To my Lady Beauvallet, discovered in the Long Gallery, Gerard exposed
the folly of his brother. He sat him down heavily in a chair covered
with gilded leather, and spoke bitterly and long. My lady listened
in amazement and distress, but Nicholas wandered down the gallery
inspecting such new pieces as my lord had lately acquired, and gave no
ear to the discourse.
"If you have more influence than I have, Kate, I pray you use it now,"
Gerard said. "I grant you he lives but to plague me, but I should
desire him to continue to live."
Nicholas raised his head from a close scrutiny of a piece from one of
the cabinets. "Whence had you this Majolica ware, Gerard?" he inquired.
"But Nicholas cannot mean it!" my lady said hopefully.
"Prevail upon him to admit as much, madam, and call me your debtor.
Prevail on him only to pay heed to sager counsel!"
She turned her head, and saw Nicholas at the other end of the gallery,
intent upon Majolica ware. "Good my brother! Nicholas! Will you not
tell me what you have in mind?"
Nicholas put back the piece, and came sauntering towards her. "Pottery,
Kate, but Gerard denies me an answer. What's your will?"
"God sain you, Nick, can you not be serious even now?" my lord said
sharply.
Nicholas stood before them, swinging gently on his toes, with his hands
tucked into his belt. A smile lilted at the corners of his mouth.
"Here's heat! I've said my say, Gerard, and mighty ill you liked it.
What would you have now?"
"Nick, put by this mad humour, and give me a sober answer! Tell me ye
did but jest."
"Soberly I tell you, brother, I did not jest."
My lord's hand clenched on the arm of his chair, and he spoke with some
force. "It's to throw away your life for a whim. Are you tired of it?
Does the thought of death please you so well? Or are ye besotted with
success and now think even to succeed in this?"
Nicholas nodded.
"Oh, but Nicholas, this is not like you!" fluttered my lady.
"It's very like him, madam!" Gerard retorted. "Any wild scheme is meat
for Nick! I might have known what would come of it! But to think to
snatch a wench out of Spain, to bring her home, a foreigner and an
enemy, to be my lady one day passes all bounds!"
"Does it so indeed?" Nicholas interposed swiftly. "You're at fault,
Gerard. I do but follow the example of the first baron, who also
brought home a foreigner and an enemy to be his bride."
My lord glared; my lady stirred restlessly, and hurried into speech.
"Of what like is she, Nicholas?"
"Tush!" said my lord awfully.
Nicholas looked down at my lady; a gentler light was in his eyes.
"Kate, she is a little lady all fire and spirit, with great brown eyes,
and two dimples set on either side the sweetest mouth in Christendom."
"But a Spaniard!" my lady protested.
"Trust me to amend that," he said lightly.
She liked the savour of romance, smiled, and sighed. My lord brought
her down to earth again very speedily. "What boots it to ask of what
like she may be? Ye will never see her. Nor will ye see Nick again if
he goes on this mad quest. That is certain."
Nicholas laughed out. "Marry, only one thing is certain, Gerard, and
that is that ye will never be rid of me. I always come back to be your
bane."
"Lad, you know well I've no wish to be rid of you. Can I not prevail
with you? For the sake of the house?"
Nicholas held up his hand, and showed the lady's thumb-ring upon his
little finger. "See my lady's token. I swore on it to reach to her. Are
you answered?"
My lord made a gesture of despair. "I see there is once more to be no
ho with you. When do you look to go?"
"Some three months hence," Nicholas answered. "The _Venture_ lies in
dock, and will take some time refitting. I must to London within the
week to pay my duty to the Queen. I have appointed young Dangerfield to
meet me there. I might go thence into Worcestershire to see how Adela
does. You will see me home again in a month, never doubt it."
He left Alreston two days later upon the Barbary horse from my lord's
stables, with Joshua Dimmock riding sedately behind him, and travelled
'cross country at his leisure until the post road was reached.
"Never at quiet!" Joshua remarked to the heavens. "Court drowning at
sea, court foundering in mire upon land: it's all one."
"Peace, froth!" Beauvallet said, and made his horse curvet on the green.
They came within sight of the city late one evening as the gates were
closing. "What, the good-year!" Joshua cried, roused to wrath. "Shut
Beauvallet out, is it? Now see how I will use these churlish Londoners!"
