CHAPTER XX.
WINGFIELD MANOR.
The drawing of swords was not regarded as a heinous offence inElizabethan days. It was not likely, under ordinary circumstances, toresult in murder, and was looked on much as boxing is, or was recently,in public schools, as an evidence of high spirit, and a means ofworking off ill-blood.
Lady Shrewsbury was, however, much incensed at such a presumptuousreception of the suitor whom she had backed with her would-be despoticinfluence; and in spite of Babington's making extremely light of it,and declaring that he had himself been too forward in his suit, and theyoung lady's apparent fright had made her brother interfere overhastily for her protection, four yeomen were despatched by her Ladyshipwith orders instantly to bring back Master Humfrey Talbot to answer forhimself.
They were met by Mr. Talbot with the sober reply that Master Humfreywas already set forth on his journey. The men, having no orders, neverthought of pursuing him, and after a short interval Richard thought itexpedient to proceed to the Manor-house to explain matters.
The Countess swooped upon him in one of her ungovernable furies--one ofthose of which even Gilbert Talbot avoided writing the particulars tohis father--abusing his whole household in general, and his son inparticular, in the most outrageous manner, for thus receiving thefavour she had done to their beggarly, ill-favoured, ill-nurtureddaughter. Richard stood still and grave, his hat in his hand, asunmoved and tranquil as if he had been breasting a stiff breeze on thedeck of his ship, with good sea-room and confidence in all his tackle,never even attempting to open his lips, but looking at the Countesswith a steady gaze which somehow disconcerted her, for she demandedwherefore he stared at her like one of his clumsy hinds.
"Because her Ladyship does not know what she is saying," he replied.
"Darest thou! Thou traitor, thou viper, thou unhanged rascal, thoumire under my feet, thou blot on the house! Darest thou beard me--me?"screamed my Lady. "Darest thou--I say--"
If the sailor had looked one whit less calm and resolute, my Lady wouldhave had her clenched fist on his ear, or her talons in his beard, buthe was like a rock against which the billows expended themselves, andafter more of the tempest than need stain these pages, she deigned todemand what he meant or had to say for his son.
"Solely this, madam, that my son had never even heard of Babington'ssuit, far less that he had your Ladyship's good-will. He found himkneeling to Cicely in the garden, and the girl, distressed and dismayedat his importunity. There were hot words and drawn blades. That wasthe whole. I parted them and saw them join hands."
"So saith Master Babington. He is willing to overlook the insult, sowill I and my Lord, if you will atone for it by instantly consenting tothis espousal."
"That, madam, I cannot do."
She let him say no more, and the storm had begun to rage again, whenBabington took advantage of an interval to take breath, and said, "Ithank you, madam, and pray you peace. If a little space be vouchsafedme, I trust to show this worthy gentleman cause wherefore he should nolonger withhold his fair damsel from me."
"Indeed!" said the Countess. "Art thou so confident? I marvel whatbetter backer thou wouldst have than me! So conceited of themselvesare young men now-a-days, they think, forsooth, their own merits andgraces should go farther in mating them than the word and will of theirbetters. There, you may go! I wash my hands of the matter. One is asingrate as the other."
Both gentlemen accepted this amiable dismissal, each hoping that theCountess might indeed have washed her hands of their affairs. On hisdeparture Richard was summoned into the closet of the Earl, who hadcarefully kept out of the way during the uproar, only trusting not tobe appealed to. "My good cousin," he asked, "what means this broilbetween the lads? Hath Babington spoken sooth?"
"He hath spoken well and more generously than, mayhap, I thought hewould have done," said Richard.
"Ay; you have judged the poor youth somewhat hardly, as if the folly ofpagedom never were outgrown," said the Earl. "I put him undergovernorship such as to drive out of his silly pate all the wiles thathe was fed upon here. You will see him prove himself an honestProtestant and good subject yet, and be glad enough to give him yourdaughter. So he was too hot a lover for Master Humfrey's notions, eh?"said my Lord, laughing a little. "The varlet! He was over prompt toprotect his sister, yet 'twas a fault on the right side, and I am sorrythere was such a noise about it that he should have gone withoutleave-takings."
"He will be glad to hear of your Lordship's goodness. I shall go afterhim to-morrow and take his mails and little Diccon to him."
