Penshurst Castle Part 19

'Mistress Gifford's son,' Jenkyns said, 'his mother is crying out for him amain, poor soul! She is in a bad case--you'd best look after her, there's blood running down from a cut on her forehead. Here!' calling to one of the women, 'here, if the Mistress won't come, you'd best do so--and bring a pitcher of water with you, for she is like to swoon, by the looks of her.'

'You mind your own business, Amice,' Mistress Forrester said, as she smoothed down her coa.r.s.e homespun skirt, and settled the hood on her head.

'You bide where you are, and see the poultry are fed, as she who ought to have fed 'em isn't here.'

'Nor ever will be again, mayhap,' said Jenkyns wrathfully. 'Come on, Ned, it will take two to bear her home, poor thing. Don't let the boy see her till we've washed her face--blood always scares children.'

'I daresay it's a scratch,' Mistress Forrester said, as she filled a pewter pot with water, and followed the shepherd and Ned to the place where Mary lay.

Even Mistress Forrester was moved to pity as she looked down on her stepdaughter's face, and heard her murmur.

'Ambrose! my boy! He is stolen from me. Oh! for pity's sake, find him.'

'Stolen! stolen! not a bit of it,' Mistress Forrester said. 'I warrant he is a-bed and asleep, for he is seldom up till sunrise.'

'He was with me,' Mary gasped, 'he was with me, when I fell. I was running from _him_--and--he has stolen him from me.'

'Dear sake! who would care to steal a child? There, there, you are light-headed. Drink a drop of water, and we'll get you home and a-bed. I'll plaister the cut with lily leaves and vinegar, and I warrant you'll be well in a trice.'

They moistened Mary's lips with water, and Jenkyns sprinkled her forehead; and then Jenkyns, with Ned's help, raised Mary from the ground and carried her towards the house.

A cry of suppressed agony told of the pain movement caused her, and Mistress Forrester said,--

'Where's the pain, Mary? Sure you haven't broke your leg?'

But Mary could not reply. A deadly faintness almost deprived her of the power of speaking.

As they pa.s.sed through the yard the lamb, which Jenkyns had set down there when he pa.s.sed through, came trotting towards him, the long thick tail vibrating like a pendulum as it bleated piteously for its mother.

Mary turned her large sorrowful eyes upon it, and whispered,--

'The lost lamb is found. Let it go to its mother. Oh! kind people, find--find my boy, and bring him back to me--to me, his mother.'

By this time there was great excitement amongst the people employed on the farm, and a knot of men and maidens were standing by the back door, regardless of their mistress's anger that they should dare to idle away a few minutes of the morning.

'Back to your work, you fools!' she said. 'Do you think to do any good by staring like a parcel of idiots at Mistress Gifford. Ask the Lord to help her to bear her pain, and go and bring her boy to her, Amice.'

But no one had seen the child that morning, and Amice declared he was not in the house.

They carried Mary to her chamber, and laid her down on the low truckle bed, the shepherd moving as gently as he could, and doing his best to prevent her from suffering.

But placing her on the bed again wrung from her a bitter cry, and Jenkyns said,--

'You must e'en get a surgeon to her, Mistress, for I believe she is sorely hurt.'

'A surgeon! And, prithee, where am I to find one?'

'As luck will have it,' Jenkyns said, 'Master Burt from Tunbridge puts up at the hostel every Monday in Penshurst.'

'Send Ned down into the village and fetch him, then,' Mistress Forrester said, who was now really frightened at Mary's ghastly face, which was convulsed with pain. 'Send quick! I can deal with the cut on her forehead, but I can't set a broken limb.'

'Stop!' Mary cried, as Jenkyns was leaving the room to despatch Ned on his errand. 'Stop!' Then with a great effort she raised herself to speak in an audible voice. 'Hearken! My boy was stolen from me by a tall man in a long black cloak. Search the country, search, and, oh! if you can, find him.'

This effort was too much for her, and as poor Jenkyns bent down to catch the feeble halting words, Mary fell back in a deep swoon again, and was, for another brief s.p.a.ce, mercifully unconscious of both bodily and mental agony. Hers was literally the stroke which, by the suddenness of the blow, deadens the present sense of pain; that was to come later, and the loss of her boy would bring with it the relief of tears when others had dried theirs and accepted with calmness the inevitable.

