THE MAID OF HONOUR'S STORY.
'Robin, I'm quite sure now that Uncle Algernon is writing a book
about Bluecoat and Lady Greensleeves,' whispered Silvia, as they
walked away from the dressing-room. 'Didn't you notice how he got up
at once, and looked at a paper in his desk, just when he was in the
middle of the story?'
'Well, I wish he would write a little more about Blue-coat, then,'
observed Robin with a sigh. 'I liked it so very much.'
'Well,' said Silvia meditatively, 'I am not quite sure whether Lady
Greensleeves' story wasn't the nicest; only I wanted to hear some
more about Henrietta.' But oh! Robin, don't you want to know about
Frances and Algernon when they were grown up, and how they met again,
and whether they liked one another?'
'I'll tell you what, Silvia. We'll go back to-morrow, and ask Uncle
Algernon whether he knows any more of their stories. I daresay he
does, though he didn't say so.'
And accordingly, the next afternoon, Uncle Algernon once more heard a
tap at the door of his dressing-room; and this time, when Silvia and
Robin put their heads in, he was discovered standing before two
portraits, which had been missing all that day from the staircase
wall. One of these, labelled 'Frances Countess of Desmond, ætat 24,'
was a stately dame, in the dress worn by the ladies of William and
Mary's time--stiff and long-waisted, cut low in the neck, and with
sleeves reaching to the elbow. But, despite the difference in dress
and age, the wavy dark hair, the brilliant complexion, and the arch
grey eyes could not be mistaken. Fourteen years had made very little
change in Lady Greensleeves. The same, however, could not be said
for poor Blue-coat. The bright sturdy boy that Kneller had painted
bore scarcely any resemblance to the grave Lord Desmond of
twenty-eight. His once round, rosy face was thin and brown, and his
curly auburn locks were exchanged for a black periwig.
'Can you really be Blue-coat?' Robin could not help saying, after
staring for some while at him in silence.
'Blue-coat grown up,' Uncle Algernon answered, smiling; 'and a good
deal changed, but not for the better, eh, Robin? Well! so you want
to hear his history now, I suppose?'
'Oh yes, uncle, please; and Lady Greensleeves grown-up story too.
You know you have heard them,' pleaded Silvia, trying to pull him
into the big leather chair. 'I am quite sure they told them both to
you last night.'
'Yes,' added Robin. 'And you are going away to-morrow; and then you
will be off to Egypt, and nobody knows when you will come back. So
if you don't tell them, we shall never hear them at all.'
'Unless you leave the goloshes of Fortune behind you,' suggested
Silvia mischievously.
'Ah! hem! You see, I'm afraid they would fit no one but myself,'
Uncle Algernon answered, with a twinkle in his grey eyes. 'But, as
you say, Robin, this is my last day here, and these stories are not
quite so long as the others, so we will see what can be done.'
And after Robin and Silvia had waited for a moment in breathless
silence, Uncle Algernon cleared his throat, and began as follows:--
'I am not going to tell you all about my life, from the time I was
carried out of Taunton jail until I was what you call "grown up." I
shall take up my story at the time when I was maid of honour to Queen
Mary the Second, and pass over, in the very briefest way, all the
events which took place before that period. I must, however, explain
how it came to pass that I attained such a dignity. My father had
left England soon after the failure of Monmouth's Rebellion, and then
joined heart and soul with the party of the Prince of Orange, and had
rendered him such services, that when, a year and a half afterwards,
William and Mary were proclaimed King and Queen of Great Britain, my
father returned to England in their train, one of the most
distinguished of their courtiers. Sir Bernard Dalrymple had played
his cards well, everybody said; and if some of his friends whispered
a suspicion that his attachment to the new sovereign was not entirely
disinterested, his wife and children remembered simply that his
influence had been exerted in the cause of English liberty and good
government, and could join with all their hearts in the Church's
yearly thanksgiving for "the deliverance of their nation from Popish
tyranny and arbitrary power." And thus it was that, Sir Bernard
continuing in high favour at Court, his daughter, as soon as she was
old enough, was appointed one of the Queen's maids of honour, and so
took the first step towards obtaining that splendid position which
had been prophesied for her years before. Poor Sir Harry Mountfort!
