would be well down Bristol channel before he should leave his berth.
But the wind that had filled Mary's jack-boots with rain and had
howled so dismally all night long would not stir, now that it was
wanted. Noon came, yet no wind, and the sun shone as placidly as if
Captain Charles Brandon were not fuming with impatience on the poop of
the Royal Hind. Three o'clock and no wind. The captain said it would
come with night, but sundown was almost at hand and no wind yet.
Brandon knew this meant failure if it held a little longer, for he
was certain the king, with Wolsey's help, would long since have
guessed the truth.
Brandon had not seen the princess since morning, and the delicacy he
felt about going to her cabin made the situation somewhat difficult.
After putting it off from hour to hour in hope that she would appear
of her own accord, he at last knocked at her door, and, of course,
found the lady in trouble.
The thought of the princess going on deck caused a sinking at his
heart every time it came, as he felt that it was almost impossible to
conceal her identity. He had not seen her in her new male attire, for
when she threw off her riding habit on meeting him the night before,
he had intentionally busied himself about the horses, and saw her only
after the great cloak covered her as a gown. He felt that however well
her garments might conceal her form, no man on earth ever had such
beauty in his face as her transcendent eyes, rose-tinted cheeks, and
coral lips, with their cluster of dimples; and his heart sank at the
prospect. She might hold out for a while with a straight face, but
when the smiles should come--it were just as well to hang a placard
about her neck: "This is a woman." The tell-tale dimples would be
worse than Jane for outspoken, untimely truthfulness and
trouble-provoking candor.
Upon entering, Brandon found Mary wrestling with the problem of her
complicated male attire; the most beautiful picture of puzzled
distress imaginable. The port was open and showed her rosy as the morn
when she looked up at him. The jack-boots were in a corner, and her
little feet seemed to put up a protest all their own, against going
into them, that ought to have softened every peg. She looked up at
Brandon with a half-hearted smile, and then threw her arms about his
neck and sobbed like the child that she was.
"Do you regret coming, Lady Mary?" asked Brandon, who, now that she
was alone with him, felt that he must take no advantage of the fact to
be familiar.
"No! no! not for one moment; I am glad--only too glad. But why do you
call me 'Lady'? You used to call me 'Mary.'"
"I don't know; perhaps because you are alone."
"Ah! that is good of you; but you need not be quite so respectful."
The matter was settled by mute but satisfactory arbitration, and
Brandon continued: "You must make yourself ready to go on deck. It
will be hard, but it must be done."
He helped her with the heavy jack-boots and handed her the
rain-stained slouch hat which she put on, and stood a complete man
ready for the deck--that is, as complete as could be evolved from her
utter femininity.
When Brandon looked her over, all hope went out of him. It seemed that
every change of dress only added to her bewitching beauty by showing
it in a new phase.
"It will never do; there is no disguising you. What is it that despite
everything shows so unmistakably feminine? What shall we do? I have
it; you shall remain here under the pretense of illness until we are
well at sea, and then I will tell the captain all. It is too bad; and
yet I would not have you one whit less a woman for all the world. A
man loves a woman who is so thoroughly womanly that nothing can hide
it."
Mary was pleased at his flattery, but disappointed at the failure in
herself. She had thought that surely these garments would make a man
of her in which the keenest eye could not detect a flaw.
They were discussing the matter when a knock came at the door with the
cry, "All hands on deck for inspection." Inspection! Jesu! Mary would
not safely endure it a minute. Brandon left her at once and went to
the captain.
"My lord is ill, and begs to be excused from deck inspection," he
said.
Bradhurst, a surly old half pirate of the saltiest pattern, answered:
"Ill? Then he had better go ashore as soon as possible. I will refund
his money. We cannot make a hospital out of the ship. If his lordship
is too ill to stand inspection, see that he goes ashore at once."
This last was addressed to one of the ship's officers, who answered
with the usual "Aye, aye, sir," and started for Mary's cabin.
That was worse than ever; and Brandon quickly said he would have his
lordship up at once. He then returned to Mary, and after buckling on
her sword and belt they went on deck and climbed up the poop ladder to
take their places with those entitled to stand aft.
