Читать книгу Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold - G. P. R. James - Страница 12

Thrice had I loved thee

Before I knew thy face or name:

So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame,

Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be.--Donne.

The place to which Sir Osborne Maurice was conveyed, when the servants, according to their master's commands, removed him from the book-room, was a large dark chamber, running along beneath the whole extent of the principal stair-case, and some way into one of the towers beyond. The old manor-house--which for many reasons Sir Payan still inhabited, even after dispossessing Lord Fitzbernard of Chilham Castle--although built of brick, in a more modern style than the ancient holds of the feudal nobility, had not entirely abandoned the castellated architecture formerly in use. Here and there, upon the long front of the building, was fastened a large square tower, useless as a defence, and inconvenient as a dwelling; and at every angle appeared an imposthume-like watch-turret, of redder brick than the rest, like carbuncles upon the face of a drunkard. The curse of small windows also was upon the house, making it look as sombre without as it was dark within, and the thick leafless wood that swept round it on both sides excluded great part of that light which might otherwise have found its way into the gloomy mansion.

Darker than all the rest was the chamber to which Sir Osborne Maurice was conveyed; the whole of that part which was under the stair-case, receiving no light whatever, except from the other half, that, placed in one of the square towers, possessed the privilege of an unglazed window near the ceiling. It would be difficult to say for what purpose this chamber was originally contrived; but it is probable that at the time the house was built (during the contentions of York and Lancaster), such rooms might be necessary, even in private houses, both as places of strength and concealment, although too weak to resist long attack, and too easy of discovery to afford any very secure lurking-place. The use to which Sir Payan Wileton applied it was in general that of a prison for deer-stealers and other offenders who came before him in his magisterial capacity, which offenders he took care should ever be as numerous as there were persons of the lower orders who opposed or displeased him.

The men who conducted the young knight shut the door immediately upon him; and thus being left to ruminate over his fate, with his arms still tightly pinioned behind him, and scarcely light sufficient to distinguish any objects which the room contained, it may well be conceived that his meditations were not of the most pleasant description. But, nevertheless, indignation had roused his spirit, and he no longer felt that depression of mind, and abandonment of hope, which for a time had overpowered him. His first thoughts, therefore, were now of escape and revenge, but for the moment no means presented themselves of either; and though he searched round the apartment, ascertaining the nature and extent of his prison, which only consisted of that room and a large closet containing some straw, no chance whatever of flight from thence presented itself, and he was obliged to wait in hopes of circumstances proving his friend.

In about half an hour, the voice of Sir Payan Wileton was heard without, giving various orders, and a moment after, the trampling of horses sounded as if passing by the window. To Sir Osborne, accustomed for several years to watch with warlike acuteness every motion of a shrewd and active enemy, these sounds gave notice that his persecutor was gone for the time, and even the circumstance of his absence excited in the bosom of the young knight fresh expectation of some favourable opportunity.

Hardly had Sir Payan departed, when the lock, which might well have fastened the door of an antediluvian giant, squeaked harshly with the key; and the tall fellow, whom we have denominated hitherto, and shall still continue to denominate Longpole, entered, and pushed the door behind him.

"The devil's gone out on horseback," said he, coming near Sir Osborne, and speaking low, "and I have just got a minute to thank your worship."

"To thank me, my friend!" said Sir Osborne, somewhat doubting the man's meaning; "for what should you thank me?"

"For throwing the man over a hedge that struck my father," said Longpole, "and by that I see you are a true heart and a gentleman--and a knight into the bargain, I am sure, in spite of all Sir Payan's tales, and his minion's false swearing; and if I were not his sworn servant I'd let you off this minute, if I could find a way."

"But is it not much worse to aid in so black a plot as this than to leave this vile suborner, who is not your born master, and never can be lawfully, if you be the son of old Richard Heartley? Only hear me."

