CHAPTER XIV: THE TROTH FLIGHT
Trembling and awed, the ladies waited at Paris. It was well known howthe King's illness must end. No one, save the Queen, professed toentertain any hope of his amendment; but Catherine appeared to be toolethargic to allow herself to be roused to any understanding of hisdanger; and as to the personal womanly tendance of wife to sufferinghusband, she seemed to have no notion of it. Her mother had never beensupposed to take the slightest care of King Charles; and Catherine, afterher example, regarded the care either of husband or child as no morerequired of a royal lady than of a queen bee.
The little Lady Montagu, as Alice was now to be called, who had beenscheming that her Richard should be wounded just enough to learn to callher his good little nurse-tender, was dreadfully scandalized, as indeedwere wives of more experience, when they found all their endeavours tomake their mistress understand how ill the King really was, and how muchhe wished for her, fall upon uncomprehending ears, and at last weredesired by her mother Isabeau not to torment the poor Queen, or theywould make her ill.
'Make her ill! I wish I could!' muttered Lady Warwick, as she left thepresence-chamber; 'but it is like my little Nan telling her apple-stockbaby that all her kin were burnt alive in one castle. She heeds asmuch!'
But when at late evening Sir Lewis Robsart rode up to the hotel, and ahush went along with him, for all knew that he would never have left hisKing alive, Catherine's composure gave way. She had not imaginationenough for apprehension of what was out of sight; but when she knew thatshe had lost her king, to whom she had owed the brief splendour of anotherwise dreary and neglected life, she fell into a passion of cries andtears, even at the mere sight of Sir Lewis, and continued to bewail herking, her lord, her husband, her light, her love, with the violence of anutterly unexpected bereavement.
But while her shrieks and sobs were rending the air, a hoarse voicegasped out, 'What say you? My son Henri dead!' and white and ghastly,the gray hair hanging wildly from the temples, the eyes roaming with thewistful gaze of the half insane, poor King Charles stood among them,demanding, 'Tell me I am sick again! Tell me it is but one of mydelusions! So brave, so strong, so lively, so good to the poor old man!My son Henri cannot die! That is for the old, the sick!'
And when Sir Lewis with gentle words had made him understand the truth,he covered his face with his hands, and staggered away, led by hisattendant knight, still murmuring in a dazed way, '_Mon fils Henri, monbon fils Henri_--most loving of all my children!'
In truth, neither of his own sons had been thus mourned; nor had anyperson shown the poor crazed monarch the uniform deferentialconsideration he had received from Henry. He crept back to his ownchamber, and for many days hardly spoke, save to moan for his _bon filsHenri_, scarcely tasting food, and pining away day by day. Those who hadwatched the likeness between the heroes of Monmouth and of Macedon, sawthe resemblance carried out; for as the aged Persian queen perished awayfrom grief for the courteous and gentle Alexander, so now the king of theconquered realm was actually wasting to death with mourning for his frankand kindly _bon fils Henri_.
As part of royal etiquette, Catherine betook herself to her bed, in achamber hung with black, the light of day excluded, and ranks of waxtapers shedding a lugubrious light upon rows of gentlemen and ladies whohad to stand there on duty, watching her as the mourners watched theKing, though her lying-in-state was not always as silent; for though,there was much time spent in slumber, Catherine sometimes would indulgein a good deal of subdued prattle with her mother, or her moreconfidential attendants. But at other times, chiefly when first awaking,or else when anything had crossed her will, she would fall into agoniesof passionate grief--weeping, shrieking, and rending her hair with almosta frenzy of misery, as she called herself utterly desolate, and screamedaloud for her king to return to her.
She was quite past the management of her English ladies on theseoccasions; and her mother, declaring that she was becoming crazed likeher father, declined having anything to do with her. Even Sir LewisRobsart she used to spurn aside; and nothing ever seemed effectual, butfor the Demoiselle de Luxemburg, with her full sweet voice, and force ofwill in all the tenderness of strength, caressingly to hold her still,talk to her almost as to an infant, and sing away her violence with somelong low ditty--sometimes a mere Flemish lullaby, sometimes a Churchhymn. As Lady Warwick said, when the ladies were all wearied out withthe endeavour to control their Queen's waywardness and violence, and itsighed away like a departing tempest before Esclairmonde, 'It was asgreat a charity as ever ministering as a St. Katherine's bedeswoman couldbe.'
To the young Lady Montagu, the blow was astounding. It was the firstrealization that a great man could die, a great support be taken away;and, child-like, she moved about, bewildered and stunned, in the greathousehold on which the dark cloud had descended--clinging to Esclairmondeas if to protect her from she knew not what; anything dreadful mighthappen, with the King dead, and her father and husband away.
