Unknown to History-A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  Two or three gentlemen who were walking along the road turned and looked up, and the young sailors recognised in a moment a home face. There was an exclamation on either side of "Antony Babington!" and "Humfrey Talbot!" and a ready clasp of the hand in right of old companionship.

  "Welcome home!" exclaimed Antony. "Is all well with you?"

  "Royally well," returned Humfrey. "Know'st thou aught of our father and mother?"

  "All was well with them when last I heard," said Antony.

  "And Cis-my sister I mean?" said Diccon, putting, in his unconsciousness, the very question Humfrey was burning to ask.

  "She is still with the Queen of Scots, at Chartley," replied Babington.

  "Chartley, where is that? It is a new place for her captivity."

  "'Tis a house of my Lord of Essex, not far from Lichfield," returned Antony. "They sent her thither this spring, after they had well-nigh slain her with the damp and wretched lodgings they provided at Tutbury."

  "Who? Not our Cis?" asked Diccon.

  "Nay," said Antony, "it hurt not her vigorous youth-but I meant the long-suffering princess."

  "Hath Sir Ralf Sadler still the charge of her?" inquired Humfrey.

  "No, indeed. He was too gentle a jailer for the Council. They have given her Sir Amias Paulett, a mere Puritan and Leicestrian, who is as hard as the nether millstone, and well-nigh as dull," said Babington, with a little significant chuckle, which perhaps alarmed one of his companions, a small slight man with a slight halt, clad in black like a lawyer. "Mr. Babington," he said, "pardon me for interrupting you, but we shall make Mr. Gage tarry supper for us."

  "Nay, Mr. Langston," said Babington, who was in high spirits, "these are kinsmen of your own, sons of Mr. Richard Talbot of Bridgefield, to whom you have often told me you were akin."

  Mr. Langston was thus compelled to come forward, shake hands with the young travellers, welcome them home, and desire to be commended to their worthy parents; and Babington, in the exuberance of his welcome, named his other two companions-Mr. Tichborne, a fine, handsome, graceful, and somewhat melancholy young man; Captain Fortescue, a bearded moustached bravo, in the height of the fashion, a long plume in his Spanish hat, and his short gray cloak glittering with silver lace. Humfrey returned their salute, but was as glad as they evidently were when they got Babington away with them, and left the brothers to pursue their way, after inviting them to come and see him at his lodgings as early as possible,

  "It is before supper," said Diccon, sagely, "or I should say Master Antony had been acquainted with some good canary."

  "More likely he is uplifted with some fancy of his own. It may be only with the meeting of me after our encounter," said Humfrey. "He is a brave fellow and kindly, but never did craft so want ballast as does that pate of his!"

  "Humfrey," said his brother, riding nearer to him, "did he not call that fellow in black, Langston?"

  "Ay, Cuthbert Langston. I have heard of him. No good comrade for his weak brain."

  "Humfrey, it is so, though father would not credit me. I knew his halt and his eye-just like the venomous little snake that was the death, of poor Foster. He is the same with the witch woman Tibbott, ay, and with her with the beads and bracelets, who beset Cis and me at Buxton."

  Young Diccon had proved himself on the voyage to have an unerring eye for recognition, and his brother gave a low whistle. "I fear me then Master Antony may be running himself into trouble."

  "See, they turn in mounting the steps to the upper fence of yonder house with the deep carved balcony. Another has joined them! I like not his looks. He is like one of those hardened cavaliers from the Netherlands."

  "Ay! who seem to have left pity and conscience behind them there," said Humfrey, looking anxiously up at the fine old gabled house with its projecting timbered front, and doubting inwardly whether it would be wise to act on his old playfellow's invitation, yet with an almost sick longing to know on what terms the youth stood with Cicely.

  In another quarter of an hour they were at the gateway of Shrewsbury House, where the porter proved to be one of the Sheffield retainers, and admitted them joyfully. My Lord Earl was in Yorkshire, he said, but my Lord and Lady Talbot were at home, and would be fain to see them, and there too was Master William Cavendish.

  They were handed on into the courtyard, where servants ran to take their horses, and as the news ran that Master Richard's sons had arrived from the Indies, Will Cavendish came running down the hall steps to embrace them in his glee, while Lord Talbot came to the door of the hall to welcome them. These great London houses, which had not quite lost their names of hostels or inns, did really serve as free lodgings to all members of the family who might visit town, and above all such travellers as these, bringing news of grand national achievements.

