The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,
An aerial voice was heard to call,
And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. --MICKLE.
We are now to return to that part of our story where we intimated that
Varney, possessed of the authority of the Earl of Leicester, and of
the Queen's permission to the same effect, hastened to secure himself
against discovery of his perfidy by removing the Countess from
Kenilworth Castle. He had proposed to set forth early in the morning;
but reflecting that the Earl might relent in the interim, and seek
another interview with the Countess, he resolved to prevent, by
immediate departure, all chance of what would probably have ended in his
detection and ruin. For this purpose he called for Lambourne, and was
exceedingly incensed to find that his trusty attendant was abroad on
some ramble in the neighbouring village, or elsewhere. As his return
was expected, Sir Richard commanded that he should prepare himself
for attending him on an immediate journey, and follow him in case he
returned after his departure.
In the meanwhile, Varney used the ministry of a servant called Robin
Tider, one to whom the mysteries of Cumnor Place were already in some
degree known, as he had been there more than once in attendance on the
Earl. To this man, whose character resembled that of Lambourne, though
he was neither quite so prompt nor altogether so profligate, Varney gave
command to have three horses saddled, and to prepare a horse-litter, and
have them in readiness at the postern gate. The natural enough excuse of
his lady's insanity, which was now universally believed, accounted for
the secrecy with which she was to be removed from the Castle, and he
reckoned on the same apology in case the unfortunate Amy's resistance or
screams should render such necessary. The agency of Anthony Foster was
indispensable, and that Varney now went to secure.
This person, naturally of a sour, unsocial disposition, and somewhat
tired, besides, with his journey from Cumnor to Warwickshire, in order
to bring the news of the Countess's escape, had early extricated himself
from the crowd of wassailers, and betaken himself to his chamber, where
he lay asleep, when Varney, completely equipped for travelling, and with
a dark lantern in his hand, entered his apartment. He paused an instant
to listen to what his associate was murmuring in his sleep, and could
plainly distinguish the words, “AVE MARIA--ORA PRO NOBIS. No, it runs
not so--deliver us from evil--ay, so it goes.”
“Praying in his sleep,” said Varney, “and confounding his old and
new devotions. He must have more need of prayer ere I am done with
him.--What ho! holy man, most blessed penitent!--awake--awake! The devil
has not discharged you from service yet.”
As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper by the arm, it changed the
current of his ideas, and he roared out, “Thieves!--thieves! I will die
in defence of my gold--my hard-won gold--that has cost me so dear. Where
is Janet?--Is Janet safe?”
“Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!” said Varney; “art thou not ashamed
of thy clamour?”
Foster by this time was broad awake, and sitting up in his bed, asked
Varney the meaning of so untimely a visit. “It augurs nothing good,” he
added.
“A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony,” returned Varney; “it augurs
that the hour is come for converting thy leasehold into copyhold. What
sayest thou to that?”
“Hadst thou told me this in broad day,” said Foster, “I had rejoiced;
but at this dead hour, and by this dim light, and looking on thy pale
face, which is a ghastly contradiction to thy light words, I cannot
but rather think of the work that is to be done, than the guerdon to be
gained by it.”
“Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to Cumnor Place.”
“Is that indeed all?” said Foster; “thou lookest deadly pale, and thou
art not moved by trifles--is that indeed all?”
“Ay, that--and maybe a trifle more,” said Varney.
“Ah, that trifle more!” said Foster; “still thou lookest paler and
paler.”
“Heed not my countenance,” said Varney; “you see it by this wretched
light. Up and be doing, man. Think of Cumnor Place--thine own proper
copyhold. Why, thou mayest found a weekly lectureship, besides endowing
Janet like a baron's daughter. Seventy pounds and odd.”
“Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and fivepence half-penny, besides
the value of the wood,” said Foster; “and I am to have it all as
copyhold?”
“All, man--squirrels and all. No gipsy shall cut the value of a
broom--no boy so much as take a bird's nest--without paying thee a
quittance.--Ay, that is right--don thy matters as fast as possible;
horses and everything are ready, all save that accursed villain
Lambourne, who is out on some infernal gambol.”
“Ay, Sir Richard,” said Foster, “you would take no advice. I ever told
you that drunken profligate would fail you at need. Now I could have
helped you to a sober young man.”
“What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother of the congregation? Why,
we shall have use for such also, man. Heaven be praised, we shall lack
labourers of every kind.--Ay, that is right--forget not your pistols.
Come now, and let us away.”
“Whither?” said Anthony.
“To my lady's chamber; and, mind, she MUST along with us. Thou art not a
fellow to be startled by a shriek?”
“Not if Scripture reason can be rendered for it; and it is written,
'Wives obey your husbands.' But will my lord's commands bear us out if
we use violence?”
“Tush, man! here is his signet,” answered Varney; and having thus
silenced the objections of his associate, they went together to Lord
Hunsdon's apartments, and acquainting the sentinel with their purpose,
as a matter sanctioned by the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, they
entered the chamber of the unfortunate Countess.
The horror of Amy may be conceived when, starting from a broken slumber,
she saw at her bedside Varney, the man on earth she most feared and
hated. It was even a consolation to see that he was not alone, though
she had so much reason to dread his sullen companion.
“Madam,” said Varney, “there is no time for ceremony. My Lord of
Leicester, having fully considered the exigencies of the time, sends you
his orders immediately to accompany us on our return to Cumnor Place.
See, here is his signet, in token of his instant and pressing commands.”
“It is false!” said the Countess; “thou hast stolen the warrant--thou,
who art capable of every villainy, from the blackest to the basest!”
“It is TRUE, madam,” replied Varney; “so true, that if you do not
instantly arise, and prepare to attend us, we must compel you to obey
our orders.”
“Compel! Thou darest not put it to that issue, base as thou art!”
exclaimed the unhappy Countess.
“That remains to be proved, madam,” said Varney, who had determined on
intimidation as the only means of subduing her high spirit; “if you put
me to it, you will find me a rough groom of the chambers.”
