_VISCOUNT VERE._
It may be that what I have now to relate will have something of a
presumptuous sound, seeing that I was a lad of humble birth, and that
my lord the Viscount was heir to a noble name and estate. Nevertheless
truth is truth, be it never so strange, and there be laws of the heart
which follow not the laws of custom and use. Nor was it anything
strange that my heart should go forth to one so handsome, so noble, so
kind of nature, so brave and gallant as the youthful Viscount, Lord
Lonsdale's son; but it always seems passing strange to me when I think
how he made of me a friend and comrade--me, a crook-backed lad of but
fourteen years when first we became acquaint, the son of a farmer, and
nephew to an inn-keeper--one who might never dare to speak such a word
as "friendship" in connection with such an one as my Lord Vere. Yet so
it turned out, and friends we became; and I may e'en write the word
down without shame, albeit in all humility, since to this very day he
speaks of me as friend, and loves to talk over with me those stirring
adventures in which we both bore a part, as you shall hear.
How this strange friendship came about it now behoves me to relate.
I was, as I have explained, installed for a time in Lord Lonsdale's
household, intrusted with the office of reading to him, and of writing
such of his letters as he desired. My duties, however, did not occupy
the whole of my time, and I had many hours of leisure to call mine own.
It was, I think, upon the third day of my stay, and I had found my way
to the stables to look at Blackbird, and to ask whether it would be
deemed right for me to take him out for exercise, when Lord Vere came
into the yard, and seeing me there, cried out in his free and friendly
fashion, "Well met, Dicon; let us ride forth together. I have somewhat
to say to thee; and that pony of thine looks wild for a gallop."
So before a quarter of an hour had passed we were riding through the
great gateway--I following in the wake of the Viscount, as was just and
right, but feeling greatly honoured by being permitted thus to attend
him.
I would fain describe my gallant young lord, only I fear that my poor
pen lacks the skill to bring him before the eye of the reader. It
is easy to speak of handsome, well-cut features, stamped with that
high-bred look that is the birthright of so many of our noble families,
of sunny blue eyes, delicately-arched brows, and a figure full of
grace and power, and skilled in all martial exercises. But these words
sound cold and poor, and do little towards conjuring up the picture of
youthful grace and manhood that was presented in those days by young
Lord Vere. There was a brightness about him which was like nothing so
much as the golden halo round the head of a pictured saint. He seemed
to carry sunshine and light with him. It shone in his eyes, it sparkled
in his smile, it brought light and happiness to the faces of those with
whom he spoke. I have lived long in the world now, and have seen many
men and women whom I have had good cause to love, admire, and revere;
but none amongst these has ever possessed that gracious and brilliant
charm of the Viscount. Never have I felt my heart so stolen away and
enslaved as it was by him. I know what the love is of man to maid,
and how it makes all the world new, and makes a heaven of this earth;
but even this love and glamour is not quite like that which filled my
boyhood's heart when young Lord Vere rode beside me and made of me his
friend. I always think when in Holy Writ I hear how the soul of David
was knit unto the soul of Jonathan, and of how the love of Jonathan
and David is spoken of as a love "passing the love of women," that I
understand the import of these beautiful words better perhaps than
other men may be able to do.
I felt the beginnings of this glamour as I rode after Lord Vere through
the stately park and watched the sunlight playing in his golden curls
and lighting up the bright tints of his riding coat and vest. The
Viscount's hair was so thick and abundant, and curled with such a
natural grace, that he wore no wig, like the greater part of the gentry
in those days; and for my part I think that nothing could have so well
become him as did his own bright hair, although I have heard envious
gallants, who would fain have copied him an they had known how, sneer
at his "maid's face" and floating love-locks.
We had scarce passed beyond the view of the house when Lord Vere reined
in his horse and signed to me to come up beside him; and then with one
quick glance round, as though to assure himself that there were none to
overhear, he said in eager accents, "Dicon lad, I have wanted speech
of thee for a purpose. I prithee tell me all thou knowest about sweet
Mistress Mary Mead."