I hope my added years and mamma's teaching had somewhat increased my
wisdom since the days when his flatteries had turned my head; but I
confess I could not help thinking of his words with a slight feeling
of satisfaction, when the news of my promotion was first announced to
me. I am afraid that, like a silly girl as I was, the peaceful
regularity of life at Horsemandown did not satisfy me so entirely as
to prevent an occasional wish for something more exciting. What was
the use of being Countess Desmond, if one was to be always shut up in
the country? Why should I trouble myself to learn so many
accomplishments, if I had no one to dance with but Oliver? no one to
praise my singing but the old vicar of the parish (who, truth to
tell, was too deaf to hear a note)? and where was the pleasure of
being married, if one never by any chance saw or heard of one's
husband? It was not often, however, that I was troubled with such
discontented thoughts as these. During the years that had passed
swiftly and happily away since that dreadful time at Taunton, I had
learned to think of it as a sort of bad dream, so confused with the
delirium of fever, that I could scarcely separate what was real from
what was fanciful, when I tried to recollect all that had happened in
the jail; and my remembrance of the Earl of Desmond was almost as
hazy. I knew that he had obtained my freedom, and thereby saved my
life; for I should surely have died in the fever but for home care
and nursing, and I was grateful accordingly; but he never came to see
us, and when I asked the reason, I was told that Sir Harry Mountfort
(who had followed the fortunes of King James, and had taken his ward
with him into France) wished our marriage to be broken off. My
father's poverty was one reason for this; and another was Sir Harry's
strong desire that Algernon should embrace the Roman Catholic faith,
as he himself had done. I never knew exactly how the breaking off
was to be managed; and though, I suppose, I was sorry, I took as a
far more personal matter the loss of our riches, when there was a
talk of selling Hebe and the other horses, and would have given up my
rank and state with the greatest pleasure, if by doing so I could
have kept my pretty pony. But I am forgetting my own rule, and
talking too much about things which happened long before I entered
upon my duties as a Court lady. My father's difficulties had ceased
by that time, Hebe was my own again, and I was the Countess Desmond
still, chiefly because Algernon had refused to forsake his father's
faith; and it was not so easy to declare our marriage illegal whilst
we both remained members of the Church of England. Sir Harry
Mountfort was dead, and his ward of age; but Earl Desmond had not yet
come to claim his bride. No; at the time when the said bride, in a
flutter of shyness and delight, was making her final preparations for
her presentation to Queen Mary, her husband was a banished man, his
lands confiscated, and his life, if he returned to England, in
danger. Algernon had fought on the Jacobite side in the battle of
the Boyne, had served Louis the Fourteenth in the Irish Legion
afterwards, had joined in one of the numerous conspiracies to place
King James again on the English throne, and, finally, had brought on
himself the dire displeasure of the Government by skilfully effecting
the escape of an important adherent of King James from the Tower,
where he lay under sentence of death for high treason. It was my
father's turn now to declare that Lord Desmond was no fit match for
his daughter; and he made the declaration very often, and utterly
refused to listen when Oliver suggested that he might use his
influence with the Government to get Algernon's sentence of
banishment reversed, and at least some of his estates restored to him.
'"What would be the use," said Sir Bernard, "of risking the chance of
doing myself an injury, when I feel that I have not sufficient power
to be of the slightest service to Algernon? No; the greatest
kindness to the unhappy boy would be to make an agreement with him to
set his marriage aside, which could easily be done, now that he and
Frances are both of age. The law requires nothing but the consent of
both parties, which, I imagine, would be very easily obtained, and
then I would pay over to him the dowry he was formerly to have
received with his bride, and leave him free to choose a wife for
himself among the ladies at the French Court."
'"If he can find one generous enough to follow his fallen fortunes,"
muttered Oliver; adding aloud, "And what is to become of her little
Ladyship? Surely it is rather hard for her to come down from her
pedestal, and be plain Mistress Frances Dalrymple once more!"
'"How long do you suppose she will remain Mistress Frances
Dalrymple?" asked my father, with his grave, set smile. "Rely upon
me to study what is best for my daughter's happiness, sir, and find
some better employment than that of dictating to your elders what
course of action is best for them to pursue."
'I was not present during this conversation, but Oliver told me all
about it afterwards, and how completely he had failed in his attempt
in Algernon's favour.
'"Perhaps you might have persuaded my father better, Frances," he
said, "but you would not come forward. You might have a chance even
now if you had the courage, for I am sure that, if he would, he could
help Algernon; but I begin to doubt whether you are very anxious to
help him, after all."
'I shook my head doubtfully at the idea of my appealing to Sir
Bernard.
'"You want," continued Oliver, "to turn the heads of all the Court
gallants before you bestow your foolish little heart upon anybody.
Is that it? I have no patience with you. But women are all alike!"
'"Oh, Oliver," I cried, colouring crimson at such an accusation,
"it's not that." But Oliver was vexed, and would not listen to my
hesitating attempt at an explanation, and marched indignantly out of
the room, slamming the door behind him.
'"Oh, what dolts men are sometimes!" said I to myself, with an
impatient little stamp of my foot on the ground. "Why can't he
understand that Earl Desmond would most likely far rather have my
dowry, and be rid of me altogether? Why, he has never seen me since
I was a little girl, and I do not think I made a great impression on
him then." I laughed as I remembered the conversation we had had on
our wedding day, and my confident assurances to my bridegroom that we
could not be unmarried again if we wished it ever so much.
