"Ah! he has stung thee too, I perceive?" exclaimed Sir Ronald. "I hate him like poison. It should go ill with him did I ever have the power. I hear he is a Papist; cannot we prove aught against him on that score?" and the excited knight wistfully regarded his companion's face, waiting for a favourable reply.
"I should like some supper first," drily suggested the toil-worn traveller, "and then," he added, "I may satisfy your eagerness to the fullest extent. I have a score of my own against him to clear off yet, and, what is more to the point, Ronald, I have the power. It was for that I came to visit you."
"Ha!" ejaculated the knight, expectantly. "He can satisfy my craving to the fullest extent," he mused. "This is fortunate."
"Yes," continued Edmund, "we shall have him cited to London; he is surely within our power. He hath grievously broken the law, and will have to answer to the charge of murder and treason; and if we cannot compass his ruin, then, between us, I have other ways, of which no man knows."
"Hush," said Sir Ronald. "That led thee into trouble aforetime. Here is Lettice coming down the steps."
"That is not Nicholas with her, surely?" exclaimed Edmund.
"No, Nicholas has discarded us and turned monk, I hear, but where he is I cannot tell. That is John Manners, the nephew of the Earl of Rutland. He is after my Lucy, I trow."
"Manners, Manners, John Manners," murmured Edmund; "I have heard that name before. I have met him somewhere I am sure."
"Well, hither he comes," said the knight; "now do you remember him?"
As soon as Edmund caught sight of the young man's face he recognised him.
"Why," he exclaimed, "that's—I know him well enough: I have seen him at Haddon."
"At Haddon!"
"Yes, let me hide myself; I would rather not meet him here; it were better so for both of us. Where shall I go, tell me; quick?"
"Steady, ho! steady, man," said the knight. "Hie thee back again to the lodge and wait for me there. Wilton shall let you share his supper if thou wilt. I will tell them you are a gardener if they ask aught about thee," and in answer to the beckoning of his wife, Sir Ronald left his newly-discovered relation and hastened across the green.
CHAPTER VI.
DE LA ZOUCH INDULGES IN A LITTLE VILLANY.
If I can do it
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
She shall not long continue love to him.
SHAKESPEARE.
The Courtly hall of Haddon was never quiet for long together, and very soon both the death of the witch and the warning of the locksmith were forgotten amid the preparations which were being made for a grand ball. Sir Thomas Stanley, having wooed Margaret, had successfully petitioned the sanction and blessing of Sir George and Lady Vernon, and the event was to celebrate their betrothal.
The morning of the festive day had opened fair, and as the day sped on, the guests rapidly assembled. De Lacey was there, delighting the ladies, as usual, with his braggadocio. Manners and Crowleigh were both there too, by special invitation, and, of course, cousin Benedict à Woode, who made no scruple of inviting himself to Haddon Hall if by any means his invitation had not come; and also, to Dorothy's great disgust, Sir Henry de la Zouch was there.
The musicians struck up a lively tune, and very soon the steaming boar's head was placed upon the table. Father Philip pronounced a very long benediction, and the singing of an old Latin rhyme beginning—
"Caput apri defero,"
announced that the feast had commenced in earnest. The venison pasties of Margaret's make disappeared with a truly marvellous rapidity, while Dorothy's confections had a very short lease of life, and fared no better, either because they were nice or that Dorothy was the maker of them.
"Pass round the wine," hailed the baron, "and drink to the health of the ladies of Haddon Hall."
"Hurrah!" vociferously replied the guests, "to the health of the ladies of Haddon."
"But stay; what's the matter with Master Manners?" asked De la Zouch, whose eagle eye had discovered that HIS tankard was not upraised with the rest. "A discourteous guest, upon my troth."
"May I drink it in water?" asked Manners, as he felt the eyes of his host fixed sternly upon him.
"Nay, you must have the wine, sir," replied Sir George, "but whether it goes down your throat or your arm makes little matter," and as he spoke he pointed to the iron ring fastened in the door post ready for such contingencies.
"I suppose the arm must have it, then," he replied, "for I am sworn to taste no wine until I have performed a solemn vow."
"Waste good wine!" exclaimed De Lacey, as he gazed in blank astonishment at the speaker; "what a pity."
"Have you forsworn ale too?" asked Dorothy.
"No, only wine, sweet demoiselle," replied Manners, smiling as he caught the drift of the question.
"Then fill his glass with ale," commanded Doll, "and drink the toast without delay."
This happy suggestion was loudly applauded, and the healths were drunk off amid acclamation, the only one who did not heartily join in it being Sir Henry de la Zouch, who was annoyed to find that his petty attempt to spite his rival had failed, and that, too, by the intervention of Dorothy herself.
"Confound it all," he muttered, "he shall not escape me like this.
Eustace."
"Did you call?" asked the page, bending down.
"Yes," whispered De la Zouch. "Listen, you remember the Derby packman?"
"Aye, too well, I do."
"Nonsense," he replied, softly; "Master Manners killed him."
"Oh!" gasped the astounded page.
"Remember," added his master, "it was Manners."
"Yes, Master John Manners," repeated Eustace.
"Hush, that is all. A little more of that delicious jelly of yours, sweet Dorothy," he added in a louder tone as he turned round again to the table.
Whilst the feast was progressing, De la Zouch was pondering the fittest way of broaching the topic which lay so heavily upon his mind. Sir Thomas Stanley had won the elder sister, he argued, why should he not win the younger? He clearly saw that Dorothy was receding from his grasp, and that the longer he delayed, the fainter grew his chance of success. Lady Vernon daily grew less favourable too, he noticed, and so without delay he resolved to ask Dorothy for her hand. The present occasion was most propitious, and he determined to carry his plan into operation at once.
When the meal was ended—and that was not very soon—the company broke up into little parties and separated, to amuse themselves in whatever fashion they liked best. Margaret, as the heroine of the day, was surrounded by a number of knights and ladies, who contentedly watched her as she played at chess with Benedict. Sir John de Lacey racked his brains to the uttermost in order to sufficiently garnish the veracious little scraps of his own autobiography, and succeeded both in making the group around him open their eyes wide with surprise, and at the same time in making his listeners roar with laughter.