I was not greatly surprised at the question, albeit it had come
somewhat soon and suddenly. Nor was I loath to speak of Mistress Mary;
and I told my young lord all that I knew of her--how I was favoured
sometimes to read to her with others in Miss Blake's parlour, and how I
had been made her attendant since she had been bidden to take exercise
on her palfrey with young Mistress Mary Bridges.
He listened eagerly, ever and anon putting some quick question anent
her health or the fashion in which she occupied herself; and when I had
told him all that I could, he looked thoughtful for a moment, and then
said, "Boy, dost thou think her happy?"
Truth to tell, I had never seriously considered this question. Mistress
Mary seemed to me as a thing apart, so greatly above my world that
I did not judge of her as I should of others nearer to myself; but
having had the thought suggested, I pondered awhile upon it, and then I
answered,--
"Methinks, perhaps, that she is as one who feels a shadow resting
upon her life. She is ofttimes pensive. She but seldom laughs, and her
smile is sad as well as sweet. I could think of her as one who has some
secret trouble which she is nursing; but I do not speak with knowledge,
my lord, only as my heart prompts me, thinking of her and what I have
noted when in her gentle presence."
Now although I could not doubt that the Viscount greatly loved Mistress
Mary, yet methought his face lighted as if with joy to hear that she
was ofttimes sad. And if at first I was surprised at this, I quickly
began to understand better the reason for this joy.
He rode on for a few minutes in silence, one expression chasing another
over his face; and at last looking earnestly at me, as though he would
read my very soul, he said,--
"Dicon, I must speak to some one, else my heart will break for very
impatience of these bonds of silence. Boy, I like thee. There is that
in thy face which draws me to thee. Canst thou be discreet? canst thou
keep a secret? and wilt thou be true to me if I tell thee more perhaps
of myself than any man knoweth as yet?"
My heart bounded within me at these words. Already it was enslaved by
the charm of this young noble. Even though I had been but three days in
his father's house, I had heard nothing but praise of him, and had come
already to regard him as a bright particular star. To be taken into his
confidence was a favour so far above my merits and so far removed from
anything I had dreamed, that I was bewildered with joy, and could only
breathe forth a hearty and cordial promise that I would be true to the
death, silent as the grave, and the very humble and devoted servant of
the Viscount in any office in which he could employ me and in which I
could serve him.
He looked at me smilingly as I blundered forth my clumsy asseverations,
but I think he read in my eyes that I meant every word that I said; and
when I had finished he held out his hand, and I placed mine within it,
feeling lifted into another sphere by the very touch of those strong
slim fingers.
"There, lad, that is the seal to our comradeship," he said, as he
released my fingers with a strong pressure. "Now I must e'en speak to
thee with some freedom; and yet, perchance, thou hast heard somewhat of
this very matter. Has it ever been told thee that I love Mistress Mary
as a man loves the maiden he would fain seek for his wife?"
"I have heard something of it, my lord," I answered; "albeit I think
that none know rightly whether there be truth in the rumour or no."
"If men say that I love her as never woman was loved yet, they speak in
very sooth no more than the truth," was the impetuous answer, and the
young lord's face flushed with the generous ardour of his love, whilst
his eyes kindled with such a light as methinks no maiden could resist;
but after a brief moment the flush faded, and he smiled at his own
vehemence, and said,--
"Nay, but I must not prate and rant like a hot-headed boy. I have
reached man's estate, and as a man will I woo and win my fair lady. And
thou, good Dicon, shalt help me to this, an thou wilt; for men have
raised barriers betwixt us that be not easily broken down. Not only
have they taken her away and placed her with those who would keep her
from me, but they have taught her to think that her sweet love will
injure me, and that to wed with her would be to do me grievous hurt."
"Is that so?" I asked, marvelling; and walking our horses at a foot's
pace under the green trees, the Viscount told me all his tale.
"Truly I think that from very childhood we loved each other. Thou canst
well guess how sweet a maid she was when she came to us, and how in my
lonely boyhood she seemed to come like a creature of light and air; how
we roved the woods and dells together, and played that we were king and
queen of all the earth; and how we plighted our troth a thousand times,
and never thought of life save as a thing to be shared together.
