The Tangled Skein Part 26

"Well, are you satisfied, milor?" queried Don Miguel, who at an impatient sign from the Cardinal was courteously leading Everingham towards the door.

"I feel somewhat easier in my mind, perhaps," responded the young man.

"I dare admit that His Eminence and yourself are more right in your surmises than I am. But I have the honour of calling His Grace of Wess.e.x my friend, and I have an earnest wish in my heart that I could stay another twenty-four hours here, to see that no grievous harm come to him from all this."

With a heavy sigh he finally took up his cloak and bade adieu to the two Spaniards.

Don Miguel escorted him as far as the cloisters, until a servitor took charge of his lords.h.i.+p. Then he turned back to the audience chamber, where he found His Eminence sitting placidly in a high-backed arm-chair.

"Marry! this was the most unprofitable half-hour I have ever spent in my life," quoth the Cardinal with a half-smothered yawn, and speaking in his own native tongue. "These English are indeed impossible with their scruples and their conscience, their friends.h.i.+ps and their prejudices.

Carramba! what would become of Europe if such follies had to be pandered to?"

"By the Ma.s.s! 'tis a mighty lucky chance which hath sent that blundering young fool to the frozen kingdom of Scotland to-night," rejoined Don Miguel with a laugh.

"Chance, my son, is an obedient slave and a cruel mistress. Let us yoke her to our war-chariot whilst she seems amenable to our schemes. I'll now retire to chapel and read my breviary there until Her Majesty hath need of me for her evening orisons. Her curiosity will not allow her to dispense with my services to-night, though she showed me the cold shoulder throughout the banquet. There's a good deal which devolves upon you, my son. Seek out His Grace of Wess.e.x as soon as you can for the special interview which we have planned. I pray you be light-hearted and natural. It should not be a difficult task for Don Miguel de Suarez to play the part of a young and callous reprobate. I, the while, will watch my opportunity, and will have our dramatic little scene well in rehearsal by the time the Duke retires to his own apartments. He must cross this audience chamber to reach them. . . . There shall be no garish light . . . only an open window and the moon if she will favour us. . . . One short glimpse at the wench shall be sufficient. . . . I will contrive that it be brief but decisive. . . . Your talk with His Grace will have paved the way. . . . I will contrive . . . Chance will aid me, but I _will_ contrive."

The voice was changed. It was no longer suave now, but harsh and determined, cruel too in its slow, cold monotones. His Eminence paused awhile, then said more quietly--

"What is the wench doing now?"

"Gazing in wrapt admiration at her own face in the mirror," replied Don Miguel lightly, "and incessantly talking of the Duke of Wess.e.x, whom she vows she will see before the dawn. She mutters a good deal about the stars, and some danger which she says threatens her dear lord. Ha! ha!

ha!"

His laugh sounded hoa.r.s.e and bitter, and there was a glimmer of hatred in his deep-set, dark Spanish eyes. There was obviously no love lost here 'twixt His Grace and these schemers, for His Eminence's bland unctuousness looked just now as dangerous as the younger man's hate.

"Does she talk intelligently?" asked the Cardinal.

"Intelligently? No!" quoth Don Miguel. "Awhile ago she talked intelligibly enough, but three b.u.mpers of heavy Spanish wine have addled her feeble wits by now. I doubt me but the wench was always half crazed.

I thought so when I saw her in that booth, covered with tinsel and uttering ridiculous incantations."

"She might prove dangerous too," remarked His Eminence softly.

"To the man who thwarted her--yes!"

"Then, if His Grace should find out the deception, and, mayhap, were none too lenient with her, she would . . ."

He did not complete the sentence, and after a moment or two said blandly--

"In either case, meseems, chance is bound to favour us. Our good Pasquale shall see that the wench is provided with a short dagger, eh?

. . . of English make . . . and with unerring and . . . poisoned blade.

. . . What? . . ."

There was silence between the two men after that. The thought which now reigned in both their minds was too dark to be put into more precise words.

Don Miguel took up a cloak, which was lying on a chair, and wrapped it round him. His Eminence drew a breviary from his pocket and settled himself more comfortably in the high-backed chair. Don Miguel turned to go, but at the door he paused and came back close to where the Cardinal was sitting. Then he said quietly--

"Is Your Eminence prepared for _that_ eventuality too?"

"We must always be prepared for any eventuality, my son," replied the Cardinal gently.

Then he became absorbed in his breviary, whilst Don Miguel slowly strolled out of the room.

