It was a gay sight in the town of Edinburgh, as, on the morning of the twenty-third of March, all the principal nobles of the land rode, gallantly attended, to the council for which the king's summons had gone forth, and many were the persons assembled to see them pass. No great joy or satisfaction, however, shone upon the countenances of the good citizens of Edinburgh, for the rumour already had spread through the city that a new tax was in contemplation to support the extravagance of the king, and to enrich the minions of the court. Never was a greater mistake made than that which is attributed to David Rizzio, who is said to have expressed an opinion, when warned by Sir James Melville of the peril which menaced him, that the bark of the Scotch people was worse than their bite. On the contrary, history proves that the bite, and that a sharp one, came frequently before the bark. On the present occasion, there were no loud expressions of popular feeling, except perhaps, when one of those barons in whom the people had confidence happened to pass; but a dull and menacing sort of gloom hung over the crowd, and whatever they thought, it was expressed in low tones to each other. Gowrie was one of the first on the way, and a shout greeted him when he approached the crowd assembled near the palace gates, for there the council was held; but the noise soon died away, and he was riding on, when a half-witted man ran out from amongst the rest, and laid his hand upon the earl's rein, saying, "Don't you vote for the tax, Gowrie! Don't you vote for the oppression of the people. We poor folk can hardly bear it."
Gowrie said some kind but unmeaning words to the poor man, and passed quietly on his way, arriving at the gates a few minutes before the appointed hour. At the door he was met by the king's porter, who informed him that his majesty had not yet left his apartments; and with a slow step and very thoughtful countenance, the young earl was walking across to the foot of the staircase, when young John Ramsay came hastily forward from the fireplace, by which he was standing, and accosted him, saying, "My lord the earl, I wish to speak to you."
"Ah, Ramsay!" said Gowrie, turning round, and holding out his hand, "I did not see you!"
The young man, however, drew a little back, and replied with a haughty and somewhat overbearing air, "There are some matters to be settled first, my lord, before I know whether we are friends or enemies."
"It may be just as you please, sir," answered Gowrie calmly, gazing at him with some surprise; "what is the matter?"
"I understand, my lord," replied the young man, "that one of your servants has murdered, in Perth, my brother's man, Walter Matthison--a person whom I protected."
The tone was very offensive; and the first answer that rose to Gowrie's lips was, "Your protection, it seems, proved of little avail;" but he checked the reply before it was uttered, and merely said, "I am sorry, Ramsay, that such is too truly the case."
"Then you will remember, my lord," said Ramsay, "that we will have blood for blood. No great protection shall avail here, whatever it may do in France; and serving men shall not wound or slay as good or better men than themselves, however powerful or wealthy their lord may be."
Gowrie's cheek reddened, and his heart beat quick; but he mastered the feeling of anger, and asked, though in somewhat of a stern tone, "Have you heard from your brother lately?"
"No, I have not, my lord," replied Ramsay. "What of that?"
"Simply that if you had," answered the earl, "I think he would be sorry both for your words and for your bearing. You have been deceived, Ramsay," he said, in a milder tone; "certainly, with regard to what has taken place in France, and I think with regard to what has taken place at Perth. The murderer of your brother's servant--for I can call my man, David Drummond, no less--was immediately seized by my orders, and handed over to the justice of the town. I myself shall sit as provost at his trial. I have invited your brother to be present, and let me tell you, John Ramsay, that I say--which is something more than what you say--that if all the power in Scotland, except the king's grace, were exerted to save him from justice, he should die if he be proved guilty, as I believe him to be."
Thus saying, the earl turned upon his heel, and walked up the stairs, leaving Ramsay feeling himself painfully rebuked in the presence of a number of bystanders, who, to say truth, had the ordinary amount of love for their rivals, the favourites of the court. There are two things from which the mind of youth usually takes its impressions, its own prejudices or passions, and the opinions of others. It is an after operation of the mind, in nine cases out of ten, to seek for and to ascertain facts, and to form our opinions upon them. Ramsay was naturally rash, bold, and resolute; and though he afterwards, as Lord Holdernesse, showed some signs of greater powers, at the time I speak of they were all in abeyance, and he was ready to receive all the opinions of others, and tincture them strongly or weakly, according to the prejudices and passions already existing in his own mind. He remained near the fire, then, for a full quarter of an hour longer, gnawing the bitter lip, and angry without cause for anger. At length, one of the ushers came down and whispered in his ear, "The king is in at the council, sir. He's been in some time."
"Pshaw!" said Ramsay, impetuously, and turned his back to the man who addressed him.
Another quarter of an hour passed, and various noblemen, who arrived somewhat late, went up the stairs without Ramsay noticing them. At length, one of them, who was acquainted with him, hurrying in, remarked him standing by the fire, and said, "Ah, I am glad to see you there, Ramsay. I was afraid the king would be gone in to the council, for I was detained by----"
"So he is," answered Ramsay, abruptly; and the gentleman hurried up the stairs without waiting to finish his sentence.
