Fifty-Two Stories For Girls Part 72

"That are they!" said the dame laughing, as a servant opened the door, and each of Sir Christopher's friends gave a hand to a lady to lead them down to supper. "Hark! don't you hear my kinswoman's lute? Poor, kind Dorothy, she will play to them for the hour long, and likes nothing better. I can hear their little feet pit-a-patting; and d.i.c.k would insist on putting on his new fine suit, all brave with Spanish point and ribbon velvet, and the boy has buckled on a sword, too, while the little puss, Cicely, not to be backward, is all a prop with a stiff petticoat and a brocaded fardingale, and has on her little silk cap with the pearls, just as I have heard the fas.h.i.+on is among the Queen's French ladies of honour. Hark! there they go, tum-tum-ty, tum-twenty-tum, tum-twenty-tum! Bless their little hearts!"

The sour-faced man made a grimace; for his wife was just before him, and he could see her feet moving in time to the music as they all went down into the great hall laughing and talking; nor did the sound of the music cease till it was shut out by the closing of the door after they had sat down to supper; and even then it came upon them in gushes of melody every time a servant opened the door, to bring in another dish or a flagon of ale or of wine.

They heard it when, supper being nearly over, the butler came in softly and whispered to Sir Christopher, who, asking them to excuse him for a moment, went out into the hall.

A horseman was standing there, booted and spurred, and with his riding whip in his hand, and his steed was snorting, and sc.r.a.ping the ground outside.

"Do you know me again, Sir Christopher?" said the man, in a low voice.

"Let me bring you to the light," muttered the knight, leading him to the porch where there was a lantern hanging. "To be sure. I have seen you up at Whitehall and at Oxford, too, and are not likely to forget His Majesty's Groom of the Chambers. How fares it with our Royal Master?"

"Why, it stands this way, sir, as I take it," whispered the visitor.

"His Majesty must either fly the country or reach the army of the Scots, which he has no liking for, or raise the eastern counties and risk another battle. As it is, we have come safe out of Oxford, where Fairfax and the arch-rebel Cromwell are closing upon the city, and the king has ridden behind me after I had trimmed off his pointed beard, and made him look as much like a servant as is possible to his sainted person. I left him an hour ago after we had left Deeping, for I came on here to see if you could receive him, not according to his rank, but as a plain guest, with the name of Thomas Williams; for there are those about who might be meddlesome, and His Majesty can only tarry for two or three days, waiting for a message from the Scots generals, to be brought by a trusty hand. I had feared that His Majesty would have overtaken me, for my horse cast a shoe, and came limping along for a mile or more, till at the smithy yonder by the roadside I found a farrier."

"Bring my dear friend Mr. Thomas Williams on with you," said Sir Christopher loudly, as the door opened and a serving man came out; "he shall be welcome for old times' sake when we were at college together, and tell him I will not have him put up at the inn while there is a bed and a bottle at Stolham Manor."

Now neither Sir Christopher nor this visitor, who was the King's Groom of the Chamber, knew that the King, hearing the sound of hors.e.m.e.n behind him, had ridden past and turned down a bye-road, which all the same led him to Stolham; still less did they imagine that he was actually in the old manor house while they were talking there in the hall; because they had no notion of what had happened in the room where Mistress Dorothy was tw.a.n.ging the lyre, and the two young cousins were footing to the tune of Valparaiso Bay.

While the children were in the very midst of a figure and d.i.c.k was snapping his fingers, and Cicely was making the grand _cha.s.se_, Mistress Dorothy, glancing up from her music towards the window, had seen a pale face looking through the pane. She was not a woman to scream or to faint, for she was a quiet, staid, middle-aged person of much experience, and had lived in London, where she went to Court more than once with Sir Christopher and her kinswoman Dame Burroughs; so she kept on playing, and walked a little nearer to the window. The man who was outside--for it was a man, and he had climbed the angle of the wall, and now sat amidst the ivy close to the window-sill--beckoned to her, and as she advanced opened the breast of his coat, and showed a great jewel fastened with a gold chain under his vest.

