The Story of Francis Cludde

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER VIII.

  A HOUSE OF PEACE.

  As the day went on, therefore, I looked eagerly for Mistress Anne'sreturn, but she appeared no more, though I maintained a close watchon the cabin-door. All the afternoon, too, the Duchess kept away fromme, and I feared that I had seriously offended her; so that it waswith no very pleasant anticipations that, going into that part of thedeck-house which served us for a common room, to see if the eveningmeal was set, I found only the Duchess and Master Bertie prepared tosit down to it. I suppose that something of my feeling was expressedin my face, for while I was yet half-way between door and table, mylady gave way to a peal of merriment.

  "Come, sit down, and do not be afraid!" she cried pleasantly, her grayeyes still full of laughter. "I vow the lad thinks I shall eat him.Nay, when all is said and done, I like you the better, Sir KnightErrant, for your scruples. I see that you are determined to act up toyour name. But that reminds me," she added in a more serious vein. "Wehave been frank with you. You must be equally frank with us. What arewe to call you, pray?"

  I looked down at my plate and felt my face grow scarlet. The woundwhich the discovery of my father's treachery had dealt me had begun toheal. In the action, the movement, the adventure of the lastfortnight, I had well-nigh lost sight of the blot on my escutcheon, ofthe shame which had driven me from home. But the question, "What arewe to call you?" revived the smart, and revived it with an added pang.It had been very well, in theory, to proudly discard my old name. Itwas painful, in practice, to be unable to answer the Duchess, "I am aCludde of Coton, nephew to Sir Anthony, formerly esquire of the bodyto King Henry. I am no unworthy follower and associate even for you,"and to have instead to reply, "I have no name. I am nobody. I have allto make and win." Yet this was my ill-fortune.

  Her woman's eye saw my trouble as I hesitated, confused and doubtingwhat I should reply. "Come!" she said good-naturedly, trying toreassure me. "You are of gentle birth. Of that we feel sure."

  I shook my head. "Nay, I am of no birth, madam," I answered hurriedly."I have no name, or at any rate no name that I can be proud of. Callme--call me, if it please you, Francis Carey."

  "It is a good name," quoth Master Bertie, pausing with his knifesuspended in the air. "A right good Protestant name!"

  "But I have no claim to it," I rejoined, mere and more hurt. "I haveall to make. I am a new man. Yet do not fear!" I added quickly, as Isaw what I took to be a cloud of doubt cross my lady's face. "I willfollow you no less faithfully for that!"

  "Well," said the Duchess, a smile again transforming her openfeatures, "I will answer for that, Master Carey. Deeds are better thannames, and as for being a new man, what with Pagets and Cavendishesand Spencers, we have nought but new men nowadays. So, cheer up!" shecontinued kindly. "And we will poke no questions at you, though Idoubt whether you do not possess more birth and breeding than youwould have us think. And if, when we return to England, as I trust wemay before we are old men and women, we can advance your cause, thenlet us have your secret. No one can say that Katherine Willoughby everforgot her friend."

  "Or forgave her enemy over quickly," quoth her husband naively.

  She rapped his knuckles with the back of her knife for that; and undercover of this small diversion I had time to regain my composure. Butthe matter left me sore at heart, and more than a little homesick. AndI sought leave to retire early.

  "You are right!" said the Duchess, rising graciously. "To-night, afterbeing out in the air, you will sleep soundly, and to-morrow you willbe a new man," with a faint smile. "Believe me, I am not ungrateful,Master Francis, and I will diligently seek occasion to repay both yourgallant defense of the other day and your future service." She gave meher hand to kiss, and I bent over it. "Now," she continued, "do homageto my baby, and then I shall consider that you are really one of us,and pledged to our cause."

  I kissed the tiny fist held out to me, a soft pink thing looking likesome dainty sea-shell. Master Bertie cordially grasped my hand. And sounder the oil-lamp in the neat cabin of that old Dutch boat, somewhereon the Waal between Gorcum and Nimuegen, we plighted our troth to oneanother, and in a sense I became one of them.

