The Tangled Skein

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  CHAPTER XL

  POOR MIRRAB

  A few moments later the whole gay and giddy throng, like a flight ofbrilliantly hued butterflies, had fluttered out into the garden.

  The wintry sun was bestowing its last cold kiss on the terraces andbosquets of the park. Beyond, the landscape--wrapped in a delicate hazeof purple--was gently swooning in the arms of this November afternoon.All bird-song was silent, save the harsh chirrup of aggressive sparrowsand the occasional brisk note of an irrepressible robin.

  Close by the fountain a strange, dull group moved about somewhatlistlessly--men and women, a dozen or so, in faded or ragged worstedmantles, shoes through which the flesh appeared, and mud-stained,bedraggled hose. Truly a wondrous spectacle on the delicately gravelledpaths of the regal residence! a remarkable picture against the majesticbackground of carefully trimmed hedges, or conventional, well-cared-forshrubberies.

  They looked indifferently round them, these poor shreds of society--thehappy recipients of unlooked-for royal bounty. There were all sorts andconditions of men and women here, from the wrinkly-visaged hag who plieda precarious trade in illicit goods, to the hardened, sullen lout whomade of Her Majesty's prisons an habitual home. A vagrant too here andthere--one boy, barely in his teens, with pinched, haggard features, onwhich starvation had already scribbled her ugly name; a young girl, withbold, dark eyes, and coarse face masked with glaring cosmetics; and, farin the remote background, a huddled-up figure of a woman in tawdryfinery, with a torn, bedraggled white dress ill concealing her nakedshoulders, a few scraps of faded ivy-leaves still clinging to herbright-hued, matted hair.

  They were astonished to find themselves here: made curious, senselessjokes about the marble basin, the trimmed shrubs, the fish in the ponds.The whole thing was a puzzle, and poverty and hunger had dulled all joyin them. They had been told that by the Queen's desire and at His Graceof Wessex' prayer, they were to be immune from punishment for theirpresent offences, and a vague, dull wonder as to the meaning of thisunexpected clemency filled their benighted souls. They were at liberty,inasmuch as no man-at-arms actually dogged their footsteps, but theyfelt the eyes of stern guardians, court lackeys, or park-keepers fixedunrelentingly upon them.

  So they did not take special advantage of this so-called freedom, nor ofthe permission to roam about at will in Her Majesty's own garden. Theyclung together in one compact group, feeling a certain strength in thisunion of their common misery, and stared open-mouthed at what wasnearest to them and required least effort of the brain to understand.

  When at a given moment they saw a number of rich lords and ladies emergeupon the distant terrace, they felt wholly terrified, and would havebeaten a quick and general retreat had not one of the royal servitorssuddenly called upon them severally to listen.

  "His Grace the Duke of Wessex is coming to speak with ye!" said thisgorgeously apparelled personage, addressing the massed group ofmiserable humanity. "Stay ye all here, until His Grace arrives. Yourgood behaviour may prove for your own good."

  And silently, dully, they obeyed. They ceased their aimless wanderingsand concentrated their attention after a while upon a tall figure,dressed in rich black, which had detached itself from the brilliantgroups on the terrace and was walking rapidly towards them.

  So that was His Grace the Duke of Wessex. A serious-minded gentleman,surely, but lately accused of murder, and proved to be innocent. Theycould not yet see his face, only his tall, robust figure moving swiftlytowards them. Strange that a noble duke, a rich and great lord, shouldwish to speak with them. The women, as if half ashamed of their raggedkirtles, had retreated behind the men. The latter had doffed their capsand were mechanically passing their thin fingers through their tangledhair.

  Quite in the rear the female figure in the bedraggled white gown coweredagainst the edge of the marble basin.

  Then gradually His Grace came nearer, the women ventured to peep at himover the shoulders of the men. His face looked kind, though very sad.The poor people gathered up their courage to face him bravely since hecame all unattended amongst them. One or two of the younger ladsventured as he approached to utter an humble--

  "God save His Grace of Wessex!"