"That is well," said the Earl. "And give him this, with his kinsman'sgood wishes that he may win ten times more from the Don," pushingtowards Richard a packet of twenty broad gold pieces, stamped withQueen Bess in all her glory; and then, after receiving due thanks forthe gift, which was meant half as friendly feudal patronage from thehead of the family, half as a contribution to the royal service, theEarl added, "I would crave of thee, Richard, to extend thy journey toWingfield. Here are some accounts of which I could not sooner get theitems, to be discharged between me and the lady there--and I would fainsend thee as the man whom I can most entirely trust. I will give theea pass, and a letter to Sadler, bidding him admit thee to her presence,since there are matters here which can sooner be discharged by one wordof mouth than by many weary lines of writing."
Good Master Richard's conscience had little occasion to wince, yet hecould not but feel somewhat guilty when this opportune commission wasgiven to him, since the Earl gave it unaware of his secretunderstanding with the captive. He accepted it, however, withouthesitation, since he was certainly not going to make a mischievous useof it, and bent all his mind to understand the complicated accountsthat he was to lay before the Queen or her comptroller of the household.
He had still another interview to undergo with Antony Babington, whoovertook him on his way home through the crackling leaves that strewedthe avenue, as the October twilight fell. His recent conduct towardsHumfrey gave him a certain right to friendly attention, though, as thefrank-hearted mariner said to himself, it was hard that a plain man,who never told a lie, nor willingly had a concealment of his own,should be involved in a many-sided secret like this, a sort of web,where there was no knowing whether straining the wrong strand might notamount to a betrayal, all because he had rescued an infant, and not atonce proclaimed her an alien.
"Sir," said Antony, "if my impatience to accost the maiden we wot of,when I saw her alone, had not misled me, I should have sought you firstto tell you that no man knows better than I that my Lady Countess'sgood will is not what is wanting to forward my suit."
"Knowing then that it is not in my power or right to dispose of her,thine ardent wooing was out of place," said Richard.
"I own it, sir, though had I but had time I should have let the maidenknow that I sought her subject to other approval, which I trust toobtain so as to satisfy you."
"Young man," said Richard, "listen to friendly counsel, and meddle notin perilous matters. I ask thee not whether Dethick hath any commercewith Wingfield; but I warn thee earnestly to eschew beginning againthat which caused the trouble of thy childhood. Thou mayst do itinnocently, seeking the consent of the lady to this courtship of thine;but I tell thee, as one who knows more of the matter than thou canst,that thou wilt only meet with disappointment."
"Hath the Queen other schemes for her?" asked Babington, anxiously; andRichard, thinking of the vista of possible archdukes, replied that shehad; but that he was not free to speak, though he replied toBabington's half-uttered question that his son Humfrey was by no meansintended.
"Ah!" cried Antony, "you give me hope, sir. I will do her such servicethat she shall refuse me nothing! Sir! do you mock me!" he added, witha fierce change of note.
"My poor lad, I could not but laugh to think what a simple plotter youare, and what fine service you will render if thou utterest thy vows tothe very last person who should hear them! Credit
me, thou wast nevermade for privy schemes and conspiracies, and a Queen who can only beserved by such, is no mistress for thee. Thou wilt but run thine ownneck into the noose, and belike that of others."
"That will I never do," quoth Antony. "I may peril myself, but noothers."
"Then the more you keep out of secrets the better. Thou art tooopen-hearted and unguarded for them! So speaks thy well-wisher,Antony, whose friendship thou hast won by thine honourable conducttowards my rash boy; though I tell thee plainly, the maiden is not forthee, whether as Scottish or English, Cis or Bride."
So they parted at the gate of the park, the younger man full of hopeand confidence, the elder full of pitying misgiving.
He was too kind-hearted not to let Cicely know that he should see hermother, or to refuse to take a billet for her,--a little formal notenecessarily silent on the matter at issue, since it had to be laidbefore the Earl, who smiled at the scrupulous precaution, and let itpass.
Thus the good father parted with Humfrey and Diccon, rejoicing in hisheart that they would fight with open foes, instead of struggling withthe meshes of perplexity, which beset all concerned with Queen Mary,and then he turned his horse's head towards Wingfield Manor, a grandold castellated mansion of the Talbots, considered by some to exceleven Sheffield. It stood high, on ground falling very steeply from thewalls on three sides, and on the south well fortified, court withincourt, and each with a deep-arched and portcullised gateway, withloopholed turrets on either side, a porter's lodge, and yeomen guards.