  I went to my berth cheered and encouraged by their kindness. But theinterview, satisfactory as it was, had set up no little excitement inmy brain, and it was long before I slept. When I did I had a strangedream. I dreamed that I was sitting in the hall at Coton, and thatPetronilla was standing on the dais looking fixedly at me with gentle,sorrowful eyes. I wanted to go to her, but I could not move; everydreamer knows the sensation. I tried to call to her, to ask her whatwas the matter, and why she so looked at me. But I could utter nosound. And still she continued to fix me with the same sad,reproachful eyes, in which I read a warning, yet could not ask itsmeaning.

  I struggled so hard that at last the spell was in a degree broken.Following the direction of her eyes I looked down at myself, and sawfastened to the breast of my doublet the knot of blue velvet which shehad made for my sword-hilt, and which I had ever since carried in mybosom. More, I saw, with a singular feeling of anger and sorrow, thata hand which came over my shoulder was tugging hard at the ribbon inthe attempt to remove it.

  This gave me horrible concern, yet at the moment I could not move nordo anything to prevent it. At last, making a stupendous effort, Iawoke, my last experience, dreaming, being of the strange hand workingat my breast. My first waking idea was the same, so that I threw outmy arms, and cried aloud, and sat up. "Ugh!" I exclaimed, trembling inthe intensity of my relief, as I looked about and welcomed the nowfamiliar surroundings. "It was only a dream. It was----"

  I stopped abruptly, my eyes falling on a form lurking in the doorway.I could see it only dimly by the light of a hanging lamp, which smokedand burned redly overhead. Yet I could see it. It was real,substantial--a waking figure; nevertheless, a faint touch ofsuperstitious terror still clung to me. "Speak, please!" I asked. "Whois it?"

  "It is only I," answered a soft voice, well known to me--MistressAnne's. "I came in to see how you were," she continued, advancing alittle, "and whether you were sleeping. I am afraid I awoke you. Butyou seemed," she added, "to be having such painful dreams that perhapsit was as well I did."

  I was fumbling in my breast while she spoke; and certainly, whether inmy sleep I had undone the fastenings or had loosened themintentionally before I lay down (though I could not remember doingso), my doublet and shirt were open at the breast. The velvet knot wassafe, however, in that tiny inner pocket beside the letter, and Ibreathed again. "I am very glad you did awake me!" I replied, lookinggratefully at her. "I was having a horrible dream. But how good it wasof you to think of me--and when you are not well yourself, too."

  "Oh, I am better," she murmured, her eyes, which glistened in thelight, fixed steadily on me. "Much better. Now go to sleep again, andhappier dreams to you. After to-night," she added pleasantly, "I shallno longer consider you as an invalid, nor intrude upon you."

  And she was gone before I could reiterate my thanks. The door fell to,and I was alone, full of kindly feelings toward her, and ofthankfulness that my horrible vision had no foundation. "ThankHeaven!" I murmured more than once, as I lay down; "it was only adream."

  Next day we reached Nimuegen, where we stayed a short time. Leavingthat place in the afternoon, twenty-four hours' journeying, partly byriver, partly, if I remember rightly, by canal, brought us to theneighborhood of Arnheim on the Rhine. It was the 1st of March, but theopening month belied its reputation. There was a brightness, asoftness in the air, and a consequent feeling as of spring which wouldbetter have befitted the middle of April. All day we remained on deckenjoying the kindliness of nature, which was especially grateful tome, in whom the sap of health was beginning to spring again; and wewere still there when one of those gorgeous sunsets which are peculiarto that country began to fling its hues across our path. We turned ajutting promontory, the boat began to fall off, and the captain cameup, his errand to tell
us that our journey was done.

  We went eagerly forward at the news, and saw in a kind of bay, formedby a lake-like expansion of the river, a little island green and low,its banks trimly set with a single row of poplars. It was perhaps aquarter of a mile every way, and a channel one-fourth as wideseparated it from the nearer shore of the river; to which, however, along narrow bridge of planks laid on trestles gave access. On theouter side of the island, facing the river's course, stood a low whitehouse, before which a sloping green terrace, also bordered withpoplars, led down to a tiny pier. Behind and around the house weremeadows as trim and neat as a child's toys, over which the eye rovedwith pleasure until it reached the landward side of the island, andthere detected, nestling among gardens, a tiny village of half a dozencottages. It was a scene of enchanting peace and quietude. As weslowly plowed our way up to the landing-place, I saw the rabbits standto gaze at us, and then with a flick of their heels dart off to theirholes. I marked the cattle moving homeward in a string, and heard thewild fowl rise in creek and pool with a whir of wings. I turned with afull heart to my neighbor. "Is it not lovely?" I cried withenthusiasm. "Is it not a peaceful place--a very Garden of Eden?"

