In my time I have seen a boy do wonders.
Robin, the red tinker, had a boy
Would ha run through a cat-hole. --THE COXCOMB.
Amid the universal bustle which filled the Castle and its environs, it
was no easy matter to find out any individual; and Wayland was still
less likely to light upon Tressilian, whom he sought so anxiously,
because, sensible of the danger of attracting attention in the
circumstances in which he was placed, he dared not make general
inquiries among the retainers or domestics of Leicester. He learned,
however, by indirect questions, that in all probability Tressilian must
have been one of a large party of gentlemen in attendance on the Earl
of Sussex, who had accompanied their patron that morning to Kenilworth,
when Leicester had received them with marks of the most formal respect
and distinction. He further learned that both Earls, with their
followers, and many other nobles, knights, and gentlemen, had taken
horse, and gone towards Warwick several hours since, for the purpose of
escorting the Queen to Kenilworth.
Her Majesty's arrival, like other great events, was delayed from hour
to hour; and it was now announced by a breathless post that her Majesty,
being detained by her gracious desire to receive the homage of her
lieges who had thronged to wait upon her at Warwick, it would be the
hour of twilight ere she entered the Castle. The intelligence released
for a time those who were upon duty, in the immediate expectation of the
Queen's appearance, and ready to play their part in the solemnities with
which it was to be accompanied; and Wayland, seeing several horsemen
enter the Castle, was not without hopes that Tressilian might be of the
number. That he might not lose an opportunity of meeting his patron
in the event of this being the case, Wayland placed himself in the
base-court of the Castle, near Mortimer's Tower, and watched every one
who went or came by the bridge, the extremity of which was protected by
that building. Thus stationed, nobody could enter or leave the Castle
without his observation, and most anxiously did he study the garb and
countenance of every horseman, as, passing from under the opposite
Gallery-tower, they paced slowly, or curveted, along the tilt-yard, and
approached the entrance of the base-court.
But while Wayland gazed thus eagerly to discover him whom he saw not, he
was pulled by the sleeve by one by whom he himself would not willingly
have been seen.
This was Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, who, like the imp whose name
he bore, and whom he had been accoutred in order to resemble, seemed
to be ever at the ear of those who thought least of him. Whatever were
Wayland's internal feelings, he judged it necessary to express pleasure
at their unexpected meeting.
“Ha! is it thou, my minikin--my miller's thumb--my prince of
cacodemons--my little mouse?”
“Ay,” said Dickie, “the mouse which gnawed asunder the toils, just when
the lion who was caught in them began to look wonderfully like an ass.”
“Why, thou little hop-the-gutter, thou art as sharp as vinegar this
afternoon! But tell me, how didst thou come off with yonder jolterheaded
giant whom I left thee with? I was afraid he would have stripped thy
clothes, and so swallowed thee, as men peel and eat a roasted chestnut.”
“Had he done so,” replied the boy, “he would have had more brains in
his guts than ever he had in his noddle. But the giant is a courteous
monster, and more grateful than many other folk whom I have helped at a
pinch, Master Wayland Smith.”
“Beshrew me, Flibbertigibbet,” replied Wayland, “but thou art sharper
than a Sheffield whittle! I would I knew by what charm you muzzled
yonder old bear.”
“Ay, that is in your own manner,” answered Dickie; “you think fine
speeches will pass muster instead of good-will. However, as to this
honest porter, you must know that when we presented ourselves at the
gate yonder, his brain was over-burdened with a speech that had been
penned for him, and which proved rather an overmatch for his gigantic
faculties. Now this same pithy oration had been indited, like sundry
others, by my learned magister, Erasmus Holiday, so I had heard it often
enough to remember every line. As soon as I heard him blundering and
floundering like a fish upon dry land, through the first verse, and
perceived him at a stand, I knew where the shoe pinched, and helped him
to the next word, when he caught me up in an ecstasy, even as you saw
but now. I promised, as the price of your admission, to hide me under
his bearish gaberdine, and prompt him in the hour of need. I have just
now been getting some food in the Castle, and am about to return to
him.”
