Mistress Penwick Part 26

As she stood at the polished counter in the mercer's shop, she glanced without and saw--or thought as much--Lord Cedric himself, pale, yet stepping in full strength from a chair. She quitted the counter and hastened to the entrance and looked up and down the busy street with longing eyes. But there was no sign of my lord's handsome figure.

After securing her purchase, she repaired at once to Lord Taunton's--a kinsman of Cedric's--'twas possible he would be stopping there. But he was not.

She rode from place to place, hoping at every turn to see him; but to her chagrin she found him not, even at a certain inn in Covent Garden, where he had been wont to stay. She drove in her cream-hued coach to the Mall, but he was not to be found.

Her first act after reaching London had been to dispatch a letter posthaste to the castle, telling of her abduction by the Duke of Monmouth, who, she believed was determined to bring herself and Mistress Penwick to the King's notice, as he avowed Court was not Court without such faces. She, being so widely known and so well connected, had been allowed her freedom, on condition that she returned promptly and keep their hiding place a secret. Then came that she felt would touch Cedric.

"I overheard some converse about your Lordship, a hint that some knave gave thee a slight wound. Now, if this be true, if thou art hurt at all--which I cannot allow myself to think--tell me, tell me, Cedric, and I will fly from Court and all the world to thee, my sweet cousin, my playfellow, my beloved friend, now."

This letter fortunately did not reach Cedric in time to give him a relapse, as he was on his way to London when the courier arrived at the castle.

He had drawn rein at Tabard Inn, Southwark. It ab.u.t.ted on the Thames and was opposite the city, and it suited his fancy to stop here, rather than ride into London. His business was private and not far from his present quarters. His wound had healed enough to give him no trouble, and action kept his mind easy. He had seen Constance with as fleeting a glimpse as hers had been of him. It was quite enough, however, he wishing never to set eyes upon her again.

That evening he went to seek Buckingham at the Royal Palace. He had no austere regard for the pomp and splendour of the Court at best, and now he was almost unconscious of his surroundings. His azure-hued costume was magnificent in its profusion of embroidery and precious stones. There were none more handsome of face or figure. Courtiers and wits abounded, but none more courtly or witty than he, when he was moved. None bowed before his Majesty's dais with more grace, appearing more a king than he who filled the Royal chair. He erred not in the most minute detail of demeanour. There was no one in the realm that held more of his Majesty's regard.

After being detained some moments at the Royal chair, he went to seek Buckingham, whose first words smote him foolishly.

"It is said, my lord, that Love hath Cupid's wings, and I verily believe William was right, or else how couldst thou have fluttered from a couch of painful wounds to London either by chaise or a horse?

Ah!--Love is nascent; after cycles of time it may become mature enough to be introduced into Court--eh!--my lord?"

"Contemporary chronicles relate that the mind is capable of greater suffering than the body, and when both are affected, if we give precedence to the employment of the mind, the body is at once cured; hence my sound chest. Hast thou seen Sir Julian?"

"He is with Monmouth in his chamber. They have been drinking deep, or at least the Duke, who is pouring out in Pomphrey's ear confidences almost too maudlin to be understood;" and there was a covert sneer on the haughty lips of his Grace. At the name of Monmouth and the knowledge that he was not with Katherine, Cedric's great tension appeared to snap asunder. For a moment Buckingham gazed at his companion as if in him there were undiscovered mines. Then suddenly his mind and eye returned to the tangible, and he run his arm through that of Cedric's and drew him away. When they were quite alone, the Duke, without the shadow of compunction, said,--

"You, my lord, are ambitious of nothing but domesticity. Is it not so?" His Lordship looked up with a start. If there was one thing he hated more than another, it was intrigue. And though he was ever environed by it, yet 'twas not his business now. He had come seeking Buckingham for the purpose of asking his a.s.sistance with the Duke of Monmouth, and at these words, so foreign from his interests, he frowned slightly and answered,--

"'Twould be difficult to say at what I aspire, seeing the thing I coveted most is taken from me. If that were mine, it might open up a vista of aspirations I had ne'er thought on heretofore I see only one thing at the present worth possessing."

"And to possess that--thou art one of the richest n.o.bles in the realm--eh! Cedric?" His Lordship thought he saw the trend of his Grace's mind, and felt better.

"I'm rich to be sure, egad! What's the game, faro, loo, crib, langquement or quinze?" and he tapped his pouncet-box nervously.

"We have always been good, true friends, my lord. Your father and mine have shared in many and continued vicissitudes, and for this cause alone, barring our friendships of more recent years, I would give thee a secret of which I am only half owner."

