CHAPTER XXXIII.
Here stands the victim--there the proud betrayer, E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogs Lies at the hunter's feet--who courteous proffers To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade, To gash the sobbing throat. --THE WOODSMAN.
We are now to return to Mervyn's Bower, the apartment, or rather theprison, of the unfortunate Countess of Leicester, who for some time keptwithin bounds her uncertainty and her impatience. She was aware that, inthe tumult of the day, there might be some delay ere her letter could besafely conveyed to the hands of Leicester, and that some time more mightelapse ere he could extricate himself from the necessary attendance onElizabeth, to come and visit her in her secret bower. "I will not expecthim," she said, "till night; he cannot be absent from his royal guest,even to see me. He will, I know, come earlier if it be possible, but Iwill not expect him before night." And yet all the while she did expecthim; and while she tried to argue herself into a contrary belief, eachhasty noise of the hundred which she heard sounded like the hurried stepof Leicester on the staircase, hasting to fold her in his arms.
The fatigue of body which Amy had lately undergone, with the agitationof mind natural to so cruel a state of uncertainty, began by degreesstrongly to affect her nerves, and she almost feared her total inabilityto maintain the necessary self-command through the scenes which mightlie before her. But although spoiled by an over-indulgent system ofeducation, Amy had naturally a mind of great power, united with aframe which her share in her father's woodland exercises had rendereduncommonly healthy. She summoned to her aid such mental and bodilyresources; and not unconscious how much the issue of her fate mightdepend on her own self-possession, she prayed internally for strength ofbody and for mental fortitude, and resolved at the same time to yield tono nervous impulse which might weaken either.
Yet when the great bell of the Castle, which was placed in Caesar'sTower, at no great distance from that called Mervyn's, began to sendits pealing clamour abroad, in signal of the arrival of the royalprocession, the din was so painfully acute to ears rendered nervouslysensitive by anxiety, that she could hardly forbear shrieking withanguish, in answer to every stunning clash of the relentless peal.
Shortly afterwards, when the small apartment was at once enlightened bythe shower of artificial fires with which the air was suddenly filled,and which crossed each other like fiery spirits, each bent on his ownseparate mission, or like salamanders executing a frolic dance in theregion of the Sylphs, the Countess felt at first as if each rocket shotclose by her eyes, and discharged its sparks and flashes so nigh thatshe could feel a sense of the heat. But she struggled against thesefantastic terrors, and compelled herself to arise, stand by the window,look out, and gaze upon a sight which at another time would haveappeared to her at once captivating and fearful. The magnificent towersof the Castle were enveloped in garlands of artificial fire, or shroudedwith tiaras of pale smoke. The surface of the lake glowed like molteniron, while many fireworks (then thought extremely wonderful, though nowcommon), whose flame continued to exist in the opposing element, divedand rose, hissed and roared, and spouted fire, like so many dragons ofenchantment sporting upon a burning lake.
Even Amy was for a moment interested by what was to her so new a scene."I had thought it magical art," she said, "but poor Tressilian taught meto judge of such things as they are. Great God! and may not these idlesplendours resemble my own hoped-for happiness--a single spark, which isinstantly swallowed up by surrounding darkness--a precarious glow,which rises but for a brief space into the air, that its fall may be thelower? O Leicester! after all--all that thou hast said--hast sworn--thatAmy was thy love, thy life, can it be that thou art the magicianat whose nod these enchantments arise, and that she sees them as anoutcast, if not a captive?"
The sustained, prolonged, and repeated bursts of music, from so manydifferent quarters, and at so many varying points of distance, whichsounded as if not the Castle of Kenilworth only, but the whole countryaround, had been at once the scene of solemnizing some high nationalfestival, carried the same oppressive thought still closer to her heart,while some notes would melt in distant and falling tones, as if incompassion for her sorrows, and some burst close and near upon her, asif mocking her misery, with all the insolence of unlimited mirth. "Thesesounds," she said, "are mine--mine, because they are HIS; but I cannotsay, Be still, these loud strains suit me not; and the voice of themeanest peasant that mingles in the dance would have more power tomodulate the music than the command of her who is mistress of all."
