We talk, in ladies' chambers, love and news.--Cowley.
All was bustle and preparation at the court of England; for the two
most magnificent monarchs of the world were about to contend with each
other, not with the strife of arms, nor by a competition of great
deeds, but in pomp, in pageant, and in show; in empty glitter and
unfruitful display. However that may be, the palace and all its
precincts became the elysium of tailors, embroiderers, and
sempstresses. There might be seen many a shadowy form gliding about
from apartment to apartment, with smiling looks and extended shears,
or armed with ell-wands more potent than Mercury's road, driving many
a poor soul to perdition, and transforming his goodly acres into
velvet suits with tags of cloth of gold.
The courts of the king's palace of Bridewell rang from morning till
night with the neighing of steeds, the clanking of harness, and the
sound of the trumpet; and the shops and warehouses of London were
nearly emptied of gold, jewels, and brocade. Men and women were all
wild to outdo their French equals in splendour and display; and, in
short, the mad dog of extravagance seemed to have bitten all the
world.
In a small room in the palace, not far from the immediate apartments
of the queen, sat a very lovely girl, whom the reader has not spoken
to for a long time: no other than Lady Katrine Bulmer, who, with a
more pensive air than was usual with her, sat deep in the mysteries of
bibs and tuckers, chaperons and fraisies, mantuas and hanging sleeves,
which last had, for the moment, regained their ascendancy in the
public taste, and were now ornamented with more extraordinary
trimmings than ever.
By her side sat her two women, Geraldine and Bridget, whose fingers
were going with the rapidity of lightning, quickened into excessive
haste by the approaching removal of the court to Calais, which was to
take place in the short space of one week, while their mistress's
dresses were not half-finished, and their own not begun.
What it was that occupied Lady Katrine's thoughts, and made her gay
face look grave, is nothing to any one. Perhaps it might be, that she
had not as many dresses as Lady Winifred Stanton; perhaps she had seen
a jewel that she could not afford to buy; perhaps Higglemeasure, the
merchant, had brought her a brocade that the queen would not let her
wear; perhaps she was vexed at not having seen Lord Darby for eight
days, the last time having been on the same morning that Sir Osborne
Maurice had been driven from the court. Perhaps she was angry with
herself for having parted from him with an affectation of indifference
which she did not feel.
Well aware that, now Wolsey had returned, the pleasure of seeing her
lover almost daily must cease; and that stiff and formal interviews,
in presence of the whole court, or a few brief sentences at a mask or
pageant, were all they could hope to attain; Lady Katrine did indeed
repent that she had suffered her own caprices to mingle any bitter in
the few happy hours that Fate had sent her.
Though she had some vanity, too, she had not enough to prevent her
seeing and regretting that she had been in fault; and she made those
resolutions of amendment which a light spirit often forms every hour,
and breaks before the next: and thus sewing and thinking, and thinking
and sewing, and stitching in excellent determinations with every seam
as she went along, she revolved in her own mind all the various events
that had lately happened at the court.
It may well be supposed, that the sudden disappearance of Sir Osborne
Maurice, at the same time as that of Lady Constance de Grey, had given
rise to many strange rumours, none of which, of course, did Lady
Katrine believe; and, to do her justice, although perhaps she was not
at all sorry that Constance had judged it right to put an end to any
further proceedings regarding her marriage with Lord Darby, by
removing herself from the court, yet Lady Katrine suffered no one to
hint a doubt in her presence regarding her friend's conduct. But that
which was much more in Constance's favour was the good word of the
queen herself, who at once silenced scandal by saying, that she would
take upon herself to assert, that Lady Constance de Grey had never
dreamed of flying from the court with Sir Osborne Maurice. It was very
natural, she observed, that a young heiress of rank, and wealth, and
proud family, should take refuge anywhere, rather than contract a
marriage to which she had always expressed her repugnance; and without
meaning offence to the lord cardinal, she could not think but that
Constance was right.