"No swashbuckling here, crack-hemp; we rest at the Tabard."
The great inn showed welcoming lights, and placed her best at
Beauvallet's disposal. He stayed only one night, and was gone in the
morning over London Bridge to the Devil Tavern in East Chepe, where he
had reason to think he might find Sir Francis Drake.
The host, who knew him well, accorded him a deferential welcome, and
bustled about to prepare a chamber for his honour. Sir Francis lay at
the inn indeed, but was gone forth that morning, mine host knew not
where. But there was a dinner bespoke for eleven o'clock, and Master
Hawkins would be there--nay, not Master John, but his brother--and Sir
William Cavendish, so mine host believed, with some others.
"Lay a place for me, Wadloe," Sir Nicholas said, and went out in search
of Sir Francis, or any other friend who might chance to be abroad.
Paul's Walk was the likeliest place to find Sir Francis; he would be
sure to go there to learn what news might be current. Sir Nicholas
strode off westwards through the crowded streets, came in good time to
the great cathedral, and ran with the clank of spurred heels up the
steps.
Merchants and moneychangers no longer congregated in the church, as
they had done only twenty years ago, but Paul's Walk was still the
meeting ground for every court gallant who wished to show himself
abroad. If a man desired to see a friend, or hear the latest news, to
Paul's Walk he must go, where he would be bound to meet, sooner or
later, most of the notables of town.
Beauvallet came up with a score of young gallants, exchanging Court
gossip. His glance swept over these; he clove a way through them, and
looked keenly round. Over the heads of two foppish gentlemen who eyed
him with disfavour, he saw a bluff, square-set man, with a fierce
golden beard, and long grey eyes set slightly slanting in a broad face.
This man stood with feet planted wide, and arms akimbo, talking to an
elderly gentleman in a long cloak. He wore a peascod doublet, hugely
bombasted, and a jewel in one ear.
Sir Nicholas pushed through the crowd, and raised his hand in greeting.
The square man saw; his narrow eyes opened wider; he waved, and came
to meet Beauvallet through the press. "What, my Nick!" he rumbled. His
voice had some strength, as if he were accustomed to make himself heard
above wind and cannon-shot. "Why, my bully!" He grasped Beauvallet's
hand, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Whence do ye spring? God's
light, I am glad to see you, lad!"
Some heads were turned. A gentleman pushed forward,
saying:--"Beauvallet, as I live! Save you, Nicholas!"
Beauvallet greeted this friend, and others who drew near. With Drake's
hand on his shoulder he stood bandying idle talk some little while,
answering eager questions. But soon Drake bore him off, and they walked
back together towards the Devil Tavern.
"What news?" Drake said. "I had word of you in the Main, ruffling
still. What chance?"
"Good," Sir Nicholas answered, and recounted briefly some of his
adventures.
Drake nodded. "No mishaps?"
"Some few deaths, no more. Perinat came out from Santiago to teach me a
lesson." He chuckled, and flung out a hand on which a single ruby ring
glowed. "Oho! I took that from Perinat for dear remembrance's sake."
Drake laughed, and pressed his arm. "Proud bantam! What else?"
"A galleon bound for Vigo laden with silks and spices, and some gold.
More of that anon. Tell your tale."
Drake had Virginian news, being but just returned from the little
colony. He had brought back the colonists, and had much to tell. Talk
ran freely, and footsteps lagged. It was after eleven when they reached
the Devil, and in an upper room were gathered some half a dozen guests
awaiting their host.
Drake rolled in with an arm flung across Beauvallet's shoulders. "Cry
you pardon!" he said. "Look what I bring!"
There was some little stir, a cry of "Mad Nicholas, by God!" and a
babel of welcome.
There was Frobisher, ready with a quiet greeting; Master William
Hawkins, solid, frieze-clad man; young Richard, his nephew, standing
beside Cavendish, a courtier among the sea-dogs; Master John Davys,
rugged man, and a scattering of others, most of them known to Sir
Nicholas. The rafters rang soon with wild tales tossed to and fro,
laughter, and the clink of tankards. Drake sat fatherly at the head
of his table and had Sir Nicholas upon his right hand, Frobisher on
his left. Frobisher bent his brows at Beauvallet, and said: "I heard
of your coming; there were some men of yours met some of mine at the
Gallant Howard. Fine doings! I am avised you sail with women aboard.
