"No news of her! no news of her!" said Arabella, addressing in a sad tone the maid Jane, who was arranging some articles of dress in her room.
"Indeed, lady," replied the maid, with a manner so much less earnest than Arabella's own feelings, that it seemed to her harsh and cold, "Indeed, lady, I am sorry to hear that; but I dare say the King's people have got hold of her. They tried to question me one night at Greenwich; and when I said I had nothing to tell, they threatened to apprehend me, and bring me before the Council."
"I trust it is into their hands she has fallen," said her mistress, "for then she has nothing to fear.--Now leave me, good girl, for I would fain think over this matter."
The maid obeyed; and the moment she was gone Arabella locked the door, drew forth the note from her bosom, and read it with eager eyes. As she did so she trembled violently, and sank down into a chair, murmuring, "Alone, alone!--All this to be done, and no one to help me!--Oh, Ida, Ida, it was cruel to take you from me! What is to be done? My thoughts are all in confusion. How can I ever carry this through by myself?" And bending down her head, she leaned her forehead upon her hand, and closed her eyes, as if seeking to still the busy and hurrying images of danger and disaster which whirled through her brain.
"But the good woman, Maude," she said, at length--"Ida told me she would give me aid. Oh, can I trust her? And even if I can, 'tis sad to have none but a stranger to rely on for support. Oh, Ida, dear, good friend, where art thou now?--But it must be done. That girl Jane I can place no trust in. She is cold and selfish; ay, and dull too. I must speak to the woman Maude, and that directly." And rising, she unlocked the door and called the maid.
"Jane," she said, "I wish you to remove all those things from the end of the room into that little cabinet there, and----"
"Dear lady," exclaimed the girl, interrupting her, "I can never do it by myself. I must have one of the men to help me."
"I was going to say you cannot do it by yourself," replied Arabella, "but I will not have the men brought hither. Go and call good Mistress Maude: she is strong and willing, and I know her."
The girl obeyed, and in a few minutes returned with the person she had been sent to seek. Having received the directions of the lady, they proceeded to execute them; and Arabella continued to gaze upon them as they did so, with a hesitating, uncertain look, as if she wished to speak, yet was afraid.
At length, however, when they had done, she broke silence, saying, "My poor Ida, whom they have taken from me, tells me, Maude, that you were born upon my grandfather's estate at Hardwick, in Derbyshire. I should like much to talk with you about it, but have something to do just now. Can you come to me in an hour?"
"Oh, yes, dear lady," replied the good woman. "I'll come without fail. I often wished to tell you, but did not venture to speak to so great a lady."
"A very poor one now," replied Arabella, "and never a very proud one, Maude. Pray come."
"That I will, madam," answered the servant, and retired.
For half-an-hour more the maid Jane continued to bustle about the chamber, doing but little, yet fancying herself very busy. At the end of that time, however, she left the room, and before the hour was fully gone, Maude was standing by the side of Arabella's chair. The question of Hardwick and Sir William Cavendish was soon discussed; and Arabella, looking up in the good servant's face, said, in a sad tone, "My good mother, whom you talk of, never thought to see her child so unhappy as I am; and she was spared the sight."
"'Tis a sad case, dear lady, 'tis a sad case," replied the servant. "When I think of it, and how little you deserve such treatment, I could tear the eyes out of that King, or cry."
"And now," said Arabella, "they have taken Ida Mara from me, at the very moment I needed aid and comfort most; and I have none to help me."
"Don't say that, lady; don't say that," cried the good woman; "I am not like Mistress Ida, to be sure; for she is as gentle and clever a young lady, as I am a rough and dull poor creature; but still I will help you in any way that you may command, cost what it may."
"Will you, indeed?" asked Arabella, taking her hand, and gazing up earnestly in her face.
"That I will, lady," replied the maid, "even if it goes with my head. I never knew any one that would not help you; you get round everybody's heart; and my poor master is half mad at being made your gaoler. You have nothing to do but to command; I will obey you, without one care for the rest."
Arabella covered her eyes with her hands, and burst into a violent and sobbing fit of tears; for the words of affection and kindness, in moments of deep sorrow and anxiety, seem, by their gentle touch, to unfetter the strongest feelings of the heart, and leave them to break forth in unrestrained emotion.
She soon recovered, however, and pressing the servant's hand in both her own, she cried, "Thank you, thank you! Mr. Conyers said something about going to the King tomorrow; do you know when he sets out?"
"At two, madam," said the good woman; "his horses are ordered at that hour; and Mrs. Conyers goes with him."
"Oh, that will just do," exclaimed the lady, "for the hour named is three. I must send the girl Jane away on some pretence."
"Oh, I will give her occupation, madam," replied Maude; "and if you want people out of the way, that is the best time of all; for there is a match of foot-ball on Highgate Green, and most of the men my master does not take with him will be there, I dare say; for, when the cat's away, the mice will play, you know, lady. Pray, have you any one you love coming to see you? If you have, I will take care that gates shall open, and doors be undone, without any one knowing aught about it."
"No," answered Arabella, timidly, and looking anxiously in the woman's face to mark the effect produced by what she was about to say; "it is not that, good Maude, but, on the contrary, I am going to see those I love."
The woman looked surprised, and paused a moment thoughtfully, without reply.
"Well, it does not matter," she said, at length, "whatever you wish I will do, lady. But I hope you have friends without to take care of you when you are there."
"Many," answered Arabella, "many, good Maude, watching for me anxiously. If, therefore, you can contrive to give occupation to my girl Jane, and come to me as soon as ever your master and mistress are gone out, you will confer an everlasting obligation upon one, who will never be unthankful, whether she have the means of showing her gratitude or not."
"Fear not, lady; fear not, sweet lady," replied Maude; "nothing shall stop me; and now I understand what you mean, all shall be ready. But I suppose we shall have Master Cobham to help us?"
"Alas! no," replied the lady; "he is seeking for poor Ida; and I fear will have occupation enough."
"Well, well, we can do without," rejoined Maude. "But I had better go now, for fear people should suspect anything."