A marvellous hero was Sir John. He had been the ruling spirit in more than one Continental Court during his one brief sojourn in France. He had slain dragons, in different parts of the globe, in numbers enough to make St. George turn green with envy; and only his excessive modesty has prevented his name from being handed down to posterity.
Manners, naturally enough, joined Dorothy's party, and went out upon the lawn to take part in a game at bowls.
"Dear me, how careless I am to-day," she exclaimed; "there are six of us, and I have only brought four balls; I must fetch some more," and she started to go back.
"Let me go," said Manners.
"You," replied Doll, "you could never find them; I will go, and you must entertain the ladies while I am away," and she tripped across the green to the Hall.
"Ha, Doll, dearest," said a voice, as she turned the corner of the terrace, "I have been searching for thee."
Dorothy turned round and met the gaze of Sir Henry de la Zouch.
"For me!" she exclaimed, without pausing.
"Nay, prithee, now don't hurry so," he replied, catching hold of her arm, "I would ask thee a weighty question."
"But I am in a great hurry," she replied.
"Then I shall not keep thee long, but thou canst stay a little while, surely?"
"Indeed, I cannot, Sir Henry," she replied. "There are some visitors awaiting my return."
"John Manners for one," sneered the knight.
Dorothy blushed deeply, and bit her lip to repress the sharp retort which came readily to her tongue. Sir Henry saw that he had committed an error, and he endeavoured to recover his position.
"Sir Thomas has wooed thy sister Margaret," he exclaimed, "and I have long been wooing thee, and now the time has come when I am to offer you my hand."
Dorothy struggled to get away, but her suitor held her fast.
"Nay, cruel one," he continued, "I must have an answer. I shall be an earl in good time, perchance, and if you will but say 'aye' to my proposal you may be a countess—think of it, Dorothy, a countess—and the hostess of Ashby Castle."
He let go his hold of her, and dropping down upon his knee, he raised his clasped hand in the most approved fashion of the time, and continued his suit.
"Dorothy," he went on, "will you—?"
"Never," she replied, cutting him short in the middle of his speech, and, finding herself at liberty, she rushed precipitately into the Hall.
De la Zouch gazed after her in mute astonishment, and, staggered as he was, he remained in the same position until he was startled by a voice behind him.
"At prayers, sir knight?" asked the baron. "Father Phillip's grace at the table was long enough to serve me through the day."
"No, Sir George," replied the crestfallen lover, "I have been pleading my suit with Dorothy."
"And what said she?"
"She is bashful."
"What! My Doll bashful? That were hardly polite to thee, methinks."
"Perchance I should have more success with thee?" pleaded Sir Henry, as pathetically as he could.
"Let us withdraw into the bower, then," replied Sir George, "we can talk it over there, and we shall not be disturbed. Ha! here comes Lady Vernon, she will know what to do."
Lady Vernon came up at the bidding of her lord. The lover would fain have seen Sir George alone, but there was no help for it, and he had to brave the circumstances with the best grace possible.
"Maude, we must take your counsel," began the baron. "Sir Henry de la Zouch would take advantage of to-day's festivity to ask for the hand of Doll. What think you; can we spare her too, as well as Margaret? We should lose them both together then. What dost thou advise?"
"That depends upon many things," replied the stately dame, as she seated herself. "Dorothy would be a splendid match for anybody. What has Sir Henry to say?"
"I hope to be an earl soon," he replied, "and she would be a countess as you will. My father is infirm, he cannot live much longer, and I expect news of his death from Florence every day. And as for the estates, though they may not be equal to those of Haddon, yet they are by no means insignificant."
Dame Vernon knew all this, and the knowledge of it had influenced her before; but lately she had heard ill tidings of Sir Henry, and she was by no means so enthusiastic on his behalf. And, besides, a fresh competitor had entered the lists.
"Humph," growled the old knight, "we don't want to sell the girl."
"Be quiet, Sir George," interrupted his worthy spouse. "The thing must be done properly. Does Ashby Castle fall to your share, sir knight?" she asked.
"Certainly. To whom else should it go?"
"Have you spoken to Doll about it?" continued the dame.
"She is too dutiful a daughter to commit herself without the consent of her parents," answered De la Zouch. "But I doubt not, that when once again you have spoken to her, I shall speedily be rewarded with success."
"Ay," exclaimed Sir George, "Doll was ever a dutiful child."
"She would bow to our will, anyway," replied Lady Vernon, "but I think she has another suitor. We must think the matter well over ere we settle anything."
"Another suitor," laughed the baron; "why there are scores of them."
"Ah, you see, Sir Henry, the baron has not the quick, discerning eye of a mother—or a love either," she added shyly. "Bless his innocence, he knows naught of it yet. Sir George, I trust Master Manners is a trusty young man?"
"John Manners is goodly enough, forsooth, for aught I trow," returned the King of the Peak, reflectively. "Aye, and a likely enough young man, too!"
"But Manners cannot seek the hand of so guileless a maiden as sweet Dorothy," interrupted the dismayed lover. "His hands are stained with blood."
"A soldier should do his duty," quickly returned Sir George."
"But he is a murderer!"
"That is a bold statement, De la Zouch, to make against a guest of mine," exclaimed the baron quickly, "and I fear an thou persist in it that it will prove awkward for thee if thou canst not prove it, and worse still for him if it be true."
"Are you certain of it?" asked Lady Maude.
"I have a witness," was the calm reply.
"Then by my halidame," quoth the irate knight, "as I'm a justice o' the peace, he shall be faced with the offence. When was it perpetrated?"
"At the hawking party."
"What, here at Haddon?"
"You don't mean the pedlar, surely?" inquired Lady Vernon.
"Aye, but I do; he was murdered in the wood."
"Tut," angrily exclaimed Sir George, "'tis all a tale, and I for one don't believe a word of it. The witch killed him, and was punished for it too."
"But I saw it," stubbornly returned Sir Henry, "and I have a witness; one who saw it done."