"And what is this secret, your Grace? I am interested."

"A secret cut into is only half a secret, and--"

"Ah! ah! how stupid I have grown! By all means, we are dealing in fractions, and to get the other half I must either pay or go a-hunting for it."

"And thou, being hot-foot after most precious game, methought 'twould best serve to give thee a clue, as to the value of the secret, that thou couldst determine whether 'twas worth the finding;--whether 'twas worth the leaving off pursuit of that thou art after,"--and the Duke threw open his waistcoat and revealed its lining of rare satin and a pocket that contained a paper written upon in a writing that made Lord Cedric start, for he recognized it as Sir John Penwick's. And there recurred to him the conversation he overheard at the monastery, when one said,--"and once Sir John gets to this country." But nay; his very last words in his own waistcoat pocket? So he spoke out disdainfully,--

"And thou dost embroider thy facings with dead men's autographs?"

"They are the better preserved, my lord," said the Duke, with a smile.

"Then I am to understand the secret doth nearly concern Mistress Pen wick, and if I should show her favour, I would pay well for a sequel to that thou art about to unfold, eh! Duke?"

"Aye, pay well; for the demand will be more than thou dost imagine,"

and he took the paper and gave it into Cedric's hands.

At a glance Cedric saw that the outside paper only was written on by Sir John; the inner doc.u.ment, containing the whole story, being made in a strange hand. And Cedric said to himself,--"Aye, 'tis a ruse.

Sir John is dead and I'll wager on't."

"Thou mayest occupy my chamber, which for the present is here." The Duke left the anxious Cedric to read at leisure.

Lord Cedric knew 'twas not his Grace's way to waste time on things of no moment, and he therefore apprehended evil and his fingers trembled; his dark eyes grew large as he read; his face changing from red to white as the different emotions were awakened; his white teeth crushing his lips. Sir John Penwick had left England, taking all his worldly goods--which were of no mean value--with him. He settled his possessions in the New World. These in time became very great and he was known as one of the wealthiest men in the locality in which he lived. After six years of married life, a great grief came upon him; his wife died, leaving him a baby girl of five. This so unsettled him--having loved his wife beyond measure--he turned again to warfare, having interest and inclination for naught else. He sent his baby daughter with her nurse, Janet Wadham, to the Ursuline Convent at Quebec, where they remained until coming to England. Sir John travelled about from one country to another, engaging in all kinds of intrigue and war. One Jean La Fosse--a Jesuit priest--had been for many years the tried and true friend of Sir John, having been in his early years a suitor to Lady Penwick. This friendship had grown so stout that when they met again in the New World, Sir John put his possessions, in trust, into La Fosse's keeping. When Sir John was taken prisoner, a sort of treaty had been entered into between the French and English, and hostages were required for prisoners of importance. La Fosse was now holding high office in the ranks of his adopted country--England. Therefore, when hostage was asked by the English for Sir John Penwick, La Fosse saw the chance he had waited for for years, and his John was every inch an Englishman, and since being prisoner of the French, determined as far as possible to place his belongings with his own country. He had thought it all out and wrote his desires to La Fosse. Of course, what belonged to Sir John belonged to England, but his possessions were on French soil and his daughter in a French convent. And now Sir John felt 'twould be an opportunity to place his child forever in the hands of his own country. La Fosse had so shaped affairs, that Sir John was at his mercy, and at Sir John's proposal that his child should be held as hostage for himself, he had answered that the babe was of too tender years to be accepted unless accompanied by lands, tenements and hereditaments. This was a happy thought to Sir John, and his old trust of La Fosse came back. "After all," he thought, "the French would rather give up my child than a man, but my possessions they would never give." So, not suspecting La Fosse's duplicity, he gave him legal right to place his property as hostage also. The child was to remain at the convent, unless England preferred to have her under their own _regime_. La Fosse was sure Sir John would never again be free and could never, of course, claim his lands. He went so far as to make sure--as sure as was in his power--that Penwick should not be released. He, being a man of shrewdness, at once manipulated affairs without the knowledge of his sovereign or the higher powers about him.

In a very short time these possessions were built upon by the Jesuits, who, through La Fosse, claimed all right and t.i.tle. But La Fosse was forgetful. He never gave the babe a second thought, it being of no consequence whatever. It would, no doubt, sicken and die without a mother's care. He was aware of its whereabouts, but even that in time was forgotten, his mind being occupied by more pertinent thoughts.

This was a great victory for the Catholics, whose lands had been confiscated in England, and La Fosse felt he had dealt a master stroke for his religion. But no mortal man can equal Time as an adept in chicanery. He brings forth truths unheard of or dreamt by poor humanity.