  Very soon after Gilbert's accession to the heirship, quarrels had begun between his wife and her mother the Countess.

  Lord Talbot had much of his father's stately grace, and his wife was a finished lady. They heartily welcomed the two lads who had grown from boys to men. My lady smilingly excused the riding-gear, and as soon as the dust of travel had been removed they were seated at the board, and called on to tell of the gallant deeds in which they had taken part, whilst they heard in exchange of Lord Leicester's doings in the Netherlands, and the splendid exploits of the Stanleys at Zutphen.

  Lord Talbot promised to take Humfrey to Richmond the next day, to be presented to her Majesty, so soon as he should be equipped, so as not to lose his character of mariner, but still not to affront her sensibilities by aught of uncourtly or unstudied in his apparel.

  They confirmed what Babington had said of the Queen of Scots' changes of residence and of keepers. As to Cicely, they had been lately so little at Sheffield that they had almost forgotten her, but they thought that if she were still at Chartley, there could be no objection to her brothers having an interview with her on their way home, if they chose to go out of their road for it.

  Humfrey mentioned his meeting with Babington in Westminster, and Lord Talbot made some inquiries as to his companions, adding that there were strange stories and suspicions afloat, and that he feared that the young man was disaffected and was consorting with Popish recusants. Diccon's tongue was on the alert with his observation, but at a sign from his brother, who did not wish to get Babington into trouble, he was silent. Cavendish, however, laughed and said he was for ever in Mr. Secretary's house, and even had a room there.

  Very early the next morning the body servant of his Lordship was in attendance with a barber and the fashionable tailor of the Court, and in good time Humfrey and Diccon were arrayed in such garments as were judged to suit the Queen's taste, and to become the character of young mariners from the West. Humfrey had a dainty jewel of shell- work from the spoils of Carthagena, entrusted to him by Drake to present to the Queen as a foretaste of what was to come. Lady Talbot greatly admired its novelty and beauty, and thought the Queen would be enchanted with it, giving him a pretty little perfumed box to present it in.

  Lord Talbot, well pleased to introduce his spirited young cousins, took them in his boat to Richmond, which they reached just as the evening coolness came on. They were told that her Majesty was walking in the Park, and thither, so soon as the ruffs had been adjusted and the fresh Spanish gloves drawn on, they resorted.

  The Queen walked freely there without guards-without even swords being worn by the gentlemen in attendance-loving as she did to display her confidence in her people. No precautions were taken, but they were allowed to gather together on the greensward to watch her, as among the beautiful shady trees she paced along.

  The eyes of the two youths were eagerly directed towards her, as they followed Lord Talbot. Was she not indeed the cynosure of all the realm? Did she not hold the heart of every loyal Englishman by an invisible rein? Was not her favour their dream and their reward? She was a little in advance of her suite. Her hair, of that light sandy tint which is slow to whiten, was built up in curls under
a rich stiff coif, covered with silver lace, and lifted high at the temples. From this a light gauze veil hung round her shoulders and over her splendid standing ruff, which stood up like the erected neck ornaments of some birds, opening in front, and showing the lesser ruff or frill encircling her throat, and terminating a lace tucker within her low-cut boddice. Rich necklaces, the jewel of the Garter, and a whole constellation of brilliants, decorated her bosom, and the boddice of her blue satin dress and its sleeves were laced with seed pearls. The waist, a very slender one, was encircled with a gold cord and heavy tassels, the farthingale spread out its magnificent proportions, and a richly embroidered white satin petticoat showed itself in front, but did not conceal the active, well-shaped feet. There was something extraordinarily majestic in her whole bearing, especially the poise of her head, which made the spectator never perceive how small her stature actually was. Her face and complexion, too, were of the cast on which time is slow to make an impression, being always pale and fair, with keen and delicately-cut features; so that her admirers had quite as much reason to be dazzled as when she was half her present age; nay, perhaps more, for the habit of command had added to the regality which really was her principal beauty. Sir Christopher Hatton, with a handsome but very small face at the top of a very tall and portly frame, dressed in the extreme of foppery, came behind her, and then a bevy of ladies and gentlemen.

