Part 17 (2/2)
”Now, my son, thou hadst better write thy billet, and if thou dost not find one to carry it, I will be along directly and do the service for thee. I must visit the village and the tree, my son. Now I'll give thee a bit of advice. Never again go about looking for anything where 'tis supposed there is treasure. If it had not been for my timely interruption, my brothers there would have found thee and not so easily forgiven thy inclination for discovery. Go, go in peace--remember always, that discretion is the wit of safety.”
Cantemir was frightened, and glad to get away, for he feared the Abbe's smooth tones masqued treachery, and he slid through the panelling and in very earnest sought the kitchen.
The deceitful monk hastened toward the open trap and kneeling gazed for a moment below. There came up a foul odour that made him flinch and draw back; he drew his handkerchief and placed it to his nose and leant again and looked. There was a faint glimmer that showed in which direction the lights were. He lay flat and putting his head beneath the opening, saw the priests leaning over a chest. Quickly he prepared to descend and was upon the second rung of the ladder, when the panelling again opened and a half-dozen faces looked through; anger and indignation upon all but one, and that was the Russian's, which bore joy of a discovery. He had gone to the refectory with good intent to write his letter; but finding a small company of monks gathered there and they appearing much perturbed, he asked the cause. One said there was a strange Abbe in the monastery, whose hands were as bejewelled as any fop's, and that a number had gone in search of him.
The false monk's hand had betrayed him, as 'twas seen from a window as he uncovered it to open the door. Now Cantemir thought it a good, safe moment to become a hero and straightway told of his encounter; saying he was in search of the refectory and had lost his way; making a plausible story. He was carried forth with the party in search and now came toward the opening in the pa.s.sage with drawn sword, his face wearing the masque of bravery.
The man upon the ladder was the same that had listened to the ”Kyrie eleison” from without, and before it concluded had made his way inside: the Duke of Buckingham.
He jumped like a cat under cover of his pursuer's noisy entrance and slipped away from the opening. Quickly he drew from him the robe and cowl and flung them down upon the ladder and drawing his sword stood waiting and almost eager for a fight. He did not forget, however, that there is often a practiced and keen thrust from the folds of a priest's habit. But they were confident the false Abbe was beneath, and with less noise and more subtleness moved toward the opening. As they did so, his Grace swung round and cautiously approached the wall where the panelling was. ”Aye, aye,” he heard, as the foremost man found the robe. Straightway they all rushed below stair, and as the head of the last man disappeared, his Grace went through the panelling, and within five minutes stood safe in the forest, happy with the knowledge he had gained.
It was near the hour of five when Lady Constance rode forth alone. She left the courtyard unnoticed and hurried to the village and through it and on beyond toward the tree and pa.s.sed it and galloped some distance beyond, then seeing she was not followed made a quick turn and retraced, But there came from a bend in the road a horseman that rode warily. She again turned to see if any came, and seeing no one stopped at the tree and brought from its cavity a letter. As she replaced the knot, there was such a sudden sound of horses' feet behind her she dropped the billet and her unknown squire leapt from his horse to recover it, and stood uncovered before her with such a long, low bow of homage he had most time to read the missive. Lady Constance was flattered and felt surely that one with such courtly dress and bearing could be nothing less than a Duke and his wearing of a full masque made her doubly sure of it. She flushed and reached out her hand for the letter and spoke in her most seductive tones,--
”My lord,”--he looked up and saw on her pretty, though characterless face a smile that warranted a further acquaintance. He placed the letter in her hand slowly, then caught her hand and held it firmly; indeed their hands touched and lingered together with such intention it conveyed much more meaning than words. Constance had all the outward show of a great lady, but at soul she was putrescent. There came such a heartrending sigh from her cavalier she spoke in a most tender tone,--
”And why such sighing?”
”Is it not enough, sweet lady?”
”I am at a loss?”
”Nay, rather 'tis I that am at loss; for I had sought to gain thy favour undivided, and I meet with thee only to give into thy hands a trysting billet that lifts thy glorious...o...b.. above me.” He bowed low in mock humility. Constance' heart fluttered at his ardent words.
”I would fain know who thus sues for a woman's love; 'tis possible--”
He lowered his masque. ”Ah, his Grace of Monmouth!” She well-nigh prostrated herself upon the saddle, in lieu of the fine courtesy she would have swept had her position been more favourable. His words--such gloriously sweet words when uttered by the lips of a Duke--fed her vanity. Her face flushed as she thought of what his love must be. He saw his vantage and drew nearer--it may be a hair's breadth over the line of respect--indeed 'twould have been an innovation had he not done so, as the time warranted nothing else but a show at virtue.
”Your Grace finds a maid that is heart whole; but I would aid others to their desire. I but act as post-boy 'twixt tree and castle.”
”Thou art cold and cruel. I can see well thou dost hold tightly to thy bosom thy billet; thou art afraid 'twill betray thee. Thou art the maid herself that doth own it?” Constance had a burning curiosity to know why Monmouth was in the neighbourhood of Crandlemar, and though he insinuated he had come purposely to see her, yet she was not blind and wondered what diplomacy she could use to gain from him the desired knowledge. Could it be possible he had come on behalf of the King, and if so, for what business? The Catholics surely had not been so indiscreet as to allow their affairs to reach the King's ears? And if so, why should he send to them? It was not at all likely any one knew of the monastery so hidden away in a dense forest. Could it be that the beauty of Mistress Penwick had become notorious at Whitehall and that the Duke was hunting for her? These thoughts pa.s.sed speedily through her brain, while the ogling Monmouth waited for her answer to his accusation. She spoke with a shy little twist of her head, vainly trying to blush like little innocence.
”How can I hold out against thee, Duke? Thou dost steal my secret; here, then, read it for thyself.” With a lightening glance he finished reading what he had begun before.
”I was right, sweet Katherine; 'tis a trysting letter, and thou art to go to him to-night at nine? Thou shalt not; I'll have thee for myself.” Now they had made a great mistake. Constance thought to convince the Duke she had no lover. He misunderstood and believed her to be the Katherine he had come after. She, thinking to gain his secret, allowed him to think so, and quickly took up her new part.
”Thou dost embarra.s.s me, Duke!”
”In very truth,” said he, ”we have heard of thy great beauty at Whitehall, and have come hither to claim thee for ourselves. Thou shalt be my very own, sweet Katherine. The King was about to send forth to Crandlemar to enquire of his Grace of Ellswold. We asked for the service, that we might gain sight of thy rare beauty. We are about to pay our respects to the Duke who lies yonder, and at the King's order bring him important news. We have heard, however, his condition is most critical, and we cannot see him until high noon to-morrow, as the midday finds him stronger. And I must see thee, sweet one, again before the night is over. I cannot wait for the morrow's noon.” He caught her hand and pressed his lips to it, resting himself against the horse, his arm thrown carelessly across Constance' knee. She deemed it an honour to be in such close proximity to the royal Duke, and grew red with his amorous glances and soft-spoken words and the familiarity of his arm upon her.
”Indeed, it doth seem to me also like a very long time to wait,” and she sighed heavily. At this Monmouth drew her down and kissed her upon her thin, arrogant lips. She, well-nigh beside herself, exclaimed in a thin, high voice,--
”Ah, ah, Duke, thou dost kill me--I must hasten away from thee. I must go.” She spurred her horse; but the Duke caught the rein and held it fast.
”Nay, nay, thou shalt not yet be gone. Wouldst thou be so cruel to leave me now at Love's first onset? I will not have it!”
”But I must hasten,--I am riding alone, and some one will be sent for me if I do not soon return to the castle.”
”Thou must give me promise first, sweet one!”
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