"We tried Dame Durden by the ordeal, an she was found guilty and hanged," persisted the baron. "And, beshrew me, that's enough for any man"; and the Lord of Haddon reverently crossed himself to show that the trial had had the approval of his conscience.
"But," urged De le Zouch, "I tell you I saw it done myself, and I am ready to prove it any way you choose."
"Come now, Sir George," interrupted Lady Vernon, "the trial may for once have led us astray, as it did in the case of Thomas Bayford sixteen years ago. Doubtless Mary Durden got no more than she deserved, and mayhap she was punished for deeds we wot not of. Perchance Master Manners would not deny the charge if he were here, and faith! I remember me now that Margaret did say he was left behind with Dorothy, and then Doll left him and galloped on."
"Yes, that was it," Sir Henry said, "and Eustace, who was left behind, saw them quarrelling and fetched me back to stay the strife."
"Well, prithee now, go on," exclaimed the knight. "You saw him killed, and said naught?"
"No."
"And let me hang another for it. Truly, 'tis a right noble way to treat a host."
"Nay, you are too hard upon me. I thought he was but thrashing the knave, and as that was no affair of mine I left him to it, but afterwards his body was found in exactly the same spot. I was away when the ordeal was performed, else I had told thee what I had seen. Eustace will bear me out in all I have told you; question him for yourselves. But now, if you still think well enough of Master Manners to mate him with the peerless Dorothy, I am sorry alike for her and your vows of knighthood."
"Come that is right enough," exclaimed the dame, "and Master Manners has not denied the accusation yet."
"Then he shall soon have the opportunity," said the baron, "for hither he comes; he could not have come at a readier moment."
John Manners had waited a long time for Dorothy's return, and now, half fearing that some accident had befallen her, he had willingly acceded to the request of the ladies and had set forth to find her. Hearing voices in the house, he approached it to pursue his inquiries, when the watchful eye of Sir George Vernon immediately espied him.
"Pardon my intrusion," exclaimed Manners, "but I am in search of Mistress Dorothy. She left us to fetch some balls and has not returned."
"Hie, man," interrupted Sir George, "we have a serious charge preferred against thee; thou art just come right to answer it."
"Have I been stealing some fair maiden's heart?" he laughingly inquired.
"Nay, listen! 'tis a charge of murder; but I tell thee frankly, I don't believe a word of it."
"A charge of murder," echoed Manners blankly, "a charge of murder, and against me! This is past endurance, 'tis monstrous! Whom have I slain, I pray thee tell me?"
"The Derby packman," promptly returned De la Zouch, "and thou knowest
I saw thee do it."
"You lie. I never saw the man until he was dead. Thou shalt prove thy words, Sir Henry de la Zouch," returned the esquire, "or I shall have thee branded as a knave. There is some cause for this, Sir George," he added, turning to the baron, "of which I am in ignorance. I am the victim of some plot."
"Like enough, like enough," returned the baron, sympathetically. "Then you deny the charge? I knew De la Zouch was wrong. The ordeal—"
"But I saw him myself, and so did Eustace," stuck out the disappointed lover; "and Margaret remembers that Master Manners was left behind."
"And for the matter of that, so were you," said Sir George sharply.
"And Eustace is but a page who must, perforce, obey his master's will in everything," continued Manners. "Crowleigh was with me all the day, save when I went back to Mistress Dorothy. How tallies that with your account, eh?"
"That was precisely the time it occurred, and bears me out in all that I have said," glibly responded the scion of the house of Zouch. "It all but proves his guilt, Sir George."
"Nay, not so much as that," quoth Lady Maude; "but since it cannot be agreed upon, I should advise you to let the matter drop."
"Stop," exclaimed Manners. "If De la Zouch has a spark of honour left within him he will step out and measure swords with me, for by my troth I swear he will have to render me the satisfaction my honour demands."
This was by no means to the taste of the knight of Ashby. He had not calculated for such a course as this; but, fortunately for him, Lady Vernon spoke, and unwittingly released him from his difficulty.
"Nay, not before me," she said, "and on so festal a day as this."
"As you will it," said De la Zouch, assuming an air of injured dignity.
"They must settle it in true old knightly fashion at the tourney," exclaimed Sir George decisively.
"Since you command it I suppose I must obey," replied Sir Henry; "but I had rather not have stained my weapons with the blood of so foul a caitiff."
"You will be good enough to leave me to decide that matter," said the baron testily.
"Then, by St. George, I shall be ready," replied Manners. "I am as well born as he, and can give him a lesson or two in good breeding, besides showing him a trick or two with the sword that I learned in the Netherlands. In the meantime I disdain him as a dog;" and boiling over with rage the maligned esquire left the little group and stalked across the terrace to rejoin the ladies on the green.
CHAPTER VII.
DOROTHY OVERHEARS SOMETHING.
The cruel word her heart so tender thrilled,
That sudden cold did run through every vein;
And stoney horror all her senses filled
With dying fit, that down she fell for pain.
SPENSER.
And, meanwhile, where was the innocent cause of this disturbance?
Dorothy had been half expecting some such course of action on the part of De la Zouch for some time past, and had carefully prepared a stinging answer which should once and for ever decide the question between them. Though she was petted and admired on almost every hand, yet she had sense enough to value such conduct at its proper worth; and whilst with the coquetry of a queen of hearts she accepted all the homage that love-sick cavaliers brought to her, she looked below the surface, and had a private opinion of her own about all those with whom she was brought into contact.
Her opinion of Sir Henry de la Zouch was distinctly unfavourable to that knight; for, with the instinct of a woman, she had divined from the very beginning that his motives were more mercenary than genuine, and in spite of all his protestations of love towards her, he had failed to convince her that he loved her for herself alone. A little watching on her part had quickly convinced her that the dislike she felt for him was not without sufficient reason, and as the evidence against him accumulated, she congratulated herself that she had escaped the clutches of a villain of so wily a disposition.
Long before the appearance of John Manners she had determinedly refused all the advances of her would-be lover, and his every attempt had been met by her with chilling sarcasm; or, were she in a lighter mood, she had retreated into safer ground under cover of a burst of merriment. Had De la Zouch been possessed of ordinary perceptions he would have noticed that his conduct was alienating Dorothy from him more and more; but, like many others, he was so eager to gain his ends that he was partially blind as to the means employed.
