CHAPTER III
PETER GATHERS VIOLETS
Peter obeyed, sat down in a big oak chair by the dying fire, and waitedin his silent fashion.
"Listen," said Castell. "Fifteen months ago you told me something, didyou not?"
Peter nodded.
"What was it, then?"
"That I loved my cousin Margaret, and asked your leave to tell her so."
"And what did I answer?"
"That you forbade me because you had not proved me enough, and she hadnot proved herself enough; because, moreover, she would be very wealthy,and with her beauty might look high in marriage, although but amerchant's daughter."
"Well, and then?"
"And then--nothing," and Peter sipped his wine deliberately and put itdown upon the table.
"You are a very silent man, even where your courting is concerned," saidCastell, searching him with his sharp eyes.
"I am silent because there is no more to say. You bade me be silent, andI have remained so."
"What! Even when you saw those gay lords making their addresses toMargaret, and when she grew angry because you gave no sign, and wasminded to yield to one or the other of them?"
"Yes, even then--it was hard, but even then. Do I not eat your bread?and shall I take advantage of you when you have forbid me?"
Castell looked at him again, and this time there were respect andaffection in his glance.
"Silent and stern, but honest," he said as though to himself, thenadded, "A hard trial, but I saw it, and helped you in the best way bysending those suitors--who were worthless fellows--about their business.Now, say, are you still of the same mind towards Margaret?"
"I seldom change my mind, Sir, and on such a business, never."
"Good! Then I give you my leave to find out what her mind may be."
In the joy which he could not control, Peter's face flushed. Then, asthough he were ashamed of showing emotion, even at such a moment, hetook up his glass and drank a little of the wine before he answered.
"I thank you; it is more than I dared to hope. But it is right that Ishould say, Sir, that I am no match for my cousin Margaret. The landswhich should have been mine are gone, and I have nothing save what youpay me for my poor help in this trade; whereas she has, or willhave, much."
Castell's eyes twinkled; the answer amused him.
"At least you have an upright heart," he said, "for what other man insuch a case would argue against himself? Also, you are of good blood,and not ill to look on, or so some maids might think; whilst as forwealth, what said the wise king of my people?--that ofttimes riches makethemselves wings and fly away. Moreover, man, I have learned to love andhonour you, and sooner would I leave my only child in your hands than inthose of any lord in England."
"I know not what to say," broke in Peter.
"Then say nothing. It is your custom, and a good one--only listen. Justnow you spoke of your Essex lands in the fair Vale of Dedham as gone.Well, they have come back, for last month I bought them all, and more,at a price larger than I wished to give because others sought them, andbut this day I have paid in gold and taken delivery of the title. It ismade out in your name, Peter Brome, and whether you marry my daughter,or whether you marry her not, yours they shall be when I am gone, sinceI promised my dead wife to befriend you, and as a child she lived therein your Hall."
Now moved out of his calm, the young man sprang from his seat, and,after the pious fashion of the time, addressed his patron saint, onwhose feast-day he was born.
"Saint Peter, I thank thee--"
"I asked you to be silent," interrupted Castell, breaking him short."Moreover, after God, it is one John who should be thanked, not St.Peter, who has no more to do with these lands than Father Abraham or thepatient Job. Well, thanks or no thanks, those estates are yours, thoughI had not meant to tell you of them yet. But now I have something topropose to you. Say, first, does Margaret think aught of that woodenface and those shut lips of yours?"
"How can I know? I have never asked her; you forbade me."
"Pshaw! Living in one house as you do, at your age I would have knownall there was to know on such a matter, and yet kept my word. But there,the blood is different, and you are somewhat over-honest for a lover.Was she frightened for you, now, when that knave made at you withthe sword?"
Peter considered the question, then answered:
"I know not. I did not look to see; I looked at the Scotchman with hissword, for if I had not, I should have been dead, not he. But she wascertainly frightened when the fellow caught hold of her, for then shecalled for me loud enough."
"And what is that? What woman in London would not call for such a one asPeter Brome in her trouble? Well, you must ask her, and that soon, ifyou can find the words. Take a lesson from that Spanish don, and scrapeand bow and flatter and tell stories of the war and turn verses to hereyes and hair. Oh, Peter! are you a fool, that I at my age should haveto teach you how to court a woman?"
"Mayhap, Sir. At least I can do none of these things, and poesy weariesme to read, much more to write. But I can ask a question and takean answer."
Castell shook his head impatiently.
"Ask the question, man, if you will, but never take the answer if it isagainst you. Wait rather, and ask it again--"
"And," went on Peter without noticing, his grey eyes lighting with asudden fire, "if need be, I can break that fine Spaniard's bones asthough he were a twig."