During the many hours which had yet to run ere Arabella's project of escape could be executed, as may be well supposed, her mind continued in a state of agitation and alarm, which would have overthrown her corporeal powers, and rendered her unfit for the task, had not the sweet hope of seeing him she so dearly loved given her support and strength. Sleep visited her eyelids but little; and the very efforts she made to overcome her apprehensions and invigorate herself for the performance of her purpose, but tended to unnerve her.
She did her best, however, to appear cheerful and at ease in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Conyers; and Time, though his wings seemed cut during the first hours of the morning, at length brought about the moment she desired.
A little after two, she saw the coach, which contained her host and hostess, roll away from the door of the house, followed by all the train of servants and horses, which were the customary accompaniments of ever so short a journey in those days, with people of wealth and station. Almost immediately afterwards, while she was waiting in agitated expectation for the coming of the good woman, Maude, her maid Jane entered, and asked her mistress's permission to go out for a short time, adding, in a deprecatory tone, "I have not been beyond the gates for more than a fortnight."
Arabella gave the permission with almost too much readiness; and in ten minutes after, she saw a gay party of men and maids take their way up the gravel walk.
The next instant, there was a tap at the door; and Maude came in, exclaiming, "Now, lady, now, the house is quite clear: there is nobody left but the cook and myself, and the old butler, who is in the buttery at the back of the house, corking the wine, and grumbling at the young lads for leaving him alone, though he has given them permission. I have brought you a cup of wine and a manchet, to strengthen you for your walk."
"But I must dress first," cried Arabella, whose limbs would scarcely support her. "I must not go in this garb."
"Take some wine, lady; take some wine," said her companion; "there is much courage in the bottle. What dress shall I give you?"
Arabella put her lips to the cup which the woman held, and took a small portion of the wine. "You will find it there, Maude," she said, "in that cupboard. There is the key. It is wrapped in linen."
Her companion took the key, opened the closet, and brought out the packet, which had by this time been opened; but, as she carried it to the bed-side, a sword fell out, and starting she exclaimed, "Why, goodness, lady, it is a man's dress!"
"Ay, good Maude," answered Arabella, while the colour rose warmly into her cheek. "I could not hope for security in any other guise. You must help me to put it on, for I am so little accustomed to such a thing that I should never accomplish it alone."
"Oh, I have seen many a lady in a man's dress," answered Maude, "in masques and mummings, in the Queen's time. Take heart, take heart, dear lady; do not let that frighten you. It matters not much what be the garb, so that you be safe under it. Here is a goodly doublet, trimmed with bugles. You had better put this on first. Let me untie your dress, lady--ay, it is pinned, I see. Come, come, let me help you, I will do it as soon again; your hands tremble so."
Arabella's gown was soon stripped off; and, in its place, her fair form was clothed in a velvet coat, though, to say truth, it needed some artful filling out to make it in any degree fit her slender waist.
"Why, these wide French hose," cried Maude, taking them up from the bed upon which she had laid them, "are as good as a petticoat at any time."
"Better for my purpose," answered Arabella, with a faint smile. "Yet I think I should die with shame to be seen in them, were it not for so great an object. That cloak is very large, however, and will nearly hide me altogether."
Some farther progress was then made in dressing her, and a long pair of russet boots with red tops, the least in size that Markham could procure, were drawn over her small feet and slender limbs. She was obliged to take them off again, however, for they were still too large.
"In truth," she said, "they will take slippers and all. Give me the shoes, good Maude. Now for the rapier," she continued, when the boots were once more fitted on. "Heaven send I have not to draw it; for I fear the sight of a sword well nigh as much as the King."
The cloak was then put on, and a large black hat, having some of the long locks of hair--at that time in fashion amongst men--fastened into the crown, was pulled over her fair brow.
"There now," cried Maude; "you are as gallant-looking a young cavalier as I should wish to look at."
"A sad, faint-hearted one," answered Arabella. "Run, good Maude, run and see if the way be clear. I fear my little strength will fail me, if we stay long."
"Finish the wine, lady; finish the wine, and take some bread with it," answered her companion. "I will go and make sure that all is right. Drink the wine, I beseech you. You need not think of your head. Fear will take off the effect."
Thus saying, she sped away, and returned in a few minutes, saying, "All is safe, the cook is by the kitchen fire, sound asleep; and I hear old Jones thumping at his bottles. The door is wide open, and the iron gates unlocked. Come, lady, come, you had better lose no time."
"Come with me to the iron gates, Maude," said Arabella, in a beseeching tone; "I can scarcely keep my feet."
"That I will, lady," answered the good woman.--"Courage, courage! the worst of the business is over."
"Would that it were," answered Arabella, leaning on her arm and proceeding down the stairs.
Nothing occurred, however, to increase her apprehension; all was silent in the house, the quiet sunshine sleeping on the hall-floor, and the insect world buzzing without. Not a sound met the ear, but that hum, and the sighing of a light wind through the trees. Making a great effort, Arabella quitted the arm of her companion, when they issued forth from the door, and, walking with an unsteady step along the path, soon reached the gates. There, Maude drew one of the valves back, and the lady put a ring into her hand.
"No, no," she said, "I will none of it. Keep diamonds for yourself, lady; but if you will give me something, I will take your gloves which lie upon the table, just to think of you by."
"Take anything, good Maude," replied Arabella; "and, above all, my truest thanks."
Thus saying, she passed out, and the maid closed the gates, and retreated.
Arabella stood alone, for a moment or two, in the open road, with her heart faint, and her brain turning round. She felt lonely, desolate, ashamed, terrified; she was like some domesticated bird just escaped from its cage, not knowing which way to turn in the wide world around her.
The next instant, however, her eye fell upon the form of a man, well dressed, and of gentlemanly air, in the lane which ran under the walls of the grounds. Her first impulse would have led her to push open the gate and run back; but, the moment after, she thought she recognised the person who was now approaching, though she had last seen him in a very different garb.
"Oh! it is--it must be--I am sure it is Markham," she cried, panting for breath; and then, running on, she met him and caught his arm for support.
