Agincourt Part 5

Richard and Dacre, Isabel and Mary, the lady said, were gone to walk together in the park; but she had waited, she added, with a coquettish air, thinking it but courtesy to give her uncle's honoured guest a companion, if he chose to join them.

So direct an invitation was, of course, not to be refused by Hal of Hadnock; and he thanked her with high-coloured gallantry for her consideration.

"Do you go too, Sir Simeon?" inquired Sir Philip Beauchamp; but the courtly knight replied that he had only waited to take his leave; as he had business to transact in the neighbourhood, and must be home ere night. Before Catherine and her companion set out, however, Sir Simeon drew her aside, as the relations.h.i.+p in which she stood towards him seemed to justify, and spoke to her for a moment eagerly. A few of his words caught the quick ear of Hal of Hadnock, as he stood talking to the old knight, who took care to impress him with the knowledge, that his fair niece was fully betrothed to Sir Harry Dacre; and though those words were, apparently, of small import, Hal of Hadnock remembered them long after.

"I will tell you all, if you come," replied Sir Simeon, to some question the lady had asked; "but mind, I warn you.--Will you come?"

"I do not know," answered Catherine, with a toss of the head; "it is your business to wait and see."

"Wait I cannot," rejoined the knight; "see I will;" and the lady, turning to her uncle and his companion, accompanied the latter through a long pa.s.sage at the back of the hall, to the door which led to the ground where the sports of the morning had taken place.

The park of Dunbury was very like that described by old Chaucer:--

'----A parke enclosed with a wall la compace rounde, and by a gate small, Who so that would he frelie mighten gone Into this parke, ywalled with grene stone.

The soile was plain, and smoth, and wondir soft, All overspread with tapettes that Nature Had made herself, covirid eke aloft With bowis grene, the flouris for to cure, That in ther beautie thei mai long endure.'--

The walks around were numerous and somewhat intricate; and whether fair Catherine Beauchamp knew or not the direction that her friends had taken, she certainly did not follow the path most likely to lead to where they really were; but, as she and Hal of Hadnock walked along, she employed the time to the best advantage in carrying on the siege of his heart. He, for his part, humoured her to the full, having a firm conviction that it would be far better, both for Sir Henry Dacre and herself, that the imperfect marriage between them should be annulled at their mutual desire, than remain a chain upon them, only increasing in weight. It must not, indeed, be supposed that he took any very deep interest in the matter; but, as it fell in his way, he was willing enough to forward what he believed to be a n.o.ble-minded man's desire for emanc.i.p.ation from a very bitter sort of thraldom; and it is seldom an unpleasant or laborious task for a lighthearted man to sport with a capricious girl. Thus went he on, then, with that mixture of romantic gallantry and teasing jest, which is of all things the most exciting to the mind of a coquette, with sufficient admiration to soothe her vanity, but with not sufficient devotion ever to allow her to imagine that her triumph is complete. Neither did he let her gain any advantage; for, though it was evident that she clearly perceived the name he had a.s.sumed was not his own, he gave her no information, playing with her curiosity without gratifying it.

"But what makes you think," he asked, "that I am other than I seem?

Why should I not be plain Hal of Hadnock, a poor gentleman from the Welsh marshes?"

"No, no, no," she said, "it is not so. A thousand things prove it: first, manners, appearance, dress. Why, are you not as fine as my good cousin a dozen times removed, Sir Simeon of Roydon, the pink of court gallants?"

"And yet I have heard that he is not as rich as an abbot," replied Hal of Hadnock.

"No, in truth," answered Catherine; "he is as poor as a verger; and, like the curlew, carries all his fortune on his back, I believe."

"I suspect not his own fortune only," rejoined her companion, "but a part of other men's."

"But then your knightly spurs, good sir," continued Kate, returning to the point; "you must be Sir Hal of Hadnock at the least. Now I never heard of that name amongst our chivalry; and I am deep read in the rolls of knighthood."

"Oh, I am newly dubbed," replied the gentleman, laughing; "but you shall know all some day, lady fair."

"I shall know very soon," answered Catherine; "for Simeon of Roydon will tell me."

"More, perhaps, than he knows himself," said Hal of Hadnock.

"Oh, he knows well enough," exclaimed Catherine Beauchamp. "He has already told me, that you are a man of n.o.ble birth and high estate, and promised to speak the name; but I would rather owe it to your courtesy than his."

"Nay, what would I not do for the love of your bright eyes?" asked Hal of Hadnock, in a tone half tender, half jesting; "methinks the light in them, even now, looks like the morning sun reflected from a dewdrop in a violet. But why should I tell you aught? I have been warned that you are another's. Out upon such cold contracts, that bind unwilling hearts together! It is clear, there is no great love in your heart for this Sir Harry Dacre."

"Not too much to lie comfortably in a hazel nut," answered Catherine.

"Then why do you not ask to have the marriage annulled?" demanded her companion. "There never yet was bond in which the keen eyes of the court of Rome could not find a flaw."

