Captain Ravenshaw; Or, The Maid of Cheapside. A Romance of Elizabethan London

by Robert Neilson Stephens

  CHAPTER X.

  IN THE GOLDSMITH'S GARDEN.

  "Rather than be yoked with this bridegroom is appointed me I would take up any husband almost upon any trust."--_Bartholomew Fair._

  Ravenshaw found Master Holyday leaning back against a door-post, withthe unconscious weariness of hunger, and listening with a mild interestto the oration of a quack doctor who had drawn a small crowd.

  "Come, heart," cried the captain, "the mountebank will never curethy empty stomach; here's the remedy for that," and he showed hisgold piece, and dragged the scholar to an ordinary. After dinner,they bought paper, ink, and pens, and took a lodging at the house ofa horse-courser in Smithfield,--a top-story room, with an open viewof the horse markets backed by gabled buildings and the tower of St.Bartholomew's Church.

  Ravenshaw left the poet at work upon his puppet-play, of which thetitle was to be: "The Tragical Comical History of Paris and Helen;otherwise the King a Cuckold; being the Sweet Sinful Loves of theTrojan Gallant and the Fair Queen of Menelaus; with the Mad, MerryHumours of the Foul-mouthed Roaring Greek Soldier, Thersites."

  The captain whiled away the afternoon in the streets, where therewere conjurers, jugglers, morris-dancers, monsters, and all manner ofshows for the crowds of people in town for the law term. At eveninghe took home a supper from a cook's shop, and shared it with Holyday,who, being in the full flow of inspiration, continued writing with onehand while he ate from the other whatever the captain offered him; thepoet knowing not what food he took, and oft staring or grimacing as hesought for expression or felt the passion or mirth of what he wrote.Ravenshaw presently placed a lighted candle on the writer's deal table,and stole out to keep his tryst with the goldsmith's daughter.

  The day had gone eventfully at the goldsmith's house. In the morningMaster Etheridge announced that he would give a supper, with dancing,that night, to show his pleasure at Sir Peregrine's recovery andarrival. This was an age when rich citizens missed no occasionfor festivity. So there was much bustle of sending servants withinvitations, hiring a band of musicians, cooking meats and fowls andbirds, making cakes and marchpane and pasties, and other doings.Millicent uttered no plaint or protest; the time of pleadings and tearson her side, arguments and threats on her father's, was past; many andlong had been the scenes between the two, such as were not uncommon inthat age, and such as Shakespeare has represented in the brief passagebetween "Juliet" and her parents, and these had left the goldsmith firmas rock, Millicent weak and hopeless of resisting his will.

  As for Sir Peregrine, he had never thought it necessary to urge; hetook it for granted she adored him--what lady had not?--and that inher heart she counted herself supremely blessed in being picked outfor him. He attributed her aloofness and sulkiness, even her outburstsof spoken detestation, to shyness, girlish perverseness, sense ofunworthiness of the honour of his hand, and chiefly to jealousy of hisformer wives and present admirers. So he serenely ignored all signs ofher feelings.

  She bore her part in the day's preparations, a little uneasy in mindlest the festivities might prevent her appointed meeting at nightfall.She could not help counting much upon this new acquaintance; he seemeda man of such resource and ingenuity, and such willingness to deliverher, even though he was betrothed to another--what a pity he wasbetrothed! She checked herself, with a blush; but all the same she hadan intuition that the other woman would not be the best wife for him.

  So it befell that, as Ravenshaw approached the house at dark, he sawall the windows light, and from the open ones came forth the sounds ofmusic, laughter, and gay voices. Nevertheless, he pushed gently at theFriday Street gate, which gave as he had hoped, and found himself alonein the garden. He softly closed the gate, went into the shadow of theapple-tree, and waited.

  With his eyes upon the place where she must appear in coming from thehouse, he listened to the music of a stately dance,--the thin butelegant and spirit-like music of the time, produced on this occasionby violins, flutes, and shawms. When the strains died, they were soonfollowed by bursts of laughter from the open dining-room windows;then, presently, in the moonlight, he saw the figure he awaited. Witha golden caul upon her head, and wearing the long robe and trainnecessary to the majestic pavan which she had recently been dancing,she glided across the turf, and stopped before him.

  "You have come from great mirth," whispered the captain, looking towardthe windows whence the laughter proceeded.

  "It enabled me to escape," she whispered in reply. "They are listeningto the tales of one Master Vallance; he has been telling of therogueries of a rascal named Ravenshaw, a disbanded captain thatswaggers about the town."

