In Doublet and Hose Part 17

"'Tis true," corroborated Francis. "He is no more at fault for the encounter than I, my lord. And he knew not that I was not a boy, until, thinking that my end was near, I told him. I know not why I felt so weak."

"Thou didst swoon, child," said Lord Shrope. "'Tis a matter that is of frequent occurrence among thy s.e.x. Didst never experience it before?"

"Never," replied Francis with a light laugh. Save for the sting and smart of the wound she was fully herself. "And I like it not. I' faith, were I to have them often, there would be few sins of Francis Stafford's that would be unknown."

"Didst confess to Edward?" laughed Lord Shrope. "You two should be great friends anent this."

"No;" said Francis. "I confessed that he killed the deer, and that its horns were justly his. I will not retract that, but still do I count him mine enemy, even as his father and mine are at feud."

"So be it," said Edward Devereaux mournfully. "Thou canst not, maiden, hate me more than I loathe myself."

"Come, Francis," said Lord Shrope, "we must to my lady. We were filled with alarm when thou didst not come at the usual hour, and my lord and I have sought for thee everywhere. It was lucky chance that brought us this way. Child, child, I would that thy father had thee with him, or else were here. I would also that the queen were not so obdurate in her mind against thee. But she will not have thy name broached to her. Something lies underneath it all. Hadst thou been concerned in treasonous undertakings the matter would be plain. As it is--but why think of it?

That wound of thine which to a man would be a mere scratch must with thee be looked to. Let us away."

The inconvenience caused by the hurt was short, but, before the girl resumed her place among the pages, Lord Shrope again ventured to speak of her to the queen.

"My liege," he said one morning when the queen had been particularly gracious to him, "I would that you would let me speak of Francis Stafford. There is somewhat----"

"Now a murrain on thee, Shrope, for mentioning that name," cried Elizabeth her humor changing instantly. "We, too, have somewhat to say of Francis Stafford, but the time is not yet ripe. When it is, then will I hear what thou hast to say. Until then we would not be plagued with the matter. Hearest thou?"

"I do, my sovereign mistress," answered Lord Shrope humbly. "I hear and will heed thy commands. Only take not from me thy divine favor."

"Hadst thou ever been connected with any enterprise against her," he said to Francis as he reported the result of the interview, "I could understand it. As it is, her mood toward thee gives me great concern."

"Trouble not thyself, my good friend," answered Francis, though she herself was more disturbed than she cared to admit. Perhaps the journey to Chartley had come to the queen's ears, and that enterprise wore a different complexion now to the girl than it had done ere her coming to the court. "Trouble not about me. Thou canst do no more than thou hast done."

And so she went back to her place among the pages. The greeting between her and Edward Devereaux was formal. As the time pa.s.sed she became aware that the lad's manner toward her was quite different from what it had been before their encounter. Now he seemed to regard her with something akin to admiration, and a.s.sumed a protecting air toward her, a.s.suming many of her duties, that irked the girl exceedingly.

"Prithee, sirrah," she said one day pettishly when his guardians.h.i.+p was more than usually apparent, "who gave thee leave to watch over me? It irks me to have thee play the protector. Beshrew me, but Francis Stafford can care for herself."

"I crave pardon, Master Stafford," replied Devereaux who never by word or deed dropped a hint that he knew aught of her s.e.x. "I crave pardon if I have offended. I will vex thee no more."

From that time his care was more un.o.btrusive, but Francis was still conscious of it, and it was gall and wormwood to her. She could not forget the acknowledgment of his skill had been wrung from her when she thought herself dying. Although she could not but admit that Devereaux was innocent in the matter, she felt as though a fraud had been perpetrated upon her, and, girl-like, held him responsible for it.

And so life at the court went on. A great family under the same walls, loving and hating. The courtiers divided into factions; their followers being kept from brawling only by the presence of the queen. The serving men followed the example of their betters and squabbled in the kitchen; the butlers drank on the sly in the cellars; the maids chattered in the halls; the pages pilfered from the b.u.t.tery; the matrons busied in the still rooms compounding fragrant decoctions for perfumes, or bitter doses for medicine; the stewards weighing money in the treasury; gallants dueling in the orchard or meeting their ladies on the stairs. But Francis liked it all.

The gallant courtiers with their song and fence, and quibble and prattle and pun; the gaily dressed ladies; the masques in the great hall of the castle; the pomp and ceremony that attended the queen when she went abroad: all appealed to her aesthetic nature.

She soon learned to distinguish the courtiers. The Gipsy Earl of Leicester, with his swarthy handsome face; the tall and comely vice chamberlain, Sir Christopher Hatton; the venerable Burleigh; the trusty and wily Walsingham; the gay, witty and sarcastic Harrington, G.o.dson of the queen, and the fiery and impetuous Earl of Ess.e.x, stepson to Leicester.

