CHAPTER VII.
MISTRESS MILLICENT.
"'Tis a pretty wench, a very pretty wench,--nay, a very, very, very pretty wench."--_The Wise-woman of Hogsdon._
The house of Thomas Etheridge, goldsmith, was near facing the greatgilt cross in Cheapside, the images around whose base--especially thatof the Virgin--were chronically in a state of more or less defacement.A few doors east of Master Etheridge's, and directly opposite thecross, was the western end of Goldsmith's Row, described by Stow as"the most beautiful frame of fair houses and shops that be within thewalls of London, or elsewhere in England." It consisted of "ten fairdwelling-houses and fourteen shops, all in one frame, uniformly builtfour stories high, beautified toward the street with the Goldsmiths'arms and the likeness of woodmen, ... riding on monstrous beasts, all... cast in lead, richly painted over and gilt."
Master Etheridge's house, thrusting out an iron arm from which hunga blue-painted square board with a great gilt acorn, was quite astall and "fair" as any of the ten in the neighbouring "frame." Itsupper stories were bright with the many small panes of wide projectingwindows. The shop, whose front was usually open to the street by day,occupied the full width, and a good part of the depth, of the groundfloor. Behind the shop was a "gallery" or passage, with a privateentrance from the side street, and with a stairway; beyond this passagewas the kitchen; and over that, the dining-room, which looked down upona back yard that was really a small garden.
Upon the low plastered ceiling of the dining-room was moulded a curiousdesign of golden acorns. The walls were hung with tapestry representinga chase of deer. The floor was covered with rushes, which crackledunder the feet of the boys that waited upon the family at supper.
Captain Ravenshaw, with face clean-shaven all but for the skilfullyup-turned moustaches and the tiny lip-tuft, leaned back in his carvenchair after a comforting draught of his host's canary, drew his footaway from the dog that was pretending to mistake it for a bone underthe table, and thought how lucky were those who supped every day at theboard of Thomas Etheridge.
"Yes," said Master Etheridge, who was a man square-faced,square-bodied, hard-eyed, hard-voiced, looking and sounding as if heshould deal rather in iron than in the softer, sunnier metal, a manwith a shrewd mouth and a keen glance; but just now, for once, a littlemellowed by the recollections of youth which his visitor had stirred;"your father was ever a man to have his will or raise a storm else. Heled your poor mother many a mad dance. Be thankful all husbands are notas obstinate as Frank Holyday, Jane."
Jane, the goldsmith's wife, looked as if she could tell a tale or twoof husband's obstinacy, that would match any to be told of the elderHolyday; but she sweetly refrained. She was a plump, handsome woman,who filled her velvet bodice and white stomacher to the utmost on thesafe side of bursting; she was the complete housewife, precise aboutthe proper starching of the ruffs and collars, nice in her dress, ofan even temper, choosing serenity rather than supremacy. So she merelybeamed the more placidly upon the visitor, and said:
"I warrant this young gentleman will not copy his father in that.His looks show the making of a kind husband. I wish you joy, MasterHolyday."
For the pretended Holyday had told the goldsmith in the shop that hewas about to marry a young lady of Kent, wherefore he wished presentlyto buy plate and jewelry. This news had turned the cool reception of anuninvited caller into the cordial welcome of a possible customer. And,as it was a guarantee against his wooing the daughter of the house,for whom a man of the Holydays' moderate estate was no acceptablesuitor, it had removed the paternal objection to his presence inthe family circle. Hence the goldsmith had honoured the claims ofhospitality, and invited his old friend's supposed son to supper.
On being introduced to the ladies, Ravenshaw had promptly recognisedthe maid of that February night. On her part, his voice had seemed totouch her memory distinctly, but the transformation wrought by therazor had puzzled her as to his face. At supper, sitting opposite himin silence, she had listened alertly while he had continued deludingher father with anecdotes of the elder Holyday; and she had shylyscrutinised his face. He had covertly noticed this. No doubt she wasracking her brain in efforts to identify him. Why not enlighten her?The knowledge that he was in the secret of her attempted flight wouldgive him a power over her. So he had said, to her father:
"Oh, pardon my forgetting, sir. I was wrong when I told you I had notbeen in London except in passing to Cambridge and back. I was here overnight last February." At this he had brought his eyes to bear full onMistress Millicent. "I was in this neighbourhood, too. But the hour wasso late, I durs'n't intrude on you. Indeed, no one was abroad in thestreets but roysterers, and brawlers, and runaways, and such."
The girl's face had turned of a colour with her lips, her eyes hadflashed complete recognition, had met his for an instant in a startledplea for silence, then had hid themselves under their long lashes.Ravenshaw, feeling as if he had struck a blow at something helpless,had glanced quickly at her parents. They had been busy with theirknives and spoons, fingers and napkins, and had observed nothing.
