There grows
In my most ill-composed affection
A quenchless avarice, that were I king
I should cut off the nobles for their lands.--Macbeth.
Oh, the man in the moon! the man in the moon! What a prodigious
sackful of good resolutions you must have, all broken through the
middle. First, there are all sorts of resolutions of amendment, of
every kind and description, except the resolution of a carter to amend
his draught, or that of a gourmand whose appetite fails to drink
Chateau Margaux instead of Lafitte. All, except these, my dear sir,
you clutch by handfuls; and then you get all the resolutions of women
of five-and-thirty never to marry whenever the opportunity happens;
the resolutions of many young heirs not to be taken in, and of young
coquettes not to go too far; of old gentlemen to look young, and of
vulgar men to hold their tongues. Though I see, my dear sir, that your
bag be almost bursting, yet I must trouble you with one more.
I had determined, as I hinted in a former chapter, never to quit my
hero and go vagabondising about in my history from one part to the
other, like a gipsy or a pedlar; but, on the contrary, to proceed in a
quiet, respectable, straightforward manner, telling his story, and
nobody else's story but his; but it is this individual resolution that
I am now under the necessity of foregoing, for it is absolutely
necessary, that I should return to what took place at the mansion of
the Duke of Buckingham, in Kent, even if I should risk the breaking of
my neck, as well as my resolution, in scampering back again
afterwards.
Early in the morning of the day after that on which Sir Osborne had
left the manor-house to proceed to the Benedictine Abbey, near
Canterbury, Sir Payan Wileton, with a large suite, rode up to the
gates, and demanded an audience of the duke, which was immediately
granted. As the chamberlain marshalled him the way to the duke's
closet, the knight caught a glance of the old man, Sir Cesar, passing
out, from which he argued favourably for his purposes; doubting not
that the discourse of the astrologer had raised the ambition and
vanity of the duke, and fitted him to second the schemes with which he
proposed to tempt him.
When the knight entered, the princely Buckingham was seated, and with
that cold dignity which he knew well how to assume, he motioned his
visiter to a chair, without, however, deigning to rise.
"He thinks himself already king," thought Sir Payan. "Well, his pride
must be humoured. My lord duke," he said, after a few preliminary
words on both parts, "I come to tender your grace my best service, and
to beg you to believe, that should ever the occasion offer, you shall
find me ready at your disposal, with heart and hand, fortune and
followers."
"And what is it that Sir Payan Wileton would claim as his reward for
such zealous doings?" demanded the duke, eyeing him coolly. "Sir
Payan's wisdom is too well known to suppose that he would venture so
much without proportionate reward."
"But your grace's favour," replied the knight, somewhat astonished at
the manner in which his offers were received.
"Nay, nay, Sir Payan!" replied the duke; "speak plainly. What is it
you would have? Upon what rich lordship have you cast your eyes? Whose
fair estate has excited your appetite? Is there any new Chilham Castle
to be had?"
"In truth, I know not well what your grace means," answered the
knight, "though I can see that some villain behind my back has been
blackening my character in your fair opinion. I came here frankly to
tender you, of my own free will, services that you once hinted might
be acceptable. Men who would climb high, my lord duke, must make their
first steps firm."
"True, true, sir knight," replied the duke, moderating the acerbity of
his manner; "but how can I rise higher than I am? Perhaps, indeed, my
pride may soar too high a pitch, when I fancy that in this realm, next
to his grace the king, my head stands highest."
"True," said Sir Payan; "but I have heard a prophecy, that your
grace's head should be of all the highest without any weakening
qualification next to any man's. His grace King Henry may die, and I
have myself known the Duke of Buckingham declare, that there were
shrewd doubts whether the king's marriage with his brother's wife were
so far valid as to give an heir to the English crown. Kings may die,
too, of the sharp sword and the keen dagger. Such being the case, and
the king dying without heirs male, who will stand so near the throne
as the Duke of Buckingham? Who has so much the people's love? Who may
command so many of the most expert and powerful men in England?"
