LADY EFFIE'S LETTER.
"But now we part, and it may be that years shall wing their flight
Ere thou again wilt cheer my heart, or rise upon my sight;
Then fare thee well! in other days, in years of after life,
On fancy's wings, I'll turn to thee, and bless the land of Fife."--_Anon_.
The weather had become gloomy, and continued so. Though the month
was merry and sunny June, and all the woods of fertile Fife were then
in their fullest foliage, the sky lowered heavily over the German
Sea, and the waves of the Firth broke sullenly on the pillared bluffs
of Grail and Elie; and, driven by the east wind, the breakers of
Largo Bay broke furiously upon the Dyke, and dashed their spray on
the sandy shore beyond it.
This noble bay, in which the Scottish ships and their prizes were
still at anchor, forms a semicircle of about ten miles of coast,
marked by a peculiar ridge of sand, called by fishermen the Dyke, and
old tradition says it was a wall or rampart, that ran from Kincraig,
round all the bay, to Methul, and that it contained a forest, called
the Wood of Forth. In corroboration of this, the anchors of ships
have been known to drag up the roots of oaks from their beds in the
sand below.
The _Yellow Frigate_ and her consorts rode quietly there at anchor,
and safe from every wind but a south one.
Mean while, in Largo House there was a gay and joyous company, for
the hospitable old admiral made all welcome--Englishman and Scot--to
the noble dwelling with which the grateful king, James III., had
gifted him. The castle was old, for in ancient times it had been a
jointure-house of the queens consort, and built, some say, for
Jolande de Dreux, the bride of Alexander III. Northward of it rose
the conical hill of Largo, green to its summit, which stands nine
hundred feet above the yellow shore. Near the castle grew a pine
coppice, in the centre of which yawned a wild and deep ravine, the
_Keil's Den_, famous in the annals of sorcery and horror. Through
this brawled a mountain burn, which rushed to meet the waters of the
bay.
The noble barony of Largo had been granted by James III. to his
favourite admiral, because it was the place of his birth, the royal
donor considering, "Gratuita et fidelia servicia sibi per familiarem
servitorem suum Andream Wod, commorante in Leith, tam per terram,
quam per mare, in pace et guerra, gratuiter impensa, in Regno Scotiæ
et extra idem, et signanter CONTRA INIMICOS SUOS ANGLIA, et dampnum
per ipsum Andream inde sustenta, suum personam gravibus vitæ
exponendo periculus 18 die Martii, 1482;" for thus runs his charter,
which is yet preserved in the office of the great seal of Scotland.
The evening was grey; a mist was settling over the estuary and the
woods and hill of Largo looked dark and nigh; on the tower, head of
the admiral's mansion, Barton and Falconer were pacing to and fro,
with their quarter-deck step, conversing on their chances in love and
war, and awaiting the return of Willie Wad, whom, as related, they
had, on the previous day, despatched to Leith with letters to the
sisters.
The admiral was on board the fleet, seeing after the repair of
damages and awaiting tidings of the lost king or the rebellious
barons.
Howard and Margaret Drummond were seated together on the cushioned
seats of a deep window in the hall. It overlooked the wooded glen,
through which the yellow sunlight straggled in the haze of the misty
evening; and both were silent and sad, for their hearts were occupied
by many heavy thoughts.
That of Howard was full of Margaret; but her heart was wandering away
to Rothesay and their child.
She was very pale, yet a tinge of health had returned to her soft
cheek, now that hope was reviving in her breast; now that she was no
longer the secret prisoner of Henry and the victim of his cold
intrigues; and now that she was about to be restored to the powerful
protection of her father, and her youthful husband. With her white
hand she playfully caressed a large Scottish staghound, which had
ventured to nestle his great rough head upon her knees.
Her fine bright hair, which she had long neglected--at least during
her sad sojourn on board the _Harry_--was now smoothly braided above
her forehead, and it shone like threads of gold in the occasional
sunbeams that stole through the deep embayment of the window; and
nothing could be prettier or more becoming than the fashion of her
blue velvet hood, with its white satin lining, tied by twelve little
friars' knots of fine silver--a favourite ornament with the Scottish
belles of the time.
Howard thought he had never seen her looking so beautiful or so
seductive; and she believed that she had never seen him more sad and
more silent.
The residence of a day or two in the lonely Castle of Largo, in the
society of the gentle Drummond, with the painful certainty of a total
separation now close at hand, had sealed the fate of the poor English
captain, by destroying his happiness for ever.