The young gentleman followed with a slow step; and when he entered the council chamber, a scene presented itself which I must attempt to depict. The king was seated in a large arm chair, or throne, a few steps in advance of the private door through which Ramsay passed. Before him stretched a long table, or council board, at which were seated almost all the great nobles of the land. Behind the king's chair, and nearly filling up the vacant space between it and the wall, were a number of the gentlemen of the royal household. Amongst these were Sir George Murray, Sir Hugh Herries, Sir Thomas Erskine, Mr. Alexander Blair, David Moyses, and nearer to the door, Sir David Murray of Cospetrie, afterwards created Lord Scoon, a man of more mind and intelligence than James was usually inclined to tolerate.
It would appear that the tax which the king wished to inflict upon the people had been proposed for the consideration of the lords; and that the debate, if it may be so called, had proceeded some way, for it is known that the first three or four who spoke briefly expressed their approbation. At the moment when Ramsay entered, however, the Earl of Gowrie was on his feet, in the act of addressing the council. But that he had spoken for some minutes; and that the argumentative part of his speech was over was evident, for the only words which Ramsay heard were, "For these reasons, my lords: because the tax would be burdensome in its nature; because it would be unequal in its pressure; because the people in this realm have not the means of meeting so large a claim upon their loyalty; and because the actual necessity of so great a demand, either for the purpose of maintaining the king's royal dignity, or for securing the peace and safety of the country, has not been clearly shown to exist; I, for my part, would humbly petition his majesty, according to his great wisdom, to devise some other means more easy to his loyal subjects for meeting the necessities of the time----and," he added, after a moment's pause, as if hesitating whether to utter the words which rose to his lips, "and in his gracious condescension, and in that love and affection which he is known to bear to all his subjects, to confine his requirements to the limit of their means, and the most pressing exigencies of the state."
The earl sat down, and a murmur of applause ran round the lower end of the table; but Sir David Murray turned towards Sir Thomas Erskine, and said, fixing his eyes direct upon the Earl of Gowrie, "Yonder is an unhappy man. They are but seeking a cause for his death; and now he has given it."[2]
Sir Hugh Herries, who was standing near, looked over his shoulder with a dark smile; and Murray, as if he felt that he had imprudently committed himself, quitted the room in some haste.
A moment after, one of the ushers whispered in Ramsay's ear that his brother was below, and wished to speak with him; and imagining that the debate was likely to be long, the young gentleman went out, made an appointment to meet Sir George in the evening, and returned. When he reached the council chamber, however, he was only in time to open the private door for the king to retire to his own apartments; but James, who seemed in high good humour, gave him a sign to follow, as he had previously done to Sir Hugh Herries; and when they reached the royal closet, the monarch cast himself upon his thickly-cushioned seat, and burst into a fit of laughter.
"Well, bairns," he said, "that's done, in the teeth of Gowrie's earl; and we shall get the money."
"You would not have got it, sire, if he could have prevented you," said Herries, with the true malignity of a court.
"Ay, man; but we were too strong for him," said James. "He that wrestles with a king who understands his craft had need be a stalwart chiel."
"I hope he may get a fall some day," said Ramsay, bluffly.
James looked at him with a significant smile, "And so he will, Jock," he said, "such a fall as may break his neck, perhaps; but we must give him time. It's always better to let such lads weary themselves out, keeping a watchful eye upon them, Jock, lest they play us a scurvy trick. Soul o' my body, man, but he made a fine speech, though; well delivered, with just enunciation, and every sentence well put together. Not so bad for the matter either, if it had not been against his king and his duty. He's a sharp-witted callant, if he was not somewhat traitorously disposed, like the whole of those Ruthvens, every mother's son of them."
"I would soon stop their treason, if I were your majesty," said John Ramsay; "however, you walk by wisdom and I by indignation, so your majesty will of course walk best."
"No doubt of it," answered James; and then, mingling a coarse familiarity with an affectation of dignity, which only rendered the one grotesque and the other ridiculous, he proceeded to say, "And now, Jock Ramshackle, as you have rendered us many and signal services, we are determined to confer upon you a high honour and dignity, by giving you a clout upon the shoulder"--or as the king pronounced it,shoother--"so go your ways; tell Tammy Elliot to bring us a sword; but bid him carry it discreetly on the cushion, with the hilt towards our hand, and to take care that it does not pop out of itself. They are but kittle weapons."
We must leave the learned reader, who may be so inclined, to retranslate the king's speeches into the fine vernacular in which he usually spoke; for we have only attempted, though somewhat more than half a Scot ourself, to put in a word or two of the original dialect, here and there, for vigour's sake; and, to say truth, we fear if we had either the capability or the desire of rendering each speech of his majesty word for word, most of our readers would be puzzled as to the meaning, and many of them not a little shocked at expressions, which we have omitted--for reasons which shall be fully assigned at some future period in a dissertation which we intend to write upon the oaths and blasphemies of Our late Sovereign Lord, King James, Sixth of that name of Scotland and First of England, of happy memory.
Young John Ramsay hurried away with a proud and joyous step to seek the instrument which was to bestow upon him the honours of chivalry; and, in the meantime, the king spoke more rapidly, and in a lower tone, to Herries than was his wont, every now and then pausing and saying, "Ha, man." To which Herries invariably replied, "Yes, sire, I understand your majesty. It was the wisest course;" and to this general approbation of the king's views he added, just as Ramsay was returning with Sir Thomas Elliot and the sword of state, "But you'll need cold iron before you've done."
