CHAPTER IX
FROM FULHAM TO GREENWICH
Anthony in London, strangely enough, heard nothing of the arrest on theSunday, except a rumour at supper that some Papists had been taken. Ithad sufficient effect on his mind to make him congratulate himself thathe had been able to warn his friend last week.
At dinner on Monday there were a few guests; and among them, one SirRichard Barkley, afterwards Lieutenant of the Tower. He sat at theArchbishop's table, but Anthony's place, on the steward's left hand,brought him very close to the end of the first table where Sir Richardsat. Dinner was half way through, when Mr. Scot who was talking toAnthony, was suddenly silent and lifted his hand as if to check theconversation a moment.
"I saw them myself," said Sir Richard's voice just behind.
"What is it?" whispered Anthony.
"The Catholics," answered the steward.
"They were taken in Newman's Court, off Cheapside," went on the voice,"nearly thirty, with one of their priests, at mass, in his trinketstoo--Oldham his name is."
There was a sudden crash of a chair fallen backwards, and Anthony wasstanding by the officer.
"I beg your pardon, Sir Richard Barkley," he said;--and a dead silencefell in the hall.--"But is that the name of the priest that was takenyesterday?"
Sir Richard looked astonished at the apparent insolence of this youngofficial.
"Yes, sir," he said shortly.
"Then, then,----" began Anthony; but stopped; bowed low to the Archbishopand went straight out of the hall.
* * * *
Mr. Scot was waiting for him in the hall when he returned late thatnight. Anthony's face was white and distracted; he came in and stood bythe fire, and stared at him with a dazed air.
"You are to come to his Grace," said the steward, looking at him insilence.
Anthony nodded without speaking, and turned away.
"Then you cannot tell me anything?" said Mr. Scot. The other shook hishead impatiently, and walked towards the inner door.
The Archbishop was sincerely shocked at the sight of his young officer,as he came in and stood before the table, staring with bewildered eyes,with his dress splashed and disordered, and his hands still holding thewhip and gloves. He made him sit down at once, and after Anthony haddrunk a glass of wine, he made him tell his story and what he had donethat day.
He had been to the Marshalsea; it was true Mr. Oldham was there, and hadbeen examined. Mr. Young had conducted it.--The house at Newman's Courtwas guarded: the house behind Bow Church was barred and shut up, and thepeople seemed gone away.--He could not get a word through to Mr. Oldham,though he had tried heavy bribery.--And that was all.
Anthony spoke with the same dazed air, in short broken sentences; butbecame more himself as the wine and the fire warmed him; and by the timehe had finished he had recovered himself enough to entreat the Archbishopto help him.
"It is useless," said the old man. "What can I do? I have no power.And--and he is a popish priest! How can I interfere?"
"My lord," cried Anthony desperately, flushed and entreating, "all hasbeen done through treachery. Do you not see it? I have been a brainlessfool. That man behind Bow Church was a spy. For Christ's sake help us,my lord!"
Grindal looked into the lad's great bright eyes; sighed; and threw outhis hands despairingly.
"It is useless; indeed it is useless, Mr. Norris. But I will tell you allthat I can do. I will give you to-morrow a letter to Sir FrancisWalsingham. I was with him abroad as you know, in the popish times ofMary: and he is still in some sort a friend of mine--but you mustremember that he is a strong Protestant; and I do not suppose that hewill help you. Now go to bed, dear lad; you are worn out."
Anthony knelt for the old man's blessing, and left the room.
* * * *
The interview next day was more formidable than he had expected. He wasat the Secretary's house by ten o'clock, and waited below while theArchbishop's letter was taken up. The servant came back in a few minutes,and asked him to follow; and in an agony of anxiety, but with a clearhead again this morning, and every faculty tense, he went upstairs afterhim, and was ushered into the room where Walsingham sat at a table.
There was silence as the two bowed, but Sir Francis did not offer torise, but sat with the Archbishop's letter in his hand, glancing throughit again, as the other stood and waited.
"I understand," said the Secretary at last, and his voice was dry andunsympathetic,--"I understand, from his Grace's letter, that you desireto aid a popish priest called Oldham or Maxwell, arrested at mass onSunday morning in Newman's Court. If you will be so good as to tell me inwhat way you desire to aid him, I can be more plain in my answer. You donot desire, I hope, Mr. Norris, anything but justice and a fair trial foryour friend?"
