CHAPTER I. THE LADY ANNE VISITS THE COURT.
It was some weeks after the date of the events last recorded. The stormthat hung over the destinies of King Edward was dispersed for the hour,though the scattered clouds still darkened the horizon: the Earl ofWarwick had defeated the Lancastrians on the frontier, [Croyl. 552] andtheir leader had perished on the scaffold; but Edward's mighty sword hadnot shone in the battle. Chained by an attraction yet more powerful thanslaughter, he had lingered at Middleham, while Warwick led his army toYork; and when the earl arrived at the capital of Edward's ancestralduchy, he found that the able and active Hastings--having heard, evenbefore he reached the Duke of Gloucester's camp, of Edward's apparentseizure by the earl and the march to Middleham--had deemed it bestto halt at York, and to summon in all haste a council of such of theknights and barons as either love to the king or envy to Warwick couldcollect. The report was general that Edward was retained against hiswill at Middleham; and this rumour Hastings gravely demanded Warwick,on the arrival of the latter at York, to disprove. The earl, to clearhimself from a suspicion that impeded all his military movements,despatched Lord Montagu to Middleham, who returned not only with theking, but the countess and her daughters, whom Edward, under pretenceof proving the complete amity that existed between Warwick and himself,carried in his train. The king's appearance at York reconciled alldifferences; but he suffered Warwick to march alone against the enemy,and not till after the decisive victory, which left his reign for awhile without an open foe, did he return to London.
Thither the earl, by the advice of his friends, also repaired, and ina council of peers, summoned for the purpose, deigned to refute therumours still commonly circulated by his foes, and not disbelievedby the vulgar, whether of his connivance at the popular rising or hisforcible detention of the king at Middleham. To this, agreeably to thecounsel of the archbishop, succeeded a solemn interview of the heads ofthe Houses of York and Warwick, in which the once fair Rose of Raby (theking's mother) acted as mediator and arbiter. The earl's word tothe commons at Olney was ratified. Edward consented to the temporaryretirement of the Woodvilles, though the gallant Anthony yet delayed hispilgrimage to Compostella. The vanity of Clarence was contented by thegovernment of Ireland, but, under various pretences, Edward deferredhis brother's departure to that important post. A general amnesty wasproclaimed, a parliament summoned for the redress of popular grievances,and the betrothal of the king's daughter to Montagu's heir wasproclaimed: the latter received the title of Duke of Bedford; and thewhole land rejoiced in the recovered peace of the realm, the retirementof the Woodvilles, and the reconciliation of the young king with hisall-beloved subject. Never had the power of the Neviles seemed sosecure; never did the throne of Edward appear so stable.
It was at this time that the king prevailed upon the earl and hiscountess to permit the Lady Anne to accompany the Duchess of Clarencein a visit to the palace of the Tower. The queen had submitted sograciously to the humiliation of her family, that even the haughtyWarwick was touched and softened; and the visit of his daughter at sucha time became a homage to Elizabeth which it suited his chivalry torender.
The public saw in this visit, which was made with great state andceremony, the probability of a new and popular alliance. The archbishophad suffered the rumour of Gloucester's attachment to the Lady Anne toget abroad, and the young prince's return from the North was anxiouslyexpected by the gossips of the day.
It was on this occasion that Warwick showed his gratitude for MarmadukeNevile's devotion. "My dear and gallant kinsman," he said, "I forget notthat when thou didst leave the king and the court for the discreditedminister and his gloomy hall,--I forget not that thou didst tell meof love to some fair maiden, which had not prospered according to thymerits. At least it shall not be from lack of lands, or of the goldspur, which allows the wearer to ride by the side of king or kaisar,that thou canst not choose thy bride as the heart bids thee. I praythee, sweet cousin, to attend my child Anne to the court, where the kingwill show thee no ungracious countenance; but it is just to recompensethee for the loss of thy post in his highness's chamber. I hold theking's commission to make knights of such as can pay the fee, andthy lands shall suffice for the dignity. Kneel down and rise up, SirMarmaduke Nevile, lord of the Manor of Borrodaile, with its woodlandsand its farms, and may God and our Lady render thee puissant in battleand prosperous in love!"
