Unknown to History-A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  "Now, dear maid," said Richard, "thou must let him come with us and don some dry garments: then shalt thou see him again."

  "Rest and food-he needs them," said Cis, in a voice weak and tremulous, though the self-restraint of her princely nature strove to control it. "Take him, father; methinks I cannot hear more to-night. He will tell me all when we are away together. I would be alone, and in the dark; I know he is come, and you are caring for him. That is enough, and I can still thank God."

  Her face quivered, and she turned away; nor did Humfrey dare to shake her further by another demonstration, but stumbled after his father to the minister's chamber, where some incongruous clerical attire had been provided for him, since he disdained the offer of supping in bed.

  Mr. Heatherthwayte was much struck with the undemonstrativeness of their meeting, for there was high esteem for austerity in the Puritan world, in contrast to the utter want of self-restraint shown by the more secular characters.

  When Humfrey presently made his appearance with his father's cloak wrapped over the minister's clean shirt and nether garments, Richard said, "Son Humfrey, this good gentleman who baptized our Cis would fain be certain that there is no lightness of purpose in this thy design."

  "Nay, nay, Mr. Talbot," broke in the minister, "I spake ere I had seen this gentleman. From what I have now beheld, I have no doubts that be she who she may, it is a marriage made and blessed in heaven."

  "I thank you, sir," said Humfrey, gravely; "it is my one hope fulfilled."

  They spoke no more till he had eaten, for he was much spent, having never rested more than a couple of hours, and not slept at all since leaving Fotheringhay. He had understood by the colour of the horse left at Nottingham which road to take, and at the hostel at Hull had encountered Gillingham, who directed him on to Mr. Heatherthwayte's.

  What he brought himself to tell of the last scene at Fotheringhay has been mostly recorded by history, and need not here be dwelt upon. When Bourgoin and Melville fell back, unable to support their mistress along the hall to the scaffold, the Queen had said to him, "Thou wilt do me this last service," and had leant on his arm along the crowded hall, and had taken that moment to speak those last words for Cicely. She had blessed James openly, and declared her trust that he would find salvation if he lived well and sincerely in the faith he had chosen. With him she had secretly blessed her other child.

  Humfrey was much shaken and could hardly command his voice to answer the questions of Master Heatherthwayte, but he so replied to them that, one by one, the phrases and turns were relinquished which the worthy man had prepared for a Sunday's sermon on "Go see now this accursed woman and bury her, for she is a king's daughter," and he even began to consider of choosing for his text something that would bid his congregation not to judge after the sight of their eyes, nor condemn after the hearing of their ears.

  When Humfrey had eaten and drunk, and the ruddy hue was returning to his cheek, Mr. Heatherthwayte discovered that he must speak with his churchwarden that night. Probably the pleasure of communicating the tidings that the deed was accomplished added force to the consideration that the father and son would rather be alone together, for he lighted his lantern with alacrity, and carried off Dust-and- Ashes with him.

  Then Humfrey had more to tell which brooked no delay. On the day after the departure of his father and Cicely, Will Cavendish had arrived, and Humfrey had been desired to demand from the prisoner an immediate audience for that gentleman. Mary had said, "This is anent the child. Call him in, Humfrey," and as Cavendish had passed the guard he had struck his old comrade on the shoulder and observed, "What gulls we have at Hallamshire."

  He had come out from his conference fuming, and desiring to hear from Humfrey whether he were aware of the imposture that had been put on the Queen and upon them all, and to which yonder stubborn woman still chose to cleave-little Cis Talbot supposing herself a queen's daughter, and they all, even grave Master Richard, being duped. It was too much for Will! A gentleman, so nearly connected with the Privy Council, was not to be deceived like these simple soldiers and sailors, though it suited Queen Mary's purposes to declare the maid to be in sooth her daughter, and to refuse to disown her. He supposed it was to embroil England for the future that she left such a seed of mischief.