"Right! right! This is all right, lady," he said; "everything is ready; I have horses at hand--a boat waits you at Blackwall--a ship at Leigh."
"But my husband! my husband!" said Arabella.
"He is by this time free," replied Markham; "you will soon see him. My Lord of Hertford commends himself to you, and has sent down men and maids to meet you."
"But my poor Ida Mara," asked Arabella; "have you heard of her?"
"No, indeed," answered Markham; "she must have been apprehended; but if so, she is quite safe. Come, lady, come."
Supporting her by the arm, Markham hurried on down the lane towards Newington, and through several other intricate turnings and windings, the rapid pace at which they went relieving the lady, in some degree, from her fears, by preventing her thoughts from resting on her own situation. She felt tired and exhausted, however; when, at the distance of about a mile and a half from Mr. Conyers' house, they came within sight of the small road-side inn, called "The Rose." Three strong horses stood before the door, with a man holding them, and a gentleman looking up the road.
"That is Crompton," said Markham; "an old friend of your family."
"How much I have to thank you all for," answered Arabella; and the next minute Crompton, advancing, took her by the hand, exclaiming, "How are you, sir? I am very happy to see you here."
The moment she paused, however, agitation and apprehension took possession of her again.
"I feel sick and faint," she said; and the ostler, who was holding the horses, remarking her face turn deadly pale, inquired, "Shall I call for some wine? The young gentleman seems ill."
"No, no," answered Arabella; "some water. I am only fatigued with a long quick walk."
Water was accordingly brought; and then Markham, approaching to assist her, said, "We are rather late; we had better make haste."
He then aided her to mount, while Crompton paid the ostler, who shook his head, observing, "The young gentleman will hardly hold out to London, I think." But the moment after, her paleness disappeared, blood mounted into her face, and, with a crimson cheek, she rode on with Markham.
Crompton followed them immediately, and, pursuing the by-paths, with which they were well acquainted, the two gentlemen led her at a quick pace towards Blackwall. They reached the shore of the river about six o'clock, and there they found waiting a boat with four oars, containing two of her old men-servants, and two women.
"We will see you down the river," said Markham; "but Crompton and I must there leave you. The boat behind contains your apparel and Mr. Seymour's."
"But my husband!" asked Arabella, in a low voice; "Where is my husband, sir?"
"He will follow, he will follow," answered Markham. "Sit here, sir," said Crompton, giving a sign to Markham to be cautious; "remember, lady," he continued, in a whisper, "these boatmen know nothing of the scheme;" and, ordering the rowers to pull away, they were soon skimming over the bosom of the Thames.
The boat directed its course at once to Gravesend, which they reached two or three hours after nightfall.
"We must land here for a moment or two," whispered Crompton to the lady; "but Markham will arrange with the men to take you on, while you get some refreshment."
Poor Arabella did all they wished; and though it was not without difficulty that her companions persuaded the rowers to go on to Leigh, a large bribe ultimately induced them to consent, and the lady and her companions were soon once more upon the Thames. The night, fortunately, was warm and clear; and although Arabella was wearied and exhausted with anxiety, exertion and want of repose during the preceding night, she closed not an eye, but watched the progress of the boat, with her thoughts full of him she loved; the hope of soon seeing him mingling with fears for his safety, and giving plentiful occupation for the busy mind during the whole night.
At length the sky began to glow with the first beams of the morning; and a ship of considerable size was seen lying about a mile farther down the river.
"There is the vessel, lady," whispered Markham, "which I hope will soon bear you and your husband safe to the shores of France."
"Perhaps he may be on board already," said Arabella, raising her head, which had been drooping with pure lassitude. "That indeed would give me new life."
"Perhaps he may be so," replied Markham, "but yet I doubt it. The wind is freshening for your voyage, however."
"We must stay for him, at all events," cried Arabella; "if he has not escaped, I cannot make up my mind to go."
"Indeed you are wrong," answered her companion, in the same low tone; "recollect, it is you who are the subject of the King's persecution, not Mr. Seymour. You once safe in a foreign land, his liberation would soon follow. I doubt not, ere three months were over, the King's full consent to your union would be given, in order to induce you to return."
Arabella saw that there was some truth in what he said; but her mind took instant alarm at Markham's words. "I think you are apprehensive that he has not escaped," she said, in as firm a tone as she could command.
"No, indeed I am not," he replied; "I feel confident he has; for Sir George Rodney, Sir Harry West, and many faithful friends, are all aiding him, and Wade, the Lieutenant of the Tower, disgusted at the treatment of the Court, will keep no very watchful eye upon his prisoner."
"God send it," cried Arabella.
"We shall soon know," rejoined Markham, "for he must be here in an hour at the latest."
"I hope--I trust, he is on board already," answered Arabella. "I have a fancy that it is so; and she went on buoying herself up with the happy expectation, till they were alongside of the vessel, and she could see the people upon deck."
Her husband was not amongst them. "He may be below," she thought, and her first question, when lifted into the vessel was, "Has Mr. Seymour arrived?"
The answer was in the negative; and the hope which had supported her during the last two hours being taken away, she sank at once, fainting, into the arms of Crompton, who was aiding her to her seat.
It was long ere she recovered herself sufficiently to speak; and then, gazing around her, she found herself in the cabin of the vessel, with the two maids who had been waiting for her at Blackwall, using means to bring her to herself. She closed her eyes again, for Seymour was not there. In about twenty minutes after, there was a knock at the door; and starting up, she exclaimed in a weak tone, but eagerly, "Open it, open it, perhaps he has come."
But it was only Markham who appeared.
"Dear lady," he said, approaching her side, "Mr. Seymour has not arrived, and there is nothing to be seen of him, as far as we can see up the river. Every moment that you stay endangers your safety. If he has escaped, he has gone to some other port; if not, your remaining here is ruinous to him and to yourself."
"Half an hour, yet half an hour," cried Arabella; "I beseech, entreat you, my kind friend, stay but that short space."
"Be it as you will, madam," replied Sir Griffin Markham, in a grave tone; "but that one half hour may be regretted bitterly hereafter, when it cannot be recalled."
