"I will remember," she replied.
It seemed almost as if she were under the potent spell of some wizard.She spoke and acted just as her father directed--and yet he looked soevil at this moment, hypocrisy and lust were so apparent in hisjaundiced face, that even Lenora felt a sudden pang of doubt and offear--doubt as to the purity of her own motives and fear at the terriblecompanionship which would henceforth exist between herself and herfather's friends, men who--like him--were bent on the destruction of anation and were actuated by blind hatred to oppress an entire people.
De Vargas--vaguely guessing what went on in the girl's mind--made aneffort to regain his former bland manner: he strove by gentleness andsoft words to lull her suspicions. After all, he was her father andshe--a motherless child--had no one now in the world to whom she couldcling, on whom she could pour out that wealth of love and tendernesswhich filled her young heart to overflowing. So now--very soon--she waskneeling close beside him, her head resting against his bosom--the dovenestling near the hawk; and the tears which would not come all the whilethat her soul was consumed with bitterness, flowed beneficently at lastand eased her overburdened heart.
"You will not fail me, little one?" asked de Vargas even in the midst oftender, endearing words.
"Never!" she murmured, "if you turned against me, father dear, whithercould I go? I have no one in the world but you."
As her head was bent and her eyes downcast, she could not see the coldand cruel glitter that shone in his face as he heard this simpleprofession of whole-hearted devotion and faith.
"Tell me what to do and I'll do it," she whispered again.
"Then will God Himself reward you," he rejoined unctuously, "for youwill be serving Him and His Church, His anointed and the country of Hischosen people."
After which he rose, kissed her and finally with a sigh of intensesatisfaction left her to meditate alone, to dream and to pray.
BOOK TWO: DENDERMONDE
CHAPTER VI
A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND
I
A week later was the marriage solemnised between donna Lenora de Vargasand Mark van Rycke, son of the High-Bailiff of Ghent.
The religious ceremony took place in the abbey church of St. Bavon inthe presence of several members of the Grand Council and of all the highfunctionaries of the city. Nothing had been spared to make the occasiona magnificent and imposing one. The union between the two young peoplewas known to have the warm approval of the King himself: His Holinessthe Pope had sent a special blessing to the bride and bridegroom, whilstthe Captain-General had granted the use of a number of picked troops torender the display more gorgeous. Seven hundred and fifty arquebusiers,spearmen and halberdiers lined the route of the bridal processionbetween the town-house and the church: they were dressed in the heraldiccolours of the city of Ghent, one leg blue and the other yellow, andwore enormous hats with huge feathers dyed in the two colours.
The Regent too had graciously lent his court musicians for the occasionand they headed the procession with full orchestra playing the newestmotets. The church itself had been magnificently decorated withtapestries, and a huge concourse of people lined the streets in order toview all this pomp and magnificence.
After the religious ceremony a grand banquet was held in the great hallof the Town House at which eighty-four privileged guests were bidden.It was served at separate tables each laid for a dozen guests, andconsisted of twenty-five courses--which were both varied and succulent.There were fowls stewed in milk and dressed with sweetmeats and spices,there were pickled partridges and pastries, sausages and omelettes ofevery kind, whilst huge flagons of iced beer and Rhenish wines added tothe conviviality of the entertainment.
Senor de Vargas presided at the chief table, and he had the bride on hisright and the bridegroom on his left. The High-Bailiff also sat at thistable as did Madame his wife and Messire Laurence van Rycke, and everyone remarked that senor de Vargas was in high good-humour and that hebestowed marked evidences of his favour both upon the High-Bailiff andupon the bridegroom.
During the banquet the court musicians discoursed sweet music; in facteverything was done not only with decorum but with liberality: this wasthe first union between a noted and highly placed Spanish family and anequally distinguished patrician house of Flanders, and in a brief toast,tankard in hand, senor de Vargas expressed the hope that it might provethe precursor of a great many more.
