The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  Though our young knight might well doubt Buckingham’s sincerity; he replied to all his courtly speeches in similar terms, and the greatest cordiality appeared to subsist between them. Enchanted with this show of friendship, the King endeavoured to promote it by keeping them near him throughout the evening, leading them to converse together, and fawning upon them, as was his way with those he highly favoured. All this could not fail to be satisfactory to Mounchensey; but he was far more pleased with the notice of Prince Charles, who treated him with marked consideration.

  Next morning, in compliance with an invitation to that effect he had received at the revel, Sir Jocelyn repaired to Ely House, in Holborn, the residence of the Spanish Ambassador, and was at once admitted to his presence.

  They were alone, and after a few preliminary observations upon the events of the previous day, De Gondomar remarked— “I think I have already afforded you abundant proof of my friendly feeling towards you, Sir Jocelyn. But I will not stop with what I have done. My power of serving you is greater than you may imagine it to be. I can lead you yet higher — and put you in a firmer position. In a word, I can place you on a level with Buckingham, — perchance above him, — if your ambition soars so high.”

  Mounchensey endeavoured to express his deep sense of gratitude to the ambassador, and regretted his small means of requiting the numerous and important favours he had received from him.

  “I will tell you what to do,” said De Gondomar. “You can procure me certain information which I desire to obtain. By my instrumentality you have, in some degree, already obtained the King’s confidence, and ere long are sure to become the depositary of many important state secrets. These you shall communicate to me. And you must also use your best endeavours to win Prince Charles over to the Church of Rome.”

  “Is this proposal seriously made to me, Count?” demanded Mounchensey, looking at him with astonishment, mingled with displeasure.

  “Unquestionably it is serious — perfectly serious,” replied De Gondomar. “I ask you only to serve me as a certain young nobleman of your acquaintance served me before he was compelled to fly from England to avoid the consequences of a quarrel with his wife’s family. Your opportunities will be greater than his, and therefore your service will be more valuable.”

  “I regret that such disloyalty should be laid to the charge of any English noble,” said Sir Jocelyn sternly. “But think not, because Lord Roos played the spy and traitor, as your Excellency insinuates he did, that I will be guilty of like baseness. Up to this moment I have felt nothing but gratitude to you for the favours you have heaped upon me; but the feeling is changed to resentment when I understand they are to be purchased at the price of my honour. I cannot accede to your wishes, Count. You must seek out some other tool. I can be none in your hands.”

  “If this be real, and not affected indignation, Sir Jocelyn,” said De Gondomar coldly, “it would seem that I have been altogether mistaken in you, and that I have been helping you up the ladder only to be kicked aside when you have gained a secure footing. But you have not reached the last step yet, and never will, unless I find you more reasonable. And allow me to ask you, if you are as scrupulous as you profess to be, how you came to bring a token to me from a hired spy — a token intended to let me know you were willing to undertake any secret service I might choose to confide to you? Have you changed your mind since then? or rather, do you not fancy yourself out of danger, and able to dispense with my assistance?”

  “I have ever been of the same opinion, Count; have ever been influenced by the same feelings of loyalty and devotion to my sovereign, and of detestation of all treasonable practices. Had I been aware of the import of the ring I showed your Excellency on our first meeting, I would have hacked off my finger rather than have displayed it. Neither did I know the character of the man who confided it to me; though I ought to have distrusted him. He has played us both false, and for what end I cannot divine.”

  “I will solve the riddle for you, Sir: he thought to serve you,” said De Gondomar; “and he has done so, and most effectually, though you are now unwilling to admit it. I have good reason to complain of him — you have none.”

  “I have more reason for complaint than your Excellency,” rejoined Mounchensey. “He has placed me in a most painful and perplexing position.”

  “There you are right, Sir,” said De Gondomar. “No matter how arrived at, you are in a position from which you cannot extricate yourself with honour. However disinclined you may be to act in concert with me, you have no other alternative. If I withdraw my support from you, your fall is inevitable. Think not I talk lightly. You are surrounded by enemies, though you discern them not. Buckingham’s magnanimous conduct at the revel last night was feigned to mask his purposes towards you. He has not forgiven his defeat, and means to avenge it. You fancy yourself on the high road to preferment; but you are on the verge of disgrace and ruin. I alone can save you. Choose, then, between compliance with my wishes, coupled with present protection and future advancement, and the consequences certain to attend your refusal. Choose, I say, between my friendship and my enmity.”

  “My answer shall be as prompt and decisive as your proposal, Count,” replied Sir Jocelyn. “I at once reject a friendship fettered with such conditions. And that I do not resent the affront put upon me in your dishonourable proposal, must be set down to the obligations you have imposed upon me, and which tie up my hands. But we are now quits; and if any further indignity be offered me, it will not be so lightly borne.”

  “Perdone, vuestra merced! — we are not quits,” cried De Gondomar quickly. “The account between us is far from settled; nor will I rest content till you have paid me in full. But we had better break off this interview,” he added, more calmly, “since no good is like to result from it. It is useless to reason with you; but you are wantonly throwing away a fairer opportunity than falls to the lot of most men, and will see your folly when too late.”

