Читать книгу The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle - A. J. Foster - Страница 7

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The manor-house of Bletsoe stood on the north side of the parish church of St. Margaret, about a mile from the point where the river makes a sharp bend from east to south. Of the manor-house, and of the castle which succeeded it, no traces remain, but portions of a seventeenth century mansion, now a farm-house, mark its site. The Pateshulles had come into Bedfordshire from Staffordshire, where is situated the village of Pateshulle, from which they took their name. From them Bletsoe passed to the De Beauchamps, another branch of the family to which Ralph belonged. Their heiress married into the family of St. John, who possess Bletsoe to this day.

But in the early part of the thirteenth century, when the Pateshulles first possessed it, Bletsoe was but a small place, not even fortified, till in 1327, more than a century later, John de Pateshulle obtained from the king a license to crenellate his mansion--that is, to erect defensive parapets on the walls.

The house to which Sir Ralph de Beauchamp made his way was therefore built in the usual fashion of a gentleman's residence at that period--timber-framed, and of no architectural pretensions. At one end of a central hall were the private apartments of the family, at the other the domestic offices and the rooms of the servants and retainers. In front of the hall was a gate-house, where a porter watched continually in his lodge; and from this gate-house flanking wooden palisades ran on either side to the private apartments and servants' offices, enclosing a small courtyard.

As Ralph rode through the gate, a round, white-haired face peeped from the lodge door.

"Soho! Dicky Dumpling," cried the young knight, springing from his gray mare with a ringing of his spurs upon the pavement.

The individual thus accosted emerged from the doorway of his dwelling. Many years of service and of good living in the porter's lodge of the De Pateshulles, combined with very little active exercise, had caused Dicky's figure to assume the rotund proportions not inaptly expressed by the nickname by which he was universally known. When he perceived Sir Ralph, his broad countenance lighted up with a grin of satisfaction, which caused his twinkling eyes almost to disappear among wrinkles of fat, and he waddled forward with as much alacrity as he was capable of and seized the horse's bridle. As he did so, his eyes rested on Ralph's still moist and mire-stained surcoat and dripping hose.

"By St. Dunstan!" exclaimed the old servitor, speaking with the freedom of having known Ralph ever since the latter was a page in his uncle Sir William's service, and came often in his train to Bletsoe Manor--"by St. Dunstan, Sir Knight, and beshrew me if I don't think you choose a cold season to go swimming in the Ouse at flood time!"

"You speak with your usual wisdom, O Dumpling mine," responded Ralph, laughing; "but I've been a-fishing."

Dumpling opened his wide mouth to it fullest extent.

"A-fishing, good my lord?"

"Ay, a-fishing; and I've caught a larger and a fatter pike than ever yet gladdened your eyes and made that huge mouth of thine water, and with a finer set of teeth than you have, after all the hard work you have given yours. There has been bad and bloody work at St. Alban's, and fresh foul deeds have been done by yon devil in human form of Bedford. You can hear more anon, if your curiosity can drive your fat carcass as far down the village as Goodman Hodge's cottage. I cannot tarry to tell thee more. Say, Dickon, is your lord within?"

It was now Dumpling's turn to have a joke. His face assumed a mock expression of the utmost gravity, belied by the twinkle of his merry little eyes. He stood on tiptoe, and spoke in a low voice close to Ralph's ear.

"My lord went forth an hour ago to fly a new falcon he has just bought. He will return at noon to dine. I can smell even now the good and savoury odours that arise from the spit. But I'll warrant me that the meat is not yet done to a turn, and that you have yet time. Hist!"

Whereupon he laid his hand on the young knight's arm, and with finger on his lips drew him from under the gate-house arch, and pointed to the farther corner of the court-yard.

Under the windows of the Lord of Bletsoe's apartments a sort of garden had been railed off from the rest of the court-yard, so as to be somewhat private. Out in this garden, in the bright January sunshine, stood a tall and graceful girl engaged in nailing up some sort of creeper round the windows. Her long arms--bare to their full length, for the long loose sleeves of the period had slipped up to her shoulders--were stretched above her head in order that she might reach her work. Her small, delicate head, which was uncovered, was thrown back as she looked up at the wall, and from it thick masses of brown hair waved down her shoulders. She had evidently been tempted out by the sunshine to do a little winter gardening, and wore neither fillet nor mantle, while the rather tight robe of the period, clinging to her figure, set off admirably her tall stately form, just budding into the full maturity of young womanhood.

There came a clanking of armed heels and the rattle of a scabbard over the stones of the court-yard, and the young lady turned sharply round. A smile of recognition and a deep flush passed together across her fair face. The next moment she glanced back at the half-open door of a turret staircase close at hand, evidently communicating with the private apartments above, and made a movement as if to flee.

But Ralph was too quick for her. In an instant he had vaulted the low fence, and gained her side, so that common courtesy, if no stronger motive, obliged her to remain. Then he caught her by both hands and made as if he would kiss her; but she shook her head.

"Aliva, my heart's darling!" he exclaimed; "I prithee tell me what is wrong this morning? You seem not glad to see me. Have I frightened you in coming on you so suddenly?" he added, half jesting.

The maiden's lips curled bewitchingly.

"A daughter of the De Pateshulles has yet to learn what fear is," she replied; "and I warrant you could not teach it me, Ralph, either in person or in practice," she added. And then the smile died away, and the grave expression stole over her face immediately.