  "I thank you all," he said graciously. "And now, my friends, I'd haveyou believe that 'twas not idle curiosity which hath brought me herebeside you. But yesterday I stood like you, accused of offence againstthe law of the land. I have known the sorrows and humiliations of apublic trial. By Her Majesty's grace you have escaped that trouble thistime, and I have it at heart that all of you who, like myself, havepassed through prison doors should not again be tempted to break thedictates of your lawgivers. Hunger and sorrow are evil councillors.Though I know naught of the one I'd have you think sometimes of me asone who has tasted of the bitter cup of sorrow, and thus thinking, I'dhave you pray to God for mercy on my soul and on that of one who is moresinful, more misguided than yourselves."

  It was a strange little homily, thus delivered without any affectationby this high-born gentleman to his fellows in sorrow. They did notperhaps altogether understand him, but in his own quaint way he hadappealed to a comradeship of misery, and the hearts of his hearers wentout to him in a vague feeling of pity and reverence.

  They had no need to call for "largesse," for with his own hand he wasalready distributing gold to those from whom he had asked prayers.

  "God save Your Grace!" muttered men and women, as one by one their roughpalms closed over the munificent donations.

  The ladies and gentlemen on the terrace had all watched this littlescene from afar. After a while the curiosity of all these gay idlers wasstill further aroused. Some of them wished to watch it a little moreclosely, and began slowly strolling down the terrace steps, towards thequaint group made up of all these miserable vagrants surrounding theimposing, sable-clad figure of the Duke.

  The Queen herself, attracted by the novelty of the spectacle, and herheart ever yearning for the near presence of the man she still loved sodearly, turned her steps towards the marble basin, with His Eminence theCardinal--ever a faithful attendant--by her side.

  When Mary Tudor, closely followed by some of her ladies and courtiers,thus reached the scene where the little drama was being enacted, theysaw His Grace standing somewhat irresolutely beside the huddled figureof a woman, whose tawdry drapings and matted, brilliant hair presenteda strange contrast to the dull greys and browns of the other peoplearound her.

  "Wilt thou not hold thy hand out to me, wench," His Grace was sayingsomewhat impatiently. "I would fain help thee, as it hath pleased HeavenI should help thy companions in misfortune."

  The servitor who had stood close by all this while, lest the peopleprove too importunate or troublesome, now came up to the woman, and,less benevolently inclined than His Grace, he caught hold of her,somewhat rudely, by the shoulder.

  "Come, wench, wake up!" he said roughly, "think thou His Grace hath moretime to waste on thee? She seems somewhat daft, so please Your Grace,"added the man with a shrug of the shoulders, "and hath not spoken sinceher arrest."

  "Who is she?"

  "Some vagrant or worse, so please Your Grace. She was arrested afortnight ago, and hath never been heard to utter one word."

  "Wilt look up, wench?" said Wessex gently.

  "I dare not," murmured the woman under her breath.

  "Dare not? Why? I'll not harm thee."

  "'Tis I have wronged thee so."

  Wessex laughed lightly. Clearly the poor wretch was demented, but hewould have liked to have put some money into her own hand, lest someunscrupulous person should rob her of his gift. Therefore he said askindly as he could--

  "I forgive thee gladly any wrong thou mayst have done me, and now wiltlook at me in token that thou'rt no more afraid?"

  There was silence for a few moments. The poor people, happy with therich gifts in their hands, scared too by the presence of so many lordsand ladies, among whom they, however, had not yet recognized the Queen,all retreated into the background, lea
ving Wessex and the strange womanalone and isolated from their own groups, his rich black doublet andfine mantle and plumes contrasting strangely against the dank,mud-bespattered white dress of the unfortunate vagrant.

