CHAPTER XXI
THE BLACK KNIGHT
As the Duke of Wessex was crossing one of the large rooms of the wingwhich divides the old Fountain Court from the Cloister Green, hesuddenly heard himself called by name.
"Luck favours me indeed," said a voice from out the gloom. "His Grace ofWessex an I mistake not."
At this hour of the evening these rooms were usually deserted, and leftbut dimly illumined by a few wax tapers placed in tall, many-armedcandelabra, the flickering light of which failed to penetrate into thedistant corners of the vast, panelled chambers. Wessex could only seethe dim outline of a man coming towards him.
"At your service, fair sir, whoever you may be," he responded lightly,"but by the Mass! meseems you must claim kinship with the feline speciesto be able to distinguish my unworthy self in the dark."
"Nay! 'twas my wish which fathered my thoughts. I had hoped to meet YourGrace here, and was on the look out."
"The Marquis de Suarez," rejoined Wessex, as the young Spaniard now camewithin the circle of light projected by the candelabra. "You wished tospeak with me, sir?"
"I would claim this privilege of Your Grace's courtesy."
"Indeed, I am ever at your service," replied the Duke, not a littleastonished at the request.
Since his first meeting with Don Miguel at East Molesey Fair he had onlyexchanged a very few words with the Spaniard, and the latter seemed evento have purposely avoided him during the past few days. To this HisGrace had paid no attention. The foreign envoys at present staying inthe Palace were exceedingly antipathetic to him, and beyond the socialamenities of Court life he had held no intercourse with any of them.
Rivals all of them, they nevertheless joined issue with one another intheir hostile attitude towards the man, who was the formidablestumbling-block to all their diplomatic intrigues.
The Duke himself, in spite of his haughty aloofness from party politics,knew full well how great was the enmity which his personality aroused inthe minds of all the strangers at Mary's court.
He was certainly much more amused than disturbed by this generallyhostile attitude towards himself, and many a time did the variousambassadors have to suffer, with seeming good-nature, the pointed andcaustic shafts aimed at them by His Grace's ready wit.
No wonder, therefore, that Wessex looked with some suspicion on thissudden change of front on the part of one of his most avowedantagonists.
"How can I have the honour of serving an envoy of the King of Spain?" hecontinued lightly.
But Don Miguel appeared in no hurry to speak. His manner seemed to havecompletely altered. As a rule he was a perfect model of self-possessionand easy confidence, with just a reflection of his distinguishedchief's, the Cardinal's, own suavity of manner apparent in all his ways.Now he was obviously ill at ease, shy and nervous, and with a markeddesire to be frank, yet too bashful to give vent to so boyish anoutburst.
There was in his dark eyes, too, a look almost of appeal towards theDuke to meet his sudden access of friendliness half-way. All this Wessexhad already noticed with the one quick glance which he cast at the youngSpaniard. He motioned him to a chair and himself leant lightly againstthe edge of the table.
Don Miguel took this to be an encouragement to proceed.
"Firstly, your Grace's pardon if I should unwillingly transgress," hebegan.
"My pardon?" rejoined the Duke, much amused at the Marquis' obviousembarrassment. "'Tis yours already. But how transgress?"
"By the asking of a question which Your Grace might deem indiscreet."
"Nay, my lord," quoth the Duke gaily, "no question need be indiscreet,though answers often are."
"Your Grace is pleased to laugh . . . but in this case . . . I . . .that is . . . I hardly know how to put it . . . yet I would assure YourGrace . . ."
"By Our Lady, man!" cried Wessex with a slight show of impatience,"assure me no assurances, but tell me what you wish to say."
"Well then! since I have Your Grace's leave. . . . My object is this.. . . Court gossip has it that you are affianced to the Lady UrsulaGlynde."
The Duke did not reply. Don Miguel looked up and saw a quaint smilehovering round His Grace's lips. The young Spaniard, though an earnestand even proficient reader of other men's thoughts, did not quiteunderstand the meaning of that smile: it seemed wistful yet triumphant,full of gaiety and yet with a suspicion of that strange and deliciousmelancholy, which is never quite inseparable from a great happiness.
But as he seemingly was meeting with no rebuff, the Marquis continuedmore boldly--
"And . . . but Your Grace must really pardon me. . . . I hardly knowhow to put it so as not to appear impertinent . . . but 'tis also saidthat you do not wish to claim the lady's hand."
