CHAPTER XIITHE PRECONTRACT
Mistress Carew, finding herself pursued even to Wildrick Hall by the bold addresses of Sir Barton Henge, and having a superstitious dread of his scarred face, withdrew from the company assembled about Lady Crabtree. She pleaded a slight indisposition and kept her room for a few days, although even there she was followed by flowery missives from her persistent suitor. They were brought to her by one of the women, and after the first two, Betty returned them unopened. She would have dreaded Henge less had she been more independent, but her peculiar position made her fearful of his persecutions. She did not know how her uncle would view the matter, and if Sir Barton’s suit was seconded by Sir William’s commands, it might distress her yet more deeply. As she sat alone, she had food enough for sorrowful meditations; she was an orphan and, unhappily as she thought, endowed with a beauty which attracted the admirationthat she least desired. Had the suitor been Simon Raby, her reflections would have been of a totally different nature. But she was not yet certain of Raby’s feeling for her; she was wise enough to know that the fine speeches of a courtier counted for little, and she was too proud to permit herself to believe in the tender words which Simon had spoken to her. But there was no room for doubt of Henge’s bold suit, and she shrank with horror from the thought of such a lover, although his fine appearance and gallant bearing might have won the fancy of many a young woman placed in similar circumstances; but Mistress Betty had a temper and a will that matched with decided opinions.
Henge had been two days at Wildrick, when the household was surprised by the arrival of Sir William Carew. He had been to London on a business matter and came to Deptford to see his niece before returning home. It was difficult to feign illness while her uncle was there, and Betty was forced from her retirement at last. She came down to receive a kind greeting from Sir William, but to be annoyed by the addresses of her suitor. She saw, too, that Carew treated Henge with courtesy, and the fear beset her that her relativesmight be glad to be free of a penniless girl, at any cost. She was likely to have little voice in the affair, not even her preference would be consulted; and it might be that she would be driven into a marriage that she despised, nor would it matter if her heart was elsewhere. And indeed there was something more than prejudice in her hatred of Henge, a handsome man and one usually much favored by women. Betty saw, instead, a vision of the manly form and fine face of Simon Raby, and she found nothing agreeable in her dark-browed wooer.
It was the day after her uncle’s arrival that she sat alone in a little turret chamber which looked out over the river, and here Sir William found her. A glance at his face told her that his visit had some unusual import, and she was troubled, half divining the truth. Carew came in and sat down on a high oaken settle beside her and was a moment silent, as if in thought.
“There is some trouble, uncle?” Mistress Betty said, a quiver of excitement in her voice, and her dark eyes on his face.
“Yea, wench,” he said, “a trouble I had not looked for; albeit I might have known Thomas well enough for that.”
“You mean my father?” she said in a low tone; “then it doth concern me.”
“It doth concern thee, truly,” retorted Carew, gravely; “nor do I see the end on it. Did I not love thee, wench, it would not so disturb me.”
“I pray thee, uncle, tell me all,” Betty exclaimed, the trouble deepening on her face.
“There is but little to tell, my girl,” he answered, with a glance at her in which admiration and pity were mingled. “I find you are troth plight to Sir Barton Henge.”
Betty sprang from her seat, her face aflame.
“’Tis a lie of his!” she cried, “a miserable and cowardly lie!”
Sir William shook his head. “Nay, fair niece,” he said, “it is no lie. I saw the papers; duly signed they are, too. ’Twas done when thy father had wealth and estate; and there it stands, and would have stood, I take it, had it not been for thy face.”
“It does not matter, sir,” Betty cried, “I will none of him. From the moment that I saw him in the inn, I dreaded him, and there is something in his face I cannot endure.”
“Belike there is, Betty,” Carew returned gravely; “yet Henge is handsome, and esteemed a brave man, albeit I never liked him, nor heme. He drinks hard and lives better than his purse allows; yet I do think that many women would believe themselves happy and he chose them. He loves thee, wench, madly too, I think, as such men do sometimes; and it is sure that he will never quit his claim, but cry ‘precontract’ if you dream of wedding elsewhere.”
Sir William’s tone was matter of fact and calm, impressing his niece with a painful sense of helplessness. To him this seemed doubtless no uncommon affair, and a young girl’s preference was of small consequence. Mistress Betty stood looking at him with horror growing in her eyes.
“Alas!” she said sadly, “that evil wizard told me I should wed a man scarred as Henge is, on the brow.”
At this Carew pricked up his ears.
“What say you, niece?” he asked; “a wizard? To what wizard did you go?”
“To none,” she answered; “but one came to Kimbolton,—a little, bow-legged man, with a russet cloak.”
“Ah, Sanders,” said her uncle; “and he was at Kimbolton? A sure sign that some scheme was hatching. ’Tis well that the poor lady died.”
Betty told him briefly the story of the packet, and he nodded his head thoughtfully.