  And old Paulett had been fool enough to let the girl leave the Castle, whereas Cavendish's orders had been to be as secret as possible lest the mischievous suspicion of the existence of such a person should spread, but to arrest her and bring her to London as soon as the execution should be over; when, as he said, no harm would happen to her provided she would give up the pretensions with which she had been deceived.

  "It would have been safer for you both," said poor Queen Mary to Humfrey afterwards, "if I had denied her, but I could not disown my poor child, or prevent her from yet claiming royal rights. Moreover, I have learnt enough of you Talbots to know that you would not owe your safety to falsehood from a dying woman."

  But Will's conceit might be quite as effectual. He was under orders to communicate the matter to no one not already aware of it, and as above all things he desired to see the execution as the most memorable spectacle he was likely to behold in his life, and he believed Cicely to be safe at Bridgefield, he thought it unnecessary to take any farther steps until that should be over. Humfrey had listened to all with what countenance he might, and gave as little sign as possible.

  But when the tragedy had been consummated, and he had seen the fair head fall, and himself withdrawn poor little Bijou from beneath his dead mistress's garment, handing him to Jean Kennedy, he had-with blood still curdling with horror-gone down to the stables, taken his horse, and ridden away.

  There would no doubt be pursuit so soon as Richard and Cicely were found not to be at Bridgefield; but there was a space in which to act, and Mr. Talbot at once said, "The Mastiff is well-nigh ready to sail. Ye must be wedded to-morrow morn, and go on board without delay."

  They judged it better not to speak of this to the poor bride in her heavy grief; and Humfrey, having heard from their little hostess that Mistress Cicely lay quite still, and sent him her loving greeting, consented to avail himself of the hospitable minister's own bed, hoping, as he confided to his father, that very weariness would hinder him from seeing the block, the axe, and the convulsed face, that had haunted him on the only previous time when he had tried to close his eyes.

  Long before day Cicely heard her father's voice bidding her awake and dress herself, and handing in a light. The call was welcome, for it had been a night of strange dreams and sadder wakenings to the sense "it had come at last"-yet the one comfort, "Humfrey is near." She dressed herself in those plain black garments she had assumed in London, and in due time came down to where her father awaited her. She was pale, silent, and passive, and obeyed mechanically as he made her take a little food. She looked about as if for some one, and he said, "Humfrey will meet us anon." Then he himself put on her cloak, hood, and muffler. She was like one in a dream, never asking where they were going, and thus they left the house. There was light from a waning moon, and by it he led her to the church.

  It was a strange wedding in that morning moonlight streaming in at the east window of that grand old church, and casting the shadows of the columns and arches on the floor, only aided by one wax light, which, as Mr. Heatherthwayte took care to protest, was not placed on the holy table out of superstition, but because he could not see without it. Indeed the table stood lengthways in the centre aisle, and would have been bare, even of a white cloth, had not Richard begged for a Communion for the young pair to speed them on their perilous way, and Mr. Heatherthwayte-almost under protest- consented, since a sea voyage and warlike service in a foreign land lay before them. But, except that he wore no surplice, he had resigned himself to Master Richard on that most unnatural morning, and stifled his inmost sighs when he had to pronounce the name Bride, given, not by himself, but by some Romish priest-when the bridegroom, with the hand wounded for Queen M
ary's sake, gave a ruby ring, most unmistakably coming from that same perilous quarter,-and above all when the pair and the father knelt in deep reverence. Yet their devotion was evidently so earnest and so heartfelt that he knew not how to blame it, and he could not but bless them with his whole heart as he walked down with them to the wharf. All were silent, except that Cicely once paused and said she wanted to speak to "Father." He came to her side, and she took his arm instead of Humfrey's.

  "Sir," she said; "it has come to me that now my sweet mother is left alone it would be no small joy to her, and of great service to our good host's little daughter, if Oil-of-Gladness could take my place at home for a year or two."

  "None will do that, Cis; but there is much that would be well in the notion, and I will consider of it. She is a maid of good conditions, and the mother is lonesome."

  His consideration resulted in his making the proposal, much startling, though greatly gratifying. Master Heatherthwayte, who thanked him, talked of his honour for that discreet and godly woman Mistress Susan, and said he must ponder and pray upon it, and would reply when Mr. Talbot returned from his voyage.

