In the Power of Sir Claudius
'I will never marry you! Never! I would rather die!' I cried
passionately.
Sir Claudius laughed in a very insolent manner. We were talking in
the big, bare drawing-room of his great hall, near Chichester, where
his two sisters had been keeping guard over me ever since I arrived
the day before.
When I came out of my swoon it was to find myself being carried on a
roughly extemporized litter, and then, in a cart which jolted
horribly. I was so sick and ill I scarcely cared what was happening
to me, but, by and bye, anxiety for my lover's safety caused me to
ask the man who drove the cart and sat sideways on the cart-shafts,
if Sir Hubert Blair was also a prisoner. For some time the man did
not answer, but after a while said, 'Yes.' That was all the
information I could extract, and it made me exceedingly uneasy. The
country was in a very lawless, unsettled state; the attention of all
the upper classes being concentrated on the Government and the Royal
family. While it was being settled who should reign over England
there was scanty attention paid to the doings of such rascals as Sir
Claudius Crossley, who, under the mask of a knighthood which he
violated, roved over the country to spoil and ravage it for his own
aggrandizement. Upon our arriving at Crossley Hall, Sir Claudius
himself came forward and personally handed me over to his sisters,
with the sneering remark that they were to see to it that I did not
escape. The women were hard-featured and angular. They resembled
their brother in appearance and character, and obeyed him so well
that I was not left a moment unattended; and, lest I should escape
whilst they slept, even the bedroom door was locked and the key kept
under the pillow of the one who was _pro tem._ my jailer. When I had
recovered from my sickness and was able to get up and dress, they
took me into the big barn-like apartment they called the drawing-room
that their brother might come to me. When he entered, they withdrew
to a distant window, whilst he, immediately and without any
preparation, began to assure me of his undying love, and to promise
me my freedom if I would marry him.
It was a strange wooing, and I was so greatly indignant that I
refused him with more haste than politeness, declaring that death
itself would be preferable to living as his wife.
This made him angry, and in anger he was even more detestable than
before; his frown being so terrible that I believed, in spite of his
so-called love, he could almost have laid his hands upon me to wreak
a fearful vengeance.
However he merely said--
''Tis a pity that you cannot love me, Mistress Brown,' and, taking a
chair near me, endeavoured to grasp my hand, which I held back.
'For, let me tell you,' he continued, 'great harm will be done to an
unlucky friend of yours unless you do.'
'Is this a threat?' I asked haughtily, showing no sign of fear,
although my heart was beating quickly and wordlessly, and with
exceeding earnestness a prayer for help and succour ascended from it.
'Call it what you please,' answered he, with a gesture of
irritability. 'I tell you that if you will not marry me, your
precious lover, Sir Hubert Blair--you start! Had you forgotten that
we took him prisoner, too?--Sir Hubert Blair, I repeat, shall die?'
'How can you say that?' cried I. 'You have no right to kill him.'
And with that I began trembling so violently as to shake the chair in
which I was sitting.
He perceived it, and drew nearer.
'Sir Hubert is in my power,' he said, in low, meaning tones. 'He is
in fact a prisoner in this house, even now lying in our dungeon.
For, let me tell you, we have a dungeon down amongst the cellars.
Aye, and a gallows, too, in the inner yard. If I hold up my hand,
so----' he made a gesture, 'my men will bear him to the gallows,
where he will die.'
I interrupted him with a cry of terror-stricken anguish.
'You can save him,' he said quickly. 'You have it in your power to
save him. Dear Margaret,' and again he endeavoured to take my hand,
whilst a fawning, obsequious tone succeeded the fiercer one, 'you,
and no one else, can prevent his terrible fate.'
'How? How can I prevent it?' and I looked up appealingly into the
hardest and most cruel face it has ever been my lot to encounter.
Sir Claudius took my hand, my most unwilling hand, in his, pressing
it tenderly.