Ramsay instantly started and turned round, with a glance of keen inquiry at the king's face, upon which James burst into a fit of laughter, exclaiming, "Look at the young slothound, how it pricks up its ears! I'll answer for it, put him on a trail of blood, and he'd follow it till he pulled his man down."
The youth coloured, for there was something in the comparison he did not altogether like; but, kneeling at the king's feet, he received the honour of knighthood--with the sheathed sword, however, which he did not altogether like either. The king then dismissed him, with the directions that he might have given a child, to "go and play himself;" and for his own part, he remained shut up with Herries for nearly an hour. At the end of that time, James and his counsellor came forth together, and walked towards the queen's apartments, the monarch concluding their conversation by saying, "Bide a wee; you'll see. We'll frame such a cunning device that the birdie shall walk into the trap, and if ever he gets out again, it will be the fault of the fowler's friends, and not his who set the snare. But mind, man, not a word or a look, as you'd have our favour. We shall ourselves be all kindness and courtesy; and you must make our looks your glass, that you may not scare the quarry from the net."
"Don't be too civil, sire," said Herries, bluntly, stumping after the king with his club foot. "He must feel that your majesty can't love him: and I've known many a man put on his cloak when he saw the sun shine too fair in the morning, because he knew it would rain before noon."
"Hout, tout! Would ye school me, man? Faith, you are too bold," said the king; and he walked on with an air of pique.
In one of the good old houses of the good old town of Edinburgh, and in a handsome and commodious room, hung with polished leather stamped with various figures of birds and flowers, in a fashion of which hardly a vestige now remains, sat Sir George Ramsay and his younger brother, just after the sun had gone down. The younger was in high spirits, for, mere lad as he was at the time, he had many of the weaknesses of the child still in his nature: varying in mood, easily elated; when checked or disappointed, moody and irritable; when prosperous, successful, and unopposed, gay, good-humoured, and even placable. That morning he had been greatly irritated by the news--for news travelled slowly in those days--that his brother's servant, and that one of his own favourites too, had been killed by the Earl of Gowrie's man, David Drummond; and the very calmness with which Gowrie had met his intemperate insinuations and haughty bearing had not served to calm him; but the knighthood just received had done more than any arguments could have effected to soften and improve him; and now he was talking cheerfully with one of much stronger sense and more amiable character than himself, who knew him well, and how to direct his mind to better purposes.
"Well, George, well," he said, "I am glad to hear what you tell me of the earl. I have no wish to think ill of Gowrie, and if he has acted as you mention, perhaps he had a right to be offended at the way I spoke this morning; and I will apologize. A man who is ready to fight another at any time, need not fear to apologize; but Newburn stated the matter very differently."
"A man of honour need never fear to apologize when he knows himself in the wrong, whether he be prepared to fight in a bad cause or not, John," replied his brother, with a quiet smile; "and nobody, I think, will suspect our house of wanting courage. As for Newburn, he is a firebrand, and being now deprived of the power of doing mischief himself by the consequences of one of his own insolences, he seeks alone to set others by the ears. I have now had the whole story from good William Rhind, who was in the carriage at the time. Newburn first looked into the lady's face, with an insulting laugh, and then, when the curtain was drawn, pulled it violently back, and thrust his head quite into the carriage."
"Then he deserved what he got," replied John Ramsay, frankly; "but as to this other business, you must look to it, George; for I feel sure that Gowrie is a man who will stand by his own people."
"Doubtless, when they are in the right," replied the other; "but not when they are in the wrong. I tell you, he seized the scoundrel with his own hand, as soon as he saw him flying with the poor fellow's blood upon him, and instantly gave him into the custody--not of his own followers, as he might have done, and no one said him nay, but--of the officers of the town. I forgot to tell you, too, that he has given a pension upon the lands of Ruthven to the widow, and her two daughters--fifty marks a year to each."
"That's noble--that's kind!" exclaimed John Ramsay.
"It is," said his brother; "but nevertheless, I shall go to Perth on the day of the trial, not from any doubt of Gowrie's justice, but for my own honour's sake. Thus, I beseech you, John, listen to no more tales from Newburn, who would only deceive you. As for my part, I tell you fairly, cousin or no cousin, he shall never darken my doors again. I stood by him as long as a gentleman and man of honour could; but in this business he sought so grossly to pervert the truth, that I will have no more to do with him."
Young John Ramsay mused for a minute or two; and his brother, thinking that he was pursuing the same train of thought, added, "You cannot deny, John, that his whole conduct through life has been disgraceful."
"I was not thinking of him, Dalhousie," said the younger brother, with a laugh; "I was wondering what Gowrie can have done with this same beautiful lady--this Lady Julia Douglas, and what can have made the king all in a moment seem to care so little about the matter. Either his majesty, with his cunning wit, has found out where she really is, and knows she is out of his power, or else he is waiting for the return of the messenger he sent to Italy to inquire about her treasures. The earl's movements have been very strange, as I told you, and though so strictly watched----"
But at that moment the door was quietly opened, and a servant said, "The Earl of Gowrie, Sir George, is waiting at the stairfoot to know if he can visit you."