Brandon has often told me since that it was as much as he could do to
keep back the tears when he saw Mary's wonderful effort to appear
manly. It was both comical and pathetic. She was a princess to whom
all the world bowed down, yet that did not help her here. After all
she was only a girl, timid and fearful, following at Brandon's heels;
frightened lest she should get out of arm's reach of him among those
rough men, and longing with all her heart to take his hand for moral
as well as physical support. It must have been both laughable and
pathetic in the extreme. That miserable sword persisted in tripping
her, and the jack-boots, so much too large, evinced an alarming
tendency to slip off with every step. How insane we all were not to
have foreseen this from the very beginning. It must have been a unique
figure she presented climbing up the steps at Brandon's heels,
jack-boots and all. So unique was it that the sailors working in the
ship's waist stopped their tasks to stare in wonderment, and the
gentlemen on the poop made no effort to hide their amusement. Old
Bradhurst stepped up to her.
"I hope your lordship is feeling better;" and then, surveying her from
head to foot, with a broad grin on his features, "I declare, you look
the picture of health, if I ever saw it. How old are you?"
Mary quickly responded, "Fourteen years."
"Fourteen," returned Bradhurst: "well, I don't think you will shed
much blood. You look more like a deuced handsome girl than any man I
ever saw." At this the men all laughed, and were very impertinent in
the free and easy manner of such gentry, most of whom were
professional adventurers, with every finer sense dulled and debased by
years of vice.
These fellows, half of them tipsy, now gathered about Mary to inspect
her personally, each on his own account. Their looks and conduct were
very disconcerting, but they did nothing insulting until one fellow
gave her a slap on the back, accompanying it by an indecent remark.
Brandon tried to pay no attention to them, but this was too much, so
he lifted his arm and knocked the fellow off the poop into the waist.
The man was back in a moment, and swords were soon drawn and clicking
away at a great rate. The contest was brief, however, as the fellow
was no sort of match for Brandon, who, with his old trick, quickly
twisted his adversary's sword out of his grasp, and with a flash of
his own blade flung it into the sea. The other men were now talking
together at a little distance in whispers, and in a moment one drunken
brute shouted: "It is no man; it is a woman; let us see more of her."
[Illustration]
Before Brandon could interfere, the fellow had unbuckled Mary's
doublet at the throat, and with a jerk, had torn it half off, carrying
away the sleeve and exposing Mary's shoulder, almost throwing her to
the deck.
He waved his trophy on high, but his triumph was short-lived, for
almost instantly it fell to the deck, and with it the offending hand
severed at the wrist by Brandon's sword. Three or four friends of the
wounded man rushed upon Brandon; whereupon Mary screamed and began to
weep, which of course told the whole story.
A great laugh went up, and instantly a general fight began. Several of
the gentlemen, seeing Brandon attacked by such odds, took up his
defense, and within twenty seconds all were on one side or the other,
every mother's son of them fighting away like mad.
You see how quickly and completely one woman without the slightest act
on her part, except a modest effort to be let alone, had set the whole
company by the ears, cutting and slashing away at each other like very
devils. The sex must generate mischief in some unknown manner, and
throw it off, as the sun throws off its heat. However, Jane is an
exception to that rule--if it is a rule.
The officers soon put a stop to this lively little fight, and took
Brandon and Mary, who was weeping as any right-minded woman would,
down into the cabin for consultation.
With a great oath Bradhurst exclaimed: "It is plain enough that you
have brought a girl on board under false colors, and you may as well
make ready to put her ashore. You see what she has already done--a
hand lost to one man and wounds for twenty others--and she was on deck
less than five minutes. Heart of God! At that rate she would have the
ship at the bottom of Davy Jones's locker before we could sail half
down the channel."
"It was not my fault," sobbed Mary, her eyes flashing fire; "I did
nothing; all I wanted was to be left alone; but those brutes of
men--you shall pay for this; remember what I say. Did you expect
Captain Brandon to stand back and not defend me, when that wretch was
tearing my garments off?"
"Captain Brandon, did you say?" asked Bradhurst, with his hat off
instantly.
