could bear any hardship better than the torture of the last few weeks.
In truth, I cannot bear this at all; it is killing me, so what would
it be when you are gone and I am the wife of Louis? Think of that,
Charles Brandon; think of that, when I am the wife of Louis. Even if
the voyage kills me, I might as well die one way as another; and then
I should be with you, where it were sweet to die." And I had to sit
there and listen to all this foolish talk!
Brandon insisted: "But no women are going; as I told you, they would
not take one; besides, how could you escape? I will answer the first
question you ever asked me. You are of 'sufficient consideration about
the court' for all your movements to attract notice. It is impossible;
we must not think of it; it cannot be done. Why build up hopes only to
be cast down?"
"Oh! but it can be done; never doubt it. I will go, not as a woman,
but as a man. I have planned all the details while sitting here.
To-morrow I will send to Bristol a sum of money asking a separate room
in the ship for a young nobleman who wishes to go to New Spain
_incognito_, and will go aboard just before they sail. I will buy a
man's complete outfit, and will practice being a man before you and
Sir Edwin." Here she blushed so that I could see the scarlet even in
the gathering gloom. She continued: "As to my escape, I can go to
Windsor, and then perhaps on to Berkeley Castle, over by Reading,
where there will be no one to watch me. You can leave at once, and
there will be no cause for them to spy upon me when you are gone, so
it can be done easily enough. That is it; I will go to my sister, who
is now at Berkeley Castle, the other side of Reading, you know, and
that will make a shorter ride to Bristol when we start."
The thought, of course, could not but please Brandon, to whom, in the
warmth of Mary's ardor, it had almost begun to offer hope; and he said
musingly: "I wonder if it could be done? If it could--if we could
reach New Spain, we might build ourselves a home in the beautiful
green mountains and hide ourselves safely away from all the world, in
the lap of some cosy valley, rich with nature's bounteous gift of
fruit and flowers, shaded from the hot sun and sheltered from the
blasts, and live in a little paradise all our own. What a glorious
dream! but it is only a dream, and we had better awake from it."
Brandon must have been insane!
"No! no! It is not a dream," interrupted downright, determined Mary;
"it is not a dream; it shall be a reality. How glorious it will be! I
can see our little house now nestling among the hills, shaded by great
spreading trees with flowers and vines and golden fruit all about it,
rich plumaged birds and gorgeous butterflies. Oh! I can hardly wait.
Who would live in a musty palace when one has within reach such a
home, and that, too, with you?"
Here it was again. I thought that interview would be the death of me.
Brandon held his face in his hands, and then looking up said: "It is
only a question of your happiness, and hard as the voyage and your
life over there would be, yet I believe it would be better than life
with Louis of France; nothing could be so terrible as that to both of
us. If you wish to go, I will try to take you, though I die in the
attempt. There will be ample time to reconsider, so that you can turn
back if you wish."
Her reply was inarticulate, though satisfactory; and she took his hand
in hers as the tears ran gently down her cheeks; this time tears of
joy--the first she had shed for many a day.
In the Siren country again without wax! Overboard and lost!
Yes, Brandon's resolution not to see Mary was well taken, if it could
only have been as well kept. Observe, as we progress, into what the
breaking of it led him.
He had known that if he should but see her once more, his already
toppling will would lose its equipoise, and he would be led to attempt
the impossible and invite destruction. At first this scheme appeared
to me in its true light, but Mary's subtle feminine logic made it
seem such plain and easy sailing that I soon began to draw enthusiasm
from her exhaustless store, and our combined attack upon Brandon
eventually routed every vestige of caution and common sense that even
he had left.
Siren logic has always been irresistible and will continue so, no
doubt, despite experience.
I cannot define what it was about Mary that made her little speeches,
half argumentative, all-pleading, so wonderfully persuasive. Her facts
were mere fancies, and her logic was not even good sophistry. As to
real argument and reasoning, there was nothing of either in them. It
must have been her native strength of character and intensely vigorous
personality; some unknown force of nature, operating through her
occultly, that turned the channels of other persons' thoughts and
filled them with her own will. There was magic in her power, I am
certain, but unconscious magic to Mary, I am equally sure. She never
would have used it knowingly.