The colour came somewhat warmly into John Ramsay's cheek, for though he had spoke of an apology, he did not think the opportunity of making it was so near. His brother, however, instantly started up, and went down to meet the earl, who took him kindly by the hand, saying, "'Tis a strange hour to visit you, Ramsay; but I have been engaged all this day, and hearing you had arrived, I would not let another pass without coming to see you."
"Welcome at any hour, my lord," replied Sir George Ramsay; "but how is it--alone, and on foot?"
"Even so, George," replied the earl; "had it been a visit of ceremony, it should have been in the morning, with horses and attendance enow; but as it is a visit of friendship, alone and on foot is best. I am now the student of Padua again, and far more happy so than as Earl of Gowrie."
While this conversation was passing, they were climbing the somewhat steep and difficult stairs of a house in the old town of Edinburgh, with a servant going before to light them; and when they entered the room where young Ramsay had remained, Gowrie seemed somewhat surprised to see him, but held out his hand frankly.
The other took it, not without grace, and feeling that he must speak then or never, he said, "I have to offer my excuses, my lord, for some rashness this morning, brought about by representations I now find to be false, and I trust----"
"Mention it no more, I pray, Sir John," replied Gowrie, seeing he paused and hesitated. "I understood full well that you had been deceived by that idle jade, Rumour, and had I not been in haste to get over a most painful duty, I would have stayed to explain more fully. Trust me to do simple justice in the case of the poor man who was so foully slain at Perth; and when I have done so, never let misconception of any part of my conduct breed coldness between us more. And now, let me congratulate you on the honour I hear you have this day received--none worthier, I am sure, and none who will do more honour to knighthood."
Seating himself quietly between the two brothers, Gowrie soon carried the conversation away from things personal, and from all that could excite one unpleasant feeling, or even difference of opinion. Having mingled more in the world at large than either of the two brothers, having seen more of mankind in every respect, he could always lead where Sir George was very willing to follow, and mingling from time to time some classical allusion for the elder, with conversation of hawks and hounds, and courtly pastimes for the younger of the two, he brought a brightness over the next half hour, which gained wonderfully upon John Ramsay. So much indeed did it gain upon him, that he became alarmed. He felt that he was beginning to like and admire a man whom he wished to hate; that he could not believe all that he desired to believe of him; and perhaps that he might learn to love the person whom he was destined to overthrow.
There was certainly some impression of the kind upon his mind. I do not mean to say that it was any superstitious presentiment, for it might have its rise in natural causes. The monarch to whom he had devoted himself had so often displayed his jealous antipathy towards the man beside him, had so frequently pointed to a coming struggle between the sovereign and the subject, and had so clearly indicated him, John Ramsay, as the person upon whose courage, faith, and resolution he relied, that it was not wonderful, he should see in Gowrie a man whom he was fated, sooner or later, to encounter as an enemy, and with whom it were better to enter into no bonds of friendship.
These feelings impelled him to rise at length, saying, "Well, Dalhousie, I must away back to the court. We are but servants after all, though our master be royal; and we must perform our service. I give you good night, my lord, and am happy that occasion has served for my explaining conduct which must have seemed rude."
Gowrie shook hands with him; but he said to himself, as the young man departed, "Nevertheless, he loves me not, and will love me less when he comes to think over what he will daily consider more humiliating."
"Well, Dalhousie," he continued, aloud, "you and I need no explanations. Your brother is a gallant youth, but young in mind as well as years. It is a fault time and experience sorely mends, and I doubt not he will do honour to your noble name."
"My lord," said Sir George Ramsay, in an eager manner, "pardon my abruptness, but I have much wished to speak with you alone, and feared every moment that you would go before my brother."
"What is the matter?" asked the earl, gazing at him. "I had hoped that all chance of dissension was at an end."
"With my brother, assuredly it is so," replied his companion; "he now knows you better than he did, and all foolish doubts with him are at an end. But, my dear lord, I wished to warn you that you are not well at the court. You know I would not speak unadvisedly upon so serious a subject. The king does not love you."
"Of that I am well aware," answered Gowrie; "why or wherefore I know not, and indeed it matters not. But I have done his majesty no wrong. I have advised him, when called on to advise, as I think best for his honour, his prosperity, and his peace; and there is no treason in that, Dalhousie. But, indeed, his dislike began before that--even from the first day of my arrival. I thwarted some of his plans, Ramsay, and he does not soon forgive that. But the storm will blow by, and he will find that I am a loyal subject though a sincere one, and forget his anger."
"The matter is more serious than that, earl," said Ramsay. "The king is jealous of your wealth, your power, your influence at the court of England, your popularity with the people of Scotland. My lord, I tell you you are in danger."
"I cannot think it," replied Gowrie; "I have given no cause for such animosity. I defy any one to show a disloyal or even a suspicious act, and I will give them no occasion, Dalhousie. My innocence be my shield."