"Ah!" said Castell, "perhaps you will be called upon to make your wordsgood before all is done. For my part, I think his bones will take somebreaking. Well, ask in your own way--only ask and let me hear the answerbefore to-morrow night. Now it grows late, and I have still something tosay. I am in danger here. My wealth is noised abroad, and many covet it,some in high places, I think. Peter, it is in my mind to have done withall this trading, and to withdraw me to spend my old age where none willtake any notice of me, down at that Hall of yours in Dedham, if you willgive me lodging. Indeed for a year and more, ever since you spoke to meon the subject of Margaret, I have been calling in my moneys from Spainand England, and placing them out at safe interest in small sums, orbuying jewels with them, or lending them to other merchants whom Itrust, and who will not rob me or mine. Peter, you have worked well forme, but you are no chapman; it is not in your blood. Therefore, sincethere is enough for all of us and more, I shall pass this business andits goodwill over to others, to be managed in their name, but on shares,and if it please God we will keep next Yule at Dedham."
As he spoke the door at the far end of the hall opened, and through itcame that serving-man who had been bidden to follow the Spaniard.
"Well," said Castell, "what tidings?"
The man bowed and said:
"I followed the Don as you bade me to his lodging, which I reachedwithout his seeing me, though from time to time he stopped to look abouthim. He rests near the palace of Westminster, in the same big housewhere dwells the ambassador de Ayala, and those who stood round liftedtheir bonnets to him.
"Watching I saw some of these go to a tavern, a low place that is openall night, and, following them there, called for a drink and listened totheir talk, who know the Spanish tongue well, having worked for fiveyears in your worship's house at Seville. They spoke of the frayto-night, and said that if they could catch that long-legged fellow,meaning Master Brome yonder, they would put a knife into him, since hehad shamed them by killing the Scotch knave, who was their officer andthe best swordsman in their company, with a staff, and then setting hisBritish bulldogs on them. I fell into talk with them, saying that I wasan English sailor from Spain, which they were too drunk to question, andasked who might be the tall don who had interfered in the fray beforethe king came. They told me he is a rich senor named d'Aguilar, but illto serve in Lent because he is so strict a churchman, although notstrict in other matters. I answered that to me he looked like a greatnoble, whereon one of them said that I was right, that there was noblood in Spain higher than his, but unfortunately, the
re was a bend inits stream, also an inkpot had been upset into it."
"What does that mean?" asked Peter.
"It is a Spanish saying," answered Castell, "which signifies that a manis born illegitimate, and has Moorish blood in his veins."
"Then I asked what he was doing here, and the man answered that I hadbest put that question to the Holy Father and to the Queen of Spain.Lastly, after I had given the soldier another cup, I asked where the donlived, and whether he had any other name. He replied that he lived atGranada for the most part, and that if I called on him there I shouldsee some pretty ladies and other nice things. As for his name, it wasthe Marquis of Nichel. I said that meant Marquis of Nothing, whereon thesoldier answered that I seemed very curious, and that was just what hemeant to tell me--nothing. Also he called to his comrades that hebelieved I was a spy, so I thought it time to be going, as they weredrunk enough to do me a mischief."
"Good," said Castell. "You are watchman tonight, Thomas, are you not?See that all doors are barred so that we may sleep without fear ofSpanish thieves. Rest you well, Peter. Nay, I do not come yet; I haveletters to send to Spain by the ship which sails to-morrow night."
When Peter had gone, John Castell extinguished all the lamps save one.This he took in his hand and passed from the hall into an apartment thatin old days, when this was a noble's house, had been the private chapel.There was an altar in it, and over the altar a crucifix. For a fewmoments Castell knelt before the altar, for even now, at dead of night,how knew he what eyes might watch him? Then he rose and, lamp in hand,glided behind it, lifted some tapestry, and pressed a spring in thepanelling beneath. It opened, revealing a small secret chamber built inthe thickness of the wall and without windows; a mere cupboard that onceperhaps had been a place where a priest might robe or keep thesacred vessels.
In this chamber was a plain oak table on which stood candles and an arkof wood, also some rolls of parchment. Before this table he knelt down,and put up earnest prayers to the God of Abraham, for, although hisfather had caused him to be baptized into the Christian Church as achild, John Castell remained a Jew. For this good reason, then, he wasso much afraid, knowing that, although his daughter and Peter knewnothing of his secret, there were others who did, and that were itrevealed ruin and perhaps death would be his portion and that of hishouse, since in those days there was no greater crime than to adore Godotherwise than Holy Church allowed. Yet for many years he had taken therisk, and worshipped on as his fathers did before him.