By degrees the sounds of revelry died away, and the Countess withdrewfrom the window at which she had sat listening to them. It was night,but the moon afforded considerable light in the room, so that Amy wasable to make the arrangement which she judged necessary. There was hopethat Leicester might come to her apartment as soon as the revel in theCastle had subsided; but there was also risk she might be disturbed bysome unauthorized intruder. She had lost confidence in the key sinceTressilian had entered so easily, though the door was locked on theinside; yet all the additional security she could think of was to placethe table across the door, that she might be warned by the noise shouldany one attempt to enter. Having taken these necessary precautions, theunfortunate lady withdrew to her couch, stretched herself down on it,mused in anxious expectation, and counted more than one hour aftermidnight, till exhausted nature proved too strong for love, for grief,for fear, nay, even for uncertainty, and she slept.
Yes, she slept. The Indian sleeps at the stake in the intervals betweenhis tortures; and mental torments, in like manner, exhaust by longcontinuance the sensibility of the sufferer, so that an interval oflethargic repose must necessarily ensue, ere the pangs which theyinflict can again be renewed.
The Countess slept, then, for several hours, and dreamed that she wasin the ancient house at Cumnor Place, listening for the low whistle withwhich Leicester often used to announce his presence in the courtyardwhen arriving suddenly on one of his stolen visits. But on thisoccasion, instead of a whistle, she heard the peculiar blast of abugle-horn, such as her father used to wind on the fall of the stag, andwhich huntsmen then called a MORT. She ran, as she thought, to awindow that looked into the courtyard, which she saw filled with menin mourning garments. The old Curate seemed about to read the funeralservice. Mumblazen, tricked out in an antique dress, like an ancientherald, held aloft a scutcheon, with its usual decorations of skulls,cross-bones, and hour-glasses, surrounding a coat-of-arms, of which shecould only distinguish that it was surmounted with an Earl's coronet.The old man looked at her with a ghastly smile, and said, "Amy, are theynot rightly quartered?" Just as he spoke, the horns again poured on herear the melancholy yet wild strain of the MORT, or death-note, and sheawoke.
The Countess awoke to hear a real bugle-note, or rather the combinedbreath of many bugles, sounding not the MORT. but the jolly REVEILLE, toremind the inmates of the Castle of Kenilworth that the pleasures of theday were to commence with a magnificent stag-hunting in the neighbouringChase. Amy started up from her couch, listened to the sound, saw thefirst beams of the summer morning already twinkle through the latticeof her window, and recollected, with feelings of giddy agony, where shewas, and how circumstanced.
"He thinks not of me," she said; "he will not come nigh me! A Queen ishis guest, and what cares he in what corner of his huge Castle a wretchlike me pines in doubt, which is fast fading into despair?" At once asound at the door, as of some one attempting to open it softly, filledher with an ineffable mixture of joy and fear; and hastening to removethe obstacle she had placed against the door, and to unlock it, she hadthe precaution to ask! "Is it thou, my love?"
"Yes, my Countess," murmured a whisper in reply.
She threw open the door, and exclaiming, "Leicester!" flung her armsaround the neck of the man who stood without, muffled in his cloak.
"No--not quite Leicester," answered Michael Lambourne, for he it was,returning t
he caress with vehemence--"not quite Leicester, my lovely andmost loving duchess, but as good a man."
With an exertion of force, of which she would at another time havethought herself incapable, the Countess freed herself from the profaneand profaning grasp of the drunken debauchee, and retreated into themidst of her apartment where despair gave her courage to make a stand.
As Lambourne, on entering, dropped the lap of his cloak from his face,she knew Varney's profligate servant, the very last person, exceptinghis detested master, by whom she would have wished to be discovered. Butshe was still closely muffled in her travelling dress, and as Lambournehad scarce ever been admitted to her presence at Cumnor Place, herperson, she hoped, might not be so well known to him as his was to her,owing to Janet's pointing him frequently out as he crossed the court,and telling stories of his wickedness. She might have had still greaterconfidence in her disguise had her experience enabled her to discoverthat he was much intoxicated; but this could scarce have consoled herfor the risk which she might incur from such a character in such a time,place, and circumstances.
Lambourne flung the door behind him as he entered, and folding hisarms, as if in mockery of the attitude of distraction into which Amyhad thrown herself, he proceeded thus: "Hark ye, most fair Calipolis--ormost lovely Countess of clouts, and divine Duchess of dark corners--ifthou takest all that trouble of skewering thyself together, like atrussed fowl, that there may be more pleasure in the carving, even savethyself the labour. I love thy first frank manner the best---like thypresent as little"--(he made a step towards her, and staggered)--"aslittle as--such a damned uneven floor as this, where a gentleman maybreak his neck if he does not walk as upright as a posture-master on thetight-rope."