"Nay, sir knight," said Longpole; "faith I must not hear you, for I must mind my oath, and do as I'm bid, though it be the devil bids me. I only came to thank you, before I brought the other prisoner here, and to tell you, that though I have forgotten and forgiven many hard knocks, I never forget a good turn, and that you'll find, whatever you may think now. Every dog has his day, but the dog-days don't last all the year."

After this quaint hint he waited for no reply, but quitted the room as fast as possible, and in a moment after returned, pushing in the unfortunate Jekin Groby almost drowned in his own tears.

"Here, I've brought your worship a great baby," cried Longpole, before he closed the door, "who has wasted as much salt water in five minutes as would have pickled a side of bacon."

As soon as they were alone, Sir Osborne attempted to comfort the unhappy clothier as far as he could, assuring him that he had nothing to fear; for that he was not in the least the object of the attack, which had only comprised him on account of his being present at the time.

"But my bags! my bags!" blubbered Jekin Groby; "they've got my bags: four hundred and twelve golden angels, and a pair of excellent shears, oh! oh! oh! I know it's along of you that I've got into the scrape. Oh dear! oh dear! Why the devil didn't you tell me you had made the Cornish men revolt? then I wouldn't have gone with you; I'd ha' seen you hanged first. But I'll tell King Henry and Lord Darby, I will; and I'll have back my angels, I will. Lord! Lord! to think of my being committed for aiding and abetting Osborne Maurice, alias Osborne Darling, alias Jenkins, alias Thompson, alias Brown, alias Smith, to make the Cornish folks revolt; I that was never there in my life!"

"Nor I either," said the knight, calmly.

"Why, they all swear you were!" cried Jekin Groby, leaving off weeping; "and that you and five hundred miners burnt and sacked the towns, and I believe carried away the steeples on your backs, for a matter of that, you did so much. They all swear it."

"And they ail swear falsely," answered Sir Osborne, "as you may very well see, when they swear that you were there aiding and abetting me."

"Gads! that's true too," said Groby: "if they swear such big lies about me, why mayn't they do the like about you? I thought that nice young lady, and that goodly old priest, would not ha' been so fond of your worship if you had been a robber and an insurrectionist. Lord a' mercy! I beg your worship's pardon with all my heart." As Groby lost sight of the subject of his bags, his grief abated, and looking round the room, he added, "I say, sir knight, is there no way of getting out of this place? What think ye o' that window?"

"If I had my hands free," said Sir Osborne, "I would try to climb up and see."

"Gads man! let's see your hands," said Groby; "mine are tied too, but I've managed many a tight knot with my teeth. Turn round, your worship, more to the light, such as it is. Ah, here I have it, the leading cord! Now pull; well done, millstones! It gives!" And what by dint of gnawing and pulling, in about five minutes Jekin Groby contrived to loosen the cord that fastened the knight's arms, and a very slight effort on Sir Osborne's part finished the work, and freed them completely. The knight then performed the same good office to his fellow-prisoner; and poor Jekin, overjoyed even at this partial liberation, jumped and sang with delight. "Hist! hist!" cried he, at length; "if I remember, that long rascal of a fellow did not lock the door: let us see. No, as I live, the bolt's not shot. Let us steal out; but first I'll look through the keyhole. Out upon it! there he sits, talking to two of his fellows; ay, and there's a latch too on the outside of this cursed door, with no way to lift it on the in."

"The window is the surest way," said the knight, "if I can but reach it. Lend me your back, good master Groby, and I will see. The sun shines strong through it, and yet I cannot perceive that it throws the shadow of any bar or grating."

"Welcome to my back," said the clothier: "but, oh! do not leave me in this place; pray don't ye, sir knight!"

"On my honour I will not!" replied the knight, "though it is not you they care to keep. Once I were away, you might have your liberty the next hour. But still I will not leave you."

"Thank you, sir knight, thank you!" said honest Jekin. "All I ask is, when you are up, help me up too; and if we can get out, leave me as soon as you like, for the less we are together, I take it, the better for Jekin Groby. And now upon my back; it is a stout one."