The manner in which Sir Henry had just preferred his suit had taken her so completely by surprise that she had entirely forgotten what she meant to say; but the indignation she felt at his conduct in detaining her against her will would have deprived her of the power of expressing the prettily turned speech so long prepared, even if she had remembered it. She fled into the house, and without casting a look behind to see if she were being pursued or not, she rushed through the deserted state chambers and never stopped until she found herself in her own room and had turned the key in the lock.
She flung herself down upon the bed, and her overwrought feelings found relief in tears. How long she would have so remained would be impossible to say, but she had barely succeeded in locking herself in when she was startled by a gentle rap at the door.
She stopped her sobbing and listened. Surely De la Zouch would never venture to follow her to her own boudoir! No, it was incredible, and she dismissed the idea.
The silence was broken only by a second rap at the door. It was too gentle for Sir Henry, it must be her tire-maid, Lettice, or her sister Margaret, maybe. She rose up, and in a tremulous voice inquired who was there.
"It is I, Lettice, your maid," replied a gentle voice.
Lettice was of all people just the one whom she stood in need of most at such a moment, so she unfastened the door and let her in.
"My lady is troubled," exclaimed the maid, as she entered. "Is there aught that I may do for thee?"
"Oh, Lettice," she sobbed, as the tears chased each other down her cheeks in quick succession, "see that he does not come. Stop him, keep him outside. Don't let him come to me."
"Who, my lady, whom shall I stop? No one dare follow thee here."
Dorothy returned no answer, she was trembling all over with excitement; she fell upon the bed and wept, while the sympathetic Lettice could only look on in silence, and wonder what it all meant.
"My lady is troubled," she repeated at length. "Someone has been frightening thee. Tell me who it was! Who is it thou art feared would try to come at thee here?"
Still there was no answer.
"You ran through the hall," the maid went on, "just like a frightened hare, and cast never a look at one of us, and now—the saints preserve us, thou look'st as if thou hadst seen the ghost of Mary Durden."
"Was he following me, Lettice?" asked Dorothy, raising her head from the pillow. "Was he there?"
"Following thee, no. Who's he? There was no one else went through."
"I thought he was close behind."
"Who?"
"De la Zouch."
"Sir Henry de la Zouch!" repeated the maid. "'Tis he then who has been treating thee so ill. Were he not a noble, my Will should thrash him soundly for daring to offend so sweet a lady."
"Take these balls to Master Manners, Lettice," said her mistress, composing herself as well as she was able. "You will find him waiting for them on the bowling green. Tell him I will rejoin him soon."
Lettice unfastened the door and disappeared down the passage in obedience to the command whilst Dorothy re-arranged her disordered head-dress, hesitating the while whether to venture out again or to stay within doors.
Ere she had decided which course to take, Lettice returned. Her face was deeply flushed and her manner unusually agitated.
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Dorothy. "Has he assailed thee, too?"
"He is telling the baron such a tale," replied the maid. "He says thou lovest him, and he is asking Sir George and my lady for thy hand. O, Dorothy, believe me, 'tis only that thou art so fair and so rich that he seeks thee, and when he has thy gold and the bloom of thy beauty begins to fade (which God forfend!) he will care naught for thee, and leave thee for another."
"I know it, Lettice."
"They are in the little bower, and I could hear everything," pursued the maid. "That De la Zouch is jealous of another, and is seeking to get him out of the way. He says that Master Manners killed the pedlar, and 'fore heaven, we all know it was the witch."
"Master Manners?" echoed Dorothy.
"Yes," returned the maid, "and he says he can prove it, but the good knight, your father, won't believe him. Master Manners denies it, of course—but lack-a-day, what ails thee now? Thou art as white as the veriest ghost!"
"'Tis nothing," replied Doll, as she sank down into a chair. "I am a trifle faint; give me some water, Lettice."
"Nay, but it is something," returned the other, as she speedily complied with her mistress's behest. "Thou canst not throw me off like that. Come, my good lady, tell me what it is; there are few things you hide from me."
"There is nothing to tell you, Lettice," she replied, "but prithee go on; what did Sir Henry de la Zouch make answer?"
"He said he had a witness, but I had to hasten away, for I heard footsteps approaching; but come, I can read your secret; Master Manners will make a worthy knight."
"Keep such thoughts to thyself, Lettice," Dorothy blushingly replied.
"Trust me," said the maid, with a toss of her pretty head. "I will do thy bidding; but faith! you will be a comely pair."
"Hush, or I shall be angry with thee. I tell thee he has said naught yet."
"And I tell thee, Mistress Dorothy," returned Lettice, "he is head and ears in love with thee. I would stake my troth on it; there!"
"I wish it were so," sighed Dorothy, "for I love him dearly."
"It is so, assuredly it is," replied her companion, decisively. "Let me give him a hint, my lady."
"No, Lettice, not another word; don't breathe it to a soul unless I bid thee."
"My Will could do it," continued the other, "an you would but let him try. He can do anything that way, Will can."
"Be quiet, Lettice; and mind you take care of your tongue. No one must even so much as guess at the truth; there, begone."
"Happen you would like to see if they have settled the matter?" suggested the tire-maid; "let us go and see."
Dorothy willingly agreed, and away they went through room after room, until at last Lettice stopped.
"Let me open the window," she said; "we shall hear better here than anywhere else," and she stepped upon a chair and silently pushed the latticed window open. The balmy breeze came pouring into the room, bringing in with it the sound of the conversation from outside.
"That's splendid," she said. "Now, my lady, listen."
"I tell you it's of no use, Sir Henry. I don't believe a word of it."
"Nevertheless, Sir George, it's perfectly true."
"Well, I cannot believe it," returned the baron, sharply, "but all the same, you will have to fight him now. We shall make quite a grand affair of it; 'tis a rare long time since there was a tournament at Haddon."
"I had rather it passed off quietly," suggested De la Zouch, who was by no means confident of his own prowess in a stern contest with naked weapons. "It is only by thy direct command that I have consented to enter the lists to fight him. 'Tis more a case for the assize than for thee. Sir George, and I have my honour to maintain."