CHAPTER VIII

DEFEAT

'In one thing only failing of the best-- That he was not as happy as the rest.'

EDMUND SPENSER.

The court of Queen Elizabeth was well used to witness splendid shows and pa.s.sages-of-arms, masques, and other entertainments organised by the n.o.blemen chiefly, to whose houses--like Kenilworth--the Queen was often pleased to make long visits.

The Queen always expected to be amused, and those who wished to court her favour took care that no pains should be wanting on their part to please her. Indeed, the courtiers vied with each other in their efforts to win the greatest praise from their sovereign lady, who dearly liked to be entertained in some novel manner.

This visit of the French Amba.s.sadors to London, headed by Francis de Bourbon, was considered a very important event. It was supposed that Elizabeth was really in earnest about the marriage with the Duke of Anjou, whose cause these Frenchmen had been commissioned by their Sovereign to plead. They were also to have a careful eye to his interests in the treaty they were to make with so shrewd a maiden lady as the Queen of England, who was known always to have the great question of money prominently before her in all her negotiations, matrimonial and otherwise.

The Earl of Arundel, Lord Windsor, Philip Sidney and Fulke Greville undertook to impress the visitors with a magnificent display worthy of the occasion which brought them to London.

In the tilt-yard at Whitehall, nearest to the Queen's windows, a 'Fortress of Perfect Beauty' was erected, and the four knights were to win it by force of arms.

All that the ingenuity of the artificers of the time could do was done. The Fortress of Beauty was made of canvas stretched on wooden poles, gaily painted with many quaint devices, and wreathed about with evergreens and garlands, which were suspended from the roof. It was erected on an artificial mound; and, as the day drew near, those who had to control the admission of the hundreds who clamoured to be allowed to be spectators of the tournament, were at their wit's end to gratify the aspirants for good places.

The ladies about the Court were, of course, well provided with seats in the temporary booths erected round the tilt-yard, and the Countess of Pembroke and her following of gentlewomen in attendance occupied a prominent position. Lady Mary Sidney and her youngest son, Thomas, were also present.

Robert was in his brother's train. Lady Rich, blazing with diamonds, was the admired of many eyes--upon whose young, fair face might be seen the trace of that unsatisfied longing and discontent with her lot, for which the splendour of her jewels and richness of the lace of her embroidered bodice were but a poor compensation. Amongst Lady Pembroke's attendants there was one to whom all the show had the charm of novelty.

Lucy Forrester could scarcely believe that she was actually to be a witness of all the magnificence of which she had dreamed on the hillside above Penshurst. Her young heart throbbed with triumph as she saw Mistress Ratcliffe and Dorothy vainly struggling to gain admittance at one of the entrances, and at last, hustled and jostled, only allowed to stand on the steps of one of the booths by Humphrey's help, who was awaiting the signal from Philip's chief esquire to go and prepare his horse for the pa.s.sage-of-arms.

Lucy had gone through some troubles that morning with Mistress Crawley, whom she did not find easy to please at any time, and who, seeing Lucy was in favour with the Countess of Pembroke, did her best to prevent her from taking too exalted a view of her own merits.

She had ordered that Lucy, as the youngest of the bower-women, should take a back bench in the booth, where it was difficult to see or to be seen, but Lady Pembroke had over-ruled this by saying,--

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE TILT YARD, WHITEHALL]

'There is room for all in the front row, good Crawley. Suffer Mistress Lucy to come forward.'

And then Lucy, beaming with delight, had a full view of the fortress, and found herself placed exactly opposite the window at which the Queen was to sit with her favourites to watch the show.

'Tell me, I pray you, the name of that grand lady whose jewels are flashing in the sunshine?'

Lucy said this to her companion, who bid her sit as close as she could, and not squeeze her hoop, and take care not to lean over the edge of the booth so as to obstruct her own view of the people who were rapidly filling up the seats.

'And forsooth, Mistress Forrester, you must not speak in a loud voice. It's country-bred manners to do so.'