"Supposing he does wish it," I thought, "if I could persuade my
father to intercede for him, and he should get back his estates
through our means, he would feel bound to take me along with them,
out of gratitude to the family. I could not bear that." But after
all he was my husband. He had saved my life, and I ought, in common
gratitude, to do something to help him now he was poor and
friendless. Oliver said I ought. I wondered what it would be right
to do; and the tears started to my eyes, as the thought of how mamma
would have counselled me, and made everything clear and plain to my
understanding, rose to my mind. Alas! I could no longer go to her
with every trouble or pleasure. In the way that lay before me, I
must learn to guide my own steps aright, and to follow as well as I
could the course she would have approved, while knowing all the time
that I should never hear her voice in praise or blame again. It was
now two years since we had lost her, and home had never seemed like
home since. It was more lonely for me than for any of the others;
for Miles was at Oxford, Roger at Eton, and Oliver, my chief friend
and companion, had received his commission, and was burning to join
the army in Flanders, and share in the honours our troops were
winning there. With him away, my life at Horsemandown would be
desolate indeed; and so I think there was some excuse for me if my
head was a little turned by the change in my prospects. "After all,"
said I, drying my eyes as my meditations came to an end, "it is of no
use thinking about it. Oliver thinks, because my father is so gentle
and kind to me, that I have more power with him than he has; but I
know quite well that nothing I could say in Algernon's favour would
make any difference when he has once made up his mind. If my Lord
Desmond wanted his wife, he should not have mixed himself up with
those wicked conspiracies against our good King. 'Tis his own doing
if he never sees my face again; and if he prefers my dowry to me, he
is most welcome to it, as far as I am concerned." But as I ran
up-stairs to inspect the preparations for my journey to London, I
found myself wondering whether the French ladies were very
beautiful--fairer than that face I caught a glimpse of as I passed a
mirror in the withdrawing-room--and whether, if Lord Desmond was to
see me---- But here I stopped, with a laugh at my own vanity; and
having by this time arrived at my chamber door, I succeeded, by a
violent effort, in banishing him from my mind, and was able to give
undivided attention to the important question of the trimming of my
shaded lutestring gown. Should the ruffles be of Flanders or guipure
lace? and what colour should I choose for the bows of my new cornette
cap?
* * * * *
'Queen Mary's Court was not considered a gay one by those who
remembered Whitehall during the last reign; but to me, who had never
seen any town larger than Taunton, the life of a maid of honour
seemed a whirl of gaiety. State balls, receptions, visits to the
play-houses, and attendance on Her Majesty whenever she went into
public! All these I enjoyed extremely. Even to learn the various
little ceremonial observances which my position required was amusing
enough at first. The Queen, my mistress, was gentle and kind; and
having got over my first alarm at her exceedingly dignified manner, I
became, like most of her ladies, very heartily fond of her. Even
when Whitehall was deserted for the comparative quiet of Hampton
Court, I was not dull. The loss of the theatres and the Mall was
more than compensated for by the purer air, the greater freedom from
restraint, and the merry hunting and hawking parties which were
carried on when the season permitted. I had plenty of employment,
companions of my own age, and more compliments and admiration than I
had ever received in my life before. No wonder the thought of
Algernon faded more and more out of my mind now there was no Oliver
to talk about and pity him. I never even heard myself called by his
name. It was not a popular one at that Court, and my father had
ordained that I should be received there as his daughter, not as the
wife of an exiled Jacobite. To all intents and purposes I was free,
and might, if I chose, carry on as many love affairs as Lady Beatrice
Falkland herself, the fairest and most coquettish of all her
Majesty's waiting-women.
'But I see you think I am telling a very dull, long, rambling story,
so I will not trouble you with a minute description of our way of
life at Hampton Court. You would not care to hear how many hours I
and my companions spent every morning working the life of Moses in
tent-stitch, under the direction of the Queen herself; and you would
be more shocked than interested to be told of the amount of time and
money we wasted every evening at the card-tables, absorbed in the
fascination of Ombre, Basset, or Spadille. I will pass on at once to
an event which was very interesting to me, and which I hope,
therefore, will prove so to you.
'One day, about six months after my arrival at the Palace, I was
sitting in my own chamber in a very melancholy frame of mind. News
had been received that morning of a great victory gained over the
French in Flanders. Great were the rejoicings of the Court in
consequence; but the messenger who had brought the tidings, and who
had quite a budget of letters from absent husbands and brothers to
their relations in the Palace, had none for me. I was just making up
my mind that Oliver was either badly wounded or killed outright--for
I knew his company had been engaged several times--when a tap at the
door aroused me from my dismal conjectures, and Lady Beatrice
Falkland, without waiting for permission, tripped into the room.
'"Your pardon, Mistress Frances, for my want of ceremony," she said;
"but I knew you would fret about your brother till you brought on a
fit of the vapours, if you were left alone, love, so I made bold to
storm your fortress, and come in. Why, child, you are not the only
one who has had no news. Do you suppose officers have nothing else
to do the instant a battle is over but sit down and write long
letters home? I have not had a line from my father since he landed
at the Hague; but I am not going to cry my eyes out, and imagine all
kinds of disasters, just because of that. I'll wager all my winnings
last night that Mr. Dalrymple is alive and merry at this present
moment. So cheer up, my dear, and listen to me; I've something very
important to tell you."
'Lady Beatrice was so good-natured and light-hearted herself, that
she raised one's spirits whether one would or no. I forgot my worst
fears while listening to her cheerful voice, and was able, by the
time she had finished speaking, to smile and ask, with some show of
interest, what the very important matter was.
'"Important to you, I suppose you mean, Beatrice? I don't feel as if
anything was of much importance to me now, except news of Oliver, and
that I know you cannot have got."
'"You don't know anything of the sort, my dear," replied her Ladyship
mischievously. "Perhaps I have, and perhaps I have not. There,
don't look so wild. You shan't hear the story at all unless you let
me tell it in my own way."