“That's right--that's right, my dear Dickie,” replied Wayland;
“haste thee, for Heaven's sake! else the poor giant will be utterly
disconsolate for want of his dwarfish auxiliary. Away with thee,
Dickie!”
“Ay, ay!” answered the boy--“away with Dickie, when we have got what
good of him we can. You will not let me know the story of this lady,
then, who is as much sister of thine as I am?”
“Why, what good would it do thee, thou silly elf?” said Wayland.
“Oh, stand ye on these terms?” said the boy. “Well, I care not greatly
about the matter--only, I never smell out a secret but I try to be
either at the right or the wrong end of it, and so good evening to ye.”
“Nay, but, Dickie,” said Wayland, who knew the boy's restless and
intriguing disposition too well not to fear his enmity--“stay, my dear
Dickie--part not with old friends so shortly! Thou shalt know all I know
of the lady one day.”
“Ay!” said Dickie; “and that day may prove a nigh one. Fare thee well,
Wayland--I will to my large-limbed friend, who, if he have not so sharp
a wit as some folk, is at least more grateful for the service which
other folk render him. And so again, good evening to ye.”
So saying, he cast a somerset through the gateway, and lighting on
the bridge, ran with the extraordinary agility which was one of his
distinguishing attributes towards the Gallery-tower, and was out of
sight in an instant.
“I would to God I were safe out of this Castle again!” prayed Wayland
internally; “for now that this mischievous imp has put his finger in the
pie, it cannot but prove a mess fit for the devil's eating. I would to
Heaven Master Tressilian would appear!”
Tressilian, whom he was thus anxiously expecting in one direction, had
returned to Kenilworth by another access. It was indeed true, as Wayland
had conjectured, that in the earlier part of the day he had accompanied
the Earls on their cavalcade towards Warwick, not without hope that he
might in that town hear some tidings of his emissary. Being disappointed
in this expectation, and observing Varney amongst Leicester's
attendants, seeming as if he had some purpose of advancing to and
addressing him, he conceived, in the present circumstances, it was
wisest to avoid the interview. He, therefore, left the presence-chamber
when the High-Sheriff of the county was in the very midst of his dutiful
address to her Majesty; and mounting his horse, rode back to Kenilworth
by a remote and circuitous road, and entered the Castle by a small
sallyport in the western wall, at which he was readily admitted as
one of the followers of the Earl of Sussex, towards whom Leicester had
commanded the utmost courtesy to be exercised. It was thus that he
met not Wayland, who was impatiently watching his arrival, and whom he
himself would have been at least equally desirous to see.
Having delivered his horse to the charge of his attendant, he walked
for a space in the Pleasance and in the garden, rather to indulge in
comparative solitude his own reflections, than to admire those singular
beauties of nature and art which the magnificence of Leicester had there
assembled. The greater part of the persons of condition had left the
Castle for the present, to form part of the Earl's cavalcade; others,
who remained behind, were on the battlements, outer walls, and towers,
eager to view the splendid spectacle of the royal entry. The garden,
therefore, while every other part of the Castle resounded with the human
voice, was silent but for the whispering of the leaves, the emulous
warbling of the tenants of a large aviary with their happier companions
who remained denizens of the free air, and the plashing of the
fountains, which, forced into the air from sculptures of fantastic and
grotesque forms, fell down with ceaseless sound into the great basins of
Italian marble.
The melancholy thoughts of Tressilian cast a gloomy shade on all the
objects with which he was surrounded. He compared the magnificent scenes
which he here traversed with the deep woodland and wild moorland which
surrounded Lidcote Hall, and the image of Amy Robsart glided like a
phantom through every landscape which his imagination summoned up.
Nothing is perhaps more dangerous to the future happiness of men of deep
thought and retired habits than the entertaining an early, long, and
unfortunate attachment. It frequently sinks so deep into the mind that
it becomes their dream by night and their vision by day--mixes itself
with every source of interest and enjoyment; and when blighted and
withered by final disappointment, it seems as if the springs of the
heart were dried up along with it. This aching of the heart, this
languishing after a shadow which has lost all the gaiety of its
colouring, this dwelling on the remembrance of a dream from which
we have been long roughly awakened, is the weakness of a gentle and
generous heart, and it was that of Tressilian.