"No disloyal act, if you will, Gowrie," replied Sir George Ramsay, in the tone of strong friendship, "but as to suspicion, it is different. The court is full of suspicions, and all aiming at you; and be you sure, Gowrie, that when suspicion takes possession of the mind of a coward, it makes him cruel as well as unjust."
Gowrie mused. "If you can point out the causes of suspicion, Ramsay," he said at length, "I may perhaps remove them, at least I will try, provided that I can do so without sacrificing my duty to myself, to my country, or to my God. I have offended the king by opposing him, but in truth have done him good service rather than otherwise; and I can neither regret what I have done, nor promise not to repeat it; but as to causes of suspicion, I know none."
"I find," replied Sir George Ramsay, "that the first doubts were created by your frequent intercourse with the English ambassador in Paris. Then came the extraordinary honour shown you by Elizabeth herself----"
"Exaggeration!" exclaimed Gowrie. "There were no extraordinary honours shown me. The Queen of England was kind and civil, expressed an interest in my favour, spoke of my father as I loved to hear, and once or twice called me cousin; but I am her cousin, as near in blood, though not in succession, as any relation that she has. King James is the undoubted heir to her throne. He has no right to be jealous of me."
"Your relationship is a dangerous one," said Ramsay; "and when with it is united the fact of your opposing strongly the views of a vain man, an obstinate man, and a timid man, you may well fear suspicions. But they have been increased by other things. You have been very closely watched since your return to Scotland; and your course has appeared somewhat mysterious. It is now known that you first crossed the border near Berwick, then suddenly returned into England, and came round by Carlisle. Again, you had an English servant with you, whose southern tongue betrayed his country at once. You sent him with a letter to the king, and he has since disappeared from your train, for the king caused him to be sought for, wishing to cross-examine him after his own peculiar fashion.--Let me go on, that you may have it all before you. Shortly after your arrival you quitted the court, taking your fair sister with you, and leading the king to believe that you were going to Dirleton. Instead of so doing, you crossed the Firth, and went into Perthshire----"
"I told the king I was going both to Perth and Dirleton."
"But you must have gone somewhere else than to Perth," said Ramsay, "for although it is not known where you did go, yet they have ascertained that you did not reach Perth till the fourteenth of the month--in short, that you were two nights absent, neither at Perth nor Dirleton, and moreover that you did not enter Perth from the side of Edinburgh."
"I have other estates I might wish to visit," said Gowrie; "and I did visit them, Ramsay. But if every movement of a Scottish gentleman is thus to be watched, life in this land would be very little worth having."
"I ask no questions, my lord," said Sir George Ramsay. "I speak but as a friend anxious for your safety, and wishing you to know all and see where the danger lies. Upon slight grounds men will build up strong fabrics of suspicion, especially against those whom they hate and fear; and although I know not exactly in what direction the king's doubts point; but I can easily conceive that, from the supposed honour shown you by the Queen of England, from the appearance and disappearance of a certain servant, from your various movements, and the secrecy which has attended them, he may imagine that you are engaged in some intrigues with Elizabeth, and we all know well how unjustifiably she has meddled with the affairs of this land."
"On my honour and soul, Ramsay," answered Gowrie, "I know of none of her intrigues, if she has been carrying on any. I hold no communication with her whatsoever. I have heard nought from her, sent her no information, and never will consent to a foreign sovereign taking any part whatsoever in the internal affairs of this land--nay, not to save my head from the block."
"I do believe you, my noble friend," answered Ramsay; "but still suspicion, if raised to such a pitch as it has been here, is as dangerous when false as true, when groundless as just; and I tell you that you are in danger."
"Of what?" exclaimed Gowrie. "Does he propose to arrest me, to try me? Let him do it. He will only bring disgrace upon his own head for persecuting a loyal subject who has done no wrong. I have never given the slightest cause, Ramsay. I never will; and I dare him, I dare the whole world, to find any flaw in my conduct which can give an opening to a plain and straightforward accusation."
"That is likely too," answered Ramsay, shaking his head, "and I do not believe that any straightforward accusation will be made. The times are past when men could be murdered under form of law; and greatly as all men must regret the anarchy and confusion which reigned in the land so long, yet they have acted as a purifying fire, and produced that freedom which is the best safeguard of justice. But there are other means, Gowrie, for ridding oneself of an enemy or of a suspected friend--secret means, much more easy to hide beforehand from the victim, and to cover over after with the mantle of authority, than the coarse expedient of manufacturing charges or corrupting judges."
"Good Heaven!" exclaimed Gowrie; "and is this Scotland?"
"Ay, even so," answered Ramsay. "I will not suppose that the king would order or attempt such a thing; but there is many a ready hand prepared to execute what is believed to be the royal wish, many an eager eye watching to discover what that wish may be. Recollect what happened in England when Becket, the proud opposer of the crown, a churchman, fenced in with all the hedges of Rome, was slain at a mere hint from the sovereign he had offended. We have as rash men amongst us as Tracy and his companions; and, in your case, you have none of the safeguards which Becket had. How many accidents could happen by which the Earl of Gowrie might lose his life?--a street brawl even, with which he had nothing to do--a chance shot during a hunting party--a blow struck in apparent sport; I could name a hundred ways in which the thing might be accomplished, without danger to the perpetrator of the deed, or imputation upon the prompter."
