MISTRESS NELL IS TOLD OF THE KING’S DANGER.
MISTRESS NELL IS TOLD OF THE KING’S DANGER.
It was never treason to steal a King’s kisses.
It was never treason to steal a King’s kisses.
A year and more had flown.
It was one of those glorious moon-lit nights in the early fall when there is a crispness in the air which lends an edge to life.
St. James’s Park was particularly beautiful. The giant oaks with their hundreds of years of story written in their rings lifted high their spreading branches, laden with leaves, which shimmered in the light. The historic old park seemed to be made up of patches of day and night. In the open, one might read in the mellow glow of the harvest-moon; in the shade of one of its oaks, a thief might safely hide.
Facing on the park, there stood a house of Elizabethan architecture. Along its wrinkled, ivy-mantled wall ran a terrace-like balustrade, where one might walk and enjoy the night without fear.
The house was well defined by the rays of the moon, which seemed to dance upon it in a halo of mirth; and from the park, below the terrace, came the soft notes of a violin, tenderly picked.
None other than Strings was sitting astride of a low branch of an oak, looking up at a window, like some guardian spirit from the devil-land, singing in his quaintly unctuous way:
“Four and twenty fiddlers all in a row,And there was fiddle-fiddle, and twice fiddle-fiddle.”
“Four and twenty fiddlers all in a row,And there was fiddle-fiddle, and twice fiddle-fiddle.”
“How’s that for a serenade to Mistress Nell?” he asked himself as he secured a firm footing on the ground and slung his fiddle over his back. “She don’t know it’s for her, but the old viol and old Strings know.” He came to a stand-still and winced. “Oons, my old wound again,” he said, with a sharp cry, followed as quickly by a laugh. His eyes still wandered along the balustrade, as eagerly as some young Romeo at the balcony of his Juliet. “I wish she’d walk her terraceto-night,” he sighed, “where we could see her–the lovely lady!”
His rhapsody was suddenly broken in upon by the approach of some one down the path. He glided into the shadow of an oak and none too quickly.
From the obscurity of the trees, into the open, a chair was swiftly borne, by the side of which ran a pretty page of tender years, yet well schooled in courtly wisdom. The lovely occupant leaned forward and motioned to the chairmen, who obediently rested and assisted her to alight.
“Retire beneath the shadow of the trees,” she whispered. “Have a care; no noise.”
The chairmen withdrew quietly, but within convenient distance, to await her bidding.
Strings’s heart quite stopped beating. “The Duchess of Portsmouth at Mistress Nell’s!” he said, almost aloud in his excitement. “Then the devil must be to pay!” and he slipped well behind the oak-trunk again.
Portsmouth’s eyes snapped with Frenchfire as she glanced up at Nell’s terrace. Then she turned to the page by her side. “His Majesty came this path before?” she asked, with quick, French accent.
“Yes, your grace,” replied the page.
“And up this trellis?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Again to-night?”
“I cannot tell, your grace,” replied the lad. “I followed as you bade me; but the King’s legs were so long, you see, I lost him.”
Portsmouth smiled. “Softly, pretty one,” she said. “Watch if he comes and warn me; for we may have passed him.”
The lad ran gaily down the path to perform her bidding.
“State-business!” she muttered, as she reflected bitterly upon the King’s late excuses to her. “Mon Dieu, does he think me a country wench? I was schooled at Louis’s court.” Her eyes searched the house from various points of advantage. “A light!” she exclaimed, as a candle burned brightly from a window, like a spark of gold set in the silver of the night.“Would I had an invisible cloak.” She tiptoed about a corner of the wall–woman-like, to see if she could see, not Nell, but Charles.
Scarcely had she disappeared when a second figure started up in the moonlight, and a gallant figure, too. It was the Duke of Buckingham. “Not a mouse stirring,” he reflected, glancing at the terrace. “Fair minx, you will not long refuse Buckingham’s overtures. Come, Nelly, thy King is already half stolen away by Portsmouth of France, and Portsmouth of France is our dear ally in the great cause and shall be more so.”
To his astonishment, as he drew nearer, he observed a lady, richly dressed, gliding between himself and the terrace. He rubbed his eyes to see that he was not dreaming. She was there, however, and a pretty armful, too.
