The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 02

by Anthology

  "Land sakes!" exclaimed Rebecca, in growing amazement. "Don't know English! Why--don't I talk as good English as any of ye? You don't have to talk Bible talk to speak English, I sh'd hope!"

  Elizabeth frowned and settled back in her chair, turning her piercing eyes once more upon her mysterious visitor.

  "Your judgment is most sound, Sir Walter," she said. "In sooth, 'twere passing strange were our own tongue to be found among the savages of the New World! What have ye to say to this, mistress?"

  Rebecca turned her eyes from one to the other of the bystanders, doubtful at first whether or not they were all in a conspiracy to mock her. Her good sense told her that this was wellnigh impossible, and she finally came to the conclusion that sheer ignorance was the only explanation.

  "Well, well!" she exclaimed at last. "I've heerd tell about how simple Britishers was, but this beats all! Do you reely mean to tell me," she continued, vehemently nodding her head at the Queen, "that you think the's nothin' but Indians in America?"

  A murmur of indignation spread through the assembly caused by language and manners so little suited to the address of royalty.

  "The woman hath lost her wits!" said the Queen, dryly.

  "There 'tis again!" said Rebecca, testily. "Why, ef it comes to talk of simpletons and the like, I guess the pot can't call the kettle black!"

  Elizabeth gripped the arm of her chair and leaned forward angrily, while two or three gentlemen advanced, watching their mistress for the first sign of a command. At the same moment, a triumphant thought occurred to Rebecca, and, dropping her umbrella, she opened her satchel with both hands.

  "Ye needn't to get mad, Mrs. Tudor," she said. "I didn't mean any offence, but I guess you wouldn't like to be called a lunatic yerself. See here," she continued, dragging forth a section of the newspaper which she had brought with her, "ef you folks won't believe my word, jest look at this! It's all here in the newspaper--right in print. There!"

  She held the paper high where all might see, and with one accord Queen and courtiers craned forward eagerly, burning with curiosity at sight of the printed columns interspersed with nineteenth-century illustrations.

  Rebecca stepped forward and handed the paper to the Queen, and then, drawing forth another section from her bag, she carried it to the bewildered Raleigh, who took it like one in a trance.

  For some time no one spoke. Elizabeth turned the paper this way and that, reading a bit here and a bit there, and gazing spellbound upon the enigmatic pictures.

  Having completely mastered the situation, Rebecca now found time to consider her comfort. Far on one side, near the door through which she had entered, there stood a youth of perhaps sixteen, clad in the somewhat fantastic garb of a page. Having picked up her umbrella, Rebecca approached this youth and said in a sharp whisper:

  "Couldn't you get me a chair, sonny?"

  The lad disappeared with startling promptitude, but he did not return. It was an agony of perplexity and shyness which had moved him, not a willingness to serve.

  Rebecca gazed about at the etiquette-bound men and women around her and muttered, with an indignant snort and toss of the head:

  "Set o' decorated haystacks!"

  Then, with head held high and a frigid "Beg pardon, mister!" she elbowed her way through the dense throng of gentlemen-in-waiting and seated herself on the bench arranged along the side of the cabin.

  "Oof!" she exclaimed. "Feels though my legs would drop clear off!"

  At length the Queen looked up.

  "Why, what now!" she exclaimed. "Whither hath the strange woman gone?"

  A tall man dressed in black and gold stepped forward and dropped upon one knee. He had a long, humorous face, with high cheek bones, a straight, good-humored mouth, with a high mustache well off the lip and a pointed beard. The eyes, set far apart, twinkled with the light of fun as he awaited permission to speak.

  "Well, my Lord of Southampton," said the Queen, kindly, "I doubt some gay mischief be afoot. Your face tells me as much, my lord."

  "Nay, my liege," was the humble reply. "Can my face so far forget the duty owed to Royalty as to speak thus, not being first admitted to discourse!"

  Elizabeth smiled and replied:

  "Even so, my lord, but we forgive the offence if that your face hath spoken truth. Know you aught of the strange woman? Pray be standing."

