Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland by Yonge (best book club books for discussion TXT) 📖

delay the morning meal. He found, on coming in, Cicely helping Oil-of-Gladness in making griddle cakes, and buttering them, so as to make Mr. Heatherthwayte declare that he had not tasted the like since Mistress Susan quitted Hull.

Moreover, he had not sat down to the meal more than ten minutes before he discovered, to his secret amusement, that Cicely had perfectly fascinated and charmed the good minister, who would have shuddered had he known that she did so by the graces inherited and acquired from the object of his abhorrence. Invitations to abide in their present quarters till it was possible to sail were pressed on them; and though Richard showed himself unwilling to accept them, they were so cordially reiterated, that he felt it wiser to accede to them rather than spread the mystery farther. He was never quite sure whether Mr. Heatherthwayte looked on the young lady as untainted, or whether he wished to secure her in his own instructions; but he always described her as a modest and virtuous young lady, and so far from thinking her presence dangerous, only wished Oil to learn as much from her as possible.

Cicely was sorely disappointed, and wanted to ride on at once by land; but when her foster-father had shown her that the bad weather would be an almost equal obstacle, and that much time would be lost on the road, she submitted with the good temper she had cultivated under such a notable example. She taught Oil-of-Gladness the cookery of one of her mothers and the stitchery of the other; she helped Dust-and-Ashes with his accidence, and enlightened him on the sports of the Bridgefield boys, so that his father looked round dismayed at the smothered laughter, when she assured him that she was only telling how her brother Diccon caught a coney, or the like, and in some magical way smoothed down his frowns with her smile.

Mistress Cicely Talbot's visit was likely to be an unforgotten era with Dust-and-Ashes and Oil-of-Gladness. The good curate entreated that she and her father would lodge there on their return, and the invitation was accepted conditionally, Mr. Talbot writing to his wife, by the carriers, to send such a load of good cheer from Bridgefield as would amply compensate for the expenses of this hospitality.

CHAPTER XXXIX. THE FETTERLOCK COURT.

People did not pity themselves so much for suspense when, instead of receiving an answer in less than an hour, they had to wait for it for weeks if not months. Mrs. Talbot might be anxious at Bridgefield, and her son at Fotheringhay, and poor Queen Mary, whose life hung in the balance, more heartsick with what old writers well named 'wanhope' than any of them; but they had to live on, and rise morning after morning without expecting any intelligence, unable to do anything but pray for those who might be in perils unknown.

After the strain and effort of her trial, Mary had become very ill, and kept her bed for many days. Humfrey continued to fulfil his daily duties as commander of the guards set upon her, but he seldom saw or spoke with any of her attendants, as Sir Andrew Melville, whom he knew the best of them, had on some suspicion been separated from his mistress and confined in another part of the Castle.

Sir Amias Paulett, too, was sick with gout and anxiety, and was much relieved when Sir Drew Drury was sent to his assistance. The new warder was a more courteous and easy-mannered person, and did not fret himself or the prisoner with precautions like his colleague; and on Sir Amias's reiterated complaint that the guards were not numerous enough, he had brought down five fresh men, hired in London, fellows used to all sorts of weapons, and at home in military discipline; but, as Humfrey soon perceived, at home likewise in the license of camps, and most incongruous companions for the simple village bumpkins, and the precise retainers who had hitherto formed the garrison. He did his best to keep order, but marvelled how Sir Amias would view their excesses when he should come forth again from his sick chamber.

The Queen was better, though still lame; and on a fine November noontide she obtained, by earnest entreaty, permission to gratify her longing for free air by taking a turn in what was called the Fetterlock Court, from the Yorkist badge of the falcon and fetterlock carved profusely on the decorations. This was the inmost strength of the castle, on the highest ground, an octagon court, with the keep closing one side of it, and the others surrounded with huge massive walls, shutting in a greensward with a well. There was a broad commodious terrace in the thickness of the walls, intended as a station whence the defenders could shoot between the battlements, but in time of peace forming a pleasant promenade sheltered from the wind, and catching on its northern side the meridian rays of this Martinmas summer day, so that physician as well as jailer consented to permit the captive there to take the air.

"Some watch there must be," said Paulett anxiously, when his colleague reported the consent he had given.

"It will suffice, then," said Sir Drew Drury, "if the officer of the guard—Talbot call you him?—stands at the angle of the court, so as to keep her in his view. He is a well-nurtured youth, and will not vex her."

"Let him have the guard within call," said Paulett, and to this Drury assented, perhaps with a little amusement at the restless precautions of the invalid.

Accordingly, Humfrey took up his station, as unobtrusively as he could, at the corner of the terrace, and presently, through a doorway at the other end saw the Queen, hooded and cloaked, come forth, leaning heavily on the arm of Dr. Bourgoin, and attended by the two Maries and the two elder ladies. She moved slowly, and paused every few steps, gazing round her, inhaling the fresh air and enjoying the sunshine, or speaking a caressing word to little Bijou, who leaped about, and barked, and whined with delight at having her out of doors again. There was a seat in the wall, and her ladies spread cushions and cloaks for her to sit on it, warmed as it was by the sun; and there she rested, watching a starling running about on the turf, his gold-bespangled green plumage glistening. She hardly spoke; she seemed to be making the most of the repose of the fair calm day. Humfrey would not intrude by making her sensible of his presence, but he watched her from his station, wondering within himself if she cared for the peril to which she had exposed the daughter so dear to him.

