In Doublet and Hose: A Story for Girls

by Lucy Foster Madison

  CHAPTER III

  THE PAGE'S DRESS

  The bower chamber of the Lady Penelope Stafford was both large and loftyyet there was nothing there of ponderous grandeur. The walls were coveredwith soft arras embroidered in bright coloring skilfully blended. Therich furniture was designed for ease and comfort rather than pomp andparade. The chamber was lighted by a large window with broad casementsbetween the mullions, and with flowing tracery above of arch andquatrefoil.

  On a low couch sat Lady Stafford swinging gently to and fro a delicategold handled fan of flamingo feathers which ever and anon she laid asideto direct Francis who sat on a low stool at her feet plying someembroidery work.

  "So, my daughter," said the lady indicating a cross-stitch. "Take heed tothy work else thou wilt not excel with the needle. Marry, I marvel thatthou dost accomplish anything with such unskilful fingers. Knowest thounot that the Queen's Majesty did fashion a shirt of cambric for herbrother when she was but six years old? I trow that that is more thanthou couldst do now; and thou art more than double that age."

  "I crave thy forbearance, my sweet mother," pleaded Francis. "My fancydwells not upon my task, but the rather do I wonder in what manner I maybe of service to my father. Dost thou know, my mother?"

  "I could make a shrewd hazard as to its nature, Francis. Content thee,child. Thou wilt soon know all." A look of anxiety crossed the lady'sface as she spoke, which the girl was quick to note.

  "Thou art troubled, my mother. Prithee tell me the cause."

  "Nay, girl. Thy father will open up the matter to thy ears when he deemsit best. Until then neither thou nor I may speak of it. 'Tis a woman'slot to obey, and never to question the decree of either father orhusband."

  "But why?" asked the maiden. "Have we not minds with which to reason?Can we not think as well as men? Wherefore then should we yield blindunreasoning obedience when mind and soul are as noble as theirs? Methinksthat women's judgments are as wise as men's."

  "Child, child," exclaimed the lady startled by the girl's vehemence."Thou hast too much of thy sire in thee for a girl. I fear such spirit.Study lowliness, for a woman should be meek. Stifle whatever ofquestioning may come into thy heart, and render implicit obedience to thyfather."

  "That I will do, mother. Have I not ever reverenced him? 'Tis pleasure toobey his will. The more because I have so much of him in me. 'Twas he whotaught me how to string a bow, and 'twas he who guided my maiden hand andeye until had I a brother he could not excel in hunting or hawking."

  "I know, my daughter, yet my heart misgives me because of these verythings. Hadst thou been a boy all this would not come amiss. But thou arta girl, and full of the weaknesses of women despite thy skill in men'ssports. Nature, howsoe'er disguised, will soon or late assert herself.Thou art a woman, therefore again I say, steep thy soul in humility. Ifear that haughtiness in thee which thy father doth abet. Methinks itbodes but ill both to thee and to him. But this give ear to: in allthings be submissive to thy father. Heedst thou, Francis?"

  "Yes, my mother."

  "I have thus spoken because dire forebodings have seized me of late. Thyproud spirit ill brooks authority, and thou wilt soon be of an age whenif thy will should clash with thy father's, I trow not the consequences.Therefore have I counseled thee. But of this no more."

  For a time the two sat in silence, and then Francis broke the quiet:

  "My mother, there is something that I would fain ask."

  "Say on, my child."

  "When I speak of it to Master Greville he calls me disloyal, but I meanit not so. 'Tis only that I would know. My mother, why doth Elizabethreign as queen if our rightful queen is Mary of Scotland? Dost thoubelieve her to be the true heiress to the crown?"

  "Yes, child; as what true adherent of the faith doth not? Yet hathElizabeth been a good queen save and except that she hath made severelaws against the exercise of our religion. But England hath trulyprospered under her."

  "But there be some that would willingly raise Mary to the throne, arethere not?"

  "'Tis treason to say so, but there be some in very truth. 'Tis becausethe queen fears them that she hath kept Mary so long a prisoner."

  "How long hath it been, mother?"

  "Near nineteen years. It is a long, long time. She was full of youth andbeauty when she set foot upon English soil, but now she hath grown oldbefore her time with disease and confinement. Truly the queen hath dealtharshly with her own kin."

  "Master Greville saith that she is a cruel bad woman, and that if shecould compass the death of our queen she would do so."

