In Doublet and Hose Part 5

"And so would we all who love and reverence her as the true heiress of England's crown, Anthony. Yet I fear that thou dost meditate wrong to Elizabeth, but surely thou wouldst not raise thy hand against a woman?"

"Ay, my lord! Against a woman, or what not for Mary's sake."

"But Mary would not approve such measure."

"No; therefore do we only contemplate her rescue. The softness of her heart doth prevent other aims."

"Anthony," said Lord Stafford preparing to renew his journey, "I see that thou art ripe for some foolhardy enterprise. I mis...o...b.. thy loyalty to Elizabeth, and fear that thou wilt soon engage in mischief. Had I not pledged mine honor to take these letters to Mary I would have naught to do with the matter. Thou hast raised grave doubts as to the nature of this undertaking. I fear for thee, for myself and family, and most of all do I fear for Mary Stuart. Thou knowest how eagerly Walsingham watches for an excuse to compa.s.s her death. Remember that, Anthony, and by the love you bear to her, forego the thoughts that charge thy brain."

"Fear naught, my lord. Thy doubts carry thee farther than the issue warrants," said Babington lightly.

"I bid you farewell, Anthony, but my heart is heavy with foreboding," and Lord Stafford embraced him. "Would that I had known all this ere mine honor had become involved."

"Be of good cheer. You lay too much stress upon the matter," and the young man returned his embrace. "Farewell."

"Fare you well." Lord Stafford proceeded to the courtyard followed by Francis. When the girl would have ridden behind him, he motioned her silently to come beside him. Wonderingly she obeyed, for not thus were pages wont to travel with their lords.

"My child," said Lord Stafford when they had left the tavern behind and were on the old Roman road to Bath, "I have done ill in embarking upon this emprise, and more than ill in engaging thee in it also. There are dark days before us, Francis."

"My father," and leaning from her horse the girl kissed him. "No matter what befall thou hast deemed me worthy to share thy danger, and I will not repine. But I like not to think that they wish to kill the queen."

"Think not on that, Francis," said her father hastily. "On that matter my heart is heavy, though I trow such attempt will not be made. Anthony but raves. Such thoughts are not for thy young heart. Dismiss them, I entreat thee."

"Let us rather think only that we are to carry the tidings to Mary that an effort will be made to release her. Surely it is right to seek to relieve her suffering," said the girl sweetly.

"It is in very truth, my child. Thou and I are not concerned in aught but in bearing good news; therefore will I cheer up, sweet chuck, though I am greatly troubled."

And by an effort he put aside the dire forebodings that filled his soul, and tried to enter into the enjoyment of his daughter who, with the elasticity of youth, had turned to the more cheerful scenes around them.

Frequently he called her attention to some historic spot, or pointed out the beauties of the sylvan landscape. And thus, sometimes in sweet converse in which Francis learned to know her father better than she had ever known him; at others, in long lapses of silence the more eloquent that there was no conversation, and in stopping for rest and refreshment at taverns did the days pa.s.s without further incident. Yet though nothing of import transpired, the journey was not without interest to Francis.

Bath, on the right bank of the river Avon, presented a great variety of beautiful landscape; the old city of Gloucester, city of churches and beloved of kings; Tewkesbury, site of the battle between Lancastrians and Yorkists which placed the crown upon the head of Edward the Fourth; Worcester, with its glorious cathedral, filled her with delight. The beauty of the diversified scenery, consisting of hill, vale, forest and river, the numerous remains of Druid, British, Roman, Anglo-Saxon and Norman to which her father called her attention; all these things contributed to her pleasure, and served to banish everything from her mind save the happiness of the moment.

"And now, Francis," said Lord Stafford on the evening of the fourth day, "yonder lies Stafford, and we are near the end of our travel. Behold, on yon mount, called 'Castle Hill,' the place where stood a n.o.ble castle built by William the Conqueror. He conferred it upon Robert de Torri who took the name de Stafford from whom, as thou dost well ken, our family hath sprung. Art thou weary, girl?"