  At the wharf lay the Mastiff's boat in charge of Gervas and Gillingham. All three stepped into it together, the most silent bride and bridegroom perhaps that the Humber had ever seen. Only each of the three wrung the hand of the good clergyman. At that moment all the bells in Hull broke forth with a joyous peal, which by the association made the bride look up with a smile. Her husband forced one in return; but his father's eyes, which she could not see, filled with tears. He knew it was in exultation at her mother's death, and they hurried into the boat lest she should catch the purport of the shouts that were beginning to arise as the townsfolk awoke to the knowledge that their enemy was dead.

  The fires of Smithfield were in the remembrance of this generation. The cities of Flanders were writhing under the Spanish yoke; "the richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain," were already mustering to reduce England to the condition of Antwerp or Haarlem; and only Elizabeth's life had seemed to lie between them and her who was bound by her religion to bring all this upon the peaceful land. No wonder those who knew not the tissue of cruel deceits and treacheries that had worked the final ruin of the captive, and believed her guilty of fearful crimes, should have burst forth in a wild tumult of joy, such as saddened even the Protestant soul of Mr. Heatherthwayte, as he turned homewards after giving his blessing to the mournful young girl, whom the boat was bearing over the muddy waters of the Hull.

  They soon had her on board, but the preparations were hardly yet complete, nor could the vessel make her way down the river until the evening tide. It was a bright clear day, and a seat on deck was arranged for the lady, where she sat with Humfrey beside her, holding her cloak round her, and telling her-strange theme for a bridal day- -all he thought well to tell her of those last hours, when Mary had truly shown herself purified by her long patience, and exalted by the hope that her death had in it somewhat of martyrdom.

  His father meantime superintended the work of the crew, being extremely anxious to lose no time, and to sail before night. Mr. Heatherthwayte's anxiety brought him on board again, for he wanted to ask more questions about the Bridgefield doings ere beginning his ponderings and his prayers respecting his decision for his little daughter; nor had he taken his final leave when the anchor was at length weighed, and the ship had passed by the strange old gables, timbered houses, and open lofts, that bounded the harbour out from the Hull river into the Humber itself, while both the Talbots breathed more freely; but as the chill air of evening made itself felt, they persuaded Cicely to let her husband take her down to her cabin.

  It was at this moment, in the deepening twilight, that the ship was hailed, and a boat came alongside, and there was a summons, "In the Queen's name," and a slightly made lean figure in black came up the side. He was accompanied by a stout man, apparently a constable. There was a moment's pause, then the new-comer said "Kinsman Talbot-"

  "I count no kindred with betrayers, Cuthbert Langston," said Richard, drawing himself up with folded arms.

  "Scorn me not, Richard Talbot," was the reply; "you stood my friend once when none other did so, and for that cause have I hindered much hurt to you and yours. But for me you had been in a London jail for these three weeks past. Nor do I come to do you evil now. Give up the wench, and your name shall never be brought forward, since the matter is to be private. Behold a warrant from the Council empowering me to bring before them the person of Bride Hepburn, otherwise called Cicely Talbot."

  "Man of treacheries and violence," said Mr. Heatherthwayte, standing forward, an imposing figure in his full black gown and white ruff, "go back! The lady is not for thy double-dealing, nor is there now any such person as either Bride Hepburn or Cicely Talbot."

  "I cry you mercy," sneered Langston. "I see how it is! I shall have to bear your reverence likewise away for a treasonable act in performing the office of matrimony for a person of royal blood without consent of the Queen. And your reverence knows the penalty."

  At that instant there rang from the forecastle a never-to-be- forgotten howl of triumphant hatred and fury, and with a spring like that of a tiger, Gillingham bounded upon him with a shout, "Remember Babington!" and grappled with him, dragging him backwards to the bulwark. Richard and the constable both tried to seize the fiercely struggling forms, but in vain. They were over the side in a moment, and there was a heavy splash into the muddy waters of the Humber, thick with the downcome of swollen rivers, thrown back by the flowing tide.