Gowrie rose, and walked up and down the room, thoughtfully; and, after a short pause, Ramsay continued. "I have spoken my mind freely, my dear lord, from our boyish friendship, and from sincere esteem. I have ventured to say things which put in your power, even perhaps my life; but I know your generous nature too well not to feel sure that my confidence will never be abused."
"Be you quite certain of that," answered Gowrie, pausing and taking his hand. "But what would you have me do, Ramsay? I see the dangers of which you speak; but I perceive no way of avoiding them."
"There are but two ways that I know of," answered Ramsay. "If you can remove the king's suspicions, and convince him of your loyalty and devotion, the danger will pass away."
"Remove some of his suspicions, I might," said Gowrie, thoughtfully; and his mind rested on Julia's situation, and the chance that existed of his being able to prove, to the king's satisfaction, that she knew nought of her father's wealth, and had never possessed any part of it. Could he do so, and obtain the royal consent to his marriage with her, the mystery attending some of his late movements could be explained at once. But he resolved at all events, whatever might be the risk, not to divulge the place of her concealment till she actually was his wife. He repeated, then, after thinking for a minute or two--"Remove some of his suspicions, I might, and I will try to do so, if it can be effected without a sacrifice which not even safety could compensate. As to proving to him my loyalty and devotion, I know no way but that which I have already followed--to be loyal and devoted in seeking what are really his best interests."
Ramsay shook his head; and the earl replied to this mute answer--"Well then, Ramsay, I can do no otherwise; if it costs me life itself I will not abandon the cause of civil and religious liberty. I will be no consenting party to the oppression of the people. I will not be the stay of despotism, nor the tool of arbitrary power. Let him take my life rather than that; for I will not hold the fee-simple of existence on the tenure of dishonour."
"There you are right," answered Ramsay; "and your views are mine; but the difference between us is, that you, by your high position, are called upon to act and speak in dangerous circumstances, when I may be still and silent. However, try what you can do to remove the king's suspicions--to account, at least, for some part of your conduct. Nay, smile not, my dear lord, for things that seem very simple to you, magnified by the optic glass of jealousy, grow into vast importance.--Try, I say, what you can do, but wait a few days, till the remembrance of this morning's work is somewhat softened. There is no present danger, I do believe. Such schemes take long in hatching; and you will have time to see how the king bears with you. If he is dry and sharp, you may doubt his intentions; if he is wondrous kind and over familiar, showing you great favour and unwonted friendship, then be you sure he meditates mischief. That is the time for taking the alternative,--quitting the court, and keeping yourself out of harm's way. I will take care that you shall have every information that is communicated to me, except that which comes under the seal of secresy; but I beseech you, my dear lord, linger not too long, but trust in my word that I speak not without good cause, and perhaps suspect more than I say. For the plucking of such a goodly bird as yourself," he continued, with a faint smile, "would furnish many a poor half-moulted fowl of the court with golden feathers for the rest of life."
Gowrie thanked him again and again, and then took his leave; and, in a very thoughtful mood, returned to his own house.
It is a hard task for a frank and honest mind to assume an easy and a careless air when there are dark thoughts and heavy doubts within. Gowrie did not return to the court on the day after his conversation with Sir George Ramsay. He felt that he could not banish the impression that he had received from his demeanour. On the following day, however, he did go to Holyrood, and was extremely graciously received; and for a week more he continued to frequent the court with other men of his rank and station. The queen always received him with peculiar favour; and in her circle he met with many of those whom he loved and esteemed, so that he gradually regained all his cheerfulness, although he was not inclined to share in the somewhat boisterous mirth of the king, or to take part in his vulgar pleasantries, which had full scope and licence on the first of April. On the third of that month, however, he craved a private audience of the monarch, and, after some little hesitation, was admitted.
James was in the midst of books and papers; and his manner, though exceedingly condescending, was somewhat embarrassed. "We would not put you off with a poor excuse, my lord," said the monarch, "for we could not tell what you were wanting; but you have chosen an ill time for a long confabulation, as we were writing a disquisition for our poor people of Scotland, and perhaps for the good folks of England too, upon the nature and property of witches and warlocks, and how to discriminate them justly."
"I crave your gracious pardon for my intrusion, sire," replied Gowrie, "and can well wait your majesty's pleasure. The matter is one entirely personal to myself, and therefore should not for a moment be allowed to interfere with your more important avocations. I will, therefore, by your majesty's leave, retire, and wait upon you at some future period when you have more leisure."
"No, no--stay!" said the king. "Let's hear what it's about. We shall always find great pleasure in doing what we can to show our favour to you, Earl of Gowrie. Speak, man, speak. What are ye seeking?"
"Merely your gracious leave and permission, sire, to wed a lady to whom I am much attached."
There was a small spot on James's forehead just above the eyebrows, which the monarch was accustomed to contract when eager and attentive, and that spot now grew very red.
"What, with the Lady Arabella Stuart?" he said. "So runs the rumour. We have heard of it. But you are cousins, my Lord of Gowrie; and we like not cousins marrying."