It was at this threat that Amy screamed so fearfully that, had it not
been for the received opinion of her insanity, she would quickly have
had Lord Hunsdon and others to her aid. Perceiving, however, that her
cries were vain, she appealed to Foster in the most affecting terms,
conjuring him, as his daughter Janet's honour and purity were dear to
him, not to permit her to be treated with unwomanly violence.
“Why, madam, wives must obey their husbands---there's Scripture warrant
for it,” said Foster; “and if you will dress yourself, and come with
us patiently, there's no one shall lay finger on you while I can draw a
pistol-trigger.”
Seeing no help arrive, and comforted even by the dogged language of
Foster, the Countess promised to arise and dress herself, if they would
agree to retire from the room. Varney at the same time assured her of
all safety and honour while in their hands, and promised that he himself
would not approach her, since his presence was so displeasing. Her
husband, he added, would be at Cumnor Place within twenty-four hours
after they had reached it.
Somewhat comforted by this assurance, upon which, however, she saw
little reason to rely, the unhappy Amy made her toilette by the
assistance of the lantern, which they left with her when they quitted
the apartment.
Weeping, trembling, and praying, the unfortunate lady dressed herself
with sensations how different from the days in which she was wont to
decorate herself in all the pride of conscious beauty! She endeavoured
to delay the completing her dress as long as she could, until, terrified
by the impatience of Varney, she was obliged to declare herself ready to
attend them.
When they were about to move, the Countess clung to Foster with such an
appearance of terror at Varney's approach that the latter protested to
her, with a deep oath, that he had no intention whatever of even coming
near her. “If you do but consent to execute your husband's will in
quietness, you shall,” he said, “see but little of me. I will leave you
undisturbed to the care of the usher whom your good taste prefers.”
“My husband's will!” she exclaimed. “But it is the will of God, and let
that be sufficient to me. I will go with Master Foster as unresistingly
as ever did a literal sacrifice. He is a father at least; and will have
decency, if not humanity. For thee, Varney, were it my latest word, thou
art an equal stranger to both.”
Varney replied only she was at liberty to choose, and walked some paces
before them to show the way; while, half leaning on Foster, and half
carried by him, the Countess was transported from Saintlowe's Tower to
the postern gate, where Tider waited with the litter and horses.
The Countess was placed in the former without resistance. She saw with
some satisfaction that, while Foster and Tider rode close by the litter,
which the latter conducted, the dreaded Varney lingered behind, and was
soon lost in darkness. A little while she strove, as the road winded
round the verge of the lake, to keep sight of those stately towers which
called her husband lord, and which still, in some places, sparkled with
lights, where wassailers were yet revelling. But when the direction of
the road rendered this no longer possible, she drew back her head,
and sinking down in the litter, recommended herself to the care of
Providence.
Besides the desire of inducing the Countess to proceed quietly on her
journey, Varney had it also in view to have an interview with Lambourne,
by whom he every moment expected to be joined, without the presence
of any witnesses. He knew the character of this man, prompt, bloody,
resolute, and greedy, and judged him the most fit agent he could employ
in his further designs. But ten miles of their journey had been measured
ere he heard the hasty clatter of horse's hoofs behind him, and was
overtaken by Michael Lambourne.
Fretted as he was with his absence, Varney received his profligate
servant with a rebuke of unusual bitterness. “Drunken villain,” he said,
“thy idleness and debauched folly will stretch a halter ere it be long,
and, for me, I care not how soon!”
This style of objurgation Lambourne, who was elated to an unusual
degree, not only by an extraordinary cup of wine, but by the sort of
confidential interview he had just had with the Earl, and the secret
of which he had made himself master, did not receive with his wonted
humility. “He would take no insolence of language,” he said, “from the
best knight that ever wore spurs. Lord Leicester had detained him on
some business of import, and that was enough for Varney, who was but a
servant like himself.”
Varney was not a little surprised at his unusual tone of insolence; but
ascribing it to liquor, suffered it to pass as if unnoticed, and then
began to tamper with Lambourne touching his willingness to aid in
removing out of the Earl of Leicester's way an obstacle to a rise, which
would put it in his power to reward his trusty followers to their utmost
wish. And upon Michael Lambourne's seeming ignorant what was meant, he
plainly indicated “the litter-load, yonder,” as the impediment which he
desired should be removed.
“Look you, Sir Richard, and so forth,” said Michael, “some are wiser
than some, that is one thing, and some are worse than some, that's
another. I know my lord's mind on this matter better than thou, for he
hath trusted me fully in the matter. Here are his mandates, and his
last words were, Michael Lambourne--for his lordship speaks to me as a
gentleman of the sword, and useth not the words drunken villain, or such
like phrase, of those who know not how to bear new dignities--Varney,
says he, must pay the utmost respect to my Countess. I trust to you for
looking to it, Lambourne, says his lordship, and you must bring back my
signet from him peremptorily.”
“Ay,” replied Varney, “said he so, indeed? You know all, then?”
“All--all; and you were as wise to make a friend of me while the weather
is fair betwixt us.”
“And was there no one present,” said Varney, “when my lord so spoke?”
“Not a breathing creature,” replied Lambourne. “Think you my lord would
trust any one with such matters, save an approved man of action like
myself?”
“Most true,” said Varney; and making a pause, he looked forward on the
moonlight road. They were traversing a wide and open heath. The litter
being at least a mile before them, was both out of sight and hearing.
He looked behind, and there was an expanse, lighted by the moonbeams,
without one human being in sight. He resumed his speech to Lambourne:
“And will you turn upon your master, who has introduced you to
this career of court-like favour--whose apprentice you have been,
Michael--who has taught you the depths and shallows of court intrigue?”
“Michael not me!” said Lambourne; “I have a name will brook a MASTER
before it as well as another; and as to the rest, if I have been
an apprentice, my indenture is out, and I am resolute to set up for
myself.”
“Take thy quittance first, thou fool!” said Varney; and with a pistol,
which he had for some time held in his hand, shot Lambourne through the
body.
