Some half hour after she had left the Princess--and we will venture to
hope that the reader has particularly marked at what precise moment of
time each of the scenes which we have lately described were taking
place in the castle of Nottingham--some half-hour after she had left
the Princess, Lucy de Ashby, covered with one of those large gowns of
grey cloth which were worn by the less strict orders of nuns, while
travelling, with her fair head wrapped in a wimple, and a pilgrim's bag
hung over shoulder, filled with a few trinkets and some other things
which she thought necessary to take with her, leaned thoughtfully upon
the table in the wide, oddly-shaped chamber, which had been
appropriated to her in Nottingham Castle. Near her stood one of the
maids, whom we have seen with her before, and who now watched her
mistress's countenance and the eager emotions that were passing over
it, with a look of anxiety and affection.
At length, with a sudden movement, as if she had long restrained
herself, the girl burst forth, "Let me go with thee, lady!
"You know not where I go, Claude," replied Lucy; "you know not, indeed,
that I am going anywhere!"
"Yes, yes," said the girl, "I am sure you are going somewhere; if not,
why have you put on that disguise?"
"But--but to see if it would do, in case of need," answered Lucy.
"Here, take it off good girl! I should not recognise myself, much less
would others!"
"Ay, lady, but still thou art going somewhere," said the girl, aiding
her to pull off the wimple and gown. "I know not where, 'tis true, but
I will go with thee, anywhere--neither distance nor danger will scare
me; and I am sure I can help thee!"
"Well, be it as thou wilt!" replied Lucy, after a moment's thought,
"but it may be that we shall leave behind us courts and soft beds for
ever, Claude."
"I care not--I care not!" cried the girl, "I would rather live with the
bold foresters in the wood than at Nottingham or Lindwell either."
Lucy smiled, as the girl's words brought back the memory of one happy
day, and with it the hopes that then were bright.
"Well, haste thee," she said, "haste thee to make ready; there are many
here who know thee, Claude, and we must both pass unrecognised."
"Oh!" answered her attendant, "I will transform me in a minute in such
sort that my lover--if I had one--should refuse me at the altar, or
else be forsworn! Hark! there is some one knocks."
"Pull it off--pull it off!" cried Lucy, disembarrassing herself of the
gown. "Now run, and see!"
"The Princess, madam, requires your instant presence," said the girl,
after having spoken for a moment to some one at the door; and, with a
quick step, and eager eye, Lucy de Ashby advanced along the corridor,
following one of Eleanor's ladies who had brought the message. The
latter opened the door of the Princess's chamber for her young
companion to enter, but did not, as usual, go in herself; and Lucy
found Eleanor and her husband alone.
Edward was clothed in arms, as he had come from Leicester, dusty, and
soiled with travelling, but his head was uncovered, except by the
strong curling hair which waved round his lordly brow, while a small
velvet bonnet and feather, in which he had been riding, was seen cast
upon one of the settles near the door. He was walking, with a slow
step, up and down the room, with his brows knit, and a glance of
disappointment and even anger in his eye. Eleanor, on the contrary, sat
and gazed on him in silence, with a grave and tender look, as if
waiting till the first ebullition of feeling was past and the moment
for soothing or consolation arrived.
"Here she is, Edward," said the Princess, as soon as Lucy entered; and
those words showed her that the conversation of her two royal friends
had been of herself, and made her fear that the evident anger of Edward
had been excited by something she had done.
The timid and imploring look which she cast upon him, however, when he
turned towards her instantly banished the frown from his brow; and
taking her hand, he said, "Be not afraid, dear lady; I am more angry
perhaps than becomes me, but 'tis not with you or yours. When I came
here, some twenty minutes since, my sweet wife gave me this paper,
which tends to clear our poor friend Hugh, and I instantly took it to
the King to beseech him but to delay the combat for a week. Judge of my
surprise, when he refused me with an oath, and swore that either your
brother should make good his charge or die. But 'tis not my father's
fault, lady," he continued, seeing a look of horror, mingled somewhat
with disgust, come upon Lucy's face--"'tis not my father's fault, I can
assure you. Mortimer and Pembroke, and some others who have his ear,
have so prepossessed his mind, that for the moment all words or
arguments are vain; and yet this combat must not take place, or one of
two noble men will be murdered."