"There would be a thousand other objections to such a union, please your majesty," Gowrie replied, "all of which I see and appreciate fully----"
"Then what the de'il makes ye seek it?" asked James, abruptly, and evidently in a very angry mood.
"Such a thing never entered into my contemplation, sire," answered the earl, "nor did I ever hear that rumour had done me such a needless honour till this moment. I am in no way ambitious, sire. I neither seek to augment my fortune, raise my family, nor increase my influence. That lady's hand may well be bestowed upon some sovereign prince, but not upon the Earl of Gowrie."
"Ha, my lord, you speak well," said the king; "but some trick has been put upon us. We have not long since been told that our good sister and cousin, the Queen of England, had offered you the lady's hand when you were at her court of London."
"Doubtless, sire," replied Gowrie, "gossip and jealousy, together, have connected many a tale with my short residence there, equally false with this. The queen never mentioned the Lady Arabella's name to me; and, as she happened to be absent from the court, I never even saw her. Had such a thing been proposed, I must at once have declined, without even troubling your majesty upon the subject, inasmuch as I am attached to another lady, and contracted to her by promises which I neither can, nor desire to break."
James had listened attentively while the earl proceeded, and it was evident that he felt much satisfaction at what he heard; but he spoke no more of the Lady Arabella.
"Promises," he said, when Gowrie paused, "promises before witnesses?"
"Before one witness at least, your majesty," replied Gowrie.
"That is not a congregation," said the king. "By word of mouth or by writing?"
"By both, sire," answered Gowrie, decidedly. "I am bound to her in every way that man can bind himself."
"That is serious, my lord," said James. "You would have acted more wisely and more dutifully too, if, before undertaking such things, you had consulted us--not to say asked our consent as pater patriae. It is serious, good earl, I say; but we'll find a means to liberate you."
"But, sire, I do not desire to be liberated," replied Gowrie, with a smile. "I desire to be faster bound than ever, both to the lady and your majesty, by your graciously consenting to our speedy union."
"That's a joke, man, but not a good one--" said the king, laughing grimly; "considering all things, it's not a good one. Now you are all obedience, you see, and humbly asking my consent, which I dare to say you would do without, if it were refused."
Gowrie felt some embarrassment, for he could not bring himself to say he would not, and yet he did not like openly to set the king's authority at defiance. James, however, relieved him by saying, "But who's the lady, man? Let's hear all about her."
"I met with her in Italy, sire," replied Gowrie. "She was then living, I may say, in poverty, with her grandfather, the Count Manucci."
"Ha, ha! now we have it," cried James, laughing loud. "I know all about the story now. The daughter, or the reputed daughter of black Morton."
"His real and lawful daughter, sire," replied Gowrie, "as these papers will show your majesty. The originals are in the lady's keeping; but the names of the witnesses put the matter of her birth beyond all dispute."
"Ah," said James, taking the papers in his hand, and casting his eyes slowly over them, "it's good and honest to be lawfully born; but that is all she'll get by these rags of papers, for the estates of old Morton were all confiscate to the use of the crown, and were granted long since, with the advice of our council, to better deserving people than himself."
"I fear it is as your majesty says," replied the earl, calmly, "for I have looked over the papers well, and do not believe that, even this small act of settlement upon the lands of Whiteburn can be now maintained."
"Ha, say ye so, man?" cried the king. "You're a lawyer too, it would seem, and in this case a good one. I can tell you that the parchment on which this is drawn is not worth an old bull's hide. However, she ought to have a goodly tocher, for Morton had been scraping money together all his life, and as nobody could ever find where he put it, there's no doubt it was carried off by this lassie's grandfather and her mother."
"I can assure your majesty that you are in error there," said Gowrie. "Count Manucci lived in absolute poverty from the time he quitted Scotland, having been expelled from Florence, as your majesty probably knows, on account of his religious opinions. He received a small pension from the Earl of Angus up to the day of his death, which the earl would certainly not have paid if the count had obtained possession of all his uncle's wealth."
"That looks like truth," cried James. "I should not wonder if Angus had got the money himself."[3]
"Of that I know nought, sire," answered Gowrie; "but I can assure your majesty that the only wealth this dear girl brings with her to me is herself, and three thousand ducats which her grandfather had saved."
"Sorry to hear it," said the king. "We could have wished you a wealthier bride, my lord;" and there he stopped.
Gowrie remained also silent, anxious to hear what the king's consideration of the subject would lead him to, and at all events to get some definite answer upon which he might act. He thought that the next question might be, where he had left Julia, but he was prepared with an answer even for that, although he much wished to avoid being compelled to give it. James, however, notwithstanding his despotic principles and his anxiety to establish a complete absolutism in church and state, was constitutionally timid with those of whose resistance he had had any experience; and he did not like to drive the earl to refuse an answer. He therefore merely said that which precluded him afterwards from acting upon the information he had really obtained, giving the earl greatly the advantage.
"And so the lady is in Italy?" he observed, after a somewhat lengthened pause.