"You must let that remain with me," replied the baron. "Eustace is but a page, and as Manners rightly enough pointed out, his word would count for little in such a circumstance. But apart from all such considerations, I flatly tell you, Sir Henry, that I don't for a minute think him guilty. The ordeal—"
"Tut, bother the ordeal," broke in De la Zouch, who was rapidly losing control of his temper. "Then you doubt me?"
"You are rash, sir knight," interrupted Lady Maude. "You do not do proper justice to the baron."
"Hark! what's that?" whispered Lettice, "There's someone coming."
"Inside?"
"No, don't you hear them coming on the gravel?"
"Listen," exclaimed Doll, nervously, "'twas but Eustace, the page, stealing away; he's been playing eavesdropper."
"Like us," laughed the maid.
"Hush! Sir Henry is talking. How excited he is. Listen."
"I humbly crave his pardon then, fair lady. When shall I learn what fate you have in store for me?"
"Not till after the tournament, at least," promptly replied Lady
Vernon.
"And that will be—prithee when?"
"This day week, and in the meantime I would advise you as a friend to practise well with your arms," and, added the baron with grim humour, "say your prayers day by day, Sir Henry, for Manners has not fought in the Netherlands for naught."
"Then I shall present myself before you, Lady Vernon, at the conclusion of the tourney," he loftily replied, "and I will have my answer then."
"If so be, that is, that there be aught left of thee to come," supplemented Sir George, considerably nettled at the other's tone, "for I hear that Manners is terrible with the sword."
"Thank you, sir baron," was the proud retort, "but I have learnt ere now how to hold the lance, and can wield the mace;" and without deigning to cast a look behind him he strode away in an ill humour with himself and everybody else, to scowl in silence at the group of merrymakers on the green.
"There, a pretty lover!" exclaimed Dorothy, as her suitor walked away, "but I have given him his answer."
"Hush, my lady," whispered the maid.
"We shall be able to get it all arranged for a week to-day, and you shall be queen of the tourney, Maude, if it so please you."
"I, Sir George? I indeed!" replied the dame. "Pooh! my queening days are gone. It must be either Margaret or Dorothy."
"Fancy," whispered Lattice, "you the queen of the tournament!"
"Hush!"
"But I hear he is likely to lose the Ashby estates. Think of that, Sir
George; think of that. He would be a poor man directly."
"Why, how?"
"The Ashby estates were forfeited to the De la Zouches, but King Henry granted them back before he died, and I hear they are like to go at last."
"It were a pity for Sir Henry, but in truth, Maude, I like him not."
"Pooh, nonsense! He wants none of our pity, but I tell thee Dorothy is too good a match to throw away upon him."
"Perhaps so, Maude," replied the baron; "it may be so, but I shall be much mistaken if, after the tournament, he is able to ask for her again, but if he does I will refer him to you."
"That will do, Lettice," said Dorothy. "I have heard quite sufficient. Shut the window; I will go now and see how they are faring on the bowling green. I have a lighter heart now." And followed by a "God speed you" from her maid, she opened the door and passed out of the room.
CHAPTER VIII.
A TOURNAMENT. THE COMBAT.
At this the challenger, with fierce defy,
His trumpet sounds; the challenged makes reply.
DRYDEN.
Grass did not grow beneath the feet of the good people of Haddon during the week which ensued. Inside the Hall everything was in confusion and disorder. Rooms were being emptied of hangings which had lain undisturbed repose for many a long year, and everybody was eager to bring to light such old relics of previous tourneys which had ever taken place there as could be discovered outside, and the stir was not one whit less. The level sward through which the Wye rippled on its way to join the Derwent, having once been selected as the battle ground, was immediately transformed from a scene of lovely rustic peacefulness to a very pandemonium of noisy workmen, out of which slowly evolved tents and pavilions for the accommodation of the numerous visitors who were expected to witness the struggle.
The news had spread far and wide, and a large number of persons, attracted by the well-known splendour and hospitality of the King of the Peak, as well as by the desire to witness the rare exhibition of a tournament, which was now about extinct, assembled at Haddon as the time appointed for the fray drew nigh.
At length the eventful morning dawned. Everything was fully prepared. The white tents, with their fluttering pennons of many lines, occupied one side of the ground; the balconies, decked with their brightly coloured hangings, faced them from the other side, and a slightly elevated platform, upon which was the throne for the queen of the tourney, filled one end, while the other was left open for such of the neighbouring villagers as liked to come.
Long before the appointed hour the space had been filled up by eager sightseers. Men and women, lads and lasses, old folk and young, all alike were there, tricked out in holiday attire. Not a coign of vantage was lost sight of, and every tree which might reasonably have been expected to yield a glimpse of the scene was crowded by rustics, eager to gaze upon so rare an exhibition. Behind all rose the grey old towers of the Hall, which presented a very picturesque appearance as the sun flashed upon its turrets, and its flags waved to and fro in the gentle breeze. Haddon had witnessed many stirring scenes before, but surely never a more brilliant one than was about to be enacted.
Jousts were divided into two classes. The "joust a plaisir" was a mere knightly display of skill, and was fought with weapons, the edges of which were dulled; but the other, the "joust a l'outrance," was of a far more dangerous kind. Lances, swords, and even, occasionally, mace-like weapons with sharp spikes were used, and it rarely happened that serious injuries did not result, while not unfrequently it was accompanied by a fatal termination.
Additional interest was attached to this tournament, inasmuch as it was of the latter class, and when the sound of the herald's trumpets was heard, a shout of admiration went up from the assemblage, as the gates swung open and the party descended from the Hall; and round after round of praise was accorded by the crowd as the cavalcade wended its way through it, and took up its allotted position in the tents and on the balconies.
Without waiting any time Dorothy seated herself upon the throne, and giving the signal to commence by waving a dainty little flag, the trumpeters took it up and blew a loud blast upon their instruments.
This was the summons for the combatants to appear, and amid the tumultuous greetings of the whole assembly, Manners and De la Zouch came forward from either side of the balcony, and each, well protected with armour, stood leaning upon his charger while the herald read aloud the order of the King of the Peak, by whose command the tourney was held.
