THE PRECONTRACT
MISTRESS CAREW, finding herself pursued even to Wildrick Hall by the
bold addresses of Sir Barton Henge, and having a superstitious dread
of his scarred face, withdrew from the company assembled about Lady
Crabtree. She pleaded a slight indisposition and kept her room for a
few days, although even there she was followed by flowery missives from
her persistent suitor. They were brought to her by one of the women,
and after the first two, Betty returned them unopened. She would have
dreaded Henge less had she been more independent, but her peculiar
position made her fearful of his persecutions. She did not know how
her uncle would view the matter, and if Sir Barton’s suit was seconded
by Sir William’s commands, it might distress her yet more deeply. As
she sat alone, she had food enough for sorrowful meditations; she was
an orphan and, unhappily as she thought, endowed with a beauty which
attracted the admiration that she least desired. Had the suitor been
Simon Raby, her reflections would have been of a totally different
nature. But she was not yet certain of Raby’s feeling for her; she
was wise enough to know that the fine speeches of a courtier counted
for little, and she was too proud to permit herself to believe in the
tender words which Simon had spoken to her. But there was no room for
doubt of Henge’s bold suit, and she shrank with horror from the thought
of such a lover, although his fine appearance and gallant bearing
might have won the fancy of many a young woman placed in similar
circumstances; but Mistress Betty had a temper and a will that matched
with decided opinions.
Henge had been two days at Wildrick, when the household was surprised
by the arrival of Sir William Carew. He had been to London on a
business matter and came to Deptford to see his niece before returning
home. It was difficult to feign illness while her uncle was there, and
Betty was forced from her retirement at last. She came down to receive
a kind greeting from Sir William, but to be annoyed by the addresses
of her suitor. She saw, too, that Carew treated Henge with courtesy,
and the fear beset her that her relatives might be glad to be free of
a penniless girl, at any cost. She was likely to have little voice in
the affair, not even her preference would be consulted; and it might be
that she would be driven into a marriage that she despised, nor would
it matter if her heart was elsewhere. And indeed there was something
more than prejudice in her hatred of Henge, a handsome man and one
usually much favored by women. Betty saw, instead, a vision of the
manly form and fine face of Simon Raby, and she found nothing agreeable
in her dark-browed wooer.
It was the day after her uncle’s arrival that she sat alone in a little
turret chamber which looked out over the river, and here Sir William
found her. A glance at his face told her that his visit had some
unusual import, and she was troubled, half divining the truth. Carew
came in and sat down on a high oaken settle beside her and was a moment
silent, as if in thought.
“There is some trouble, uncle?” Mistress Betty said, a quiver of
excitement in her voice, and her dark eyes on his face.
“Yea, wench,” he said, “a trouble I had not looked for; albeit I might
have known Thomas well enough for that.”
“You mean my father?” she said in a low tone; “then it doth concern me.”
“It doth concern thee, truly,” retorted Carew, gravely; “nor do I see
the end on it. Did I not love thee, wench, it would not so disturb me.”
“I pray thee, uncle, tell me all,” Betty exclaimed, the trouble
deepening on her face.
“There is but little to tell, my girl,” he answered, with a glance at
her in which admiration and pity were mingled. “I find you are troth
plight to Sir Barton Henge.”
Betty sprang from her seat, her face aflame.
“’Tis a lie of his!” she cried, “a miserable and cowardly lie!”
Sir William shook his head. “Nay, fair niece,” he said, “it is no lie.
I saw the papers; duly signed they are, too. ’Twas done when thy father
had wealth and estate; and there it stands, and would have stood, I
take it, had it not been for thy face.”
“It does not matter, sir,” Betty cried, “I will none of him. From the
moment that I saw him in the inn, I dreaded him, and there is something
in his face I cannot endure.”
“Belike there is, Betty,” Carew returned gravely; “yet Henge is
handsome, and esteemed a brave man, albeit I never liked him, nor he
me. He drinks hard and lives better than his purse allows; yet I do
think that many women would believe themselves happy and he chose them.
He loves thee, wench, madly too, I think, as such men do sometimes; and
it is sure that he will never quit his claim, but cry ‘precontract’ if
you dream of wedding elsewhere.”
Sir William’s tone was matter of fact and calm, impressing his niece
with a painful sense of helplessness. To him this seemed doubtless
no uncommon affair, and a young girl’s preference was of small
consequence. Mistress Betty stood looking at him with horror growing in
her eyes.
“Alas!” she said sadly, “that evil wizard told me I should wed a man
scarred as Henge is, on the brow.”
At this Carew pricked up his ears.
“What say you, niece?” he asked; “a wizard? To what wizard did you go?”
“To none,” she answered; “but one came to Kimbolton,--a little,
bow-legged man, with a russet cloak.”
“Ah, Sanders,” said her uncle; “and he was at Kimbolton? A sure sign
that some scheme was hatching. ’Tis well that the poor lady died.”
Betty told him briefly the story of the packet, and he nodded his head
thoughtfully.