"Yes," answered that individual. "I shipped under an assumed name, for
various reasons, and desire not to be known. You will do well to keep
my secret."
"Do I understand that you are Master Charles Brandon, the king's
friend?" asked Bradhurst.
"I am," was the answer.
"Then, sir, I must ask your pardon for the way you have been treated.
We, of course, could not know it, but a man must expect trouble when
he attaches himself to a woman." It is a wonder the flashes from
Mary's eyes did not strike the old sea-dog dead. He, however, did not
see them, and went on: "We are more than anxious that so valiant a
knight as Sir Charles Brandon should go with us, and hope your
reception will not drive you back, but as to the lady--you see already
the result of her presence, and much as we want you, we cannot take
her. Aside from the general trouble which a woman takes with her
everywhere"--Mary would not even look at the creature--"on shipboard
there is another and greater objection. It is said, you know, among
sailors, that a woman on board draws bad luck to certain sorts of
ships, and every sailor would desert, before we could weigh anchor, if
it were known this lady was to go with us. Should they find it out in
mid-ocean, a mutiny would be sure to follow, and God only knows what
would happen. For her sake, if for no other reason, take her ashore at
once."
Brandon saw only too plainly the truth that he had really seen all the
time, but to which he had shut his eyes, and throwing Mary's cloak
over her shoulders, prepared to go ashore. As they went over the side
and pulled off, a great shout went up from the ship far more derisive
than cheering, and the men at the oars looked at each other askance
and smiled. What a predicament for a princess! Brandon cursed himself
for having been such a knave and fool as to allow this to happen. He
had known the danger all the time, and his act could not be
chargeable to ignorance or a failure to see the probable consequences.
Temptation, and selfish desire, had given him temerity in place of
judgment. He had attempted what none but an insane man would have
tried, without even the pitiable excuse of insanity. He had seen it
all only too clearly from the very beginning, and he had deliberately
and with open eyes brought disgrace, ruin, and death--unless he could
escape--upon himself, and utter humiliation to her whom his love
should have prompted him to save at all cost. If Mary could only have
disguised herself to look like a man they might have succeeded, but
that little "if" was larger than Paul's church, and blocked the road
as completely as if it had been a word of twenty syllables.
When the princess stepped ashore it seemed to her as if the heart in
her breast was a different and separate organ from the one she had
carried aboard.
As the boat put off again for the ship, its crew gave a cheer coupled
with some vile advice, for which Brandon would gladly have run them
through, each and every one. He had to swallow his chagrin and anger,
and really blamed no one but himself, though it was torture to him
that this girl should be subjected to such insults, and he powerless
to avenge them. The news had spread from the wharf like wildfire, and
on their way back to the Bow and String, there came from small boys
and hidden voices such exclamations as: "Look at the woman in man's
clothing;" "Isn't he a beautiful man?" "Look at him blush;" and others
too coarse to be repeated. Imagine the humiliating situation, from
which there was no escape.
At last they reached the inn, whither their chests soon followed them,
sent by Bradhurst, together with their passage money, which he very
honestly refunded.
Mary soon donned her woman's attire, of which she had a supply in her
chest, and at least felt more comfortable without the jack-boots. She
had made her toilet alone for the first time in her life, having no
maid to help her, and wept as she dressed, for this disappointment was
like plucking the very heart out of her. Her hope had been so high
that the fall was all the harder. Nay, even more; hope had become
fruition to her when they were once a-shipboard, and failure right at
the door of success made it doubly hard to bear. It crushed her, and,
where before had been hope and confidence, was nothing now but
despair. Like all people with a great capacity for elation, when she
sank she touched the bottom. Alas! Mary, the unconquerable, was down
at last.
This failure meant so much to her; it meant that she would never be
Brandon's wife, but would go to France to endure the dreaded old
Frenchman. At that thought a recoil came. Her spirit asserted itself,
and she stamped her foot and swore upon her soul it should never be;
never! never! so long as she had strength to fight or voice to cry,
"No." The thought of this marriage and of the loss of Brandon was
painful enough, but there came another, entirely new to her and
infinitely worse.
Hastily arranging her dress, she went in search of Brandon, whom she
quickly found and took to her room.
