A VERY SECRET MARRIAGE.
BEFORE Miles left Oxford, his friend, Master John Clark, advised that
he should marry Cicely for her due protection, but she demurred to this
hasty marriage, saying she would rather wait until she had seen her
mother and father again, although she did not hesitate to promise Miles
that she would marry him in a few months.
Of course Cicely had her way, but Master Clark told Miles that if any
sudden need should arise, when he reached Woodstock, for the marriage
to be hastened, he would come to Paton Hall and perform the ceremony if
a messenger was sent to tell him that his services were required.
It was winter now, and the ill-kept roads almost impassable for mire
and water, so that the journey to Woodstock was long and uncomfortable,
and when at last the little town was reached, the travellers heard that
Sir Thomas Paton had died the day before.
It was a painful shock to both of them, for Miles greatly desired to
see his father once more, and both could see now that it would have
been better to have taken the advice of friends, and had the marriage
celebrated in Oxford.
But Miles was not long deciding what was best to be done, and, after a
few words with Cicely, a messenger was sent back in hot haste to ask
Master Clark to journey to Paton Hall, as Sir Thomas was dead.
There was no need to say more than this, for the priest would
understand why he was needed, and that it would be for a marriage, and
not for a funeral, that he was summoned.
When the party reached Paton Hall it was Margery who came to receive
them, and then Miles heard for the first time that his mother had been
ill as well as his father, and she was now too weak to leave her bed.
"I am so glad you have come, Miles," said his sister, with a sob.
"And I am glad I could come, and I have not come alone, for I have
brought you a little sister, Margery, who will be a comfort to us both
I think."
In the bustle and confusion Margery had failed to notice Cicely until
her brother spoke, but now she turned and greeted her, feeling somewhat
relieved at the first glance to see that she looked a simple maiden,
and not like the Lady Audrey, whose coming to Paton Hall had seemed to
bring such painful changes in its train.
"Take her to your room, Margery, and don't ask her any questions until
I see you. She is hungry and weary I doubt not."
"And you, Miles?" said his sister, anxiously, but grasping the little
hand that had been placed in hers.
"Oh, I will shift for myself. Where is Reuben?" he asked, looking round
the wide hall, and wondering that his old servant did not come forward
to proffer his services.
"Reuben has gone away," said Margery, in a lower tone. "Do not ask
questions about anything just now. I will bid them set a meal."
"No, no; take Cicely away to your own room, for she is almost fainting
with fatigue and hunger. I am strong, and can look after myself when
I have seen my mother. Ah, there is her serving-woman—"; and Miles
hurried across the hall at once, leaving his sister to take Cicely to
her own rooms, and care for her out of the sight of the servants, who
began to gather round to have a peep at the new mistress of Paton Hall,
for they knew well enough that the present Lady Paton would not rule
them much longer.
"How is my mother, Deborah?" asked Miles, as he hurried the middle-aged
lady's maid towards his mother's room.
"Master Miles, she is very ill, and knows nothing of what has happened
to Sir Thomas, and she must not be told."
"How long has she been ill?" asked Miles.
"It would be better to say, 'How long is it since she was well?'"
said the serving-woman, in a solemn tone, as she shook her head and
wiped her eyes. She did not hesitate to add that in her belief the new
learning had just broken his mother's heart.
Miles looked at the woman in amazement. "What do you know about the new
learning?" he said, sharply.
"Thank the Blessed Virgin I know nothing of such folly," said Deborah,
"but I have heard the master say, many times of late, that all the
troubles that had come upon the land were through this learning they
taught at Oxford; so I hope, Master Miles, that now you have come you
will leave all that has brought the trouble behind you in Oxford, for
the land is well-nigh ruined now, and a little more will quite ruin us
all. Father Boniface says it is all on account of the heresy they teach
in the new books. So that you see Sir Thomas was not far wrong in what
he thought about it."
There was no time to say more, even if Miles had thought it wise to
argue the point with his mother's maid, for Lady Paton's room was
reached, and Deborah hurried forward to prepare her mistress for the
coming of Miles.
She had told her early that morning that he would probably visit them
soon, but she seemed too ill to take very much notice of anything just
now, and in fact Miles stood by her bedside for several minutes before
she quite took in the fact that he was there.
When she had grasped the idea it seemed to waken in her other trains of
thought, for she said, quickly, "I am glad you have come, Miles. Now
you can marry Audrey, and the sheep need not be sold, and—and—" And
then she fell into an incoherent murmur about his father being tired,
and not able to come to see her, and soon she had sunk back into a
state of semi-unconsciousness.
"She's asleep now, Master Miles, and she mustn't be disturbed any more
to-day." And then Miles learned that about once in the twenty-four
hours his mother woke for a few minutes like this, and lapsed into the
stupor that seemed to have seized and benumbed all her faculties the
last few weeks.