His prayer finished, he left the place, closing the spring-door behindhim, and passed to his office, where he sat till the morning light,first writing a letter to his correspondent at Seville, and thenpainfully translating it into cipher by aid of a secret key. His taskdone, and the cipher letter sealed and directed, he burned the draft,extinguished his lamp, and, going to the window, watched the rising ofthe sun. In the garden beneath blackbirds sang, and the pale primroseswere abloom.
"I wonder," he said aloud, "whether when those flowers come again Ishall live to see them. Almost I feel as though the rope were tighteningabout my throat at last; it came upon me while that accursed Spaniardcrossed himself at my table. Well, so be it; I will hide the truth whileI can, but if they catch me I'll not deny it. The money is safe, most ofit; my wealth they shall never get, and now I will make my daughter safealso, as with Peter she must be. I would I had not put it off so long;but I hankered after a great marriage for her, which, being a Christian,she well might make. I'll mend that fault; before to-morrow's morn sheshall be plighted to him, and before May-day his wife. God of myfathers, give us one month more of peace and safety, and then, because Ihave denied Thee openly, take my life in payment if Thou wilt."
Before John Castell went to bed Peter was already awake--indeed, he hadslept but little that night. How could he sleep whose fortunes hadchanged thus wondrously between sun set and rise? Yesterday he was but amerchant's assistant--a poor trade for one who had been trained to arms,and borne them bravely. To-day he was a gentleman again, owner of thebroad lands where he was bred, and that had been his forefathers' formany a generation. Yesterday he was a lover without hope, for in himselfhe had never believed that the rich John Castell would suffer him, alandless man, to pay court to his daughter, one of the loveliest andwealthiest maids in London. He had asked his leave in past days, andbeen refused, as he had expected that he would be refused, andthenceforward, being on his honour as it were, he had said no tenderword to Margaret, nor pressed her hand, nor even looked into her eyesand sighed. Yet at times it had seemed to him that she would not havebeen ill-pleased if he had done one of these things, or all; that shewondered, indeed, that he did not, and thought none the better of himfor his abstinence. Moreover, now he learned that her father wonderedalso, and this was a strange reward of virtue.
For Peter loved Margaret with heart and soul and body. Since he, a lad,had played with her, a child, he loved her, and no other woman. She washis thought by day and his dream by night, his hope, his eternal star.Heaven he pictured as a place where for ever he would be with Margaret,earth without her could be nothing but a hell. That was why he hadstayed on in Castell's shop, bending his proud neck to this tradesman'syoke, doing the bidding and taking the rough words of chapmen and oflordly customers, filling in bills of exchange, and cheapening bargains,all without a sign or murmur, though oftentimes he felt as though hisgorge would burst with loathing of the life. Indeed, that was why he hadcome there at all, who otherwise would have been far away, hewing a roadto fame and fortune, or digging out a grave with his broadsword. Forhere at least he could be near to Margaret, could touch her hand at mornand evening, could watch the light shine in her beauteous eyes, andsometimes, as she bent over him, feel her breath upon his hair. And nowhis purgatory was at an end, and of a sudden the gates of joy were open.
But what if Margaret should prove the angel with the flaming sword whoforbade him entrance to his paradise? He trembled at the thought. Well,if so, so it must be; he was not the man to force her fancy, or call herfather to his aid. He would do his best to win her, and if he failed,why then he would bless her, and let her go.
Peter could lie abed no longer, but rose and dressed himself, althoughthe dawn was not fully come. By his open window he said his prayers,thanking God for mercies past, and praying that He would bless him inhis great emprise. Presently the sun rose, and there came a greatlonging on him to be alone in the countryside, he who was country-bornand hated towns, with only the sky and the birds and the treesfor company.
But here in London was no country, wherever he went he would meet men;moreover, he remembered that it might be best that just now he shouldnot wander through the streets unguarded, lest he should find Spaniardswatching to take him unawares. Well, there was the garden; he would gothither, and walk a while. So he descended the broad oak stairs, and,unbolting a door, entered this garden, which, though not too well kept,was large for London, covering an acre of ground perhaps, surrounded bya high wall, and having walks, and at the end of it a group of ancientelms, beneath which was a seat hidden from the house. In summer this wasMargaret's favourite bower, for she too loved Nature and the land, andall the things it bore. Indeed, this garden was her joy, and the flowersthat grew there were for the most part of her own planting--primroses,snowdrops, violets, and, in the shadow of the trees, longhartstongue ferns.
