The Fortunes of Nigel by Walter Scott (bookreader .txt) 📖

“She is at liberty,” she said, “to return to her friends under your charge—such is his Majesty's pleasure.”

“I am glad of it, madam,” answered Heriot, “but only I could have wished her freedom had taken place before her foolish interview with that singular young man; and I marvel your ladyship permitted it.”

“My good Master Heriot,” said Sir Edward, “we act according to the commands of one better and wiser than ourselves—our orders from his Majesty must be strictly and literally obeyed; and I need not say that the wisdom of his Majesty doth more than ensure—”

“I know his Majesty's wisdom well,” said Heriot; “yet there is an old proverb about fire and flax—well, let it pass.”

“I see Sir Mungo Malagrowther stalking towards the door of the lodging,” said the Lady Mansel, “with the gait of a lame crane—it is his second visit this morning.”

“He brought the warrant for discharging Lord Glenvarloch of the charge of treason,” said Sir Edward.

“And from him,” said Heriot, “I heard much of what had befallen; for I came from France only late last evening, and somewhat unexpectedly.”

As they spoke, Sir Mungo entered the apartment—saluted the Lieutenant of the Tower and his lady with ceremonious civility—honoured George Heriot with a patronising nod of acknowledgment, and accosted Margaret with—“Hey! my young charge, you have not doffed your masculine attire yet?”

“She does not mean to lay it aside, Sir Mungo,” said Heriot, speaking loud, “until she has had satisfaction from you, for betraying her disguise to me, like a false knight—and in very deed, Sir Mungo, I think when you told me she was rambling about in so strange a dress, you might have said also that she was under Lady Mansel's protection.”

“That was the king's secret, Master Heriot,” said Sir Mungo, throwing himself into a chair with an air of atrabilarious importance; “the other was a well-meaning hint to yourself, as the girl's friend.”

“Yes,” replied Heriot, “it was done like yourself—enough told to make me unhappy about her—not a word which could relieve my uneasiness.”

“Sir Mungo will not hear that remark,” said the lady; “we must change the subject.—Is there any news from Court, Sir Mungo? you have been to Greenwich?”

“You might as well ask me, madam,” answered the Knight, “whether there is any news from hell.”

“How, Sir Mungo, how!” said Sir Edward, “measure your words something better—You speak of the Court of King James.”

“Sir Edward, if I spoke of the court of the twelve Kaisers, I would say it is as confused for the present as the infernal regions. Courtiers of forty years' standing, and such I may write myself, are as far to seek in the matter as a minnow in the Maelstrom. Some folk say the king has frowned on the Prince—some that the Prince has looked grave on the duke—some that Lord Glenvarloch will be hanged for high treason—and some that there is matter against Lord Dalgarno that may cost him as much as his head's worth.”

“And what do you, that are a courtier of forty years' standing, think of it all?” said Sir Edward Mansel.

“Nay, nay, do not ask him, Sir Edward,” said the lady, with an expressive look to her husband.

“Sir Mungo is too witty,” added Master Heriot, “to remember that he who says aught that may be repeated to his own prejudice, does but load a piece for any of the company to shoot him dead with, at their pleasure and convenience.”

“What!” said the bold Knight, “you think I am afraid of the trepan? Why now, what if I should say that Dalgarno has more wit than honesty,—the duke more sail than ballast,—the Prince more pride than prudence,—and that the king—” The Lady Mansel held up her finger in a warning manner—“that the king is my very good master, who has given me, for forty years and more, dog's wages, videlicit, bones and beating.—Why now, all this is said, and Archie Armstrong [Footnote: The celebrated Court jester.] says worse than this of the best of them every day.”

“The more fool he,” said George Heriot; “yet he is not so utterly wrong, for folly is his best wisdom. But do not you, Sir Mungo, set your wit against a fool's, though he be a court fool.”

“A fool, said you?” replied Sir Mungo, not having fully heard what Master Heriot said, or not choosing to have it thought so,—“I have been a fool indeed, to hang on at a close-fisted Court here, when men of understanding and men of action have been making fortunes in every other place of Europe. But here a man comes indifferently off unless he gets a great key to turn,” (looking at Sir Edward,) “or can beat tattoo with a hammer on a pewter plate.—Well, sirs, I must make as much haste back on mine errand as if I were a fee'd messenger.—Sir Edward and my lady, I leave my commendations with you—and my good-will with you, Master Heriot—and for this breaker of bounds, if you will act by my counsel, some maceration by fasting, and a gentle use of the rod, is the best cure for her giddy fits.”

“If you propose for Greenwich, Sir Mungo,” said the Lieutenant, “I can spare you the labour—the king comes immediately to Whitehall.”

“And that must be the reason the council are summoned to meet in such hurry,” said Sir Mungo. “Well—I will, with your permission, go to the poor lad Glenvarloch, and bestow some comfort on him.”

The Lieutenant seemed to look up, and pause for a moment as if in doubt.

“The lad will want a pleasant companion, who can tell him the nature of the punishment which he is to suffer, and other matters of concernment. I will not leave him until I show him how absolutely he hath ruined himself from feather to spur, how deplorable is his present state, and how small his chance of mending it.”

“Well, Sir Mungo,” replied the Lieutenant, “if you really think all this likely to be very consolatory to the party concerned, I will send a warder to conduct you.”

“And I,” said George Heriot, “will humbly pray of Lady Mansel, that she will lend some of her handmaiden's apparel to this giddy-brained girl; for I shall forfeit my reputation if I walk up Tower Hill with her in that mad guise—and yet the silly lassie looks not so ill in it neither.”

“I will send my coach with you instantly,” said the obliging lady.

“Faith, madam, and if you will honour us by such courtesy, I will gladly accept it at your hands,” said the citizen, “for business presses hard on me, and the forenoon is already lost, to little purpose.”

The coach being ordered accordingly, transported the worthy citizen and his charge to his mansion in Lombard Street. There he found his presence was anxiously expected by the Lady Hermione, who had just received an order to be in readiness to attend upon the Royal Privy Council in the course of an hour; and upon whom, in her inexperience of business, and long retirement from society and the world, the intimation had made as