There was still another obstacle to which Mary administered her
favorite remedy, the Gordian knot treatment. Brandon said: "It cannot
be; you are not my wife, and we dare not trust a priest here to unite
us."
"No," replied Mary, with hanging head, "but we can--can find one over
there."
"I do not know how that will be; we shall probably not find one; at
least, I fear; I do not know."
After a little hesitation she answered: "I will go with you
anyway--and--and risk it. I hope we may find a priest," and she
flushed scarlet from her throat to her hair.
Brandon kissed her and said: "You shall go, my brave girl. You make me
blush for my faint-heartedness and prudence. I will make you my wife
in some way as sure as there is a God."
Soon after this Brandon forced himself to insist on her departure, and
I went with her, full of hope and completely blinded to the dangers of
our cherished scheme. I think Brandon never really lost sight of the
danger, and almost infinite proportion of chance against this wild,
reckless venture, but was daring enough to attempt it even in the face
of such clearly seen and deadly consequences.
What seems to be bravery, as in Mary's case, for example, is often but
a lack of perception of the real danger. True bravery is that which
dares a danger fully seeing it. A coward may face an unseen danger,
and his act may shine with the luster of genuine heroism. Mary was
brave, but it was the feminine bravery that did not see. Show her a
danger and she was womanly enough--that is, if you could make her see
it. Her wilfulness sometimes extended to her mental vision and she
would not see. In common with many others, she needed mental
spectacles at times.
_CHAPTER XV_
_To Make a Man of Her_
So it was all arranged, and I converted part of Mary's jewels into
money. She said she was sorry now she had not taken de Longueville's
diamonds, as they would have added to her treasure; I, however,
procured quite a large sum, to which I secretly added a goodly portion
out of my own store. At Mary's request I sent part to Bradhurst at
Bristol, and retained the rest for Brandon to take with him.
A favorable answer soon came from Bristol, giving the young nobleman a
separate room in consideration of the large purse he had sent.
The next step was to procure the gentleman's wardrobe for Mary. This
was a little troublesome at first, for, of course, she could not be
measured in the regular way. We managed to overcome this difficulty by
having Jane take the measurements under instructions received from the
tailor, which measurements, together with the cloth, I took to the
fractional little man who did my work.
He looked at the measurements with twinkling eyes, and remarked: "Sir
Edwin, that be the curiousest shaped man ever I see the measures of.
Sure it would make a mighty handsome woman, or I know nothing of human
dimensions."
"Never you mind about dimensions; make the garments as they are
ordered and keep your mouth shut, if you know what is to your
interest. Do you hear?"
He delivered himself of a labored wink. "I do hear and understand,
too, and my tongue is like the tongue of an obelisk."
In due time I brought the suits to Mary, and they were soon adjusted
to her liking.
The days passed rapidly, till it was a matter of less than a fortnight
until the Royal Hind would sail, and it really looked as if the
adventure might turn out to our desire.
Jane was in tribulation, and thought she ought to be taken along.
This, you may be sure, was touching me very closely, and I began to
wish the whole infernal mess at the bottom of the sea. If Jane went,
his august majesty, King Henry VIII, would be without a Master of the
Dance, just as sure as the stars twinkled in the firmament. It was,
however, soon decided that Brandon would have his hands more than full
to get off with one woman, and that two would surely spoil the plan.
So Jane was to be left behind, full of tribulation and indignation,
firmly convinced that she was being treated very badly.
Although at first Jane was violently opposed to the scheme, she soon
caught the contagious ardor of Mary's enthusiasm, and knowing that her
dear lady's every chance of happiness was staked upon the throw, grew
more reconciled. To a person of Jane's age, this venture for love
offers itself as the last and only cast--the cast for all--and in this
particular case there was enough of romance to catch the fancy of any
girl. Nothing was lacking to make it truly romantic. The exalted
station of at least one of the lovers; the rough road of their true
love; the elopement, and, above all, the elopement to a new world,
with a cosy hut nestling in fragrant shades and glad with the notes of
love from the throats of countless song-birds--what more could a
romantic girl desire? So, to my surprise, Jane became more than
reconciled, and her fever of anticipation and excitement grew apace
with Mary's as the time drew on.