  I looked to see her fall into raptures such as women are commonly moreprone to than men. But all women are not the same. Mistress Anne waslooking, indeed, when I turned and surprised her, at the scene whichhad so moved me, but the expression of her face was sad and bitter andutterly melancholy. The weariness and fatigue I had often seen lurkingin her eyes had invaded all her features. She looked five years older;no longer a girl, but a gray-faced, hopeless woman whom the sight ofthis peaceful haven rather smote to the heart than filled withanticipations of safety and repose.

  It was but for a moment I saw her so. Then she dashed her hand acrossher eyes--though I saw no tears in them--and with a pettishexclamation turned away. "Poor girl!" I thought. "She, too, ishomesick. No doubt this reminds her of some place at home, or of someperson." I thought this the more likely, as Master Bertie came fromLincolnshire, which he said had many of the features of this strangeland. And it was conceivable enough that she should know Lincolnshiretoo, being related to his wife.

  I soon forgot the matter in the excitement of landing. A few minutesof bustle and it was over. The boat put out again; and we four wereleft face to face with two strangers, an elderly man and a girl, whohad come down to the pier to meet us. The former, stout, bluff, andred-faced, with a thick gray beard and a gold chain about his neck,had the air of a man of position. He greeted us warmly. His companion,who hung behind him, somewhat shyly, was as pretty a girl as one couldfind in a month. A second look assured me of something more--that sheformed an excellent foil to the piquant brightness and keen vivacity,the dark hair and nervous features of Mistress Anne. For the Dutchgirl was fair and plump and of perfect complexion. Her hair was verylight, almost flaxen indeed, and her eyes were softly and limpidlyblue; grave, innocent, wondering eyes they were, I remember. I guessedrightly that she was the elderly man's daughter. Later I learned thatshe was his only child, and that her name was Dymphna.

  He was a Master Lindstrom, a merchant of standing in Arnheim. He hadvisited England and spoke English fairly, and being under someobligations, it appeared, to the Duchess Katherine, was to be ourhost.

  We all walked up the little avenue together. Master Lindstrom talkingas he went to husband or wife, while his daughter and Mistress Annecame next, gazing each at each in silence, as women when they firstmeet will gaze, taking stock, I suppose, of a rival's weapons. Iwalked last, wondering why they had nothing to say to one another.

  As we entered the house the mystery was explained. "She speaks noEnglish," said Mistress Anne, with a touch of scorn.

  "And we no Dutch," I answered, smiling. "Here in Holland I am afraidthat she will have somewhat the best of us. Try her with Spanish."

  "Spanish! I know none."

  "Well, I do, a little."

  "What, you know Spanish?" Mistress Anne's tone of surprise amountedalmost to incredulity, and it flattered me, boy that I was. I dare sayit would have flattered many an older head than mine. "You knowSpanish? Where did you learn it?" she continued sharply.

  "At home."

  "At home! Where is that?" And she eyed me still more closely. "Whereis your home, Master Carey? You have never told me."

  But I had said already more than I intended, and I shook my head. "Imean," I explained awkwardly, "that I learned it in a home I once had.Now my home is here. At any rate I have no other."

  The Dutch girl, standing patiently beside us, had looked first at oneface and then at the other as we talked. We were all by this time in along, low parlor, warmed by a pretty closed fireplace covered withglazed tiles. On the shelves of a great armoire, or dresser, at oneend of the room appeared a fine show of silver plate. At the other endstood a tall linen-press of walnut-wood, handsomely carved; and eventhe gratings of the windows and the handles of the doors were ofhammered iron-work. There were no rushes on the floor, which was madeof small pieces of wood delicately joined and set together andbrightly polished. But everything in sight was clean and trim to adegree which would have shamed our great house at Coton, where therushes sometimes lay for a week unchanged. With each glance round Ifelt a livelier satisfaction. I turned to Mistress Dymphna.