Having read it out, this functionary retired with all the grace and speed at his command; the trumpet sounded again, and the two assailants leapt simultaneously into the saddle. A minute later the galloping rush, the sound of contending horsemen, and the noise of shivering lances told the outsiders that the conflict had begun.
So terrible was the shock as the two met together in the centre of the ring that it seemed utterly impossible that either of them could recover from it, but after the first thrust and parry they each passed on, apparently uninjured, and wheeling their horses around, with lances couched they paused to spy out a weak point in the other's defence.
Every breath was hushed, and every eye was strained, to the uttermost as the anxious onlookers stood on tiptoe to follow every movement of the competitors.
But neither the knight nor the esquire appeared to be particularly eager to commence the struggle. Each waited for the other to advance, and for a moment or two they stood perfectly still, keenly regarding each other through the bars of their visors.
"They are not going to fight, Sir George," exclaimed De Lacey, in piteous, tones, "and I've come all this weary way to see the sport."
"Never fear, Sir John," replied the baron cheerily, "you'll see sport enough soon; they will begin directly, but they don't know each other's mettle yet."
Even as he spoke Manners rode forward and the conflict was renewed.
Sir Henry de la Zouch was famous at the London schools for his brilliant lance play, and many of his friends had accepted his invitation to witness his triumph; but, although it was anticipated that he would win easily enough with that weapon, it was feared by his well-wishers that unless he succeeded in placing his combatant hors de combat then, his chance of doing so with the sword would be considerably less.
De la Zouch himself knew this, although he would not own it, and it made him cautious. For a long time he stood carefully upon his guard, but at last, espying a favourable opportunity, he darted a fierce blow at the vizor of his opponent, hoping it would pierce the bars and transfix itself there. It was a well-aimed thrust, and almost proved successful, but, unfortunately for De la Zouch, Manners unwittingly foiled him by rising in his saddle at the same time to deliver a similar blow at him, and instead of receiving the lance upon his helmet, he caught it in the very centre of his breast-plate. Still the blow was delivered with so powerful a stroke that, standing in the stirrups as Manners was, it completely upset his balance, and he fell over.
A great shout rose up at this feat, but Dorothy turned her face aside, fearing that he whom she loved was stricken down never to rise again, and wishing, for the fiftieth time, that she was in her own chamber, peacefully occupied in stitching at her tapestry.
But the shout was broken off suddenly—to be succeeded the next moment by another, louder and more prolonged, for, although taken unawares and overturned, Manners put into execution a trick he had learned in Holland, and sliding under the belly of the horse, he nimbly swung himself up by the girths on the other side, and reseated himself in the saddle, much to the astonishment of De la Zouch, who imagined he had unhorsed him, and much to the delight of the audience, which greeted him with plaudits again and again renewed.
"See!" exclaimed De Lacey, with eyes wide open with astonishment, "where's he come from?"
"Never saw a neater thing in my life," replied Sir George, enraptured at the trick. "Look now!"
Sir John looked as he was bidden, and saw the astounded De la Zouch receive a stinging blow on his arm from his opponent ere he had recovered from his surprise.
As the lances of both were now broken, the trumpet sounded, and the combatants, nothing loth, rode off for a few minutes' rest, and a fresh supply of weapons.
The latter having been procured, they very quickly renewed the struggle, and this time De la Zouch had better fortune, for just as the bugles were sounding for them to cease he pierced the joint of Manners' armour, and inflicted a nasty flesh wound upon his elbow.
As the latter would not own himself vanquished, even at Dorothy's request, the conflict was resumed, and this time with swords, and here the inferiority of De la Zouch was soon apparent. Though he was no mean swordsman, yet his opponent was far more than a match for him, and blow after blow was rained down upon him, whilst on his own part Sir Henry was too busily engaged in defending himself to attempt to act on the offensive. He was hard pressed, and it was fortunate indeed for him when the signal was given which called upon them both to desist awhile, in order to gain fresh breath, and to put to rights, as far as they were able, the damages they had already received.
The interval was filled up by the shouts of the onlookers, who now made up for their previous silence by loudly criticising the deeds of their respective champion, and vociferously calling out their particular favourite worthless instructions how to proceed when the conflict was continued.
Eustace stood ready to receive his master, and give him cordials wherein to reinvigorate his nerves, while Crowleigh was in waiting in lieu of a page, to bathe his friend's wounds with water.
The sight of blood, which slowly trickled from Manners' arm, reminded à Woode that he was a doctor, and, leaping from his seat, he clambered over the balcony and rushed across the arena to where the wounded esquire was standing.
"Let me see it," he cried. "This must be stopped at once. Sir Henry, I declare you the winner of the——"
"Hold there," cried Manners, "I have not yielded yet."
"Leave him alone, Sir Benedict," added Crowleigh. "He will make a sorry example of De la Zouch even yet."
"But," persisted the old knight, "I declare——"
His speech was rudely cut short, for with a yell of pain he darted off across the arena, closely followed by a huge mastiff, whose tail he had been unfortunate enough to tread upon.
With the doctor out of the way the conflict was speedily renewed. It was a terrible combat. De la Zouch, intent on ridding himself of his adversary, declared he would give no quarter, and, altering his tactics, he hewed and lunged away with all the temerity of a man who fights for death or victory.
Manners' superiority with the sword, however, was so apparent that after the restarting of the contest the final issue of it was never for a moment doubted, not even by the veriest tyro present. Sir Henry's wild thrusts were parried with consummate ease, and while the knight's sword moved hither and thither with lightning-like rapidity, the trusty blade of the other moved equally quick, but with far more certainty.
He waited until De la Zouch began to tire before he exerted himself. The time came at last, and then with a few quick strokes he laid his foeman before him on the ground.
"Strike!" shouted a score of voices. "Strike!"
The victor uplifted his sword, and poised it high above his head to bring it down with all his might. The people waited with throbbing hearts to witness the stroke which should finish the combat, but instead of striking Manners paused and turned round.
