Then, turning to Bellegarde, he added, “Your inamorata ought to be more prudent than to send a page here on such an errand.”
“Have I your majesty’s permission to open the billet?”
“Oh! by all means. I feel for your impatience,” cried the king, in a bantering tone.
““not from a lady!” said the count.
“Not from a lady!” exclaimed Buckingham. “Then I’ll be sworn it comes from Claude Duval.”
“A good guess,” cried Bellegarde. “It is from Duval. What is more, it relates to your grace.”
“To me! Then pray let us hear it,” said the duke. “Fortunately, it is not long,” observed Bellegarde, proceeding to read the note.
“MONSIEUR LE COMTE, —
“You are a friend of the Duke of Buckingham, and may possibly learn from his grace that I have a little affair to arrange with him.
“Our meeting is unavoidable, and cannot be long delayed.
“Should the duke venture to ride forth alone, I would counsel him to carry plenty of cash. He will find it more serviceable than pistols.
“Pray tell him so from “CLAUDE DUVAL.”
“After this warning, your grace is scarcely likely to ride out unattended,” observed Bellegarde, in a slightly mocking tone. “But if you do, carry a well-lined purse in your pocket. “be the safest plan.”
“I will carry something better,” rejoined the duke, rather sharply. “But how comes it that the rascal can get his notes delivered by one of the royal pages?”
“Pooh! the whole thing is a jest,” cried the king. “I believe Lady Muskerry herself to be at the bottom of it.”
“I, sire!” exclaimed her ladyship. “I have always maintained that Monsieur Claude Duval is the mirror of politeness, and dances the gaillarde better than any other man, but I don’t bribe the pages to convey his letters.”
“But haven’t you and your niece been playing a trick upon the duke? Come! — confess!”
“Your majesty is quite wrong in your suspicions,” observed Dorinda.
““all very well to deny it,” whispered Talbot to Dorinda; “but you must have had some hand in the trick, I am quite sure. This mysterious page is no other than your favorite Florio.”
“Hush!” she rejoined, imposing silence upon him. “Don’t speak of Florio now.”
CHAPTER IV
MORE CHAMPAGNE AND CHEESECAKES
We left Colonel Blood and his companions seated at a table beneath a mulberry tree.
The colonel had ordered a flask of Rhenish, and they had nearly finished it, when, to their great surprise, they saw the old custodian of the Jewel Tower and his daughter approach them.
Old Edwards looked very feeble, but Edith was as charming and coquettish as ever. She was very tastefully attired, and her symmetrical figure and golden tresses excited general admiration. She had to sustain a good deal of ogling as she moved along the walk, and she sustained it well.
Blood was not in the slightest degree abashed by the sight of the man whose life he had well-nigh taken; on the contrary, he appeared delighted to see him.
Uttering a joyful exclamation, he sprang from his seat, and rushing towards Edwards, seized both his hands, and after shaking them cordially, saluted his daughter.
Scarcely giving the old man time to speak, Blood forced him into a chair, and then called out lustily to an attendant to bring a bottle of champagne, with a dish of cheesecakes for the young lady.
If Blood only feigned satisfaction at the old custodian’s unexpected appearance, Montalt was really enchanted to see Edith again. His passion for the golden-tressed damsel had by no means abated.
With the utmost empressement he led her to a seat at the table, and recommenced the attentions he had paid her at the Jewel Tower. Nor were his attentions unfavorably received. Things had taken such an extraordinary turn, that she could not be angry with him.
Luckily, the champagne was not long in coming, and a glass of it raised the old man’s spirits, and brought back all his daughter’s vivacity.
“Another glass, my good friend,” said Blood, pouring out a bumper. “You can now afford to laugh at that adventure in the Jewel Tower. Ho, ho! there’s a mystery about that affair,” he added, with a tremendous wink, “a mystery which, with all your penetration, you will never be able to unriddle.”
“I can solve the enigma,” remarked Edith; “but it won’t do to speak out.”