Notwithstanding this, many were the tales that were circulated by the
liemongers of the court; and it hurt the really generous heart of Lady
Katrine to hear them. Meditating, then, over all these circumstances,
nearly in the same desultory way in which they are here written down,
she took little notice when one of the servants of the palace called
her maid Geraldine out of the room. After a short while, Geraldine
came back and called out Bridget, and still Lady Katrine continued to
work on. After a moment or two she ceased, and leaning her head on her
hand, gave herself up to still deeper thought, when suddenly the door
opened and Lord Darby presented himself.
Too much taken by surprise to give herself any airs, Lady Katrine
looked up with a smile of unaffected delight, and Darby, reading his
welcome in her eyes, advanced, and casting his arm round her,
imprinted a warm kiss on the full arching lips that smiled too
temptingly for human philosophy to resist. Luckily did it happen that
he did so within the first minute; for, had he waited later, Lady
Katrine might not so easily have pardoned his boldness. However, her
only remark was, "Well, Darby, you seem to think it so much a matter
of course, that I suppose I too must let it pass as such. But don't
look so happy, man, lest I should take it into my head to make you
look otherwise before you go."
"Nay, nay, Katrine," said Lord Darby; "not so, when I come solely for
the purpose of asking you to make me happy."
The earl spoke seriously, tenderly, and there was so much hope, and
affection, and feeling in his glance, that Lady Katrine felt there
must be some meaning in his words. "If you love me, Darby," cried she,
"tell me what you mean; and make haste, for my maids will be back, and
you know you must not stay here."
"Yes, I may, Katrine," replied he; "no one but you can now send me
away. In a word, dear girl, to put an end to suspense, I have the
king's and the cardinal's consent to ask your hand, and the queen's to
seek you here. Will you refuse me?"
Lady Katrine looked at him for a moment, to be sure, quite sure, that
what she heard was true; then dropping her head upon his shoulder, she
burst into a violent flood of tears. So sudden, so delightful was the
change in all her feelings, that she was surprised out of all her
reserve, all her coquetry, and could only murmur, "Refuse you? no!"
But starting up, at length she cried, "I have a great mind that I
will, too. Don't think that I love you. No, I hate you most bitterly
for making me cry: you did it on purpose, beyond doubt, and I won't
forgive you easily. So, to begin your punishment, go away and leave me
directly."
"Nay, Katrine, I must disobey," replied the earl, "for I have other
news to tell you: your relation, Lord Orham, is dead."
"My relation?" cried Lady Katrine, whose tears were ever dried as soon
as shed. "Oh, yes! I remember: he was my great-grandfather's
seventieth cousin by the mother's side. One was descended from Shem,
and the other from Japheth, in the time of the flood, or before, for
aught I know. Well, what of my antediluvian relative? Oh! he is dead,
you say? May he rest with Noah!"
"But you must take mourning for him," said Lord Darby, laughing;
"indeed you must."
"Certainly," replied Lady Katrine: "a coif and a widow's hood. But I
won't be teased, Darby: I will tease everybody, and nobody shall tease
me. As to going into mourning for the old miser just now, when all my
finery is ready made, to show myself at Guisnes and captivate all
hearts, and make you fight fifty single combats--I won't do it. There,
go and ask my singing-bird to moult in the month of May, or anything
else of the same kind; but don't ask me to leave one single row of
lace off my sleeve for the miser. I disown him."
"Hush! hush! hush!" cried the earl; "take care he does not come back
and disown you, for otherwise you are his heiress."
"I!" exclaimed Lady Katrine; "am I his heiress? Now, Mistress Fortune,
I am your very humble servant! Bless us! how much more important a
person Katrine Bulmer will be, with all the heavy coffers of her late
dear cousin, than when she was poor Katrine Bulmer, the queen's woman!
Darby, I give you notice: I shall not marry you. I could wed a duke
now, doubtless: who shall it be? All the dukes have wives, I do
believe. However, there is many a peer richer than you are, and though
you do not count cousinship with kings, gold is my passion now; so I
will sell myself to him who has the most."