  What a quaint picture did they present--these two, whose destinies hadbeen so closely knit. No one spoke, for every one felt that curious,unexplainable awe which falls upon the spirit of every man and womanwhen in the presence of an unfathomable mystery. And that mystery, everyone felt it. The woman's voice had such a solemn ring in it when shesaid, "'Tis I have wronged thee so."

  In the very midst of this awed silence the woman suddenly threw back herhead, brushed the hair back from her face, and looked straight into theeyes of the Duke.

  She was wan and pale with hunger, smears of mud spoilt the beauty of herfeatures, but there was a look even now in that face which made Wessexrecoil with horror. He did not utter a word, but gazed on as if aghostly vision had suddenly appeared before him and was mocking him withits terrifying aspects.

  Grinning monsters seemed to surround that girlish figure before him,pointing with claw-like fingers at the golden hair, the delicatestraight nose, the childish mouth. As in a hellish panorama he suddenlysaw the whole hideousness of the mistake which had wrecked his life'shappiness, and half dazed, helpless, he gazed on as upon the risenspectre of his past.

  A murmur close behind him broke the spell of this magic moment.

  "So like the Lady Ursula," whispered one lady to her gallant.

  But the name seemed to have reached the woman's dulled ears, and to havestruck upon a sensitive fibre of her intellect.

  "Ursula again!" she said vehemently, turning now to face the group ofthe elegant ladies who stood staring at her. "Why do you all plague mewith that name? . . . I am Mirrab, the soothsayer . . . I've been taughtto read the secrets of the stars, of the waters, the air, and the winds;I foretell the future and brew the elixir of life. Wessex saved my life!'tis his!--I read in the stars that he was in great danger and came towarn him!"

  Her apathy had totally deserted her now. She was gradually workingherself up to a fever of excitement, talking more and more wildly, andletting her eyes roam restlessly on the brilliant groups before her--theladies, the courtiers . . . the Queen. . . .

  Then they alighted upon the Cardinal de Moreno, who, pale to the lips,strove in vain to smother the growing agitation which had mastered himfrom the moment when he too first recognized Mirrab. Her passion atsight of him now turned to fury, and, pointing a vengeful finger at him,she shouted wildly--

  "'Twas he who tricked and fooled me . . . with smooth and lying tonguehe cajoled me! . . . he and his friend . . . then they threatened tohave me whipped . . . if I did not depart in peace!"

  Awed, horrified, every one listened. Mary Tudor herself hung upon thegirl's lips. The Cardinal made a final effort to preserve his outwardcomposure.

  "A madwoman!" he murmured with a shrug of the shoulders. "Your Majestywould do well to retire; there's danger in the creature's eyes."

  But Wessex was slowly coming to himself. His horror had vanished,leaving him calm before this terrible revelation. With the privilegeever accorded to him by the fond Queen, he now placed a firm hand uponher arm.

  "In the name of Your Majesty's ever-present graciousness to me, Ientreat you to listen to this woman," he said quietly. "Meseems thatsome dastardly trick hath been played upon us all."

  The Cardinal tried to protest, but already Mary had acquiesced inWessex' wish, with a nod of the head.

  "I have naught to refuse you, my dear lord," she said sadly.

  Vaguely she too had begun to guess the appalling riddle which hadpuzzled her for so long, and though her heart dimly felt that she waseven now losing for ever the man whom she so ardently loved, she was toofearless a Queen, too much of a proud Tudor, not to see justice done inthe face of so much treachery.

  Then Wessex once more turned to Mirrab.

  "Tell me, girl," he said with utmost calm and gentleness, lest he shouldscare again her poor, wandering wits, "tell me without any fear. . . . Iam the Duke of Wessex and I saved thy life . . . then thou hadst thewish to warn me of some danger . . . and came to the Palace here . . .and my lord Cardinal tricked thee. . . . How?"

  "I do not know," she said piteously, turning appealing, dog-like eyesupon him. "They dressed me up in fine clothes . . . and then . . . then. . . when I saw thee . . . and wished to speak with thee . . . he . . .the dark foreigner barred the way . . . and I know not how it happened. . ." she added, as a trembling suddenly seized her whole body, "hejeered at me . . . and . . . and I killed him!"