Accordingly, in his new rank, and entitled to ruffle it with thebravest, Sir Marmaduke Nevile accompanied the earl and the Lady Anne tothe palace of the Tower.
As Warwick, leaving his daughter amidst the brilliant circle thatsurrounded Elizabeth, turned to address the king, he said, with simpleand unaffected nobleness,--
"Ah, my liege, if you needed a hostage of my faith, think that my heartis here, for verily its best blood were less dear to me than that slightgirl,--the likeness of her mother, when her lips first felt the touch ofmine!"
Edward's bold brow fell, and he blushed as he answered, "My Elizabethwill hold her as a sister. But, cousin, part you not now for the North?"
"By your leave I go first to Warwick."
"Ah, you do not wish to approve of my seeming preparations againstFrance?"
"Nay, your Highness is not in earnest. I promised the commons that youwould need no supplies for so thriftless a war."
"Thou knowest I mean to fulfil all thy pledges. But the country soswarms with disbanded soldiers, that it is politic to hold out to them ahope of service, and so let the clouds gradually pass away."
"Alack, my liege," said Warwick, gravely, "I suppose that a crownteaches the brow to scheme; but hearty peace or open war seems ever thebest to me."
Edward smiled, and turned aside. Warwick glanced at his daughter, whomElizabeth flatteringly caressed, stifled a sigh, and the air seemedlighter to the insects of the court as his proud crest bowed beneath thedoorway, and, with the pomp of his long retinue, he vanished from thescene.
"And choose, fair Anne," said the queen, "choose from my ladies whomyou will have for your special train. We would not that your attendanceshould be less than royal."
The gentle Anne in vain sought to excuse herself from an honour at oncearrogant and invidious, though too innocent to perceive the cunningso characteristic of the queen; for, under the guise of a specialcompliment, Anne had received the royal request to have her femaleattendants chosen from the court, and Elizabeth now desired toforce upon her a selection which could not fail to mortify those notpreferred. But glancing timidly round the circle, the noble damsel's eyerested on one fair face, and in that face there was so much that awokeher own interest, and stirred up a fond and sad remembrance, that shepassed involuntarily to the stranger's side, and artlessly took herhand. The high-born maidens, grouped around, glanced at each other witha sneer, and slunk back. Even the queen looked surprised; but recoveringherself, inclined her head graciously, and said, "Do we read yourmeaning aright, Lady Anne, and would you this gentlewoman, MistressSibyll Warner, as one of your chamber?"
"Sibyll, ah, I knew that my memory failed me not," murmured Anne; and,after bowing assent to the queen, she said, "Do you not also recall,fair demoiselle, our meeting, when children long years ago?"
"Well, noble dame," [The title of dame was at that time appliedindiscriminately to ladies whether married or single, if of high birth.]answered Sibyll. And as Anne turned, with her air of modest gentleness,yet of lofty birth and breeding, to explain to the queen that she hadmet Sibyll in earlier years, the king approached to monopolize hisguest's voice and ear. It seemed natural to all present that Edwardshould devote peculiar attention to the daughter of Warwick and thesister of the Duchess of Clarence; and even Elizabeth suspected noguiltier gallantry in the subdued voice, the caressing manner, whichher handsome lord adopted throughout that day, even to the close of thenightly revel, towards a demoiselle too high (it might well appear) forlicentious homage.
But Anne herself, though too guileless to suspect the nature of Edward'scourtesy, yet shrank from it
in vague terror. All his beauty, all hisfascination, could not root from her mind the remembrance of the exiledprince; nay, the brilliancy of his qualities made her the more averseto him. It darkened the prospects of Edward of Lancaster that Edwardof York should wear so gracious and so popular a form. She hailed withdelight the hour when she was conducted to her chamber, and dismissinggently the pompous retinue allotted to her, found herself alone with theyoung maiden whom she had elected to her special service.
"And you remember me, too, fair Sibyll?" said Anne, with her dulcet andendearing voice.
"Truly, who would not? for as you, then, noble lady, glided apart fromthe other children, hand in hand with the young prince, in whom alldreamed to see their future king, I heard the universal murmur of--afalse prophecy!"
