"No news of her! no news of her!" said Arabella, addressing in a sad
tone the maid Jane, who was arranging some articles of dress in her
room.
"Indeed, lady," replied the maid, with a manner so much less earnest
than Arabella's own feelings, that it seemed to her harsh and cold,
"Indeed, lady, I am sorry to hear that; but I dare say the King's
people have got hold of her. They tried to question me one night at
Greenwich; and when I said I had nothing to tell, they threatened to
apprehend me, and bring me before the Council."
"I trust it is into their hands she has fallen," said her mistress,
"for then she has nothing to fear.--Now leave me, good girl, for I
would fain think over this matter."
The maid obeyed; and the moment she was gone Arabella locked the door,
drew forth the note from her bosom, and read it with eager eyes. As
she did so she trembled violently, and sank down into a chair,
murmuring, "Alone, alone!--All this to be done, and no one to help
me!--Oh, Ida, Ida, it was cruel to take you from me! What is to be
done? My thoughts are all in confusion. How can I ever carry this
through by myself?" And bending down her head, she leaned her forehead
upon her hand, and closed her eyes, as if seeking to still the busy
and hurrying images of danger and disaster which whirled through her
brain.
"But the good woman, Maude," she said, at length--"Ida told me she
would give me aid. Oh, can I trust her? And even if I can, 'tis sad to
have none but a stranger to rely on for support. Oh, Ida, dear, good
friend, where art thou now?--But it must be done. That girl Jane I can
place no trust in. She is cold and selfish; ay, and dull too. I must
speak to the woman Maude, and that directly." And rising, she unlocked
the door and called the maid.
"Jane," she said, "I wish you to remove all those things from the end
of the room into that little cabinet there, and----"
"Dear lady," exclaimed the girl, interrupting her, "I can never do it
by myself. I must have one of the men to help me."
"I was going to say you cannot do it by yourself," replied Arabella,
"but I will not have the men brought hither. Go and call good Mistress
Maude: she is strong and willing, and I know her."
The girl obeyed, and in a few minutes returned with the person she had
been sent to seek. Having received the directions of the lady, they
proceeded to execute them; and Arabella continued to gaze upon them as
they did so, with a hesitating, uncertain look, as if she wished to
speak, yet was afraid.
At length, however, when they had done, she broke silence, saying, "My
poor Ida, whom they have taken from me, tells me, Maude, that you were
born upon my grandfather's estate at Hardwick, in Derbyshire. I should
like much to talk with you about it, but have something to do just
now. Can you come to me in an hour?"
"Oh, yes, dear lady," replied the good woman. "I'll come without fail.
I often wished to tell you, but did not venture to speak to so great a
lady."
"A very poor one now," replied Arabella, "and never a very proud one,
Maude. Pray come."
"That I will, madam," answered the servant, and retired.
For half-an-hour more the maid Jane continued to bustle about the
chamber, doing but little, yet fancying herself very busy. At the end
of that time, however, she left the room, and before the hour was
fully gone, Maude was standing by the side of Arabella's chair. The
question of Hardwick and Sir William Cavendish was soon discussed; and
Arabella, looking up in the good servant's face, said, in a sad tone,
"My good mother, whom you talk of, never thought to see her child so
unhappy as I am; and she was spared the sight."
"'Tis a sad case, dear lady, 'tis a sad case," replied the servant.
"When I think of it, and how little you deserve such treatment, I
could tear the eyes out of that King, or cry."
"And now," said Arabella, "they have taken Ida Mara from me, at the
very moment I needed aid and comfort most; and I have none to help
me."
"Don't say that, lady; don't say that," cried the good woman; "I am
not like Mistress Ida, to be sure; for she is as gentle and clever a
young lady, as I am a rough and dull poor creature; but still I will
help you in any way that you may command, cost what it may."
"Will you, indeed?" asked Arabella, taking her hand, and gazing up
earnestly in her face.
"That I will, lady," replied the maid, "even if it goes with my head.
I never knew any one that would not help you; you get round
everybody's heart; and my poor master is half mad at being made your
gaoler. You have nothing to do but to command; I will obey you,
without one care for the rest."
Arabella covered her eyes with her hands, and burst into a violent and
sobbing fit of tears; for the words of affection and kindness, in
moments of deep sorrow and anxiety, seem, by their gentle touch, to
unfetter the strongest feelings of the heart, and leave them to break
forth in unrestrained emotion.
She soon recovered, however, and pressing the servant's hand in both
her own, she cried, "Thank you, thank you! Mr. Conyers said something
about going to the King tomorrow; do you know when he sets out?"