  "Greville speaks of that of which he knows naught," said Lady Staffordsharply. "He hath let the gossip of the court fill him to repletion. Ithath been said that Mary was a wicked woman, yet I believe it not. Thatshe desireth her liberty is no crime, but rather the longing of allnature to be free. Mary is the daughter and the granddaughter of a king.Sometime queen of France, and crowned queen of Scotland. She is cousingerman to Elizabeth, and if common natures cannot brook confinement whatwonder is it that she sighs for freedom? This desire hath caused her toattempt escape often by the aid of friends, and given rise to the beliefthat many would raise her to the throne."

  "Is Elizabeth beautiful, mother? Greville says that she is the mostlovely woman in the world. That none can compare with her for beauty, orfor learning."

  Lady Stafford laughed and then checked herself.

  "Child," she said, "it is my prayer that thou wilt grow here in thine ownhome as a wild flower without sight of queen or court. But if it shouldchance, which God forfend, that thou art called to the court, thenremember what thy tutor hath told thee, and count the queen the mostbeautiful of women."

  "But is she?"

  "The queen is learned, child, beyond what is usual for her sex. Grevillewill tell thee that there never was her like for knowledge, save andexcept the Lady Jane Grey, the which would be treason to speak. I mindwell when Elizabeth was crowned that she was fair to look upon, but thatwas twenty-eight years ago. The queen is now past fifty years of age.Doth a flower retain its loveliness forever? I trow not. Yet methinks Ido but ill in speaking thus to thee. Elizabeth believes that time for herhath stopped, and that age but enhances those charms which are the prideof women. Yet I have heard otherwise."

  "You go not to court, my mother. Why?"

  "Because of its troubles and its dangers, Francis. Better to bide afaroff in this remote spot than to dwell among the jealousies of courtiers.The favor of princes is uncertain, and even royalty is not always welldisposed toward the happiness of a subject. I would fain never behold thecourt again, and I pray that thou mayst never be called to itstreacherous pleasures."

  "Art thou here, my child?" asked Lord Stafford coming in at this moment."This is a favorable time, I ween, for me to unfold my wishes to thee.Madam, will you bring the page's dress?"

  Lady Stafford arose and drew from a chest of drawers the doublet, hoseand short cloak of a page.

  "Withdraw, Francis, to the tiring room, and don these habiliments,"commanded her father.

  "But why," began the girl, but Lord Stafford waved his hand impatiently.

  "Do as I tell thee, girl. When thou art habited, return and hear thereason for thy strange attire."

  Presently with a merry laugh Francis bounded into the room, and, doffingthe jaunty bonnet that perched upon her tresses, swept him a deep bow.

  "Am I not a fair boy, my lord?" she cried gaily. "Do I not grace thegarb?"

  "By my halidom, thou dost in very truth," exclaimed her father laughing."But thy tresses? Should they not be clipped?"

  "Nay, good my lord," spoke Lady Stafford entreatingly. "Command not that,I pray thee. Thou shalt see how cunningly my hand can knot them up withsilken strings. It will not be amiss in a lad."

  "Leave them then, if thou wilt be the better contented," said the father."And now, child, if thou wilt but bring thy nimble wit into the part,thou shalt please me well. How say thee? Wilt thou bear me company upon agrave mission? Will thy co
urage fail, or canst thou, as if thou wert invery truth my son, aid me to compass that to which I am pledged? How now,girl? Hast courage for such an undertaking?"

  "My father, what mean you?" asked Francis in bewilderment.

  "Take heed to my words. There is on foot a movement to release from hervile durance Mary, Queen of Scots. Too long hath she lain imprisoned. Iam to carry to her letters of import that inform her of the design. ButMary is so immured, that heretofore it hath been impossible to gainaccess to her. A lad would serve the purpose, but there be none known tome of like courage and wit as thyself. Girl, canst thou wear that garband bear thyself as a man?"

  "Ay, my lord; and to do more if needful," spoke Francis boldly.

  "There spoke myself in you," said her father approvingly. "Then hearken!at the first sign of the dawn we set forth, thou and I, for Chartley. Hownow, sweet chuck?" as a sob escaped the mother. "Fear naught. Thybirdling will return to thee the better for having stretched her wingsbeyond the nest."

  "I fear, my lord, for you both," said the lady brokenly. "You know howall these attempts have ended, and Elizabeth hath no mercy for theperpetrators of them."

  "Now, now, be of good cheer. There is naught of harm meant to the queen.'Tis only to give Mary freedom. Think only of thy daughter. Not manymothers in England can boast of such a girl."

  "Would that I had given thee a daughter of gentler spirit," sobbed thelady. "Oh, my lord, pardon my utterance. I fear, I fear----"

  "There! we will return safely and thou wilt forget thy misgivings in thesuccess of our enterprise. But now to bed, to bed. The first gray of themorning must find us on our way. To bed, my child."