CHAPTER IV
LOVERS DEAR
"Peter!" gasped Margaret--"_Peter!_"
But Peter made no answer, only he who had been red of face went white,so that the mark of the sword-cut across his cheek showed like a scarletline upon a cloth.
"Peter!" repeated Margaret, pulling at her hand which he still held, "doyou know what you have done?"
"It seems that you do, so what need is there for me to tell you?" hemuttered.
"Then it was not an accident; you really meant it, and you are notashamed."
"If it was, I hope that I may meet with more such accidents."
"Peter, leave go of me. I am going to tell my father, at once."
His face brightened.
"Tell him by all means," he said; "he won't mind. He told me----"
"Peter, how dare you add falsehood to--to--you know what. Do you mean tosay that my father told you to kiss me, and at six o'clock in themorning, too?"
"He said nothing about kissing, but I suppose he meant it. He said thatI might ask you to marry me."
"That," replied Margaret, "is a very different thing. If you had askedme to marry you, and, after thinking it over for a long while, I hadanswered Yes, which of course I should not have done, then, perhaps,before we were married you might have--Well, Peter, you have begun atthe wrong end, which is very shameless and wicked of you, and I shallnever speak to you again."
"I daresay," said Peter resignedly; "all the more reason why I shouldspeak to you while I have the chance. No, you shan't go till you haveheard me. Listen. I have been in love with you since you were twelveyears old--"
"That must be another falsehood, Peter, or you have gone mad. If you hadbeen in love with me for eleven years, you would have said so."
"I wanted to, always, but your father refused me leave. I asked himfifteen months ago, but he put me on my word to say nothing."
"To say nothing--yes, but he could not make you promise to shownothing."
"I thought that the one thing meant the other; I see now that I havebeen a fool, and, I suppose, have overstayed my market," and he lookedso depressed that Margaret relented a little.
"Well," she said, "at any rate it was honest, and of course I am gladthat you were honest."
"You said just now that I told falsehoods--twice; if I am honest, howcan I tell falsehoods?"
"I don't know. Why do you ask me riddles? Let me go and try to forgetall this."
"Not till you have answered me outright. Will you marry me, Margaret? Ifyou won't, there will be no need for you to go, for I shall go andtrouble you no more. You know what I am, and all about me, and I havenothing more to say except that, although you may find many finerhusbands, you won't find one who would love and care for you better. Iknow that you are very beautiful and very rich, while I am neither onenor the other, and often I have wished to Heaven that you were not sobeautiful, for sometimes that brings trouble on women who are honest andonly have one heart to give, or so rich either. But thus things are, andI cannot change them, and, however poor my chance of hitting the dove, Idetermined to shoot my bolt and make way for the next archer. Is thereany chance at all, Margaret? Tell me, and put me out of pain, for I amnot good at so much talking."
Now Margaret began to grow disturbed; her wayward assurance departedfrom her.
"It is not fitting," she murmured, "and I do not wish--I will speak tomy father; he shall give you your answer."
"No need to trouble him, Margaret. He has given it already. His greatdesire is that we should marry, for he seeks to leave this trade and tolive with us in the Vale of Dedham, in Essex, where he has bought backmy father's land."
"You are full of strange tidings this morning, Peter."
"Yes, Margaret, our wheel of life that went so slow turns fast enoughto-day, for God above has laid His whip upon the horses of our Fate,and they begin to gallop, whither I know not. Must they run side byside, or separate? It is for you to say."
"Peter," she said, "will you not give me a little time?"
"Aye, Margaret, ten whole minutes by the clock, and then if it is nay,all your life, for I pack my chest and go. It will be said that I fearedto be taken for that soldier's death."
"You are unkind to press me so."
"Nay, it is kindest to both of us. Do you then love some other man?"
"I must confess I do," she murmured, looking at him out of the cornersof her eyes.
Now Peter, strong as he was, turned faint, and in his agitation let goher hand which she lifted, the violets still between her fingers,considering it as though it were a new thing to her.
"I have no right to ask you who he is," he muttered, striving to controlhimself.
"Nay, but, Peter, I will tell you. It is my father--what other manshould I love?"
"Margaret!" he said in wrath, "you are fooling me."
"How so? What other man should I love--unless, indeed, it wereyourself?"
"I can bear no more of this play," he said. "Mistress Margaret, I bidyou farewell. God go with you!" And he brushed past her.
"Peter," she said when he had gone a few yards, "would you have theseviolets as a farewell gift?"
He turned and hesitated.
"Come, then, and take them."