"Well then, half that time," said Arabella; and bowing, the gentleman retired, giving orders to have everything ready to set sail the instant the signal was given.
The quarter of an hour was barely at an end, when he again went down, and approaching Arabella, said, "Now lady, now, remember, the safety of many others is compromised, as well as your own."
Arabella closed her eyes, and a slight shudder passed over her; but she made no reply.
Sir Griffin Markham, however, took her silence for a mark of acquiescence, and going back to the foot of the ladder, exclaimed to those on deck, "Away! Set sail!" and Arabella turned round upon the couch and deluged it with tears.
We must now turn to the events which were taking place in the City of London on the same day, but a little before the hour at which the Lady Arabella made her escape from the house of Mr. Conyers.
Anxiously William Seymour had counted every moment during that morning, till he saw at length a large cart, loaded with billets of wood, enter the open space before the old palace, and slowly approach the door which led to the apartments he inhabited. He had nobody with him, and descending himself to speak with the carter, he paid him for the wood, showed him where to place it; and then saying, "I will send one of my people back with you," he retired quickly to his chamber, locked the door, and began hastily to change his dress. The entire suit of a common mechanic had been already prepared for him, and was soon put on, making a great change in his figure and appearance; but a quantity of jet black hair had been also provided, which, with a beard of the same colour, skilfully managed by the hands of a French artist for some of the mummings of the Court, completed his disguise.
By the time that all this was arranged, the wood was unloaded; and, going down, he addressed the carter, saying, "Now, my man, you had better move away, they will not let you stay here long."
"The gentleman told me he would send down one of his people," replied the man.
"Well, I am one of his people," answered Seymour. "What do you want? A draught of beer I suppose? but we have none here for you in the Tower. There's a groat for you, however, to buy some beer."
The man took the money, whipped his horses, and moved dully on at their head, while Seymour, leaning his hand on the back part of the cart, followed, as if he was one of those attached to it. Proceeding at a slow pace onward, they soon reached the great western gate of the Tower, where no question was asked, and the cart, with those who accompanied it, was suffered to go out, though two or three persons belonging to the fortress, and a guard, were under the archway at the time. The carter then turned along the Tower wharf, but perversely stopped for a minute to speak a word to one of the warders at the south gate as he passed.
Seymour, however, though we must not say he felt no alarm, continued carelessly to lean on the back of the vehicle, till the man had done, and then followed as before, saying a word to him from time to time, to keep up the appearance of companionship. The last point of danger was the iron gate at the other end of the wharf; but it was opened to let them out without inquiry, and in a moment after the prisoner felt himself a free man again.
He was scarcely in the open street, when a gay-looking gentleman touched him on the arm, saying aloud "Hollo, my man, are you not one of Mr. Seymour's people?"
"I am Lord Beauchamp's cooper, sir," answered Seymour, with a low bow. "Sir George Rodney, I think?"
"Yes," replied the Knight; "I want to speak with you, my good fellow; come hither with me."
"I must go," said Seymour, addressing the carter; "good afternoon, comrade;" and, following Rodney, he hurried on through a number of narrow streets to a good-sized house on the other side of Tower Hill. The door was instantly opened to receive him; and, a moment after, Sir Harry West embraced him joyfully, exclaiming, "Welcome, welcome, my dear William! your brother is within there. Take a hasty farewell, and let us go."
"The boat is not come up," said Rodney.
"Where is Lady Arabella?" asked Seymour; "where is my dear wife?"
"On her way to Leigh by this time," answered Sir Harry West; "at least so I hope and trust. Run down, and see for the boat, Sir George. For Heaven's sake, let us not lose time!"
"I will be back ere you can wink," replied Rodney; and while he was gone, Seymour proceeded to a small room, where several of his friends and relations were assembled.
While they were still in the midst of their congratulations, Sir George Rodney returned, saying the boat was ready, but that some of the yeomen of the guard were walking about suspiciously upon Tower Hill.
"Let me see, let me see!" exclaimed Sir Harry West; and he and Rodney went to the door, with one of the servants who was in their confidence.
In an instant he returned, however, saying that the men were merely lounging about; and, taking leave of his friends, Seymour issued forth with the servant we have mentioned, whose garb harmonized better with the disguise he wore, than the dress of Rodney and the old Knight.
The two gentlemen followed only a step behind; but, ere they had gone thirty yards upon Tower Hill, and just as they were passing a party comprising two men, one walking on either side of a young and lady-like woman, a quick cry burst from the girl's lips, and she darted towards Sir Harry West.
The two men caught her instantly by the arm; but at the same moment the old Knight threw himself directly in their way, exclaiming, "It is Ida Mara!"
"Quick, quick!" said Rodney, in a low voice, to the servant; "take him into the tobacconist's on the other side of the hill. We will be with you in a minute;" and while Seymour, after whispering, "See to her safety--see to her safety, for Heaven's sake," hurried on to a house which then stood a little beyond the spot where the Royal Mint now appears, Rodney returned to the old Knight, between whom and the men that were holding Ida Mara, high and angry words were now passing.
"I tell you we have the King's orders," said one of the two; "interrupt us if you dare!"
"I certainly shall dare," replied Sir Harry; "for I believe you to be uttering a gross falsehood, sir. You are not one of the King's servants, I know; and it is but a fortnight ago since I saw you drawing cold iron upon a servant who was accompanying this very young gentlewoman. Aid me, Rodney, to apprehend these men."
"Take care," whispered Rodney; "you will have the guard up."
"I fear there's no other course," answered Sir Harry, quickly; "we must act boldly."
"Have with you, then," cried Rodney; and turning to the men, who were whispering together, without losing their hold of Ida Mara, he exclaimed, "Will you set the lady free, curs; or must I make the sun shine through you?" and he laid his hand upon his sword.
At that moment, however, three of the stout yeomen of the guard were seen coming from the gate towards them; and, perceiving that there was no other resource, Sir Harry West called to them, and beckoned with his hand. The yeomen instantly began to run, and the old Knight, as they approached, exclaimed, "Here, guard! guard! These men are using the King's name on a false pretence."