  "Senorita!" I said, mustering my noblest accent. "Beso los pies deusted! Habla usted Castillano?"

  Mistress Anne stared, while the effect on the girl whom I addressedwas greater than I had looked for, but certainly of a different kind.She started and drew back, an expression of offended dignity and ofsomething like anger ruffling her placid face. Did she not understand?Yes, for after a moment's hesitation, and with a heightened color, sheanswered, "Si, Senor."

  Her constrained manner was not promising, but I was going on to open aconversation if I could--for it looked little grateful of us to standthere speechless and staring--when Mistress Anne interposed. "What didyou say to her? What was it?" she asked eagerly.

  "I asked her if she spoke Spanish. That was all," I replied, my eyeson Dymphna's face, which still betrayed trouble of some kind, "exceptthat I paid her the usual formal compliment. But what is she saying toher father?"

  It was like the Christmas game of cross-questions. The girl and I hadspoken in Spanish. I translated what we had said into English forMistress Anne, and Mistress Dymphna turned it into Dutch for herfather; an anxious look on her face which needed no translation.

  "What is it?" asked Master Bertie, observing that something was wrong.

  "It is nothing--nothing!" replied the merchant apologetically, though,as he spoke, his eyes dwelt on me curiously. "It is only that I didnot know that you had a Spaniard in your company."

  "A Spaniard?" Master Bertie answered. "We have none. This," pointingto me, "is our very good friend and faithful follower, MasterCarey--an Englishman."

  "To whom," added the Duchess, smiling gravely, "I am greatlyindebted."

  I hurriedly explained the mistake, and brought at once a smile ofrelief to the Mynheer's face. "Ah! pardon me, I beseech you," he said."My daughter was in error." And he added something in Dutch whichcaused Mistress Dymphna to blush. "You know," he continued--"I mayspeak freely to you, since our enemies are in the main the same--youknow that our Spanish rulers are not very popular with us, and growless popular every day, especially with those who are of the reformedfaith. We have learned some of us to speak their language, but we lovethem none the better for that."

  "I can sympathize with you, indeed," cried the Duchess impulsively."God grant that our country may never be in the same plight: though itlooks as if this Spanish marriage were like to put us in it. It isSpain! Spain! Spain! and nothing else nowadays!"

  "Nevertheless, the Emperor is a great and puissant monarch," rejoinedthe Arnheimer thoughtfully; "and could he rule us himself, we might dowell. But his dominions are so large, he knows little of us. Andworse, he is dying, or as good as dying. He can scarcely sit hishorse, and rumor says that before the year i
s out he will resign thethrone. Then we hear little good of his successor, your queen'shusband, and look to hear less. I fear that there is a dark timebefore us, and God only knows the issue."

  "And alone will rule it," Master Bertie rejoined piously.

  This saying was in a way the keynote to the life we found our hostliving on his island estate. Peace, but peace with constant fear foran assailant, and religion for a supporter. Several times a weekMaster Lindstrom would go to Arnheim to superintend his business, andalways after his return he would shake his head, and speak gravely,and Dymphna would lose her color for an hour or two. Things were goingbadly. The reformers were being more and more hardly dealt with. TheSpaniards were growing more despotic. That was his constant report.And then I would see him, as he walked with us in orchard or garden,or sat beside the stove, cast wistful glances at the comfort andplenty round him. I knew that he was asking himself how long theywould last. If they escaped the clutches of a tyrannical government,would they be safe in the times that were coming from the violence ofan ill-paid soldiery? The answer was doubtful, or rather it was toocertain.

  I sometimes wondered how he could patiently foresee suchpossibilities, and take no steps, whatever the risk, to prevent them.At first I thought his patience sprang from the Dutch character. LaterI traced its deeper roots to a simplicity of faith and a deepreligious feeling, which either did not at that time exist in England,or existed only among people with whom I had never come into contact.Here they seemed common enough and real enough. These folks' faithsustained them. It was a part of their lives; a bulwark against thefear that otherwise would have overwhelmed them. And to an extent,too, which then surprised me, I found, as time went on, that theDuchess and Master Bertie shared this enthusiasm, although with themit took a less obtrusive form.

