Unknown to History: a story of the captivity of Mary of Scotland Part 36

"Gramercy for thy good will, Tony," said Humfrey, looking anxiously to see whether his old companion was in his right mind, yet remembering what had been said of plots.

"Thou deem'st me raving," said Antony, smiling at the perplexed countenance before him, "but thou wilt see too late that I speak sooth, when the armies of the Church avenge the Name that has been profaned among you!"

"The Spaniards, I suppose you mean," said Humfrey coolly. "You must be far gone indeed to hope to see those fiends turned loose on this peaceful land, but by G.o.d's blessing we have kept them aloof before, I trust we may again."

"You talk of G.o.d's blessing. Look at His House," said Babington.

"He is more like to bless honest men who fight for their Queen, their homes and hearths, than traitors who would bring in slaughterers and butchers to work their will!"

"His glory is worked through judgment, and thus must it begin!" returned the young man. "But I would save thee, Humfrey," he added. "Go thou back to Plymouth, and be warned to hold aloof from that prison where the keepers will meet their fit doom! and the captive will be set free. Thou dost not believe," he added. "See here," and drawing into the most sheltered part of the chantry, he produced from his bosom a picture in the miniature style of the period, containing six heads, among which his own was plainly to be recognised, and likewise a face which Humfrey felt as if he should never forget, that which he had seen in Richmond Park, quailing beneath the Queen's eye. Round the picture was the motto-

"Hi mihi sunt comites quos ipsa pericula jungunt."

"I tell thee, Humfrey, thou wilt hear-if thou dost live to hear-of these six as having wrought the greatest deed of our times!"

"May it only be a deed an honest man need not be ashamed of," said Humfrey, not at all convinced of his friend's sanity.

"Ashamed of!" exclaimed Babington. "It is blest, I tell thee, blest by holy men, blest by the n.o.ble and suffering woman who will thus be delivered from her martyrdom."

"Babington, if thou talkest thus, it will be my duty to have thee put in ward," said Humfrey.

Antony laughed, and there was a triumphant ring very like insanity in his laughter. Humfrey, with a moment's idea that to hint that the conspiracy was known would blast it at once, if it were real, said, "I see not Cuthbert Langston among your six. Know you, I saw him only yestereven going into Secretary Walsingham's privy chamber."

"Was he so?" answered Babington. "Ha! ha! he holds them all in play till the great stroke be struck! Why! am not I myself in Walsingham's confidence? He thinketh that he is about to send me to France to watch the League. Ha! ha!"

Here Humfrey's other companions turned back in search of him; Babington vanished in the crowd, he hardly knew how, and he was left in perplexity and extreme difficulty as to what was his duty as friend or as subject. If Babington were sane, there must be a conspiracy for killing the Queen, bringing in the Spaniards and liberating Mary, and he had expressly spoken of having had the latter lady's sanction, while the sight of the fellow in Richmond Park gave a colour of probability to the guess. Yet the imprudence and absurdity of having portraits taken of six a.s.sa.s.sins before the blow was struck seemed to contradict all the rest. On the other hand, Cavendish had spoken of having all the meshes of the web in the hands of the Council; and Langston or Maude seemed to be trusted by both parties.

Humfrey decided to feel his way with Will Cavendish, and that evening spoke of having met Babington and having serious doubts whether he were in his right mind. Cavendish laughed, "Poor wretch! I could pity him," he said, "though his plans be wicked enough to merit no compa.s.sion. Nay, never fear, Humfrey. All were overthrown, did I speak openly. Nay, to utter one word would ruin me for ever. 'Tis quite sufficient to say that he and his fellows are only at large till Mr. Secretary sees fit, that so his grip may be the more sure."

Humfrey saw he was to be treated with no confidence, and this made him the more free to act. There were many recusant gentlemen in the neighbourhood of Chartley, and an a.s.sault and fight there were not improbable, if, as Cavendish hinted, there was a purpose of letting the traitors implicate themselves in the largest numbers and as fatally as possible. On the other hand, Babington's hot head might only fancy he had authority from the Queen for his projects. If, through Cicely, he could convey the information to Mary, it might save her from even appearing to be cognisant of these wild schemes, whatever they might be, and to hint that they were known was the surest way to prevent their taking effect. Any way, Humfrey's heart was at Chartley, and every warning he had received made him doubly anxious to be there in person, to be Cicely's guardian in case of whatever danger might threaten her. He blessed the fiction which still represented him as her brother, and which must open a way for him to see her, but he resolved not to take Diccon thither, and parted with him when the roads diverged towards Lichfield, sending to his father a letter which Diccon was to deliver only into his own hand, with full details of all he had seen and heard, and his motives for repairing to Chartley.