The wretch fell from his horse without a single groan; and Varney,
dismounting, rifled his pockets, turning out the lining, that it might
appear he had fallen by robbers. He secured the Earl's packet, which was
his chief object; but he also took Lambourne's purse, containing some
gold pieces, the relics of what his debauchery had left him, and from a
singular combination of feelings, carried it in his hand only the length
of a small river, which crossed the road, into which he threw it as far
as he could fling. Such are the strange remnants of conscience which
remain after she seems totally subdued, that this cruel and remorseless
man would have felt himself degraded had he pocketed the few pieces
belonging to the wretch whom he had thus ruthlessly slain.
The murderer reloaded his pistol after cleansing the lock and barrel
from the appearances of late explosion, and rode calmly after the
litter, satisfying himself that he had so adroitly removed a troublesome
witness to many of his intrigues, and the bearer of mandates which he
had no intentions to obey, and which, therefore, he was desirous it
should be thought had never reached his hand.
The remainder of the journey was made with a degree of speed which
showed the little care they had for the health of the unhappy Countess.
They paused only at places where all was under their command, and where
the tale they were prepared to tell of the insane Lady Varney would
have obtained ready credit had she made an attempt to appeal to the
compassion of the few persons admitted to see her. But Amy saw no
chance of obtaining a hearing from any to whom she had an opportunity of
addressing herself; and besides, was too terrified for the presence of
Varney to violate the implied condition under which she was to travel
free from his company. The authority of Varney, often so used during
the Earl's private journeys to Cumnor, readily procured relays of horses
where wanted, so that they approached Cumnor Place upon the night after
they left Kenilworth.
At this period of the journey Varney came up to the rear of the litter,
as he had done before repeatedly during their progress, and asked, “How
does she?”
“She sleeps,” said Foster. “I would we were home--her strength is
exhausted.”
“Rest will restore her,” answered Varney. “She shall soon sleep sound
and long. We must consider how to lodge her in safety.”
“In her own apartments, to be sure,” said Foster. “I have sent Janet to
her aunt's with a proper rebuke, and the old women are truth itself--for
they hate this lady cordially.”
“We will not trust them, however, friend Anthony,” said Varney; “We must
secure her in that stronghold where you keep your gold.”
“My gold!” said Anthony, much alarmed; “why, what gold have I? God help
me, I have no gold--I would I had!”
“Now, marry hang thee, thou stupid brute, who thinks of or cares for thy
gold? If I did, could I not find an hundred better ways to come at it?
In one word, thy bedchamber, which thou hast fenced so curiously, must
be her place of seclusion; and thou, thou hind, shalt press her pillows
of down. I dare to say the Earl will never ask after the rich furniture
of these four rooms.”
This last consideration rendered Foster tractable; he only asked
permission to ride before, to make matters ready, and spurring
his horse, he posted before the litter, while Varney falling about
threescore paces behind it, it remained only attended by Tider.
When they had arrived at Cumnor Place, the Countess asked eagerly for
Janet, and showed much alarm when informed that she was no longer to
have the attendance of that amiable girl.
“My daughter is dear to me, madam,” said Foster gruffly; “and I desire
not that she should get the court-tricks of lying and 'scaping--somewhat
too much of that has she learned already, an it please your ladyship.”
The Countess, much fatigued and greatly terrified by the circumstances
of her journey, made no answer to this insolence, but mildly expressed a
wish to retire to her chamber.
“Ay, ay,” muttered Foster, “'tis but reasonable; but, under favour,
you go not to your gew-gaw toy-house yonder--you will sleep to-night in
better security.”
“I would it were in my grave,” said the Countess; “but that mortal
feelings shiver at the idea of soul and body parting.”
“You, I guess, have no chance to shiver at that,” replied Foster. “My
lord comes hither to-morrow, and doubtless you will make your own ways
good with him.”
“But does he come hither?--does he indeed, good Foster?”
“Oh, ay, good Foster!” replied the other. “But what Foster shall I be
to-morrow when you speak of me to my lord--though all I have done was to
obey his own orders?”
“You shall be my protector--a rough one indeed--but still a protector,”
answered the Countess. “Oh that Janet were but here!”
“She is better where she is,” answered Foster--“one of you is enough to
perplex a plain head. But will you taste any refreshment?”
“Oh no, no--my chamber--my chamber! I trust,” she said apprehensively,
“I may secure it on the inside?”
“With all my heart,” answered Foster, “so I may secure it on the
outside;” and taking a light, he led the way to a part of the building
where Amy had never been, and conducted her up a stair of great height,
preceded by one of the old women with a lamp. At the head of the stair,
which seemed of almost immeasurable height, they crossed a short wooden
gallery, formed of black oak, and very narrow, at the farther end of
which was a strong oaken door, which opened and admitted them into the
miser's apartment, homely in its accommodations in the very last degree,
and, except in name, little different from a prison-room.
Foster stopped at the door, and gave the lamp to the Countess, without
either offering or permitting the attendance of the old woman who had
carried it. The lady stood not on ceremony, but taking it hastily,
barred the door, and secured it with the ample means provided on the
inside for that purpose.
Varney, meanwhile, had lurked behind on the stairs; but hearing the door
barred, he now came up on tiptoe, and Foster, winking to him, pointed
with self-complacence to a piece of concealed machinery in the wall,
which, playing with much ease and little noise, dropped a part of the
wooden gallery, after the manner of a drawbridge, so as to cut off
all communication between the door of the bedroom, which he usually
inhabited, and the landing-place of the high, winding stair which
ascended to it. The rope by which this machinery was wrought was
generally carried within the bedchamber, it being Foster's object to
provide against invasion from without; but now that it was intended
to secure the prisoner within, the cord had been brought over to
the landing-place, and was there made fast, when Foster with much
complacency had dropped the unsuspected trap-door.
Varney looked with great attention at the machinery, and peeped more
than once down the abyss which was opened by the fall of the trap-door.
It was dark as pitch, and seemed profoundly deep, going, as Foster
informed his confederate in a whisper, nigh to the lowest vault of the
Castle. Varney cast once more a fixed and long look down into this
sable gulf, and then followed Foster to the part of the manor-house most
usually inhabited.
When they arrived in the parlour which we have mentioned, Varney
requested Foster to get them supper, and some of the choicest wine. “I
will seek Alasco,” he added; “we have work for him to do, and we must
put him in good heart.”