Mr. Talbot had to give his name and quality, and show his pass, at eachof these gates, though they were still guarded by Shrewsbury retainers,with the talbot on their sleeves. He was, however, received with therespect and courtesy due to a trusted kinsman of their lord; and SirRalf Sadler, a thin, elderly, careworn statesman, came to greet him atthe door of the hall, and would only have been glad could he haveremained a week, instead of for the single night he wished to spend atWingfield.
Sadler was one of Mary's most gentle and courteous warders, and hespoke of her with much kindness, regretting that her health had againbegun to suffer from the approach of winter, and far more fromdisappointment.
The negotiation with Scotland on her behalf was now known to have beenabortive. James had fallen into the hands of the faction most hostileto her, and though his mother still clung with desperate hope to thetrust that he, at least, was labouring on her behalf, no one elsebelieved that he cared for anything but his own security, and even shehad been forced to perceive that her liberation was again adjourned.
"And what think you was her thought when she found that road closedup?" said Sir Ralf. "Why, for her people! Her gentlewoman, Mrs.Mowbray, hath, it seems, been long betrothed."
"Ay, to Gilbert Curll, the long-backed Scotch Secretary. They were tobe wed at Stirling so soon as she arrived there again."
"Yea; but when she read the letter that overthrew her hopes, what didshe say but that 'her servants must not grow gray-headed with waitingtill she was set free'! So she would have me make the case known toSir Parson, and we had them married in the parish church two dayssince, they being both good Protestants."
"There is no doubt that her kindness of heart is true," said Richard."The poor folk at Sheffield and Ecclesfield will miss her plentifulalmsgiving."
"Some say it ought to be hindered, for that it is but a purchasing offriends to her cause," said Sadler; "but I have not the heart to checkit, and what could these of the meaner sort do to our Queen'sprejudice? I take care that nothing goes among them that could hide abillet, and that none of her people have private speech with them, sono harm can ensue from her bounty."
A message here came that the Queen was ready to admit Mr. Talbot, andRichard found himself in her presence chamber, a larger and finer roomthan that in the lodge at Sheffield, and with splendid tapestryhangings and plenishings; but the windows all looked into the innerquadrangle, instead of on the expanse of park, and thus, as Mary said,she felt more entirely the prisoner. This, however, was notperceptible at the time, for the autumn evening had closed in; therewere two large fires burning, one at each end of the room, and talltapestry-covered screens and high-backed settles were arranged so as toexclude the draughts around the hearth, where Mary reclined on acouch-like chair. She looked ill, and though she brightened with hersweet smile to welcome her guest, there were dark circles round hereyes, and an air of dejection in her whole appearance. She held outher hand graciously, as Richard approached, closely followed by hishost; he put his knee to the ground and kissed it, as she said, "Youmust pardon me, Mr. Talbot, for discourtesy, if I am less agile thanwhen we were at Buxton. You see my old foe lies in wait to plague mewith aches and pains so soon as the year declines."
"I am sorry to see your Grace thus," returned Richard, standing on thestep.
"The while I am glad to see you thus well, sir. And how does the goodlady, your wife, and my sweet playfellow, your daughter?"
"Well, madam, I thank your Grace, and Cicely has presumed to send abillet by mine hand."
"Ah! the dear bairnie," and all the Queen's consummate art could notrepress the smile of gladness and the movement of eager joy with whichshe held out her hand for it, so that Richard regretted its extremebrevity and unsatisfying nature, and Mary, recollecting herself in asecond, added, smiling at Sadler, "Mr. Talbot knows how a poor prisonermust love the pretty playfellows that are lent to her for a time."
Sir Ralf's presence hindered any more intimate conversation, andRichard had certainly committed a solecism in giving Cicely's letterthe precedence over the Earl's. The Queen, however, had recalled hercaution, and inquired for the health of the Lord and Lady, and, with acertain sarcasm on her lips, trusted that the peace of the family wascomplete, and that they were once more setting Hallamshire the exampleof living together as household doves.
Her hazel eyes meantime archly scanned the face of Richard, who couldnot quite forget the very undovelike treatment he had received, thoughhe could and did sturdily aver that "my Lord and my Lady were perfectlyreconciled, and seemed most happy in their reunion."
"Well-a-day, let us trust that there will be no further disturbances totheir harmony," said Mary, "a prayer I may utter most sincerely. Is thelittle Arbell come back with them?"
"Yea, madam."
"And is she installed in my former rooms, with the canopy over hercradle to befit her strain of royalty?"