Though she spoke in jest, still Lord Darby was mortified; for what he
could have borne and laughed at in the poor and fortuneless girl who
had captivated his heart, his spirit was too proud to endure where a
mercenary motive could be for a moment attributed to him. "Nay,
Katrine," said he, "if the fortune that is now yours give you any wish
for change, your promises are to me null: I render them back to you
from this moment."
"Why, they _were made_ under very different circumstances, you must
allow, Lord Darby," replied she, assuming a most malicious air of
gravity, and delighted at having found, for the first time in her
life, the means of putting her lover out of humour.
"They were, Lady Katrine," answered the earl, much more deeply hurt
than she imagined, "and therefore they are at an end. I have nothing
further to do then but to take my leave."
"Good-bye, my lord; good-bye!" cried she. "Heaven bless and prosper
you!" and with the utmost tranquillity she watched him approach the
door. "Now, shall I let him go or not?" said she. "Oh woman! woman!
you are a great fool! Darby! Darby!" she added in a soft voice, "come
back to your Katrine."
Lord Darby turned back and caught her in his arms. "Dear teasing
girl!" cried he; "why, why will you strive to wring a heart that loves
you?"
"Nay, Darby, if things were rightly stated, it is I who have cause to
be offended rather than you," answered the lady. "What right had you,
sir, to think that the heart of Katrine Bulmer was so base, so mean,
as to be changed by the possession of a few paltry counters? Own that
you have done me wrong this instant, or I will never forgive you. Down
upon your knee! a kneeling confession, or you are condemned beyond
hope of grace."
Lord Darby was fain to obey his gay lady's behest, and bending his
knee, he freely confessed himself guilty of all the crimes she thought
proper to charge him withal; in the midst of which, however, he was
interrupted by the entrance of an attendant sent by the queen to call
Lady Katrine to her presence.
The lady laughed and blushed at being found with Lord Darby at her
feet; and the earl, not particularly well pleased at the interruption,
turned to the usher, saying, with the sort of _nonchalant_ air which
he often assumed, "Well, sir, before you go, tell the lady when it was
you last found me on my knees to any of the fair dames of the court."
"Never, my lord, so please you, that I know of," answered the man,
somewhat surprised.
"Well, then," rejoined Darby, "next time knock at the door, for fear
you should. In which case, you might chance to be thrown down stairs
by the collar."
"Hush, hush, Darby!" cried Lady Katrine; "I must go to her highness.
Doubtless we shall not meet again for a long while; so fare you well!"
and tripping away after the usher, without other adieu, she left her
lover to console himself in her absence as best he might.
On entering the queen's apartment, she found her royal mistress alone
with the king, and, according to the etiquette of that day, was
drawing back instantly, when Katherine called her forward. "Come
hither, my wild namesake," said the queen; "his grace the king wishes
to speak with you. Come near, and answer him all his questions."
Lady Katrine advanced, and kneeling on a velvet cushion at Henry's
feet, prepared to reply to whatever he might ask, with as much
propriety as she could command; although the glad news of the morning
had raised her spirits to a pitch of uncontrollable joyousness, which
even the presence of the imperious monarch himself could hardly keep
within bounds.
"Well, my merry mistress," said the king, seeing in her laughing eyes
the ebullition of her heart's gladness; "it seems that you do not pine
yourself to death for the loss of Sir Osborne Maurice?"
"I deeply regret, your grace," said Lady Katrine, turning grave for a
moment, "most deeply, that Sir Osborne Maurice should have incurred
your royal displeasure; for he seemed to me as perfect a knight and as
noble a gentleman as I ever saw. But in no other respect do I regret
his absence."
"Well, we have tried to supply his place with one you may like
better," said Henry. "Have you seen the Earl of Darby--ha? What think
you of the exchange, pretty one?"