So back he came, and with little trembling fingers she began to fastenthe flowers to his doublet, bending ever nearer as she fastened, untilher breath played upon his face, and her hair brushed his bonnet. Then,it matters not how, once more the violets fell to earth, and she sighed,and her hands fell also, and he put his strong arms round her and drewher to him and kissed her again and yet again on the hair and eyes andlips; nor did Margaret forbid him.
At length she thrust him from her and, taking him by the hand, led himto the seat beneath the elms, and bade him sit at one end of it, whileshe sat at the other.
"Peter," she whispered, "I wish to speak with you when I can get mybreath. Peter, you think poorly of me, do you not? No--be silent; it ismy turn to talk. You think that I am heartless, and have been playingwith you. Well, I only did it to make sure that you really do love me,since, after that--accident of a while ago (when we were picking up theviolets, I mean), you would have been in honour bound to say it, wouldyou not? Well, now I am quite sure, so I will tell you something. I loveyou many times as well as you love me, and have done so for quite aslong. Otherwise, should I not have married some other suitor, of whomthere have been plenty? Aye, and I will tell you this to my sin andshame, that once I grew so angry with you because you would not speak orgive some little sign, that I went near to it. But at the last I couldnot, and sent him about his business also. Peter, when I saw you lastnight facing that swordsman with but a staff, and thought that you mustdie, oh! then I knew all the truth, and my heart was nigh to bursting,as, had you died, it would have burst. But now it is all done with, andwe know each other's secret, and nothing shall ever part us more tilldeath comes to one or both."
Thus Margaret spoke, while he drank in her words as desert sands,parched by years of drought, drink in the rain--and watched her face,out of which all mischief and mockery had departed, leaving it that of amost beauteous and most earnest woman, to whom a sense of the weight oflife, with its mingled joys and sorrows, had come home suddenly. Whenshe had finished, this silent man, to whom even his great happinessbrought few words, said only:
"God has been very good to us. Let us thank God."
So they did, then, even there, seated side by side upon the bench,because the grass was too wet for them to kneel on, praying in theirsimple, childlike faith that the Power which had brought them together,and taught them to love each other, would bless them in that love andprotect them from all harms, enemies, and evils through many a longyear of life.
Their prayer finished, they sat together on the seat, now talking, andnow silent in their joy, while all too fast the time wore on. Atlength--it was after one of these spells of blissful silence--a changecame over them, such a change as falls upon some peaceful scene when,unexpected and complete, a
black stormcloud sweeps across the sun, and,in place of its warm light, pours down gloom full of the promise oftempest and of rain. Apprehension got a hold of them. They were bothafraid of what they could not guess.
"Come," she said, "it is time to go in. My father will miss us."
So without more words or endearments they rose and walked side by sideout of the shelter of the elms into the open garden. Their heads werebent, for they were lost in thought, and thus it came about thatMargaret saw her feet pass suddenly into the shadow of a man, and,looking up, perceived standing in front of her, grave, alert, amused,none other than the Senor d'Aguilar. She uttered a little stifledscream, while Peter, with the impulse that causes a brave and startledhound to rush at that which frightens it, gave a leap forward towardsthe Spaniard.
"Mother of God! do you take me for a thief?" he asked in a laughingvoice, as he stepped to one side to avoid him.
"Your pardon," said Peter, shaking himself together; "but you surprisedus appearing so suddenly where we never thought to see you."
"Any more than I thought to see you here, for this seems a strange placeto linger on so cold a morning," and he looked at them again with hiscurious, mocking eyes that appeared to read the secret of their souls,while they grew red as roses beneath his scrutiny. "Permit me toexplain," he went on. "I came here thus early on your service, to warnyou, Master Peter, not to go abroad to-day, since a writ is out for yourarrest, and as yet I have had no time to quash it by friendlysettlement. Well, as it chanced, I met that handsome lady who was withyou yesterday, returning from her marketing--a friendly soul--she saysshe is your cousin. She brought me to the house, and having learned thatyour father, whom I wished to see, was at his prayers, good man, in theold chapel, led me to its door and left me to seek him. I entered, butcould not find him, so, having waited a while, strayed into this gardenthrough the open door, purposing to walk here till some one shouldappear, and, you see, I have been fortunate beyond my expectationsor deserts."
"So!" said Peter shortly, for the man's manner and elaboratedexplanations filled him with disgust. "Let us seek Master Castell thathe may hear the story."
"And we thank you much for coming to warn us," murmured Margaret. "Iwill go find my father," and she slipped past him towards the door.
D'Aguilar watched her enter it, then turned to Peter and said:
"You English are a hardy folk who take the spring air so early. Well, insuch company I would do the same. Truly she is a beauteous maiden. Ihave some experience of the sex, but never do I remember one so fair."