Foster groaned at this intimation, but made no remonstrance. The old
woman assured Varney that Alasco had scarce eaten or drunken since her
master's departure, living perpetually shut up in the laboratory, and
talking as if the world's continuance depended on what he was doing
there.
“I will teach him that the world hath other claims on him,” said Varney,
seizing a light, and going in quest of the alchemist. He returned, after
a considerable absence, very pale, but yet with his habitual sneer on
his cheek and nostril. “Our friend,” he said, “has exhaled.”
“How!--what mean you?” said Foster--“run away--fled with my forty
pounds, that should have been multiplied a thousand-fold? I will have
Hue and Cry!”
“I will tell thee a surer way,” said Varney.
“How!--which way?” exclaimed Foster; “I will have back my forty
pounds--I deemed them as surely a thousand times multiplied--I will have
back my in-put, at the least.”
“Go hang thyself, then, and sue Alasco in the Devil's Court of Chancery,
for thither he has carried the cause.”
“How!--what dost thou mean is he dead?”
“Ay, truly is he,” said Varney; “and properly swollen already in the
face and body. He had been mixing some of his devil's medicines, and the
glass mask which he used constantly had fallen from his face, so that
the subtle poison entered the brain, and did its work.”
“SANCTA MARIA!” said Foster--“I mean, God in His mercy preserve us from
covetousness and deadly sin!--Had he not had projection, think you? Saw
you no ingots in the crucibles?”
“Nay, I looked not but at the dead carrion,” answered Varney; “an ugly
spectacle--he was swollen like a corpse three days exposed on the wheel.
Pah! give me a cup of wine.”
“I will go,” said Foster, “I will examine myself--” He took the lamp,
and hastened to the door, but there hesitated and paused. “Will you not
go with me?” said he to Varney.
“To what purpose?” said Varney; “I have seen and smelled enough to spoil
my appetite. I broke the window, however, and let in the air; it reeked
of sulphur, and such like suffocating steams, as if the very devil had
been there.”
“And might it not be the act of the demon himself?” said Foster, still
hesitating; “I have heard he is powerful at such times, and with such
people.”
“Still, if it were that Satan of thine,” answered Varney, “who thus
jades thy imagination, thou art in perfect safety, unless he is a most
unconscionable devil indeed. He hath had two good sops of late.”
“How TWO sops--what mean you?” said Foster--“what mean you?”
“You will know in time,” said Varney;--“and then this other banquet--but
thou wilt esteem Her too choice a morsel for the fiend's tooth--she must
have her psalms, and harps, and seraphs.”
Anthony Foster heard, and came slowly back to the table. “God! Sir
Richard, and must that then be done?”
“Ay, in very truth, Anthony, or there comes no copyhold in thy way,”
replied his inflexible associate.
“I always foresaw it would land there!” said Foster. “But how, Sir
Richard, how?--for not to win the world would I put hands on her.”
“I cannot blame thee,” said Varney; “I should be reluctant to do that
myself. We miss Alasco and his manna sorely--ay, and the dog Lambourne.”
“Why, where tarries Lambourne?” said Anthony.
“Ask no questions,” said Varney, “thou wilt see him one day if thy creed
is true. But to our graver matter. I will teach thee a spring, Tony, to
catch a pewit. Yonder trap-door--yonder gimcrack of thine, will remain
secure in appearance, will it not, though the supports are withdrawn
beneath?”
“Ay, marry, will it,” said Foster; “so long as it is not trodden on.”
“But were the lady to attempt an escape over it,” replied Varney, “her
weight would carry it down?”
“A mouse's weight would do it,” said Foster.
“Why, then, she dies in attempting her escape, and what could you or
I help it, honest Tony? Let us to bed, we will adjust our project
to-morrow.”
On the next day, when evening approached, Varney summoned Foster to the
execution of their plan. Tider and Foster's old man-servant were sent on
a feigned errand down to the village, and Anthony himself, as if anxious
to see that the Countess suffered no want of accommodation, visited
her place of confinement. He was so much staggered at the mildness and
patience with which she seemed to endure her confinement, that he could
not help earnestly recommending to her not to cross the threshold of her
room on any account whatever, until Lord Leicester should come, “which,”
he added, “I trust in God, will be very soon.” Amy patiently promised
that she would resign herself to her fate, and Foster returned to his
hardened companion with his conscience half-eased of the perilous load
that weighed on it. “I have warned her,” he said; “surely in vain is the
snare set in the sight of any bird!”
He left, therefore, the Countess's door unsecured on the outside, and,
under the eye of Varney, withdrew the supports which sustained the
falling trap, which, therefore, kept its level position merely by a
slight adhesion. They withdrew to wait the issue on the ground-floor
adjoining; but they waited long in vain. At length Varney, after walking
long to and fro, with his face muffled in his cloak, threw it suddenly
back and exclaimed, “Surely never was a woman fool enough to neglect so
fair an opportunity of escape!”
“Perhaps she is resolved,” said Foster, “to await her husband's return.”
“True!--most true!” said Varney, rushing out; “I had not thought of that
before.”
In less than two minutes, Foster, who remained behind, heard the tread
of a horse in the courtyard, and then a whistle similar to that
which was the Earl's usual signal. The instant after the door of the
Countess's chamber opened, and in the same moment the trap-door gave
way. There was a rushing sound--a heavy fall--a faint groan--and all was
over.
At the same instant, Varney called in at the window, in an accent and
tone which was an indescribable mixture betwixt horror and raillery, “Is
the bird caught?--is the deed done?”
“O God, forgive us!” replied Anthony Foster.
“Why, thou fool,” said Varney, “thy toil is ended, and thy reward
secure. Look down into the vault--what seest thou?”
“I see only a heap of white clothes, like a snowdrift,” said Foster. “O
God, she moves her arm!”
“Hurl something down on her--thy gold chest, Tony--it is an heavy one.”
“Varney, thou art an incarnate fiend!” replied Foster;--“There needs
nothing more--she is gone!”
“So pass our troubles,” said Varney, entering the room; “I dreamed not I
could have mimicked the Earl's call so well.”