Miles sat for a few minutes beside his mother, and then, finding that
she was wholly unconscious of his presence, he went to the room where a
meal had been placed on the table in readiness for him.
To his great relief it was his father's old servant who stood near the
door when he went into the room, and he bade the man stay and tell him
all about his father's illness, while he ate his dinner.
But there was not a great deal to tell. Sir Thomas had been ailing
for some time, like his wife, and a severe cold, brought on by a
change in the weather, had resulted in the last illness, in spite of
all that Father Boniface had been able to do in the way of doctoring,
and the exertions of another monk at the monastery, who was a famous
witch-finder, and held to his opinion that the illness of the old
people was caused by the spells of some witch who had a grudge against
them.
Unfortunately the way things had been managed lately, both in the house
and village, and on the land, had given occasion enough for the poor
to have a grudge against Sir Thomas. But still Miles only smiled, and
shook his head, when old Roger talked of witchcraft.
Not that he disbelieved in it. But he thought there were causes enough
at work to account for the illness of both father and mother without
seeking for it in witchcraft; unless it was that malign influence that
had first set his father on the quest for more money than the ordinary
rent of the land would bring in. This might have been the work of
witchcraft, he was willing to believe, but then it was one that had
seized so many other English landlords at the same time, and they all
seemed so eager to engage in the race for wealth that the witchcraft
must have been on a mighty scale to seize upon so many at once.
Miles tried to explain this to old Roger, but the man only shook his
head. He had lived a good many years at Paton Hall, and it was his
world, and the ideas gathered from his master and the monks at the
monastery were enough for him; and these had said again and again that
the changes which had come the last few years had been the work of the
new learning. That might be another word for witchcraft. He did not
know, nor was he sure whether his master had died from witch spells,
but the holy father, learned in such matters, had given it as his
opinion that he had.
As soon as he had attended to the first most pressing duties that now
developed upon him, Miles went to his sister's room, and was glad to
hear that Cicely was fast asleep.
"Who is she, Miles?" asked Margery, in a whisper; "she says she is not
married."
"No, dear, but I hope she will be to-morrow or the next day. That we
are not married is because she wanted to go home and see her mother
and father first; and if my father had lived I should have taken her
on to London with all speed, and been married at the Church of St.
Dunstan-in-the-West. Now, however, we must have a secret marriage
performed in your room by my friend, Master John Clark, who is coming
from Oxford with all speed for the purpose."
"Then she will really be your wife and my sister," said Margery, in a
tone of satisfaction.
"Ah, you are glad, little sister," said Miles, in a tone of relief.
"I am glad it is not Audrey," whispered Margery.
"Why should you be glad of that? I have just heard from my mother that
she greatly wished it."
"Oh, yes, to save the sheep being sold; but sheep are not everything,
although wool is a good price. In the first place, the Church would not
bless a marriage like that. I learned that from my confessor."
Miles took his sister's hand, and looked earnestly into her face.
"Suppose the Church should refuse to bless this marriage, Margery," he
said, in a whisper.
Margery shivered. "What do you mean, Miles?" she said, in a tone of
horror. "Surely this girl has not been married—she looks almost a
child?"
"And yet she has known much sorrow," said Miles.
"Yes; she told me she had suffered much of late," answered Margery.
"Did she tell you wherefore this was?" asked her brother.
"No; she seemed to remember something you had said to her, and when I
asked her to tell me all about it, she said, 'Miles will tell you when
he thinks best.' What is it, Miles? Why is there such a sad look in her
sweet, grey eyes, and how is it she is travelling alone with you if she
is not your wife?"
"Margery, we did not know how much we loved each other until it was
too late. I used to go to Greenwich, and the Tower, and the Palace of
Sheen, in attendance upon my master, and wherever I might go I would
meet Mistress Cicely about the Court, because she was one of the
Queen's favourites, and we talked, and walked, and met at Cicely's
home. But at last somebody found out more than we knew, or, at least,
were quite sure of ourselves, and to prevent our marriage and please
the Queen, Cicely was sent to a convent a few months ago, and it was
not until she had gone that I knew how much I loved her."
"But—but—is she a nun?" asked Margery in a frightened whisper.
"No, Margery, she was only a novice," said Miles, boldly.
"But is not that almost the same?" asked his sister, anxiously.
"No, indeed, there is a very great deal of difference. If a man or
woman is betrothed to another they can change their minds before they
are married, and none can say aught against it. You understand that,
Margery?"
"Oh yes, that is quite clear," said Margery.
"Well, Cicely was a novice, but she had not taken the vows of a nun;
and more than that, the Cardinal Legate has absolved all novices from
whatever vows they may have made, either public or secret; and so my
Cicely is quite free to marry me so soon as Master Clark shall come,
though it will be a poor bridal for my darling," added Miles with a
sigh.