"What is the matter--what is the matter?" cried a warder, who was at their head. "We will have no tumults on Tower Hill."
"The matter is," replied Sir Harry West, "that these two men are detaining this young gentlewoman against her will, pretending that they have the King's orders. Now, I am sure that is false. Look at that fellow's face, how white it turns at the very sight of the yeomen of the guard; and this other man I know for the servant of a quack impostor, here about town."
"If it be so," said the burly warder, in a rough tone, "we will souse them in the river; but we must carry them before the Lieutenant first. Lay hands on them, my men; and you, sir, come along with us too; for we must have proof against them."
"That man's face is proof enough," replied Sir Harry West, hesitating, "and I was going with this gentleman on business of importance."
"See, see!" cried one of the men, who had been holding Ida Mara; "he is afraid to make good his charge. He knows he cannot do it."
"Well, I will go," answered Sir Harry West. "Rodney, you must proceed and finish the business alone. You can speak my sentiments to the other gentlemen concerned, and explain to them the cause of my absence. I will go with you, Ida," he continued. "Do not fear. In the hands of the King's yeomen you are quite safe."
"I fear nothing when you are with me, kind Sir Harry," replied the girl.
"Come along, then," said the warder. "Sir Harry?--I wonder if you are Sir Harry West!" he continued, looking at the old Knight. "I am sure you are, too. Why, I served with you, sir, in Ireland, against Tyrone. Come along, sir--come along! We'll soon settle this matter. I would take your word against a thousand;" and the whole party walked on towards the gate of the Tower.
In the meanwhile Sir George Rodney hastened to rejoin Seymour, whom he found with the servant in the shop to which they had been directed. A few rapid questions were asked by Seymour in regard to the sudden appearance of Ida Mara; for, as may well be supposed, he felt some alarm respecting Arabella herself. Rodney, however, had been informed by Markham, that the fair Italian had been missed from Highgate on the day before; and, having satisfied his friend on this point, they proceeded to the water-side. But half an hour had already been lost; and when they reached the bank of the river, the boat, which had been prepared, was not to be found. After some inquiries, they entered a wherry, and rowed towards the stairs to which they were told it had been removed. But more time was thus lost, and, in all, nearly an hour and a half was consumed fruitlessly. It turned out, that the person appointed to steer the barge, a faithful but timid man, attached to the House of Hertford, had twice taken fright at some accidental events which he thought suspicious.
When, at length, he saw his young master in the boat, however, he regained confidence; and, steering boldly past a party of the Royal officers who were going from Greenwich to Whitehall by water, he guided the vessel skilfully through the shipping in the pool and down the river. The rowers plied their oars diligently; but the time which had been lost, deprived them of the tide; and by the time they came opposite to Erith, it was running strong against them. Thus day broke before they reached Tilbury, and the wind, freshening and considerably agitating the water, retarded them still more. About nine o'clock, the weary rowers came in sight of Leigh; but, to their disappointment, no ship was seen at anchor there, though two or three vessels under sail were apparent at some distance.
It was now evident, both to Seymour and Rodney, that the boatmen could go no farther; and, landing at Leigh, they hired a fishing-smack to convey them to a ship, which they had both fixed upon as the one that, according to the account of the people on the shore, had been lying there for two days, and had set sail about an hour before. The two gentlemen were soon embarked, and in the light boat which they had engaged, they overtook the larger and heavier vessel, still in the mouth of the river. But it proved to be merely a Dutch brig, the captain of which would alter his course for no man, and an eager consultation was held between Seymour and his friend as to what was next to be done.
"Here comes a large vessel, apparently light, and in full sail," said Rodney; "if you will take my advice, you will board her at once, and hire her, at any price, to carry you to France. The wind is fair, when once you are out of the river; and your friends here will let you know where to rejoin the Lady Arabella; for she has certainly escaped, otherwise the Frenchman would not have set sail."
"That is my comfort," replied Seymour; "that is my comfort! She sacrificed all for me; and, knowing that she is safe, I care little what fate befals myself."
The plan proposed by the Knight was accordingly adopted. The vessel towards which they now directed their course proved to be a collier returning to Newcastle; and, for the sum of forty pounds, the skipper consented to land Mr. Seymour on the French coast.
Taking leave of Rodney, then, with many expressions of gratitude, the fugitive bade adieu to the shores of England, not to return for years. The day was beautiful, the wind was fair and strong, and before evening the faint white cliffs of France were visible over the blue sea, spreading wider and wider as the ship sailed along. Shortly after, the distant sound of a cannon struck the ears of those on board; and Seymour asked, "What can that be? The day is fine, the wind not high,--it cannot be a signal of distress!"
"It may be, sir," answered the master; "at sea, there is no knowing when an accident may happen."
But another, and another gun was heard, and then came a short pause; after which three more were fired in rapid succession; and Seymour, gazing anxiously from the stern, perceived some vessels, at the distance of seven or eight miles, in the direction of Pegwell Bay, with a wreath of white smoke streaming from the farthest of them. The next instant a flash crossed the cloud, and then a second; and after the lapse of some short time, the report of cannon was again heard. The smoke now nearly concealed the ships, but, to the number of thirteen times, the same sounds reached the fugitive's ear; and then all was still again.
His heart was ill at ease. He would fain have persuaded himself that the event which gave him so much anxiety must be caused by some accidental circumstance, unconnected with the fate of her who had sacrificed so much for him; that Arabella must near that period have well nigh reached the French coast; but apprehension, more strong than argument, would not be stilled, and, sitting down by the helm, he buried his eyes in his hands.
He felt then,--whatever joy he might experience at his own escape--that the best right of man, the best gift of earth, was poor without her he loved,--that liberty itself was nothing without Arabella!
We must now return for a time to the party which we left upon Tower-Hill. The warder and Sir Harry West walked on talking together, with poor Ida Mara keeping close to the Knight's side, till they were within about thirty yards of the gate of the Tower. Then, however, a slight noise behind caused the good soldier to turn round, exclaiming, "Look sharp to those two men!"