'My dear, I love you,' he said. 'Nay, don't wince, for in that fact
lies the man's salvation. If you will try ever so little to return
my love, if you will promise to marry me, Sir Hubert shall live.
Nay, more, upon the day on which we are married he shall be
liberated.'
'Oh, but I cannot! I cannot marry you!' I sobbed distractedly. 'I
cannot!'
An ugly look came into his face.
'Sir Hubert will hang on our gallows to-morrow morning,' said he,
slowly.
'No! no!' I cried. 'You dare not do such a thing! The law----'
'Has no power against me here, in this lonely country, amongst my
servants and dependents,' he interrupted. 'The officers of the law
will have their eyes directed towards Queen Mary, and that other
foolish young woman, who aped----'
'Do not speak about Queen Jane in that way!' exclaimed I. 'Unless,'
I added, 'you mean me to hate you even more than I do.'
'I shall speak as I please,' he muttered sulkily, 'What I mean to
tell you is this. Out here in my own country, at this time when all
the fighting-men are otherwise engaged, I can do almost what I like,
and if I choose that Sir Hubert shall die, he shall.'
The horrible conviction came upon me as he spoke, that it was true;
in the then distracted state of England, even a big crime, such as
murdering Sir Hubert, could be done by a powerful miscreant like Sir
Claudius, with impunity.
Still in desperation I cried out--
'You dare not! You dare not!'
'I dare,' he returned, 'for, look you, if he appealed to the law, I
could but turn him over to the law, accusing him as I did so of high
treason. They would behead him then, sure enough. Yes, I say, they
would behead him.'
'No! no! no!' I cried.
'But I repeat, they would,' he said. 'The penalty of high treason is
execution----'
'Oh, what must he do? How can he be saved?' wailed I, for it seemed
to me my beloved, between the villainy of Sir Claudius and the
vengeance of Queen Mary's adherents, was like one between Scylla and
Charybdis, bound to perish in any case.
'He ought to have a friend,' said the wily voice of Sir Claudius, 'a
friend who would set him free and counsel him to quit the country,
and procure him a secret passage to Holland----'
'Will you do it?' I interrupted, falling upon my knees before him.
'You say you love me. Then do this thing for me. I will believe
you, if you will do it for me,' I went on, beseechingly. 'Set Sir
Hubert free, let him leave the country, get him across to Holland,
and I will----' I paused. I was going to say, 'esteem you highly and
pray for you all my life,' but recognized that would not content him,
that indeed he would not care for that.
'You will what?' he asked sharply.
'I will----' again I paused. He would not be content with that which
I would promise.
'I will do it on one condition,' he said, 'and only one.'
'And that is?'
But I knew, and my heart almost ceased beating, whilst a giddiness to
which I was never subject made my head swim.
When I could understand him again, he was telling me that if I would
promise to marry him he would do all that I wished for Sir Hubert,
and more, he would guarantee his safety until he reached Holland,
and, if needs be, would personally conduct him to a port from which
he could sail.
'But, be generous,' besought I, 'do all that without the heavy price
being paid that you have named.'
'Heavy?'
He frowned.
'Yes. Most heavy. I cannot pay it! I cannot! But be generous,' I
pleaded, 'be generous!'
Sir Claudius, seeing me so exceedingly concerned about his rival,
fell into an awful rage.
'Generous!' cried he. 'Not I. It is for you to be generous to
me--and to him. For I swear unless you promise to marry me--unless I
have your promise before night, he shall hang to-morrow morning.'
And with that he went out, slamming the door behind him.
I fell back in my chair, weeping bitterly.
Was ever a more hideous snare laid for a poor girl? I thought with
horror of the woes and threatened death of my dear knight. I
imagined I saw him lying in the dungeon of which Sir Claudius had
been speaking. How very hard was his fate! Not a prisoner of war,
he had simply been kidnapped by brigands, as a girl, or a child might
have been! Six to one, they had overcome him by sheer physical
strength. And he had the misery of knowing that I also was a captive
in their power. How he would chafe at the confinement which kept him
from my side! What would be his feelings when his jailer told him
that he must prepare to die upon the morrow? And on the gallows,
too! Despair would be his portion, horror and despair.