Those present at the feast remarked moreover that the bride wasbeautiful beyond powers of description, that the bridegroom looked asusual, as if he had been spending half his nights in the taverns, andthat Messire Laurence van Rycke looked pale and sick.
But nothing of any grave moment occurred during the length of thisexciting and strenuous day. After the banquet the tables were clearedand many more guests arrived to take part in a grand reunion and ballwhich lasted well into the night. But neither the bride or bridegroomnor any of the grand Spanish seigniors stayed for that: a smallprocession was formed soon after the conclusion of the banquet,consisting of the parents of bride and bridegroom flanked by a guard ofhonour, which conducted the young couple from the Town House to theresidence of the High-Bailiff, which was to remain their home until suchtime as a more fitting permanent abode could be provided for them.
II
And now the escort had taken leave of the young people: don Juan deVargas and the High-Bailiff had to return to their guests at the TownHouse and Clemence van Rycke had gone to rest. The arquebusiers hadgone and the serving men and women--with the exception of Pierre andJeanne--had gone to watch the illuminations and to listen to the strainsof the orchestra which could be heard quite plainly through the openwindows of the Town House.
Clemence van Rycke had conducted the bride upstairs to thenuptial-chamber. With her own hands she had drawn a high-backed chairclose to the fire and made the young girl sit down. Mark then placed afootstool to her feet and a down cushion to her back.
Lenora accepted all these little attentions without a word, but with agrateful smile. She was far too tired to speak, and when Clemencefinally kissed her on the forehead and whispered a motherly: "God blessyou, my child!" she could hardly murmur a feeble "Good-night!" in reply.
Then Madame van Rycke went away, and the house seemed suddenly to becomevery still. Lenora was still in her bridal gown, which was of stiffwhite brocade, with very high starched collar and hard stomacher thatcramped her movements and made her sides ache. Her hair had been combedaway from her forehead and only a few unruly curls lay moist against herbrow: her delicate skin rebelled against the conventional white and pinkunguents which the careful fingers of a highly-trained waiting woman hadlaid upon her cheeks and lips, and the dark lines of a black pencilround her lashes could not add lustre to her luminous dark eyes which,despite fatigue, shone with marvellous brilliancy.
She sat with hands folded before her, staring into the fire, and theflames in wanton frolic threw a golden glow upon her face and her gownand deep blue shadows all around her. Mark van Rycke--unseen byher--stood at the other end of the monumental hearth, one arm restingagainst the ledge, his head against his hand, so that his face wascompletely in shadow and she could not know that he was watching her.
"You are tired, Madonna?" he asked after a little while, and shereplied, pathetically, like a child about to cry:
"Very tired, Messire."
"It has been a long and trying day for you," he continued lightly. "Iconfess to being very tired myself, and as soon as Jeanne comes to waiton you, I would beg of you that I might take my leave."
Then as she said nothing, but continued to stare into the fire in alistless manner, he added a little impatiently:
"Jeanne will not be long; she attends upon my mother every night, butwill be at your service directly. Can you put up with my company,Madonna, till she come?"
"I
am at your service, Messire," she rejoined stiffly, "if there isaught you wish to say to me."
"How cold you are, sweetheart," he said good-humouredly. "It would seemas if we were still in the presence of that awe-inspiring duenna ofyours: what was her name?--I forget--but by the Mass! I tell you,sweet, that she froze the very marrow in my bones ... and you were soformal in her presence too--brrrr!--it makes me shiver to think of thosehalf-hours spent during the past week in such a freezing atmosphere!"
He laughed--a quaint little laugh--half merry and half shy, and after aninstant's hesitation, he drew a low chair forward and sat down in frontof the fire, close to her. Even then she did not turn to look at him.
"Had it not been for your eyes, Madonna," he said softly, "I would havesworn that you were fashioned of marble."
