The White Ladies of Worcester Part 62

The Bishop wheeled in his chair, and found himself looking full into the face of Hugh d'Argent--Hugh, haggard, dusty, travel-stained, with eyes, long strangers to sleep, regarding him with a sombre intensity.

"You!" exclaimed the Bishop, surprised out of his usual gentle calm.

"You? Here!"

"Yes, I," said the Knight, "I! Does it surprise you, my Lord Bishop, that I should be here? Would it not rather surprise you, in view of that which you saw fit to communicate to me by letter, that I should fail to be here--and here as fast as horse could bring me?"

"Naught surprises me," said the Bishop, testily. "I have lived so long in the world, and had to do with so many crazy fools, that human vagaries no longer have power to surprise me. And, by our Lady, Sir Knight, I care not where you are, so that you have left safe and well, her peace of mind undisturbed, the woman whom I--acting as mouthpiece of the Pope and Holy Church--gave, not two weeks ago, into your care and keeping."

The Knight's frown was thunderous.

"It might be well, my Lord Bishop, to leave our blessed Lady's name out of this conversation. It hath too much been put to shameful and treacherous use. Mora is safe and well. How far her peace of mind can be left undisturbed, I am here to discover. I require, before aught else, the entire truth."

But the Bishop had had time to recover his equanimity. He rose with his most charming smile, both hands out-stretched in gracious welcome.

"Nay, my dear Knight, before aught else you require a bath! Truly it offends my love of the beautiful to see you in this dusty plight." He struck upon the gong. "Also you require a good meal, served with a flagon of my famous Italian wine. You did well to come here in person, my son. If naught hath been said to Mora, no harm is done; and together we can doubly safeguard the matter. I rejoice that you have come. But the strain of rapid travelling, when anxiety drives, is great. . . . Jasper, prepare a bath for Sir Hugh d'Argent in mine own bath-chamber; cast into it some of that fragrant and refreshing powder sent to me by the good brethren of Santa Maria Novella. While the n.o.ble Knight bathes, lay out in the ante-chamber the complete suit of garments he was wearing on the day when the sudden fancy seized him to have a swim in our river. I conclude they have been duly dried and pressed and laid by with sweet herbs? . . . Good. That is well. Now, my dear Hugh, allow Jasper to attend you. He will give his whole mind to your comfort. Send word to Brother Philip, Jasper, that I will speak with him here."

The Bishop accompanied the Knight to the door of the library; watched him stride along the gallery, silent and sullen, in the wake of the hastening Jasper; then turned and walked slowly back to the table, smiling, and gently rubbing his hands together as he walked.

He had gained time, and he had successfully regained his sense of supremacy. Taken wholly by surprise, he had not felt able to cope with this gaunt, dusty, desperately determined Knight. But the Knight would leave more than mere travel stains behind, in the scented waters of the bath! He would reappear clothed and in his right mind. A good meal and a flagon of Italian wine would further improve that mind, mellowing it and rendering it pliable and easy to convince; though truly it pa.s.sed comprehension why the Knight should need convincing, or of what!

Even more incomprehensible was it, that a man wedded to Mora, not two weeks since, should of his own free will elect to leave her.

The Bishop turned.

Brother Philip stood in the doorway, bowing low.

"Come in, my good Philip," said the Bishop; "come in, and shut the door. . . . I must have thy report with fullest detail; but, time being short, I would ask thee to begin from the moment when the battlements of Castle Norelle came into view."

CHAPTER XLVIII

A STRANGE CHANCE

On the fourth day of her husband's absence, Mora climbed to the battlements to watch the glories of a most gorgeous sunset.

Also she loved to find herself again there where she and Hugh had spent that wonderful hour in the moonlight, when she had told him of the vision, and afterwards had given him the promise that on the morrow he should take her to his home.

She paused in the low archway at the top of the winding stair, remembering how she had turned a moment there, to whisper: "I love thee." Ah, how often she had said it since: "Dear man of mine, I love thee! Come back to me safe; come back to me soon; I love thee!"

That he should have had to leave her just as her love was ready to respond to his, had caused that love to grow immeasurably in depth and intensity.

Also she now realised, more fully, his fine self-control, his chivalrous consideration for her, his n.o.ble unselfishness. From the first, he had been so perfect to her; and now her one desire was that, if her love could give it, he should have his reward.