The duke paused and thought. He was "not without ambition, though he
was without the illness that should accompany it." No one did he more
thoroughly abhor than Sir Payan Wileton; and, yet rich, powerful,
unscrupulous, full of politic wile and daring stratagem, Sir Payan was
a man who might serve him essentially as a friend, might injure him
deeply as an enemy; and he was, moreover, one that must be treated as
one or the other, must be either courted or defied. While a thousand
thoughts of this kind passed through the mind of the duke, and
connecting themselves with others, wandered far on the wild and
uncertain tract that his ambition presented to his view, while the
passion by which angels fell was combating in his bosom with duty,
loyalty, and friendship, the eye of Sir Payan Wileton glanced from
time to time towards his face, watching and calculating the emotions
of his mind, with that degree of certainty which long observation of
the passions and weakness of human nature had bestowed. At length he
saw the countenance of the duke lighted up with a triumphant smile,
while, fixing his eyes upon the figure of an old king in the tapestry,
he seemed busily engaged in anticipations of the future. "He has them
now," thought Sir Payan, "the crown, the sceptre, and the ball. Well,
let him enjoy his golden dream;" and dropping his eyes on the table,
he gathered the addresses of the various letters which Buckingham had
apparently been writing: "_The Earl of Devonshire_"--"_The Lord
Dacre_"--"_Sir John Morton_"--"_The Earl of Fitzbernard, to be
rendered to the hands of Sir Osborne Maurice_"--"_The Prior of
Langley_."
"Ha!" thought the knight, "Lord Fitzbernard! Sir Osborne Maurice! So,
so! I have the train. Take heed, Buckingham! take heed, or you fall;"
and he raised his eyes once more to the countenance of the duke, whose
look was now fixed full upon him.
"Sir Payan Wileton," said Buckingham, "we have both been meditating,
and perhaps our meditations have arrived at the same conclusion."
"I hope, my lord duke," answered Sir Payan, returning to the former
subject of conversation, "that your grace finds that I _may_ be of
service to you."
"Not in the least," replied the duke, sternly; for it had so happened
that his eyes had fallen upon Sir Payan just at the moment that the
knight was furtively perusing the address of the letter to Lord
Fitzbernard, and the combinations thus produced in the mind of the
noble Buckingham had not been very much in favour of Sir Payan: "not
in the least, Sir Payan Wileton. Let me tell you, sir, that you must
render back Chilham Castle to its lord; you must reverse all the evil
that you have done and attempted towards his son; you must abandon
such foul schemes, and cancel all the acts of twenty years of your
life, before you be such a man as may act with Buckingham."
"My lord duke! my lord duke!" cried Sir Payan, "this is too much to
bear. Your pride, haughty peer, has made you mad, but your pride shall
have a fall. Beware of yourself, Duke of Buckingham, for no one shall
ever say that he offended Sir Payan Wileton unscathed. Know you that
you are in my power?"
"In thine, insect!" cried the duke. "But begone! you move me too far.
Ho! without there! Begone, I say, or Buckingham may forget himself!"
"He shall not forget me," said Sir Payan. "Mark me, lord duke: you
wisely deem, that because you have not shown me your daring schemes in
your hand-writing, you are safe, but you have yet to know Sir Payan
Wileton. We shall see, lord duke! we shall see! So, farewell!" and
turning on his heel, he left the duke's closet, called for his horse,
and in a few minutes was far on the road homeward.
"Guilford," cried he, turning towards his attendants, "Guilford, ride
up."
