalt thou start," said Wainwright rejoicing with all the mightof a small man in the power over another. "No pleading will avail thee.Thou must go!"

  "As you will then," answered Francis wearily, though every muscle in hertired body rebelled at this further tax upon her strength.

  And so the long, weary journey to London was again begun.