For a while Peter walked up and down the central path, and, as itchanced, Margaret, who also had risen early and not slept too well,looking through her window curtains, saw him wandering there, andwondered what he did at this hour; also, why he was dressed in theclothes he wore on Sundays and holidays. Perhaps, she thought, hisweekday garments had been torn or muddied in last night's fray. Then shefell to thinking how bravely he had borne him in that fray. She saw itall again; the great red-headed rascal tossed up and whirled to theearth by his strong arms; saw Peter face that gleaming steel withnothing but a staff; saw the straight blows fall, and the fellow goreeling to the earth, slain with a single strok
e.
Ah! her cousin, Peter Brome, was a man indeed, though a strange one, andremembering certain things that did not please her, she shrugged herivory shoulders, turned red, and pouted. Why, that Spaniard had saidmore civil words to her in an hour than had Peter in two years, and hewas handsome and noble-looking also; but then the Spaniard was--aSpaniard, and other men were--other men, whereas Peter was--Peter, acreature apart, one who cared as little for women as he did for trade.
Why, then, if he cared for neither women nor trade, did he stop here?she wondered. To gather wealth? She did not think it; he seemed to haveno leanings that way either. It was a mystery. Still, she could wish toget to the bottom of Peter's heart, just to see what was hid there,since no man has a right to be a riddle to his loving cousin. Yes, andone day she would do it, cost what it might.
Meanwhile, she remembered that she had never thanked Peter for the bravepart which he had played, and, indeed, had left him to walk home withBetty, a journey that, as she gathered from her sprightly cousin's talkwhile she undressed her, neither of them had much enjoyed. For Betty, beit said here, was angry with Peter, who, it seemed, once had told herthat she was a handsome, silly fool, who thought too much of men and toolittle of her business. Well, since after the day's work had begun shewould find no opportunity, she would go down and thank Peter now, andsee if she could make him talk for once.
So Margaret threw her fur-trimmed cloak about her, drawing its hood overher head, for the April air was cold, and followed Peter into thegarden. When she reached it, however, there was no Peter to be seen,whereon she reproached herself for having come to that damp place soearly and meditated return. Then, thinking that it would look foolish ifany had chanced to see her, she walked down the path pretending to seekfor violets, and found none. Thus she came to the group of great elms atthe end, and, glancing between their ancient boles, saw Peter standingthere. Now, too, she understood why she could find no violets, for Peterhad gathered them all, and was engaged, awkwardly enough, in trying totie them and some leaves into a little posy by the help of a stem ofgrass. With his left hand he held the violets, with his right one end ofthe grass, and since he lacked fingers to clasp the other, this heattempted with his teeth. Now he drew it tight, and now the brittlegrass stem broke, the violets were scattered, and Peter used words thathe should not have uttered even when alone.
"I knew you would break it, but I never thought you could lose yourtemper over so small a thing, Peter," said Margaret; and he in theshadow looked up to see her standing there in the sunlight, fresh andlovely as the spring itself.
Solemnly, in severe reproof, she shook her head, from which the hood hadfallen back, but there was a smile upon her lips, and laughter in hereyes. Oh! she was beautiful, and at the sight of her Peter's heart stoodstill. Then, remembering what he had just said, and certain other thingsthat Master Castell had said, he blushed so deeply that her own cheekswent red in sympathy. It was foolish, but she could not help it, forabout Peter this morning there was something strange, something thatbred blushes.
"For whom are you gathering violets so early," she asked, "when youought to be praying for that Scotchman's soul?"
"I care nothing for his soul," answered Peter testily. "If the brute hadone, he can look after it himself; and I was gathering theviolets--for you."
She stared. Peter was not in the habit of making her presents offlowers. No wonder he had looked strange.
"Then I will help you to tie them. Do you know why I am up so early? Itis for your sake. I behaved badly to you last night, for I was crossbecause you wanted to thwart me about seeing the king. I never thankedyou for all you did, you brave Peter, though I thanked you enough in myheart. Do you know that when you stood there with that sword, in themiddle of those Englishmen, you looked quite noble? Come out into thesunlight, and I will thank you properly."
In his agitation Peter let the remainder of the flowers fall. Then anidea struck him, and he answered:
"Look! I can't; if you are really grateful for nothing at all, come inhere and help me to pick up these violets--a pest on theirshort stalks!"
She hesitated a little, then by degrees drew nearer, and, bending down,began to find the flowers one by one. Peter had scattered them wide, sothat at first the pair were some way apart, but when only a fewremained, they drew close. Now there was but one violet left, and, bothstretching for it, their hands met. Margaret held the violet, and Peterheld Margaret's fingers. Thus linked they straightened themselves, andas they rose their faces were very near together and oh! most sweet wereMargaret's wonderful eyes; while in the eyes of Peter there shone aflame. For a second they looked at each other, and then of a sudden hekissed her on the lips.
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