Anthony cleared his throat before answering.
"I--he is my friend, as you say, Sir Francis; and--and he hath beencaught by foul means. I myself was used, as I have little doubt, in hiscapture. Surely there is no justice, sir, in betraying a man by means ofhis friend." And Anthony described the ruse that had brought it allabout.
Sir Francis listened to him coldly; but there came the faintest spark ofamusement into his large sad eyes.
"Surely, Mr. Norris," he said, "it was somewhat simple; and I have nodoubt at all that it all is as you say; and that the poor stutteringcripple with a patch was as sound and had as good sight and power ofspeech as you and I; but the plan was, it seems, if you will forgive me,not so simple as yourself. It would be passing strange, surely that theman, if a friend of the priest's, could find no Catholic to take hismessage; but not at all strange if he were his enemy. I do not thinksincerely, sir, that it would have deceived me. But that is not now thepoint. He is taken now, fairly or foully, and--what was it you wished meto do?"
"I hoped," said Anthony, in rising indignation at this insolence, "thatyou would help me in some way to undo this foul unjustice. Surely, sir,it cannot be right to take advantage of such knavish tricks."
"Good Mr. Norris," said the Secretary, "we are not playing a game, withrules that must not be broken, but we are trying to serve justice"--hisvoice rose a little in sincere enthusiasm--"and to put down all falsepractices, whether in religion or state, against God or the prince.Surely the point for you and me is not, ought this gentleman to have beentaken in the manner he was; but being taken, is he innocent or guilty?"
"Then you will not help me?"
"I will certainly not help you to defeat justice," said the other. "Mr.Norris, you are a young man; and while your friendship does your heartcredit, your manner of forwarding its claims does not equally commendyour head. I counsel you to be wary in your speech and actions; or theymay bring you into trouble some day yourself. After all, as no doubt yourfriends have told you, you played what, as a minister of the Crown, Imust call a knave's part in attempting to save this popish traitor,although by God's Providence, you were frustrated. But it is indeed goingtoo far to beg me to assist you. I have never heard of such audacity!"
Anthony left the house in a fury. It was true, as the Archbishop hadsaid, that Sir Francis Walsingham was a convinced Protestant; but he hadexpected to find in him some indignation at the methods by which thepriest had been captured; and some desire to make compensation for it.
He went again to the Marshalsea; and now heard that James had beenremoved to the Tower, with one or two of the Catholics who had been introuble before. This was serious news; for to be transferred to the Towerwas often but the prelude to torture or death. He went on there, however,and tried again to gain admittance, but it was refused, and thedoorkeeper would not even consent to take a message in. Mr. Oldham, hesaid, was being straitly kept, and it would be as much as his place wasworth to admit any communication to him without an order from theCouncil.
When Anthony got back to Lambeth after this fruitless day, he found animploring note
from Isabel awaiting him; and one of the grooms from theHall to take his answer back.
"Write back at once, dear Anthony," she wrote, "and explain this terriblething, for I know well that you could not do what has been told us ofyou. But tell us what has happened, that we may know what to think. PoorLady Maxwell is in the distress you may imagine; not knowing what willcome to Mr. James. She will come to London, I think, this week. Write atonce now, my Anthony, and tell us all."
Anthony scribbled a few lines, saying how he had been deceived; andasking her to explain the circumstances to Lady Maxwell, who no doubtwould communicate them to her son as soon as was possible; he added thathe had so far failed to get a message through the gaoler. He gave thenote himself to the groom; telling him to deliver it straight intoIsabel's hands, and then went to bed.
In the morning he reported to the Archbishop what had taken place.
"I feared it would be so," Grindal said. "There is nothing to be done butto commit your friend into God's hands, and leave him there."
"My Lord," said Anthony, "I cannot leave it like that. I will go and seemy lord bishop to-day; and then, if he can do nothing to help, I willeven see the Queen's Grace herself."
Grindal threw up his hands with a gesture of dismay.
"That will ruin all," he said. "An officer of mine could do nothing butanger her Grace."
"I must do my best," said Anthony; "it was through my folly he is inprison, and I could never rest if I left one single thing undone."