"I verily believe that, had my mother lived, she would have taken our
part; for Mary was in sooth a daughter to her, and she loved her with a
great and tender love. But she was taken away, and methinks the grief
of that parting changed Mary from child to maiden at an early age. Be
that as it may, when she was not yet fifteen years, and when I was but
eighteen, I could refrain myself no longer, but told her fully and
freely of my love; and she hid her sweet face upon my breast, and said
that she had never known a thought or a wish save to be mine. And so we
plighted our troth standing over my mother's grave, where it was that
her tears had roused within me the resolve to speak at once and for
ever, and to win for myself the right to chase those tears away. Our
troth-plight was the more hallowed to both of us, I know, for that it
was taken in that spot, amid so many memories of her who had been so
infinitely dear to both."
The Viscount paused a moment and turned away his head; and I thought
none the less highly of his manhood that the memory of his departed
mother had brought tears to his eyes. For a moment he paused, and then
he continued his tale, speaking in a graver tone, and with less of
emotion.
"Having thus opened my heart to Mary, the time had come for me to speak
to my father. I went to him without fear, and yet I was aware of some
small misgiving in my heart. Not that I could see how he could, by any
manner of means, find aught amiss with my choice; yet I remembered
how he had from time to time spoken of my marriage, and had seemed to
think that a daughter of our good friend Sir William Portman would
prove to be the lady of my choice. Hitherto I had only smiled when he
spoke thus, and had given the matter scarce another thought, having no
intentions towards marriage till Mary should be older. But I remembered
it as I approached the door of his room that day, and my heart sank
somewhat within me."
"But surely, my lord, your noble father could not have aught but love
for one so sweet as Mistress Mary?" I hazarded.
The Viscount slightly shook his head.
"Thou wilt find as thou growest in wisdom and in years, good Dicon,
that a father may love a fair maid right well, and yet not desire her
for his son's wife; and that he may care little for the lady he desires
to call his daughter-in-law the whiles he is very eager to betroth her
to his son. I was speedily to find that my father would hear not a word
of my troth-plight to Mary. He strove first to laugh; and when I would
not have the matter slighted, he grew stern and hard, told me that he
had other projects for me, and that in these dangerous and perilous
times--for they are more perilous than thou dost well know, Dicon, and
are like to be more so should aught happen to the King--no man could
walk too warily. He said he had chosen a wife for me out of the family
of the Portmans, as, in sooth, I had half believed, and that Mary was
no fit match for me. Some wealth she had, but her lineage was not equal
to mine, and, child though she was, she was deeply tainted by the
disloyalty and rebellious notions of her father. He had watched with
pain the development of the germs of this evil, which had been fostered
by those to whom her education had been intrusted, albeit at that time
he had not known this. In short, he would have none of it. He would
not listen to my pleading. He told me that I was but a boy, and knew
not what was for mine own good; whilst she was a child, and would say
yea to any swain who came a-wooing. And since I was unwilling thus to
be treated, and asserted my manhood and my unchanging devotion in the
finest phrases at my command, he took another line with me, and said
that I must have a chance of seeing other maidens than my Mary; and, in
fine, he told me to make ready to be sent to the King's Court, where it
was full time that I presented myself, and where he intended to send me
forthwith."
"Was not that good news, my lord?" I asked as he paused. "Surely your
lordship must have desired to see the gay world of fashion and the
person of the King's Majesty?"
"I wanted nothing so much then as to bask in the sunshine of Mary's
bright eyes," answered Lord Vere quickly. "Nevertheless, if that might
not be, and if it were needful to prove my constancy, I was willing to
obey my father; and, indeed, I had no choice but to do as I was bid.
Mary herself told me that I must submit myself to my father's will; and
within a week I had bidden her farewell, vowing to be constant to her
for ever, and quickly found myself in London, and welcomed at Court by
many of my father's friends."
"And what is the life of the Court like, my lord?" I ventured to
inquire; but the Viscount laughed and shook his head.
"Ask me that another time, good Dicon, and I will give thee thy fill of
stories of its follies and pleasures and wickedness; but my thoughts
are with my Mary to-day, and I will not sully her name nor her image
by mingling with it any of these polluted memories. I was there some
three months when my father came; and I heard then from him that Mary
had been sent away from Court House to Miss Blake's, or rather to Mrs.