"Then let me try to stop it," answered Lucy, "Has the Princess, my
lord----"
"Yes--yes, she has," cried Edward, "and you must try, sweet Lucy; but I
doubt that even your persuasions--I doubt that even the bribe of your
fair hand will induce Monthermer to fly and leave his name to ignominy
even for a day."
"Nay--nay, he will," said Eleanor; "certain of his own innocence, with
the confession of her brother which Lucy has, that he believes him
guiltless----"
"'Tis but an expression of doubt," interrupted Edward, "if you told me
right."
"Nay, Edward," asked the Princess, rising and laying her hand upon his
arm; "if the case were our own--if I besought you with tears and with
entreaties, and every argument that she can use, would you not yield?"
"'Twere a hard case, dear lady mine," replied Edward, kissing
her--"'twere a hard case, in truth, yet I may doubt. His answer might
be clear; with honour, innocence, and courage on his side, why should
he fly?"
"To save _my_ brother," said Lucy, looking up in the Prince's face.
"Ay, but his renown!" exclaimed Edward.--"Yet he must fly. Some means
must be found to persuade him."
"Cannot you, my most gracious lord?" asked Lucy,
"Ay, that is the question," rejoined the Prince, again walking up and
down the room. "What will be said of me, if I interfere?--My father's
anger, too.--To tell a Knight to fly from his devoir!--Yet it must be
done.--Hark ye, fair lady; go to him, as you have proposed, use
prayers, entreaties, whatever may most move him--do all that you have
proposed--offer to go with him and be his bride. He scarcely can refuse
that, methinks;" and he turned a more smiling look towards Eleanor.
"But if all fails, tell him that I entreat--nay, that I command him--if
he be so sure of shortly proving his innocence, that no man can even
dream I have done this thing for favour--tell him I command him to fly
this night, and that I will justify him--that I will avow 'twas done by
my express command; and let me see the man in all my father's realms to
blame it!"
"Will you, most gracious lord," said Lucy--"will you give it me under
your hand? If I have but words, Hugh may think it is a woman's art to
win him to her wishes."
"Is there an ink-horn there?" demanded Edward, looking round.
"Here--here," said the Princess, shewing him the materials for writing;
and with a rapid hand Edward traced a few words upon the paper, and
then read them, but still held the order in his hand. "Remember," he
said, turning to Lucy, and speaking in an earnest, almost a stern tone,
"this is to be the last means you use, and not till every other has
been tried in vain. 'Tis a rash act, I fear, and somewhat an unwise
one, that I do, though with a good intent, but I would fain it were
never mentioned were it possible."
"This makes all safe," said Lucy, taking the paper; "he will go now, my
lord, that his honour is secure. But I promise you no entreaties of
mine shall be spared to make him go without it. I will forget that I
have this precious thing, until he proves obdurate to all my prayers.
Even then, methinks, I may show some anger to find him go at any words
of yours when he has scorned all mine.--But, good sooth, I shall be too
grateful to God to see him go at all, to let anger have any part."
"Well--well, fair lady," said the Prince, "may God send us safely and
happily through this dark and sad affair! We are told not to do evil,
that good may come of it; but here, methinks, I only choose between two
duties, and follow the greater. I act against my father's will, 'tis
true; but thereby I save the shedding of innocent blood, and I spare
the King himself a deed which he would bitterly repent hereafter. God
give it a good end, I say once more! for we act for the best."
