by Anthology
Rebecca had fixed her eyes at first with a fascinated stare on this mighty mass of building, penetrated by a chill of fear, although ignorant of its tragic significance. Turning after a minute or two from contemplation of that gloomy monument of tyrannical power, she gazed eagerly forward again, bent upon keeping sight of the man she was pursuing.
He and his boat had disappeared, but her disappointment was at once lost in admiring stupefaction as she gazed upon a magnificent craft bearing across the bows of her boat and coming from the direction of Westminster.
The hull, painted white, was ornamented with a bold arabesque of gilding which seemed to flow naturally in graceful lines from the garment of a golden image of Victory mounted high on the towering prow.
From the deck at the front and back rose two large cabins whose sides were all of brilliant glass set between narrow panels on which were paintings, which Rebecca could not clearly distinguish from where she was sitting.
At the waist, between and below the cabins, ten oars protruded from each side of the barge, flashing rhythmically as they swept forward together, seeming to sprinkle drops of sunlight into the river.
The splendor of this apparition, contrasting as it did with the small and somewhat dingy craft otherwise visible above the bridge, gave a new direction to Rebecca's thoughts and forced from her an almost involuntary exclamation.
"For the lands sakes!" she murmured. "Whoever in the world carries on in sech style's that!"
The waterman looked over his shoulder, and no sooner caught sight of the glittering barge than, with a powerful push of his oars, he backed water and brought his little boat to a stand.
"The Queen!" he exclaimed.
Rebecca glanced at the boatman with slightly raised brows.
"Thought you was deef an' dumb," she said. Then, turning once more to the still approaching barge, she continued: "An' so thet's Queen Victoria's ship, is it?"
"Victoria!" growled the waterman. "Ye seem as odd in speech as in dress, mistress. Who gave ye license to miscall our glorious sovereign?"
Rebecca's brows were knit in a thoughtful frown and she scarce knew what her companion said. The approach of the Queen suggested a new plan of action. She had heard of queens as all-powerful rulers, women whose commands would be obeyed at once and without question, in small and personal things as in matters of greater moment. Of Queen Victoria, too, some accounts had reached her, and all had been in confirmation of that ruler's justice and goodness of heart.
Rebecca's new plan was therefore to appeal at once to this benign sovereign for aid, entreat her to command the Burtons to release Phoebe and to order Copernicus Droop to carry both sisters back to their New England home. This course recommended itself strongly to the strictly honest Rebecca, because it eliminated at once all necessity for "humoring" Phoebe's madness, with its implied subterfuges and equivocations. The moment was propitious for making an attempt which could at least do no harm, she thought. She determined to carry out the plan which had occurred to her.
Standing up in the boat: "What's the Queen's last name?" she asked.
"Be seated, woman!" growled the waterman, who was growing uneasy at sight of the increasing eccentricity of his fare. "The Queen's name is Elizabeth, as well ye know," he concluded, more gently. He hoped to soothe the woman's frenzy by concessions.
"Now, mister," said Rebecca, severely, "don't you be sassy to me, fer I won't stand it. Of course, I don't want her first name--she ain't hired help. What's the Queen's family name--quick!"
The waterman, now convinced that his fare was a lunatic, could think of naught better than to use soothing tones and to reply promptly, however absurd her questions. "I' faith," he said, in a mild voice, "I' faith, mistress, her Gracious Majesty is of the line of Tudor. Methought----"
But he broke off in horror.
Waving her umbrella high above her head, Rebecca, still standing upright in the boat, was calling at the top of her voice:
"Hallo there! Mrs. Tudor! Stop the ship, will ye! I want to speak to Mrs. Tudor a minute!"
All nature seemed to shiver and shrink in silence at this enormous breach of etiquette--to use a mild term. Involuntarily the ten pairs of oars in the royal barge hung in mid-air, paralyzed by that sudden outrage. The great, glittering structure, impelled by momentum, glided forward directly under the bows of Rebecca's boat and not a hundred yards away.
Again Rebecca's cry was borne shrill and clear across the water.