  As the Talbots approached, she was moving slowly on, unusually erect even for her, and her face composed to severe majesty, like that of a judge, the tawny eyes with a strange gleam in them fixed on some one in the throng on the grass near at hand. Lord Talbot advanced with a bow so low that he swept the ground with his plume, and while the two youths followed his example, Diccon's quick eye noted that she glanced for one rapid second at their weapons, then continued her steady gaze, never withdrawing it even to receive Lord Talbot's salutation as he knelt before her, though she said, "We greet you well, my good lord. Are not we well guarded, not having one man with a sword near me?"

  "Here are three good swords, madam," returned he, "mine own, and those of my two young kinsmen, whom I venture to present to your Majesty, as they bear greetings from your trusty servant, Sir Francis Drake."

  While he spoke there had been a by-play unperceived by him, or by the somewhat slow and tardy Hatton. A touch from Diccon had made Humfrey follow the direction of the Queen's eye, and they saw it was fixed on a figure in a loose cloak strangely resembling that which they had seen on the stair of the house Babington had entered. They also saw a certain quailing and cowering of the form, and a scowl on the shaggy red eyebrows, and Irish features, and Humfrey at once edged himself so as to come between the fellow and the Queen, though he was ready to expect a pistol shot in his back, but better thus, was his thought, than that it should strike her,-and both laid their hands on their swords.

  "How now!" said Hatton, "young men, you are over prompt. Her Majesty needs no swords. You are out of rank. Fall in and do your obeisance."

  Something in the Queen's relaxed gaze told Humfrey that the peril was over, and that he might kneel as Talbot named him, explaining his lineage as Elizabeth always wished to have done. A sort of tremor passed over her, but she instantly recalled her attention. "From Drake!" she said, in her clear, somewhat shrill voice. "So, young gentleman, you have been with the pirate who outruns our orders, and fills our brother of Spain with malice such that he would have our life by fair or foul means."

  "That shall he never do while your Grace has English watch-dogs to guard you," returned Talbot.

  "The Talbot is a trusty hound by water or by land," said Elizabeth, surveying the goodly proportion of the elder brother. "Whelps of a good litter, though yonder lad be somewhat long and lean. Well, and how fares Sir Francis? Let him make his will, for the Spaniards one day will have his blood."

  "I have letters and a token from him for your Grace," said Humfrey.

  "Come then in," said the Queen. "We will see it in the bower, and hear what thou wouldst say."

  A bower, or small summer-house, stood at the end of the path, and here she took her way, seating herself on a kind of rustic throne evidently intended for her, and there receiving from Humfrey the letter and the gift, and asking some questions about the voyage; but she seemed preoccupied and anxious, and did not show the enthusiastic approbation of her sailors' exploits which the young men expected. After glancing over it, she bade them carry the letter to Mr. Secretary Walsingham the next day; nor did she bid the party remain to supper; but as soon as half a dozen of her gentlemen pensioners, who had been summoned by her orders, came up, she rose to return to the palace.

  CHAPTER XXV. PAUL'S WALK.

  Will Cavendish, who was in training for a statesman, and acted as a secretary to Sir Francis Walsingham, advised that the letters should be carried to him at once that same evening, as he would be in attendance on the Queen the next morning, and she would inquire for them.

  The great man's house was not far off, and he walked thither with Humfrey, who told him what he had seen, and asked whether it ought not at once to be reported to Walsingham.

  Will whistled. "They are driving it very close," he said. "Humfrey; old comrade, thy brains were always more of the order fit to face a tough breeze than to meddle with Court plots. Credit me, there is cause for what amazed thee. The Queen and her Council know what they are about. Risk a little, and put an end to all the plottings for ever! That's the word."

  "Risk even the Queen's life?"

  Will Cavendish looked sapient, and replied, "We of the Council Board know many a thing that looks passing strange."

  Mr. Secretary Walsingham's town house was, like Lord Talbot's, built round a court, across which Cavendish led the way, with the assured air of one used to the service, and at home there. The hall was thronged with people waiting, but Cavendish passed it, opened a little wicket, and admitted his friends into a small anteroom, where he bade them remain, while he announced them to Sir Francis.

  He disappeared, shutting a door behind him, and after a moment's interval another person, with a brown cloak round him, came hastily and stealthily across to the door. He had let down the cloak which muffled his chin, not expecting the presence of any one, and there was a moment's start as he was conscious of the young men standing there. He passed through the door instantly, but not before Humfrey had had time to recognise in him no other than Cuthbert Langston, almost the last person he would have looked for at Sir Francis Walsingham's. Directly afterwards Cavendish returned.

  "Sir Francis could not see Captain Talbot, and prayed him to excuse him, and send in the letter."