  He stared at her, with open eyes and limp jaw; in a vague way heremembered one Master Vallance as a gallant who had insulted him onenight in the Windmill tavern, the night he first met Master Holyday.Luckily, she did not notice his expression.

  "As for me," she finished, "I think no better of gentlemen like MasterVallance for knowing such foul knaves."

  "Ay, indeed," assented the captain.

  "They are holding these little revels in welcome to Sir Peregrine," shewent on. "You might have been invited, but I heard my father say heforgot where you lodged, if you told him."

  "'Tis better to be here, at your invitation."

  "Then I bid you welcome," she said, smiling, and holding out her hand.

  "Faith, a right courteous maid," said he, and took the least motion asif to touch the hand with his lips; but thought what he was, and stoodrigid. "Well, we must talk now of your--"

  "Good heaven! Stand close behind the tree," she whispered. "'Tis SirPeregrine, come after me."

  Ravenshaw was instantly under cover. Sure enough, steps were shufflingalong the sod, and a cracked old voice approached, saying:

  "What, what, sweet? Wilt fly me still? wilt be still peevish? Nay, goodlack, I perceive it now; thou knew'st I'd follow; thou wished to bealone with me, alone with thy chick. A pretty thought; I'll kiss theefor it."

  Ravenshaw heard the smack of the old man's lips, and grated his teeth.She had stepped toward the knight, so as to meet him at a furtherdistance from her secret visitor, of whom, manifestly, the old fellow'seyes had not caught a glimpse.

  What was she to do? To send the interrupter back into the house upon apretext was to be rid of him but a minute. She was not born to craft,or schooled in it; but her situation of late had sharpened her wits andaltered her scruples. Ravenshaw, straining his ears, heard her say:

  "I am angry with you, Sir Peregrine, and that is why I came away."

  "What, angry, my bird, with thy faithfullest, ever-lovingest servant?Be I to blame if Mistress Felton smiled so at me?"

  "Oh, Mistress Felton?--let her smile, I care not. I am angry because ofthy gift. A goodly gift enough, and more than I deserve; but when youknew my heart was set upon the sapphire in your Italian bonnet--"

  "Why, God's love, you never said you wished it! Sure, how--"

  "Never said, with my lips, no doubt. But have I not said with my eyes,gazing on it by the hour? Troth, art grown so blind--?"

  "Oh, good lack, say no more, sweet! The sapphire is thine own; I'llfetch it to-morrow."

  "Nay, but I wish it to-night, long for it to-night, must have itto-night; else I shall hate it, and never desire it, and throw it to acoal-carrier when you fetch it!"

  "God-a-mercy! thou shalt have it to-night. 'Tis at mine inn; I'll sendone of my men straightway."

  "What, trust it to thy man? Such a jewel, that I have set my heart on?If he were to lose it, or be robbed of it, I should ne'er--"

  "Oh, fear not. Humphrey is to be trusted; he hath served mefifty--ah--twenty year, come Michaelmas; he'll fetch it safe."

  "Oh, well, then, if you fear to go alone for it after dark!--if youchoose not to make a lover's errand of it!--if you are too old, why,then--"

  "Oh, tush, I'll go for it! Too old! ha, ha! Thou'rt a jesting chick,thou art. See how soon I shall fetch it."

  He strutted to the gate, and was gone. In a moment, Mi
llicent was byRavenshaw's side; neither of the two thinking to fasten the gate afterthe knight's departure.

  "I see we must be quick," said Ravenshaw. "Your only escape from thismarriage is to run away from it. Your only refuge, you once thought,was your uncle's house. But now that seems closed to you."

  "I am not sure. My uncle wrote me so, when he was fresh from his mishapin London. But if he found me at his door, he might not have the heartto thrust me away."

  "No doubt; but your father would seek you at your uncle's. You thinkyou could be hid there; but if your father is the man he seems, andyour uncle is the man _he_ seems, your father would soon have you outof hiding; he would have the house down, else. Is it not so?"

  "Perchance you are right; alas!"

  "Now there is a way whereby it may be possible for you to find refugeelsewhere; or whereby you may e'en go to your uncle's and defy yourfather when he comes after you."

  "In God's name, what is it?"

  "Troth, have you ne'er thought on't? If you were already married--butnot to Sir Peregrine or any such kind of stockfish--might not yourhusband take you to his own house? or if he took you to your uncle's,what good were your father's claim upon you against your husband's?"

  She looked at him timidly but sweetly, and trembled a little.