Curiosity and fear, the captain had thought, would now make her grant,if not seek, a word with him alone. After that, he had not rested hislook upon her again during the supper. He had met her father's eyesreadily enough, and her mother's, and those of the ladies' woman, thehead shopman, and the other dependents at the lower part of the table,but not hers.
For, of a truth, she was not the vain and affected hussy, or the stiffand supercilious minx, or the bold and impudent hoyden, he had expectedto find as the only daughter of a purse-proud citizen. Every movementof her slim young figure, encased in a close blue taffeta gown, seemedto express innocence and gentleness; her oval face, rich in the colourof blushes, lips, and blue eyes, had a most ineffable softness; evenher hair, brown and fine, parting across her brow without too manywaves, gave an impression of grace and tenderness; and over hercountenance, whose natural habit was one of kindly cheerfulness, therenow lay something plaintive. Ravenshaw found it not easy to face her,knowing for what purpose he had lied himself into her presence.
And now, the trenchers being nearly bare, and mouths having moreleisure to talk than the voracious custom of that day allowed themduring meals, Master Etheridge was minded for further reminiscence ofhis old friend.
"Ay, ay, many's the quart of wine we've drunk together after supper,in my rash days. Your father would have all drink that were about him.Even his dogs he would make drunk. A great man for dogs. I mind me of aprick-eared cur he had, would drink sack with the best of us, and siton a stool at table with us, and howl with us when we sang our ballads.And there was a terrier, too; I have my reason not to forget him."
"Yes," quoth Ravenshaw; "he bit you in the calf o' the leg the lasttime you were at our house."
"Nay, that was a water-spaniel did that," said the goldsmith.
Ravenshaw remembered now that Holyday had said a water-spaniel; buthe thought it would appear the more natural if he should seem to bein this point tricked by memory, as, in some detail or other, peopleoften are.
"Nay," said he, "I am sure it was the terrier; I remember it as well--"
"Oh, no, never, never the terrier; 'twas the water-spaniel, on myword. Why, I never see the spaniels diving for ducks in the ponds atIslington but I think of it."
But Ravenshaw feigned to be unconvinced, and when, after some furthertalk, he yielded the point, it was as if merely out of courtesy. Whenthe supper party rose from the table, the captain was for a pipe oftobacco, which he forthwith produced. But Master Etheridge said hewas no tobacconist, and that the smoke made his lady ill. Ravenshawreplied that, by their leave, he would then take a turn or two, and awhiff or two, in the garden, whose beauty, observed by him from thewindow, invited closer acquaintance. Etheridge liked to hear his gardencommended before his wife, as its implied sufficiency saved him theexpense of a garden with a summer-house in the suburbs, which many acitizeness compelled her husband to possess. So he went cheerfull
yahead to show the way.
"When you return, you shall find us in the withdrawing room, across thepassage," said Mistress Etheridge.
Ravenshaw bowed to the ladies; in doing which, he met MistressMillicent's eyes with a look that said as plainly as spoken words:"I have something for your ears." This intimation, in view of thecircumstances of their former meeting, could not fail to engage herinterest.
The goldsmith led him down-stairs to the ground floor passage, whence adoor opened to a narrow way running past the rear of the house to thelittle garden. This comprised a square of green turf, in the centre ofwhich was an apple-tree, now in blossom; a walk led to and around thistree, and another walk enclosed the whole square. This latter walk wasflanked on the outer side by rosemary and various shrubbery, banks ofpinks and other flowers; which screened the garden walls except where agate gave entrance from Friday Street. The farther side of the gardenwas sheltered by a small arbour of vines; beneath this was a bench, andanother bench stood out upon the turf, so that one might sit either insun or in shade.
It was still daylight; the regular household supper was taken earlyin those times, and English days are long in May. Yet an early staror two showed themselves in the clear sky. The scent of the pinks andapple-blossoms was in the air.
"A sweet night toward," said the goldsmith, manifesting an inclinationto remain with his guest in the garden. But this was what Ravenshawdid not desire. The captain, therefore, as soon as he had lighted hispipe, took Master Etheridge's arm so as to have the greater pretextfor walking close to him, and blew such volumes of smoke in the poorman's direction that, for the sake of his eyes and nostrils, being no"tobacconist," he was soon glad to make excuse for returning into thehouse, and to hasten back, coughing and blinking.
"If she is a woman," mused the captain, left alone, "she will come tohear what I may tell her. She has been on pins and needles. By thislight, what a piece of chance!--that this maid should be that one! Whatshall I say to her? I must open upon the matter of that night. Tut, hasshe not yet observed I am alone here now? Or has she not the freedom ofthe house? or the wit to devise means of coming hither? Well, I willgive her the time of this pipeful. What a sweet evening!"
But the sweetness of the evening made him only sigh uneasily, and feelmore out of sorts with himself. Several minutes passed, and he wasthinking he might have to resort to some keen stroke of wit to getprivate speech with her, after all; when suddenly she appeared, withghostlike swiftness, at the corner where the passage along the kitchenwing gave into the garden. He was, at the moment, scarce ten feet fromthat spot.