  The earl arose and replied:

  "Of her rank and station, she must be a queen at least, or she doth forget herself. This may your Majesty confirm if but these your Majesty's servants be commanded to cross the room."

  Elizabeth, puzzled, bowed her head slightly, and the courtiers behind whom Rebecca had sought rest walked with one accord to the other side of the cabin, revealing to the astonished eyes of the Queen her visitor quietly seated upon the bench.

  Rebecca nodded with a pleased look.

  "Well, there!" she exclaimed. "Much obliged to you all. That's certainly better."

  "Dame," said Elizabeth, sternly, "is this the respect you show to them above you in America?"

  "Above me!" said Rebecca, straightening up stiffly. "There ain't anybody put above me at home, I can tell you. Ef the' was, I'd put 'em down mighty quick, I guess."

  Elizabeth raised her brows and, leaning toward the lord treasurer, who stood at her side, she said in an undertone:

  "This must be some sovereign princess in her own country, my lord. How comes it I have not had earlier intelligence of her arrival in this realm?"

  Lord Burleigh bowed profoundly and mumbled something about its being out of his immediate province--he would have investigation made--etc., etc.

  The Queen cut him short a little impatiently.

  "Let it be done, my lord," she said.

  Then turning to Rebecca, she continued:

  "Our welcome is somewhat tardy, but none the less sincere. England hath e'er been friendly to the American, and you had been more fittingly received had our informants been less negligent."

  Here the Queen shot a glance at poor Sir Walter Raleigh, who now seemed the personification of discomfiture.

  "By what name are you called?" Elizabeth continued.

  "Wise," said Rebecca, very graciously, "Rebecca Wise."

  "Lady Rebecca, will you sit nearer?"

  Instantly one of the pages sprang forward with a low chair, which, in obedience to a sign from the Queen, he placed at her right hand.

  "Why, I'd be right pleased," said Rebecca. "That is, if the other folks don't mind," she continued, looking around. "I don't want to spile your party."

  So saying, she advanced and sat beside the Queen, who now turned once more to the luckless Raleigh.

  "Well, Sir Walter," she said, "what say you now? You have the printed proof. Can you make aught of it? How comes it that in all your fine travels in the New World you have heard no English spoken?"

  "Oh, I dare say 'tain't his fault!" said Rebecca, indulgently. "I'm told they have a mighty queer way o' talkin' down South, where he's ben. Comes o' bein' brought up with darkies, ye know."

  Elizabeth took up the newspaper once more.

  "Was this printed in your realm, Lady Rebecca?" she asked.

  "Hey!"

  Elizabeth started haughtily, but recollected herself and repeated:

  "Was this leaf printed in your country?"

  "Oh, yes--yes, indeed! Down to New York. Pretty big paper, ain't it?"

  "Not voluminous alone, but right puzzling to plain English minds," said the Queen, scanning the paper severely. "Instance this."

  Slowly she read the opening lines of a market report:

  "The bulls received a solar-plexus blow yesterday when it was reported that the C. R. and L. directors had resigned in a body owing to the extensive strikes."

  "What words are these?" Elizabeth exclaimed in a despairing tone. "What is a plexus of the sun, and how doth it blow on a bull?"

  Rebecca jumped up and brought her head close to the Queen's, peering over the paper which she held. She read and
reread the paragraph in question and finally resumed her chair, slowly shaking her head.

  "I guess that's the Wall Street talk I've heerd tell of," she said. "I don't understand that kind myself."

  "Why, Sir Walter," Elizabeth exclaimed, triumphantly, "here have we two separate tribes at least, each speaking its proper dialect. Can it be that you have heard no word of these before?"

  "Even so, my liege," was the dejected reply, "the tribes of the North are known to no man as yet."

  "Passing strange!" mused the Queen, running a critical eye over the printed page before her. "Your talk, and that of others, hath been only of wild, copper-colored savages, living in rude huts and wearing only skins. Sure such as these have not types and printing-presses! What is this book, Lady Rebecca?"

  "That's a newspaper, ma'am. Don't you have 'em in London? They come out every day an' people pay a penny apiece fer 'em."

  Elizabeth flashed a stern glance upon her visitor.