"Hallo! Hallo there! Ain't Mrs. Tudor on the ship? I want to speak to her!" Then, turning to the stupefied and trembling waterman:
"Why don't you row, you? What's the matter, anyway? Don't ye see they've stopped to wait fer us?"
Someone spoke within the after cabin. The command was repeated in gruff tones by a man's voice, and the ten pairs of oars fell as one into the water and were held rigid to check the progress of the barge.
"Wherry, ahoy!" a hail came from the deck.
"Ay, ay, sir!" the waterman cried.
"Come alongside!"
"Ay, ay, sir!"
Pale and weak with dread, the boatman pulled as well as he could toward the splendid vessel ahead, while Rebecca resumed her seat, quite satisfied that all was as it should be.
A few strokes of the oars brought them to the barge's side, and Rebecca's waterman threw a rope to one of the crew.
A young man in uniform glowered down upon them, and to him the waterman turned, pulling off his cap and speaking with the utmost humility.
"The jade is moon-struck, your worship!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "I would not for a thousand pound----"
"Moon-struck!" snapped the lieutenant. "Who gave thee commission to ferry madmen, fellow?"
The poor waterman, at his wits' end, was about to reply when Rebecca interposed.
"Young man," she said, standing up, "I'll thank you to 'tend to business. Is Mrs. Victoria Tudor at home?"
At this moment a young gentleman, magnificently apparelled, stepped forth from the after cabin and approached the man in uniform.
"Lieutenant," he said, "her Majesty commands that the woman be brought before her in person. As for you," he continued, turning to the waterman, "return whence you came, and choose your fares better henceforth."
Two of the barge's crew extended each a hand to Rebecca.
"Bend onto that, Poll!" said one, grinning.
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Rebecca. "I never see sech impident help in all my born days! Ain't ye got any steps for a body to climb?"
A second gorgeously dressed attendant backed hastily out of the cabin.
"Look alive!" he said, peremptorily. "Her Majesty waxes impatient. Where is the woman?"
"Ay, ay, sir!" replied the sailors. "Here she be!"
They leaned far forward and, grasping the astonished Rebecca each by a shoulder, lifted her quickly over the rail.
The first gentleman messenger beckoned to her and started toward the cabin.
"Follow me!" he said, curtly.
Rebecca straightened her skirt and bonnet, shook her umbrella, and turned quietly to the rail, fumbling with the catch of her bag.
"I pity yer manners, young man!" she said, coldly. Then, with some dismay:
"Here you, mister, don't ye want yer money?"
But the waterman, only too glad to escape at all from being involved in her fate, was pulling back to the northern shore as fast as his boat would go.
"Suit yourself," said Rebecca, simply. "Saves me a dime, I guess."
Turning then to the impatient gentleman waiting at the door:
"Guess you're one o' the family, ain't ye? Is your ma in, young man?"
Fortunately her full meaning was not comprehended, and the person addressed contented himself with drawing aside the heavy curtain of cloth of gold and motioning to Rebecca to precede him.
She nodded graciously and passed into the cabin.
"That's better," she said, with an ingratiating smile. "Good manners never did a mite o' harm, did they?"
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Before following her, the messenger turned again to the young lieutenant.
"Give way!" he said.
At once the sweeps fell together, and the great barge resumed its course down the river.
As Rebecca entered the glass and gold enclosure, she was at first quite dazzled by the crowd of gorgeously arrayed courtiers who stood in two compact groups on either side of her. Young and old alike, all these men of the sword and cloak seemed vying one with another for precedence in magnificence and foppery. The rarest silks of every hue peeped forth through slashed velvets and satins whose rustling masses bedecked men of every age and figure. Painted faces and ringed ears everywhere topped snowy ruffles deep and wide, while in every hand, scented gloves, fans, or like toys amused the idle fingers.
In the background Rebecca was only vaguely conscious of a group of ladies in dresses of comparatively sober pattern and color; but seated upon a luxurious cushioned bench just in front of the others, one of her sex struck Rebecca at once as the very centre and climax of the magnificence that surrounded her.