Now he was leaning a little forward, his elbow resting on his knee, hishand shading his face from the light of the fire. He was studying herface closely, and thought that he had never seen any woman quite sobeautiful. "Laurence was a fool!" he was saying to himself as he took inevery detail of the perfect face, the delicate contour of the cheeks,the pearly whiteness of the skin, the exquisite line of chin and throat,and above all those dark, glowing, unfathomable eyes which betrayed allthe latent fire and passion which coldness of demeanour strove vainly toconceal. "Laurence was a fool! He would have fallen madly in love withthis beautiful creature, and would have made her happy and contentedwith her lot, whilst the bonds of matrimony would have sat more lightlyon him than on me."
He sighed, feeling a little sorry for himself, but nevertheless hestretched out his hand and captured hers--an exquisitely fashionedlittle hand it was, delicate to the touch and pulsating with life, likea prisoned bird. Mark was a young man--and one who had already got outof life most of the joys which it holds, but just for a moment he felt acurious thrill of unaccustomed pleasure, in holding this perfectthing--donna Lenora's hand. His own hands were strong, yet slender,finely shaped and warm to the touch, but it must be supposed that as heheld hers, he must--quite unconsciously--have hurt her, for suddenly hesaw that she turned even whiter than she had been before, her eyesclosed and quite abruptly she withdrew her hand.
"Do I anger you, Madonna?" he asked.
"Nay, Messire," she replied coldly.
"May I not then hold your hand--for a very little while in mine?"
"If you wish."
But she did not voluntarily put her hand out to him, and he made nosecond attempt to capture it.
"We do not seem to be getting along very fast," he said quaintly.
She smiled. "Seeing how we came to be together, Messire," she said, "wewere not like to have much in common."
"Yet, we shall have to pass our lives together, Madonna."
"Alas!" she sighed.
"I own that the prospect cannot be very alluring for you--it doth notseem to suggest an interminable vista of happiness...."
"Oh!" she murmured as if involuntarily, "I was not thinking ofhappiness."
"How strange," he retorted gently, "now, whenever I look at you,Madonna, I invariably think of happiness."
"Happiness? With me?"
"With you, sweetheart, if you will but allow me to work for that object.After all, my dear," he added with that whimsical smile of his, "we areboth young, you and I; life lies all before us. I own that we have madea sorry beginning, that the first chapter of our book of life hath beenill-writ and by clumsy hands. But suppose we turn over a few pages, doyou not think that we might happen on a more romantic passage?"
He drew nearer still to her, so near that as he bent toward her his kneetouched the ground and his arm instinctively stretched out behind her,so that at the least movement on her part it would close around her andhold her--as indeed he longed that it should do. She was so verybeautiful, and that air of settled melancholy, of childlike helplessnessand pathos in her made an irresistible appeal to him.
"Madonna," he whispered, "an you would let me, I should like to makelove to you now."
But she, with a quick, impatient jerk suddenly sat bolt upright andfreed herself almost roughly from that arm which was nearly encirclingher shoulders.
"Love!" she said with cold sarcasm. "You?"
He bit his lip and in his turn drew back: the dour look in his facebecame more marked and the merry twinkle died out of his eyes: his kneeno longer touched the ground, but he remained quite self-possessed andsaid, still quite good-humouredly:
"Yes, I--your husband as it happens, Madonna. Would love from me be sovery distasteful to you then?"
"I have no love for you, Messire, as you well know," she said coldly."I told you what my feelings were toward yon, the first time that wemet--at the Town House, the night of our betrothal."
"Yes," he owned, "you spoke very plainly then."
"And since then I have had no cause to change."
"I am as distasteful to you as I ever was?" he asked with drollconsternation.
"Oh!--not distasteful, Messire."
"Come! that's something."
"Enough, methinks."
"Not by a long way, but it is a beginning. To-day I am not altogetherdistasteful--to-morrow I might e'en be tolerated ... in a weektoleration might turn to liking ... and after that, liking to..."
"Never," she broke in firmly, "I should have to forget that which isindelibly writ upon my memory."
