We kept up a brisk pace all the day, travelling as I should judge, with the exception of the time we stopped at a wayside hostelry for food and refreshment, eight miles an hour. The road, especially when we left the highway to London, was none of the best, being, in truth, little more than track. Still we kept up good speed, and presently, when I saw the towers of Great Castle I judged the reason why we had turned aside from the high road.
"That is Windsor," I said to myself. "It is as I thought; we are to be taken to the presence of the king." I looked towards Mistress Constance Leslie, and I perceived that she had also seen the castle. Perchance she also had drawn the same conclusion. But she shewed no sign of fear. The same steady light burnt in her eyes, while I knew from the steady compression of her lips that although Charles Stuart might be a hundred times king he would not be able to bend her will.
Even although I thought much of what might befall us when we were brought into the king's presence, I could not help comparing the fortunes of Charles Stuart with those of a few months before. Then he dared not come near the land, which he in spite of his banishment called his own, while now he reigned in a royal palace. Then, under the sway of Oliver Cromwell, he could have found but few to do his bidding, but now each man vied with the other to be foremost in fawning servility. In like manner, moreover, had the whole tone of the country changed. The Puritan garb, and the Puritan manner of speech which had been so common, were scarcely anywhere present. A rollicking devil-may-care attitude had taken the place of sober seriousness.
I paid but little heed to the happenings near Windsor town, and Windsor Castle. My eyes were too constantly fixed on the woman I loved, and my heart was too full of fear lest some discourtesy might be paid to her. But I believed then, as I believe now, that command had been given for her to be treated as became her rank, rather than as one who had offended the king, for during the whole journey I neither saw nor heard anything which could give her pain.
We went straight to the Royal Palace, the beauty of which impressed me greatly as I drew near to it. Nought, I think, could be fairer than the broad park lands, studded with stately oaks, amongst which deer frolicked and gambolled. Flowers bloomed everywhere, and the air was laden with their perfume.
As we rode along I heard gay laughter, and I could have sworn I saw the king with a company of ladies standing by a broad sketch of water, throwing food to the birds which swam gracefully around.
A few minutes later we were in the Castle itself. This surprised me greatly, for I fancied we should be taken to one of the houses near, and lodged there until it was the king's pleasure to see us; but as I said we were taken straight to the Castle, although not to one of its main entrances.
Directly I had entered, however, I lost sight of Mistress Constance. This distressed me sorely, but I comfortedmyself with the thought that as she had been treated with such kindness throughout the journey she would not now receive aught but civility. I noted that I was received with some consideration. Food was placed before me, and a comfortable seat at a table. As may be imagined, I was thankful for this, for I was both weary and hungry. Half an hour later, however, my weariness had gone. I had been able to appease my hunger, to brush my clothes and to souse my head in cool pure water, so that instead of desiring rest I looked and listened eagerly for aught I might be able to see and hear.
As I said I was not treated as a prisoner, although two men remained near me. I was, however, allowed to move around and take note of what might happen.
Many persons came and went. Mostly they were gay young gallants, although now and then I saw gray heads and sober faces. I saw that many looked at me curiously, and then whispered to each other.
"I hear that when his Majesty hath supped, he hath willed to have this young couple before him."
This I heard plainly, and I thought the man who spoke looked towards me as he spoke.
"Ay," replied the man who was by his side, "his Majesty hath been at Windsor only two days, and yet he is already weary of the place. After all, eating and drinking, although it be in a king's palace, palls on one."
"And yet his Majesty is a good trencherman, and loves his wine."
"As to that, yes. That is true of all the Stuarts until their digestion is gone. But there is not a play to be seen here. In truth, for that matter the theatres of London, in spite of all that is being done, be in a shocking condition. As you know the king loves the drama, and already several are being written for his special delectation. I warrant you there will be no Puritanism in them save that it will be laughed at. As for morality—well the saints know we have had enough of that during Old Noll's time. Faith, I am fairly longing to see and hear one which I hear Master Tom Killigrew is preparing. It is to be strong meat I hear."
After this they fell to talking about things with whichI will not sully this history, for although the thing soon became common enough, I have no wish to write of the infidelity of wives, the faithlessness of husbands, and the duelling and brawling which followed in their train. It was revealed to me with great quickness, however, that already looseness of living had not only become the order of the day, but that it was talked about as though it was something to be boasted of.
Presently they again came back, as I thought, to the king's will concerning Mistress Constance and myself.
"I hear the king was mightily disappointed when he heard that the Puritan's daughter did not try to kill Monk."
"Ay, but she did."
"No, not the one that is brought here. Still it is said he is greatly interested in the beauteous maid who has tried to save her sister. I hear that both she and the young springald who sought to set her at liberty are to be brought before him directly after supper. It will be better than play-acting, he saith, and will give diversion to the company."
"Are they to be brought before the king's guests?"
"Ay, so I hear. It should be rare sport."
"But a curious way of administering justice."
"Tush, man. Charles Stuart cares nought for Monk, although he hath made him the Duke of Albermarle, but he doth love diversion. The maid is fair too, fair as an angel I have been told. Old Leslie hath hidden her from sight all her life, and this will only make her of more interest to Charles."
After this they went away, while I tried to understand what it all meant. Nought happened for wellnigh two hours, however, and then two lackeys in gaily coloured livery came to me, and bid me follow them.
Whether special arrangements had been made for our coming I know not, but as I judged the whole party of ladies and gallants who had gathered around were seated as if in expectation of being entertained. Moreover, many curious eyes were upon me as I entered, as though my coming were of some importance. The king, however, scarce took any notice of me. He gave me one keen searching glance, and then turned to a gaily dressed and handsome woman, and spoke to her I thought as if he were partly in grim earnest and partly jesting.
Evidently the party had supped in another chamber, although wine was brought in and partaken of freely both by the ladies as well as by the gaily-dressed gallants. I thought nothing of this, for even while I was in London I had heard that the king had broken down many of the rules of courtly etiquette.
I noticed that the apartment was of large proportions, and of great beauty, but which of the state rooms it was I did not know, neither for that matter do I know to this day, for this was the only occasion I have ever seen it.
I glanced from one face to another in the hope of seeing Mistress Constance, but nowhere was she visible. This disappointed me much, for although I had parted from her but for a few hours, my heart fairly ached to behold her again.
"Will you stand here?"