“Oh, if there be judgment in heaven, thou hast deserved it,” said
Foster, “and wilt meet it! Thou hast destroyed her by means of her best
affections--it is a seething of the kid in the mother's milk!”
“Thou art a fanatical ass,” replied Varney; “let us now think how the
alarm should be given--the body is to remain where it is.”
But their wickedness was to be permitted no longer; for even while they
were at this consultation, Tressilian and Raleigh broke in upon them,
having obtained admittance by means of Tider and Foster's servant, whom
they had secured at the village.
Anthony Foster fled on their entrance, and knowing each corner and pass
of the intricate old house, escaped all search. But Varney was taken on
the spot; and instead of expressing compunction for what he had done,
seemed to take a fiendish pleasure in pointing out to them the remains
of the murdered Countess, while at the same time he defied them to show
that he had any share in her death. The despairing grief of Tressilian,
on viewing the mangled and yet warm remains of what had lately been so
lovely and so beloved, was such that Raleigh was compelled to have him
removed from the place by force, while he himself assumed the direction
of what was to be done.
Varney, upon a second examination, made very little mystery either of
the crime or of its motives;--alleging, as a reason for his frankness,
that though much of what he confessed could only have attached to him by
suspicion, yet such suspicion would have been sufficient to deprive
him of Leicester's confidence, and to destroy all his towering plans of
ambition. “I was not born,” he said, “to drag on the remainder of life a
degraded outcast; nor will I so die that my fate shall make a holiday to
the vulgar herd.”
From these words it was apprehended he had some design upon himself, and
he was carefully deprived of all means by which such could be carried
into execution. But like some of the heroes of antiquity, he carried
about his person a small quantity of strong poison, prepared probably
by the celebrated Demetrius Alasco. Having swallowed this potion
over-night, he was found next morning dead in his cell; nor did he
appear to have suffered much agony, his countenance presenting, even in
death, the habitual expression of sneering sarcasm which was predominant
while he lived. “The wicked man,” saith Scripture, “hath no bonds in his
death.”
The fate of his colleague in wickedness was long unknown. Cumnor Place
was deserted immediately after the murder; for in the vicinity of what
was called the Lady Dudley's Chamber, the domestics pretended to hear
groans, and screams, and other supernatural noises. After a certain
length of time, Janet, hearing no tidings of her father, became the
uncontrolled mistress of his property, and conferred it with her hand
upon Wayland, now a man of settled character, and holding a place in
Elizabeth's household. But it was after they had been both dead for some
years that their eldest son and heir, in making some researches about
Cumnor Hall, discovered a secret passage, closed by an iron door, which,
opening from behind the bed in the Lady Dudley's Chamber, descended to a
sort of cell, in which they found an iron chest containing a quantity
of gold, and a human skeleton stretched above it. The fate of Anthony
Foster was now manifest. He had fled to this place of concealment,
forgetting the key of the spring-lock; and being barred from escape by
the means he had used for preservation of that gold, for which he had
sold his salvation, he had there perished miserably. Unquestionably the
groans and screams heard by the domestics were not entirely imaginary,
but were those of this wretch, who, in his agony, was crying for relief
and succour.
The news of the Countess's dreadful fate put a sudden period to the
pleasures of Kenilworth. Leicester retired from court, and for a
considerable time abandoned himself to his remorse. But as Varney in his
last declaration had been studious to spare the character of his patron,
the Earl was the object rather of compassion than resentment. The Queen
at length recalled him to court; he was once more distinguished as a
statesman and favourite; and the rest of his career is well known to
history. But there was something retributive in his death, if, according
to an account very generally received, it took place from his swallowing
a draught of poison which was designed by him for another person. [See
Note 9. Death of the Earl of Leicester.]
Sir Hugh Robsart died very soon after his daughter, having settled his
estate on Tressilian. But neither the prospect of rural independence,
nor the promises of favour which Elizabeth held out to induce him to
follow the court, could remove his profound melancholy. Wherever he went
he seemed to see before him the disfigured corpse of the early and
only object of his affection. At length, having made provision for the
maintenance of the old friends and old servants who formed Sir Hugh's
family at Lidcote Hall, he himself embarked with his friend Raleigh
for the Virginia expedition, and, young in years but old in grief, died
before his day in that foreign land.
Of inferior persons it is only necessary to say that Blount's wit grew
brighter as his yellow roses faded; that, doing his part as a brave
commander in the wars, he was much more in his element than during the
short period of his following the court; and that Flibbertigibbet's
acute genius raised him to favour and distinction in the employment both
of Burleigh and Walsingham.
NOTES.
Note 1. Ch. III.--FOSTER, LAMBOURNE, AND THE BLACK BEAR.
If faith is to be put in epitaphs, Anthony Foster was something the very
reverse of the character represented in the novel. Ashmole gives this
description of his tomb. I copy from the ANTIQUITIES OF BERKSHIRE,
vol.i., p.143.
“In the north wall of the chancel at Cumnor church is a monument of grey
marble, whereon, in brass plates, are engraved a man in armour, and
his wife in the habit of her times, both kneeling before a fald-stoole,
together with the figures of three sons kneeling behind their mother.
Under the figure of the man is this inscription:--
“ANTONIUS FORSTER, generis generosa propago,
Cumnerae Dominus, Bercheriensis erat.
Armiger, Armigero prognatus patre Ricardo,
Qui quondam Iphlethae Salopiensis erat.
Quatuor ex isto fluxerunt stemmate nati,
Ex isto Antonius stemmate quartus erat.
Mente sagax, animo precellens, corpore promptus,
Eloquii dulcis, ore disertus erat.
In factis probitas; fuit in sermone venustas,
In vultu gravitas, relligione fides,
In patriam pietas, in egenos grata voluntas,
Accedunt reliquis annumeranda bonis.
Si quod cuncta rapit, rapuit non omnia Lethum,
Si quod Mors rapuit, vivida fama dedit.
“These verses following are writ at length, two by two, in praise of
him:--
“Argute resonas Cithare pretendere chordas
Novit, et Aonia concrepuisse Lyra.
Gaudebat terre teneras defigere plantas;
Et mira pulchras construere arte domos
Composita varias lingua formare loquelas
Doctus, et edocta scribere multa manu.”