“Nell,” he chuckled, as he stole up behind her.
Portsmouth meanwhile had learned that the window was too high to allow her to gain a view within the dwelling.She started–observing, more by intuition than by sight, that she was watched–and drew her veil closely about her handsome features.
“Nelly, Nelly,” laughed Buckingham, “I have thee, wench. Come, a kiss!–a kiss! Nay, love; it was never treason to steal a King’s kisses.”
He seized her by the arm and was about to kiss her when she turned and threw back her veil.
“Buckingham!” she said, suavely.
“Portsmouth!” he exclaimed, awestruck.
He gathered himself together, however, in an instant, and added, as if nothing in the world had happened: “An unexpected pleasure, your grace.”
“Yes,” said she, with a pretty shrug. “I did not know I was so honoured, my lord.”
“Or you would not have refused the little kiss?” he asked, suggestively.
“You called me ‘Nelly,’ my lord. I do not respond to that name.”
“Damme, I was never good at names,Louise,” said he, with mock-apology, “especially by moonlight.”
“Buz, buz!” she answered, with a knowing gesture and a knowing look. Then, pointing toward the terrace, she added: “A pretty nest! A pretty bird within, I warrant. Her name?”
“Ignorance well feigned,” he thought. He replied, however, most graciously: “Nell Gwyn.”
“Oh, ho! The King’s favourite, who has more power, they say, than great statesmen–like my lord.”
Her speech was well defined to draw out his lordship; but he was wary.
“Unless my lord is guided by my lady, as formerly,” he replied, diplomatically.
A look of suspicion crept into Portsmouth’s face: but it was not visible for want of contrast; for all things have a perverted look by the light of the moon.
She had known Buckingham well at Dover. Their interests there had been one in securing privileges from England for her French King. Both had been well rewarded too for their pains. There wereno proofs, however, of this; and where his lordship stood to-day, and which cause he would espouse, she did not know. His eyes at Dover had fallen fondly upon her, but men’s eyes fall fondly upon many women, and she would not trust too much until she knew more.
“My chairmen have set me down at the wrong door-step,” she said, most sweetly. “My lord longs for his kiss.Au revoir!”
She bowed and turned to depart.
Buckingham was alert in an instant. He knew not when the opportunity might come again to deal so happily with Louis’s emissary and the place and time of meeting had its advantages.
“Prythee stay, Duchess. I left the merry hunters, returning from Hounslow Heath, all in Portsmouth’s interest,” he said. “Is this to be my thanks?”
She approached him earnestly. “My lord must explain. I am stupid in fitting English facts to English words.”
“Have you forgotten Dover?” he asked, intensely, but subdued in voice,“and my pledges sworn to?–the treaty at the Castle?–the Duchess of Orléans?–the Grand Monarch?”
“Hush!” exclaimed Portsmouth, clutching his arm and looking cautiously about.
“If my services to you there were known,” he continued, excitedly, “and to the great cause–the first step in making England pensioner of France and Holland the vassal of Louis–my head would pay the penalty. Can you not trust me still?”
“You are on strange ground to-night,” suggested Portsmouth, tossing her head impatiently to indicate the terrace, as she tried to fathom the real man.
“I thought the King might pass this way, and came to see,” hastily explained his lordship, observing that she was reflecting upon the incongruity of his friendship for her and of his visit to Madame Gwyn.
“And if he did?” she asked, dubiously, not seeing the connection.
“I have a plan to make his visits lessfrequent, Louise,–for your sweet sake and mine.”
The man was becoming master. He had pleased her, and she was beginning to believe.
“Yes?” she said, in a way which might mean anything, but certainly that she was listening, and intently listening too.
“You have servants you can trust?” he asked.
“I have,” she replied as quickly; and she gloried in the thought that some at least were as faithful as Louis’s court afforded.
“They must watch Nell’s terrace here, night and day,” he almost commanded in his eagerness, “who comes out, who goes in and the hour. She may forget her royal lover; and–well–we shall have witnesses in waiting. We owe this kindness–to his Majesty.”