Jekin now bent his head against the wall, making a kind of step with his two clasped hands, by means of which Sir Osborne easily got his elbows on the deep opening of the window, which, from the thickness of the wall, offered a platform three feet wide, and with an effort he swung himself up. "Clear, all clear!" cried he, joyfully. "And now, my good Jekin, let us see how we can get you up. Stay, let me kneel here;" and turning round, he knelt down, holding out his hands to Jekin Groby. But it was in vain that Sir Osborne, with all his vast strength, strove to pull up the ponderous body of the Kentish clothier. He succeeded, indeed, in raising him about a foot from the ground, and holding him there, while he made a variety of kicks against the wall, and sundry other efforts to help himself up, all equally ineffectual; but at length Sir Osborne was obliged to let him down, and still remained gazing upon him with a sorrowful countenance, feeling both the impossibility, with any degree of honour, to leave him behind, and the impracticability of getting him out.

Poor Jekin, well understanding the knight's feeling, returned his glance with one equally melancholy; and after remaining for a moment in profound silence, he made a vast effort of generosity that again unloosed the flood-gates of his tears, in the midst of which he blubbered forth: "Go, sir knight, go, and God speed you! Heaven forbid that I should keep you here! Go!"

Sir Osborne jumped down, and shook him by the hand. "Never!" said he, "never! But there seems still some hope for us. That tall fellow, that we called Longpole this morning, is more friendly to us than he seems; and I can tell him something that will perhaps make him serve us more completely, if he will but hear me. Let me see whether he is now alone." And by the same means that Jekin Groby had before used to ascertain that the man was there, Sir Osborne discovered that the two other servants had left him, and that he was alone. "Hist! Richard Heartley!" said Sir Osborne, putting his mouth to the keyhole; "hist!"

"Who calls?" cried Longpole, starting up.

"'Tis I," said Sir Osborne; "open the door, and speak to me."

"I dare not! I must not!" cried Longpole. "Have patience!" he whispered, "have patience! I will come to you after dark."

"Yet listen to me," said Sir Osborne; but at that moment a sound of horses' feet was again heard through the open window, and, unwillingly, he was obliged to desist.

The arrival of some guest now took place, as Sir Osborne judged by the sounds which made themselves heard: the inquiries for Sir Payan, the directions for tending the horses, and the orders to have them at the gate in an hour, the marshalling to the banquet-hall, the cries of the serving men, and all the fracas that was made, in that day, in honour of a visitor.

"By heaven!" said Sir Osborne, "it is Lady Constance de Grey! I remember she proposed coming here towards noon. If we could but let her know that we are here, or good old Dr. Wilbraham, her people would soon free us. But never does it fall better. Longpole has gone from his watch, or he might tell her. However, the door is only held by this latch; let us try to force it. Place your shoulder with mine, good Groby. Now a strong effort!" But in vain. The giant door stood unmoved, and Sir Osborne was obliged to resign himself to his fate.

Presently the noise of serving the repast in the chief hall died away, and the servants, retiring to their own part of the house, left the rest in quiet, while not a sound stirred to communicate to the bosoms of the prisoners any sensation either of hope or expectation. After about a quarter of an hour's pause, however, a door opened, and the voice of Lady Constance was heard speaking to Dr. Wilbraham. "Nay, my good father," she said, "do not go yourself to seek them. Though we have been treated with but little courtesy, yet we may stay a quarter of an hour longer. Perhaps the servants have not dined, and that is the reason they do not come."

"By your leave, lady, I will go," said the chaplain, "and will see that the horses be brought up; for to my poor mind we have staid here too long already for the civility we have received. I will not be long."

"Doctor Wilbraham!" cried Sir Osborne, as the door shut; "Doctor Wilbraham?" But the good tutor turned another way, and passed on without hearing the voice of his former pupil, and silence resumed her dominion over the part of the house in which they were placed. In a minute or two after, however, a heavy foot announced to the watchful ears of the young knight the approach of some other person; but he turned away towards the hall where Lady Constance had been left, and seemed to enter.