The arms over it thus:--
Quart. I. 3 HUNTER'S HORNS stringed.
II. 3 PINIONS with their points upwards.
“The crest is a STAG couchant, vulnerated through the neck by a broad
arrow; on his side is a MARTLETT for a difference.”
From this monumental inscription it appears that Anthony Foster,
instead of being a vulgar, low-bred, puritanical churl, was, in fact, a
gentleman of birth and consideration, distinguished for his skill in
the arts of music and horticulture, as also in languages. In so far,
therefore, the Anthony Foster of the romance has nothing but the name
in common with the real individual. But notwithstanding the charity,
benevolence, and religious faith imputed by the monument of grey marble
to its tenant, tradition, as well as secret history, names him as the
active agent in the death of the Countess; and it is added that,
from being a jovial and convivial gallant, as we may infer from some
expressions in the epitaph, he sunk, after the fatal deed, into a man
of gloomy and retired habits, whose looks and manners indicated that he
suffered under the pressure of some atrocious secret.
The name of Lambourne is still known in the vicinity, and it is said
some of the clan partake the habits, as well as name, of the Michael
Lambourne of the romance. A man of this name lately murdered his wife,
outdoing Michael in this respect, who only was concerned in the murder
of the wife of another man.
I have only to add that the jolly Black Bear has been restored to his
predominance over bowl and bottle in the village of Cumnor.
Note 2. Ch. XIII.--LEGEND OF WAYLAND SMITH.
The great defeat given by Alfred to the Danish invaders is said by Mr.
Gough to have taken place near Ashdown, in Berkshire. “The burial
place of Baereg, the Danish chief, who was slain in this fight, is
distinguished by a parcel of stones, less than a mile from the hill, set
on edge, enclosing a piece of ground somewhat raised. On the east side
of the southern extremity stand three squarish flat stones, of about
four or five feet over either way, supporting a fourth, and now called
by the vulgar WAYLAND SMITH, from an idle tradition about an invisible
smith replacing lost horse-shoes there.”--GOUGH'S edition of CAMDEN'S
BRITANNIA, vol.i., p. 221.
The popular belief still retains memory of this wild legend, which,
connected as it is with the site of a Danish sepulchre, may have arisen
from some legend concerning the northern Duergar, who resided in the
rocks, and were cunning workers in steel and iron. It was believed that
Wayland Smith's fee was sixpence, and that, unlike other workmen, he was
offended if more was offered. Of late his offices have been again called
to memory; but fiction has in this, as in other cases, taken the liberty
to pillage the stores of oral tradition. This monument must be very
ancient, for it has been kindly pointed out to me that it is referred to
in an ancient Saxon charter as a landmark. The monument has been of late
cleared out, and made considerably more conspicuous.
Note 3. Ch. XIV.--LEICESTER AND SUSSEX.
Naunton gives us numerous and curious particulars of the jealous
struggle which took place between Ratcliffe, Earl of Sussex, and the
rising favourite Leicester. The former, when on his deathbed, predicted
to his followers that after his death the gipsy (so he called Leicester,
from his dark complexion) would prove too many for them.
Note 4. Ch. XIV.--SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
Among the attendants and adherents of Sussex, we have ventured to
introduce the celebrated Raleigh, in the dawn of his court favour.
In Aubrey's Correspondence there are some curious particulars of Sir
Walter Raleigh. “He was a tall, handsome, bold man; but his naeve was
that he was damnably proud. Old Sir Robert Harley of Brampton Brian
Castle, who knew him, would say it was a great question who was the
proudest, Sir Walter or Sir Thomas Overbury; but the difference that
was, was judged in Sir Thomas's side. In the great parlour at Downton,
at Mr. Raleigh's, is a good piece, an original of Sir Walter, in a white
satin doublet, all embroidered with rich pearls, and a mighty rich chain
of great pearls about his neck. The old servants have told me that
the real pearls were near as big as the painted ones. He had a
most remarkable aspect, an exceeding high forehead, long-faced, and
sour-eyelidded. A rebus is added to this purpose:--
The enemy to the stomach, and the word of disgrace,
Is the name of the gentleman with the bold face.
Sir Walter Raleigh's beard turned up naturally, which gave him an
advantage over the gallants of the time, whose moustaches received a
touch of the barber's art to give them the air then most admired.--See
AUBREY'S CORRESPONDENCE, vol.ii., part ii., p.500.
Note 5. Ch. XV.--COURT FAVOUR OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
The gallant incident of the cloak is the traditional account of this
celebrated statesman's rise at court. None of Elizabeth's courtiers knew
better than he how to make his court to her personal vanity, or could
more justly estimate the quantity of flattery which she could
condescend to swallow. Being confined in the Tower for some offence, and
understanding the Queen was about to pass to Greenwich in her barge,
he insisted on approaching the window, that he might see, at whatever
distance, the Queen of his Affections, the most beautiful object which
the earth bore on its surface. The Lieutenant of the Tower (his own
particular friend) threw himself between his prisoner and the window;
while Sir Waiter, apparently influenced by a fit of unrestrainable
passion, swore he would not be debarred from seeing his light, his life,
his goddess! A scuffle ensued, got up for effect's sake, in which the
Lieutenant and his captive grappled and struggled with fury, tore each
other's hair, and at length drew daggers, and were only separated by
force. The Queen being informed of this scene exhibited by her frantic
adorer, it wrought, as was to be expected, much in favour of the captive
Paladin. There is little doubt that his quarrel with the Lieutenant was
entirely contrived for the purpose which it produced.
Note 6. Ch. XVII.--ROBERT LANEHAM.
Little is known of Robert Laneham, save in his curious letter to a
friend in London, giving an account of Queen Elizabeth's entertainments
at Kenilworth, written in a style of the most intolerable affectation,
both in point of composition and orthography. He describes himself as a
BON VIVANT, who was wont to be jolly and dry in the morning, and by his
good-will would be chiefly in the company of the ladies. He was, by the
interest of Lord Leicester, Clerk of the Council Chamber door, and also
keeper of the same. “When Council sits,” says he, “I am at hand. If any
makes a babbling, PEACE, say I. If I see a listener or a pryer in at
the chinks or lockhole, I am presently on the bones of him. If a friend
comes, I make him sit down by me on a form or chest. The rest may walk,
a God's name!” There has been seldom a better portrait of the pragmatic
conceit and self-importance of a small man in office.