  "It can't be helped," said Cavendish, with his youthful airs of patronage. "He would gladly have spoken with you when I told him of you, but that Maude is just come on business that may not tarry. So you must e'en entrust your packet to me."

  "Maude," repeated Humfrey, "Was that man's name Maude? I should have dared be sworn that he was my father's kinsman, Cuthbert Langston."

  "Very like," said Will, "I would dare be sworn to nothing concerning him, but that he is one of the greatest and most useful villains unhung."

  So saying, Will Cavendish disappeared with the letters. He probably had had a caution administered to him, for when he returned he was evidently swelling with the consciousness of a State secret, which he would not on any account betray, yet of the existence of which he desired to make his old comrade aware.

  Humfrey asked whether he had told Mr. Secretary of the man in Richmond Park.

  "Never fear! he knows it," returned the budding statesman. "Why, look you, a man like Sir Francis has ten thousand means of intelligence that a simple mariner like you would never guess at. I thought it strange myself when I came first into business of State, but he hath eyes and ears everywhere, like the Queen's gown in her picture. Men of the Privy Council, you see, must despise none, for the lewdest and meanest rogues oft prove those who can do the best service, just as the bandy-legged cur will turn the spit, or unearth t
he fox when your gallant hound can do nought but bay outside."

  "Is this Maude, or Langston, such a cur?"

  Cavendish gave his head a shake that expressed unutterable things, saying: "Your kinsman, said you? I trust not on the Talbot side of the house?"

  "No. On his mother's side. I wondered the more to see him here as he got that halt in the Rising of the North, and on the wrong side, and hath ever been reckoned a concealed Papist."

  "Ay, ay. Dost not see, mine honest Humfrey, that's the very point that fits him for our purpose?"

  "You mean that he is a double traitor and informer."

  "We do not use such hard words in the Privy Council Board as you do on deck, my good friend," said Cavendish. "We have our secret intelligencers, you see, all in the Queen's service. Foul and dirty work, but you can't dig out a fox without soiling of fingers, and if there be those that take kindly to the work, why, e'en let them do it."

  "Then there is a plot?"

  "Content you, Humfrey! You'll hear enough of it anon. A most foul, bloody, and horrible plot, quite enough to hang every soul that has meddled in it, and yet safe to do no harm-like poor Hal's blunderbuss, which would never go off, except when it burst, and blew him to pieces."

  Will felt that he had said quite enough to impress Humfrey with a sense of his statecraft and importance, and was not sorry for an interruption before he should have said anything dangerous. It was from Frank Pierrepoint, who had been Diccon's schoolmate, and was enchanted to see him. Humfrey was to stay one day longer in town in case Walsingham should wish to see him, and to show Diccon something of London, which they had missed on their way to Plymouth.

  St. Paul's Cathedral was even then the sight that all Englishmen were expected to have seen, and the brothers took their way thither, accompanied by Frank Pierrepoint, who took their guidance on his hands. Had the lads seen the place at the opening of the century they would have thought it a piteous spectacle, for desecration and sacrilege had rioted there unchecked, the magnificent peal of bells had been gambled away at a single throw of the dice, the library had been utterly destroyed, the magnificent plate melted up, and what covetous fanaticism had spared had been further ravaged by a terrible fire. At this time Bishop Bancroft had done his utmost towards reparation, and the old spire had been replaced by a wooden one; but there was much of ruin and decay visible all around, where stood the famous octagon building called Paul's Cross, where outdoor sermons were preached to listeners of all ranks. This was of wood, and was kept in moderately good repair. Beyond, the nave of the Cathedral stretched its length, the greatest in England. Two sets of doors immediately opposite to one another on the north and south sides had rendered it a thoroughfare in very early times, in spite of the endeavours of the clergy; and at this time "Duke Humfrey's Walk," from the tomb of Duke Humfrey Stafford, as the twelve grand Norman bays of this unrivalled nave were called, was the prime place for the humours of London; and it may be feared that this, rather than the architecture, was the chief idea in the minds of the youths, as a babel of strange sounds fell on their ears, "a still roar like a humming of bees," as it was described by a contemporary, or, as Humfrey said, like the sea in a great hollow cave. A cluster of choir-boys were watching at the door to fall on any one entering with spurs on, to levy their spur money, and one gentleman, whom they had thus attacked, was endeavouring to save his purse by calling on the youngest boy to sing his gamut.