Shortly the voice of the lady made itself heard, speaking high and angrily, in a tone to which the lips of Constance de Grey seldom gave utterance.

"I do not understand what you mean, sir," said she, coming out of the hall. "Where are my servants? Where is Dr. Wilbraham?"

"That was not your way, my pretty lady," cried the voice of the Portingal captain. "Let me kiss your loafly hand, and I will show you the way."

"Stand off, sir!" exclaimed Lady Constance. "Dare you insult me in my cousin's house?"

"This way! this way! Lady Constance de Grey," cried Sir Osborne, in a voice that shook the hall. "This way there are friends. Throw up the latch!"

At that moment the unscrupulous Portingal seems to have offered some still greater insult to the young lady; for, with a scream, she darted towards the spot to which the voice of Sir Osborne directed her, and throwing up the latch, as he called to her to do, ran in, followed closely by the Portingal. Urged by fear, Lady Constance flew directly to the knight, and recognising a friend, clung to him for protection. The captain, not observing that his hands were freed, did not scruple to pursue her, even close to the side of the prisoner, calling to her not to be afraid; that he would show her the way. But Sir Osborne raised his arm, and in a moment laid the Portingal grovelling on the ground, with the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils.

Lady Constance still clung to the knight, who totally forgetting the possibility of escape, endeavoured to soothe her and calm her agitation. Not so Jekin Groby: after pausing for a moment, confounded by the whole business, he at length bethought him, that as the door was open he might as well walk out, and with this intent made a quick step or two towards it. His purpose, however, was defeated by the Portingal, who recovered from the blow, and perceiving the design of the clothier, started upon his feet, and jumping through the open door, banged it in the face of honest Jekin, at the same time making the whole house ring with his cries of "Help! help! The lady is letting out the prisoners, and they shall all get loose! Help! help!" And getting hold of the rope of the alarum, he rang such a peal as soon brought the whole household, together with the servants of the Lady Constance, round the door of the strong room.

Various were now the cries and exclamations: "What's the matter?" "Are they out?" "Which way did they go?" "Where's the lady?" "Oh Lord!" "Oh lauk!" "Oh dear!" "Dear me!" "How strange!" "Who'd have thought it!" While the Portingal, with his face all streaming with blood, explained to them that Lady Constance wished to let the prisoners out; and that he, notwithstanding their efforts, had shut them up all together, by the valour of his invincible arm, and he called his bloody muzzle to bear testimony to the truth of his asseveration.

"You lie, you vagabond thief!" cried one of the young lady's servants. "It was you stole my riding whip, when you ran away in such a hurry from the inn last night."

"You must make a great mistake, my friend," said Dr. Wilbraham, who had come up amongst the rest. "Lady Constance de Grey has too much respect for the law to assist any prisoners to escape from the house of a magistrate. Let me in here, and we shall soon hear the truth of all this."

"And let me in!" "And let me in!" "And let me in too!" cried a dozen voices; and all prepared to rush into the room the moment any one raised the latch, on which Longpole had his hand for the purpose.

"Devil a one of you!" cried Longpole. "Curiosity, I've heard say, was one of the great vices of the old gentlewoman of Babylon, and so certainly I shall not gratify yours. March every one; for his worship, when he went away, gave me charge of the prisoners, and I am to answer for them when he comes back. The only one who goes with me shall be his reverence, who, God bless him, taught me to read and write, and speak French, when I was little Dick Heartley, the porter's son at the old castle."

"And art thou little Dick Heartley?" exclaimed Doctor Wilbraham. "We are both changed, Dick; but open me the door, good Dick, for by that Portingalo's speech I fancy the young lady is here also with the prisoners, though I conceive not how."

Heartley accordingly opened the door sufficiently to allow the clergyman to pass, and then following, he shut it, taking care to put his dagger under the latch, to prevent its obstructing his exit, in case of the servants' leaving the spot during his stay.