"Marry! . . ." rejoined the Duke with a laugh. Then he paused, as if inthe act of recalling his somewhat roving thoughts, and said morecoldly--
"You must pardon me, my lord, if I do not quite perceive in what mannerthis may concern you."
"I pray Your Grace to have patience with me yet a while longer. I willexplain my purpose directly. For the moment I will entreat you, an youwill, to answer my question. It is a matter of serious moment to me, andyou would render me eternally your debtor."
None knew better in these days than did the high-born Spaniards, all themany little tricks of voice and gesture which go to make up the abstruseand difficult art of diplomacy. Don Miguel at this juncture looked sofrank, so boyish, and withal so earnest, that the Duke ofWessex--himself the soul of truth and candour--never even suspected thatthe young man was but playing a part and enacting a scene, which he hadrehearsed under the skilful management of His Eminence the SpanishCardinal.
Wessex, ever ready to see the merry side of life, ever ready for gaietyand brightness, felt completely disarmed, glad enough to lay aside thecold reserve which the foreign envoys themselves had called forth inhim. He liked the Marquis under this new semblance of boyishguilelessness, and returned his tone of deferential frankness with oneof easy familiarity.
"The question, my lord, is somewhat difficult to answer," he said withmock seriousness, the while a gay laugh was dancing in his eyes. "Yousee, there are certain difficulties in the way. The Lady Ursula is aGlynde . . . and all the Glyndes have brown eyes. . . . Now at thismoment I feel as if I could never love a brown eye again."
"The Lady Ursula is very beautiful," rejoined the Spaniard.
"Possibly--but you surprise me."
"Your Grace has never seen her?"
"Never, since she was out of her cradle."
"I have the advantage of Your Grace, then."
"You know her, my lord? . . ."
"Intimately!" said Don Miguel, with what seemed an irresistible impulse.
Then he checked his enthusiasm with a visible effort, and stammered witha return of his previous nervousness--
"That is . . . I . . ."
"Yes?" queried the Duke.
"That is the purport of my importunity, my lord," said the young man,springing to his feet and speaking once more in tones of noble candour."I would have asked Your Grace that, since you do not know the LadyUrsula, since you have no wish to claim her hand, if some one else. . ."
"If the Lady Ursula honoured some one else than my unworthy self. . . .Is that your meaning, my lord?" queried Wessex, as Don Miguel had made aslight pause in his impetuous speech.
"If I . . ."
"You, my lord?"
"I would wish to know if I should be offending Your Grace?"
"Offending me?" cried Wessex joyfully. "Nay, my lord, why were you solong in telling me this gladsome news? . . . Offending me? . . . youhave succeeded in taking a load from my conscience, my dear Marquis. Soyou love the Lady Ursula Glynde? . . . Ye heavens! what a number ofcircumlocutions to arrive at this simple little fact! You love her . . .she is very beautiful . . . and she loves you. Where did you first seeher, my lord?"
"At East Molesey Fair. . . . Your Grace intervened . . . you mustremember!"
"Most
inopportunely, meseems. I must indeed crave your pardon. And sincethen?"
"The acquaintanceship, perhaps somewhat unpleasantly begun, has ripenedinto . . . friendship."
"And thence into love! Nay, you have my heartiest congratulations, mylord. The Glyndes are famous for their virtue, and since the Lady Ursulais beautiful, why! your Court will indeed be graced by such a pattern ofEnglish womanhood."
"Oh!" said the Spaniard, with a quick gesture of deprecation.
"Nay! you must have no fear, my lord. Since you have honoured me byconsulting my feelings in the matter, it shall be my pride and mydelight to further your cause, and that of the Lady Ursula . . . ifindeed she will deign to express her wishes to me. . . . I hereby giveyou a gentleman's word of honour that I consider the promise, which shemade to her father in her childhood, in no way binding upon her now.. . . As for the future, I swear that I will obtain Her Majesty'sconsent to your immediate marriage."
"Nay! I pray you, not so fast!" laughed Don Miguel lightly. "Neither theLady Ursula nor I have need of Her Majesty's consent. . . ."
"But methought----"
"'Twas not I who spoke of marriage, remember!"