"Fear not--fear not, my Edward," said Eleanor; "God will not fail those
that trust in him. May He protect thee, Lucy!" and as she spoke she
kissed her young friend's forehead tenderly. "Now tell me," she
continued, "is all prepared for your expedition?"
"All," replied Lucy. "My girl Claude has got me a grey sister's gown,
which will conceal me fully."
"Is that all?" cried the Prince. "Where are the horses?--but leave that
to me. If Monthermer consents to go, bid him make no delay, nor stay
for any preparation. He will find horses at the city gate--the northern
gate, I mean. In half an hour they shall be there. Know you the way to
his lodging?"
"Not well," said Lucy; "'tis, I think, the third door down the
court;--but Claude will find it quickly, I don't doubt."
"There is a speedier way than that," replied the Prince. "Follow the
passage running by your room, then down the steps, and you will see a
door; if you knock there, you will find his page or some other servant,
for it leads into his ante-room. It were better," he continued,
thoughtfully, "that you made a servant carry the disguise, and not
assume it till you are sure that he will go. Were you to visit him in
such a garb, fair lady," he added, taking her hand kindly, "and after
to return unwedded, men might speak lightly of your reputation; and
that which in holy purity of heart you did to avert a most needless
combat, might turn to your discredit."
The blood came warmly into Lucy's cheek, but the moment after she
looked up in the Prince's face, replying, with an air of ingenuous
candour, "You think me, doubtless, somewhat bold, my lord, and many men
may censure me, but I have something here"--and she laid her hand upon
her heart--"which blames me not, but bids me go, in innocence of
purpose, and share his fate whatever it may be. God knows this is a sad
and painful bridal, such as I never thought to see. A father's death, a
brother's rashness, and a lover's danger, may well cloud it with
sorrow. But there is a higher joy in thinking I am doing what is
right,--in thinking that I, a poor weak girl, by scorning idle tongues,
and the coarse jests of those who cannot feel as I can, have a power to
save my brother's life, and to spare him I love the dreadful task of
putting a bloody barrier 'twixt himself and me for ever.--Judge me
aright, my lord!"
"I do--I do," replied Edward; "and now, farewell. God speed you, lady,
on your noble enterprise!"
Lucy kissed his hand, and without more ado returned to her own chamber.
"Quick, Claude!" she cried; "are you ready?"
"Yes, madam," she answered. "Will you not put on the gown?"
"No," said Lucy, still pausing at the door; "bring them with you, and
follow quickly."
The girl gathered up her lady's disguise and her own in haste, and Lucy
led the way along the passage as the Prince had directed her. There
were no doors on either side, and but a loophole every here and there,
which showed that the corridor, along which they went, was practised in
the wall. Full of renewed hope, and eager to see her scheme put in
execution, the lady descended the steps, and was about at once to knock
at the door, when her raised hand was stayed by hearing some one
speaking.
She felt faint, and her heart beat quickly, for she recognised her
brother's voice. Lucy listened, and distinctly heard the words--"I
believe you innocent, from my soul, Monthermer; and I would give my
right hand that you or I were a hundred miles hence this night."
A smile came upon her countenance. "He is preparing the way for me!"
she murmured to herself; and again she listened, but all was silent,
save a retreating step and a closing door.
"He is gone," said Lucy, turning to her maid. "Stay you here, Claude,
for a minute or two;" and without knocking, she gently opened the door
and looked in.
There was a small room before her, with a fire on the opposite side,
and three stools near it, but no one there; and entering with a
noiseless step, Lucy gazed round. A door appeared on either hand: that
on the right was closed, but through it she heard sounds of talking and
laughter: that on the left was in a slight degree ajar, but all was
silent within. Gliding up to it with no noise but the light rustle of
her garments, Lucy approached, and pushed it gently with her hand--so
gently that she saw before she was seen.