"Yes, father, but the journey hath nevertheless been full of delight,"

returned Francis brightly though her drooping body spoke of the fatigue by which she was almost overcome. "Yet right glad am I that we are come to Stafford. And on the morrow it may be that I shall see Queen Mary."

"Mayhap, child. But now put from thee all thought save that of rest. Let the morrow bring what it will, this night shall be devoted to quiet and repose."

Putting spurs to his horse the tired animal renewed his speed, and they were soon within the gates of the city.

CHAPTER VI

A GLIMPSE OF MARY

Francis' wish of beholding the Queen of Scots was gratified in a most unexpected manner.

"Do you remain here, my child," said Lord Stafford the next morning. "I would behold for myself if what I have heard of Mary's keeper, Sir Amyas Paulet, be true. If he be not so strict as report hath it, access to Mary may be easy. I would rather, if it be possible, that the matter be dispatched without employ of thee."

"But thou wouldst still let me see Mary, father?"

"By my troth, I would. Thou hast well merited it. But now farewell for a season. When I return we can tell better how to conclude this business."

"My father, what shall I do until thy return? Could I not go forth to the place where stood the castle of our ancestors? I would fain examine it."

Lord Stafford hesitated for a moment before replying, and then said thoughtfully:

"Thou mayst, if thou wilt. I know that I need not tell thee to remember that though thou dost wear a man's habit thou art still in truth a maid, and to demean thyself in accordance therewith. But still as thou dost wear the habit, more of liberty may be given thee than otherwise thou couldst enjoy. Yes; go to Castle Hill, an thou wishest, but say to none what and for why we tarry in the town."

"I am thy daughter, sir," said Francis proudly. "Thou dost deem me worthy to abet thy enterprises. I will so bear myself that thou couldst ask no more of me than if I were thy son."

"No more," said Lord Stafford smilingly. "Thou leavest me with no regret that thou art not my son. A son could do no more."

He kissed her and left the chamber. Francis followed after him to the courtyard of the inn where she stood watching him until he was lost to view. Then drawing her cloak about her she left the yard, and walked slowly toward the eminence upon which the great castle formerly stood.

The ruins were interesting and served to entertain the girl for some time, but at length becoming weary, it occurred to her to set forth to meet her father.

"It seems long since he started," she mused. "It cannot be a great while ere he returns. Therefore to beguile my loneliness I will go to meet him."

Pa.s.sing through the gates of the town she struck boldly into the open plain through which the road ran to Chartley. On and on she walked, the road turning and winding until at length it forked; one branch going to the left, the other to the right. Francis paused in bewilderment.

"Which shall I take?" she asked herself looking first at one and then at the other. "My faith, but either stretches forth invitingly. I have it! I will cast my dagger, and traverse that one toward which it points."

So saying she unsheathed a small poniard from her belt and drew herself up to cast the weapon, when the clatter of horses' hoofs broke upon her ear. She looked up startled. From behind a bend in the road to the right there came at full gallop a party consisting of several men and a lady.

Francis was so amazed at their sudden appearance that she still retained her position, the dagger poised ready for the throw. With a cry of horror the lady spurred her horse to her side.

"Boy," she cried, "what art thou about to do? Stay thy hand, I command.

Knowest thou not that self-destruction is forbid?"

Francis gave vent to a merry peal of laughter as the lady's meaning flashed upon her.

"Be not dismayed, fair lady," she said doffing her bonnet and making a deep courtesy. "I was not planning self-destruction. Life holds too much of promise to end it now. I was but wondering which of these two roads led to Chartley, and thought to follow the one toward which a throw of the dagger would point."

The lady joined in the laugh, and then became grave.

"To Chartley?" she said. "And what wouldst thou at Chartley?"

It was on the tip of the girl's tongue to reply, "I go to meet my father," but she caught herself in time. None must know of his journey there, and even though she who asked were beautiful and gracious she must be discreet.

"I wished to see Queen Mary," she answered after a moment's hesitation.

"To see Mary?" broke in one of the men who had drawn near during the above colloquy. "And may I ask, young sir, what business thou hast with Mary?"