  "What?" quoth she, with pretended gaiety. "Escape a husband by seekinga husband?"

  "By accepting, not seeking, one--one less unfit--one that a maid mightfind to her liking."

  "Why, in good sooth--I hope I am not a bold hussy for saying so--butrather than be bound to that odious Sir Peregrine, I think I wouldchoose blindfold any husband that offered! And if he were, as you say,to my liking--"

  "I said he might be to the liking of some maids. Have you everconsidered what manner of man your fancy might rest upon?"

  He covered the seriousness of the question with a feigned merriment.She, too, wore a smile; in her confusion, she fingered the low-hangingapple-blossoms, and avoided his eyes, but, watching him furtively, shenoticed how familiarly his hand reposed on his sword-hilt; ere shebethought herself, she answered:

  "Oh, a man of good wit, a better wit than face, and yet a middling goodface, too; a man that could handle a rapier well--yes, certainly a goodswordman; and as for--"

  A voice was suddenly heard from the dining-room window aloft:

  "Millicent! What do you in the garden, child? Sure 'tis thy train I seeon the grass. What dost thou behind the apple-tree?"

  It was the girl's mother,--Ravenshaw dared not look from behind thetree, but he knew the voice.

  "Say you are with Sir Peregrine," he whispered.

  With a trembling voice, she obeyed.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Mistress Etheridge, satisfied; but then, as with asuddenly engendered doubt, "I should have thought Sir Peregrine wouldspeak for himself."

  "Oh, heaven!" whispered Millicent; "she will send down to see."

  "Good lack, sweet mother!" cried Ravenshaw, in well-nigh perfectimitation of Sir Peregrine's cracked voice, "may not young loverssteal away for a tender minute or so? May not doves coo in a cornerunseen? Must sweethearts be called from a quiet bower, and made to showthemselves, and to give answers?"

  "Peace, peace, Sir Peregrine! I am much to blame," replied MistressEtheridge; and went away from the window, as Millicent observed inpeeping around the apple-tree.

  "Faith," whispered Ravenshaw, "lest we be overheard, I should speaklove to you in his voice henceforth."

  "Nay, I'd rather you spoke it in your own voice," said Millicent, ereshe realised.

  Ravenshaw's heart bounded.

  "'Slight, what fool's talk!" she added, quickly, in chagrin. "I doindeed forget the other maid!"

  "What other maid?" he asked, off his guard.

  "The maid you are to marry, of course."

  "Oh!--faith, yes, I forgot her, too!" he answered, truly enough.

  "Fie, Master Holyday!" she said, pride bidding her assume the mask ofraillery.

  "Holyday, say you?" called out an insolent, derisive voice, at whichboth Ravenshaw and Millicent started in surprise, for it came fromwithin the garden. A moment later, a head was thrust forth from theshrubbery by the gate,--the head of Master Jerningham's man Gregory,who had patiently hounded Ravenshaw all afternoon and evening, and hadslipped in when Sir Peregrine had left the gate unclosed.

  "Holyday, forsooth!" he went on, instantly alive to the opportunityof serving his master by shattering the falsely won confidence he sawbetween the maid and Ravenshaw. "You are cozened, mistress. The man'sname is not Holyday; 'tis Ravenshaw--and a scurvy name he has made ofit, too!"

  Astonishment and mortification had held the captain motionless; butnow, with a sharp ejaculation, he flashed out his rapier, and ran forhis exposer. But the cat-footed Gregory had as swiftly darted alongbetween shrubbery and wall, and Ravenshaw, on reaching the place wherehe had appeared, had to stop and look about in vain for him.

  "What does he mean?" demanded Millicent of the captain, whom she hadfollowed. "Is your name Ravenshaw?"

  He felt that his wrathful movement against his accuser had confirmedthe accusation; moreover, there was that in her look which made it toorepugnant to deceive her longer.

  "I cannot deny it," he said, humbly.

  "What! Not _that_ Ravenshaw?"

  "The one of whom you heard Master Vallance speak?--yes!"

  Here Gregory's voice put in again from another part of the shrubbery:

  "'Tis Ravenshaw, the roaring rascal, that calls himself captain, andlives by his wits and by blustering."

  A slight sound told that this speech was followed by another prudentflight behind the shrubbery. Ravenshaw was minded to give chase anddig the fellow out at all cost, but was drawn from that intention, andfrom all thought of the spy, by the look of horror, indignation, andloathing that had come over Millicent's face. He took a step towardher; but, with a gesture of abhorrence, she ran from him across thegarden. Knowing not what he would say or do in supplication, he wentafter her.