Nearly in the centre of the room stood he whom she loved, with his arms
folded on his broad chest, his fine head bent, his eyes fixed upon the
ground, and an expression both sorrowful and stern upon his lip and
brow. As the door moved farther open, it roused him from his reverie,
and he looked up; but what a sudden change came instantly upon his
countenance. An expression mingled of joy, surprise, and anxiety,
passed across his face, and exclaiming, "Lucy, dearest Lucy!" he sprang
forward to meet her.
Drawing her gently into the room, he closed the door, and then held her
for a moment to his bosom while both were silent; for the throbbing of
her heart left Lucy's tongue powerless, and Hugh dared not speak lest
it should dispel what seemed but too happy a dream.
"Dearest Lucy," he said, at length, "even while I thank and bless you
for coming, I must ask what brings you here? It was rash, dear girl--it
was rash! If you had sent to me, I would have been with you in a
moment. It is not a minute yet since your brother was here."
"I know it," replied Lucy--"I know it all, Hugh. I know it was rash to
come; but I am going to do everything that is rash to-night, and
this is but the beginning. It is in general that you men sue to us
women--till you are our masters, at least; now I come to sue to you."
"Oh, Lucy!" cried Hugh, with a sort of prescience of what she was about
to say--"what is that you are going to ask? Remember, Lucy--remember my
honour. If you love me, that honour ought to be dearer to you than my
life. Ask me nothing that may bring shame upon me."
"Listen to me--listen to me," she replied. "You must hear me, Hugh,
before you can judge. Your honour _is_ dearer to me than your life; and
oh, Hugh! you have yet to learn how dear that is to Lucy de Ashby;" and
as she spoke, the tears rose into her eyes, but she dashed them away,
and went on. "Yet it is not for your life I fear, dear as it is to me.
Oh, no! your heart is safe. Panoplied in innocence and strength, you go
but to conquer. It is for my brother that I fear--for my rash and hasty
brother--ay, and guilty, if you will--for he who brings a false
accusation against an innocent man is guilty. I tremble for him, Hugh;
I tremble for myself, too; I fear that Hugh de Monthermer will draw
upon his hand my brother's blood; and a hand so stained can never clasp
mine again."
"I know it," said Hugh; "but what can I do? I have no choice, Lucy, but
to live for misery or to die disgraced!"
"Yes," cried Lucy, eagerly--"yes, you have. Fly, Hugh de Monthermer!
give no reason to any one why you go. You are sure, ere long, to
establish your innocence.--appear not at the sound of the
trumpet--appear not till you can prove his guilt upon the foul wretch
who did the deed with which they charge you."
"What!" exclaimed Hugh de Monthermer--"to be condemned, not only as a
criminal, but as a coward and a recreant--to have my name pass from
mouth to mouth throughout all Europe as a byword--to have heralds say,
when they would point out a craven and a traitor--'He is like Hugh de
Monthermer!' Oh, Lucy, Lucy! think of my honour--think of my renown!"
"But your honour is safe, Hugh," answered Lucy, clinging to his arm.
"Alured himself admits your innocence. I heard him say but now----"
"Ay, in this room between him and me," replied Hugh de Monthermer; "but
to-morrow he goes into the lists, and calls God to witness that his
cause is just. To me he owns the falsehood of the charge, but to the
world upholds that it is true."
"Not so!" cried Lucy--"look here, Monthermer--see what he says to me
here!"--and she drew forth the paper which Alured had given her.
Hugh read it eagerly; and as he saw her brother's wish expressed, that,
if he fell, their hands might be united, he turned his eyes towards the
sweet girl beside him, with a look of tenderness and love deep and
unutterable; but then the moment after, waving his head with a
melancholy air, he said, "He knows you not as I know you, Lucy. His
wish is kind and generous--noble--most noble, and atones for all. But
would Lucy follow it?"