"Shall I see my little Cis?" thought he. "And even if she play the princess to me, how will she meet me? She scorned me even when she was at home. How will it be now when she has been for well-nigh a year in this Queen's training? Ah! she will be taught to despise me! Heigh ho! At least she may be in need of a true heart and strong arm to guard her, and they shall not fail her."

Will Cavendish, in the plenitude of the official importance with which he liked to dazzle his old playfellow, had offered him a pa.s.s to facilitate his entrance, and he found reason to be glad that he had accepted it, for there was a guard at the gate of Chartley Park, and he was detained there while his letter was sent up for inspection to Sir Amias Paulett, who had for the last few months acted as warder to the Queen.

However, a friendly message came back, inviting him to ride up. The house-though called a castle-had been rebuilt in hospitable domestic style, and looked much less like a prison than Sheffield Lodge, but at every enclosure stood yeomen who challenged the pa.s.sers-by, as though this were a time of alarm. However, at the hall-door itself stood Sir Amias Paulett, a thin, narrow-browed, anxious-looking man, with the stiffest of ruffs, over which hung a scanty yellow beard.

"Welcome, sir," he said, with a nervous anxious distressed manner. "Welcome, most welcome. You will pardon any discourtesy, sir, but these are evil times. The son, I think, of good Master Richard Talbot of Bridgefield? Ay, I would not for worlds have shown any lack of hospitality to one of his family. It is no want of respect, sir. No; nor of my Lord's house; but these are ill days, and with my charge, sir-if Heaven itself keep not the house-who knows what may chance or what may be laid on me?"

"I understand," said Humfrey, smiling. "I was bred close to Sheffield, and hardly knew what 'twas to live beyond watch and ward."

"Yea!" said Paulett, shaking his head. "You come of a loyal house, sir; but even the good Earl was less exercised than I am in the charge of this same lady. But I am glad, glad to see you, sir. And you would see your sister, sir? A modest young lady, and not indevout, though I have sometimes seen her sleep at sermon. It is well that the poor maiden should see some one well affected, for she sitteth in the very gate of Babylon; and with respect, sir, I marvel that a woman, so G.o.dly as Mistress Talbot of Bridgefield is reported to be, should suffer it. However, I do my poor best, under Heaven, to hinder the faithful of the household from being tainted. I have removed Preaux, who is well known to be a Popish priest in disguise, and thus he can spread no more of his errors. Moreover, my chaplain, Master Blunden, with other G.o.dly men, preaches three times a week against Romish errors, and all are enforced to attend. May their ears be opened to the truth! I am about to attend this lady on a ride in the Park, sir. It might-if she be willing-be arranged that your sister, Mistress Talbot, should spend the time in your company, and methinks the lady will thereto agree, for she is ever ready to show a certain carnal and worldly complaisance to the wishes of her attendants, and I have observed that she greatly affects the damsel, more, I fear, than may be for the eternal welfare of the maiden's soul."

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE WEB.

It was a beautiful bright summer day, and Queen Mary and some of her train were preparing for their ride. The Queen was in high spirits, and that wonderful and changeful countenance of hers was beaming with antic.i.p.ation and hope, while her demeanour was altogether delightful to every one who approached her. She was adding some last instructions to Nau, who was writing a letter for her to the French amba.s.sador, and Cicely stood by her, holding her little dog in a leash, and looking somewhat anxious and wistful. There was more going on round the girl than she was allowed to understand, and it made her anxious and uneasy. She knew that the correspondence through the brewer was actively carried on, but she was not informed of what pa.s.sed. Only she was aware that some crisis must be expected, for her mother was ceaselessly restless and full of expectation. She had put all her jewels and valuables into as small a compa.s.s as possible, and talked more than ever of her plans for giving her daughter either to the Archduke Matthias, or to some great n.o.ble, as if the English crown were already within her grasp. Anxious, curious, and feeling injured by the want of confidence, yet not daring to complain, Cicely felt almost fretful at her mother's buoyancy, but she had been taught a good many lessons in the past year, and one of them was that she might indeed be caressed, but that she must show neither humour nor will of her own, and the least presumption in inquiry or criticism was promptly quashed.

There was a knock at the door, and the usher announced that Sir Amias Paulett prayed to speak with her Grace. Her eye glanced round with the rapid emotion of one doubtful whether it were for weal or woe, yet with undaunted spirit to meet either, and as she granted her permission, Cis heard her whisper to Nau, "A rider came up even now! 'Tis the tidings! Are the Catholics of Derby in the saddle? Are the s.h.i.+ps on the coast?"

In came the tall old man with a stiff reverence: "Madam, your Grace's horses attend you, and I have tidings"-(Mary started forward)-"tidings for this young lady, Mistress Cicely Talbot. Her brother is arrived from the Spanish Main, and requests permission to see and speak with her."

Radiance flashed out on Cicely's countenance as excitement faded on that of her mother: "Humfrey! O madam! let me go to him!" she entreated, with a spring of joy and clasped hands.