Portsmouth shrugged her shoulders impatiently. “Mon Dieu!” she said. “My servants have watched, my lord, already. The despatches would have been signedand Louis’s army on the march against the Dutch but for this vulgar player-girl, whom I have never seen. The King forgets all else.”
The beautiful Duchess was piqued, indeed, that the English King should be so swayed. She felt that it was a personal disgrace–an insult to her charms and to her culture. She felt that the court knew it and laughed, and she feared that Louis soon would know. Nell Gwyn! How she hated her–scarce less than she loved Louis and her France.
“Be of good cheer,” suggested Buckingham, soothingly; and he half embraced her. “My messenger shall await your signal, to carry the news to Louis and his army.”
“There is no news,” replied she, and turned upon him bitterly. “Charles evades me. Promise after promise to sup with me broken. I expected him to-night. My spies warned me he would not come; that he is hereabouts again. I followed myself to see. I have the papers with me always. If I can but see the King alone, it willnot take long to dethrone this up-start queen; wine, sweet words–England’s sign-manual.”
There was a confident smile on her lips as she reflected upon her personal powers, which had led Louis XIV. of France to entrust a great mission to her. His lordship saw his growing advantage. He would make the most of it.
“In the last event you have the ball!” he suggested, hopefully.
“Aye, and we shall be prepared,” she cried. “But Louis is impatient to strike the blow for Empire unhampered by British sympathy for the Dutch, and the ball is–”
“A fortnight off,” interrupted Buckingham, with a smile.
“And my messenger should be gone to-night,” she continued, irritably. She approached him and whispered cautiously: “I have to-day received another note from Bouillon. Louis relies upon me to win from Charles his consent to the withdrawal of the British troops from Holland. This will insure the fall of Luxembourg–thekey to our success. You see, Buckingham, I must not fail. England’s debasement shall be won.”
There was a whistle down the path.
“Some one comes!” she exclaimed. “My chair!”
The page, who had given the signal, came running to her. Her chairmen too were prompt.
“Join me,” she whispered to Buckingham, as he assisted her to her seat within.
“Later, Louise, later,” he replied. “I must back to the neighbouring inn, before the huntsmen miss me.”
Portsmouth waved to the chairmen, who moved silently away among the trees.
Buckingham stood looking after them, laughing.
“King Charles, a French girl from Louis’s court will give me the keys to England’s heart and her best honours,” he muttered.
He glanced once again quickly at the windows of the house, and then, with altered purpose, swaggered away down aside path. He was well pleased with his thoughts, well pleased with his chance interview with the beautiful Duchess and well pleased with himself. His brain wove and wove moonbeam webs of intrigue as he passed through the light and shadow of the night, wherein he would lend a helping hand to France and secure gold and power for his pains. He had no qualms of conscience; for must not his estates be kept, his dignity maintained? His purpose was clear. He would bring Portsmouth and the King closer together: and what England lost, he would gain–and, therefore, England; for was not he himself a part of England, and a great part?
Then too he must and would have Nell.
“Softly on tiptoe;Here Nell doth lie.”
As often happens in life, when one suitor departs, another suitor knocks; and so it happened on this glorious night. The belated suitor was none other than Charles, the Stuart King. He seemed in the moonlight the picture of royalty, of romance, of dignity, of carelessness, of indifference–the royal vagabond of wit, of humour and of love. A well-thumbed “Hudibras” bulged from his pocket. He was alone, save for some pretty spaniels that played about him. He heeded them not. His thoughts were of Nell.
“Methought I heard voices tuned to love,” he mused, as he glanced about. “What knave has spied out the secret of her bower? Ho, Rosamond, my Rosamond! Why came I here again to-night? What is there in this girl, this Nell? Andyet her eyes, how like the pretty maid’s who passed me the cup that day at the cottage where we rested. Have I lived really to love–I, Solomon’s rival in the entertainment of the fair,–to have my heart-strings torn by this roguish player?”
His reflections were broken in upon by the hunters’ song in the distance. The music was so in harmony with the night that the forest seemed enchanted.
“Hush; music!” he exclaimed, softly, as he lent himself reluctantly to the spell, which pervaded everything as in a fairyland. “Odds, moonlight was once for me as well the light for revels, bacchanals and frolics; yet now I linger another evening by Nell’s terrace, mooning like a lover o’er the memory of her eyes and entranced by the hunters’ song.”