'I leant back in my chair, sighing impatiently; and Lady Beatrice
went on:
'"You know that yesterday the Lady Derby, one or two others, and
myself, went up to London to see the merry-making at St. James's
Fair. My Lord Chamberlain escorted us, and as he was the only
gentleman, he nearly ruined himself in buying fairings for us all.
Oh! we had the merriest day, I assure you, I ever spent. I wish you
had been there. However, if you had, I should not have met with the
little adventure I am about to relate to you. It would have fallen
to your share. Ah, you have no idea of what you missed! I must show
you the shoe-buckles; they are of a new design, and very elegant.
But to return to the stranger gallant I was talking about."
'"Why, Beatrice, how you run on! You have not got to any gallant at
all, except the Lord Chamberlain."
'"Had I not? Well, listen then. As we got out of our coach at St.
James's Gate, I dropped my kerchief. I turned back to look for it,
and so was one minute behind the others. The Lord Chamberlain was so
busy protecting the ladies through the crowd that he never missed me,
and by the time I had found what I wanted, they were quite out of
sight. I was beginning to get frightened, when, by good luck, a
strange gentleman came forward, and offered very politely to escort
me to my friends. Of course I was very thankful to him for his
courtesy (for I am sure I could never have faced the rabble by
myself), and we found the rest again before we had gone many steps.
But this was not all. Lady Derby rebuked me so roundly for loitering
and speaking to a stranger, that I did not dare tell her what
happened afterwards. We met some gentlemen of our acquaintance in
the fair, and while the others were talking to them, I said I would
go and choose a fairing for you. I was looking at these same
shoe-buckles, when up came the strange gentleman again, bowed very
low, and, addressing me by my name, asked whether I would pardon his
rudeness in speaking to me, and do him the great favour of pointing
out which among my friends was Mistress Frances Dalrymple. We all
had our black vizards on, you know; so how he found out who I was
passes my comprehension. He seemed sorely disappointed when I told
him you were not there; and as he had been so civil, I could not help
saying that you were a great friend of mine, and that I would, if he
pleased, bear you any message he chose to send."
'"Oh, Beatrice, how could you be so giddy?" I began reproachfully,
but she interrupted me.
'"Nay, do but hear me out, and you shall scold me as much as you like
afterwards. He told me that he knew your brother very well; that he
had seen him lately, and had tidings from him which could only be
delivered to your private ear."
'"From Oliver! Who can it be?" I said wonderingly, becoming much
interested, though still rather doubtful. "But pray, if he wants to
see me, why cannot he go to my father in a straightforward way, and
ask for a proper introduction?"
'"He said it was impossible," replied Beatrice; "that there were
reasons which he was sure you would approve which made secrecy
absolutely necessary; that he had a token from your brother which
would prove to you at once that he was speaking the truth. And
so--in fact, he looked so pitiful, that--that--
"Well?" I said impatiently.
'"Well," she continued, "I arranged that he should have a private
interview with you here in the Palace."
'"With me! without asking my consent first! Really, Beatrice, this
is too much. Your thoughtlessness passes belief. How could you
promise such a thing to a total stranger? Why, I do not even know
the man's name!"
'"He said his name was Carroll, I think," replied Lady Beatrice
demurely, but looking nevertheless mischievously delighted at my
vexation; "and as to being a perfect stranger, why, he was as anxious
to see you as if he had known you all his life."
"I will not see him," I said indignantly. "No gentleman would try to
obtain an interview with a lady without her own permission; and yet,
if he really has news of Oliver----! Oh, Beatrice, what shall I do?"
'But Beatrice would do nothing but laugh at my perplexities, and
declare that I was as discreet and formal in my ideas as Lady Derby
herself.
'"Conceive the Countess's horror," she said, "if it ever came to her
ears that Mistress Frances Dalrymple, the most discreet, well-behaved
damsel in the Palace, had had a secret interview with a mysterious
stranger under her very nose! Oh, I would give anything to see her
face when she found it out!" And Beatrice went into another fit of
laughter, from which she recovered with some difficulty, and went on:
"Seriously, Frances, you ought to be very much obliged to me for
taking all this trouble to procure you news from your brother. Why,
only half an hour ago you were in despair because you had not heard
from him."
'"But then, why all this secrecy?" I objected again, though rather
more faintly.
'"Pshaw, child, how suspicious you are! There may be twenty reasons
for that. The gentleman may be in debt; he may have killed his
antagonist in a duel; or suppose he should be your brother himself,
in some dreadful difficulty or danger, come home to see you in
disguise!"
'"Oh, if I thought that!" I cried, starting up. "But it is too
improbable; and yet I don't know Oliver is so very rash and hasty, he
might have involved himself in some serious trouble, and be afraid of
applying to my father; but then it could not be safe for him to come
here."
'"Ah! now you are getting something more reasonable, so I will tell
you what I have arranged. Truth to tell, the gentleman did want me
to promise that you should meet him in the park early this morning,
but I thought I never should be able to make you agree to that; for
it did not strike me till this moment that he might be only your
brother after all. Do you know, Frances, I shall be quite
disappointed if he is; it spoils my little romance completely."