"Why, it would grieve his proud heart sadly," replied the lady; "yet I have often thought of it."

"If he be proud--and so he is," rejoined Hal of Hadnock, "he would never refuse to consent, however much it might vex him. Well, well, set yourself free from him, and then you shall know who I am. As for this fellow Roydon, he knows nothing, and will but lead you wrong; but were I you, I would be a free woman ere a year were over; and then, this fair hand were a prize well worth the winning to higher hearts than a Dacre or a Roydon."

With such conversation they wandered on for some time, without overtaking the party they had come out to seek. They saw them once at some distance, indeed, through the overhanging boughs of an opposite alley just fringed with early leaves; but they did not hurry their pace, and only met them at length at the door of the hall, as they were all returning. Sir Henry Dacre was then walking by Isabel's side, with his arms crossed upon his chest, and his brow sad and stern. As soon as he saw Catherine and her companion, he fixed his eyes inquiringly upon her, and seemed to mark her heightened colour, and somewhat excited look--then fell into thought again; and then laid his hand upon her arm, saying, "I would speak with you for a moment, Kate."

"It must not be long," she replied, coldly; "for I have dipped my feet in the dew, and would fain dry them."

"It shall not be long," answered Sir Henry Dacre; and he remained with her behind, while the rest entered slowly. Ere they had pa.s.sed the door, the anxious ear of Isabel heard high tones without; and, in a few minutes, as they paused for a moment in the hall, where the servants were already spreading the board for supper, Sir Henry entered, with a hasty step.

"My horse to the gate!" he said, addressing one of the attendants.

"At what hour, Sir Knight?" asked the servant.

"Directly!" answered Dacre. "The men can follow. Farewell, dear Isabel," he continued, turning to Catherine's cousin; "I can stay no longer.--Farewell, Mary!" He grasped Richard of Woodville's hand, but said nothing; and with a low and formal bow to Hal of Hadnock, turned towards the door leading to the court.

Isabel Beauchamp followed him quietly, laid her hand upon his arm, and spoke eagerly, but in a low tone.

"I cannot, I cannot, Isabel," he replied, aloud. "Dear girl, do not urge me. I shall forget myself--I shall go mad. Excuse me to your n.o.ble father--farewell!" and opening the large door, he issued forth, and closed it behind him.

Isabel Beauchamp turned with her eyes full of tears; but pa.s.sing the rest silently, as if afraid to speak, she hurried to her own chamber, wept for a few minutes, and then sought her father.

The supper that day was a grave and silent meal. There was a stern cloud on old Sir Philip Beauchamp's brow when he came down to the hall; and, as he took his seat he asked, looking round, "Where is Catherine?"

"I know not," answered Mary Markham; "but she went to her own chamber when she came in."

"Shall I seek the lady, sir?" asked one of the retainers of the house, from the lower part of the table.

"No! let her be," replied the old knight; and then he murmured, "Perhaps she has still some shame--and if so, it is well."

To Hal of Hadnock his demeanour was courteous, though so grave, that his guest could not but feel that some share in the disagreeable event, which had evidently taken place, was attributed to him; and though he knew that his intention was good, yet, like many another man, he had reason to feel sorry that he had meddled in other men's affairs at all. Supper was nearly over, the light was beginning to wane in the sky, and the stranger was thinking it was time to depart, when the porter's boy came into the hall, and, approaching Richard of Woodville, whispered something in his ear.

The young gentleman instantly rose, and went out into the court, but returned a moment after, and spoke a word to Hal of Hadnock, who started up, and followed him. In the court they found a man booted and spurred, and dusty from the road, holding by the bridle a horse, with one leg bent, and the head bowed down, as if exhausted by long exercise.

The man instantly uncovered his head, when he saw the gentlemen appear, and throwing down the bridle, advanced a step, while Hadnock gave him a quick sign, which he seemed to comprehend.

"Your presence is required immediately, sir," he said, without adding any name; "your father is ill--very ill--and I have lost some hours in seeking you. I heard of you, however, at Andover, then at the Abbey, then at the priest's house in the village, and ventured on here, as 'tis matter of life and death."

"You did right," said Hal of Hadnock, briefly, but with deep anxiety on his face. "Ill, say you? very ill? and I away!--Why, I left him better!"

"One of those fits again, sir," answered the man. "For an hour he was thought dead, but had regained his speech when I set out; yet the leeches much fear----"

"I come! I come!" answered Hal of Hadnock. "Speed on before; I will be in London ere day-break. Change your horse often, and lose no time.

Buy a stout horse wherever you can find one, and have him ready for me on Murrel Green. Away, good fellow! Say that I am coming!--Richard, I must go at once."

"Well, I will with you, sir," replied Richard of Woodville; "you go to bid my good uncle adieu. I will order out the horses."

"So be it," answered Hal of Hadnock; "you shall be my guide, for I must not miss my way;"--and, after giving the messenger some money, he turned, and re-entered the hall.