I stepped to the place I had been bidden, and as I did so anger filled my heart, for I saw that I was made the gaping stock of all the crowd of giddy revellers who were there. I felt the blood rush to my face, but nought cameto me to say. What in truth could I say? The king's black beady eyes were turned furtively upon me, while sitting in the shadow I saw the face and form of the Duke of York, the king's brother.
There could be no doubt about it. The king had brought a royal party and their friends to Windsor, and I was brought there to give my lords and their ladies some entertainment.
For a few moments all eyes were turned upon me. Some quizzical and curious, some wondering, some laughing at my evident anger, others as if watching for what might come next.
No word was spoken to me, although I could hear them talking about me.
"Rashcliffe, you say. A good name anyway. Oh, his father fought for the Royalists in the time of the king's father, did he?"
"If he were fittingly attired he would be the bravest looking man in the room."
"He's in a temper! look! Ay, but I like him the better for that. He hath spirit. What led him to help the girl out of prison?"
"Is she to be brought here at the same time? It would be better sport so."
"He looks ready to fight any man here."
"What do you think the king will do with him?"
And so on. They knew I could hear much of what they said, and yet they discussed me as though I were the king's spaniel which I saw sat upon his Majesty's knee.
After a few minutes there was another hush, and looking towards the door I saw Mistress Constance enter. The light of the candles did not make the great apartment very bright; but I saw that she had been in the hands of a tiring woman, who had dressed her with great care. She was attired more plainly than they, although I doubt if any were dressed with more beauty. Her hair, moreover, was carefully arranged after the fashion of the times, and I saw it gleam in the candlelight.
Every eye in the room was upon her, and no wonder. Fair as were many of the court dames who had gathered there, not one of them could compare withMistress Constance. Her face was flushed, half I thought with anger, for she as well as I must have realized that she was brought there to give the king pleasure as well as to be judged for what she had done. In truth the whole matter seemed to me at that moment as mere play-acting. This was no judgement hall at all. It was a gathering of the king's friends, and the king thought to entertain himself and them by what should take place.
Nevertheless, I saw that she was in no mood to be trifled with. Her eyes shone with a steady light, and I knew by her compressed lips that she meant to bear whatever ordeal through which she had to pass, without fear. Her movements, moreover, showed no excitement. She walked steadily into the compartment, carrying herself as though she were a queen. The women there saw this as well as I, and if they envied her it was no wonder, for a more beauteous face, or a nobler formed maiden surely never stood before a king.
I turned and took one look at Charles, and I noted that his eyes were opened wider than was their wont, and there was a look in them for which I would gladly have killed him. His pale, fleshy face was eager, too, as though he were vastly enjoying himself. For a moment he seemed to forget the dog he had been fondling, as well as the handsome woman to whom he had been speaking.
"Lucy Walters must have been fair indeed if she were fairer than she."
Who said this I do not know, but it raised my anger almost to madness to think that the woman I loved should be mentioned in the same breath with the mother of the lad who might one day be king of England. In the eyes of some of the women was jealousy, and I saw them draw up their shoulders disdainfully, yet they never took their eyes from Mistress Constance's face. As for some of the young gallants, they looked as if they would devour her beauty by a glance.
For a moment the king seemed at a loss what to say. I thought I saw him open his mouth to speak more than once, and then close it again, as though he had chosen the wrong words. Presently, however, he turned to some one, and said—
"Bring a chair for the fair maid to sit on. She hath travelled far to-day, and although she gives no sign of it, must be weary."
A chair was placed close by where I stood, and Mistress Constance came and sat down as though she were the king's guest, rather than as a prisoner waiting to be judged.
"We have heard strange things concerning you," said the king as she sat, and I saw that his black, beady eyes were still upon her, while his lips parted with a smile. "You see, however, that we are not very angry, and thus you are bidden to be seated in the king's presence."
Mistress Constance did not speak at this, although each one there was silent, waiting, I doubt not, to hear what she might say.
"In truth, so little are we angry," he went on, "especially after hearing of your brave deeds, that we would have you come and kiss our hand, rather than think of yourself as a prisoner."
I think my heart almost stopped beating at this, for king though he was, his profligacy was freely spoken of, even by those who cared most for him, and it was torture beyond words to think of the woman I loved kneeling before him and kissing the hand which he would have extended.
"I dare not so honour myself," said the maid quietly, and her voice seemed to me as music. "For while I greatly rejoice in Your Majesty's kindness, yet do I remember that I was taken from prison to be brought here, in which prison I have been immured for days."
"This is strange," said the king with a smile, "for truly I do feel like granting you forgiveness for aught you have done, even before I hear what you may say in your own defence. Had I been a justice at Bedford the trial would have been short, and I doubt not but you would have been as free as the nightingale which sings among the trees yonder."
Even as he spoke we could hear the song of the nightingale, for the windows were open, and the night was still. Moreover, so great was the silence in the room, save for the voice of the king, that one could have heard a pin drop.
But Mistress Constance did not speak in answer to this, and in truth there seemed nought for her to say.
I thought I saw Charles Stuart's face harden at her silence, and I fancied that he might be thinking of her father, as indeed I believe he was by the question which he next asked.
"Your name is Mistress Constance Leslie, daughter of one John Leslie, who is by right of descent a baronet, although he useth not his title?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I hear that you have a sister?"
"Yes, sire."
"And she is wedded, I hear, to one Sir Charles Denman?"
She bowed as if in assent to this.
"Is she your elder sister, or is she younger than you?"
"She is older than I, sire."
"Ah, I should have judged so. And right glad am I that you are not wedded to this plotting, sour-faced Puritan. That would have been indeed a sore pity. A clown with a travelling show might as well be wedded to a princess. Is your sister as fair as you?"
"Fairer," replied Constance.
"Nay, nay, that is impossible," and the king smiled upon her, and as he smiled I hated him, for it was the smile of a bad man.
"You see," he went on, "that we are not treating you like one who hath been guilty of great naughtiness, rather, we have brought you to our own house, amongst our own friends. Nevertheless, it is known that the king must do justice to all, and we promised his Grace of Albermarle that this matter should be looked into. You say then that it was not you, but your sister, the wife of the man Denman, who made this murderous attack upon him."
"I have never said so, sire."
"What!"
I noticed the change in the king's tone, and saw that his beady eyes became hard.
"I have never said so, sire."