"At two, madam," said the good woman; "his horses are ordered at that
hour; and Mrs. Conyers goes with him."
"Oh, that will just do," exclaimed the lady, "for the hour named is
three. I must send the girl Jane away on some pretence."
"Oh, I will give her occupation, madam," replied Maude; "and if you
want people out of the way, that is the best time of all; for there is
a match of foot-ball on Highgate Green, and most of the men my master
does not take with him will be there, I dare say; for, when the cat's
away, the mice will play, you know, lady. Pray, have you any one you
love coming to see you? If you have, I will take care that gates shall
open, and doors be undone, without any one knowing aught about it."
"No," answered Arabella, timidly, and looking anxiously in the woman's
face to mark the effect produced by what she was about to say; "it is
not that, good Maude, but, on the contrary, I am going to see those I
love."
The woman looked surprised, and paused a moment thoughtfully, without
reply.
"Well, it does not matter," she said, at length, "whatever you wish I
will do, lady. But I hope you have friends without to take care of you
when you are there."
"Many," answered Arabella, "many, good Maude, watching for me
anxiously. If, therefore, you can contrive to give occupation to my
girl Jane, and come to me as soon as ever your master and mistress are
gone out, you will confer an everlasting obligation upon one, who will
never be unthankful, whether she have the means of showing her
gratitude or not."
"Fear not, lady; fear not, sweet lady," replied Maude; "nothing shall
stop me; and now I understand what you mean, all shall be ready. But I
suppose we shall have Master Cobham to help us?"
"Alas! no," replied the lady; "he is seeking for poor Ida; and I fear
will have occupation enough."
"Well, well, we can do without," rejoined Maude. "But I had better go
now, for fear people should suspect anything."
During the many hours which had yet to run ere Arabella's project of
escape could be executed, as may be well supposed, her mind continued
in a state of agitation and alarm, which would have overthrown her
corporeal powers, and rendered her unfit for the task, had not the
sweet hope of seeing him she so dearly loved given her support and
strength. Sleep visited her eyelids but little; and the very efforts
she made to overcome her apprehensions and invigorate herself for the
performance of her purpose, but tended to unnerve her.
She did her best, however, to appear cheerful and at ease in the
presence of Mr. and Mrs. Conyers; and Time, though his wings seemed
cut during the first hours of the morning, at length brought about the
moment she desired.
A little after two, she saw the coach, which contained her host and
hostess, roll away from the door of the house, followed by all the
train of servants and horses, which were the customary accompaniments
of ever so short a journey in those days, with people of wealth and
station. Almost immediately afterwards, while she was waiting in
agitated expectation for the coming of the good woman, Maude, her maid
Jane entered, and asked her mistress's permission to go out for a
short time, adding, in a deprecatory tone, "I have not been beyond the
gates for more than a fortnight."
Arabella gave the permission with almost too much readiness; and in
ten minutes after, she saw a gay party of men and maids take their way
up the gravel walk.
The next instant, there was a tap at the door; and Maude came in,
exclaiming, "Now, lady, now, the house is quite clear: there is nobody
left but the cook and myself, and the old butler, who is in the
buttery at the back of the house, corking the wine, and grumbling at
the young lads for leaving him alone, though he has given them
permission. I have brought you a cup of wine and a manchet, to
strengthen you for your walk."
"But I must dress first," cried Arabella, whose limbs would scarcely
support her. "I must not go in this garb."
"Take some wine, lady; take some wine," said her companion; "there is
much courage in the bottle. What dress shall I give you?"
Arabella put her lips to the cup which the woman held, and took a
small portion of the wine. "You will find it there, Maude," she said,
"in that cupboard. There is the key. It is wrapped in linen."
Her companion took the key, opened the closet, and brought out the
packet, which had by this time been opened; but, as she carried it to
the bed-side, a sword fell out, and starting she exclaimed, "Why,
goodness, lady, it is a man's dress!"
"Ay, good Maude," answered Arabella, while the colour rose warmly into
her cheek. "I could not hope for security in any other guise. You must
help me to put it on, for I am so little accustomed to such a thing
that I should never accomplish it alone."
"Oh, I have seen many a lady in a man's dress," answered Maude, "in
masques and mummings, in the Queen's time. Take heart, take heart,
dear lady; do not let that frighten you. It matters not much what be
the garb, so that you be safe under it. Here is a goodly doublet,
trimmed with bugles. You had better put this on first. Let me untie
your dress, lady--ay, it is pinned, I see. Come, come, let me help
you, I will do it as soon again; your hands tremble so."
Arabella's gown was soon stripped off; and, in its place, her fair
form was clothed in a velvet coat, though, to say truth, it needed
some artful filling out to make it in any degree fit her slender
waist.