"No!" she replied, raising her head, firmly. "Were I to waste away my
life in hopeless regret and misery, my hand should never be given to
him who sheds my brother's blood. I vow it, so help me God at my utmost
need! But hear me; Hugh," she continued, her cheek, which had been very
pale during the last words, becoming crimson--"Hear me, Hugh! hear me,
my beloved!--hear me, and ho, grant my request! As eagerly, as fondly
as ever you have sued for this hand, I now beseech you to take it.--On
my knees, Hugh de Monthermer," and she sunk upon her knees before
him--"on my knees thus, bedewing your hand with my tears, I beseech you
to make Lucy de Ashby your wife."
"But how, dearest Lucy!" he cried, stooping to raise her. "What--what
do you mean? How--how is this to be!"
"Fly!" exclaimed Lucy--"fly _with me_ this night! Here is my brother's
full consent--here, also, is your justification--here, at the very
first, he proclaims your innocence!"
"Ah, no!" replied Hugh de Monthermer, shaking his head; "he says, but
that he doubts my guilt. Oh, Lucy! you will drive me mad to give me
such a precious sight in prospect, and then to sweep it all away. I
tell thee, my beloved, there is not an honest man in all the realm that
would not call me coward, if I fled."
"Is that all that stays you?" demanded Lucy. "What, if I show you that,
amongst the highest and most honourable of the land, there are those
who will exculpate and defend you?"
"You cannot do it, Lucy," replied Hugh. "You may think they would. They
may have said some chance words--that 'twere better to fly--that I
might avoid the combat for some days; but when the time came, their
voices would be raised with all the rest against me. You can shew me no
more than this, dear girl."
"I can!" answered Lucy. "There! read that; and if you hesitate a moment
more, 'tis that Hugh de Monthermer loves not his promised bride,
rejects her proffered hand, and scorns the rash and giddy girl, who for
the sake of any ungrateful man cast from her every thought but one--the
saving those she loves."
Hugh de Monthermer held the paper in his hand for a moment without
reading it, gazing upon the beautiful being beside him, as with her
eyes full of lustre and light, her cheek glowing, her lip quivering,
she addressed to him the only reproachful words which had ever fallen
from her lips.
"Lucy," he said, "I will not merit that reproach. You yourself have
told me that my honour is dearer to you than my life. Let it be dearer
than all other things, Lucy, and then tell me whether I can go with
honour. Whether, if I do, men will not cry coward on me?--whether
my renown will not suffer in the eyes of Europe? If you say yes, oh,
with what joy will I fly, with Lucy for my companion! With what
deep devotion will I strive through life to repay her generous
self-devotion, and to show her what I think of that heart which could
cast away all idle forms and ceremonies, set at nought empty opinion,
and entertain, as you say, but the one thought--the saving those she
loves."
As he spoke, he clasped his arms around her, and Lucy hid her eyes upon
his bosom, for they were running over with tears. But after a moment,
she raised them again, saying--"Read--read, Hugh, that will satisfy
you!"
Hugh de Monthermer approached nearer the lamp, and looking at the
paper, exclaimed--"Prince Edward's writing! What is this?--
"'Follow the plan of your fair lady, Monthermer. Fly with her as speedily
as may be--she will tell you more; but fear not for your honour--I will
be your warranty, and will say 'twas my command. You are my prisoner
still, remember, and as such, cannot fight without the consent of
"'EDWARD'"
"This changes all!" cried Hugh de Monthermer; "but why not give me this
before, dear Lucy?"
"Because the Prince required me so to act," replied Lucy--"only to use
this as a last resource; and she went on to tell him briefly but
clearly all that had occurred.
"Let us be quick," she said, "dear Hugh! There will be horses down at
the north gate by this time. My poor girl, Claude, is waiting on the
steps with a nun's gown for me, and some cunning disguise for herself.
Have you nothing that you could cast over these gay garments? for as
you are about to travel by night with a poor grey sister, 'twere as
well not to seem so much the courtly cavalier."
Poor Lucy's heart, relieved from the burden that had rested on it, beat
up high with renewed hope; but still the agitation which she suffered
remained, like the flying clouds that follow a summer's storm, and
filled her eyes with tears, while the jest was still upon her lips.