Musgrave's care, in Taunton. My father said that a maid needed the
care of women--which is doubtless true; and that, now my mother was
dead, there was no one here to be a companion to her. I wrote her a
letter when I was able to find a safe messenger; but she was long in
replying, although I begged her to let me hear from her. And when she
did write, it was to tell me that she would not hold me bound by any
of the words I had spoken to her; that, since it would not be for my
happiness or welfare to wed with her, she freely gave me up. She bid
me do my father's will without thought of her; and albeit a spirit of
gentle, sorrowful love breathed in every line of her letter, not a word
of love did it contain, and I understood well that my father had made
her believe it would injure my fortune to mate with her, and that she
was striving to help me to forget, so that I might do that which was
thought by others to forward my fortunes in the world."
"Ah! that was like her--that was like her!" I could not refrain from
exclaiming. "That is what all who know her say of her--that she thinks
always of others, never of herself. That is why all love her so much.
They say of her ofttimes that she is like one of the holy angels, so
full of goodness and purity."
Lord Vere's face kindled, as I soon found it always did at any praise
of Mistress Mary; but he made no direct answer, only going on with his
narrative.
"It was two years before I saw Court House again; but those years had
served only to deepen my love for sweet Mary. Beside the image of her
which I carried always in my heart, other women looked to me like
'painted Jezebels,' as I called them in my thoughts. I never saw one
amongst them who stirred my heart or recalled in anywise the feelings
with which I had regarded my Mary; and when I came back, I was resolved
that I would rid her mind of those false notions which had been
instilled into it by others. But, alas! I was something too impetuous
and outspoken, and my father got wind of my intentions. What steps he
took I know not, but Mary had left Taunton ere ever I was able to ride
over to seek her. All I could learn was that she had been taken away
for the sake of her health, and whither she had gone my father would
not tell me. Kind in all else, he was inexorable about Mary, and soon I
was so seriously beset to pay my addresses to Mistress Julia Portman,
that I was glad to leave Court House once more, and travel abroad
or pay visits at the Court; and only of late have I returned home,
having arrived at man's estate and come into possession of the fortune
bequeathed me by my mother, as fully bent as ever upon winning my Mary
for my wife, albeit I have learned to go to work more warily now, and
to use policy in my methods."
"And does my lord the Earl know that your heart is yet unchanged, my
lord?" I asked eagerly.
"To him I have spoken no word," answered the Viscount gravely. "I trow
he thinks my boyish freak forgotten. What he may have said to Mistress
Mary, or to those who have charge of her, to keep her from me, I know
not. That he still desires an alliance with the Portman family I cannot
doubt, although Mistress Julia is now wed, and it is her younger sister
Edith whose praises are from time to time sounded in my ears. But I
have seen Mary. I have spoken to her, as thou, good Dicon, dost know.
I have read in her sweet eyes that however she may strive to turn from
me, yet her heart is mine as mine is hers. Her words may be few and
cold, but her eyes speak eloquent language. Obstacles and difficulties
may lie in our path; but I will overcome them in the strength of my
love, and Mary shall be mine at last!"
As he spoke, my very heart went out to him in his generous, chivalrous
love; and stretching out my hand and bringing it down upon his
charger's neck in my eagerness, I cried,--
"O my lord, what maid could stand out against such love? And if I can
do aught to help you, I am your very humble and devoted servant ever."
"Good lad, I believe thee," he answered warmly. "There is something in
thy face which draws me to trust thee. I have watched thee oft when
thou hast little known it: for when Mistress Mary rode forth I have
seldom been far away, though not often have I dared to show myself.
I read in thine eyes that thou didst love her. I knew that thou wert
faithful and watchful. And now, tell me true, boy: is she, as my father
would have me believe, one of those who look upon the young Duke of
Monmouth as the coming saviour and deliverer of this nation? And would
she look with aversion and displeasure upon one who (if indeed in days
to come it comes to be a question of fighting) would be forced by duty
and conviction to take up arms upon the other side?"