Another moment, and she had unfastened the window, and he had raised himself to the sill and come in. He was dressed like a servant,--a groom,--for he wore high riding-boots and spurs, and had a cloak strapped round his waist; he seemed to forget to take off his hat, but stood still in the middle of the room, as Mistress Dorothy suddenly knelt before him, and said in a whisper, "Children, children, kneel; it is the King!"

Then the visitor removed his hat and showed his high, handsome face.

d.i.c.k and Cicely also fell on their knees, but the King said, "Rise, madam; rise, little ones; and pardon my intrusion. I am travelling secretly, and was on my way hither when I found that I was followed, and so left my horse at the inn in the next village, and walked on. I would not that Sir Christopher Burroughs should be summoned, for my pursuers will ere long be at the gate, and, not finding me here, may pa.s.s."

Now d.i.c.k Burroughs was as sharp a little blade as could be found between Stolham and Land's End, and quick as lightning he said, "But, Majesty, if it be no offence, let Cousin Cicely and I go on with our dancing, for there be some friends of Sir Christopher at supper, and should they or the servants no longer hear the lute, and think that we be tired, they may be sent to call us to bed, seeing that to-morrow will be May Day, and we shall rise early."

"And then, Your Majesty," lisped Cicely, "if anybody break in and come up here and see us dancing, they will go away, and you can hide behind the hangings yonder."

"You are a bright lad, and you a loyal little lady," said Charles, with a grave smile.

"There is a horseman coming up the road," said d.i.c.k, in a whisper. "Your Majesty had best find a hiding-place, and I will show it you. Above this room is the turret, and behind the hangings here is a door, where a ladder goes straight up the wall to take you to the turret-room, from which you can see far up and down the road. Let me go first and light Your Majesty, and carry your cloak." Then, taking a candle from the music stand, he began to mount the steps.

"Thou'rt a brave lad," said the King, "and I'll follow thee."

"And it shall go hard but I'll get thee some supper, your Majesty," said d.i.c.k; "but Cis and I must keep on dancing till all the guests be gone,--and you will see who comes and leaves,--even if it be till daybreak, for there is a May moon s.h.i.+ning all night."

"Now, Mistress Dorothy, now, Cis," cried d.i.c.k, when he had come down and closed door and curtain, "music, music, for we must keep on dancing."

The dancing never ceased, but d.i.c.k stole to the b.u.t.tery and found a pie and a flagon of wine, which he carried with cup, knife, and napkin, to the King in the turret-room, and then down to dance again, till his legs ached and poor Cicely began to droop.

There was a knock at the door, and the stumbling of feet upon the stair, and then the voice of Sir Christopher outside saying, "What warrant ye have to enter this house I know not; but as you take not my word, look for yourselves.' With that he opened the door, and two men looked into the room.

"Dance up, Cis," whispered d.i.c.k, who gave a skip, and pretended to see n.o.body. "Play a little faster, Mistress Dorothy."

"Now," said Sir Christopher, to the two fellows who stood outside, "mayhap you will leave these children to their sport till it is time for them to go to bed;" and with that he shut the door, and the fellows went lumbering down the stair. It seemed to be hours afterward when Sir Christopher again appeared. He opened the door suddenly, and he was not alone. Dame Burroughs was with him and a strange gentleman.

"What! not in bed, you naughty rogues!" he said, as his eye fell on Cissy, who was sitting on the floor, her head upon her hands, fast asleep.

"d.i.c.k, lad, what ails thee?" For d.i.c.k was standing by the hangings with the sword that he carried half-drawn from the scabbard, and great black rings round his eyes, and his legs trembling.

"Come, d.i.c.k," said the knight, "this is His Majesty's Groom of the Chambers, and I would that we knew where our royal master could be found."

"Here he is," said a deep voice from behind the curtain, as the King drew it aside and stepped into the room. The music ceased, Madame Dorothy gave a great cry. Charles stooped and caught up Cicely from the ground in his arms and kissed her.