And I might save him. It was in my power, by submitting to my
imperious captor and promising to marry him, to save my own beloved
from a truly awful death. I could do it, and no one else. And it
did not so much matter what happened to me, if his precious life was
saved. If he died I should be miserable, wherever I was; if he lived
I should have the consolation of knowing that, to lighten my own dark
lot.
I was in poor health, my spirits depressed and my soul sickened by my
captivity and the knowledge that my absence would afflict my dear
mistress and make her very anxious. No one was at hand to advise
me--no one but Sir Claudius' sisters, and I could not consult them.
What was I to do? 'Sacrifice myself,' answered my heart, 'sacrifice
myself for him I love.'
Sir Claudius did not leave me long to think it over.
'I must press for an answer now, immediately,' he said, returning.
'Oh, but please wait a little,' said I, tearfully. 'I cannot answer
you now, not just now,' I pleaded. 'Give me a little time. Give me
at least until the evening.'
'No, you must promise now,' said he imperiously.
'But--but----'
I sobbed, putting up both my hands to my face, like a child, and
crying as if my heart would break.
'Now, or never? It is the only chance you can have of saving Sir
Hubert Blair's life. And, look you, Madam, if you do not----'
leaning forward he whispered that the gallows was waiting for its
prey.
I shrank back. My heart felt frozen. I laughed with bitter
recklessness. Thus talked he who said he loved me!
I wrung my hands.
'Why was I born?' I lamented. 'And why did my father send me away
from home?'
'Do you consent, madam?' demanded the ruffian who had me in his power.
I started violently. The outlook was appalling.
'May I see Sir Hubert Blair once? Just once, that I may take my
leave of him?' I asked beseechingly.
'No, no. That is too much to ask.'
'But, unless I see him I cannot consent,' I said, temporizing. 'You
see,' a little hope came into my heart, 'I am not sure whether you
are speaking the truth about him, or not. He was certainly in a
desperate state--one against six--when I saw him last, but he is
tremendously strong and he had his sword, therefore he may have
escaped.'
'I tell you we took him prisoner with you.'
'Unless I see him, I cannot believe he is a prisoner here,' I
persisted.
'Ho! So you doubt me?'
'Yes.' I bowed my head. 'I doubt you altogether.'
'And you do not think Sir Hubert is here?'
'I do not know. I do not know anything. Allow me to see him--allow
me only to see him for one minute--and then, then, if I see him here,
in your power, and if you will vow that you will not only liberate
him but also send him safely across to Holland, I will consent to do
as you wish.'
'To marry me.'
'Yes.'
Sir Claudius looked hideously triumphant.
'It won't be such a bad bargain,' he said, leering at me.
I shuddered. But then, next instant, derived hope from the
reflection that if he could not show me Sir Hubert Blair it would be
because he lied in saying Sir Hubert was a prisoner in his dungeon,
moreover I should then be free from my promise.
This hope was dashed, however, by Sir Claudius saying--
'Very well. You shall see Sir Hubert--not to speak to, mind--but you
shall see him. I will go now, and return for you in half an hour.
Will that satisfy you?'
'Yes.'
He left the room, closing the door roughly after him, as was his wont.
His sisters, who had been listening all the time, and must have heard
every word he said, for his voice was loud and harsh, came forward,
asking,--
'What? Is he going to show you the secret dungeon?'
I made no answer. Perhaps I could not at that moment, for thoughts
of agony and fear were surging through my mind. My dread was
terrible; it obscured all things, including my faith in my Heavenly
Father's care.
'He must have you entirely in his power, or he must trust you
completely,' said the women.
I made no rejoinder, and they, looking at me askance, withdrew again
to a little distance, and began a low-toned conversation.
I was left to myself. And my thoughts were bitter.