Alas! poor Esclairmonde! She was in much more real danger herself, ascame to the bride's mind presently, when, in the midst of herlamentations, she exclaimed, 'And, ah, Clairette! there ends his goodlypromise about the sisterhood of good works at Paris.'
Esclairmonde responded with a gesture of sorrow, and the murmur of the'_In principibus non confide_' that is so often the echo ofdisappointment.
'And what will you do?' continued Alice, watching her anxiously, as herface, turning very pale, was nevertheless uplifted towards heaven.
'Strive to trust more in God, less in princes,' she breathed forth,clasping her hands, and compressing her lips.
'Nay, but does it grieve you so intensely?' asked Alice. 'Mayhap--'
'Alas! sweet one! I would that the fall of this device seemed like to bethe worst effect to me of your good king's death. Pray for me, Alice,for now no earthly power stands between me and my kinsmen's will.'
Alice cried aloud, 'Nay, nay, lady, we are English still. There are myfather; my lord, the Duke of Bedford; they will not suffer any wrong tobe done.'
'Hush, Alice. None of them hath any power to aid me. Even good KingHenry had no legal power to protect me; only he was so great, so strongin word or deed, that no man durst do before him what he declared a shameand a sin. Now it will be expedient more than ever that nothing be doneby the English to risk offending the Duke of Burgundy. None will darewithhold me; none ought to dare, for they act not for themselves, but fortheir infant charge; and my countess is weary of me. There is nothing toprevent my uncles from taking me away with them; or--'
'Nothing!' cried Alice. 'It cannot be! Oh, that my father were here!'
'He could do nothing for me.'
'A convent!'
'No convent here could keep me against the Bishop of Therouenne.'
Alice wrung her hands. 'Oh, it cannot--shall not be!'
'No, Alice, I do not believe it will be. I have that confidence in Himto whom I have given myself, that I do not believe He will permit me tobe snatched from Him, so long as my will does not consent.' Esclairmondefaltered a moment, as she remembered her wavering, crossed her hands onher breast, and ejaculated, 'May He deal mercifully with me! Yet it maybe at an exceeding cost--at that of all my cherished schemes, of all thatwas pride and self-seeking. Alice, look not so terrified. Nothing canbe done immediately, or with violence, in this first mourning for theKing; and I trust to make use of the time to disguise me, and escape toEngland, where I may keep my vow as anchoress, or as lay sister. Let mekeep that, and my self-exalting schemes shall be all put by!'
The question whether this should be to England, or to the southern partsof France held by the Armagnacs, remained for decision, as opportunityshould direct: Alice constantly urging her own scheme of carrying herfriend with her as her tire-woman, if, as seemed likely, she were senthome; and Esclairmonde refusing to consent to anything that might bringthe bride into troubles with her father and husband; and the debatesbeing only interrupted when the Lady
Montagu was required to take herturn among the weary ladies-in-waiting around Catherine's state bed.
Whenever she was not required to control, console, or persuade the Queen,Esclairmonde spent most of her time in a chamber apart from the chatterof Jaqueline's little court, where she was weaving, in the delicate point-lace work she had learnt in her Flemish convent, an exquisite robe, suchas were worn by priests at Mass. She seldom worked, save for the poor;but she longed to do some honour to the one man who would have promotedher nearly vanished scheme, and this work she trusted to offer for avestment to be used at his burial Mass. Many a cherished plan wasresigned, many an act of self-negation uttered, as she bent over thedainty web; many an entreaty breathed, that her moment's wandering offancy might not be reckoned against her, but that she might be aided tokeep the promise of her infancy, and devote herself undivided to thedirect service of God and of His poor, be it in ever so humble a station.
Here she sat alone, when steps approached, the door opened, and of allpeople he stood before her whom she least wished to see, the young Lordof Glenuskie.
Amazed as she was, she betrayed no confusion, and merely rose, sayingquietly, 'This is an error. I will show you Madame's apartment.'
But Malcolm, who had begun by looking far more confused than she, criedearnestly, 'One moment, lady. I came not willingly; the Countess sentfor me to her. But since I am here--listen while Heaven gives mestrength to say it--I will trouble you never again. I am come to abetter mind. Oh, forgive me!'
'What are you here then for, Sir?' said Esclairmonde, with the samedefensive dignity.
'My king sent me, against my will, on a mission to the Queen,' pantedMalcolm. 'I am forced to wait here; or, lady, I should have been thisday doing penance for my pursuit of you. Verily I am a penitent. MayhapHeaven will forgive me, if you will.'