"Come, sweetheart," he said, "thou hast danced for the King till thou art half-dead, but the King will not forget thee. Richard, thou'rt a brave lad, and thou must come and kiss me, too. If we both live, thou shalt not repent having served Charles Stuart both with head and feet."

A MOTHER OF QUEENS.

_A ROMANCE OF HISTORY._

One day, I will not say how many years ago, a young woman stepped from a country waggon that had just arrived at the famous Chelsea inn, "the Goat and Compa.s.ses," a name formed by corrupting time out of the pious original, "G.o.d encompa.s.seth us."

The young woman seemed about eighteen years of age and was neatly dressed, though in the plain rustic fas.h.i.+on of the times. She was well formed and good-looking, both form and looks giving indications of the ruddy health due to the bright sun and the fresh air of the country.

After stepping from the waggon, which the driver immediately led into the court-yard, the girl stood for a moment uncertain which way to go, when the mistress of the inn, who had come to the door, observed her hesitation, and asked her to enter and take a rest.

The young woman readily accepted the invitation, and soon after, by the kindness of the landlady, found herself by the fireside of a nicely sanded parlour, with a good meal before her--welcome indeed after her long and tedious journey.

"And so, my girl," said the landlady, after having heard the whole particulars of the young woman's situation and history, "so thou hast come all this way to seek service, and hast no friend but John Hodge, the waggoner? Truly, he is like to give thee but small help, wench, towards getting a place."

"Is service, then, difficult to be had?" asked the young woman, sadly.

"Ay, marry, good situations, at least, are somewhat hard to find. But have a good heart, child," said the landlady, and as she continued she looked round her with an air of pride and dignity; "thou see'st what I have come to, myself; and I left the country a young thing, just like thyself, with as little to look to. But 'tisn't every one, for certain, that must look for such a fortune, and, in any case, it must first be worked for. I showed myself a good servant before my poor old Jacob, heaven rest his soul, made me mistress of 'the Goat and Compa.s.ses.' So mind thee, girl----"

The landlady's speech might have continued indefinitely--for the good dame loved well to hear the sound of her own voice--but for the interruption occasioned by the entrance of a gentleman, whom the landlady rose and welcomed heartily.

"Ha! dame," said the new-comer, who was a stout respectably attired man of middle age, "how sells the good ale? Scarcely a drop left in thy cellars, I hope?"

"Enough left to give your wors.h.i.+p a draught after your long walk," said the landlady, as she rose to fulfil the promise implied in her words. "I did not walk," was the gentleman's reply, "but took a pair of oars down the river. Thou know'st, dame, I always come to Chelsea myself to see if thou lackest anything."

"Ay, sir," replied the landlady, "and it is by that way of doing business that you have made yourself, as all the city says, the richest man in the Brewers' Corporation, if not in all London itself."

"Well, dame, the better for me if it is so," said the brewer, with a smile; "but let us have thy mug, and this pretty friend of thine shall pleasure us, mayhap, by tasting with us."

The landlady was not long in producing a stoup of ale, knowing that her visitor never set an example hurtful to his own interests by countenancing the consumption of foreign spirits.

"Right, hostess," said the brewer, when he had tasted it, "well made and well kept, and that is giving both thee and me our dues. Now, pretty one," said he, filling one of the measures or gla.s.ses which had been placed beside the stoup, "wilt thou drink this to thy sweetheart's health?"

The poor country girl to whom this was addressed declined the proffer civilly, and with a blush; but the landlady exclaimed:

"Come, silly wench, drink his wors.h.i.+p's health; he is more likely to do thee a service, if it so please him, than John the waggoner. The girl has come many a mile," continued the hostess, "to seek a place in town, that she may burden her family no more at home."

"To seek service!" exclaimed the brewer; "why, then, it is perhaps well met with us. Has she brought a character with her, or can you speak for her, dame?"

"She has never yet been from home, sir, but her face is her character,"