Hugh held her to his heart; and soothed her, and might have felt
inclined to spend a few minutes more in such a sweet employment, but
Lucy reminded him of how quickly moved the wings of time.
"Remember, Hugh," she said, "the minutes and my courage are not stable
things, and both are ebbing fast. My heart beats strangely quick and
fearfully, and I must not faint or lag behind till we have passed the
gates."
"Nor there either!" cried Hugh; "but your courage will rise, dear Lucy,
when the immediate danger is past. We had better not go quite alone,
however, for we may yet have to use the strong hand by the way. I will
send down Blawket and another to the gate with horses for themselves."
"But a disguise!" cried Lucy--"a disguise for you. Ere we quit the
castle, all this gold and silk will send the tale abroad to every
horse-boy in the place."
"I have one ready," answered Hugh; "the priest's gown, in which I
escaped before, may answer well a second time. Where Is this girl of
yours?"
"Upon the steps," replied Lucy. "I will call her."
"Nay, let me," said Hugh de Monthermer; and, opening the door of the
ante-room and then that which opened on the stairs, he whispered, "Come
in, my pretty maiden; bring the lamp with you--I will be back
directly;" and passing on into the outer room, as soon as the maid was
in his chamber and had shut the door, he called Blawket aside and gave
him orders. Then sitting down at a table, he wrote a few words on a
scrap of paper, which he entrusted to one of the armourers, saying, "Do
not disturb Sir John Hardy to-night, but give him that at day break
to-morrow morning."
"'Twere a hard matter to disturb him, sir," answered the man; "for he's
asleep by this time, and when once his eyes are shut, lightning will
not make them wink for eight hours to come."
"It matters not," rejoined Hugh, "to-morrow will be soon enough--only
be sure to give it;" and thus saying, he returned to his chamber,
closing the doors carefully behind him.
The young knight actually started when he beheld Lucy in the grey gown
and wimple, such was the change which it had made.
"You see, Hugh," she cried, smiling as she remarked his surprise--"you
see what Lucy's beauty is made of. It all disappears when you take away
from her her gay apparel, and cover her with the dull stole of the
nun."
There might be a little coquetry in what she said, for Hugh de
Monthermer could make but one answer, and he made it; but to say the
truth, it was the coquetry of agitation, for Lucy sought to cover her
own fears, and prevent her mind from resting on them. No time was now
lost, however; the black gown of the priest was speedily found and
thrown over the other garments of the young Knight; and then the
question became how they were to go forth, without passing through the
room in which the servants and followers of Hugh de Monthermer were
sitting.
"Can we not return by the steps in the passage, madam?" asked Claude.
"Close to the door of your room there is the little staircase which
leads by the tower into the great court."
"That will be the best way," said Hugh. "Draw the veil over your face,
dear Lucy. No one will know us in such a guise as this; and there is
little chance that we shall meet any one."
The plan proposed was adopted, and neither in the corridor nor on the
staircase did they find a living creature, though, as they came near
the apartments of the Prince and Princess, steps were heard going on
before them, and then a door opened and shut at some little distance.
They reached the court, too, in safety, and Hugh de Monthermer took a
step or two forward to see that all was clear. A flash of light,
however, proceeding from the main building, caused him instantly to
draw back again under shelter of the doorway.
"There are torches coming," he said. "Does the King ascend by this
staircase?"
"Never, that I know of," replied Lucy.
"Never," said the girl Claude--"never!"
Hugh de Monthermer pushed the door partly to, but looked out through
the remaining aperture to see what was passing.
"There is a crucifix," he said, "and the host: they are carrying the
sacrament to some one in extremis."
"St. Mary bless me!" cried the girl Claude, as he mentioned the word
crucifix, "I have forgot mine;" and away she ran up the stairs again,
to seek her cross, which she had left behind.