Such were his thoughts when an angry bark from Bijou warned him to be on the alert. A man—ay, one of the new men-at-arms—was springing up the ramp leading to the summit of the wall almost immediately in front of the little group. There was a gleam of steel in his hand. With one long ringing whistle, Humfrey bounded from his place, and at the moment when the ruffian was on the point of assailing the Queen, he caught him with one hand by the collar, with the other tried to master the arm that held the weapon. It was a sharp struggle, for the fellow was a trained soldier in the full strength of manhood, and Humfrey was a youth of twenty-three, and unarmed. They went down together, rolling on the ground before Mary's chair; but in another moment Humfrey was the uppermost. He had his knee on the fellow's chest, and held aloft, though in a bleeding hand, the dagger wrenched from him. The victory had been won in a few seconds, before the two men, whom his whistle had brought, had time to rush forward. They were ready now to throw themselves on the assailant. "Hold!" cried Humfrey, speaking for the first time. "Hurt him not! Hold him fast till I have him to Sir Amias!"

Each had an arm of the fallen man, and Humfrey rose to meet the eyes of the Queen sparkling, as she cried, "Bravely, bravely done, sir! We thank you. Though it be but the poor remnant of a worthless life that you have saved, we thank you. The sight of your manhood has gladdened us."

Humfrey bowed low, and at the same time there was a cry among the ladies that he was bleeding. It was only his hand, as he showed them. The dagger had been drawn across the palm before he could capture it. The kerchiefs were instantly brought forward to bind it up, Dr. Bourgoin saying that it ought to have Master Gorion's attention.

"I may not wait for that, sir," said Humfrey. "I must carry this villain at once to Sir Amias and report on the affair."

"Nay, but you will come again to be tended," said the Queen, while Dr. Bourgoin fastened the knot of the temporary bandage. "Ah! and is it Humfrey Talbot to whom I owe my life? There is one who will thank thee for it more than even I. But come back. Gorion must treat that hand, and then you will tell me what you have heard of her."

"Naught, alas, madam," said Humfrey with an expressive shake of the head, but ere he turned away Mary extended her hand to him, and as he bent his knee to kiss it she laid the other kindly on his dark curled head and said, "God bless thee, brave youth."

She was escorted to the door nearest to her apartments, and as she sank back on her day bed she could not help murmuring to Mary Seaton, "A brave laddie. Would that he had one drop of princely blood."

"The Talbot blood is not amiss," said the lady.

"True; and were it but mine own Scottish royalty that were in question I should see naught amiss, but with this English right that hath been the bane of us all, what can their love bring the poor children save woe?"

Meantime Humfrey was conducting his prisoner to Sir Amias Paulett. The man was a bronzed, tough-looking ruffian, with an air of having seen service, and a certain foreign touch in his accent. He glanced somewhat contemptuously at his captor, and said; "Neatly done, sir; I marvel if you'll get any thanks."

"What mean you?" said Humfrey sharply, but the fellow only shrugged his shoulders. The whole affair had been so noiseless, that Humfrey brought the first intelligence when he was admitted to the sick chamber, where Sir Amias sat in a large chair by the fire. He had left his prisoner guarded by two men at the door. "How now! What is it?" cried Paulett at first sight of his bandaged hand. "Is she safe?"

"Even so, sir, and untouched," said Humfrey.

"Thanks be to God!" he exclaimed. "This is what I feared. Who was it?"

"One of the new men-at-arms from London—Peter Pierson he called himself, and said he had served in the Netherlands."

And after a few further words of explanation, Humfrey called in the prisoner and his guards, and before his face gave an account of his attempt upon the helpless Queen.

"Godless and murderous villain!" said Paulett, "what hast thou to say for thyself that I should not hang thee from the highest tower?"

"Naught that will hinder you, worshipful seignior," returned the man with a sneer. "In sooth I see no great odds between taking life with a dagger and with an axe, save that fewer folk are regaled with the spectacle."

"Wretch," said Paulett, "wouldst thou confound private murder with the open judgment of God and man?"

"Judgment hath been pronounced," said the fellow, "but it needs not to dispute the matter. Only if this honest youth had not come blundering in and cut his fingers in the fray, your captive would have been quietly rid of all her troubles, and I should have had my reward from certain great folk you wot of. Ay," as Sir Amias turned still yellower, "you take my meaning, sir."

"Take him away," said Paulett, collecting himself; "he would cloak his crime by accusing others of his desperate wickedness."

"Where, sir?" inquired Humfrey.

Sir Amias would have preferred hanging the fellow without inquiry, but as Fotheringhay was not under martial law, he ordered him off to the dungeons for the present, while the nearest justice of the peace was sent for. The knight bade Humfrey remain while the prisoner was walked off under due guard, and made a few more inquiries, adding, with a sigh, "You must double the guard, Master Talbot, and get rid of