"Strike, man, strike!" yelled a chorus of onlookers.
Humbly bowing before Dorothy, he magnanimously declared that the fate of his rival rested with her.
"'Tis a tournament, not a murder," decided Doll promptly; "you have proved your cause, and if your foe will yield we are ready to spare him."
Amid the plaudits of the crowd, Manners bowed low upon his knee, kissed the hand held graciously out towards him. He murmured his perfect acquiescence to her will, and was about to pass out of the ring, an easy victor, when a horseman rode in, and without in anyway announcing himself, he sprang off his horse and scanned the company.
"What does this fellow want?" growled Sir George, as with knitted eyebrows he scrutinised the intruder. "Thou art a Royal messenger," he added, turning to the man, who had advanced until he stood before the baron.
There was little sympathy between the Court at London and the King of the Peak, and the baron surmised little good from the arrival of the courtier. As the latter urged his horse through the crowd, and entered the arena, Sir George anticipated trouble.
"I want the King of the Peak," replied the new comer.
"I am Sir George Vernon."
"Then," replied the other, "I deliver into thine hand this summons, which cites thee to appear at Westminster to answer the charge of slaying Mary Durden."
The baron started with surprise, and thought for a moment of laying violent hands upon the man, but a moment's reflection convinced him of the unwisdom of such an act.
"And if I refuse to come," he doggedly said, "what then?"
"Then you do so at your peril," he replied, and leaping again upon his horse, he departed as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving the awe-stricken assembly to disperse with much less pleasure than they had anticipated from the scene of such an exciting exhibition of manly prowess.
CHAPTER IX.
AT THE COCK TAVERN, LONDON.
London! the needy villain's general home,
The common sewer of Paris and of Rome.
Here malice, rapine, accident conspire,
And now a rabble rages, now a fire;
Their ambush mere relentless villains lay,
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey.
JOHNSON.
Five days after the tournament had taken place, two travellers reined in their steeds at the gates of the Cock Hostelry, just within the Temple Bar. They were dusty with hard riding, and evidently in no good humour with themselves nor with anyone with whom they were brought into contact—a result doubtless attributable to the discomforts of a long journey on roads rough enough to try the patience of any man.
The elder of the two, throwing the reins upon his horse's neck, alighted, and leaving the ostler to take the steed away, he strode quickly into the inn without uttering a word. The young man, however, got off his saddle in a more leisurely fashion, and before he followed his companion he proceeded to the stable to see that the horses were properly attended to.
"The old man is a trifle out of sorts," the ostler ventured to remark, as they entered the yard together.
"Perchance so," returned the other, "but that is no affair of thine; but an you keep good care of his horse he will think well of thee."
"Yes, yes; certainly!" replied the man, grinning. "I always look well after gentlemen's horses, I do. You'll not be wanting them in the morning, I suppose?
"Yes, no; that is—I don't think we shall, but anyway you had better have them in readiness, we may possibly want them for the return journey to-morrow: tend them well;" and leaving a few final instructions, Sir Thomas Stanley, for he it was, passed out of the stables and entered the parlour of the inn.
Sir George Vernon was so engrossed in poring over a document which lay stretched out on the table before him that he did not notice the approach of his friend, and it was not until the latter inquired whether the meal was already ordered that the baron looked up and saw him.
"Oh, it's you," he exclaimed; "yes, we shall fall to directly; but I want you just to look at this first."
"What is it," inquired Stanley, "the summons again?"
"The summons, of course," replied Sir George, as he thrust it into the other's hands.
"What did the attorney say?"
"He said it was a bad case; a very bad case. He said, in fact, that he never came across a more unpromising case for a client of his since he set himself up as a lawyer."
"Humph!" returned Sir Thomas, "they always do say so. I tell you it will come out all right in the end."
"Happen so; but he says the ordeal would go for nothing, they don't count now in courts of law here. They would do if the trial came off at Derby, I know."
"Aye," assented his friend, "I'll warrant it would count there, for no one would dare to resist thee; but you see, Sir George, it's at London, and that makes all the difference."
"Warder, read the summons through," pursued the baron. "I could not understand it, of course, I'm not much of a lawyer; but he says 'tis the work of that villainous locksmith. I wish I had hanged him at the same time, and then—"
"Well, what then?"
"It's too late, now," said Sir George, bitterly. "If they do condemn me I shall claim the benefit of clergy. I know some of the prayers, and if I can only find the right page I shall get on well enough. They will only fine me, though, at worst."
"But you have enemies at Court, remember."
"Well, let them do their worst. I shall not disgrace myself when the time comes, and in the meantime I will address myself to Lord Burleigh; he is all-powerful now."
"And if he fail us," added Sir Thomas, "I will take thee to Sir
Nicholas Bacon."
"The Lord Keeper?"
"Yes, why not?"
"He is a hard man."
"He is honest, and will take no bribe, if that is what you mean, Sir George; but if there is a flaw in the proceedings he will point it out for us, and that will be better than naught. We shall have the satisfaction of knowing that everything was properly done, at least."
"We will try my Lord Burleigh first," sighed the knight.
"Sir Nicholas might intercede for thee with the Queen," Stanley went on. "He owes me some service, and is not ungrateful."
"Hush! there is someone coming," interposed the baron. "Let us say no more at present."
It was the maid bringing in the dinner; and, folding up the paper, Sir George carefully deposited it within his breast pocket, and relapsed into a moody silence as they began and continued the meal.
Meanwhile, outside the inn a very different scene was being enacted.
No sooner had Sir Thomas Stanley entered the house than the ostler, having quickly stabled the horses, emerged into the yard again, and putting his fingers into his mouth he blew a soft peculiar whistling note, and reared himself up beside the wall to await the answer.
It was not long in coming, for almost directly the door of the stable loft above him opened, and the head of the locksmith of Haddon cautiously peeped out.
"Is all clear?" he inquired.
"Yes, they have both gone in to dine. I didn't know you were there. I will come up and join you."
In another minute the ostler stood beside the once more disguised Edmund Wynne, and the two, secure from intrusion, began to converse with unrestrained freedom.
"Well, are they the right ones?" he asked, as he fastened the trap-door down.