  "'Twere best not go too far, my lady," she said, harshly. "E'en traveller's tales must in some sort ape the truth at least. Now, prithee, to what end is such a pamphlet printed--why, 'tis endless!"

  "I'll shet right up, Mis' Tudor, ef ye think I'm tellin' wrong stories," said Rebecca, indignantly. "Thet's a newspaper an' thet's all there is to it."

  Elizabeth evaded the issue and turned now to the illustrations.

  "These be quaint-wondrous images!" she said. "Pray, what now may this be? Some fantastic reverie limned for amusement?"

  Rebecca jumped up again and peered over the Queen's shoulder.

  "Why, thet's a picture of the troops marchin' down Broadway, in New York City. See, it's all explained in print underneath it."

  "But these men carry arquebuses and wear a livery. And these temples--to what false gods are they set up?"

  "False gods!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Bless your simple heart, those ain't temples. They're jest the buildin's where the men hev their offices."

  Elizabeth sat in mute contemplation, vainly seeking to realize it all.

  "My lords!" she burst forth suddenly, casting the paper violently to the floor, "or this be rank forgery and fraud or else have we been strangely deceived."

  She frowned at Sir Walter, who dropped his eyes.

  "'Tis not to be believed that such vast cities and great armies habited by peoples polite and learned may be found across the sea and no report of it come to them that visit there. How comes it that we must await so strange a chance as this to learn such weighty news?"

  She paused and only silence ensued.

  Rebecca stooped and recovered the paper, which in falling had opened so as to expose new matter.

  "Don't be surprised," she said, soothingly. "I allus did hear that Britishers knew mighty little 'bout America."

  Still frowning, Elizabeth mechanically stretched forth her hand and Rebecca gave her the paper. The Queen glanced at the sheet and her face lost its stern aspect as she eagerly brought the print nearer to her eyes.

  "Why, what now!" she exclaimed. "God mend us, here have we strange attire! Is this a woman of your tribe, my lady?"

  Rebecca looked and blushed. Then, in an uneasy tone, she said:

  "That's jest an advertisement fer a new corset, Mis' Tudor. I never did see how folks ever allowed sech things to be printed--'tain't respectable!"

  "A corset, call you it! And these, then?"

  "Oh, those are the styles, the fashions! That's the fashion page, ye know. That's where they tell all about what the rich folks down to New York are wearin'."

  There was a murmur and a rustle among the ladies-in-waiting, who had hitherto made no sign, and upon the Queen's cheek there spread an added tinge, betokening a high degree of interest and gratification.

  "Ah!" she sighed, and glanced pleasantly over her shoulder, "here be matters of moment, indeed! Your Grace of Devonshire, what say you to this?"

  Eagerly the elderly lady so addressed stepped forward and made a low reverence.

  "Look--look here, ladies all!" Elizabeth continued, with a tremor of excitement in her voice. "Saw you ever such an array as this?"

  With one accord the whole bevy of assembled ladies pressed forward, trembling with delighted anticipation. A fashion sheet--and from the New World! What wonder they were moved!

  Her Majesty was about to begin perusal of one of the fascinating paragraphs wherein were described those marvellous fashion-plates when there was a cry outside of "Way 'nough!" and a moment later the smart young lieutenant who had before accosted Rebecca entered and stood at attention.

  Elizabeth looked up and frowned slightly. Folding the paper carefully, she called to Sir Walter, who still held in his unconscious hand the other section of the paper.

  "Bring hither yon sheet, Sir Walter," she cried. "Perchance there may be further intelligence of this sort therein. We will peruse both pamphlets at our leisure anon."

  Then, turning to the Lord High Admiral:

  "My Lord of Nottingham," she said, "you may depart. Your duties await you without. Let it be the charge of your Grace," she continued, addressing the Duchess of Devonshire, "to attend her Highness the Lady Rebecca. See that she be maintained as suits her rank, and let her be near our person that we may not lose aught of her society."

  The ceremony of landing prevented further discourse between Rebecca and the Queen, and it was with the greatest interest that the stranger observed every detail of the formal function.