“You did well, my child,” he said; “I knew that I could trust you. As for Sanders’s prophecy, doubtless he knew something of this contract. It is the business of such men to pick up all the information that they can. But what will you say to Henge? Having heard the whole matter from him, I could but lay it before you. For my own part, I will not force you, my girl; but bear in mind that you are likely to have few suitors. You are portionless, and this man loves you; of that there is no doubt.”
He was watching the fair face closely as he spoke, but he made no sign of any relenting toward the penniless orphan. He did not divine the struggle in the proud young heart. She did not hesitate a moment in her answer.
“I thank you, uncle,” she said with spirit, “for sparing me your displeasure, for truly I could not obey you if you bade me wed this man. I would sooner have his hatred than his love, and both I hold as worthy only of my contempt.”
“Remember, wench, that you are like to die unwed, a poor dependent in the house ofsome relative, picking up the crumbs that fall from another’s table.”
“Sir,” she answered proudly, “I would rather starve than eat my bread as the wife of this man Henge.”
Sir William smiled. “My girl,” he said, “I rejoice to see the spirit of your blood, and I cannot blame you; yet this contract exists—made by your father—”
Betty interrupted him with a passionate gesture.
“Uncle, I would know the truth!” she cried; “they told me—the old servants whispered it in my childish ears, and it ran through my veins like poison. They said my father wagered my mother at the gaming-table the night that I was born—and lost. Is it so?”
Her face was white now, and her great eyes were set upon her uncle’s with a look that made him wince. A deep red color stole over his bronzed cheeks, and he bent his head, shamefaced.
“’Tis true,” he said harshly; “and it was to this man Henge, then a roystering young gamester, and he held the debt. Thy father made this contract for thee in its room.”
“And he would claim it?” Mistress Bettyspoke in a low voice, but her face was like the face of a corpse.
Sir William bowed his head without a word.
“By heaven!” she cried, “I would sooner be torn in pieces! Let him never dare to come to me, or I shall insult him—I cannot bear this agony of shame!”
“Nay, offend him not, fair niece,” Carew said gravely; “he is an evil-tempered man and may yet work much evil for you. I will tell him that your mind is set against this union, and that I will in no wise permit you to be enforced. But let the man alone; your tongue is sharp and will not mend your case, and remember that he was in no way one whit worse than your father—nay, less culpable than he.”
“Uncle,” she said passionately, “I know what my father was—may God forgive him. From my babyhood it has been told me—that he was my shame. In my childhood it was rated in my ears, and in my girlhood it was forced upon me by the indifferent treatment of those who should have befriended me, the canting patronage that made a kindness to me a charity. ’Twas not my fault, God knows, that he fathered me; had I had the choosing, it should have been otherwise, but yet I sufferfor it. I am to be sold as chattel, it would seem, because, forsooth, I am my father’s child; but I swear that the man who buys me shall find that I have enough of my father in me to make his purchase a thorn in his flesh and a curse to his peace!”
“That I warrant, wench,” Carew said grimly, “and I think that he will scarcely break thy will unless he breaks thy neck. Surely, I will not try to force thee. Henge shall know that thou art so set against the marriage that it may not be. And now, my girl, make ready to go back to Greenwich, for in my pocket is thy appointment as maid of honor to the queen’s grace.”
A change came over Betty’s face, and then she answered with more composure.
“I had no wish to serve Queen Anne,” she said; “I cannot put the dead queen from my mind, but this one has been ill, too, and in trouble. ’Tis well that I should be no longer a burden here; I will go right cheerfully, and I thank you for it, uncle.”
Sir William laid his hand upon her shoulder.
“My wench,” he said, not unkindly, “think not so ill of me that I begrudge my orphan niece her bread. I did but try you. I had no wish for you to wed this Henge, though therebe many worse, for men are not the paragons of a young maid’s dreams. But you will meet him at Greenwich, and mark me, Betty, bear yourself courteously toward him. ’Tis said of him that he has the spite and venom of a spider, and he is mad with love of that fair face of yours; and truly he has the claim of a precontract, albeit he shall not have you against your will. But these are dangerous times, and I have heard that he has the ear of my lord privy seal, though I do suspect him of being a malcontent and hating Cromwell, while he fawns upon him. Make a friend of this young queen, and perchance she may do you a great service. They say that the king’s highness is not well pleased with her, but I take this for idle rumor; for I remember when he used to ride to Hever Castle to court her, as ardent as a boy. ’Tis but a passing cloud and her sun will burst forth again to scorch those who have endeavored to work mischief against her, as was the case of my lord cardinal. I esteem it a good fortune to get this appointment for you, which I did through Mrs. Wyatt, the queen’s particular friend. We will leave Sir Barton to Zenobia, who torments him as a cat does a mouse; and haste you, for in an hour we go by the river to Greenwich.”