After closing the door she said: "I thought I had reached the pinnacle
of disappointment and pain when compelled to leave the ship, for it
meant that I should lose you and have to marry Louis of France. But I
have found that there is still a possible pain more poignant than
either, and I cannot bear it; so I come to you--you who are the great
cure for all my troubles. Oh! that I could lay them here all my life
long," and she put her head upon his breast, forgetting what she had
intended to say.
"What is the trouble, Mary?"
"Oh! yes! I thought of that marriage and of losing you, and then, oh!
Mary Mother! I thought of some other woman having you to herself. I
could see her with you, and I was jealous--I think they call it. I
have heard of the pangs of jealousy, and if the fear of a rival is so
great what would the reality be? It would kill me; I could not endure
it. I cannot endure even this, and I want you to swear that----"
Brandon took her in his arms as she began to weep.
"I will gladly swear by everything I hold sacred that no other woman
than you shall ever be my wife. If I cannot have you, be sure you have
spoiled every other woman for me. There is but one in all the
world--but one. I can at least save you that pain."
She then stood on tip-toes to lift her lips to him, and said: "I give
you the same promise. How you must have suffered when you thought I
was to wed another."
After a pause she went on: "But it might have been worse--that is, it
would be worse if you should marry some other woman; but that is all
settled now and I feel easier. Then I might have married the old
French king, but that, too, is settled; and we can endure the lesser
pain. It always helps us when we are able to think it might have been
worse."
Her unquestioning faith in Brandon was beautiful, and she never
doubted that he spoke the unalterable truth when he said he would
never marry any other woman. She had faith in herself, too, and was
confident that her promise to marry no man but Brandon ended that
important matter likewise, and put the French marriage totally out of
the question for all time to come.
As for Brandon, he was safe enough in his part of the contract. He
knew only too well that no woman could approach Mary in her inimitable
perfections, and he had tested his love closely enough, in his
struggle against it, to feel that it had taken up its abode in his
heart to stay, whether he wanted it or not. He knew that he was safe
in making her a promise which he was powerless to break. All this he
fully explained to Mary, as they sat looking out of the window at the
dreary rain which had come on again with the gathering gloom of night.
Brandon did not tell her that his faith in her ultimate ability to
keep her promise was as small as it was great in his own. Neither did
he dampen her spirits by telling her that there was a reason, outside
of himself, which in all probability would help him in keeping his
word, and save her from the pangs of that jealousy she so much feared;
namely, that he would most certainly wed the block and ax should the
king get possession of him. He might have escaped from England in the
Royal Hind, for the wind had come up shortly after they left the ship,
and they could see the sails indistinctly through the gloom as she got
under way. But he could not leave Mary alone, and had made up his mind
to take her back to London and march straight into the jaws of death
with her, if the king's men did not soon come.
He knew that a debt to folly bears no grace, and was ready with his
principal and usance.
_CHAPTER XVIII_
_To the Tower_
Whether or not Brandon would have found some way to deliver the
princess safely home, and still make his escape, I cannot say, as he
soon had no choice in the matter. At midnight a body of yeomen from
the tower took possession of the Bow and String, and carried Brandon
off to London without communication with Mary. She did, not know of
his arrest until next morning, when she was informed that she was to
follow immediately, and her heart was nearly broken.
Here again was trouble for Mary. She felt, however, that the two great
questions, the marriage of herself to Louis, and Brandon to any other
person, were, as she called it, "settled"; and was almost content to
endure this as a mere putting off of her desires--a meddlesome and
impertinent interference of the Fates, who would soon learn with whom
they were dealing, and amend their conduct.
She did not understand the consequences for Brandon, nor that the
Fates would have to change their purpose very quickly or something
would happen worse, even, than his marriage to another woman.
On the second morning after leaving Bristol, Brandon reached London,
and, as he expected, was sent to the Tower. The next evening Lady
Mary arrived and was taken down to Greenwich.
The girl's fair name was, of course, lost--but, fortunately, that goes
for little with a princess--since no one would believe that Brandon
had protected her against himself as valiantly and honorably as he
would against another. The princess being much more unsophisticated
than the courtiers were ready to believe, never thought of saying
anything to establish her innocence or virtue, and her silence was put
down to shame and taken as evidence against her.
