Quick steps descended the narrow staircase--steps so light and cautious
that they made no sound. Before drawing aside the arras that covered the
secret entrance to the chamber, the lady paused to listen; and hearing
nothing to alarm her, she softly raised a corner of the woof and looked
in.
What did she behold? A young man seated beside a carved oak table, with
his back towards her. He was reading a letter, the contents of which
seemed greatly to disturb him, for he more than once dashed it aside,
and then compelled himself to resume its perusal. No one else was in the
room, which was spacious and lofty, though somewhat sombre, being wholly
furnished with dark oak; while the walls were hung with ancient
tapestry. Heavy curtains were drawn before the deep bay windows,
increasing the gloom. The chamber was lighted by a brass lamp suspended
from the moulded ceiling, the ribs of which were painted, and the
bosses, at the intersections, gilded. Near the concealed entrance where
the lady stood was placed a large curiously-carved ebony cabinet,
against which leaned a suit of tilting armour and a lance; while on its
summit were laid a morion, a brigandine, greaves, gauntlets, and other
pieces of armour. On the right of the cabinet the tapestry was looped
aside, disclosing a short flight of steps, terminated by the door of an
anti-chamber.
Almost as the lady set foot within the room, which she did after a brief
deliberation, dropping the arras noiselessly behind her, the young man
arose. Her entrance had not been perceived, so violently was he
agitated. Crushing the letter which had excited him so much between his
fingers, and casting it furiously from him, he gave vent to an
incoherent expression of rage. Though naturally extremely handsome, his
features at this moment were so distorted by passion that they looked
almost hideous. In person he was slight and finely-formed; and the
richness of his attire proclaimed him of rank.
The lady who, unperceived, had witnessed his violent emotion was
remarkably beautiful. Her figure was superb; and she had the whitest
neck and arms imaginable, and the smallest and most delicately-formed
hands. Her features derived something of haughtiness from a slightly
aquiline nose and a short curled upper lip. Her eyes were
magnificent--large, dark, and almost Oriental in shape and splendour.
Jetty brows, and thick, lustrous, raven hair, completed the catalogue of
her charms. Her dress was of white brocade, over which she wore a loose
robe of violet-coloured velvet, with open hanging sleeves, well
calculated to display the polished beauty of her arms. Her ruff was of
point lace, and round her throat she wore a carcanet of pearls, while
other precious stones glistened in her dusky tresses.
This beautiful dame, whose proud lips were now more compressed than
usual, and whose dark eyes emitted fierce rays--very different from
their customary tender and voluptuous glances--was the Countess of
Exeter. He whom she looked upon was Lord Roos, and the chamber she had
just entered was the one assigned to the young nobleman in the Palace of
Theobalds.
She watched him for some time with curiosity. At length his rage found
vent in words.
"Perdition seize them both!" he exclaimed, smiting his forehead with his
clenched hand. "Was ever man cursed with wife and mother-in-law like
mine! They will, perforce, drive me to desperate measures, which I would
willingly avoid; but if nothing else will keep them quiet, the grave
must. Ay, the grave," he repeated in a hollow voice; "it is not my fault
if I am compelled to send them thither. Fools to torment me thus!"
Feeling she had heard more than she ought, the Countess would have
retired; but as retreat might have betrayed her, she deemed it better to
announce her presence by saying, "You are not alone, my Lord."
Startled by her voice, Lord Roos instantly turned, and regarded her with
haggard looks.
"You here, Frances?" he exclaimed; "I did not expect you so soon."
"I came before the hour, because--but you seem greatly agitated. Has
anything happened?"
"Little more than what happens daily," he replied. "And yet it _is_
more; for the crisis has arrived, and a fearful crisis it is. O,
Frances!" he continued vehemently, "how dear you are to me. To preserve
your love I would dare everything, even my soul's welfare. I would
hesitate at no crime to keep you ever near me. Let those beware who
would force you from me."
"What means this passion, my Lord?" inquired the Countess.
"It means that since there are those who will mar our happiness; who,
jealous of our loves, will utterly blight and destroy them; who will
tear us forcibly asunder, recking little of the anguish they occasion:
since we have enemies who will do this; who will mortally wound us--let
us no longer hesitate, but strike the first blow. We must rid ourselves
of them at any cost, and in any way."
"I will not affect to misunderstand you, my Lord," the Countess replied,
her beautiful features beginning to exhibit traces of terror. "But has
it arrived at this point? Is the danger imminent and inevitable?"
"Imminent, but not inevitable," Lord Roos rejoined. "It _can_ be
avoided, as I have hinted, in one way, and in one way only. There is a
letter I have just received from my wife; wherein, after her usual
upbraidings, remonstrances, and entreaties, she concludes by saying,
that if I continue deaf to her prayers, and refuse to break off entirely
with you, and return to her, our 'criminal attachment,'--for so she
terms our love--should be divulged to the deluded Earl of Exeter, who
will know how to redress her wrongs, and avenge his own injured honour.
What answer, save one, can be returned to that letter, Frances? If we
set her at defiance, as we have hitherto done, she will act, for she is
goaded on by that fury, her mother. We must gain a little time, in order
that the difficulties now besetting us may be effectually removed."