'If I understand you aright, it is well,' said Esclairmonde, stillgravely and doubtfully.
'It is so indeed,' protested Malcolm, with a terrible wrench to hisheart, yet a sensation of freeing his conscience. 'Fear me no longernow. After that which I saw at Vincennes, I know what it is to be on thestraight path, and--oh! what it is to have fallen from it. How could Idream of dragging you down to be with one so unworthy, becoming moreworthless each day? Lady, if I never see you more, pardon me, pray forme, as a saint for a poor outcast on earth!'
'Hush,' said Esclairmonde; 'I am no saint--only a maiden pledged. But,Sir, I thank you fervently. You have lightened my heart of one of myfears.'
Malcolm could not but be cheered by being for once spoken to by her in sofriendly a tone; and he added, gravely and resolutely: 'My suit, then, Iyield up, lady--yield for ever. Am I permitted once to kiss that fairand holy hand, as I resign my presumptuous hopes thereof?'
'Mayhap it were wiser left undone,' said Esclairmonde. 'My mind misgivesme that this meeting is planned to bring us into trouble. Farewell, mylord.'
As she had apprehended, the door was flung back, and Countess Jaquelinerushed in, clasping her hands in an affectation of merry surprise, as shecried, 'Here they are! See, Monseigneur! No keeping doves apart!'
'Madame,' said Esclairmonde, turning on her with cold dignity, 'I havebeen thanking Monsieur de Glenuskie for having resigned the suit that Ialways declared to be in vain.'
'You misunderstood, Clairette,' said Jaqueline. 'No gentleman ever sospoke! No, no; my young lord has kept his promise to me, and I will notfail him.'
'Madame,' faltered Malcolm, 'I came by command of the King of Scots.'
'So much the better,' cried Jaqueline. 'So he can play into our hands,for all his grandeur! It will lose him his wager, though! Here isbride--there is priest--nay, bishop!' pointing to him of Therouenne, whohad accompanied her, but hitherto had stood silent.
'Madame,' said Malcolm, 'the time and state of the household forbid.'
'_Ma foi_! What is that to us? King Henry is neither our brother norour father; and Catherine will soon laugh at it as a good joke.'
'Nay,' said the Bishop, with more propriety, 'it is the contract andtroth-plight alone that could take place at present. That secure, thefull solemnities will await a fitting time; but it is necessary that thetroth be exchanged at once.'
'Monseigneur,' said Esclairmonde, 'mine is in other keeping.'
'And, Monseigneur,' added Malcolm, 'I have just told the lady that Irepent of having fallen from my vocation, and persecuted her.'
'How, Sir!' said the Bishop, turning on him; 'do you thus lightly treat alady of the house of Luxemburg? Beware! There are those who know how tovisit an insult on a malapert lad, who meddles with the honour of thefamily.'
'Be not threatened, Lord Malcolm,' said Esclairmonde, with a gleam in hereye.
And Malcolm was Stewart enough to answer with spirit: 'My lord, I willmeet them if needed. This lady is so affianced, that it is sacrilege toaspire to her.'
'Ah!' said the Bishop, in an audible aside to the giggling Countess:'this comes of her having thrown herself at the youth's head. Now hewill no more of her.'
Crimson with wrath, and also with a wild sense of hope that theobligation had become absolute, Malcolm made a vehement incoherentexclamation; but Esclairmonde retained her composure.
'Monseigneur and Madame both know better,' she said. 'This is butanother menace.'
'Peace, minion,' said the Bishop of Therouenne, 'and listen to me. Ifthis young gentleman, after professing himself willing to wed you, nowdraws back, so much the worse for him. But if you terrify him out of itwith your humours, then will my brother St. Pol and the Duke of Burgundysoon be here, with no King of England to meddle; and by St. Adrian, SirBoemond will be daunted by no airs, like Monsieur there. A bride shallyou be, Esclairmonde de Luxemburg, ere the week is out, if not toMonsieur de Glenuskie, to the Chevalier Boemond de Bourgogne.'
'Look not at me,' said Jaqueline. 'I am weary of your contumacy. All Ishall do is to watch you well. I've suspected for some days that youwere concocting mischief with the little Montagu; but you'll not escapeagain, as when I was fool enough to help you.'
The two stood a few paces apart, where they had been discovered;Esclairmonde's eyes were closed, her hands clasped, as if in silentprayer for aid.
'Girl--your choice!' said the Bishop, peremptorily. 'Wedlock on the spotto this gentleman, or to Sir Boemond a week hence.'
Esclairmonde was very white.
'My will shall not consent to a present breach of vow to save a futureone,' she said, in a scarce audible voice.