At first the change from a bright light to comparative obscurity prevented the good tutor from distinguishing clearly the objects in the apartment to which he was admitted by Longpole; but who can express his astonishment when he beheld Sir Osborne? Forgetting Lady Constance and every other circumstance, he clasped his hands in a sort of agony. "Good God!" exclaimed he, "is it possible? You here! You, my lord, in the power of your bitterest enemy? Oh! Osborne, Osborne! what can be done to save you? And is it you," cried he, raising his voice, and turning to Longpole, in a tone of bitter reproach, "and is it you, Richard Heartley, that do the work of jailer upon your own born lord and only lawful master?"

"My born lord!" cried Heartley, springing forward; "what does your reverence mean? Who is he? They told me his name was Maurice--Osborne Maurice."

"Osborne Darnley, they should have said," replied the young knight. "Your old lord's son, Dick Heartley."

Heartley threw himself at his lord's feet. "Why did not you tell me? Why did not you tell me?" cried he. "I'd sooner have chopped my hand off. I that first taught you to draw a bow and level an arrow! I that sought you all through the camp at Terrouenne to be your servant and servitor, as in duty bound, only that you were away guarding the fort bridge on the Lambre! Cut my hand off! I'd rather have ripped myself up with my dagger."

It may be supposed that the surprise of Lady Constance and of Jekin Groby was somewhat analogous to that expressed by Longpole on finding that the person they had known only as Osborne Maurice, or at best as Sir Osborne Maurice, an adventurous soldier, whose necessitous courage had obtained for him the honour of knighthood, was in fact the young Lord Darnley, whose misfortunes and accomplishments had already furnished much employment for the busy tongue of fame. To the young lady, especially, this discovery gave a sensation of timid shame, for the interest she had so unguardedly displayed in his fate; an interest which nevertheless she might perhaps feel heightened when she found all that she had heard of Lord Darnley identified with all that she knew of Osborne Maurice. "I too may ask, my lord," she said, "why you did not tell me; or rather, why you did not tell my father, who ever expressed the deepest interest in your fate, and in his life-time might have served you?"

"Your noble father, lady," replied Lord Darnley, "was well aware who I was, even when I was a guest at his mansion; and he, as well as the rest of my friends, thought it best that I should still conceal my name while in England, in order to veil me from the machinations of a man whose unaccountable interest at court, and unscrupulous nature, were almost certain to carry through whatever villanous attempt he undertook against me. Our lands and lordships he holds, not as we did, by chivalry and tenure of possession, but only as steward of Dover Castle, an office given and recalled at pleasure. You now see how wise was the precaution, since here, in the midst of the most civilised country in Europe, I have been unlawfully seized, on the king's highway, accused of fictitious crimes, and destined to a fate that only time will show. To think that I, a man-at-arms, long used to camps, and, without boasting, on bad soldier either, should be, like an infant, in the hands of this deep-plotting usurper! 'Tis enough to drive me mad!"

"No, no, my lord," said Heartley, or, as we have called him, Longpole, "don't you fear. They say that when Old Nick stirs the fire, he is sure to burn his fingers, and when he salts a birch broom, he pickles a rod for his own back. But stay, let me see that there is no one at the door listening: no, there they are, at the farther end of the hall, but they can't hear. So, my lord, I'll undertake to get you out this blessed night. My oath to Sir Payan is up at twelve o'clock to-night."

"No oath can bind you to commit a crime," said the clergyman; "and that it is a crime to aid in any way in detaining your lord here, can easily be proved."

"Oh! your worship," said Heartley, "I can't reason the matter with your reverence, you'd pose me in a minute; but, nevertheless, I'll keep my oath, and I can give you a good reason for it. It would do my lord no good if I was to break it: there are twenty people round about who would all join to stop him if I were to let him out this moment, and with my young lady's three servants to boot, we should still be beaten by the numbers. We must wait till after dark; ay, and till after the bell rings to bed at eleven; but then I will find means to free my lord."