"And what is that?"
"That you married me without love and without wooing--bought me like abundle of goods just because my father is powerful and yours ambitious.A week ago we were betrothed, Messire. Since then how hath your timebeen passed?"
"In wild, ecstatic half-hours spent in the presence of your duenna andsitting opposite to the chilliest bride in Christendom," he saidwhimsically.
"And the rest of the time in the taverns of Ghent," she retorted hotly,"and places of ill-repute."
"Who told you that?" he asked quietly.
"Oh! your reputation is well known: how could it fail to reach mineears."
"Evil tongues always make themselves heard, Madonna," he said, stillspeaking very quietly, although now he sat quite apart from her, withhis long legs stretched out before him and his hands clasped between hisknees. "I would you had not listened."
"I would I had not heard," she assented, "for then I should not haveadded one more humiliation to all those which I have had to endure."
"And I another regret," he said with a short sigh. "But even if eviltongues spoke true, Madonna," he continued more lightly, "the shame ofmy conduct would sit on me and not on you. They call me a ne'er-do-wellin the city--and have it seems done so in your hearing! Well! let meplead guilty for the past and lay my contrition at your feet."
Once more the more gentle mood overcame him. The house was so still andthere was something quite unaccountably sweet in this sentimentaldalliance with this exquisitely beautiful woman who was hiswife--sentimental indeed, for though she appeared cold and even cruellysarcastic, he felt the strength of a fine nature in her. Here was nomere doll, mere puppet and slave of man content to take her lot as herfamily or her husband chose to shape it--content to endure or accept ahusband's love without more return than passive obedience andmeaningless kisses. At the back of his mind he still thought Laurence afool, and felt how well suited two such warm natures would have been toone another, but for the moment a strange desire seized him, to win akind look from this beautiful woman on his own account, to see her smileon him, willingly and confidingly, to win her friendship and her trust,even though no warmer feeling should ever crop up between him and her.
"Madonna," he said, and once again he dropped his knee to the ground andleaned toward her so that her warm breath touched his hand, which heplaced upon hers, "there are many men in the world who ne'er do wellbecause they have been left to the companionship of those who do equallybadly. Will you deign to believe that all the evil that is in me liesvery much on the surface? They call me wild and extravagant--even mymother calls me careless and shallow--
but if you smiled on me, Madonna,methinks that something which lies buried deep down in my heart wouldstir me to an effort to become worthy of you."
His voice--habitually somewhat rough and always slightly ironical--waswonderfully gentle now. Instinctively, perhaps even against her will,Lenora turned her head slowly round and looked at him. He had neverbefore looked so straight and closely into her eyes; and, as she borehis scrutinising glance, the warm blood slowly mounted to her cheeks.Her face was partly in shadow, only the outline of her small head wasoutlined by the ruddy glow of the fire, and the tiny ear shone,transparent and crimson, like a shell, with the golden tendrils of herfair hair gently stirring in the draught from the wide, open hearth.
As she was excited and perhaps a little frightened, her breath came andwent rapidly, and her lips were slightly parted showing a faint glimmerof pearly teeth beyond. Mark felt a sudden rush of blood to his head; tobe alone with this adorable woman so close to him, to feel her pantinglike a young creature full of life and passion, slightly leaning againsthis arm, to look into those wonderful, dark eyes and know that she washis, was indeed more than man could endure in cold blood.
The next moment he had caught her with irresistible masterfulness inboth his arms and drawn her down to him as he knelt, whilst his eagerlips sought hers with a mad longing for a kiss. But with an agonisedcry of horror, she pushed him away with all her feeble might. For amoment she struggled in his arms like a wild creature panting forliberty and murmuring mad, incoherent words: "Let me go! Let me go! Ihate you!"--the next, she was already free, and he had struggled to hisfeet. Now he stood at some little distance from her, looking down onher with a scared gaze and passing his hand mechanically backwards andforwards across his brow.
Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders Page 11