Just as Anthony was leaving the house, a servant in the royal liverydashed up to the gate; and the porter ran out after Anthony to call himback. The man delivered to him a letter which he opened then and there.It was from Mistress Corbet.
"What can be done," the letter ran, "for poor Mr. James? I have heard atale of you from a Catholic, which I know is a black lie. I am sure thateven now you will be doing all you can to save your friend. I told theman that told me, that he lied and that I knew you for an honestgentleman. But come, dear Mr. Anthony; and we will do what we can betweenus. Her Grace noticed this morning that I had been weeping; I put her offwith excuses that she knows to be excuses; and she is so curious that shewill not rest till she knows the cause. Come after dinner to-day; we areat Greenwich now; and we will see what may be done. It may even beneedful for you to see her Grace yourself, and tell her the story. Yourloving friend, Mary Corbet."
Anthony gave a message to the royal groom, to tell Mistress Corbet thathe would do as she said, and then rode off immediately to the city. Therewas another disappointing delay as the Bishop was at Fulham; and thitherhe rode directly through the frosty streets under the keen morningsunshine, fretting at the further delay.
He had often had occasion to see the Bishop before, and Aylmer had takensomething of a liking to this staunch young churchman; and now as theyoung man came hurrying across the grass under the elms, the Bishop, whowas walking in his garden in his furs and flapped cap, noticed hisanxious eyes and troubled face, and smiled at him kindly, wondering whathe had come about. The two began to walk up and down together. Thesunshine was beginning to melt the surface of the ground, and the birdswere busy with breakfast-hunting.
"Look at that little fellow!" cried the Bishop, pointing to a thrush onthe lawn, "he knows his craft."
The thrush had just rapped several times with his beak at a worm's earth,and was waiting with his head sideways watching.
"Aha!" cried the Bishop again, "he has him." The thrush had seized theworm who had come up to investigate the noise, and was now staggeringbackwards, bracing himself, and tugging at the poor worm, who, in amoment more was dragged out and swallowed.
"My lord," said Anthony, "I came to ask your pity for one who wasbetrayed by like treachery."
The Bishop looked astonished, and asked for the story; but when he heardwho it was that had been taken, and under what circumstances, thekindliness died out of his eyes. He shook his head severely when Anthonyhad done.
"It is useless coming to me, sir," he said. "You know what I think. To beordained beyond the seas and to exercise priestly functions in England isnow a crime. It is useless to pretend anything else. It is revolt againstthe Queen's Grace and the peace of the realm. And I must confess I amastonished at you, Mr. Norris, thinking that anything ought to be done toshield a criminal, and still more astonished that you should think Iwould aid you in that. I tell you plainly that I am glad that the fellowis caught, for that I think there will be presently one less fire-brandin England. I know it is easy to cry out against persecution andinjustice; that is ever the shallow cry of the mob; but this is not areligious persecution, as you yourself very well know. It is because theRoman Church interferes with the peace of the realm and the Queen'sauthority that its ordinances are forbidden; we do not seek to touch aman's private opinions. However, you know all that as well as I."
Anthony was raging now with anger.
"I am not so sure, my lord, as I was," he said. "I had hoped from yourlordship at any rate to find sympathy for the base trick whereby myfriend was snared; and I find it now hard to trust the judgment of anywho do not feel as I do about it."
"That is insolence, Mr. Norris," said Aylmer, stopping in his walk andturning upon him his cold half-shut eyes, "and I will not suffer it."
"Then, my lord, I had better begone to her Grace at once."
"To her Grace!" exclaimed the Bishop.
"_Appello Caesarem_," said Anthony, and was gone again.
* * * *
As Anthony came into the courtyard of Greenwich Palace an hour or twolater he found it humming with movement and noise. Cooks were going toand fro with dishes, as dinner was only just ending; servants in theroyal livery were dashing across with messages; a few great hounds forthe afternoon's baiting were in a group near one of the gateways,snuffing the smell of cookery, and howling hungrily now and again.
Anthony stopped one of the men, and sent him with a message to MistressCorbet; and the servant presently returned, saying that the Court wasjust rising from dinner, and Mistress Corbet would see him in a parlourdirectly, if the gentleman would kindly follow him. A groom took hishorse off to the stable, and Anthony himself followed the servant to alittle oak-parlour looking on to a lawn with a yew hedge and a dial. Hefelt as one moving in a dream, bewildered by the rush of interviews, andoppressed by the awful burden that he bore at his heart. Nothing anylonger seemed strange; and he scarcely gave a thought to what it meantwhen he heard the sound of trumpets in the court, as the Queen left theHall. In five minutes more Mistress Corbet burst into the room; and heranxious look broke into tenderness at the sight of the misery in thelad's face.
"Oh, Master Anthony," she cried, seizing his hand, "thank God you arehere. And now what is to be done for him?"
They sat down together in the window-seat. Mary was dressed in anelaborate rose-coloured costume; but her pretty lips were pale, and hereyes looked distressed and heavy.
"I have hardly slept," she said, "since Saturday night. Tell me all thatyou know."
Anthony told her the whole story, mechanically and miserably.
"Ah," she said, "that was how it was. I understand it now. And what canwe do? You know, of course, that he has been questioned in the Tower."
Anthony turned suddenly white and sick.
"Not the--not the----" he began, falteringly.
She nodded at him mutely with large eyes and compressed lips.
"Oh, my God," said Anthony; and then again, "O God."
She took up one of his brown young hands and pressed it gently betweenher white slender ones.
"I know," she said, "I know; he is a gallant gentleman."
Anthony stood up shaking; and sat down again. The horror had goaded himinto clearer consciousness.
"Ah! what can we do?" he said brokenly. "Let me see the Queen. She willbe merciful."
"You must trust to me in this," said Mary, "I know her; and I know thatto go to her now would be madness. She is in a fury wi
th Pinart to-day atsomething that has passed about the Duke. You know Monsieur is here; shekissed him the other day, and the Lord only knows whether she will marryhim or not. You must wait a day or two; and be ready when I tell you."
"But," stammered Anthony, "every hour we wait, he suffers."
"Oh, you cannot tell that," said Mary, "they give them a long restsometimes; and it was only yesterday that he was questioned."
Anthony sat silently staring out on the fresh lawn; there was still apatch of frost under the shadow of the hedge he noticed.
"Wait here a moment," said Mary, looking at him; and she got up and wentout.
Anthony still sat staring and thinking of the horror. Presently Mary wasat his side again with a tall venetian wine-glass brimming with whitewine.
"Here," she said, "drink this,"--and then--"have you dined to-day?"
"There was not time," said Anthony.
She frowned at him almost fiercely.
"And you come here fasting," she said, "to face the Queen! You foolishboy; you know nothing. Wait here," she added imperiously, and again sheleft the room.
Anthony still stared out of doors, twisting the empty glass in his hand;until again came her step and the rustle of her dress. She took the glassfrom him and put it down. A servant had followed her back into the roomin a minute or two with a dish of meat and some bread; he set it on thetable, and went out.
"Now," said Mary, "sit down and eat before you speak another word." AndAnthony obeyed. The servant presently returned with some fruit, and againleft them. All the while Anthony was eating, Mary sat by him and told himhow she had heard the whole story from another Catholic at court; and howthe Queen had questioned her closely the night before, as to what themarks of tears meant on her cheeks.
"It was when I heard of the racking," explained Mary, "I could not helpit. I went up to my room and cried and cried. But I would not tell herGrace that: it would have been of no use; so I said I had a headache;but I said it in such a way as to prepare her for more. She has notquestioned me again to-day; she is too full of anger and of thebear-baiting; but she will--she will. She never forgets; and then Mr.Anthony, it must be you to tell her. You are a pleasant-faced young man,sir, and she likes such as that. And you must be both forward and modestwith her. She loves boldness, but hates rudeness. That is why Chris is sobeloved by her. He is a fool, but he is a handsome fool, and a forwardfool, and withal a tender fool; and sighs and cries, and calls her hisGoddess; and says how he takes to his bed when she is not there, which ofcourse is true. The other day he came to her, white-faced, sobbing likea frightened child, about the ring she had given Monsieur _le petitgrenouille_. And oh, she was so tender with him. And so, Mr. Anthony, youmust not be just forward with her, and frown at her and call her Jezebeland tyrant, as you would like to do; but you must call her Cleopatra, andDiana as well. Forward and backward all in one; that is the way she lovesto be wooed. She is a woman, remember that."
"I must just let my heart speak," said Anthony, "I cannot twist andturn."
"Yes, yes," said Mary, "that is what I mean; but mind that it is yourheart."
They went on talking a little longer; when suddenly the trumpets pealedout again. Mary rose with a look of consternation.
"I must fly," she said, "her Grace will be starting for the pit directly;and I must be there. Do you follow, Mr. Anthony; I will speak to aservant in the court about you." And in a moment she was gone.
When Anthony had finished the fruit and wine, he felt considerablyrefreshed; and after waiting a few minutes, went out into the courtagain, which he found almost deserted, except for a servant or two. Oneof these came up to him, and said respectfully that Mistress Corbet hadleft instructions that Mr. Norris was to be taken to the bear-pit; soAnthony followed him through the palace to the back.
* * * *
It was a startlingly beautiful sight that his eyes fell upon when he cameup the wooden stairs on to the stage that ran round the arena where thesport was just beginning. It was an amphitheatre, perhaps forty yardsacross; and the seats round it were filled with the most brilliantcostumes, many of which blazed with jewels. Hanging over the top of thepalisade were rich stuffs and tapestries. The Queen herself no doubt withAlencon was seated somewhere to the right, as Anthony could see by thecanopy, with the arms of England and France embroidered upon its front;but he was too near to her to be able to catch even a glimpse of her faceor figure. The awning overhead was furled, as the day was so fine, andthe winter sunshine poured down on the dresses and jewels. All the Courtwas there; and Anthony recognised many great nobles here and there in thespecially reserved seats. A ceaseless clangour of trumpets and cymbalsfilled the air, and drowned not only the conversation but the terrificnoise from the arena where half a dozen great dogs, furious with hungerand excited as much by the crowds and the brazen music overhead as by thepresence of their fierce adversary, were baiting a huge bear chained to aring in the centre of the sand.
Anthony's heart sank a little as he noticed the ladies of the Courtapplauding and laughing at the abominable scene below, no doubt inimitation of their mistress who loved this fierce sport; and as hethought of the kind of heart to which he would have to appeal presently.
So through the winter afternoon the bouts went on; the band answered withharsh chords the death of the dogs one by one, and welcomed the collapseof the bear with a strident bellowing passage on the great horns anddrums; and by the time it was over and the spectators rose to their feet,Anthony's hopes were lower than ever. Can there be any compassion left,he wondered, in a woman to whom such an afternoon was nothing more than acharming entertainment?
By the time he was able to get out of his seat and return to thecourtyard, the procession had again disappeared, but he was escorted bythe same servant to the parlour again, where Mistress Corbet presentlyrustled in.
"You must stay to-night," she said, "as late as possible. I wish youcould sleep here; but we are so crowded with these Frenchmen andHollanders that there is not a bed empty. The Queen is in better humour,and if the play goes well, it may be that a word said even to-night mightreach her heart. I will tell you when it is over. You must be present. Iwill send you supper here directly."
Anthony inquired as to his dress.
"Nay, nay," said Mistress Corbet, "that will do very well; it is soberand quiet, and a little splashed: it will appear that you came in suchhaste that you could not change it. Her Grace likes to see a man hot andin a hurry sometimes; and not always like a peacock in the shade.--And,Master Anthony, it suits you very well."
He asked what time the play would be over, and that his horse might besaddled ready for him when he should want it; and Mary promised to see toit.
He felt much more himself as he supped alone in the parlour. Thebewilderment had passed; the courage and spirit of Mary had infected hisown, and the stirring strange life of the palace had distracted him fromthat dreadful brooding into which he had at first sunk.
When he had finished supper he sat in the window seat, pondering andpraying too that the fierce heart of the Queen might be melted, and thatGod would give him words to say.
There was much else too that he thought over, as he sat and watched theilluminated windows round the little lawn on which his own looked, andheard the distant clash of music from the Hall where the Queen wassupping in state. He thought of Mary and of her gay and tender nature;and of his own boyish love for her. That indeed had gone, or rather hadbeen transfigured into a brotherly honour and respect. Both she and he,he was beginning to feel, had a more majestic task before them thanmarrying and giving in marriage. The religion which made this woman whatshe was, pure and upright in a luxurious and treacherous Court, tenderamong hard hearts, sympathetic in the midst of selfish lives--thisReligion was beginning to draw this young man with almost irresistiblepower. Mary herself was doing her part bravely, witnessing in aProtestant Court to the power of the Catholic Faith in her own life; andhe, what was he doing? These
last three days were working miracles inhim. The way he had been received by Walsingham and Aylmer, theirapparent inability to see his point of view on this foul bit oftreachery, the whole method of the Government of the day;--and above allthe picture that was floating now before his eyes over the dark lawn, ofthe little cell in the Tower and the silent wrenched figure lying uponthe straw--the "gallant gentleman" as Mary had called him, who hadreckoned all this price up before he embarked on the life of a priest,and was even now paying it gladly and thankfully, no doubt--all thisdeepened the previous impressions that Anthony's mind had received; andas he sat here amid the stir of the royal palace, again and again avision moved before him, of himself as a Catholic, and perhaps---- ButIsabel! What of Isabel? And at the thought of her he rose and walked toand fro.
* * * *
Presently the servant came again to take Anthony to the Presence Chamber,where the play was to take place.
"I understand, sir, from Mistress Corbet," said the man, closing the doorof the parlour a moment, "that you are come about Mr. Maxwell. I am aCatholic, too, sir, and may I say, sir, God bless and prosper you inthis.--I--I beg your pardon, sir, will you follow me?"
The room was full at the lower end where Anthony had to stand, as he wasnot in Court dress; and he could see really nothing of the play, and hearvery little either. The children of Paul's were acting some classicalplay which he did not know: all he could do was to catch a glimpse nowand again of the protruding stage, with the curtains at the back, and theglitter of the armour that the boys wore; and hear the songs that wereaccompanied by a little string band, and the clash of the brass at themore martial moments. The Queen and the Duke, he could see, sat togetherimmediately opposite the stage, on raised seats under a canopy; a groupof halberdiers guarded them, and another small company of them was rangedat the sides of the stage. Anthony could see little more than this, andcould hear only isolated sentences here and there, so broken was thepiece by the talking and laughing around him. But he did not like to moveas Mistress Corbet had told him to be present, so he stood therelistening to the undertone talk about him, and watching the faces. Whathe did see of the play did not rouse him to any great enthusiasm. Hisheart was too heavy with his errand, and it seemed to him that theoccasional glimpses he caught of the stage showed him a very tiresomehero, dressed in velvet doubled and hose and steel cap, strangelyunconvincing, who spoke his lines pompously, and was as unsatisfactory asthe slender shrill-voiced boy who, representing a woman of marvellousbeauty and allurement, was supposed to fire the conqueror's blood withpassion.
At last it ended; and an "orator" in apparel of cloth of gold, spoke akind of special epilogue in rhyming metre in praise of the Virgin Queen,and then retired bowing.
Immediately there was a general movement; the brass instruments began toblare out, and an usher at the door desired those who were blocking theway to step aside to make way for the Queen's procession, which wouldshortly pass out. Anthony himself went outside with one or two more, andthen stood aside waiting.
There was a pause and then a hush; and the sound of a high rating woman'svoice, followed by a murmur of laughter.
In a moment more the door was flung open again, and to Anthony's surpriseMistress Corbet came rustling out, as the people stepped back to makeroom. Her eyes fell on Anthony near the door, and she beckoned him tofollow, and he went down the corridor after her, followed her silentlyalong a passage or two, wondering why she did not speak, and then cameafter her into the same little oak parlour where he had supped. A servantfollowed them immediately with lighted candles which he set down andretired.
Anthony looked at Mistress Corbet, and saw all across her pale cheek thefiery mark of the five fingers of a hand, and saw too that her eyes werefull of tears, and that her breath came unevenly.
"It is no use to-night," she said, with a sob in her voice; "her Grace isangry with me."
"And, and----" began Anthony in amazement.
"And she struck me," said Mary, struggling bravely to smile. "It was allmy fault,"--and a bright tear or two ran down on to her delicate lace. "Iwas sitting near her Grace, and I could not keep my mind off poor JamesMaxwell; and I suppose I looked grave, because when the play was over,she beckoned me up, and--and asked how I liked it, and why I looked sosolemn--for she would know--was it for _Scipio Africanus_, or some otherman? And--and I was silent; and Alencon, that little frog-man burst outlaughing and said to her Grace something--something shameful--inFrench--but I understood, and gave him a look; and her Grace saw it, and,and struck me here, before all the Court, and bade me begone."
"Oh! it is shameful," said Anthony, furiously, his own eyes bright too,at the sight of this gallant girl and her humiliation.
"You cannot stay here, Mistress Corbet. This is the second time at least,is it not?"
"Ah! but I must stay," she said, "or who will speak for the Catholics?But now it is useless to think of seeing her Grace to-night. Yetto-morrow, maybe, she will be sorry,--she often is--and will want to makeamends; and then will be our time, so you must be here to-morrow bydinner-time at least."
"Oh, Mistress Corbet," said the boy, "I wish I could do something."
"You dear lad!" said Mary, and then indeed the tears ran down.
* * * *
Anthony rode back to Lambeth under the stars, anxious and dispirited, andall night long dreamed of pageants and progresses that blocked the streetdown which he must ride to rescue James. The brazen trumpets rang outwhenever he called for help or tried to explain his errand; and Elizabethrode by, bowing and smiling to all save him.
* * * *
The next day he was at Greenwich again by dinner-time, and again dined byhimself in the oak parlour, waited upon by the Catholic servant. He wasjust finishing his meal when in sailed Mary, beaming.
"I told you so," she said delightedly, "the Queen is sorry. She pinchedmy ear just now, and smiled at me, and bade me come to her in her privateparlour in half an hour; and I shall put my petition then; so be ready,Master Anthony, be ready and of a good courage; for, please God, we shallsave him yet."
Anthony looked at her, white and scared.
"What shall I say?" he said.
"Speak from your heart, sir, as you did to me yesterday. Be bold, yet notoverbold. Tell her plainly that he is your friend; and that it wasthrough your action he was betrayed. Say that you love the man. She likesloyalty.--Say he is a fine upstanding fellow, over six feet in height,with a good leg. She likes a good leg.--Say that he has not a wife, andwill never have one. Wives and husbands like her not--in spite of _lepetit grenouille_.--And look straight in her face, Master Anthony, as youlooked in mine yesterday when I was a cry-baby. She likes men to dothat.--And then look away as if dazzled by her radiancy. She likes thateven more."
Anthony looked so bewildered by these instructions that Mary laughed inhis face.
"Here then, poor lad," she said, "I will tell you in a word. Tell thetruth and be a man;--a man! She likes that best of all; though she likessheep too, such as Chris Hatton, and frogs like the Duke, and apes likethe little Spaniard, and chattering dancing monkeys like theFrenchman--and--and devils, like Walshingham. But do you be a man andrisk it. I know you can manage that." And Mary smiled at him socheerfully, that Anthony felt heartened.
"There," she said, "now you look like one. But you must have some morewine first, I will send it in as I go. And now I must go. Wait here forthe message." She gave him her hand, and he kissed it, and she went out,nodding and smiling over her shoulder.
Anthony sat miserably on the window-seat.
Ah! so much depended on him now. The Queen was in a good humour, and sucha chance might never occur again;--and meantime James Maxwell waited inthe Tower.
The minutes passed; steps came and went in the passage outside; andAnthony's heart leaped into his mouth at each sound. Once the dooropened, and Anthony sprang to his feet
trembling. But it was only theservant with the wine. Anthony took it--a fiery Italian wine, and drew along draught that sent his blood coursing through his veins, and set hisheart a-beating strongly again. And even as he set the cup down, the doorwas open again, and a bowing page was there.
"May it please you, sir, the Queen's Grace has sent me for you."
Anthony got up, swallowed in his throat once or twice, and motioned togo; the boy went out and Anthony followed.
They went down a corridor or two, passing a sentry who let the well-knownpage and the gentleman pass without challenging; ascended a twisted oakstaircase, went along a gallery, with stained glass of heraldic emblemsin the windows, and paused before a door. The page, before knocking,turned and looked meaningly at Anthony, who stood with every pulse in hisbody racing; then the boy knocked, opened the door; Anthony entered, andthe door closed behind him.