"I think not, madam. Meseems that my Lady Countess hath seen reason tobe heedful on that score. My young lady hath come back with a gravegouvernante, who makes her read her primer and sew her seam, and savethat she sat next my Lady at the wedding feast there is littledifference made between her and the other grandchildren."
The Queen then inquired into the circumstances of the weddingfestivities with the interest of one to whom most of the parties weremore or less known, and who seldom had the treat of a little femininegossip. She asked who had been "her little Cis's partner," and whenshe heard of Babington, she said, "Ah ha, then, the poor youth has madehis peace with my Lord?"
"Certes, madam, he is regarded with high favour by both my Lord and myLady," said Richard, heartily wishing himself rid of his host.
"I rejoice to hear it," said Mary; "I was afraid that his childishknight-errantry towards the captive dame had damaged the poorstripling's prospects for ever. He is our neighbour here, and Ibelieve Sir Ralf regards him as somewhat perilous."
"Nay, madam, if my Lord of Shrewsbury be satisfied with him, so surelyought I to be," said Sir Ralf.
Nothing more of importance passed that night. The packet of accountswas handed over to Sir Andrew Melville, and the two gentlemen dismissedwith gracious good-nights.
Richard Talbot was entirely trusted, and when the next morning afterprayers, breakfast, and a turn among the stables, it was intimated thatthe Queen was ready to see him anent my Lord's business, Sir RalfSadler, who had his week's report to write to the Council, requestedthat his presence might be dispensed wi
th, and thus Mr. Talbot wasushered into the Queen's closet without any witnesses to theirinterview save Sir Andrew Melville and Marie de Courcelles. The Queenwas seated in a large chair, leaning against cushions, and evidently ina good deal of pain, but, as Richard made his obeisance, her eyes shoneas she quoted two lines from an old Scotch ballad--
"'Madame, how does my gay goss hawk? Madame, how does my doo?'
Now can I hear what I hunger for!"
"My gay gosshawk, madam, is flown to join Sir Francis Drake atPlymouth, and taken his little brother with him. I come now fromspeeding them as far as Derby."
"Ah! you must not ask me to pray for success to them, my goodsir,--only that there may be a time when nations may be no moredivided, and I fear me we shall not live to see it. And my doo--mylittle Cis, did she weep as became a sister for the bold laddies?"
"She wept many tears, madam, but we are sore perplexed by a matter thatI must lay before your Grace. My Lady Countess is hotly bent on amatch between the maiden and young Babington."
"Babington!" exclaimed the Queen, with the lioness sparkle in her eye."You refused the fellow of course?"
"Flatly, madam, but your Grace knows that it is ill making the Countessaccept a denial of her will."
Mary laughed "Ah ha! methought, sir, you looked somewhat as if you hadhad a recent taste of my Lord of Shrewsbury's dove. But you are a manto hold your own sturdy will, Master Richard, let Lord or Lady say whatthey choose."
"I trust so, madam, I am master of mine own house, and, as I shouldcertainly not give mine own daughter to Babington, so shall I guardyour Grace's."
"You would not give the child to him if she were your own?"
"No, madam."
"And wherefore not? Because he is too much inclined to the poorprisoner and her faith? Is it so, sir?"
"Your Grace speaks the truth in part," said Richard, and then witheffort added, "and likewise, madam, with your pardon, I would say thatthough I verily believe it is nobleness of heart and spirit thatinclines poor Antony to espouse your Grace's cause, there is to my minda shallowness and indiscretion about his nature, even when most inearnest, such as would make me loath to commit any woman, or anysecret, to his charge."
"You are an honest man, Mr. Talbot," said Mary; "I am glad my poor maidis in your charge. Tell me, is this suit on his part made to yourdaughter or to the Scottish orphan?"
"To the Scottish orphan, madam. Thus much he knows, though by whatmeans I cannot tell, unless it be through that kinsman of mine, who, asI told your Grace, saw the babe the night I brought her in."
"Doubtless," responded Mary. "Take care he neither knows more, norhints what he doth know to the Countess."
"So far as I can, I will, madam," said Richard, "but his tongue is noteasy to silence; I marvel that he hath not let the secret ooze outalready."
"Proving him to have more discretion than you gave him credit for, mygood sir," said the Queen, smiling. "Refuse him, however, staunchly,grounding your refusal, if it so please you, on the very causes forwhich I should accept him, were the lassie verily what he deems her, myward and kinswoman. Nor do you accede to him, whatever word or tokenhe may declare that he brings from me, unless it bear this mark," andshe hastily traced a peculiar-twisted form of M. "You know it?" sheasked.