"I thank your grace's bounty," said the gay girl. "I have seen his
lordship, and looked at him well; and though he be neither so handsome
as Narcissus nor so wise as Solon, he may do well enough for such a
giddy thing as I am. Saving your grace's presence, one does not look
for perfection in a husband: one might as well hope to find a pippin
without a spot."
"Thou art a malapert chit, Kate," said the queen, laughing; "sure I
am, if your royal lord was not right gentle in his nature, he would be
angry with your wild chattering."
"Nay, let her run on," said the king; "a tongue like hers has no
guile. If you are contented, sweetheart," he added, addressing Lady
Katrine, "that is enough."
"Oh, yes! quite contented, your grace," answered she. "I have not had
a new plaything for so long, that a husband is quite a treat. I
suppose he must be sent to the _manège_ first, like the jennet your
highness gave me, to learn his paces."
"If he were as untamed as you are, mistress," answered the king, "he
might need it. But to another subject, fair one. You were with Sir
Osborne Maurice and his party when he encountered the rioters near
Rochester. Some sad treasons are but too surely proved against that
luckless young man; yet I would fain believe that his misconduct went
not to the extent which was at first reported, especially as the
accusation was made by that most ruffianly traitor, Sir Payan Wileton,
whom the keen eye of my zealous Wolsey has discovered to be stained
with many crimes too black for words to paint. Now, amongst other
things, it was urged that this Sir Osborne was in league with those
Rochester mutineers, the greatest proof of which was their letting him
quietly pass with so small a party, when they boldly attacked the
company of Lord Thomas Howard, with ten times the force."
Lady Katrine could hardly wait till the king had ceased. "This shows,"
cried she at length, "how the keenest wisdom and the noblest heart may
be abused by a crafty tale. Sir Osborne knew nothing of the rioters,
my lord: he took every way to avoid them, because I, unluckily, having
neither father nor brother to protect me, encumbered him by my
presence; otherwise, without doubt, he would have delivered the poor
priest they had with them by his lance, and not by fair words. Never
believe a word of it, your grace. His shield-bearer, indeed, while the
knight drew up his men to defend us to the best of his power,
recognised the leader of the tumultuaries as an old fellow-soldier,
and craved leave of his lord to go and demand a free passage for us,
by which means we escaped. Oh! my lord, as you are famous for your
clemency and justice, examine well the whole tale of that Sir Payan
Wileton, and it will be found false and villanous, as are all the rest
of his actions."
"You are eloquent, lady fair," said the king with a smile; "we will
tell Darby to look to it. But as to Sir Payan Wileton, his baseness is
now known to us; and as we progress down to Dover, we will send a
sergeant-at-arms to bring him with us to Calais, where we will, with
our council, hear and judge the whole. Then, if he be the man we think
him, not only shall he restore to the old Lord Fitzbernard the
lordship of Chilham and the stewardship of Dover, but shall stoop his
head to the axe without grace or pardon, as I live. But say, know you
aught of Lady Constance de Grey, in whose secrets you are supposed to
have had a share? Laugh not, pretty one; for by my life it shall go
hard with you if you tell not the truth."
"Oh, please your grace, don't have my head cut off!" cried Lady
Katrine, seeing, notwithstanding the king's threat, that he was in one
of his happier moods. "I never told a lie in my life, except one day
when I said I did not love your highness, and that was when you put
off the pageant of the _Castle Dolorous_ till after pentecost, and I
wanted it directly. But on my word, as I hope to be married in a year,
and a widow in God's good time, I know no more of where Constance de
Grey is, or whither she went, or when, or how, than the child unborn."
"Did she never speak to you thereof, my saucy mistress?" demanded
Henry. "You consorted with her much: 'twere strange if she did not let
something fall concerning her purposes, and she a woman, too."
"I wish I had a secret," said Lady Katrine, half-apart, half-aloud,
"just to show how a woman can keep counsel, if it were but in spite.
Good, your grace," she continued, "you do not think that Constance
would trust her private thoughts to such a light-headed thing as I am.