  I was led at the time to think a good deal about this; and just a wordI may say of myself, and of those days spent on the Rhine inland--thatwhereas before I had taken but a lukewarm interest in religiousquestions, and, while clinging instinctively to the teaching of mychildhood, had conformed with a light heart rather than annoy myuncle, I came to think somewhat differently now; differently and moreseriously. And so I have continued to think since, though I have neverbecome a bigot; a fact I owe, perhaps, to Mistress Dymphna, in whosetender heart there was room for charity as well as faith. For she wasmy teacher.

  Of necessity, since no other of our party could communicate with her,I became more or less the Dutch girl's companion. I would often, of anevening, join her on a wooden bench which stood under an elm on alittle spit of grass looking toward the city, and at some distancefrom the house. Here, when the weather was warm, she would watch forher father's return; and here one day, while talking with her, I hadthe opportunity of witnessing a sight unknown in England, but whichyear by year was to become more common in the Netherlands, moreheavily fraught with menace in Netherland eyes.

  We happened to be so deeply engaged in watching the upper end of thereach at the time in question, where we expected each moment to seeMaster Lindstrom's boat round the point, that we saw nothing of a boatcoming the other way, until the flapping of its sails, as it tacked,drew our eyes toward it. Even then in the boat itself I saw nothingstrange, but in its passengers I did. They were swarthy, mustachioedmen, who in the hundred poses they assumed, as they lounged on deck orleaned over the side, never lost a peculiar air of bravado. As theydrew nearer to us the sound of their loud voices, their oaths andlaughter reached us plainly, and seemed to jar on the eveningstillness. Their bold, fierce eyes, raking the banks unceasingly,reached us at last. The girl by my side uttered a cry of alarm, androse as if to retreat. But she sat down again, for behind us was anopen stretch of turf, and to escape unseen was impossible. Already ascore of eyes had marked her beauty, and as the boat drew abreast ofus, I had to listen to the ribald jests and laughter of those onboard. My ears tingled and my cheeks burned. But I could do nothing. Icould only glare at them, and grind my teeth.

  "Who are they?" I muttered. "The cowardly knaves!'

  "Oh, hush! hush!" the girl pleaded. She had retreated behind me. Andindeed I need not have put my question, for though I had never seenthe Spanish soldiery, I had heard enough about them to recognize themnow. In the year 1555 their reputation was at its height. Theirfathers had overcome the Moors after a contest of centuries, and theythemselves had overrun Italy and lowered the pride of France. As aresult they had many military virtues and all the military vices.Proud, bloodthirsty, and licentious everywhere, it may be imaginedthat in the subject Netherlands, with their pay always in arrear, theywere, indeed, people to be feared. It was seldom that even theircommanders dared to check their excesses.

  Yet, when the first flush of my anger had subsided, I looked afterthem, odd as it may seem, with mingled feelings. With all their faultsthey were few against many, a conquering race in a foreign land. Theycould boast of blood and descent. They were proud to call themselvesthe soldiers and gentlemen of Europe. I was against them, yet Iadmired them with a boy's admiration for the strong and reckless.

  Of course I said nothing of this to my companion. Indeed, when shespoke to me I did not hear her. My thoughts had flown far from theburgher's daughter sitting by me, and were with my grandmother'speople. I saw, in imagination, the uplands of Old Castile, as I hadoften heard them described, hot in summer and bleak in winter. Ipictured the dark, frowning walls of Toledo, with its hundred Moorishtrophies, the castles that crowned the hills around, the gray olivegroves, and the box-clad slopes. I saw Palencia, where my grandmother,Petronilla de Vargas, was born; Palencia, dry and brown and sun-baked,lying squat and low on its plain, the eaves of its cathedral a man'sheight from the ground. All this I saw. I suppose the Spanish blood inme awoke and asserted itself at sight of those other Spaniards. Andthen--then I forgot it all as I heard behind me an alien voice, and Iturned and found Dymphna had stolen from me and was talking to astranger.