"Then do you plead guilty to the charge?"
"Else why should I have flown from General Monk's anger?"
For a moment Charles was silent, as though he knew not what to say, but presently he burst out laughing.
"Why, here my lords and ladies is a strange thing," he said; "and in truth it is worth coming to England to see. The sight of one who seeks to bear the shame of another is surely rare. Come closer, fair Constance, and let me have a closer look at thee!"
Again I wondered what she would do, for if I saw evil in the king's eyes, so also I believe did she.
"I may not come closer to Your Majesty," she said.
"And why prithee?"
"I am afraid to dazzle my eyes too much."
The king did not notice the scorn in her voice, else he had been angry. Instead he laughed gaily.
"We must do something to help you, fair Constance," he said, "for you please us much, and I would fain have you near me often. Nevertheless, justice is justice, and I must e'en keep my word and probe this thing to the bottom. Now whether it was you or another who sought to lay murderous hands upon the Duke of Albermarle can easily be proved. What say you, Your Grace? You say you saw the woman; can you assert that it was those pretty hands which held the bloody knife?"
I turned and saw the Duke of Albermarle. He had been standing in the shadow, so that I had not recognized him, but now he stood out clearly, and I noted that his dark searching eyes travelled slowly up and down Constance's form.
"No, Your Majesty, it was not she. At first I thought it was, for truly the other is like her; but there is much difference, and the longer I look the more difference do I see. The murderous woman was not so tall as this fair maid by at least three inches, neither are the features altogether alike, although there is a resemblance."
"You could take your oath on this, Albermarle?" said the king.
"Certainly, Your Majesty."
"Ah then, we have made the first step in our voyage of discovery. So you see, fair Mistress Constance, although you would condemn yourself you cannot get another to condemn you. And truly this is a strange thing, forhitherto I have found it true, especially of women, that they be always ready to excuse themselves, while others be always ready to blame them. Master Killigrew, here is a subject for a poem, and see that it is fittingly done."
At this moment I looked again at Constance's face, and for the first time I beheld fear. I saw her lips trembling, while in her eyes there was a look of terror, as though she would fain have escaped.
"Thank you, Your Majesty, then you pronounce me innocent?"
"Ay, innocent of that fair Constance. Not that I have doubted it from the first moment I saw you. Yet have I to ask these questions that no man might doubt."
"Then I may even go my ways and rid Your Majesty of my presence?" she said eagerly.
"Nay, nay, not so soon, fair maid," said Charles. "It is not so oft that one heareth speech so pleasant. Besides the matter is not dealt with yet. Tell me, I pray thee, how thou didst accomplish this, and how thou didst so long evade thy pursuers?"
For a moment Constance hesitated, while the king watched her, a smile half of irony, and half of merriment being upon his lips.
"Is it your will that I shall tell you this, Your Majesty?" she asked.
"Ay, that it is. I would not that my lords and ladies should miss such a story. Its matter must be, I am sure, strange to them."
"There is little to tell, Your Majesty; besides it was very easy."
"You mean that your pursuers were such fools?" said the king with a laugh. "Ay, I can well believe it. But to your story. And mark you I have become so accustomed to listen to lies that I can detect one from afar."
I saw anger gleam from Constance's eyes as he said this.
"Even although I tried to save my sister, I have never lied concerning it," she cried.
"Nay?" said the king smiling. "Truly your conversation becomes more and more interesting. Truth is so rare. Pray listen carefully my lords and ladies."
"When my sister came to my father's house, havingdone this thing, I e'en clothed myself in her attire, and then having shewed myself to her pursuers I escaped."
"And they followed you?"
"Ay, they followed me."
"Ah; but this is a rare jest!" said the king laughing. "Truly the most of mankind is made up not only of knaves, but of fools. But how did you escape them?"
"Oh, it was night and I knew ways which they did not."
Again the king laughed, and then continued, "And now, Mistress Constance, there is but one other thing I would ask, and if thou answerest truly, although thou art the daughter of a man whom I find it hard to forgive, thou shalt be free as air. Dost thou know where this sister of thine is now?"
I knew this was the question which Constance dreaded, but she answered bravely.
"I do Your Majesty."
"Then tell me."
She was silent.
"Come, speak plainly."
"Nay, Your Majesty, I cannot tell you that."
"But I command."
Still Constance was silent, and I thought the king would have given way to his anger.
Presently he burst into a laugh, but the laugh had but little mirth in it. He made me think of a dog who showed his teeth even while he wagged his tail.
"Ah, then we must e'en find out ourselves," he said, and there was a snarl in his voice, although the mocking smile had not left his lips.
"Young Master Rashcliffe may be able to give us some information," he continued, and he turned suddenly to me. "Here methinks is also a strange freak of nature, for verily on the day we landed at Dover, we asked Master Rashcliffe if he desired aught as a favour from the king, but he answered no. Our brother of York, however, cannot say the same for his father. Come, Master Rashcliffe, can you tell us where Mistress Constance's sister is? Dorcas, I believe, is the name given to her."
"I know not, Your Majesty," I replied.
"Come, that is a brave answer, and perchance a trueone. Yet it may cover up a big lie. Have you any suspicion where she is?"
At this I was silent, for I believed I knew where the woman was in hiding. I remembered what the farmer had told me at the inn near Pycroft. I recalled the words which the woman who was with old Solomon had said—"We have need to go to Bedford." I had also believed that the reason Constance had given herself up to the constables who came to search the house at Goodlands was that she was afraid they might find her sister. Nevertheless I was not silent long, for I knew this would arouse suspicion.
"I have no knowledge whatever where she is, Your Majesty."
"I did not ask for your knowledge but your suspicion," said the king angrily. "Tell me, do you believe, do you think, have you a fancy that you know where she is hiding?"
I was silent, for what in truth could I say?
The king laughed quietly. "It seems there are two who would defy justice," he said. "Well, well, we shall see! But let us return a little way. For what purpose did you seek to set this maid at liberty when she was first put into Bedford Gaol?"
"Because I believed she was imprisoned unjustly," I answered boldly.
"Ah, I see. You thought yourself wiser than others. Had she told you that she was innocent of the charge laid against her?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"Nor given you hint of it?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"Did she tell you of what she was accused?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"Ah, ah. The mystery deepens; but depend upon it we shall unravel it. You were in Dover on the day of our landing, and yet the next night you were in Bedford. You went there to set her at liberty. How did you hear of her imprisonment?"