He himself at length became sensible of the necessity of forcing other
objects upon his mind; and for this purpose he left the Pleasance,
in order to mingle with the noisy crowd upon the walls, and view the
preparation for the pageants. But as he left the garden, and heard the
busy hum, mixed with music and laughter, which floated around him, he
felt an uncontrollable reluctance to mix with society whose feelings
were in a tone so different from his own, and resolved, instead of doing
so, to retire to the chamber assigned him, and employ himself in study
until the tolling of the great Castle bell should announce the arrival
of Elizabeth.
Tressilian crossed accordingly by the passage betwixt the immense range
of kitchens and the great hall, and ascended to the third story of
Mervyn's Tower, and applying himself to the door of the small apartment
which had been allotted to him, was surprised to find it was locked. He
then recollected that the deputy-chamberlain had given him a master-key,
advising him, in the present confused state of the Castle, to keep his
door as much shut as possible. He applied this key to the lock, the bolt
revolved, he entered, and in the same instant saw a female form seated
in the apartment, and recognized that form to be, Amy Robsart. His first
idea was that a heated imagination had raised the image on which it
doted into visible existence; his second, that he beheld an apparition;
the third and abiding conviction, that it was Amy herself, paler,
indeed, and thinner, than in the days of heedless happiness, when
she possessed the form and hue of a wood-nymph, with the beauty of a
sylph--but still Amy, unequalled in loveliness by aught which had ever
visited his eyes.
The astonishment of the Countess was scarce less than that of
Tressilian, although it was of shorter duration, because she had heard
from Wayland that he was in the Castle. She had started up at his first
entrance, and now stood facing him, the paleness of her cheeks having
given way to a deep blush.
“Tressilian,” she said, at length, “why come you here?”
“Nay, why come you here, Amy,” returned Tressilian, “unless it be at
length to claim that aid, which, as far as one man's heart and arm can
extend, shall instantly be rendered to you?”
She was silent a moment, and then answered in a sorrowful rather than an
angry tone, “I require no aid, Tressilian, and would rather be injured
than benefited by any which your kindness can offer me. Believe me, I am
near one whom law and love oblige to protect me.”
“The villain, then, hath done you the poor justice which remained in his
power,” said Tressilian, “and I behold before me the wife of Varney!”
“The wife of Varney!” she replied, with all the emphasis of scorn. “With
what base name, sir, does your boldness stigmatize the--the--the--” She
hesitated, dropped her tone of scorn, looked down, and was confused and
silent; for she recollected what fatal consequences might attend her
completing the sentence with “the Countess of Leicester,” which were
the words that had naturally suggested themselves. It would have been
a betrayal of the secret, on which her husband had assured her that his
fortunes depended, to Tressilian, to Sussex, to the Queen, and to the
whole assembled court. “Never,” she thought, “will I break my promised
silence. I will submit to every suspicion rather than that.”
The tears rose to her eyes, as she stood silent before Tressilian;
while, looking on her with mingled grief and pity, he said, “Alas! Amy,
your eyes contradict your tongue. That speaks of a protector, willing
and able to watch over you; but these tell me you are ruined, and
deserted by the wretch to whom you have attached yourself.”
She looked on him with eyes in which anger sparkled through her tears,
but only repeated the word “wretch!” with a scornful emphasis.
“Yes, WRETCH!” said Tressilian; “for were he aught better, why are you
here, and alone, in my apartment? why was not fitting provision made for
your honourable reception?”
“In your apartment?” repeated Amy--“in YOUR apartment? It shall
instantly be relieved of my presence.” She hastened towards the door;
but the sad recollection of her deserted state at once pressed on her
mind, and pausing on the threshold, she added, in a tone unutterably
pathetic, “Alas! I had forgot--I know not where to go--”
“I see--I see it all,” said Tressilian, springing to her side, and
leading her back to the seat, on which she sunk down. “You DO need
aid--you do need protection, though you will not own it; and you shall
not need it long. Leaning on my arm, as the representative of your
excellent and broken-hearted father, on the very threshold of the Castle
gate, you shall meet Elizabeth; and the first deed she shall do in
the halls of Kenilworth shall be an act of justice to her sex and her
subjects. Strong in my good cause, and in the Queen's justice, the
power of her minion shall not shake my resolution. I will instantly seek
Sussex.”