At that question I felt my face grow grave; for I knew right well
how Mistress Mary's heart was with the Duke of Monmouth, and how she
did indeed regard him as the coming deliverer of the nation, and the
champion of the cause of true religion. Very deep in her heart were
these matters buried. Very sacred in her eyes was the cause of him whom
she often declared to be the embodiment of all that she held dear in
matters appertaining to freedom of government and of faith. Could she
indeed ally herself to one who was banded upon the other side? It would
be a hard struggle betwixt love and duty--that at least I was sure of;
and did she think also that her love would be hurtful to him to whom it
was given, why, then, in very truth I thought that the scale would be
turned against him.
The Viscount's face fell as I spoke to him of these matters, and told
him of the assurance Mistress Mary felt, not only of the integrity of
the Duke, but of his right to rule the kingdom as the legitimate son of
the King; and I saw his face cloud over almost as if with impatience,
as he answered sharply and decisively,--
"Why will people persist in believing a mischievous fable? If the King
had a lawful son, he would be glad and thankful to proclaim him, and
have done with the endless cabals and plots which are making his life
a misery. Why, Dicon, there have been times when he must have been
sorely tempted by his black brother's jealousy and spite, and by his
love for the Duke, to proclaim him his lawful heir. But he has never
done so; nay, more, when it has been almost offered to him--as it was
to the great Eighth Harry--to appoint his own heir and make an end
of these disastrous disputes as to the succession, he has never let
himself be tempted to do this injustice to his brother. Honour has
withheld him, though certainly were Monmouth his lawful son he would
have acted very differently. Some say he is not the King's son at all,
despite the affection between them. I tell you plainly, Dicon, that
he is by no means the hero you good folk of the West Country imagine.
He has many good qualities. He has distinguished himself in the Dutch
wars by many acts of bravery; but he is tainted by the treachery of the
Stuarts--for I will not deny that they are a treacherous race, though
I am a loyal servant to the King. He is a bad husband to his virtuous
Duchess. The vices of his mother are appearing in him; and though he
is a stanch Protestant and a hater of Popery, yet he is not the saint
and the deliverer you enthusiasts believe him. Have a care, Dicon, how
you act if ever this comes to be a question of blows and of fighting;
for the kingdom is _not_ with the bastard Duke. We may not do ill that
good may come, nor fight against our lawful King to set an usurper on
the throne, be he never such a champion of liberty. What followed when
Cromwell was ruler though not called King? A tyranny worse than the
nation had ever groaned under in the King's time. The people had had
their will then, and it ended in their sighing for their rightful King
and bringing him back in triumph. And so it will be again if the Duke
of Monmouth is ever foolish enough to try to claim the throne. I doubt
me if he will ever succeed in winning it, but I am quite certain that
he will never keep it; and there will be evil days then for those who
take his part."
I listened with grave face and sinking heart to words which affected
me more as coming from Lord Vere than they had done when spoken by his
noble father and the other gentlemen. Somehow I had fancied that all
young and generous souls would go out in love towards our idol the
Duke, and to hear him spoken of by Lord Vere in such terms gave me a
curious shock. I could not but tremble to think how Mistress Mary would
take such words--she who had dreamed her dreams about the Duke till he
became to her as the hero of some noble tale, as the stainless knight
of romance going forth in the might of truth and righteousness to tread
down all enemies with lofty courage and devotion.
Methought the Viscount would need all the charm of his grace and the
attraction of their mutual love to approach Mistress Mary with such
words on his lips and such thoughts in his heart; but after all, was
not such love as theirs proof against all difference of opinion in
outward matters? Only to Mistress Mary these things went deep, deep
into her heart, and she could not regard them as mere externals.
This first ride and first talk were by no means the last; and before I
left Court House (with a generous gratuity in my pocket, over and above
the sum paid to my uncle) I felt that, despite the wide difference of
our stations, I knew the heart of the Viscount as nobody in the world
knew it, and that the word "friendship" between us was no mockery.
Heart and soul was I with him in his desire to win speech of Mistress
Mary, and to plead his cause in person; and I took back with me a long
letter written by Lord Vere, which I promised faithfully to deliver
into her own hands, unseen by all the world, so soon as she should be
returned and I could find a way of doing this discreetly.