  Peering through the glass sides of the cabin, Rebecca could see the landing wharf, thronged with servants and magnificently dressed officers, while beyond there loomed a long, two-storied white stone building, with a round-arched entrance flanked by two towers. This was Greenwich Palace, a favorite summer residence of the Queen.

  CHAPTER XI

  THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD

  When Francis Bacon, having evaded Rebecca's mistaken pursuit, reached the deserted grove in which the Panchronicon still rested, he found to his dismay that Droop was absent.

  Copernicus was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet, and he had set off that morning with his letter of introduction to seek Sir Percevall Hart, the Queen's knight harbinger.

  He had determined to begin with moderation, or in other words to ask at first for only two patents. The first of these was to cover the phonograph. The second was to give him a monopoly of bicycles.

  Accordingly he set forth fully equipped, carrying a box of records over his shoulder by a strap and his well-oiled bicycle trundling along beside him, with a phonograph and small megaphone hung on the handle-bar. He thought it best to avoid remark by not riding his wheel, being shrewdly mindful of the popular prejudice against witchcraft. Thanks to his exchange with Master Bacon, he feared no comment upon his garb. A pint flask, well filled, was concealed within his garments, and thus armed against even melancholy itself, he set forth fearlessly upon his quest.

  Droop had set out from the Panchronicon in the middle of the forenoon, but, as he was obliged to distribute a large number of photographs among his customers before going to London, it was not until some time after Bacon had crossed the river and Rebecca had departed with the Queen that he found himself on London Bridge.

  On reaching the London side, he stood awhile in the ill-smelling street near the fish markets gazing about him in quest of someone from whom he might ask his way.

  "Let's see!" he mused. "Bacon said Sir Percevall Hart, Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap. First thing to find is Eastcheap, I guess. Hullo there, forsooth!" he cried, addressing a baker's boy who was shuffling by with his basket on his head. "Hullo there, boy--knave! What's the shortest cut to Eastcheap?"

  The lad stopped and stared hard at the bright wheels. He seemed thinking hard.

  "What mean you, master, by a cut?" he said, at length.

  "Oh, pshaw--bother!" Droop exclaimed. "Jest tell me the way to Eastcheap, wilt thee?"

  The boy pointed straight north up New Fish Street.

  "Eastcheap is yonder," he said, an
d turned away.

  "Well, that's somethin'," muttered Droop. "Gives me a start, anyway."

  Following the route pointed out, he retraced the very course along which earlier in the day Rebecca had proceeded in the opposite direction, thinking she saw him ahead of her. By dint of making numerous inquiries, he found himself at length in a region of squalid residences and second-rate shops and ale-houses, in the midst of which he finally discovered the Boar's Head Tavern.

  The entrance was by a dark archway, overhung by the upper stories of the building, down which he could see a reddish glow coming and going, now faint now bright, against the dead wall to the left. Passing cautiously down this passage, he soon found that the glow was projected through a half-curtained window to the right, and was caused by the dancing light of a pleasant fire of logs within.

  He thought it wise to reconnoitre before proceeding farther, and, peeping through the small leaded panes, he found he could survey the entire apartment.

  The room into which Droop stood gazing was the common tap-room of the inn, at that moment apparently the scene of a brisk altercation.

  To the left of the great brick fireplace, a large pewter mug in his right hand, an immensely fat man was seated. He was clad as became a cavalier, although in sober colors, and his attitude was suggestive of defence, his head being drawn far back to avoid contact with a closed fist held suggestively before his face. The fist was that of a woman who, standing before the fire with her other hand resting on her hip, was evidently delivering her sentiments in no gentle terms.

  A long table, black with age and use, stood parallel to the right-hand wall, and behind this three men were sitting with mugs before them, eying the disputants with evident interest. To the left a large space was devoted to three or four bulky casks, and here an aproned drawer sat astride of a rush-bottomed chair, grinning delightedly and exchanging nods and winks from time to time with an impish, undersized lad who lay on his stomach on a wine-butt with his head craning forward over the edge.

  Only an occasional word reached the watcher at the window, but among these few he recognized a number which were far more forcible than decent. He drew back, shook his head, and then slowly returned to the door and looked up.