But his command came too late; for at the very same moment that it was uttered, the personage who had been foremost in detaining the fair Italian, darted past the yeoman next him, and, at full speed, ran away in the direction of Petty Wales. The yeoman gave chase, while his companion seized the collar of the other man; but the pursuit was vain, for, embarrassed by his somewhat cumbrous clothing, and being rather fat and pursy withal, the soldier lost ground every minute, and the fugitive disappeared amidst the lanes and alleys, to which he directed his steps.
In the meanwhile, the other man was dragged into the Tower by the neck; and the good old Knight, following with Ida Mara, desired to see the Lieutenant as speedily as possible, in order to ensure her liberation. While the warder was gone for that purpose, Sir Harry West inquired in a whisper, whether Ida really thought that the people, in whose hands he found her, had authority from the King.
"I know not, indeed," she replied; "they always told me they had; but I cannot help thinking that, if it were so, they would have brought me before him yesterday. Instead of that, they took me to a lonely house on a heath, which I heard them call Hampstead, and there they kept me locked up till this morning. They then brought me down into the town, and kept me for an hour in a house out in that direction,"--and she pointed eastward with her hand, "where a woman, dressed in very fine clothes, came and looked at me, but said nothing, and went away again. After that, I was told they must take me to Whitehall: and they were carrying me along thither, when I saw you; and I think," she added, in a lower tone, "Mr. Seymour, too."
"Hush!" said the Knight; "not a word of that;" and as he was still speaking, the warder returned to conduct him to the Lieutenant's lodging.
The man who had been kept without, in the porch of the gateward tower, was ordered to follow, with a yeoman to guard him; and making Ida Mara, who seemed weary and faint, lean upon his arm, Sir Harry accompanied the warder between the walls, and was soon in the presence of Wade, the lieutenant.
That officer, at the first mention of Sir Harry's name, had ordered him to be admitted, though he was in conversation at the time with a gentleman from the Court, who had come upon the pretence of paying a visit to Mr. Seymour, but in reality to smooth down the irritated feelings of the Lieutenant, and induce him to resign his post quietly, without calling attention to the transaction by remonstrance or resistance. A servant had been sent to the apartments of Seymour, to know whether he would admit Sir Charles Warner to speak with him; and the man returned, almost at the same moment that the good old Knight and his fair companion entered the Lieutenant's room.
Sir Harry might perhaps have felt a little alarmed, if he had known the servant's errand; but the first words he heard were: "I have been to Mr. Seymour's, sir, and there saw one of his gentlemen, who says that his master is in bed with a raging headache, and cannot see any one; he would not even go in to tell him."
"Oh! never mind, never mind," replied Warner; "I will see him another day--Master Lieutenant, I will wait a little till you have dispatched this other business, for our conversation was growing interesting. Good morning, Sir Harry West."
"To me extremely so, sir," answered the Lieutenant. "Sir Harry, I am your humble servant. What is this affair the warder tells me of? Pray be seated, young lady. The case does not seem to come within my cognizance."
"It is simply this, sir," replied the old knight. "This young lady I have long known, and dearly love, as to her I owe my life, she having nursed me through the plague some years ago. She is now a gentlewoman attending on the Lady Arabella Seymour; and on crossing Tower-hill but now, I met her, hurried along against her will by two men, one of whom I know to be the servant of a rank impostor and conjurer, one Doctor Foreman."
"Oh! I have seen him," replied the Lieutenant; "he is a knave, if ever there was one."
"Ay, and has many ways of knavery," said Warner; "the report goes, that many have suffered from his practices."
"But what excuse do the men urge," asked the Lieutenant, "for using this violence to the lady?"
"They say they are commanded by the King to bring her before him," answered Sir Harry West.
"I never said so," exclaimed the man, who was standing guarded by a yeoman near the door; "my comrade did, and so he told me, too."
"But where did they first lay hands upon the lady, and when?" asked the Lieutenant, looking towards Ida Mara.
"It was yesterday, somewhat before noon," she replied, in her sweet musical Italian voice. "I had gone out for a short time from Mr. Conyers' house, where the Lady Arabella now lodges, to walk amidst the lanes in the neighbourhood, when these two men, with a third, whom I did not well see, though I think I know him, seized upon me suddenly, and, saying that it was in the King's name, carried me to a place called Hampstead; where, in the midst of a wide heath, close by a deep wood, they placed me in a lonely house, and kept me all the day. I demanded to be brought immediately before the King, but they only laughed at me; and when I would not eat the food they brought, they said that hunger would soon teach me better."
"And why would you not eat, may I ask?" said the Lieutenant.
"Because I was afraid of poison," answered Ida Mara. "The man who I think was with them, is one named Weston, who I know deals in such drugs, and, I fear, fatally."
"Why, that was Weston who was with me just now," exclaimed the fellow at the door. "Some say he is Dr. Foreman's son, and some his nephew."
"And do you pretend," asked the Lieutenant, "that you have any commission from the King?"
"Not I, sir," replied the man; "'twas Weston said so, and he told me the same story, engaging me to go with him, and promising me a noble for my reward."
"The case seems very clear," said the Lieutenant; "the King would never employ such instruments as these; and I think, Sir Harry, that I had better keep the fellow for the stocks, and send the gentlewoman away with you."
"It were the more prudent course," said Warner, interposing, "to convey them both to the King. His Majesty's name having been used, we cannot take upon ourselves to judge what people he, in his wisdom, may think fit to employ; and, as the other man, it seems, is no longer here, from what the warder said, to answer for himself, none is so fit to investigate the matter as his Majesty."
"Of course, of course," said the Lieutenant; "and as your reasons seem to me just, Sir Charles, I think I must act upon them.--Do you not think so, Sir Harry West?"
"That you must decide yourself," replied Sir Harry; "but if such be your determination, I will ask you to wait for half an hour, till I can send two of my own men to accompany this fair lady to the Court, and guard her back to my house, in case the King should not detain her at the palace; for I have myself business which takes me in a different direction."
"I must return to Highgate with all speed, dear Sir Harry," exclaimed Ida Mara; "the Lady Arabella will, I know, be alarmed at my long absence."