How now, Beauvallet?"
Drake cocked a wise eyebrow in Beauvallet's direction; young Cavendish
looked as though he would like to hear more, yet hardly liked to raise
his voice in this august gathering.
"True enough," Sir Nicholas said lightly.
"Rare work for a sailor," Frobisher said ironically. "A new cantrip, I
doubt?"
"You're jealous, Martin," Drake cut in with a deep laugh. "What's the
reason, Nick?"
"Simple enough," Beauvallet said, and told it, very briefly.
Drake dipped a sop in his wine, and looked sideways a moment. Frobisher
said grimly:--"Beauvallet looks for romance upon the high seas, and
makes his fine gesture. I would not sail with you, Beauvallet, for a
thousand pound."
"No stomach for it, Frobisher?" Sir Nicholas said sweetly.
"None, beshrew me. What fresh devilment this voyage?"
"Some fine prizes," Drake said. "And a ring from Perinat--for
remembrance's sake, Nick, eh?"
"I am a plain man," Frobisher remarked. "Too plain for such doings.
Drake and you, Drake and you!" He shook his head over them.
Master Davys let a sudden laugh at this, and began at once to speak of
a mooted expedition in search of the North-West passage he so fervently
believed in. "Ay, you're a mad runagate, Nick, but there's a place for
you with me if you care to venture forth."
At that there broke out a general discussion, some ribaldry, and a
gentle twitting of Master Davys' earnestness.
Cavendish, listening bright-eyed to all this discourse, ventured a word
here and there, and presently spoke of his own plans. He had three
ships fitting out for a West Indian expedition, and was agog to follow
brave examples set him. Sir Nicholas wished him God-speed, and drank
success to his venture. He found the grave, considering grey eyes of
young Richard Hawkins upon him. He threw him a gay word, and young
Richard blushed, and laughed.
"This babe sails with you, Drake?" Sir Nicholas said. "Well-a-day! I
left him scarce out of his swaddling-bands!"
"Ay, ay," Drake said. "All alike, these Hawkins--born to the sea. Did
you have speech with old Master Hawkins at Plymouth?"
"Long speech, over a tankard of rare beer. I hear the great John grows
greater still, Richard."
"My father talks of war with Spain," Richard said. "He says Walsingham
looks keenly for it."
"A cup to the happy day!" Beauvallet said.
Frobisher struck in to inquire of Beauvallet's plans; Master Davys,
aroused from a dish of eels, struck the table with his clenched fist,
and loudly bade Beauvallet sail with him to the North-West passage.
Beauvallet turned it off with a laugh, and gave Frobisher an evasive
answer. Drake looked sideways again.
But it was not until much later, when these two sat alone in the empty
room, over a fire of sea-coal, that Drake put his question. Then he
puffed at his long pipe, and stretched his massive legs out before him,
and looked up at Beauvallet out of his narrow, all-seeing eyes. "What
devilment, Nick? Let me have it."
Beauvallet brought his quick gaze up from the red heart of the fire,
and looked challengingly. "Why must I needs have devilment in mind?"
Drake pointed the stem of his pipe. "I know you, Nick, d'ye see? You've
not given me the full sum of it, but Martin jumped your fine secret for
you."
So he had it then, in a few graphic words. It made his jaw drop a
little, but it made him twinkle too. "Pretty, very pretty!" he said.
"But what now?"
"I shall go to Spain to fetch her," answered Sir Nicholas, in much the
same tone as he would have said he would go to Westminster.
At that Drake let out a mighty echoing laugh. "God amend all!" He
sobered suddenly, and leaning forward took Beauvallet's arm in a strong
hold. "Look you. Nick, ha' done. Art too good a man to be lost."
The gleaming blue eyes met those long grey ones for an instant. "Do you
think I shall be lost then?"
Drake twisted his beard upwards, and chewed the end of it. "Well,
you're human." His shoulders began to shake again. "Ho, pull me
Philip's long nose, Nick, if ye see his Satanic Majesty! You would
come safe out of hell, I dare swear. But how to come into Spain? Your
smuggling port?"
"Nay, I had thought of it, but it's to court exposure. I must have
papers to show at need. The plague is on it we have no ambassador in
Madrid to-day."