Here sat Elizabeth, the vain, proud, tempestuous daughter of "bluff King Hal." Already an old woman, she yet affected the dress and carriage of young maidenhood, possessing unimpaired the vanity of a youthful beauty, and, despite her growing ugliness, commanding the gallant attentions that gratified and supported that vanity.
Her face, somewhat long and thin, was carefully painted, but not so successfully as to hide the many wrinkles traced there by her sixty-five years. Her few blackened teeth and her false red hair seemed to be mocked by the transcendent lustre of the rich pearl pendants in her ears. Her thin lips, hooked nose, and small black eyes betokened suppressed anger as she glared upon her admiring visitor; but, far from being alarmed by the Queen's expression, Rebecca was only divided between her admiration of her magnificent apparel and blushing uneasiness at sight of the frankly uncovered bosom which Elizabeth exhibited by right of her spinsterhood. Rebecca remembered ever afterward how she wished that "all those men" would sink through the floor of the cabin.
The Queen was at first both angry at the unheard-of language Rebecca had used, and curious to see what manner of woman dared so to express herself. But now that she set eyes upon the outlandish garb of her prisoner, her curiosity grew at the expense of her wrath, and she sat silent for some time while her little black eyes sought to explore the inmost depths of Rebecca's mind.
Rebecca, for her part, was quite unconscious of having infringed any of the rules of courtly etiquette, and, without expressing her belief in her complete social equality with the Queen or anyone else present, was so entirely convinced of this equality that she would have deemed a statement of it ridiculously superfluous.
For a few moments she stood in the middle of the open space immediately before the Queen, partly dazed and bewildered into silence, partly expectant of some remark from her hostess.
At length, observing the grimly rigid aspect of the silent Queen, Rebecca straightened herself primly and remarked, with her most formal air: "I s'pose you are the Queen, ma'am. You seem to be havin' a little party jest now. I hope I'm not intruding but to tell ye the truth, Mrs. Tudor, I've got into a pretty pickle and I want to ask a little favor of you."
She looked about to right and left as though in search of something.
"Don't seem to be any chairs around, only yours," she continued. Then, with a quick gesture of the hand: "No, don't get up. Set right still now. One o' your friends here can get me a chair, I guess," and she looked very meaningly into the face of a foppish young courtier who stood near her, twisting his thin yellow beard.
At this moment the rising wonder of the Queen reached a climax, and she burst into speech with characteristic emphasis.
"What the good jere!" she cried. "Hath some far planet sent us a messenger. The dame is loyal in all her fantasy. Say, my Lord of Nottingham, hath the woman a frenzy, think you?"
The gentleman addressed stood near the Queen and was conspicuous for his noble air. His prominent gray eyes under rounded brows lighted up a long, oval face surmounted by a high, bald forehead. The long nose was aquiline, and the generous, full-lipped mouth was only half hidden by a neatly trimmed full blond beard. Rebecca noticed his dress particularly as he stepped forward at the Queen's summons, and marvelled at the two doublets and heavy cape coat over which hung a massive gold chain supporting the brilliant star of some order. She wondered how he could breathe with that stiff ruff close up under his chin and inclined downward from back to front.
Dropping on one knee, Nottingham began his reply to the Queen's inquiry, though ere he finished his sentence he rose to his feet again at a gracious sign from his royal mistress.
"May it please your Majesty," he said, "I would humbly crave leave to remove the prisoner from a presence she hath nor wit nor will to reverence. Judicial inquiry, in form appointed, may better determine than my poor judgment whether she be mad or bewitched."
This solemn questioning of her sanity produced in Rebecca's mind a teasing compound of wrath and uneasiness. These people seemed to find something fundamentally irregular in her behavior. What could it be? The situation was intolerable, and she set to work in her straightforward, energetic way to bring it to an end.
Stepping briskly up to the astonished Earl of Nottingham, she planted herself firmly before him, turning her back upon Elizabeth.