The singers were approaching. The King stepped quickly beneath the trellis, in an angle of the wall, and waited. Their song grew richer, as melodious as the night, but it struck a discord in his soul. He was thinking of a pair of eyes.
THE KING PROFESSES HIS LOVE FOR NELL.
THE KING PROFESSES HIS LOVE FOR NELL.
“Cease those discordant jangles,” he exclaimed impatiently to himself; “cease, I say! No song except for Nell! Nell! Pour forth your sweetest melody for Nell!”
The hunters stopped as by intuition before the terrace. A goodly company they were, indeed; there were James and Rochester and others of the court returning from the day’s hunt. There was Buckingham too, who had rejoined them as they left the inn. The music died away.
“Whose voice was that?” asked James, as he caught the sound of the King’s impatient exclamation from the corner of the wall.
“Some dreamer of the night,” laughed Buckingham. “Yon love-sick fellow, methinks,” he continued, pointing to a figure, well aloof beneath the trees, who was watching the scene most jealously. It was none other than Hart, who rarely failed to have an eye on Nell’s terrace and who instantly stole away in the darkness.
“This is the home of Eleanor Gwyn we are passing,” said Rochester, superfluously;for all knew full well that it was Nelly’s terrace.
“The love-lorn seer is wise,” cried the Duke of York, quite forgetting his frigid self as he bethought him of Nell, and becoming quite lover-like, as he, sighing, said: “It were well to make peace with Nelly. Sing, hunters, sing!”
The command was quickly obeyed and the voices well attuned; for none were there but worshipped Nelly.
Hail to the moonbeams’Crystal spray,Nestling in HeavenAll the day,Falling by night-time,Silvery showers,Twining with love-rhymeNell’s fair bowers.Sing, hunters, sing,Gently carolling,Here lies our hart–Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.Hail to the King’s oaks,Sentries blest,Spreading their branches,Guarding her rest,Telling the breezes,Hastening by:“Softly on tiptoe;Here Nell doth lie.”Sing, hunters, sing,Gently carolling,Here lies our hart–Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.
Hail to the moonbeams’Crystal spray,Nestling in HeavenAll the day,Falling by night-time,Silvery showers,Twining with love-rhymeNell’s fair bowers.Sing, hunters, sing,Gently carolling,Here lies our hart–Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.Hail to the King’s oaks,Sentries blest,Spreading their branches,Guarding her rest,Telling the breezes,Hastening by:“Softly on tiptoe;Here Nell doth lie.”Sing, hunters, sing,Gently carolling,Here lies our hart–Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.
The King heard the serenade to the end, then stepped gaily from his hiding-place.
“Brother James under Nelly’s window!” he said, with a merry laugh.
“The King!” exclaimed James, in startled accents, as he realized the presence of his Majesty and the awkward position in which he and his followers were placed.
“The King!” repeated the courtiers. Hats were off and knees were bent respectfully.
“Brother,” saluted Charles, as he embraced the Duke of York good-naturedly.
Buckingham withdrew a few steps. He was the most disturbed at the presence of the King at Nelly’s bower. “As I feared,” he thought. “Devil take his Majesty’s meandering heart.”
“Odsfish,” laughed Charles, “we must guard our Nelly, or James and his saintly followers will rob her bower by moonlight.”
The Duke of York assumed a devout and dignified mien. “Sire,” he attempted to explain, but was interrupted quickly by his Majesty.
“No apologies, pious brother. God never damned a man for a little irregular pleasure.”
There was a tittering among the courtiers as the King’s words fell upon their ears.
James continued to apologize. “In faith, we were simply passing–” he said.
Again he was interrupted by his Majesty, who was in the best of humour and much pleased at the discomfiture of his over-religious brother.
“Lorenzo too was simply passing,”he observed, “but the fair Jessica and some odd ducats stuck to his girdle; and the Jew will still be tearing his hair long after we are dust. Ah, Buckingham, they tell me you too have a taste for roguish Nelly. Have a care!”