And she glanced at Montalt, who replied by a significant look, that told her she was quite right in her surmise.
“The affair has certainly had a very different result from what might have been anticipated,” observed Edwards to Blood. “You have been honored and rewarded, while I have been upbraided and disgraced.”
“Not disgraced, father,” interposed Edith. “You have not been commended by his majesty for your conduct, but you have not been disgraced.”
“Not to be commended under such circumstances is equivalent to disgrace,” said Edwards. “At least, I feel it to be so.”
“A drop more champagne, my good friend,” said Blood, again filling his glass. ““cheer your heart. To what lucky chance do I owe the pleasure of seeing you and your fair daughter in the Mulberry Garden?”
“I have been to Whitehall in quest of you, colonel, and have followed you hither,” said Edwards.
“Then you have some favor to solicit, my worthy sir,” rejoined Blood, in a patronizing tone. ““granted ere “asked. I have some little interest with his majesty.”
“I am quite aware of it, colonel,” said the other; “I am told that suitors now constantly apply to you.”
“You have not been incorrectly informed,” observed Blood. “But what can I do for you? — ha!”
“My father desires nothing, colonel, except to have his case represented to the king,” interposed Edith. “His feelings are hurt that his services have not been recognized.”
“But I am scarcely a fitting person to represent his case,” said Blood, with a half-smile.
“Pardon me!” cried Edwards; “no one knows so well as yourself what efforts I made to preserve the crown.”
“Let me tell you in confidence, my good friend,” said Blood, tapping his nose as he spoke, “you would have pleased his majesty much better if you had offered no resistance. Do you understand? — ha!”
“I would rather not understand,” replied Edwards. “I did my duty.”
“And you have your reward!” observed Blood, with a sneer. “I always tell my father that he did wrong,” said Edith; “but I can’t convince him.”
“You never will convince him,” rejoined the old man. “A few gracious words from his majesty are all I ask; and those he cannot, will not, refuse me.”
“No more, my good friend. You quite touch my feelings,” cried the arch-hypocrite. “I will mention the matter to his majesty, and I doubt not I shall prevail; but you have unwittingly offended him.”
“Is it possible he can entertain such feelings towards one who has risked his life in defence of his trust?”
“My good friend, you will not understand. But come, champagne is the best remedy for grief. Here is a fresh bottle. Try it. Help the young lady, Montalt. We will drink to your daughter’s speedy marriage. My friend Montalt is just as eligible as Cadwallader Pugh. He has not got three hundred a year in land, or Merlin’s Cave, with its hidden treasures; but he is a handsome young gallant, though I say it to his face, and knows how to make money.”
“And to spend it, too, I doubt not,” said Edwards. “Such a graceless galliard will not suit me.”
“I should take umbrage at the term you have applied to me, sir,” exclaimed Montalt; “ did not my love for your fair daughter restrain me. Let me tell you, sir, that I am in a fair way of promotion; and when, through the interest of Colonel Blood, I have obtained the post to which I aspire, you will think very differently of me.”
“Between ourselves, “an excellent post,” observed Blood to the old custodian. “B
ut I must not particularize it.”
“You will excuse me if I appear distrustful, colonel; but I have been deceived once.”
“You were wrong then, my good friend, and are wrong now,” said Blood, in a low, confidential tone. “Don’t discourage the young gentleman’s suit. Your daughter evidently likes him.”
“We will talk more about it when he has got the post,” rejoined Edwards. “Meantime, I cannot allow him to come to the Jewel Tower.”
Edith and her suitor here exchanged a glance, which seemed to intimate that the prohibition would not be very strictly attended to. —
Just at this moment, the royal party, having finished their repast, issued from the arbor, and proceeded along the walk that passed near the table where Blood and the others were seated.
“As I live, there is his majesty!” cried Edwards. “I did not know he was in the garden. Here is the opportunity I have prayed for. Present me to him, I entreat you, colonel.”