"I heard it spoken of at Dover."
"And then like a brave knight you rode away to set her free. Ah, well, I like you none the worse for that.You have brains, and you have decision. But this means that you had met her before. Where?"
"Near Dover, sire."
"What did she there?"
"She never told me, sire."
"Reports have reached me that you have been seen near an old house called Pycroft, which is not a long ride from Dover. Did you see her there?"
"Yes, sire."
"Ah! that is better. Why did you go there?"
"I do not think Your Majesty would be pleased if I told you."
"That is possible, ay likely. Such as you often do that which might not please me. But tell me."
"If I tell you I would rather speak to your private ear," I said.
"Ay, and fancy you could get off a cock-and-bull story upon me. Nay, nay, methinks we are getting to the bottom of this thing. Now then, what led you to go to Pycroft?"
"I had heard that there was something of great import there."
"Ah, that is fine. But why should it displease me?"
"Because it had to do with Your Majesty."
"With me. With me. From whom did you hear of it in the first place?"
"From a woman named Katharine Harcomb," I replied boldly.
Charles Stuart started as though a wasp had stung him, and then he shrugged his shoulders scornfully.
"I am weary of this," he said, "for the thing hath ceased to be sport. Let this boy and girl be securely guarded until I have time to look into the matter carefully." And then he turned negligently to the woman with whom he had been speaking, while the others in the company exchanged meaning glances.
It was near midnight that same night when I was brought before the king again.
It came about in this wise. I had been taken away by myself into an empty chamber, which was carefully guarded. Not that I was treated rudely. Rather marked respect was paid to me, and I lacked nothing which any man might desire. Nevertheless I had thought much of the scene through which I had been passing, and what it all portended. I could not help realizing that the king had dismissed us very abruptly, and that sore displeasure had rested upon his face as I had spoken. As for Constance, her condition troubled me more than my own. I had noted the look in the king's eyes as he had watched her, and remembering what men said concerning him, I feared much. I determined however that no harm should happen to her, whatever might befall, for did I not love her with all my heart, and had I not told her of my love? Moreover I had promised that I would protect her, and as I thought of this, even prison walls became as nought to me. It was while I was scheming how I should fulfil my promise to her that a lackey entered the room and bade me follow him.
This I did like a man in a dream, for a great silence had fallen upon the king's palace, and everything appeared grim and ghostly. He led me through long corridors, and tortuous ways, so that without a guide I doubt if I could ever have found my way back to the room from which I had come. Presently, however, I heard the sound of distant laughter, and the noise of songsters, then as some intervening wall kept these sounds from reaching me, Ipassed by an open window, and heard the nightingales singing amongst the trees close by.
The lackey spoke no word, neither good nor bad, to me. I thought he looked sleepy, and would gladly have gone to his rest. Perhaps this was true, for it was rumoured that the king kept strange hours, and expected peculiar service at the hands of his servingmen.
Presently I stood in a little ante-chamber, where I was bidden to wait until it was the king's pleasure to see me, and here I waited I should think a full hour. The first part of the time was weary enough, but the second part passed like a flash of light, and this was because, even although I had tried not to listen, I had to hear that which interested me past words.
Evidently I was close to the apartment where the king was, for every word he spoke reached me with great plainness; but it was not his voice which thrilled my heart, it was anothers, as I shall soon have to tell.
"I pray thy pardon, pretty maid," I heard Charles say. "I know thou hast had a long day's ride, and must be aweary, but I felt I could not sleep until I had speech with thee again."
"I have nothing to say to Your Majesty," replied the voice of Constance.
"But I have much to say to thee, fair Constance. It is not oft that even a king beholds one so fair, or hears one whose speech is so pleasing. Besides, it will be to thine interest to listen to me, and to regard my proposals favourably."
The king's voice was, as I thought, thick with much wine, and I fancied I could see the evil leer in his black beady eyes as he spoke.
"I have brought thee here to-night," he went on, "so that I may tell thee of many things. And first, I desire that thou shouldst tell me what thou didst refuse but a few hours since. Where is this Puritan sister of thine?"
"And if I told Your Majesty?"
"Ah, pretty Constance, if it had been thee—well I fear thou wouldst have too lenient a judge. But thy sister is the wife of Denman, a man whose immediate arrest I have commanded. A bitter, sour-faced, lying Puritan, a manwho took a leading part in the murder of my father. And this sister of thine, well she tried to kill the man who sought to bring me back to my kingdom. That is not easy to forgive. Had it been thy little hand which would have done this, I should e'en have laughed at Monk's dour face, and forgiven. And yet I must not forget. Thou hast shielded thy sister; thou hast kept her from punishment, and therefore—well, unless—but let me think——"
"I have decided to forgive thee on two conditions," he went on presently.
"And they, Your Majesty?"
"The first is that thou wilt tell me where this sister of thine is. The second will, I trust, be pleasing to thee, for surely the king's smile, and the king's companionship should——"
"Pardon me, Your Majesty," cried Constance, "but there is no need to speak of the second condition since I will never accept the first."
"You will not tell me where your sister is?"
"No, Your Majesty."
The king laughed. "I must e'en find out without your telling," he said.
"You never can;" and there was defiance in her voice.
"Ah!"
I noted the anger in his voice, and I forgot that I was listening to conversation which the king never intended should reach my ears, so eager was I to know what would follow.
"It is said that I am of an easy temper," he went on presently, "and it is hard to be angry in the presence of one so fair. Yet must the king be obeyed. So be sure of this, pretty Constance. I will e'en find the whereabouts of your sister. As for your father, he is already under arrest, and it will depend on you as to whether he goes to the gallows with the rest of my father's murderers, or whether he hold his head high in the state."
"On me, Your Majesty?"
"Ay, on you, pretty Constance." And then he said words which I will not write down, so base were they.
"Of this be assured," he went on, and it was easy to see that wine had unloosed his tongue, and driven awayhis judgement. "I will give no quarter to these canting Puritans. Neither for that matter will I bestow any favour upon these Presbyterians. I will have only such religion in my realm as I please. Not that I am much wedded to religion at all, especially that of the stern and strict nature. But this I know, it is to the Episcopals that I owe my crown, and it was they who fought for my father during the rebellion. Depend upon it, therefore, I will make short shrift of these hot-gospellers, and I will see to it that only those who are loyal to the crown shall be tolerated."