Mary's vanity was delighted with her elopement _trousseau_, for of
course it was of the finest. Not that the quality was better than her
usual wear, but doublet and hose were so different on her. She paraded
for an hour or so before Jane, and as she became accustomed to the new
garb, and as the steel reflected a most beautiful image, she
determined to show herself to Brandon and me. She said she wanted to
become accustomed to being seen in her doublet and hose, and would
begin with us. She thought if she could not bear our gaze she would
surely make a dismal failure on shipboard among so many strange men.
There was some good reasoning in this, and it, together with her
vanity, overruled her modesty, and prompted her to come to see us in
her character of young nobleman. Jane made one of her mighty
protests, so infinitely disproportionate in size to her little
ladyship, but the self-willed princess would not listen to her, and
was for coming alone if Jane would not come with her. Once having
determined, as usual with her, she wasted no time about it, but
throwing a long cloak over her shoulders, started for our rooms, with
angry, weeping, protesting Jane at her heels.
When I heard the knock I was sure it was the girls, for though Mary
had promised Brandon she would not, under any circumstances, attempt
another visit, I knew so well her utter inability to combat her
desire, and her reckless disregard of danger where there was a motive
sufficient to furnish the nerve tension, that I was sure she would
come, or try to come, again.
I have spoken before about the quality of bravery. What is it, after
all, and how can we analyze it? Women, we say, are cowardly, but I
have seen a woman take a risk that the bravest man's nerve would turn
on edge against. How is it? Can it be possible that they are braver
than we? That our bravery is of the vaunting kind that telleth of
itself? My answer, made up from a long life of observation, is: "Yes!
Given the motive, and women are the bravest creatures on earth." Yet
how foolishly timid they are at times!
I admitted the girls, and when the door was shut Mary unclasped the
brooch at her throat and the great cloak fell to her heels. Out she
stepped, with a little laugh of delight, clothed in doublet, hose and
confusion, the prettiest picture mortal eyes ever rested on. Her hat,
something on the broad, flat style with a single white plume
encircling the crown, was of purple velvet trimmed in gold braid and
touched here and there with precious stones. Her doublet was of the
same purple velvet as her hat, trimmed in lace and gold braid. Her
short trunks were of heavy black silk slashed by yellow satin, with
hose of lavender silk; and her little shoes were of russet French
leather. Quite a rainbow, you will say--but such a rainbow!
Brandon and I were struck dumb with admiration and could not keep from
showing it. This disconcerted the girl, and increased her
embarrassment until we could not tell which was the prettiest--the
garments, the girl or the confusion; but this I know, the whole
picture was as sweet and beautiful as the eyes of man could behold.
Fine feathers will not make fine birds, and Mary's masculine attire
could no more make her look like a man than harness can disguise the
graces of a gazelle. Nothing could conceal her intense, exquisite
womanhood. With our looks of astonishment and admiration Mary's
blushes deepened.
"What is the matter? Is anything wrong?" she asked.
[Illustration]
"Nothing is wrong," answered Brandon, smiling in spite of himself;
"nothing on earth is wrong with you, you may be sure. You are
perfect--that is, for a woman; and one who thinks there is anything
wrong about a perfect woman is hard to please. But if you flatter
yourself that you, in any way, resemble a man, or that your dress in
the faintest degree conceals your sex, you are mistaken. It makes it
only more apparent."
"How can that be?" asked Mary, in comical tribulation; "is not this a
man's doublet and hose, and this hat--is it not a man's hat? They are
all for a man; then why do I not look like one, I ask? Tell me what is
wrong. Oh! I thought I looked just like a man; I thought the disguise
was perfect."
"Well," returned Brandon, "if you will permit me to say so, you are
entirely too symmetrical and shapely ever to pass for a man."
The flaming color was in her cheeks, as Brandon went on: "Your feet
are too small, even for a boy's feet. I don't think you could be made
to look like a man if you worked from now till doomsday."
Brandon spoke in a troubled tone, for he was beginning to see in
Mary's perfect and irrepressible womanhood an insurmountable
difficulty right across his path.
"As to your feet, you might find larger shoes, or, better still,
jack-boots; and, as to your hose, you might wear longer trunks, but
what to do about the doublet I am sure I do not know."