A sudden thought darted into Malcolm's mind. With colour flooding hisface to his very temples, he stepped nearer to her, and said, in atremulous under-tone, 'Lady, trust me.'
The Bishop withheld Jaqueline almost by force, so soon as he saw that thepair were whispering together, and that there was something of relaxationin Esclairmonde's face as she looked up at him in silent interrogation.
He spoke low, but solemnly and imploringly. 'Trust me with your plight,lady, and I will restore it when you are free.'
Hardly able to speak, she however murmured, 'You will indeed do this?'
'So help me Heaven!' he said, and his eyes grew large and bright; he heldhis head with the majesty of his race.
'Heaven has sent you,' said Esclairmonde, with a long sigh, and holdingout her hand to him, as though therewith she conferred a high-souledwoman's full trust.
And Malcolm took it with a strange pang of pain and exultation at theheart. The trust was won, but the hope of earthly joy was gone for ever.
The Countess broke out with a shout of triumph: 'There, there! they havecome to reason at last. There's an end of her folly.'
Malcolm felt himself a man, and Esclairmonde's protector, all at once, ashe stood forth, still holding her hand.
'Monseigneur,' he said, 'this lady consents to intrust her troth to me,and be affianced to me'--his chest heaved, but he still spoke firmly--'oncondition that no word be spoken of the matter, nor any completion of therite take place until the mourning
for King Henry be at an end;' and, ata sort of shiver from Esclairmonde, he added: 'Not for a year, by whichtime I shall be of full age.'
'A strange bridegroom!' said Jaqueline; 'but maybe you do well to get heron what terms you can. Do you agree, Monseigneur?'
In truth, Monseigneur may have been relieved that the trial of strengthbetween him and his ward had thus terminated. He was only anxious tohave the matter concluded.
The agreement, binding Malcolm to accept a stated number of crowns ininstalments, as the value of Esclairmonde's lands, under the guarantee ofthe Duke of Burgundy and King James of Scotland, had all been long agosigned, sealed, and secured; and there was nothing to prevent the_fiancailles_, or espousals, from taking place at once.
It was a much more real ceremony than a mere betrothal, being, in fact,in the eye of the civil law a marriage, though the full blessing and thesacramental words of union were deferred for the completion of the rite.It was the first part of the Marriage Service, binding the pair soindissolubly to one another, that neither could enter into wedlock withany one else as long as the other lived--except, of course, by Papaldispensation; and in cases of stolen weddings, it was all that was deemedneedful.
All therefore that remained to be done was, that the Bishop summoned hischaplain to serve as a witness and as scribe; and then the two youngpeople, in their deep mourning dresses, standing before the Bishop, vowedto belong to none other than to one another, and the betrothal ringsbeing produced, were placed on their fingers, and their hands wereclasped. Malcolm's was steady, as he felt Esclairmonde's rest in hisuntrembling, but with the quietness of one who trusted all in all whereshe trusted at all.
'Poor children! they have all to learn,' hilariously shouted theCountess. 'They have forgotten the kiss!'
'Will you suffer it, my sister?' said Malcolm, with burning cheeks.
'My brother and my guardian!' responded Esclairmonde, raising the whitebrow to his lips.
At that moment back went the door, and in flew Alice Montagu, cryingaloud, 'Clairette! the Queen--oh, Madame, your pardon! but I am sent forEsclairmonde. The Queen is in worse fits than ever. Sir Lewis can't getthe ring from her. They think she will rave like her father presently!Come!'
Esclairmonde could only hurry away at this; while Alice, grasping herhand, continued:
'Oh, have they been persecuting you? I dreaded it when I saw yon littlewretch; but--oh, Esclairmonde, what is this?' in an utterly changedvoice.
'He holds my faith in trust. He will restore it,' said Esclairmonde,hurriedly.
But Lady Montagu spoke not another word; and, indeed, they were hard uponthe English queen's rooms, whence they already heard hysterical screamsof passion.
Jaqueline had immediately set forth in the same direction out ofcuriosity; and Malcolm in much anxiety, since the mission that he hadbeen cautioned to guard so jealously seemed in danger of being knowneverywhere. He had himself been allowed to stand by the Queen's bedside,and rehearse James's message; but when he had further hinted of his beingsent by Bedford to bring the ring, the Queen, perhaps at the mention ofthe brother-in-law, pouted, knew nothing of any ring, and supposed M. leDuc meant to strip her, a poor desolate widow, of all her jewels.
Then Malcolm had spoken in private with Sir Lewis Robsart, who knew thering was among her jewels, and promised to get it for him as soon as waspossible; and it was while waiting for this that Malcolm had beensummoned to the Countess of Hainault's apartments.