Note 7. Ch. XVIII.--DR. JULIO.
The Earl of Leicester's Italian physician, Julio, was affirmed by his
contemporaries to be a skilful compounder of poisons, which he applied
with such frequency, that the Jesuit Parsons extols ironically the
marvellous good luck of this great favourite in the opportune deaths of
those who stood in the way of his wishes. There is a curious passage on
the subject:--
“Long after this, he fell in love with the Lady Sheffield, whom I
signified before, and then also had he the same fortune to have her
husband dye quickly, with an extreame rheume in his head (as it was
given out), but as others say, of an artificiall catarre that stopped
his breath.
“The like good chance had he in the death of my Lord of Essex (as I have
said before), and that at a time most fortunate for his purpose; for
when he was coming home from Ireland, with intent to revenge himselfe
upon my Lord of Leicester for begetting his wife with childe in his
absence (the childe was a daughter, and brought up by the Lady Shandoes,
W. Knooles, his wife), my Lord of Leicester hearing thereof, wanted not
a friend or two to accompany the deputy, as among other a couple of the
Earles own servants, Crompton (if I misse not his name), yeoman of his
bottles, and Lloid his secretary, entertained afterward by my Lord of
Leicester, and so he dyed in the way of an extreame flux, caused by an
Italian receipe, as all his friends are well assured, the maker whereof
was a chyrurgeon (as it is beleeved) that then was newly come to my Lord
from Italy,--a cunning man and sure in operation, with whom, if the good
Lady had been sooner acquainted, and used his help, she should not have
needed to sitten so pensive at home, and fearefull of her husband's
former returne out of the same country......Neither must you marvaile
though all these died in divers manners of outward diseases, for this
is the excellency of the Italian art, for which this chyrurgeon and
Dr. Julio were entertained so carefully, who can make a man dye in what
manner or show of sickness you will--by whose instructions, no doubt;
but his lordship is now cunning, especially adding also to these the
counsell of his Doctor Bayly, a man also not a little studied (as he
seemeth) in his art; for I heard him once myselfe, in a publique act
in Oxford, and that in presence of my Lord of Leicester (if I be not
deceived), maintain that poyson might be so tempered and given as it
should not appear presently, and yet should kill the party afterward,
at what time should be appointed; which argument belike pleased well his
lordship, and therefore was chosen to be discussed in his audience, if
I be not deceived of his being that day present. So, though one dye of a
flux, and another of a catarre, yet this importeth little to the
matter, but showeth rather the great cunning and skill of the
artificer.”--PARSONS' LEICESTER'S COMMONWEALTH, p.23.
It is unnecessary to state the numerous reasons why the Earl is stated
in the tale to be rather the dupe of villains than the unprincipled
author of their atrocities. In the latter capacity, which a part
at least of his contemporaries imputed to him, he would have made a
character too disgustingly wicked to be useful for the purposes of
fiction.
I have only to add that the union of the poisoner, the quacksalver, the
alchemist, and the astrologer in the same person was familiar to the
pretenders to the mystic sciences.
Note 8. Ch. XXXII.--FURNITURE OF KENILWORTH.
In revising this work, I have had the means of making some accurate
additions to my attempt to describe the princely pleasures of
Kenilworth, by the kindness of my friend William Hamper, Esq., who
had the goodness to communicate to me an inventory of the furniture
of Kenilworth in the days of the magnificent Earl of Leicester. I have
adorned the text with some of the splendid articles mentioned in the
inventory, but antiquaries especially will be desirous to see a more
full specimen than the story leaves room for.
EXTRACTS FROM KENILWORTH INVENTORY, A.D. 1584. A Salte, ship-fashion,
of the mother of perle, garnished with silver and divers workes, warlike
ensignes, and ornaments, with xvj peeces of ordinance whereof ij on
wheles, two anckers on the foreparte, and on the stearne the image of
Dame Fortune standing on a globe with a flag in her hand. Pois xxxij oz.
A gilte salte like a swann, mother of perle. Pois xxx oz. iij quarters.
A George on horseback, of wood, painted and gilt, with a case for knives
in the tayle of the horse, and a case for oyster knives in the brest of
the Dragon.
A green barge-cloth, embrother'd with white lions and beares.
A perfuming pann, of silver. Pois xix oz.
In the halle. Tabells, long and short, vj. Formes, long and short,
xiiij.
HANGINGS. (These are minutely specified, and consisted of the following
subjects, in tapestry, and gilt, and red leather.)
Flowers, beasts, and pillars arched. Forest worke. Historie. Storie
of Susanna, the Prodigall Childe, Saule, Tobie, Hercules, Lady Fame,
Hawking and Hunting, Jezabell, Judith and Holofernes, David, Abraham,
Sampson, Hippolitus, Alexander the Great, Naaman the Assyrian, Jacob,
etc.
BEDSTEADS, WITH THEIR FURNITURE. (These are magnificent and numerous. I
shall copy VERBATIM the description of what appears to have been one of
the best.)
A bedsted of wallnut-tree, toppe fashion, the pillers redd and
varnished, the ceelor, tester, and single vallance of crimson sattin,
paned with a broad border of bone lace of golde and silver. The tester
richlie embrothered with my Lo. armes in a garland of hoppes, roses, and
pomegranetts, and lyned with buckerom. Fyve curteins of crimson sattin
to the same bedsted, striped downe with a bone lace of gold and silver,
garnished with buttons and loops of crimson silk and golde, containing
xiiij bredths of sattin, and one yarde iij quarters deepe. The ceelor,
vallance, and curteins lyned with crymson taffata sarsenet.
A crymson sattin counterpointe, quilted and embr. with a golde twiste,
and lyned with redd sarsenet, being in length iij yards good, and in
breadth iij scant.
A chaise of crymson sattin, suteable.