“Impossible, my good friend — quite impossible!” cried Blood, rising from his seat, and looking very much disturbed. “However much I may desire to serve you, I cannot — dare not do it. His majesty would be highly displeased. Take my advice, and keep out of his sight.”
“Get them out of the garden as quickly as you can,” he added in a whisper to Montalt.
Montalt made an attempt to obey, but neither Edwards nor his daughter would stir from the spot.
Edith had caught sight of the Count de Bellegarde; and, besides, the vain little coquette almost fancied that his majesty would notice her.
CHAPTER V
THE OLD CUSTODIAN OBTAINS A PENSION FROM THE KING
Meanwhile, the royal party came on, laughing and talking gaily.
The king and the Duchess of Portsmouth were a little in advance of the others.
“His majesty will listen to me, I am sure!” cried Edwards, seized by an irresistible impulse. “Since you refuse to present me, I will throw myself at his feet.”
“Madman!” cried Blood, trying to detain him.
But the old custodian broke away from his grasp, and, rushing forward, prostrated himself before the king.
So sudden was the act, that Charles really thought the suppliant had lost his senses.
““the keeper of the Crown jewels, sire. Do you not recognize him?” said the Duchess of Portsmouth.
“Oddsfish! so it is,” cried the king, rather annoyed at being thus addressed in public, but assuming a gracious manner. “Arise, my good friend, and tell me what I can do for you.”
“I have suffered much, my liege; but I ask nothing beyond an assurance from your majesty that I have faithfully discharged my trust. If I do not receive it, I shall die heartbroken.”
“Brave old man! he deserves a noble recompense,” cried the duchess.
“Great injustice appears to have been done you, my good friend, but it shall be promptly repaired,” said the king, in a sympathizing voice. “From what you say, I fear that the messages, expressive of my strong approval of your conduct, have not been delivered to you.”
“No such messages have reached me, my liege,” replied the old man. “But it gladdens my heart to learn that you are satisfied with me. I feared otherwise.”
“You shall have wherewithal to gladden your heart,” cried Charles. “Services like yours cannot be adequately rewarded, but a pension shall at once be bestowed upon you. Let this be done,” he added to Buckingham.
“I humbly thank your majesty for your bounty,” said the old man, bending deeply. “But your gracious words are more to me than the pension. I shall now die content.”
“Talk not of dying,” cried Charles in a tone well calculated to cheer him. “I trust you will live long to guard my jewels. But is not that your daughter? Methinks, I remember her. Bid her come forward.”
The pretty coquette was prepared for the summons, and would, no doubt, have been sadly disappointed if she had not received it.
But her father looked confounded, and seeing that the old man was quite unequal to the occasion, Bellegarde flew to her aid, and led her towards the king.
Edith acquitted herself very well in the little ceremony that ensued, and made so graceful a reverence, that the Duchess of Portsmouth turned away in displeasure.
Bashfulness was not the pretty damsel’s foible, and though all eyes were upon her, she displayed no embarrassment. The compliments paid her by his majesty were far more agreeable to her than they were to the proud dame who overheard them; and the latter being determined to put a stop to the interview, signed to Bellegarde to take her away, and the count was forced to comply — but not before the amorous monarch had made the fair damsel comprehend that he was not insensible to her charms.
Blood did not venture to approach the king, fearing he might have incurred his displeasure; and the cold glance thrown at him by his majesty as he passed out of the garden, did not tend to reassure him.
As to Montalt, he had noticed the effect produced upon the king by Edith’s charms, and redoubled his attentions to the bewitching damsel.
END OF THE FOURTH BOOK
BOOK V: THE COURT AT WINDSOR CASTLE
CHAPTER I
HOW THE DUKE OF YORK HUNTED THE HART IN WINDSOR FOREST
About a week after the visit to the Mulberry Garden, their majesties and the court removed from Whitehall to Windsor Castle.
In this regal residence, which has not its peer in Europe, the entertainments given were on a more splendid scale than at Whitehall. Besides all the principal nobles connected with the court, the Duke and Duchess of York, with all their retinue, had been invited, so that the castle, vast as it is, was filled with guests.