"English papers would never serve," Drake said. "You're frustrated at
the very outset. Go to, put the folly aside."
"Not I, by God! I shall try my fortune with my French kinsmen."
"God's Death, have you any?"
"A-many. One in particular would be glad to serve me for old times
sake, I believe. The Marquis de Belrémy, with whom I travelled many
leagues on the Continent, years ago. Ay, and we saw some scrapes
together, God wot!" He laughed softly, remembering. "If he can put me
in the way to get French papers, well. If not--I shall still find a
way."
Drake puffed in silence for a moment. "And a license to travel over
seas, Master Madman. Letters of Marque won't serve for this emprise.
It's in my mind the Queen may have other plans for you than to lose you
in a hare-brained venture to Spain."
"Trust me to get a license. If the Queen will not, think you Walsingham
would be so nice?"
Drake pulled a grimace. "Ay, marry, we know he'd be glad enough to send
a spy into Spain. Beshrew your heart, Nick, it's madness! Do you hold
your life of so mean account?"
"Nay, but it's charmed. Yourself said so, Drake. Where lies the Court?"
"At Westminster."
"Then I'm for Westminster to-morrow," said Sir Nicholas.
He came to the palace in the forenoon of the next day, very bravely
tricked out in a slashed doublet, scented with musk, and his beard
fresh trimmed. He had a cloak of the Burgundian cut aswirl from his
shoulders, and caught up carelessly over one arm. It was not difficult
to gain access to the palace, especially for Sir Nicholas Beauvallet,
who was known to be a favourite with the Queen's Grace. She had always
a soft corner in her heart for a handsome dare-devil.
Sir Nicholas reached, without difficulty, one of the Long Galleries to
which he had been directed. Some of the Queen's ladies were gathered
here, and many of the court gallants. He learned that the Queen was
closeted with the French Ambassador, Sir Francis Walsingham and Sir
James Crofts in attendance. This he had from the Vice-Chancellor, Sir
Christopher Hatton, strutting in the gallery. Hatton gave him a cool,
polite greeting, and two fingers to do what he willed with. Beauvallet
let them fall soon enough, and fell into talk with the elegant and
grave Raleigh, also waiting for her Grace to come into the gallery. Sir
Christopher rolled a fiery eye, and seemed to withdraw the hem of his
garment from Raleigh's vicinity. At that Sir Nicholas grinned openly.
Sir Christopher's jealousies seemed to him absurd.
He had to wait perhaps half an hour, but he employed his time
pleasantly enough, and very soon drew a shocked titter from one of
the Maids of Honour, who rated him for a bold, saucy fellow. This he
certainly was.
There came a stir at the far end of the gallery; a curtain was held
back, and four people came slowly into the gallery. First of these
was the Queen, a thin lady of no more than middle-height, but mounted
on very high heels. A huge ruff, spangled with gems, rose behind
her head, which was of fiery colour, much crimped and curled, and
elaborately dressed with jewelled combs, and the like. Still more
monstrous loomed her farthingale, and her sleeves were puffed out
from her arms, and sewn over with jewels. She was dazzling to behold,
arrayed in the richest stuffs, glinting with precious stones. She drew
all eyes, but she would still have done so had she been dressed in the
simplest fustian. Her face might have been a mask for the paint that
covered it, but her eyes were very much alive: strange, dark eyes, not
large, but very bright, and oddly piercing.
A little behind her, his hand upon the curtain, De Mauvissière bent
his stately head to listen deferentially to some word she had flung at
him over her shoulder. Behind him Sir Francis Walsingham was folding
a scrap of paper, which anon he handed to Crofts, frowning in the
background. Sir Francis' unfathomable, rather sad eyes, seemed to
embrace everyone in the gallery. They rested thoughtfully on Beauvallet
for a moment, but he made no sign.
De Mauvissière bent to kiss the Queen's hand. She was tapping her foot,
and her eyes snapped dangerously. Her ladies, being familiar with the
signs, knew some misgivings.
De Mauvissière went out backwards, bowing; the Queen nodded, and still
tapped with one foot. She was out of temper, flashed an angry glance at
her two ministers, and hunched a pettish shoulder.