"Then I have no hope now--none?" said he, gazing upon her tenderly
and earnestly, as he referred to a previous and most anxious
conversation.
"It is most painful, good Howard, that my lips should--" said
Margaret, with hesitation, "should ever confirm anything that--that
is calculated to make unhappy a heart so kind, so noble, and so true
as thine: but oh, I beseech you to be assured, that to love me is
indeed a hopeless task."
"Curse on our king's cold-blooded policy!" he exclaimed, in
bitterness and sorrow. "Had I known you under kinder and better
auspices,--under any other than as the compatriot of infamous
abductors, you had perhaps listened to me with more approbation. I
am indeed unfortunate--more unhappy than the power of language can
convey."
He paused, and Margaret sighed with impatience.
"My heart, that never knew another love, is all your own, sweet
Margaret; it became so from that time when over your senseless form I
spread my cloak in pity; on that unfortunate night at Dundee; a night
to me the source of mingled joy and woe, for then I knew you first."
"Alas, poor Edmund Howard; you were indeed born under an evil star."
"Madam, it had been well for me if, in our battle in the Downs, a
shot from Barton's ships had ended my career, before this northern
mission was devised. I had then been spared the pain of losing
you--of loving you in vain!"
He turned his eyes away, and pressed his hands upon his breast, for
the depth of his emotion was great.
Margaret gazed upon him with mournful interest: he was indeed most
winning in manner and noble in aspect, for he was the stateliest
captain in all King Henry's infant fleet.
His face and form were unexceptionable, and his attire was gorgeous.
His tunic was cloth-of-gold, brocaded, and fastened by twenty little
clasps, studded with diamonds, and on each breast were six slashes of
blue silk. A collar of twelve pearls, with twelve medallions of the
apostles, encircled his neck, and at the end of it hung his silver
whistle, his badge of office and command. His cap was of scarlet
velvet, edged with pearls; his long hose were of fawn-coloured silk,
and his shoes of crimson leather.
"Captain Howard," said Margaret, after a long and painful pause, "I
will make you the partner of a secret, if, on your honour, you
promise me to keep it from others; for it is of mighty import to
me,--a secret valuable as life, dear as honour."
"Oh, command me, madam," said Howard, kneeling down and removing his
cap, full of that chivalric enthusiasm which was peculiar to the time
as well as to the man. "Your wish shall teal my lips as close as
death himself."
"Well, my kind, good Howard, imagine how I have suffered by your
professions of love to me, and how much is the pity I feel, when
obliged to acknowledge that I am the wedded wife of the crown prince,
and am now, by virtue of this _his ring_, the Duchess of Rothesay,
and Countess of Carrick."
Howard was paralysed by this fatal intelligence; again he clasped his
hands, and his nut-brown cheek grew ashy pale.
"Oh, madam," said he, "to me your secret is worse than death; for now
I am indeed hopeless, crushed, and ruined Honour and love are alike
lost to me! The wife of Rothesay--"
"Wedded to him, Howard, a year ago, in my uncle's cathedral of
Dunblane. 'Tis best to know the worst at once--ay, wedded!"
"Despite his betrothal to a princess of England?"
"Despite a more serious barrier--our ties of blood; and hence this
fatal secresy."
"Oh, most fatal--fatal, at least, to me! But say, dear madam, knew
Henry our king of this espousal?"
"He knew not, or, knowing, little cared: but the Bishop of Dunblane
has been lawlessly seized on his way from Rome with our dispensation,
and now well must Henry know this well-kept secret, which was hidden
even from my father and my own beloved sisters."
Now there was a long and sorrowful pause.
Howard felt assured that he could urge nothing more, and Margaret,
after a time, spoke kindly to him of other things--but in vain; for
his passion for her was the only idea that had soothed, or made him
forget at times the mortification of being a prisoner, and of his
late defeat--a defeat so remarkable, when the smallness of the
attacking force is considered: but history shows us, that in all his
battles Sir Andrew Wood never feared to encounter double his strength
at any time, and never encountered without being victorious; so, on
that score Howard had no reason for shame.
Meanwhile, the communings of Robert Barton and Sir Davis Falconer on
the bartizan overhead were interrupted by the appearance of Master
Wad, who, bonnet in hand, ascended to their lofty promenade by the
narrow wheel-stair of a turret, that gave admittance to the
battlement, and which yet overlooks the orchard of the house.
"Welcome, good shipmate," said Barton.
"Well, what tidings, Willie?" added Falconer; for in Scotland it is
still the kindly custom with persons in authority to address
inferiors by their _Christian_ name.