"I shudder to think of it, William," said the Countess, trembling and
turning deathly pale. "No; it must not be. Rather than such a crime
should be committed, I will comply with their demand."
"And leave me?" cried Lord Roos, bitterly. "Frances, your affection is
not equal to mine, or you could not entertain such a thought for a
moment. You almost make me suspect," he added, sternly, "that you have
transferred your love to another. Ah! beware! beware! I am not to be
trifled with, like your husband."
"I forgive you the doubt, my Lord--unjust though it be--because your
mind is disturbed; but were you calm enough to view the matter as it
really is, you would perceive that my resolution has nothing in it
inconsistent with affection for you; but rather that my very love for
you compels me to the step. What _I_ propose is best for both of us. The
remedy you suggest would work our ruin here and hereafter; would drive
us from society, and render us hateful to each other. My soul revolts at
it. And though I myself have received a mortal affront from your wife's
mother, Lady Lake; though she has poured forth all the malice of which
she is capable upon my devoted head; yet I would rather forgive
her--rather sue for pity from her than go the fearful length you
propose. No, William. The pang of parting from you will indeed be
terrible, but it must be endured. Fate wills it so, and it is therefore
useless to struggle against it."
"O, recall those words, Frances!" cried the young nobleman, throwing
himself at her feet, and clasping her hands passionately. "Recall them,
I implore' of you. In uttering them you pronounce my doom--a doom more
dreadful than death, which would be light in comparison with losing you.
Plunge this sword to my heart," he exclaimed, plucking the shining
weapon from his side, and presenting it to her. "Free me from my misery
at once, but do not condemn me to lingering agony."
"Rise, William! rise, I pray of you," ejaculated the Countess, overcome
by the intensity of his emotion, "and put up your sword. The love you
display for me deserves an adequate return, and it shall meet it. Come
what will, I will not leave you. But, O! let us not plunge deeper in
guilt if it can be avoided."
"But how _can_ it be avoided?" cried Lord Roos. "Will _they_ listen to
our prayers? Will _they_ pity us? Will _they_ hesitate at our
destruction?"
"I know not--I know not," replied the Countess, bewildered; "but I stand
appalled before the magnitude of the offence."
"They will _not_ spare us," pursued Lord Roos; "and therefore we cannot
spare them."
"In my turn I bend to you, William," said the Countess, sinking on her
knee before him, and taking his hand. "By the love you bear me, I
beseech you not to harm your wife! We have wronged her deeply--let us
not have her death to answer for. If the blow _must_ fall, let it be
upon the mother's head. I have less compassion for her."
"Lady Lake deserves no compassion," replied Lord Roos, raising the
Countess, and embracing her tenderly, "for she is the cause of all this
mischief. It is to her agency we owe the storm which threatens us with
ruin. But things have gone too far now to show compunction for either of
them. Our security demands that both should be removed."
"I may now say as you have just said, William, and with, far greater
reason," cried the Countess, "that you love me not, or you would not
refuse my request."
"How can I comply with it?" he rejoined. "Nothing were done, if only
partly done. Know you the charge that Lady Roos means to bring against
you? Though alike false and improbable, it is one to find easy credence
with the King; and it has been framed with that view. You will
understand this, when I tell you what it is. In this letter," he added,
picking up the paper he had thrown down, and unfolding it, "she accuses
you of practising sorcery to enslave my affections. She declares you
have bewitched me; and that she has proof of the manner in which it was
done, and of the sinful compact you have entered into for the purpose."
"O William! this is false--utterly false!" exclaimed the Countess, in
despair.
"I know it," he rejoined. "You have no need to practise other
enchantments with me than those you possess by nature. But what I tell
you will show you the extent of their malice, and steel your heart, as
it hath already steeled mine, against them."
"But this accusation is too monstrous. It will not be believed," cried
the Countess.
"Monstrous as it is, it is more likely to be believed--more certain to
be maintained--than the other which they lay at our door. We may deny
all their assertions; may intimidate or give the lie to the witnesses
they may produce against us; may stamp as forgeries your letters which
have unluckily fallen into their hands; but if this charge of witchcraft
be once brought against you, it will not fall to the ground. The King
will listen to it, because it flatters his prejudices; and even my voice
would fail to save you from condemnation--from the stake."
"Horrible!" exclaimed Lady Exeter spreading her hands before her eyes,
as if to exclude some dreadful object. "O to live in an age when such
enormities can be perpetrated! when such frightful weapons can be used
against the innocent--for I _am_ innocent, at least of this offence. All
seems against me; all doors of escape--save _one_--closed. And whither
does that door lead? To the Bottomless Pit, if there be truth in aught
we are told by Heaven."
Lord Roos seemed unable or unwilling to reply; and a deep pause ensued
for a few moments, during which the guilty pair shunned each other's
regards. It was broken at length by Lady Exeter, who said,
reproachfully, "You should have burnt my letters, William. Without them,
they would have had no evidence against me. Imprudent that you were, you
have destroyed me!"