'"Hush! oh, hush! It must be Oliver. Why did I not think of it
before? Tell me quick, when am I to see him, and where? And are you
sure he will not be discovered? I cannot think how you have
contrived it."
'"Ah! that is my affair. Do you suppose I have never managed a
secret meeting before now? But don't look so frightened. Not a soul
in the Palace will be the wiser for Mr. Carroll's comings and goings.
He is to be a haberdasher, come to shew you some new stuffs for your
dress at the masquerade next week. One of the pages of the
back-stairs, on whom I can depend, will conduct him here, and will
answer any questions that are asked about him. What o'clock was
that--four? He will be here directly."
'"Directly? Oh, Beatrice! I had no idea it was to be so soon. Why
did you not tell me all this earlier?"
'For all reply, Beatrice held up her hand and listened.
'"Hark! he is coming. I hear footsteps along the gallery. Farewell,
Frances. I must not spoil the _tête-à-tête_. I shall vanish through
this door as Mr. Carroll is coming in at the other."
'And she was as good as her word, in spite of my despairing attempt
to catch her hand, and my hurried whisper of "Pray don't go," as my
first glance at the face of the stranger assured me that he was not
Oliver after all. The page who had announced Mr. Carroll withdrew,
after a low bow, and I was left alone with my strange visitor. I was
so confused by his sudden entrance, and by the conversation I had
just been having with Beatrice, that the self-possession my six
months' sojourn at Court had taught me entirely evaporated; and it
was not until I had finished a most profound courtesy, in return for
an equally elaborate salutation from Mr. Carroll, that I ventured
once more to look him in the face. No, it was not Oliver. No amount
of disguise could have changed his blue eyes into brown ones, or
altered his well-remembered features into those I saw before me. The
gentleman was entirely unknown to me, I felt certain; and with this
thought came back my resentment at his unwarrantable intrusion. So I
summoned up my dignity with a great effort, and said, "The Lady
Beatrice Falkland has informed me that you have tidings of my brother
to give me, sir. I trust he was safe and well when you last saw him?"
'"I am speaking then to Lady Desmond?" asked Mr. Carroll eagerly, and
with such a peculiar emphasis on the name as made me give an
involuntary start. "Pardon me, madam. I should have said Mistress
Frances Dalrymple; but your brother always speaks of you by your
husband's name, and so has taught me to do the same."
'"My father wishes me to be called so," I said (wondering at the same
time why I was making this explanation to a stranger, and much
confused by the knowledge that my visitor's eyes had scarcely left my
face since he entered the room), "and I am becoming so used to it,
that--that----"
'"I understand," said Mr. Carroll, in a slow, quiet tone, which
contrasted strangely with his former hurried, excited manner. "You
are beginning to forget that you ever bore any other? Well, no doubt
it is best that it should be so. Sir Bernard's policy has succeeded
well. But I crave your pardon once more," he continued, as I
coloured with surprise and embarrassment. "You are longing for news
of your brother, and are justly wondering what right I have to allude
to your private concerns. Perhaps, when you have read these letters,
you will forgive me for forcing my presence on you; and if you do
not, why, I will never trouble you with it again."
'I held out my hand eagerly for the packet, overjoyed at the sight of
Oliver's well-known handwriting; but something in the tone of Mr.
Carroll's voice made me pause and cast a puzzled, anxious glance at
him before I opened my letter. He half smiled as his eyes met mine;
and instantly such a flood of misty, bewildering recollections rushed
across my mind, that I was obliged to cover my face with my hands and
wonder vaguely where I was, before I could find voice enough to ask
the question which was trembling on my lips. The large drawing-room
at Horsemandown rose clear and distinct before me. I seemed to feel
once more mamma's hand on my shoulder, pressing me forward, and to
hear Sir Harry Mountfort's loud, jovial voice introducing, with mock
formality, to Mistress Frances Dalrymple her future bridegroom, the
Earl of Desmond. Was I dreaming? "Could it really be?" I began to
ask myself. But before I had time to finish the sentence, or courage
to look up, Mr. Carroll had made two steps forward, taken my hands in
his, and said, "Frances, do you know me?" in a tone of such wistful
anxiety, that I was compelled to answer.
'"Are you really Algernon?--I mean my Lord Desmond?" I stammered out,
not because I doubted any longer, but because, in the entanglement of
my ideas, I could think of nothing better to say.
'"I am indeed. Have I frightened you very much?" he exclaimed
earnestly, as with crimson cheeks and beating heart I withdrew my
hands, and sank into a chair. "Forgive me, madam. I have been too
abrupt. I did not intend to part with my secret till you had been
prepared for it by your brother's letter."
'"Oh no, I am not frightened, only very, very much surprised," I
faltered. "I did not know it was safe for you to come to England. I
never thought of seeing you here."
'"It is not safe," he replied carelessly. "I am entirely in your
power. If you choose to betray me, or if your friend does not keep
our counsel very rigorously, I should be committed to the Tower
without fail, and most likely share the fate of many a one before me.
But I am not afraid. I know enough of Oliver to feel sure that his
sister could not be treacherous, even had I no claim on her but that
of her brother's friendship."