Mary looked up helpless and forlorn, and the hot face went into her
bended elbow as a realization of the situation seemed to dawn upon
her.
"Oh! I wish I had not come. But I wanted to grow accustomed so that I
could wear them before others. I believe I could bear it more easily
with any one else. I did not think of it in that way," and she
snatched her cloak from where it had fallen on the floor and threw it
around her.
"What way, Mary?" asked Brandon gently, and receiving no answer. "But
you will have to bear my looking at you all the time if you go with
me."
"I don't believe I can do it."
"No, no," answered he, bravely attempting cheerfulness; "we may as
well give it up. I have had no hope from the first. I knew it could
not be done, and it should not. I was both insane and criminal to
think of permitting you to try it."
Brandon's forced cheerfulness died out with his words, and he sank
into a chair with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
Mary ran to him at once. There had been a little moment of faltering,
but there was no real surrender in her.
Dropping on her knee beside him, she said coaxingly: "Don't give up;
you are a man; you must not surrender, and let me, a girl, prove the
stronger. Shame upon you when I look up to you so much and expect you
to help me be brave. I will go. I will arrange myself in some way. Oh!
why am I not different; I wish I were as straight as the queen," and
for that first time in her life she bewailed her beauty, because it
stood between her and Brandon.
She soon coaxed him out of his despondency, and we began again to plan
the matter in detail.
The girls sat on Brandon's cloak and he and I on the camp-stool and a
box.
Mary's time was well occupied in vain attempts to keep herself covered
with the cloak, which seemed to have a right good will toward Brandon
and me, but she kept track of our plans, which, in brief, were as
follows: As to her costume, we would substitute long trunks and
jack-boots for shoes and hose, and as to doublet, Mary laughed and
blushingly said she had a plan which she would secretly impart to
Jane, but would not tell us. She whispered it to Jane, who, as serious
as the Lord Chancellor, gave judgment, and "thought it would do." We
hoped so, but were full of doubts.
This is all tame enough to write and read about, but I can tell you it
was sufficiently exciting at the time. Three of us at least were
playing with that comical old fellow, Death, and he gave the game
interest and point to our hearts' content.
Through the thick time-layers of all these years, I can still see the
group as we sat there, haloed by a hazy cloud of tear-mist. The
figures rise before my eyes, so young and fair and rich in life and
yet so pathetic in their troubled earnestness that a great flood of
pity wells up in my heart for the poor young souls, so danger-bound
and suffering, and withal so daring and so recklessly confident in the
might and right of love, and the omnipotence of youth. Ah! If God had
seen fit in his infinite wisdom to save just one treasure from the
wreck of Eden, what a race of thankful hearts this earth would bear,
had he saved us youth alone therewith to compensate us for every other
ill.
As to the elopement, it was determined that Brandon should leave
London the following day for Bristol, and make all arrangements along
the line. He would carry with him two bundles, his own and Mary's
clothing, and leave them to be taken up when they should go
a-shipboard. Eight horses would be procured; four to be left as a
relay at an inn between Berkeley Castle and Bristol, and four to be
kept at the rendezvous some two leagues the other side of Berkeley for
the use of Brandon, Mary and the two men from Bristol who were to act
as an escort on the eventful night. There was one disagreeable little
feature that we could not provide against nor entirely eliminate. It
was the fact that Jane and I should be suspected as accomplices before
the fact of Mary's elopement; and, as you know, to assist in the
abduction of a princess is treason--for which there is but one remedy.
I thought I had a plan to keep ourselves safe if I could only stifle
for the once Jane's troublesome and vigorous tendency to preach the
truth to all people, upon all subjects and at all times and places.
She promised to tell the story I would drill into her, but I knew the
truth would seep out in a thousand ways. She could no more hold it
than a sieve can hold water. We were playing for great stakes, which,
if I do say it, none but the bravest hearts, bold and daring as the
truest knights of chivalry, would think of trying for. Nothing less
than the running away with the first princess of the first blood royal
of the world. Think of it! It appalls me even now. Discovery meant
death to one of us surely--Brandon; possibly to two others--Jane and
me; certainly, if Jane's truthfulness should become unmanageable, as
it was so apt to do.