Jane met Mary at Windsor, and, of course, there was a great flood of
tears.
Upon arriving at the palace, the girls were left to themselves, upon
Mary's promise not to leave her room; but, by the next afternoon, she,
having been unable to learn anything concerning Brandon, broke her
parole and went out to see the king.
It never occurred to Mary that Brandon might suffer death for
attempting to run away with her. She knew only too well that she alone
was to blame, not only for that, but for all that had taken place
between them, and never for one moment thought that he might be
punished for her fault, even admitting there was fault in any one,
which she was by no means ready to do.
The trouble in her mind, growing out of a lack of news from Brandon,
was of a general nature, and the possibility of his death had no place
in her thoughts. Nevertheless, for the second time, Brandon had been
condemned to die for her sake. The king's seal had stamped the warrant
for the execution, and the headsman had sharpened his ax and could
almost count the golden fee for his butchery.
Mary found the king playing cards with de Longueville. There was a
roomful of courtiers, and as she entered she was the target for every
eye; but she was on familiar ground now, and did not care for the
glances nor the observers, most of whom she despised. She was the
princess again and full of self-confidence; so she went straight to
the object of her visit, the king. She had not made up her mind just
what to say first, there was so much; but Henry saved her the trouble.
He, of course, was in a great rage, and denounced Mary's conduct as
unnatural and treasonable; the latter, in Henry's mind, being a crime
many times greater than the breaking of all the commandments put
together, in one fell, composite act. All this the king had
communicated to Mary by the lips of Wolsey the evening before, and
Mary had received it with a silent scorn that would have withered any
one but the worthy bishop of York. As I said, when Mary approached her
brother, he saved her the trouble of deciding where to begin by
speaking first himself, and his words were of a part with his
nature--violent, cruel and vulgar. He abused her and called her all
the vile names in his ample vocabulary of billingsgate. The queen was
present and aided and abetted with a word now and then, until Henry,
with her help, at last succeeded in working himself into a towering
passion, and wound up by calling Mary a vile wanton in plainer terms
than I like to write. This aroused all the antagonism in the girl, and
there was plenty of it. She feared Henry no more than she feared me.
Her eyes flashed a fire that made even the king draw back as she
exclaimed: "You give me that name and expect me to remember you are my
brother? There are words that make a mother hate her first-born, and
that is one. Tell me what I have done to deserve it? I expected to
hear of ingratitude and disobedience and all that, but supposed you
had at least some traces of brotherly feeling--for ties of blood are
hard to break--even if you have of late lost all semblance to man or
king."
This was hitting Henry hard, for it was beginning to be the talk in
every mouth that he was leaving all the affairs of state to Wolsey and
spending his time in puerile amusement. "The toward hope which at all
poyntes appeared in the younge Kynge" was beginning to look, after
all, like nothing more than the old-time royal cold fire, made to
consume but not to warm the nation.
Henry looked at Mary with the stare of a baited bull.
"If running off in male attire, and stopping at inns and boarding
ships with a common Captain of the guard doesn't justify my
accusation and stamp you what you are, I do not know what would."
[Illustration]
Even Henry saw her innocence in her genuine surprise. She was silent
for a little time, and I, standing close to her, could plainly see
that this phase of the question had never before presented itself.
She hung her head for a moment and then spoke: "It may be true, as you
say, that what I have done will lose me my fair name--I had never
thought of it in that light--but it is also true that I am innocent
and have done no wrong. You may not believe me, but you can ask Master
Brandon"--here the king gave a great laugh, and of course the
courtiers joined in.
"It is all very well for you to laugh, but Master Brandon would not
tell you a lie for your crown--" Gods! I could have fallen on my knees
to a faith like that--"What I tell you is true. I trusted him so
completely that the fear of dishonor at his hands never suggested
itself to me. I knew he would care for and respect me. I trusted him,
and my trust was not misplaced. Of how many of these creatures who
laugh when the king laughs could I say as much?" And Henry knew she
spoke the truth, both concerning herself and the courtiers.