To see the fair dames, arrayed in the richest and most becoming costumes, gathered together on the magnificent terraces, was a charming sight. To see them troop forth into the great park to fly the falcon, or to chase the deer, habited in their riding-dresses of green velvet, and attended by their cavaliers in their picturesque hunting costumes, was a yet more splendid spectacle.
Every day, the Duke of York, who delighted in the chase, and seemed indefatigable, hunted the stag in the forest, and all who shared his tastes attended him.
But there were others who liked hawking just as well as hunting — perhaps, preferred it; since that pleasant pastime was not so fatiguing, and did not separate them from the objects of their adoration — and these went with the king and the Duchess of Portsmouth.
Among the number was Talbot Harland. He was at all the hawking parties, and ever by the side of Dorinda. The Duchess of Portsmouth took a warm interest in his suit, and obtained a promise from the king that if the marriage could be arranged, he would give the fair damsel a handsome portion. This was communicated by the duchess to Dorinda, who said she would think seriously on the subject, and come to a speedy decision.
Since the court had been at Windsor Castle, Talbot had not been troubled about Florio. If he was there with the other pages, as was most probable, Talbot saw nothing of him, and Dorinda never mentioned him.
Of course, the Count de Bellegarde was at the castle. The most amusing person connected with the court could not be left out. Fond of active sport, and having no love affair on hand at the moment, the count hunted daily with the Duke of York, and appeared quite as insensible to fatigue as his royal highness himself. The hardest day’s work never tired him. He was full of vivacity at dinner, nor did his spirits flag in the evening.
But the chase seemed to have become an all-absorbing passion with him. He talked of nothing else; and, at last, his descriptions, though vivid, became monotonous. The Duke of York sang his praises, and declared he had never seen a Frenchman ride so boldly, or kill a stag so featly, as the Count de Bellegarde.
No wonder the count enjoyed the chase in Windsor Forest. Nowhere else could hunting be had in such perfection as in that incomparable deer-park — nowhere else could such noble harts be found — nowhere could finer woodland scenery be gazed upon — nowhere could lovelier glades or
smoother lawns be galloped over.
While hunting and hawking took place in the great park, revels were held in the castle. Every day the distinguished guests sat down to a grand banquet in St. George’s Hall; every night there was a ball.
Play went on as at Whitehall. Bellegarde was more frequently in the card-room than the ball-room. But since he
The Robbery of the Crown Jewels
His intention had been to beat the crown flat with the mallet, in order that he might carry it off with greater ease: but he was now seized with compunction, and stayed his impious hand. The magnificent diadem was, therefore, fortunately preserved from destruction.
While he was thus deliberating, the poor old custodian made desperate but unavailing efforts to free himself and groaned so dismally, that Blood, with a deep imprecation, threatened to brain him if he did not remain quiet. had taken with so much ardor to the chase, his customary good luck seemed to have deserted him. Whether he played at ombre or basset, he lost; and the Duke of Buckingham won a considerable sum from him at piquet.
Apropos of Buckingham, we may mention that his grace had not yet had an encounter with Claude Duval, though he declared he had given the rascal repeated opportunities of putting his threats into execution.
One night — it might be at the instigation of the Count de Bellegarde, who liked a little mischief — another attempt was made by Lady Muskerry to induce the duke to sing his famous ballad. He declined to gratify her.
“Excessively sorry to refuse your ladyship,” he said; “but I don’t mean to sing my ballad again till I can add the finishing couplet to it.”
“You will have to sing it to Claude Duval should you meet him,” observed Bellegarde, with a laugh. “Remember, we have a bet on the subject.”
“I have not forgotten it,” rejoined the duke. “But what can I do? I can’t go in search of the rascal, and he seems afraid to meet me.”
“It looks like it, I must own,” said Bellegarde. “But I begin to be of his majesty’s opinion, that the cartel came from Lady Muskerry.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 610