'"Surely not," I said eagerly. "But oh! there must be many other
chances of discovery. What could make you run such a fearful risk?"
'"You would not think so much of the risk if you had been in peril of
your life as often as I have," said Lord Desmond, with a smile which
recalled to me my bridegroom of eleven years ago. "I have been
employed in so many hazardous intrigues, and have had so many
hair-breadth escapes, that for the life of me I cannot feel as
alarmed about my fate as I used to be. As to my reason for coming,
you shall hear that presently, when you have read your brother's
letter, which will show you that I had his authority at least for
obtaining an interview with you, and as much help as he could give me
in contriving it."
'I broke the seal and tried to read, but my mind refused to take in
the sense of the words. I could think of nothing but the wonderful
discovery I had made; and after gazing absently at the paper for
about a minute, I put it down to say, "How did you meet Oliver? I
thought you were in France. I don't seem to understand anything yet."
'"It was," replied Lord Desmond, "at a chocolate house at the Hague
that I saw him first. He had been sent to the Government there with
despatches from the generals in Flanders. I--well!--I had private
business there connected with the affairs of His Majesty at St.
Germains. I heard your brother's name mentioned accidentally, sought
him out at his lodgings, and made myself known. I could not resist
the temptation of finding out how I stood with you all, though, as a
Jacobite and an exile, I know I had no right to expect any
countenance from an officer in King William's army. Oliver was most
generous and kind, greeted me as warmly as if we had been brothers
indeed, and declared that he had long been hoping that chance would
bring us together again. That meeting altered all my plans for the
future. Before that I had been frittering away my time at St.
Germains, seeing plot after plot for bringing the King back to his
rights fail; and at last, when I found assassination and treachery
were to be the means employed for his restoration, almost resolving
to renounce politics altogether, enter some foreign service where I
should not be obliged to fight against England, and so push my way up
to distinction. The King's cause seemed to me hopeless after the
affair of La Hogue. I could do him no good by living on at his Court
as a pensioner on his bounty, and I was wearied to death with the
splendour, the bustle, the squabbles and jealousies of Versailles and
St. Germains. It was just when I had made up my mind to this that I
received a letter from Sir Bernard Dalrymple. You know the proposal
it contained?"
'"I knew he purposed writing to you, but I did not know he had
actually done so," I said in surprise.
'"Indeed! then your brother was right after all. I was convinced,
from what Sir Bernard said, that you, as well as he, wished to break
off all connection between us. I did not wonder, for I saw that it
was hard for you to be bound for life to a man without fortune,
friends, or position; and I should certainly have taken your father
at his word, and have allowed him to try all the means in his power
to break off our marriage and leave you free, had it not been for the
sight of Oliver's face in that Dutch coffee-house. It reminded me,
somehow, of your mother, and of your home at Horsemandown, where
everything looked bright and cheerful, and you all so much happier
than I had ever been. I really believe it was his likeness to her
which made me suddenly resolve to find out where he lived, and try if
he would remember our old friendship."
'Here Lord Desmond paused a moment, but, as I did not speak, he went
on. "You cannot imagine," he said, "what Oliver's kindness was to
me. I had been so long alone in the world, that to be treated as if
belonging to his family, to be told of all that had befallen them
since last we met, as if he was sure of my sympathy and interest, was
wonderfully strange and pleasant to me. And then he talked of you so
fondly and proudly; he was so certain that you knew nothing of Sir
Bernard's ambitious schemes in connection with your marriage (rumours
of which had reached the gossiping little Court of St. Germains); he
was so indignant at your father's letter;--that I began to have a
faint, wild hope that you might think like him; that, perhaps, if----
In short, I determined, at all hazard, to see you once more, to hear
your own wishes from your own lips, and not to give your father an
answer, one way or another, until I should know them."
'My wishes! What were they? Half an hour before I should have
declared unhesitatingly for freedom; not for the sake of making a
grand marriage, but that I might continue my present careless,
butterfly life, looking forward no further than to the days when
Oliver should have returned from the wars, when we should all be
together again, and pay a happy visit to Horsemandown. But now, when
my eyes were full of tears at hearing Oliver spoken of by one who
seemed to care for him almost as much as I did--when Lord Desmond's
allusion to my mother had brought back to me the remembrance of the
words she had used when she first told me I was to be married:
"Remember, Frances, you are about to make a vow you will one day be
called on to fulfil"--now everything was changed. What could I feel
but pity for him, and self-reproach for my own hard-hearted conduct
in refusing all help to Oliver, when he had tried his utmost to
influence my father in Algernon's favour? But I would make up for
that now. I would use all the power I possessed to persuade my
father to intercede with the King; and if that failed, I would
petition the Queen myself for a reversal of the sentence of
banishment. I would do anything and everything to show my brother's
friend that I was not the ambitious, calculating woman of the world
he had pictured to himself. I would justify Oliver's trust in me,
and then----
'"I am very sorry, Frances--I must come in," said the voice of
Beatrice at the door, before I had time to say one word aloud in
answer to Lord Desmond's appeal. "I have knocked three times, and
have had no answer. The Queen commands your attendance in her
cabinet immediately. She asked where you were; and when I replied
with my little fiction about the haberdasher and the new stuffs, Lady
Derby was seized with a desire to come and see them; so I ran on
before to warn Mr. Carroll to make good his escape by the back-stairs
before she arrives, unless he has bethought him of bringing some
brocades and satins with him to bear out his supposed character."