"But, my ladye fair, I would fain have you overjoyed to see me this morning, for I bring news which will perhaps lead your father to look more favourably on my suit," continued Ralph. "But perchance that is news you would therefore be ill-pleased to hear," he added.

Aliva tossed her head with a laugh in her eyes.

"Try me, Sir Knight," she said--"say on your news," and her face lit up again with pleasure.

"One point in my fate still remains unchanged," Ralph went on. "A soldier of fortune I am, and such I must continue; there is no fresh news on that score. If you will wed me, dear heart, you will still have to wed one who must depend on his own right arm. But now I see a chance before me of exerting that right arm."

For the moment, however, the member to which he alluded had found its way round Aliva's waist, and did not appear to exert itself any further for the time being.

"Now that I have received my knightly rank," Ralph continued, "I have a hope, also, of active service. The king, as I have lately heard, meditates an expedition across the Border to punish the Scots, and a great council of the nation is to be summoned to meet at Northampton in the summer. When once the business is arranged, and the royal forces set forth for the north, methinks I am sure of a good post. My uncle's weight and interest have not been utterly lost, though he has been driven from the home of our ancestors. When he begs for a command for a De Beauchamp, the king surely cannot say him nay. And then, when the war is over, when we have taught the Scots a lesson, in a few months I shall come again, my Aliva, and come no longer penniless and unknown, but with rank, position, the promise of further employment, and perhaps, if fortune favours me--for I will do all man can dare to do--with some deed of glory, some honour not unworthy to lay at your feet as a wedding-gift. Oh say, Aliva, your father will hearken then?"

Aliva had not spoken, had not interrupted him. She stood, her eyes cast on the ground, a fierce struggle going on within her. As a daughter, she felt that she ought not to have allowed this stolen interview against her father's wishes. She ought to have fled by the turret-stair, with merely a courteous salutation for her visitor. Yet there he stood, this penniless young knight, by her side, his arm round her waist, and his large gray eyes gazing with devotion and love into her face. Moreover, he was telling her of a soldier's duties; he spoke of war and danger. What could she do? She was but a woman, warm-hearted and also of impulsive nature. The court-yard was clear, for Dicky Dumpling had hobbled off to the stables with the gray mare. For all answer she laid her head upon his shoulder and her right hand sought his left--the one, be it remembered, that was disengaged.

It was but for a moment, however, and then it was not only maidenly instinct which made her draw herself free from his embrace.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed; "where in the name of all that's marvellous have you been this morning, Ralph? You are dripping wet, or at least anything but dry!"

"Have no fear, lady; I have had no worse encounter than one with our old river this morning, and I crave your forgiveness for thus presenting myself, for time brooked no delay. But I bear evil tidings for the ears of a devout daughter of Holy Church," he continued; and he told her the story of De Breauté's impious raid upon St. Alban's Abbey.

The maiden listened horror-stricken, and when he had ended, pressed her fingers to her eyes, as if to shut out the horrible scene he had conjured up.

"O Mother of God!" she exclaimed, in a low shuddering voice, as if to herself. "And it is with one of this family of spoilers of churches and murderers of the servants of holy men that my father would have me wed!"

Ralph drew back, astonished at her words.

"Aliva! what say you? You are dreaming! Wed with a De Breauté? Never while I draw breath; by the holy Cross I swear it. Your father! he speaks in sorry jest or in madness. And besides, the scoundrel Fulke has a wife already--that ill-fated Lady Margaret de Ripariis, affianced at one time to my uncle, Sir William, and forced against her will into a marriage with Fulke by our late king. Aliva, speak, I conjure you. What mean you by such words?"

"Alas!" replied the maiden, hesitatingly and mournfully, and answering only the latter part of her lover's question, "my father knows full well the sad history of the Lady Margaret, and ofttimes hath he said, more in jest than in earnest I trust, that after all the lady has become the châtelaine of Bedford Castle, and that since your noble uncle has been turned out, she did well to marry with the man who has got inside--"

"Peace, my sweetest Aliva," interrupted Ralph impetuously. "Speak not of that unfortunate Lady Margaret. But tell me, I beseech thee, what your father means by joining your name with one of the house of De Breauté."

The Lady Aliva drew herself together, as with an effort.

"Nay, I would not have spoken--the name escaped me when you spake of the outrage on the church--forget--"

She stopped short, her voice breaking. The excitement of this unexpected meeting with the man she loved, the news that he was about to leave her for war and danger, the sweet moment in which she had allowed him to clasp her in his arms, the fearful tale of slaughter he had unfolded, which brought back suddenly to her mind, with the mention of the name of De Breauté, the fate that was proposed for her, and which she had well-nigh forgotten in her happiness of finding herself by Ralph's side once more,--all these emotions proved too much for her. Bursting into a flood of tears, she made for the turret door, and, in spite of the young knight's effort to detain her, disappeared up the stairs.

Ralph, stunned and mystified, was staring at the door which had closed behind her, when he heard a wheezing at his elbow.

"Sir Knight, the pasty is done brown and the cook is ready to serve up, and from the gate-house window I see my lord herding his falcons, and preparing to return," said Dicky Dumpling's voice.

It aroused Ralph as from a dream. Pressing a piece of money into the porter's fat palm, he hastened to fetch his mare from the stable, and mounting her, rode away with a heavy heart through the gate of Bletsoe Castle.

Dicky Dumpling looked after him and shook his head.

"He comes with a jest, and he goes without a word! Things look ill, I trow. 'Laugh and grow fat' is my motto, laugh and grow fat! Plague on that lazy scullion! why lingers he so long with my dinner?"