Mary was far too kind-hearted to refuse, besides to have done so would have excited suspicion at a perilous moment, and the arrangement Sir Amias proposed was quickly made. Mary Seaton was to attend the Queen in Cicely's stead, and she was allowed to hurry downstairs, and only one warning was possible:

"Go then, poor child, take thine holiday, only bear in mind what and who thou art."

Yet the words had scarce died on her ears before she was oblivious of all save that it was a familial home figure who stood at the bottom of the stairs, one of the faces she trusted most in all the world which beamed out upon her, the hands which she knew would guard her through everything were stretched out to her, the lips with veritable love in them kissed the cheeks she did not withhold. Sir Amias stood by and gave the kindest smile she had seen from him, quite changing his pinched features, and he proposed to the two young people to go and walk in the garden together, letting them out into the square walled garden, very formal, but very bright and gay, and with a pleached alley to shelter them from the sun.

"Good old gentleman!" exclaimed Humfrey, holding the maiden's hand in his. "It is a shame to win such pleasure by feigning."

"As for that," sighed Cis, "I never know what is sooth here, and what am I save a living lie myself? O Humfrey! I am so weary of it all."

"Ah I would that I could bear thee home with me," he said, little prepared for this reception.

"Would that thou couldst! O that I were indeed thy sister, or that the writing in my swaddling bands had been washed out!-Nay," catching back her words, "I meant not that! I would not but belong to the dear Lady here. She says I comfort her more than any of them, and oh! she is-she is, there is no telling how sweet and how n.o.ble. It was only that the sight of thee awoke the yearning to be at home with mother and with father. Forget my folly, Humfrey."

"I cannot soon forget that Bridgefield seems to thee thy true home," he said, putting strong restraint on himself to say and do no more, while his heart throbbed with a violence unawakened by storm or Spaniard.

"Tell me of them all," she said. "I have heard naught of them since we left Tutbury, where at least we were in my Lord's house, and the dear old silver dog was on every sleeve. Ah! there he is, the trusty rogue."

And s.n.a.t.c.hing up Humfrey's hat, which was fastened with a brooch of his crest in the fas.h.i.+on of the day, she kissed the familiar token. Then, however, she blushed and drew herself up, remembering the caution not to forget who she was, and with an a.s.sumption of more formal dignity, she said, "And how fares it with the good Mrs. Talbot?"

"Well, when I last heard," said Humfrey, "but I have not been at home. I only know what Will Cavendish and my Lord Talbot told me. I sent Diccon on to Bridgefield, and came out of the way to see you, lady," he concluded, with the same regard to actual circ.u.mstances that she had shown.

"Oh, that was good!" she whispered, and they both seemed to feel a certain safety in avoiding personal subjects. Humfrey had the history of his voyage to narrate-to tell of little Diccon's gallant doings, and to exalt Sir Francis Drake's skill and bravery, and at last to let it ooze out, under Cis's eager questioning, that when his captain had died of fever on the Hispaniola coast, and they had been overtaken by a tornado, Sir Francis had declared that it was Humfrey's skill and steadfastness which had saved the s.h.i.+p and crew.

"And it was that tornado," he said, "which stemmed the fever, and saved little Diccon's life. Oh! when he lay moaning below, then was the time to long for my mother."

Time sped on till the great hall clock made Cicely look up and say she feared that the riders would soon return, and then Humfrey knew that he must make sure to speak the words of warning he came to utter. He told, in haste, of his message to Queen Elizabeth, and of his being sent on to Secretary Walsingham, adding, "But I saw not the great man, for he was closeted-with whom think you? No other than Cuthbert Langston, whom Cavendish called by another name. It amazed me the more, because I had two days before met him in Westminster with Antony Babington, who presented him to me by his own name."

"Saw you Antony Babington?" asked Cis, raising her eyes to his face, but looking uneasy.

"Twice, at Westminster, and again in Paul's Walk. Had you seen him since you have been here?"

"Not here, but at Tutbury. He came once, and I was invited to dine in the hall, because he brought recommendations from the Countess." There was a pause, and then, as if she had begun to take in the import of Humfrey's words, she added, "What said you? That Mr. Langston was going between him and Mr. Secretary?"

"Not exactly that," and Humfrey repeated with more detail what he had seen of Langston, forbearing to ask any questions which Cicely might not be able to answer with honour; but they had been too much together in childhood not to catch one another's meaning with half a hint, and she said, "I see why you came here, Humfrey. It was good and true and kind, befitting you. I will tell the Queen. If Langston be in it, there is sure to be treachery. But, indeed, I know nothing or well-nigh nothing."

"I am glad of it," fervently exclaimed Humfrey.

"No; I only know that she has high hopes, and thinks that the term of her captivity is well-nigh over. But it is Madame de Courcelles whom she trusts, not me," said Cicely, a little hurt.