CHAPTER XX

DEPARTURE

Everingham could not leave the Palace without bidding farewell to Wess.e.x. For the first time in his life he wished to avoid his friend, yet feared to arouse suspicion, mistrust--what not? in the heart of the man whom he was so unwillingly helping to deceive. He half feared now the frank and searching eyes which had always rested on him with peculiar kindness and friends.h.i.+p; he almost dreaded having to grasp the slender, aristocratic hand, which had ever been extended to him in loyalty and truth.

Nevertheless in his heart there was no desire to draw back. During his lengthy colloquy with His Eminence he had weighed all the consequences of his own actions; though misguided perhaps as to the means, led away by a stronger will than his own, his purpose was pure and his aim high; and though he had tortured his brain with conjectures and fears, he could not see any danger to Wess.e.x in the intrigue devised against him.

As for Lady Ursula, he swore to himself that no harm should ultimately come to her. She would be a tool, a necessary p.a.w.n in this game of cross-purposes, which had the freedom and greatness of England for its ultimate aim.

With a firm step Everingham reached the Great Hall, where one by one the company was slowly dispersing. The Earl of Pembroke had gone to his rooms to prepare for the journey; his friends were ready in the Fountain Court to bid him a final farewell. Some of the younger men were still whispering in groups in various parts of the hall, whilst others were continuing their game of hazard.

Everingham took a rapid look round. There, in the embrasure on the dais, Wess.e.x was conversing with the Earl of Oxford, whilst faithful Harry Plantagenet lay calmly sleeping at his feet. The Duke's grave face lighted up at sight of his friend.

"I thought I should have missed you," he said, grasping the young man warmly by the hand. "My lord of Oxford was just telling me that he thought you would be starting anon."

"Should I have gone without your G.o.d-speed?"

"I trust not indeed. But your game of chess, meseems, must have been very engrossing."

Lord Everingham felt himself changing colour. Fortunately his back was to the light, and the Duke could not have seen the slight start of alarm which followed his simple remark. In a flash Everingham had realized how true had been His Eminence's conjecture. Wess.e.x had already heard of the interview in the audience chamber. The game of chess had undoubtedly proved a useful explanation for so unusual an incident.

"Oh! His Eminence is pa.s.sionately fond of the game," rejoined Everingham as lightly as he could, "and I could not help but accede to his request for a final battle of skill with him, since probably I may not see him on my return."

But he felt His Grace's earnest eyes fixed searchingly upon him. A wild longing seized him to throw off the mantle of diplomacy, which became him so ill, and to give a word of timely warning to his friend. The sight of the beautiful boarhound, so faithful, so watchful, at the feet of his master, became almost intolerable to his overwrought mind.

Perhaps he would have spoken even now, at this eleventh hour, when from the court outside there came the sharp sound of bugle-call.

Harry Plantagenet, roused from his light sleep, had p.r.i.c.ked his ears.

"I fear me 'tis to horse, friend," said Wess.e.x, with a light tone of sadness, "Marry! it likes me not to see you depart. Harry Plantagenet and I will miss you sorely in this dull place, and I will miss your loyal hand amongst so many enemies."

"Enemies, my dear lord!" protested Everingham warmly. "Look around this Great Hall at this moment. Now that the foreign amba.s.sadors have departed, do you see aught but friends? Nay more, adherents, partisans, faithful subjects, an you choose," he added significantly.

"Friends to-day," mused His Grace, "enemies perhaps to-morrow."

"Impossible."

"Even if . . . But by the Lord Harry, this is no time to talk of my affairs," rejoined Wess.e.x light-heartedly. "Farewell, friends, and G.o.d-speed. . . . Harry, make your bow to the most loyal man in England--you'll not see his like until he return from Scotland. In your ear, my dear lord, I pray you be not astonished if when that happy eventuality occurs, you find me no longer a free man. Come, Harry, shall we bid him adieu at the gates?"

He linked his arm in that of Everingham, the group of gentlemen parted to let him pa.s.s, then closed behind him, and followed him and his friend out of the hall. Every one was glad of a diversion from the oppressive atmosphere of the last few hours. Many murmured: "G.o.d bless Your Grace!"

as he pa.s.sed through the brilliant a.s.sembly exchanging a word, a merry jest with his friends, a courteous bow or gracious smile with the casual acquaintances.

His popularity at this moment was at its height. Nothing would have caused greater joy in England than the announcement of his plighted troth to the Queen. Yet if these gentlemen, who so eagerly pressed round him as he escorted his dearest friend through the hall, had been gifted with the knowledge of their fellow-creatures' innermost thoughts, they might have read in His Grace's heart the opening chapters of a romance which would have changed their enthusiasm into bitter disappointment.