"Then Your Majesty's promises will go for nothing!" And there was a sting of scorn in Constance's tones, as well as in her words.
The king laughed. "A man makes reservations even in his promises," he said, "and think not that I am going to allow my father's murderers to go around stirring up dissension, or hot-gospellers to preach rebellion. Nay, you will soon see. The Puritans had no mercy, andGrand Dieuneither will I!"
At this there was silence.
"So, fair Constance, I beseech you for your own sake to—to be obedient to my wishes, and——"
"Will Your Majesty be pleased to forgive me," cried Constance. "It ill becomes me to boast, but I am not afraid of death, and so I beseech Your Majesty to mete out my punishment without delay."
"You mean that——"
"It would be better for me to die than that my father's child should turn traitor or coward."
At this I could not help giving expression to my gladness; indeed so loud was the sound that escaped my lips that the king heard me.
"Who is there?" he cried angrily.
A minute later I was brought into the room where the king was. I saw that his usually pale face had become of a purplish hue, while his slits of eyes shot an angry light.
"How now sirrah!" he cried, as I stood before him, "hast thou heard aught of the conversation between me and this maid?"
"I heard it all, sire."
For a moment he did not speak, gazing first at Constanceand then at me. I also cast a hasty glance at the woman I loved, and in spite of my helplessness my heart rejoiced. Her face was pale, but she showed no fear, rather there was a look of confidence in her eyes, and an expression of unalterable determination.
Whether Charles II. realized this I know not, but I saw he was in no humour to be played with. Perchance this was the first time his will had been opposed since he had come back to England, for since that day I had first seen him at Dover he had received little but fulsome adulation.
"Thou hast heard all!"
"All, sire," I replied steadily, for now I felt no scrap of fear. For let who will say otherwise, Charles II., although King of England, was not a man to inspire reverence or awe. He looked cunning rather than thoughtful, sensuous rather than noble; one who, if he was kind, was kind because it was less troublesome than to be cruel. He did not impress me with his kingly presence, rather I thought of him even then as a weak despot.
He seemed to hesitate a moment as if to recall the conversation which had taken place between himself and Constance, and then as if he realized that nought of great importance was said, his brow cleared and a look of resolution came into his eyes.
"Thou knowest then that this maid, Mistress Constance Leslie, hath again refused to obey her king?"
"Yes, sire."
"But, mark you, I will know the truth. Look you, young sir, I judged that you know where her sister is. Speak the truth. I can detect a lie a mile away."
"I will tell you no lies, sire!"
"Then I repeat the question, 'Do you know where this maid's sister is?'"
"No, sire."
"But you can make a shrewd guess? Come, yes or no. You believe you know where she is?"
"Yes," I made answer.
"Ah, that is good. And now we will see, Mistress Constance, who is master. Now we will see whether the king will not have his way." And then again he said that which I will not write down.
Surely, I have told myself since, he must have been brutalized by too much wine, or he would never have spoken as he did, for his speech was that of a villain in a fourth rate stage play, rather than of one in whose veins ran royal blood.
"I cannot get at you through your father," he said to her, "but I can and will through your sister. You care nothing for the old hot-gospeller; well, I can forgive you for that. But this sister of yours, well, you have suffered much for her already, and would suffer more. Ah, yes, pretty Constance, I see through you. To avert suspicion from her you have e'en gone abroad as the wife of this Denman; you have fetched and carried for him like a dog. Well, now, to save her, you shall e'en do as much and more for your king. For if you will not, I will make this sister of thine—but I will not speak of that now. You will be wise, and do my will. Now then, Master Roland Rashcliffe, you say you can shrewdly guess where this other daughter of John Leslie is. Tell me, I command you."
The king was gazing eagerly at me as he spoke, but instead of returning his look I turned for a moment towards Constance, and I saw that her eyes were imploring me not to speak. But there was no confidence in them now; rather there was a great fear. She could depend on her own fortitude, but not on mine.
"I trust Your Majesty will not insist on this," I said.
"And why, Master Malapert?"
"Because I cannot obey your command."
He took a step towards me as if in anger, but he stopped suddenly, and then I saw a change come over his face. The old cunning leer came back to his eyes again, the wine-inflamed, passionate man had gone, and instead I saw the cynical mocking man I had seen land at Dover.
He sat down on a low chair, and began to fondle his lap-dog, glancing at us both curiously as he did so.
"I am indeed fortunate," he said. "Mostly my servants say they will obey me, and then seek to have their own will, while you say you will not obey me and will have to do so in spite of all. Moreover, this youth said he had no favour to ask at my hands. Well, and what game are you playing, young master?"
"I am trying to be an honest man," I replied.
"Prithee come a little closer, for surely thou art a rare sight," he said. "For twelve years I have been trying to find an honest man and a virtuous woman, and up to now I have discovered neither."
"And yet your mother is alive, sire," I said.
Again his eyes flashed fire, and I thought he was going to call his servants, and order that I should be thrown in some dungeon. But again he mastered himself.
"I have not made up my mind whether I shall give you the cap and bells, or send you to the most stinking dungeon in Fleet Prison, Master Rashcliffe," he said quietly. "But of that anon; at present I am vastly enjoying myself. There is some reason in your mind which makes you think you can answer your king as you have answered him. You fancy you have some secret power over him. Come now, speak!"
"That need not be Your Majesty. I was ever taught that a man's duty was to protect a woman."
Again he eyed me keenly, and presently he laughed quietly.
"Ah, I see," he said; "now I understand. You have cast eyes on this pretty Constance, and seek to gain her favour by this means. I thought I should discover your motive. What! she hath looked coldly on you, eh, and now you seek to win her favour. Ay, and what more likely to do this than to stand by her in her difficulty! Is a man likely to do aught but for self? Tell me, do you expect to win the fair Constance's love?"
"Nay; I do not expect that," I replied.
"Ah, I see; but you hope, eh—you hope?" and again he laughed.
"Well, and why not, Master Rashcliffe? The king is still king in spite of these accursed Puritans; and I tell you this, Charles II. will not be ungrateful to loyal servants. General Monk is now Duke of Albermarle, is he not?"
I was silent, for why should I speak?