  “In taking my leave of your Excellency, as there are no terms henceforth to be observed between us, except those of hostility, I deem it right to state, that though I shall make no especial reference to yourself, I shall hold it my duty to acquaint his Majesty with the system of espionage introduced into the palace; and, above all, I shall take care to guard the Prince against the insidious snares laid for him.”

  “It is a pity so faithful a councillor as yourself should not be listened to,” rejoined De Gondomar. “Yet, when I shut the doors of the palace against you — as I will do — you will find it difficult to obtain a hearing either from Prince or King. In spite of all your efforts to the contrary, I shall learn any state secrets I desire to know, and I have great hopes of winning over Charles Stuart to the faith for which his lovely and martyred ancestress died. One more word at parting, Sir Jocelyn. You will remember, when we first met, you were in danger from the Star-Chamber. It would be useless now to say how I saved you from the punishment your rashness had incurred — how, while aiding you with the King, I kept aloof your enemies, Mompesson and Mitchell, who were prepared to attach your person for contempt of that terrible court, and would have done so, if I had not prevented them. The warrant for your arrest still exists, and can be employed at any moment; so you will consider how long you can count upon your freedom, now that you have no strong arm to protect you.”

  “I have my own arm to trust to,” rejoined Sir Jocelyn, resolutely, “and have no apprehensions.”

  “Vaya usted con dios!” said the Spaniard, bowing him out; “or I should rather say,” he added to himself, “Vaya mucho en mala hora!”

  CHAPTER XVII.

  Disgrace.

  Sir Jocelyn was not without great uneasiness at the result of his interview with De Gondomar. Had it been possible, he would have avoided a rupture with so influential a personage — an event to be dreaded at any time, but especially so at a juncture like the present, when dangers menaced him on all sides, and the only question appeared to be, from what side the first blow wou
ld come. His chief anxiety, however, was for Aveline, whose position was one of such strange and imminent peril, against which he knew not how to guard her. He was still left in the same state of uncertainty as to who would be the claimant of her hand; for the mysterious personage in the mask had not appeared again, according to his promise, after the jousts. This suspense was terrible, and Sir Jocelyn found it so difficult of endurance, that he would have preferred the actual presence of the calamity by which he was threatened. His fears were, that the claim he so much dreaded would be made by Sir Giles Mompesson in person, and in that case he had determined forcibly to resist him. And this supposition might account for the delay — since he knew that Sir Giles was suffering severely from the effects of the blow he had dealt him in the tilt-yard.

  De Gondomar’s were not idle threats, as Sir Jocelyn soon found. On the next day, as he entered the palace, he was informed by the Lord Chamberlain that he was deprived of his office of Gentleman of the Bed-Chamber; and when he demanded the reason of his sudden dismissal, the Duke of Lennox, with a shrug of the shoulders, declared he was unable to afford him any information. But what the Duke refused was afforded by De Gondomar, who at that moment entered the corridor, in company with Buckingham and some other nobles, on his way to the presence-chamber. On seeing his late protégé, the ambassador halted for a moment, and with a smile of triumph said— “You owe your dismissal to me, Sir Jocelyn. I have made some few circumstances concerning you that had just come to my ears known to his Majesty; and as he does not choose to have spies about his person, he has released you from all further attendance upon him.”

  “In a word, he has forbidden your attendance again at the palace,” added Buckingham, who had paused likewise, with an insulting laugh.

  “I must to the King, your Grace,” cried Sir Jocelyn to the Lord Chamberlain. “I will explain the falsehood of this charge to his Majesty, and show him who is the spy and traitor he has to fear.”

  “You cannot pass, Sir Jocelyn,” said the Duke of Lennox, placing himself in his way, while two halberdiers advanced to bar his passage with their partizans. “I say not a word as to the cause of your disgrace; but I may tell you, that his Majesty is greatly offended with you, and that it would be highly imprudent to approach him in his present frame of mind, even were it permitted you to do so — which it is not. As I have said, you are deprived of your office, and enjoined to absent yourself from the palace, till it shall be his Majesty’s pleasure to recall you.”

  “And that is not likely to be soon the case — eh, Count?” observed Buckingham, with a laugh.

  “Not very likely indeed, Marquis,” said the ambassador. “I much regret that I have been the means of introducing so unworthy a person to his Majesty; but I have made all the amends in my power.”

  “Must I tamely endure all these insults and calumnies, your Grace?” cried Sir Jocelyn furiously.

  “If you will be guided by me, you will retire,” rejoined the Duke of Lennox; “or the provocation you will receive may induce you to do some desperate act which may render your position worse, and put your restoration to the King’s favour entirely out of the question.”

  While Sir Jocelyn was debating whether he should comply with the Duke’s advice, the door of the presence-chamber was thrown open; and James, coming forth from it, marched slowly along the corridor.