The old Knight mused, and then answered, "It will be too late to return to-night; but I will let the lady know that you are safe, as soon as letter or messenger can reach her. But you will need refreshment, too, my poor child?"
"That she shall have while waiting for your men," replied the Lieutenant; "and fatherly care, depend upon it. Come, fair lady, I will take you to good Mrs. Wade, my maiden sister, who has a tender compassion for all distressed damsels, and will show you all kindness and courtesy."
"The servants shall be here with all speed," said Sir Harry, rising. "Farewell, my dear child; we shall meet again, I trust, ere night. Then you shall tell me more of your adventures."
The Lieutenant, according to his word, led poor Ida Mara to his sister, who fulfilled his promise of showing her kindness; and, about half an hour after, she was placed in a boat, with good Matthew Lakyn and another servant of Sir Harry West's, as well as a yeoman of the guard, and the man who had remained in custody. It took them near an hour to reach Whitehall, for the tide had not yet turned in their favour; and the fair Italian was kept waiting for an equal space of time in a corridor, exposed to the gaze of all the passers by, and to the coarse observations of several of them.
At length, however, an usher approached with a rapid but silent step, and told her to follow to the presence of the King. She found the Monarch in his closet with several gentlemen, some of whom she knew by sight, while the rest were strangers to her. Accustomed as she had been for some years to see the monarch daily, Ida Mara easily judged that he was in no very placable humour, by the way in which he moved about in his chair, and lolled his tongue out of his mouth.
"What's this, my woman, what's this?" he said, when she appeared. "No sooner have we done with one pother about the Lady Arabella, our headstrong kinswoman, than there comes another. Our Lieutenant at the Tower sends us word that you have been carried off forcibly from Highgate. What did these fellows say?"
"That it was by your majesty's commands," replied Ida Mara, "and consequently I obeyed implicitly."
"The condemned liars!" cried the King; "but you did right, lassie; you did right. What may this mean, my Lord Northampton? Why should any two men seek to carry off this young gentlewoman, and use our name to further their purposes?"
"In truth, sire," replied the Earl, "if your majesty's keen judgment does not perceive the cause, it is vain for me to seek it; but I cannot help thinking that the King has already judged of the matter, and inquires but to show our want of skill."
"We have an inkling, we have an inkling," answered James, laughing, "and will send off to Highgate this very afternoon. Tell me, pretty mistress, have you ever given the Lady Arabella any offence?"
"None, may it please your majesty," replied Ida Mara, eagerly. "I have ever striven to serve her faithfully and well, owing her my first duty, after God and your majesty."
"Ay, but," demanded the King, "may she not think, that your first duty was owing to her, before God and myself?"
"I trust not, sire; I trust not," replied Ida Mara, timidly, and not knowing what was to come next. "I have always heard the Lady Arabella express herself most submissively towards your majesty."
"That's right, that's right," said the King; "submission in words is something, but we must have submission in deeds too, before we grant favour. And so, she never complained to you of the restraint to which we have thought it right, for her own good and that of the state, to subject her?"
"Never, sire," replied Ida Mara, simply; "I have seen her weep often; but never heard her complain."
"That's right, that's right," repeated James; "but yet it's just possible, mistress, that she may have been deceiving you."
"Oh no," cried Ida Mara, with the blood mounting to her cheek. "I do not think that she is capable of deceiving any one."
"We shall see, we shall see," answered the King. "And so these men told you that I had commanded them to seize you. When was this, lassie?"
"Yesterday morning, towards noon," replied Ida Mara, "and they persisted in the same story to-day, when I met Sir Harry West on Tower Hill, and asked his protection."
"And what did Sir Harry reply to them?" demanded James. "He is a wise man, Sir Harry West, and not that unlearned in the humane letters. He expounded one night a passage of the Italian poet, Dante, without having heard an opinion upon the subject, in a manner quite conformable to our own, and thereby put to shame a gentleman of that country, who insisted upon it, in spite of our expressed opinion, to which he might have reasonably bowed, that there was no latent or hidden meaning in the poet's words, but a mere open and plain poetical figure. What said the Knight, I ask?"
"He said, sire," replied Ida Mara, "that he was sure your majesty would never use such instruments as they were, and he called up some of the yeomen of the guard, who were standing before the gate, and placed us all under their charge."
"The Knight was right, in fact, but wrong in inference," answered the King; "we did not employ the men; but there is no telling what instruments kings may sometimes see fit to use. That their own wisdom must decide. Then, again, as to his conduct, Sir Harry displayed his skill and judgment in a manner that deserves our approbation. Had he taken upon him to deliver you with his own hand, besides the chance of brawling, which is always an offence, he might have trespassed unwittingly on his duty to us. But, in placing the matter in the hands of our officers, he could not go wrong."
"It seems to me, sire," said the Earl of Northampton, "that these men, who have dared to use your majesty's sacred name in an unlawful manner, must lose their ears. I look upon this to be a very great offence."
"Of that there can be no doubt," replied the King; "but we will confront the man they have caught with this young gentlewoman, and hear what he has to say. Let the fellow be brought hither."
The King's orders were immediately obeyed; and the personage who had aided in carrying off Ida Mara from Highgate was brought, white and trembling, into the King's presence. He was subjected by James himself to a very close and keen examination; but he persisted in the story he had told the Lieutenant of the Tower, saying, that the man by whom he had been employed assured him that it was by the King's commands, and declaring that he knew nothing further on the subject. He acknowledged, indeed, that what Ida Mara had said was correct in all points, but protested that nothing could be farther from his thoughts than to use the King's name unauthorized.
When questioned as to the name and character of his employer, he hesitated a little, but at length mentioned again the name of Weston, adding, that he was attached to Doctor Foreman, the celebrated Physician andNaturalist,--for such was the term which the charlatan thought fit to apply to his more secret avocations, though he certainly used it in a sense very different from that which is attached to it at present.
The name of Doctor Foreman, however, created a little confusion in the King's closet. Lord Rochester and the Earl of Northampton whispered together for a moment behind the monarch's chair; and Rochester then addressed a few words to James himself, in an under tone.