"Now then, suppose I promise to look favourably on this match, will you tell me where you believe this maid's sister is? Mark you, it will make no difference whether you tell me or no, for I mean to find her, if every house inEngland hath to be searched from cellar to cock-loft. Now, will you tell me?"
"No, sire."
"Ah, then there is some other thought at the back of your brain. But mind, you are both making a whip for your own backs. It is not often I am so patient as to-night, so tempt me not too far."
At this neither of us spoke, while Charles Stuart began to play with the ribbon around his dog's neck.
"What have you to say?"
"Nothing, sire."
"Yes, there is something. Three hours ago thou didst mention the name of Katharine Harcomb. What did she tell thee?"
"Of that which I have since seen, Your Majesty," I said boldly.
"Ah—and what is that?"
"That which if made known would alter the history of the nation, sire."
"Where is it?" he cried, as if forgetting himself.
"I do not know," I replied like a fool, for the moment I had spoken the words, I realized that I had thrown down the only weapon by which I could defend myself.
The king laughed again quietly.
"You are only fit for the cap and bells after all," he said quietly; "just the cap and bells. Still, a fool may be dangerous if you put a pistol in his hands, so the best way is to keep him out of harm."
"But others know where it is!" I cried, for his words made me angry.
"Who?" he cried.
I was silent.
"Tell me," he commanded, but I could not speak. For who was the old man of Pycroft? Where was he now? At that moment all I had seen seemed but a Jack-o'-Bedlam story, at which a cunning man like the king would laugh.
He seemed to hesitate what to do, but presently he rose and pulled a bell-rope, and before it ceased ringing the woman who had earlier in the evening accompanied Constance entered the room, while I saw two male lackeys at the door.
The king gave some commands in a low voice, whereupon she prepared to lead Constance away. My heart fell at this, for while I was brave and confident in her presence, my courage ebbed away at the thought of her leaving me. And yet it was not for myself that I feared, but for her. A great dread came into my heart concerning the indignities which I believed the king would place upon her, for I had heard his words, I had seen the look in his black beady eyes. But I could do nothing. I had to stand still while she left the room, and yet on her leaving I felt my heart grow warm with joy. And no wonder, for as she walked away, she turned around, and her eyes met mine, and then, although she never spoke a word of love to me, I knew that I did not love her in vain.
Let the king do his worst now, I did not fear, for I had a strength and a joy of which he knew nothing.
No sooner had the door closed than the king's mood changed again.
"Now then we will speak plainly, Master Malapert," he said. "You know where this maid's sister is?"
At this I was silent, for surely there was no need of speech.
"Well, it doth not matter whether you speak or no, that is as far as it concerneth me. As for you, it mattereth much. But there is the other matter; tell me what you know concerning that?"
Whether I was wise or no I will not try to say, but I told him what I had seen.
"You say you saw this contract?"
"Yes, sire, I saw it."
"Signed by me?"
"The name of Charles Stuart was affixed to it."
He took a pen from a table and scribbled hastily on a piece of paper.
"Like that?" he asked.
"A facsimile of that, sire," I replied.
For a time he was silent, and he took several turns up and down the room, as though he were thinking.
"You knew of this when I arrived at Dover?"
"Yes, sire."
"And when you went to the place again?"
"It was gone as I have told you, sire."
"You believe the old man hath it?"
"Yes, sire."
"And you have a suspicion where he is now?"
At this I was silent, for what could I say. I believed that he was at Goodlands, the house of John Leslie, and that his discovery would mean the discovery of Constance's sister, the sister whom she was ready to shield with her own life. Therefore, in spite of all the king's commands, I held my peace, never by so much as a word or a suggestion making known my thoughts.
Again the king grew angry, and he threatened not the wife of Sir Charles Denman, but Constance with a doom at which any honest woman must shudder, but even then I could not speak, for if ever a woman's eyes had commanded a man to be silent Constance's had commanded me. Besides, I had no faith in the man before me. The promises he made to-day would be broken at the very moment it pleased his fancy.
And yet I believed that the king was not altogether displeased with me, for even as he gave his commands concerning me he said—
"An honest man is a good thing, Master Rashcliffe, but when he is a fool he must be e'en treated as a danger."
Before the sun which was now rising went down, I was in a foul dungeon in Fleet Prison.
I was kept in Fleet Prison for wellnigh two years, and during the first year of that time I scarce ever spoke to a fellow-prisoner. Moreover, none of my gaolers ever had speech with me. So silent were they when they brought me my meals that I judged they had been commanded to be silent. It was easy to divine a meaning in this, for if the king had bidden that no man should speak to me he would be obeyed. And I believed that he had done this, else why was I treated differently from all others who were immured within those grim walls? Moreover there was a reason why he should give the command. He did not desire that his marriage with Lucy Walters should be known; he did not wish that the boy James Croft should be spoken of as the future King of England.
Of my sufferings during that year I will say but little. It is but little to a man's credit that he should make known his tale of woe, rather should he endeavour to make the best of his lot, and think of what comforts he had. And yet if I would tell my story truly I must e'en remark on the dark days I spent there, for they were dark days. For a time I almost wished that I had no hope that Constance loved me, for it seemed to make my burden harder to bear. But it was only for a time. I could not help being glad because of the lovelight I had seen in her eyes, even though the thought of it brought me pain; For bring me pain it did. How could it be otherwise? I remembered the words of the king, and I knew that he meant what he said. All nights have I lain awake, heedless of the vermin that swarmed the cell, thinking of what had become of her, and how she fared. For not one word did I hear. Whether she was dead or alive I knew not. Whether she had escaped from the king's power, or whetherhe cruelly persecuted her no one could tell me. And this made my burden hardest to bear. If I knew she was dead I think I could have borne up better, for I should know that she had died thinking of me. Ay, I knew that, for no woman could look at a man as she looked at me without thinking of him always. Even as I lay in the darkness I remembered that look, and rejoiced. My imprisonment I would not have minded one whit, if I knew she was safe. I did not even fear her being a hunted refugee as she was when I had seen her first of all. Nay, it was the thought of what was in the king's mind that drove me wellnigh mad, and many a time while I was in prison had I wished that I had seized his fleshy neck and strangled the life out of him, even although I suffered the tortures of hell as a consequence.
But I could do nothing. Day succeeded day, and week succeeded week, and I heard not so much as a breath of a whisper. Besides I could do nothing, for my prison door was safely locked, and not a vestige of chance to hear aught of the outside world came to me.
