The White Rose of Langley Part 27

The ceremonies attendant on the royal marriage were over; the King was about to take the field against another insurrection of Glyndwr, and the Earl of Kent had undertaken to guard him to Shrewsbury. Maude, in close attendance on her mistress, heard the parting words between Kent and Constance.

"You will render me visit at Cardiff, my Lord?"

"Sweet Lady, were it possible I could neglect such bidding?"

Constance journeyed in the royal train for a distance, and turned off towards Cardiff, when their ways parted.

Her manner when she arrived at home was particularly affectionate, both to the Dowager and her children, of whom little Richard was now eight years old, while Isabel had just reached four. The keen eyes of the old lady--much sharper mentally than physically--soon discerned the presence of some new element in her daughter-in-law's mind. She closely questioned Maude as to what had happened, or was about to happen; and after a minute's hesitation, Maude told her all she knew and feared.

For some time after receiving this information, Elizabeth Le Despenser sat gazing uneasily from the lattice, with unwontedly idle hands.

"Sister's son unto our adversary!" she murmured to herself at last.

"Whither shall this tend? Verily, there is One stronger than Thomas de Arundel. Is He leading us blind by a way that we know not?--for in very sooth _I_ cannot discern the way. If so it be, then--Lord, lead Thou on!"

Kent paid his visit to Cardiff in the winter, accompanied by Constance's pet brother, Lord Richard of Conisborough, who had been promoted to his father's old dignity of Earl of Cambridge. It was the first time that the Dowager had seen either; and she afterwards communicated her impressions of the pair to Maude, as they sat together at work.

"As touching the Lord Richard, he is gent and courteous enough; he were no ill companion, an' he knew his own mind a little better. Mayhap three of him, or four, might make a man amongst them."

For Cambridge, though in a much fainter degree, reflected his father's character by finding it very difficult to say no.

"And what thinks your Ladyship of my Lord of Kent?" asked Maude with some anxiety.

The Dowager shook the loose threads from her work with a peculiar little laugh.

"Marry, my maid, what think I of my Lord of Kent his barber, and his tailor?" said she; "for they made my Lord of Kent betwixt them. He is not a man of G.o.d's making."

"But think you, Madam, he is to be trusted or no?"

"Trusted!--for what? To oil his golden locks, and perfume well his sudary, and have his sleeves of the newest cutting? Ay, forsooth, and that right worthily!"

"I meant," explained Maude, "to have a care of our Lady."

"Maybe he shall keep her in ointment for her hair," returned the Dowager.

The Earl of Kent returned to Court, and for some time stayed there. He was rather too busy to prosecute his wooing. The Lord Thomas of Lancaster, one of the King's sons, was projecting and executing an expedition from Calais to Sluys, and he took Kent with him; so that, with one or another obstacle arising, Constance's second marriage was not quite so quick in coming as Maude had expected. But at last it did come.

The Duke of York and his d.u.c.h.ess--not long married--and the Earl of Cambridge, journeyed to Cardiff for their sister's wedding. The d.u.c.h.ess of York, though both an heiress and a beauty, left no mark on her time.

She was by profession at least a Lollard; and since Lollardism was not now walking in silver slippers, this says something for her. But in all other respects she appears to have been one of those beautiful, mindless women whom clever men frequently marry. Perhaps no woman with a decided character of her own would have ventured on such a husband as Edward Duke of York.

It was a mild winter day, and a picnic was projected in the woods near Cardiff. The wedding was to take place in about a week. Maude rode on a pillion to the scene where the rustic dinner was to be behind Bertram Lyngern, who seemed in a particularly bright and amiable mood. When a woman rode on a pillion, it must be remembered that she was in a very insecure position; and it was an absolute necessity for the fair rider to clasp her arms round the waist of the man who sat before her, and, when the road was rough, to cling pretty tightly. It was therefore desirable that the pair should be at least reasonably civil to one another, and should not get on quarrelsome terms. There was little likelihood of Maude's quarrelling with Bertram, her friend of twenty years' standing; but she did not share his evident light-heartedness as he rode carolling along, now breaking out into a s.n.a.t.c.h of one song, and now of another, and constantly interrupting himself with playful remarks.

"'Sitteth all still, and hearkeneth to me: The King of Almayne, by my leaute, Thritti thousand pound asked he--'

"A squirrel, Mistress Maude! shall I catch it?

"_Dame avec l'oeil de beaute_--

"So, my good lad, softly! so, Lyard! How clereful a day! Nigh as soft as summer.

"'Summer is ycomen in-- Merry sing, cuckoo!

Groweth glede, and bloweth mead, And springeth wood anew.'

"Be merry, Mistress Maude, I pray you! you mope not, surely?"

"I scarce know, Master Lyngern. Mayhap so."

"Shame to mope on such a day!" said Bertram, springing from the saddle, and holding his hand to help Maude to jump down also. "There hath not been so fair a morrow this month gone."

He was soon busy unpacking the sumpter-mules' bags, with two or three more; and dinner was served under the shade of the trees, without any consideration of ceremony. Our fathers spent so much of their time out of doors, and dressed for the season so much more warmly than we do, that they chose days for picnics at which we should shudder. After dinner Maude wandered about a little by herself, and at length sat down at the foot of a lofty oak. She had not been there many minutes before she saw Constance and York coming slowly towards her, evidently in earnest conversation.

"Lo' you here, Ned!" said Constance eagerly, when she caught sight of Maude. "Here is one true as steel. If that you say must have no eavesdroppers, sit we on the further side of this tree; and Maude, hold where thou art, and if any come this way, give a privy pluck at my gown, and we will speak other."

They sat down on the other side of the oak.

"Custance," began her brother, "I misconceive not, trow, to account thee yet true to the cause of King Richard, be he where he may?"

York knew, as certainly as he knew of his own existence, that Richard had been dead five years. But it suited his purpose to speak doubtfully.

"Certes, Ned, of very inwitte!" [Most heartily.]

"Well. And if King Richard were dead, who standeth next heir?"

"My Lord of March, no manner of doubt."

"Good again. Then we thus stand: King Henry that reigneth hath no right; and the true King is shut up in Pomfret, or, granting he be dead, is then shut up in Windsor."

"Well, Ned?"

"Shall we--thou and I--free young March and his brother and sisters?"

"Thou and I!"

She was evidently doubtful. Edward took a stronger bolt from his quiver.

"Custance, d.i.c.kon loves Anne Mortimer."

That was a different matter. If d.i.c.kon wanted Anne Mortimer or anything else, in his sister's eyes, he must have it. To refuse to help Ned was one thing, but to refuse to help d.i.c.kon was quite another.

"But how should we win in?"

Edward drew a silver key from his pocket.

"I gat this made of a smith, Custance, a year gone. 'Tis a key for my strong-room at Langley, the which was lost with other my baggage fording the Thames, and I took the mould of the lock in wax, and gave it unto the smith."

He looked in her face, pausing a little between the sentences, to make sure that she understood him; and he saw by her eyes that she did. The very peril and uncertainty involved in such an adventure gave it a charm for her.

"When, Ned?"

"When I send word."