Not conceiving it conducive either to his interest or reputation to
relate how he had lost, and so narrowly regained, the letter of Lady
Euphemia, the gunner smoothed down his obstinate forelock, made the
invariable scrape with his foot, and delivered the missive to Robert
Barton; after which he hurried away to join one whom he deemed his
own peculiar prisoner,--the pretty English Rose, who had been also
awaiting his return.
"It is from Euphemia!" said Barton, reading it hurriedly; "from dear
Effie; and she says it must equally suffice for one from Sybilla to
you. It tells of close surveillance, of their father's roughness,
and their new lovers' cool insolence and quiet pertinacity. 'Sdeaih!
would we were alongside of them for three minutes--only three
minutes, Davie. A time has been fixed for their marriage----"
"Their marriage!" reiterated Falconer, stamping his heel on the
bartizan.
"They dread the arrival of their uncle the dean--"
"A stern man--hard of heart and dark of brow; I know him well."
"And implore us to find a place where they can be sheltered until
these troubles are past, and the army of the insurgent lords is
disbanded. Moreover, they promise to meet us on Friday evening at
the Chapel of Loretto, beside the Links of Musselburgh--kind Effie!"
"We'll keep the tryst," said Falconer; "Loretto--know ye the place,
Robert, for we must not wander much on yonder side of Forth?"
"I know it well; 'tis a run of eighteen miles across the river, and
we'll take the ship's pinnace or the boat of Jamie Gair, which lies
yonder, anchored by the Dyke; but to find them a place of shelter,
that puzzles me sorely!"
"If dear Sybie would but marry me--"
"Perhaps she would, David, now, when matters are at the worst; but
where would you place her, while you were afloat--eh?"
"Alas! I have neither house nor hold--nor any home, but the _Yellow
Frigate_."
"Nor I; for now these rebel lords have seized my manor of Barnton and
my father's house in Leith; but I hope soon to make a clear ship of
them."
"Then all those dog-nobles would cry aloud for vengeance, at the
sisters taking shelter with us."
"Two jovial young bachelors."
"Nay," said Falconer, with a sigh of anger; "as two plebeians, whose
presumption brought dishonour on a noble house."
"Let them cry; it suits their fancy."
"But we must find a secret as well as sure place, lest they be
carried off from us at the sword's point; for the Lords Drummond,
Hailes, and Home, could march with ease five thousand men to recover
them. I know their power better than thee, Robert, the half of whose
life, and more, has been spent upon the water. Besides, Lady
Euphemia has written to you, perhaps, when spurred on by some keen
excitement; and it may so chance that when the time comes, they will
shrink from committing themselves to our care."
"What! Effie shrink from committing herself to the care of her
betrothed? Thou art a timid lover, Davie."
"I am crushed in spirit by my evil fortune."
"When their hearts are touched, women (and to their glory be it said)
scorn alike the vaunted rubbish of feudal pride and the cold north
wind of worldly prudence! Besides, who has a better right to secure
the safety of Lady Effie than I? Am I not her affianced husband,
whose ring of promise is on her finger? Stay--thou knowest, Davie,
that my aunt, Robina Barton, is prioress of the Grey Sisters at
Dundee; and for the love she bears us, she will gladly keep the three
sisters until this breeze blows past and the king's authority is
enforced."
"Right, Rob; I would rather trust them with that reverend lady and
her good Claresses, than in the strongest castle in Scotland. For
these lords might storm and sack the stronghold--even the Bass
itself,--when they dare not molest the poor nuns; but we must consult
the admiral--"
"He is on board the ships in the bay."
"Or Howard--but then he is an Englishman, and consequently knows
little or nothing of Scotland or her customs."
"But he is a brave fellow, a foeman though he be," said Barton, with
a darkening face; "and I might learn to love him had not my father
fallen in battle by his brother's hand."
Leaving the two friends and lovers to arrange, consider and
reconsider their plans,--leaving poor Howard to console himself the
best way he can,--leaving the admiral busied about his ships and
their prizes, while his gunner and coxswain, though staunch Scotsmen,
were yielding to English influence, like greater men in more modern
times, but after a more honourable fashion, for they were lowering
their colours to the pretty Cicely, and the bright-eyed Rose, on whom
their kind leader had bestowed two carcanets of silver, studded with
those beautiful stones which are found upon the beach of Fife, and
from their deep red colour are called Elie Rubies--leaving Father
Zuill busied in the development of the great parabolic speculum,--and
leaving young Margaret sighing with impatience to rejoin her boy
husband, we will change the scene to the other side of the river.