"Stand back!" said the Countess; "do not approach nearer to me on thyperil!"
"My peril!--and stand back! Why, how now, madam? Must you have a bettermate than honest Mike Lambourne? I have been in America, girl, where thegold grows, and have brought off such a load on't--"
"Good friend," said the Countess, in great terror at the ruffian'sdetermined and audacious manner, "I prithee begone, and leave me."
"And so I will, pretty one, when we are tired of each other'scompany--not a jot sooner." He seized her by the arm, while, incapableof further defence, she uttered shriek upon shriek. "Nay, scream away ifyou like it," said he, still holding her fast; "I have heard the seaat the loudest, and I mind a squalling woman no more than a miaulingkitten. Damn me! I have heard fifty or a hundred screaming at once, whenthere was a town stormed."
The cries of the Countess, however, brought unexpected aid in the personof Lawrence Staples, who had heard her exclamations from his apartmentbelow, and entered in good time to save her from being discovered,if not from more atrocious violence. Lawrence was drunk also from thedebauch of the preceding night, but fortunately his intoxication hadtaken a different turn from that of Lambourne.
"What the devil's noise is this in the ward?" he said. "What! man andwoman together in the same cell?--that is against rule. I will havedecency under my rule, by Saint Peter of the Fetters!"
"Get thee downstairs, thou drunken beast," said Lambourne; "seest thounot the lady and I would be private?"
"Good sir, worthy sir!" said the Countess, addressing the jailer, "dobut save me from him, for the sake of mercy!"
"She speaks fairly," said the jailer, "and I will take her part. I lovemy prisoners; and I have had as good prisoners under my key as they havehad in Newgate or the Compter. And so, being one of my lambkins, as Isay, no one shall disturb her in her pen-fold. So let go the woman: orI'll knock your brains out with my keys."
"I'll make a blood-pudding of thy midriff first," answered Lambourne,laying his left hand on his dagger, but still detaining the Countess bythe arm with his right. "So have at thee, thou old ostrich, whose onlyliving is upon a bunch of iron keys."
Lawrence raised the arm of Michael, and prevented him from drawing hisdagger; and as Lambourne struggled and strove to shake him off; theCountess made a sudden exertion on her side, and slipping her handout of the glove on which the ruffian still kept hold, she gained herliberty, and escaping from the apartment, ran downstairs; while at thesame moment she heard the two combatants fall on the floor with a noisewhich increased her terror. The outer wicket offered no impediment toher flight, having been opened for Lambourne's admittance; so that shesucceeded in escaping down the stair, and fled into the Pleasance, whichseemed to her hasty glance the direction in which she was most likely toavoid pursuit.
Meanwhile, Lawrence and Lambourne rolled on the floor of the apartment,closely grappled together. Neither had, happily, opportunity to drawtheir daggers; but Lawrence found space enough to clash his heavy keysacross Michael's face, and Michael in return grasped the turnkey sofelly by the throat that the blood gushed from nose and mouth, so thatthey were both gory and filthy spectacles when one of the other officersof the household, attracted by the noise of the fray, entered the room,and with some difficulty effected the separation of the combatants.
"A murrain on you both," said the charitable mediator, "and especiallyon you, Master Lambourne! What the fiend lie you here for, fighting onthe floor like two butchers' curs in the kennel of the shambles?"
Lambourne arose, and somewhat sobered by the interposition of a thirdparty, looked with something less than his usual brazen impudence ofvisage. "We fought for a wench, an thou must know," was his reply.
"A wench! Where is she?" said the officer.
"Why, vanished, I think," said Lambourne, looking around him, "unlessLawrence hath swallowed her, That filthy paunch of his devours asmany distressed damsels and oppressed orphans as e'er a giant in KingArthur's history. They are his prime food; he worries them body, soul,and substance."
"Ay, ay! It's no matter," said Lawrence, gathering up his huge, ungainlyform from the floor; "but I have had your betters, Master MichaelLambourne, under the little turn of my forefinger and thumb, and I shallhave thee, before all's done, under my hatches. The impudence of thybrow will not always save thy shin-bones from iron, and thy foul,thirsty gullet from a hempen cord." The words were no sooner out of hismouth, when Lambourne again made at him.
"Nay, go not to it again," said the sewer, "or I will call for him shalltame you both, and that is Master Varney--Sir Richard, I mean. He isstirring, I promise you; I saw him cross the court just now."