After we had settled everything we could think of, the girls took
their leave; Mary slyly kissing Brandon at the door. I tried to induce
Jane to follow her lady's example, but she was as cool and distant as
the new moon.
I saw Jane again that night and told her in plain terms what I thought
of her treatment of me. I told her it was selfish and unkind to take
advantage of my love for her and treat me so cruelly. I told her that
if she had one drop of generous blood she would tell me of her love,
if she had any, or let me know it in some way; and if she cared
nothing for me she was equally bound to be honest and tell me plainly,
so that I should not waste my time and energy in a hopeless cause. I
thought it rather clever in me to force her into a position where her
refusal to tell me that she did not care for me would drive her to a
half avowal. Of course, I had little fear of the former, or perhaps I
should not have been so anxious to precipitate the issue.
She did not answer me directly, but said: "From the way you looked at
Mary to-day, I was led to think you cared little for any other girl's
opinion."
"Ah! Mistress Jane!" cried I joyfully; "I have you at last; you are
jealous."
"I give you to understand, sir, that your vanity has led you into a
great mistake."
"As to your caring for me, or your jealousy? Which?" I asked
seriously. Adroit, wasn't that?
"As to the jealousy, Edwin. There, now; I think that is saying a good
deal. Too much," she said pleadingly; but I got something more before
she left, even if it was against her will; something that made it
almost impossible for me to hold my feet to the ground.
Jane pouted, gave me a sharp little slap and then ran away, but at the
door she turned and threw back a rare smile that was priceless to me;
for it told me she was not angry; and furthermore shed an illuminating
ray upon a fact which I was blind not to have seen long before; that
is, that Jane was one of those girls who must be captured _vi et
armis_.
Some women cannot be captured at all; they must give themselves; of
this class pre-eminently was Mary. Others again will meet you half way
and kindly lend a helping hand; while some, like Jane, are always on
the run, and are captured only by pursuit. They are usually well worth
the trouble though, and make docile captives. After that smile from
the door I felt that Jane was mine; all I had to do was to keep off
outside enemies, charge upon her defenses when the times were ripe and
accept nothing short of her own sweet self as ransom.
The next day Brandon paid his respects to the king and queen, made his
adieus to his friends and rode off alone to Bristol. You may be sure
the king showed no signs of undue grief at his departure.
_CHAPTER XVI_
_A Hawking Party_
A few days after Brandon's departure, Mary, with the king's consent,
organized a small party to go over to Windsor for a few weeks during
the warm weather.
There were ten or twelve of us, including two chaperons, the old Earl
of Hertford and the dowager Duchess of Kent. Henry might as well have
sent along a pair of spaniels to act as chaperons--it would have taken
an army to guard Mary alone--and to tell you the truth our old
chaperons needed watching more than any of us. It was scandalous. Each
of them had a touch of gout, and when they made wry faces it was a
standing inquiry among us whether they were leering at each other or
felt a twinge--whether it was their feet or their hearts, that
troubled them.
Mary led them a pretty life at all times, even at home in the palace,
and I know they would rather have gone off with a pack of imps than
with us. The inducement was that it gave them better opportunities to
be together--an arrangement connived at by the queen, I think--and
they were satisfied. The earl had a wife, but he fancied the old
dowager and she fancied him, and probably the wife fancied somebody
else, so they were all happy. It greatly amused the young people, you
may be sure, and Mary said, probably without telling the exact truth,
that every night she prayed God to pity and forgive their ugliness.
One day the princess said she was becoming alarmed; their ugliness was
so intense she feared it might be contagious and spread. Then, with a
most comical seriousness, she added:
"Mon Dieu! Sir Edwin, what if I should catch it? Master Charles would
not take me."
"No danger of that, my lady; he is too devoted to see anything but
beauty in you, no matter how much you might change."
"Do you really think so? He says so little about it that sometimes I
almost doubt."
Therein she spoke the secret of Brandon's success with her, at least
in the beginning; for there is wonderful potency in the stimulus of a
healthy little doubt.
We had a delightful canter over to Windsor, I riding with Mary most of
the way. I was not averse to this arrangement, as I not only relished
Mary's mirth and joyousness, which was at its height, but hoped I
might give my little Lady Jane a twinge or two of jealousy perchance
to fertilize her sentiments toward me.