She was blushing and perturbed. She cast a look up at the dining-roomwindow, then glanced at him, and, instantly dropping her eyes, spedover the turf to the farther side of the apple-tree. He quicklyfollowed her; and when, thereupon, they stood together, the treescreened them from the house.
Without looking at him, and tremblingly plucking the apple-blossoms tohide her confusion, she said, quickly:
"Sir, I thank you for what you did that night. You will not tell them,will you?"
He thought that, by promising unconditionally, he should lose apossible means of controlling her actions; so he must, for the moment,evade.
"Then they know not?" he queried.
"Nay; I got in, and to my chamber, without waking any one."
"And had you no further molestation in the streets? One of those mentricked me, and followed you. I learned it after."
She looked at him with a little surprise. "Nay, I saw him not, norheard him. I had no trouble. But you will not tell?"
Her wide-open eyes, round and large and of the deepest blue, wereturned straight upon his face, as if they meant to leave him not tillthey should have a direct answer.
"'SIR, I THANK YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID THAT NIGHT.'"]
"Why--mistress," he blundered, and then dropped his own gaze towhere he was beginning to scrape the gravel awkwardly with his shoe,"why need you ask? Did I not protect your secret that night?"
"Then why do you hesitate now?" she demanded, with a sudden unconcealedmistrust. "Oh, Master Holyday, what is in your mind? Why have you drawnme hither to speak with you alone? Why do you make a doubt of promisingnot to betray me? Come, sir, I have little time; they will soon bewondering where I am; either promise me, or I myself will tell them,and then, by St. Anne, I care not--"
There was a threat of weeping in her voice and face, and Ravenshawimpulsively threw up his hand, and said:
"Nay, fear not. I will not tell. I give my word."
Trouble fled from her face, and a smile of gratitude made her appeardoubly charming.
Ravenshaw cleared his throat, without reason, and tried to meet herglance without seeing her, if that had been possible.
"You are a happy maid," quoth he, settling down to a disagreeablebusiness. "'Tis proven that you may play the runaway for an hour ortwo, when you wish, and none be the wiser. There's many a maid wouldgive her best gown thrice over, for that assurance."
"Troth, it serves me nothing," she said, with a forlornness he couldnot understand. "An I were to play the runaway again, whither should Irun?"
He thought for an instant of going into the mystery of her formerdesire to run away; but he decided that, as time pressed, it werebetter to hold to the present design.
"Whither, indeed?" quoth he. "Faith, London has no lack of pleasantbowers, where beauty may hear itself praised by the lips of love. Sure,you look as if I talked Greek to you. Certainly you are wont to hearyourself admired?"
"Oh!" she murmured, at a loss, with a smile, and a blush of confusion.
"Troth, now," said he; "confess you enjoy to be admired."
"Oh, pray," she faltered, "talk not of such things. I know not how toanswer."
"Yet you take pleasure in hearing them? Come, the truth, mistress.Faith, 'tis but a simple question."
"Oh--why--I do--and I do not."
"I warrant," quoth he, softly, "there would be no 'I do not,' if theright gentleman spoke them." The captain's tone seemed lightly gay andbantering; but, though she knew it not, his throat was dry, and he wastrembling from head to foot like a shivering terrier.
"I am sure I know not," she answered, embarrassedly, but still smiling.
"Put it to the test," he whispered, huskily. "Give him the occasion tospeak--one that adores you--hear him utter your praises--hear him vowhis devotion--give him the occasion."
"Methinks--you take the occasion now," said she, in a voice scarceabove the rustle of the air among the leaves.
"Nay--heaven's light!--I mean not myself!" he said, dismayed.
"Why, wha--? What then? What mean you?"
Her smile had fled in a breath, and in its place was a look of suddenlyawakened horror that smote him like a whip's blow across the eyes.
"Oh, nothing," he stammered. "I mean--'tis not myself that's worthy topraise you. I know not--I am out of my wits--forget--"
Just then a woman's voice was heard calling from the house, "MistressMillicent, where art thou?"
"'Tis Lettice, my mother's woman," whispered the girl, quickly. "I mustin. I have come out for this bunch of apple-blossoms. Some other timewe'll talk--perhaps."
Without another word she ran from the garden.
The captain snapped his pipe in two, and flung the pieces to theground; then turned toward the evening sky, in which a numerouscompany of stars now twinkled, a face bitter with self-loathing.
"I am a beast," he hissed; "a slave, a scavenger, a raker of rags, fitcompany for the dead curs in Houndsditch. Foh! but, by God's light andby this hand, I swear--"
He raised his hand toward the stars, and finished his oath, whateverit was, in thought, not in speech. Then, suddenly resuming his formermien, he turned and walked rapidly into the house.
Captain Ravenshaw; Or, The Maid of Cheapside. A Romance of Elizabethan London Page 10