"My cousin is well enough," answered Peter coldly, for this Spaniard'svery evident admiration of Margaret did not please him.
"Yes," answered d'Aguilar, taking no notice of his tone, "she is wellenough to fill the place, not of a merchant's daughter, but of a greatlady--a countess reigning over towns and lands, or a queen even; theroyal robes and ornaments would become that carriage and that brow."
"My cousin seeks no such state who is happy in her quiet lot," answeredPeter again; then added quickly, "See, here comes Master Castellseeking you."
D'Aguilar advanced and greeted the merchant courteously, noticing as hedid so that, notwithstanding his efforts to appear unconcerned, Castellseemed ill at ease.
"I am an early visitor," he said, "but I knew that you business folkrise with the lark, and I wished to catch our friend here before he wentout," and he repeated to him the reason of his coming.
"I thank you, Senor," answered Castell. "You are very good to me andmine. I am sorry that you have been kept waiting. They tell me that youlooked for me in the chapel, but I was not there, who had already leftit for my office."
"So I found. It is a quaint place, that old chapel of yours, and while Iwaited I went to the altar and told my beads there, which I had no timeto do before I left my lodgings."
Castell started almost imperceptibly, and glanced at d'Aguilar with hisquick eyes, then turned the subject and asked if he would not breakfastwith them. He declined, however, saying that he must be about theirbusiness and his own, then promptly proposed that he should come tosupper on the following night that was--Sunday--and make report howthings had gone, a suggestion that Castell could not but accept.
So he bowed and smiled himself out of the house, and walked thoughtfullyinto Holborn, for it had pleased him to pay this visit on foot, andunattended. At the corner whom should he meet again but the tall,fair-haired Betty, returning from some errand which she had found itconvenient to fulfil just then.
"What," he said, "you once more! The saints are very kind to me thismorning. Come, Senora, walk a little way with me, for I would ask you afew questions."
Betty hesitated, then gave way. It was seldom that she found the chanceof walking through Holborn with such a noble-looking cavalier.
"Never look at your working-dress," he said.
"With such a shape, what matters the robe that covers it?"--a complimentat which Betty blushed, for she was proud of her fine figure.
"Would you like a mantilla of real Spanish lace for your head andshoulders? Well, you shall have one that I brought from Spain with me,for I know no other lady in the land whom it would become better. But,Mistress Betty, you told me wrong about your master. I went to thechapel and he was not there."
"He was there, Senor," she answered, eager to set herself right withthis most agreeable and discriminating foreigner, "for I saw him go in amoment before, and he did not come out again."
"Then, Senora, where could he have hidden himself? Has the place acrypt?"
"None that I have heard of; but," she added, "there is a kind of littleroom behind the altar."
"Indeed. How do you know that? I saw no room."
"Because one day I heard a voice behind the tapestry, Senor, and,lifting it, saw a sliding door left open, and Master Castell kneelingbefore a table and saying his prayers aloud."
"How strange! And what was there on the table?"
"Only a queer-shaped box of wood like a little house, and twocandlesticks, and some rolls of parchment. But I forgot, Senor; Ipromised Master Castell to say nothing about that place, for he turnedand saw me, and came at me like a watchdog out of its kennel. You won'tsay that I told you, will you, Senor?"
"Not I; your good master's private cupboard does not interest me. Now Iwant to know something more. Why is that beautiful cousin of yours notmarried? Has she no suitors?"
"Suitors, Senor? Yes, plenty of them, but she sends them all about theirbusiness, and seems to have no mind that way."
"Perhaps she is in love with her cousin, that long-legged, strong-armed,wooden-headed Master Brome."
"Oh! no, Senor, I don't think so; no lady could be in love with him--heis too stern and silent."
"I agree with you, Senora. Then perhaps he is in love with her."
Betty shook her head, and replied:
"Peter Brome doesn't think anything of women, Senor. At least he neverspeaks to or of them."
"Which shows that probably he thinks about them all the more. Well,well, it is no affair of ours, is it? Only I am glad to hear that thereis nothing between them, since your mistress ought to marry high, and bea great lady, not a mere merchant's wife."
"Yes, Senor. Though Peter Brome is not a merchant, at least by birth, heis high-born, and should be Sir Peter Brome if his father had not foughton the wrong side and sold his land. He is a soldier, and a very braveone, they say, as all might see last night."
"No doubt, and perhaps would make a great captain, if he had the chance,with his stern face and silent tongue. But, Senora Betty, say, how comesit that, being so handsome," and he bowed, "you are not married either?I am sure it can be from no lack of suitors."