  Our young knight now fondly hoped that the King might deign to look upon him, and so enable him to plead his cause; and perhaps the Lord Chamberlain himself entertained similar expectations, for he did not insist upon Sir Jocelyn’s withdrawal, but allowed him to remain within the corridor, though he was kept aloof by the halberdiers. But both were disappointed. James, no doubt, designedly, bestowed his most gracious marks of condescension on Buckingham and De Gondomar, and lingered for a few minutes to laugh and talk with them. After this, as he was passing Sir Jocelyn, he pretended to notice him for the first time, and observed, in a tone of reproof to the Lord Chamberlain, “What doth the spy here, my Lord Duke? I thought you had our orders concerning him. See they are better obeyed in future.” And, when the young knight would have spoken, he interrupted him by an imperious gesture, crying out, “Not a word, Sir! — not a word! We will hear naught mair frae ye. We hae heard ower meikle already.” And he passed on.

  Thus was Mounchensey’s disgrace accomplished by his enemies.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  How Sir Jocelyn’s cause was espoused by the ‘prentices.

  Stung almost to madness by the sense of intolerable wrong, our young knight quitted Whitehall, never, as he imagined at the moment, to enter the palace again. Yet he was not humiliated by his disgrace, because he felt it to be wholly unmerited. His enemies had triumphed over him; but he would not have heeded the defeat, provided he could efface the foul stigma cast upon his reputation, and rebut the false charge brought against him by De Gondomar.

  With a heart overflowing with rage and bitterness, and with a thousand wild projects passing through his brain, Sir Jocelyn took a boat at Whitehall stairs, and ordered the watermen to row down the river, without assigning any paticular place of landing. After awhile, he succeeded, to a certain extent, in controlling his angry emotions; and as the watermen rested on their oars for a moment, to inquire his destination, he looked round, and perceiving he was just opposite the Three Cranes in the Vintry, he desired to be put ashore there.

  No better retreat wherein to recover his composure seemed to offer itself than Madame Bonaventure’s comfortable house of entertainment; and thither, therefore, he proceeded, and at his request was shown into a private room overlooking the river. Scarcely was he installed within it, than the buxom hostess, who had caught sight of him as he mounted the stairs, entered, and in her blandest accents, and with her most bewitching smiles, begged to know his commands; declaring that all that her house possessed was at his service.

  She was running on thus, but perceiving the young knight to be much disturbed, she instantly changed her tone, and expressed such genuine concern for him, that he could not fail to be moved by it. Without making her an entire confidante, Sir Jocelyn told her enough of what had occurred to make her comprehend his position; and highly indignant she was at the treatment he had experienced. She did her best to console him; and so far succeeded, that he was prevailed upon to partake of some delicacies which she caused Cyprien to set before him, together with a flask of the best vintage in her cellar; and the discussion of these good things, coupled with the hostess’s assiduities, certainly operated as a balm upon his wounded feelings.

  The repast over, the good-natured dame thought it best to leave him to himself; and drawing his chair to the open window, he began to ruminate upon the many strange events that had happened to him since he first beheld that fair prospect almost from the same place; and he was indulging in this retrospect, when his own name, pronounced in tones familiar to him, caught his ear, and looking forth, he perceived Dick Taverner, seated on a bench in front of the house, drinking in company with some half dozen other apprentices, his boon companions.

  The conversation of these roysterers was held in so loud a key that it could not fail to reach his ears; and he soon ascertained that his own dismissal from court was the theme of their discourse, and that they rightly attributed it — doubtless owing to information derived from their hostess — to the instrumentality of De Gondomar. It was evidently Dick Taverner’s design to rouse the indignation of his companions; and he had little difficulty in accomplishing his purpose, as they were all composed of very inflammable material, and prone to take fire on the slightest application of the match. Dick denounced the plotting and perfidious Spaniard as a traitor to the King and a subverter of the Protestant faith; and counselled vengeance upon him.

  Finding Dick’s suggestions eagerly caught up by his companions, and that the number of his listeners was momently increasing, while all were becoming excited by what the orator uttered, Sir Jocelyn, apprehensive that mischief might ensue, thought it right to interfere, a
nd accordingly, leaning forward from the casement, he made himself known to the group below.

  On seeing him, and learning who he was, the ‘prentices began to shout and declaim vehemently against the Spanish ambassador; and instigated by Dick Taverner, who refused to listen either to the entreaties or commands of the young knight, the whole party seized their cudgels, and dispersing themselves in different directions, vociferated as they went— “Clubs! clubs!”

  It was now as vain to arrest them as it would have been to stop the course of a conflagration; and Sir Jocelyn was deploring the damage which must necessarily be done to his cause by these injudicious friends, when Dick Taverner, with a look of exultation, and brandishing his cudgel, burst into the room, crying— “We have heard all from Madame Bonaventure. We have heard of De Gondomar’s perfidy, and his Majesty’s injustice. We will set you right. The bold London ‘prentices have taken your cause in hand, and will avenge you. They will hang the treacherous Spaniard, and burn his house.”

  “Hark ye, my good friend, Dick Taverner,” said Sir Jocelyn, “this must not be. Because I have been unjustly treated, and may perchance find it difficult, if not impossible, to obtain redress, it does not follow that you and your fellow ‘prentices are to violate the law. These riotous proceedings will prejudice my cause rather than aid it; and if you have any regard for me you will use your influence with your comrades to check them ere mischief ensue.”