Ah, when would he come! When would he come!

She could not keep from shading her eyes and looking along the road to the point where it left the fir wood, though this was but the fourth day since Hugh's departure--the day on which, by fast riding and long hours, he might arrive at Worcester--and the ninth was the very earliest she dared hope for his return.

How slowly, slowly, pa.s.sed the days. Yet they were full of a quiet joy and peace.

From the moment when she had stepped out into the sunshine, resolved to go steadily forward without looking back, she had thrown herself with zest and pleasure into investigating and arranging her house and estate.

Also, on the second day an idea had come to her with her first waking thoughts, which she had promptly put into execution.

Taking Martin Goodfellow with her she had ridden over to Hugh's home; had found it, as she expected, greatly needing a woman's hand and mind, and had set to work at once on those changes and arrangements most needed, so that all should be in readiness when Hugh, returning, would take her home.

Under her direction the chamber which should be hers was put into perfect order; her own things were transported thither, and all was made so completely ready, that at any moment she and Hugh could start, without need of baggage or attendants, and ride together home.

This chamber had two doors, the one leading down a flight of steps on to a terrace, the other opening directly into the great hall, the central chamber of the house.

Mora loved to stand in this doorway, looking into the n.o.ble apartment, with its huge fireplace, ma.s.sive carved chairs on either side of the hearth, weapons on the walls, trophies of feats of arms, all those things which made it home to Hugh, and to remember that of this place he had said in his pet.i.tion to our Lady: "Take pity on a lonely home, a desolate hearth . . . and send her to me."

No longer should it be lonely or desolate. Aye, and no longer should his faithful heart be hungry.

On this day she had been over for the third time, riding by the road, because she and Martin both carried packages of garments and other things upon their saddles; but returning by a shorter way through the woods, silent and mossy, most heavenly cool and green.

This journey had served to complete her happy preparations. So now, should Hugh arrive, even at sunset, and be wishful to ride on without delay, she could order the saddling of Icon, and say: "I am ready, dear Knight; let us go."

She stood on the Castle wall, gazing at the blood-red banners of the sunset, flaming from the battlements of a veritable city of gold; then, shading her eyes, turned to look once again along the road.

And, at that moment, out from the dark fir wood there rode a horseman, alone.

For one moment only did her heart leap in the wild belief that Hugh had returned. The next instant she knew this could not be he; even before her eyes made out a stranger.

She watched him leave the road, and turn up the winding path which led to the Castle gate; saw the porter go to the grating in answer to a loud knocking without; saw him fetch old Zachary, who in his turn sent for Martin Goodfellow; upon which the gates were opened wide, and the stranger rode into the courtyard.

Whereupon Mora thought it time that she should descend from the battlements and find out who this unexpected visitor might be.

At the head of the great staircase, she met Martin.

"Lady," he said, "there waits a man below who urgently desires speech with Sir Hugh. Learning from us that the Knight hath ridden south, and is like to be away some days longer, he begs to have word with you, alone; yet refuses to state his business or to give his name. Master Zachary greatly hopeth that it may be your pleasure that we bid the fellow forthwith depart, telling him--if he so will--to ride back in six days' time, when the worshipful Knight, whom he desires to see, will have returned."

Mora knitted her brows. It did not please her that Zachary and Martin Goodfellow should arrange together what she should do.

"Describe him, Martin," she said. "What manner of man is he?"

"Swarthy," said Martin, "and soldierly; somewhat of a dare-devil, but on his best behaviour. Zachary and I would suggest----"

"I will see him," said Mora, beginning to descend the stairs. "I will see him in the banqueting hall, and alone. You, Martin, can wait without, entering on the instant if I call. Tell Zachary to bid them prepare a meal of bread and meat, with a flagon of wine, or a pot of good ale, which I may offer to this traveller, should he need refreshment."

She was standing in the banqueting hall, on the very spot where Hugh had kneeled at their parting, when the swarthy fellow, soldierly, yet somewhat of a dare-devil, entered.

Most certainly he was on his best behaviour. He doffed his cap at first sight of her, advanced a few paces, then stood still, bowing low; came forward a few more paces, then bowed again.

She spoke.

"You wished to see my husband, Friend, and speak with him? He is away and hardly can return before five days, at soonest. Is your business with Sir Hugh such as I can pa.s.s on to him for you, by word of mouth?"