But, to set your highness's mind at ease, I vow and protest, by the
love and duty I bear to you and my royal mistress; by my conscience,
which is tender; and by my honour, which is strong; that I know
nothing of Lady Constance de Grey, and that even in my very best
imaginings I cannot divine whither she is gone."
"Your highness may believe her," said the queen; "wild as she is, she
would not stain her lips with the touch of falsehood, I am sure. Get
ye gone, Kate, and hasten your sempstresses, for we shall set out a
day before it was intended; and mind you plume up your brightest
feathers, for we must outdo the Frenchwomen."
"Oh, good, your grace! I shall never be ready in time," replied the
young lady. "Besides, they tell me I must put on mourning for my
fiftieth cousin by the side of Adam, old Lord Orham the miser. If I
do, it shall be gold crape trimmed with cobwebs, I declare; and so I
humbly take my leave of both your graces."
Thus saying, she rose from the cushion, dropped a low curtsey to the
king and queen, and tripped away to her own apartments.
Common bustle and ordinary preparation may be easily imagined. All
can, without difficulty, figure to themselves the turmoil preparatory
to a ball where there are six daughters to marry, with much blood and
very little money: the lady-mother scolding the housekeeper in her
room, and the housekeeper scolding all the servants in hers; a
reasonable number of upholsterers, decorators, floor-chalkers,
confectioners, milliners; much talking to very little purpose;
scheming, drilling, and dressing; agitation on the part of the young
ladies, and calculation on the part of their mamma. And at the end of
a few weeks the matter is done and over. But no mind, however vast may
be its powers of conceiving a bustle, can imagine anything like the
court of Westminster for the three days prior to the king's departure
for Canterbury.
So continual were the demands upon every kind of artisan, that the
impossibility of executing them threw several into despair. One
tailor, who is reported to have undertaken to furnish fifty
embroidered suits in three days, on beholding the mountain of gold and
velvet that cumbered his shop-board, saw, like Brutus, the
impossibility of victory, and, with Roman fortitude, fell on his own
shears. Three armourers are said to have been completely melted with
the heat of their furnaces; and an unfortunate goldsmith swallowed
molten silver to escape the persecutions of the day.
The road from London to Canterbury was covered during one whole week
with carts and waggons, mules, horses, and soldiers; and so great was
the confusion, that marshals were at length stationed to keep the
whole in order, which of course increased the said confusion a hundred
fold. So many were the ships passing between Dover and Calais, that
the historians affirm they jostled each other on the sea, like a herd
of great black porkers; and it is known as a fact, that the number of
persons collected in the good town of Calais was more than it could
lodge; so that not only the city itself, but all the villages round
about, were full to the overflowing.
At length the king set out, accompanied by an immense train, and left
London comparatively a desert; while, as he went from station to
station, he seemed like a shepherd driving all the better classes of
the country before him, and leaving not a single straggler behind. His
farther progress, however, was stayed for a time at Canterbury, by the
news that the emperor Charles, his wife's nephew, was on the sea
before Dover, furnished with the excuse of relationship for visiting
the English king, though in reality conducted thither solely by the
wish to break the good understanding of the English and French
monarchs; or rather to ensure that no treaty contrary to his interest
should be negotiated at the approaching meeting.
With that we have nothing to do; and it is a maxim which a historian
should always follow, never to mind anybody's business but his own. We
shall therefore only say, that the king and Wolsey, occupied with the
reception of the emperor, and his entertainment during the short time
he stayed, forgot entirely Sir Payan Wileton till they reached Dover,
when some one happening to call it a _chilly morning_, put Chilham
Castle in Wolsey's head (for on such little pivots turn all the wheels
of the world); and immediately a sergeant-at-arms, with a body of
horse-archers, was sent to arrest the worthy knight and bring him to
Calais, for which port the king and the whole court embarked
immediately; and, with a fair wind and fine sky, arrived in safety
towards the evening.