But ere Sir Lewis could get the ear of the Queen, as he now told Malcolm,her mother had been with her. Catherine was dull, jealous, unwilling topart with anything, but always easily coaxed over. Her mother Isabeauhad, on the other hand, a good deal of low cunning and selfishness, andunderstood how valuable an instrument might be a duplicate seal of adeceased monarch. Therefore she instigated her daughter to deny that shepossessed it, and worked her up into a state of impracticability, inwhich Sir Lewis Robsart was unable to deal with her, and only produced sowild a tempest of passion as perfectly to appal both him and her ladies.
That the Duke of Bedford had sent for a ring, which she would not giveup, was known over the whole palace; the only matter still not perhapsknown was, what was the value of that individual ring.
Robsart, however, promised to exonerate Malcolm from having shown anyindiscretion; he charged it all on himself for having left his Queen foran instant to Isabeau.
Meanwhile, Malcolm and he, with other nobles and ladies, waited, waitedin the outer chamber, listening to the fearful storm of shrieks andcries, till they began to spend themselves and die away; and then theyheard Esclairmonde's low voice singing her lullaby, and every onebreathed freer, as though relieved, and murmurs of conversation roseagain. Malcolm moved across to greet the Lady Montagu; and though shelooked at him with all the disdain her little gentle face couldaccomplish, he had somehow a spring and strength in him that could notnow be brow-beaten.
He bent over her, and said, 'Lady, I see you know all. It is but atrust.'
'If you so treat it, Sir, you will do well,' responded the young matron,with as much stern gravity as she could assume; the fact being that shelonged to break down and cry heartily, that Esclairmonde should so farhave failed, and become like other people.
Long, long they waited--Malcolm with a strange dreamy feeling at hisheart, neither triumph nor disappointment, but something between both,and peace above all. Dinner was served in the hall; the company returnedto the outer apartment, yet still all was silent within; till at last,late in the afternoon, there came a black figure forth from under theblack hangings, and Esclairmonde, turning to Lady Warwick, said, 'TheQueen is awake, and desires her ladies' presence.' And then comingtowards Malcolm, who was standing near Sir Lewis Robsart, she placed inhis hand the signet-ring.
Both, while the attendants of the Queen filed back into her chamber,eagerly demanded how the ring had been obtained.
'Poor lady!' said Esclairmonde, 'she was too much spent to withholdanything. She was weak and exhausted with cries and tears; and when shehad slept, she was as meek as a lamb; and there was no more ado but tobid her remember that the blessed King her lord would have bidden her letthe ring be broken up at once, lest it should be used so as to harm herson.'
That Esclairmonde had prevailed by that gentle force of character whichno one could easily resist, could not, however, be doubted for a moment;and a fresh thrill of amazement, and almost of joy, came over Malcolm atthe sense that he had become the protector of such a being, and that in asort she belonged to him, and was in his power, having trusted herself tohim.
Robsart advised, and Esclairmonde concurred in the counsel, that LordGlenuskie should set forth for Vincennes immediately, before there shouldbe time for any more cabals, or for Queen Isabeau to have made herdaughter repent of having delivered up the signet-ring.
Malcolm therefore at once took leave of his affianced, venturing to kissher hand as he looked wistfully in her face, and said, 'Dear lady, howshall I thank you for this trust?'
Esclairmonde gave her sweet grave smile, as she said, 'To God's keeping Icommend you, Sir.' She would not even bid him be true to his trust; itwould have seemed to her to insult him in whom her confidence was placed,and she only added: 'I shall ever bless you for having saved me.Farewell! Now am I bound for ever to pray for you and your sister.'
And it would be impossible to tell how the sense of Esclairmonde's trust,and of the resolute self-denial it would require of him, elevatedMalcolm's whole tone, and braced his mind. The taking away of hisoriginal high purpose had rendered him as aimless and pleasure-loving asany ordinary lad; but the situation in which he now stood--guarding thissaintly being for her chosen destiny, at the expense of all possibleearthly projects for his own happiness or ambition--was such as to bringout that higher side of his nature that had well-nigh collapsed. As hestood alone in the ante-room, waiting until his horse and escort shouldbe ready for his return, a flood of happiness seemed to gush over him.Esclairmonde was no more hi
s own, indeed, than was King Henry's signet;but the trust was very precious, and gave him at least the power ofthinking of her as joined by a closer link than even his sister Lilias.And towards her his conscience was again clear, for this very betrothalput marriage out of the question for him, and was a real seal of hisdedication. He only felt as if his heart ought not to be so light andpeaceful, while his penance was still unsaid, his absolution not yetpronounced.