Thus a year passed away. During that time I had grown as weak as a child. Each morning as I awoke a great nausea mastered me, and my mouth was full of bitterness, until one day one of my gaolers watched me as I was retching, and saw how faint and giddy I was afterwards, and then a change was made in my condition. I was allowed clean clothes, a big tub was brought to me so that I could bath myself, and a better cell was given me.
It was just after this that I heard something which set me thinking. Two gaolers were outside my door, and I heard them talking.
"Young Master Rashcliffe is better, eh?"
"Ay, he is better. I am told he is to have more liberty."
"What, mix with the other prisoners?"
"Ah, why the change? Know you?"
"No, I know not. For my part I am glad. It was fair sad to see him. He was mad at one time."
"Ay, that he was. Well, the prisoners be treated more harshly now than in Old Nol's time."
"Ay, and there are far more of them too. Have you heard about the king's oath?"
"Nay, I have heard of no oath save that he is going to stamp out the Dissenters."
"Nay, it hath nought to do with that, although the place is full enough of them. It is about the black box."
"What black box?"
"Have you not heard? One of the big lords, I know not which, said that an old man had shewed him the marriage certificate between the king and that pretty Welsh wench, Lucy Walters."
"Ah, no, I had not heard."
"But it is so. Well, the king hath taken an oath that, while the lad of whom there hath been so much talk is his son, he never wedded Lucy. I hear the king was wellnigh angered to death when the thing got noised abroad."
"And what hath become of the old man who shewed the great lord the thing?"
"I know not; but the strange thing is that he claims to be Lucy Walters' father."
"And the king says it is a forgery?"
"Ay, that is his oath."
"That will end in the old man being caught and hanged."
"Ay, they will have to hang him, for of a truth every prison in England is full."
"Perhaps the king will hang the Dissenters instead, and yet I should be sorry. They cause no trouble in prison, even although there are so many. The only thing for which I do not like them, is that they look at one so mournfully if he should happen upon oath, or say something that is not over pious."
"Ha, ha! Then must they often look mournfully on you. But I do not like their pious talk. I would rather have to do with prisoners which ought to be here. As it is, the place is full of these pious people who were preaching and praying in barns instead of in the parish church, and singing their own hymns instead of abiding by the Prayer-book, while the blackguards who used to be clapped into prison in Old Nol's time are allowed to go free. Then prisoners were real prisoners—drunkards, and wife-beaters, and thieves, and wizards, and witches; but now we have hardly any but these pious people, who are guilty of nought worse than singing hymns and preaching."
"Still law is law, and the king is king. Besides, what would you, if the king and the bishops will have everybody pray according to the Prayer-book, what right have these Dissenters to pray in their own way?"
After this they went away, and I heard no more of them. For several days moreover there was no change in my condition, except that my prison was clean and my food a little more wholesome. At the end of a week, however, I found myself at liberty to move freely around among my fellow-prisoners, and it was then that I understood the meaning of the conversation I have recorded. For in truth the place seemed full of men who were sent hither because they had disobeyed certain Acts of Parliament, the which, as I understood it, meant that if any number of people worshipped God in any other way than that prescribed by the Prayer-book, or in any other place than the parish church, their meetings could at once be pounced upon by the constables, and the offenders haled before the magistrates, and sentenced to imprisonment. I was also told that these Acts prohibited any person who had been guilty of preaching the Gospel, other than those empowered by the laws of the country, living within five miles of the town where they had preached. With this news there came to me also the information that about two thousand clergymen, most of whom were pious Godfearing men, were ejected from their parishes because they could not obey laws which they believed were contrary to the laws of God. Moreover, many of these clergymen, believing they were called of God to preach, had continued to minister to their flocks, with the result that the prisons of England were full of them.
In addition to this, the law, having regarded not only Nonconformist preachers but Nonconformist worshippers as equally guilty, meetings were broken up, and the guilty people were clapped into gaol without more ado.
I had never taken any considerable interest in such matters, yet now that I saw these people in gaol, and heard their stories, I realized that what the squire and vicar of the parish where I had seen such a strange sight in the county of Kent had predicted had come to pass.
One old man interested me greatly, for he spoke kindlyto me, and inquired lovingly after my condition. He had, so he told me, married late in life, and had a family of a wife and five children. When the Act of Uniformity was passed he was cast forth from his parish because he would not be re-ordained, and then having been guilty of preaching the Gospel to a few of his flock, and praying with them, he was seized by the magistrates and cast into prison.
"And what hath become of your wife and family?" I asked.
"Ah, that is what grieves me sorely," he replied; "for myself I do not mind one whit, except that I can no longer proclaim the glad news which I was called to preach; but to think of my poor delicate wife wandering helpless and homeless with my dear little ones grieves me beyond words. I can do nought but pray for them, the which I do continually."
"But why could you not obey the law?" I asked.
"Obey the law! How could I? I had been ministering to my people for many years, and God had given seals to my ministry by enabling me to lead many to the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world. Then came this law, which said that I had not hitherto been ordained of God, and must be ordained according to priestly traditions. Now, how could I do that? If I did, it would be tantamount to confessing that my previous ordination was not of God. Then, again, I could not subscribe to every word of the Prayer-book, for it is riddled with popery. The question which the Apostle asked came to me—'Whether it be right to obey God or man judge ye,' and I could only answer it in one way."
"And be there many Nonconformists?" I asked.
"You can judge something of that by the number who preferred to obey God rather than man," he replied. "Two thousand and more have been ejected from their parishes, while thousands of the people belonging to their flocks are to-day suffering imprisonment for love of the true Gospel."
"And who do you blame for all this?" I asked. "The king?"
"Ay, I blame the king, but not him only. I blame the king because he promised us fairly. Had he not sopromised he would not have been invited back. He promised that none of us should be disturbed, and that every man should worship God according to the dictates of his own conscience. As you know also the Act of Oblivion was passed, whereby all those who took part in the death of the late king should be forgiven. But what hath happened? His Majesty hath hanged many of those who thought it their duty to put that man to death, and not contented with this he hath dragged others from their graves and had their bodies degraded."
"Who among the living hath he hanged?" I asked.
He named some whose names I did not know, and then I heard the name of Master John Leslie.
"Master John Leslie!" I cried, "hath he been put to death?"