“You did well, my child,” he said; “I knew that I could trust you. As
for Sanders’s prophecy, doubtless he knew something of this contract.
It is the business of such men to pick up all the information that they
can. But what will you say to Henge? Having heard the whole matter from
him, I could but lay it before you. For my own part, I will not force
you, my girl; but bear in mind that you are likely to have few suitors.
You are portionless, and this man loves you; of that there is no doubt.”
He was watching the fair face closely as he spoke, but he made no sign
of any relenting toward the penniless orphan. He did not divine the
struggle in the proud young heart. She did not hesitate a moment in her
answer.
“I thank you, uncle,” she said with spirit, “for sparing me your
displeasure, for truly I could not obey you if you bade me wed this
man. I would sooner have his hatred than his love, and both I hold as
worthy only of my contempt.”
“Remember, wench, that you are like to die unwed, a poor dependent
in the house of some relative, picking up the crumbs that fall from
another’s table.”
“Sir,” she answered proudly, “I would rather starve than eat my bread
as the wife of this man Henge.”
Sir William smiled. “My girl,” he said, “I rejoice to see the spirit of
your blood, and I cannot blame you; yet this contract exists--made by
your father--”
Betty interrupted him with a passionate gesture.
“Uncle, I would know the truth!” she cried; “they told me--the old
servants whispered it in my childish ears, and it ran through my veins
like poison. They said my father wagered my mother at the gaming-table
the night that I was born--and lost. Is it so?”
Her face was white now, and her great eyes were set upon her uncle’s
with a look that made him wince. A deep red color stole over his
bronzed cheeks, and he bent his head, shamefaced.
“’Tis true,” he said harshly; “and it was to this man Henge, then a
roystering young gamester, and he held the debt. Thy father made this
contract for thee in its room.”
“And he would claim it?” Mistress Betty spoke in a low voice, but her
face was like the face of a corpse.
Sir William bowed his head without a word.
“By heaven!” she cried, “I would sooner be torn in pieces! Let him
never dare to come to me, or I shall insult him--I cannot bear this
agony of shame!”
“Nay, offend him not, fair niece,” Carew said gravely; “he is an
evil-tempered man and may yet work much evil for you. I will tell him
that your mind is set against this union, and that I will in no wise
permit you to be enforced. But let the man alone; your tongue is sharp
and will not mend your case, and remember that he was in no way one
whit worse than your father--nay, less culpable than he.”
“Uncle,” she said passionately, “I know what my father was--may God
forgive him. From my babyhood it has been told me--that he was my
shame. In my childhood it was rated in my ears, and in my girlhood it
was forced upon me by the indifferent treatment of those who should
have befriended me, the canting patronage that made a kindness to me a
charity. ’Twas not my fault, God knows, that he fathered me; had I had
the choosing, it should have been otherwise, but yet I suffer for it.
I am to be sold as chattel, it would seem, because, forsooth, I am my
father’s child; but I swear that the man who buys me shall find that
I have enough of my father in me to make his purchase a thorn in his
flesh and a curse to his peace!”
“That I warrant, wench,” Carew said grimly, “and I think that he will
scarcely break thy will unless he breaks thy neck. Surely, I will not
try to force thee. Henge shall know that thou art so set against the
marriage that it may not be. And now, my girl, make ready to go back to
Greenwich, for in my pocket is thy appointment as maid of honor to the
queen’s grace.”
A change came over Betty’s face, and then she answered with more
composure.
“I had no wish to serve Queen Anne,” she said; “I cannot put the dead
queen from my mind, but this one has been ill, too, and in trouble.
’Tis well that I should be no longer a burden here; I will go right
cheerfully, and I thank you for it, uncle.”
Sir William laid his hand upon her shoulder.
“My wench,” he said, not unkindly, “think not so ill of me that I
begrudge my orphan niece her bread. I did but try you. I had no wish
for you to wed this Henge, though there be many worse, for men are
not the paragons of a young maid’s dreams. But you will meet him at
Greenwich, and mark me, Betty, bear yourself courteously toward him.
’Tis said of him that he has the spite and venom of a spider, and he is
mad with love of that fair face of yours; and truly he has the claim
of a precontract, albeit he shall not have you against your will. But
these are dangerous times, and I have heard that he has the ear of my
lord privy seal, though I do suspect him of being a malcontent and
hating Cromwell, while he fawns upon him. Make a friend of this young
queen, and perchance she may do you a great service. They say that
the king’s highness is not well pleased with her, but I take this for
idle rumor; for I remember when he used to ride to Hever Castle to
court her, as ardent as a boy. ’Tis but a passing cloud and her sun
will burst forth again to scorch those who have endeavored to work
mischief against her, as was the case of my lord cardinal. I esteem it
a good fortune to get this appointment for you, which I did through
Mrs. Wyatt, the queen’s particular friend. We will leave Sir Barton to
Zenobia, who torments him as a cat does a mouse; and haste you, for in
an hour we go by the river to Greenwich.”