The King strode across to Buckingham as he spoke; and while there was humour in his tone, there was injunction also.
Buckingham was too great a courtier not to see and feel it. He bowed respectfully, replying to his Majesty, “Sire, I would not presume to follow the King’s eyes, however much I admire their taste.”
“’Tis well,” replied his Majesty, pointedly, “lest they lead thee abroad on a sleeveless mission.”
Others had travelled upon such missions; Buckingham knew it well.
“But what does your Majesty here to-night, if we dare ask?” questioned James, who had just bethought him how to turn the tables upon the King.
Charles looked at his brother quizzically. “Humph!” he exclaimed, in his peculiar way. “Feeding my ducks in yonderpond.” His staff swept indefinitely toward the park.
“Hunting with us were nobler business, Sire,” suggested James, decisively.
“Not so,” replied the King, quite seriously. “My way–I learn to legislate for ducks.”
“’T'were wiser,” preached York, “to study your subjects’ needs.”
The King’s eyes twinkled. “I go among them,” he said, “and learn their needs, while you are praying, brother.”
At this sally, Rochester became convulsed, though he hid it well; for Rochester was not as pious as brother James.
York, feeling that the sympathy was against him, grew more earnest still. “I wish your Majesty would have more care,” he pleaded. “’Tis a crime against yourself, a crime against the state, a crime against the cavaliers who fought and died for you, to walk these paths alone in such uncertain times. Perchance, ’tis courting lurking murder!”
“No kind of danger, James,” answered the King, with equal seriousness, layinga hand kindly on his brother’s shoulder; “for I am sure no man in England would take away my life to make you King.”
There was general laughter from the assembled party; for all dared laugh, even at the expense of the Duke of York, when the jest was of the King’s making. Indeed, not to laugh at a king’s jest has been in every age, in or out of statutes, the greatest crime. Fortunately, King Charles’s wit warranted its observation.
James himself grew mellow under the influence of the gaiety, and almost affectionately replied, “God grant it be ever so, brother.” He then turned the thought. “We heard but now an ambassador from Morocco’s court is lately landed. He brings your Majesty two lions and thirty ostriches.”
“Odsfish, but he is kind,” replied the King, reflecting on the gift. “I know of nothing more proper to send by way of return than a flock of geese.”
His brow arched quizzically, as he glanced over the circle of inert courtiers ranged about him. “Methinks I can countthem out at Whitehall,” he thought.
“He seeks an audience to-night. Will you grant it, Sire?” besought James.
“’Sheart!” replied the King. “Most cheerfully, I’ll lead you from Nelly’s terrace, brother. Hey! Tune up your throats. On to the palace.”
“Come down!Come up!”
The music died away among the old oaks in the park. Before its final notes were lost on the air, however, hasty steps and a chatter of women’s voices came from the house. The door leading to the terrace was thrown quickly open, and Nell appeared. Her eyes had the bewildered look of one who has been suddenly awakened from a sleep gilded with a delightful dream.
She had, indeed, been dreaming–dreaming of the King and of his coming. As she lay upon her couch, where she had thrown herself after the evening meal, she had seemed to hear his serenade.
Then the music ceased and she started up and rubbed her eyes. It was only to see the moonlight falling through the latticed windows on to the floor of her daintychamber. She was alone and she bethought herself sadly that dreams go by contraries.
Once again, however, the hunters’ song had arisen on her startled ear–and had died away in sweet cadences in the distance. It was not a dream!
As she rushed out upon the terrace, she called Moll reprovingly; and, in an instant, Moll was at her side. The faithful girl had already seen the hunters and had started a search for Nell; but the revellers had gone before she could find her.
“What is it, dear Nell?” asked her companion, well out of breath.
“Why did you not call me, cruel girl?” answered Nell, impatiently. “To miss seeing so many handsome cavaliers! Where is my kerchief?”
Nell leaned over the balustrade and waved wildly to the departing hunters. A pretty picture she was too, in her white flowing gown, silvered by the moonlight.
“See, see,” she exclaimed to Moll, with wild enthusiasm, “some one waves back. It may be he, sweet mouse. Heigh-ho! Why don’t you wave, Moll?”
Before Moll could answer, a rich bugle-horn rang out across the park.