'I started up in a tremor of agitation and dismay. "Oh, go! make
haste; you will be discovered. She will be here directly."
"'I must see you again; but where?" said Lord Desmond, in a low
voice, grasping the hand I held out to him as if he never meant to
let it go.
'"Yes, yes, you shall. Come to the gardens--to the hornbeam walk
they call Queen Mary's Bower--it will be safer than here--to-morrow
at eight, when Her Majesty is at supper," replied Beatrice rapidly,
as, confused and helpless, I looked to her for a suggestion.
'"You promise?" eagerly asked Algernon.
'"Yes, I promise," I repeated after him, in as steady a tone as my
fright would permit.
'He hurriedly raised my hand to his lips, bowed low to Beatrice, and
quitted the room without any further delay. It was not one moment
too soon. Beatrice had barely time to close the door behind him and
execute a little pirouette, expressive of satisfaction and relief,
when Lady Derby entered by the opposite door, in a state of
displeased surprise at my non-appearance in the Queen's cabinet.
What excuses Beatrice made for me, and how I managed to go through
the usual routine of duties for the rest of the day, I do not now
remember. I was in a sort of dream the whole time, thinking over all
that Lord Desmond had told me, building fantastic castles in the air,
and impatiently longing for night, when I might be alone again, and
read Oliver's letter in peace and quietness. The afternoon promenade
had never seemed so irksome, nor supper such an endless business
before. At cards I did not know whether my fortune was good or bad
until I was told, and received the announcement of my losses so
placidly, that I was complimented on the sweetness of my temper. I
cannot say there was much sweetness left in it by the time bedtime
came. Early as the hour was at which the Household retired to rest,
I felt as if it never would come. When, however, at last ten o'clock
struck, and the Queen had been attended with the usual formalities to
her bed-chamber, and all the ceremonious "good-nights" had been said,
Beatrice Falkland put her arm into mine as I turned towards my own
room, and begged me to take pity on her, for she was dying of
curiosity to know who the mysterious Mr. Carroll really was, and what
his business with me. Of course I told her everything, and the story
was sufficiently out of the common way to satisfy even he: appetite
for romance.
'"My dear Frances," she said, "I vow it is exactly like the plot of
the last play we went to see. A cruel father! a lover in disguise! a
secret meeting! All _en regie_; only I believe that the hero in the
piece had stabbed the heroine's brother, or poisoned her uncle, or
committed some crime of that sort. 'Tis rather a pity that you are
already married. It spoils the dramatic 'situation.' Now, own
yourself grateful to me for my address in managing this little
adventure for you. You would never have consented to see that poor,
despairing, handsome Mr. Carroll, if I had given you any choice in
the matter."
'But the subject appeared too serious for more than a very faint
smile at Beatrice's extravagances; and when she rushed with much zest
into a description of the various stratagems necessary for the
management of my promised interview in Queen Mary's Bower, I became
alarmed and bewildered at the prospect of what I had undertaken. I
could not enjoy the concealment and mystery as she seemed to do, and,
moreover, I was very doubtful of my power of so keeping my secret
that no one in the Palace should suspect me of having one. Had it
not been for my promise to Lord Desmond, and my desire to prove to
him that I too could be generous and disinterested, I really believe
I should have given up the fulfilment of the appointment altogether.
But it was too late for that. So I let Beatrice talk on till she had
fairly tired herself out; and when at last she departed, I gave a
sigh of relief, and, snatching the precious letter from my pocket,
prepared to get what comfort I could from the closely written pages.
Oliver's warm praises of his friend, and his assurance that I should
soon learn to care for Algernon as much as he did, made me smile and
blush a little; and when he told me all that he had gradually learnt
of Lord Desmond's utter friendlessness and poverty--of how, in spite
of the services he had rendered the King, he was barely tolerated at
the Court of St. Germains, on account of the difference of his
religion--of how he had indignantly rejected the proposal of
receiving my dowry as the price of the resignation of his bride--my
doubt and despondency melted away entirely, and I resolved, more
firmly than ever, to help him.
'But that meeting in Queen Mary's Bower, which I thought of all the
next morning with a mixture of feelings impossible to describe, never
took place after all. Long before the appointed hour arrived, the
news had spread through the Palace that the banished Earl of Desmond
had been discovered in disguise, lurking in the neighbourhood of
Hampton Court, apprehended, and sent off to the Tower. Beatrice
brought me the tidings, looking scared and horrified--as well she
might: for to be sent to the Tower on the charge of conspiring
against the Government was a prelude to certain death in case of the
prisoner being found guilty; and Lord Desmond's name had so long been
connected with the Jacobitical plots, that there was little chance of
the accusation, falling to the ground for lack of witnesses and
proofs. But if Beatrice was distressed, I was perfectly dumb with
horror. Was this to be the end of all my brilliant plans for gaining
Lord Desmond's pardon, and then recalling him from exile and
obscurity to the enjoyment of "his own again"--the produce of my own
exertions and entreaties? Was he no longer to have even the wretched
alternative of death, and the life of banishment and poverty of which
he was so weary? Oh, why had he been so mad as to risk his liberty
for the sake of seeing me for a few minutes? And what an
unsatisfactory interview it had been! "He does not even know the
answer I meant to have given him," I cried in despair. "I daresay he
thinks me a mercenary, heartless, unfeeling wretch, and that his
arrest is of my contriving. Oh, Beatrice, what shall I do?" But
though I asked the question, I knew that I might as well expect
counsel from a humming-bird, or a butterfly, as from Beatrice.