At this order, a downcast, sneering-looking man drew out from the rest
of the servants and rode up to the side of his master, who fixed his
eyes upon him for a moment, shutting his teeth hard, as was his custom
when considering how to proceed. "Guilford," said he at last,
"Guilford, you remember the infant that was found dead in Ashford
ditch last year, that folks supposed to be the child of Mary
Bly----? ha!" The man turned deadly pale. "I have found an owner for
the kerchief in which it was tied with the two large stones,"
proceeded Sir Payan. "A man came to me yesterday morning, who says he
can swear to the kerchief, and who it belonged to. Fie! do not shake
so! Do you think I ever hurt my own? Guilford, you must do me a
service. Take three stout fellows with you, on whom you can depend;
cast off your liveries, and ride on with all speed to the hill on this
side of Rochester. Wait there till you see a courier come up with a
swan embroidered on his sleeve; find means to quarrel with him; and
when you return to Elham Manor, if you bear his bag with you, you
shall each have five George nobles for your reward. But leave not the
place. Stir not till you have met with him. And now be quick; take the
three men with you; there will be enough left to return with me. Mark
me! let him not escape with his bag, for if you do, you buy yourself a
halter."
"Which of them shall I take?" said the man. "There are Wandlesham and
Black John, who together stole the Prior of Merton's horse, and sold
it at Sandwich. They would have been burned i' the hand if your
worship had not refused the evidence. Then there is Simpkin, the
deer-stealer----"
"That will do," said Sir Payan, "that will do; 'tis said he set
Raper's barn on fire. But be quick; we waste time."
It was late the next day before the party of worthies whom Sir Payan
entrusted with the honourable little commission above stated returned
to his house at Elham Manor; but, to his no small satisfaction, they
brought the Duke of Buckingham's letter-bag along with them, which
Master Guilford deposited on the table before Sir Payan in his usual
sullen manner, and only waited till he had received his reward, which
was instantly paid; for the honest knight, well knowing by internal
conviction that rascality is but a flimsy bond of attachment, took
care to bind his serviceable agents to himself by the sure ties both
of hope and fear. If they were useful and silent, their hopes were
never disappointed; if they were negligent or indiscreet, their fears
were more than realised.
The moment he was alone, the knight put his dagger into the bag, and
ripped it open from side to side. This done, his eye ran eagerly over
the various letters it contained, and paused on that to Lord
Fitzbernard. In an instant the silk was cut, and the contents before
his eyes.
"Ha!" said Sir Payan, reading; "so here it is, the whole business; so,
so, my young knight, 'the real name to be told to nobody till the
king's good-will is gained.' But I will foil you, and blast your false
name before your real one is known. Good Duke of Buckingham, I thank
you! 'A villain!' If I am, you shall taste my villany. Oh! so he had
charge to 'conduct the Lady Katrine Bulmer to the court: his feats of
arms and manly daring shall much approve him with the king.' Ay, but
they shall damn him with the cardinal, or I'll halt for it! Now for
the rest!"
With as little ceremony as that which he had displayed toward the
letter addressed to Lord Fitzbernard, Sir Payan tore open all the
rest, but seemed somewhat disappointed at their contents, gnawing his
lip and knitting his brow till he came to the last, addressed to Sir
John Morton. "Ha!" exclaimed he, as he read, "Duke of Buckingham, you
are mine! Now, proud Edward Bohun, stoop! stoop! for out of so little
a thing as this will I work thy ruin. But what means he by this? Sir
Osborne Maurice! It cannot be him he speaks of. It matters not; it
shall tell well, too, and in one ruin involve them both. Sir Osborne
Maurice! I have it! I have it! Sure the disclosure of such a plot as
this may well merit Wolsey's thanks; ay, and even, by good favour,
some few acres off the broad estates of Constance de Grey. We shall
see. But first let us track this young gallant; we must know his every
step from Canterbury to Greenwich."
Proud in supreme villany, Sir Payan trod with a longer stride,
confidently calculating that he held all his enemies in his power;
but, subtle as well as bold, he did not allow his confidence to
diminish in the least his care; and calling to his aid one of his
retainers, upon whose cunning he could count with certainty, he laid
him upon the path of our hero like a hound upon the track of a deer,
with commands to investigate, with the most minute care, every step he
had taken from Canterbury to Greenwich.
"And now," said Sir Payan, "to-morrow for Greenwich; I must not fail
the party of Sir Thomas Neville. When enemies grow strong, 'tis time
to husband friends;" and springing on his horse, he proceeded to put
in train for execution some of those minor schemes of evil which he
did not choose to leave unregulated till his return.