“The hunters’ horn!” cried Nell, gleefully. “Oh, I wish I were a man–except when one is with me”; and she threw both arms about Moll, for the want of one better to embrace. She was in her varying mood, which was one ’twixt the laughter of the lip and the tear in the eye.
“I have lost my brother!” ejaculated some one; but she heard him not.
This laconic speech came from none other than the King, who in a bantering mood had returned.
“I went one side a tree and pious James t’other; and here I am by Nelly’s terrace once again,” he muttered. “Oh, ho! wench!” His eyes had caught sight of Nell upon the terrace.
He stepped back quickly into the shadow and watched her playfully.
Nell looked longingly out into the night, and sighed heavily. She was at her wit’s end. The evening was waning, and the King, as she thought, had not come.
“Why do you sigh?” asked Moll, consolingly.
“I was only looking down the path, dear heart,” replied Nell, sadly.
“He will come,” hopefully suggested Moll, whose little heart sympathized deeply with her benefactress.
“Nay, sweet,” said Nell, and she shook her curls while the moonbeams danced among them, “he is as false as yonder moon–as changeable of face.”
She withdrew her eyes from the path and they fell upon the King. His Majesty’s curiosity had quite over-mastered him, and he had inadvertently stepped well into the light. The novelty of hearing himself derided by such pretty lips was a delicious experience, indeed.
“The King!” she cried, in joyous surprise.
Moll’s diplomatic effort to escape at the sight of his Majesty was not half quick enough for Nell, who forthwith forced her companion into the house, and closed the door sharply behind her, much to the delight of the humour-loving King.
Nell then turned to the balustrade and, somewhat confused, looked down at hisMajesty, who now stood below, calmly gazing up at her, an amused expression on his face.
“Pardon, your Majesty,” she explained, falteringly, “I did not see you.”
“You overlooked me merely,” slyly suggested Charles, swinging his stick in the direction of the departed hunters.
“I’faith, I thought it was you waved answer, Sire,” quickly replied Nell, whose confusion was gone and who was now mistress of the situation and of herself.
“No, Nell; I hunt alone for my hart.”
“You hunt the right park, Sire.”
“Yea, a good preserve, truly,” observed the King. “I find my game, as I expected, flirting, waving kerchiefs, making eyes and throwing kisses to the latest passer-by.”
“I was encouraging the soldiers, my liege. That is every woman’s duty to her country.”
“And her countrymen,” said he, smiling. “You are very loyal, Nell. Come down!” It was irritating, indeed, to be kept so at arm’s length.
She gazed down at him with impish sweetness–down at the King of England!
“Come up!” she said, leaning over the balustrade.
“Nay; come down if you love me,” pleaded the King.
“Nay; come up if you love me,” said Nell, enticingly.
“Egad! I am too old to climb,” exclaimed the Merry Monarch.
“Egad! I am too young yet for the downward path, your Majesty,” retorted Nell.
The King shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
“You will fall if we give you time,” he said.
“To the King’s level?” she asked, slyly, then answered herself: “Mayhap.”
Thus they stood like knights after the first tilt. Charles looked up at Nell, and Nell looked down at Charles. There was a moment’s silence. Nell broke it.
“I am surprised you happen this way, Sire.”
“With such eyes to lure me?” asked the King, and he asked earnestly too.
“Tush,” answered Nell, coyly, “your tongue will lead you to perdition, Sire.”
“No fear!” replied he, dryly. “I knelt in church with brother James but yesterday.”
“In sooth, quite true!” said Nell, approvingly, as she leaned back against the door and raised her eyes innocently toward the moon. “I sat in the next pew, Sire, afraid to move for fear I might awake your Majesty.”
The King chuckled softly to himself. Nell picked one of the flowers that grew upon the balustrade.
“Ah, you come a long-forgotten path to-night,” she said abruptly.
The King was alert in an instant. He felt that he had placed himself in a false light. He loved the witch above despite himself.
“I saw thee twa evenings ago, lass,” he hastily asserted, in good Scotch accents, somewhat impatiently.
“And is not that a long time, Sire,”questioned Nell, “or did Portsmouth make it fly?”