  Humfrey came dashing up from below, demanding who was overboard, and ready to leap to the rescue wherever any should point in the darkness, but his father withheld him, nor, indeed, was there sound or eddy to be perceived.

  "It is the manifest judgment of God," said Mr. Heatherthwayte, in a low, awe-stricken voice.

  But the constable cried aloud that a murder had been done in resisting the Queen's warrant.

  With a ready gesture the minister made Humfrey understand that he must keep his wife in the cabin, and Richard at the same time called Mr. Heatherthwayte and all present to witness that, murder as it undoubtedly was, it had not been in resisting the Queen's warrant, but in private revenge of the servant, Harry Gillingham, for his master Babington, whom he believed to have been betrayed by this gentleman.

  It appeared that the constable knew neither the name of the gentleman nor whom the warrant mentioned. He had only been summoned in the Queen's name to come on board the Mastiff to assist in securing the person of a young gentlewoman, but who she was, or why she was to be arrested, the man did not know. He saw no lady on deck, and he was by no means disposed to make any search, and the presence of Master Heatherthwayte likewise impressed him much with the belief that all was right with the gentlemen.

  Of course it would have been his duty to detain the Mastiff for an inquiry into the matter, but the poor man was extremely ill at ease in the vessel and among the retainers of my Lord of Shrewsbury; and in point of fact, they might all have been concerned in a crime of much deeper dye without his venturing to interfere. He saw no one to arrest, the warrant was lost, the murderer was dead, and he was thankful enough to be returned to his boat with Master Richard Talbot's assurance that it was probable that no inquiry would be made, but that if it were, the pilot would be there to bear witness of his innocence, and that he himself should return in a month at latest with the Mastiff.

  Master Heatherthwayte consoled the constable further by saying he would return in his boat, and speak for him if there were any inquiry after the other passenger.

  "I must speak my farewells here," he said, "and trust we shall have no coil to meet you on your return, Master Richard."

  "But for her," said Humfrey, "I could not let my father face it alone. When she is in safety"-

  "Tush, lad," said his father, "such plotters as yonder poor wretch had become are not such choice prizes as to be inquired for. Men are only too glad to be rid of them wh
en their foul work is done."

  "So farewell, good Master Heatherthwayte," added Humfrey, "with thanks for this day's work. I have read of good and evil geniuses or angels, be they which they may, haunting us for life, and striving for the mastery. Methinks my Cis hath found both on the same Humber which brought her to us."

  "Nay, go not forth with Pagan nor Popish follies on thy tongue, young man," said Heatherthwayte, "but rather pray that the blessing of the Holy One, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of thy father, may be with thee and thine in this strange land, and bring thee safely back in His own time. And surely He will bless the faithful."

  And Richard Talbot said Amen.

  CHAPTER XLV. TEN YEARS AFTER.

  It was ten years later in the reign of Elizabeth, when James VI. was under one of his many eclipses of favour, and when the united English and Dutch fleets had been performing gallant exploits at Cadiz and Tercera, that license for a few weeks' absence was requested for one of the lieutenants in her Majesty's guard, Master Richard Talbot.

  "And wherefore?" demanded the royal lady of Sir Walter Raleigh, the captain of her guard, who made the request.

  "To go to the Hague to look after his brother's widow and estate, so please your Majesty; more's the pity," said Raleigh.

  "His brother's widow?" repeated the Queen.

  "Yea, madam. For it may be feared that young Humfrey Talbot-I know not whether your Majesty ever saw him-but he was my brave brother Humfrey Gilbert's godson, and sailed with us to the West some sixteen years back. He was as gallant a sailor as ever trod a deck, and I never could see why he thought fit to take service with the States. But he did good work in the time of the Armada, and I saw him one of the foremost in the attack on Cadiz. Nay, he was one of those knighted by my Lord of Essex in the market-place. Then he sailed with my Lord of Cumberland for the Azores, now six months since, and hath not since been heard of, as his brother tells me, and therefore doth Talbot request this favour of your Majesty."