"Ah! and of what?" asked Anne.
"That in the hand the prince clasped with his small rosy fingers--thehand of great Warwick's daughter--lay the best defence of his father'sthrone."
Anne's breast heaved, and her small foot began to mark strangecharacters on the floor.
"So," she said musingly, "so even here, amidst a new court, you forgetnot Prince Edward of Lancaster. Oh, we shall find hours to talk of thepast days. But how, if your childhood was spent in Margaret's court,does your youth find a welcome in Elizabeth's?"
"Avarice and power had need of my father's science. He is a scholar ofgood birth, but fallen fortunes, even now, and ever while night lasts,he is at work. I belonged to the train of her grace of Bedford; but whenthe duchess quitted the court, and the king retained my father in hisown royal service, her highness the queen was pleased to receive meamong her maidens. Happy that my father's home is mine!--who else couldtend him?"
"Thou art his only child?--he must--love thee dearly?"
"Yet not as I love him; he lives in a life apart from all else thatlive. But after all, peradventure it is sweeter to love than to beloved."
Anne, whose nature was singularly tender and woman-like, was greatlyaffected by this answer. She drew nearer to Sibyll; she twined her armround her slight form, and kissed her forehead.
"Shall I love thee, Sibyll?" she said, with a girl's candid simplicity,"and wilt thou love me?"
"Ah, lady! there are so many to love thee,--father, mother, sister,--allthe world; the very sun shines more kindly upon the great!"
"Nay!" said Anne, with that jealousy of a claim to suffering to whichthe gentler natures are prone, "I may have sorrows from which thouart free. I confess to thee, Sibyll, that something I know not how toexplain draws me strangely towards thy sweet face. Marriage has lost memy only sister, for since Isabel is wed she is changed to me--would thather place were supplied by thee! Shall I steal thee from the queen whenI depart? Ah, my mother--at least thou wilt love her! for verily, tolove my mother you have but to breathe the same air. Kiss me, Sibyll."
Kindness, of late, had been strange to Sibyll, especially from her ownsex, one of her own age; it came like morning upon the folded blossom.She threw her arms round the new friend that seemed sent to her fromheaven; she kissed Anne's face and hands with grateful tears.
"Ah!" she said at last, when she could command a voice still broken withemotion--"if I could ever serve--ever repay thee--though those graciouswords were the last thy lips should ever deign to address to me!"
Anne was delighted; she had never yet found one to protect; she hadnever yet found one in whom thoroughly to confide. Gentle as her motherwas, the distinction between child and parent was, even in the fondfamily she belonged to, so great in that day, that she could never havebetrayed to the countess the wild weakness of her young heart.
The wish to communicate, to reveal, is so natural to extreme youth, andin Anne that disposition was so increased by a nature at once open andinclined to lean on others, that she had, as we have seen, sought aconfidante in Isabel; but with her, even at the first, she found butthe half-contemptuous pity of a strong and hard mind; and lately, sinceEdward's visit to Middleham, the Duchess of Clarence had been so rapt inher own imperious egotism and discontented ambition, that the timidAnne had not even dared to touch, with her, upon those secrets which itflushed her own bashful cheek to recall. And this visit to thecourt, this new, unfamiliar scene, this estrangement from all the oldaccustomed affections, had produced in her that sense of lonelinesswhich is so irksome, till grave experience of real life accustoms us tothe common lot. So with the exaggerated and somewhat morbid sensibilitythat belonged to her, she turned at once, and by impulse, to thissudden, yet graceful friendship. Here was one of her own age, one whohad known sorrow, one whose voice and eyes charmed her, one who wouldnot chide even folly, one, above all, who had seen her beloved prince,one associated with her fondest memories, one who might have a thousandtales to tell of the day when the outlaw boy was a monarch's heir. Inthe childishness of her soft years, she almost wept at another channelfor so much natural tenderness. It was half the woman gaining awoman-friend, half the child clinging to a new playmate.
"Ah, Sibyll," she whispered, "do not leave me to-night; this strangeplace daunts me, and the figures on the arras seem so tall andspectre-like, and they say the old tower is haunted. Stay, dear Sibyll!"
And Sibyll stayed.
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