  "'Twas thou, wench, who killed Don Miguel?" ejaculated the Queen,horrified. "Oh! . . ."

  But Wessex only bent his head and murmured in the intensity of hismisery--

  "Heaven above me! . . . that I should have been so blind!"

  "I killed him . . ." repeated Mirrab with strange persistence, "I killedhim . . . he would not let me go to thee."

  "A madwoman and a wanton," here protested the Cardinal with all thevigour at his command. "Surely Your Majesty will not believe thismiserable creature's calumnies."

  "No, my lord," replied Mary with quiet dignity, "we'll believe nothinguntil we have heard what Lady Ursula Glynde has to say. Lady Alicia,"she added, turning to one of her maids-of-honour, "I pray you find theLady Ursula. Tell her what has happened and bid her come to us."

  In the meanwhile, however, Mirrab seemed to have become aware of theconsequences of her vehement confession. Her wandering wits came slowlyback to her. Terrified, she looked from one to the other of the gravefaces which were fixed upon her.

  "What will they do to me?" she murmured, turning appealing eyes on theone man whom she dared to trust.

  "Nay, Mirrab, have no fear," said Wessex kindly, as he took her roughhands in his and tried to soothe her scared spirits with a gentle touch."Once by chance I saved thy life . . . but thou in return hast nowrestored to me that which is far dearer than life itself. I am eternallythy debtor, Mirrab, and I pledge thee the honour of Wessex that no harmshall come to thee . . . for I myself will beg for thy pardon of HerMajesty on my knees."

  "Nay, my lord," rejoined Mary Tudor earnestly, for he had turned to theQueen, prepared to proffer his request on his knees, "meseems a grievouswrong has been done to you--if unwittingly--by your Queen and country.Let the wench be free to pray to the Holy Virgin for her great sin. Imyself will care for her, and she shall enter any convent she maychoose, and be honoured there as if she had brought with her the richestdowry in the land. But," she added, turning to Lord Chandois, "I desireher to make full confession once more before you, my lord, in writing,and to swear to it and sign it with her name. You may go, wench," shesaid finally, turning to Mirrab, "your Queen has pardoned you. May yoube happy in the peace of the convent. We will never forget you, and eversee that joy shall always be in your life."

  Slowly, as the Queen spoke, Mirrab sank upon her knees. It seemed to thepoor girl as if God's angels were whispering words of comfort in herear. Two servitors now came close to her, ready to lead her back to thePalace, there to place her under the charge of waiting-women until herconfession had been duly written and sworn to.

  But before she finally allowed herself to be led away she once moreturned to Wessex.

  "May I kiss thy hand?" she murmured gently.

  He gave her his hand, and she covered it with kisses, and then shepassed out of his life, ever remembered by him, ever comforted, happy inthe peaceful and silent home which the Queen had so royally provided forher.

  But this little interlude had roused the Cardinal's feverish impatienceto boiling point. Already he had tortured his astute brain for some sortof issue out of this tangled web. He would not own a defeat so readily,certainly not before he made a final struggle to reassert the dignity ofhis position. He forced his face to express nothing but delicate irony,his eyes not to betray the slightest hint of fear.

  "Truly, this is somewhat curious justice," he said, as Mirrab's strange
figure disappeared behind a turn of the tall yew hedge, "surely YourMajesty will not condemn unheard? . . ."

  "No, my lord Cardinal, not unheard," retorted Mary Tudor haughtily. "Wehave seen strange things to-day, and can only guess at the terribletangle which caused the first gentleman in England to take upon himselfthe burden of a heinous crime."

  "And no doubt," added Wessex, "that His Eminence can solve the riddle ofhow a pure and noble girl was led into sacrificing her honour."