Again Betty, foolish girl, flushed with pleasure at the compliment.
"You are right, Senor," she answered. "I have plenty of them; but I amlike my cousin--they do not please me. Although my father lost hisfortune, I come of good blood, and I suppose that is why I do not carefor these low-born men, and would rather remain
as I am than marryone of them."
"You are quite right," said d'Aguilar in his sympathetic voice. "Do notstain your blood. Marry in your own class, or not at all, which, indeed,should not be difficult for one so beautiful and charming." And helooked into her large eyes with tender admiration.
This quality, indeed, soon began to demonstrate itself so actively, forthey were now in the fields where few people wandered, that Betty, whoalthough vain was proud and upright, thought it wise to recollect thatshe must be turning homewards. So, in spite of his protests, she lefthim and departed, walking upon air.
How splendid and handsome this foreign gentleman was, she thought toherself, really a great cavalier, and surely he admired her truly. Whyshould he not? Such things had often been. Many a rich lady whom sheknew was not half so handsome or so well born as herself, and would makehim a worse wife--that is, and the thought chilled her somewhat--if hewere not already married.
From all of which it will be seen that d'Aguilar had quickly succeededin the plan which only presented itself to him a few hours before. Bettywas already half in love with him. Not that he had any desire to possessthis beautiful but foolish woman's heart, who saw in her only a usefultool, a stepping-stone by means of which he might draw near to Margaret.
For with Margaret, it may be said at once, he was quite in love. At thesight of her sweet yet imperial beauty, as he saw her first,dishevelled, angry, frightened, in the crowd outside the king'sbanqueting-hall, his southern blood had taken sudden fire. Finishedvoluptuary though he was, the sensation he experienced then was quitenew to him. He longed for this woman as he had never longed for anyother, and, what is more, he desired to make her his wife. Why not?Although there was a flaw in it, his rank was high, and therefore shewas beneath him; but for this her loveliness would atone, and she hadwit and learning enough to fill any place that he could give her. Also,great as was his wealth, his wanton, spendthrift way of life had broughthim many debts, and she was the only child of one of the richestmerchants in England, whose dower, doubtless, would be a fortune thatmany a royal princess might envy. Why not again? He would turn Inez andthose others adrift--at any rate, for a while--and make her mistress ofhis palace there in Granada. Instantly, as is often the fashion of thosewho have Eastern blood in their veins, d'Aguilar had made up his mind,yes, before he left her father's table on the previous night. He wouldmarry Margaret and no other woman.
Yet at once he had seen many difficulties in his path. To begin with, hemistrusted him of Peter, that strong, quiet man who could kill a greatarmed knave with his stick, and at a word call half London to his side.Peter, he was sure, being human, must be in love with Margaret, and hewas a rival to be feared. Well, if Margaret had no thoughts of Peter,this mattered nothing, and if she had--and what were they doing togetherin the garden that morning?--Peter must be got rid of, that was all. Itwas easy enough if he chose to adopt certain means; there were many ofthose Spanish fellows who would not mind sticking a knife into his backin the dark.
But sinful as he was, at such steps his conscience halted. Whateverd'Aguilar had done, he had never caused a man to be actually murdered,he who was a bigot, who atoned for his misdoings by periods of remorseand prayer, in which he placed his purse and talents at the service ofthe Church, as he was doing at this moment. No, murder must not bethought of; for how could any absolution wash him clean of that stain?But there were other ways. For instance, had not this Peter, inself-defence it is true, killed one of the servants of an ambassador ofSpain? Perhaps, however, it would not be necessary to make use of them.It had seemed to him that the lady was not ill pleased with him, and,after all, he had much to offer. He would court her fairly, and if hewere rejected by her, or by her father, then it would be time enough toact. Meanwhile, he would keep the sword hanging over the head of Peter,pretending that it was he alone who had prevented it from falling, andlearn all that he could as to Castell and his history.
Here, indeed, Fortune, in the shape of the foolish Betty, had favouredhim. Without a doubt, as he had heard in Spain, and been sure from themoment that he first saw him, Castell was still secretly a Jew. MistressBetty's story of the room behind the altar, with the ark and the candlesand the rolls of the Law, proved as much. At least here was evidenceenough to send him to the fires of the Inquisition in Spain, and,perhaps, to drive him out of England. Now, if John Castell, the SpanishJew, should not wish, for any reason, to give him his daughter inmarriage, would not a hint and an extract from the Commissions of theirMajesties of Spain and the Holy Father suffice to make him changehis mind?
Thus pondering, d'Aguilar regained his lodgings, where his first taskwas to enter in a book all that Betty had told him, and all that he hadobserved in the house of John Castell.
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