“Portsmouth!” exclaimed Charles. He turned his face away. “Can it be my conscience pricks me?” he thought. “You know more of her than I, sweet Nell,” he then asserted, with open manner.
“Marry, I know her not at all and never saw her,” said Nell. “I shall feel better when I do,” she thought.
“It were well for England’s peace you have not met,” laughed Charles.
“Faith and troth,” said Nell, “I am happy to know our King has lost his heart.”
“Odso! And why?” asked Charles; and he gazed at Nell in his curious uncertain way, as he thought it was never possible to tell quite what she meant or what she next would think or say or do.
“We feared he had not one to lose,” she slyly suggested. “It gives us hope.”
“To have it in another’s hand as you allege?” asked Charles.
“Marry, truly!” answered Nell, decisively. “The Duchess may find it morethan she can hold and toss it over.”
“How now, wench!” exclaimed the King, with assumption of wounded dignity. “My heart a ball for women to bat about!”
“Sire, two women often play at rackets even with a king’s heart,” softly suggested Nell.
“Odsfish,” cried the King, with hands and eyes raised in mock supplication. “Heaven help me then.”
Again the hunters’ horn rang clearly on the night.
“The horn! The horn!” said Nell, with forced indifference. “They call you, Sire.”
There was a triumphantly bewitching look in her eyes, however, as she realized the discomfiture of the King. He was annoyed, indeed. His manner plainly betokened his desire to stay and his irritation at the interruption.
“’Tis so!” he said at last, resignedly. “The King is lost.”
The horn sounded clearer. The hunters were returning.
“Again–nearer!” exclaimed Charles,fretfully. His mind reverted to his pious brother; and he laughed as he continued: “Poor brother James and his ostriches!”
He could almost touch Nell’s finger-tips.
“Farewell, sweet,” he said; “I must help them find his Majesty or they will swarm here like bees. Yet I must see my Nell again to-night. You have bewitched me, wench. Sup with me within the hour–at–Ye Blue Boar Inn. Can you find the place?”
There was mischief in Nell’s voice as she leaned upon the balustrade. She dropped a flower; he caught it.
“Sire, I can always find a rendezvous,” she answered.
“You’re the biggest rogue in England,” laughed Charles.
“Of asubject, perhaps, Sire,” replied Nell, pointedly.
“That is treason, sly wench,” rejoined the King; but his voice grew tender as he added: “but treason of the tongue and not the heart. Adieu! Let that seal thy lips, until we meet.”
He threw a kiss to the waiting lips upon the balcony.
“Alack-a-day,” sighed Nell, sadly, as she caught the kiss. “Some one may break the seal, my liege; who knows?”
“How now?” questioned Charles, jealously.
Nell hugged herself as she saw his fitful mood; for beneath mock jealousy she thought she saw the germ of true jealousy. She laughed wistfully as she explained: “It were better to come up and seal them tighter, Sire.”
“Minx!” he chuckled, and tossed another kiss.
The horn again echoed through the woods. He started.
“Now we’ll despatch the affairs of England, brother; then we’ll sup with pretty Nelly. Poor brother James! Heaven bless him and his ostriches.”
He turned and strode quickly through the trees and down the path; but, as he went, ever and anon he called: “Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the hour!”
Each time from the balcony in Nell’ssweet voice came back–“Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the hour! I will not fail you, Sire!”
Then she too disappeared. There was again a slamming of doors and much confusion within the house. There were calls and sounds of running feet.
The door below the terrace opened suddenly, and Nell appeared breathless upon the lawn–at her heels the constant Moll. Nell ran some steps down the path, peering vainly through the woods after the departing King. Her bosom rose and fell in agitation.
“Oh, Moll, Moll, Moll!” she exclaimed, fearfully. “He has been at Portsmouth’s since high noon. I could see it in his eyes.” Her own eyes snapped as she thought of the hated French rival, whom she had not yet seen, but whose relation to the royal household, as she thought, gave her the King’s ear almost at will.
She walked nervously back and forth, then turned quickly upon her companion, asking her, who knew nothing, a hundred questions, all in one little breath.“What is she? How looks she? What is her charm, her fascination, the magic of her art? Is she short, tall, fat, lean, joyous or sombre? I must know.”