"I have seen it, madam," said Richard, gravely, for he knew it as theletter which had been traced on the child's shoulders.
"Ah, good Master Richard," she said, with a sweet and wistfulexpression, looking up to his face in pleading, and changing to thefamiliar pronoun, "thou likest not my charge, and I know that it ishard on an upright man like thee to have all this dissembling thrust onthee, but what can a poor captive mother do but strive to save herchild from an unworthy lot, or from captivity like her own? I ask theeto say nought, that is all, and to shelter the maid, who hath been asthine own daughter, yet a little longer. Thou wilt not deny me, forher sake."
"Madam, I deny nothing that a Christian man and my Queen's faithfulservant may in honour do. Your Grace has the right to choose your owndaughter's lot, and with her I will deal as you direct me. But, madam,were it not well to bethink yourself whether it be not a perilous and acruel policy to hold out a bait to nourish hope in order to bind toyour service a foolish though a generous youth, whose devotion may,after all, work you and himself more ill than good?"
Mary looked a good deal struck, and waved back her two attendants, whowere both startled and offended at what Marie de Courcelles describedas the Englishman's brutal boldness.
"Silence, dear friends," said she. "Would that I had always hadcounsellors who would deal with me with such honour anddisinterestedness. Then should I not be here."
However, she then turned her attention to the accounts, where SirAndrew Melville was ready to question and debate every item set down byShrewsbury's steward; while his mistress showed herself liberal andopen-handed. Indeed she had considerable command of money from herFrench dowry, the proceeds of which were, in spite of the troubles ofthe League, regularly paid to her, and no doubt served her well inmaintaining the correspondence which, throughout her captivity, eludedthe vigilance of her keepers. On taking leave of her, which RichardTalbot did before joining his host at the mid-day meal, she reiteratedher thanks for his care of her daughter, and her charges to let nopersuasion induce him to consent to Babington's overtures, adding thatshe hoped soon to obtain permission to have the maiden amongst herauthorised attendants. She gave him a billet, loosely tied with blackfloss silk and unsealed, so that if needful, Sadler and Shrewsburymight both inspect the tender, playful, messages she wrote to her"mignonne," and which she took care should not outrun those which shehad often addressed to Bessie Pierrepoint.
Cicely was a little disappointed when she first opened the letter, butere long she bethought herself of the directions she had received tohold such notes to the fire, and accordingly she watched, waiting eventill the next day before she could have free and solitary access toeither of the two fires in the house, those in the hall and in thekitchen.
At last, while the master was out farming, Ned at school, and themistress and all her maids engaged in the unsavoury occupation ofmaking candles, by repeated dipping of rushes into a caldron of meltedfat, after the winter's salting, she escaped under pretext of attendingto the hall fire, and kneeling beside the glowing embers, she held thepaper over it, and soon saw pale yellow characters appear and deepeninto a sort of brown or green, in which she read, "My little jewel mustshare the ring with none less precious. Yet be not amazed ifcommendations as from me be brought thee. Jewels are sometimes usefulto dazzle the eyes of those who shall never possess them. Thereforeseem not cold nor over coy, so as to take away all hope. It may bemuch for my service. Thou art discreet, and thy good guardians willhinder all from going too far. It might be well that he should deemthee and me inclined to what they oppose. Be secret. Keep thine owncounsel, and let them not even guess what thou hast here read. So farethee well, with my longing, yearning blessing."
Cicely hastily hid the letter in the large housewifely pocket attachedto her girdle, feeling excited and important at having a real secretunguessed by any one, and yet experiencing some of the reluctancenatural to the pupil of Susan Talbot at the notion of acting a parttowards Babington. She really liked him, and her heart warmed to himas a true friend of her much-injured mother, so that it seemed the morecruel to delude him with false hopes. Yet here was she asked to do areal service to her mother!
Poor Cis, she knelt gazing perplexed into the embers, now and thentouching a stick to make them glow, till Nat, the chief of "the oldblue bottles of serving-men," came in to lay the cloth for dinner,exclaiming, "So, Mistress Cis! Madam doth cocker thee truly, lettingthee dream over the coals, till thy face be as red as my Lady's newfarthingale, while she is toiling away like a very scullion."
Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland Page 20