"But may they not have thus time to commit some evil deed?" demanded Lady Constance, "and your tardy succour may come too late."

"No, no, my lady," replied Longpole; "I heard yon Portingallo, who is just riding away, tell his rascally slavish crew, as he was locking them up in the granary, that at half-past one he was to be back; and then they were to carry down the two prisoners to the ship, for which they were to have two hundred gold angels amongst them. Now, we shall be far enough before half-past one."

"At all events, my lord," said Lady Constance, "it will not be long before we are at Canterbury, from whence we can send you sufficient succour, backed with authority competent to procure your release."

"But remember, lady," said the knight, "that I am but Sir Osborne Maurice, and no one must know me as anything else if it can be avoided; for it is of the utmost consequence to my interest, that at present I should not appear before our noble but somewhat wayward king, as I really am. And now, let me return you a thousand and a thousand thanks for your kind interest past and present; to which but add one favour. When I am free, give me but one little glove from this fair hand," and he raised it to his lips, "and I will place it on my pennon's pike, and write underneath it, gratitude; and if it fall in the listed field, or the battle plain, Darnley is dead."

"Nay, nay, my lord," replied Lady Constance, with a blush and smile, "too gallant by half! But you are a prisoner, and I believe promises made in prison are not held valid. Wait, therefore, till you are free, and in the mean time you shall have my prayers and best wishes, and such aid as I can send you from Canterbury I will."

There is a witchery in the sympathy of a beautiful woman, whose influence all men must have experienced, and all women understand; and though our hero felt the most devout conviction that he was not the least in love in the world with Lady Constance de Grey, there is no knowing how far his gratitude for the interest she took in his fate might have carried him, had she remained there much longer; and even when she left him, and he heard the horses' feet repass the window of his prison, he felt as if he were ten times more a prisoner than before.

There was something so kind and so gentle in her manner, and her smile illuminated her countenance with such angelic light, that while she was there, even though speaking of them, his sorrows and his dangers seemed all forgot. She was so young, and so beautiful too, and there was in her look and her gesture and her tone so much of that undefiled simplicity which we love to suppose in a higher nature of beings, that the young knight, as an admirer of everything that is excellent, might well make the fair creature that had just left him the theme of his thoughts long after she was gone; and in such dreams absorbed, he paced up and down the strong-room, finding out that loss of rank and fortune was a much greater misfortune than ever, till then, he had deemed it.

At the same time that Lady Constance departed, our friend Longpole also left the prisoners; promising, however, to see them from time to time during the day, and to find means of liberating them at night. In this arrangement Jekin Groby took care to be specially included; and trusting implicitly to the promises of Dick Heartley on the score of his freedom, his only farther consideration was concerning his bags.

"Don't you think, my lord," said he, after waiting a moment or two in order to see whether Lord Darnley would finish his meditative perambulations; "don't you think King Harry will make this Sir Payan, or Sir Pagan as they ought to call him, refund my angels? Hey! my lord?"

"If there be justice in the land," replied Darnley; "but mark me, good Jekin; you call me my lord. You have heard me say that it may be of the utmost detriment to my interest if I be known as Lord Darnley. Circumstances have put you in possession of my secret; but if you would pleasure me, if you would not injure me, forget from this moment that I am any other than Sir Osborne Maurice: call me by no other title, think of me under no other name."

"No, indeed, my lord," said Jekin; "I promise your lordship never to call you my lord again; I won't indeed, my lord! Lord! There, only see, my lord, I have called you my lord again! Well, it does come so natural to one, when one knows that you are my lord, to call you my lord. What a fool I am! But your lordship will forgive me; and so I'll go and sleep in that straw in the closet, and forget it all, for I shan't get my natural rest to-night, that's clear."

So saying, Jekin nestled himself in the straw, which had attracted his attention, and shutting the door to exclude all light, he was soon buried in a profound sleep; while Sir Osborne (which, according to his wish, we shall not cease to call him) continued his meditations, walking up and down, as if on guard at some dangerous post.