  "Nay!" retorted the Cardinal bitingly, "His Grace of Wessex is morecompetent than I to solve the riddle of a woman's heart. The Lady Ursulahas confessed; this trick of trying to disprove her tale," he added withcutting sarcasm, "was well thought on by the most chivalrous gentlemanin England. . . . An it satisfies His Grace," he continued with acareless shrug of the shoulders, "surely I could never wish to dispel sopleasant an illusion."

  Perhaps the Duke would have retorted in angry words, despite theunutterable contempt which he felt for this final poisoned shaft aimedat him by the Cardinal; but just then the groups which surrounded him,the Queen and His Eminence, parted, and Ursula Glynde stood before themall.

  She still wore the white robes which became her so well, but now theyonly helped to enhance the brilliancy of her hair, the clear blue of hereyes, and a certain rosy flush, which lent to her delicate face adelicious air of childishness and innocence. She looked at no one,though her eyes were actually fixed respectfully on the Queen, but herspirit seemed to have wandered off into a land of dreams.

  "Your Majesty sent for me?" she said.

  "Lady Alicia has told you?" rejoined the Queen.

  Ursula closed her glorious eyes. A ray of intense joy seemed to illumineher whole face, lighting it with a radiance which surely had its originin heaven. Then she slowly turned her head towards Wessex, and in onelittle word told him all that her soul contained.

  "Everything!" she said.

  Everything! that is to say, his sin, his mistrust of her, his greatpassionate love, and self-sacrifice for her. Everything! which meant herown love, her own devotion, her joy to find him true and chivalrous, herhappiness and her hope.

  Mary Tudor saw the look and its response from Wessex' eyes. She saw theend of the one dream which had filled her dull, rigid life and renderedit hopeful and bright. But she was above all a Tudor. She accepted thedictate of Fate, she bent the neck to a greater will than her own, andclosed the book of her illusions, never to peruse its pages again. Onelast look at the man who had had the one passion of which her strangehard heart was capable, one short farewell to the vague hope, whichuntil now would not be gainsaid.

  From now and to the end of her days she would be Queen alone--the womanlay buried amongst the autumn leaves which strewed the walks of oldHampton Court Palace.

  As Queen now she once more turned to Ursula. Justice in her demandedthat every wrong should be righted, every misdoer punished.

  "Child," she said quietly, "it was not you then who was with DonMiguel?"

  "No, Your Majesty," replied Ursula, returning to earth at sound of theQueen's kindly voice, "Lady Alicia tells me that a girl . . . a poor,sad girl, was in face so like to me . . . that His Grace must have beenmistaken . . . and . . ."

  "But, child . . . then why have told a lie? . . ."

  "His Eminence told me what to say before the Court, and promised HisGrace would be saved by it."

  Her voice dropped to so low a murmur that no one heard it but the Queen. . . and Wessex.

  "I did it to save him!"

  "A lie, Your Majesty," protested the Cardinal.

  "The truth!" protested Ursula loudly. "I pray Your Majesty to look on meand him and see on whose face is writ the word--fear."

  Almost as if in obedience to Ursula's words Mary Tudor turned and facedthe Spanish Cardinal. He tried to meet her look boldly. Even in defeatthere was a certain grandeur in this man.

  He had staked and lost his own position, his future career, his hopes ofa greater destiny, but he had succeeded in his schemes. He knew MaryTudor well enough to rejoice in this--that she would never now break herword to Philip, even though she let the flood of her royal wrath fallfull heavily upon him.

  "Go back, my lord, to your royal master," said Queen Mary with loftycontempt. "My word is my bond, and my pledge to him is sacred; but tellhim, an he wishes to win the heart of the Queen of England, he must sendan honest man to woo her."

  Then without another glance at him, without looking to see if hefollowed her or not, she beckoned to her ladies and gentlemen, herattendants and her courtiers, and, without once turning her royal headtowards the spot where had died her happiness, she walked firmly in thedirection of her Palace.