"Reproach me not, Prances," he rejoined. "I admit my imprudence, and
blame myself severely for it. But I could not part with a line I had
received from you. I inclosed the letters in a little coffer, which I
deposited in a secret drawer of that cabinet, as in a place of perfect
safety. The coffer and its contents mysteriously disappeared. How it was
purloined I cannot inform you."
"Do your suspicions alight on no one?" she inquired.
"They have fallen on several; but I have no certainty that I have been
right in any instance," he replied. "That I have some spy near me, I am
well aware; and if I detect him, he shall pay for his perfidy with his
life."
"Hist!" cried Lady Exeter. "Did you not hear a noise?"
"No," he rejoined. "Where?"
She pointed to the little passage leading to the ante-chamber. He
instantly went thither, and examined the place, but without discovering
any listener.
"There is no one," he said, as he returned. "No one, in fact, could have
obtained admittance without my knowledge, for my Spanish servant, Diego,
in whom I can place full confidence, is stationed without."
"I distrust that man, William," she observed. "When I asked whom you
thought had removed the letters, my own suspicions had attached to him."
"I do not think he would have done it," Lord Roos replied. "He has ever
served me faithfully; and, besides, I have a guarantee for his fidelity
in the possession of a secret on which his own life hangs. I can dispose
of him as I please."
"Again that sound!" exclaimed the Countess. "I am sure some one is
there."
"Your ears have deceived you," said the young nobleman, after examining
the spot once more, and likewise the secret entrance by which the
Countess had approached the chamber. "I heard nothing, and can find
nothing. Your nerves are shaken, and make you fanciful."
"It may be so," she rejoined. But it was evident she was not convinced,
for she lowered her tones almost to a whisper as she continued. It might
be that the question she designed to put was one she dared not ask
aloud. "What means do you purpose to employ in the execution of your
design?"
"The same as those employed by Somerset and his Countess in the removal
of Sir Thomas Overbury; but more expeditious and more certain," he
replied under his breath.
"Dreadful!" she exclaimed, with a shudder. "But the same judgment that
overtook the Somersets may overtake us. Such crimes are never hidden."
"Crimes fouler than theirs have never been brought to light, and never
will. There was one in which Somerset himself was concerned, involving
the destruction of a far higher personage than Overbury; and this dare
not even be hinted at."
"Because the greatest person in the land was connected with it,"
returned the Countess, "I conclude you refer to the death of Prince
Henry?"
"I do," answered Lord Roos. "Somerset would never have been questioned
about Overbury, if his fall had not been resolved upon by the King."
"One other question, and I ask no more," said the Countess, scarcely
able to syllable her words. "Who is to administer the deadly draught?"
"Luke Hatton, Lady Lake's apothecary. He is a creature of mine, and
entirely devoted to me."
"Our lives will be in his hands ever afterwards," said the Countess, in
a deep whisper.
"They will be in safe keeping," he rejoined, endeavouring to reassure
her.
"O, William! I would I could prevail upon you to defer this project."
"To what end? The sooner it is done the better. It cannot, indeed, be
deferred. I shall send for Luke Hatton to-night."
At this announcement, the Countess, who had gradually been growing
fainter and becoming paler, lost all power of supporting herself, and,
uttering a cry, fell into his outstretched arms in a state of complete
insensibility.
While Lord Roos, half distracted, was considering what means he could
adopt for her restoration, a man, with an almost tawny complexion, hair
and eyes to match, and habited in the young nobleman's livery of crimson
and white, suddenly entered from the ante-chamber.
"How dare you come in unsummoned, Diego?" cried Lord Roos, furiously.
"Begone instantly, sirrah!".
"I crave your lordship's pardon," replied the Spanish servant; "but I
was obliged to apprise you that your wife, the Baroness Roos, and Lady
Lake are without, and will not be denied admission."
"Damnation!" exclaimed Lord Roos. "What brings them here at such an
hour? But you must on no account admit them, Diego--at least, till I
have had time to remove the Countess to her own chamber. What a cursed
mischance!"
Diego instantly withdrew, apparently to obey his lord's command; but he
had scarcely entered the little passage when two ladies pushed past him,
and made their way into the room. They arrived just in time to intercept
Lord Roos, who was conveying his insensible burthen towards the secret
staircase.
The young nobleman was as much confounded by their appearance as if two
spectres had risen before him. Both ladies were very richly attired, and
the younger of the two was by no means destitute of beauty, though of a
pale and pensive character. The elder had a full, noble figure, haughty
features, now lighted up with a smile of triumph as she gazed on Lord
Roos. Very different was the expression of the other, who seemed so much
grieved and agitated by what she beheld, as to be almost ready to lapse
into the same condition as the Countess.
If Lord Roos could have seen the grin upon Diego's swarthy visage, as he
stood at the entrance of the passage leading to the ante-chamber, he
would have had little doubt to whom he was indebted for this surprise.
It is needless to say that the ladies who had thus broken upon Lord
Roos's privacy, and obtained full confirmation of their suspicions (if
they had any doubts remaining) were his wife and mother-in-law.