"No, sire, she is not," answered Gowrie. "Her present abode I have engaged to keep secret, till such time as I may be permitted to present her to your majesty as my wife. Immediately that such is the case, and that we can be married, I will go to seek her, with your majesty's leave."
"As far as the court of London, I suppose?" said James, somewhat bitterly.
"No, sir, not above one quarter as far," replied the earl. "I should have been very sorry to have given any foreign prince a hold upon me, even through my affections."
James remained silent, and seemed to hesitate, for he played with the points of his doublet, and shuffled about the papers on the table.
"Well, my lord," he said at length, "the question is one of some difficulty. We must consider of the subject fully. All those Douglasses, even to the second degree, are banished men--exiled from the land; and it cannot be decided just in a moment whether we shall open the door to any of them. Besides, it might make strife and contention. Here, you see, is a sort of claim set up to the lands of Whiteburn, long since bestowed upon our faithful servant, Andrew Stuart."
"I will give an undertaking, sire, under my hand, that those claims shall never be pursued," said Gowrie, "under the penalty of forfeiting five times their value."
This wasn't exactly the end, however, at which James wanted to arrive; and, affecting a little impatience, he exclaimed, "There, then, man, you've had your answer. We will give the matter our consideration, and after due deliberation had, we will say yea or nay, as may seem fitting. There, now, gang your ways, my lord. We have other things in hand just now."
Thus unceremoniously dismissed, Gowrie retired from the king's presence with no slight feelings of impatience and disgust. Delay was evidently the object, but to what end this delay could serve, seemed difficult to divine; and during the next ten days he was frequently tempted to recall the subject to the king's mind, with as urgent application as that of Buckingham for "the earldom of Hereford and the moveables." He refrained, however, anxious not to injure his own cause; and still the king abstained from giving any direct answer, although, with a varying favour, he treated him one day with somewhat too familiar kindness, and the next with cold indifference.
This playing with his expectations wore his mind and depressed his spirits; and his long absence from her he loved kept him in a state of irritable impatience, for he had fondly hoped to bear to Julia the tiding that the king's consent was given.
He found consolation, indeed, in the frequent society of his sister Beatrice, who, wise beyond her years, yet gay and sportive as a child, at once counselled him aright and cheered him on his way. Seeming never to fear anything, she was nevertheless watchful and alive to all that passed at the court, which could in any degree affect her brother; and much information did both she and Gowrie gain from her gay lover, Sir John Hume.
Day passed by on day, however; and the king seemed to have totally forgotten the subject of the earl's application, till at length, in speaking with his sister, Gowrie said, "I can bear it no longer, Beatrice. I will away to Perth."
"If you get to Perth," answered Beatrice, "you will not be long away from Trochrie, Gowrie."
"Perhaps not," answered the earl; "but I will write to the king first, Beatrice. If he refuses his consent, I will do as best I may, though it may be dangerous, if the law does really make her a ward of the crown; but I doubt the fact where there are no lands to hold. If he consents, it is all well; but I must and will have some answer."
"Be not rash, Gowrie--be not rash," said his sister; "a day very often brings forth important things."
"I am for Perth to-morrow," replied her brother, in a determined tone; "but I will soon return, and perhaps my absence may recall me to the king's mind more than my presence."
Without taking any leave of the court, Gowrie set out on the following morning, and rode with all speed to Perth, where he remained two days arranging his household, and seeing that everything was prepared for resuming his residence in his native city. He was then absent for one whole day and a great part of the next; and the reader need not be told where he spent his time.
On his return he was informed that the prisoner, David Drummond, desired to see him at the town jail; but although the message was brought by no less a person than Bailie Roy, the junior magistrate of the town, the earl refused to visit the prisoner.
"Tell him, good Master Roy," he said, "had he not been one of my own servants, I would have come to see him at his request; but such being the case, I will deal with him no way privately before his trial."
When the worthy bailie departed, Gowrie expected to hear no more of the matter; but he was surprised, about half an hour after, as he was walking somewhat sadly in his garden, to see Bailie Roy posting up the path towards him.
"I most humbly beg your lordship's pardon," said the good magistrate, approaching; "but I am forced to intrude upon your private recreation by another message from that dour divot, David Drummond. He bade me tell your lordship that if you would not see him he would apply to the king, and might tell him some things that he would be glad to hear."
"Then, by all means, let him pleasure his majesty," said Gowrie. "I would not for the world deprive him of any valuable or agreeable information. In short, Master Roy, I will not see him; and he should know me well enough to be sure that when once I have said so I will not alter."
Notwithstanding this determined answer, the prisoner's message left the earl thoughtful and anxious. "The only thing he can tell," thought Gowrie, "is the retreat of my poor Julia. The king has sent no answer to my letter. I will wait till noon to-morrow, and then go to demand one myself--I do not think he would venture to attempt to take her from my protection by force; but we shall soon see, and, thank God, everything is prepared."
No letter came on the day following, and Gowrie set out for Edinburgh after the noon meal. He arrived too late to visit the court that day, indeed; and was sitting down with all the evil anticipations of an impatient spirit under prolonged anxiety, when the clouds were suddenly dispelled, and a brief gleam of sunshine broke through the canopy of storm that was fast spreading over him.