'No one could be more bright and ready in managing the little
intrigues and adventures in which she delighted. But the present
emergency was much too serious for her; and she could only cry and
caress me, put on a very pretty air of penitence for her share in
bringing about our misfortunes, and suggest schemes of rescue and
flight which could only succeed on the stage, and which, even there,
would have been scouted by a critical audience. I could not help
giving a somewhat derisive smile at her very wild schemes, and then
sat trying to collect my thoughts, and decide what course of action I
had better take first. Something must be done, and that speedily.
But what? Would it be best to explain everything to the Queen, and
entrust Algernon's safety to her kind heart and merciful
interference? or should I rush to my father, who was in London,
absorbed in parliamentary business, and bespeak his influence and
aid, as if I had no more doubt of his will than of his power to be of
assistance to his son-in-law?
'"You had better go and ask the advice of your friend the Baroness
Von Hoogstraaten, if you only laugh at mine," said Beatrice,
pretending to pout, though she was too good-natured to be really
angry.
'"So I would, if she was but here," I answered, sighing. "Henrietta
is so wise and clear-headed, she would be sure to know what would be
best."
'"Did you not know," replied Beatrice, "that she had come back from
Gloucestershire? She will be at the reception this afternoon; so you
can consult with her as much as you please."
'This was good news for me; for Henrietta Sidney, now the wife of a
Dutch nobleman, one of the King's most tried and trusted friends, was
still as much as ever what I liked to call her, my elder sister, who
laughed at me for my little vanities, shook her head when I did
anything especially foolish, and whom I loved and admired as much as
in the days when our friendship first began in the prison at Taunton.
'I used to see her very often when she was at her own house, near
Hampton, but of late she had been visiting her father; and I, left to
my own devices and management, felt that I certainly had not improved
in judgment and discretion since we parted. Impatient as I was,
however, to pour out all my troubles to her, I was obliged to wait
till the next day to do so, for the reception was an unusually
crowded one. The Baroness von Hoogstraaten had many acquaintances,
and, moreover, she was a great favourite with the Queen, who talked
to her so long about the buildings that were being added to the
Palace, and the improvements in the gardens, that I had no time to do
more than greet her very warmly, and tell her, with a very rueful
expression in my looks, how much I wanted to see her in private.
'"Her Majesty has given you permission to come and breakfast with me
to-morrow, Frances," she said, smiling at my dismal countenance; "so
you must keep your budget of Court gossip till then. It must be a
full one, to judge by your eager face."
'But I could not return the smile; and as I felt rather hurt at the
allusion to Court "gossip," I felt a gloomy satisfaction in allowing
Henrietta to depart under the impression that something very dreadful
indeed had happened, rather hoping she would pass a sleepless night
in trying to find out what it could possibly be. But when I met her
next morning in her own garden, where she was superintending the
fanciful clipping of the yew-trees Baron Hoogstraten loved, I saw
that she knew already part at least of what I had to tell.
'"Forgive me, dear, for my little joke yesterday," she said. "Now I
know that poor Lord Desmond is a prisoner in the Tower, I understand
your troubled look well enough."
'"Ah, but you don't know all!" I said in a trembling voice, "Now
listen, Henrietta, and give me all the help you can. I am
half-distracted with trying to think what I had best do; for save
Lord Desmond's life I must, and I know not how to set about it."
'I told my story without interruption, for Henrietta was never in a
great hurry to express her own opinions; and we walked the whole
length of the terrace, after I had finished, without her uttering a
word. When we had reached the end of the long, straight path, she
stopped, and said in her gentle, considerate voice--
'"Frances, dear, before I promise anything, I want you to answer me
one question. Supposing it possible to gain Lord Desmond's pardon,
as I hope and trust it may be, is his wife prepared to follow him
into the exile and poverty I fear will still be his? or does she only
want to pay the debt of gratitude she has owed so long, and be free?"
'"I don't know--I don't know anything," I said, beginning to sob
helplessly. "Oh, Henrietta, save him first, and we can settle
everything else afterwards."
'Henrietta put her arm round my waist, and drew me towards the house,
saying, as if I had given the most lucid and sensible answer in the
world:
'"Then come with me, dear, for there is no time to be lost. Lord
Desmond's trial is to take place in a week; but if you are brave and
patient, I THINK HE CAN BE SAVED."'
Uncle Algernon stopped here for a moment, and then said: 'The rest of
the story must be told in Lord Desmond's words, for it concerns him
even more nearly than his wife; and, besides, it really is his turn
now: her Ladyship has had a great deal more than her fair share in
the narrative.'