Walsingham crooked a long finger. His royal mistress must be diverted:
not Hatton, not Raleigh, whom she might see every day, would serve. Sir
Nicholas Beauvallet was come in a good hour.
"God's Death!" swore her Grace, "It seems I am right well entreated!"
There was a quick step; a gentleman was on his knee before her, and
dared to look up, twinkling, into her face.
"God's Death!" swore her Grace again, hugely delighted. "Beauvallet!"
Well, he had her hand to kiss, got a rap over the knuckles from her
fan, and was bidden rise up. The storm had passed over; her Grace was
happily diverted. Walsingham might hide a quiet smile in his beard; Sir
James Crofts could banish his worried frown.
"Ha, rogue!" said her Grace, showing teeth a little discoloured in a
smile of great good-humour. "So you return again!"
"As a needle to the magnet, madam," Sir Nicholas said promptly.
She leaned on his arm, and took a few steps with him down the gallery.
"What news do ye bring me of my good cousin of Spain?"
"Alack, madam, to my sure knowledge he hath lost three good ships: a
carrack, and two tall galleons."
Her bright eyes looked sidelong at him. "So! So! To whom fell they a
prey?"
"To a rogue, madam. One named Beauvallet."
She burst out laughing. "I swear I love thee well, my merry ruffler!"
She beckoned up Walsingham, and gave him the news. "What must we do
with him, Sir Francis?" she demanded. "Ask of me, my rogue, and ye
shall have." She awaited his answer without misgiving for well she
knew that he was in need of naught, but was come instead to enrich her
coffers.
"Two boons, madam, I crave on my knees."
"God's Son! This is churlish-sounding, by my faith! Name 'em then."
"The first is that your Grace will accept of a New Year's gift I am
come so tardily to offer--a trifle of rubies, no more. The second is
that your Grace will give me leave to travel into France for a space."
That did not please her so well. She frowned over it, and would know
more. "I vow I'll give you a place about the Court," she said.
It was his turn to frown. Your true courtier would have smiled, and
murmured his eternal devotion. This Mad Nicholas must needs twitch his
black brows together, and give a quick unmannerly shake of his head.
"By God, you're a saucy knave!" her Grace said stridently. But she
sounded more amused than angered. "What's this? You'll none?"
"Give me leave to travel awhile, madam," begged Sir Nicholas.
"I'm minded to box your ears, sirrah!" said her Grace.
"Oh, madam, forgive a tongue unused to speak softly! I had rather serve
you with the strong arm abroad than lie idle at your Court."
"Well! well! That's prettily spoken, eh, Walsingham? But I don't need
your strong arm in France. Nay, I grant no licence to you. Be plain
with me, sirrah!" She saw his blue eyes dancing, and struck him lightly
on the arm with her fan. "Ha, you laugh? God's Death, you are a daring
rogue! Let me hear it. Speak, Beauvallet: the Queen listens."
"Madam, I'll not deceive you." Beauvallet dropped to his knee. "Give
me leave to go into Spain awhile."
This startling request fell into an amazed silence. Then her Grace
burst out again into her loud laugh, and those at the far end of the
gallery envied Mad Nicholas who could so amuse the Queen. "A jest! An
idle jest!" the Queen rapped out. But her piercing gaze was intent upon
him. "Wherefor, then?"
"Madam, to perform a vow. Grant me so small a boon."
"Grant you leave to throw away your life? What shall that profit me? Do
you hear this, Walsingham? Is the man mad in good sooth, think you?"
Walsingham was stroking his beard. He too watched Sir Nicholas, but
there was no reading what was in his mind. "Sir Nicholas might haply
bring news out of Spain," he said slowly.
The Queen turned an impatient shoulder. "Oh, get some other to do your
spies' work, sir! Well, and if I grant this boon, Sir Nicholas? What
then?"
"Why, madam, only tell me what you would have me bring you out of
Spain?"
Maybe the swift rejoinder pleased her; maybe she was curious to know
what he would do. She said gaily:--"Marry, the best that Spain holds,
sir. Mind you that!"
Then Walsingham spoke in his soft, cold voice, leading the talk away
from this request. Beauvallet was content to have it so. The Queen gave
neither yea nor nay, but Sir Francis Walsingham would certainly give
a licence to Sir Nicholas Beauvallet for the good intelligence he saw
might come of it.