A fayre quilte of crymson sattin, vj breadths, iij yardes 3 quarters
naile deepe, all lozenged over with silver twiste, in the midst a
cinquefoile within a garland of ragged staves, fringed rounde aboute
with a small fringe of crymson silke, lyned throughe with white fustian.
Fyve plumes of coolered feathers, garnished with bone lace and spangells
of goulde and silver, standing in cups knitt all over with goulde,
silver, and crymson silk. [Probably on the centre and four corners of
the bedstead. Four bears and ragged staves occupied a similar position
on another of these sumptuous pieces of furniture.]
A carpett for a cupboarde of crymson sattin, embrothered with a border
of goulde twiste, about iij parts of it fringed with silk and goulde,
lyned with bridges [That is, Bruges.] sattin, in length ij yards, and ij
bredths of sattin.
(There were eleven down beds and ninety feather beds, besides
thirty-seven mattresses.)
CHYRES, STOOLES, AND CUSHENS. (These were equally splendid with the
beds, etc. I shall here copy that which stands at the head of the list.)
A chaier of crimson velvet, the seate and backe partlie embrothered,
with R. L. in cloth of goulde, the beare and ragged staffe in clothe of
silver, garnished with lace and fringe of goulde, silver, and crimson
silck. The frame covered with velvet, bounde aboute the edge with goulde
lace, and studded with gilte nailes.
A square stoole and a foote stoole, of crimson velvet, fringed and
garnished suteable.
A long cushen of crimson velvet, embr. with the ragged staffe in a
wreathe of goulde, with my Lo. posie “DROYTE ET LOYALL” written in the
same, and the letters R. L. in clothe of goulde, being garnished with
lace, fringe, buttons, and tassels of gold, silver, and crimson silck,
lyned with crimson taff., being in length 1 yard quarter.
A square cushen, of the like velvet, embr. suteable to the long cushen.
CARPETS. (There were 10 velvet carpets for tables and windows, 49
Turkey carpets for floors, and 32 cloth carpets. One of each I will now
specify.)
A carpett of crimson velvet, richlie embr. with my Lo. posie, beares and
ragged staves, etc., of clothe of goulde and silver, garnished upon
the seames and aboute with golde lace, fringed accordinglie, lyned
with crimson taffata sarsenett, being 3 breadths of velvet, one yard 3
quarters long.
A great Turquoy carpett, the grounde blew, with a list of yelloe at each
end, being in length x yards, in bredthe iiij yards and quarter
A long carpett of blew clothe, lyned with bridges sattin, fringed with
blew silck and goulde, in length vj yards lack a quarter, the whole
bredth of the clothe.
PICTURES. (Chiefly described as having curtains.)
The Queene's Majestie (2 great tables). 3 of my Lord. St. Jerome. Lo. of
Arundell. Lord Mathevers. Lord of Pembroke. Counte Egmondt. The Queene
of Scotts. King Philip. The Baker's Daughters. The Duke of Feria.
Alexander Magnus. Two Yonge Ladies. Pompaea Sabina. Fred. D. of Saxony.
Emp. Charles. K. Philip's Wife. Prince of Orange and his Wife. Marq. of
Berges and his Wife. Counte de Home. Count Holstrate. Monsr. Brederode.
Duke Alva. Cardinal Grandville. Duches of Parma. Henrie E. of Pembrooke
and his young Countess. Countis of Essex. Occacion and Repentance. Lord
Mowntacute. Sir Jas. Crofts. Sir Wm. Mildmay. Sr. Wm. Pickering. Edwin
Abp. of York.
A tabell of an historie of men, women, and children, moulden in wax.
A little foulding table of ebanie, garnished with white bone, wherein
are written verses with lres. of goulde.
A table of my Lord's armes.
Fyve of the plannetts, painted in frames.
Twentie-three cardes, [That is charts.] or maps of countries.
INSTRUMENTS. (I shall give two specimens.)
An instrument of organs, regall, and virginalls, covered with crimson
velvet, and garnished with goulde lace.
A fair pair of double virginalls.
CABONETTS. A cabonett of crimson sattin, richlie embr. with a device of
hunting the stagg, in goulde, silver, and silck, with iiij glasses
in the topp thereof, xvj cupps of flowers made of goulde, silver, and
silck, in a case of leather, lyned with greene sattin of bridges.
(Another of purple velvet. A desk of red leather.)
A CHESS BOARDE of ebanie, with checkars of christall and other stones,
layed with silver, garnished with beares and ragged staves, and
cinquefoiles of silver. The xxxij men likewyse of christall and other
stones sett, the one sort in silver white, the other gilte, in a case
gilded and lyned with green cotton.
(Another of bone and ebanie. A pair of tabells of bone.)
A great BRASON CANDLESTICK to hang in the roofe of the howse, verie
fayer and curiouslye wrought, with xxiiij branches, xij greate and xij
of lesser size, 6 rowlers and ij wings for the spreade eagle, xxiiij
socketts for candells, xij greater and xij of a lesser sorte, xxiiij
sawcers, or candlecups, of like proporcion to put under the socketts,
iij images of men and iij of weomen, of brass, verie finely and
artificiallie done.
These specimens of Leicester's magnificence may serve to assure the
reader that it scarce lay in the power of a modern author to exaggerate
the lavish style of expense displayed in the princely pleasures of
Kenilworth.
Note to Ch. XLI.--DEATH OF THE EARL OF LEICESTER.
In a curious manuscript copy of the information given by Ben Jonson
to Drummond of Hawthornden, as transcribed by Sir Robert Sibbald,
Leicester's death is ascribed to poison administered as a cordial by his
countess, to whom he had given it, representing it to be a restorative
in any faintness, in the hope that she herself might be cut off by using
it. We have already quoted Jonson's account of this merited stroke of
retribution in a note of the Introduction to this volume. It may be
here added that the following satirical epitaph on Leicester occurs in
Drummond's Collection, but is evidently not of his composition:--
EPITAPH ON THE ERLE OF LEISTER.
Here lies a valiant warriour,
Who never drew a sword;
Here lies a noble courtier,
Who never kept his word;
Here lies the Erle of Leister,
Who governed the Estates,
Whom the earth could never living love,
And the just Heaven now hates.