"Didst thou, by G--!" said Lambourne, seizing on the basin and ewerwhich stood in the apartment. "Nay, then, element, do thy work. Ithought I had enough of thee last night, when I floated about for Orion,like a cork on a fermenting cask of ale."
So saying, he fell to work to cleanse from his face and hands the signsof the fray, and get his apparel into some order.
"What hast thou done to him?" said the sewer, speaking aside to thejailer; "his face is fearfully swelled."
"It is but the imprint of the key of my cabinet--too good a mark forhis gallows-face. No man shall abuse or insult my prisoners; they are myjewels, and I lock them in safe casket accordingly.--And so, mistress,leave off your wailing.--Why! why, surely, there was a woman here!"
"I think you are all mad this morning," said the sewer. "I saw no womanhere, nor no man neither in a proper sense, but only two beasts rollingon the floor."
"Nay, then I am undone," said the jailer; "the prison's broken, that isall. Kenilworth prison is broken," he continued, in a tone of maudlinlamentation, "which was the strongest jail betwixt this and the WelshMarches--ay, and a house that has had knights, and earls, and kingssleeping in it, as secure as if they had been in the Tower of London.It is broken, the prisoners fled, and the jailer in much danger of beinghanged!"
So saying, he retreated down to his own den to conclude hislamentations, or to sleep himself sober. Lambourne and the sewerfollowed him close; and it was well for them, since the jailer, out ofmere habit, was about to lock the wicket after him, and had they notbeen within the reach of interfering, they would have had the pleasureof being shut up in the turret-chamber
, from which the Countess had beenjust delivered.
That unhappy lady, as soon as she found herself at liberty, fled, aswe have already mentioned, into the Pleasance. She had seen thisrichly-ornamented space of ground from the window of Mervyn's Tower; andit occurred to her, at the moment of her escape, that among its numerousarbours, bowers, fountains, statues, and grottoes, she might find somerecess in which she could lie concealed until she had an opportunity ofaddressing herself to a protector, to whom she might communicate as muchas she dared of her forlorn situation, and through whose means she mightsupplicate an interview with her husband.
"If I could see my guide," she thought, "I would learn if he haddelivered my letter. Even did I but see Tressilian, it were better torisk Dudley's anger, by confiding my whole situation to one who is thevery soul of honour, than to run the hazard of further insult among theinsolent menials of this ill-ruled place. I will not again venture intoan enclosed apartment. I will wait, I will watch; amidst so many humanbeings there must be some kind heart which can judge and compassionatewhat mine endures."
In truth, more than one party entered and traversed the Pleasance. Butthey were in joyous groups of four or five persons together, laughingand jesting in their own fullness of mirth and lightness of heart.
The retreat which she had chosen gave her the easy alternative ofavoiding observation. It was but stepping back to the farthest recess ofa grotto, ornamented with rustic work and moss-seats, and terminated bya fountain, and she might easily remain concealed, or at her pleasurediscover herself to any solitary wanderer whose curiosity might leadhim to that romantic retirement. Anticipating such an opportunity, shelooked into the clear basin which the silent fountain held up to herlike a mirror, and felt shocked at her own appearance, and doubtful at;the same time, muffled and disfigured as her disguise made her seem toherself, whether any female (and it was from the compassion of her ownsex that she chiefly expected sympathy) would engage in conference withso suspicious an object. Reasoning thus like a woman, to whom externalappearance is scarcely in any circumstances a matter of unimportance,and like a beauty, who had some confidence in the power of her owncharms, she laid aside her travelling cloak and capotaine hat, andplaced them beside her, so that she could assume them in an instant, ereone could penetrate from the entrance of the grotto to its extremity, incase the intrusion of Varney or of Lambourne should render such disguisenecessary. The dress which she wore under these vestments was somewhatof a theatrical cast, so as to suit the assumed personage of one of thefemales who was to act in the pageant, Wayland had found the meansof arranging it thus upon the second day of their journey, havingexperienced the service arising from the assumption of such a characteron the preceding day. The fountain, acting both as a mirror and ewer,afforded Amy the means of a brief toilette, of which she availed herselfas hastily as possible; then took in her hand her small casket ofjewels, in case she might find them useful intercessors, and retiring tothe darkest and most sequestered nook, sat down on a seat of moss,and awaited till fate should give her some chance of rescue, or ofpropitiating an intercessor.