“Not for all that is under heaven!” said the Countess, much alarmed,
and feeling the absolute necessity of obtaining time, at least, for
consideration. “Tressilian, you were wont to be generous. Grant me one
request, and believe, if it be your wish to save me from misery and from
madness, you will do more by making me the promise I ask of you, than
Elizabeth can do for me with all her power.”
“Ask me anything for which you can allege reason,” said Tressilian; “but
demand not of me--”
“Oh, limit not your boon, dear Edmund!” exclaimed the Countess--“you
once loved that I should call you so--limit not your boon to reason; for
my case is all madness, and frenzy must guide the counsels which alone
can aid me.”
“If you speak thus wildly,” said Tressilian, astonishment again
overpowering both his grief and his resolution, “I must believe you
indeed incapable of thinking or acting for yourself.”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, sinking on one knee before him, “I am not
mad--I am but a creature unutterably miserable, and, from circumstances
the most singular, dragged on to a precipice by the arm of him who
thinks he is keeping me from it--even by yours, Tressilian--by
yours, whom I have honoured, respected--all but loved--and yet loved,
too--loved, too, Tressilian--though not as you wished to be.”
There was an energy, a self-possession, an abandonment in her voice
and manner, a total resignation of herself to his generosity, which,
together with the kindness of her expressions to himself, moved him
deeply. He raised her, and, in broken accents, entreated her to be
comforted.
“I cannot,” she said, “I will not be comforted, till you grant me
my request! I will speak as plainly as I dare. I am now awaiting the
commands of one who has a right to issue them. The interference of a
third person--of you in especial, Tressilian--will be ruin--utter ruin
to me. Wait but four-and-twenty hours, and it may be that the poor
Amy may have the means to show that she values, and can reward, your
disinterested friendship--that she is happy herself, and has the means
to make you so. It is surely worth your patience, for so short a space?”
Tressilian paused, and weighing in his mind the various probabilities
which might render a violent interference on his part more prejudicial
than advantageous, both to the happiness and reputation of Amy;
considering also that she was within the walls of Kenilworth, and could
suffer no injury in a castle honoured with the Queen's residence, and
filled with her guards and attendants--he conceived, upon the whole,
that he might render her more evil than good service by intruding upon
her his appeal to Elizabeth in her behalf. He expressed his resolution
cautiously, however, doubting naturally whether Amy's hopes of
extricating herself from her difficulties rested on anything stronger
than a blinded attachment to Varney, whom he supposed to be her seducer.
“Amy,” he said, while he fixed his sad and expressive eyes on hers,
which, in her ecstasy of doubt, terror, and perplexity, she cast up
towards him, “I have ever remarked that when others called thee girlish
and wilful, there lay under that external semblance of youthful and
self-willed folly deep feeling and strong sense. In this I will confide,
trusting your own fate in your own hands for the space of twenty-four
hours, without my interference by word or act.”
“Do you promise me this, Tressilian?” said the Countess. “Is it possible
you can yet repose so much confidence in me? Do you promise, as you are
a gentleman and a man of honour, to intrude in my matters neither by
speech nor action, whatever you may see or hear that seems to you to
demand your interference? Will you so far trust me?”
“I will upon my honour,” said Tressilian; “but when that space is
expired--”
“Then that space is expired,” she said, interrupting him, “you are free
to act as your judgment shall determine.”
“Is there nought besides which I can do for you, Amy?” said Tressilian.
“Nothing,” said she, “save to leave me,--that is, if--I blush to
acknowledge my helplessness by asking it--if you can spare me the use of
this apartment for the next twenty-four hours.”
“This is most wonderful!” said Tressilian; “what hope or interest can
you have in a Castle where you cannot command even an apartment?”
“Argue not, but leave me,” she said; and added, as he slowly and
unwillingly retired, “Generous Edmund! the time may come when Amy may
show she deserved thy noble attachment.”