“Oh, Nell, what will you do?” cried Moll in fearful accents as she watched her beautiful mistress standing passion-swayed before her like a queen in the moonlight, the little toe of her slipper nervously beating the sward as she general-like marshalled her wits for the battle.
“See her, see her,–from top to toe!” Nell at length exclaimed. “Oh, there will be sport, sweet mouse. France again against England–the stake, a King!”
She glanced in the direction of the house and cried joyously as she saw Strings hobbling toward her.
“Heaven ever gave me a man in waiting,” she said, gleefully. “Poor fellow, he limps from youthful, war-met wounds. Comrade, are you still strong enough for service?”
“To the death for you, Mistress Nell!” he faithfully replied.
“You know the Duchess of Portsmouth,and where she lives?” artfully inquired Nell.
“Portsmouth!” he repeated, excitedly. “She was here but now, peeping at your windows.”
Nell stood aghast. Her face grew pale, and her lips trembled.
“Here, here!” she exclaimed, incredulously. “The imported hussy!”
She turned hotly upon Strings, as she had upon poor Moll, with an array of questions which almost paralyzed the old fiddler’s wits. “How looks she? What colour eyes? Does her lip arch? How many inches span her waist?”
Strings looked cautiously about, then whispered in Nell’s ear. He might as well have talked to all London; for Nell, in her excitement, repeated his words at the top of her voice.
“You overheard? Great Heavens! Drug the King and win the rights of England while he is in his cups? Bouillon–the army–Louis–the Dutch! A conspiracy!”
“Oh, dear; oh, dear,” came from Moll’strembling lips.
Nell’s wits were like lightning playing with the clouds. Her plans were formed at once.
“Fly, fly, comrade,” she commanded Strings. “Overtake her chair. Tell the Duchess that her beloved Charles–she will understand–entreats her to sup at Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the hour. Nay, she will be glad enough to come. Say he awaits her alone. Run, run, good Strings, and you shall have a hospital to nurse these wounds, as big as Noah’s ark; and the King shall build it for the message.”
Strings hastened down the path, fired by Nell’s inspiration, with almost the eagerness of a boy.
“Run, run!” cried Nell, in ecstasy, as she looked after him and dwelt gleefully upon the outcome of her plans.
He disappeared through the trees.
“Heigh-ho!” she said, with a light-hearted step. “Now, Moll, we’ll get our first sight of the enemy.”
She darted into the house, dragging poor Moll after her.
“And the man that is drunk is as great as a king.”
“And the man that is drunk is as great as a king.”
An old English inn! What spot on earth is more hospitable, even though its floor be bare and its tables wooden? There is a homely atmosphere about it, with its cobwebbed rafters, its dingy windows, its big fireplace, where the rough logs crackle, and its musty ale. It has ever been a home for the belated traveller, where the viands, steaming hot, have filled his soul with joy. Oh, the Southdown mutton and the roasts of beef!
If England has given us naught else, she should be beloved for her wealth of inns, with their jolly landlords and their pert bar-maids and their lawns for the game of bowls. May our children’s children find them still unchanged.
In a quaint corner of London, there stood such an inn, in the days of which we speak; and it lives in our story. Whenit was built, no one knew and none cared. Tradition said that it had been a rendezvous for convivial spirits for ages that had gone. A sign hung from the door, on which was a boar’s head; and under it, in Old English lettering, might have been deciphered, if the reader had the wit to read, “Ye Blue Boar Inn.”
It was the evening of a certain day, known to us all, in the reign of good King Charles. Three yesty spirits sat convivially enjoying the warmth of the fire upon the huge hearth. A keg was braced in the centre of the room. One of the merry crew–none other, indeed, than Swallow, a constable to the King–sat astride the cask, Don Quixote-like. In place of the dauntless lance, he was armed with a sturdy mug of good old ale. He sang gaily to a tune of his own, turning ever and anon for approbation to Buzzard, another spirit of like guild, who sat in a semi-maudlin condition by the table, and also to the moon-faced landlord of the inn, who encouraged the joviality of his guests–not forgetting to countthe cups which they demolished.
Swallow sang: