S, tiljk'. tl iji-pi! . . ■ • : f'tfi • ■( . ' -:-y; ' ■ r> : OF THE U N I VER.SITY OF ILLINOIS 823 M349 r (l£ . (lh4 / Li)Jx^ (jiJL ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL a Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates https://archive.org/details/romanceofladyarbOOgrae ROMANCE OF THE LADT ARBELL BY ALASTOR GRAEME ( Mrs Frederick Townshend Marry at) L ONDON F. V. WHITE & CO. 14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 1899 -3 Me Tnofh JoV'row'jid % c / y(^ u p ER RA TA Page i, line 18. — For ‘scraps of those dear moors’ ; read scarps of those drear moors. Page 13, line 39. — For ‘ in sorrow plight 5 ; read in sorry plight. Page 79, line 38. — For ‘ straight and something blunt 5 ; read straight and somewhat blunt. Page 139, line 2 *j. — For ‘gleeked by a king’ ; read gleeked at by a king. Page 147, line 9. — For ‘in childhood grave regard ’ ; read in childish grave regard. Page 187, line 6. — For ‘looking against the lintel’; read leaning against the lintel. Page 223, line 5. — For ‘ never to part no more ’ ; read never to part from more. Page 228, line 7. — For ‘ He is full merry ’ ; read It is full merry. Page 234, line 6. — For ‘ leaping on the sudden ’ ; read wont to leap on the sudden. Page 265, line 3. — For ‘that fighting-cock ’ ; read yon fighting-cock. Page 292, line 26. — For ‘ drawing to her full height ’ ; read drawn to her full height. Page 305, line 13. — For ‘ Now he ringeth to the clouds ! ’ ; read How he ringeth to the clouds ! PRELUDE, VINDICATION AND APPEAL 'Mid the shadows of these dark ages — for dark they were — none is more visionary to trite mind and prosaic vision, than the slight passing shade of £ Arbella Stuart 5 — Shadow which doth fall on the dial of time like ray of autumn sunlight, falling, but to fade. Others, her near of kin, have spoken words and done deeds which may be interpreted and developed according to the 4 reading ' of the student of analysis. Yet to such, in the vague and adverse guidance yielded here, is there scarce light enough to dispel the gloom of ages, and trace the nebulous lines and garbled cast of form and mind of Arbella Stuart. Lady Jane Grey, with her exquisite and classic personality ; dissolute Darnley, with his fugitive glamour ; high-minded Charles Stuart, Earl of Lenox ; Spartan Margaret ; Mary Queen of Scots, so noble in her heroism ; gallant, chivalrous Henry, warrior — Prince of Wales — all these pass through the mind's arena, definite and distinct, instinct with vitality. Yet would it need the insight, instinct and in- spiration of a clairvoyant of the past to wave the enchanter's wand, and to call forth from such an vii viii PRELUDE, VINDICATION AND APPEAL age and such a court the unique vision of Arbella Stuart, the loyal, brave and pure. Who shall decipher the secrets of the silenced heart ? Outside the sanctuary lies the sun-blaze, and there pass on the living tides of men ; outside sounds the roar, loud yet profound, of countless hurrying feet, each unit bent on its own swift race, in startling contrast to that within — the repose, the peace, the shadow-silence. Here the silver tongue of the orator who swayed the multitude, the rousing call of the soldier who led the charge, all here are hushed in endless rest. Chime, mellow chimes. Toll, sonorous bell. Voice from the past, which gathers — so gravely deep and slow — the very soul and spirit of the silenced dead. Arbell, whose slight bones lie here in dust of ages, yield me thy noble thoughts and dreams, thy generous deeds and classic lore, thy gay laughter and prophetic sigh, thy tears and bitter sorrow, thy life, thy death ; so that a sculptured tomb be raised in fantasy for thee, surpassing fair, on which — as on my heart be writ — the name ‘ Arbella Stuart.’ ALASTOR GRAEME. Westminster, 1898. CONTENTS SCENE FOLIO I PAGE I. 1578. 4 Mary Queen of Scots 5 Bower, 5 I II. 1578. Two Stuarts — 1580. 4 Bess of Hardwick, 5 5 III. 1585. Tutbury, ..... 14 IV. 1587, A Court Favourite, .... 19 V. 1587. My Lady Arbell at Home. At the 4 Palace of the Peak 5 — 1589. Arbella Stuart and Robert Devereux, 22 VI. 1589. On the Wane — Banishment, 3i VII. 1591. The State Prisoner, .... 37 VIII. 1591. Beggars at the Gates of Hardwick, . 42 IX. 1597- The 4 Little Falconer, 5 53 X. 1601. Madness, ..... 62 XI. 1602-3 . 4 The Mystery, 5 .... FOLIO II 68 XII. 1603. A 4 Court Favourite 5 — 4 A-hunting we will go ! 5 77 XIII. 1603. The great-great-grandson of Mary Tudor — The great-granddaughter of Margaret Tudor — Woodstock’s Bowers, 87 XIV. 1603. Tragic Woes of Childhood — 1604. A Stuart Christmas at Hampton Court, ix 94 X CONTENTS SCENE PAGE XV. 1603. Memory — 1604. Children of Two Brothers, .... 102 XVI. 1604. Kingcraft and Witchcraft — A Freak unknown to History,. . .111 XVII. 1604. As light as Air — As Dust in the Balance — ‘A Court Favourite, 5 . 123 XVIII. 1604. An old Hunting Palace — 1605. To Childhood’s Bowers one last F arewell, 1 36 XIX. 1605. ’Mid the Ghosts of Hampton Court, . 148 XX. 1605. We all go a-maying — 4 Life’s a Jest,’ . 157 XXI. 1605. We all go a-wooing — Life’s a Dream, . 164 XXII. 1606. Court of James I., . . 174 XXIII. 1607-8. ‘Cloud no bigger than a Man’s Hand’ — Death’s Vision, . . 186 XXIV. 1609. 4 In Her Ladyship’s Chamber ’ — 1610. Henry, Prince of Wales, . .199 XXV. 1610. 4 Lovers’ Meetings’ — Writing on the Wall, 214 XXVI. 1610. Hoodwinked — The Witch-Countess, . 226 XXVII. 1610-11. Duress, .... 241 XXVIII. 1610. Flight, 251 XXIX. 1611. Chase and Capture, . . . 258 XXX. 1611. The Great Magician — The Last Tournay, . . . .260 FOLIO III XXXI. 1611. The Tower, .... 267 XXXII. 1612. The Fall o’ the Leaf, . . . 272 XXXIII. 1612. The 4 Prisoners’ Walk,’ 278 XXXIV. 1613. A Voice in the 4 Belfry Tower,’ . 287 XXXV. 1612. March — 1613. Distraught, . . 291 XXXVI. 1614. 4 My Lady Arbela is far out of Frame this Midsummer Moone,’ . . 296 XXXVII. 1615. 4 1 Dare to Die’ (September), . . 300 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL / Romance of the Lady Arbell FOLIO I Scene I 1578. ‘ Mary Queen of Scots' Bower ’ That year of Grace, autumn was falling early, so that all red berries made gouts of blood about the gloom- fiery heralds of winter-storm. Autumn had it her own wild way ; she brake her glories on ebon cloud- wrack, over sombre fell, and over lonesome waste. The slow river, wont to flow silent there, she swept into flood and foam ; which, with wild voices, wrang- ling in vain against her onset, she sent in thunder through rock-bourne to the foaming deeps. She changed her sunk sun to blood : with him, kindled her beacon fires from hill to hill, ran up the trunk of beech and pine, and fired the hunting tower on the height with one swift blaze of benison. Yet, in the valley, all was gloom. The six great square towers, so sternly set in the bend of mountain, and frown of forest, caught neither ray nor smile. She gathered her winds from the scraps of those dear moors, from hollow gorge, pierced crag, and lonesome cairn, and sent them howling over the dismal waste. Yet, in the valley, all was still. Down there the wild autumn crept and clung. A 2 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Through thinned and yellowing bowers she sighed and moaned. On the dank moat her leaves fell one by one — like tears, like drops of blood, like dreams and hopes. Thus did she make havoc of one wild woman-heart, worn and wasted ere its time ; which, through long solitude, had been rendered responsive to Nature’s every touch. All was so still, so pitiful. A prison, girded by the ‘ everlasting hills.’ What did the world heed of one solitary captive, one broken human heart, set ’mid decay, decline and death? In solitude of sanctu- ary, thus hours and hours passed away. Summer and winter, sun and storm, all were the same to her. And, as o’er the face of the old dial, shine crossed and shadow crept, so had her hopes flushed and faded one by one. And the laggard years dragged on. Stony and impassive were her warders, as the stone lions which supported the chair on which she sat ; as the stone Triton, who, with cold stare, cast up careless waters from the fountain on the gloom. Even in this green solitude eyes and ears lurked in every leaf ; scarce moan nor sigh escaped unheard. Her plumed hunting-hat was thrown down beside her. The great deerhound, well-nigh on a level with her face, stood mournfully regarding her beneath the pent-house of his dusky fringe, in sympathy too deep for words, yet not for comfort. For the hand which had been clenched so rigidly got twisted lovingly in his shaggy coat ; tears ebbed back on the proud, galled heart like dew ; wrath gave way to stoicism, despair to fortitude ; and thus she fell into a trance that seemed well-nigh torpor. Unwonted sounds broke the spell. Struan dashed down the steps, which crossed from moat to bower, like a whirlwind, and his mistress’ face brightened into sudden sun- shine as she listened and smiled. There was the chiding croak of an ancient beldame, and the shrill laughter of a hunted child, and in another moment ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 3 the silence was broken up by the inward rush of the hound and the labouring upward steps of a tiny child scarce three years old. One arm grasped a battered doll, one hand clutched the ivied balustrade. She was panting and breathless, for she had outstripped her pursuer (who dared not enter there). As she rushed into the presence of the captive Queen, she was bursting with checked laughter ; her prim coif had fallen from off her head, her full-quilted kirtle flapped about her tiny feet, and big blue eyes and rosed cheeks gleamed like a bloom through gold of flying tresses. First she precipitated herself into the arms open to receive her. Then, in a flash, by a simultaneous gesture, set herself free, dropped upon her knees, and lisped her lesson with pursed-up lips. ‘ Madam, I kiss your Majesty hand/ (She raised it to her lips.) ‘ How goeth it with your Majesty to-day ?’ Her Majesty laughed. ‘ An’ how goeth it with you, my Lady Countess of Lenox? Yet, maun I fash to ask? These rose- cheeks answer me,’ The Queen drew the child tenderly within her arm, and stroked back the golden hair, pressing the little head back against her breast. ‘ I am no Queen, little birdie/ said she. ‘ Ye needna kneel to me. I am only puir Mary Stuart, an' thou my wee, wee Arbell. Had we our rights, Arbella — thysel' an’ I — I would be Queen o’ Scots this day, and thou Countess of Lenox in thy mountain home hard by. But, bairnie, we both are homeless/ Arbell — her head back on Mary's breast — lifted her eyes to the speaker; child-eyes, so large and limpid-clear, that Mary Stuart saw two selves there enshrined. ‘ Homeless ? What is that ? ’ ‘ May ye never know ! ’ was the passionate answer. ‘ Ask me not, for time will tell thee/ ‘ Ye are very sad, sweet Madam, an' yet ye are a 4 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Queen/ lisped Arbell. ‘ My lady-grandmother of Shoosbury saith that ye are, an’ that your son will be two kings when he is old. Why, then, are ye so sad, an’ sit in this little house all your lane, without a crown upon your head, an’ only little pearls ? I, too, have pearls. I am the “ Lady Arbella,” the niece and cousin to the Queen o’ Scots and Queen o’ Eng- land. I sail go to Court, and be Queen, too, the day. So saith my grandmother of Shoosbury.’ ‘ And all she saith be true.’ The bitterness thereof was lost on the child, who lisped in answer, — ‘ And all she saith be true.’ ‘ Do ye call to mind your dear father ? ’ My Lady Arbell gazed in pensive fashion on the fountain, then shook her head. ‘ A little — just a little — he is dead.’ ‘ Aye, too true. Ye will never see him more.’ ‘ So my grandmother o’ Lenox saith. But I hae two grandames yet. My Lady Lenox is the sweetest o’ the two. She is my jewel.’ (Arbell pressed her little hands upon her heart impressively.) ‘Yet she is poor. She hath nothing. Nae hawk, nae hound — nothing, nothing. My Lady Shoosbury kisseth me hard, but beats me too. She beats the maids, and flouts them sore. Even my Lord o’ Shoosbury she beats a little — on the pate. I saw him rub it. An’ then I kissed it well.’ Mary Stuart laughed aloud, and so did Arbell. ‘ Oh, “ Bess of Hardwick,” Countess of Shrews- bury, is a very great lady, Arbell, and doth with all as she listeth. Richer than the Queen of England, let me tell you ; for she hath not only many houses and much land, but husbands, too, in plenty. Love her and be loyal to her. She can prove a staunch friend, though bitter foe. She will stand thy friend in time of need.’ ‘ She loveth me,’ said Arbell, simply. ‘ Aye, she loveth thee, and is proud ; for after my son, King Jamie, thou’rt next the throne. Puir sweet ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 5 wee Arbell, would God and our Lady nae fatal crown was hanging o’er this golden head.’ The Queen, as she spake, was toying in absent fashion with the child’s necklace, on which hung a jewel, whereon was writ in quaint charactery, 4 Pour parvenir f endure! ‘ Let this motto be thy comfort, sweetheart — sans souci — in the dark days to come. Thou’rt a Stuart,’ she added, suddenly. ‘ His very look — his trick o’ the lip and eye.’ She caught the child to her heart and kissed her passionately. Arbell, in ready sympathy, threw her little arms about Mary’s neck. ‘ Oh, Arbell,’ said the lovely Queen then, 4 my heart is sair. I am wounded — wounded even to the death. Yet she stabs me still.’ 4 Who stabbeth thee, sweet Madam Queen ? ’ asked Arbell, with widening eyes. ‘Your lady grandmother — and all. Oh, Arbell, sweetheart, ye need not look for blood. The wounds be too deep for that. I am hurt here, and here ’ — she laid her hands on heart and brow. 4 Then I will kiss it well,’ cried Arbell. ‘ For thou’rt my bonnie Queen and luve. . . .’ The sun — like to a red wraith — waned within the west. Dead leaves fell on the dank moat one by one. On autumn’s sigh was the trail of mouldering leaf and dying flower. All was dark and chill. Yet, as sun sank, one cloud which barred his way — got fused in heaven’s fire. Scene II 1578. Two Stuarts 1580. ‘ Bess of Hardwick ’ My Lady Arbell did not pine for the great house in 6 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Derwent Valley. She was back in the ancient chambers at Sheen, playing at the feet of the old Countess of Lenox, well content The old woman and the baby child mostly dwelt over an archway, overlooking trees and green where little children frolicked — poor squalid children, whom the Lady Arbella Stuart was wont to watch steadily from her casement by the hour together, untiring. They knew her well. Sometimes a whole phalanx of these would stand below, receiving largesse recklessly and generously thrown them by the tiny Queen. Arbell would vainly kiss her hands to them, dying to be out and away in the sunshine, running wild like the rest. But — noblesse oblige . With her, the discipline of life began right early. She must e'en sit demure on her silken cushion and dandle her dolls and string her pearls. Sometimes my Lady Lenox (and mostly when there was a leaping fire) would tell Arbell stories of the wild Border days, when she herself was child, whither she and her mother, Margaret Tudor, ex-Queen of Scots, had fled from persecution. Before ever her first young husband-lover had won her, and pined and died in the Tower, and years of that gloomy Tower had wasted and blighted her own sad life. The shadow of that lay on her still, and would never fade but with death. But with her little Arbell she was always bright and gay, and loved to hark back to the days of childhood, as old folk do. The old lady sat at her writing. She had been very absent in mind that day, and had left the child to her own devices. Her chin was resting on her hand, her drooping eyelids heavy with unshed tears. The letter before her was addressed to the Regent of Scotland, and was a vain appeal — one of many — for the restitution of the earldom and lands of Lenox to her disinherited grandchild, the Lady Arbella Stuart (rightfully termed Countess of Lenox). The pen had dropped from her fingers. W"as she thinking of her dead children ? Or of the years of ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 7 niggard penury which had galled and embittered her own generous, fiery spirit? Or, of the wee grand- child she so dearly loved ? Whatever it might be, her head sunk lower, and the trembling hand was laid before her eyes. My Lady Arbell, her doll laid across her knees, was silently and earnestly regard- ing her. Well did the child, even then, know the signs of bitter grief. Silently she rose to her feet, and stealing upon the tips of her toes to a couch hard by, secured the softest silken cushion there, and, carrying it with care, laid it against her lady-grandmother’s back, within the chair. My Lady Lenox started and smiled down upon her. ‘ My only comfort and my only joy,’ said she. ‘ Arbell, wilt thou ever forget me, when I am gone ? Dost love me, sweetheart? If so, tell me o’er and o’er again ? ’ ‘ More than I love the Queen o’ Scots,’ cried Arbell. That being the highest summit of devo- tion of which she knew, while tiny hands were eloquently upheld. My Lady Lenox drew her fondly to her side, and little Arbell scanned the letter she could not read, pointing to each word with tiny pointed finger. As she did so a tear fell upon the page. Surely there was something wrong with brave Margaret Lenox ? The child had never seen her shed a tear before. ‘ Oh, my sweet lady-grandmother, what gars ye greet ? ’ she asked, gazing up at her. ‘ I greet for thee, Arbell. Oh, nae story that was ever writ will be as sad and strange as thine ! ’ She broke off, and pressed the child closer to her heart. But a hand stronger than Nature — cold enough to freeze the life blood in one heart of the two hearts, so closely linked and twined — was upheld even then to sever. Alas, ’twas the beginning of the end. The break of that strong soul. Winter and spring must part. Sere leaf fall from opening bud. 8 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL But a few weeks thereafter, my Lady Arbell, with cries and sobs, was borne from a darkened chamber. ‘ Farewell, Arbell — my heart — my soul. God and Our Lady keep and guard thee ever — ’ Those were the last words Margaret Lenox spake. Two years from this time, Christmas was held at Hardwick Hall with high festivities. All the Caven- dishes and the Talbots were there. And over the whole great household was set one small tyrant, who ruled with despotic sway. Even ‘ Bess of Hardwick/ in those days, was her humble slave and subject. My Lady Arbell Stuart had been given a little playmate and companion of her own years, named Penelope Agard, who was to live with her always and obey her slightest behest. In appear- ance Penelope was as dark as Arbell was fair. They made a pretty foil. The two children romped to- gether under the great Peaks, in a fairy realm of their own. Woods and waters hedged them round. In the dells, the gay birds sang ; streams ran riot over the silver stones ; bees hummed over the honey-heather. Or, in the winter-time, they played on rush-strewn floors ; chased one another through the vast state- chambers; up and down the grand staircase, where the retainers were wont to carry the boar’s head and flagon and huge joints of beef and venison ; danced and sang in the great hall ; climbed and scrambled, unchidden, over carved chair and oaken table, where stags (the Earl’s coronet) ramped o’erhead,each gorged by his chaplet of roses, and the great fires gleamed on spreading antler, breast-plate and burnished casque. Over this Christmas-tide the snow lay thick, so that all round green sward and old grey towers uprose a white wilderness of forest ; while every rivulet, bereft of speech and motion, was frozen into silence. Through blanched valleys and ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 9 bleached bowers, lovers wandered whispering ; bowl- ing-green and court rang to the shouts and laughter of children, flying hither and thither. What were games worth without the little Queen ? In mimic royalty she would appear in robes stiff with gold brocade and sewn with pearls, purloined from the wardrobe of my Lady Countess of Shrews- bury; and the maids would set a little crown of gold upon her head. There was no bounds to her vanity and conceit. With an audacious and perfect mimicry of the airs and state of my Lady Shrews- bury — the stiff brocade held in either finger and thum, and drooped eyelid and pursed lip o’er the gigantic ruff, she would trip into their midst, and, greeted by shouts of laughter, dance a solemn minuet, unsmiling, which, however, would soon merge into a wild revel on the part of all. After the death of the Countess of Lenox, my Lady Arbell and her young widowed mother dwelt mostly betwixt the two great houses of Hardwick and Chats- worth ; both, in that time, ever in course of building. And it was at Chats worth that Arbell was privileged to see, from time to time, the rare and isolated Scottish Queen. There were days and days when the beauti- ful Stuart, given over to black and blank despair, would lie on her couch and turn her face to the wall, refusing to look on human countenance. Then again, she would throw off her dark mood, and, mounting her horse at the mews, gallop for hours — ever guarded — over those wild moors, and cast her hawk on the air (on the wild-fowl’s flight), to spread his broad pinions down the wind. Or she would track the slot of deer, and follow untiring his wildest flight. Such hours as these saved Mary Stuart from madness. Her powers of intellect, equal to those of the great Tudor Queen, got rusted and crippled for want of scope and action ; but she loved hazard and motion, and, cut off from the world’s vast arena and the high destiny which by right was hers, and in which she IO ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL would have played so grand a part, she turned to these — to the dream-shadows of freedom — wild winds, wide moors, and boundless breadth of sky (her prison-walls behind her). At one such time as this, she returned, her hooded hawk upon her wrist ; the colour on her cheek and the light within her eyes — in all the glory of her exuberant vitality. The gallery was dark after the heather moors, so that the Queen and her ladies did not note the little figure in the gloom. My Lady Arbell had taken to keeping guard beside the chamber door, and, leaving her games, to watch and wait for the step upon the stair. As soon, therefore, as Mary Stuart had entered her old state-rooms, Arbell stole in after her, and, after being greeted with delight by all, scrambled to her accustomed seat in the casement overlooking and fronting the western side of the court, and dominat- ing the entrance gates, at which the guests of my Lord of Shrewsbury and his Countess were wont to arrive ; and through which, at that moment, the horses of the hunters clattered on the stones, being led away in a lather of foam, while divers men-at- arms, of the captive Queen’s guard, loitered there, having naught else to do. For of night’s a watch of armed men was set within the house ; and soldiers patrolled under the Queen’s windows (wheresoever she might be dwelling) at all hours of the day and night. Beyond lay woods and drifting river. The Queen’s table, on which was laid some slight collation, was set within the embrasure of the window ; but she had already sat down to her ’broidery, for she worked at her needle all day long. ‘ An’ what will my Lady Shrewsbury say to find ye here ? ’ ‘ She will not be content,’ said Arbell, with a laugh. 4 She saith that I come here too much.’ ‘ Oh, they have spoiled and pampered ye, one and all,’ cried Mary. ‘There is not one — not even my Lord Earl — who, under the despotic sway of my ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL II Lady Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox, can ca’ his soul his own/ and she laughed. ‘ They all do as I list/ was the complacent answer. ‘ Now tell me, sweet, your Majesty, ane wee, wee story, such as ye tell to Bess Pierrepoint and to me?’ And Arbell, insinuating her small self betwixt the Queen and her ’broidery screen, gazed up into the lovely face and the long hazel eyes, tender enough just then. ‘ I have told ye tales, Arbell, till I can tell nae mair, unless it be the auld stories o’er and o’er again/ 4 When your Majesty, an’ it please you, was the little Queen o’ Scots/ broke in Arbell eagerly ; ‘an’ dressed in the tartan, wi’ a dirk ; an’ drest your Majesty’s pet falcon your very ain self, in the Court o’ S. Germain, an’ called the hounds frae the kennels to go a huntin’. An’ when ye did go a huntin’ wi’ the Duke o’ Guise.’ ‘ Ah, thrice happy days.’ ‘ An’ when ye did dance afore the King and Queen at the Court o’ France, wi’ the Dauphin, your Majesty’s husband.’ Arbell stopped for want of breath. ‘ Stay not,’ said Mary, as she stitched and smiled, ‘for thou’rt the eloquent tale-teller, sweet, and I, the happy listener. Tell me all ? ’ And Arbell did tell all, till she was fain to stop once more for breath. Mary Stuart, charmed with the child’s eloquence of speech, and the clearness of her memory, which reproduced so vividly the olden scenes, pushed aside her work, and drawing a slender chain of gold from off her neck, wound it twice round Arbell’s. Arbell was enchanted, for she loved jewels above all things. At that moment the door opened, and, with scant ceremony, there entered a tall and stately lady, still fair and beautiful ; for the colour of her face was roseate clear, the features straight, small and firm, the chin dominating all. A heavy frown was on her brows. 12 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Pardon, Madam, but I have been seeking Arbell high and low. Arbell, have I not told ye that I will not have ye idling here ? Madam, have I not suffered enow, and hath my Lord of Shrewsbury not suffered enow at Her Majesty’s hands on your account, with- out calling more weariness down on my devoted head ? My Lord is aweary of his life, and so am L ‘ And so am I, my Lady Shrewsbury ; and yet I speak not of my woes. I live and I endure. Frae nine o’ the even till six at morn, am I shut in dark- ness and solitude, not a soul within call e’en when sick unto death. An’ would ye rob me of one stray glint of sunshine ? ’ ‘ I have Her Majesty’s commands ; and, Arbell, mine,’ and Bess beckoned imperiously to the child. But Arbell only laughed defiance, and threw her arms about the Queen. 4 I care not for Her Majesty of England,’ she cried. ‘ There is but one Majesty, my Lady Grandame, an’ that is the Queen o’ Scots, the bonnie, bonnie Queen ! ’ ‘ A loyal subject forsooth. An’ this be a right loyal lesson to teach a child,’ sneered Bess. ‘ God’s sooth, your Majesty, ye are preparing strong pickles for yourself and me ! Ere many years be passed, my Lady Arbell will be sent for to the Court. An’ what fate may not such random treasons bring her then ? A word may cost a head.’ ‘ As we know to our cost. What Arbell now saith and thinketh cometh straight from the child-heart. When she be woman-grown, my Lady Shrewsbury, the brain will right all that, and intercept the speech e’er uttered. Arbell will learn to clip and dry and mince her words, to turn her fardingale and hew her ends, and plot and scheme wi’ the best. Aye — even cruel scandal ’gainst those she loves — if those about her be strong enow to compass it. But, pray God and all His saints, this may never be.’ The Countess reddened to the brow. ‘Your Majesty’s words are vain and void. I can ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 13 only say there seemeth a spell upon this house, and that Arbell — like my Lord Shrewsbury and many another — doth appear bewitched. ’Tis time that such sorcery should end, and that my house and people may be called mine own. I am no longer mistress here.' ‘ Madam, that is your own fault. Those who love Mary Stuart and owe her allegiance, love not to see her abased. I ask not even the most necessary com- forts of life, of which I am deprived, I ask only for the presence o’ my little Arbell, which maketh, when I am here, the sunshine of this prison-house. Robbed of mine own child, I turn to her for comfort.’ ‘ And I will never leave thee ! 5 cried Arbell, clinging to her. ‘ My Lady Shrewsbury, ye may go, for here I will remain.’ The imperious gesture of dismissal and flashing eyes of the child were well understood to brook no check. In a tempest of wrath, and with a muttered curse, Bess of Hardwick swept from the chamber, banging the doors behind her. ‘ Arbell, this be rank rebellion,’ said the Queen, not without a suspicion of mirth within her eyes. 'Ye owe obedience to your grandmother. Your duty is to her.’ ‘ But I will ne’er forsake thee. And, moreover, I canna abide my lady grandmother when she is sae fierce and glowerin’. I only love her when she is douce and sweet. She saith I love your Majesty better than hersell, an’ so I do. O, let me bide this ane wee time, an’ lie upon thy pillow a’ the night ? ’ ‘ Nay, not this night, an’ ye love me, sweetheart. Go at once and seek your grandmother, and kiss away her wrath. She loves ye well. She is your best and only friend.’ The Queen led her to the door, and, without a word, wilful Arbell obeyed. Mary Stuart was that year in sorrow plight — when 14 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL was she not ? — in exceeding grief and anxiety for her son, then a prisoner like herself. Soon, thereafter, all her women-folk left her this same night, when all the great bells tolled the hour of nine ; as the last stroke died away, the doors were locked and barred upon her. Then — only the tramp of the guard, and the dismal howl of some hound chained in the moonshine, broke the darkness and solitude of night. At one barred window, the moon shone coldly in ; and a white owl poised on quivering wings against the bars, turned weird face — with vacant stare askew — and hooted warning. Scene III 1585. Ttitbury HUGE was the excitement all about Chatsworth and Edensor, when it was discovered that my Lady Arbell, inspired by the deeds of others, who, no matter what their creed or class, were rallying round their lonely Scottish Queen, eager to serve and comfort her, had left without leave, knowing that would be denied her. The child had compassed her escape, mounted on a little pillion behind the quondam governor of Tutbury Castle, Sir Ralph Sadler, who had come to do busi- ness with my Lady Shrewsbury, bringing with him sundry carts and baggage. In Arbell’s presence he had related to the Countess, forgetful of the eyes and ears of a child — and such a child — the miseries and insults to which the captive Queen was exposed, under the sinister guard of the Puritan Paulet. Sir Ralph, half in amusement, half pity, had yielded to my Lady Arbell’s passionate entreaty, that he would convoy her secretly to Tutbury Castle, though he had to go somewhat out of his way in the doing of ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 15 it. This bold and secret adventure was a new experi- ence for Arbell, and one after her own heart. Seated on the pillion, with her little hands gripping hold of the old knight, she took keen note of all that passed around her. The roads, over hill and dale, were sunk deep in ruts and mire ; the streams, swollen across, and up to the horse’s girths, greatly delighted Arbell, who, even in these tender years, was a bold and skil- ful horsewoman. As they passed through leagues of festering swamp to the bleak hills of desolate Tutbury, the rivers, swollen by incessant rain, rose so high that the bullocks in the heavy wains, which were convey- ing scant food and fuel to the Castle, had to take to the flood and swim. A bitter wind, foul with malaria from the fens, whistled through the dreary pass, where, above on the heights — driven wellnigh to her last ‘ refuge ’ on earth, was incarcerated Mary Stuart. There, within those damp, bare walls, Arbell met her once again, and found her, though scarce able to rise from her mean couch for pain and weakness, sustained by the same indomitable spirit which up- held her to the last. A screen was moved close to her side, at which she was stitching busily, whereon a ’broidered design was portrayed of flowers of many colours, ‘all drawn from Nature.’ Near by sat the devoted Countess of Athol, who was then sharing the destitution and misery of her Queen. Through great cracks and crannies in the mildewed chamber keened the dolorous wintry wind, so that the long strands of bleached and tangled ivy, which, through stone and rafter had thrust their weird arms within, swayed in the draught ; while the fire, frugally scraped together, belched out from time to time a volume of smoke, which hung in a dense cloud within the raftered roof. Some books of devotion lay near by the bed, and on a tabouret beside the Queen a red- bound book, guarded and clasped with gold, in which she wrote her thoughts. Through half-open door might be seen the little oratory, and the altar at i6 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL which her almoner was accustomed daily to say the mass. In this vast, vault-like chamber was neither hanging, nor so much as a shred of curtain to hide and screen the mouldering walls. Furniture there was none save a few chairs, and the mean and broken bed on which she lay, over which Mary’s women had laid a woollen coverlet ; and round the prisoner her- self my lady of Athol had wrapped her own Scotch plaidie. To such extremity of pain, sickness and privation was the once brilliant Mary Stuart reduced. Forced every day of her life to look from her casement on scenes of barbarous and brutal horror ; and treated by Paulet and his minions with such hellish in- humanity, as the lowest criminal condemned to death is not now called on to endure. Mary had under this treatment so changed and faded that, when the child Arbell looked on her, and met the melancholy gaze of those great hazel eyes, she knew her not. A cry of joy and amazement told Arbell who she was. ‘ Arbell — my bairn, my darling, dost thou not know puir Mary Stuart?’ And she clasped the child in her arms. ‘ Look ye, my lady Athol, this is my little kinswoman, the Lady Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox, and the child of the brother of my poor Darnley. Yet she too hath changed. Arbell, the red rosebud of five long years agone, hath changed into a lily, tall and pale and slender. There is only left the wild blink o’ the blue een and the ripple in the bonnie golden hair. Who and what hath changed ye thus ? ’ ‘ Study, your Majesty,’ quoth Arbell, gravely, after courteously bowing to the Countess. My Lady Shrewsbury hath given me many masters. I study all day long, both modern tongues and Greek and Latin and — philosophy . And since your sweet Majesty did leave us, my grandmother hath been most kind and dear.’ ‘ Ah, she was ever jealous of me, Arbell,’ said ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 7 Mary Stuart, with a sad smile. ‘ I work mair harm than good to those I love. ’Twas ever so. And how else do ye pass your time, my little student? Sit down on this tabouret beside me, and tell me all.’ 4 1 go stag hunting and a-hawking on the moors, like your Majesty; I dance and play the lute. An’ atween whiles,’ added Arbell, demurely, with a side glance of the eye, ‘ I am betrothed.’ Both the Queen and my Lady Athol laughed at this, and at the drollery and precocity of my Lady Arbell’s look and manner. 4 An’ may we ask your ladyship to whom ? ’ asked the Countess, laughing still. Arbell held up one small hand, with fingers and thumb extended, and, in infinite grave humour, with the other hand ticked them off. 4 Oh, I have many suitors, as surely your Majesty doth know. First and foremost, there was the “ noble imp ” my Lord of Denbigh, but, alas ! he died of the too great honour, and is laid to rest and peace in Warwick Church (scarce three years old). I have his portrait now. Then was your Majesty’s son, the King o’ Scots, offered the chance of my poor hand ; but he would none of me. He said I was “ too raw.” ’ (Laughter.) ‘ Then there was Prince Ranuccio, the eldest son of my Lord Duke of Parma — an’ that is still to be thought on ; and, oh ! a host of others.’ ‘ Then well may my little Arbell look pale and thoughtful,’ said the Queen, laughing, ‘ with such cares laid on her beyond her years. And hath my Lady Shrewsbury secured the pension for ye from Her Majesty of England ? ’ ‘ Nay, that she hath not, though she hath writ a hundred times, pleading that she is poor in this world’s goods, an’ that her “ sweet juell” Arbell is a beggar. Her Majesty will only allow the Two hundred pounds yearly, declaring that my Lady Grandmother hath enow and to spare.’ ‘ Her Majesty is very shrewd. Ah, Arbell, my ain B 1 8 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL bairnie, would that I could give ye back mysell your lawful rights and heritage, I’d die content. But heaven be my witness, and my Lady Athol also, that I have made my will to that effect, restoring to your- sell and yours who shall come after the earldom and lands of Lenox. And binding King Jamie, my son, by solemn words to obey my behest when I am dead.’ Arbell dropped on her knee, and raised the Queen’s hand to her lips. ‘ My love and gratitude, your sweet Majesty, and all my most loyal service is to you. Oh, that I too might hang these sorry walls wi’ cloth of gold, and summon the soldiers of Scotland and France to save and guard thee ! ’ ‘Too late, Arbell — too late — too late. . . . And did my Lord Earl not send me greeting ? ’ ‘No, he knew not of my coming. Nor did my Lady Countess, nor even Mistress Collingwood. When we had got some leagues upon the road, Owen and Kynnersley did both overtake us ; but, seeing that I was resolved to go on to Tutbury, they left off pray- ing me to return, but looked the more, only saying they envied me not my welcome home/ ‘ I cannot chide thee,’ said the Queen, enchanted with the child’s daring love and loyalty, which marched so well with her own bold spirit. ‘ I would I were a man,’ quoth Arbell, ‘ I would rescue thee or die ! ’ ‘ I well believe it, sweetheart ; would that thou wert.’ Both my Lady Arbell and my Lady Countess of Athol were soon summoned by the guard to quit the chamber. A man-at-arms roughly beat upon the door with his pike. Mary Stuart shivered as the Countess laid the coverlet upon her. She never knew what sinister visitant might not enter there in the dead of night, nor what night might be her last. ‘ I do not shake from fear, Arbell, but from cold,’ said she, with a smile. ‘ My Lady Athol and my ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 19 darling — both so brave and dear — place that stoup of water within my reach. For oft-times, Countess, ere ye came to tend me, I would drain it all, and lie parched for thirst, too sorely sick to rise.’ Thus the two sad Stuarts said farewell — never to meet again. Arbell looked back once more from the threshold, her child lips smiled, yet trembled, with passionate grief suppressed. My Lady Athol was wrought to weeping. When the doors were closed upon the child, she stumbled down the stair with blinding tears and bitter sobs. Scene IV 1587. A Court Favourite By order of Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Elizabeth, and in ’special charge of Gilbert and Mary Talbot, her uncle and aunt, my Lady Arbella Stuart was conveyed to the Palace of Hampton Court. In the hunting grounds of the Palace trooped great herds of fallow deer, half hid in forests of fern and glades of wooded waste. Near by the Court itself stretched a stately terrace, from which long flights of steps led down to the maze, and glim- mering walks of yew ; while down in the green gloom fountains threw up a silver radiance of spray and mist, or drifted on the wind. Upon the terrace was a brave blaze of colour, the sound of many voices and much laughter — slashed velvet, jewelled stomacher and pourpoint sent answering flashes to the sun. In the midst of the mob, the centre and the life of all, walked the stately Tudor Queen. From out her gigantic ruff uprose the small head erect and alert, with eyes of a most keen and extraordinary quickness ; the nose was aquiline, and somewhat long and depressed ; 20 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL the lips small and thin, and wondrous resolute ; her red-gold hair was curiously wrought and twined with golden wire, while her fardingale was so inflated on the hips that the girth was greater there than below. Thus much my Lady Arbell — child though she was — noted in a flash. On one side of Her Majesty walked the great statesman, my Lord of Burghley ; on the other, the great navigator, Sir Walter Raleigh. And my Lady Talbot presented the Lady Arbella Stuart to the Queen's Majesty. It was but a short interview. My Lord Burghley spake, and my Lady Shrewsbury made response. But for Elizabeth — she gazed like one in a dream — on what she saw not, and twisted the rings upon her hand. She asked no question of the child, for she was pre- occupied with other and weightier matters. Mary Talbot was not best pleased with the result of the presentation. But on nine of the clock of the same evening the whole scene was changed. Guests might be seen hurry- ing from all parts up the stairs and through the clois- ters beneath the minstrels' gallery, preceded by their torch-bearers, all flocking to the great hall for the pageant that was to be. First, there was a supper spread on a table at which Her Majesty, with a few favoured ones, was to sup in public ere the masquerade began ; gentlemen-in-waiting were standing round. On either side the hall were ranged seats for the spectators, rising tier o'er tier, already densely thronged. Amid them, near the entrance, stood my Lady Talbot of Shrewsbury, holding the little Lady Arbella Stuart by the hand, and waiting to see the entrance of the Queen. It was a gorgeous sight. The first court scene that Arbell had ever witnessed. Up to the glory of the Gothic heights above swelled aloft the sound of music, now near, now far — 'mid the maze of spandrel and corbel — so richly yet daintily carved and dight. In that high wilderness of tracery there spread a ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 21 great glow — luminous, lambent, as from a radiant sky, being the light from a thousand lamps. Below, against the golden tapestry, was the vast arena of courtiers and ladies, all ablaze. Presently the doors at the upper end of the hall were flung open, and a blast of trumpets on either side announced the coming of the Queen. No wonder little Arbell’s heart beat high, and she gripped Mary Talbot's hand with all her might in the excitement of the moment. First there came the ministers and the great lords of state, and then appeared the Queen. She was all a dazzle of peacock feathers, weaved into a gown of golden tissue ; a gigantic transparent ruff stood out like wings on either side, bristling with gold and silver wire ; betwixt the extended hips, the long pinched and pointed stomacher blazed with jewels as she moved ; on her high-curled head was a tuft of peacocks' plumes, and in her hand a fan of snow-white feathers, gold handled, and mounted with opals, sapphires and diamonds ; about her neck and breast — where lurked the evil eyes of peacock plumes — were proudly wreathed the famous cordon of pearls of slaughtered Mary Stuart. Within that court was a galaxy of such genius as the world has never known gathered together be- fore nor since — statesmen, orators, poets, scientists, philosophers, navigators — Shakespeare, Spenser, Bacon, Harvey, Essex, Sydney, Raleigh, Drake, Fro- bisher, Gresham, and a host of others — names des- tined to become famous, and to live so long as life and the earth shall last. The Queen walked with slow and stately gait. Arbell, nipping the hand of Gilbert Talbot, whispered, breathless, — ‘ Her Majesty paceth as proud as the Chatsworth peacocks when they set up their tails on high.' At which remark both the Talbots shook with suppressed laughter, and hushed her down. 22 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Elizabeth took her place at the banquet table under a canopy of cloth of gold. And, after glancing to right and left with keen, far-seeing eyes, held up an imperial finger, and said in a high, clear voice to my Lord of Burghley, who sat at her right hand,— ‘ Bring hither the Lady Arbella Stuart, Princess of the blood-royal/ and she pointed to a seat beside her, under the canopy of state, for her unerring glance had instantaneously singled out the little Countess from amid the throng. Arbell gave one upward earnest glance at my Lady Shrewsbury, in which there was questioning defiance. ‘Go/ said Mary Talbot, imperiously, ‘go! Every eye then was turned on this child, who, in prim, little ruff and fardingale, with locks like ‘threads of gold/ stepped along with such quaint dignity and gravity beyond her years, escorted by the great Lord Treasurer himself, even to the Royal presence. With her own white hand Elizabeth placed the Lady Arbella Stuart on the royal dais beside her, from which proud eminence my Lady Arbell— quite equal to the singular and significant honour done her — viewed the throngs below and around with infinite and proud content. The world lay at her feet. Scene V 1587. My Lady Arbell at Home . At the ‘ Palace of the Peak ! 1589. Arbella Stuart and Robert Devereux . ARBELL returned to her home at Chatsworth with her head turned by her triumphs at the Court of the ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 23 Tudor Queen ; and not only that, but with ecstasy in the society of her little comrade and playfellow, Mistress Penelope Agard, and in the delights of the springtime o' the year. Court trammels, buckram and pantofles were flung aside ; Arbell ran wild once more — the more so, because my Lady Shrewsbury was off on a pilgrimage to one of her many country palaces. So Arbell and her household had it their own wild way. The old Earl, too, was away from home, so there was only the young Cavendishes to keep order — if they cared so to do. But they did not. And there was always the eternal building — Chatsworth rang to the sound thereof, from dawn till dark. There were plenty of retainers ever devoted to the service of my Lady Arbell. There was Mistress Collingwood, and Nicholas Kynnersley, her most trusted and oldest tutor. Thus he writes to Bess of Hardwick : — 4 My Lady Arbell, at eight o’ the clock this night, was merry, and eats her meat well, but goes not to the school these six days, therefore I would be glad of your Ladyship’s coming, if there was no other reason. . . .’ ‘ Good Lady Grandmother,’ writes Arbell, ‘ I do send your Ladyship the endes of my heare, which was cut the sixt day of the moone on Saturday last, and with them a pott of gelly which my servant made. I pray God you finde it goode. I am in goode health. Mistress Penelope hath had three little fittes of an agew, but now she is well and merry. My humble duty unto your Ladyship, and pray God you do not haste your return, by reason we are hearty and well. — Your Ladyship’s humble and obedient childe, Arbella STUART.’ Ay, there was an end, for the time being, to the ceaseless wrangles and dissensions ’mid which little Arbell had been reared. She was free to ride and 24 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL hawk and dance unchidden, and to play the maddest pranks on all. There was scarce a day or night but ‘my Lady Arbell was merry/ Now wandering through the ancient village of Edensor, embowered in forest trees, or along the rock gorges of the Der- went and the Wye ; or galloping neck and neck 'mid huge, rugged and fantastic rocks and ‘ Rootor ' stones, or along the purple heights of Stanton and Hartle Moors. The two children were afoot, descending a narrow bridle-path into the deep woods of the dale. Count- less squirrels swung o'erhead ; hundreds of wild rabbits flew before them. The rough scarps of the weird rocks on either hand were scrawled over with strange charactery of moss and lichen, or deep-sunk in stream and brake. ‘ . . . And then did I go and sit upon the Throne,' said Arbell. ‘ Oh, Arbell, how could ye do it ? ' said little Pene- lope Agard. ‘What would you? 'Twas all so beautiful and brave. And I was as my sweet Queen of Scots would have me be. She said ever I must aye be the Queen of England. And then, Pen, I spake Latin and Greek and French before them a'. I played on the lute and the virginals for Sir Rawleigh and my Lord of Essex, and danced galliards and corantos afore her Majesty the Queen.' And Arbell, her fardingale lifted in either finger and thumb, danced and bridled down the pathway, till Penelope burst forth into laughter at the sight. ‘ And who was the gayest gallant of them all ? ' ‘ Ah, Penny, who shall say, when the feathers of all the birds were so beauteous to behold ? There was Sir Walter Rawleigh. There was my Lord Leicester. There was my Lord Arundel. There was my Lord Essex. He made exceeding much of me.' 4 What like was he ? ' asked Penelope, eagerly. ‘Oh,' laughed Arbell, ‘he wore a plumed hat and a ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 25 jewelled dagger, and his hose was slashed and slit. On his shoes there was two big Tudor roses, and a ruff about his neck so he could hardly move his head, but looked out sideways — so. But for bravery, there was none like him.’ Arbell did not relate her first meeting with this young and splendid Earl. It happed in this wise. Arbell, sitting in the Queen’s coach at Whitehall, there rode by a troop of knights, who passed before the Queen. They were all in a dazzle of sunshine, and, as they filed slowly onward through the archway of the palace, clad in complete armour from head to foot, the steel of helmet and cuirass blazed into sudden fire. What with the gorgeous trappings of the horses and their streaming plumes, they made a goodly show. In the midst of them there rode a very young knight of a most stately presence, grave and majestic beyond all the rest, and looking every inch a soldier. Every eye was on him, for he was the ‘ incomparable Earl,’ who was then the admiration of Europe — the darling of the English Court and of the Queen ; and as he passed he turned his head, as if impelled so to do, and through his waving plumes his melancholy regard fell from the Queen, full upon the child who sat beside her. Arbell knew not why, but a strange thrill — well nigh a tremor — passed through her, such as she had never known before. ‘Ha! there be many brave knights there,’ said Her Majesty in a low voice of concentration, heard by none but Arbell, ‘ such as the world hath never seen ; but, by my halidam, none so gallant as my master o’ the horse ! ’ These words, which seemed to break forth from her lips in a kind of passion, greatly impressed and haunted Arbell, as did every word and gesture of Elizabeth Tudor in her powerful individuality. More- over, on all tongues the child heard noised abroad the name of my Lord Essex — his powers of mind and 26 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL body, his chivalrous gallantry, his feats of bravery and daring, his grace, his genius — till little Arbell fell to watching for a sight of him as somewhat beyond mortal man. It so happened she was playing in the close bowl- ing-alley with some children of my Lord Shrewsbury — her cousins — when little Mary Talbot, looking from one o’ the windows, cries, — 4 Oh, there be my Lord of Essex. Is he not a goodly knight ? ' And in another moment the child Arbell's heart was in her mouth, for he came straight toward her, and his spurs rang upon the stones. On his head was a cap of orange velvet, and over his broad shoulder a short riding cloak. Essex was vastly amused, though he showed it not, by the flutter of this child-woman at his presence, and at the courtly dignity of her curtsey. With a stately bow he doffed his cap before her. ‘ My Lady Arbella Stuart,' said he, 4 of whom, from the lips of her most gracious Majesty, I have heard much. Of my lady's learning, and her knowledge of many tongues ; and from others, of my lady's dancing and skill upon the lute.' ‘ And I, too,' said Arbell, with high courtesy, ‘ have heard much spoken of my Lord Essex, and all his gallant deeds.' ‘ We are then well met. Kindred souls, if I mis- take not. Kindred spirits. From the first moment I set eyes on the Lady Arbella, I did think as much.' ‘ My learning, my Lord Essex, is as naught com- pared with yours. I am but little. Yet perchance, when I come to woman's estate I may prove as learned (who knoweth ?) if yet not so great and brave.' And her eyes twinkled as she spoke. ‘ Doubtless ; and more so. My Lady Arbell is also in high favour at the Court.' ‘ It seemeth, then, we are the same in all things,' ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 27 cried Arbell, unable to hold longer from laughing gaily. ‘Yet never will poor Arbella Stuart — house- less and landless — be looked on like a mighty Earl. When my Lord Essex is present Her Majesty hath eyes for none but him/ Essex dealt this sapient child a sidelong and whimsical glance, which she returned demurely. Instead of bending his steps to the tilt-yard, as had been his intention, he turned with Arbell into the rosemary garden, where rosemary covered all the walls, — Arbell tripping and prattling at his side, and holding by his hand. Essex was devoted to children, and was strangely attracted by this little Arbella Stuart. In one of the bowers he plucked a rosebud, and presented it to her with his peculiar winning grace. ‘If that bud was blown/ saith he, ‘’twould be like my Lady Arbell three years hence. Wear it, and keep it for my sake. And when ye look on it, little one, remember Essex loves thee/ My Lady Arbell graciously accepted the offering ; and, with an upward glance from under her long lashes, tucked it within her bodice with a winsome smile. Thus first met and parted Robert Devereux and Arbella Stuart. . . . Bess of Hardwick returned home this time to vote my Lady Arbell pale and overgrown; yet was charmed by the grace of her dancing, and the sweet- ness of her song. She was accustomed to be first rated and then petted. The Countess was not in the best of humours; first jeering and then laughing at my Lord Earl over some disputed landed property till he was half beside himself. Arbell would ever take his part, for no one durst cross her grandame save herself. Jaded by her accounts and her builders, and worn out — even then — by her many sons and daughters, and her own mad humours, my Lady Shrewsbury flung herself on a chair in the sun. 28 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ I would to heaven/ quoth she, ‘ I was the blue- bottle fly on yonder wall, to live and bask, and die i’ the sun, without a thought and without a care. Oh, why did the good Lord ever give me mind and brain to contract and design, to toil and moil ? Why was I ever made the butt o’ four mules of men ? Is not one enow to plague out a woman's life? Arbell, see that ye never go and do likewise.' ‘Nay, my Lady Grandmother, one is enow for me — and for most women-folk — so I think. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth is wise in her generation. She will not brook one.' My Lady Shrewsbury laughed right scornfully. ‘ Oh yes, she hath her pranks, and keeps her power. We know, Arbell, what a Queen may do. The daughter of Henry Tudor and Anne Boleyn.' The Countess burst into shrill laughter. ‘ Indeed she hath a goodly heritage. She may well be dubbed the “ Virgin Queen." England will uphold her as the mirror of virtue and modesty till the day she dies. The more she harries 'em, the more do they cringe and grovel. She hacks off the hand of a man, and he kneels to lick her shoes. Yet neither he nor she is content till he lieth at her feet a headless trunk, and may lick the dust no more. (Oh, what 'tis to be a Queen !) Yet, mark ye, Arbell, — your foot is on her neck. She loathes the King of Scots, because he is next the throne. Play your cards featly — ye’ll live to be a Maitresse Dame! And she drew Arbell to her with a rough caress. ‘ Oh, Lady Grandmother, somewhat here,' and she laid her hand upon her heart — ‘ is it a 'boding ? — telleth me I am not born to this.’ ‘ A fiddlestick for 'bodings ! Arbella Stuart, let me hear no more such rhapsody. 'Tis high treason to the great grand-daughter of Margaret Tudor. Have I spent these great charges on educating ye for naught? Accept your destiny.' ‘But King Jamie?' cried Arbella. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 29 'That sot? That mongrel foreigner? He will ne’er be England’s king. Or if he is, ’twill be by wedding you.’ Arbell shuddered. ' Best do it, Arbell, an’ ye get the chance. Maybe ’twill save your head.’ ' What need to keep a head on wi’ a broken heart beneath ? ’ asked Arbell, with a humorous smile. 'So most of your kin have thought — and died. Thank God, I know how to hold my pate upon my shoulders. I tell ye, Arbell, I have weathered many a storm, such as would send most women-folk to the deeps. In these days, we must e’en be wise as serpents. Our life is carried in our hand. Sure Master Kynnersley, and all thy tutor-tribe, did ne’er teach ye sounder wisdom.’ ' And if I fail, my Lady Grandmother ? If I do never win back even my Lenox lands ? And all men turn against me? Shall I be thy "Sweet juell Arbell ” still ? ’ Bess of Hardwick raised her hand on high. 'So help me, heaven, ye will, if ye’re true to me. Fear not, Arbell. No hand shall strike ye but across my body. Child of my child, this home shall be your home, your refuge and your sanctuary.’ So much for human words. After this most gracious salutation at Court, often — both summer and winter — my Lady Arbell sunned herself in the presence and smiles of Majesty. The little fly soon found the royal web both smooth and glissant, and did give her herself most royal airs thereon, both heedless and reckless of risk or danger. She had not been brought up the chatelaine and despot of the great houses of Hardwick and Chats- worth for naught. And though her angelic sweetness and generous nature had not allowed her to abuse her power, that power had generated in her an im- perious and dominant will, a haughty temper, which brooked neither interference nor reproof. When next she went to Hampton Court all woods were waving green, and through them, trotted with high 30 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL feet and antlered head erect, the red and fallow deer, which Queen Elizabeth, with her own cross-bow, was wont to hunt with zest, and, with her own hand, bring down a stag, attended by her green-clad archers with their bows. There was in the air the scent from a thousand flowers and herbs ; for the gardens with their twined creepers and rosed bowers (where Majesty walked every morning early) was then a mass of bloom. Fragrant bowers, set apart at certain times as a sacred retreat for the Queen’s Majesty with the favourite of the hour. Bowers where 'Virgin Bess’ was wont to disport herself in dalliance unguarded and alone. High favours, for which the gallant staked both heart and head. More oft the latter. There was in the air the sound of much music, for wherever she went, there went her minstrels, her trumpeters, lute players, flute players and harpers ; and her barge, hung about with garlands of flowers; under and around a gilded and powdered canopy, was waiting at the stair of the water gallery to con- vey Her Majesty by the River Thames to her great palace of Whitehall, on business of state. So my Lady Arbell, who usually would go with her on these waterways to the palaces of Richmond, Oatlands, Whitehall or Greenwich, went not with her on that day ; but rather — by express permission — with Penelope Agard (whom she had chosen to bring to Court amid her royal suite), to sit on the dedans of the tennis court, to watch the Earl of Essex and my Lord Oxford play open tennis ; at which, it seems, the sprightly Lady Arbell and Penelope must e’en try their hands, for they were but children, and Arbell could ne’er look on at a game unmoved. There was great frolic and romping on the tennis court and in the bowling alley that summer morn with courtiers and children, for my Lady Arbell was a child of a most precocious kind, and had coquetted from her cradle, encouraged so to do by my Lady Shrewsbury. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 3 1 The friendship betwixt herself and Robert Devereux had grown apace. Child though she was in years, her learning was so advanced, and the grace and charm of the Stuarts so strongly pourtrayed in her by every word and glance and gesture, that the young Earl was fain to turn from the inanities and coarse inuendoes of many a Court beauty to the singular witchery of the little Arbella Stuart. In that year Leicester had died, so that the influence of Essex over the Queen knew no bounds — and satisfied for a time even his vaulting and fiery ambition for military glory ; and held him lingering on at Court, when he longed to be afield. Wandering in the old pond garden, in the sweet alleys of Hampton Court was Essex wont to confide in Arbell his ambitions, hopes and dreams. While she, too, in turn, told him all her life. Dear days — never to be forgot — days for her of childhood, innocence and glee. Never, — in all the strange tragedy of her after life, — through all its sad and shifting scenes, did Arbella Stuart forget the smell of rosemary and thyme, nor those sun-bright garden bowers. Scene VI 1589. On the Wane — Banishment . Although at this present time but fourteen years of age, the name of my Lady Arbella Stuart came to be discussed and extolled in every Court in Europe as the ‘ beateous, virtuous and learned Lady Arbella.’ The rival of James Stuart, and heir-apparent to the Tudor Queen. Naught was talked of by the Catholics save the ‘ Parma marriage.’ Arbell was surrounded by flatterers, lovers and courtiers. All vied in winning from her a token of favour — some, in the rash and 32 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL erroneous belief that in so doing they would curry favour with the Queen ; others, wiser in the wiles of the human heart, would thus act sub rosa , as doing homage to the future sovereign. What wonder ArbelPs child-head was turned ? Her portraits were painted by the greatest painters of the day. . Her wit, grace and beauty were the theme of the most brilliant poets and dramatists in the most brilliant age the world hath known. The famous Farnese courted her for his son. The Duke of Lenox and the Earl of Arran were at her feet. Houseless, landless and well-nigh penniless, ruthlessly robbed by Elizabeth and James of her titles, her Scotch and English lands, and even her casket of jewels, solemnly bequeated to her by the old Countess of Lenox as the one sole possession left to give her grand- child, yet she was honoured like a little queen. No wonder that the great Queen — who brooked no rival — came to look on her with jealousy and distrust. This child, who seemed to win the love and adoration of every soul whose path she crossed. On the winter of that year Her Majesty held her Court at Hampton Palace. And there was, in those short days, tilting and tennis, shooting and hunting in the leafless woods ; and, in the long nights, one stream of banquets, masques and revels from Christ- mas Eve to Twelfth Night. The long galleries of Hampton Court, the vast reception rooms, and nearly a thousand bed-rooms, were filled to overflowing. The banquets were held in the great watching- chamber of Henry VIII., and the masques and plays of the Elizabethan drama — with their gorgeous and realistic creations — presented in this hall with all the splendour and magnificence of the Tudor era. Each one of the State chambers was hung, as were the beds, with tapestries of gold and silken ’broidery ; and in the suite of rooms assigned to my Lady Arbell — as in those of the Queen herself — garnished with precious stones. On that ‘Twelf day at night/ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 33 there was to be the greatest masque of all. Facing the ‘ screens ’ by which the players would enter, the stage and the minstrel gallery, was raised the royal throne, under canopy of cloth of gold, set about with jewels, which sent forth a perfect flood of light into the golden glow of the arena. Mistress Penelope Agard herself, with the aid of my Lady Arbell’s women, attired the little Countess for the masquerade, for there were to be many royal princes and princesses there that night. My Lady Arbell was all in glancing white and silver tissue, sewn with little pearls, with large and lovely pearls about her neck, no whiter than her lovely throat. Her ruff, not starched, but soft and serial, was thrown far back to display these maiden charms, so that her long waved golden hair was, unlike the fashion of the day, left to flow unrestrained adown her back from under a little silver caul, which gave her a singular and striking appearance. Penelope was on her knees, drawing on her loved Arbell’s small, high- heeled chopines, and fastening the silver rosettes thereof ; near by stood a waiting-woman, holding pomander and sweet-smelling powder. ‘ Oh, Mistress Collingwood,' cried Penelope, swaying back with a side motion where she kneeled, and clasping her two hands, ‘ what think ye of my Lady Arbell ? 5 ‘ Methinks that there will be none in all the masque so beauteous/ quoth Mistress Collingwood ; ‘ not even the Queen's Majesty herself.' Arbell laughed for very joy and elation. ‘ And the princesses, Penny ? What like be they ? ' ‘ They be all yellow and ugly. And one o' them as black as yonder night.' ‘ And my Lady Arbell,' said the waiting-woman, ‘ as fair and white as a daffadowndilly.' On these tidings Arbell executed on her chopines a few little fantastic steps ; they were slow, and as light as the fall of a feather, for my Lady Arbell danced with ‘exceeding grace.' A faint rose-flush C 34 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL tinted her fair, pale face, and her big blue eyes shone starry clear. ‘Truly there is none like unto the Lady Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox in her own right — no, not one ! Beshrew me, Penny, when I am queen, ye too shall be a countess, with many a rood of land to call your own! Ye shall be as goodly as now you are gentle and generous and beautiful/ She drew off her little scented gauntlet, and, with royal gesture not to be surpassed by Elizabeth her- self, laid her small hand on Penelope's dusky hair. ‘ Now, come, for Queen and courtiers wait me.' In this exalted state, half mocking, half earnest, and something ‘ above herself,' my Lady Arbell, followed by her suite, as Princess of the Blood-Royal, tripped down the long, golden galleries to join the glittering Court. She was received, as ever, by the most gracious royal smiles. Yet did it come to pass — whether by chance or design — that when the procession set forth, led by the stately Queen, one of the foreign princesses, in obedi- ence to a signal from the master of the ceremonies, passed before Arbell in order of succession. But my Lady Arbella Stuart, on seeing this, with a lofty gesture of her head and down-dropped haughty glance, waved her aside, as if she had been a lacquey, and stepped statelily before her. Thus, in her usual pride of precedence, did she enter the great hall beside the Queen. The entrance of Her Majesty in royal state, pre- ceded as ever by a blast of trumpets, was the signal for a hundred minstrels to burst forth in unison, till the famous hall, a scene of unparalleled magnificence, rang with the triumphant strains. My Lady Arbell Stuart sate beside the Queen. And the players played before them. The next day was my Lady Arbella Stuart banished from the Court. And thus it came to pass. In the morning, very ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 35 early, she, who contrived to have her way in all things, ran out through the fountain-court, though moment- arily snowflakes were softly falling, to the old pond garden, which was screened from the palace by a dense and lofty thicket of evergreens. At that hour all was solitude. Solitude save for one figure, which came hastily striding across the turf toward her. 'Twas the Earl of Essex, looking eager, yet pale and troubled. ‘ My Lady Arbell, ye received my message ? ’ ‘ Ay ; what is there to fear ? ? ‘Much. When Elizabeth Tudor is roused, 'tis like the waking o’ the tigress. She will have blood, no matter whose it be. Arbell, thou hast done this thing, and I fear for thee/ ‘ No fear/ saith Arbell, lightly, yet tenderly, ‘ when thou art nigh ! ’ and she laid her hand on his. ‘ I know wherein I have offended. What meant they/ she asked, haughtily, ‘ by preferring another before the Lady Arbella Stuart ? 5 ‘ I know not. ’Twas all preconcerted, IT1 take my oath. Oh, Arbell, love, I have watched it coming long. You have been playing and trifling boldly and inno- cently in the very shadow of the sleeping tigress ; but her eyes have been upon you none the less. You are too enchanting, too lovely, child, to keep the good graces of a queen who brooks no rival. Her tender anxiety in your welfare hath been but a foil from the beginning to throw dust in the eyes of James Stuart, whose pretensions need a check/ ‘ I have, then, been a tool ? ’ Essex smiled, bitterly. ‘Who knoweth? Her Majesty is as capricious as the winds. Anyway, ’tis best that ye quit the Court without delay/ ‘ I ’cannot. Oh, Devereux, if ye did but know, you would not counsel this!’ She clasped his arm within her hands. ‘ Fierce, wrangling words all the day long. Dissensions raging. No rest, nor peace/ Arbell shuddered. 36 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Anyway, there lieth safety/ said Essex, firmly. ‘ But ’tis taken out o’ my power, alas ! either to send you thither or keep you here. The sentence hath gone forth ; the Lady Arbell Stuart is banished from the Court, and that within a few hours.' He took both her hands in his, and drew her within shelter of the cloistered court, for her hood had fallen back, and the snow was falling fast and light on her uncovered head. At these words the colour had for- saken the child-face, and even her lips were pale. She could not utter a syllable, but drooped her little head on his broad breast like one stricken to the heart, while he laid his arms around her and held her fondly to him. ‘ We are compassed by a thousand dangers, my sweet one, even here. Take heart ! Be brave ! Better brawling and unrest than treachery and death. How dare I ever leave the Court when thou’rt here?' ‘ Oh, Robin/ whispered Arbell, ‘ I cannot leave thee.' And the child-arms clung the closer. ‘ Dost love me, then, so dear ? ’ he asked, smoothing back the loosened hair. ‘ Love thee ? ’ said Arbell, and her whole face, up- turned, was irradiated — grief changed to gladness. ‘ Art thou not my ain, my love, my brother — the very soul of me ? And — we must part ? ’ ‘Ay, sweetheart, we must part. Yet only for a season, love. I cannot always play Court fool and jangle my golden bells and drag my fetters. I must e’en break them and get free. The world is wide. I long for action, and to take the field. I was never made to play the part of courtier, with the smooth face and double tongue. An’ ye love me, Arbell, ye will quit the Court without delay, and speed me on my journey. I shall not be long behind you. My plans are already laid, of which I will write you word. You know as well as I do, my dreams and my ambitions ? ’ ‘ Ay, I do. God speed ye to them. Would ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 37 that I, too, were a man, to go forth into the world from out my narrow prison-house wi’ a good broad- sword at my side. But I — poor little Arbella Stuart — must e’en sit and spin, and play my little child- plays with a woman’s aching heart. There is no refuge anywhere, for even my poor English land is taken from me and rented to the Crown. I have naught in a’ the world save one small faded rose.’ 4 And what telleth that ? S weet Arbell, my little child-love, we must part.’ He unclasped the clinging arms with gentle force, and ere she knew he was gone from her. Only the snow was falling round her, soft and silent — falling — falling — like unto a dream. Scene VII 1591. The State Prisoner The little royal bird had been given a golden cage. Yet, do golden wires make up for lack of liberty and a flight into the blue vault of heaven ? Did all those vast state-chambers and lordly galleries so regally set forth make Arbella Stuart forget that she was prisoner indeed ? Perchance in those early days she scarce realised the fact, save that she had, by royal command, been ordered back to Hardwick, and there was to abide. But as the years passed on — ah ! then she felt her fetters — the iron entered into her soul. The c wooden yoke,’ of which she writes, galled her heavily and turned to iron. In those early days the two girls (when Arbell was not at her books) used in all their spare time to go galloping on the moors, hunting and hawking, of which pastime, Arbell, like all the Stuarts, was passionately fond, though always strictly guarded and attended lest aught should befall 38 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL her ; for there were plots laid about her ceaselessly, marriage-treaties without end, and the wildest rumours anent Arbell and her fortunes ever rife. Emissaries from various mysterious quarters of the globe were despatched to England to gain possession of her royal person and carry her off by stealth. Now she was to wed the Earl of Northumberland, and now the Duke of Lenox. The old Countess of Shrews- bury, however, had had long training and experience in prisoners of state. She shut her ‘juell’ in a casket of gold, and sternly kept the key. She was a match for them all. ‘ Arbell walks not late/ quoth she. ‘ At such time as she takes the air 'twill be near the house and well attended on. I see her almost every hour o' the day. She lyeth in my bedchamber.' Yet was not my Lady Arbell, who could escape even the lynx eyes of Elizabeth Tudor, to linger in the old pond-garden of Hampton Court, and in the lobbies of Greenwich and Whitehall, where only Essex ‘ dare steal a salutation,' a match even for her old grand-dame ? Time will show. ‘ When all is said and done,' said Arbell to Pene- lope, as they paced the great gallery, one of their accustomed haunts, ‘it seemeth to me my soul is scarce mine own. Or is it that my lady grand- mother’s love for me is on the wane ? Or am I to be treated with such suspicion and severity, and ever spied on, by the orders of Her Majesty ? What think ye, Penny?' ‘ I do not believe the former, Arbell, and I do the latter. You are a state prisoner, nothing less.' ‘ A state prisoner ? ' quoth Arbell, slowly and thoughtfully. ‘To whose durance there is no pity — and no end. A prisoner like my murdered Mary Stuart, the noble Queen of Scots. Like my Lady Jane Grey, like my Lady Katherine Grey. What a fate ! ' ‘ And one that, if love and loyalty can compass it, Arbell, shall ne’er be thine. Look ye, even while ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 39 you and I are walking here, there be a hundred lying in wait to do ye service, only to catch a glimpse of you and gain one word. Even the King of Scots, as ye know ’ (and Penelope laughed), ‘ writes to you in right kindly fashion/ ‘ An 5 much good it doth me, Penny — rather harm. Oh, this little world, this little world, so small, so mean, that I may not hold one rood of it nor count on one true friend/ ‘ Oh, Arbell, not one ? ’ i Ay, there is Penelope Agard/ ‘ Nay, not so. I am too little to count. But one, I would say, who is the idol of high and low alike. The hero of Zutphen, and of a hundred other fights, the soul of chivalry, the paragon of all virtues, the most gallant and peerless knight. Oh, do ye not know ? ’ quoth Mistress Penelope, giving Arbell a shake of the shoulder as they walked side by side, ‘ or do ye feign such modesty? I ne’er knew that for one of your virtues afore ! I do signify, then, that most noble earl who fled from the Court all for the love of a lady, and, unable to endure the Court longer without her sweet presence, sailed away to Spain, all because she was banished into exile. I do signify that most noble earl who was of higher stature and broader girth of chest than all the knights around, whose eyes were so piercing, yet so melancholy withal — ’ My Lady Arbell, as she put her finger to Pene- lope’s lips, broke into a gay peal of laughter. ' Hush ! Hatch not such treason, traitress, or thy life shall pay the forfeit. Was not that same earl bound hand and foot to the service o’ the Queen ? Hath he mind or heart or soul that is not hers — a very bond slave ? ’ ‘ Never — never that,’ quoth Penelope, with scorn. ‘’Twas he alone dared to thwart her. He cared not for her, neither, no more than you do for some stray falcon which you whistle down the wind.’ 40 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ An 5 is he my champion in very truth ? ’ whispered Arbell, her whole roguish face dimpling into smiles, for she needed not to ask the question. 4 Who else ? He hath returned, Arbell, and needeth but one word from you/ She started into silence, for a door was suddenly flung open, and old Countess Bess crossed the gallery in her widow’s dule, with shrewd and ever-watchful glance. To her retreating back the two girls made low obeisance in mock reverence and salutation. ‘ Ah, Penny,’ said Arbell, as the portiere closed upon her grandmother, 4 ’tis all a myth, a dream — no more to be realised than that there is sweet music and gay revels outside these lonely walls.’ She raised her hand in evidence. 4 Here be beds of state, hang- ings rayed with gold, and cushions to sleep soft ; yet these be for old age, not for you and me. Nay, Penny, nae gold crown for me ; it weigheth too hard — even to the dust. What want I wi’ a crown ? ’ she cried, with startling energy. 4 I’m sickened wi’ so daft a thing! Talk not to me of queens, or else I’ll see the murdered ghost of my sweet Queen of Scots come gliding by. Often I think I see her. Nay, Penny, one glint o’ the fair blue welkin, one whiff o’ the wind-swept moor, one bed o’ the mountain heather — and freedom . This be the life for me. Oh, why was I ever born Arbella Stuart ? Doomed daughter of a doomed race ! ’ Penelope silently took Arbell’s hand and raised it to her lips. She was used to these wild moods. 4 But let it pass, and let me rave,’ went on my Lady Arbell, with a smile. 4 ’Tis only my Lady Arbell,’ and she mimicked my Lady Shrewsbury’s very tone and glance. 4 Y et what can we compass, guarded as we are ? ’ Arbell stood within one of the great eastern windows, throwing up and catching her pomander ball within her hand. Penelope looked on her and laughed, then ran to the portiere and drew the arras closer. Saith she, 4 I will tell ye ! ’ — ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 41 Yet, however restless her spirit, my Lady Arbell ever, even in her early days, found comfort and consolation within her study chamber, held sacred to her alone. Outside, domestic storms might rage ; strife, avarice and jealousy ; yet here they could not beat upon her. Here was peace and rest. That study chamber, so dearly loved by her, had many windows, and looked out, for the most part, far over the glades of the old deer park, and a distant view of the great gates which led to Hardwick. From another little casement might be seen a mountain torrent, shattered on the rocks in whirl of foam, and falling ever into depths of dell and forest. But my Lady Arbell sat ever at her study table, strewed with many learned books, both English, Hebrew, Greek and Latin ; yet where she could look forth from time to time on green, restful shadows, so oft seen through silver mist, when all the winds were still. Those solitudes brought her peace, for the gently-moving stags were the only living things therein. On all the walls around her, where there was not gorgeous silken tapestry, were ancient volumes, the priceless possessions of the ‘ learned Lady Arbella,' by which name she was long afterwards to be known. Over the fireplace were armorial quarterings, in lozenge, shield and coronet, also a fine portrait of Mary Queen of Scots, in sable robes and flowing veil, pinching a pear-shaped pearl between her finger and thumb, which hung suspended on her breast. Opening from the study chamber was her bedroom and disrobing room, all hung with the famous tapestry, in which was a stately bed, crowned with plumes. In these three fair chambers, where dwelt the Lady Arbella Stuart, were screens of velvet, wrought in silver wire ; chairs sewn in samite and powdered o'er with flowers ; couches sumptuously overlaid with threads of silver and of gold. To such things had she been accustomed from her birth. 'Mid this 42 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL lavish luxury had she been born. She sat amid her books, pens and paper scattered round her, her head leaning betwixt her hands, engrossed, absorbed. In such hours as these the student hath no thoughts beyond them. Close to hand were some of the possessions she cherished most in all the world— a rare volume clasped and guarded with gold, a richly-illuminated Book of Hours . This lay open, and on the open page was writ : — ‘ Ce livre est a moi , Marie Reyne , 1554/ On the other side lay some open MSS,, written both in English and Latin, in prose and verse, by the greatest prose writer of the day, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. The sun, which had been high in heaven when Arbell took her seat, looked low in at those western windows, and laid loving, luminous hands on Latin page and golden hair in vain. ’Twas not till he had sunk, and his after-glories, softly pacing like rose-winged spirits the silent heaven, had glowed and faded on the waste ; ’twas not till earth’s dim hush was crossed by the high flicker of heaven’s star, and fading twilight fused in silver shine victorious, that Arbell ’waked from her studious trance. Night had fallen unaware, and the glory thereof. Scene VIII 1591. Beggars at the Gates of Hardwick ‘ Arbell walks not late, She lyeth in my bed-chamber.’ Countess oj Shrewsbury . One of the customs of Bess of Hardwick, royal in ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 43 all her ways, save when her hand was in her pocket- hole, was to dispense regal hospitality at the gates of Hardwick and Chatsworth. For to these great households, filled as they were with soldiers and retainers, much provender was brought from far — waggon-loads of farm produce, to say nothing of poultry and game ; hogsheads of wine and barrels of beer, drawn laboriously upward by patient oxen to these palaces of the Peak. Even under the sway of this famous chatelaine and warder, who ruled with rod of iron, there was of necessity vast waste. And, by order of the Countess, such sweepings were gathered into baskets and given daily to the poor. At a certain hour, then, of the day, a crowd of vagrants from all parts of the country round might be seen herded together and waiting at these great gates, which, on these occasions, were thrown wide and hospitably open to receive them. Within the shadows of portal and court lay the rush-strewn floors leading to the pantries and kitchens, where cooks were hurrying to and fro, and glimpses might be gained by the starving, shuddering crew of the enormous arched fireplaces, with their Tudor ovens and roaring fires. Though 'twas the springtime of the year, and every tree was spangled and tasselled with such greenery as only springtime knoweth, the warm pulsations of earth and flowers got oft- times chilled, when keen gusts swept the valley, to die upon the moor. The beggars of Hardwick were for the most part in rags and tatters — waifs and strays who lived from hand to mouth. One maiden, in kirtle and cloak of russet kersey, stained and worn by many a summer sun and winter snow, stood barefoot on the stone ; her little feet were cut and bloodstained, and she stretched forth starveling hands for bread. Her face was pale and small, and out of the pent-house of her hood might only be seen the glitter of small teeth through parted lips, and the gleam of big, hungry eyes. Her hands 44 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL were so delicate, small and fragile, that they seemed scarce able to hold the loaf which yet was lifted raven- ously to her mouth ; and ’twas only when she had eaten her fill that she turned wearily away to resume her lonely tramp. Not far from the Manor of Hardwick, as the crow flies, there stretched upward a rugged and sinuous mountain path, which led ever onward to the heights — to the wild ranges of jagged precipice and castel- lated rock. There, above, one vast wall of crenelled cliff dominated and closed in the green solitudes of the moorland — a solitude and silence so complete, that the tinkle of some distant bell, far, far away, did but accentuate and heighten the isolation round. A few huge, fantastic rocks — rough-hewn altars grey with the sanctity of ages — reared their strange forms from out the gloom, as if about to mutter secrets of the Celtic dead. In shelter of this sanc- tuary a low wind just stirred and sighed around them, and grey lichen only, cusped their rugged limbs. At foot of these strange cliffs was the entrance to the ‘ Hermit’s Cave ’ — home of the anchorite and recluse. A rough seat was hewed within the rock ; above, an empty niche shewed dark and void. An antique cross, with ancient carving knotted and interlaced, was but a shattered fragment. At the entrance, rudely sculptured on the unyielding rock, was the crucifix ; yet even this, effigy of our Lord, was broken and defaced. While across the interior dark- ness of the archway hung an immemorial yew tree, bent well-nigh double, shedding on all his hallowed gloom. Pacing impatiently beneath it, however, was one who looked no anchorite. Though, for a knight, his laced doublet, short riding-coat and riding-boots showed no ‘ pride of apparel,’ they could not disguise his high bearing, which was exceeding grave and stately ; and his horse, which stood near by the yew, had neither gold nor silver on his trappings, yet was a great and ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 45 noble one, and, like his master, betrayed in every motion the pride and fire of his high breeding. That this knight was restless and thwarted, and resented some check, even as his charger resented restraint, was easy to be known. But at last that for which he watched and waited was to be! seen upon the moor. The charger pricked his ears, and plunging aside, with bright eye turned aslant, gave a shrill neigh, which was answered from afar. ’Tw;as the thud of horses’ hoofs. And over the moor, with loosened rein, at breakneck speed, the rider flew. It was a girl ; her cloak streamed behind her, displaying a figure of exquisite grace and symmetry, though cased in a russet bodice of the stiff fashion of the day. The bodice was laced up the front over camisole of snow, and the kerchief knotted over her shoulders was also snowy white, while at her neck hung one quaint jewel with the motto engraved thereon, ‘ Pour parvenir f endure? Her bright hair was all ruffled and dis- ordered by the pace she kept ; her little bare feet were thrust into dainty pantofles of gold-broidered leather ; and dropping the reins on her horse’s neck, she held forth her two arms in her flight, while her laughter echoed on the wind. The knight held up an imperious hand for silence as he strode out to meet her. ‘ Hush, for the love of Our Lady, or you will be captured ! 3 Then he spake not another word, neither did she, for the glamour of each presence was on the other, and she was within the shelter of his arms. On their last meeting, two years agone, drifted the falling snow ; but neither through summer sun nor winter snow had their love got parch nor chill. For in first love, gendered in the dews and warmth of spring, is there neither chill nor drought. Ay, they were lovers, the famous Earl of Essex and the Lady Arbella Stuart. How could it have been otherwise with such a pair ? Gently, yet after his old imperious fashion, he drew 4 6 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL her into the shadows of the yew and on to the rock- hewn seat beside him. He was so pale and haggard that Arbell cried, — ‘ My lord, you are ailing ? ’ But he shook his head. ‘Nay, not in body/ said he, ‘but in mind. In mind I am sick unto death for vain love o’ the Lady Arbell/ ‘ Then the Lady Arbell grant ye pity, which is love. Dear Devereux, my heart is thine, and will be till we both are dead. There is no coquetry in this matter. I have given my heart into thy keeping once, which is for ever/ ‘ Then can you make a great sacrifice for my sake ? ’ ‘ Prove me/ He took her hand in his. ‘ Then first I’ll tell thee all. Thou knowest, Arbell, how, robbed o’ the light of my life, I brake forth from thraldom and sailed for Spain with Drake. I writ you full particulars by Chaworth of how we fought for the Don to put him on his throne. I cared neither for him nor his heritage ; I only craved for stir and strife — to strike, and strike home, were it only to maul an oily Spaniard. Yet what can a blind man do ? My light was gone out. I found gladness neither in court nor camp. I only wandered over the earth I cumbered, doing no good neither to God nor man, but only harm/ ‘ And then ye were summoned back ? ’ asked Arbell, with eager interest. On the grave face of Essex there played a slight, humorous smile, as if in scorn of self. ‘ Then was I summoned back, like a wayward tyro or whipped hound who dreads the lash and crawleth home, his tail betwixt his legs. Yet I obeyed, not from discipline, but solely because I could not keep longer from this green strip of land yclept England, where my lady dwelleth. “We herefore charge and com- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 47 mand you,” writes Her Imperial and Imperious Majesty, “ to repair unto us. See that ye fail not, or you will answer for the contrary at your uttermost peril.” So, having wiped and sheathed our swords, and having no further work afield, and I, feeling that I could bear exile no longer, we must needs come and kneel at Her Majesty’s most sacred feet, and were forgiven.’ 4 And then fought for love of her,’ laughed Arbell. ‘ The devil aye waits on idle folk. Nor was my Lord of Essex content till, for the sake of a jewel, or some such toy, he ran my Lord Mountjoy through the body.’ ‘ And he ran me.’ ‘ And Her Majesty did declare — you see I know all the gossip o’ the Court, through my Uncle Gilbert — that, “ unless someone shall take my Lord of Essex down, there will be no ruling him.” ’ ‘ There is no one can hold and master Essex, save only one — And now, enough of this miserable carcase I would fain learn more o’ the true doings of my liege lady, my sweet and only love, from her own lips. For her name, and the names of her many suitors, are noised abroad in every court in Christen- dom ; and were it not for the letters which Mistress Penelope hath faithfully sent forward to me, I should have been indeed in sorry plight. But these have told a different tale, and kept me in good cheer. Swear to me, Arbell, now, with thine eyes on mine — thus, mine image mirrored in these clear stars, as thine in mine — that thou hast been faithful to me in thought and word and deed, as I swear on bended knee that I have been to thee ! Ye are beset on all sides, my darling; now it is Lenox, and now Nor- thumberland, who dare to woo the Lady Arbell, mine own true love ; to say naught of a hundred others — some mean, some noble. Swear, swear ye have not favoured them ! for jealousy gnaws my very heart- strings.’ 48 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Dear Devereux, I swear and swear and swear, so help me, Heaven ! ’ — Arbell raised her clasped hands, with fingers lightly interlaced — ‘ that Robert Devereux is mine only love, for whom I would think it gladness to lay down my life.’ He caught and clasped her hands in his. ‘ Then, then — ’ He made as if he would have spoken more, but his passion was so fiery and beyond control that the words he would have uttered died as before upon his lips. ‘ Tell me/ he said hurriedly, ‘ for my Lord Burghley is but churlish when I question him on thy affairs, more of thy life, my little prison bird, my little state prisoner. May angels guard thee from all harm, Arbell, and rescue thee from durance vile. How did ye compass your escape to-day ? Is my Lady Shrews- bury still at Oatlands ? God send she may be ! ’ ‘She is, indeed, or I should ne’er be here. Ye must know, then, at the present moment, Robin, my Lady Arbell is deadly sick within her chamber, and dear Penelope hath locked her doors and keepeth the key. Her two uncles, Henry and William Caven- dish, are rejoicing in their freedom to come and go as they list, for the charge of the Lady Arbella Stuart weigheth heavy on their poor souls, and mine Uncle William was heard to say, “ Pray Heaven may keep her sick ! ” So her ladyship’s guards, in the absence of her lady-grandmother, are all asleep within the cellar ; for her ladyship (who is ever thoughtful of her retainers), prayed they might be let off duty and have a game of bowls. Then my Lady Arbell, when the cooks were running to and fro, slipped the shoes and hosen from off her feet, and, disguised in this smock of russet wool, stole down the wind- ing stair with prayers upon her lips. The outer gates were opened wide, for all the beggars were crowding in for dole. Poor Arbell, too, was amid them, a-shiver wi’ the cold, and pale with hunger or dread of capture. Yet she played her masquerade ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 49 right boldly. Aided by kindly gloom, she glided through the gateway, and took her place within the tattered ranks, and hungrily clutched and gnawed her bread, ay, e'en to the last mouthful, though it stuck within her throat. Then she turned and plunged into the covert of the wood, and thanked the saints for freedom. For there, on the border o' the moor, was Chaworth, her faithful page, his lady’s glove within his hat, and his hand in her horse’s mane. The rest thou knowest.’ Liberty, sweet liberty ! Thus the lovers stood entranced. Heart throbbed to heart. Essex it was who at last broke the spell. ‘ Curses on that Chaworth ! ’ said he. ‘ What right hath a lacquey to serve my Lady Arbell? He worships thee like all the rest.’ ‘ All worship me,’ said Arbell, naively, ‘ and by no fault o’ mine. I am a Stuart.’ ‘ Would God it were not so, sweetheart ! ’ ‘ But there is one who loveth the very ground I tread on, Robin ; my page o’ the yellow hair, and patient, sober face. He waiteth at my chamber door to give me posies sweet. He doth watch and follow me like a dog. Nay, grip me not, dear Robin. He is out o’ the common grave and learned for his years, for he is but young. Penelope doth never cease to jeer and gibe him. Yet he is loyal ever, and nothing will turn him from my service. I call him my “ little, little love.” ’ ‘ For the love of Heaven tell me his name, that I may shear his head from off his body ! ’ cried Essex, half mocking, half earnest. 4 His name is Will Seymour, youngest son of my Lord Beauchamp (who himself doth much affect me). And he and his brother Edward dwell near to Rowsley, with their tutor. So he often comes to Hardwick. Were it not for Her Majesty, my lady grandmother would fain have me my Lord Beau- champ’s wife. Yet, though of most rare excellence, D SO ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL I care not for him, nor ever shall. Nor for any in life, save one only/ ‘Oh, little Will Seymour I do not fear. I will grant ye such pure devotion. He is far removed from man’s estate. Tell me, are ye happy, my sweet love, in your present life? Your letters are ofttimes sad. Yet who could think, to look on you, that you know what sadness is ? ’ ‘Tell me, dear Devereux, is the chained hound happy who dolefully bays the moon ? Is the hooded hawk happy when she is jessed and leashed ? Dreams do beset her of ringing into the wild clouds, or sweeping on strong pinions down the wind ? Liberty is to such the very breath of life. Without it, they would die soon. And if I am to be for ever ’prisoned in one place, this will be mine end, for my whole soul rebelleth against it.’ ‘Arbell, ye shall not die. Look here — and here.’ He pointed significantly to the two horses, which were stamping, restless, in longing to be off, then clasped her two hands together within his own. ‘Nay, speak not — listen to my words. I have entered into a secret pact with Henry IV. of France, to be put in command of divers of his troops, to fight for him in the coming siege. All England is for the King, and will doubtless send him aid. But I, for one — Essex — have determined to cast in my fortunes with that most noble, gallant knight, and fight, as for my King, under the white banner of Henry of Navarre. I am determined to leave England for ever, and to bear away my Lady Arbell as my bride. Love, listen ! What is rank and fame and high command ? What is home and kingdom when pitted against love? Thou and I, little love — plain squire and simple maid — have plighted troth. Our hearts be one. The wide world lies before us. I have prepared all. All our plans are laid. Nothing is left for thee to compass, save to step into shelter of mine heart. Fear not ! Essex will guard thee, and ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 5 1 hold thee against the world. Tis but a gallop across the moor. Then to take boat for Calais. My men are waiting even now. Thou canst not say me nay ? ’ Arbell was so bewildered (as he intended she should be) by this sudden onset of her fiery lover, that she turned as pale and cold as snow, and shivered as she nestled to him. ‘ I am not afeared,’ said she ; ‘ my pulse goeth not one whit the faster for thought of this. As I have said, Devereux, for thee I would lay down my life. All is naught in comparison of thee. Yet, dear one — my heart, my soul — ’tis for thy sake I will not do this thing. Nay, hear me ! I crave neither crown nor kingdom — God knoweth I covet neither. But for Essex, the “ incomparable ” — the great soldier, the admiration and envy of all Europe — to sacrifice home, country, fame, for love of one simple maid, who hath nothing save her name and honour ! It must not, shall not be ! Ask me not, for I will none of it.’ Essex was at her feet, ‘ passion-pale ’ like herself. 4 I ask thee not. I kneel, I pour out my life-blood before thee in appeal ? Arbell, Arbell, snatch this chance which will never be ours again — this chance of freedom, of happiness and home. Look you, if you take me not I am undone. As there is a God above us I will rush on perdition, will accept the spent passion of a jaded harridan and the high favours she can bestow — be slave of her whims, a lacquey to watch her hand, a lover to pander to her fancy, sotted with indolence, sated with excess, till all Europe shall ring with her foul shame and mine. Talk not to me of fame. You prate of ye know not what. For how should you wot of the power and passion in a man ? These, crossed, send him to hell. Arbell, Arbell, be my good angel and my saviour ! Save me from myself ! ’ He grasped the folds of her gown, and his head university op iu wnm 52 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL was bowed thereon in supplication and despair. Indeed, so great was the anguish of his appeal, so wild and uncontrolled his passion, that Arbell, who had never seen the like, was half borne away to accede to his desires, which were dead against her conscience and her will. For she knew that to do this thing would be the utter ruin of his high destiny. For herself, she would have gone with him then and there, and her whole soul cried out for her so to do. Yet for him — for him ! She was alone in this vast solitude with a desperate man, whom she madly loved, yet, in such mood as this, well - nigh feared. She looked wildly round, seeking inner counsel. Oh, to gain time to think ! She was but a child, so, on the mad impulse of the moment, had recourse to stratagem to win time and thought. ‘ Grant me but one little hour to say farewell to Penelope Agard/ said she. ‘ She is even now waiting on the border o’ the moor to see me safely housed. To leave her thus would break mine heart, and no blessing could go with me. I will come — ay, I will come/ she faltered brokenly, and tenderly laid her hands upon his head. Devereux sprang to his feet. 4 You swear it? You would never play me false, sweetheart — woman though you be ? ’ ‘Never, never; I will come to thee/ And to her- self she said, ‘’Fore God I will come to thee.’ But, with the strength of the conflict within her, she lay well-nigh fainting in his arms. ‘ Kiss me but once before I go, and bless me, so that I be brave and sure/ said she. ‘ My love ! my love ! ’ Thus did they stand, clasped heart to heart. And he saw her ride away, nor felt a doubt, so great was his faith in her. Sunset gave way to gloom. The shades of even fell around. His horse neighed loud and clear. Suspense grew to agony, when a page galloped ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 53 up and gave a letter into Essex’s hand. He tore it open and read with trembling. Twilight gave way to night. The pale moon cast her silver shroud over the grim rocks and all the tristful moor. There was the hoarse scream of some belated bird ; save for that all was still. Nor was there sign of human presence on lonely Hartle Moor. Scene IX 1 597. The ‘ Little Falconer ’ ‘ My Lady Arbell is as gay as a lark,’ said my Lord Beauchamp one day to Mistress Penelope Agard. ‘ Oh, yes,’ said Penelope, like a parrot, 4 my Lady Arbell is as gay as a lark.’ Yet something in the tone made him turn and look at her ; for Mistress Penelope was ofttimes a riddle to those about her — a riddle not to be unravelled. In that moment there was in her expression neither tragedy nor comedy, nor even the laugh that so oft belied her words. These two were pacing on the terrace, in the great quadrangular court which lay before the entrance gateway of the hall, and was laid out in flowers and greenery of every shape and hue, enclosed in an ancient garden. Before this gateway a broad stretch of sward dipped deep into the shadows of a hollow. Beyond the famous oaks and antlered deer of Hardwick and the forest gloom of Scarsdale, rose the great, wild hills, changed on this misty morn to drifts of cloud. ‘ But when she is not a-hunting,’ continued my Lord Beauchamp, ‘ she is more and more given to her books. So much so, that I fear for her lest she should break down with over-study.’ 54 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ What would ye have ? ’ asked Penelope, with im- pulsive gesture. ‘ Were it not for her books she would go mad. Gay? ay, she is gay — like unto the caged lark. Yet think you the lark would not rather sing up in the blue vault, builded for us all alike at the very gate of God ? Whatever her griefs, she could never be otherwise than gay. She would laugh within her shroud. Look you, my Lord Beauchamp, in all these long years since first she left the Court for Hardwick, she hath been away but thrice — once to Oldcotes, once to Buxton, and once to Wingfield. Whene’er she taketh a longer ride upon the moor, the guards be doubled. She is encompassed by spies, and every act of hers is counted treason. Now she is a Puritan ; now a Papist. Now she is in league with the King o’ Scots; and now with his most Sable Majesty himself. All against that paragon of all virtues, the white and virgin Queen. Oh, I could find it in my heart to hang the lot o’ them by the heels! ’ and little Mistress Penelope ground her small, white teeth, and shook her clenched hands before her breast. ‘ Poltroons ! dastards ! cowards ! Oh, that I might be Queen of England for one short month ! ’ The grave and calm Lord Beauchamp smiled. ‘ Stone walls have ears. For God’s sake, Mistress Penelope, beware, or we shall all be carried to the Tower, or have our heads lopped ! 4 ‘ I’d brave all for my Lady Arbell. ’Tis a cruel shame. Is there not one man in all England who can head a troop and rescue her ? Shame on their manhood ! Nay, not one.’ ‘ Believe me, Mistress Penelope, we must e’en watch and wait. The time is not yet ripe.’ ‘ Nor ever will be. Here she will pine and die. Queen Bess will outlive her yet ; and so will Countess Bess. Beshrew me, but my Lady Shrewsbury thriveth on this her fourth widowhood,’ laughed Penelope, ‘ though her lamentations did last loud and long. In ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 55 these latter days the image of the departed earl hath faded into the semblance o’ Sir William Cavendish ; and she doth dwell more on the memory of good Master Hobbes than either one/ ‘ Mistress Penelope, ye are pleased to be in a gibing mood. Poor Thomas Hobbes, philosopher — drifted to the spirit world — what sees and knows he now ? ’ Aye, nine long years since child Arbell was banished from the Court, and six of these since her tryst on Hartle Moor. That fatal tryst ! It seemed but the other day that Penelope had entered her study chamber, pale as death ; and even her lips — sad harbingers of evil tidings — gone set and mute. And Arbell’s heart had sunk within her, then beat a loud alarm. ‘ Speak, Penelope ; tell me the worst ! ’ she cried, ‘ and fear not/ Penelope sank into a chair. ‘ Oh, Arbell, dear Arbell, my Lord Essex is lost to thee ! ’ ‘ Not dead ? ’ ‘ Nay, worse. He hath wed my Lady Sydney, not four-and-twenty hours from the eve he left thee on the moor/ My Lady Arbell, though she went first red, then white, stood quite calm, turning over and trifling with the papers on her table, and not a word to say. 6 ’Tis all my blame/ she said at last, with infinite calm and quiet. ‘ I have undone him. He said I would do so. Oh ! what matters it, Penny ? * she asked, with sudden scorn. ‘ What matters aught ? Life is so short at best, and soon ’twill all be done/ She sat down, and leaned her head upon her hand. ‘ My Lady Sydney ! ’ — (Arbell still sat toying with the paper in her hand.) ‘ Well, them that God hath joined let no man put asunder/ Well, she indeed is blest. And my Lady Sydney is so gentle and so 56 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL good. Sure she will keep him safe from wrong, and undo all my harm.' 4 Ah, my love Arbell, had it not been for me ye would have gone with him. Would God you had ! ’ 4 Where is he now ? ' asked Arbell, in careless fashion. 4 He hath gone already from his bride. So well may ye know he hath done this for fury and despite. Scarce were they wed, when Her Majesty — furious at the deed and mad to sunder them — set him in com- mand of four thousand troops, and ordered him to France, whither he hath right gladly gone to fight for the King. All this have I heard from your aunt, my Lady Shrewsbury.' 4 Well, leave me, dear heart,' said Arbell, 4 for I am very weary, and must needs say a prayer afore I sleep.' 4 Oh, that thou wouldst shed one tear,' said Penelope. 4 I cannot leave thee thus. 'Tis not in nature.' 4 1 am not one for tears,' said Arbell, proudly. 4 But there's a fire in my brain, and only sleep will quench it.' . . . Thus, in the bitterness of despair and grief, did Arbella Stuart at this present time fall to brooding on the great Hereafter, and to contrast and compare one creed with another. Saith she to my young Lady Shrewsbury, as they sat together in the great hall within the firelight, each 'broidering of silk and flowers in divers hues, — 4 Mine aunt, I have a secret to unfold.’ 4 No rare thing for thee,' said the Countess, lightly. 4 Have I not been thy confidante ever since thy dear mother's death, and since you could lisp and totter to my knee ? My poor, pretty Arbell, what is it now ? Somewhat good, may the Lord send ! For there's not too much o't in this sorry world.' 4 Most joyful tidings, my aunt, for you. For what neither priest nor Holy Church could compass, mine own soul hath wrought. I am of thy Church and of thy faith. I am a Catholic.' ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 57 My Lady Shrewsbury let her work fall and clasped her hands. ‘ Now, Arbell, the saints have thee in their keeping. But how — in this house fenced round with spies and heretics — how, in the name of all that is wondrous, have ye brought this thing to pass ? ’ ‘As I would have brought it to pass had I been shut in the nethermost pit/ cried Arbell, her flowered screen forgot. ‘ I am not like my kinsman James Stuart, who even offers unto Philip of Spain to sell his faith and his convictions so he may curry favour wi’ that Spanish king, and league with him against England and her Queen. But I am become a Catho- lic in very deed and in very truth. And, as Christ and Our Lady hear my words, I am none other, nor will be, till the day I die. In the last pilgrimage of my lady grandmother to one of her many palaces, I passed with Penny into this chapel, and there Father Rivers, who, as ye know, doth often come in my Lady Shrewsbury’s absence to visit my Uncle William (being so true and tried a friend of you and my Uncle Gilbert), received us both into Ploly Church. For ye know, my Aunt Mary, that the ancient family of the Agards have been Catholics, until now, from time immemorial, even up to the days when they held the manor and estates of Chatsworth.’ ‘ I know it well. Ah, Arbell, these be indeed joyful tidings ! Greater than to see thee reinstated Countess of Lenox in thine own land, or Queen of Scots and England. Yet must ye keep this secret fast ; ay, a dead secret even in your own household, or your wel- fare, and even life, may pay the forfeit. Let it not come to the ears of my lady mother, for the love of Heaven, or most surely ’twill be noised abroad. Nay, my Lady Arbella Stuart is a “ Puritan ” in every Court in Europe, and a Puritan she doth and must abide. They will have it so.’ ‘ Alas that it should be so ! I like not such secrecy. What good or blessing could ever come 58 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL from such ? Father Rivers hath urged me to tell my Lady Shrewsbury the truth, even should I die for it/ ‘ Mad ! Insensate ! ’ cried the resolute Countess, with compressed lips and flashing eyes, for. Mary Talbot, daughter of Bess, never brooked a check. ‘ It must not, shall not be. I love thee too well, Arbell, to jeopardy thy neck. Think on the fate of Mary Stuart. She, too, was a prisoner like thyself, fooled and flattered, betrayed and trapped to ruthless murder. Do not thou likewise. Father Rivers must be sworn to secrecy. For, so soon as Elizabeth Tudor and my Lord Burghley know of this, so surely ye are lost/ Yet my Lady Arbell, who scorned deception, and knew not the very name of fear, turned her robing- room into a little oratory in which to pray. There, hid behind the curious tapestry, which could be drawn or veiled at pleasure, was hung the crucifix, symbol of her faith and the faith of her fathers, raised on high ; and, in fair sculptured effigy, the Blessed Mother, the Child-Christ within her arm. ‘ I have been groping in nether gloom/ would my Lady Arbell say ; ‘ but this be the break of day/ At break of day, in that autumn of 1 597, the two girls, with their guards and retainers, were in the saddle. Not a tuft of heather stirred within the grey stillness of the rising, drifting mist ; nor was there sound, save the beat of many flying hoofs on stone and burn and brake. Heavy mist still cleaved to every leaf and frond, or dripped from ear and nostril of each eager steed. The straining hounds were strained in leash. The cadge, with brailed and hooded hawks thereon, was borne sweeping to the field. But my Lady Arbell, who rode ahead with my Lord Earl of Shrewsbury, bore her own pet falcon, jessed and hooded, on her gauntlet wrist — the hero of a hundred flights. And my Lady Arbell’s ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 59 spirits rose like thistledown, as she proved the mettle of her charger with rein and bit, and met the fresh breath of breaking dawn. As they put their horses to the gallop the great mist-clouds were unfurling on the rise of the soft southern wind, and the low lights of the yet shrouded sun did intermittently glow, gleam and fade — fade, gleam and glow. As they neared the heronry they were met by a small de- tachment of hunters like themselves, who joined the sport. The lad who then rode at my Lady Arbell’s other hand was her falconer — her page aforementioned — her comrade of many a flight by flood and field, who lured and trained all her hawks with his own hand and voice. His hawk sat his fist like an image of stone, his lure swung at his saddle-bow, he sat his horse as to the manner born most gallantly. He was even then famed for his proficiency in the gentle and noble art of falconry, for he had been trained by his old grand- father to carry a hawk from the time he was trained to toddle. At catching a wild goshawk this young falconer had no rival, and he was as skilled in the mews as in the field. The riders soon broke up — little Seymour ever by my Lady Arbell. As the first heron passed up wind aloft she was the first to hood off her falcon ; and away, on powerful pinions, he tore into the wind- clouds above and clouds beneath. Ring on ring the heron mounted into high heaven. Ring on ring the hawks went swinging on his track. And as the wind swept them far away, off flew the riders at breakneck speed. A cast of hawks topped and poised above their prey, though at such a height they appeared to eyes upturned like motionless moths. Then down, with shut wings, like stone from a sling for force, like arrow from a bow for speed — yet only to slip the shifting quarry. But the wild falcon blood is up ! Thrice he shoots ringing into the wind and poises for the stoop ; the last he hath him — he hits him 6o ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL square. There is a wild whirl of feathers. My Lady Arbell’s old ‘Buccaneer' hath bound to him, and both birds fall to earth. Old ‘Buccaneer' had once known the honour and glory of being the favoured falcon of the beauteous Scottish queen, and from many a wild foray been carried victorious on her wrist. Arbell, as they rode homeward late into the day, bent her lips to his dark, glossy plumage, for she loved him dear. Then, with deft, quick hand slipped on his hood. For though she was from early training, from force of habit, and from temperament and heredity, a coquette to the heart’s core, and though she loved to hold many courtiers in leash, and well knew how to play them, yet when in the saddle she, like a true Stuart, had no thought save for her horse and falcon. They cantered home over the heathered waste, where brawling burn and rushing river leaped into one another’s foam-clad arms in scud and thunder, and waved their white banners through the gloom of glen and gorge and moorland pass. Clouds made great shadows, and sent them racing neck and neck over the purple moorland, weird and wild. Soon the hunters neared and descried the high towers of Hardwick, nested in ancient forest. My Lady Arbell, with her bodyguard, clattered through the gateway, gaily bandying jests with my Lord of Shrewsbury, for, as Countess Mary phrased it, they were ‘ever at it.' Thus she did not miss young Seymour from her side. But as she dis- mounted in the court she called out, ‘ Whither hath my little falconer flown?' for Will Seymour was accustomed to take her hawk from off her wrist, to put on his rufter-hood, and bear him to the mews. No one could tell. So Arbell, for idlesse, and because she loved the boy's devotion, went strolling to the gate. With all the stern discipline of a prison-house, the gates were already shut, but young Seymour, in his riding-cloak and with his ruddy locks uncovered, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 6 1 was peering through the bars. Arbell, with her keen and ready wit, and used to stratagem, felt something was afoot ; but, still strolling, went close unto the grating. ‘ Well, what hath happed ? ’ she asked, with urgent whisper. For answer, quick as thought, he slipped a packet in her palm, which, quick as thought, was hid within her breast. No one was in sight. So, with a heart throbbing to suffocation, Arbell perused the lines, Master Seymour standing with bare, bowed head the while. 4 Dost love me, Will ? 5 asked my Lady Arbell, her face gone red and white with hurrying breath. 4 Afy lady!' said Will, and that was all. Tone and glance spake the rest — more eloquent than words. She drew the little, perfumed gauntlet from her hand. 4 Then bear this to him for token. Haste for thy life — thy life ! 5 Will fastened his lady's glove within his cap and vanished. The noon of that day young Seymour returned, his horse in a lather of foam, and he and Mistress Penelope Agard were pacing the colonnade, hid from prying eyes. Later in the day my Lady Arbell and Mistress Penelope got themselves ready, and begged of my Lady Shrewsbury to let them 4 ride abroad ' with Master Seymour, their guards and retainers within range ; but the Countess scoffed. 4 What, my Lady Arbell, are ye mad? Have ye not been i’ the saddle from cock-crow, but ye must needs go filibustering over the countryside in search of loons to fool ? Be there not men enow to content ye here ? Go to, thou brazen jades ! J Tis time for all modest maids to be abed.' Then, at the gates of Hardwick, there befell a right stormy scene ; so much so, that a crowd of spectators gathered round, till, by order of the old Countess, per- emptorily dispersed by the guard. My Lady Arbell, 62 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL in a passion of anger and despair, wildly rebellious and well-nigh beside herself, was borne away by force. Scene X 1601. Madness Four summers had spread green leaf coverlet, four winters their silver shroud of snow, over the stately demesne of Hardwick — over wood and dale, over court and tower. And still, within those walls — the 4 lofty pleasure-house ’ which she had reared up unto herself, in defiance of Time and Fate — did the old Countess of Shrewsbury toil and reign supreme. Looking forth with vigilant and defiant gaze on the ever-lengthening and converging shadows of eternal night. Four times a wife, four times a widow, ever coin- ing wealth and gathering possessions ; and still this stern fight waged against the grim and potent foe who finally conquers all. From her casement window she faced the old hall where she was born, the old home, left stripped and void, where once was held high revelry and regal hospitality, where her ancestors were born and lived and died — The cradle of her race, and yet, in its noble ruin, more like unto a tomb. Up the lofty walls of her vainglorious palace, ivy already began to creep and cling. All was finished. And, as seen from the heights of Brackenfield and Brunncliffe, where blazed the beacons in the days of Eld, Hardwick dominated all the country round. Yet would she barter it all, ay, and each stately palace she had builded, and was building yet, for one sun-bright hour of those old childish days. Roofless, tenantless, would that that moss-grown cradle might be her grave. Tears, ne’er shed for others’ woes, dimmed her sight at thought of her ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 63 own loneliness and death. She was surrounded by flatterers, yet had not one friend in all the world. Even Arbell — the once idolised baby child — had turned against her. And she — whose was the fault? Just then a step was heard without, and the resolute features of Bess of Hardwick, seamed with a hundred wrinkles, were bent over the book of wages and accounts which held her busy so many hours through the day. A messenger was cautiously ushered in, with a sealed packet from the Court for my Lady Countess of Shrewsbury ; and, in obedience to an imperious gesture, as instantly and silently withdrew. The tidings the Countess read did not seem greatly to affect her — her momentary weakness was gone by — save by a shrug of the shoulders and a lifting of the brows, as in some amused pity and contempt. But one stood at the portiere as if loth yet eager to enter ; it was Mary Talbot. ‘ What news from Court, my lady mother ? ’ ‘ ’Tis news from Gilbert. The Earl Marshal’s mad pranks are done, as my Lord Burghley foretold, and warned the Earl even at the council board.’ The Countess took a book from her table and laid an emphatic hand upon it. ‘ “ Men of blood shall not live out half their days.” So said he, and thus hath it come to pass. Her Majesty herself did sign the warrant. He hath been proclaimed traitor, con- demned to death, and yester morn was executed on Tower Green. Read.’ The Countess tossed the missive across the table, which was caught in the firm hand of Mary Talbot. Yet the words had scarce been uttered ere a burst of shrill laughter caused the old Countess to turn and scowl. There on the threshold stood her granddaughter, Arbella Stuart ; and both women stared upon her. ‘ 111 news, my lady grandmother,’ she cried amid her laughter. 'Ill news indeed! What? The "in- comparable,” the brilliant Essex ? The cynosure of every court in Europe — done to death? And his 64 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL proud head rolled within the dust? The guilt of blood be on her! Poor, foolish Queen. Now will she dance in widow's dule until her dying day; for there never will be another Essex upon this earth forever more. Ha ! I see him now — the block and all ’ — and Arbell, with wide, glittering eyes, raised her two hands aloft. ‘ Look, my Aunt Mary — blood — blood ! That is for vengeance.' And she burst into a wild peal of laughter. ‘What means this, Mary Talbot?' asked the haughty old Countess, her brows wed in one line over her fierce eyes, and drawn to her full, stern height ; ‘ is this Arbella Stuart, my granddaughter, and a Princess o’ the Blood-Royal, gone crazed for a crack-brained minion o’ the Court ? Be the lies I have heard tell on naked truth? If so, I would strike her down dead before me. Speak, Arbella, lest I spue thee from my house — lest I slay thee ! ' The fierce old Countess made a stride forward with raised and threatening fist ; her eyes blazed, and she was quivering with passion. Arbell only laughed the more; but her dauntless daughter caught her mother’s hand in hers, and stood betwixt the two. ‘ See ye not 'tis only mummery ? ' she cried. ‘ Arbell doth act a part, and finely, too. But that she did affect the Earl of Essex — as do I, and all who knew him — I know full well. He hath in very truth been a kind champion to her.' ‘ Kind ? Kind ? ' echoed my Lady Shrewsbury, with cynical sneer and scorn. ‘ I crave no such kind- ness for my kin. Nor do I desire such mummery here. Arbella Stuart, quit my sight ; at least till such time as ye can appear before me in your right mind,' and she glowered darkly and suspiciously on her granddaughter. Yet Arbell, all unconscious of her scrutiny, ran toward her. ‘’Tis all a masque, my lady grandmother, ready to be acted afore the Queen and Court,’ she cried, ‘ for ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 65 the eyes of all Europe are on poor Arbella Stuart, and all she saith and doth is fully and freely sifted — ay, and more. Heigh-ho, my masters ! ’Tis a hard part to play betwixt the two of ’em. And I must needs practise behind the screens. My Lady Shrewsbury, behold your most gracious Majesty the Queen of England, vide your humble servant and slave, Arbella Stuart. I kiss your hand.’ With a sweeping curtsey and gesture of infinite grace, mockery and distaste, Arbell raised the Countess’s withered hand betwixt her finger and thumb and touched it to her lips. ‘ Arbella Stuart — the prisoner and the “ Puritan ” — who waits your gracious pleasure, be it for the Tower or the block.’ The Countess backed well-nigh in fear, and turned upon her daughter. 4 Is she distraught, Moll? Or is this a discourteous insult to my old age ? Whate’er it be, take her from my sight, and see she be guarded well.’ But Mary Talbot had already drawn Arbell’s hand within her arm, and was hurrying her from the Countess’s presence. ’Twas near about this period that more of my Lady Arbell’s phantom suitors passed across the scene in rapid and shadowy succession — the Duke of Brignola, Henry IV. of France, Duke Mathias, the Earl of Gowrie, the Duke of Nevers. Sure never maiden, be she high or low, e’er lived such shadow-life, such life of unreality ? The liberty for which she pined receded ever fainter and further from her, and turned to hunger and thirst which would not be assuaged. With all her wild, erratic genius she had inherited neither the constitutional strength of body nor of mind of that rare creation, Mary Queen of Scots ; neither Mary’s heroic powers of endurance, nor mar- vellous reserve of strength. My Lady Arbell could no more live without the air and light of perfect liberty than could the wild bird on the wing. And E 66 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL now, from the growing distrust, and well-nigh dislike of my Lady Shrewsbury ; or from the order passed by the jealous Queen ; or from whatever cause — or all these combined — the guards were drawn closer round the walls of Hardwick. She was no more allowed to hunt upon the moors, horse and hawk were taken from her, and her walks abroad restricted to the near range of the Realty. No wonder death seemed nigh. Death in the air. Death in the mouldering woods, and all the dank decay. More than all, her grandmother of Shrews- bury had solved her secret. For, rudely breaking in upon her privacy, she found my Lady Arbell prostrate before her altar, in dire distress, despair and sobs ; and thereupon ordered that every shred of Popery should be swept from out her house, and signed the order with her own hands, binding over by oath both man and maid, never to divulge the fatal secret. ‘ For/ saith she, in answer to Earl Gilbert’s expostu- lation, ‘ not only is Popery a stink and an abomina- tion to the house of my fathers ; but what chance hath a Papist to the succession to the English throne? We ha’ done with such devil’s freaks ; ay, done with them for ever. And look ye — and your wife Mary Talbot, too — that ne’er a word o’ this disgrace be breathed to living soul ; or, by the Lord, ye inherit neither stick nor stone of mine ! ’ My Lord Earl muttered somewhat betwixt his teeth and within his beard that sounded rather curse than blessing, and boded ill for the destiny of his lady mother-in-law after death ; then hurled himself from her presence, which acted on him the same as on his father, who ofttimes could scarce keep his hands from off her throat, for the madness of his exasperation anent her ceaseless lamentations over her ‘dear, dead William Cavendish,’ her second and best beloved. Even Penelope Agard, the constant companion and ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 67 comrade of my Lady Arbell, knew not what to make of her in those strange days. She never shed a tear, but seemed possessed either with a spirit of ceaseless unrest, or sunk in trance and torpor. Casting aside her book with impatience and distaste, she would sit down within her favourite casement, her chin within her hands, staring forth with the eyes of a visionary — wide and woe-stricken — ‘ Through one dim lattice Fringed with ivy round,’ and thus sit brooding without speech or motion ; or break forth into one of those wild moods of mirthless laughter and incoherent speech which were a scare and a puzzle to all those about her. ‘ My stoicism is not philosophy, Penelope/ she would say. ‘ Once methought I was great at that. But now all faileth me, even faith. See how the leaves fall, one by one ? Each seemeth to me like a spirit o’ the dead, drifting — drifting — ye know not whither, but ta’en by every breeze that blows. Ah ! if we could know — if we could see and compass — what and where they be ! ’ There was silence. And the mournful question seemed to echo o’er and o’er again. ‘ Is the light of your faith already quenched in darkness, Arbell ? ’ ‘ Ay, ’twas but a glimmer at the best. There’s naught in life after all,’ she added, musing, ‘save philosophy. . . . Am I mad ? In that face, once so dearly loved, as children love, I see only the fierce, malign features of my jailer. She hateth me, and would fain be rid of me. What will be my end ? ’ 68 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Scene XI 1602-3. ‘ The Mystery ’ It appeared indeed as if Penelope’s words were to come to pass, and that my Lady Arbell was fated to lose either her reason or her life. From the hour that the Countess of Shrewsbury discovered her change of faith, she was subjected by her to ceaseless persecution, and even to abasement and disgrace. For, with all the Countess’s jealous care, and sworn secrecy of the few who shared the secret, the rumour got wind once more that the Lady Arbella Stuart had been received into Holy Church — Church of her fathers, and of the ancient faith. And even James Stuart, in terror of the Catholic powers abroad and at home, and of my Lady Arbell’s influence therewith, became feverishly anxious and disquieted over the welfare of her soul. ‘ For,’ said he, ‘ I am from my soul grieved for this accident fallen to my Lady Arbell. And I would, for her own weal, that evil-inclined persons might not have access unto her, abusing o’ the frailty of her youth and sex.’ Whatever the tenor of the Countess’s feelings might still be for Arbell, the intention and the purpose of her declining years held ever the same — to wait and watch for her aggrandisement ; for Bess of Hardwick clung to the last to the hope of becoming the grand- mother of England’s Queen. Yet, with all the in- consistency of her caustic temperament and complex nature, did she do her best to drive Arbell to des- peration and despair, for she never forgot and never forgave a fancied injury. It spite of the Queen’s orders at this period — through the intercession of the Queen’s messenger — that my Lady Arbella Stuart is to be allowed more liberty, and to walk and ride upon the moors, the old Countess continued to guard her house of Hardwick, and to keep watch on Arbell day ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 69 and night, lest perchance she should be carried off by force by the Jesuits into Spain. She might not even move from one chamber to another without a watch- ful waiting-woman at her heels. Even Penelope, who, for her frankness and her daring had ever been a favourite of my Lady Shrewsbury's, was taken from her and sent away to Oldcotes. ‘ She knows me not,' she muttered to Bridget, as they parted. ‘ See ye not that her mind is gone, even as my Lady Talbot saith? ’ ‘ Methinks she doth but act a part,' said the wait- ing-woman anxiously, aside, ‘to deceive her lady- ship, for ofttimes she is as sober as you an' me.' Penelope shook her head in despair. ‘ ’Tis there. The seeds are there! Yet, when her old playmate was really gone, Arbell sat down on one of the carved Tudor chairs within the hall, mute and motionless. She sat thus so long that Mistress Bradshaw had to cough several times to rouse her. ‘ Ay, Bridget, I am here/ saith she, ‘ ready for the slaughter. Bear me back to my chamber, dear soul, and lock me in. Thou'rt a kindly jailer. But soon you, too, will be taken from me. Look you, Bridget, ’twas but yesterday that Arbell was the little Queen of Hardwick, her lady grandmother her most humble subject of them all. This was Arbell’s palace and her throne. See how times change ? She hath wrenched crown and sceptre from me. Soon I shall be like her! With emphatic gesture she pointed to the further end of the hall, where stood a fine life-statue of the Scottish queen, looking forth from the shadows on her. Arbell clasped her throat within her two hands. ‘ Give them but time and chance, they will hack this through. They will not let me live too long/ The doings that had hasted this sad end had been Arbell’s refusal to listen to the suit of my Lord Beauchamp, then a widower. This match, both for 70 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL political and politic reasons, the Dowager Countess of Shrewsbury was most eager to bring about, either publicly, with the sanction of Her Majesty, or pri- vately, to be kept secret until after her death. She entertained no scruple as to ways and means. As direct descendant of Katherine Grey, of the Suffolk line, my Lord Hertford — after my Lady Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox — stood nearest to the throne. Moreover, Beauchamp, by age and by his many good and noble qualities, was eminently suited to become her husband. Yet Arbell, ever wilful and whimsical, would give ear neither to woo- ing nor to wedlock. In spite of this, and, wild to escape from her thraldom at any sacrifice, she sent a secret messenger to the old Earl of Hertford to encourage and renew an offer he had once made for her hand for his son's eldest boy, Edward Seymour. ‘ For/ saith she to Penelope, ‘ in that venture I shall be safe. He is but a bairn, a nurseling, and needeth me no more than I need him. And if my Lord Hertford will only prove the means of my liberation, I will then throw myself at his feet, im- plore his forgiveness for my craft and release from my betrothal, and tell him all my woes and how I was beset.' This plot, however, was discovered, and the tidings thereof sent to the Queen post-haste. After this revelation, even my Lady Talbot of Shrewsbury was forbid her presence. Shut up within her bedchamber, the only room for privacy now allowed her, Arbell would sit before her table writing wild supplications for pity and release in vain, her tears blotting the paper, and half effacing the irregular characters, her hand trembling so that she could scarce hold the pen — a litter of letters, torn up as soon as writ, heaped beside her. Oft would she throw down her pen and sit staring into vacancy on wild moorland and purple moors and hills, or soliloquise aloud, when not a soul was nigh to see and hear her ‘play a part,' ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 7 1 and the distraction of her words would bear accurate testimony to the distraction of mind and brain. Sitting thus, a low voice outside caused Arbell to start to her feet, then, with wild eyes, to smooth her dishevelled locks before a mirror. Then she ran to the portiere — and, finding it ajar — so out, running, through a group of gossips, who fell back before her, and stared after her in curiosity and concern till she reached the great gallery, where paced in sober, stately fashion, and very grave, her ‘ little falconer,' a volume beneath his arm and cloak, and a couple of greyhounds led in leash. ‘ What tidings have ye, Will ? What ! none for me ? No letter from the Court?' and Arbell clasped her hands, distracted. Will Seymour shook his head gravely. ‘ No letter, my Lady Arbell, this day, nor no tid- ings, save what be in this book. 'Tis writ by a certain playwright ye wot of by name — Will Shake- speare. All the wisdom and philosophy of the ancients be here rolled in one. All men are raving of him as the greatest poet the world hath ever known or will know; and, indeed, I think it.' Arbell seized the volume, and turned the pages eagerly, scanning as she turned. ‘This, then, shall be my meat and drink. 'Tis grand food to die on. I had but read some few pieces, and thought them very noble.' Already her wandering thoughts were caught and centred, as she read the page, absorbed. ‘Will, thou’rt my guardian angel. Oh, my dead counsellors, how do I miss their healing power — the staunchest friends, save one, I e’er have known. Not one little volume hath she left me, so that the mind falleth back and ever preys upon itself. Even my dear study chamber, hallowed by a thousand sacred memories, is taken from me, and all my books locked therein. Now, Will, hide this in thy cloak, for dear life, what time we talk idle words and vain conceits. Then, ere 72 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL I steal away, I’ll hide it in my fardingale. For an I lost this, my last counsellor, ’twould be to end my life; ‘ My Lady Arbell, I know not what to say nor do to give ye comfort. Mistress Penelope hath bid me tell her of your every look and word. And what can I say unto her ? 5 ‘ Oh, tell her life is rare and sweet, and that my Lady Arbell groweth glib at railing, and hath ta’en a vow, as the learned Bacon hath it, “To live to study — ne’er to study to live ; ” for neither meat nor drink hath passed her lips this day. She hath taken a vow to that effect.’ ‘ Great heaven ! my Lady Arbell, are ye mad ? No wonder you are like a ghost.’ ‘Will Seymour,’ she cried, with sudden sane and startling energy, ‘ rather than live on in hell, I’ll perish . She is my bad angel — that woman yonder, who gave me breath of life. That life she hath poisoned. They are dead — whom I loved. They have forsaken me — in whom I trusted. I am the deadly foe of those whom I most love and cherish. My mind is lapsing, Will, but this vile body will break faster yet. Then go now, lest I bring you, too, to misery and death.’ But her ‘ little falconer ’ fell on his knee before her, and held fast her fardingale. ‘Never — so help me, God! Never will I leave thee, Arbell ; by all the love thou hast given me from a child, give ear to my earnest prayer. “ Study to live” — so wilt thou live to bless me. This very night will come a little page unto thy chamber-door. His hair is dark and close and curling. His eyes are large, and very dark, like unto a wounded deer. And he will offer thee platter and cup from his bended knees, with those sweet eyes raised to thine. Thou canst not refuse that one of all ones. He is near! Will laid his finger significantly on his lips. Arbell, her small, wan face breaking into a kind of ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 73 ecstasy, gazed about her, as if waking from a dream. ‘Oh, Will, lead me to this page?’ She stretched forth her little hands, like one who walks blindfold, or in sleep, for, indeed, she was dazed with grief and hunger. The boy took them gently within his, and led her away to her chamber door, lest he should waken her once more to woe. Yet that night the little page came not. And my Lady Shrewsbury, getting a great scare lest Arbell was about to die on her hands, or do herself some grievous injury, sent to summon one of her numerous granddaughters to her aid, to see how best to bring this rebellious maid to reason. My Lady Arbell, with all the wear and tear and excitement of spirit she had passed through, was then so weak and wasted, by fasting and distress of mind, that she had to lean for support on her cousin’s arm as they slowly paced the great presence-chamber to and fro. Every now and again would she start and strain her ears to listen, or clutch at the casement with trembling hand, and peer out into the rough March wind and driving sleet. ‘ Gone ! forever gone ! ’ she muttered ; ‘ and I must die. All through the wind and over it I heard the ring of horses’ hoofs. And Bridget even saw them from the roof, riding on Dethick Moor. One had a little pillion behind him. Oh, Heaven ! that I was on it. Moll ! Moll ! are they gone forever, my kind deliverers ? Or will they come again, and save me from this death in life ? ’ She grasped her cousin with both hands, for she was trembling in every limb, so that she could scarce keep her footing, so great, in her strange state of mind, had grown her dread of her grandmother’s voice and step. ‘ They will come again,’ whispered Moll, with sooth- ing voice and caress. ‘My Uncle Henry hath pro- mised it. But for to-day there is, he saith, no more 74 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL hope ; for it groweth late, and all the gates be closed and guarded. To-morrow, Arbell. To-morrow.’ ‘ Ay, to-morrow, and to-morrow, thus will it ever be. Nay, Moll, there be not many morrows for thy poor Arbell now. All hope of liberty hath died within mine heart.’ ‘ Be of good cheer. For love of the saints, speak not thus. Have not my father and mother been ever thy loyal friends ? They will not fail thee in thy need, now that thou’rt sorrowful, sick and in prison. Your men, Arbell, are even now lying at Hucknall, ready to carry you off at the first chance. And she, our wicked, cruel old granddame knoweth it not.’ And Moll clapped her hands in triumph. ‘ Do ye say this to soothe and comfort me, or is it truth?’ ‘ Truth, as I live.’ Yet, for fear that this might prove a fallacy, my Lady Arbell would not break her vow neither to eat nor drink more beneath this roof. The old Countess stood beside her, and argued and threatened in vain, striking her fist in the palm of the other hand, and working herself into a perfect storm of rage and invective. ‘To-morrow either she or I shall conquer,’ cried she to Mistress Bridget. ‘ Curses on me that I e’er made this ill-starred match betwixt my daughter and a baneful, woeful Stuart. For the offspring thereof hath proven a thorn in the flesh and the scourge of my old age.’ ‘ Dare ye to say aught against the Stuarts, my dear father’s kin?’ cried Arbell, sitting up on her couch, with a flash of her old, daring, defiant spirit. ‘ Look ye, my Lady Countess of Shrewsbury,’ she cried, ‘ ye have defamed the dead enow. Get ye from my sight, lest I do ye some grievous bodily harm. Dare but to speak the name of Stuart ! ’ she exclaimed, with clenched and uplifted hand, ‘ the name which ye have already striven to brand and blacken with foul ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 75 slander, and I will tear those white hairs and trample them in the dust/ Her looks were so wild, her gestures so threatening, that the old Countess saw best to calm and quit the scene. And not too soon. For Arbell fell fainting on her cushions, and swooned in Bridget’s arms. The faith- ful waiting-woman laid her gently down, then made an urgent gesture toward an inner chamber. In another moment a little page was kneeling beside the uncon- scious girl, who, in her pale, wan loveliness, looked more dead than alive. And it was some long time ere, under the tender tendence of the two, she came to herself. She looked wildly round, but the first touch she felt were the shielding arms of the little page around her. ‘Penny, Penny, what would ye? And why have ye risked this for me ? ’ ‘To save thy dear life, sweet Arbell, more precious to me than my own. Here is wine, and here is food. I will not leave my knees, nor quit thee, till thou hast broken fast.’ And she slipped her arm beneath the cushion and raised the flask. Arbell laid her fingers over her lips and smiled with her own look of merriment and defiance. ‘ Would’st perjure me, Penny, and force me, weak though I be, to break my vow ? ’ ‘ I would, and shall,’ answered the resolute Penelope. ‘ Arbell, for my sake — and his — ’ Arbell smiled right sadly, and drank the wine and took the food from Penelope’s own hand ; while Mistress Bradshaw, standing silent and apart, mut- tered a prayer and clasped her hands together in delight and relief. My Lady Shrewsbury, however, was never informed of this. So that the very next day, beside herself with rage and disgust at having her will broken by her resolute and rebellious grandchild, sent her away under a strong escort to Oldcotes, near by Hardwick. 76 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL She was carried thence on a litter, being too weak to ride. But the time for her liberation was drawing nigh. Day by day the great Queen, struck down and heartbroken over the loss of Essex, was drawing nigh unto death, and day by day did the lords and divines repair unto her anent the succession — all in vain. At length, seeing her lying speechless, and in the last anguish of dissolution, they again kneeled beside her, beseeching her to make known by word or sign her desire, if indeed it were her will the King of Scots should succeed her. Whereat, ‘ suddenly heaving her- self upwards in her bed, and raising her arms aloft, she did hold her hands jointly over her head in manner of a crown.’ And, after this supreme effort, fell back speechless. Nor ever stirred again, but drifted to her death. The air was rife with rumour. Arbell returned to Hardwick, yet only for a short time. On the death of the Queen, she was sent, by order of Cecil, to the house of the Earl of Kent. James VI. of Scotland was proclaimed king. FOLIO II Scene XII 1603. A ‘ Court Favourite! ‘ A-hunting we will go ! ’ j Twas on the day after the death of the great Queen that his most sacred Majesty James I. was proclaimed King of England. The followers of the descendants of Margaret Tudor and of Mary Tudor, the two daughters of Henry VII., all kept quiet and aloof ; not one, however, was known to set his signature to the proclamation. James I. arrived at his great palace of Whitehall in the month of May, when all England was gay and green. The casements of the King s lodging, and the old royal chambers, looked over the broad, argent river, sweeping through golden mist, where dim bridge spanned mystic tide, and sails of craft spread bird-like wings, and passed drifting like a dream. Up from the river brink rose the stately towers and fretted tracery of a vast pile, fair as the towers of Ilion, and as dim. Save that a deep bell which tolled the fleeting hours from out the mist spake with eloquent tongue of the Presence of a Great Heart and mighty tide of life surging round. Shortly after the advent of the King, Her Majesty, bringing with her Prince Henry and the little Eliza- beth, crossed the border, and, by short and tedious stages, finally reached the royal castle of Windsor, where, with her children, she met the King in state. In a few days thereafter, my Lady Arbella Stuart, having been released from her prison at Sheen ; and, 77 78 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL as sole Princess of the Blood-Royal, promoted to high honour and favour in the new Court, came in state to visit the King and Queen in their palace of Greenwich, passing through this ‘village on the green’ with gay and glittering retinue of lords and ladies, as beseemed her royal rank. And thus through the green park thereof, from whence might be seen the ships of war at anchor, and the great ships of London town passing to and fro, with their freights of gold and silk and spices. And, it being high tide, every breeze bore the salt breath of the sea through the green and freshening glades. And so, under the gateway, over which was carved in stone the arms of Henry VII., the great-great-grandfather of the Lady Arbella Stuart. On the Feast of St George, on the day when Prince Henry — then a boy of ten — was invested with this most illustrious order of chivalry, and installed as a Knight of the Garter, my Lady Arbell and the little Princess Elizabeth, cetat seven, sat together in a recess in St George’s Hall at Windsor, from whence they witnessed the pageant — Scene had this been for many a grand banquet, when the flower of chivalry had been enrolled ’mid the list of knights. Beyond, in a flood of sunshine which streamed through space and splendour, might be seen the chapel of St George — the lofty pillars ribbed and grooved. Aloft, ’mid mingled gloom and shine, the holy rood, the shield and cross of St George, rose, lion, fleur-de-lys , the dragon rampant, and the gorgeous blazonment of countless shields, banners and ’scutcheons. While the dim splendours of stained casement, blended with the orient beams below, made such refulgence that chapel and hall were bathed in rainbow tinct of glory. On this high occasion, little Prince Henry — the ‘ matchless and heroic ’ — who was the hero of the hour, bore himself with the most royal dignity and grace. Even at that early age he had begun the incessant study and ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 79 practice of those martial exercises which thereafter caused him to outstrip all competitors, to become a master of military strategy, and the most famous warrior-prince in Christendom. But the rival of the young prince — the jewel par excellence, the brilliant fugitive star which threw transient trail of glory across the Court of the Stuarts, to be lost in endless night — was my Lady Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox. When she paced up the aisle, with the little Princess Elizabeth (child of most angelic mien) holding by her hand, every eye was turned upon her, for she was at once the orna- ment and the envy of Court and Court ladies. Who could bear herself with such nameless grace as my Lady Arbell ? Who could blend in one sidelong glance such witchery, raillery and wooing tender- ness as my Lady Arbell? Just as her gown and lustrous gems outshone the jewelled lustre of all the female trappings round, by the distinction of the method and the wearer, so did the living, breathing charms of her presence surpass those of all other women there. What throat and waist were so long and slender? What breast so smooth and ivory- white? What feet and hands so small and taper? There were hundreds of features limned more har- monious and regular ; yet none with the lightning of of that angelic smile, none with such subtle play of mind, heart and soul, where all three blent and bickered, and each was of most impassioned elo- quence. For the rest, her hair was very fair and rippling. Her grey eyes, while speaking, large, wide, and limpid-clear, somewhat wild, and shot with golden lights ; but, when silent, veiled by the droop- ing lids over furtive oblique glance or visionary gaze of infinite sadness; her mouth, small and full, was pursed over little pearls of teeth, which showed only when she laughed ; her nose was short, straight and something blunt, and her round and resolute chin deep cleft with the true cleft of love and loyalty. 8o ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Such was my Lady Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox. On this year of grace, when his country, ravaged by the ‘ black death/ was transformed into a slaughter- house, and his stricken subjects dying in the shambles like slaughtered sheep, his ‘ most sacred Majesty/ James I., retreated with his Court to the royal bowers of Woodstock, both to recruit his health and strength after the unaccustomed tedium and plague of state and sovereignty, and to indulge in the ruling passion of his life — the chase. For ‘ hot or cold, dry or moist/ a-hunting and a-hawking must this sylvan monarch go. My Lady Arbella Stuart was also of the Court, and, as Princess of the Blood-Royal, had her pension and diet allowed her, apartments assigned her next to those of the Queen, and precedence given her over all the other ladies of the Court whatsoever. My Lady Arbell and Mistress Penelope Agard were standing in one of these chambers, looking into the sweet old privy garden, which held a view beyond of many a ranger's ancient lodge, half smothered in leafage ; only a chimney or gable here and there peering forth into the great walled woods and glades, to watch over the browsing herds of deer. They were both laughing heartily. For His Majesty, in his eagerness in following his every whim, had dragged his Court to Woodstock, which was, indeed, in sorry plight, having for years been in disuse. Tents for the household had been hastily pitched in the gardens and courts below. ‘ And even my grave and honourable councillor/ laughed Arbell, ‘ hath not where to lay his head. He hath come here on business of import, and cannot get ear of His Majesty. I saw him but now ; and, betwixt the tents and the stags, I tell ye he is swearing lustily. I knew not his learned Lord- ship had found the time to acquire so many wicked words.' ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 8 1 ‘ He hath not been used to the ways and means of a canny Scot, Arbell, but to the magnificent state progresses of his late Queen Bess. Here there is not a door, and to that plight I my troth, that will shut or lock, and but few that hang on their hinges.' ‘ To keep out the ghost of poor “ Fair Rosamond.” I am told by His Majesty that her ghost is ranging here, and that of nights there be the steps of un- shriven spirits which wander restless to and fro. Penny, ye must lie in my chamber, for I dare not sleep alone.' ‘ Right willingly, as mine is like a vault, and is doorless an' well-nigh windowless.' £ Well, what would ye, Penny ? Tables, chairs and beds would be excessive here. Here be many brave old stag's heads and a fine taint of dry rot. What would ye more ? An’ ye be so delicate, my fair martyr, why did you not remain at Ditchley with your uncle, Sir Henry Lee, who was yearning to keep ye there?' £ Where thou goest I will go,' quoth Penelope, gaily, as Arbell linked her hand within her arm. £ Come, let us go forth, while their Majesties be away at Ditchley, and explore these ruins.' Lovely, yet exceeding melancholy, were those yellowing bowers of Woodstock in the falling o' the year, though they failed to inspire melancholy in the two gay spirits in their midst. For my Lady Arbell, having escaped the grievous bondage and galling thraldom of prison-house and castellan, was in her own wild spirits once again ; and only a sudden start, or wild and searching glance across her shoulder, or a slight shudder, as of someone stepping on her grave, would tell of shattered nerve and the storms she had so bravely weathered. £ Sometimes,' saith she, £ I hear the step of my lady grandmother, and it falleth at my very elbow. Sure am I that her restless spirit will haunt me when she is F 82 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL gone, even to my grave. See, Penny, how bravely the tents are pitched, and how the autumnal breeze is whistling through them ? Ah, ha, Master Charles, do ye not sleep soft and warm o’ nights in this sweet and sumptuous palace of Woodstock?’ she asked of one of the household, rallying. ‘Faith, your ladyship, ’tis mortal, cold,’ quoth Master Charles, with doffed cap; ‘an’ old John be cockled up wi’ the rheumatics a’ready.’ c Then let him be carried unto the Manor/ cried Arbell, eagerly ; ‘ I will be accountable unto His Majesty.’ And the two maidens passed on, laughing. The man stood gazing after her. My Lady Arbell was idolised by the whole household. Her will in these days was law. ‘ Let us go search and study these strange and winding walks which lead to Fair Rosamond’s Bower? Truly, Penny, that skein of silk attached to His Majesty’s spur must have been strong indeed, me- thinks, to bear the strain of these quick turns, or the clawed fingers of these brave bushes stretching forth on every side to break it ? ’ ‘ Look, look, Arbell, here is the paved-in well, “ex- ceeding dainty clear,” where, now and again, she was wont to bathe her fairy limbs ; more oft to gaze on her fair self in the mirror.’ Arbell laughed. 6 Our brave ancestors, the Plantagenets, loved not such blandishments. Ah ! here be the sad ruins of her bower, and the leaves are falling thick and fast, and the breeze sighs through the covert lone.’ Smiles and laughter faded quick from the fair face of Arbell. The fitful sunshine of her short and shadowed life was hid behind a cloud ; one of those many haunting shadows lay darkly on her peace. They stood within the leafless aisle, which breathed so eloquently of the dead, forgotten past. ‘It mindeth me of another bower,’ said she, ‘yet more sad and ominous, where the yellow leaves oft ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 83 turn to blood. Get me away, sweetheart, for I see here the sad spirit of my saint.’ As, however, they left the bower, they were met and loudly greeted by one of most unshadowed pres- ence, and of rolling, rambling gait, who now barred their path. This huntsman was clad in a suit ‘ green as the grass ’ he trod, had a feather stuck within his cap, and a horn hung at his belt, which he blew on as he walked, for the very pleasure of ’waking the answers of the woodland. ‘ Hech, my bonnie maids ! What ! ramblin’ in the copse-wood a’ your lane ? Are ye not fearfu’ o’ bein’ spirited away and sacked by one o’ these merry blades? God’s sooth, my Lady Arbell, what royal sport be here ! This noble art of venerie is here in Merrie England brought to a perfect state, ne plus ultra. ’Tis worth a throne, if only for the hunt. Look ye, we were in our saddles, mon, afore the stars were off the sky. Oh, ’twas a great chase and a rare. Ye s’uld hae been there, lassies; ye s’uld hae been there, instead o’ sapin’ in your beds — a plague on all dullards ! On the morrow, my Lady Arbell — an’ you too, Mistress Penelope — we hae forecast, wi’ the aid o’ our chief ranger, Sir Henry Lee, a marvellous fair sport. When — Finis coronat opus — we hope to gie “ Croopear,” the wiliest stag in this our royal Woodstock, his final coup de grace. For, up to the present, he hath fooled these hoddy-doddy men o’ Gotham to their noses. But hey for the Stuarts and Auld Reekie! Please God, Arbell, we will show them our royal hind- parts in the van,’ and King Jamie blew a defiant tootle on his horn. ‘ Please God we will, your Majesty,’ cried Arbell, laughing. ‘Yet, an’ it please your gracious and most sacred Majesty,’ said she, with a little stately curtsey, ‘ please to mind that I am not all a Scot, neither in body, heart, nor mind, but only half of me, — if so much.’ ‘Then shame on ye, Arbell, for a changeling and a 84 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL loon! Yet speak what ye will, my cousin fair and sweet ; your body is wholly Scottish, ye are Stuart to the core. You are just a whiff o’ the caller air, a waft o’ the mountain heather.’ And His Majesty, lurching nearer in the irregu- larity of his gait, jostled my Lady Arbell, and gazed with maudlin sentiment into her charming face. She did not return the gaze, but only smiled demurely, and let the hand which he drew within his arm rest lightly thereupon. ‘ I would be the Tudor rose,’ quoth she, — proud, yet mocking too — ‘ or naught. So naught must I remain, for am I not my kinsman’s most humble slave and servant ? ’ King Jamie burst forth into laughter. ‘ God’s sooth, my Lady Arbella Stuart, there be neither humility nor servitude, I trow, within thy composeetion, but a most devilish mocking speerit, the which canna be laid neither by king nor priest.’ ‘ King, forsooth ! — and priest within the rear ? ’ ‘ Ay, doth not the de’il tak’ the hindmost ? ’ ‘ If he be fool enow to follow the trail of a braggart king.’ The King went from red to scarlet. ‘ Arbell, Arbell, I bid ye beware ! ’ ‘ Of what ? Of the anger of a most high and mighty prince of this small world? Nay, feel not for your sword. Ye can but find a horn. King Jamie, ’tis not in thee to do me harm.’ ‘ ’Tis in our royal and divine power and prerogative, my fair cousin, to stamp out every Papist from the land ; ay, and every traitor too ! ’ cried the King, half jest, half earnest, but very red of hue. 4 Take heed, my Lady Arbell, for to name the name of priest to you, save with befitting reverence, seemeth like ruffling a red rag in the passage of a bull. Methought ye were a Puritan ? ’ And he dealt her a shrewd and sidelong glance. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 85 ‘ A Puritan in soul, though not in garb,’ smiled Arbell, her hand upon her heart. ‘ Suffice it that I am the most obedient subject, as I am the littlest, in all the realm of his anointed Majesty King James. “ Speak, lord, thy servant heareth ” ? ’ And, leaning lightly on his arm, she raised her gold-grey eyes to his, with the most enchanting humility and grace. ‘ My Lady Arbell, ye would lug the soul from out a saint ! 5 quoth his most sapient Majesty King James. All the while they had been hasting to the palace so fast as the King’s shambling gait would allow of ; for the spirit outstripped the body — the spirit tasted what the body craved. And King Jamie, who had had neither bite nor sup since dawn, felt in fancy the stoup of Rhenish betwixt his hands, and a cut of fat capon betwixt his teeth. Up one flight of steps they passed into the spacious hall, on every side of which, as seen through pillared aisles, was wrought in tapestry the hunting and death of the wild boar. And where King James, regardless of, and cursing at, the obsequious officiousness of his hurrying courtiers and retainers, had already flung into a chair, and dragged off and hurled away his boots with his own hands. At this untoward moment entered my Lord Cecil with despatches of import in his hand, and, with low obeisance, craved an audience, if only for a few moments. ‘ For, in the name of your Majesty’s most honour- able Privy Council,’ said he, in lowered tones, ‘ I do beseech that this hunting may be postponed, that your Majesty may on the morrow give ear to these your councillors, who are but now arrived on urgent affairs of state. I would not trespass on your most gracious Majesty at such a time and in such a place, had I been able to gain your Majesty’s ear elsewhere. But I myself have despatched messengers on the quest in vain.’ On the approach of the greatest statesman of his age, than which — save for his illustrious father, the 86 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ruler and councillor of the Tudor Queen, there was none greater — ladies, knights and pages alike vanished, leaving king and lord treasurer alone. ‘ What ? ’ stuttered the King, purple with the sud- denness and violence of his passion, 4 are we to be bearded in our ain castle — the which, even to the basest and meanest of our subjects, is sacred ? Mon, ye will be the death o’ me ! The throne o’ the bastard Queen, Master Chancellor, is by right divine our throne ; but if ye think to fashion it to a pulpit, and sit therein aloft and preach, whiles James Stuart sits below, by the Lord that made us, I’ll quit this land, and England sail gang to the de’il her ain gait ! To hell wi’ the Council Board ! ’ He struck his fist upon the chair. ‘ The Council Board sail e’en bide our time, or we will know the reason wherefore. Hark ye, my Lord Cecil, I bid you and all the honourable members of the Privy Council to the hunt. After the hunt, the state ; after woodcraft, kingcraft. There will be great sport, I tell ye, at the huntin’ o’ Wood- stock’s most noted arid notorious stag. For the Lord’s sake, boy, hand me that flagon o’ wine ’ (to a page, who held it on high on bended knee), 4 lest I cut my throat or thine ! Here’s to the health o’ “ Croopear ” an’ my good hawk and hound. Here’s to the health of all good huntsmen. To all states- men, eternal perdition ; and from all such may the guid Lord deliver us ! ’ The King raised the bowl on high, then setting it to his lips, with his bootless legs set wide apart, drank loud and long and fast. My Lord Cecil bowed so low that his face was hid, and withdrew. He was a statesman and a courtier. There had been, however, one silent and unseen witness of this scene. The little Prince Henry, in cap and plume, and doublet of Lincoln green laced with gold, his fair hair hanging on his shoulders, had run in to seek his father ; but seeing him thus en- gaged, and in one of his teacup furies, stood aloof, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 87 wide-eared and wide-eyed, scanning the two men earnestly, with piercing and grave regard. When his father raised the drinking-cup to his lips, the boy turned thoughtfully on his heel. ‘An’ I spake thus to my Lady Mar or Master Adam Newton/ he soliloquised aloud, as was his habit, ‘ I had been whipped. Play first and study after — so have not I been taught. ’Tis good to be a king ! He lasheth, yet never gets the lash.’ Scene XIII 1603. The great-great-grandson of Mary Tudor — The great-granddaughter of Margaret Tudor — Wood- stock's Bowers Even in those early Court days, she who came to be handed down to posterity as the ‘ learned Arbella Stuart ’ kept much at her books within the privacy of her own chambers. Like a born Stuart, she seldom missed the hunting, which went on without cessation every day and all day ; and, on the rare occasions when she did, was wont to hear the music of the horn and hounds echo from all parts of the wooded country round, now near, now far, in unison with the lull and the breeze. On one of these ‘ off days ’ of my Lady Arbell, when there was a full Court at the manor, and 'much festivities/ she sat within her bower casement above the old privy garden, where, ’mid withering foliage, a few brave autumn blooms, set about on the darkness of evergreen, got touched by autumn fire ; while far away — from green depths of forest — rang the deep bay of the eager hound and the winding music of the horn, muffled by mist and covert, and the intermittent lullaby of the soft southern wind, wild and fresh with unshed tears. My Lady Arbell did neither see nor hear sight nor 88 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL sound, being sunk deep in an abstruse question pro- pounded on the Hebrew page before her, over which her hands were clasped beneath her chin, and her brows knit, though her dreamlike gaze was on the distant woods. Thus framed within mingled tendrils of fire and gloom, Virginian leaf and ivy-vert, my lovely and learned student and scholar made a charming picture ; yet such sounds and such wild, soft winds have a fashion of beating persistent on the heart, and teem with association of the faded years. On such scents and sounds drift memories. Arbell’s sense of sight and sound came home ; in her eyes the brilliant, scintillant light of intellect gave way to the tender sadness of those memories and languor of unshed tears. Under this potent spell she failed to hear the soft, quick patter of fairy feet, and there came the little fairy princess, who had escaped from her attendants and from her governess, the Countess of Kildare, to the arms of her ‘ love Arbell.’ She was the exact image of Prince Henry, with the same fair auburn hair, and mingled precocious sweet- ness and graveness of regard both of eye and lip. With her neck stretched forth from out her mimic ruff, and head aslant like little watchful bird or listing puppy, she eyed my Lady Arbell wistfully. Already, with premature wisdom, she interpreted the tokens of those sorrows, destined one day to sear and scathe the pure and noble life of the heroic Saint Elizabeth of Bohemia. Arbell lifted the child upon her knees, and the soft baby arms were twined about her neck. In those moments she felt the same delight and comfort that the innocence of her own childish presence had once yielded to the desolate heart of Mary Stuart. ‘ What for s’uld ye greet ? ’ lisped the little Scot. ‘Ye hae nae Lady o’ Kildare to gart ye greet sae sair ? There is nae tears upon ye’re cheeks, but there is tears — tears upon ye’re een ? An’ they willna fa’ ? ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 89 Oh, my Lady Arbell, dinna greet, for Lizbeth loveth thee; and she laid her soft cheek tenderly and gently against that of Arbell. ‘ I dinna greet/ said Arbell, with a wistful smile. ‘ For who could greet in the fair presence of angels ? My wee angel Lizbeth, I love thee — love thee — love thee. Oh, that I had a bairn, my birdie — ain wee bairn like thee ! ’ ‘ But Lizbeth is thy wee bairnie, Arbell. Thou art my mother an’ my sister an’ my luve. My brother Prince Henry saith there is nane in a’ the world sae sweet as Arbell/ ’Mid this tender prattle there fell a step upon the stone below. Arbell looked forth, the child within her arms. But little Elizabeth’s notice was taken up by the jewelled cipher round Arbell’s neck. There, on the ancient causeway which led unto the manor, there paced beneath her casement a tall and stalwart cavalier ; his hands were linked behind his back, his eyes bent upon the ground, full deep in thought ; his step was slow, and ofttimes halted, in the abstraction of inner study and research. She smiled as she gazed. For a few moments back had he been within her thoughts, as an actor in the past. Attitude and gait were alike familiar as her own name. ’Twas her loyal champion and daring messenger — her ‘ little falconer/ Will Seymour. In the year or two or more, however, since last they met, he had shot up into manhood, and that a gallant one. She watched him, herself unseen, till he was below her casement, and about to pass on into the gardens. ‘ Wha is yon lang callant ? 5 asked the little Elizabeth, ‘ wha looketh sae waefu’ and sae dour ? ’ Arbell looked forth and laughed, as did Lizbeth ; and Master Will Seymour, under the spell of sorcery, glanced upward and saw Arbell, the child within her arms. They were so near him that they could ex- change a greeting. ‘Be this my ‘little falconer’ Will? He hath in 90 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL very truth, as little Lizbeth saith, grown dour and long and bonny.' ‘Long, my Lady Arbell, and broad too, an' it please you,' said he, bowing his bared head before her. ‘ An’ how is it ye are not with the hunters, yet booted and spurred ? ' ‘ Faith, because first I was advised that my Lady Arbell was with the hunt, and then that she was not.’ My lady smiled most brightly. ‘ Hast thou yet entered at Magdalen College, Will?’ ‘ Ay, and my brother Edward likewise. He hath joined the Court at Ditchley. I am come on here from Oxford, with a goodly company of scholars, to make my obeisance to their Majesties, and to present these same learned members of Magdalen to the King. They are waiting now within the hall. And last, yet not the least, to make my devoir and offer of my most humble and loyal service to my liege lady and kinswoman, Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox.' ‘Tarry but a moment, Will, an’ I will be with thee, for I have much to say. I will but carry this wee princess back to her women-folk. Is she not fresh and sweet, a very rosebud ? ' ‘ Ay, that is she. Yet I find it all the sweeter for being set upon the rose. One doth set off the other. It makes a fair and perfect picture, framed in the leaves.' Arbell laughed. ‘ Methinks your gallantry, Will, hath come on apace, and shot up as fleetly as your stature.’ In a few moments more the two cousins — descend- ants of two royal sisters — were pacing side by side ; he so gallant, tall and strong, she so delicate, dainty and enchanting ; through the winding paths and labyrinthine bowers of ancient Woodstock. Her little, gloved hand rested on his arm. Then who so proud and glad as Master William Seymour? In that converse, in which they renewed the early memories and associations which had once so closely ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 91 bound them, naught was to be heard nor seen but the gently-falling leaf and lilt of ‘ woodnote wild ’ on leafless bough — bird carolling his very heart out in a song of mockery on winter storms to come. They two were as solitary as if there had been neither kings nor courts in all the world. Neither state nor throne nor dynasties, nor the storms which beat upon them, had any charms for them. Books — books and study — was the one engrossing theme. Latin and Greek were to my Lady Arbell, dear familiar tongues. ‘ And “ am I happy,” Will ? ’ said she. ‘ Nay, scarce so much as you are — compassed by your books and all the learned world of men. Would God I were a student and a man like to you ! Yet is’t not in the build of poor humanity ne’er to be content? Liberty is the very air we breathe. Yet when liberty is ours we pine for other franchise, and care not to try our wings. Here am I — Arbella Stuart — courted and flattered, yet ne’er content, and ofttimes weary unto death. Usque ad nauseam . I sit upon a little throne and hold my mimic court. I hunt and sing and dance and dice ; I stake my gold nobles and broad silver pieces to clothe myself withal, and to win the jewels my soul loves so dear. Around me is music, banquets, masques and trumpet- ings. Beyond, outside our royal pale, thousands of Catholics have not wherewithal to lay their heads ; their homes laid waste and desolate for their faith — Faith which should be fetterless and free as God’s sun above, and God’s air around us. Beyond — ’mid all this revelry and feasting — outside our royal pale, lieth grim “ Black Death.” Oh, Will, when I think on these, when I look on this side o’ the shield and on that — I marvel what will be the end on’t — though we two may ne’er live to see that day.’ ‘Justice,’ quoth Will Seymour, ‘ the base and end of all things. Nay, Arbell, ye’re better here, than prisoner of state at Hardwick. Yet is this no life 92 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL for thee. Can an angel live 'mid the unclean, betwixt the prince of this world, and the prince of darkness, and keep her wings like a falcon's — untarnished and unassoiled ? Answer me ? ' There was half jest, half earnest and half mockery in tone and question as he looked down upon her. And Arbell by a glance answered all in kind. ‘Will a wild peregrine-falcon, Master Falconer, fey to the voice or the lure of any numskull that cometh by ? or take flight from any but the master-hand ? Answer me. Oh no, she will mount and swoop no more. She will e’en sit and mope and moult upon her block in jess and hood, in sulky spleen, motion- less as bird carved in stone, and crave neither food nor flight. Day by day her poor feathers fall, her pinions fail. Yet pray Our Lady and the saints they tarnish never ! — though the poor falcon shift to a spectre, to make the gods laugh and angels weep. Nay, Master Will, what is born and reared on the wild scaur above the waves and mountains, in yon clouds beneath the blue, can ne'er foul its nature on human raff and slough.’ ‘Ye speak truth, my Lady Arbell. Yet in such a tangle, a woman need be an angel and a saint, like to — 9 Arbell, laughing, raised two slim fingers as if to silence him, which he passionately caught within his own, and pressed unto his lips. ‘ Arbell, my love, my saint.' ‘ Will Seymour, my falconer, my little brother, — I was thinking and dreaming on thee, Will, only awhile agone. I was thinking of that September eve ' — she gazed up smiling in his face ; then mood and manner as swiftly broke and changed : ‘ye mind — ye mind — ’ she added, wildly. She would have told the rest ; but, grasping his hand within her two hands, smiles died in tears, tears blinded her ; speech died upon the trembling lips, which parted to speak in vain. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 93 ‘ Aye/ said Will Seymour, ‘ I mind it all/ as with grave tenderness he closed his other strong hand over the little hands which trembled within his own, ‘ I mind it all ! ’ For some way the cousins slowly paced in silence thus. His very touch was strength and comfort. Boylike, this slow yet impassioned nature — dumb and loyal as a dog — had proven its worship on the hero of Europe, the hero of Arbell’s early youth. Will Seymour had been staunch through all — ay, through despair and death. She pressed back her tears, and smiled again. ‘ Oh, Will, I am a fool. Thy presence to me is half pleasure and half pain/ ‘ And I will so haunt thee, Arbell, that pain shall shift to pleasure wholly. The desire of my life, is but to guard and worship thee. . . / Thus did they talk. And thus, within Wood- stock’s ancient bowers, did they meet and meet again — sometimes at Court, more often in the chase ; more often yet, in garden and woodland glade. Once did my Lady Arbell journey with King and Court to Oxford, where William Seymour, second son of my Lord Beauchamp, had become already known to all for his shrewd wit and profound learning. And there, being received by the President, was Her Royal Highness the Lady Arbella Stuart presented with a manuscript treatise, dedicated to her in recognition of her ‘ marvellous skill ’ in languages ancient and modern. Thus was there much in sympathy betwixt these two. When they spoke not of lore, they spoke of love ; of solitude and study, of home and hermitage, where each would dwell, a recluse apart, yet each think on the other. ’Twas no more pain to meet Will Seymour, but wholly pleasure — gladness to meet the playmate, the fellow-student of her youth, the high-minded, chivalrous William Seymour — clean, like herself, in a Court where all was foul. What wonder that she won to love this ‘ brother ’ 94 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL dearly, and to watch for him ’mid all the courtiers and courtezans about her ? — to turn from idle dalli- ance to the one loyal heart ? — the heart so strong and great, that knew not to beat, save to the homage and honour of Arbella Stuart. Scene XIV 1603. Tragic Woes of Childhood 1604. A Stuart Christmas at Hampton Court The two elder children of James I., who, on his accession, had soon been sent away to Oldcotes — there, for a short, happy spell, to hold their own mimic court together — were to be parted, for the first time in their scant lives. Precocious as was the mental shoot of these two, their training and dis- cipline was yet more premature. The little Princess Elizabeth was taken away from her father and mother, and banished the frivolity and laxity of the Court, to be placed under the wise and watchful care of my Lord and Lady Harrington at Combe Abbey. When the hour came at which she should go forth, she was to be seen waiting demurely, ready dressed to go to the coach, her little hand locked within that of the stern old Lady Mar, while her attendants stood behind her. Yet did she neither know nor care who held her hand, for her thoughts were all abroad. She held her finger within her lips, and her large, clear eyes were questing wistful round, though no tears were in them. His Majesty, on his way to hunting, had bidden her a hurried yet fond farewell. Her Majesty was not yet awake. And Prince Henry — whose early mornings now were given to riding, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 95 shooting with bow and gun, tossing the pike, and all other martial and athletic exercise — was at the tilt- yard. From thence was he summoned, by a message from Sir Adam Newton, to bid the Princess Eliza- beth, who awaited him, farewell. Struck with remorse, because in the ardour of his pursuits he had forgot, little Prince Henry flung himself from off his horse, and ran to the house and through the wardrobe court in search of her. And when he saw her stand- ing there, and the graveness and dignity of her baby mien, flung himself on his knees before her, and laid her arms about his neck, keenly divining that she felt and resented his neglect. ‘ Oh, Lizbie, ye maun forgie me/ cried he, in their sweet Keltic tongue. 4 That I s’uld hae been sae fause as to forget. Keep up heart, my wee birdie, for it willna be lang afore ye see me gallop up to Combe wi’ braw Jack Harrington beside me. I canna bide my lane.’ Little Lizbeth clasped this darling brother in a close embrace ; but she could neither cry out nor weep as children do, only her fair head drooped upon his shoulder. 4 An’ will ye come ? an’ will ye come ? ’ said she, 4 an’ Arbell too ? ’ 4 And Arbell too/ echoed a gay voice : and my Lady Arbell, her fair hair still loose upon her shoulders, came upon the scene in which the little brother and sister played so pretty a part. 4 An’ my Lady Arbell/ said Prince Henry, 4 sail ride a-pillion on my horse, for though long, she is but little and light. Ye mind, Lizbie, my wee luve, that I will ne’er forget thee.’ 4 An’ did ye nae forget this very morn ? ’ asked his little sister, gravely. 4 Ay, but ne’er agen, sae help me, Heaven ! Heark ye, Lizbie, the new young barb was ta’en frae the tilt-yard for me to ride, an’ after ane little canter, he gaed as fleet and sonsy as the southron wind ! ’ 96 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Now come, your Highness/ said the old Countess of Mar, severely, ‘’tis time for the Princess to join my Lady Harrington in the coach. So bid farewell and God-speed, an’ let us part, for we have a long journey before us.’ But the hands of the little Elizabeth were so firmly clenched in the velvet doublet of her brother that they had to be unclasped by force, and only my Lady Arbell could compass it She took the child in her arms, and bore her away through the guard-chamber of Her Majesty to the court below. ‘ Oh, my brother, Prince Hal/ cried the little Prin- cess, wildly ; ‘ I gang — I gang awa’ — I sail never see him mair ! 9 The child seemed in a strange sort of excitement, as if she knew not what she spake. Arbell, on her return, could not see her way for tears. Prince Henry met her in the privy chamber and regarded her gravely. 4 Ah, ye may weel greet/ said he, ‘ for it would mak’ a saint to greet. Why doth the King, my father, send my sister away ? She is too little ; and my Lady Mar, though she keepeth her in marvellous guid order, is too hard for such as her. I would I were a king/ ‘ And wherefore ? ’ ‘ I trow such things s’uld never be.' ‘Is not this rank treason, your Highness ?’ asked Arbell, with mock gravity. ‘ I think there be Acts of Parliament against such.’ ‘ Whereuntil can I be accused ? 3 asked the little Prince, in the same spirit. ‘ For takin’ on me to champion the cause o’ my ain sister? Sail I be damned afore I be heard ? Methinks, my Lady Arbell, such coils canna be, even at this Council Board.’ ‘Your Highness is too subtle for me/ cried Arbell. I cannot cope with you, and must e’en leave you to Sir Adam.’ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 97 ‘ Then will I run a tilt wi’ him/ retorted in like kind, Prince Hal, brandishing the rapier he drew from out his belt. ‘ Sir Adam loveth neither push of pike nor hack of sword. Heralds and trumpets sound the challenge ! ’ cried the boy, as he threw up his arms with such vivid force and fire of action, that Arbell started, and then laughed as she looked on him, well pleased. 4 Trumpets, sound to arms ! A Stuart ! A Stuart ! ’ On the Christmas of this year, the whole world streamed to Hampton Court — ambassadors, nobles, beggars — beggars for the titles and honours which James I., in order to pay his gambling debts and keep his favourites in gross ease and luxury, lavished on his subjects. With right royal bounty did he deal out titles to the highest bids, creating and selling them by the ell. The throngs were so great, to see this curious high and mighty King and all his Court, that the palace, vast though it was, could not hold them ; and many hundreds camped round in park and pasture. Ban- quets, receptions, balls and masquerades passed in rapid flitter day by day. Each night there were plays in the great hall of the Tudors ; which, for pageantry and splendour, could not have been surpassed even by that regal race. On the night of the ‘ Grand Royal Masque/ even the chambers and coffers of the Tower had been ran- sacked, to furnish the players with sheen of satin and cloth of gold and silver. ’Mid the Beauties of rank and state, had my Lady Arbella Stuart been chosen to take a leading part in the pageant, as a goddess in the classic procession, on one side the Queen. Yet those morning hours, instead of revelling 'mid gorgeous hues and marvels of handicraft with the other courtiers and ladies, she must e’en, from a surfeit of puerility and profusion, escape to the solitude and rest of her loved studies, leaving Mistress Penelope Agard to fashion and devise her costume. Thus, in hurried fashion, and at a somewhat late hour for robing, did G 98 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL my Lady Arbell pass (in flying speech with Penelope) to the tyring-room, along corridors and betwixt carved oaken pillars which bore the Tudor badge. What Penelope had to impart caused Arbell’s eyes to dilate in sudden dismay, and to lay her hand upon her mouth lest she should speak aloud. 4 Tell me not such doings/ said she, in low and stifled tones. 4 ’Tis rifling the body o’ the dead.’ 4 1 knew such would be your judgment, Arbell. But I could get no word with you all the day till now, finding that your outer door was locked, and having no other means of access. Yet, Arbell, ye must e’en go wi’ the tide/ she added in an urgent whisper, 4 lest worse befall. My love Arbell hath many friends at Court ; yet many, many foes/ 4 Which be they ? ’ ‘Women-folk; women who sit in high places an’ hold the ears of men. Look ye, Arbell, ’tis women who 44 ride the whirlwind and direct the storm.” And who knoweth this better than my lady ? ’ 4 Ye speak with the wisdom of the ancients, Penny. Truly the 44 Lady Arbell” hath a tortuous course to steer. And, but for the danger and excitement o’t, I would fling all ambition to the four winds of heaven, and hie me away to the desert once again. Who knoweth when he be fallen on halcyon days? Or what man, nor woman neither, is e’er content ? Know- ledge cometh in the present; glamour lies but in the past. Thus drift our lives away, in sad experience and reflected glory. But come, Penny ; not for all the kings nor goddesses in Christendom, nor in Olympus, will I deck me in these sad, moulted feathers. I will to Her Majesty straightway.’ 4 Her Majesty’ was in a fine frenzy of excitement, amusement and elation, as the two maidens entered within the oaken screens ; for there, massed in costly piles and profusion, upon tables, tabourets and tiles, were the most gorgeous robes and mantles ever seen, all thickly sewed with jewels. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 99 4 Look, your Majesty/ said my Lady Suffolk, as she cast about her an ermine-lined mantle of state, ‘ this way she roistered, minced and vapoured; or paced with slow steps at leisure, bowing with most profound majesty to all the blades around.' ‘ Or as my lady mother saw her last/ cried the frolic, Lady Rich, c a-dancin' the “ Spanish Panic ” upon the top-tips of her toes, bridling to the music of the whistle and the tabor — thus—' This personation called forth a storm of laughter and applause. Her Majesty clapped her hands. ‘ My Lady Arbella, methinks you look something too cold and proud for Venus/ said my Lady Rich. ‘ I should become it more. I would fain have your Highness shorter by the skirt. For — for a great lady, methinks ye are too virtuous and too cold. Were I Venus, and Venus me, I would cast off all these cumbrous trappings, and appear as the Lord hath made me, thus forcing my Jupiter to ignite ! 5 But my Lady Arbell, prime favourite both with King and Queen, bad drawn Her Majesty aside. ‘ Is’t true/ said she, ‘ that these be the ransacked robes of the great, dead Queen ? 5 ‘ Ay, an’ wherefore's not, my virrtuous Lady Arbell ? Wherefore why so pale ? Is it meet or is it joust that, impo-ve-reeth as ve are, such treasair sood be hid widin de tomb ? Go to, go to, ze art too squeemees, my Lady Arbell/ mocked the Danish Queen, stroking Arbell on the cheek. ‘ We love not sen-ti-mens.' Arbell shuddered as she glanced askance on the huddled splendour, all a-shimmer with light and lustre, and on the levity and mockery of the masquers round; who seemed to her, by a freak of fantasy, like birds of prey, revelling on the relics of a corse. ‘ I would as soon swathe me in a shroud,' said she. ‘ I marvel the manes of the angry Tudor Queen doth not appear, and scathe them by a glance.' ‘Tut, tut!' laughed Anne of Denmark, as she beckoned for her women, ‘de Stuarts are all so IOO ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL gobe-mouche. In Denmark we do not tink sooch torts. Dey air vain dreams and shadows.' As Her Majesty was being decked in jewels, pipe and tabor burst forth into melody in the minstrels' gallery o'erhead, and the Queen adjured my Lady Arbell to don the silver robes prepared for .her. ‘ I will be neither goddess nor Venus this night,' said Arbell, with set lips. 4 Your Majesty must find other, an' it please you. I will wear no dead man's gear.' In vain did Her Majesty storm, rave, threaten and implore. When my Lady Arbella Stuart once made up her mind, tortures would not turn it, and the Queen, with a shrug which raised her shoulders to her ears, called on my Lady Rich to take the part, who obeyed with ecstasy. Just then a fanfare of trumpets announced the entrance of the King, Prince and Court into the great hall of the palace — signal for the players to begin. The great hall above and below was one blaze of light ; light from the countless lamps within the roof, light from the sconces round, light from the fires of tarred logs. On the dais ’neath the canopy of state, hard by the southern oriel window, sat the King, Prince Henry by his side, surrounded by courtiers, counsellors and ambassadors. In the body of the hall was ranged all the rank and state of the foreign courts, ambassadors of foreign states, statesmen on whose fiat hung the future fate of Europe ; and beyond and above all these, great poet and great philosopher (philosopher, dead Essex's friend) ; poet, he who hath struck every chord of human sympathy and human destiny. That great poet who, in some strange fashion, was inspired above his fellows, so that he doth live and shall live immortal, while all these little kings, principalities and powers are passed, and do pass away. Yet, in this hour, were Shakespeare and Bacon lost 'mid the throng of men. For that high and ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL IOI mighty prince, his most sacred Majesty King James, greeted by blare of trumpets and the wild melody of tabors, pipes and lutes, sat throned in glittering state, mirrored of every eye. The liberties of his people had been bartered, and the very walls of his country sold — those ‘ wooden walls ’ of England — to make the glare of jewels, so that this great king outblazed the little men beneath ; outblazed even the prophetic shadow of the revolution, which even then stalked towards his throne unseen — destined to sweep his descendants from off the face of the earth forever. To the sound of a stately march, played by sylvan satyrs, stepped down, on winding mountain pass, the masquers, hand in hand, and three in three, preceded and followed by their torchbearers. There, in the midst of the hall, was presented a most bewildering scene of splendour none could surpass. For these exquisite creations of fancy, and rare delicacy of imagery, wrought of music, poesy and song, were by these masquers — by inspiration of divers silver strains, in cadence both of verse and voice — interpreted with infinite dainty grace and subtle skill of rhythmical motion — winding and unwinding of arms and rain- bow hues, and phosphorescent flash and lambent play of gems, as they danced before the King. The music of the masque was of most ethereal spirit, melodious and divine, as if floating from the spheres. Amid these dancers was my Lady Arbell, simply robed in white. The big eyes of the Scottish King, which were wont to stare and roll around, and search everything and everybody in the most preplexing fashion, himself knowing neither shame nor shyness, now turned upon Prince Henry, and, leaning towards him sideways, muttered, — ‘Where be my Lady Arbella Stuart? An 5 why hath she not ta’en the part assigned her ? ’ ‘I know not, your Majesty/ said the boy. ‘Nor do I know yet an’ she be there.' He scanned the classic maze with keen acuteness. ‘ Ay, she is 102 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL there, but neither grace nor goddess. She in the milk-white robe, all a-dazzle wi’ diamonds. Though she be masqued like the rest, I know her by her gait and height, and she dances with exceeding grace. Do ye not mind how she looketh toward your Majesty — as if for pardon for some offence ? 9 His Majesty, who had been yawning and frowning heavily, half in anger, half — as he expressed it — in toedium vitce , for he loved not the play — save of the bear garden and the cockpit — leaned his chin upon his hand, rolled his tongue within his mouth, and stared full upon the white rebel, half in wrath, half relenting and appeased. ‘ She is an unco’ wild and restive jade/ he muttered, with a rousing oath ; ‘ methinks we shall ne’er break her in to our royal yoke an’ lure. The cle’il trounce her ! she is the plague and burden o’ our life wi’ her haggard ways. Her jewels do outblaze Her Majesty’s. Where gets she these daft toys?’ Scene XV 1603. Memory 1604. Children of Two Brothers UPON this matter of direct rebellion against the royal authority, my Lady Arbell got a rating both from my Lord Shrewsbury and her Aunt Mary the Countess. ‘ I live in constant dread,’ saith my Lady Shrews- bury, ‘ of what may hap unto you from hour to hour ; there be such dissensions, plots and counterplots con- cerning you, to get you disgraced at the Court. All the women-folk are against you. Were it not for Her Majesty’s constant and unvarying favour, your fair fame would not be worth the purchase. Arbell, ye are not a woman that women love.’ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 103 ‘ Yet there be two that love me dear, beside your unique ladyship and my Penny. There is my sweet poetess of Arundel, who ever hath a fair and timely word for His Majesty’s “ poor cousin ” ; and my other Penelope, the beauteous, famous and witty, who, for all her wild ways, sticketh ever my loyal champion and sister.’ 4 An’ with whom — with affinity of “ wild ways ” and rare audacity of conduct — ye are like to fall into yet deeper mire than that from which my Lord Cecil, with infinite labour, hath pulled you out. Gilbert doth prophesy for ye both a bad ending, and knoweth not to what madness your wild pranks and saucy ways may lead you.’ ‘ Oh ! ’tis a most virtuous, wise and learned earl and uncle, who never — in all the course of his not very long life — hath wandered from the path of virtue. Nay, not even afore his wife tied him within leading- strings ! My lady aunt, take off that frown from off that regal brow, and that purse from off thy lips. It becometh not thy beauty; and, moreover, bringeth to my poor mind with too much force of memory my revered lady grandmother and thy respected mother. Nay, mine aunt, my fine feathers be fouled enow. What recks it to live the life of cloistered saint in graceless court? To put on the pilgrim shoon where all is cloven feet? The devil hath set his mark on one and all, save you and me ! His prints be every- where. What recks it to be the learned and the chaste, the “ Puritan ” Lady Arbella Stuart, set on a pedestal high o’er the heads of men ? They do but pelt me. An’ what can wit and learning do ’gainst the back gibes and slander-sauce of women-folk, and the designs of men ; men, who, to advance their own interests, and win to themselves the “ high places of the mighty,” have used and misused my name, and fouled it betwixt a gross and subtle lawyer’s teeth ? These, failing to make a tool of Arbella Stuart, are fain to make of her a courtezan. She hath risen 104 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Phoenix - like from the flames. The flames are scotched; the smoke remaineth. Of what worth is poor virtue now ? ’ 'God knoweth. Yet ye have yourself to bless for this. The Lady Arbella, Countess of Lenox and Princess of the Blood-Royal, standeth too near a throne to ’scape the storms that beat thereon, to play the fool with men, and beard the women, as doth my Lady Rich. And — for this matter o’ the Tudor gowns — which made such stir, ’twas notworth the strife. Best not set up thyself to be the cicerone and coun- sellor of a queen. The fight is too unequal. Fulsome flattery and cringe of servility is the courtier’s role! ' Of which I am none,’ was the haughty answer ; ' nor ever shall be. I was set on the throne too long by thee and thine ever to be deposed. Though un- crowned, as the lineal descendant of Margaret Tudor, I live and die a queen.’ 'Alas for dreams and visions! Yet wait, Arbell, and possess thy soul in patience. The time is not yet ripe. Already the radiant skies of this degenerate Stuart be overcast with cloud. There be signs and tokens of a storm so fierce, as none hath seen thel ike. An’ James Stuart will not have where to lay his head — save on the block.’ Arbell shuddered. ' Where so many of my kith and kin have laid them down heroically. What strange coil is this — to know how to die, yet to know not how to live ? Poor Stuarts ! — poor doomed Stuarts ! — I love thee well, even as thou dost love the wild mountain foray and the clash of arms — (save, as thou sayest, this " de- generate Stuart,” this changeling). Ye know better how to fight, than how to govern men, and love liberty too well to die in golden shackles. The cross betwixt a Tudor and a Stuart is none too sure. Ay, my dear aunt and love, the old Tudor murderer and patriot was right, when he said, with the prophetic wisdom of a seer, that "the high-handed Stuarts ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 105 would never govern this realm of England/’ He did well when he set Margaret Tudor, wife of a Stuart king, aside ; and, on the chance of his own blood failing, settled the crown on the descendants of the Suffolk line. They be wise men and noble, in the highest sense o’ the word.’ ' What ! Would ye break down the idol of your life?’ cried Mary Talbot. ' You are fated, Arbell, to have your idols shattered. Yet I thought not to see you break them by your own hand ? ’ 'No, a thousand times no,’ cried Arbell. 'Loyal am I to the death, or — naught. She , my fair high saint, was, above and beyond them a’, a saint, a woman and a queen. Hark ye, my lady aunt, had she lived, and been queen and the counsellor of her son, these things would ne’er have been. You and I — who knew her — know her to have been in power and grasp of intellect, not one whit behind the great Tudor Queen herself ; in policy, as subtle; in vision, as far-seeing; in judgmenf, as acute. Hath not my Lord Burghley himself declared it? Yet, I trow with a freedom of range as much higher and nobler as is the flight of falcon to the hawk. Oh, that she had been a man, what a man she would have proven ! When, as she rode in the border-foray, they heard her say, "Would God I were a man, to know what joy ’tis to lie a’ the nicht i’ the field ; or watch on the cawsey wi’ a buckler and a sword ! ” Ah, well may ye ca’ James Stuart "changeling,” as did my brave, sweet grandmother of Lenox.’ ' Hush, for God’s sake. I grant ye all this and more. Yet, as I say, ’tis well to bow to the rising sun, be its reign short or long, on the blue or i’ the cloud. My Lady Arbella Stuart is, and ever will be, a creature of moods and whimsies, swayed by every impulse as a sapling gives to every breeze. My Lady Arbell, though her fortune’s hung on’t, when called on by royal request (which is command) to honour the funeral of her late Majesty, Elizabeth Tudor, did 106 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL haughtily decline, saying, “ Sith access to the Queen in her life might not be permitted, I will not after her death, be thrust upon the stage, for the rabble rout to gape on.” Yet this same Lady Arbell was of such tender heart and love-sick memories for that same Queen, that the sight of her Gothic wardrobe; turned over for the “ rabble rout,” called for most righteous indignation on her part. And she would none of it.' ‘Nor will I,’ retorted my Lady Arbell, with great eyes, which flashed from grey to gold, turned full upon her mocking kinswoman. ‘ Nor will I. To me there is something sacred in the dead. Cruel and treacherous as Elizabeth Tudor hath been to mine and me, never will I be disloyal to her memory, while I draw the breath of life. Neither will I by word nor deed have part in the gibes and jeers of those who once made profit by vilest flattery, and who now leave neither gesture nor fault of hers unremembered . 5 Court-lady and wise-woman curled her proud lip and shook her head. 4 My sweet Arbell was never fitted for courts. Never was wild-bird more caged and fretted by gilded bars and courtly fetters than thou art. 5 Tis sad that high ambition and noble thought should be stifled and strangled in such a sluice as this. Yet, 5 tis thy fate. And maybe thou’rt reserved for some great and glorious destiny. Come hither, my little Queen of Edensor, child of my sweet sister, thy dear mother. Methinks there be something noble in thee, Arbell, beyond the common herd . 5 ‘ Not so , 5 said Arbell, lightly, yet sadly, too, as she ran and kneeled beside the Countess in loving haste. 4 5 Tis only one little human heart which cries for sym- pathy. Only one little brain which toils and moils in vain. Only one little soul, which loveth all that 5 s pure, and yet itself so sorely needeth shrift. A very little Arbell — loving, yet full of faults . 5 ‘ An 5 so much the more loved ; for had ye not those faults, ye would not be Arbell. As Gilbert hath ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL IO 7 it, “ The Lord preserve me from material saints.” ’Tis no marvel, child, you worked such woeful mis- chief in the Tudor Court — sentenced to banishment, when all seemed good hope and cheer before thee. There was one great man who loved your beauty, Arbell, well, yet did become thy bitter foe.’ ‘ Ay, the very one,’ quoth Arbell, mocking, 4 who thought to see me made a tool, and to bring James Stuart, through me, to banishment and death ; the very one who would take no part therein himself, but held aloof, and not of it. Is he not rightly served ? A most gallant knight, I grant ye, save when crossed. The rival and the deadly foe of one we wot of. Oh, yes, he loved my beauty passing well — just as he loved the wayside flower, whose petals he plucked and cast to the wind, to wither and be dabbled in the mire. A very perfect knight — and chivalrous, as this time and trial hath proven.’ ‘ Poor knight ! Once one of the brightest stars in the great constellation, who, through such perils and adventures, hath done such famous service for the state. He is so gallant and so princely, women needs must love him.’ ‘ Ay, and hate him, too.’ ‘ Ye have cause. A faithful friend, yet formidable foe, is the great sea-captain. Heigh ho ! women be not your only foes, Arbell. Ye are hedged in on every side by peril. Would God I could see you in watch and ward, in safe, wise keeping. Fain would I have the Stuart crossed with the Tudor once again. That cross brings brave whelps. Ah, Arbell, why, instead o’ tilting at the stars, did ye not accept the love and worship of one of the most noble men that ever laid his homage at your feet — my Lord Beau- champ ? ’ My Lady Arbell stood leaning her back against the wall, and looking forth from the old Tudor-Gothic palace upon a world of snow, her work idly drooping from her hand, the idle tears within her eyes, yet io8 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL were they too stubborn and too proud to fall. A few snowflakes were falling silently. ‘Why — ah, why ? ’ saith she ; but her thoughts were not upon her words ; her question was no answer to my Lady Shrewsbury, nor were her eyes upon the scene before her. When some moments were passed, she made answer. ‘ Why, my lady aunt ? Prithee, because I had no love to render. My dalliance with him, and all be- side, as with my pen, was but a ruse to blind the Queen, to score a vacant brain, and hide a breaking heart, as thou knowest.’ ‘Yet now, yet now, love — Arbell, when all sweet dreams are done — for who hath not had his dream, and known a rough awaking? — is there not one of these “honourable men,” thy kinsmen, noble, wise and learned, whom ye could fancy? and who also would fain help ye to forget?’ ‘ Forget ? ’ asked Arbell, with a faint dream-smile, which died even as it came, with no more mirth nor warmth in it than a ray of wintry sunshine, ‘ forget ? When spring turns sere and sad, and autumn vernal fair ; when wintry eve and naked tree get cheered and garnished by the song and leaf o’ summer nights ; when yon dead leaves sprout from their pall of snow, then — then — will I forget.’ And thus it came to pass that — At the crisis of the two plots against the life of the King, with intent to place the Lady Arbella Stuart upon the throne, she having received a sealed packet from my Lord George Brooke thereanent, the younger brother of the base and treacherous Cobham, and having some shrewd suspicion of treachery and treason contained therein, did, without a moment’s thought or vacillation, or heed of etiquette and state, run straightway with it to the King. His Majesty, at that moment, had dismissed his council with scant courtesy, and, lolling within his chair, sucked his ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 109 tongue while he conversed in broad Scotch with a Scottish courtier, both laughing hugely. King Jamie being right glad and content that the business of state was o’er, and he, about to hurry off to another lair for hunting — for the Court, on account of the plague, hurried from place to place, and scarce a week at either — When the doors burst open, and, unannounced, my Lady Arbell ran into the presence, laughing as she ran ; for she perceived ’twas a jovial moment with the King. ‘ My lord and kinsman,’ saith she, ‘ have ye a mind to read a secret, or unravel a mystery? ’ and she laid a packet, the seal unbroke, upon the council board ; her taper finger on the cipher, her eyes laughing down on his. King James, who, on her entrance, had pulled his hat from off his head, dismissed the courtier by a gesture; and, leaning back, so as to look up within her face, laid his hand on Arbell’s. ‘What will ye give me for this? For ’tis mine,’ said she. ‘ Ay, sweet cousin, sweet and fair, ’tis for me to give, and you to grant. Grant me but what I ask — ’ His Majesty, who appeared to be under some influence which did at once soothe and stimulate, made as if he would have thrown his arm about my Lady Arbell, of whom he was feverously fond ; but she, by a deft movement, put some space betwixt them. ‘Your Majesty,’ said she, demurely, raising an em- phatic finger, ‘ remember. Thou art my warden and my sovereign — I, thy subject and thy ward.’ Yet, as ever with her, diablerie of temperament, and excitement of power and conquest, baffled the coyness of her address ; so that while she rebuked, she challenged. The King laughed in spite of himself. ‘ Arbella, thou’rt a little fool,’ said he. ‘ Thy knowledge and learning be great, but thy foolishness I IO ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL be greater. For such a student and a scholar, we ne’er did know one so little versed in the ways o’ courts and men. Wist ye not, Arbell — whose pres- ence is aye welcome to us as flowers in May — that we wad gie crown and kingdom na to hae met thee — too late ? ’ ‘ And 1/ quoth my Lady Arbell, mocking, ‘ would forfeit my poor chances of a crown, only to win favour with my lord the King. Look ye ! ’ — she slipped the tip of her slight forefinger within the wrapping of the packet, her whole bearing changed from jest to earnest — ‘ I fear, I know not what. Sith this sealed thing be treason, then know that Arbell Stuart hath dealt with ye fair and faithful, as loyal subject of the son of Mary Stuart and son o’ my father’s brother. James Stuart — break and read.’ Somewhat in her look and tone sent a chill to the credulous spirit and craven heart of this poor change- ling, scathed and stunted by doings of horror and terror even within his mother’s womb. He paled visibly ; and his finger, laid on Arbell’s, together broke the seal. ‘ Read,’ said he, querulously. ‘ Read, I ken not what ye fear.’ Thus, as my Lady Arbell read aloud, the sweat broke forth in beads upon his brow, at the intelligence contained therein; she glancing at him the while, with innocent and wondering regard, as one who knows not fear nor comprehendeth such. She having finished, he snatched it from her hand, and scanned it o’er again in trembling haste — Arbell as aghast as he, at signs of such emotion. » ‘ By God’s bluid,’ said he, ‘ the traitors perish ! Swear to me, Arbella Stuart, on the Bible, where here it lieth, that ye hae no part nor lot in this? Or — by the mother that bore ye — ’ But her glance of scorn and censure arrested speech. His fury passed into dismay. ‘ Forgie me, Arbell,’ he faltered, ‘ for I wot not ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL III what I speak/ He clasped her hand in his, and raised it to his lips. When my Lady Arbell left the presence of the King, who still sat before his council-board, he sank his head upon his arms, and broke down into a storm of hysterical tears and sobs. But as for my Lady, she passed in right stately fashion into the garden there of Winchester, to breathe and court the free air of heaven, for she loved not the atmosphere of courts. There was within this garden a well of water pure and deep ; and as she passed, either from freak of mood or fancy, or, we wot not what, she drew the little perfumed glove — which had been clasped in the hand of her kinsman — from off her own hand, and, shuddering, dropped it in the well. . . . For this grim plot, a grimmer jest was played. My Lord Brooke lost his head. And the other lords — even on the scaffold under the shadow of the axe — having forestalled and foretasted all the pleasurable agonies of dissolution, as forecast of future warning, were by the royal and playful claw, released, and flung into the Tower. Scene XVI 1 604. Kingcraft and Witchcraft. A Freak unknown to History But as for my Lady Arbell Stuart, she rose victori- ous, and soared into the sun of royalty even higher than before, so that none might see her for the dazzle. Suitor after suitor passed, in ghostly wise, across her path of life — Count Maurice, Duke Ulrich of Holstein, the Polish King. Splendid alliances were rejected. And still she would none of them. Nor would King James, both from politic and private motives, give ear to her accepting any. Masquerading and revelry were I 12 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL the order of the day. The Court was thronged with ambassadors from foreign powers. ’Twixt masque and banquet, came the royal hunts, at which was to be seen in the saddle ofttimes the Queen, but ever the King and my Lady Arbell. These huntings were, by proclamation (later), held in sacred seclusion, for ‘ our recreation, and for the necessary preservation of our health, within our forests or chases. Free from the corrupt natures and insolent dispositions, the bold and barbarous insolency of those o’ the baser sort ; who, pressing upon us in our hunting, do ride over our dogs, break their backs, spoil our game, and even peril our person . . . Our will and pleasure is, that any suchs hall be presently apprehended, and conveyed to the nearest gaol, there to await our royal pleasure.' In the royal chase of Hampton Court, on a winter’s morning, there was gathered a goodly company. Out from the old Tudor stables, and the Queen’s stables (Queen Elizabeth), were led the spirited horses, champing, for the chase. Courtyards rang to the shouts of grooms, bay of hounds and stamp of steeds, for there was to be grand sport (as ever) on that day. The archers, all clad in green, with green feathers in their caps, and gilded bows, were hurrying to and fro, or clustered in green knots, waiting the coming of King and Court — The huntsmen with some fifty hounds all straining at the leash. Loud blasts and windings of horns from near and far, then announced the approach of Majesty, who, attired in its familiar well-worn, suit of Lincoln green, appeared upon the terrace, accompanied on either side by Her Majesty and my Lady Arbella Stuart; surrounded and followed by foreign ambassadors, ladies, courtiers and huntsmen. My Lady Arbell, who, bow in hand, held two hounds in leash, was in hunting gear; ’twas of tawny russet of the hue of a dead leaf, laced with gold, and her russet hat looped up on the left by a tuft of ruby ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 1 3 feathers ; a very Diana, for lithe alert grace and gladness ; her soul within the chase. After the King, with his curious, rolling gait, had stepped down upon the turf, his horse, gay with trappings, and of much spirit but no vice, was led forth ; and His Majesty, after much toil and travail, was, by two grooms (two others holding the horse’s head), lifted and set upon his horse. No trifling matter this, his clothes being so thickly quilted and padded, to render his sacred body sword and dagger proof. Howsoever, once there, the reins within his hands, he knew no fear, for his arms were strong as his legs were weak ; but seemed to become possessed with the spirit and boldness of his steed and of the chase, in despite of the chance of at any moment rolling from his horse in bog or mire, or something worse. This mounting was the signal for all to mount in haste, for His Majesty would wait for no man (nor woman neither). From out the noble herds of red and fallow deer, ready to fly and scenting danger, hounds and huntsmen would then follow on track of one; stream- ing forth straight and swift as arrow from a bow. In such moments as these only, did the King forget his kingship, for he loved beasts better than men (as was his nature to). Well for him and his, had he re- mained a sylvan prince, and ne’er become a bestial one. While majesty scuffled madly on the track of deer and hound, or oft was being hauled from out a ditch or bog, Prince Henry and my Lady Arbell, both noted riders, would gallop across leaping country, she following in his lead, and checked by naught. The boy-prince, who, even then, excelled in aught to which he set his heart and hand, was a rare shot with the bow, and on this day brought down two noble stags ; but my Lady Arbell, well-nigh as good a shot, with her own bow and arrow shot yet another. To her, therefore, did appertain the horns and hoofs. King Jamie was at the death of this one, but in no genial mood, being covered with mud from head to heel, H ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL and cursing and swearing lustily at everyone within his range. To him, however, humbly, on bended knee, was presented the knife wherewith to ‘ make the assay 5 ; the stag being proven, by that royal slash on the breast, a fat buck indeed. King Jamie, his hand and wrist red with hot blood, and his mouth slobber- ing at thought of the venison, was comforted and ap- peased. After which ceremony, with a grand flourish of horns and martial music, the triple heads were borne with mighty pomp into the privy chamber (chamber more often destined to hold stags’ heads, than councils of wise and sober statesmen). Arbell and her closest friend and constant companion, Penelope Agard, sought their rooms, linked arm in arm. Even the pale face of Penelope was flushed rose-red from the pace at which they had ridden in the chase. But as for Arbell, with tresses loosed, she had some- what the mien of a Bacchante, and as wild and gay as the southern wind that blew. With characteristic choice, refusing to let her waiting-women harass her by a touch, she flung herself full length upon a couch, to enjoy the luxury of the hour while she might, and Penelope into a cushioned chair. For there might be no question of etiquette or state betwixt these two, brought up as children together, and more than sisters. Penelope, who neither from tempera- ment nor heredity loved courts and courtiers, had, by sheer force of love and devotion, followed the hair- breadth flights and fortunes of my Lady Arbella Stuart. She had been recounting to Arbell, with comic solemnity, the misadventures of His Majesty that day — a recital which called forth peals of laughter from her ladyship. ‘Treason!’ cried she, when she could speak. ‘If there be one man on God’s earth I pity most, ’tis James Stuart. A keen and eager huntsman, yet unable to sit firm in his saddle without a fall. A born scribe, yet scarce able to hold his pen straight within his hand. A born orator — words of power and ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 1 5 eloquence on his lips — yet unable to control his stut- tering tongue, wherewith to express that power. A Catholic at heart, yet driven by some evil force within him to persecute and slander Catholics. Yet, Penny, am I not as bad ? On the day I pledged that oath to my grandmother of Shrewsbury — from base political motives — never to reveal my faith, am I not a living lie ? ’ 4 Ay, Arbell,’ said Penelope, sadly, ‘ I will not say thee nay.’ ‘Yet still, out of loyalty to one who compassed so much for me, 1 do keep and hold my most in- glorious vow, honour in dishonour, and shall keep it to her memory when she be dead. Yet, can I prosper? — I, Arbella Stuart, who make these stolen secret visits to the mass; and carry a queen’s train, only to get secret access there? She only knoweth it, and she is secret as the grave. Yet were I asked the question straight, I would die rather than deny my faith.’ ‘ I know it. Yet, Arbell, is there shrewd suspicion in the minds of many that ye are Catholic. And no man who knoweth my Lady Arbella Stuart, would ever believe her “ Puritan.” ’ ‘ I trow not,’ laughed Arbell. ‘ An’ had I been one, as there be a heaven above us, I would ha’ bearded His Majesty on his very throne ! As ’twas, I did but dight me as a sober Puritan, in grave, sad hose and doublet, and take my humble seat in the great privy chamber of “Old Harry” — a beardless boy, and simple, ’mid most grave and learned men.’ ‘Arbell, are ye mad?’ asked Penelope, aghast. ‘ I know you do mad freaks enow, but ne’er a one like this. Were ye discovered, the Tower, or even death, might prove your portion.’ ‘And therein lies the zest. What is life worth without it ? Doublet and hosen are familiar to me, as the air we breathe. What can a woman do? What can a woman know, shut in within her 1 16 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL vizard ? Whither the spirit draweth me, thither must I follow. Mine heart was set on hearing and witnessing the war betwixt King and Puritan. An’, by my halidame, most richly was I rewarded. I would not have missed it for a ransom. When first his excellent Majesty did appear, and all had risen to their feet ; and he, with most gracious countenance and gracious greeting, had said some words to some amongst the lords; he — though all the path had been cleared before him to the head of the cloth of state — twice rolled against and overset the empty chairs of those who waited on him. Yet, at last — being securely seated — did look round as high-handed and mettlesome as the best. The Puritans were too intent upon their cause, ever to be aware that there was a stranger in their midst. Yet so oft did the eyes of His Majesty — through all the windings of the subtle and inspired Latin discourse wherewith he addressed the concourse — roll and rest upon me, that I was fully prepared to be summoned to rise and speak, or els believed that there was somewhat in me that had caught his roving fancy. My heart beat high within me at the thought of speech, and I fell to string the words together, which rushed into my soul. The merriment, which I had had some ado to keep under, changed to passion — anti-Puritan though I be, words leaped to my lips. I longed to give one bold strike for civil and religious liberty! Yet, not being called on, dared not speak. His Majesty was the orator of the Council, and, stammering but little on this day, none could come nigh him, for subtlety and clearness of exposition. Then did follow in answer the pithy arguments of the Puritan divines; but, through the involved perplexity of many, His Majesty lost all patience; and, casting courtesy to the winds, opposed a vanguard of abuse, couched in right royal language, such as only kings may use unrebuked ; such as only the great ones of the earth may disburden, bidding them “away with their ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL II 7 snivelling,” and words of like import. Whereafter, my grave and honourable councillor, who is also my very honourable friend in word and deed, declared that “ much we are bound to God, who hath given us a king of an understanding heart.” Whereat the holy bishops present seemed well pleased, and did avouch that “ His Majesty spake with tongues by the power of inspiration.” Whereupon someone present in the lobby, a little one of the earth, unknown to fame, saith to another, muttering, “ Bishops and statesmen seem right glad of heart. They vouch his most sacred Majesty speaketh by the power of inspiration ; yet methinks the spirit is somewhat foul-mouthed.” Then both did laugh/ And so did Penelope, whose gravity broke up in despite of her ; and both girls laughed till they could laugh no more. ‘ Believe me, Penny, apart from jesting, a life’s work was done within that privy chamber in one short day, which ’twill take the lives of many to undo. . . . Yet whatsoever the times,’ cried Arbell, lightly, ‘ and whatsoever the fate of dear old England in far futurity, the fact remaineth that Arbell, a butterfly o’ the Court, is oft the privy councillor of a king ! And between whiles, with nothing better to do than to ride in the Queen’s coach, to make merry at a Dutchkin, and all her numerous courtship- ambassadors and princely suitors ; and to paint castles i’ the clouds, because she hath none on earth. Sure those same cloud-castles, Penny, do yield greater contentment than those of my grandmother, “ Bess of Hardwick,” all built by hands, with brick and stone, in labour and sweat of brow. What doth she lay up in store but grievous aches and pains, and the constant fear of death ? Death — sans faith — sans hope. While I, monarch of fair realms unknown and unexplored, save by mine own free spirit, do dwell at ease and reign supreme ? 9 Here Arbella, with a light laugh, in that serio- 1 1 8 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL comic mood that was ever her chief characteristic, gave free rein to her poetical imagination, and soared off on one of her wild flights of fancy: — ‘ My despot will and sway doth rule these as I list, doth shift my tributary clouds ; and, when their ever-fleeting changes weary, doth paint a new kingdom in rainbow on the cloud, with pencil dipped in faery flowers and dew. Oh faery realms of rest and peace — dreams, visions, as far removed from the revolution and rebellion, the turbulence and strife of this toiling world of men, as be the gold strands of Paradise from earth’s bleak, barren shores. Never — never , sweetheart — so long as life shall last, may these be wrested from me, save by loss of reason. Never shall these dear realms — mine own ! mine own ! — rooted in memory, and radiant with lights unfading, be ta’en away. Memory? What is it but a gift divine? Surest and clearest herald of a world to be ; at once a sad spring flower, doomed in one span to lie perished on the glebe ; and seed imperishable, borne swift to sow in soil divine.’ ‘ There, what think ye, Penny, of such eloquence as this ? Am I not a poet born ? 9 and she laughed again. In these days would the Court oft come to the palace of Hampton Court in the falling of the leaf, both for hunting and carousing. And ever my Lady Arbell, who had for her heritage and in her blood, both from Stuart and Tudor ancestry, love of splendour and love of the beautiful, added to reckless generosity both for high and low, was infected by the times, and drifted on the tide of unbridled waste and prodigality around her. In spite of the increase of her pension, raised within this year to ^iooo per annum, beside daily ‘messes of meat' from off the royal table, she got heavily clipped in debt ; as were also, 'mid many another, my Lord of Shrewsbury and Sir Henry and Sir Charles Cavendish, all of whom Arbell never failed to help in an emergency with her wonted gratitude and generosity. Besides, in divers lawsuits and feuds betwixt them and the old Countess, interceding for them to the King, to whose presence she had ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 119 been granted access well-nigh whenever it pleased her to seek it. On this occasion, however, as often, was she sum- moned from her books by the King himself, who as usual had but just returned from hunting, and was impatiently awaiting her in one of the panelled galleries of the palace, which overlooked on either hand river and garden bowers. His Majesty was drumming one fist in the palm of the other hand after a way he had. ‘ I hae been expectin' ye these ten minutes past, my Lady Arbell, anent this much-vexed question o’ marriage. Duke Ulrich, Prince Anhalt, and Maurice of Gueldres — I ken ye will none of 'em. Yet is it true that ye hae been dallying with the Ambassador of Polonia in this our palace?' and he frowned upon her, ‘ an' do favour the suit o’ the Polish King ? I put it to ye on oath ? ' ‘ Could your Majesty credit this of me ? ' cried Arbell. ‘ My desire is neither for king nor throne, nor for any foreign alliance whatsoever. Let him go back from whence he came. I will none of him.' The King broke into a broad smile of contentment, well pleased. £ An' so we did assure Her Majesty ; yet she doubteth ever to the contrary. The one man she would fain have had ye wed is Ulrich ; but that be passed. 'Tis thy nature, Arbell, to coquette and to finesse, and to harry us from day to day, till our very souls be not our ain. Betune the freaks of our fair cousin and our Queen — ' ‘ And the poisoning o' the hounds,' quoth Arbell. ‘ An’ the death o' canny, sonsy “ Jewel."' ‘ Flout not my feelings, Arbell. That hound was mair to me than ever man was, nor ever shall be.' ‘ I do believe your Majesty. Oh, forgive me ! ' Arbell broke forth into a renewed fit of laughter, which was beyond her power to control. ‘ When I saw Her Majesty draw the bow with such exceeding 120 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL energy, grace and fervour, and the stiff-necked arrow, instead of flying straight to the heart o’ the stag, achieved a graceful escolade, and stickit in the heart of sweet old “Jewel,” I did both weep and laugh — Puir, puir King Jamie. Never again shall we hear his music in the woods ! There be many hounds, yet none — none like “ Jewel.”’ ‘ An there be many queens, yet none like ours, the Lord be praised ! ’ said the King, as Arbell despite her merriment, dashed away a tear. ‘ And sae ye willna hae the Polish loon, my bonnie cousin ? ’ saith the King. ‘ An’ sma’ blame be to you. Yet I do perceive in this matter o’ marriage, as in all else, that ye sail do what ye list, and no what we command. An’ so maun I be your humble subject, an’ thou — -my queen.’ My Lady Arbell drew herself up to the full height of her tall, slender stature, and shot a level side- long glance of eloquence and appeal. ‘An’ what would ye hae me do, King Jamie?’ Speak but the word, and I obey?’ ‘ Then answer me, God’s truth, Arbella Stuart; you, who dole out for men neither ruth nor favour. Is there any man living who holds thine heart this day ? ’ My Lady Arbell looked her kinsman straight betwixt the eyes, and made answer, — ‘ I swear to thee, James Stuart, not one.’ Then the pathos and gravity of her regard vanished in smile and dimple. She held her little, gold-fringed gauntlet to her lips, and drooped her lashes over the laughter that lurked beneath. ‘Arbell,’ said he, roughly and distrustfully, ‘ye are foolin’ me?’ ‘ Nay, not so, King Jamie. There be no man living that I love — unless ’tis the false son of a noble mother, if pity be akin to love.’ And she stole another glance upon him. ‘ And such love in the heart o’ the receiver turneth frae honey-dew to gall. Arbell — my Lady Arbell — ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 2 1 ye are of a proud heart and crafty; an’ there is muckle need for a strong hand upon ye. Ah ! where- fore didna Elizabeth Tudor, twelve years agone, in- terest hersell in my behalf, to bring about a meeting betwixt two sae closely united by the natural bonds of kith and kin — loving scions of one race ? Why did she even set her face 'gainst the union of my Lady Arbell wi' bonnie Esme Stuart, who longed for ye ? A plague on her, for an auld harridan ! — she would neither buckle-to hersell, nor let others do it for her. For thus I would hae met ye, Arbell ; and — one way or the other — the Lenox lands and earldom s'uld hae been restored.' But here he touched a tender subject, for the falcon eyes of my Lady Arbell flashed with the golden fire all knew so well. ‘Nay, James Stuart, by such base means — never! Sith I cannot win my ain father’s heritage of lands and earldom as my birthright, I will never gang wi’ any craven robber and usurper of them a'. Oh, Jamie, Jamie! are ye not content wi' all England and Scot- land, and a golden crown beside, but you and yours must needs despoil poor Arbella Stuart o' the wee heritage of her forbears ? ' The King's great eyes rolled restless round, any- where but on my Lady Arbell ; and he fidgeted, ill at ease, with the dagger at his belt. ‘ I maun hae the land for Esme,' said he, lamely. ‘’Twas a promise. Yet I will e’en see, Arbell, what can be done. Sith I can compass it wi' justice and honour, thy heritage shall be restored to thee.' ‘ And the charge of thy dead mother fulfilled — “To my niece Arbella, the earldom of Lenox, held by her late father. And I enjoin my son, as my heir and successor, to obey my will in this particular." ' ‘ And I will, Arbell, I will. Grant me but time. Yet ye know well that once those lands be yours, ye willna tarry long with us. Auld Reekie will be your hame. (God sooth, I wish 'twas mine !) An' when 122 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ye go, the great dames o' the Court will hold a jubila- tion, an’ haul off their masks and fardingales — their only sign of modesty — an' kilt their tails, an’ dance a jig for joy. Whiles I — ' Yet Arbell heeded him not ; but touched her 'broidered kerchief to her eyes and heaved a' right heavy sigh. ‘ Sweetheart/ cried the King, and clasped her hand, ‘ the earldom sail be thine. 'Fore God, I swear it ! May James Stuart ne'er cause thee to shed a tear ! ' ‘ Mine? mine?' cried Arbell, with clasped hands, and sank upon one knee; but he upraised her hurriedly. ‘ Ay, when a’ the deeds shall be made out ; and I must e’en get speech of Esme.’ Yet Arbell, with rippling smiles and eyes upturned, dropped once more to her knee, with suppliant eyes and supplicating gesture. ‘ Nay, your gracious Majesty, once thus — and vic- torious — I venture one more hazard, one favour more for mine and me. For mine uncles Henry and Charles Cavendish and mine Uncle Gilbert — all of whom I dearly love, and from whom I have ever received the uttermost kindness and affection — I do pray that ye will aid and uphold them in the lawsuits which are pending betwixt my grandmother of Shrewsbury and them. For I have laboured to make peace in vain. Your Majesty cannot refuse me this my most earnest petition ? ' ‘ I can refuse ye naught,' quoth James, ‘ sith ye look on me wi' those eyes of thine, and entreat me wi' those lips of thine. Rise, my haughty princess ; for though ye mak' a picture fair enow to mak' angels swear and deevils weep — an' it be sweet to prove ane overweening, contumelious fay, sae humble, loyal and submissive — 'tis na meet for such to kneel, even to a James Stuart (though belike the angels kneel afore the throne of the Most High). Rise, my win- some Arbell, an' a' that ye ask sail be thine, be it to the half o' my kingdom.' ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 123 Then she rose and stood before the King, glanc- ing with arch smiles over small hands, dazzling with gems, lightly crossed upon her breast. ‘ Then, your most gracious Majesty, grant ane Barony therefrom to mine Uncle William Cavendish, ever loyal to his King and country ? 9 ‘ Ha, ha ! * laughed James, ‘so be it.' And he drew her to him, and kissed her on the lips. Thus was my proud Lady Arbell proven not above the bribery and corruption of this Court. For, though she did sweetly smile, and, retreating, kissed her finger- tips to the amorous King; she, in retiring, brushed her ’broidered kerchief across her lips. And, on reaching her chambers, called for her waiting-woman to bring her perfumed water, wherewith to wash. Sir William Cavendish won his Barony . My Lady Ai'bella Stuart won not her Earldom . Scene XVII 1604. As light as Air. As Dust in the Balance . ‘ A Court Favourite 9 'Mid the countless gallants, both high and low, who eagerly pursued and hopelessly courted the favour of my Lady Arbell — that proud and fastidious, yet most inveterate coquette — was the Spanish Ambassador, who at this time, on pretext of political affairs of state, haunted the English Court, and lingered there from week to week ; and who, for love of the ladies, had brought with him rich hoards of finery and perfumery from Spain. So that, as the King, with characteristic delicacy of expression forcibly put it, ‘ The whole place stinketh like a badger’s lair.’ This same ambassador, like all foreigners when on British soil, gave himself most consummate airs, over 124 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL which Arbell waxed right merry; and, by rallying him on the same, would throw him for the moment into a fever of anger and expostulation, which would turn the laughter of the whole Court against him. But he would soon recover from these slights, and assume his gay and debonair demeanour. Neither King nor noble could abide him. His Majesty, however, thought it politic to do him honour and observance. 4 The little mannikin,’ quoth Arbell to Penelope, laughing, 4 hath forgiven me, and bestowed on me a jewelled hood for my falcon. Such delicacies doth he bestow on our gracious ladies and gallant lords, I will not say with a hope to effeminate the one sex, but ever with a hope to grow gracious with the other. At Oxford, saith Will Seymour, he must needs lodge at an inn, because he hath not all a college to himself ; but these scruples being soon digested, he did vouch- safe to lodge in a piece of the college, till his repair to the King at Winchester.’ 4 Goodsooth, he be ill to please,’ quoth Penelope, with scorn, 4 and then must he needs gather together all the Beauties o’ the Court to drink to his health an’ do him honour. Most famous, they do say, ’mid the English beauties, was my Lady Rich ; and most famous ’mid the Scottish beauties, my Lady Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox.’ 4 Or, shall we say, my cousin, Lady Jane? To her was the master of the revels most bounteous, placing on her finger a diamond ring.’ 4 But for my Lady Arbell, as a punishment for all her misdemeanours, a pair of gloves too bulky for her; and a gold chain of little links, indifferent fine, went twice about her neck.’ 4 Which, caring not for,’ laughed Arbell, 4 she did bestow on her ever-faithful little jewel, Mistress Pene- lope Agard. . . .’ As for these same great ladies, they had got to such a pitch, that this Court had become a byword and a scandal where none was good. So that even ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 25 the Queen, a woman of shrewd sense and some con- siderable powers of mind, now spent her time in revelry and frivolity of the giddiest and most fatuous kind and had fallen from her ‘ high estate/ Her Majesty’s apartments were ever next to those of my Lady Arbell. And if, on either one of these nights of Saturnalian revelry the number of these players was part wanting, either in numbers or in spirit, Arbell would be summoned from her studies by the mistress of the revels — by order of the Queen. And there, in one of the chambers of one or other of the royal palaces, would Her Majesty and her ladies pass the night in these mad romps and gambols ; more often joined by the gay gallants of the Court. Gallants, who returning from their nocturnal stakes in torn and soiled gambados, flushed by wine and dice, would be guided by these feminine shrieks and yells ; and, with gleaming eyes and unsteady step, whisper- ings and much laughter, would track these sportive masquers to their haunts, and enter unannounced, when child’s games would oft end in adult’s. On such occasions the fresh rising sun would stream in upon these orgies, upon dishevelled camisole and farthin- gale, and wild Bacchante tresses. But neither Her Majesty nor my Lady Arbella Stuart were of that vernal company, in the shamed blush of the morn- ing. In this Court, in all these masquerades and banquetings was there such mad riot, and so great was the scranch in these free fights of stuffed ‘bombasted’ hose and jerkin, padded hips, puffed sleeve and shoulder, and inordinate wheel of farthin- gale, that ofttimes the courtiers and court ladies would get wedged in one dense mass, incapable either of advance or of retreat. Or, if free, and a-hunger or a-thirst, would they, at sight and smell of the banquet, break all bounds and barriers, and leap and scramble over outlying tables and trestles, as nimbly as wire and whalebone would permit ; though often shoes, and even skirts, were left behind. 126 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Or a broken trestle would break down beneath their united weight, and upturn them en masse upon the floor ; naught would divert them, but they must reach their goal. Then would the hubbub over and around that banquet, be so great that banquet turned to bedlam. On such a scene at Whitehall, gazed my Lady Arbell, Gilbert of Shrewsbury, and the King. For the King, who loved not such pressure, had not forgot to sate and slake his appetite, both hunger and thirst, within his privy chamber, so that he made himself right merry over the spectacle, as did my Lady Arbell and the Earl. His Majesty’s proclamation, forbidding any person in farthingale to appear at the masques at Whitehall, because 'This imperti- nent garment taketh up all the room at our Court,’ had been issued in vain. For the day thereafter did the farthingale make its appearance, of vaster dimensions than ever ; and even that of my Lady Arbell was of pretty fair circumference. ' These great ladies be like unto the beasties o’ the field,’ said the King ; ' we hae ne’er seen the like in Scotland.’ 'Nor I, your Majesty. Training layeth on art, I do perceive, yet Nature will out, and Nature here hath got the upper hand,’ remarked the Earl. ' Save in the region o’ the noddle,’ said the King, ' where paint and peruke appear well laid on, and face-powder outblazoneth all. Sure a velvet mask doth cover muckle frailty, my Lord of Shrewsbury ? ’ ' Ay, much mischief, I trow, may be done within that covert, your Majesty, as my Lady Arbell knoweth.’ ' They are a kittle, stubborn race,’ said His Majesty, who hated women folk ; ' I wud rather handle mules than jades. And I mind the words o’ a Scottish divine, which now, methinks, do seem to have borne prophetic truth. His text was in this wise : " There appeared a wonder in heaven — a woman ! ” ’ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 12/ ‘ I will wager that was Master Knox ! ’ cried Arbell. ' I will not deny, your Majesty, that with' some of my sex ungodliness doth prevail ; and that some, even the fairest of them, love darkness rather than light. Yet ours shall still be the purer kind. But the words o’ the learned preacher, your Grace, I must refute, for of the history o’ the saints he doth show a most lamentable ignorance. “ There went ten thousand virgins to heaven in one day.” ’ ‘ God’s sooth ! I wish my bed had been in heaven on that day,’ quoth His Majesty — ‘ eh, my Lord Shrewsbury ? ’ 4 Look but in the almanac, an’ ye shall find that glorious day, scoffers and unbelievers that ye are. Riches and nobility do hinder us sorely on our upward way as well as the infirmities of nature. These sure apply to all ? ’ and she glanced from one to the other of them with mock gravity, while both laughed out — 'even to a crowned head. Ye do perceive, your Majesty, that I am choke-full of divinity, or desirous to show that little I have.’ ‘ And to turn preacher,’ laughed my Lord Shrews- bury, bantering ; 'you, whose mission at Court it is to send men to perdition ! The fair sinner turned saint and preacher — ha ! ha ! His Majesty is all attention.’ ‘ Pardon me, my lords, ’tis not my function,’ said my Lady Arbell, with a little smile and bow of such espieglerie and grace as caught the heart of either. And, laughing, turned away, and sailed off with my Lady Rich in right stately fashion — the two fairest and most famous women in all that Court of Whitehall. And on their track a trail of gallants, slashed and laced, twirling their moustaches at all other gallants round in fierce challenge and effrontery, and clashing jewelled swords — aye ready to kiss a woman’s lips, or lash a man across the face. My Lady Arbell, her hand linked within the arm 128 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL of my Lady Rich, made the circuit of the great hall, and way was made for them by their bodyguard, so that all eyes turned to gaze on them, so like were they to two graceful peacocks, in regal pride of gait and mould of fashion. Their long, slender waists, high sleeves and higher chopines, slenderer, longer and higher than any there ; their gigantic ruffs of lace and puffings unfurled erect behind and above their small and close - curled heads, which were entwined with strings of pearls, and little classic wreaths of gold and silver. Sweet perfume wafted from them as they moved, while jewel - mounted feather-fans made a pleasant flutter. They walked barefaced, that all should see their beauty, carrying little velvet masks within their hands, to don in case of insult. Around the banquet tables, the din waxed ever higher and more furious with wine and wassail, as courtiers and court ladies drained their draughts of Rhenish. ’Mid this patrician mob was one lovely maiden, scarce more than a child, destined — in the corruptest Court in all Europe — to become corrupter and more notorious than any woman there ; and to take precedence of all others for sin and shame ; whose fatal, sensuous charms enthralled and well- nigh conquered the proud, fastidious Prince, and perchance, led him to his death. In one hand she held an empty flagon, her fair head had fallen back on the gold-broidered shoulder of my Lord Kildare, while her other arm was cast up upon his breast. Her child-face was deadly pale, her eyes half-closed, and the red wine oozed like blood from out her parted lips. My Lord Kildare, drunk himself, with one arm clasped her slender loveliness and with the other hand clutched his dagger, to guard his prey. On this sight fell the large, clear glancing eyes of my Lady Arbell, and suddenly her face grew pale. For, by some freak of fancy, the vision of the fair angel-child Elizabeth rose before her, and dimmed ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 29 her sight. The contrast was so sad. Frowning over unfallen tears, she slipped on her mask ; and in an instant was beside the fainting girl. My Lord Kildare, unwitting of her identity, made a pass at her with his dagger ; but my Lady Arbell, ever in danger intrepid and calm, by a scornful, backward gesture, ever so slight, struck it from his shaking hand. Then, raising the girl within her arms, half- led, half-bore her from out the throng. On this scene stared the reeling courtiers in stupid amusement and amaze. Kildare, risen to his feet, his hand upon his sword, his velvet doublet and fine linen red with wine, swayed upon his heels, and pointed after them, suffocating and shaken with drink and laughter. While a brace of fine ladies, holding within their hands, for the protection of their ruffs, soup-spoons two feet long, held these sus- pended ; — stooped over their plates with sidelong glance, and sniggered. Alike in country, court, and city, my Lady Arbell was ever beside the Queen, to the great envy, malice and jealousy of all the maids-of-honour, and most of the ladies of the Court ; more especially because of her wit and charm, a charm which carried all things and all men before her, and caused all rivals whatso- ever, though oft gifted with more uniform beauty, to pale. Yet, had it not been for the men, the women might have forgiven her, if only for her sweetness and generosity, if not for other virtues. Thus did this penniless royal princess caracole on her velvet-dight horse beside the Queen. And there was no one in all the glitter of pageant and cavalcade the people cheered so lusty and so long, saving only the boy - prince, as my Lady Arbell. She, whose deeds of charity were known to all, and who never forgot the lives of the poor and sick. Wherever she went was she greeted with cheers and wild enthusiasm. Her path was strewn with flowers ; yet her heart was empty. I 130 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL In the banquet hall of the old palace of Whitehall, there was on Twelfth Eve ‘great golden play’ at Court. In this palace the gaming-tables were crowded nightly. Down in the arena, ‘round the green cloth/ was a vast concourse of courtiers and fine ladies, eperdu with the gambling spirit and gambling blood, which runs like fire in the veins. Above the crowd, on the raised dal’s, sat kings, queens and princes, too proud to tread below and mingle with the ‘common herd/ yet not too proud to throw their stakes by proxy, to barter the jewels from off their backs ; and to win and lose in a single night such sums as would have made a king’s ran- som ; or the redemption, mind and body, of twenty thousand starveling souls. ’Mid those on the dai's beside the Queen was now oft to be seen my Lady Arbell, leaning forward to whisper in the ear of some inviolable favourite, whose hand would throw the cast for Her Majesty and herself ; or, her soul within her eyes, watching the hazard of the die. Oft, so vehe- mently would she be possessed by this inherited and inborn spirit of gambling, that she, with my Lady Rich, would escape, and in disguise, in male attire, mix with the crowd about the tables, the better to watch the fortunes of the game. On this Twelfth Night, ‘no gamester was even admitted that brought not ^300, at least, within his purse.’ The debts which my Lady Arbell had incurred were great and many, and sunk her ever deeper in this vortex. A few nights before, had she left the tables a winner by many thousands ; but these had been quickly engulfed, and were but a dole in the magnitude of her indebt- ments ; so that on this night was she so reduced, that she had but three thousand guineas clenched within her palm ; on which, by the Duke of Lenox, she staked her all. The gay Duke himself, had not a stiver left; but, with characteristic and hereditary sang-froid , be- trayed not by the movement of a muscle any concern therewith. No so with many of those around the ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 3 1 fatal board, whose haggard features showed ghastly in the wavering lights, ’mid the eager chink and rapid change of gold. There was one (the old Countess of Cheviot), once, in the early days of Queen Bess, famed for the brilliancy of her eyes and the alabaster fairness of her skin, who had outlived all illusions save this one of gambling ; and who, dead to all beside, pre- sented the appearance of a bleached spectre, illumed by some strange inner glow which gleamed through the eyes alone. Her palsied hands trembled on the dice, and on the piles of gold coin beside her, while the jewels wreathed about her bones, winked and blinked like a hundred evil eyes. Near by, in strange contrast to this automatic corse, stood a young gallant all alive with vitality, and the agony of despair, his gorgeous dress disordered, the dark hair matted on his brow : hope-abandoned, forlorn and desperate. Above, in the stone gallery of the hall, the minstrels played in stately strains the music of the Twelfth Night Mask, ‘Rare Ben Johnson’s 5 lyric measures weaved with subtle satire ; light and airy as step of midnight fey, or trail of moonbeam’s flight — music which ever mocked the wild unrest below. Apart from the minstrels, and out of the blaze of light, stood two men in the gallery, watching with keen interest, some amusement, and infinite contempt, the glitter and ever-changing play of light and colour, as the gorgeous masquers and gamblers surged and swayed in the body of the hall. These were my Lord of Arundel and Surrey, and him who was thereafter Earl of Hertford and Duke of Somerset. They were both tall, grave and stately men, their plain and sombre attire in marked contrast to the brilliancy about them. Both were born out of their century, for the coarseness and gross profligacy of this Court, were alike abhorrent to their nature and their habits. One was as distinguished for his know- ledge of men and manners, as was the other for his 132 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL erudition and scholarly attainments (and, afterwards, by his sword). One was a man of the world ; the other, scholar and recluse. ‘ Look at my Lady Cheviot. Saw ye ever such a spectre, Will? One hand on the dice, one foot in the grave. She hath lived hard and fast, and is old before her time, for even I mind her as a right win- some dame in the Court of good Queen Bess; and frolicsome as a kitten. See ye now, my Lord Mont- eagle is staking for Her Majesty, and His Grace of Lenox for the masked lady at her side. Play runneth mountains high this night, and many will be sub- merged/ He paused, and glanced at his comrade to mark the effect of his words. The eyes of both were directed to the royal dai's. ‘ The masked lady at side of Her Majesty is the Lady Arbella Stuart/ said Will Seymour, quietly, and without change of countenance. 4 I know her by the lights in her hair, which outshine the auburn dye/ ‘ And I know her, Will, by her high, slender stature and unique grace of bearing. See ye not, when she stands, how she riseth above all the women round ? ’Tis pity she should be there. She looks, and is, too noble/ ‘Ye speak truly, Fitz. My Lady Arbell looks, and is, too noble for such an orgy. See, she hath left — ’ Will Seymour said no more ; for, as my Lady Arbell quitted the dais, he left the gallery, leaving my Lord Arundel smiling sadly and thoughtfully alone. ‘ Alas, poor Will ! ’ said he, aside. On that Twelfth Eve was the moon set high and full on the breast of a cloudless night, fretted only by the glory of winter stars. O’er frost-bound earth those stars shone crystal-clear, and blinked wide- eyed in innocent wonderment upon that strange orb drifting through space, like a lost spirit, toward the dawn. To yon high zenith, the vast roar of London- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 133 Town was but a murmur. Her myriad lights, a stream of garish mist — mists rising scintillant from garish ways : the sterile hills and gruesome vales of life — which stained the stars. ’Gainst such mysteries did gather close the forest patriarchs, and stretched weird arms across the glow, wrestling in some sudden fray with vagrant breeze ; or, bending leafless coronas, whispered low lament for what had been and was to come ; or stooped to stare in mazed trance on waver- ing moon within the stream. ’Gainst such mysteries uprose the Gothic gates and lofty towers of the an- cient palace on the Thames, circled by irregular courts and crowned by cupolas. Within a great stone gallery, whence might be seen privy gardens, which sloped down to the river’s brink, the royal cousins met — My Lady Arbell standing by a casement, which she had thrown open wide to the frost-clear night, and had doffed her little velvet mask, so that the cold air might fan her face. Leaning there within the archway, a poetical fancy took Will Seymour that she was like to a tall white lily he had once noted within a garden, bent and beaten in a spent storm. He strode forward, and took his place in silence by her side. ’Twas that same silence and gravity which contrasted so forcibly with the butterfly courtiers of the Court, and attracted her so strongly to him. Had he never sinned, he would neither have been a man, nor an imperious and hot-blooded Tudor, for, beneath Seymour’s unvarying calm, smouldered fire which needed but a breath to kindle. Yet, as compared to the coarse profligacy of those about him, his life was as a saint’s for austerity and self-restraint. Then, too, he was so tall and athletic, his very strength and stature bespeaking the repose which goes with power — power of mind and body, equally dear to a woman’s heart. ’Twas only when so near that her hand was laid upon the breast of his doublet, and her eyes gazing upward into his, 134 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL that he saw how deadly pale she was — paler than he had ever seen her — and breathing hard and fast as if she had run a race. And he closed his hand on hers, where it lay upon his breast. ‘ Oh, Will, my “ little falconer,” why know we not when fortune favours us? Would that you and I were back this moment on those dear hills and moors, fresh with the winds of heaven ! I am stifling in this Court.' 4 What hath befallen, Arbell ? ’ he asked, with urgent tenderness. 'Yet ye need not to tell me. You have staked and lost. In league with that devil-duke, who would truck the clothes from off his back only to win a throw ! I saw it all.' ‘ Ay, I have staked — and lost,' echoed Arbell, sadly. ' Poor, silly, trumpery moth, that, being scorched, flieth back into the flame to die. Ah, if ye did but know, Will, how I hate and despise myself!' She clenched her hands before her, and, staring forth into the garden, looked the very picture of abandonment and forlorn despair. 'Then why will ye do it?' asked Will Seymour, an irrepressible ghost of a smile stirring the firm muscles about his mouth. ‘ Why ask me such idle questions, Master Seymour ?' cried Arbell. ‘ I gamble because I must e’en win money for my Catholics, for my poor and ailing, for my pensioners.' ‘ Ill-gotten gains. To do evil that good may come ? Such alms will yield no blessing to your poor.’ ‘ I gamble because I am a beggar.' 'A "beggar?”' he asked, with fine scorn and humour, touching the great twisted ropes of pearls which crossed her breast from hip to shoulder ; 6 bound up and loaded with such chains as these? Poor little slave ! ' 4 Would ye have me sell the pearls of my dead kinswoman, Mary Stuart?’ flashed Arbell. ‘I had rather die i’ the roadside. Nay, Will; I gamble ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 35 because ’tis in the blood. There, ye have it in a nutshell. I must e’en go to “ Jingling Geordie,” who again and again hath stood my friend when all else have failed me.’ ‘ I had rather ye went to the arch-fiend himself.’ ‘ So think you — you, who are so sterling and so strong ! Might any human weakness or human lapse from virtue, ever besiege or tempt thee, Will?’ She gazed mocking on him, the aye ready and lurking smile curling her lips the while. ‘ Ay,’ said he, £ it might.’ And imperceptibly, he drew nearer yet, so that in the mingled light of torch and moon, she could see the downward fire and flash within his eyes, which challenged answering fire, and not in vain. ‘My “saint” a sinner?’ cried Arbell, strangely stirred. ‘ Oh, Will, it lacks but that.’ He had roused all the coquetry and latent passion in her nature, which then held yet lured him on. ‘To compass what?’ he asked. And the hands which held hers trembled. ‘To win some woman’s heart, maybe, to thine,’ she lightly said. ‘ Some woman’s heart ? ’ he sternly asked. ‘ What woman? You know, my Lady Arbell, there dwelleth but one woman in all the wide world for me.’ She wrested her clasp from his, then flung her- self on one knee before the open casement, with desperate hands clasped beneath her chin, while miserable tears rose and blinded her. ‘Would ye be fain to win one poor remnant of a perished heart,’ said she, ‘ buried deep within a grave ? Will Seymour, I love ye too dear for that. Kins- man — brother — ye ask ye know not what.’ But he bent above her head, her two small hands closed in one broad palm, and whispered low, — ‘ Better the remnant of soul of thine, than soul and body of another. All mine is thine : My heart, Arbell, to do with what thou wilt. My body, to lean 136 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL on in wreck and storm. My soul — to make or mar. My soul — to shelter thee/ . . . Far off, the sounds of revelry, laughter and min- strelsy, and the clash of dice, was faintly heard. Yet so faint, that the low breeze of evening, playing with harp-like fingers on leafless bough against the stars, had it its own wild way, be it passion, warning, or lament. Gable and tower, quaint Gothic gateway, far-sheen- ing river, and all the tracery of the stately palace, rose beauteous in glamour of moonshine, fantastic as a dream. A dream ? — What is life but dreams ? What death, but a dream that knows no 'waking ? The lovers were in that glamour. Arbell, with closed eyes and a little sobbing sigh of content, laid back her head against his breast, like a tired child that sinks to sleep. His blonde head bent over hers, till lips met. They were in Paradise. Scene XVIII 1604. An old Hunting- Palace 1605. To Childhood' s Bowers one last Farewell 'Mid King Jamie's numerous and favourite hunting- seats, where he was wont to disport himself, secluded and well-nigh alienated from all disquieting cares and business of state, was a rambling old pile within the village of Royston, dignified by the name of ‘ palace,' as being so oft the abode of King and Court. Well did courtiers and ladies ('mid them, my Lady Arbell), know the great high road across the bleak and open heath — scene of many a race and hunt, traversed by wintry winds and storms of sleet, both keen and fell, where snow was wont to lie for many a ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 137 day, unthawed in Gelid Vale, or on the bare and bitter hills, while that sylvan Prince, King James, was wont to curse and swear, and wait the raining of the skies, enraged with them for not doing so at his pleasure, and for thereby weakening the scent of hounds. On that high road from London-Town, there was on one hilltop one bush in all the waste, which shuddered and shook against the sky. The desolate Newmarket hills were equally destitute of shade and shelter, as was the semicircle of naked hills about the village. There was also on the London roadway, as one other feature of the landscape, a vast rabbit- warren and an ancient chalk-pit, about which paupers and rabbits bred with equal fruitfulness, and held un- divided sway. There was also great dearth of water, save in the unsavoury ponds and open drains which led thereto. Such were the vegetable and geological features of this hunting-hamlet on the heath, favoured and favourite haunt of that high and mighty Prince, King Jamie, How then were those scattered hamlets about the footstone of the ancient cross roused to excitement, and even transitory loyalty, by the sudden and random arrival of the Court, no unwonted sight to them, but one of ever-absorbing interest ? Out of the narrow street the cavalcade would turn, clattering straight into the courtyard gates, within which were various stone courts enclosed within red brick walls, massive and lofty, and o’erhung by forest trees. Such was the entrance to gabled stables and palace, a picturesque and rambling messuage, which men, hounds and horses shared together. Many a merry and many a pensive hour had Arbell passed within those same old walls, sacred to horse and hound. Many a night was she 'waked at early dawn to hear the first signals and summons of the chase, the bay of 'prisoned hound, the shrill, wild neigh of stabled steed, the imperious stamp of hoof, 138 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL and ring of bucket on the stones, and heard the winds in the wide chimney howl in answering gusts — sounds familiar to her from childhood as her own name. Many a winter eve had Arbella Stuart and Penelope Agard paced those same mossed paths sheltered by red walls, where serried rows of yews on either hand, linked arm in arm, formed dense thicket of brooding shadow. In one of these same twilight walks was Arbell roaming, a smile upon her lips, for she held an open letter in her hand which seemed to afford her both pleasure and diversion. She, however, was never left long alone, for when ’twas not His Majesty, the Queen or Prince, someone or another was sure to seek that bright and sympathetic presence for comfort, coun- tenance or counsel. 4 Well met, my Lord/ she cried, espying in the far end of the vista a bluff and frank old soldier, who had stood her friend and champion through many a stormy fray. He struck his hands together, then wrung them in mock despair. c Well met, but sore bestead, my Lady Arbell. If e’er I come to this cursed lair again may the foul fiend scarify me ! In the saddle by six o’clock i’ the morn. In the saddle by six o’clock i’ the night. And then, for the most part, three leagues from home. And here, in this most pestiferous hole, is no council but myself. No, not so much as a clerk nor privy signet ; so that even a warrant for post-horses must pass mine own jaded hand and eye.’ ‘Tis sad indeed, my Lord of Worcester,’ laughed Arbell, ‘ and ye have my unfeigned sympathy. This everlasting hunting ! Even I pray for an off-day and a black and scathing frost. An’ so I hear Master Jowler hath returned, bearing a petition from the Puritans for His Majesty?’ The old Earl smoothed his pointed beard and laughed right lustily, for with him the humorous side was ever uppermost. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 139 ‘Ay, my Lady Arbell, for two days hath His Majesty cursed and swore in vain, having missed his presence sore. But this very day hath the prodigal come back bearing a petition about his neck, a petition which I do as heartily endorse, viz., that His Majesty having outstayed his welcome here, having laid waste the crops, and gutted all provisions within twenty miles around, should forthwith betake himself to his council chamber and his long-suffering ministers ; thus relieving his oppressed subjects of his consuming presence — or words to that effect/ ‘And in what sort did His Majesty receive this most lawless and disloyal piece of presumption ? ’ ‘Why, when Master Jowler, at the snapping of his royal master’s fingers and his familiar whistle, trotted toward him, his tail betwixt his legs, expecting a sound hiding, His Majesty forgot all else but Jowler, and wept tears of joy upon his neck ; but when he espied the parchment and read the contents thereof, first he burst out a’laughing; and then he fumed intoafury,and swore by all the saints in heaven above and all the sinners on earth beneath, that he would make these Puritans smart for this most insolent disorder of proceeding, bidding all such traitors begone out of his sight to the Land o’ the Apollyon from whence they came. Upon which, all would-be traitors louted low, proud to be thus gleeked by a king. And His Majesty, mounting his horse, rode off triumphant, Jowler at his heels. But as he rode away he laughed and laughed again, so that he well-nigh rolled from off his horse/ ‘ So like unto His Majesty/ said Arbell, laughing also. ‘ He is no more Puritan nor Protestant at heart than — I am/ ‘ Then that is not saying much, your ladyship, for His Majesty’s faith/ remarked the old Earl, with a shrewd and twinkling glance. ‘Yet I would that His Majesty would act on this advice. Scarce is the smell of gunpowder got out of our nostrils, than the devil setteth to work to have 140 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL every man blow up himself, by the practice of every devilment his own black heart can devise, whiles evil-speaking, plotting and malice rage among the women folk. Oh, my Lady, my Lady ! this Court be no place for such as you and me. We walk and speak too straight. We be no courtiers, you and I. We need rest — r£st. Space to breathe the air of heaven where ’tis unpolluted. Best escape while we may, Countess, with heads secure/ ‘ Thus have ye often warned me, my good Lord and dear old friend/ quoth Arbell, with a somewhat sorrowful curve of the lip. ‘ And yet the love of change and excitement, sweet to most of us, hath ever chained me here against my better judgment. Oft do I think, my Lord of Worcester, that I will take to myself the wings of a falcon, and hie me away while the sky be blue and fair/ ‘ Do so, do so, my Lady Arbell, an’ may God prosper thee! For we never know the day nor the hour when storms may rise and blow us all to the four winds of heaven, “ like chaff before the wind.” We outrage law and justice; we foul morality; we are in league with the devil, with all his tribe of jugglers and charlatans, soothsayers and poisoners ; we are courting the gale, and shall be caught by the whirlwind yet. Yet is there one who standeth out from the ruck dear to me as mine own son/ But even as he spake, and my Lady Arbell glanced bright and questioning on him, others came trooping and laughing along the yew tree path, amongst them Her Majesty the Queen and young Prince Henry, over whose shoulders her arm was thrown. They all halted within an alcove of the old brick wall, beneath two young mulberry trees, planted by King James’s own hand upon a stretch of sward. Prince Henry, then a tall boy of eleven or thereabouts, was ever full of spirit and vitality. Linking his hand within the arm of my Lady Arbell, he swore he would carry her off then and there ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 141 his lane to view the ancient cave, 'which runneth,’ said he ‘ beneath the roadway. The passage thereto is hewed out of the solid rock ; and where, my Lady Arbell, ye shall see all the saints and martyrs that ever lived (dear to your heart, I know), and where ye may find sanctuary forever from all persecutions that may befall. On either side the holy rood may ye see strange figures traced, and Saint Catherine and her wheel ; and below this again, Cceur de Lion and his Queen, and a host of others. Do but come, for ye have promised me this a hundred times.’ On their way thither the little Prince held forth on all he had lately heard and seen ; for life even then, was full for him of keen, eager interest and delight. ‘ I know not which I love the best,’ quoth he — ‘ my ship Disdain or my books. When once on board I love my ship. Yet once got betwixt the pages o’ my book, I know naught beside, nor care.’ ‘ I feel with you, Hal. Yet am I fearful lest those same books should prove my snare.’ ‘ How so, Arbell ? ’ ‘ Because books foster dreams. Because, while read- ing, life and its realities might change into a dream forever — and I, a dreamer in the farce. ’Tis so sweet, Hal, to do with men and women as ye list. To move the figures on the board, and govern them without state or trouble. To enforce discipline with- out so much as the lifting of a finger. To be loved and courted and believed in, with neither time nor toil.’ The boy listened, opened-eyed. ‘ Ay, my cousin, now I see what ye would be at. Maybe in over-fancy there doth lurk danger. Ay, and in over-study too. For when I read my book of Froissart I love to lie upon my bed, yet to be fighting all the time. Now methinks I be the “ Black Prince,” marching ’gainst France and Spain, and trampling the Spaniards under foot. Now I am back in the Crusades fighting under the banner o’ the Lion King. 142 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL I wax mad for conquest, and drunk for glory, and break out all over sweat, so lustily do I thrust and strike. Then do I win them both, these desires of mine heart. And then — when all is told — I wake. Behold, I am the Prince, the very little Prince, who hath done naught, and knoweth naught. Is’t not that ye mean ? Aye living in another’s plundered glory? ’ ‘ Even so ; nor could it be put in clearer wording. I am more or less of a dreamer, Hal, and have ever been.’ 'A dreamer and a scholar too. For what cannot my Lady Arbell compass whereon her mind is bent ? So Master William Seymour saith. Perchance, then, the Queen, my mother, doth think the same with you ? She feareth that I may grow over-wise, and striveth to divert me from my studies. She saith that great learning hath never yet moulded a soldier and con- queror of the world.’ My Lady Arbell smiled. ‘Knowledge giveth power. With all due honour and reverence to Her Majesty, I think there cannot exist one without the other, though mayhap a great general may gather his research more from the study of men and open country, than from the study of a tome.’ ‘ So think I,’ said Prince Henry, thoughtfully. ‘ Me- thinks a great soldier — at least, in my philosophy — is no great lover of a book. Yet, pray Heaven I may yerk both in one. I do love and worship my name- sake the King of France, brave Henry of Navarre! And if I can shape myself on him, I will make men hear of me. Aut Ccesar aut nullus ! There be no man living like unto him. Nae Spaniards for me.’ ‘ Vox et prceterea nihil ; ne sutor ultra crepidam ! ’ laughed my Lady Arbell. ‘ From all vain glory, the saints deliver us ! ’ They had reached the subterranean passage which led upward to the cave. Along the vista which glim- mered dark ahead, torches set in sconces swayed ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 143 stormily in the draught. On either side the entrance stood a torch-bearer, in waiting on young Prince Henry and my Lady Arbella Stuart. Arbell started back in mock terror at this darkling sight. Prince Henry took her hand in his, and, laughing, they ran up the worn and broken pilgrim steps. In the April of the following year, was my Lady Arbell back once more within her childhood’s home, attended on her ‘ progress ’ thither in royal state, and bearing a letter of intercession to the old Countess of Shrewsbury from the King himself. 4 For/ said James, with a shrewd laugh, as he bade ‘God-speed/ ‘ye sail doubtless find her a more con- tumacious virago than ever, seem’ that she lieth on the brink of the grave, where one touch o 5 the toe may tilt her downward. I warned ye, Arbell, ye s’uld find nae favour, having ta’en part in the suit against her in the cause of those sons she hateth, which freak hath exasperated her more than ever against her “Jewel/’ Thy generous intercession hath cost thee dear/ ‘And thus may it ever be, your Majesty/ had answered Arbell, ‘ sith it be in the cause of those I love/ Once more under the shadows of the Peak — and only once — just in that springtide of the year when childhood is most vividly simulated and recalled ; and the very wantonness and waywardness of the gusty breeze in play of bud and leaflet, mimic the mercurial motions and whimsical fancies of a child. Just here — on the green sward under the old, grey towers, where shadows stripe the sunlight — Penny and I did hide ; just here, within the copse, did we hunt for purple and rosy violets in the moss ; and in the shadows of yon hollow, and the deep woods of the dale. With such thoughts : an idle sigh or unshed tear or absent smile, did the lovely Lady Arbell pass on to the dear old home and prison, hallowed already by 144 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL the magic of memory and time, and the bitterness and tragedy thereof, wiped out and half forgot. As she entered the great hall she was received by a crowd of old retainers, who pressed forward even to touch her garments, with blessings, tears and laughter of delight, so dearly did they love and cherish her. On the threshold of my Lady’s chamber, Arbell paused to gather strength and courage, so much did she long, yet dread, to enter there. Her heart beat to suffoca- tion with tender love and pity ; and she remembered naught but the childish days when she had been the idol of her grandmother’s heart and life; and now she lay a-dying, with scarce a friend in all the world, having driven away with scorn and bitter abuse, those most near and dear. Bess of Hardwick sat bolt up- right, fronting an open casement, and propped up by silken cushions, so great was her prostration ; yet did her half-open eyes blaze with their old, indomitable spirit, and greedily watch the coming of the spring. No fear of frost. Another winter had been survived and dominated, and the fame of Bess of Hardwick rose with every bedded stone. In defiance of Time and Death, in slavish subjection to superstition and prediction, did she toil by brick and mortar to live forever. So ghastly were her features that she scarce seemed to breathe. Arbell kneeled low at her feet, craving love, yet fearing hate, nor durst speak a word, but only waited for recognition. ‘Arbella Stuart? Is this my grandchild, Arbella Stuart?’ ‘Ay; dost thou not know me, my grandmother ? ’ and Arbell, with infinite tenderness and pity, laid her hand on hers, for she believed the Countess to be dying. ‘I am thy little Arbell, thy “Jewel,” come back for thy blessing once again.’ ‘ An’ do ye think, my Lady Countess of Lenox, that “ Bess of Hardwick ” is a drivelling crone, a lack- wit, sans mind and memory ? Go to, wench, go to. What I lack in brilliance, I gain in wisdom. / am no ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 145 turntippet, to blow hot and cold, to swallow the leelo and change my creed and chronicle with every day o’ the year. Your white face and your record are writ down as clear upon this heart of mine, as the day ye first trampled thereupon. Thou, forsooth, who hast cast all noble ambition to the winds ! Thou, who hast had half the kings and princes o’ Christendom at thy feet ! Thou, Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox, who remainest, an’ will remain, crownless, landless and a pauper, while all others thrive — wilful, wayward, obstinate. Worthy kinswoman of Mary Stuart — the block shall be thy pillow/ ‘ So be it/ said Arbell, sorrowfully ; ‘ I care not, so that I have thy forgiveness and thy love/ ‘But think not I am going to die/ with sudden, startling energy, and sidelong glance of sharp sus- picion. ‘ I am as hale as e’er I was. Ay, Arbella Stuart, as sure as yon buds do burst into leaf and bloom, I have but begun to live. Look ye, death is far from me. Count not on my death/ she added, fiercely, ‘ for never stiver shall ye touch of mine/ ‘ God forbid I should think on that/ said Arbell, gently. ‘ I ask but this — ’ And, suiting the action to the words, she, as in the olden days, raised the two withered hands within her own and laid them on her own fair head for benison. This struck home to the hardened heart. ‘My Jewel, my Countess and my Queen! — God bless and keep thee, Arbell, now — and ever ! ’ Arbell’s soft face and sunny head were bent caress- ing to welcome words which blessed, and touch that failed ; for, even as these words were uttered (the last she ever heard from her), and Arbell’s breast heaved wildly with passion of gladness, sorrow and regret, the numbness of old age sunk on sleep. Arbell was alone. She was given her old study chambers, just as she had left them, fraught with memories — how bitter- sweet ! There the noble countenance of Mary Stuart, with sweet, locked lips and broad, unfurrowed brow K 146 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL of intellect and thought, gazed pensive on her. How oft, her own eyes drowned in unavailing tears, had Arbell looked upward to her pictured saint for comfort and for pity, till the firm lips had seemed to smile and curl in scorn ; the dauntless eyes, which had fronted ruthless insult and barbarous death unclouded, to break into an ever-lurking smile of irony, at the fallacy of fate and the weakness of humanity? How well did Arbell know that look, the steadfastness of which had checked her wildest fits of baby-passion and defiance, and brought her with tearful sobs to Mary's feet? Ah, the blent sweetness, pathos and persiflage of that exquisite face — fit emblem of an heroic life and noble death. From such contemplation Arbell turned to the open casement : moon-washed and dew-washed, steeped in sheen and balm, lay, far below, the breath- less woods. Twilight had drawn her veil thereon, and laid them to their rest. Yet, from deeps unseen, rose the incense of a thousand wilding flowers, muffled in moss and brake — flowers whose grandparents Arbell herself had gathered. Forth, from folding shadows, stole the twin sisters, Memory and Regret, ever linked hand in hand, and set the tears within her eyes, and the smile upon her bps. With these — and the lull of the moun- tain torrent — did Arbell fall asleep. Thus did she leave the old home — a grandmother's blessing shut within her heart, three hundred gold coins in her pocket, and a gold cup within her hand. Thus did she leave the ancient village of Edensor, sunk in bowery leafage, and the six great towers of the ‘ Palace o' the Peak.' To these, and to ‘Queen Mary's Bower,’ a long and last farewell. Slowly, and lost in melancholy recollection, had she mounted the mossed steps to rifled and lonely bower. As if, in memory of the Scottish Queen, Nature had braided each dead bramble with living green. Death in Life — Life in Death — were here knotted and in- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 47 tertwined, so that the whole sad bower was alight. The garners of April overflowed therein ; ivy ran riot and rippling over cold grey stone, or clasped it with passionate tendril-arms in very abandonment of elfish mirth and yearning memory. From these, Arbell stepped aside, so that not one tender leaflet should be bruised. All through the leafage pushed up the sweet heads of April flowers, and opened wide upon her innocent eyes in childhood, grave regard, breathing upon her the pure breath of those dead hours, till her heart was like to break : ‘Thou’rt come/ saith Arbell, ‘to greet me, and to shrine my saint/ and she passed within. One wild wave of ivy, bolder than its fellows, had coiled round the chair where once the dead Queen sate, and clasped it in jealous hold, so that no man might take it thence. On the table near lay dead leaves, and a shred of faded ribbon — Before that chair, as before an altar, kneeled Arbella Stuart. The presage of doom, which so often haunted her, lay strong upon her ; one stricken figure in a world of flush and bloom. A little bird, building her home within the bower, lighted on the threshold, a twig within her beak, and gazed with wise and questioning quest around ; then, seeing naught to fear, flew fearless to her nest. An early and belated butterfly — the very incarnation of sum- mer — fluttered weetless in the gloom, and, lighting on the impassive lion’s head, (which, rampant, held the chair), fell thus into a torpid trance. The stone Triton cast up his waters in laughter in the sun, only to fall in tears in shadow — Tears, idle tears — Requiem and lullaby. . . . 148 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Scene XIX 1605. ’ Mid the Ghosts of Hampton Court Arbell of the bower was another being to Arbell of the Court. The Lady Arbell who, on New Year’s tide, did grace the ruddy courts, sombre cloisters and tapestried oaken chambers of the palace of the Tudors — ’Twas another Arbell who reigned there with such audacious, piquante and imperious sway, who did as she listed, as the wild whim of the hour led her, and found never a way ‘ so kind to the foot as the way she liked to go.’ ’Twas this other Arbell, whose bird-like voice, so sweet and wild, re-echoed of an evening from tower, turret and battlement, or from gable and lattice, singing with rare skill unto her lute. New Year tide was celebrated with all the accus- tomed pomp and splendour of masquerade and banquet — masques which on that year were played before Prince Henry and in his honour ; he having resided there several months up to this time, and having distinguished himself in science, art, and also every kind of athletic and martial game and exercise, so that all men began to gaze upon him — all in wonder, and some in jealousy, of his marvellous precocity — for he was but a lad. Arbell, whose debts and difficulties were ever pressing heavier on her, and whose reckless gener- osity to all classes knew neither check nor stint, was discussing with Mistress Penelope her New Year’s gifts right merrily. ‘ I have,’ saith she, ‘ neither scrip nor purse — my scrip be empty, but my heart be light. Yet is my brain full, and teemeth with device. Here be I, swathed in purple and fine linen, the handmaid and the “ honourable woman ” of a queen, yet have not wherewithal to buy a gift. What think ye, Penny ? And what do you advise ? ’ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 149 4 What hold ye in your hand ? ’ My Lady Arbell, on tip of finger, held her handi- craft on high. ‘A purse, Penny — the purse of Fortunatus ; a purse made out of a sow’s ear, and therefore worthy to be presented to a swine of Epicurus ! ’ Penelope Agard laughed as she shook her head. 4 High treason, my Lady Arbell.’ 4 And thus, and thus, having thrown my pearl before the swine, I go forth empty, improvident and starveling, yet is my brain teeming with device. Her Majesty, like a royal cuckoo, is waiting open-mouthed to be fed, whiles the poor little hunter-hedge-sparrow hunteth wildly for a worm, be it never so small, wherewith to feed her.’ ‘Yet doth the cuckoo consider the bulk rather than the flavour, and regardeth the device rather than the value thereof,’ quoth Penelope, laughing merrily. ‘ And so think I, my sage and learned counsellor. Wherefore, setting aside all womanish toys and gew- gaws, gowns and fardingales, I do incline rather to buy a little bunch of rubies, or some such toy, to hang within her ear. Item, bunch of rubies ; item, two pair o’ silken gloves ; item, two pair o’ silk hosen, lined with plush. Whereof I cannot bethink me better.’ ‘ A right royal gift, which will leave you without a stiver. Methinks, Arbell, ye be wise in this ; for Her Majesty, ever kind and courteous, did take in right good part, your shortcoming as a carver. Yet hath she never forgot it, nor ever faileth to laugh with my Lady Talbot of Shrewsbury thereanent.’ Arbell burst forth into hearty laughter. ‘ It is certain, according to my aunt of Shrewsbury, that the malice of certain ladies of the Court dealt me that dishonour. For after I had once carved for Her Majesty, Her Majesty was seen no more that day, nor was waited on by any but her cbamberers, till the return of my Lady Bedford as carver, and my aunt 150 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL of Shrewsbury as cup-bearer. My unhandsome carv- ing was, unwitting, the cause of much mirth, the face of Her Majesty a sight to dream on, yet sure am I that the dish must have fallen midway into the hands of mine enemies, and was fashioned to their own ends. A bunch of rubies, then, shall be my peace- offering, that all my many peccadilloes may be for- given and forgot.’ 'The Queen hath an easy memory. Not so the King. He never forgetteth a little slight, nor ever forgiveth a great one.’ ‘ Offered to himself, yet not so to his country and his country’s honour,’ cried Arbell, with sudden bitter- ness. ‘ That may be fouled and defamed with im- punity, and her slanderers acquitted and assoiled. He loveth not England nor the English, nor ever will/ ‘ Beware ! ’ said Penelope. ‘ There be a thousand women would give the right hand to hear my Lady Arbella Stuart speak such words as these ! Oh, Arbell, when I hear ye bandy sharp words and laughter with the King, and ofttimes see him flinch and roll his eyes, I shiver. I would as soon see ye dance with a bear on his hind legs, that laughs and lolls his tongue. Beware, sweetheart. His play is rough. Beware of the hug ; for, if ye sport with such a playfellow, you are sooner or later doomed to feel that hug close upon ye.’ ‘ And that remindeth me,’ cried Arbell, in laughing mockery and dismay, ‘ that he waiteth on me even now. And, at my signal, the bear will dance. Come, Penny, for after such prophetic words as these, I scarce shall face him alone and live ! ’ ‘ Not 1/ quoth Penelope. ‘ I love not such a tryst ; nor will I do this even for thee. I care not to chal- lenge nor call up the spirits o’ the dead. It is not well. ’Tis good neither for them nor me/ While Penelope was speaking, Arbell had discarded her farthingale, tossing it to the further end of the chamber, and dropped over herself, from head to foot, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL I 5 I a voluminous hooded cloak, from out of which her eyes only flashed and laughed ; then, a dark lantern in her hand, pushed aside the arras, and ran along the gallery in quest of her royal kinsman and the ghosts. For James I. and VI., superstitious to the backbone, had of late been much plagued and irri- tated by the perverse presence of unquiet spirits in his palace of Hampton Court, and their nomadic wander- ing. Due, quoth he, to the crimes and excesses of the Tudors, for which he would hold himself in no wise responsible, and therefore desired to be left in holy peace. Fain would he have summoned a priest of Holy Church to shrive and assoil them, yet dare not, lest he should be thought to be of their doctrine. Many a long discussion had he held with his royal cousin, on the subject of witchcraft, spirits and sorcery. 4 Witchcraft is the root of all evil/ said His Majesty to my Lady Arbell, whose laughter ever lurked ’neath gravity. “ What can be the cause/' said he (quoting from his famous work, Dcemonologia , which he knew by heart), “ that there be twenty women given to that craft where there is but one man ? ’Tis the natural inherent malignity and wickedness o' the female. For, as that sex is frailer than man is, so is it easier to be entrapped in the gross snares o’ the deevil, as was proved by the serpent deceiving of Eva at the. beginning, which maketh him the homelier in that sex sensine.” Wherefore, my sweet cousin, we wouldna hae thee roam these God-forsaken chambers and galleries in open search of unquiet speerits, to which ye might fall an easy prey. Challenge not the speerits o’ the dead, lest a worse fate befall ye.’ ‘Then why will not your most sacred Majesty, in the armour-proof of royal prerogative and right divine, make a spiritual raid against these same lost and wandering ghosts, even as ye did against the witches ? when, by order o’ the King, the heights of Edinboro’ Town were “ lighted up by the burning of 152 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL these malign and graceless Jezebels,” who did basely practise against the life and honour of His Majesty and the Prince ? ' ‘ Because, Arbell, ’tis an unequal fight. Ye never know what the Powers o' Darkness may be at. They that sup kail wi’ the deevil, hae need o’ lang spoons. That is my presumption and my practice.' 4 Indeed, Jamie , ye should need the same,' laughed Arbell. ‘Flout me not/ said King James, solemnly. ‘A king — who is both human and divine — hath need to go down to the darkest and uttermost parts o’ the airth — ay, even to hell itself — in search of know- ledge ; even as he hath to sift the fulsome scandals of state prisons, and the private chronicles of indi- veeduals in his realm, howsoever foul and base.' ‘Ay, my royal kinsman, it doth require a James Stuart to touch pitch and be not defiled. Wherefore I, Arbella Stuart, will add not to the assessments which do press so heavy on you, but will go forth defenceless and alone — to challenge my ghostly visitants ! ’ — She rose to her feet, and in mock tragedy— brows wedded above wild, far-seeing gaze — cast the folds of her cloak across her shoulder, and raised the lantern till it lit the fire in her woeful eyes. So tragic was the vision, that it thrilled the timorous heart of James with boding fears. ‘ Nay, Arbell, we forbid ye ! ’ he exclaimed, standing across her path and clutching with one hand the breast of his padded jerkin. ‘ This palace is ours, an’ we do forbid ye, under pain of penalty, to play elfish pranks therein.' But my Lady Arbell was not to be governed even by a king. With a swift movement she evaded him and gained the door. ‘ Have ye neither charm nor amulet ? 9 he cried. ‘ I have better than either here.' And he saw the glitter of the cross within her hand. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 153 James Stuart crossed himself fervently and muttered a prayer. And in another moment, on noiseless feet, she had flitted into the gloom of the gallery. Arbell, on whose nerves and imagination the strange rumours and stranger sounds in the palace, had made a deeper impression than she cared to con- fess, and who, both by temperament and the trend of her Scottish blood, was open to all such influences, climbed to the eastern wing of the ‘ clock court/ once a portion of Wolsey’s gorgeous palace, and assigned by him for the special use of Katherine of Arragon, whensoever it had pleasured the Queen to visit his right royal manor. This was not the first time on which Arbell, at dead of night, had started on her ghostly quest. Yet, though she had haunted the south-west wing of the palace, where mostly strange sounds were heard, so far she had seen naught — Only heard through the thickness of the wall, a curious and cease- less whirring, as of the treadle of a spinning-wheel, when in its gyration it strikes the oaken floor, as im- pelled by some busy but unseen hand ; and low mutterings the while, as of a woman's voice stifled and intermittent, speaking either to herself, or in her sleep. And as the watcher stole on and listened, so did the sound ever recede to some other range. This time, however, impelled by a spirit of daring and devilment, Arbell left her lantern behind, and must needs pass along the ‘ Haunted Gallery/ which bor- dered the royal closet where Henry VIII. was wont to hear the Mass and offer up his pious prayers. All was quiet, and a deathlike stillness reigned around. No piercing shriek, as from soul already proving the agony of death, cleft the darkness. Nor did any wild figure in white garments, with streaming hair, wild with terror and dread, come flying along the mystic gallery. Down the Queen's ‘ great staircase ' all was still. And though Arbell once heard the low patter of a footstep, as though it dogged her own ; when, with beating heart, she glanced back over her shoulder, *54 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL was there neither sight nor sound. Doubtless, thought she, her fancy had played her false. Beside one of the mullioned windows, she paused to look out upon the ‘ clock court,’ and the cold spendour of the winter moon. Down in the gloom of the court, she could but just discern the ghost-gleam of a statue, and the wavering crest of the great fountain as it leaped and caught the moonshine, and shivered into silver spume upon the breeze, like to the white flash of driven wraith — or plume of phantom-knight. Aloft, in lumin- ous lustre, as veiled moon swept through cloud and clear, uprose within the angles of the Tudor tracery the old clock-dial, which tolled the solemn hours away. Above turret and gable clustered the carven and spiral chimneys, in quaint and delicate tracery of shaft ; while on the coping, crouched gargoyle and hybrid heraldic beast, grotesque and sinister in the illusive light. Bridge and moat caught the glamour, while the grand gatehouse upreared lofty turrets to drift of ebon wrack, and dead calm of golden sky. Some gilded vane veered round and held the glitter. For the rest — all was motionless and still. The deep, dull red of the Tudor palace, toning off to tawny purple, lay all mellowed by the moon. In silence so profound, where all was sleeping but herself, did my Lady Arbell stand and dream — her ghosts well-nigh forgot — When the great clock-dial began to cleave, with hollow strokes of sound, the tide of gloom — and toll forth the midnight hour. Twelve strokes, solemn and slow, gave forth to a heedless world that night was nigh to death. In what strange tragedy of throes — of bloodshed, rapine and farewell ? — Hovering, with wide wings of warning, which banned and blessed — to die in solemn waves of sound upon the listening air. . . . When a sound so slight and light, as scarce to trans- fuse a sigh — dissolved into a breath, half sound, half sense — and fanned Arbell’s ear and throat. She stood stricken and statuesque, without sign of life, her ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 55 staring eyes tranfixed, hand and foot arrested, as though changed in mould and chill, to stone. In the gloom of the oaken doorway there was visible a pale and stealthy shape, with lighted taper in its transparent hand, and in strange and questing posture ; the yellow hair fell loose from ’neath a crown, the shroud-like vesture flowed in close folds to the feet, which were shod in cloth of gold ; the hand which held the taper was death-pale, as was the puny face, which, lighted from below, showed ghastly semblance of death, with living eyes which seemed to search in vain, distraught with disquietude and un- shriven sin. The curious regard of this phantom — if regard it could be called — appeared arrested, and to point to some alien presence there ; slowly, with taper high upheld, it thus approached the living, its head craned forth beneath the flicker — its wild eyes vision- less, yet vigilant — peering, as if about to spring. As this phantom neared the horror-stricken Arbell, to whom it seemed attracted, a faint, pungent odour, faint, yet acrid, seemed to permeate Arbell’s whole being with nausea. By one desperate effort she clutched her cross, and fell over in a dead swoon along the stone. . . . The only two persons in the household to whom Arbell afterwards related the experiences of her quest, were King James and Mistress Penelope Agard, each of whom received them in characteristic fashion. The King was mightily moved, and swore by all the bones of his forefathers, that he would put down these graceless and unholy visitations in this his royal palace. ‘Na, na, 5 quoth he, shaking his fist, ‘Til hae nae mair o’ such jinks as these ! I do forbid ye, my Lady Arbella Stuart, from henceforth to abuse and trade on this most dubious gift of second sicht, or to truck wf the speerits o’ the damned. Am I king or no?’ he cried, lashing himself into one of his sudden furies, and turning from red to white, and white to red again. 1 56 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Are ye my subject, Arbella Stuart, or are ye no ? Of what worth is it, I ask ye, to be a pious and God- fearing mon, or to be by right divine chosen and anointed king, if such things be allowed ? To herd wi’ damnable spooks and demons? To be bearded and set at naught by ane o’ mine own near kin — a rioting and rebellious jade, who champs the bit, and spurneth all authority, even the due allegiance to her anointed king? I winna truckle to’t ! These abomin- able and damnable spooks sail cause nae mair stinks in this our palace. They shall be blotted and assoil- zied from the airth and air they do defile, wi 5 their baleful and pernicious presence ! ’ My Lady Arbell stood before the King, the picture of penitence and humility, though she had much ado not to burst forth into the irrepres- sible laughter with which her breast was wildly heaving, and which glittered beneath her drooped golden lashes. ‘ We willna say/ continued James, already appeased by the attitude of his fair penitent, and the vent of his own spleen, ‘ but that the study o’ siclike craft is of inordinate and portentous interest, an’ what ye hae told us of this female appareetion doth give rise to most involved surmises and conclusions. Nor will we deny but that this strange power o’ spectral vision hath been given, to some wise purpose, to many within our Scottish realm. As ye know, Arbell (though spoken of in secret only), lang syne afore her death, the bluidy head of my murdered royal mother was seen by divers persons, waverin’ in the air above the muir. An’ would to God they had acted then on what they saw. We will hae this mystery delved. Dignus vindice nodus . Neither Presbyterian nor Puritan can avail. We will e’en summon priestcraft to lay this accursed plague ! ’ . . . As for Mistress Penelope, she was a sceptic. She flouted and ridiculed the whole doctrine ; nor would she give credence to a word — accusing my Lady ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL I 57 Arbell of partaking too freely of the salad her soul loved. Mistress Penelope was, however, destined to think otherwise ere she had done, for having occa- sion at a late hour to pass along by one of the haunted chambers, she heard a silver treble voice call in her ear, ‘ Nurse Yak ! ’ and the quick patter of small feet invisible ; and then a mocking laugh, and knew not what it meant — only that her heart was in her mouth. Then in the dusk, a gaunt form passed her, hurrying from behind — a woman dressed in dun- coloured kerseymere, a high ruff about her neck. She took no manner of notice of Penelope ; her lips were muttering, though with no sound ; and, to Penelope’s amaze and horror, she, without more ado, walked into the solid wall and vanished ; while the same voice cried mocking in her ear, ‘ Nurse Yak ! Nurse Yak ! ’ Whereupon Mistress Penelope put her hands to her ears and fled. Nor did she ever breathe to living soul, save only my Lady Arbell, to whom she thought it due, what she had seen and heard. Scene XX 1605. We all go a-maying. 'Life's a Jest ’ Ofttimes would it take the pretty fancy of my Lady Arbell, poetess and mistress of moods and whimsies, to revive the ancient customs o’ the Court. By reason of her marvellous tact and enchanting grace of manner, she might have persuaded Anne of Denmark — by no means wanting either in will or strong opinions — to follow her to the foul fiend him- self, had she so desired and ordained. Fortunately, however, her unbounded influence was all for good. Arbell’s mandate had gone forth that they were all to go a-maying. Thus on May Day, in the dewy dawn, i 5 8 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL the Court being then at Greenwich, did lords and ladies mount their steeds, and hie them away to the gay, green woods, for the prettiest frolic at the Green Court in Tudor times had been that innocent pastime of ‘ bringing home the may.’ On this special May Day in the dawning, all was so fresh, and pure and fair. Even these rake-hells of the most degraded Court in all the world, felt a pleasing fillip through their jaded pulses, drank in new life, and fancied themselves babes newborn — white as the robes wherewith they were dight — all was so sweet and artless. Bird and butterfly pursued their innocent loves in the most open and guileless fashion with amorous zest. Lambs leaped in the meadows. Colt and calf, heads down and tails up, kicked wildly, or rushed careering, irresponsible in course and action, mad for joy. April and May blew sweet o’er all the flowering land ; copse and dell had gone white as with the snows of winter. All was May ! May ! May ! How much more so in the hearts of true lovers, in the yet secret and sacred sanctuary of hearts which beat responsive, yet ne’er had plighted troth — still pursuing, still pursued. Never, since that winter night in the gallery of Whitehall, had the lips of these lovers met again. With consummate skill and coquetry did my Lady Arbell hold her countless wooers at arm’s length — even this kinsman lover, whom she had drifted into loving dearer than she knew. Yet did she realise the fact so far even then, as to know that both life and liberty were in jeopardy, and to make it a chief object of existence never to meet Will Seymour alone again. She had no trust neither in self nor him. His, naturally, as she well did know, was to frustrate this design, so that there was secret war betwixt them — a war which lent zest and excite- ment both to the hunter and the quarry, and which did but heap fuel on the flame of his tenacious and undeviating devotion and desire, to win Arbell for his ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 159 own — the sweet angel of his life — and which did but add piquancy to the mettlesome, soul-stirring charms of this very human Arbella Stuart. Thus, in the dawn o’ the May, did they ride forth side by side. Many were the significant glances and whispers levelled at these royal cousins, so constant in one another’s society — accepted outwardly, as fellow-students in the laws of science, philosophy and Platonism ; received inwardly, as secret if not acknow- ledged lovers. Yet, strange to say, never, even by the most scurrilous, either lampooned or defamed. Will Seymour was regarded as a lusus naturce , dis- passionate stoic and philosopher, who, either from disinclination, or abnormal discipline and durance, was quite above all human passions, and had ‘ thought himself into marble.’ Arbella Stuart, in spite of having kept every Court in Europe in a ferment from the days of her child- hood — in spite of having had her name and her suitors bandied from Court to Court, and run the gauntlet of every species of jealousy and slander — had never failed to rise triumphant from the flames. Arbell — with all her audacity, her wild, bizarre adventures, and incorrigible spirit of coquetry — was believed in, and known to live a life — so far as morals go — of the isola- tion of a recluse, and the purity of a saint. Though exposed to temptations many and great, though courted by all men, and adored by most, even to her life’s end, this lofty and fastidious purity and high sense of honour held her unscathed. Possibly also, in some degree, a similar strain of that peculiar temperament and complex nature, which was inborn in her beautiful and famous kinswoman ; and which, after two centuries and a half, hath vindicated its claim, dispelled the created clouds of foul and malign calumny ; and trans- formed the name of Mary Stuart, queen uncrowned and dishonoured, into the name of Mary Stuart, crowned saint and martyr. Arbella Stuart, though the daughter of Darnley’s l6o ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL brother, and the great-grand-daughter of Margaret Tudor, was eminently, as far as sensuous passion goes, cold and chaste ; and, for the age in which she lived — and indeed for all ages — most delicately fastidious in the choice of her associates, her friends and comrades. She was, however, fairly conscious of the force of those deeps which she herself had never fathomed nor cared to fathom, and had an inherited instinct for sounding their depth and power ; and, in her idle moments, to play, as a butterfly might play, over the profound calm of whilom storm-lashed deeps. May — May — How sweet the smell of flowers and fruit. Blossoms flowed adown the breeze in one unbroken tide. Primroses, hawthorn, violets, arche- cokkes and daffodillies, which waved weaved streamers of rainbow lustre in the tremulous light of dawn. These fair flowerets, all ’broidered on the gold, paved every glade and dell, paling to pallor on the shine, blushing to brightness in the shadow ; and still the dawn came flowing — flowing in — brightening, with that strange, mysterious radiance of ebb and flow, ascending day. A thousand bird-voices silver clear did herald her approach. A thousand angel-breaths blew mist and dawn apart. Then over the verge — stately and slow — uprose an arc of fire, which over- flowed the land : ran up and round the wrinkled bole of oak and pine in gilded flame ; changed ever dancing leaf to spark of fire ; caught every beck in shimmer of golden mesh, till it sparkled and foamed with ecstasy ; ran through the sylvan frith of forest, and up each glade and dingle, till every dell flashed forth emerald and beryl ; yet — so low and soft the light, as if an angel’s torch while questing there, had set the glebe afire. Through this enchantment of spangled gloom, of lustrous shine and shadow, swept the gay cavalcade, headed by my Lady Arbell and Will Seymour. Dis- mounting, ’mid a forest of may, they stood ; and be- hold, the snow-white trappings of these gay folk, robe, cloak and doublet, fell, rustling and shrivelled, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 6 l to the ground, like unto last year’s leaves. And all stepped forth attired in vernal green of Robin Hood. Their hats they decked with glancing flowers, and in their arm each bore a snowy branch of may. Thus, with much laughter and idle talk, did they loiter ere they rode forth ‘ bringing home the may.’ My Lady Arbell, betwixt her two very staid cavaliers, Master Seymour and my Lord of Arundel ; and the sight of them, holding the prickly may in such gingerly fashion to their breasts, so stirred her, that she scarce could sit upon her horse for mirth, and likewise in- fected even the grave Earl, so that all three fell into most inordinate laughter, in which they were joined by Prince Henry — on that morn the gayest o’ the gay — My Lord xArundel, having gained his accustomed gravity the first, turned his dark face to my Lady Arbell, and asked her why, for such child’s play, she had placed them in such sorry plight ? ‘Will and I,’ quoth he, ‘can give and take with the best, and howl not at push of pike nor slash of sword, in fair and open warfare. But this damnable haw- thorn be a kind of irritation which only a woman can inflict.’ ‘’Tis the little pricks,’ said my Lady Arbell, with another burst of merriment, as she regarded slantwise through her tears the hooked nose and black eyes full of sorrow of my Lord Earl ; which do make and prove the true philosopher. ‘To be marred and maimed in the great battle of life is naught, ’tis the pin-prick, the thorn-prick and the scratch which tell. The more ceaseless the little fret, the more heroic the saint who beareth it. Hceret lateri lethalis arundo , my Lord.’ ‘As Will doth daily,’ said the Earl, bringing his horse nearer to my Lady Arbell, as near as the wild chafing of her steed would allow. ‘ How long would ye keep him in outer darkness thus ? ’ ‘ Till daylight doth appear,’ saith she. Then, in the same low voice, ‘ My Lord, there is not a man in all L 1 62 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL this kingdom, be he never so vicious, that His Majesty would not have me sooner wed than Master William Seymour. Yet, is not this but natural?' ‘Ay. Yet would I have ye both brave all where there's true love. Tell me, my Lady, hath not your “little falconer” the high place in your .heart, cruelly though ye do flout and chafe him ? ' ‘ The best, the highest, even so. Dearly do I love him, in spite of his one besetting sin.' ‘ And that ? ' ‘Need ye ask? Indolence. The day and hour will come when Will would give his heart’s blood in vain, that he had o'ercome the weakness which may mar a noble life.' ‘ The influence of one alone would cure him. He hath none to care and fight for els. Let him but win the Lady Arbell, and she will change the recluse into the hero. Had he but this spur, there is naught Will Seymour might not do and dare.' ‘ My Lord, my Lord, why preach ye this strange doctrine and rebellion ? Beshrew me, Will Seymour is blither basking wi' his book within the sun, than if he were on the throne of England. Let be. Let him rest and bask in peace. So great is his love of ease, that methinks he careth not even to have made his mark, nor to continue to measure his wit with that of other men in learned disputation, nor even to carry on profound and liberal argument with those as witty and scholarly as himself. Even as my “ little falconer,” 'twas ever thus — “Will, Will, where is Will ? The horses be saddled ready.” “ Oh, Will is on his couch in the sun, his book within his hands, dead to all els. He hath forgot my Lady Arbell.” Hath Master Seymour, then, deputed you his am- bassador in this matter?' she asked with mock hauteur, for she would have forgiven my Lord Arundel aught. He could venture on speech with her, as no man else would dare. ‘ Ay, even so. Because, Arbell, he cannot get ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 163 speech of you himself. He hath been doling out his woes to Alathea this long time past.’ No more was said, for they all set forth at a rous- ing gallop through the forest toward the open vistas of the park, where the old Tudor tower, ‘Greenwich Castle/ and the leaded roof of the long, low palace might be seen amid the trees. In the gallery over the gateway sat the Queen, with many ladies, to view the sight, as the green cavalcade, to the sound of music, which greeted them from the banquet-house, came sweeping through the glades, ‘ bringing home the may.’ All the palace and the gallery was decked out with flowers, strewed with fresh herbs and rushes, and hung with ‘ branches of rosemary spangled with gold/ which had been brought in masses to the palace. On the tide was a gilded barge, the royal banner afloat. Young Prince Henry struck spurs to his horse, and dashed on ahead, for already the trumpets were sounding their challenge to the jousts, a call he could ne’er resist. Three hundred spears were shivered at Greenwich on that day. Many would be the jests and shrill the laughter when Anne of Denmark sat with her ladies in her vast chamber, hung witht apestries • of purple-amethyst, tricked out in roses and pomegranates, whose mul- lioned windows o’erlooked the Thames. There, in the morning-tide, were they wont to work at their ells of sacerdotal ’broidery, satin and crewels, bright skeins of gold and silk and silver wound round about their necks, ’broidering in every stitch with glee ; some new-fledged racy scandal, or the ruined reputa- tion of some dear-loved friend. Anne of Denmark, strong character though she was, did love these gossips dearly. And ’twas my Lady Arbell who, when rumour waxed too ruthless, would take down her lute from off the wall ; and, with her slight, cunning fingers, play upon it with such witchery, that all there would grow silent for tender memories — slander 164 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL oft washed out in tears. And all the world was kin. On the great shining river, the vessels, like winged swans, would spread their sails, and fly stately by on wind and tide, when the breeze blew fresh and fair ; while from the gardens round about the sweet old fragrance of centuried flowers would blow on every vagrant wind, each with a memory of its own, of sinless childhood — and the dear, dead days gone by — Slight flowers — which bind with such tenacious strength the mortal to the immortal — and which, on every chance and wandering wind, do speak with eyes and tongues divine. ’Twas said of Arbell, in this present time, that she was more gay and wild of spirit than ever, though oft excited beyond reason, and complaining of the pains within her head and eyes, attributed by learned phy- sicians to studying over much. Yet, in spite of her high spirits, she would sometime make confession both to Penelope Agard and to my Lady Arundel, of the sorrows and ambitions which beset her, and of the weariness of her present life. Scene XXI 1605. W e all go a-wooing. Life s a Dream The famous manor of Woodstock, ‘ strong and mag- nificent, sweet and sumptuous/ was by Arbell dearly loved. In the first place, it neighboured with Oxford- Town, and all the famous colleges and men of learning therein, who had done her so much honour. In the next, her kinsman and favourite, William Seymour, was ever there, engrossed by his studies, yet aye ready at a moment’s notice to act my Lady Arbell’s falconer and esquire. Moreover, ’twas there* in Woodstock’s ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 65 bowers, that after long lapse of time, they first did meet ; and in his presence, comfort had ebbed back into her soul and elasticity to her spirit, bracing and invigorat- ing both nerve and mettle. The influence of Will Seymour had acted on her mind like a strong breath of mountain air and moorland heather, strong and fresh, and keen and pure ; while her vehement vitality and fiery energy of purpose and action, gave to him just the stimulus he needed, and the ambition he lacked. Woodstock, therefore, came to be the favoured place of abode of Arbell. And thither, when, as was oft the case, strength and health would fail her, would she repair, with royal consent, with her inseparable com- panion and friend, Penelope Agard, to rest and re- cover from the arduous duties and gaieties of Court and Field imposed upon her. Certain it is, that through all James’s vigilant watch over his cousin, and jealous suspicion and distrust of her many suitors, and resolution to keep her a celibate at any cost, he never once thought on nor suspected the young and obscure student, William Seymour, nor associate him in any sense with the brilliant and renowned Arbella Stuart, whose name and fame had been noised throughout every Court in Europe. Renowned, by right of her genius and her beauty; august, by right of her near kinship to his most high and mighty Majesty, King James. Therefore my Lady Arbell, spoilt cosset and darling of King and Queen, was allowed unrestrained liberty in that one safe and sheltered refuge, the ancient manor of Woodstock. That manor, far removed from Courts and princes, screened by high walls, shrouded in knotted wood- land, and as chill and void of all human passion as shrine of sculptured saint. Yet there be such things as thoughts and dreams ? And these are neither chill nor hollow. My Lady Arbell, with all her vestal coldness, turned to the warmth of love and tender- ness as the flower turneth to the sun ; even as she loved to bask in the summer sun, upon a bank of 1 66 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL thyme, so was she open to all such sensuous influ- ence, as laze and warmth and ease. She pined also for a child to love, therefore — to the shrewd mind of satirist and sage — was not beyond human hope ? She spent much of her time at Woodstock in the gate-house, Queen Elizabeth's chamber, in company of her loved classics ; from which casements, as ever in Arbell’s study-chambers, there stretched a royal scene, over which mind, soul and imagination might wander free and uncontrolled, though coloured there- by. This chamber itself was quaintly arched o’er- head, the dark vault of Irish oak curiously and strangely carved, and relieved below by blue arras powdered with golden stars. How must that callow eaglet, with the cold and cruel nature, yclept Elizabeth Tudor, have beat her soul of fire against these bars, and eaten her heart in those few short months when she tasted prison life ? — peering up to the sun, as doth the 'prisoned eagle peer, who feeleth in him the God-like power to soar sublime. She, who yet in cold and treacherous blood, doomed Mary Stuart to years of the self-same misery, only to be ended by betrayal and brutal murder. Arbell, on first sight, could not abide the gate- house, for the sinister presence there ; yet, under the enchantment and abstraction of solitude and study, did all such influences soon wear away. On this special day after their coming Penelope was away at Ditchley. Arbell, roaming solitary through the privy gardens, 'mid a wilderness of June roses, whose chalices, brimmed as it were with golden and ruby wine, upheld their balmy incense to her on every side. She plucked two of those she most did love — the wild, wide-eyed damask, with the heart of powdered gold. These 'special eye-hearts ever seemed to gaze upon her with eloquence and love. She fastened them in her bodice. Then strolled along the ancient causeway, and on by ‘ Queen Philippa's Pool.' Every turn and twist of the mossed ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 67 paths in the labyrinth minded her of the ‘ falconer.’ Here they laughed — there she wept — and here they wrangled. Oh ! why is he not here to wrangle now ? Yon young oak minded her of Will — so straight, yet so rugged, like his body and his nature. Here Arbell paused, and leaned upon a ruined wall within the precincts of ‘ Rosamond’s Bower,’ while all around her stretched the deepening woods, deepening daily unto summer. All was profound and breathless solitude, as if the scene lay ’neath enchantment. Some sweet thought idly thrilled her, curved her lip, and moved her even to laughter and an unshed tear. Her longing in those moments for one presence which ever calmed and blest, rose well-nigh to pain. Arbell was in a mood for sympathy. . . . The ancient hall at Ditchley, where dwelt the Ranger of Woodstock, frank, bluff, old Sir Henry Lee, a mighty favourite with King Jamie, might have been a quadrangular block of Woodstock itself, so like was it in character and surroundings to the ancient palace. It stood within the borders of Wood- stock Park, smothered in leafage, and surrounded by the noble herds of deer. Within the old hall, stags’ heads had overflowed from Woodstock, and the whole walls here, as there, were bravely decked with antlers, having beneath each one brass plates, on which was inscribed the day and hour of the hunt and death. In the gabled porch, basking in the gay June sun, stood a man and maid, each bearing a strong resemblance one to the other. Both had short, dark, curling hair, resolute, dark eyes, and short features, firm as if carved in stone, the tenacity and inflexi- bility thereof to some extent softened and opposed, by flash of eye and play of lip, and, at that moment, there was somewhat within the eyes of the girl which gave suspicion of passionate tenderness well sup- pressed. The man was chafing and frowning at her verdict, whatever that might be. His teeth were set as at the last stage of provocation and exaspera- 1 68 ROMANCE OP' THE LADY ARBELL tion, while, with his riding-whip, he lashed about him at the defenceless ivy, or whatever came to hand. 4 Is that your last word ? ’ saith he. 4 My last word/ saith she, and set her small teeth and locked her lips like iron. He looked at her for a moment as if he had half a mind to take her in his arms and crush her, and then a sense of humour got the better of him and he gave a short laugh and shrug. 4 Methought my will was strong/ said he, 4 but it seemeth yours is stronger. I might as well strive to bend bar of iron, as the small flint ye keep which serves for heart. Ah, Pen, the day may dawn when ye will rue this coil, when I may burst my bonds and wed another maid.' At this, Penelope’s lip curled in ready scorn. 4 Then/ quoth she, 'ye may go hang for me ! The man who cannot be loyal for a year, will ne’er be loyal for a life.’ 4 A year , quotha!’ exclaimed the lover, jeering, half in rage and half in humour ; ‘ I cannot count the years since first I wooed Mistress Penelope Agard. Our troth-plight dateth from the year 1600, so help me, Heaven !’ 4 So be it. Love, Hal — as men count love — doth make but a secondary blend in the compound of our lives. What is a passion / she asked with high dis- dain, 4 but a puff of wind ? a bubble in a bowl of froth ? — so soon passeth it away and it is gone. Whereas the love of women-folk (such love as I bear for her), is the half of my soul.’ 4 God’s life ! then ye care not for me, nor ever will be worthy of the sacred name of wife ! ’ cried Henry Lee, with passion. 4 Ye are an unnatural growth, Pen, fit subject for such a king. For if a woman hath not in her to love husband and child afore all the world beside, then is she not worthy to be wed.’ 4 I care not, and I know not/ cried Penelope ; 4 I ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 169 only know that my fate is bound up in hers. I could no more leave her 'compassed by her enemies, and dwell down in peace and safety with the one man I love, than I could drift on yonder cloud. If aught befalleth my Lady Arbell — mishap or death — then, never will my life lie in the sun again, but be shadowed, even to the grave. No love of husband, no love of child would e’er have power to dispel that shadow. Love and loyalty started from the hour we met. Nay, Hal, ’tis not meet that I should destroy thy life and mine. Go wed a gentler and more congenial maid. I was not made for dalliance, nor for such strong love as thine. From this hour I set thee free. Go thou thy way and I’ll go mine.’ He stood in silence some little way behind her. Not a sound answered her clear release ; nay, not so much as the falling of a leaf. Then did he come a step nearer, so that his hand made as if ’twould touch her shoulder, yet did not, but hung above. ‘ Penelope, is this thy last word ? ’ he whispered. ‘ Ay,’ saith she, proud and careless, with head up- held, ‘ my last.’ Then not a sound made answer ; nay, not so much as the falling of a leaf. His hand fell on her shoulder. ‘ Then good-bye, Penelope, good-bye.’ Yet was there that within his voice which made her start and turn, and her dark eyes flash over her shoulder up to his. ’Twas the sound of a strong man’s tears withheld. In another moment her arms were round him ; she had bent his head down to hers. ‘ I thought not ye loved me thus ! ’ she cried in wild remorse. ‘ Hal ! dear Hal ! ’ Yet he had no word for answer, save what heart spake to heart. ‘ An’ will ye wait ? ’ saith she. ‘ Till death ! Thou art mine only love — the very life of me.’ Scarce were the lovers reconciled than a heavy, hasty step was heard upon the stone of the hall, and 170 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL old, white-bearded Sir Henry Lee, booted and spurred as ever, came upon the scene. ‘ Heyday ! 5 he cried, ‘ wrangling as ever ? What ! have ye not snared her yet, Hal ? By my halidame, ye are but a laggart wooer. Sweethearts were reek- ing hot in my young days. They yoked fast, or they rode away ; they dared not dally. Shall I go to my grave, and ne’er a grandson on my knee? Whom have we here ? Edward and Will Seymour — both brawny lads/ The two brothers were, when seen apart, so like as scarce to be known asunder ; yet, when together, there was a fine distinction, in favour of the younger of the two. They had been riding fast and hard, and, with doffed cap for Penelope, drew rein before the porch of Ditchley. The eyes of Will Seymour eagerly sought those of the girl, and she answered the mute questioning by smile and sign. The two Seymours were constant visitors at Ditchley ; yet, while Edward dismounted, Will kept his saddle. Young Henry Lee strode forward to his side. ‘Would ye go further, Will?’ he asked in low and eager tones. ‘ Some one league or thereabout,’ answered Will, with the same significance. ‘ Then God be thanked, and speed ye on your way. Ride round to the stable without more ado. My horse is ready saddled and at your service.’ So saying, he walked by the horseman’s side. ‘Women be kittle cattle, Will, an’ must be tethered short, or they break back as sure as fate. Here, this very morn, hath Pen given me back my liberty, swearin’ as ever that she will never wed, till my Lady Arbella Stuart be wedded wife. We have been tilting since break of day.’ ‘ I’ll e’en do my best to serve ye, Hal. God wot. But there’s heavy odds against me, as ye know. Give me my horse, an’ speed me on my way.’ ‘ The Lord send ye win’ ! ’ cried Henry Lee. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL \Jl ‘Tis Penelope or the devil. My soul is in your hand/ A laugh and swift clatter of hoofs brought the others to the door. 4 Master Will seemeth i’ the devil’s own haste,’ re- marked old Sir Henry. ‘ Let him bide ; he hath not a word to throw a dog. At this season o’ the year the blood is hot. The bowers of Woodstock be passing cool and fair.’ So laughed Edward Seymour, and said no more. When Will Seymour approached the palace of Woodstock, he tied his horse within the shadow of a belt of trees, and went forth alone on foot, seeking, with the unerring instinct of a lover, fair ‘ Rosamond’s Bower,’ haunt of my Lady Arbell. By this time the breeze had fallen. The white clouds floating so calm across the blue, in shreds of severing mist, had crystal- lised, dispread and massed, in their crystal and arrested flight, in heaps of drifted snow : becalmed o’erhead, like a cloud of white-winged doves, uphold- ing and deepening to purple the azure bloom pro- found, and changing earth’s bright sky to heaven’s deep mystery. The green leaves awhile fluttering into golden laughter, or waving leafy arms in way- ward sway of glee, hung pensive, petrified on the breathless air. Not a breath stirred, not a sigh. All was enchanted ground. One living figure alone broke the solitude, leaning ’gainst a wall all ivy- grown, and knotted with ferns and wild-flowers.’ Twas my Lady Arbell. In one stride he was beside her. ‘ Oh, Will ! ’ cried she, even paler than her wont, ‘ what brought thee here ? ’ ‘ Somewhat outside myself,’ said he. ‘ I had to come, whether I would or no. ’Tis thy will hath drawn me, Arbell. I obey.’ ‘ I would, an’ I would not, have thee here,’ saith she. ‘ There is not a man in all this kingdom they would not rather find beside Arbella Stuart than William Seymour — an’ they knew it. Thou’rt my kinsman. 172 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Thou, the descendant of Mary Tudor; I, the de- scendant of Margaret Tudor. To the imagination of James Stuart would there be deadly peril in the alli- ance of such kin. And yet, and yet — ’ ‘And yet — and yet?' he echoed, and gazed down into her upturned face. ‘ I love thee, Will ; I love thee, dear. Oh, the strange perversity of fate, that thou and I, in all these isles, should be so strangely, strongly drawn together! Why art thou not a poor man’s son, an’ I a poor man’s daughter ? Such deadly hatred have I now of thrones — I, that was once mad to be a queen.’ ‘ And I — I would not accept such doubtful honour, were fifty kingdoms offered me.’ ‘ Yet would they not credit this, Will, either of thee or me. Did we wed without the King’s consent, we would be hounded from off the face o’ the earth ; ’prisoned, and mayhap done to death.’ ‘ We would not stay for that,’ cried Seymour. ‘ There would be but one course open to us — that would be flight.’ ‘ And why not go straight to James Stuart ? ’ asked Arbell. ‘ Sure ’twould be the better, bolder stroke.’ Will Seymour shook his head, and smiled. ‘ As well ask him for his crown, his kingdom and his head. So wedded is James Stuart to these, and in such deadly terror of placing them in jeopardy, that the very notion of our union would cast him into a fever of suspicion and disquietude. He would ne’er believe but that we two, and our several ad- herents, were plotting for his throne and life. For, as ye know, Arbell, he standeth in dread even of a drawn sword, as, on the knighting of Sir Anselm, His Majesty was near poking out his eye, had not my Lord Lenox directed the blade aright. He would ne’er consent. Be not misled for a moment in such belief. The very thought of thy marriage to anyone is hateful to him.’ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 73 ‘ Then, Will, we must e’en bide as we are, and philosophise.’ She leaned her curved elbow on the ruined wall, and her chin within her hand, in pensive and philo- sophic fashion ; yet, even as she did so, knew that he gazed and gazed upon her who was dearer than his life ; and, in spite of her, her lip began to stir and lash to flicker, with the wild desire to laugh and weep. ‘ Must this be so ? ’ said he. ‘ There is but one high honour I covet on this earth ; that is, to have my Lady for my wife, to have and hold against the world.’ ‘’An when thou hast won her, Will — thou, who lovest peace so dear — the charge will be war, strife, and endless peril and unrest ; wandering, mayhap, o’er the face of the earth, with ne’er a rood of that brown earth on which to rest thy foot. How then ? ’ 4 Bliss without alloy- — halcyon days — paradise.’ She laughed, yet the tear was in her eye. ‘ I will brave all this for thee, and more, an’ thou dost but love me well enow, Arbell, to hazard all for me. Dost thou ? Dost thou ? ’ Imperceptibly they had drawn nearer one to the other. Arbell gave a little happy laugh for answer. ’Neath the great snow canopy the lovers stood. And there, in the bowers of Woodstock, plighted their tragic troth. ’Neath the great cloud-canopy, which did but scantily shroud the purple realms beyond ; even as Love and Life and Hope do but faintly vizor the mysteries of grief and pain and death. One puff of wind, and shadow-cloud is blown from sealed vault — so fathomless and inscrutable. ‘ Fools, fools ! ’ saith my Lady Arbell. ‘ A fool’s paradise. All life’s a dream.’ 174 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Scene XXII 1606. Court of James L In the summer of the year there came to England Christian IV., the Danish King ; and throughout the country, in city and in Court alike, there passed a succession of banquets, masques, carousals, tilting, tourney, wrestling, baiting, gambling. The Dane and his suite arrived first at Greenwich, and from thence were escorted to Hampton Court for the hunting and the play. At Windsor Castle, flanked by a bodyguard of a hundred knights in silver and blue, with trumpeters going before, was he received with unmatched splendour, and presented to the Knights of Windsor in far-famed St George’s Hall, the most resplendent hall in Europe. Thus was he conducted with great honours, in glitter of state, from Court to Court, with blare of drums, fifes and trumpets, flaunt of arms and banners, minstrels, knights and heralds, till the streets were ablaze with colour, and rang again with this clangour of music and clash of arms. But what His Danish Majesty most loved was wild revel and deep carouse ; and he found the Court of James I. and VI. in every way most congenial, and to his taste. The great banquet hall of Whitehall was the favoured lair for these royal fauna, James Stuart and Christian of Denmark. There, every vice and every frailty was ready to their drouth. Athwart and around this Court, threading alert and invisible ’mid these splendid roysterers, male and female, the cloven foot of devil and satyr went click-clack, click-clack upon the stone. For as the dog ‘ returneth to his vomit,’ so did James Stuart in these days turn to those bestial tendencies, which ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL i7S place man a little lower than the beast, and of that same low origin, and well-nigh make men proselytes of that unholy creed. Nevertheless, the royal prerogative was his by ‘ right divine/ his royal fancies to be pandered and (under the white rose) applauded to the echo. Each kingly vice doth become a virtue and a vogue, avaler des couleuvres , to be worshipped and simulated as fancy doth incline. 'Mid these high pageants, ‘our palace of West- minster,' ‘our royal lodge of St James' appertaining, our tilt-yards and barracks for footguards and horseguards, our galleries leading from park to palace, our gardens, our stately and lofty towers and turrets, our ‘glorious gallery' of minstrels, and, above all, our banquet hall in this same palace of Westminster, was each and all a galaxy of light, as of the sun at noon, and moon and stars all blent in one. The like of it was never seen before, save in the zenith of the Tudor reigns. The banquet tables were loaded with gold and silver bowls and vases, which flashed back sheen and lustre to and from plates of silver and gold, which hung upon the walls, with myriad torches set therein. Confections of every crafty and subtle device were there, heaped fruits and flowers, golden goblets filled with foaming wine and Hypocras. On this high table, laid for the royal guests, was laid fine linens of 'broidered diaper and damask, dulcetly perfumed ; as likewise golden ewers of perfume waters, garnished with jewels and precious stones, as was all the plates of gold. Likewise was a bowl of dice and ducats set at the right hand of every guest, wherewith to gamble. Round about this high table, set out beneath a stately canopy, was ranged the chairs of state, of red and purple cloth of gold, fringed with gold of Venice, with the arms of England and Denmark blazoned thereon in gorgeous hues, in honour of the royal guest. Behind each chair stood a tall yeoman, holding aloft 176 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL a torch. On the walls and gallery of this great banquet hall, betwixt windows of gorgeous tinct and stain, hung silken tapestries of gold and silver, garnished and weaved with gems, rubies, diamonds, sapphires, and hangings of cloth of gold. At a given signal the minstrels began, and the whole vast hall resounded to stately and martial strains, while, simultaneously from afar, entered the royal pro- cession, two abreast. First came the torch-bearers ; the minstrels, with drums and fifes ; the vizored masquers, in wild, fantastic gear; the pages, in velvet, spangled with stars. Then the trumpeters ; the pursuivant-at-arms ; the heralds, all in white damask and cloth of silver. Then the knights and lords, the counsellors and ambassadors, all in superb array. Then heralds again, ’mid clangour and flourish of trumpets, crying aloud, — ‘ The King ! The King ! 5 So that the whole assembled multitudes should rise, and by low obeisance do him honour. The two kings, on this occasion, seemed to vie with one another in splendour of costume. Yet the young Prince — then a boy of thirteen — did, in dignity of mien and bearing, outshine them both ; though, it was noticed, he was very grave. Beside the Queen, ’mid a bevy of beauteous women, came my Lady Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox, lofty and lithe as a willow-wand, and bearing ever the same singular resemblance, in stature, symmetry and expression, to the splendid physique of her uncle, Henry Darnley. The jewels and costumes of the ladies, worn in honour of this Danish King, surpassed any- thing that had been seen before within this Court. The jewels of one was valued at a ,£100,000. ‘ My Lady Arbella did go beyond her.’ And ‘ the Queen must not come behind.’ Anne of Den- mark’s imperial robes were gorged with them. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 177 My Lady Arbell wore a gown whiter than the lily, ’broidered with silver threads and priceless pearls ; on her head, a little crown of finest gold and most exquisite tracery, set with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls and emeralds, and, in the centre, a carbuncle, which seemed to scintillate with fire and send forth, as she moved, rays of living light. This crown had descended to her as an heirloom from her kins- woman Mary Stuart, as had the matchless jewel which hung upon her breast, suspended there by slender, ancient chains of precious gems. From shoulder to hip she bore crosswise that famous cordon of pearls, worn in the unique fashion which gave her such fine distinction, and defined so per- fectly her curved bust and long and taper waist. Her eyes, somewhat wild and restless, were roving over the dense mass of spectators, who stood massed on either hand to see the royal procession pass that way ; but he whom she sought was not present, neither was he in the procession beside his brother. Her glance was overcast, her ivory fairness even paler than its wont, in marked and distinguished contrast to the painted beauties round her; yet her lips were curled with lavish smiles, and she appeared exceeding mocking and mirthful, as was her habit. Her seat at the banquet table was placed beside that of the Danish King, who, throughout, paid her the most rapt observance, appearing — like his discarded brother, Duke Ulrich, before him — equally eperdu with the charms of Arbella Stuart, and, when in her near vicinity, lost to the existence of every one beside. On her other hand sat the Prince of Vandemont, son of the Duke of Lorraine, a kinsman of her own and of James Stuart, of the house of Guise, whose retinue equalled in number and splendour that of the Danish King. When all were seated, a tall and beauteous page in velvet, with spangled stars, who stood close by King James’s chair, presented to him on bended knee a M 178 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL golden goblet filled to the brim with ruby Hypocras, in which the King, taking it in both hands and rising to his feet, pledged the King of Denmark, bending his great, rolling eyes upon him above the brim the while, with his accustomed concentrated and bewil- dering stare. ‘ I drink to my well-beloved and royal brother, the King of Denmark/ Whereupon, all rising to their feet, with bowls up- held, pledged the Danish and the English Kings. And, 'mid much mirth and music, King Jamie and King Christian each drank a long, deep draught. At a table near, on that same night, sat my Lady Frances Howard, destined to play so notorious a part in this converging tragedy. Child though she was in years, her loveliness even then was of that sensuous and voluptuous mould that carried the wild and chaste alike by siege and storm ; for she had but to cast the silken lasso of her glance over a man, and he was hers in abject thraldom evermore. Her scope for the re- ception of adulation and adoration was rapacious and without limit. The type of her beauty, so softly in- fantine — harbinger of those perilous and precarious Beauties, the loved of Lely--who were destined to reign supreme over the Court of Charles II. 'Twas after banquet and carouse that a wild clash of the music of the masquerade announced the ap- proach of the masquers; mingling with them were those dancers of the Court who had quitted the royal table after the ending of the supper to dance a gal- liard, when Prince Henry led forth my Lady Arbella Stuart, and she the Prince of Vaudemont. My Lord of Lenox also guided my Lady Frances Howard, and she the Earl of Essex ; and many another did join in. No lady there danced as my Lady Arbell did that night with the young Prince Henry ; they both danced with such perfection of delicate grace and motion, that all eyes — even those of the gamblers — turned to ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 179 gaze on them, as on the Bacchante beauty of the Lady Frances. ‘ My Lady Arbell ' bore away the giory. Thus, 'mid the wild music of the masquerade, did Court dancers and players all blend in one fantastic maze. Wilder and wilder rose the strains, louder the mirth and shrill the laughter. The play merged into Bacchanalian orgy ; the lyrical spirit and exquisite eloquence of the masque into lewd excess ; the bared limbs of the masquers, their robes flying in shreds around them, gleamed white and wanton, and weaved mingling in the labyrinthine web, or fell to the floor entwined. Through these came flying the queen of the masque, with arms holding on high a golden casket, who then, with swift change of music, broke into a wild, barbaric measure, her lithe and supple limbs visibly expressed through a mist-cloud of flying drapery, as, with every flexille motion, they bent, swayed and yielded in kindling challenge and surrender, to every varying passion of the voluptuous strains ; her smiles and glances of allure- ment, directed ever to the Danish King, as by mute gestures she solicited him to the dance. His Majesty needed no second bidding; but, overset- ting dice and ducats, clasped her and bore her through the throng, the jewels from her golden casket, yet upheld, scattering in glittering showers round them. Thus did the revelry of the banquet deepen ever. Ring the tocsin ! Sound trumpets — sound ! The devil's patter of cloven hoof waxeth fast and furious now ! King James, the dice arrested in his hand, had turned upon his chair and laughed, the red wine dribbling from the corners of his lips upon the linen of his ruff. ‘ Verbum sapientij saith he. ‘ A witch ! a witch ! ' As he received the goblet from his page, who ever plied him, he muttered a ribald joke ; the boy, with dishevelled clothes and hair, laughing madly, and 180 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL scarce could stand upon his feet for wine and laughter, so that the King drew him to a chair beside him and in maudlin fashion leaned upon him and smoothed his hair and cheek (for this Robert Carr was his favoured and favourite page) ; then rattled dice, knowing not which way he threw, but having his hand directed by his page. Through such wild midnight scenes passed my Lady Arbell and my Lady Rich, companions ever at the Court. Guarded on either side by Lenox and Vaude- mont, did these two great ladies thread and steer their way with dainty disrelish betwixt the prostrate bodies of drunken debauchees, both male and female. My Lady Frances Howard, it seemed, had been roughly handled by the masquers, with whom she had mingled freely ; and, sitting upon the knee of Lord Monteagle, was reclining in his arms, being quite prostrate and breathless from the dance, her cheeks and lips like red roses, her eyes like stars, her bodice all torn asunder and the latchets broke, so that she resembled a full bud half bursting from its calyx sheath. On his knees before her was one cavalier fanning her with a feather fan, another holding her cup of wine, and another her pomander. Around her was a flustered crowd of gallants, all struggling for a stray glance or smile or sight of her, ready to stick my Lord Mont- eagle through the ribs, or measure swords on a moment's provocation. When, in their circuit of the hall, they passed the gambling table, all red with upset goblets and wine o’erflowed, my Lady Arbell averted her eyes with sudden secret shudder, for by that time even his seasoned Majesty, King James, had fallen prostrate on the floor, his doublet loosed, and his flagon in his grip ; nor dare a soul go nigh him. Near by, in a heap, lay three great ladies of the Court, just as they fell, gambling, the dice and ducats clenched within their hands, their wheel farthingales tilted high, exposing lavishly their silken hose, and lost to all sense of their sur- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 8 1 roundings. The steps of the ante-chamber, up which Arbeil and her companions passed, were spread with such as these. Arbeil, with the Prince, had fallen behind the others. ‘ I think, your Highness/ saith she, in the French tongue, ‘ that it be time I should flee away. So many ladies lie asleep on the cold stone ; belike, I may be o’ercome like these/ She smiled, and yet her face was very pale as she glanced up to his. ‘ What think ye of our English Court? ’ saith she. ‘ I think there be here the fairest women I have ever seen, and the kindest/ He looked down into her face, and clasped her hand in his, and then she saw he staggered. Here the light was but faint, and the sound of music soft, and they two were alone. The lips of my Lady Arbeil curled half in mirth and half in scorn, as she drew her hand from his. ‘Your Highness, then, hath indeed been blest. Mayhap the “ kindness ” o’ the Southron had best be fused with the grim, cold spirit o’ the north/ ‘ And how shall these fare when tempered again by Gallic fire — such as thine and mine ? Arbela, thou knowest that we are of kin and kind. Can such eyes and lips as thine belie thee?' And ere she knew his arms were round her. All the fierce spirit of Mary Stuart uprose within her, and the fighting spirit of the ancient Stuarts. She caught his wrists within her hands with such nervous strength and tension as no man could conceive hands so small and slender could possess, the while she quelled him with her eyes — large, dominant eyes, which blazed golden fire, and just then — wild even to madness. The Gallic Prince, who had only seen and known my Lady Arbeil sweetly courteous and silken soft, was fairly cowed and sobered, and sank upon his 182 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL knee with such steadiness as he might command ; but, with a haughty gesture of dismissal and con- tempt, she passed him by, and swept from out his sight. She was destined, however, to be again arrested, and this time by the Danish King. The handsome face of His Majesty was scarce flushed, his gait firm and erect. ‘ My Lady Arbela, I have been seeking you on every side/ he cried, in the French tongue. ‘ Have I not your promise that ye would show me the coup d'ozil of the garden and the river from the gallery, at this ’witching hour atween the night and morn ? ’ ‘ Surely, your Majesty/ said Arbell, only too eager to escape from polluted atmosphere to the free air of Heaven. He offered her his arm, and she linked her hand within it. It may be, calm though he seemed, that he gazed too long and significantly upon her, though she appeared wholly unconscious of his scrutiny. Heaven knoweth if it was so with her in reality ; for, with so finished an actress, so skilled and consummate a coquette, it was impossible to discover. Long practice in the manipulation and government of men had made her such a pro- ficient in this art of pilotage, that she could steer her course unerring through the most perilous reefs and quicksands — ofttimes by strategy, some- times by daring. Instinctively did she know she had best retire to her own chambers, yet the love of adoration, which was her daily food, the love of power, held her as under a spell. If aware of his gaze, she betrayed no consciousness by so much as the twitch of a muscle nor the flicker of an eyelash. She did but veil the mocking mirth and diablerie of her glance, by the demure and resolute sweep of those silken sheaths which rested like little rays of golden sunshine on the clear pallor of her cheek. Little witch that she was, she could play on the passions of men as it pleased her. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 83 Within the long gallery, brilliantly illumined though it was, were there divers cunning niches and divans, softly draped and shadowed, each niche then filled by sinners twain — doublet and farthingale. Here was the air languid with fragrance of exotic flowers, heaped prodigally along the cold, grey stone, and well-nigh hiding it from view. The walls were hung with cloth of gold, and wreathed with lavish flowers. Here did the music enter with faint, persistent sweet- ness as in a dream. Only a low laugh or whisper stirred the near stillness, and the night air from half- opened casements flowed sweetly in. Divers curious necks were craned, divers eyes peered forth, and lips smiled significance as the two slowly paced along. ‘ Here did poor Ulrich lose and break his heart — in vain/ whispered His Majesty in Arbell’s ear. ‘ What wonder? Aye, this be a haunt in which to dream and — love.' He guided her to one of the shadowed alcoves, and they sat down side by side. ‘ Why could ye not have loved my brother ? ' asked the King, impulsively. ‘ He is the only man in Europe whom my sister and James Stuart would have you wed. And we — we would have received you in Denmark, my Lady Arbela, with open arms, and have taken you to our heart as our sweet sister, well-beloved. Ye would make a right royal Dane/ ‘You think so?’ asked Arbell, lightly, gently evading the hand which touched her own. ‘Your Majesty, I have neither intention nor desire to wed. Only let me rest in single and blessed peace/ ‘And cannot you love, perforce?' he asked. ‘Can it be possible that in all these years my Lady Arbella Stuart hath thrilled the heart of no man, with such wealth of love as she could render ? ’ ‘ I have thrilled the heart of many a man with rage and hatred,' laughed Arbell. ‘ Many more do hate than love me. Ay, your Majesty, I pose as the marvel of this age — a woman who can live alone 184 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL amid a world of men, without desire to love or wed/ ‘ Unloved ?' For the first time did Arbell turn her glance full upon him, the heavy lids drooping over her visionary gaze. For the moment Melodrame was forgot ; and all unwitting, did these same tender and impassioned eyes — as with many a man before him — mislead the ardent Dane, to his own undoing ; for she saw not him, but the vision of the ’biding years long gone. ‘Unloved, my Lady Arbela? That cannot be, seeing that in these short months two brothers are at your feet — your lovers and your slaves — your lover ! ’ — Then my Lady Arbell roused from out her dream to feel the touch of his hand and to hear the echo of these last words. She started from her languor to sit erect upon her couch, bending forward to look him, straight and keen, within the eyes. ‘My lover? and my slave?’ said she, in slow and trenchant tones — c you ? Hath not your Majesty, then, a wife and Queen at home, unless my memory faileth? Am I the Lady Arbella Stuart, I pray you, Countess of Lenox, and of royal lineage, or be these dreams? And am I, as ye seem to think, a fille de joie — a chartered prostitute? Know this, then, King of Denmark ; this Court may be cor- rupt and profligate, these women kind and frail, but there be those of other kind. There still be women pure and true — loyal to themselves and to their dead — and, to their God.’ With that my Lady Arbell, drawing up her slender, lofty stature to full height, turned on him a look of scorn and derision. His head was bent, his face hidden. ‘ Forgive, my Lady Arbela — forgive ! ’ ’Twas all he said. Yet without another word, either of forgiveness or farewell, she put on her mask and, with calm and careless insolence of bearing, passed him by as if he were not. Just within the ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 85 lobby where light was dimmest, she met a figure which stood within her path. The dawn then was palely breaking, and the flutter of stars was in the sky. ’Twas a boyish figure, and to her roused and excited fancy a boy-angel, so beauteous was he and of such noble and majestic mien, all in white, with long, auburn hair waved back from pale face and brow, and eyes wide and starry clear. ’T was the boy-prince. ‘Take me hence, Hal ; take me hence/ saith she. And they left the Court together. As for His Danish Majesty, he went back into the hall, haggard and halting, blood and wine coursing like fire through his veins. He called for wine, and, raising the flagon to his lips, drained it to the dregs, and staggered backward. Here was there wine and women in plenty. Indeed, there was difficulty to steer a course, so thick did women-folk lie upon the rushes. Torn fathingales, jewels, shreds of gold and silver tissue, taffeta, rent frills and lace and feathers, jewelled caps, shoon latches and hose-points, strewed the floor (for ‘ there was no small loss that night of chains and jewels, and many great ladies was made shorter by the skirts ’). ’Mid this wreck were the masquers high busy thieving the jewels, flittering from heap to heap, like carrion birds of prey. Women lay back within the arms of drunken revellers, ghastly and pitiable to behold ; or, regardless of class and sex, went tottering forth, one holding by the other, and singing snatches of obscene song. The drunken minstrels played ; the dazed dancers staggered on. Torch and taper swayed and guttered weirdly on burnished brass and cloth of gold. Above — brake the dawn of earth’s sad day — the flying wind-angels blew back the clouds to reveal God’s pure heaven — and God’s eternal dawn — Below — in the shambles of his palace — lay James Stuart. James Stuart — King dishonoured and discrowned. . . . ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 86 Scene XXIII 1607-8. ‘ Cloud no bigger than a Mads Hand ' Deaths Vision 'Mid the few friends familiar and beloved who were admitted to commune in the inner chamber of my Lady Arbell was her ‘ poetess/ Anne, Countess of Arundel, and sister of Gilbert Talbot, Earl of Shrews- bury. And it happed, in the saddest season of the year and the saddest hour o’ the day, that they two were sitting together looking forth over the ancient river, on a sunset solemn and serene, the mysterious afterglow of fading splendour. Both were silent, intent upon the scene, for both had the poet soul. And in such an hour and such a scene silence, to such is golden. My Lady Arundel, noting the deep sadness in the pose and aspect of Arbell, was the first to speak ; for was not Arbell dear to her as her own child ? 4 Thou dost feel the loss of the little Princess more and more, my Arbell. And such a scene as this seemeth to bring her near—so near. One can well- nigh hear her speak.' ‘ Ay, when is there not a brain-wave betwixt us two? I was thinking on Mary — my wee angel Mary — looking on me as I saw her last as I sat beside her bed, she, raised upon her elbow — “ Arbell, I go — 1 go away — I go.” She doth haunt me. Oh, why, Anne,' she asked with passion, ‘ did I carry her in my arms at the font that fatal day? I, a doomed Stuart, therefore fated to bring death and doom on all I love ! ' She started up wildly and paced the chamber, clasping her hands and stifling back the tears so rare with her. c Oh! Arbell, Arbell,' said the Countess, with a tender smile, ‘ be not superstitious in thine own con- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 1 8 / ceits. I fear thee not, nor ever shall, my bonnie Stuart. This sad thing was to be. She is safe from all grief and pain. Thou couldst not wish her back.' ‘Nor do 1/ saith Arbell. ‘Yet the wound is fresh. And all I love are ta’en.’ She stood looking against the lintel, picturing o’er again the quiet barge gliding so dreamlike by, bearing the dead child to the great abbey, o’er the ancient tide. And even as she gazed, the great bell smote in mournful measures on the echoing air — The dreamlike glory changed in subtle grades to deepening gloom — reflex brightening on the rosed ripple — as reality faded on the sombre sphere ; mellow, golden, unutterably, serenely sad — then sank away to shadowland. Black bridge doth span a hoary stream, earth is earth once more. . . . ‘Superstitious you may think me,’ said Arbell, starting from her waking dream, ‘ yet I dare not even stand as proxy to Alathea’s son. I love my Lord Fitz of Arundel and Surrey too well for that. So surely as I name that child, that first-born child will die.’ ‘ Harbour not such thought, Arbell. I am very sure the father would laugh such thoughts to scorn. Yet why waste breath on a canny Scot? How oft have I spent my breath on thee in vain.’ Arbell dropped lightly on her knees before the Countess, and clasped the slender, withered hands in hers. ‘Not in vain, my sweet counsellor. Ne’er in vain. For if Arbell hath ever seemed arrogant and intolerant of thine outspoken words, they have ne’er fallen on stony ground, neither by the wayside, nor yet have the “birds o’ the air devoured them!” For they have fallen here, straight here within mine heart, and there have been shut and locked, ready to bear fruit in due season.’ ‘ And when may that season come to pass? ’ asked the Countess, with a humorous smile. ‘ When I give up my will, sweet Anne, and seek 1 88 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL the narrow way/ answered Arbell, her hands folded together as on a brass. ‘ Ah, my Lady Countess, believe not such words as thine be ever spoke in vain ; but I, Arbella Stuart, am but a spoiled child of Fortune, tossed hither and thither by every wind of doctrine, a straw upon the tide, a stray strand of seaweed swayed and drifted hither - thither 5 (she swayed hither-thither to make more clear the mean- ing of her words) ‘ on each recurrent wave. Drawn by a glint o’ sunshine, or shadow athwart the moor, by April shower or keening blast. A casuist, a philo- sopher, a fly caught in spider-web of sophistry, a sinner and a saint — each all in one. A moth, a butterfly, a thistle-down on the wind. All and everything most light and licensed, owning neither law nor fealty ; a thing of random chance and shift- ing change, a mote, a bubble for evermore ! ’ 4 A not unapt painting, methinks, of my Lady Arbella Stuart. That thou art of complex nature, my sweet Countess Arbell, I do not deny. A Will-o’- the-wisp art thou, which oft, when it seemeth near and most easy to be captured, eludeth the eager grasp, and is to be seen mocking and glittering — a fugitive cheat and phantom — leagues off upon the mere ? How long shall men chase this beckoning phantasm in vain? The foot groweth sore, and the soul weary with the chase. Nay, the day will come, long genera- tions hence, when character, form and feature of the Lady Arbella Stuart will prove as vague and visionary, and as difficult to grasp, as this same Spectre of the Brocken. A nature as involved and varied as her por- traits, they will say. No artists e’er painted her the same. No artist might ever catch those ’wildering shades and moods, no more than I, thine own familiar friend. Why thus bewitch me ? Some poet-painter sure will one day try his hand on thee. Yet must his pen be dipped in fire and ether — in spirit and hues so volatile — that no sooner do they touch the page than they vanish. So no man can judge thee, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL nor vouch for what thou wilt do next. Seldom is a woman accountable for her actions. This one — never.’ And the Countess, as Arbell kneeled before her, held her face betwixt her hands, and gazed right earnestly upon her. ‘ My sweet poetess, what art thou ? Angel or sprite, siren or saint ? ’ ‘ A little of each and all,’ saith Arbell, with a laugh. ‘ A little of good and bad, as are we all.’ ‘Yet not a little of the poet, Countess Arbell. An’ ye liked, you might rank as one of the greatest poets of the age’ (words echoed by Milton himself at a later day) ‘ did ye not, alas ! destroy all that ye have writ as soon as done. Yet I, Anne of Arundel, do faithfully preserve and hold some fragments, some beauteous and pathetic lines writ on the wrapper of a manual, as the fancy taketh thee. Mind ye these ? ’ ‘Not I. So much for human judgment. How might I challenge criticism, beside such poesy as thine ? Or how write poetry or prose in this our day, when such a poet hath risen on the sight as Shake- speare? — a poet to outlast all chance and change of cast and custom. The poet for all time.’ ‘ Ay, indeed,’ said my Lady Arundel. ‘ Even in this constellation hath Will Shakespeare outblazed them all.’ In this moment the doors flew asunder to give in- gress to Mary Talbot, my Lady Shrewsbury, of the same vigorous drift and dart-like carriage as her famous mother. A smile of scornful derision curled her lips. ‘ What think ye, my two fair ladies. We ha’ come to a pretty pass ! ( Scene — I’ the court o’ his sacred Majesty, James I.). A knight and noble, let me tell you, who hath done great and secret service for the state, and languisheth in prison even now — sacked of lands and liberty. His wife, or shall I say his widow? — ’tis good at that — cometh to the King, and, in her 190 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL fair, blonde beauty, for which, in the Tudor Court, she was famous, kneeleth before his feet, her little boy beside her ; and, with hands upraised and clasped, tears coursing from her eyes, pleadeth once more the liberty of her lord and the restoration of his lands. At first His Majesty made as he would pass her by — not seeing her in his path, no more than she had been a midge — though his colour flushed from red to purple. Yet would she neither be withheld nor turned away, and His Majesty had perforce to pass her. Again did she make her piteous petition. And he, in answer to her petition, as he would brush away a fagging fly — “ I canna do’t,” saith he. “ I maun hae the land. I maun hae the land for Carr ! ” (Scene). What think ye o' this, my ladies, as omen of the coming times? What think ye/ cried this daring dame, ‘ of my Lord Viscount, tool and minion, who for his gallant service in saving the life of the “ King,” by stabbing the Earl o’ Gowrie to the heart, hath attained his present proud pre-eminence?’ My Lady Arundel, returning to her ’broidery, pursed her lips together with a hushing sound, and did mutely and sadly shake her head. My Lady Arbell snatched up her own, as if to work, then flung it on the floor. ‘ I think — I think,’ saith she, with passion, ‘the storm is nigh. The wind doth rise and challenge even now ; and such a tempest shall come up, in answer to that challenge, as shall o’erwhelm James Stuart and his progeny, and sweep him from the earth he cumbers! Oh, ’tis all frenzy — foul dishonour — to have a king — to have a king — and yet not able to touch his hand — impotent to reach his soul.’ Arbell paced the chamber to and fro, as was ever her wont in moments of high excitement or emotion. ‘ Do ye not speak too strong ? ’ asked my Lady Arundel. ‘Too strong?’ cried high-minded and impetuous Mary Talbot. ‘ Ah, my Lady Arundel, ye frequent ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 191 not Courts and shambles. You are as innocent as the babe unborn/ Then, with a gesture of the hand of dismissal, mock-disdainful, — ‘ Go to ! But for my Lady Arbell/ saith she, in- dicating her by another gesture as eloquent, — ‘ my Lady Arbell, who hath thought it inspiring to sport in dalliance with a king ’ — she glanced at Arbell, mock- ing — 4 methought it wisdom to open her blind eyes. She trifleth with James Stuart no more? My Lady Arbell gave a little shudder, which it seemed she could not suppress ; and, with finger on her lips for silence, left the chamber. In despite of her secret troubles at this time, and ever-increasing enemies, who, from envy, pique or jealousy, did their utmost in secret to blacken her fair fame, Arbell ever held her gay, high spirits, which could not be quelled. Though more and more, on every occasion possible, did she absent herself from Court in the chambers which, by her special request, had been assigned her by my Lord Shrews- bury, in his house in the town. ‘ For, although she be most resolute not to lodge from the Court, yet may she have many an occasion for such a room/ She was, however, peremptorily called forth from her seclusion by the Queen’s Majesty, on the first appearance at Court of the young Princess Elizabeth, yet barely in her teens, as fresh as an April blossom new washed in dew, and as blithe as a lark, though dowered with the same peculiar dignity and grave dis- tinction of mien and bearing, as characterised her two brothers, even the youthful Charles, Duke of York. In her honour, therefore, was held a ‘great, golden masque’ — rare Ben Jonson’s famous Masque of Beauty — in which only those who were the most famous beauties of the day might take a part. Head- ing the bevy, then, beside her royal kinswoman the Lady Arbella Stuart, paced the Princess Elizabeth Stuart. Even then might it have been noted that 192 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL young Sir John Harrington, Prince Henry’s one familiar friend, had eyes for none but her. How could it have been otherwise? The Princess had been brought up well-nigh from babyhood, under the immediate care and love of his own noble father and mother, in his old home of Combe Abbey. Thus had these two played together as brother and sister. From the beginning of her career was John Harrington enrolled as the first in the long list of knights sworn to the devoir of Elizabeth of Bohemia, queen and saint. Young Prince Henry had taken umbrage that this little angel-sister should be kept within the pre- cincts of the Court, and did not rest till she was sent from thence again. ‘ Angel babes,’ saith he, ‘ should ne’er be styed in such a clime as this — no more than angel women,’ and he dealt Arbell a grave and astute glance all his own, scarce to be called a smile. ‘ I am glad you think me so, your Highness, even yet,’ was Arbell’s answer, with answering bow and smile, in which there was more melancholy than mirth ; ‘ for I have need of friends, and never more so. Some- times even hath it struck me that thou — even thou, to whom I am bound by every tie of grateful love and loyalty, and who, on every occasion hitherto, hath stood my steadfast knight and champion — hath looked on me in cold and carping fashion, and passed me by. Is it possible,’ she cried, ‘ that thou, too, hast been turned against me ? ’ ‘ Possible, my Lady Arbell, yet ne’er probable,’ was the problematic answer; he, grown graver than before, and somewhat cold. ‘ I am not so easy turned from an opinion, as ye know ; and to love once with me, my cousin, is to love forever. And yet, ’twere well to be more wary in such a Court as this ; and I care not that even a drift of smoke should smirch or sully those I love and reverence.’ ‘ An’ where there be smoke, Hal, ye would say there be fire ? ’ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 193 ‘ That is a “ hard saying ” 5 said Prince Henry, with his ghost of a smile, which, however, was aye ready ; ‘and who shall interpret such? Not I. Nay, Arbell, I have ever thought there is none like thee. I have set thee in the clouds so high, a “ little lower than the angels,” so cannot abide that thy foot even should touch common soil ; and there be some scurrilous knaves that say — ■ ‘ That say ? ’ echoed Arbell, bitterly. ‘ That do say behind my back what they dare not utter afore my face/ he cried, the temper he so rarely gave rein to, blazing forth. ‘Would that I wot their names. I’d lash them on their lying tongues, and challenge them, as they know I have done before to those I — scout! ‘Ay, and laid them low/ saith Arbell, with kind- ling eyes. ‘ I oft wish I were a man. Yet, if ye do stand my champion and friend — 5 She gave him her hand, and raised her other to hide the quiver of her lips. She strove to tell him what was in her heart, and to ask his intercession, yet could not speak. And the Prince, who had a hatred of all emotion, yet felt all the chivalry of his nature answer to her distress, raised her hand to his lips, and vanished from the scene. There was, however, one who never failed and never doubted her, even to the last, and that was the Princess Elizabeth. For ; twas but a few hours after this interview that Arbell, sitting amid her books in Hampton Court, was aware of a soft rush of raiment, and the little Princess, whose every gesture and motion expressed suppressed interest and enthusiasm in everything life could offer, ran behind her and put her arms around her neck, then quickly laid one hand upon the written page before her, and shut her own eyes, ‘Lest/ saith she, laughing, ‘I should read the secrets of her Ladyship unawares/ ‘ My brother bid me come, as he thought ye N 194 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL needed cheering. He seemed much bestead, which, for such a masked Plato and philosopher as Prince Hal, expresseth more than the sighs and groans of other men. P"or, as a rule, he keeps not a crumb of comfort to throw a dog, so over-wise and self-con- trolled is he/ ‘ And hath he preached even to thee ? ’ asked Arbell, lightly, drawing the fairy Princess into the great chair beside her, and enfolding her lovingly in her arm. ‘ Ay hath he ; yet even more unto Her Majesty, until she hath gone blue. There was a time when she was preacher and he the sinner. ’Tis not so now. My brother will not have me stay within the Court, so wicked are the ways of men. I, even / — the “ Princess Elizabeth Stuart as stable and virtuous as his Royal Highness’s self, and prone to hold all men and women, too, too far aloof/ ‘Yet is he right,’ saith Arbell. ‘Wert thou my daughter, thou shouldst never enter here — at least, till come to years of discretion/ ‘ And when come they, your Ladyship ? At any time in life? My Lady Harrington hath it that years bring not wisdom, but rather the reverse ; an’ that there be no fool so doting as an old fool. Why is this Court wickeder than all other Courts ? I will not believe ’tis so, though thus much hath been twittered, even to me, by little, idle birds upon the wing. If so, whose be the fault? Is it either of those I so dearly love ? or of the age in which we live ? ’ ‘ Let us say, then, of the age,’ saith Arbell, to this precocious child. ‘ Why, then, all Courts should be the same ? ’ ‘ Child, most affrighting and contumacious/ laughed Arbell, ‘ the gods must love thee dear ; yet, pray God, not too well. Thou divest too deep for me to follow or to fathom. Live and learn — as I have.’ ‘ And now, tell me, my cousin, sweet and dear, why hast thou been so sad this long while ? Dost think ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 195 I see not, my Lady Arbell, that when thy lips do laugh the most, there is most sadness in thine eyes ? — aye, sadness deeper than any tears. Tears be the sorrows of a child — soon to be wiped away. It seemeth to me, sweetheart, and so I told Her Majesty, that ye do linger for your lute. Is’t not so ? 5 Arbell smiled, and put up her hand to caress the auburn tresses. ‘To you, in secret, Lizbeth, I do confess I miss him sore. He, for the time being, charmed away my every sorrow. There never was a dark hour, but was lightened by that magic lute.' ‘ Oh, J tis a crying sin and shame ! ’ cried the im- petuous Princess, ‘ to banish him from thee. A king can call to him all the minstrels in the world — my exiled Lady Arbell hath but one/ ‘Yet but that is but a little, little sorrow. Was there no greater grief than that, our lot would indeed be blest/ Elizabeth laid her head on Arbell’s shoulder and gently stroked her cheek. ‘ Hal bid me comfort thee/ saith she. ‘ My sweet cousin, know that whatever haps, Lizbeth believes in thee. Oh, Arbell, I do love thee ! I love so few. Mayhap my brother before all, and then thee. Whosoever saith anything against thee, ’tis false — false as their own craven hearts. Women-folk love thee not, Arbell, because thou’rt more beautiful than they/ Arbell smiled at the child-wisdom, and laid her tired head against the nesting head. The tender loyalty of the child was to her like the music of her lost lute, pouring balm into her wounded heart ; like the dumb worship of her loved hawk and horse and hound — faith innocent and limitless — asking naught, believing all. Innocent of all guilt and guile as the child within her arms, Arbell let this sweet sympathy sustain her soul, and felt supremely blest thereby. 196 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ There was a great Froste , the olde Countess 0/ Shrewsbury died. The Terns be so harde frozen , that y tis made a beaten highway! Penelope Agard was summoned in haste to Hard- wick, for the old Countess would have none but her. When Penelope, in the coach of my Lord Shrewsbury, with horses and retainers, stayed for a few moments to rest the horses before the gabled and ivy-grown hostelry at Rowsley, the cold was intense. All things in Nature seemed paralysed and frozen 'neath a mighty pall. Trees and shrubs bowed with their white burden even unto the frozen earth. A 'broidery of icicles of ominous depth hung jagged and serried, as 'twere spear- heads and daggers reversed, from every eave and gable, and glittered threatening in the brilliant sun, which played on their polished barbs in vain. To Penelope, all pointed deathward — to deathly weapons, shrouds, and palls ; Death on the steely sky, Death on the air, Death in the ice-bound earth. Well did she know the prophecy, familiar as her own name, which then brooded over the home of her ancestors 'neath the last great shadow, and which was to prove, for one of the most famous women of the age, cradle and grave. In- voluntarily did her thoughts turn not upward, but to the stately and regal tomb made ready, on which soon would be 'graven every virtue and every endowment heart of man could conceive. By the hostelry a group of mounted cavaliers, in buff jerkin and great boots, were sitting on their horses, laughing lustily or drink- ing deep draughts of foaming ale. On many a hard gallop had she and Arbell here drawn rein. But in the old house of her fathers was there no sign of life. The ring of the busy hammer, the clink of mallet on the stone, all was ceased. No builders and crafts- men went hurrying to and fro. Over all reigned deathlike silence — a pall of snow. And in yon valley — the shadow of death. Within, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 197 ’twas all the same. Maleficent imps had cunningly- weaved over the leaded panes of every casement, ominous warnings in foliated charactery weird and wild. In the great chimney the captive blast in durance drear, did howl and wail far egress ; while nearer — ever nearer — the sinister shadow stalked. The ancient Countess sat within her chair, clutch- ing the arm thereof on either side, as if thus she might defy and escape her dreaded foe. Now and again her eyes, wild with hate and horror, would glance athwart her shoulder in stealthy heedfulness of the frosted panes. Thus night had fallen, and the dim tapers were lighted round. Two waiting- women brought to my Lady Shrewsbury a golden ewer of scented water, and a washing towel of finest linen fringed and ’broidered ; but she would not touch the finger-tips of either hand within the ewer, whereat she shuddered, and then grasped her chair the tighter, feeling the chill of death. Yet none could prevail on her to lie upon her bed — not even Penelope, whom she kept close beside her. By that time her feet were dead. Death was creeping upward. From time to time did she fall into troubled sleep, and muttered, betwixt life and death. Penelope sat sleepless and sore distressed ; for in her staunch and loyal heart had she never forgot that the Countess had been the patron of her life. Night had fallen — the strange, sumptuous arras seemed to slowly sway — the shapes so curiously wrought therein to stir into vital motion, as if the whole vast chamber was alive with some sinister presence ; beasts with banners about their necks pranced high, majestic ; a shield by satyrs supported, ascended slowly upward, till only their clasping hoofs and devilish grin was seen on high ; a winged shape, on winged unicorn, half man, half satyr, garlanded with flowers, straddled toward her with hateful leer ; a little closet, builded within the wall and hung with 1 98 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL tapestry, moved open noiseless, and a grinning face and beckoning finger looked forth from depth of shadow, then as noiseless, closed. — The old Countess, in her death-sleep, mumbled and muttered strange, unholy words. The blast in the vast chimney, like a tormented spirit, flapped and howled and wailed. That strange, mysterious sound (once heard in the death-chamber, never to be forgot) ticked intermittent within the walls, none knew from whence nor whither, as if from all corners of the chamber — a spirit-watch, a scantlet passing bell, most weird and small. Simultaneous on this, a luminous light wavered across the arras, which ever ascending, faded above the beams. — Thus the mysterious work of dissolution did pro- gress, the same sounds seeming to issue, as if from the human body. Tick , tick, tick — then silence. From time to time the death-rattle, faint and intermittent — then Silence . Then was Penelope’s heart within her mouth, for it seemed as if a heavy footfall fell behind her, and look she dared not. For the dying Countess, as if about to rise and walk — her furred vestments falling from her, her white hair bristling, her wild eyes ablaze — pointed with crook’d and quivering finger to the dis- tant shadows. ‘ See ! see ! ’ she screamed, hoarse with coming dissolution. ‘ Arbell, my Lady Arbell — white, all white, even unto death. See — her hair ! — and she stareth ’twixt prison bars upon me ! ’Tis the Tower ! — -’tis the Tower ! — God in Heaven ! — save or shrive — she is lost ! — she is undone.’ And with one hoarse scream, strangled by the death-agony, she fell back dead. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 199 Scene XXIV 1609. ‘ In Her Ladyship's Chamber 9 1610. Henry , Prince of Wales After the play of Ben Jonson’s famous ‘Masque of Queens/ and the return of my Lady Arbella Stuart from her royal ‘ progress ’ in the provinces, the Court retired in the spring o’ the year to the royal pleasaunces of Greenwich and Hampton Court. ’Twas at this former place that Arbell appeared one morning in her chamber overlooking the river, about to start forth in the royal gilded barge in company with some of the Queen’s ladies, who all had their divers ways to go. Within this period scarce three days passed without the disappearance of my Lady Arbell, who would appear and vanish into space again, like golden trail of falling star. Her eyes were brilliant with some inner elation as Penelope came to kiss farewell. ‘ Though only for a few hours/ saith Arbell, ‘ yet cannot I depart without thy blessing/ and she drew on her gauntlets, a laugh within her eyes, and set her teeth within her lip to steady and hide the tremor thereof. Penelope clasped Arbell’s shoulders in her two hands. ‘ Arbell, look neither to the right nor to the left/ saith she, ‘ as if ever seeking after some lawless quest. But look straight into mine eyes : What dost thou see ?’ ‘ Item, a mop of black and stubborn hair ; item, two red lips as stubborn, and two white cheeks; item, two fierce black eyes, and two black bows drawn taut, as though to speed an arrow. Sweet- heart, what possesseth thee ? 5 ‘A ghost, Arbell — a vision , which haunteth me too 200 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL often for my peace, though thou knowest naught. Beware, ere ye go too far this gait ! Whispers are rife at Court. Each enemy of my Lady Arbell, with a thousand busy tongues, hath ever the ear o’ the King, who listens and watches. I know him well. Slander and calumny is in the very air, and br.eedeth pestilence. Even the Prince is poisoned by it. A thousand spies are on your track, a thousand eyes are on you, a thousand hands pelt you with the mud of the streets. Arbell, beware ! ’ My Lady Arbell shook out her farthingale gaily. ‘ Which falleth off me, as drop from the plumage of a water-fowl.’ ‘ No ; it sticks, it clings. Look me straight in the face, and on Bible oath tell where ye be going even now ? ’ ‘ Even to the chambers of my Lady Arbella Stuart at Whitehall ; and even now Her Majesty in the vestibule awaiteth me.’ ‘And where goeth Her Majesty?’ ‘ To take the air in St James’s Park, and list to the latest scandal (which as it haps, is not that of my Lady Arbell!)’ ‘ And who keepeth company with my Lady Arbella Stuart ? ’ ‘ Her own self, Mistress Penelope Agard, and two duennas from whom she never parteth — her Dignity and her Honour. These , madam, be her royal body- guards.’ So saying, gaiety quenched in sudden hauteur and imperial state, did the Countess of Lenox walk from the chamber, without deigning another glance or word. ‘ Ay, these words be God’s truth,’ said Penelope, aloud, as the door closed upon her. ‘Yet what do these avail against so many ? Oh, my poor, wild and reckless Arbell ! Whither do ye drift ? ’ and she flung herself before the open casement, her head bowed upon her hands, in darkness ; while — with ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 201 a waft of music — the winged and golden barge swept by. . . . In the chamber of the Court of Whitehall, rid of all her superfluous companions, Arbell, with closed door and shaded casement, drew the mask from off her face, and the gauntlets from off her hands, tossing them all aside, her whole face rippling into smiles, joyous and irrepressible, as she hid within the silken curtain, and listened, head slightly bent and finger to her lips. She, as ever, was the first to keep the tryst. He sure would come the garden way ; for there, at that hour, not a soul was stirring, and his step would make no sound upon the sward. In another moment, Will Seymour stood in ‘ my Lady's chamber' — strange contrast to herself. His features were grave and even stern with anxiety, as, without a word, he took her in his arms and pressed her face against his beating heart. She too was silent for very gladness, for she had grown to love him dear ; and ready, with her usual reckless daring, to sacrifice all, and stake life and liberty for his sake. She was the first to speak, and look laughing in his face, — ‘ Laggart ! laggart ! who cannot keep plighted troth and tryst even in such omen-hours as these. Thou’rt incorrigible.’ He stopped her mocking lips with his. ‘Nay, sweetheart, flout me not in such grave ’tanglement as this. I foresee one way — and one way only — to cut the Gordian knot. And that is — flight.’ Arbell struck, stood frowning, deep in thought. ‘Will, I like it not,’ saith she, at last. ‘That must e’en be our last resort. Neither you nor I are suited for such a measure. Let us watch and wait ; all will be well.’ ‘Fatal,’ said Seymour, with vehemence, ‘ fatal. If once the mine be sprung — if once the King doth suspect or harbour a shadow of suspicion anent the 202 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL union of a Seymour and a Stuart, we are undone. Such union he would consider fatal to his cause, and no protest on our part would convince him of his safety from design. All his counsellors would combine to poison his mind against us. Never would he give his consent. We should be watched and spied on, nor ever find means to escape him then. We should be thrown into the fatal Tower, even as our kinsfolk Katherine Grey and the Lady Jane have been before us. Since, on his accession to the throne, the marriage of my grandfather hath been proven and pronounced legitimate, he standeth in constant dread of the Seymours, seeing that the Act under which the Suffolk line laid claim to the Crown hath been vindicated by high authority, and passed by lawful Parliament. So that at any moment, should His Majesty fail in his negotiations, either Stuart or Seymour might be called forth and the ground cut from beneath his feet. , ‘ God forbid that either you or I should ever reign ! ’ cried Arbell. ‘ I would not accept the crown now were it offered me to-morrow. Nor — I believe — would my Lord Hertford/ Arbell sighed and smiled. ‘Oh, Will, my “little falconer,” ’ saith she, ‘with a trifle more of energy, and a world more of ambition, what a rare king ye would make ! ’ ‘ God forbid the very thought ! ’ was Seymour’s fervent answer. ‘’Tis no role for me/ And then he smiled, and lifted her little, cloven chin. ‘ And you, Arbell, what a beauteous and virtuous queen would ye be. How, after years of quiet seclusion, would ye fare? Would there not lurk in thine heart of hearts some treasonable thought ? some secret yearning for arbitrary power — more even than thou wieldest now — if not for thyself, for thine — and mine ? Swear to me the truth ? ’ Arbell lightly laughed, and hid her wild-flower blush upon the sleeve of his doublet. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 203 ‘ Nay, Will, nay. Tis too far afield to quest so far. I love my kinsman Henry Stuart too dear for that. To him am I loyal. Wer't not for the Prince — if no Prince were there, and thou and I were one, and thine and mine — I will not, dare not foretell/ ‘'Tis mixed, I grant. I thought as much ! Even the tedium and corruption of a court cannot quell quite this most inordinate ambition. I should never feel sure nor safe from such a little strategist, nor would King James. The people love thee too well, Arbell, too well by half. And if aught happed to the Prince, which God forefend ! thou would'st be the idol of the nation/ ‘ I know it well/ laughed Arbell, ‘ I am/ ‘ And after governing a legion, will one suffice ?' ‘ One Will sufificeth/ saith she. Then both lovers laughed for very joy of heart. Then did Will Seymour grow graver than before. For, for their very loyalty one to another, both stood even then in deadly peril. ‘ Ay, Arbell, 'tis thus far as ye say. The King's timorous apprehensions point elsewhere ; and so far, and no farther, are we safe. He doth suspect you of threefold lese-majesty to his most sacred person, and these be the reasons of his present displeasure. First, ye are a Catholic ; second, you are in direct treaty for marriage with a foreign prince, whose name we wot of ; third, that ye are, by aid of the Catholics, about to fly the kingdom. One only of these acts would suffice to bring you To dire disgrace.' ‘ He hath long had a shrewd divination of the first, and wisely shut his eyes upon it. Yet I cannot govern His Majesty as once I could. Nor would I.' She paused, and the faint blush added the last charm to her piquante loveliness. ‘And wherefore not?' asked Seymour, absorbing her beauty with a lover’s eyes. But as she said no 204 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL more, he only clasped her closer. ‘ Thanks be to the saints for that ! 5 saith he. ‘ There was a time when I waxed murderous, to hear the names of James and Arbella Stuart linked together on the lips of men/ ‘ He doth care for me no more. I have angered him. Thus are we the more in peril. For there was a day when, by the lifting of a finger, I could bring James Stuart unto my feet. Not now .’ ‘ I would not have thee in his power for all the world could offer. He would be relentless/ ‘ Ay, more than relentless/ saith Arbell. ‘ He can be cruel — cruel. Sith he could catch thee, Will, as husband of mine, he would do thee to death — were we to wed without his consent. Yet, what meaneth he by these words? (Mark, I dare not trust him.) Even that I be “at liberty to marry with any subject of his realm ? ” ’ ‘ They mean and signify naught. Vain, empty words are they, which deeds would ne’er fulfil. Nay, sweetheart, time will prove. There is but one way out of it/ ‘Yet, Will, I would first stake all upon a cast. I cannot think with you. I will e’en go straight to His Majesty and make a full confession. The very fact of so doing will disarm in him all suspicion.’ Will Seymour rose from his seat, and, standing straight and stalwart in the warm winter sunshine, stood and frowned upon it all. The glowing thought of home and Arbell filled his soul with sweet content, yet could he not abide the thought that she, his idolised, proud, and dainty love, should seek the King in secret conclave. His whole soul rebelled against it. ‘ I will e’en go myself,’ said he, at last. ‘ I will for once turn gambler.’ Arbell, reclining on her silken cushions, broke forth into a peal of merry laughter. ‘Thou, Will? Thou? A sleek and silken am- bassador in very sooth, to beard and bait a king ! ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 205 I see thee kneel and crouch on bended knee, with humble cap in hand — 5 And Arbell, suiting the action to the word, fell on one knee, her head bowed low, her hand upon her heart, in ludicrous assumption of the proud and stately Seymour in courtier-guise. He glinted at her from the corner of his eye, and could not resist a smile. ‘ Would that I could personate thee,' said he, with mock gravity. ‘ I have borne much and long from thee, my Lady Arbell. Only give thyself to me, and I will bring thee to thy moorings ! 5 ‘ / will go to the King/ saith Arbell, who ever held the higher hand. ‘ I — and I alone. 5 With a jest the lovers parted, gay and glad in love and hope. For like sunshine did she ever act upon him. To the great banqueting-house of Whitehall. Enter the whole Court. Sound, trumpets, sound ! The air is rent with martial music, which stirs the soul and fires the blood. The shout of thousands, swelling with vast and ever-growing voice into one hoarse roar of deafening welcome and applause, proclaims the coming of Henry, Prince of Wales. Sure never since the days of wild Prince Hal of Agincourt, who ‘ witched the world with noble horse- manship 5 (and to whom he bore a striking and marked resemblance), did ever knight sit his horse so nobly? Shakespeare, when he described the young Plantagenet, the hero of Agincourt, held this Stuart Prince in eye and mind, and had studied his every glance and gesture. With fanfare of trumpets, then, and burst of martial music, for by these was he ever encompassed, doth Henry, Prince of Wales, enter the lists. At this early age, now that he had come to man's estate, had he, by incessant study and ceaseless practice, become such a proficient in all military exercises as to be second to none, and to have outstripped 20 6 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL all competitors, even when pitted against men of twice his years. His name had now become renowned throughout all Christendom. He was master of the art of warfare, both theoretically and by practice. What he set his mind on, that did he compass, and in that did he excel. No labour, no drudgery was too hard nor base for his resistless energy ; no aim too high and vaulting for his ambition. Neither in mind nor body did he ever rest. The lists which formed the arena for this great and famous feat of arms was girded by the pavilions of the champions, which were decorated and hung with their heraldic arms and banners. There were over fifty defendants, earls, barons and knights of high degree, against whom rode six challengers only, Prince Henry at their head (and held the barriers against them and against all comers that live-long glorious night). The roars and tumult of the populace heralded the gallant procession of the tournay. And all spectators uprose in one vast mass to do these gallant horsemen honour. First came the marshal of the jousts in cloth of gold, surrounded by his followers. Then the defendants armed cap-a-pie , on steeds in gorgeous array, with their minstrels, heralds, pages and esquires. When all these were ranged in order round the lists, there entered, ’mid blast of trumpets, echoed from afar, the six famous challengers, armed cap-a-pie , in glorious fettle, their splendid and fiery chargers barded with golden chains. Prince Henry was sheathed from head to foot in gilded armour, and also was to be distinguished from all others by the extraordinary skill and dexterity with which he managed his horse, rousing, or hold- ing him in check, at his pleasure. This great horse was one of a famous breed, broken in and trained by his own hand, nor would any other have cared to ride him, ’specially in the fray. On this grand war- horse, in his close-girt coat-of-mail, the noble form and haughty bearing of Henry Stuart were grandly ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 207 expressed. Thin in the flank, broad in the shoulder, deep in the chest, his arms long, and of great muscular power, he was the very ideal of a young warrior — brimful of health, strength and vigour, and ready for aught. When all were gathered there, challengers and defendants, they rode twice around the arena, the Prince’s fiery charger snatching at the bit, canting from the beaten track, and champing in a fine frenzy for the charge, his polished muscles all a lather of foam, yet was he curbed and restrained in perfect discipline, by that hand of steel, as gentle as it was powerful. Then the champions, face to face within the lists, did stand statuesque as sculptured stone, while the heralds proclaimed the order of the coming fray. Each of these six knights who challenged pledged himself to hold the barriers against all comers; to fight eight several combatants, and to use, alternate, two several weapons — -pike and sword. The tourna- ment to begin by ten of the clock at night, and continue till break of day. No sooner had the heralds ceased, than a solitary trumpet sounded ‘ to arms ! ’ The chosen champions rushed into the lists. The first to lay lance in rest was Prince Henry, whose fire would brook neither delay nor check. The first assailant with whom he closed measured his length upon the sod, with such fleet force did Henry couch and charge, and so farouche and even fierce was his nature. Fast on push of pike, came meet and clash of sword, hard knocks, no quarter, and lightning give and take ; clarion and trumpet ringing over the wild melee : The shouts of the assembled multitude, the cries of the heralds, the clangour of arms, the furious onslaught of the combatants as strokes rang again, and showered with terrific strength and swiftness on helm and hauberk, made up a wild and rousing scene. Three hundred and sixty slashes of the sword did Prince Henry give 208 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL and receive that night, and shivered well-nigh as many lances ; and bore his part with such high courage and mettle, with such gallantry and in such brilliant wise, as to be the wonder of all beholders. Immediately before this great feat of arms, which made such noise abroad, had Prince Henry, in the ‘great white chamber/ in the Palace of Westminster, been formally created and proclaimed, — ‘Prince of Wales and Great Britain/ sitting on the left hand of the King, in royal robe and crown. After which ceremony, he and his knights, having entered their barges, were landed at Whitehall, where there was a magnificent banquet laid out in the great hall ; the Prince being ‘ served in such state, that greater could not have been done to the King him- self/ the King having dined privately within his privy chamber. Through all this and the masques and banquets that followed, the Princess Elizabeth was permitted to so- journ at the Court, to witness her brother's triumphs. Of nights, was the Thames crowded with boats and barges ; river and sky, with the lustre of the illumi- nations, being ablaze with light. Prince Henry passed most of his time betwixt his three palaces of Richmond, Nonsuch and St James, either in close study, or incessant action. At his ancient palace of St James he had a most royal library, founded by James I., and had collected and gathered about him a right noble treasury of pictures and statues, and treasures of art from all quarters of the globe. The great guard-chamber, and, indeed most of the chambers, bore token to his warlike bent. The splendid hangings of silk and gold (as all other gauds of luxurious or effeminate fancy), were made subservient to the blazon of arms. In the magnificent armoury were ranged whole suits of tilt-armour, ready at a moment's notice, to buckle on. Even the walls of the galleries bristled with warlike gear, ancient ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 209 and modern, offensive and defensive, and suited to this close-quarter fighting era. Bow, harquebuss, pike, lance, spear, sword, claymore, hanger, dirk, buckler, and battle-axe. All and each one of these weapons could Prince Henry, from the constant practice thereof, wield with adroit and unerring skill. Out- side, lay two great gardens, then brilliant with summer flowers, closed in on all sides by lofty walls of evergreen, and intersected by grassy alleys. The wooded park, filled with deer, lay betwixt St James and Whitehall. And beside the Mall flowed the water, within its wooded banks and isle, fair home of countless wildfowl. The avenues of St James led out to green fields and meadows, which stretched away to open country. Within these grounds of the palace was a great tilt-yard, ranges for shooting at the butt, tennis courts for tennis play ; courts for every game of skill and science, chance and change. Prince Henry was fairly fond of the game of tennis, which he was wont to play in shirt and hosen, and thin tennis pantofles : The gallery which ran round the court being either crowded with spec- tators, or — more often — empty. For the Prince in his own home did best like solitude, or to be surrounded only by the chosen few, men older and even graver than himself — with one exception — and that was the ‘ Merry Blade' of King Jamie, young Sir John Harrington, the Prince’s one close and chosen comrade. ’Mid the tennis players on this day, look- ing upon the game, was young Sir Robert Carr, then rising at Court into ever higher favour with the King, and now despatched by His Majesty with a special message to the Prince. Hence his unwonted presence at St James. After the game was over, Carr addressed some words aside to the Prince, and proposed to go with him into the palace ; but with such a swagger and assumption that many, knowing the haughty temper of Henry, stared blankly on the favourite as on one demented. Prince Henry took no more 210 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL heed of the fellow, than if he had been the page who tendered him his coat. But, drawing on his velvet doublet himself, called on Will Seymour and my Lord Arundel to go with him to the tilt-yard. ‘ It seemeth your Highness is hard of hearing/ cried out Carr, ‘ or, maybe, unaware of my presence ? — for so it doth appear.' The Prince's hand closed upon his racket ; yet, haughty and fierce as was his nature, he had himself under such perfect control that not by the movement of a muscle did he show himself aware of any obnoxious presence. Carr followed, glowering, at his heels. Whereupon Prince Henry, calm and cool, with consummate insolence of bearing worse than any blow, turned and eyed him from head to heel. ‘ Draft this mongrel mountebank,' saith he to Sir John Harrington, ‘from out my sight, even as 'tis out- side the pale of nature. I brook no half-casts here.' With that, he turned upon his heel. Robert Carr, soon to become a belted earl, needed no further rebuff, but left the presence; muttering, his counte- nance murderous, and not good to look on. Soon after this scene, the two comrades, Henry and Harrington, were pacing the open gallery which led from the gardens to the palace. Prince Henry, already in riding fettle, was waiting for his horse. For trained as were his attendants to constant and rapid motion, and to his lightning changes of gear or action, they could ne’er keep pace with him, who grudged every moment of the day for fleeting by so fast, and could ne’er get in enow to content his insatiable energy. Therefore a talk betwixt these two was rare, and only snatched by Harrington at odd moments — to him, most prized and coveted. In temperament, the two were in extremes. One grave, the other gay. And 'twas only when alone with Harrington that the Prince ever gave vent to the keen humour which was latent in him. Young Harrington was laughing then, a burst of uncontrollable merriment, in answer to a ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 2 1 1 remark of Prince Henry’s — to which a gleam in the eyes of the Prince alone responded. ‘I grant ye that and more/ said Harrington. ‘A beast he may be, and a beast will he remain ; yet in looks is he a very proper fellow, and a favourite with all.’ 4 Signs o’ the times, Jack. The time is not yet ripe for me to split my Blade (for neither he nor it should e’er do other service). ’Tis time the vermin which do now infect the Court should be destroyed, else would I not have my sister the Princess brought hither for an hour. The very thought is sacrilege.’ At sudden mention of this name, the breath of Harrington came quick and fast, and his face flamed. But Prince Henry, who was looking ahead, as was his wont, saw it not. 4 What say ye, my “ little knight ” ? ’ asked he. ‘ Is’t not so ? ’ ‘ Ay, for to no whiter saint might any knight kneel and bare his head. And as such will the Princess Elizabeth be handed down to posterity. Naught could ever soil the wings of such a dove.’ Prince Henry gave a little laugh. ‘This be chivalry indeed. I do believe thee, Jack. An’ yet — I would not have her here.’ He sighed and frowned, for he was thinking of my Lady Arbell, and his mind was clouded by anxiety and doubt. ‘ One thing I do know/ said Harrington ; ‘ and that is, that in these few days His Majesty’s coun- tenance hath changed.’ ‘ As how ? ’ ‘ Why, with all your shrewdness, do ye not mark it ? ’ cried his comrade. ‘ I do mark that His Majesty is better disposed toward me. His Majesty thinketh, Jack, that I “go too fast,” thus doth he phrase it. Yet since the tilting, hath he grown mighty fond, and naught that I do can anger him/ 212 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Aye, that day was His Majesty most inordinate proud of his son, as if he had been in the lists himself. He doth love a high courage and a good sword.’ A flash of a smile played on Prince Henry’s features, as he said in his heart — though not aloud — ‘ Sith it be not pointed at himself! ’ 4 None more so,’ saith he, aloud. ‘An’ so, in win- ning fickle favour, have I won my spurs. Pray God it may continue. At the present moment do I bask in the smiles of both Majesties, so that not even the smiles of my pampered brother York can wean ’em from me, nor the charms of a new jerkin and a bushy ruff ! My brother is a noble fellow. Pray God he be not spoiled. And now would I go straight to His Majesty and make use of this brief hour of sunshine — for when may it not o’ercloud ? — to plead for the liberty of one o’ the most gallant souls that ever fought for country and for king — old Britain’s glory — who ever languisheth in prison whiles we are loitering here.’ Young Harrington gravely shook his head. ‘ ’Tis vain, Prince Hal, ’tis vain. Have ye not pleaded for him a thousand times — in vain.’ ‘Ay, and will plead his cause a thousand more — but I will gain mine end. His misery doth shadow all my pleasures. I can ne’er forget him. Better death than such a “ life.” Who but my father, could ever keep such a bird in such a cage ? ’ Harrington was silent, for full well he knew that though the Prince might — and did — give utterance (in his presence only), to such undutiful and treasonable utterances, no word against the King from any other man in the realm was for an instant brooked in presence of the Prince ; not even from his one close comrade and brother-in-arms. ‘This be the magic hour,’ added Prince Henry, with a laugh, ‘ when His Majesty is in the best of humours, having been a-hunting with his beagles. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 213 His “ beagle ” “ Non-Pareil” having meanwhile been told off to the kennels. Would that that same “ Non- Pariel,” Jack, might bear with and suffer me. The day may come. I think him the grandest statesman that, since Burghley, hath ever held the helm of state. He thinketh Henry Stuart an ignorant and meddling vapourer. What wonder? A king may know too much. ’Tis not after such fashion I deal, and am dealt with, by the greatest general o’ the day. A statesman, however honourable — if e’er there be such — must needs have a twist. His way lies by devious paths. Not so a soldier. Ah ! had poor, gallant Essex not licensed himself to be the slave of his own passions, and the tool of the state ; but trusted to him , and given himself up to his discip- line and training, he would have proven lord of himself, and be living now, the greatest soldier of the age. Not a day passeth but I learn somewhat from Henry of France, and am proud to quest for knowledge from such a one. King, general, states- man — what would ye more ? ’ ‘ He is all that. And as you believe in him, Prince Hal, so doth he in you. So’ tis well. Doubtless there will be a great war e’er long. Doth not your Highness share in this belief? ’ There was a glint in Harrington’s eye as he put this guileless question which did not escape Prince Henry’s keen and grave perception and regard, a regard which pierced the minds of men — a vigilance never taken unawares. As he drew on his gauntlets, he drew himself up to his full height. ‘ A prince, Sir John, should ne’er deign to receive idle questions nor to give idle answers. He hath other work to do. More harm is done by idle gabble, than by all the rapine the world hath known. In matters of state — far removed from those of private friendship — do I hold my thoughts locked within mine heart, and the key within my hand. Let him who cares , take it! 214 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL With these haughty words, and a look which was in itself a challenge, Prince Henry strode away, leaving a barb a-quiver in the noblest, loyalest and most chivalrous heart that ever beat, the soul of honour, yet never trusted by one unwary glance or word. For ever betwixt these two rose this impene- trable barrier of cold and proud reserve ; that armour of proof at any moment buckled on, which no man could pierce. For no man would Henry Stuart trust with either his secrets or his power. Sir John Harrington leaned idly on the balustrade of the gallery looking over into the courtyard. The Prince, his hand raised to his lips, gave a shrill, imperious whistle, which rang out far and clear; when, instantaneous, were two grooms seen running, grappling with a restive horse as best they might. In another moment the Prince was in the saddle, his steed in upward rear, as gallant a sight as man might look on. In another, at a lunge of the spur, horse and rider vanished. But the bright, brave eyes of his only comrade were dimmed and saw him not. Scene XXVI 1 6 1 o. ‘ Lovers Meetings ’ Writing on the Wall Three times did these lovers meet, beside other times, which did not come to light, in my Lady Arbell’s own chambers in the house in Broad Street, which, by order of my Lady Shrewsbury were ever kept in readiness for her royal niece. After temporary disgrace had Arbell been restored to highest favour. Yet did she now more frequently absent herself from the Court than ever. 'Twas in this house in Broad Street that my Lord Arundel, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 21 5 as her old friend and comrade of many years, sought her, for he was greatly exercised on her account. ‘ I am come/ saith he, with his accustomed out- spoken frankness, ‘ in right of the love and loyalty I bear you, to warn you of the peril ye both are in ; not only extreme peril for you, my Lady Arbell, but dangerous for Will. Think not that I am too forward and free of speech ; more oft my lips are sealed, yet here my heart breaketh the seal, and will give utter- ance whether I will or no. I be just come from Seymour.' With that, he stood with his hand upon the table, exceeding grave, before my Lady Arbell seated, and gazed upon her in silent rue. ‘ And what saith Master Seymour ? ' she cried out, impetuous and impatient of all such restraint. ‘ Are ye his messenger? his emissary?' And the pain and passion at her heart paled her even to the lips. ‘ He thinketh, my Lady Arbell, as I do, that ye have both delayed in dalliance too long, and are now in deadly peril of life and liberty. He saith by me, that he fears to bring you to destruction. That ye had best release him from his plighted troth, and — let him go his way.' He spake with slow and calm deliberation, in blunt, unstudied speech ; and with the words, the colour flew to Arbelks face and throat, suffusing her very brow, and she raised her hand quickly to her throat, and grasped at it. ‘ Then let him go his way,' saith she, ‘ and Til go mine.' And with the mien and gesture of a royal empress, with curling lip and stormy eyes, she drew the rings from off* her hand. ‘ Let him go ! Faineant and craven-heart ! I release him from his plighted troth.' And with that, outwardly calm and cool, though her hand shook with passion, she smoothed the ruff about her neck ; and, smiling a most chill, disdainful smile, dealt my Lord Arundel a side-glance like a 216 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL rapier-thrust, which did both abase and abash him sore; so easy is a brave man cowed by a feminine assailant. ‘ What is troth-plight/ saith she, ‘ but counterfeit vows coined to trick and beguile flimsy women folk ? A trifle — to change hands and be broke within a day ? I give him back his toy. ’Tis worthless, and — be- yond repair/ My Lord Arundel, at this, looked graver still. He turned the pretty toy rings within his hands, and naught but his hooked nose and black beard was to be seen, sticking forth defenceless. ‘ My Lady Arbell/ saith he, in muffled tones, ‘ God knows Will Seymour loveth thee — dearer than his life. ‘ Ay ! loveth me, and loveth himself/ said Arbell, lightly. Who doth not love himself the best of all ? Forswear thyself no more, my Lord/ she cried with laughter. ‘ Tis not thy role, and becomes thee not. Thy mission is accomplished. Bear back these little gew-gaws. Mine heart is lighter for the cancelled gift. Believe me, I do think with him and thee/ and she laid her fingers on his arm, and, smiling, gently propelled him forward toward the door. ‘ Now leave me, for I am due at Court within the hour.' Yet did he stand rueful, and gaze upon her. She kissed her finger-tips, and laughed farewell. And thus he left her. Then, left alone, my Lady Arbell turned and looked hard into the street. Her masquerade was done — that little masquerade which yet lasts a woman’s life. Smiles, laughter, and a few rainbow tears, and the heart which breaks beneath. And so — the play is done. All round was mirth and life, and the cries of vendors in the streets. Yet heart and hand were struck from hers, and she stood alone once more. Alone — till death should take her. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 217 As she stood thus to face reality, her teeth closed upon her nether lip, and tears from the soul and anguish-dew, slow gathered, and beaded lash and brow — her hands clenched low before her. Yet, so used was she to mask and mummery, and so strong and adherent was the pride and mettle of heredity and race, that not even in solitude would she betray herself ; but, turning from the casement, clenched her hands above her brow, shivered as if from cold, and gave one long, shuddering sigh. ’Twas done. That night at Court my Lady Arbell was noted even more than her wont for her beauty and her wit ; nor could any woman cope with her — not even the youthful and celebrated Countess of Essex. For my Lady Arbella Stuart, who was given to scorn all things false, save only a touch of auburn in her golden hair, looked on the reflection of her own delicate loveliness, sheathed in shimmer of lustrous robes, and found herself too pale. 4 1 shall be like a flower-wreathed corse amid the feast/ saith she to her waiting-woman. 4 1 shall have no chance among these painted Polls/ and, so saying, lifted a tinted finger-tip, and just lightly laid a rose- bud on either cheek, and a rose-bud on her lips, till her great eyes glowed out like fugitive stars. ‘ Master Seymour loveth not the gilded lily/ saith she, and laughed. For days and weeks did Will Seymour seek his Lady-love in vain. She had granted him liberty and release without a pang. And he heard her spoken of on all sides as gay and mirthful as ever. Yet, he could not leave her thus ; he could not quit the country without one last adieu, ere they two parted forever. He haunted the house in Broad Street, yet all in vain. ‘ I know not what hath come to my Lady Arbell/ said my Lord Shrewsbury to Seymour. ‘ She was aye as mischievous as a monkey, and as merry as a grig. Yet now she surpasseth her own inventions, and keepeth all the Court alive with her whims and gleeks. See what ’tis, Master Will, to be the favourite 218 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL and the darling of a Court — one day in shadow, the next in shine. Yet 'tis a perilous sport at best.' ‘ Ay, 'tis so/ saith the Countess, who as ever, was busy at her spinning-wheel. 4 An* would to God that Arbell was far removed from courts and kings. Would that yon foreign fairy-prince they speak of so glib, would bear her far away from either. I would be the first to bid God-speed. Better the “ dinner of herbs ” than stalled ox, say I — bought at such a price. I pray Our Lady and the saints that the rescue may be soon — or 'twill be never. The first cloud hath risen, and my Lady Arbell’s life is not worth that.' And she snapped her fingers over the busy wheel. 4 But it seemeth me that my foreign fairy-prince hath gone the way of all flesh, or never was at all. What say you, Falconer Will ? 1 4 I say, madam, that I pray Heaven he be either a conceit of the brain, or — dead. No foreigner would be fitting mate for my Lady Arbella Stuart.' My Lady Shrewsbury smiled, and eyed him shrewdly over her wheel. 4 Will, thou'rt pale and wan — for thee. An' all thy florid colour gone. Stalwart though thou art, thy clothes hang loose upon thee? Wer’t not that thou'rt so stable and impassible, I would say either Will Seymour hath fallen in love, or gone to — Jingling Geordie.' Will Seymour, imperturbable, stood and watched the spinning. 4 Ye may weave romance out o' your wheel, my Lady Countess, but ne’er out of such a block as William Seymour,' said he, with the ghost of a smile ; 4 no, neither flames nor ruin. I am no fit subject for romance, and only the imagination of a woman could thus transform me.' My Lady Shrewsbury dropped her hands within her lap. 4 And yet, Will, 'tis such as thou, who must e’en love once — and forever ? ' ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 2 T9 ‘ That may be/ saith he, and gravely dropped his eyes. ‘ Well, romance or no romance/ quoth Mary Talbot, 4 with my poor, sweet Arbell, all is rough and stern reality. See her I must, and that alone. At present, she hath gone with Penelope Agard alone to Wood- stock, for the day. And careless and casual, the Countess whirred her wheel. When she glanced up again, Seymour was gone, and she met her lord’s derisive smile. Thus was Arbell betrayed and trapped. In a mossed arbour o’erhung by trees did Seymour run his quarry to earth, for there sat the two constant comrades, Mistress Penelope Agard and my Lady Arbell, both shelling of peas into one great bowl which stood betwixt the two, spring flowers round them, and bursting leaves o’erhead. Beside Arbell there sat on his haunches a great, grave stag-hound, close against her farthingale, given her by Master Seymour. The sudden blur across the sunshine caused them both to start, Arbell to smile and Penelope to frown. ‘’Tis all up with them/ saith Penelope, in her heart, ‘ and my Lord Arundel’s labour all undone ! ’ ‘ And who hath betrayed this our sacred retreat to strangers and aliens ? ’ asked Arbell, as she arched a round wrist and two finger-tips to Seymour’s salutation. 4 Who should do thus but my Lady Shrewsbury ? ’ he made answer. ‘ Hath she not ever stood my loyal friend ? ’ and he glanced at Penelope, who glanced not back but frowned again. ‘ Methought as much/ she muttered, and viciously snapped a pea-pod like a pistol-shot, shot the peas into the bowl, and flung aside the empty pod. ‘ How now ? ’ asked Arbell, with a laugh. ‘ Me- thinks that inoffensive pod doth somehow represent my Lady Shrewsbury — for some occult reason best known to Mistress Penelope Agard. Welcome, Master Seymour, we give you but a scurvy greet- 220 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL in g. But when ye came our thoughts were far afield ' Will Seymour, in answer to her beckoning hand, sat down near, and eyed her in stunned bewilder- ment. Was't all a dream ? Had they two ever plighted troth — and were about to part for ever? Man-like, he could answer her after no such airy fashion, so answered her not at all, but sat mute. The great hound walked stately to his knee, and laid one huge paw thereon in silent sympathy. But Will Seymour could take no heed of him. 4 I have sought ye everywhere/ said he, at last. ‘Indeed? And wherefore?' And Arbell, with raised brows, turned and eyed him in innocent curiosity. 4 Indeed, now I come to think on’t, Will/ she added with infinite kindness, 4 I have not seen thee at Court of late ? ' c I am in no mood for Courts and courtiers/ said he, bluntly. ‘ I am come, my Lady Arbell, to say a long farewell. I leave for Germany by the morrow's ship.' 4 Thanks be to Our Lady ! ' saith Penelope, in her heart. 4 For they may come together yet later on, and that without peril.' 4 And so have I heard tell,' said Arbell, as she shelled the peas. 4 Then God speed thee, Will, and joy be with thee. We shall hear of thee yet, an' I mistake not.' 4 After what fashion ? ' he asked, without the move- ment of a muscle. She smiled at him. ‘ After the fashion of all nature — both in love and war. You art young, Will ; young both in years and heart. Whiles I — 1/ and she whimsically smiled, and ran her pointed finger round the silver bowl. ‘ Are a wondrous actress,' he added. 4 Of all women methinks the greatest. And that saith much.' 4 An' wherefore should we not be ? ' asked she. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 221 ‘ Had we not dual natures, and could not — even at spur o’ the moment — act a dual part, what chance should we have 'gainst men ? Eh, Penny ? Tell me that ? 5 ‘ Methinks none,' saith Penelope. And still Penelope would not budge an inch, and Seymour's eyes sought hers in vain. Yet at that moment — alas and alas that it should be so, for on such chances doth destiny turn ! — 'twas fated she should be summoned by her uncle, Sir Henry Lee, on business of import, and in haste. She hesitated, lingered ; then, with one secret and imploring glance toward Arbell, fled. And while the rose-boughs still swung with the swiftness of her exit, Will Seymour was on his feet. ‘ Arbell, can ye leave me thus ? ' She looked up at him, and smiled. ‘Ay, Will; Seymour, I can leave ye thus, and thus, and thus again. Neither lovers’ vows, nor fond and tragical farewells, shall pass 'twixt thee and me. Your road lieth yonder, my path lieth here. On the border of the twain have we met and played. Yet games must end, Will Seymour, games must end. Then cometh work and wisdom. On yonder road- way do grow roses and fair summer sweets, and sun- shine warms the way. On this narrow path of mine grow thorns, and stones be strewed for pilgrim shoon to tread. The way is dark and drear. Yet, Will, I would play with thee no more,’ she added, with a shrug and bizarre smile. ‘ I tire soon of such. I am a woman. Thou and I art of one mind in this, and well agreed. Constancy fits neither thy nature nor my mood. So, good Will, farewell.’ Yet still he stood and stared upon her. ‘ Then ye cared not for me — no more than for your hound ? ' ‘ E’en less,’ saith she, stooping to caress the hound and smile. ‘ E’en less ; for he is brave and loyal- true.’ 222 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Slight, fickle jade ! ’ said Will, betwixt his teeth ; and his blue eyes, a moment agone so dull with misery, flashed into sudden tempered rage, as rare with him, as ’twas white-hot. ‘ Then have ye played me false — for sport ? ’ ‘ Then have ye played me false — for sport/ saith she. ‘ So we are even. Featly matched, though ne’er to make a match.’ She laid her hand on his, and his heart was hardened into stone. ‘ Forgive me/ saith she, sweetly, ‘ as I forgive ? ’ ‘ I have naught to forgive/ quoth he, ‘ but much for curse and blessing. I bless the hour in which we part. I curse the hour we met.’ With that he flung her, hand from him, as if ’twere a viper, and left her there alone. With head bent and ears alert, she stood and listened as his footsteps iiied away. And wistful and alert, the hound stood listening too, his head held sideways, till, when silence fell, he rushed forth in quest. What meant this frenzy ? Had he, in deed and truth, given her up for her own sweet sake alone ? With the thought- and lightning intuition of his unchanging love, she flashed through the portal like a streak of light, the boughs left swaying wildly. Fleet as a flying deer, she was off along the garden- glade, and, before he was aware, was beside him, breathless. 6 Will, dear Will ! my “ little Falconer.” One long and last adieu ? 5 It needed not such words as these, for him to open wide his arms. ‘ By all the memories o’ those dear days, I love thee, Will ; memories which be never prized till gone ; memories never to be forgot.’ ‘ Thou lovest me yet,’ said he, overcome with wild, exultant joy. ‘ I do love thee yeti ‘ To give thee thy release, sweet Arbell, I have cut ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 223 the ground from ’neath my feet, and the heart from out my breast. I cannot go forth alone . 5 ‘ What would ye have ? 5 ‘ A guardian angel. I would have thee , Arbell ; never to part no more. God help me — I cannot let thee go ! 5 ‘Nor I, thee. Better death together, sweetheart, than life alone . 5 Yet destiny shaped it otherwise. Three days after this, were William Seymour and Arbella Stuart summoned before the Privy Council. My Lady Arbell, under escort of the King’s captain of the guard, was first conducted to the palace of Whitehall, where she was for some days kept under restraint, Mistress Penelope and one waiting-woman alone being left to her. Those days were passed by her in a most extreme melancholy, she, not knowing what Fate might have in store for her. When, how- ever, brought before the Lords of the Council, her bold spirit revived in full force, and she spake with such fire and eloquence as to impress on the minds of all who heard her a most steadfast conviction of her innocence, more especially on that of the King, who was rendered, for the time being, perfectly con- tent. Seymour’s straightforward confession, both spoken and written, was duly received and attested. The prisoners were released. It seems that not many days were passed, how- ever, before they both were back at Woodstock, my Lady Arbell being gone over ostensibly for a great hawking at Sir Henry Lee’s, and Seymour to attend a meeting of savants at Oxford. It seems he could not resist the charm of his favourite sport. Where the hawks were gathered, there was the falconer bound to be. Arbell, after the irk of her brief ’prisonment, finding herself again in the saddle, was wild with spirits, and Mistress Penelope, though ever self-constrained, not far behind her. 224 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ I give ye up from this time forth/ saith she to Arbell, as they rode abreast 4 Of what avail is prayer and preaching ’gainst such odds ? I foresee that neither bolts nor bars, nor yet the dread of future punishment, will sunder ye. For here, as if there was neither king nor council i’ the world, as I live, he cometh ! — the solemn master falconer for his quarry.’ With that, and with a shrug and laugh, Penelope, philosopher, accepted even then and there the inevit- able, and turned to her own plighted lover, Henry Lee. Thus, in these ‘ halcyon days’, did these fated lovers toss their hay. Already — though earth was steeped in sunshine round them — might the low and sullen mutterings be heard, by all but they alone. Soon would murk night envelop them ; and, the floods descend. Thus, in the rough winds of March, did these gay falconers meet; engrossed in the present hour, and each in the other, they would take neither heed of the Past, nor warning for the Future. Even sage and astute Will Seymour threw his cares and anxieties on her account to the winds, and forgot all else in the glamour of her presence. Arbell’s mood was as brilliant and fugitive as the fleeting sunshine which chased in and out the cloud. Every elfin moonbeam from her glancing eye pronounced her fey, by token of her Scots descent, and raptured love of freedom. The lawlessness of the wild north- easter tallied with the boldness of her spirit. Liberty was her life— the very breath of her. Arbell gloried in a gale, as did the falcon which sate upon her wrist, who had ne’er found blast strong enow to stop or stem her flight. A team of six rare hawks was all they had betwixt them from the stud. Yet never hawks more grand in stoop and style than they, nor never flight more strange and wild to meet the falconer’s ken, than on that day. Woodcock ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 225 and hawk mounted to the heavens to such a height that they were lost to vision, till, like a flight of moths, they were seen scudding from out the sky. Three times did the old woodcock shift for the stoop; three times did the baffled hawks ring up into the cloudy heights above their quarry. The falconers were at full gallop then, and Arbell’s falcon, in its excitement, battling wildly on her fist for liberty. In another moment she, by a simul- taneous movement, hooded off and cast her off, and she tore into the wind ! No slip could be too long for her, no gale too high, yet had she herself well in command, so that a single swing o’ the lure would call her home ; and now she holdeth herself aloft and steady, above fleeting quarry and rival foe. From this terrific height, the wily old woodcock with shut wings, fell like a streak of light to the covert of the bracken. Yet, ere he might reach that covert, was he hit fair and square by the famous falcon who had ne’er been known to miss a stoop. A cloud of feathers in mid-air announced her victory. The woodcock rebounded on the turf, stone dead, at the falconer’s feet. Will Seymour, who had trained this famous falcon, and was extraordinary expert in catching and hood- ing the wildest hawk, handed her up to my Lady Arbell. ‘ Hold her in leash,’ whispered he ; ‘ she is, like her royal mistress, stately, disdainful, coy and wild, contrary to be reclaimed, and a “little above her- self” this day.’ What more he said was only heard by Arbell. They turned their horses’ heads for home, and her gay laugh rang back upon the wind. Those were halcyon hours. P 226 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Scene XXVI 1610. Hoodwinked The Witch-Countess * Where is my Lady Arbell ? ’ ‘ Oh, she is in the Tower, or that part of Greenwich Castle called by so ominous a name.’ Thus queried and thus answered my Lady Shrews- bury and Mistress Penelope Agard. ‘ Why, Penelope, what aileth thee, that thou’rt so captious and malcontent, and deal me so fantastical an answer? I asked the question because I saw a barge pass some hours agone ; and in it, an' I mistake not, was Master Will Seymour and another, whose name I know not/ ‘ And I answer thus in enigmas, my Lady Shrews- bury, because I too saw them pass, and methought ye were well aware.' ‘ So help me, Heaven, I knew naught of his coming hither ; nor can I conceive what business bringeth him here.' ‘ Methinks ’twould be easy for a simpler mind than my Lady Shrewsbury’s to chance a guess at that. Pleasure, madam, bringeth Master Seymour hither. He doth play a dangerous game this day,’ and Mistress Penelope whisked up the ’broidery on her knee, and frowned as she fell to work. ‘ Methought Penelope Agard had the spirit of a lion in her breast, and was wed to the service o’ the Countess of Lenox, heart and soul ? ’ Penelope preserved an ominous silence, and stitched the faster. ‘ Methought Penelope Agard was formed to do and dare, and to play a skilled and noble part within the world, fore all posterity. But it seems she hath grown timorous of late, timorous and afraid ! I tell ye, Penelope, ’tis time to move the puppets on the board, and that right quickly.’ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 227 The fiery Countess paced the chamber, her hands thrown out in gesture of dauntless energy. ‘ Ay, an/ if needs be, to cog the dice and blind the wisest fool in Christendom. Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lenox, hath her part to play, and that a bold and daring one, which shall throw lustre on her name for all time, and place her on that throne now hers by sovereign right And yon mongrel and his minions ' — she pointed a fierce finger toward the towers of Westminster — ‘be carted back to his native country, broken and abased. Or better, silenced on the block. Arbell is gambler to the backbone. It runs i' the blood, and “ dauntless ” is her motto, on either side her shield. 'Tis time she brake these puny fetters — loyalty and allegiance. Loyalty — to a changeling? Allegiance — to a beast? Faugh! 'tis sickening to bend the knee to such a driveller, and call it “ king ! ” Will Seymour and Arbella Stuart owe it to themselves, to their country and their kin, to rid the realm of such a fardel.' ‘ And Prince Henry ? ' ‘ Prince Henry must be shifted with the rest. What is he but a lion's whelp, which shows his teeth and sheaths his claws? A right prudent and passant lion is His Highness now, yet couching for a spring with whirling tail, half sport, half fury. He bides his time. For do but set a crown upon his head, he’ll stand on hind legs rampant, and make his subjects feel! Penelope smiled against her will. c What would ye have, oh true daughter of your mother ? A civil war ? ' ‘ Ay. War to the death. No quarter either side.' ‘Then so let it be!' cried Penelope. ‘ I die game. Yet no treachery. For love o' the saints, no treachery ! But fair field and open fight.' ‘ Hark ! ' The Countess held up her hand and listened. ‘'Tis my Lady Arbell sings.' 228 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Penelope leaned from the casement, while, from the flowery woods of rose-steeped June, floated an angel-voice from out a human heart, sweet as silver chime, clear as a clarion — 4 In summer when the shawes be shene, And leaves be large and long, He is full merry in fair forest To hear the fowle’s song ; To see the deer draw to the dale, And leave the hilles hee, And shadow them in the leves green, Under the greenwood tree. . . .’ Then, shadow o’er shine, death in life, solemn and slow the great bell tolled the hour. — Down in the gardens they met her, flowers in her hands, laughter on her lips and in her eyes, a laughter half suppressed, half breaking, in a way my Lady Arbell had. 4 Good-morrow, my Countess o’ the flashing eyes, and you, my sweet mistress o’ the louring brow. Penny, why so dour ? ’ 4 Dour with weariness and impatience of spirit, doubtless, even as I am/ answered the Countess, curtly. ‘ I am come with a message from Her Majesty for your instant summons to the Court. She saith you absent yourself too much, and ye are to take Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth with you, to be in readiness for the great masque that is to be.’ 4 On the morrow,’ saith my Lady Arbell, haughtily, 4 but not to-day. The royal barge must wait my pleasure. Yet, Penny ’ (with sudden change of mood), 4 why did ye not search my chambers through ? Or did my serving-woman say that I was absorbed in study — anentthe philosophies and experiences of life?’ And at the question she laughed the more, and tossed and caught the flowers in her hand. There was the shell-like flush upon her face, and the wild lustre in her glancing eyes — ever with her, as ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 229 Penelope knew, signs of internal excitement and great emotion ; which she marked in secret, as Arbell walked betwixt them both. ‘Your waiting-woman did make such a statement ; but being truthful, the lie showed through, and I knew ye were abroad.' ‘Abroad? Ay, and very far afield. Nor am I yet out o' the wood. Listen, listen, ladies mine,' she gaily cried ; ‘ my twain so near and dear, and loyal to the core.' She spake half jest, half earnest, while the tremble of a tear dimmed the lustre of her eye. ‘ Sith I tell ye a secret in this fair garden, where be no stone walls to hear.' She laid a hand on either one. ‘ List to my tale, nor interrupt me by a word,' saith she, in mock-tragic and exalted fashion. ‘ This morning very early, when dew brimmed on every leaf and bloom, the fairy-princess, Elizabeth, lay sleeping. I and two o’ my serving-women, by tryst, stole forth into the dawn, and, entering a barge, were steered for the “village on the green," for we three were bidden to a bridal. Yet innocent as was the venture, 'twas too audacious for the poor Princess o’ the Blood — who must needs keep secret ever all she doth and saith. — The sun was risen, ladies, then,' — she signed toward the east — ‘a sun fair as the star of Bethlehem, to guide us on our way ; sun fair enow to greet a bride, and grace a bridal. And flowers ? Flowers ? Oh, there was flowers and to spare, with all their blessed balm which breathes of childhood — when we knew nor harm nor blame. And in all and every- where, I seemed to see the vision o' the fairy-princess as I kneeled beside her couch ; and how, in sleep, her hand did cling to mine ; yet she waked not. And so I left her. There was not a cloud within the sky, nor shadow on the stream, this blessed morn. And I and Mistress Bradshaw and another, all on tryst, sat waiting for the bride, whose guests we were. At length the bridegroom came, attended by his groom ; a braw fellow was he, yet a bit of a laggart, 230 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL and ever late for all, as I heard tell. Yet did he look right well content, and on fire to greet his bride. And now, at last, she cometh on the scene. Sith ye would ken what like she be. Well, she stood both high and straight — higher and straighter than most women-folk, yet short beside her giant groom. Her eyes were long and narrow, and she peered from out the drooping lids as if all the world was hers — an’ yet too small to hold her. Yet was she philosophical of mien, and right gracious to her vegetative mate.' ‘ A goodly couple, truly,’ cried the Countess. ‘ And who may these two be ? 5 ‘ Can ye not guess, my lady aunt ? They do swagger often i’ the Court?’ The two women stared upon her, and my Lady Arbell glanced down from one to the other, curiously. ‘ Both be near of kin,’ saith she. 4 The bride so near that she did lie within my cradle, and will lie within my grave.’ ‘ Arbella Stuart ? ’ cried the Countess. 4 Not so. But 44 Arbella Seymour,” your Ladyship’s most humble niece and servant, now — and evermore.’ With that, she dropped upon her knee. King James was, in these days, both restless and ill at ease, wrangled with his ministers, estranged his nobles, and, worse than all, lost test of his people. War would he none of ; but peace at any price, even with loss of honour. Thus, in petty and beggarly squabbles, did James Stuart fritter away his reign, and ‘ compromise his own dignity and the honour of England before all the princes of Europe.’ No traffic was too base for him ; no aim too mean. The 4 setting up of his golden calves cost England more than Queen Elizabeth spent in all her wars.’ His vaunted justice, judgment and resolution had been proven void and vain. The public words of the great preacher got branded on his soul : 4 James I. and VI., waver not? An ever-growing jealousy, and ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 23 1 even hatred, of his eldest son gnawed at his heart unceasing. He was humbled and abased. His own heroic and imaginary powers were merged in those of this young Paladin. The son he had himself begot was set to rule over him, was become the idol of the nation, and was worshipped as more than mortal. In this princely son all hopes were centred. On him all eyes were turned. Wherever he went, in the triumphant splendour and pomp of his retinue and bearing, in the arrogance of his youth and power, the air was rent with acclamations. The multitude swarmed in the wake of the Prince. The King was left alone. The King, in his privy chamber, would burst into an impotent passion of tears and sobs, and so much the more did he turn for guidance, consolation and distraction to his chosen and corrupt counsellors, and the silken, slavish minion of the hour. The high and mighty Prince, his sacred Majesty King James, was in these days both restless and ill at ease. Yet neither from crises of state, nor wars, nor rumours of wars. PI is great mind was otherwise engrossed. On the eve of the masque at Hampton Court, given in honour of the Prince of Wales, His Majesty the King, in an old blue bonnet which could scarce keep out the wind and weather, the draggled remnant of a feather still stuck therein, and his doublet rent and tattered, stood loitering irresolute, and fumbling at his belt. The canary he had drunk so constant throughout the day from out his flask, hourly re- plenished, though never mounting to his seasoned brain, had been of so copious a measure as to bring on a most cantankerous mood. In vain had his attendants striven to get him into more seemly guise and gear. A ‘ Spanish hat/ presented to him on bended knee, had he cast with an oath into the flames, vowing the officious knave should follow suit. Another, bringing him ‘ roses on his shoon/ received a sounding box upon the ear. 232 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘Wud ye,’ cried His Majesty, with a yet more savoury oath, ‘ make of us a ruffe-footed dove ? ’ He fell then into deeper thought, and fingered at his beard and at his belt, his great eyes rolling round on vacancy. The King this night would neither eat nor drink within his chamber, but must needs go forth to sup abroad amid a chosen crew ; and after the supper, to witness such sports as his soul best loved. Ribald songs were sung to the blithe sound of fiddle ; the king's fool, astraddle the back of another fool, tilted at others o' the like persuasion, till all did ‘ fall together by the ears.' The King lolled in the midst, his heels above his head, in inter- mittent fits of senile laughter. Near him lounged his court jester, in cap and bells, a fellow of most caustic wit ; and had need be, to whet his wit against that of his royal master, who was more famous for cut-and-thrust jest and satire than any man of his age ; and who, while keeping the Court in a roar of laughter by his strange conceits and epigrams, and lightning-flash of repartee, would himself preserve a grave countenance, and even sad. Rochester was not present. But there was, as cup-bearer to the King’s Majesty, a silken stripling, to whom all present paid obsequious court, a curled and perfumed cosset, sleek and elegant beyond compare, who, for wanton glance and gesture, did sure outvie any Messalina that ever lured ? This page had attracted already the King’s wandering affection and regard. So that, even when speaking to others, His Majesty would absently stare upon this Narcissus, and call for cups from ‘ Steenie.’ On the following night, banquet and masque was held in the famed hall of Hampton Court, and the great watching-chamber thereto adjoining. All that day, and even the night before, had Prince Henry been in the saddle and the tournay, and all had gone down before his unerring lance. Yet now, ’mid ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 233 all this dazzle, processions with torches, drums and fifes, masquers in masking hoods most splendid and fantastic, all in his honour, yet passing before him as might the phantasms of a dream, did Prince Henry stand sombre and aloof, lost in his own thoughts and visions, as if he had no more hope neither in heaven nor on earth. Bonfires blazed. Bells chimed. The martial fan- fare of trumpets sounded near and far. In the palace, all the ways were lined with men-at-arms, drawn up to do him honour. Heralds crowding, torch-bearers swaying in the stream ; torches streamed red on the breeze of night, in stormy flare and flicker. Bugle and clarion sent their silver challenge through the flowery summer, melodious and clear. There was only one man beside the Prince who appeared out of tune with all this wild and changeful pageantry, and that man was Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, only of late returned from foreign travel, quondam playfellow and constant comrade of Prince Henry, for they had grown up as boys together. This Devereux was the last, and doomed to be the last, of his ancient Norman race; for no man, in all the range of history, was more dogged and doomed than he. Earl Robert, like his famous father before him, and like all the warriors of his house, was knight and soldier to the core, his hand ever on his sword, ready to cross blades or cleave his way to fame and fortune. Yet, though full of martial fire and manhood, cold, proud and stern, and disdainful of all pomp and pageantry. Therefore my Lord Essex, also, though young and full of vigour, was — ’twas marked by all — looking haggard and deadly pale; and in countenance, as of one possessed. Prince Henry, in a characteristic posture of his own, was standing with his back against a wall, his arms folded, and head somewhat bent. He was in a surcoat of purple velvet, furred and close-girded by a jewelled belt, and his eyes bent upon the ground, so 234 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL that he saw not the approach of the Earl. And they had not met for years. ‘Your Highness/ saith Essex, ‘do ye not know me ? 5 and paused beside him. The Prince, ever on the alert, either in sleep or thought, and leaping on the sudden into instant action or perception, started not, but kept the same posture, like an image carved in stone, nor did his countenance change by so much as a grade of colour nor the motion of a muscle ; only his brilliant eyes, ’neath bended brows, dwelt on the long-exiled Earl in grave, per- plexed scrutiny. ‘ Ay, Robin/ saith he, at length, ‘ I know ye well. Yet methought at first ’twas your ghost come home before ye. Welcome, though late. ’Twould have been well for thee and thine had’st thou tarried not/ At these significant words the young Earl grew paler yet. ‘ I think the same, Prince Hal. For my honour’s sake and the honour of my house, would God I had ne’er set foot on foreign soil ! ’ He made as if he would have wrung his old com- rade’s hand ; but Prince Henry, whether by design or accident, saw it not. ‘ For abuse/ said he, to Essex, coldly, ‘ there is but one antidote, my Lord — revenge/ and he gazed with strange significance upon him. ‘ Revenge ? And on whom ? ’ asked the Earl, in gloomy perplexity, scorn and derision. ‘ Methinks, to be avenged, I should fight half England, and yet neither cleanse my fair fame nor hers. She hath undone me.’ With these words, in a fresh burst of minstrelsy, did the brilliant procession ever pass before them, in perplexed and shifting vision — a perfect dazzle of bewildering beauty. And not a beauty there whose glance did not seek that of Henry, Prince of Wales, either in passion, coquetry or appeal. Yet all in vain. Blind to their charms, he was cold and hard as tempered steel ; nor did he by so much as the flicker ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 235 of a lash, neither by thrill of heart nor throb of pulse, show himself aware of their presence, but, averting his own eyes, let them pass him by. After Her Majesty, passed the Princess Elizabeth and my Lady Arbell (Seymour); Arbell radiant, yet paused a moment to gaze on the young Earl, paling an’ as if she had seen a wraith, and laid one hand upon his arm. ‘ Greeting, and welcome, Robbie/ said she. ‘ And God be with thee. Welcome to home and bride/ And with such a look of tenderness and sympathy as pierced his soul, the blithe playmate of his child- hood and the sweet confidante of his boyhood drifted by — the Princess, canty yet gentle, beside her, her observance directed as ever to the brother of her soul. On the wake of these brilliant meteors drifted past a starry host most dazzling fair ; then hooded masquers, swaying torch and banner ; then a flutter of courtiers and — with weird change in music of the march — within their midst, the most famous, notori- ous sorceress of the age, the ‘ Virgin 9 Enchantress, who did consort with wizards and magicians, and played with steel point and poison-philtre at her own wild will — Frances Devereux, the witch-Countess. She had for her fatal heritage the curse of a beauty most strange and rare ; her shape was lithe, tall and of perfect development ; her colouring dazzling fair ; face oval, nose small and straight ; lips full and pout- ing, and eyes of a most singular lustre, which appeared to evolve rays of magic light, both wicked and insidious, wherever their horoscope was cast. As this famous Beauty passed, these lustrous orbs lighted on Henry, Prince of Wales, sought, and com- pelled his regard. By some occult fascination or depth of passion, close sealed and guarded, in his heart, his were raised. Their eyes met and mingled in the deep and inscrutable gaze peculiar to the Prince — a gaze so concentrated as to draw and absorb even those siren scintillations by the dominant power of his own. 236 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Then did he drop his, and by sheer force of will broke the spell which bound him. Prince Henry waked from the troublous trance into which he had fallen, and faced his old comrade ; it seemed as if he were about to speak, and again Devereux stretched forth his hand to lay it on the Prince’s shoulder with the familiar action they had been wont to use as boys ; but Henry flinched from the touch as from an adder’s tongue, as if the very thought of contact stung him, and, with lips com- pressed, locked the words he would have uttered in his heart, and walked away. In dire perplexity and distress the young Earl stood gazing after him, and knew not what to make of him. Indeed, the Prince was at this time in secret grief and despair over the murder of the great soldier, Henry IV. of France, and the consequent overthrow of all his own high hopes and ambitions, to lead an army to the field. This intention was never absent from his mind, and he was casting about how next he should shape his fortunes, ever driven by every instinct of nature and heredity, on the march for the field of battle. Plunged deep in thought, he made his way through the crowds which pressed about him. In the wake of the Countess of Essex, one courtier, my Lord Northampton, had picked up a fairy glove, which, mayhap by chance, had been dropped but un- regarded. This glove, warm from her palm, he presented, under cover of the throng, to Prince Henry. ‘ ’Tis fresh from the hand of the most lovely maid in Christendom,’ said he ; ‘ and by that hand, was dropped at your Highness’s feet.’ Whereupon Prince Henry, turning his piercing eyes upon the profligate old Earl, answered, — ‘ It hath been stretched by another ; I share favours with no man,’ and haughtily passed him by ; and so on out of the press, to the solitude of his own thoughts ; for the haggard image of the friend of his boyhood had cut him to the soul and haunted him like a ghost. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 237 The chambers and galleries chosen by Prince Henry at Hampton Court, were as far removed from the world as could be devised by himself, and those about him. All the gorgeous hangings of state and thought-ruffling fripperies had been, by his desire, removed ; bright, lustrous silk and cloth of gold, and tapestries weaved through by naked limbs of wanton nymphs, replaced by velvet arras of sombre hue, or scenes of hawking and hunting ; harts and hinds with roses round their necks, and ‘ ragged staves ’ ; and scutcheon of the wrought arms of England and of France. Free winds and sunshine, and the dalli- ance of the breeze, had swept out the last lingering trail of subtle perfume, amber and musk. Only the fresh breath of varied-season flowers pervaded all the chambers, borne in on every wandering wind which blew. The gallery which he traversed had all the windows open to the summer night, the terrace and the river, distant lights and minstrelsy drifting to and fro. wSolitude and study must with him ever march with sound and action, the flash of arms and world of men. Thus, from his privy garden and privy chamber, after long hours of thought and study, did he love to mount the terrace and pace there of a moonlight night, listening to the echo of the bugles, or the fitful song upon the tide. Yet now, he sought his privy chamber. ’Twas large and lofty, and so built and cloistered that no sound could be heard without The walls were oak- panelled from frieze to cornice, and hung with velvet tawny arras of the like sombre hue. The roof was fretted gold, and the high mullioned window ablaze with colours rich and rare, 'blazoned crown, rose, and jleur-de-lys . Prince Henry strode through this open casement on to the stone steps beneath, and leaned upon the balustrade. Below him lay the silent sod, cloistered and green, and the ‘curious knotted garden,’ sweet with ’tangled flowers, roses and lilies of June, to be felt, not seen. Only as the 238 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL eye grew accustomed, and the velvet dusk dispelled were the portals of night softly opened by the angels of the moon, and the tall lilies came forth like spirits on the gloom of cloistered court. Not a sound — only the slight stir of some restless bird, risen to seek a late repast to stay his hunger. Only the sound of falling waters of a distant fountain, oar in rowlock, a plash of the blade, a strain of magic music far away. Laughter, silence — silence deeper for the lapse. High on tower and turret and changeful vane, on a wilderness of Gothic roofs and gables, and on the great gate-house, showered and brooded the silver glister of the mysterious moon, and sent her low, pale lights in flow of rippling radiance even through court and cloister, till all was bathed in noon of night. The mist clouds, relucent ghosts, were ever wreath- ing and unwreathing, in silent wrestle beneath the moon. And Prince Henry, gazing upward, wondered, in vague and fugitive fashion, athwart which wild and starry waste the restless and warlike spirit of Henry of Navarre was drifting then? Whence? and whither ? — In the chamber behind him, beside the great Tudor fireplace, where burned the dull glow of spent flames, was a little, antique closet builded within the wall, and hid by tawny arras. This might be seen to stir and vibrate. Then, from the folds thereof, stole forth a vision, conducive indeed to take sense by storm. A spirit, and yet a very human spirit. For sure no ghost however white and slender, ere owned such roseate, pliant charms, nor such a frolic smile. As one of the masquers, and after the fantastic fashion of the hour, this Naiad was arrayed — or rather disarrayed — in a loose, waving robe of filmy lace, rich as it was translucent, through which her lovely limbs were clear expressed ; and her breasts, shining lustrous through, glowed like little moons cloud-veiled, the more beauteous and luring for the mist. Her lovely arms were bare, her unbound tresses floating to her waist, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 239 crowned by a little tire of faery shells. The tinct and freshness o’ the waves was o’er her, in changeful play of shoaling light. Stealing to the casement, she slipped a curving finger betwixt her rosy lips to hush her laughter, gazing on the unconscious Prince. Then did she steal forth on to the step above him, her faery- footfall lighter than flake of foam, and softly waved and weaved her magic arms above his head, in witch- like weft and woof, her eyes like lambent stars for lustre. And he turned — and looked upon her. Yet, ere passion could change to scorn, with one lithe movement she was on the step beside him, her wanton arms around his neck, her eyes burning up- ward into his, her lips apart with hurrying breath, in impassioned challenge and appeal. The fire and infection of her intemperate touch and sensuous assail, ran thrilling through him from head to heel. Henry Stuart was no anchoret. In another moment, in leaping response to her passion, he crushed her in his arms, with clasp so close and fierce that she gave a little cry of pain. And there was in it well-nigh as much hate as passion — their lips met and cleaved together as if inseparate. The world, and love, and hate, and strife, and intrigue, submerged in passion. Then he took her two arms within his grasp, and held her at arm’s length from him. ‘ Frances Devereux,’ said he, his eyes dark with mingled passions, ‘ liar, traitress, harlot at heart even from your birth, go back to the adulterer’s arms from whence ye came. His kisses are hot upon your lips, his lust runs riot in your veins. Think ye that Henry Stuart will truckle to and share such foul carrion ? I know ye not. I’d rather cohabit with the strumpet of the street.’ He held her as in a vice, and the mad, jealous fury which consumed him made him forget the woman in the courtezan, till she turned pale for very fear, lest, in his unbridled passion and great strength, he should tear her limb from limb. He smiled in disdain of her. 240 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Fear not, poor wanton Quean, ye are a “ woman.” Were yea man, I’d tear your traitor heart from out your breast. Go back, back to your minion — a creature of shame and infamy, for all tongues and for all time/ Yet with these words, and loosened from his grasp, she resolved to stake all on that marvel of her beauty — a royal lover, a prince, a crown ? What would she not, might she not dare, with such a gift as hers? Shameless and dauntless, and full wotting of her power over him, by right of her wondrous charms, she sank on her knees at his feet. 1 My Prince, my soul/ said she, the tears brimmed within her eyes. 4 My husband ; thou to whom I have surrendered the fair first-fruits of my love — thou who alone, of all the world of men, hath known and possessed me — give me back mine own. My privi- lege, my right, the half of thy bed, the half of thy throne and kingdom. I am thy wife, thy queen. Before God and man I am. Hearken, Hal, and believe not this bitter thing against me, this vile slander o’ the Court. Before God and man —she raised her arm on high — ‘ I am innocent. But for thee, I am a virgin. A virgin ever to all but thee. If I speak false, may Heavens wrath strike me dead before thy feet. My Prince, my soul ! Oh, Hal, wilt not believe thy “ Love ” before all others ? Oh, by the dear days gone by, heart-throb to heart-throb, and pillowed on thy dear breast, in warmth and darkness of blessed night, give credence to mine innocence. Take me back/ With that she lay prone on the cold stone before him, in wild weeping ; only her sobs were to be heard. And the solemn moon stole to the golden head and the false, foul oath, and laid her pale search-lights full on the perjured girl. ‘ False, foul traitress/ said the low voice of Prince Henry, above her. ‘ White witch, with the black heart, the very moon hath found out thy perjury, and holds ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 241 thee in amaze’ (he pointed to the bowed head and all the lustre of the hair shed round), ‘giving thee back lie for lie.’ But she had clasped him in her arms in one last desperate appeal, all the golden glory fell back from the closed eyes and death-pale face a-quiver. ‘ Mercy ! ’ she panted, ‘ mercy ! ’ He wrenched the clinging hands, and flung her from him as he would a twining snake. ‘ Go, temptress ! ’ said he, and stamped his spurred heel upon the stone. ‘ Get thee from my sight, lest I slay thee.’ At this, with a wild, thwarted scream of grief and fury, and wide eyes ablaze with vengeful light, the witch-Countess fled away. Prince Henry bowed his head on the stone coping, and hid his face within his arms. . . . Scene XXVII 1610-11. Duress In vain, on hearing of their secret marriage, had my Lady Shrewsbury and Penelope Agard implored and urged the lovers to fly the country without a moment’s loss of time. Arbell was not to be moved from her resolution to stand and bide their time. And Seymour, in the dotage of first love, had passed his promise to her to do her bidding. She, hoping ever, at the worst, to gain the favour and sanction of James to a marriage which could not be repealed, and so to divulge it at some favourable moment ; he, ever ready to abide with her and by her will, even if ’twere in welcome isolation in the country they both so dearly loved. ‘ Or/ saith she, ‘ we will win back the lands of Q 242 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Lenox yet. Prince Hal hath sworn they shall be mine. And there, in our mountain fastness, our books, our kingdom, will we live in Paradise, unmo- lested and forgot.' Such castles of cloud and moonshine did these fond lovers weave, and all the time they weaved the fatal web of their own destruction. Flight — and -instant flight, before ever suspicion had been raised — would alone have saved them. Arbell, with the natural boldness and daring which had ever characterised her every action, with the pas- sion for excitement and adventure, and the gambling spirit all strong within her, loved to do and dare, to hug the lee shore and hazard all upon a cast. Will Seymour, with his besetting sin of indolence, which marred so grievously and fatally an otherwise noble character, let these blissful days drift by, lost in his golden Eden — hours all the more Elysian for being so rare and stolen, and brilliant with the hope inseparate from all great joy. In this month did Mistress Penelope Agard, to the surprise of all at Court, leave the service of my Lady Arbell, to give herself in marriage — long deferred — to her kins- man, the only son and heir of old Sir Henry Lee. And in their honour was there grand doings at the palace of Woodstock and Ditchley Hall, the old knight being such a favourite with the King as was Mistress Penelope with the Court. After the mar- riage, Arbell returned to Hampton Court in the coach of my Lord Shrewsbury, in whose company and banter her mocking spirit ever rose to a most hilarious pitch. ‘ Your Lordship,' saith she, in answer to a gibe of his, ‘ doth appear, after this sumptuous feast of Wood- stock, blither and sleeker than I have seen ye this many a day. Greybeards love good meats, and do but live from junket to junket, lost to all beside, unless their livers prick them. “ Fish must be watered,” saith Gammer to the steward, “ and to ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 243 spare.” “ Fat beefs and muttons killed in time, and powdered.” “ Fat capons slaughtered in their youth.” I do most humbly congratulate your Lordship on eating at one sitting one very good red deer of the six sent to the wedding-feast, and thus so nobly upholding the honour o’ the house of Shrewsbury. And as I have oft sent your Lordship, from the King’s preserves, some of the stoppingst meat that is, so will I send ye soon an impresa of right goodly cheese — greybeards do love such talk — an’ some o’ the sharpest sallet that ever I did eat. So God send your Lordship a good stomach and a good digestion. An’, if ye be still a good fellow and an honest man, show your gratitude, or be hanged ! ’ ‘ It pleaseth your Ladyship to be sweet and sour to all men, by shift of every breeze — a very weather- cock. An’ so I now yield you my humble thanks for your heedful care of my stomach and my conscience, the which ye ply by turns, according as ye turn saint or sinner ; but, thanks be to the Lord ! the sinner in ye ever prepondereth over the saint. Your Lady- ship’s hospitality is ever of the right regal sort. And I do call to mind, as if ’twere yester e’en, the old buck of Sherland and the roasted tench I and other good company did eat so savourly at your manor of Smallwood.’ ‘Poached from King Jamie’s sacred preserves,’ laughed Arbell ( 4 ’tis so easy to be generous with others’ goods), and washed down by copious draughts of sack.’ Thus laughing and bantering, they drove into the court, Arbell with her finger on her lips, in token of silence. 4 1 will not forget,’ said he, in answer to somewhat gone before. 4 But take warning betimes, and God speed ye both upon your way’. There, in the quadrangle, was Prince Henry, he being just returned from the tilt-yard, and so as gay as she. For who could help but be gay and light of 244 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL heart beside my Lady Arbell ? They all turned into the colonnade, the two Stuarts side by side, her hand upon his shoulder, his arm over hers, after their old, familiar fashion, for the love betwixt them was close and fast. ‘ Her Ladyship/ quoth my Lord Shrewsbury, ‘ is a little “ above herself,” and requireth cautious handling. But, doubtless, your Highness is on guard.’ Prince Henry laughed, as he glanced down on my Lady Arbell. ‘ I know her well, my Lord. As Seymour hath it — “ a falcon more disdainful, wild and coy, or more con- trary to be reclaimed, was never cast.” Yet before this marriage at Woodstock, my Lady, where have ye been in hiding this long time? We have all gone desolate/ ‘ As have I, over the loss of my dear love and tute- lary saint, Penelope/ ‘ Mistress Penelope is forsworn/ said the Prince. ‘ Did she not vow, by all the saints in heaven, that she would never wed before my Lady Arbell ? What portends this perjury, then ? and how shall we un- ravel the mystery ? for we had thought Mistress Penelope the soul of honour and loyalty?’ And he looked searching, yet with mock gravity, upon her. My Lady Arbell, with a subtle blush, laughed up into his face. ‘ Who shall fathom, and who shall solve, Prince Hal, the vagaries of a woman’s will ? as ye ought to know ere this ! Suffice it that I am left desolate, so, for lack of a nunnery, or a fitting mate, I did retire myself to the “ Friars,” there to weep in secret.’ ‘Ye look it/ said the Earl, with a laugh. ‘What saith your Highness ? Is she not too fair to pine in lonely blessedness ? Indeed, she must now seek a mate in earnest.’ ‘ So say 1/ said Prince Henry ; ‘ yet no man dare approach her. Ye shall trifle no longer, my lovely cousin, and ye cannot do me a higher honour, Arbell, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 245 than to send me on this quest. I am bounden to your devoir , as ye know.' ‘ And wish me joy of life ? ’ ‘ And wish thee joy and honour/ he whispered low. ‘ Sweet wishes can ne’er come amiss, Prince Hal, whether from over cups or beads/ said Arbell, gaily, ‘ so that I will e’en fettle myself to greet my lover — whoe’er he be.’ Shrewsbury having been called away, the two cousins strolled through the water gallery to the great terrace walk which overlooks the Thames, for the time was not yet come to wait on Her Majesty. This terrace was Prince Henry’s favourite haunt. They leaned upon the balustrade, and my Lady Arbell’s mood was changed from gay to grave. ‘ Hal, I have known thee from a boy/ saith she ; 4 quick in thought and action, as steadfast in resolve — yet more than aught els, most wondrous secret of any trust reposed in thee — ’ She stopped and bit her nether lip, as if knowing not whether to give way to silvern speech or golden silence, so that, bending down, he laid his brown hand, hardened by pike and sword-hilt, over hers, and smiled his most rare and tender smile. ‘ Then, little Sweetheart — trust . I am thy champion and thy lover, and shall be — to the death.’ ‘ Wilt swear it, Hal ? Whate’er betides ? ’ He raised her hand in silence to his lips, and her fair head drooped on his broad shoulder. With one hand, with gentle force, she pulled his head down to hers till his ear well-nigh touched her lips. Yet, even at that moment, a hurried step was heard. — Prince Henry, ever on the alert, started erect, and scowled upon the intruder. £ How now, fellow ? ’ said he, fiercely. A messenger, disordered and travel-stained, bare- headed and louting low, approached the Prince, and spake with him aside. Yet though Arbell looked hard upon the Prince to 246 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL read the purpose thereof, ’twas of no avail ; Prince Henry had on his vizor, which no eyes might pierce. With doffed cap, though without another glance to- ward her, he strode away, the messenger at his heel. An hour thence, my Lady Arbell was taken, under arrest, from Hampton Court, was lodged under guard at Lambeth, and her husband-lover im- prisoned in the Tower. There, in that fine house and green garden on the Thames, did the Lady Arbella Seymour once more taste that ‘ durance vile ’ which her soul most abhorred. Yet had she the liberty of all the house and grounds, and might descend the steps therefrom even to the water’s edge, for Sir Thomas Parry was a most care- less and kindly jailer. Yet in these first days of prison life — for such it was — she appeared like one stunned, unable to gauge the extent of her calamity ; or, in a wild frenzy, would pace the length of her chamber as if gone distraught. And in all these various moods, the old and faithful comrade of all her changing fortunes, Mistress Bradshaw, who now left her husband for her mistress’s sake, would sit within the casement and sew, her tears dropping on her work. Arbell, seeing her thus, ran to her, and wisped the work from out her hand. ‘ Fear not, dear Bridget. Courage, faint heart ! there be that within mine heart which will never surrender. Let them but leave me even a chink, I will win through it ! Yonder lieth my husband, and I lie here, with only a few silver links between. He hath the “ liberty o’ the Tower,” and I this garden. One fair morning, Bridget, ye will find me flown.’ Bridget shook her head, despondent. ‘ Oh, that ye had gone before, my Lady Arbell, as Mistress Penelope ever urged, afore ever the blood- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 247 hounds o’ the Tower was on your track. Ten thousand eyes be on ye now/ ‘ An’ I will blind them all. But one thing irks me most, whatever be my fate, and that is, the future of all my dear servants and my poor sick folk. I do fear for them, and I do conjure thee, Bridget, as ye hope for salvation, an’ as ye love me, to mind what I have said, and to visit them for me. “ They were poor and in prison, and ye visited them.” They suffer for my sake. Bear that in mind, if only for my sake/ The old woman clasped Arbell’s hand in hers, but could not speak for tears, which she knew Arbell loved not, and so strove to hide them by gazing curiously at somewhat on the river. Arbell smiled at the simple stratagem. ‘ And the sea-water stones, Bridget, the emeryns, sell them for my dear servants and for my poor. They are thine. Forget not, for we ne’er know what may betide. . . . Oh, that I were on “ Bay Briton ” for one fleet hour ! ’ and she ran to the further case- ment, and, throwing it open, flung wide her arms like wings, ‘ they would never see me more. Whom have we here ? A barge ? Yet not a royal barge/ And in another moment Arbell was out through the garden alleys, and in the arms of the Princess Elizabeth. For a few moments neither could speak, and Arbell led the Princess to some steps apart, which descended to the water’s edge, where some garden-thicket screened them both from view. They sat upon the stone, their arms about each other. . . . e I have but one little half hour to spare thee, for His Majesty dreameth not that I am come hither, else, mayhap, would I be thrown into the Tower. I am but the messenger of my lady mother and my brother. She sendeth thee this in token of her dear love and sympathy, and saith she will stand betwixt the King and thee, thy constant friend and inter- cessor. My dear brother, Prince Hal, doth send 248 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL thee five words only. Here be they, writ by his own hand — “ Thy only hope is flight .” ' Arbell caught the slip of parchment in her hand, and, after devouring the words, pressed them to her lips and heart. 4 Greet him from me/ saith she, ‘ a thousand times. Tell him his mandate shall bear fruit.' ‘This dare not I. He is very wrath against thee, love- Arbell, an' will not suffer me, or any, to speak thy name. He is more furious even than my father against both thee and Master Seymour. And now, love-Arbell, farewell ! We shall meet again — I know not when nor whither. And till the hour ye both are free I shall live in fear and sorrow — alone 'mid Court and crowd. Would God, Arbell, I had ne’er left, nor might ever leave, that sweet old home of Combe Abbey. We were not born for greatness, thou and I. God speed thee, sweetheart ! And — farewell ! ' Arbell stood watching on the steps till the barge vanished in the mist, and all grew cold and grey. On the morrow came my proud Countess of Shrewsbury, alert and vigilant, keen and invigorating as northern breeze, and was closeted long with Arbell — their parting words, through a gust of breeze and opening doors (from Arbell) — ‘ I would neither part with it nor sell it, even to purchase my liberty. Loyalty for my Queen and her memory is one o’ the few virtues of my poor life. Liberty at such a price, would be to me dust and ashes.' ‘ Arbell, thou'rt a stubborn jade, and ever were. Farewell, then, my poor jessed falcon,' added the Countess, with her bluff, yet fond caress of voice and mien, ‘ which perketh for a glint o' the blue sky in vain. Courage, Arbell, we shall soar high yet ! Thou shalt be cast on the free winds of fortune to soar into the sun.' Arbell laughed for very gladness of heart, for the ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 249 bracing presence of the Countess had infected her like a whiff of her native moorland. ‘ At least/ saith she, ‘ will I give thee all I have — my love and benediction ; and for mine uncle, my gallant Bay, who hath borne me many a league o'er moor and craig untiring. Poor gallant Bay, I must e’en greet him quick wi’ ane kiss upon the white star in his forehead, ere tears blind mine e’e.’ ‘ And for me, I will not fail thee, Arbell/ answered Mary Talbot. 4 And mind/ she added, with deep significance, ‘ another life hangs on thine! On those steps, in the little thicket by the river- side, was my Lady Arbell wont to watch for every passing boat, and not in vain. For at this tryst did the lovers again and again meet in secret, under cover of the nights. Their last meeting, for so it proved to be, was on a wild March night. The ghost sun, without either light or warmth, was waning low ; while round him, the cloud-regions kept up a silent and incessant warfare with the belligerent March wind. No sooner had this fierce combatant swept the swart cohorts before him from the field, than others rose in dense and dark platoons, gathering in silent, threatening challenge on the murk-drear field of battle. And the ghost-sun sank unheeded on the waste. Arbell, swathed in a long, dark cloak, which fluttered in the storm, stood on the lowest step, with the boisterous water lashing wildly at her feet. A boat with two men therein was riding on the unruly ripple. One in a cloak, with slouch hat guilt- less of feather or ornament, was tall and athletic, and with strong hand caught at the stonework of the low wall as they drifted by. In another moment he gained foothold on the step. The boat swept on- ward with the tide, the rower’s head well down, his hat slouched upon his eyes, and husband and wife stood alone together. 250 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Through that night, the wild wind raved and called in vain. There was no knight of puissant thews and sinews standing up high and lusty, to receive serenely the vain onslaught of his blows; there was no im- petuous lovely Ladye, tall, slender, stately, with whom to make rough sport, and play havoc with her stream- ing robes. All around that old house and garden on the Thames reigned silence and content, save for the clamour of his baffled fury. That March morning broke wild and weird. The ghost-sun, raised from the dead, rose up in his shrouding cerements, and stared wan and dazed through mist and waste. A boat was rocking roughly on the tide at Lambeth Ferry. One last farewell. Yet — we shall meet again ? Say, weird March morn ! Say, wild March wind ! Say, ghost-sun, with the stony glare — that we shall meet again ? A few great tear-drops from murk-dark cloud plashed on the lovers’ heads for answer. The ghost- sun hid his head, and vanished. All Nature sobbed and sighed response. Will Seymour wrapped my Lady Arbell within the folds of the cloak he wore, so that she was lost to view, as he bent his head for whispered words. Flight was their watchword. They parted, but only, they said, to meet again, and fly the country together. So much for poor human hearts. The Great Hand is raised to sunder. One kiss and clasp, one hurried word. The wild blast swept the rain-tears away, and showed the ghost-sun pale as ashes on the waste. Those lovers parted. Never to meet again. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 251 Scene XXVIII 1611. Flight Too late !— too late ! Destiny and doom were too strong for these ‘ rough hewers.' As so often haps in actual life, thought and action simultaneously, from dual sources, sprang together. For on the very eve of the Sey- mours' intended flight, the King, acting on his own misgivings and whispered rumours, must needs take a scare, and, under his own hand and seal, ordered that the Lady Arbella Seymour be instantly com- mitted to the care and custody of Durham, and trans- ported by him to the North Country, far removed from all possible communication with the prisoner in the Tower. The following morning, without a moment's warn- ing, was my Lady Arbell, therefore, by order of the King, confronted by these secret emissaries ; she, as ever, opposed to these all the force of her resolute will, refusing to leave the place alive. 'Twas only when they laid hands upon her that she fell into a dead swoon upon the floor, and in this state was borne, even from out her bed, to Lambeth Ferry. In most desperate plight was she of mind and body, so that she had to be carried from her litter, deadly sick and faint, stricken down by grievous anguish and despair, under strict constraint and compulsion, and only brought through that journey by the constant use of cordials. She finally arrived at Barnet half- unconscious, pain of body having overcome all else, and there, in that most grievous strait of ‘ pain and peril,' was found by Mistress Lee (Penelope). Had it not been, indeed, for the tender and devoted nurs- ing of Penelope, and the ever-faithful Bridget and the skill of her good physician, my Lady Arbell must have died. 252 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Out of these dolours did she pass, the very ghost of herself, lying upon her bed too weak to move hand or foot, yet feverously ready to be up and away, no matter whither. Penelope, overjoyed at her darling's deliverance from death, yet fearful for her future state of mind, pleaded patience and timely season. ‘ I pray thee, Arbell,’ said she, ‘ rest in peace. Without this rest of mind and body canst thou never escape thine enemies, but must needs languish and die a prisoner. For God’s sake, bide thy time ! ’ ‘ Ay, “bide a wee, Arbell, bide a wee, Arbell.” ? Twas ever thus. I have bided too long — too late.’ She was lying back on her pillows, deathly pale, a fever-flush on either cheek, her large eyes questing wildly round as if in search of something, while she grasped Penelope’s hand in nervous tension. ‘Ye aye told me so. Would God I had followed your advice and the warnings of mine own heart ! And now, see what I have brought on me and mine. Oh, what a coil is this ! And what a death-blow to all hopes, and to my poor Aunt Mary. “ Another life,” she saith, “ another life hangs on thine.” And now ’tis gone — gone from me forever. A Stuart, a Sey- mour — my little babe, doomed from thy conception and thy birth ! What would ye more ? ’ She started up, then, falling back, fell into sudden laughter, peal on peal, which ended in sobs and gasp- ing cries, and then in complete prostration. Sleep she knew not, but wandered in ceaseless speech throughout the night ; Penelope alone could check and soothe her. ‘ Once bear me north,’ cried she, ‘ I were undone — lost in utter ruin evermore ; or done to death — who knoweth? ’Tisn’t the first, by many, of my race. Now all is fair, and I can see the flowers and Will. How now, laggard ? Did I not tell thee this love would prove my death and thine?’ Thus she raved, and thus she wept and laughed, sometime in deepest gloom, and now in fairest sun- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 253 shine — and strange fancies of a summer moon, on heather moors, till sleep took her — long trance of slumber and dear early days, which saved her errant reason. From this she waked to find my Lady Shrewsbury beside her, watchful and sleepless. ■ Now blest be Our Lady/ saith she, ‘ thou’rt thyself once more. Yet no thanks to thee and Master Will. Alas ! Arbell, why did ye not take warning by my words, and take thy capture in a quiet spirit, gently ? All might be well. And now Prince Hal hath sent his private chaplain to thee, who, on bended knees beside thee, is bid to pray for thy poor, erring soul, and instil into the depths thereof the exercise of all virtues and religion/ and she laughed. ‘ I will none such ! 9 cried my fractious Lady Arbell (ever more rebellious with the idolators of her child- hood), crossing herself. 4 1 would sooner see the devil. Forbid him to enter my presence, and send him back from whence he came/ Thus the holy prelate of the reformed 4 Church of England ’ entered not the presence of the godless and defiant Lady Arbell. But the two brides and my Lady Countess of Shrewsbury were closeted many hours together at several times in that day, commun- ing in secret conclave. And none but Bridget knew. On a memorable and fateful day in the leafy month of June, Will Seymour, kept — by certain events which had transpired and come to the knowledge of the King, and so having forfeited his liberty as prisoner on parole — a close prisoner in the Tower, was ‘ lying sick 9 in his chamber over ‘ Traitor’s Gate.’ This florid, flax - haired student, however, had neither volume nor cordial at hand, though books were heaped in every corner. His gaze was turned upon the sky — the deep blue and stable vault, and silver rift of changeful cloud — Eternal, fleeting as a dream. That way lieth liberty. There freedom spreads her wide pinions, and rings aloft upon the wind. Oh, for the 254 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL wings of a falcon, to cleave that blue, and soar aloft ! Will Seymour thought on his sweet love and wife, the star of his boyhood, the glory of his manhood, his first, last love ; and, Stoic though he was, gnawed his lip beneath his great moustache, while his blue eyes dimmed and brightened, and his broad- breast heaved at thought of liberty with her ! Would these clogged hours never end ? He started to his feet, and with firm, heavy strides paced the cell, his hands thrust within his belt. Fatal to the Seymours had proven this grim charnel-house ; his great-grandfather, the Protector, had found that ‘ all his honours had helped him too forwards to hop headless.’ Here were his grand- father and grandmother cast into prison ; here was his father born; here did his grandmother, Katherine, languish eight long years, to die of a broken heart at last. Good God ! would this be his fate also ? The strong limbs of the meshed lion writhed — the meshes were drawn close and closer round him. Not if daring might circumvent such ending. Better death, than this. Late that summer eve the warders at the great gate of the outer ward lounged and idled, staring with bovine, vinous eyes upon the wharf and ominous western sky, which appeared as though bathed in blood. Vulcan was banking up his fires in grim preparation for a blaze, and these throbbed at every moment with quickening flame in wide and wild pulsation, presage of brooding storm to break. The gusting wind drave dust in spiral clouds along the way ; and raised a moan upon the waters — dire and drear. ‘ A black night at sea,’ said one, and yawned and stretched his legs. A doleful life enow had warders of the Tower. There was not living soul in sight, neither on water nor on wharf. Only a lumbering waggon, piled high ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 255 with faggots, raised in its egress the dismal echoes of the western arch ; a waggoner lounged at ease there- on, and flicked his whip ; the great horses crawled along the way, at their own slow will. In wake of the waggon, two fellows, Batten, the barber of the Tower, and a bent and bearded comrade, hobbling on bandaged leg, walked slowly forth, intent on bluster- ing argument ; (yet I trow that crippled yokel — could he have had his way, would have flung band- age and staff aside, and run as fleetly as the wind to his longed-for bourne). A series of misadventures and delays had held Seymour baffled and thwarted in the Tower, when he should have passed four hours agone. Batten, who, for a considerable bribe, had been pressed into the service, had presented himself at the Tower in false beard and bandaged leg in quest of ‘ the barber ; ’ but was not, without considerable delay, and much insolence and bandied words, admitted ; so that by time he gained entrance to the chamber where Will Seymour lodged, the warder there had come upon his beat, and was pacing out- side the door, and ’twas long ere Batten could make shift to slip in unaware. Once entered, it could take but a few moments for the barber to doff beard and bandage, and appear in his own character. As for Seymour — by aid of the barber — to assume this same disguise. Thus unnoticed and unchallenged by the guard, did the two men boldly sally forth, yet, ere Seymour passed the western gates, had he known it, the sun set upon his hopes for evermore. The warders, idling at the entrance, yawned and yarned. The wind rose high, and beat onthosegrim ram- parts in vain assault. The soundof oars in the row-locks; the thud of a horse’s flying hoofs dying in distance, the chance song of a boatman alone, ’mid recurrentgale and lull, broke the silence of the night. And darkness fell. From Barnet had my Lady Arbella Stuart’s famous appeal to the Council been made in vain. 256 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘ Even though/ saith my Lord Cecil, ' the whole Council Board would be hard pressed to reply with effectual argument, to such eloquence as she hath spoken/ This was her last appeal, save by writing. For, above all her gifts, writing had ever been the chief comfort and delight of Arbell’s life — a talent inherited by so many of the royal Stuarts. In Arbella Stuart this special gift had reached to height of genius. As prose writer and poetess (as various poetic flights in private treasury shew, sacred to the possessor, and a descendant of the Stuarts), her name should rank with the highest. In diction, in dainty grace and delicate flight of fantasy. In eloquence, force and fire, she far outstripped her century, and may challenge and confront with honour and dis- tinction the present age, and those to come. With the daring passion for venture inborn in her nature, she resolved to take the law into her own hands, and defy Council, King and country. With her, action and thought were one. To this end she had, by strenuous efforts, compassed the liberation of her faithful and devoted servant, Hugh, from the Mar- shalsea, one ever ready to her behest, even had she bid him march into the fires of hell ; for, like many another, Hugh lived but to serve her. By aid of the loving hands of Penelope Lee and Bridget, my Lady Arbell, wild with high spirit and with much laughter, assumed the familiar guise to which she was so well accustomed, and which she had at a moment’s notice, been wont to assume and bear with such dashing grace and swagger. In such gear as this had she once been taken for the ghost of Henry Darnley, and carried on the jest. In doublet and hose, slouched hat and plume, and little, jaunty riding cloak, her own gold locks close hid beneath a periwig, a fever colour brighter than her wont, and her great grey-gold eyes glancing wild, did my Lady Arbell issue forth, a most graceful and mutinous ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 257 young cavalier, her spurs clanking, her rapier swing- ing at her side. Thus on foot and alone, for she would have none with her, she tramped for half a league to the ‘ Sorry Inn/ where Hugh, with saddle horses, waited her. By that time, Arbell, whose dominant spirit ever, like that of Mary Stuart, upheld and overruled any weakness of her body, could scarce keep her feet, but reeled for very faintness, and could but just mount her fiery steed. Yet, once in the saddle, with a good horse under her — riding after the fashion of her childhood — the fire of her spirit conquered all else. Her very soul thrilled for ecstasy of liberty. At a gallop they dashed forth through the wild wind, to take boat for Leigh. Yet even the bold heart of Arbell sank within her when they found no Seymour by the water side. She was lifted well-nigh fainting from her saddle, and carried into Blackwall Tavern, where Penelope and her husband, Henry Lee, were waiting to give her welcome, and speed her on her way. Without an instant’s delay, feeling it useless to linger there, Arbell gave the signal for departure. On Blackwall Stair she and Penelope parted, with urgent messages to be given to Seymour when he should arrive. And thus the two boats pushed off into the night, Arbell muffled in a hooded cloak, with Bridget at her side. They were rowing against wind and tide, so that when they neared Gravesend, darkness had fallen. Naught could be heard nor seen but the ever- rising wind, and wild clouds scudding on a star- strewn sky. Leigh was not reached by the fugitives till break of day. Far out to sea lay their chartered barque at anchor, rocking on the tide. Yet there, even until four o’clock of the morning, did Arbell linger, deaf to all entreaties, sealing her own doom by watching for the husband who never came. Till, in grief and ominous ’bodings, dark as the storm wrack o’erhead, did the lonely fugitive put forth to sea. R 258 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Scene XXIX 1611. Chase and Capture When ill-starred Seymour rushed into the Black- wall Tavern, desperate to find his bride, ’twas only to hear from Penelope that my Lady Arbell had been gone more than an hour. Some devil incarnate, sure, had cast hindrance in his path that day ? Scarce had he left the city gates behind him than his horse, goaded by the spur of his reckless rider to terror and flying speed, through fast-gathering darkness and many a stone-strewn track, made some false step, and in his mad career rolled headlong on the way with broken leg. Seymour did but stop to put the poor beast out of his misery by a thrust of his dagger. Then for one long league, through darkness, marsh and swamp, and with much ado to find his way on the lonely waste, and divergence from the beaten track, had he to tramp on foot to the Tryst, only to find his wife and true Love gone. Without losing an instant at the tavern, either for food or rest, he and his kinsman pushed off from Blackwall Stair on Arbell’s track, for Leigh, only once more to find her gone. Winds and waves were rising high, yet through the wild night might be seen a phantom vessel, and for that they made. Will Seymour, by dint of threats and lavish bribe of gold, forced an old sailor on the perilous venture ; and Seymour and two sailors, bending to the oars with all their strength — his kinsman at the helm — set forth in an open fisher boat. Now pitched from wave to wave, now gulfed in the deeps, the cockle-shell still made brave way. The great seas churned and seethed around them, and rose and fell in mighty, sweeping undulations ; the waves fleeting past and beneath like black, white- winged ghosts ; cloud ramparts each moment illumed ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 259 by sheathed and flying lightnings. Only the lawless roar and tumult of the wild waters to be heard. The men were drenched through and through, blinded and deafened by the lashing force of the waves, whose sundered crests, as the swell sweeped beneath them and away unto the waste, broke with the force of a catapult on their heads. Yet, ’mid the mighty tumult, did Will Seymour’s heart beat high with hope and elation. A phantom ship waned on them through the mist. A phantom ship ? Aye, phantom as his hopes. They had boarded the wrong vessel. No wife was there. . . . ’Twas only a few hours thereafter, on the following morn, that the hapless fugitives were betrayed. The tidings flew from mouth to mouth. Monson’s horse had done their work. The wildest rumours flew abroad, and none too strange for credence. Court and courtiers were in a ferment, the King himself half mad for fear. Council was assembled in hot haste ; proclamation issued ; King’s couriers and ‘ messengers express 5 sent flying, fleeter than the wind, bearing in their hands, traced on parchment- proclamation, the significant symbol of a gallows, and halter hung thereon, with the words, — ‘ Haste ! haste ! haste for lyfe ! Post haste for your lyfe ! your lyfe ! ’ Couriers scoured the coasts of Calais and Dunkirk, royalty and nobles were roused and summoned. All England and France rang with these traitor names and treason. Guards in the Tower were thrown into prison ; orders sent flying to a frigate of the guard anchored in the Downs, to sweep the Straits, and to give chase to the unarmed, hapless barque, long held by contrary wind, and lingering yet for Seymour — Time wasted never to be redeemed. Yet no sooner did the frigate, by a cannon-shot challenge, com- mand the barque to lower sail, than Arbell forgot her lover. The old fighting, dare-devil spirit rose high and hot within her, as she stood upon the deck. By 26o ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL her special order and desire there was ‘ No surrender.’ The answer to the frigate was defiance. The vessel took flight on the wings of the wind, while shot after shot flew in her wake and sang through her rigging. Death, or liberty — for liberty was Arbell’s life. That hour was worth a lifetime. The waves were running mountains high. Free on the great, seething seas and hissing foam ! Free in the wild roar of wind and wave ! flying for liberty and life. Alas ! for Arbell, ’twas not to be. Had she not waited for her husband, but taken the turn of the tide, how different would have been her fortune and her fate ! ‘ While she was beating against the flood, Monson’s messengers were spur- ring on her track.’ Within one league of the white walls of Calais, her barque was caught and captured. And she — a prisoner of the King — brought back toward the Tower. Scene XXX 1611. The Great Magician The Last Tour nay The most famous prisoner of the Tower, the great scientist and philosopher, sat within his grated cell. Months and months, years and years rolled on, yet found him ever intent upon his ceaseless labours. Yet in his short life had he found time to set the world ablaze by virtue of his Protean genius and his daring. ’Mid those who, from all points of the compass, sought and sounded him, was one after his own soul, with spirit as heroic and fiery as his own, ever kindling and quickening for some great deed. These two were kindred spirits. The cell was red with the purging fires of the ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 261 furnace at which this Vulcan laboured. And in the blaze thereof, his tawny hair and skin and fierce eyes all fused, therein the great sea captain stood. A tall form darkened the doorway, yet did he neither hear nor see, till a laugh struck on his ear, and a mailed hand was laid upon his shoulder. The Magician bared his head before the Prince ; and arm-in-arm the two comrades paced off together, for they had much to sift that day. The walk they went (destined to become famous for all time under the name of ‘Raleigh’s Walk’) was on the parapet of the wall; on one side overlooking green gardens, and on the other, wharf, bridge and dock, and the stately Thames, so wide and free. And on that, the captive’s eagle- eyes were ever turned. The Magician, with fiery eloquence and gesture, urged his cause. The Prince listened with deep and heedful introspection. Now ’twas anent the pro- jected marriage of the Prince of England with the daughter of Savoy. Now, his marriage with Christine of France. Now, the marriage of the Princess Eliza- beth with the Elector-Palatine. And now, of one ’lorn prisoner in the Tower. To each and all of these the Prince made answer rarely, for he was not one to waste his words (though noble or generous words spoken to him ne’er fell on stony soil). ’Twas only when they turned to other themes that he caught fire — arms, arsenal, ordnance, cannon and culverin ; the discipline and marshalling of troops in battle array, the battlefield, the building of ships, the ‘art of war by sea.’ Any and all of these were sifted with profound earnestness and high enthusiasm. ’Twas only as the Prince left the Tower, out of range of his men who waited, out of range of all eyes, that he stood motionless beneath the archway, his arm on his horse’s neck. Had Raleigh pleaded all in vain ? Prince Henry (he who could ‘ never be removed from any settled opinion ’) did now consider that the ’lorn prisoner in the Tower was guilty both of treachery 262 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL and treason — for even to such dark credence and extremity had he been convinced, both by evidence and attestation. She was then but gleaning the bitter fruits of these. Flight was nothing. He him- self had counselled it. But treachery — disloyalty. Being trapped, let her suffer for her perfidy ! Women were all alike. Yet did he stand and gaze on the menace of those grim ramparts, storm above and scowl below. How many hearts had not broke there — in vain ? — and led a living death ? The very sod was steeped in the life-blood of many a gallant heart. Silence was broken up by the roll of drum, the clang and clash of changing arms ; a solitary bugle called. Far away on the tide — the glad sounds of franchise, scope and freedom ! — Love, loyalty and futile fury conflicted and smote him sore. He leaped on his horse and fled from his own thoughts to action. That day of the jousts Prince Hal was fractious and high of spirit, wild and fierce as a hawk, and even whistling a snatch of song. ‘ Which, with him/ quoth Villiers to Rochester, Master of the Horse, ‘ meaneth not mirth, but mis- chief.' For ofttimes the Prince's character was a mystery to wise men, and ever a sealed book to fools. The jealousy of the great statesman, Salisbury, against the rising power of Rochester, minion and minister, was ever on the increase, and the ill-blood betwixt the Prince and the favourite was ever fomented by Cecil, who never lost a chance of heaping fuel on the flame. This very morning of the tournay had Prince Henry, through the secret influence of Rochester, and by open order of the King, been ex- cluded from the Council. On his first return from the Tower to St James's Palace, he sought his privy chamber, and, in restless mood and ill-content, opened a volume in his hand and read therein. In it were verses dedicated ‘ to the Ladie Arbella Stuart.’ ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 263 These he pondered not long, but taking the dagger from out his belt, cut and slashed out the same, and cast them on the flames, with smile of scorn either at himself or them. Then stood long brooding, deep in thought. Thence was he summoned to receive the missive from the King, in presence of my Lord Elphin- ston and the Duke of York: on scanning which, he crushed the paper in his hand, said naught, but doubt- less thought the more. Then, turning on his young brother, who stood regarding him with great, solemn eyes, cried with unwonted roughness (for he loved his brother), — ‘ Go to, boy ! Thou gapest like a hungry jade. Wert not so little, I’d dust thy doublet and black those owl’s eyes. I’d veil their stare for thee, Charlie, even as one day I’ll veil those spindle-legs o’ thine ’neath a bishop’s kindly farthingale, so that thou must ne’er turn tail ! for, ’fore Heaven, ye should either be a bishop or a wench.’ In rough play, yet half rough caress, he caught his brother by the collar, and spun him round, leaving Prince Charlie reeling. His taunt had cut the boy (thereafter to play so heroic and valorous a farewell part before the world) to the heart, for he was brave as a lion and worshipped his soldier-brother from afar. Tears for the moment blinded him. As for Prince Hal, neither tears nor moans nor shrieks would stay his hand, and woe be to the man who crossed his path that day. ‘ No quarter’ ’twould be, sure ; as, lilting low a mocking song : — ( Was ever knight for ladye’s sake So tossed in love as I ? 5 with grand insolence of bearing he rode, glittering in steel, into the lists. There was a universal flutter in the dovecot as he passed, as he bared his head in mockery, and bowed to his saddle-bow ; for since the carnal treachery of the beauteous Frances had been laid bare and cankered him, the Prince would not even 264 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL look on a woman. The words of his had been over- heard by one whose evil eyes of counter-charm kindled to fire as he passed with thwarted passion, and blended love and hate — the glance of a ‘ woman scorned.' Though as ever, Prince Henry rode before the King with low obeisance, James shrank perceptibly as he passed him by; for the very approach of this son, the set of his powerful limbs, his warlike bearing, the very motions of his war-horse, and formidable jingle of chain and steel, filled him with superstitious fear and dread. ‘ Steenie,’ he muttered, ‘ I ofttimes think yon laddie is a changeling — nae son o' my loins, but a limb o' the de’il. Would to God baby-Charlie was in his shoon ! I'd ca’ my heritage mine own.' Yet did the King continue to lavish high honours on him, yet more in fear than favour. This young Lion, true heritor and grandson of Mary Stuart — whose fate and memory Henry ever worshipped and lamented — had been fed and reared on his own hearth, by his own hand. He was his own flesh and blood, whose life had been drawn from his. Yet had the love once lavished on this son, now well-nigh changed to green-eyed hate. The onslaught of Prince Henry was fleeter and fiercer than ever on that day ; and with such rapidity and aggression did he both charge and challenge, that the blood of each assailant caught fire from his ; and there were harder and fiercer thrusts and blows given and taken than seemed fair on such a field, while combatant after combatant rolled roughly in the dust. Again, with grand insolence of bearing, in his pride of strength and lust of life, did Prince Hal ride round the lists that day — as gallant a vision as might well be seen by any father’s eyes. Flowers were strewed upon his path. The ‘ Queen of the Tournay,’ wild with love and hate, chanced one desperate last appeal. In vain — His lance was lowered ; her gage got trodden ’neath his horse’s hoofs. She set her teeth within ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 265 her lip ; and, behold, Rochester was leaning over her. ‘ Will no one rid me of that fighting-cock ? ’ saith she, ‘and lay him low?’ and looked up, pale and deadly earnest, in his face. ’Twas fated that this minion should cross Prince Henry’s path within the hour, as he was riding home- ward from the lists. ’Twas fate, but not intention, for Rochester was no man for open fight, and he would as soon have fought with the devil, as with Prince Hal. Yet did the Prince spy him out, and, in the exaltation of his spirit and reckless riot of his blood, ran amuck at him ; but Rochester swerved aside ; then, goaded to the fray, he drew his sword. Prince Hal wheeled his horse quick as lightning, and dealt him a swinging backward blow, which drave him back upon his horse’s croup. Thus for the first time were they pitted face to face in scuffle of en- counter. Yet still would the King’s effeminate Favourite fain take it as a rough jest, though a sorry one — for him — ‘ Broil not on the King’s highway ! ’ he cried. ‘ In this heat, your Highness, there’s stings enow and to spare. This is neither time nor place for sport.’ ‘ Sport, quotha ? There’s neither time nor place like the present,’ said Prince Hal ; and for further answer, drew the steel gauntlet from his hand, and struck ‘the Earl’ full and fair in the face, and the blood gushed forth. ‘ Cur and coward ! will not that stir thy craven blood ? ’ Rochester turned livid with pain and dread, then, with a fierce oath, clashed back his sword into the sheath. ‘ Name what hour and place ye will,’ he cried, ‘your Highness shall find me ready. This insult shall be avenged.’ Prince Henry laughed. ‘’Twere pity to foul the “King’s highway,”’ said he. ‘ In the Mall o’ St James’s, then, by six o’clock 266 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL o' the morrow morn, shall ye find fair field and no favour, unmolested/ And with a smile of high disdain, half hidden in his vizor, he turned his horse's head and galloped off. Alas ! poor, gallant Prince, valiant and heroic Henry Stuart, of lion-heart ; a very king in shape and mien and mettle, a very Paladin, born to be a leader of men in council or afield ; a very perfect knight, the soul of honour and the flower of chivalry, where chivalry was doomed, and honour dead. Could ye not mind that in such a century and in such a Court there be other weapons laid in rest than lance and dirk and sabre ? Where was that guarded watch on men, that vigilance, to leave such rift in armour- proof, that ye must needs bequeath to a nation such dolorous legacy of woe ? The secret died with him. He seemed to forecast, and even court, his doom. Although only two of Prince Henry's attendants, both loyal and secret as the grave, and keen to see Carr chastened, were with him at the time, the news of the coming duel got mysteriously noised abroad, and reached the King's ears that very night (as was intended), who peremp- torily and instantly forbade the encounter, under threat of arrest and custody in the Tower. Rochester, though a favourite at the Court, was greeted with smiles, taunts and jests at every turn, and mocking congratulations on his escape with life and limb. For Prince Plenry was accounted the most perfect swordsman of his time. FOLIO III Scene XXXI 1611. The Tower On a summer night, in a summer gloaming, betwixt dark and dawn, a barge was steered ’neath London Bridge. There was only a little ghost of a moon on high, but upon the wide welkin did stars shine many and bright. Besides the guard and the watermen there were three women within the boat : one tall, gaunt and sallow, with a scar on her cheek beneath the eye, attired as a serving woman ; one shorter of stature, with resolute, set lips, and dark eyes which glowered darkly beneath her curly hair; another, tall and slender, who sat in the stern of the barge, more like unto a marble image, than a being of flesh and blood. The hood had fallen unheeded from her head, which was covered only by the fair, 'lorn hair, neglected and unkempt, and the light in her wide, woeful eyes was the only sign to betoken her of the living — a woman bereft of hope, and in kinship with despair. As they drifted beneath the arches of London Bridge, there towered high above them on the star-strewn sky, blotting out the light of heaven, a dark and menacing mass like a storm-cloud, which on nearer approach assumed the grim shape of tower on tower, rampart on rampart, battlement on battlement, far as eye could reach. Towers lost in the ages of antiquity, 267 268 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ramparts rooted in the blood of ages, prison and grave of countless silenced hearts. As the barge neared this mighty stronghold of menace and gloom, furrowed by age and murk with crime — tower and turret, rampart and keep, bastion and belfry, did silently unfold — and stand forth in all their grandeur on the gloaming night. In their midst, and dominating all around, rose the great Norman keep, a giant ghost, white on surrounding gloom. ’Mid this wilderness of ramparts might be distinctly traced out the two weird signal citadels, the ‘ belfry tower’ and the ‘lantern tower,’ in the first of which the captive ‘ Arbella Stuart,’ was to live and die. In the turret of one burned a lurid light, beacon to vessels on the Thames ; in the belfry of the other swung a huge bell, destined to give ominous tongue only in hour of dire danger and distress. On ‘Traitors’ Tower’ might be seen the flitting torches of many armed men, who now thronged the barbican in wait- ing and watchful groups. These glancing lights struck forth fitful on the deep, dark tide, and wavered back in Sibylline unrest on those black and surging waves, as the nearing barge cut the waters. Simul- taneous with the challenge of the sentinels, did the grim ‘Traitor’s Gate’ roll back on either hand, and yawned open to the ‘waterway.’ ’Neath that dread arch they drifted, on whose vast span might have been writ in Dante’s characters of fire, — ‘ Abandon hope, all ye who enter here . 5 The heavy walls on either side were dank with slime, and death-cold as a vault. The steps which led upward from the ‘ waterway ’ were washed by the wave, and dripping wet and chill. The gates rolled to with hollow clang behind them. As they passed through the ‘Traitors’ Gate,’ Penelope Lee felt the cold hand of her companion close like a vice on hers, and a quick shudder told her that the captive realised ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 269 to the full what would be her fate. Thus, with un- flinching front, yet more like to the dead than the living, did my Lady Arbell mount the steps to her prison and her grave. Thus did they cross Water Lane, guards and warders drawn up and ranged on either hand to receive the royal prisoner, Penelope and Bridget Bradshaw either side her, and entered the jagged portcullis beneath the ‘ Bloody Tower/ So up the steep, betwixt towering walls of mighty fortress, even to the 4 White Tower/ Thence was my Lady Arbell conducted by her armed guard across ‘ Tower Green/ past the lodgings of the yeoman- gaoler to the house of the Lieutenant of the Tower. As she crossed the fatal green she turned and looked steadfast on the scene. (Yonder was my Lord Essex beheaded, and his mouldering bones lay nigh.) Then, without word or sign, she passed upon her way. Within the lodgings into which she was conducted all was so dark and gloomy, save for a stray torch here and there, which, with every gust, swayed off unto deeper gloom, that they could scarce grope their way up the narrow, winding stair. A mute sign from Arbell was answered by a request from Mistress Lee to the grim jailer that they should be permitted to halt for a few moments within a little upper chamber, connected by a passage only with the strong upper chamber in the belfry tower, betwixt which two chambers her grandmother, the Countess of Lenox, had languished so many years. One little, squalid chamber, one small glimmer of a window, sternly barred ; the outlook therefrom, a high stone coping, cut straight across a pitiless sky — no more. On the bare stone above the chimney-piece was inscribed some lines traced by Margaret Lenox’s own hand. Here, and in that upper chamber of the belfry, did the early love and bride of Howard (who himself died within the Tower) — the ‘sweet Mage’ of Matthew, Earl of Lenox — the heroic Margaret Lenox, grandmother of my Lady Arbella Stuart, 270 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL wear her heart out in long exile and despair. Hither to these same chambers, was brought the darling of her soul, the pride and idol of her old age, the famous ‘ Arbella Stuart ’ — to die. After sitting some minutes gazing forth betwixt the bars, as if in close scrutiny of every rift and chink in the brick wall without, Arbell passed around the chamber and crossed it to and fro, and stood looking round her, lost in thought. Then passed the tips of her fingers with lingering touch across the lettering, and pressed her lips unto the cold grey stone. Only the two women were with her. She was, however, quickly summoned by the guard, for her duress was to be both close and stern. By a narrow passage was she conducted with her women-folk into the vaulted and vault-like chamber of that high tower, in which she was destined to live and die. The belfry-tower, with its little turret aloft, where hung the alarm bell of the fortress, rose to a con- siderable height above the surrounding walls ; the walls of this tower were of immense thickness, the base, to a height of ten feet from the ground, being builded of solid stone, the foundation for two strong, high and vaulted chambers. In the topmost of these was ushered, and thereafter incarcerated, my Lady ‘Arbella Stuart/ 'Twas bare and destitute of all, save a rude couch thrust into a remote corner. Around this great and gloomy circular cell — it was no more — sprung arches deeply recessed, through which were ranged at intervals five narrow loopholes deeply and darkly niched, the embrasures thereof gradually narrowing to a point, till they pierced the glimmering light of day, revealing in their depths the magnitude of the massy walls. Below these loopholes stone seats were hewed within the wall, on which the hapless prisoner might lie crouched, or sit, to peer through for a glimpse of the blest light and life of day. One of these she then approached, and with one knee on the stone, gazed forth on a slip of starlight, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 271 in the foreground of which, through black bars, uprose a world of mighty towers and battlements, which, like vast monsters summoned from hell, closed in her prison-world. On these wards the human heart might beat and break, in vain. In the ‘inner ward,’ on the battlements of which paced the men-at-arms on guard, rose thirteen of these towers closing round, yoked by their huge, em- battled walls. On the ‘ outer ward J rose nine other towers closing round, yoked by their huge, embattled ramparts. Either and each one of these towers a fortress in itself, for strength and size. And around all, coiled like a sleeping serpent, the great moat, broad and deep, gleaming here and there into sullen light and motion in the gloaming night, fell barrier to the outer world. The beacon turned a red eye from the lantern tower, in sinister watch askance. Beneath, in hollow shades of endless night, lay secret dungeons deep, from whence one drear surge of sigh and moan arose in vain, too deep sunk for human help ; yet not too deep for High God to hear and heed. A low wind moaned and keened around the belfry tower — moans of the dying, whispers of the dead. A savage howl from some caged, maddened lion raised in reverberation, the dismal echoes of the keep, to die away in silence of despair. Yet neither sight nor sound waked her from the trance of her despair. Her women were forced from her presence ; the iron door rolled to in sudden clang upon her woe. The massive bolts, as they were shot into their sockets, rang drear and dread. Thus did they leave the hapless, ill-starred daughter of the Stuarts, alone — and desolate.— 272 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Scene XXXII 1612. The Fall o' the Leaf SOME few days after this, immediately oh the de- parture of his guests at St James, the Prince, thwarted and somewhat ireful, retired to Richmond, only Sir John Harrington with him. 'Twas noted by those about him that on his arrival thither the Prince was very silent and abstracted in his thoughts, and grave even beyond his wont. He had lately been interviewing and feasting the various ambassadors of the many suitors for his sister's hand. He had thrown all his energy and influence into the promotion of the proposed alliance betwixt the young Princess and the Elector - Palatine, never resting until the treaty was under sign and seal. He had bidden all the Court to his manor of Woodstock (having received that same year a grant of the manor thereof), and had given a great banquet in a ‘ tent of green boughs 5 in honour of the affianced bride, his sister Elizabeth, with whom he sat side by side. He had with great courtesy and magnificence held high revelry at his Court of St James, in honour of Count Henry of Nassau. After the farewell banquet there, he had been in the saddle for hours, well-nigh without a break, and did not reach the palace of Hampton Court till after the hour of supper. Then, scarce deigning to swallow food, tossed off a flagon of Rhenish, and hurried off to give his orders for military exercise at break of day. Sir John Harrington was fain to await him on the terrace, their favourite evening haunt. This might he reach by passing through the ‘ cloister green court,' or by the ‘ knott garden,’ all tangled in green grasses, which, in this cool and dim retreat, grew both rank and high. (‘ Thy curious knotted garden.’) So out ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 273 upon the terrace where, at the stairs fast by the water gate, was moored a boat ever ready for the fleet Prince to come and go. ’Twas in the ‘ fall o’ the leaf/ And the great ‘ hunter’s moon ’ stole forth solemn and sorrowful across the pearl-white waste, sombre pioneer of those cloud-spirits which do ever accept her challenge, and drift ghost-like on her wake. Season and hour were as tristful as his thoughts. Near by the dead leaves — toys of the intermittent breeze, which it lifted and left at its own weird will — drifted in little ghostly patters over the cold grey stone. Autumn lay a-dying. Her very breath was failing fast. It came, went, and fluttered. The mist from the river laid chill and deathly hand upon his cheek and heart. Harrington shivered. That touch stirred within the roots of his hair, and tingled ice-cold through his veins in shudder of foreboding. On the terrace the moon lay full and fair, falling only on one dark figure beside himself — his dear comrade and future king. Prince Henry wore hung over one shoulder a short green cloak, and in his velvet cap a high heron’s feather. He leaned his back against the balustrade, and with one leg crossed over the other, bent head and folded arms, gazed from beneath bended brows on his old comrade, after a peculiar fashion of his own. The sinister beam struck only on the glitter of his eyes, on the jewel in his cap, and the great jewel at his belt — the rest was shadow. And he was deadly pale. ‘ How long hath your Highness been here ? ’ cried Harrington, 'and how is it I did not hear your step ? ’ Prince Henry answered not. Harrington, trained to these moods, went on, — ‘ Methinks, Hal, your aspect is as ’lorn as mine own heart ; for, whether it be the fall o’ the leaf I know not, or whether it be the moonshine I know not, but mine heart is filled with ’boding fear. Whispers be abroad, and ghostly rustlings. This curst moon hath s 274 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL chilled me to the bone. Is it the season and the hour only ? What think ye, Hal ? ' Prince Henry answered not, nor stirred not, no more than he had been a graven stone, nor did an eyelid flicker. Far afield a solitary trumpet blew, and, dying — was answered by ghost-trumpet from afar. ‘ Prince Hal, why look ye so deathly pale and dour ? ' He stretched forth his hand to lay it on Henry's shoulder, and it fell upon the cold stone instead. For substance, there was shadow. Prince Henry was not there ! . . . ‘ Ha, Harrington ! What ? making passes at the moon? Beshrew me, the cunning jade hath in good earnest stolen a march on thee, thus to turn thy sturdy self to lackwit driveller ! ' His firm, fleet step came ringing on the stone. Harrington started, and looking athwart his shoulder an' he had seen a ghost, stared on the Prince aghast. Prince Henry wore a short green cloak, hung on his shoulder, and velvet cap with heron's plume ; the sinister beam struck only on the glitter of his eyes, the jewel in his cap, and jewel at his belt — the rest in shadow. And he was deadly pale. He broke into laughter at this mien of horror and amaze. ‘ Why, man, ye must be mad ; stark mad for love- lack moonshine ! A sorry wench indeed — too thin and wan for me, and yielding naught. Rouse thee, and tell me what hath happed ? ' ‘ Naught, your Highness, naught. Methought I saw a shadow.' ‘ A shadow ? Is it come to this ? Why glower on me thus ? ' ‘ Because, my Lord, ye look so strange. Where have ye been since supper ? ' ‘ In the tilt-yard, giving orders for the morrow. Come, pull thyself together, Jack. Ye need exercise of mind and body. As for me, I have not ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 275 enow to keep me staunch, but am as slack and nerve- less as an unbraced bow.’ Prince Henry laid a kindly hand upon his comrade’s shoulder. ‘ ’Tis not from want of action, but too much action, Hal, believe me. Ye know no rest neither for mind nor body, day nor night. What strength of body or vigour of spirit either, can stand such strain ? Ever since the banquet at Woodstock hath your Highness had these deadly swoons. Ye are o’erwrought, or God knoweth what. I do beseech thee, even for my sake only, to be more wary and heedful. I fear foul play.’ ‘ I know, Jack, where thy suspicions turn. So do not mine. Witchcraft alone may prove my undoing, and ’gainst the Black Art, once he putteth himself in its power, what mortal man may grapple ? I must e’en take my chance with Essex and the rest. The man who placeth his soul in pawn with the devil, must e’en dree his weird.’ 4 Yet be there weapons to fight even such — the counter-charm of wisdom and caution — and no man hath these weapons more ready to hand than your Highness’s self.’ ‘ Preacher, preacher,’ said Prince Henry, lightly, ‘ spare your eloquence. “ Physician, heal thyself,” or know to whom to preach. I will act, an’ it please ye, at mine own discretion. Neither priest nor pedant shall physic me. I own one “ Great Physician.” He alone holdeth my body, and my soul.’ He stood, with bared head, facing the dreaming river — the scene he best loved to look on of a moon- light night, and list the trumpets’ ring. Their music, wild and silver clear, rang out through silence of the night as though to greet him — the darling of a nation’s heart ; and the soft flowing river did offer her blanched breast to his embrace. There, argent spears made play, and did pierce and traverse the mystic tide, thridding their silver through and through the 276 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL wave, till the twain pulsated into flash of ecstasy, and shimmered away in forest deep. A captious cloudlet masked the charmed moon. The forest whispered. — The Prince was the first to rouse from out his trance. ‘ Nay, Jack/ said he, 4 I will beat down by very force of spirit these qualms and agues. God knoweth I do not quake for fear, but for fever. Fever runneth like fire in my veins, though I sought to quench it in the tide.' To preach were vain. 'Twas the Prince's custom when at Hampton Court, every evening of the day, after his frugal supper, to swim far out on the Thames, after which, to take a long march across the open country before retiring for the few hours he allowed himself for sleep and rest. Now, though attacked by this most mysterious disease, which did so speedily and unduly end high promise of a great destiny beyond the common fate of men, he, against all the warnings and injunctions of his physicians, scarce omitted a tittle of his varied and incessant hefts of mind and body ; but rather strained every nerve to conquer and subdue the o’erwhelming pain and languor which daily warred against the indomitable spirit within him, and the lust of towering ambition and puissant life. These be hard to daunt and quell. 'Twas at the supper in the ‘ tent of green boughs ’ at Woodstock that the first symptom of this sickness had appeared. Prince Henry, then in the full tide of health and vigour, had sat himself down beside the Princess Elizabeth, and through the banquet was the life of all. 'Twas only when he had left the table, and gone forth into his privy -chamber to make ready for his ride to Richmond, where he was to await the visit some weeks hence of the Elector- Palatine, that he was stricken by the first attack, and, staggering, fell down as if he had been shot, in a dead swoon upon the floor, from which ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 277 ’twas long ere he could be recovered. From that hour he was again and again assailed by giddiness, vomiting and deathlike faintings. Ugly rumours were rife throughout the country anent this strange and sudden sickness in one so strong, who had scarce known an hour’s illness from his birth — rumours only too well proven by the nature of the fatal malady ; yet the seeds thereof quickened and fostered, by his own reckless deeds and daring. Thus, on that moonlight terrace, in that fateful fall o’ the leaf, stood the two brothers-in-arms side by side, Henry’s hand on Harrington’s shoulder. Both were silent and strangely sad, for both were poets, and responsive to Nature’s every change and scene. The thoughts of the two, ever in spiritual and sym- pathetic unison, struck the same chord of memory, to which the Prince gave utterance in a few mournful words. ‘ Poor, little, hapless captive, my Lady Arbell, who loveth liberty so dear. Yet fear not, thy kinsman hath not forgot thee. Farewell, Jack, my “little knight,” for I must be up wi’ break of day.’ Yet long thereafter did Harrington linger, his arms on the stone coping, his face buried in his hands, his strong nerves shaken and o’erwrought for fear and dread of what he had seen. ‘ Doomed, doomed,’ said he, ‘ beyond all human help.’ He took a ring he always carried with him as a talisman from out his breast, and pressed it with passion to his lips. It had been given him by Prince Henry. The grave, piercing regard, with that doomed look across the eyes and brow, so strongly pour- trayed in all the Stuarts, the rare and tender smile of him he loved passing the love of women, passed before his mental vision as if in scorn of human weakness. The great moon waned solemn and sorrowful on the pearl-white fields of space. A melancholy herald - breeze sprang up, and coldly 278 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL foretold the coming dawn. Still, one forlorn figure stood bowed ’mid the desolation of the scene and hour. While far away across the river, the wild Reveille did challenge and proclaim the break of day. Scene XXXIII 1612. The ‘ Prisoners' Walk ’ The upper chamber of the ‘Belfry Tower’ opened, by the ascent of three stone steps, straight on to a lofty path upon the parapet, sometime called ‘ Queen Elizabeth’s Walk,’ because here, when imprisoned in the same chamber, the Princess was wont to walk. This, better known as the c Prisoners’ Walk,” extended from the ‘ Belfry ’ to the ‘ Beauchamp Tower,’ at either end of which was a gate, kept locked and barred, save when a prisoner from either tower was there allowed upon the parapet, an armed guard in call. From this footway on the western ward might be seen all the vast range of this fortress prison and palace spread beneath. The wooded courts and gardens about the ancient palace of the kings, the green garden of the lieutenant or governor of the Tower ; the fatal stretch of Tower Green ; the royal banner unfurled and flying proudly over ‘La Blanche Tour,’ the great white Norman keep; the fair reaches of Kent and Surrey, cleaved by the stately Thames ; the green marsh- lands of Essex ; and near by, on all sides, the gleam of marsh, swamp and flood ; and above, the shambles of Tower Hill. River and wharf crowded with craft and traffic, life and liberty ; liberty in the plash of every oar, the spread of every sail which swept or drifted by on the wing, on wind of freedom. Then, nearer, the dark ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 279 waters of the sullen moat, drawbridge, portcullis and barrier-barbican ; the roll of drum from dyke and rampart ; the blast of bugle high and clear ; the tramp of soldiery ; the clang and clash of arms. Life teemed around. Within and beneath was death. ’Twas the call of a bugle playing the glad and stirring reveille of the dawn and waking life, which had roused the hapless Arbell from deathly, dreamless sleep of lethargy and exhaustion on her first morning in the Tower. She started up on her couch into instant perception and reality. Round her was a realm of darkness, only slashed by slits of glimmering light. She started from her bed, and, barefoot, ran to the wall, which she struck with her hands and breast ; then gave one wild, im- potent cry, and ran round the walls like a wild thing. This first frenzy over, she sat down within one ray of dawn, and grasping the iron bars with both her hands, as if to steady mind and brain, reviewed the future and her chances of life and liberty. Her bold, daring spirit was still unquelled, un- quenched. Love and life were hot within her, and wild rebellion. Could she then and there have stabbed James Stuart to his craven heart, she would have done so, so surely as the Stuarts struck home, blows both bold and secret, in the days of eld. Sweet and gentle as was her nature in the sunshine of life, there was deep within her the dark spirit of her race, which needed but a spark to kindle into fire — a strain in her blood, fierce as that of her kinsman, Prince Henry. And now, too late, the vengeful fire was there. She was trapped. ‘ I must be cool and calm/ said she, aloud, ‘ or I shall go mad, as once before. In calm and courage lieth my only chance of rescue/ So she sat and thought, and thought, while God's blest day kindled and quickened over the glowing land. The result of these thoughts and cogitations with 28 o ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL the only two who were allowed to enter there to serve her, Bridget Bradshaw and my Lady Lee (for old Sir Henry, the gallant ranger, had died this year), was, a few months later, to bear fruit in a desperate though futile effort to escape. Yet so bold and ingenious — conceived by the aid and connivance of my Lady Shrewsbury, who herself was confined within the state prison of the Beauchamp Tower — was the plot, that it had been well-nigh carried through. For gold will corrupt even warders of the Tower. Though Arbell had been stripped of every coin to pay the expenses of her own capture, and her jewellery confiscated to the Exchequer, my Lady Shrewsbury, by some mysterious means, did seem, poor though she was, ever to have money at her command. ’Twas her gold which, at dead of night, opened, and did leave open, the gate in the 4 Prisoners’ Walk/ hard by the ‘ Belfry Tower/ and unclamped the iron door there- in. Outside, under the very shadows of the belfry, stood Seymour’s old servant Reeves in disguise, and within, at her very door, her own servant Chaworth, ever faithful, even unto death, who also was escaped in disguise. Yet, so vigilant was Tower guard and dis- cipline, that Arbell and her followers were caught up and captured even at the water gate. And he whose presence then had come to be so dear unto her life, and whose life was then boldly ’perilled to be laid down gladly for her dear sake, was shut from her in outer darkness outside the fatal gate. The clash of arms of the desperate fray and unequal conflict, yet ringing in her ears. Thus did woman’s wit and daring deed prove all for naught, and did only render duress yet sterner and harsher than before, both for the loyal, dauntless Countess and my Lady Arbell. All that was left to her of this venture was a letter which lay next her heart, warm from his hand to hers, with every im- passioned vow of his dear love, loyalty and devotion. And, indeed, this was no rash nor perjured vow, re- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 28 1 corded by such a man as William Seymour, who had in him, even from his boyhood, the silent, faithful loyalty and devotion of a dog, expressed by deeds alone. The gallant soldier who, in later days, offered his life without fear or scruple to save the life of his king, was not a man to dissemble. Ten thousand times more would he have laid down that life for his wife and queen, who from earliest days had been the angel of his life, the idol of his soul. Thus, tortured and racked by anguish on her account, when this daring venture failed, did he again and again return in secret in disguise, and haunt the precincts of the Tower, daring arrest, imprisonment and death, lest perchance he might catch some fleeting glimpse of her, or do her some secret service, when supposed to be living in careless ease in the Nether- lands and in France. Sith he could never rest till he had rescued her from her living tomb. Within the breast of his doublet, gripped close to his heart, was a missive of the like kind from her. On a corner of the cover thereof was sent, either by accident or design, a fragment of verse, of rude eloquence, from his love, which, however, as he knew well, had ne’er been writ for him, — ‘ In sable robes of night, my dayes Of joye consumed be, My sorrow sees no light ; My lights through sorrowe nothing see ; And from his sphere doth goe, To endless bed of foulded lead, And who can blame my woe ? ‘ My tomes I nowe forsake yt soe My tomes my greefe may knowe ; The lillies loth to take, That since his fate presum’d to growe. I envie aire because it dare Still breathe, and be not soe ; Hate earth e, that doth entombe his youth, And who can blame my woe? ( February , 1601.) 5 Lines which never left him. 282 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL Hope and courage, however, were not dead ; and, thus far, all the energies of my Lady Arbell, and those devoted to her service, were bent on a second venture, and plotting a yet bolder stroke of strategy for her rescue. My Lady Lee and Mistress Brad- shaw were at this period still allowed within the Tower, though only to see their Lady at stated hours. Sir Henry Lee was also oft to be seen there with his wife. Within a few months’ time, the Countess of Shrews- bury was again summoned before the Privy Council, on charge of having been chief accomplice in my Lady Arbell’s flight from the country. She, however, boldly and haughtily refused to defend herself, nor even to answer a single question put to her, declaring, — ‘’Tis the privilege of the nobility only to answer when called upon before our peers.’ For this ‘high contempt of Court,’ and as a fitting punishment for her continued contumacy, she was condemned by the Star Chamber to pay a fine of ^20,000, and instantly remanded to the Tower. ‘ To be there confined during the King’s pleasure.’ Yet at the end of this same year was she granted the ‘liberty of the Tower,’ and was allowed home to my Lord Shrewsbury, with whom she had on hand business of import. On the eve of her departure from the Tower, the Countess held several secret consultations with the ‘ Puritan Peer/ friend and brother-in-arms of the great soldier, Essex, in days gone by, my Lord Grey of Wilton, who for ten long years had been shut within a northern tower of the fortress. This noble baron had ever been, even in the Court of Elizabeth, the champion, and one of the many unavowed lovers, of the lovely Lady Arbell, as my Lady Shrewsbury knew full well. Never had Grey of Wilton forgot Arbell. Never had he forgot, either, that dead, gallant Earl who had been closer to him than a brother, his dear brother-in-arms. My Lady Shrewsbury, there- fore, did not appeal to him in vain. Through his ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 283 influence, even Raleigh was prevailed on to give the wisdom of his counsel, though no more. And, of a winter night, might have heen seen my Lord Grey of Wilton and Harry Percy, the famous ‘ Wizard Earl/ pacing the parapet which connected the ‘Brick Tower’ and the ‘ Martin Tower/ in close and earnest converse. Their talk was of the stars . Thus did the door of the upper chamber in the ‘Belfry Tower’ come to be left unbarred, at foot of the stair leading upward to the ‘ Prisoners’ Walk,’ and the gate of the parapet left ajar. And on that walk was my Lord Grey, unguarded and alone, pacing ’neath the stars in waiting for Mistress Bridget, my Lady Arbell’s ancient serving woman, with whom he had had many passages of late. Wrapped in a dark furred cloak she stole forth at last, scarce to be dis- tinguished from che shadows of the wall around. He laid his hand upon her shoulder, warning, for he had much to hear and tell, and in muffled tones did Bridget make response. Then, letting her hood fall back, discovered the pale loveliness of the child-love of his youth. Pale had she ever been, and her eyes large and wild, yet was this but the spirit-shell of the famous and beauteous ‘ Arbella Stuart,’ so grievous was the ravage these few prison months had wrought. White and wan as ashes was this spirit-form, and death cold the little hand she laid in his, yet the old mocking spirit of mischief played round her lips, and lurked within her eyes at sight of his emotion. Never, through all the years of his life, had he loved her as he did then ; companions of misfortune in the fateful Tower, they met like two ghosts in a land of shades, for this gaunt spectre, broken at last by years of gloom, solitude and privation, was indeed fiery Grey of Wilton. He raised the little hands with passionate devotion to his lips. His emotion at sight of her was so great that this bold warrior scarce could speak. And she — she had been shut in prison-bars so long, and no man 284 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL nigh to vanquish, so that the old spirit asserted itself even then, and lurked beneath her drooping lids and ’witching smile. Here was one of the many gallant men cast into prison for her sake, and ready to lay down his life for her rescue. 4 And dost love me yet ? ’ she whispered. 4 Even this poor ghost — once 44 my Lady Arbell ? ” Oh, for the days of auld lang syne ! ’ 4 Love thee, love thee,’ he whispered back, when he could speak. 4 Ay, and will save thee too, if human power can compass it, with my soul and with my blood. Was not Essex my brother-in-arms? By those ashes which lie ’neath 44 Develin Tower” will I be true to him— and thee. Yet, in God’s name, trifle not ! ’ With these words all the spirit of coquetry died out in Arbell. She covered her face with her hands. 4 Wot ye not, dear Lord, that I have a husband now — one who loved him well-nigh as dear as thou dost ? ’ 4 Ay, I do not forget. And a sealed letter hath been delivered to me from thy husband this very day.’ Arbell clasped her hands, and a low cry of ecstasy escaped her, for she knew the time for the second venture was nigh at hand. 4 Thou wilt save poor Arbell yet ? ’ He drew her within the darkest shadow of the belfry, and in short space of time had they calcu- lated and considered all the shifts of their device, as laid by the shrewd wit and intrepid daring of Arbell, Mary Talbot, and Penelope, and the united counsels and deliberation of such men as Seymour, Grey, Raleigh and Northumberland. 4 The wizard Earl hath forecast thy destiny, yet will he not divulge what lies before thee.’ 4 Be not that a sign of omen, my Lord ? ’ 4 Nay, he is ever secret in his augury, unless im- ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 285 pelled to speak. As thou knowest, he, too, would gladly die to save thee ; and Essex' sister, his Countess, doth love thee well. Yet the Earl would not have thee attempt this thing, nor would Raleigh. Seymour and I stand alone in this.' 4 They fear we shall but fail ! ’ Arbell’s eyes flashed like stars in the gloom : — 4 Never, my Lord Grey, never. Let me win, or let me die. For this be no life for me ; ’tis living death ; a crypt, a vault. Only those slits within the wall, those devil’s eyes — which stare me to my doom.’ She shuddered. 'No, rather let me be cut down in free air, in light of day ! or even hacked on Tower Hill; such deed were mercy.’ They stood close together, hands in hands. 4 Oh, my dear Lord, once more. Why will ye not grip this chance with me and fly? You who have borne and braved the horrors of this hell for such long years ? Be led by me ; and, as ye love me, come ? ’ — She gazed up urgent in his face, her whole soul in hers. 4 Nay,’ said my Lord Grey, with feigned lightness, 4 I’ll e’en bide my time. I am of sterner stuff than thou art. I shall endure. They may bend, but can- not break me. While thou ’ — he added, with infinite tenderness, 4 art a woman — a very woman — and full of wild and strange imaginings ; a poetess, a minstrel, a creature free and tameless as the birds o’ the air. And were these flights clipped, ’twere death. Oh, my Lady, at any price ye must be saved. If ye get free, I will follow.’ He did not add what was in his loyal heart, that he would not by one iota diminish her chance of rescue. Neither the vow, registered in his heart: 4 If thou bidest, here I bide till death.’ Then, 4 Bid me farewell, my Lady Arbell, and God- speed, for here I dare not stay. Be of good heart and cheer. The light of life is nigh. Give me one 286 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL kiss/ said he, ‘the first and last, before we part for ever. Even Seymour will not grudge me this/ He touched his lips unto her brow. ’Twas like the parting of the grave. The step of the warder, his doublet heavy with Shewsbury gold, struck warning on the stair. My Lady Arbell vanished. After the fatal defeat of this second and last attempt at rescue, my Lady Shrewsbury was recalled, deprived the ‘ liberty of the Tower/ and kept in close confinement. And in this state did she remain for years to come. My Lord Grey was put in chains within the Tower gate, never to come forth again. My Lady Arbell was summoned once more before the Council, it having been reported to the Lords thereof that she had ‘ extraordinary disclosures to unfold/ On which occasion she, standing death-pale before them all, did prefer ‘ most strange and inco- herent accusations against divers persons/ some un- known. Upon which it presently appeared to these servile ministers and most learned judges, that the mind and brain of the once eloquent and scholarly Lady Arbella Stuart had ‘ given way under pressure of calamity and seclusion/ She was then removed, and — in this state — ‘ remanded to the Tower/ Little words for human eyes and ears to read and hear, and human hands to write this day. Dread deed to brand on human soul. Great words to enter in the High Court of Record, and to blazon on the register of doom. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 287 Scene XXXIV 1613. A Voice in the ‘ Belfry Tower 9 My Lady Arbell was 'remanded to the Tower/ there, for months to come, to be left to the vengeance of one man, as merciless as James Stuart himself. Waad, the Lieutenant of the Tower, by means of this hapless captive had roused the royal wrath and fallen into disgrace. No petty cruelty, no insult of indignity could therefore be too great for her, and these, by this one man, were heaped upon her. That dismal, fatal night of January, he with his own hand roughly thrust her back into her cell. The Lees were banished from the Tower. Even her one woman, the faithful Bridget, was taken from her. Neither was she allowed the tendance of one single woman, in this spell of terror. Bread and water were her fare. Intense as was the cold, her grate was fireless. Air and exercise from henceforth were denied her. Arbella Stuart was incarcerated from all communion with the outer world; shut in the 'Belfry Tower/ in dense, dark solitude and gloom profound. Yet, so resistless was the charm that still lingered about the presence of this ill-starred Stuart, that there was not one man in all that fortress — saving Waad — neither warder, guard nor soldier, whose heart and soul were not with her, and who would not have struck home to save her. Had they known all that she endured, Waad would have been torn limb from limb. As it was, when he, after those weeks of terror and solitude, told off a warder to wait on her cell, she was beyond all human help, in no state to make known what she had endured, nor to be supposed accountable for what words she uttered. This warder, on his first entrance to the cell, found the prisoner crouched within one of the remote stone steps, by a shimmer of grated loop- 288 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARRELL hole at sun’s decline. The chamber was cold and damp as a vault. A few dead ashes from the desolate hearth were strewed about the floor. Wild eyes of horror and dread were turned upon the rugged, anxious features of the jailer, a horror which gave way to unreasoning amaze as she flew and flung herself on her knees before him in wildest supplication. Her beautiful hair hung in a fell of mazed disorder, tossed and torn ; her clothes were rent ; her head and hands cut and bleeding, by beating on relentless stone and iron door in vain. Out of the covert of her hair gleamed two great eyes, so wild and glittering that the warder, accustomed to scenes of violence and terror, half recoiled before them. ‘ Pity ! pity ! in God’s mercy ! 9 cried she ; and, with hands clenched above her head, fell face down- ward at his feet. Thus was she hounded to madness and to death. Those belfry walls might tell strange tales, yet none so weird and woeful. Shriek upon shriek had rung in vain against those massy walls, yet not so much as sound of sigh be heard beyond their depth. On such anguish of desolation and despair entered the kindly jailer. A great fire was lighted on the empty hearth, the stoup of water replenished, the cell cleaned and swept, and, by her desire, a ‘ posset-ale 5 prepared for her, of which she partook as if half famished ; after which she fell into a deep sleep, the which she had not known for many a day. The following morning was my Lady Arbell, by this same warder, secretly supplied with pen, ink and paper ; and on her knees before the stone trestle, in the dim light which filtered through the grating, did she indite many letters to the King and Council, fragments of which still remain ; but others, blotted and erased, torn up as soon as penned, and lying in a pile beside her, the same words being penned o’er and o’er again. Day after day, and week after week, did she thus pour forth her breaking heart and spirit ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 289 in vain appeal. One of these missives the said warder Dee, rescued from the chaos, carefully pieced together and laid aside — ’twas well-nigh torn across. ‘ ... In all humility, in most humble wise, doth the most wretched and unfortunat creature that ever lived prostrate itself at the feet of the most merciful king that ever was. The most sorrowful creature that breathes — Arbella Stuart. Mercy it is I desire, and that — for God’s sake ! . . . ’ Once more, and only once, was there a deep-laid plot for her rescue, when the young Elector-Palatine, under the secret influence of Seymour and the Princess Elizabeth, seconded by the indomitable Countess of Shrewsbury, my Lady Lee of Woodstock, and the two faithful followers, Chaworth and Reeves, made petition to the King on behalf of my Lord Grey of Wilton, praying that he should once more be allowed the ‘ liberty of the Tower’ (on the secret understand- ing on the part of the conspirators and my Lord Grey, that he should undertake the dangerous and desperate service of bearing her from the Tower; she, being then known to be in such desperate strait of mind and body). Yet once more was my Lady Arbell betrayed by that sleuth-hound and fox, Northampton, into the hands of the pitiless King and servile Council. Upon which, and upon the true condition of her mind being forced upon Seymour’s credence, hope well- nigh died out within his breast. Hark how the wild storm-wind raves over the black menace of frowning battlement and fortress-trenelled towers. Hark to the rattle of chain and windlass, as the giant teeth of the grim portcullis yawn open wide, to swallow a fresh victim in his maw ! Hark how the sullen ripple rips into storm-wave, as a boat drifts ’neath the ‘ Traitors’ Gate,’ the headsman’s grim axe athwart his shoulder, the doomed traitor in the stern ! The scudding rain sweeps by in heavy gusts of weeping ; the storm-wind rave^ and sobs o’er those T 290 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL subterranean dungeons deep and dread, teeming with rats and swamped by water, where light and air hath never entered ; where some wretched prisoner lieth chained, unseen, unheard, dying, abandoned to all hope for evermore. The cloud-wracks sweep across a sunless sky, and out of wrack and ever-deepening gloom rears a blood-stained spectre, hoary .with the storm of ages — the ghost - ghoul, ‘ Caesar’s Tower/ Nature holdeth all in her wild hands. And if not here — where ? Where human outrage and human woe converge and culminate. ’Mid this scene of grandeur and desolation, within the gateway of the ‘ Byeward Tower/ stood two soli- tary figures, one in the quaint garb of warder of the Tower, ruffed and slashed ; the other, a tall, gaunt man, bent as by age or lassitude, way-worn and spent ; the muscles of the hands clasped upon his staff stood out like knotted cords ; a great, white beard flowed o’er his breast, while pent-house brows as white, sheltered and o’ershadowed his dim — sunk and tired eyes. ‘ Father am I,’ quoth he, with garrulous old age, ‘ of one o’ the dead warders who lieth in yonder crypt, an’ many a year, off and on, have I haunted this gruesome tower.’ (These words, for a passer-by, whose gaze was turned with curiosity on this strange ‘ old ’ man.) ‘ Ay, ’tis gruesome,’ said the warder Dee, ‘ an’ he who shareth i’ these sights and sounds must needs drink deep, Master Martin, or go mad. There, in yon water gate, lieth my Lord Grey, his spirit broke at last. They do get broke at last, my master ; if not by rack, by time and fetters. ’Tis the fetters doth it. Whether chained or unchained, they be there; they just do eat into the soul. My Lord Grey lies a-dying.’ The ancient Martin made no response, deep bent upon his staff ; his eyes were lifted to the ‘ Belfry Tower,’ which hung high in air above them, and he raised a palsied finger for heed and silence. There ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 29I was a voice singing in the Tower. Far out into the storm — now high, now low— on the gust of the wind, through open grating of the high Belfry, it rose wild and silver-clear as bell-tongue on metal cup. 4 What’s the first thing in flower, she said, That springs in muir or dale ? What’s the neist bird that sings, she says, Unto the nightingale ? 4 The primrose is the first in flower, That springs in muir or dale ; The thristle-throat is the neist that sings Unto the nightingale. . . .’ 4 The wee, wee worms be my bedfellows, And the clay-cauld is my sheet ; And the hicher that the win’s do blaw The souner I do sleip.’ — ‘ Aye, she hath her happy moments, Master Martin, when she liveth in the past. And some days she’s Queen, an’ ruffles it wi’ the best.’ 4 Happy ? ’ was the bitter answer. 4 Ay, happy as truffed prey, wounded unto death in falcon’s claw.’ — With that, he went forth into the storm toward the 4 waterway.’ And I trow in all those Tower dungeons was there no heart so wrung as his, no soul so desolate. The bitterness of death would hold no gall for him. Scene XXXV 1612. March 1613. Distraught Back in the November of 1612, the same year on which she had been taken before the Privy Council and 'remanded to the Tower,’ had my Lady Arbell become so wild and ungovernable that it was sur- mised she might beat herself to death against the 292 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL prison walls. Therefore was it thought advisable to summon Mistress Bradshaw to the charge of her, for the old woman had then been given permission to take up her abode within the governor's lodging, to be ready in case of fatal need. Immediately on Bridget's entrance had my Lady Arbell become calmer and saner, sitting at her old nurse's feet and gazing upon her with infinite tenderness and delight Yet soon had she forgot her existence, and was back in her accustomed seat, holding by the bars, and peer- ing forth intent upon the few fugitive stars which were all that the fleeting clouds would let appear. Once there was a fleet clatter of flying hoofs upon the stone below, as a ‘ king's messenger,' riding post- haste on life and death, dashed through the gateway of the ‘ Byeward Tower,' calling madly on the name of Sir Walter Raleigh, ‘ In the name of the Queen ! the Queen ! ' ('Twas nigh upon eight of the clock of that wild winter night.) Arbell appeared strangely rest- less and distraught that night, even beyond her wont, watching and listening as if for sight or sound, though she had heard naught outside those walls. Deadly wan and grey of face was she in those moments, like one nigh to death, and breathing hard, and she ran from grating to grating, bending and listening at each. Suddenly she stood arrested, drawing to her full height in the centre of the chamber, her eyes wide and distant, with vision directed towards the western wall, her hands half raised, yet drawn toward her as to avert some dread, and as though struck to stone. ‘ See ! see ! Look yonder way ! — And hark ! ' — Bridget, in act of preparing a posset for her hapless charge and darling, saw naught, yet let her hands drop upon her lap where she sat in superstitious dread. Her blood curdled coldly in her veins. The bare western wall of the 'Belfry Tower’ did then — before the wild eyes and wild brain of ‘ Arbella Stuart,' — slowly dissolve and fade (while voices murmured in her ear), o'er a great antique chamber, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 293 lit only by glimmer of torches here and there, which waved fitful o’er the scene, and revel of firelight, which glanced and played on helm, lance and sabre, and flashed back their warlike glory, calling on him wont to wield them — in vain, in vain. A casement stood open to green glades, on stately oaks massed darkly, where passed like shades of night the gently-trooping deer. On a low couch drawn within the deep embrasured window, lay the gallant Prince Henry, wreck of himself, slow drifting to his doom. On one side kneeled young Harrington, on the other, one the dying Prince knew full well ; ’twas the Princess Elizabeth. He made as if he would have taken her to his breast, but his arms fell powerless. ‘Oh, my brother!’ saith she. ‘Will ye not live, sweetheart, for my poor sake?’ Prince Henry turned his great, melancholy eyes, hollowed by pain, upon this ‘darling sister’ he so fondly loved, and with a sad smile, — ‘ Nae hope for me,’ said he ; ‘I do but reap the penalty of my sin. They have done for me. Ask bonnie Charlie — “ King Charlie.” — He knoweth all. — I am dying, Lizbie — dying ! ’ — And with that he fell into a trance of death. The scene did slowly dissolve and fade o’er the bare walls of the ‘Belfry Tower.’ Bridget, her hands dropped upon her lap, staring in amaze and dread on what she saw not. My Lady Arbell, drawn to her full height, her eyes wide with far-seeing vision, far distant words within her ear, her figure rigid in that same posture, as though struck to stone. The great bell of the Tower tolled the hour of eight. Soon thereafter did the great tocsin in the ‘ Belfry Tower’ begin to toll, and the great bell of St Paul’s, and the mighty bell of yon great abbey on the Thames, did give forth solemn answer ; and thus pro- claimed the dolorous tidings to the nation — the Hope 294 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL and Glory and Idol of Britain and her people, was no more. . . . A few short months after this all the bells of ancient London-Town were pealing forth their frolic paeans in one wild jangle of discordant clamour for bride and groom. The roar of ordnance thundered from the Tower, banners and music fluttered and broke upon the breeze, moat and barbican swarmed with flash of corslet and helm ; the river with glittering craft, draw- bridges lowered, and gates opened wide. Noble and cavalier rode forth in brilliant streams ; loud fanfare of trumpets sounded from ‘Tower Green;' while, from the arch of the ‘ Byeward Tower,' passed by a band of minstrels through the portal, along the western-ward, the ramparts rang with their wild minstrelsy. My Lady Arbell, ever thrilled by voice of music, flew to her narrow grating. For the marriage morn of her darling, the ‘ Faery Princess,' she had been allowed to order a Court bridal gown, pearled and jewelled, and some few of her jewels restored to her for the day. Thus, for the last time, was this poor spirit, the spectre of brilliant ‘ Arbella Stuart,' arrayed in all her glory of precious stones. 4 See ! ' she cried to Bridget, who was ordered to attend her for the day, ‘ there cometh the royal litter with the faery bride, and she looketh up at me ! ’ Arbell fluttered her silken scarf against the bars. ‘Nay, by my halidame, Bridget, 'tis not her! 'Tis Queen Elizabeth, the Tudor Queen, and she doth draw aside the curtains of her litter, and peereth up at me ! An ancient bride, forsooth ! ' she added, with a peal of laughter. ‘ And there comes Essex. How brave he sits his splendid horse ! “ In all the world there's none like my master o’ the horse.” — So saith she.' Yet quickly did all this exultation pass away ; mood hasting mood in hurrying flight. A few chance tender words from Bridget, o’erjoyed on seeing her thus decked out once again, brought to the wandering mind a glimmer - light of reason and reality. She ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 295 started, frowned, stared round her prison walls, then, with both hands, brows meeting and teeth set, rent her rich robe from bust to hem in twain, the pearls scattering on the floor. Thus did she stand and gaze on Bridget, the torn gown within her hands, as Bridget had oft seen her as a chidden child, in mingled peni- tence and defiance. ‘Tear these gew-gaws from off my back/ saith she, ‘ they do but mock my misery ! These be no feathers for the dungeon. Bridget, why dost thou join with all the world to trick and mock me ? Shame — shame on thee ! ’ From time to time, but only at rare intervals, was my Lady Lee admitted to the Tower, both to the ‘Beauchamp Tower/ to visit my Lady Shrewsbury, who was there close confined, and to the ‘ Belfry ’ ; for it was now — save by His Majesty only — admitted that the prisoner of that tower was beyond all plot or intrigue or hope of earthly rescue. My Lady Lee, though banished from the Court (nor would she ever again be brought to set foot therein), had lately, after a conference with the Countess, made suit unto the Queen in the old hall of Ditchley, ‘ where there was a full Court at Woodstock this year, with much festivity/ the result of which was that Her Majesty sought the King, and made urgent suit unto him. On hearing the words she spake, he flew into a great passion, and answered her only by imperious gesture of dismissal ; yet, when left alone, covered his face with his hands, as if to shut out some vision of terror or horror, and groaned aloud ; for, whatever he did, and wheresover he went, alike in Council, Court and Field, did two ghosts haunt James Stuart day and night, even to his day of doom — His first-born son, and ‘ Arbella Stuart.' Yet so absolute was his servile fear and anxiety for his throne and life, so stubborn the suspicion and superstitions rooted in him, that no force of circum- stance could ever change either his design or his con- 296 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL viction. The Tower alone had strength to sunder. Those lovers should ne’er meet again. On this same day, however, was Sir William Waad, the Lieutenant of the Tower, summarily dismissed from office, and another deputed in his place. With these welcome tidings did my Lady Lee, leaving her two young children at Ditchley, hasten to the Tower. Scene XXXVI 1614. ‘ My Lady Arbela is far out of Frame this Midsummer Moone! When she entered the ‘Belfry Tower/ my Lady Arbell was sitting on the stone floor, ever alone, and combing her long hair, mostly in wild neglect, into golden ripples, singing as she combed, her wild eyes on each strand of hair : — ‘ I knyt it up all the nyght An 5 the daytyme kem it down ryght, An’ then it cryspeth, and shyneth so bryght As any pyrled gold ! 5 To her ran Penelope. ‘ Love — Arbell, my darling, the man who hath treated thee so cruelly hath been dismissed. Sir Francis Bacon hath deputed another governor in his place. He shall never harry thee more ! ’ Alas! what were lieutenants of the Tower to ‘ Arbella Stuart ? 5 The man who, as the tool of others, had by systematic cruelty and insult hasted her doom, and driven her to this pass, had been chastised too late. She did but continue her occupation as before, ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 297 rambling on whatever thought came uppermost, in quick, incoherent speech. In fancy was she ever afield, or in long-past scenes. — ‘ My service to your Ladyship/ saith she, ‘ with a replevin for a hawk o’ the field. A hawk, my “ little falconer/’ which will fleet o’er highland and cloud to a high pitch. Stickit not to proffer gold, Will, much gold, so she ring to the heights o’ Heaven ! Yet nae less than this proud eminence. . . / ‘ I do hereby send your Lordship a very great, noble stag, all the sweeter mayhap for being poached from our royal preserves of Woodstock, and stricken down by Queen Arbella’s own hand and bow. Be our bearer of this our royal guerdon to mine uncle and aunt, ever so generous and dear to us in days of woe.’ ‘ I am but this moment come from my Lady Shrewsbury, Arbell. And she sendeth thee dear and loving greeting.’ Penelope ’prisoned the restless hands in hers, and laid her cheek unto them, daring not, by so much as a chance word to bring Arbell back to reality. For at times a word would kindle memory. Even now, she peered wistful round in every corner. ‘ A word in thine ear, Penny, quick ! There be good chance of finding our little Juell once again, as I hear tell. Yet I durst not seek the child. Last night did it lie in mine arms, my wee baby, but sick unto death. Yet, with divers cordials, blest be Our Lady! did I soothe his cries, and he did lie sleeping like a wee angel on my breast. This very morn they have ta’en him from me. Yet — I know where he lies ! ’ She trifled with the jewel round her neck. It never left her day nor night, but she hid it in her breast. ‘ See what my brave grandmother of Lenox hath given me, “ pour parvenir f endure!' This hath never left me, nor never shall. See that it be buried in my tomb.’ 29B ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL There was the wild call of a bugle from the ram- parts. Arbell flew to her outlook in eager haste. Thus did this death in midst of life drift on apace. The spirit, once keen and bright as rapier-blade, all racked and dimmed, the scabbard broken. Winter and summer, day and night, seed time and harvest, ’twas all the same behind those iron bars, the fetters of which had eaten into her wild heart and soul, and cankered in the mortal wound therein. As time wore on toward the end, as life ebbed and death drew nigh, glimmers of the light of reason flashed on the hapless captive through the drear night of madness, in that darkest hour before the last Great Dawn. Through the influence of my Lady Lee, a rude altar had been constructed on one side the cell, at which a priest, a prisoner like herself, from time to time did celebrate the Mass, my Lady Arbell kneel- ing reverent on her knees upon the stone. Beyond prison bars bright spring waned to summer, and, faint in the drought and drouth of heat and waste, summer waned. Flower and leaf did fall to fade. More and more did happy Arbell, in fancy, wander through green fields and over heathered moors, with the playmate of her childhood, dear Penelope. And of nights — instead of the gruesome eyes and faces ever changing, thronging, grinning round her in horrid eagerness (dread phantoms of disordered brain), the chubby heads of laughing children. And, for strange sighs and mutterings and devilish laughter — the busy hum of bees, the tinkle of the muffled burn ; and, for sweet lullaby — the moorland wind. Yet through bitter storm and strife only, do we reach our Haven and our rest. Ever were these strange phases of deranged mind and feverous fancy, effected by the change of seasons : the full Mage-moon, the electric charge of the storm. The full midsummer moon soared and shone ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 299 serene o’er the great white citadel of the famous stronghold, the keep of Conqueror and Crusader, and, flooding every court and angle, found out a loophole of the lonely 4 Belfry/ whose tower rose in solitary challenge, to court her mystic cresset, which struck full and fair thereon ; so that one lonely ray stole through the bars, and fell sequestered on the stone. Mistress Bridget and the warder Dee were talking apart on the threshold ; but Arbell stood just within the moonbeam, moonstruck, gazing upward at the great Mage-moon beyond the grating ; and, with her finger, tracing cabalistic characters across her enchanted disc. Under Bridget’s tender tendance was she disrobed and laid down upon her couch, and so weak had she become in this later time that Bridget and my Lady Lee, after many a prayer and entreaty to the Governor of the Tower, had at length gained permis- sion to give her some slight nourishment, beside the rough prison fare which hitherto had been her portion; yet this even would she turn from with dislike. On either side of her would Bridget nightly lay the only relics left her — the crucifix; the treasured Book of Hours , betwixt the pages of which was laid a long- dried and withered rosebud from the bowers of Hampton Court, with the words writ beneath, — 4 Remember Essex loves thee! Then, in bolder characters, at a later date, — 4 The most sorrowful creature living, — ARBELLA Stuart.’ There was also beside her a 4 little sea-water green stone called an Emeryn,’ and a 4 little jewel shaped like unto a horn, a yellow stone, called a Jacinth’ (the ruling passion strong in death), both fraught with magic memories. 300 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL ‘Now leave me/ saith she to Bridget, ‘and preach not to me more. An angel cometh to me nightly through yon window where shines the moon — a wee angel with white wings. (Tis the little Princess Mary.) Yet what she speaketh, I cannot hear. I forgive James Stuart? Never! I curse him, and do call on Heaven to curse him in this life, and for the Life to come ! Let me wipe those tears from off thy face, dear heart, which drop so hot upon me? Courage ! 'Twill soon be done. Good-night, Bridget, and, good-bye.' Yet, left alone in prison cell, she, ever sleepless, sat and stared upon the moon ; and, in curious fantasy 'neath same mystic spell, wreathed her arms in strange passes athwart the enchanted light. Yet, on the waning moon, strange memories revived. Night after night did Arbell rise from her couch in secret, and for long hours, unbeknown to all, lie face downward on the cold stone, her arms wide dispread in form of a cross, and all the glory of her bright hair shed dim and 'tangled in the dust. ‘ I, the Lady Arbell,' saith she, ‘ will do penance for my sins. So shall I find mercy with Christ, where here find I none.' Thus at length, on entering the cell, did Bridget find her in the morning, rigid from the cold and quite unconscious. Scene XXXVII 1615. ‘ I dare to die! (September) Thus did moons spread and wane. After lull cometh storm. So, on the waning of the moon, with low reverberation of distant thunder which died moaning along the waste, did clouds come sweeping low upon ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 301 the rising wind, like smoke from vast conflagration, athwart river, tower and town. Each flying legion flashed into flame on the moon, went out in darkness, and shuddered forth into the darkening night. Now and again there was the fleet shimmer of the lightning yet at play ; now throbbing 'prisoned in the cloud ; now, with wild torch, flashing the land afire ; now, 'mid moan and menace, dappling in weird escalade from drift to drift, from zone to zone — just to prove the might of those jagged javelins, when challenged by the full force and thunder of blast and storm. The sun, which had burned the long summer through, a brazen shield set in a field of brass, shrivelled as a scroll and passed through haze and mist, like the wan and wasted pilgrim who drifts through the storms of life unto his Bourne ; now seen wild and fugitive on the welkin, through scud and rack ; anon, vanished like a ghost, no man knoweth whither. Still did the signs and tokens of ill-omen come only from afar — in moan and mutter, in menace of ever- deepening gloom. While, on the autumnal gale, flashed the gold of dead-leaf, wreck from the ruined forest. And, on the quick pant of dying summer, swept the trail of foetid flower and mould — memories, memories as inseparate from the soul as youth and power, bloom and waste, life and death. Then, of a sudden, up drove the wild thunders on the blast ! By one vast peal of sound were the heavens racked and riven ; the sluice gates opened ; and lightnings gorged in streams of fire across the lurid waste. Such was the night. And all that livelong night did Arbella Stuart lie crouched along the stone seat 'neath her grating, in the roar and flash of the tempest, not even Bridget admitted to her presence. For under lock and bar was she ever doomed to pass the night alone. A strange exaltation possessed her soul and spirit, and force of mind and body such as had 302 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL not been hers for months. In the early morn came faithful Bridget in a tremble, thinking to find her darling more dead than living. But to her joy and to her dim sense and vision did Arbell appear her old self once more, her cheeks faintly flushed, her eyes like stars for brightness, while in them was there the light of perception, the light of reason. The old nurse bore in her hands that cordial prepared by her own skill, which my Lady Arbell would so daintily touch and taste, but which, on Bridget’s departure, would so mysteriously disappear. Left alone, with Bridget’s assurance that she would speedily return and tend her as was her custom, Arbell sat dreamily on her couch, a half smile on her lips. She had refused all nourishment this morn, and peremptorily dismissed it. At her feet on the floor was there a small crumb of bread, and, unthinking, or absorbed in other thoughts, she did involuntary raise it toward her lips, then roused from her trance and stared on it in wonderment, 'What,’ saith she, speaking to herself in solitude, as had ever been her custom, ‘ Be this — the Bread of Life ? ’— Slowly she crumbled it betwixt finger and thumb, and watched it fall to dust upon the floor. With a gleam of the old indomitable spirit which, by distraint of air, light and liberty, had been bruised and broke even unto death, she smiled again. ‘ Not even a king can hold me now. “ There’s method in my madness.” “ There be more things in heaven and earth than ” — how runneth it ? “ There’s method in my madness.” I die contumacious. I know how to die. I dare to die! She sat and looked around her prison chamber, the dim glimmer of light, the pitiless walls, and heaved a long-drawn, shuddering sigh. Yonder, in .the wild freshness of the dawn, had thunders and lightnings gone elsewhere to war, leaving only sweet winds, smell of shower, song of bird. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 303 The half leafless trees, though thus early stripped of their glory, and sore-stricken, waved their broken arms upon the breeze, like wounded warrior on battle- field of victory. The last wild clouds were sweeping low beneath the blue. The birds pealed forth their hearts in one passion-paean of gladness. (Yet, she neither felt nor saw nor heard.) ‘Ah/ saith she, ‘ sith it was not thus, and I not I, nor bold of spirit, might I linger here for years and years — who knoweth? Yet so think not I — nor ever meet my Lord. See, Devereux, the snow is falling, falling fast. Ah, for ane breath o' caller air before I go ! Bridget ? — Bridget ? ' — She rose, trembling, to her feet, and stretched forth her hands, as do the blind, groping for light ; and thus felt her way along the wall, even to the iron door, her arms wide upheld upon the bars, her head drooped thereon. ‘ Mercy ! * saith she, ‘ mercy !— — In Christ's dear mercy give me light ! 5 Not long time had thus passed when the bolts were unshot and the door of the ‘ strong chamber ’ was slowly and heavily opened from without. 'Twas the kindly Warder Dee, and with him Mistress Bradshaw. And behold my Lady Arbell, sunk in supplication at their feet ! The old woman, in tender trouble, kneeled support- ing her. But at sight of her face, Dee, leaving door and gate open, ran at full speed along the Ballium- wall to summon aid, and, in a few moments as it seemed, returned with my Lady Lee, who was lodged within the Tower. The warder raised Arbell to her feet, where she stood supported by the women on either side. Then did he throw open wide the door of the prison, and the gate of the ‘ Prisoners' Walk ' — nor would a thousand kings have held him from so doing — where, the long years agone, my Lady Arbell had been wont to walk. There, standing at the foot of the worn steps which led up thereto, was the free, 304 ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL blue vault of heaven, laced by mist clouds, spread above their heads ! This did the captive’s eyes seek steadfast and unswerving. There did they abide. Thus, like a spectre, did she stand ; her eyes, ever large, yet greater for their hollowness, her wild hair blown back by the blest breeze fresh from Paradise, her folded hands raised before her. In this tranced state of ecstasy, though well-nigh fainting, she kept her feet, drawing in the air in long, deep gasps. Dee, in haste, had drawn her couch nigh unto the threshold — neither king nor devil would have stayed him then. And Penelope — feeling the captive’s strength failing — laid her, with the help of Bridget, gently back upon her bed, fronting the archway and the open sky. There did she lie for hours, speechless, while the last storm-clouds did take wing, and wafted on the western wind, till all were passed away but a few wreaths of silver mist, which, soon, softly unwreathed and floating, blended in the Blue. She refused all nourishment ; she refused all aid. ‘ This/ saith she, ‘ is my food and drink, my Bread and Wine. I will have none enter here to be my mediator — no, not one. Place the Christ where I may look straight on Him. And the Book of Hours , Penny — thou knowest — which openeth on the wee faded rose? And put thy two dear arms round me as once thou usest. I am tired, sweetheart, tired. I long for the last great sleep which knows no waking. Let me lie in peace. And sith I die, as die we must/ she whispered, with half appealing smile, ‘ Lay me in yon great Abbey beside my royal kin — brave Margaret of Lenox — an’ my bonnie Queen. Then — one little tomb — for Arbell — from — Henry — Prince of Wales/ So saying, well-nigh as the words were uttered, she fell into sleep. ROMANCE OF THE LADY ARBELL 305 Penelope knew, but the old nurse did not In vain did Penelope make appeal to the governor that my Lady Shrewsbury should be advised, and summoned from the Beauchamp Tower. The appeal was not granted. From this sleep my Lady Arbell waked, but only toward the dawn. No earthly day would ever break again for her, for yonder broke the Dawn of that Great Day which knows no gloaming. With wild, wide eyes she started upward on her couch, and pointed through the open portal thither. ‘ To horse ! To horse ! ’ cried she. ‘ See my bold “Buccaneer!” Now he ringeth to the clouds ! He hath him ! ’ she cried betwixt her panting breaths. Then her face did strangely change, in rapture of re- cognition, and grievousness of death. ‘ He cometh ’ — she saith. ‘ Devereux — he cometh — on Hartle Moor.’ — The poor body clung to earth and perished hopes, perished joys that never were, the spirit fluttering for its flight. With that — no more. A slight tremor took her. Through open portal the spirit of murdered Arbella Stuart passed the guard. Passed through the portals of Death and Doom, unto the ‘ Perfect Light of Liberty.’ At dead of night, when Autumn’s wandering winds wailed around the high ‘ Belfry Tower,’ was the body of my Lady Arbell — she who ‘died in the King’s prison ’ — borne away in secret, ’neath the sentinel- stars, and laid to rest in ‘ yon great Abbey,’ within her nameless grave. Ages are passed away since then — ages, shifting and unstable as fleeting phantasm of one long, fevered dream : Blast of trumpet, power of statesman, wild alarm and pomp of war ; crown, laurel-wreath, cere- ment, sepulture ; tocsin of victory, death-dirge and low lament. These — these — fleeting as the earth which genders them — sweep on like spume on the resistless tide of Time, to be sunk in fathoms of Eternity. U 306 romance of the lady arbell And still doth yon great Abbey stand, and will stand, perchance, till Time shall be no more. Still doth the solemn voice toll forth the trending hours, — Warning to the Living — Requiem for the Dead — The Dead — SHRINED IN THE SANCTUARY OF AGES . THE END. Colston & Coy. Limited , Printers, Edinburgh ' , - ’.IteX'T'iV