  "Not another step!" she cried, turning upon him, and with the dignityof outraged trustfulness. "Go hence, villain, rascal, knave! Go, orI will call my father, to have his 'prentices throw you into thestreet! Good God! to think I should have trusted my secrets to such anill-famed rogue! I know not what your purpose was, but for once youshall fail in your cheateries. I'd rather wed Sir Peregrine Medwaythrice over than be beholden to--"

  At this instant, and as Ravenshaw stood shrinking in the fire of hercontempt, the unseen Gregory, having seized his chance for a concealeddash from the garden, reached the gate, and ran plump into the arms ofSir Peregrine, who was returning with the sapphire.

  "Good lack, what the devil's this?" exclaimed the ancient knight,knocked out of breath; and he pluckily caught Gregory by the neck, andforced him back into the garden.

  "Let him go," said Millicent, as the knight came forward in greatamazement. "He is a knave, doubtless, but deserves well for unmaskingthis other knave."

  "What, why, 'tis Master Holyday!" said Sir Peregrine, quite bewildered."Call'st thou him a knave? And what dost thou here, Master Holyday? Iknew not you were invited to the revels."

  "'Tis no Master Holyday," said Millicent, "but one Captain Ravenshaw,whose name is a byword of the taverns; this man has declared him, andhe denies it not. What his designs were, in passing upon my father bythe name of Holyday, I know not."

  "Good lack! here's wonders and marvels! And how comes he to be hereto-night?"

  Millicent hesitated. Ravenshaw spoke for the first time:

  "I came through that gate, which you were so careless as to leave open,Sir Peregrine; I saw you go, as I stood without; and what my purposeswere, you may amuse yourself in guessing. Yonder knave, I perceive,followed me--"

  At this, Gregory, not liking the captain's tone, suddenly jerked fromthe old knight's grasp, and bolted out through the gate. Ravenshawcould not immediately pursue him, for he had been thinking swiftly, andhad something yet to say:

  "My designs
being foiled, and to show that I am a man of pleasanthumour, I will e'en give you a word of good counsel. When you tellMaster Etheridge how he was fooled in his friend, young Holyday, lethim suppose you were here when I entered this garden; for, look you, itwill show ill in you to have left this lady alone, and the gate open;and it will appear careless in her, not to have made sure the gate wasfastened. It will seem brave in you, moreover, to have been here andput me to rout when that knave betrayed me."

  He paused, looking at Millicent to see whether she inwardly thankedhim for saving the secret of her dealings with him; but, thoughshe seemed to breathe a little more freely, as if she realised heradvantage in his suggestion, she exhibited nothing for him butcontempt; doubtless she supposed he had deeper motives for his advice,or that he was jesting.

  Receiving no reply from either her or Sir Peregrine, the captain, afterwaiting a moment, made a low bow, turned, and swaggered out through thegate.

  "No doubt 'tis wise to do as he counselled," faltered Millicent, in alow tone, after Sir Peregrine had carefully closed the gate, and as heled her to the house.

  "Ay, so I think. I would not have your father know you were careless,sweet. Take the sapphire, chick, and give me a kiss for it."

  As she felt his arms around her, and his moustache against her lip, andmeditated that her last hope had proved worthless, she gave herself upas lost, and accounted herself rather a dead than a living person forthe rest of her days.

  Meanwhile Captain Ravenshaw, after stumbling over the protruding feetof a figure that huddled drunkenlike in the next doorway, plungedrapidly on in search of Gregory; dogged at a safe distance by thedrunkenlike figure, which, on rising from the doorway, proved tobe that of Gregory himself, firm upon shadowing his enemy until thelatter's meeting with Jerningham next day.

  At last abandoning the quest, during which Millicent's whiplike wordsof dismissal lashed his heart all the while, Ravenshaw returned to apart of Friday Street where he could stand in solitude and see thelight, and hear the sprightly music, that came from the goldsmith'swindows.

  "Though you loathe me and cast me off," he whispered, looking towardthe room in which she might be, "yet, against your knowledge, andagainst your will to be served by me, I will keep my promise, and saveyou! You may fling me forth, but you cannot stop me from that! Hope bewith you in these revels, sweet; and sleep lie soft upon your eyelidsafterward. Good night!"

  After a little time, he made up his mind what to do, and took himselfoff through Cheapside, the keen-eyed, silent-footed serving-man stillupon his track.