"Ay, what, are you there?" exclaimed James; "have you only just arrived at it? I saw the matter from the beginning. This young gentlewoman did not serve the people's turn, to carry on their correspondences and communications; and so they have had her removed. But the lady shall to Durham to-morrow, if I am a crowned King; and you, my pretty mistress, shall be restored to her, with such other maids as she shall choose, knowing right well how to select those that will be faithful and true, and not plotters and contrivers. Who is that knocking at the door? See, Carro! We will not have any one admitted just now."
Lord Rochester quitted the closet for a moment, and then returned with a face full of consternation.
"Mr. Conyers, may it please your majesty," he said, "is waiting without. I have not spoken to him, but the page says he is in dreadful agitation, on account of the Lady Arabella's escape."
"Ha! how! what!" exclaimed the King. "Her escape! Body o'me! Call him in, call him in. How now, sir?" he continued, as Mr. Conyers appeared, with strong marks of emotion on his countenance. "What's your news?"
"Such as I hardly dare to communicate, sire," replied Mr. Conyers, "though I have ridden post-haste to tell them. On my return to Highgate, after paying my respects to your majesty, I found that--almost all the people of the house having been sent out of the way during my absence, upon one pretence or another--the Lady Arabella had made her escape."
"I told you so! I told you so!" exclaimed James: "the carrying off this girl was the first step. This is a deep-laid conspiracy--a plot as detestable as that of the Papists. Send for Cecil immediately--send for Cecil. Let the Council be summoned within an hour. My Lords, we must look to the safety of the state! There is no knowing where this may end. We shall have a rebellion. If such a firebrand as this kinswoman of ours falls into the hands of foreign potentates, what is to become of us?"
The confusion which now took place in the royal closet was beyond description. All order and regularity were lost in a moment. Every one talked to his neighbour. Very little real reverence was shown to the King. Some shrugged their shoulders and turned up their eyes; and James himself was in the most pitiable state of agitation. He relieved himself at length by five or six horrible oaths; and then, with difficulty obtaining silence, he addressed Mr. Conyers in an angry tone, interrupting his speech to that gentleman from time to time, to make some observation to his favourite, or those around.
"Sir," he said, "you have betrayed our confidence, and misused our trust.--Have you sent for Cecil, my Lord Northampton?--If you had been vigilant, sir, this could not have happened. You do not know the consequences, sir, of what has taken place.--The devil is in these women, Carro; they are always making mischief, and there is never any telling where it will stop.--You should have given us information of the first suspicious circumstance."
"I saw none, your majesty," replied Mr. Conyers, boldly. "Don't interrupt us, sir," exclaimed the King; "there are some men that have no eyes to see with, and some that do not choose to use them when they have got them. Now, I'll warrant you that you have come away without any clue to this mystery. My Lord Northampton, send off directly to the Tower and order that young ne'er-do-well, William Seymour, to be put in close confinement; and he added a coarse allusion to the probability of children springing from the marriage of that gentleman with Arabella.
"Well, sir," he proceeded, turning to Mr. Convers again, "have you any clue, I say?--I'll wager now you have come away without any precautions at all, just to give the girl time to escape."
"No, sire," replied Mr. Conyers, "though I thought my first duty was to make known to your majesty what had taken place during my absence, I took care, while my horse was being brought, to give orders for immediate pursuit in every direction; and very probably before I return the Lady Arabella may have been brought back, or, at all events, information may have been obtained as to what course she has taken."
"Go and see; go and see," cried the King, "and let us have instant tidings of what you discover. Present yourself to-morrow at ten before the Council, and bring all whom you may judge to have participated in this conspiracy along with you. Call a clerk, my Lord of Rochester; we will ourselves immediately dictate a proclamation."
"What is to be done with this young gentlewoman, sire?' asked the Earl of Northampton.
"Grey and Bradshaw will be very happy to take care of her," said Lord Rochester; "they have long wanted an opportunity of showing her their devotion."
"Hout, hold your silly tongue, with your gibing," cried James, "this is a serious affair, young man. Where can the girl be bestowed, Northampton?"
"May it please your majesty," said Ida Mara, "I would fain retire to the house of Sir Harry West, who is my first friend in this country. I can then wait your majesty's commands, if you should have anything else to require of me."
"That is right; that is right," replied James; "you are a wise and well-spoken young woman, and shall not be forgotten. The very fact of their having you conveyed out of the way, when the conspirators were about to execute the plot, is a proof that you did your duty faithfully to your King. You may retire. Now, send that man to the Fleet. By God's will, he shall stand on the pillory, unless he makes full confession. Hold your tongue, sir! We have no time to deal with you now. Sit down there, master clerk, and write."
The King then proceeded to dictate a proclamation, which was afterwards modified by the advice of Cecil, but which in the first draft displayed, in a most ludicrous manner, the trepidation into which he was thrown by Arabella's escape. He worked himself into the belief, and even contrived to impress the same idea upon the minds of most of his councillors, that the flight of his kinswoman, instead of being the mere effect of her attachment to her husband, originated in some dark and sinister design against his throne and family. His excited imagination pictured her throwing herself into the arms of some inimical power, and, supported by fleets and armies, contesting with him the Crown of England. He saw Papists and Protestants alike in revolt against his authority, rebellion spreading over the land, and his very person in danger. In fact, all the wild images that could suggest themselves to the mind of a weak, cowardly, and tyrannical prince, rose up before him in an instant, and displayed their effect in every word and action.
Nor did his terrors fail to be greatly increased when information was brought from the Tower, that William Seymour was no longer to be found within its walls; and the whole Court was in a state of movement and agitation during the greater part of that night and the succeeding morning. Letters were despatched to every port of the kingdom, with orders to stop the fugitives, and to send out vessels for their pursuit, if already at sea. Each of these despatches was marked with the superscription, common in those days on occasions of great importance, "With haste--post haste! Ride for your life--your life!" And one of them, still in existence, bears the figure of a gallows and a halter, as an emblem of the King's wrath against any one who should dare to disobey.