Years went by and La Fosse was suspicioned. At the first smell of smoke, La Fosse fled. No one knew whither. He escaped, however, to the monastery upon Lord Cedric's estates. The sudden appearance of Mistress Penwick at the monastery was believed to be a direct answer to their prayers. When, too, it was found without a doubt she was Sir John's daughter, they felt she belonged to them to do with as they pleased, so all things were accomplished for the benefit of the only divine church. Their rights in the New World were now being meddled with and this G.o.d-send was to give them, with her own hand, all right and t.i.tle to the property in question.

Sir John had vaguely heard while in prison of Jean La Fosse's duplicity, and at once sought to save his daughter from his hands by sending her to his old friend, Lord Cedric of Crandlemar. He, angry at himself for being so duped, and heartbroken at his loss of property, knew of nothing else to do but call upon his Lordship for his child's protection; yet he was too proud to tell him why these calamities had come upon him. Indeed, any man would take him for a fool for so trusting another. He had been ill when writing those letters. He never expected to arise from bed again and thought 'twas best to say he was dying; 'twould perhaps touch Cedric's heart as nothing else would!

Thus ended a doc.u.ment that was still incomplete, and his Lordship sat wondering and thinking. This meant that the Catholics were exposing Katherine to the King's pleasure. She was being sent to him for a t.i.tle--a t.i.tle that was to give them all her possessions. And Buckingham held the clue that would save those lands or--or her father--if he were alive. Aye, he should have all the money he asked; for the Catholics should not have their way. "They shall not, by G.o.d, they shall not!"

"They shall not!" quoted Buckingham behind him.

CHAPTER XVIII

AT MONMOUTH'S VILLA

Lord Cedric looked about him. He had heard no sound and was surprised and not well pleased that Buckingham had so caught him off his guard; for he now understood that the Duke was undoubtedly deriving some benefits from this fiendish plot, and the greater his perturbation the easier mark for his Grace.

"The maid proposes at all hazards to see the King. Monmouth is as determined she shall not. However, if she escapes the Duke, she will visit Whitehall and present her plea to his Majesty for his signature.

He is--after seeing her--not supposed to refuse her anything. And not knowing the value of these lands will sign the paper, thereby giving the Catholics the property. Then if he sees fit--which of course he will--will retain the beauty as a Maid of Honour. If he should refuse the plea, she is to hand him a sealed paper, which will give him the knowledge that he has before him a hostage who wishes his signature to the willing of her property to her beloved Church. They do not count on his putting two and two together and seeing their scheme. They think he will be so infatuated, that 'twill be 'aye, aye, aye,' to her every look. She only knows half the contents of the thing she presses 'neath the folds of her dress."

"By G.o.d, Buckingham, this is despicable! She to be made the tool of her religion!"

"There are other complications, my lord. Providing thou art successful in running the gauntlet with Monmouth first, then the King, thou, thyself, art in danger of the Tower or Tyburn-tree." With a bound Cedric was upon his feet and sprang toward the Duke,--

"A thousand devils, man, I care not for myself,--'tis the maid; beside--what have I done, why am I so threatened?"

"The scheme for thy destruction is already set a-foot. If thou shouldst get the maid in any wise, it appears thou art doomed. Take my advice, look to thyself and let the--"

"'Sdeath! finish it not!" and there was that in the young lord's eyes that curtailed the Duke's words, and he stood frowning at Cedric and thinking what next to say.

"When thou art acquainted with the circ.u.mstances, my lord, thou wilt see thy peril. One Christopher, whom I once befriended with a bottle of wine in a certain close pa.s.sage, came tottering to me, asking for my patronage, which I accorded him, as he was a sorry spectacle. As a reward for my seeming kindness, he told me that the knave Cantemir was arousing the Protestants by speaking of the monastery being a _rendezvous_ for all good Catholics, naming the lord of Crandlemar as one of them. The knave is working with both factions. He has gained some powerful help. These are to come upon the King and demand a confiscation of thy lands, thou art also to be sent to Tower or Tyburn-tree for the murder of thy servant--"

"Enough, enough, my heaven! I did kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d Christopher."

"Ah! not so. 'The b.a.s.t.a.r.d Christopher' is still on his legs and gives Cantemir's plans away; for the knave kicked him when he was down. Thou art to have thy head, but--"

"Nay, my friend, tell me no more. Ah!--is there any limit to this devil's industry! I have to thank thee to-night, on the morrow--"

"I'm expecting to leave Whitehall early--" Cedric started.