"Yes," replied Edmund; "what did Sir Thomas say to you; I could hear him speaking?"
"Who's Sir Thomas?"
"Sir Thomas Stanley, of course."
"Oh! He didn't mention the affair at all."
"H'm! Did he say aught about me?"
"How should I know even if he had?" returned the ostler, "for I don't know your name yet. He did not mention anybody, only to say how that the old man, the baron would think well of me when parting time came if I took good care of his horse."
"Call me James," quickly replied Edmund.
"Very well," returned the other, "it shall be so; but I don't believe your name is James, nor do I think you are a broken-down wool merchant either; but so long as you pay me what we have bargained for, I don't care a straw what you are or what you call yourself."
"Just so, that will do exactly," Edmund promptly replied. "That is just what I require."
"I'll call you James, then, and if anybody asks about you I don't know aught of any such person."
"Exactly; yes."
"And I will get to know as much as I can from the maids, and will keep you well informed of the movements of your friends. Their trial comes off, you say, to-morrow?"
"I think it does."
"They will not go far to-day, then?"
"I cannot say, but they will be well watched. What accommodation have you here for half-a-dozen stalwart fellows?"
"Plenty in the inn."
"I don't need telling that: but here—-in the yard. I am expecting some guests for the night."
"Let me see. It means money."
"Of course it does."
"And I shall run great risks."
"You will be well repaid, though," said Edmund, "and they might as well be here, I trow, as elsewhere; only see that they don't have too much drink, and be careful that they are not seen lounging together about in the yard."
"Trust me," laughed the ostler, "I shall manage that easily enough. I shall bolt the doors and fasten them in, and nothing except a rat could get out then."
"Nay, you misunderstand me. They are not prisoners, but men who have been hired for the journey."
"I see now; ah, I see," returned his companion in the most unconcerned manner possible. "In that case they only want a little watching."
"And, mayhap, a little restraining, yes. Here is a shilling for some ale, which they will be expecting. You will meet them for me, and take charge of them?"
"Very well, James, so be it; where shall I meet though? It would never do for them to hang about here that's very certain, for our landlord would have his eyes upon them in a minute. He is awfully sharp on tramps and beggars and such."
"No, certainly not," agreed Edmund; "meet them at the Temple Gates at six."
"It shall be done; and in the meanwhile you will have a first-rate view of the entertainment from here."
"What entertainment?"
"The players are here to-day. See, there is the stage and everything. 'Tis the Earl of Leicester's company, too," and pushing the door still farther open, he pointed out to Edmund Wynne's astonished eyes one of the rudely extemporised platforms which passed in those days for stages.
Those who have witnessed the splendid scenic triumphs which have been achieved by managers of late years would be astonished indeed were they confronted by one of the theatres of the earliest dramatic times. Nothing could present a much greater contrast than the elaborate drapery and the ingenious trap-doors, side wings, and numerous other mechanical contrivances which are now a necessary complement of the modern stage, and the superlative simplicity which characterised the theatres of three hundred years ago.
Theatres, indeed, there were none, and the troupes of players wandered about from city to town, and from village to hamlet, giving their performances in open-air; or, if they were fortunate, in the courtyards of inns.
It was a scene such as this that the two men gazed upon.
A slight wooden shed afforded protection to the actors from the burning rays of the sun or the more uncomfortable showers of rain. The stage, which was a movable wooden platform, was supported at a little distance from the ground by a number of empty boxes—which a torn piece of faded tapestry vainly endeavoured to hide from view. A small gallery ran along the wall at the rear of the stage, which was ready to do duty as the wall of a castle, a fort, a mountain, an upper room, or a window, or anything else, just as the necessity might be; while a flag, which floated in the breeze from the summit of a stunted pole, announced to the general public that the play was about to commence.
Edmund Wynne had never witnessed such an elaborate display before, and for a time he watched in silent wonder as the people congregated below.
"There will be a goodly company to-day, my lord," exclaimed the ostler, as he drew his head in after a prolonged look round the yard. "'Twill be a notable day, will this."
"I tell you I am not a lord," angrily interrupted Edmund Wynne. "I only wish I were."
"So do I, James, with all my heart, but look here; here is a proper lord for you, a great lord, too. See, do you know him?"
"No, where?" he quickly replied.
"Do you see that little platform there?"
"With a lamp hanging from the roof?"
"No, that's the moon for the players. They will light it soon, and we shall know that it is night then, and folks can't see each other without the moon. Look there;" and he pointed to where two or three gaily-bedecked ladies and some equally gaily-attired gallants were conversing together in a part of the courtyard which was separated from the rest by a rope which stretched from end to end.
"Well, I see them," he said. "Who might they be, prithee?"
"They might be Pope Joan and the cardinals, but they are not."
"Then who are they?"
"That thin man, with the big buckles on his shoes, is Sir Henry
Sidney."
"Never!" ejaculated Edmund, "he is too gray haired."
"Even so, James. He is the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and that light-haired boy beside him is little Philip. He is the pet of the Court already, but heigho! whom have we here? Why, it is, yes—it is the Lord High Treasurer himself!"
"So it is," murmured Edmund, as he carefully retreated well into the shade. "This door won't attract attention, eh?"
"No, thank goodness, for I can't very well get out now. You see, 'tis only a loft door, and it is as often open as shut. They will think I have been pitching some hay in."
Nevertheless, Edmund was by no means satisfied. There was only the distance now of a few yards which separated him from his persecutor, and he feared, in spite of his disguise, lest he should be discovered. He upbraided himself a thousand times for his foolhardiness in exposing himself to the perils which he knew beforehand would beset him in the capital; and in the extremity of his fear he absolutely shook with terror. Fortunately, however, for him, his companion was too engrossed in watching the new arrivals, as they rapidly flocked in, to notice his agitation, and for some time he was left to his own uncomfortable reflections. In vain he wished himself safe within the walls of Nottingham Castle. Even Haddon would have been preferable, but even that sorry refuge was denied him too. However much he wished it, he could not break away from the fact that he was at London, almost within arm's length of his persecutor, and he already began to look upon himself as lost.