"Now look a-here, Mr. Nottingham," she said, severely, "I'd like to know what in the world you see that's queer about me or my ways. What's the matter, anyway? I came here to make a quiet call on that lady," here she pointed at the Queen with her umbrella, "and instead of anybody bringin' a chair, or sayin' 'How d'ye do,' the whole raft of ye hev done nothin' but stare or call me loony. I s'pose you're mad because I've interrupted your party, but didn't that man there invite me in? Ef you're all so dreadful particler, I'll jest get out o' here till Mrs. Tudor can see me private. I'll set outside, ef I can find a chair."
With an air of offended dignity she stalked toward the door, but turned ere she had gone ten steps and continued, addressing the assembled company collectively:
"As fer bein' loony, I can tell you this. Ef you was where I come from in America, they'd say every blessed one of ye was crazy as a hen with her head off."
"America!" exclaimed the Queen, as a new thought struck her. "America! Tell me, dame, come you from the New World?"
"That's what it's sometimes called in the geographies," Rebecca stiffly replied. "I come from Peltonville, New Hampshire, myself. Perhaps I'd ought to introduce myself. My name's Rebecca Wise, daughter of Wilmot and Nancy Wise, both deceased."
She concluded her sentence with more of graciousness than she had shown in the beginning, and the Queen, now fully convinced of the innocent sincerity of her visitor, showed a countenance of half-amused, half-eager interest.
"Why, Sir Walter," she cried, "this cometh within your province, methinks. If that this good woman be an American, you should be best able to parley with her and learn her will."
A dark-haired, stern-visaged man of middle height, dressed less extravagantly than his fellows, acknowledged this address by advancing and bending one knee to the deck. Here was no longer the gay young courtier who so gallantly spoiled a handsome cloak to save his sovereign's shoes, but the Raleigh who had fought a hundred battles for the same mistress and had tasted the bitterness of her jealous cruelty in reward.
There was in his pose and manner, however, much of that old grace which had first endeared him to Elizabeth, and even now served to fix her fickle favor.
"Most fair and gracious Majesty," he said in a low, well-modulated voice, turning upward a seeming fascinated eye, "what Walter Raleigh hath learned of any special knowledge his sovereign hath taught him, and all that he is is hers of right."
"'Tis well, my good knight," said Elizabeth, beckoning with her slender finger that he might rise. "We know your true devotion and require now this service, that you question this stranger in her own tongue concer
ning her errand here and her quality and estate at home."
As Raleigh rose and advanced toward Rebecca, without turning away from the Queen, the half-bewildered American brought the end of her umbrella sharply down upon the floor with a gesture of impatience.
"What everlastin' play-actin' ways!" she snapped. Then, addressing Sir Walter: "Say, Mr. Walter," she continued, "ef you can't walk only sideways, you needn't trouble to travel clear over here to me. I'll come to you."
Suiting the action to the word, Rebecca stepped briskly forward until she stood in front of the rather crestfallen courtier.
He rallied promptly, however, and marshalling by an effort all he could remember of the language of the red man, he addressed the astonished Rebecca in that tongue.
"What's that?" she said.
Again Sir Walter poured forth an unintelligible torrent of syllables which completed Rebecca's disgust.
With a pitying smile, she folded her hands across her stomach.
"Who's loony now?" she said, quietly.
Raleigh gazed helplessly from Rebecca to the Queen and back again from the Queen to Rebecca.
Elizabeth, who had but imperfectly heard what had passed between the two, leaned forward impatiently.
"What says she, Raleigh?" she demanded. "Doth she give a good account?"
"Good my liege," said Raleigh, with a despairing gesture, "an the dame be from America, her tribe and race must needs be a distant one, placed remote from the coast. The natives of the Floridas----"
"Florida!" exclaimed Rebecca. "What you talkin' about, anyway? That's away down South. I come from New Hampshire, I tell you."
"Know you that region, Raleigh?" said the Queen, anxiously.
Raleigh shook his head with a thoughtful expression.
"Nay, your Majesty," he replied. "And if I might venture to hint my doubts--" He paused.
"Well, go on, man--go on!" said the Queen, impatiently.
"I would observe that the name is an English one, and 'tis scarce credible that in America, where our tongue is unknown, any region can be named for an English county."