"Ah, the funeral baked meats for the bridal marchpane," said Margery.
"Could it not be otherwise? It is not fitting that you who are Sir
Miles Paton now should have no wedding feast."
"Better be without the feast than without the bride," said Miles. "I
cannot feel that Cicely is safe for a moment out of my sight until we
are married; for if she could be taken back to the convent I might not
be able to rescue her again, and that is why I want you to keep her
close in your rooms, and never leave her for a moment until Master
Clark comes and the wedding is over. Until then say nought about her,
even to the servants, for I would they should think that we married at
Oxford, or before we journeyed from London. Once we are married I can
speak of her as my dame, the young Lady Paton."
Miles was too impatient for the arrival of his friend to be able to
settle to the consideration of business, although the family scrivener,
having heard of his arrival, had walked over from the monastery to
greet him, and ask if he had need of his services.
"Nay, not yet. I did but hear of my father's death this morning, and
knew not that my mother was ill. You know to whom general and special
invitations to the funeral should be sent. It cannot be hastened, for
all must have time to journey hither. Send messengers with letters to
all old friends of my father both near and far," he said.
This commission satisfied the scrivener for the time, for writing the
letters and going and coming of messengers would cause a little stir in
the torpid life of the brotherhood. And so Miles and his whilom enemy
parted very good friends, for the time being.
Master Clark arrived early the next morning, having ridden with such
hot haste, that people, seeing he was a priest, thought he must be
riding to the death-bed of some patient; and when he enquired for Paton
Hall, they informed him there was no need to hurry, as Sir Thomas had
passed away before his son had reached him.
His arrival was not such a startling surprise to the servants as Miles
feared it might be, and the traveller being taken almost immediately
to Mistress Margery's rooms did not excite any surprise, as the priest
might be expected to go and say a word of comfort to the daughter,
seeing he had arrived too late to speak a word to Sir Thomas himself.
So there was a very small wedding-party gathered in Margery's winter
parlour, and Cicely Guildford became Cicely, Lady Paton; but there
was no marchpane or hippocras, or anything that could suggest that a
wedding had taken place in the house of mourning.
The ladies still kept to their own wing of the house, as was usual in
such cases, and Miles was not in too much haste to speak of his wife
as Lady Paton, or even to mention her at all, leaving the servants
to surmise what they liked, as he was sure now of being able to
introduce her as his wife when the time came for her to emerge from her
retirement with Margery after the funeral.
Master Clark was prevailed upon to stay and take part in the funeral
service; and during the interval he and Miles had many serious talks as
to the future.
As one of the great Cardinal's secretaries, Miles could return to
London with his wife, and turn his back upon all the confusion and
muddle that his father's affairs seemed to have fallen into of late.
If he did this, however, things would inevitably go from bad to worse;
and there was his mother and sister to think for as well as himself,
although it must be confessed that Miles rebelled at the thought of
being so far from London just now, when his friend at the "Golden
Fleece" might be in need of his help in the work of translating God's
Word into English.
Still, great as this work was, and needful as it might be, Master Clark
held that, for the present at least, Miles' duty was to stay at Paton
Hall, and try to alleviate the lot of the peasants, who were apparently
on the verge of a revolt against the landlords.
"You can do something to lighten their lot, and it is the duty that
lies nearest to you now," said his friend; "and though you may not be
able to set up a ready-made Utopia, after the pattern of my friend's,
still you might begin to set one growing, and that would be worth
something."
The two were gazing out over the pasture-land that had been almost
denuded of its sheep, and the sight of which had doubtless done much to
shorten the days of the late baronet.
The sheep had been sold, and the money paid over to Lady Audrey, but
this could not bring back the men who had farmed the land; and as he
thought of this and the beggars' camp in the woods, and how many had
been driven off the land to this roving life by the landlord's passion
for making money by wool, he thought he would try to set right the
wrong that had been wrought in that little corner of the country. He
could thank God now that he had stood firm, and refused to do his part
in ousting the last of the tenants from their holdings. These still
remained, though they were in great trouble, for, as the baronet could
not let the land for sheep farming, he had put a higher rental upon it
than the tenants had ever paid before, and there had been distress and
poverty in every home since.
Now Master Clark thought it would be worth something to put the
teaching of Christ into practice on the Paton lands. At all events it
was the duty that lay nearest to his hand now, and consequently the
one for him to do; and so, before the funeral, a letter was written
to the Cardinal, telling him what had happened, and that he had found
his father's affairs in such confusion that he must ask leave to stay,
for a time at least, and put things in order. And, having despatched
this letter, Miles felt he began to sever his connection with the life
in London, though he still hoped to be able to help his friend at the
"Golden Fleece."