"Then you have completely bewildered me, my lord," rejoined Wessex witha sudden frown. "I understood----"
"That I am the proudest of men, certainly," quoth Don Miguel with asarcastic curl of his sensual lip, "but 'twas Your Grace who spoke ofthe lady's virtue. I merely wished to know if I should be offendingYour Grace if . . ."
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. The laugh grated unpleasantly onWessex' ear, and the gesture savoured of impertinence. The Marquis'manner had suddenly undergone a change, which caused the Duke's everynerve to tingle.
"If what?" he queried curtly. "The devil! sir, cannot you say what youdo mean?"
"Why should I," replied the Spaniard, "since your Grace has alreadyguessed? You will own that I have acted _en galant homme_, by thinkingof your wishes. You will not surely desire to champion that much-vauntedvirtue of the Glyndes."
"Then what you mean, sir, is that . . ."
"I cannot speak more plainly, my lord, for that among gentlemen is quiteimpossible. But rumours fly about quickly at Court, and I feared thatYour Grace might have caught one, ere I had the chance of assuring youthat I recognize the priority of your claim. But now you tell me thatyou have no further interest in the lady, so I am reassured. . . . Weforeigners, you know, take passing pleasures more lightly than youserious-minded English . . . and if the lady be unattached . . . andmore than willing . . . why should we play the part of Joseph? . . . aridiculous role at best, eh, my lord? . . . and one, I think, which YourGrace would ever disdain to play. . . . As for me, I am quite reassured. . . Au revoir to Your Grace. . . ."
And before Wessex had time to utter another word, Don Miguel, stilllaughing, went out of the room.
The Duke felt a little bewildered. The conversation had gone throughsuch a sudden transition, that at the time, he had hardly realizedwhether it touched him deeply or not.
Owing to Ursula's girlish little ruse, he was totally unaware of heridentity with the lady who had been the subject of this very distastefuldiscussion. To him Lady Ursula Glynde was both unknown anduninteresting. His meeting with beautiful, exquisite "Fanny" had drivenall thoughts of other women from his mind.
But with all his volatile disposition, where women were concerned, theDuke of Wessex was nevertheless imbued with a strong and romanticfeeling of chivalry towards the entire sex, and Don Miguel's disdainfulallusions to the lady who might have been Duchess of Wessex had left hisfinger-tips itching with the desire to throw his glove in the impudentrascal's face.
Harry Plantagenet, who throughout the interview had openly expressed hisdisapproval of his master's interlocutor, gave an impatient littlewhine. He longed for the privacy of his own apartments, the warmth ofthe rugs laid out specially for him.
"Harry, old friend!" said Wessex thoughtfully, "what the devil, thinkyou, that young reprobate meant?"
He took the dog's beautiful head between his hands and looked straightinto the honest, faithful eyes of his dear and constant companion.
"Marry!" he continued more lightly, "you may well look doubtful, youwise philosopher, for you know the Glyndes as well as I do. You rememberold Lady Annabel, whose very look would stop your tail from wagging, andCharles, stodgy, silent, serious Charles, who never drank, neverlaughed, had probably never seen a woman's ankle in his life. And thenthe Lady Ursula . . . a Glynde . . . do you mind me, old Harry? . . .therefore as ugly, as a combination of virtue and Scotch descent canmake any woman. . . . Yet, if I caught the rascal's meaning, neitherScotch descent nor ill looks have proved a shield for the lady's virtue!. . . Well, 'tis no business of ours, is it, old Harry? Let us live andlet live. . . . Perhaps Lady Ursula is not ugly . . . perchance thatunpleasant-looking Spaniard doth truly love her . . . and who are we,Harry, you and I, that we should prove censorious? Let us to ourapartments, friend, and meditate on woman's frailty and on our own . . .especially on our own . . . we are mere male creatures, and women are soadorable! even when they bristle with virtues like a hedgehog . . . butlike him too, are cushioned beneath those bristles with a hundredcharming, fascinating sins. . . . Come along, friend, and let usmeditate why sin . . . sin of a certain type, remember, should be soenchantingly tempting."
Harry Plantagenet was a philosopher. He had seen his master in this kindof mood before. He wagged his tail as if to express his approval of thebroad principles thus submitted for his consideration, but at the sametime he showed a distinct desire that his master should talk less andcome more speedily to bed.
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