"Hanged at Tyburn," said the old man solemnly. "A good man and a faithful he was, although I agreed not with all his tenets. He was somewhat influenced by the Quaker doctrines of the man Fox, and would not allow himself to be called Sir John Leslie, although he was entitled to that honour."
"And his daughters," I cried, "know you aught of them?"
"They are both in hiding I am told."
"The wife of Sir Charles Denman hath never been captured then?"
"No, although how she hath escaped is a mystery, for Sir Charles hath fled out of the country."
"And the other sister?" I asked feverishly, for my heart was all aflame.
"Ah, the other sister. God only knows what hath become of her, for it is said that she found favour in the eyes of the king," he replied.
At this I could not speak another word, for it seemed to me that nought was left worth living for. But the old man did not heed my grief, instead he went on speaking.
"Not that I blame the king for all. The episcopal bishops and the popishly inclined clergy have allowed him no rest. My brethren have appealed for justice, but in order to please the clergy, Parliament hath passed one law after another, each more abominable in the sight ofGod than the other. Our greatest enemies everywhere have been those who have wanted the heresies of the Prayer-book. They have hunted us from place to place, they have given information to the magistrates, and have not been contented until the Nonconformists have either sworn allegiance to the Prayer-book or been thrust into prison. As for the king, he careth more for his pleasures than aught else."
"But if this is all for the good of religion?" I asked presently, although my heart went not with my words.
"Religion!" cried the old man. "Religion! where can we find it? Religion is laughed at on every hand. Those in high places live in open sin, and there are none to say them nay. The Court is turned into a pigsty. Obscene plays are in all the theatres, while vice and profligacy are actually boasted of in the streets of London. Even while we Nonconformists be imprisoned in stinking cells the very worst sins are condoned, excused, and in many places even praised, while the clergy openly proclaim that they would rather have open sin than Nonconformity. But this cannot be for long."
"Why, do you think the king will relent?"
"Relent! It is well known that he careth little for religion. How can he, seeing the life he lives? It is said by those who know him best, that he favours the Papist religion more than any other, and would bring it back if he could. His mother hath a host of intriguing priests from Rome with her every day; these priests are treated like great nobles, and the king allows it—nay, smiles upon it. I have been told that Charles Stuart doth not believe in our Lord Christ at all, and calls himself a Deist. Such is the state of religion. People live for carnal pleasures, while the virtue of maidens is laughed at as an idle tale."
Conversation like this I heard again and again during the next few months, and I judged from all that came to me from the outside world that it was true. Meanwhile the prison became more and more crowded with Nonconformists. Men, women, and even children were packed in this evil-smelling place, and as far as I could discover their only crime was that they desired to pray and to preach according to the dictates of their conscience.
Meanwhile, I learnt no more concerning Constance. I asked many questions, but no man could give me an answer except that the king regarded her with favour.
Not once did my father visit me, at the which I wondered greatly, for I knew that he loved me, and would not willingly allow me to remain here to die like a rat in a hole as I was like to do. One day, however, after I had been a long time here, my heart gave a great leap, for I heard his voice speaking to a gaoler, and shortly after we were alone together.
"I grieve much for you, Roland," he said presently, "and yet it is your own fault."
"My own fault, father?"
"Ay, your own fault."
"Why, what have I done?" I asked.
"You have opposed the king's will," he replied; "you have used your information like a fool."
"But perchance you do not know all that hath taken place," I said; "you do not know what the king would have had me do?"
"Ay, I have heard all. Not that the news hath long come to me, for I have only but lately arrived from France, where I have been at the behest of James of York. Had I known earlier I would have been to see you before, but I never dreamed that you would have been such a fool."
My heart grew cold at these words, for my father spoke, as I thought, strangely.
"I went away with a light heart," he went on, "for I believed that you had wit enough to make good use of whatever you should find out. I left you enough money for all needs, and I believed that when I came back I should find you in high favour with the king. Instead, I find that you have espoused the cause of the daughter of a regicide, that you have refused to obey the king's commands, and that you have acted like a fool in relation to the discovery which you made."
"What would you have had me do?" I asked.
"Do!" he replied. "Did I not tell you from your earliest childhood that no man would do aught for you, except that which would help forward his own plans? Anddid I not trust you to make a wise use of your knowledge? That is why I laid down no plan of action for you when we met at Dover. I said 'the boy hath all his wits, and will be able to act wisely when the right time comes,' Why, having once obtained the ear of the king, thou shouldst have gone to him after what thou didst find out, and thou shouldst have appeared before him as one anxious to serve him. He would then, in his own interests, have rewarded thee with some fair demesne and a wealthy dame's hand. Instead, what dost thou do? Thou dost become the aider and abettor of this daughter of John Leslie, and when obedience to the king would have found his favour, thou didst like a fool refuse to do his bidding. Ay, and what happened then? The king, being desirous of keeping his marriage with Lucy Walters a secret, and knowing that thou wert a dangerous fool, clapped thee into prison."
"And you, father," I said, "what have you done?"
"I have done what I meant to do," he replied. "If the son is a fool there is no reason why the father should be. I have so managed the king, through His Grace of York that I have got my old lands back, so that in spite of thine own foolishness thou wilt no longer be a landless Rashcliffe. The king's marriage with Lucy Walters was not the only card I had to play, so when my time came I played it, and I took the trick too."
At this I was silent, for somehow I felt my father to be a different man.
"If ever a man had his chances you had," my father went on. "I had known for years that Katharine Harcomb had been trying to find out through Lucy Walters' mother where the old madman Walters was, and I knew that when she found out she would come and tell me."
"How did you know?" I asked.
"Because I had power over her. Because in her young days she had done that which, if I had chosen to make known, would have sent her to the gallows. Because I had made her promise that if ever she found out where old Solomon, as he called himself, was, she dared do no other than to tell me. She knew that he had got hold of the marriage contract; the question was, where the old man was hiding." And then my father told me a longstory which I will not here set down, because it hath no real bearing on my history.
"You have disappointed me greatly," he went on presently. "You had a chance such as few men have, and you spoiled it; you have gained the king's enmity, and you have allowed yourself to be mewed up here in this stinking hole with a lot of psalm-singing Nonconformists. Besides, you have done no good by it all. The story hath come out, and the king hath taken an oath that he did never wed Lucy. Therefore your knowledge doth avail nothing."