Sometimes a low, broad-shouldered, heavily-built man would appear at court followed by brawny sailors who bore great chests of gold gathered from the Spanish Main. Then the court would be filled with the deeds of Sir Francis Drake, and of the wondrous happenings in that new world which lay over the sea.

Youth does not examine closely below the surface, and so to the girl all was bright and beautiful. She herself would have entered into the life more fully, but that the cloud of the queen's displeasure hung over her.

There is no place where a sense of the august disapprobation makes itself so quickly felt as a court. And, as the days went by and Elizabeth still refused to permit her approach, Francis found herself more and more isolated.

Even the courtiers who had formerly called upon her to perform services for them now chose other of the pages, while the pages themselves no longer stopped to chat or gossip with her.

Thus the days went by.

CHAPTER XVI

WHAT CAME OF AN OFFER OF FRIENDs.h.i.+P

One thing had puzzled Francis upon her first arrival at the court. That was the number of those who had red hair. She soon came to know, however, that most of the ladies wore wigs of false hair over their own tresses out of compliment to the queen. The demand for hair was therefore great, and frequently the supply was not equal to it. Divers means were employed to obtain such locks, as the girl soon found to her sorrow.

"Where art thou from, my pretty page?" asked a lady one day pausing before her.

"Hamps.h.i.+re, an it please your ladys.h.i.+p," answered Francis grateful for the attention. She thought the lady must have recently arrived else she would not stop to bandy words with one who was without the pale of the queen's good will.

"Hamps.h.i.+re? Ah, yes! I pa.s.sed through the s.h.i.+re once with Her Majesty on one of her progresses," remarked she. "My lad, know you that you are a pretty boy? But certes! of course you do. Nathless, hear it again from me."

"I thank your ladys.h.i.+p," returned Francis with blus.h.i.+ng cheeks. "'Tis only your kindness that bids you so to speak."

"Hear the boy!" laughed the lady, shaking her finger archly. "Nay; I shall not give thee more compliments, but I would have thee know that I am thy friend. I am aware that the queen regards thee with disfavor, and I would aid thee. If thou carest to know more come to the Round Tower which is the dormitory of the maids of honor this night. There is my bower. I am the Lady Priscilla Rutland. Know you the place?"

"Yes, my lady; but why, why?----" began Francis, but the lady interrupted her.

"Fie, fie, naughty boy! art thou so curious? Ask no more until to-night."

With a quizzical look she went on her way leaving the girl staring after her.

"What said the Lady Priscilla to thee?" demanded Edward Devereaux drawing near. "Beware of her, Francis Stafford. She is full of wiles and deceit.

'Tis unseemly to speak ill of a woman, but I would fain warn thee. When Mistress Priscilla is most gracious she is bent on mischief. Therefore do I bid thee to beware of her."

"Am I so rich in friends that I can cast from me one who proffers amity?"

inquired the girl bitterly. "Who art thou, Master Devereaux, that thou sayst do this, or do that, and expect me to obey? Thou art mine foe, the son of my father's foe. What hast thou to do with me?"

"The son of thy father's foe, 'tis true," answered Devereaux, "but not thine, Francis. I make no war on women though I did unwittingly strike thee once. I repent me that ever I claimed to have slain that deer. Yet hear me, mistress. Had the foresters not come as they did, I would have given thee the horns. I came to thy father's castle to offer them to thee, but dost thou remember how didst greet me with scorn? And I, thinking thee to be thy brother, did answer in like manner."

"Thou hast been long in the telling, master," remarked the girl scornfully. "Dost expect me to believe thee?"

"Upon mine honor it is the truth. But to the matter in hand. Believe me, 'tis for thy good to have naught to do with the Lady Priscilla Rutland. I have been longer at the court than thou and therefore know of that of which I speak."

"I am tired of thy watching and prating," declared Francis with spirit.

"I am no child to be chidden. Leave me, and know that Francis Stafford will do as seemeth best to her."

"As you will, mistress. But if you come to grief blame me not," and the lad walked away.

"I hate him," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the girl, her eyes filling with angry tears. "I hate him with his trite speeches and his sage advice! Why doth he not leave me in peace? I will go to the Lady Priscilla were it only to show him that I regard not his words."

Nevertheless she could not but wonder why any lady should take such a sudden interest in her, and a slight misgiving lurked in her heart as she approached the Round Tower, entered its portals, and made her way to the Lady Priscilla's bower.

The lady was lying on a couch surrounded by her tire women.

"So, my pretty lad," she said with a careless glance, "thou hast come.