"Why, these wide French hose," cried Maude, taking them up from the
bed upon which she had laid them, "are as good as a petticoat at any
time."
"Better for my purpose," answered Arabella, with a faint smile. "Yet I
think I should die with shame to be seen in them, were it not for so
great an object. That cloak is very large, however, and will nearly
hide me altogether."
Some farther progress was then made in dressing her, and a long pair
of russet boots with red tops, the least in size that Markham could
procure, were drawn over her small feet and slender limbs. She was
obliged to take them off again, however, for they were still too
large.
"In truth," she said, "they will take slippers and all. Give me the
shoes, good Maude. Now for the rapier," she continued, when the boots
were once more fitted on. "Heaven send I have not to draw it; for I
fear the sight of a sword well nigh as much as the King."
The cloak was then put on, and a large black hat, having some of the
long locks of hair--at that time in fashion amongst men--fastened into
the crown, was pulled over her fair brow.
"There now," cried Maude; "you are as gallant-looking a young cavalier
as I should wish to look at."
"A sad, faint-hearted one," answered Arabella. "Run, good Maude, run
and see if the way be clear. I fear my little strength will fail me,
if we stay long."
"Finish the wine, lady; finish the wine, and take some bread with it,"
answered her companion. "I will go and make sure that all is right.
Drink the wine, I beseech you. You need not think of your head. Fear
will take off the effect."
Thus saying, she sped away, and returned in a few minutes, saying,
"All is safe, the cook is by the kitchen fire, sound asleep; and I
hear old Jones thumping at his bottles. The door is wide open, and the
iron gates unlocked. Come, lady, come, you had better lose no time."
"Come with me to the iron gates, Maude," said Arabella, in a
beseeching tone; "I can scarcely keep my feet."
"That I will, lady," answered the good woman.--"Courage, courage! the
worst of the business is over."
"Would that it were," answered Arabella, leaning on her arm and
proceeding down the stairs.
Nothing occurred, however, to increase her apprehension; all was
silent in the house, the quiet sunshine sleeping on the hall-floor,
and the insect world buzzing without. Not a sound met the ear, but
that hum, and the sighing of a light wind through the trees. Making a
great effort, Arabella quitted the arm of her companion, when they
issued forth from the door, and, walking with an unsteady step along
the path, soon reached the gates. There, Maude drew one of the valves
back, and the lady put a ring into her hand.
"No, no," she said, "I will none of it. Keep diamonds for yourself,
lady; but if you will give me something, I will take your gloves which
lie upon the table, just to think of you by."
"Take anything, good Maude," replied Arabella; "and, above all, my
truest thanks."
Thus saying, she passed out, and the maid closed the gates, and
retreated.
Arabella stood alone, for a moment or two, in the open road, with her
heart faint, and her brain turning round. She felt lonely, desolate,
ashamed, terrified; she was like some domesticated bird just escaped
from its cage, not knowing which way to turn in the wide world around
her.
The next instant, however, her eye fell upon the form of a man, well
dressed, and of gentlemanly air, in the lane which ran under the walls
of the grounds. Her first impulse would have led her to push open the
gate and run back; but, the moment after, she thought she recognised
the person who was now approaching, though she had last seen him in a
very different garb.
"Oh! it is--it must be--I am sure it is Markham," she cried, panting
for breath; and then, running on, she met him and caught his arm for
support.
"Right! right! This is all right, lady," he said; "everything is
ready; I have horses at hand--a boat waits you at Blackwall--a ship at
Leigh."
"But my husband! my husband!" said Arabella.
"He is by this time free," replied Markham; "you will soon see him. My
Lord of Hertford commends himself to you, and has sent down men and
maids to meet you."
"But my poor Ida Mara," asked Arabella; "have you heard of her?"
"No, indeed," answered Markham; "she must have been apprehended; but
if so, she is quite safe. Come, lady, come."
Supporting her by the arm, Markham hurried on down the lane towards
Newington, and through several other intricate turnings and windings,
the rapid pace at which they went relieving the lady, in some degree,
from her fears, by preventing her thoughts from resting on her own
situation. She felt tired and exhausted, however; when, at the
distance of about a mile and a half from Mr. Conyers' house, they came
within sight of the small road-side inn, called "The Rose." Three
strong horses stood before the door, with a man holding them, and a
gentleman looking up the road.
"That is Crompton," said Markham; "an old friend of your family."
"How much I have to thank you all for," answered Arabella; and the
next minute Crompton, advancing, took her by the hand, exclaiming,
"How are you, sir? I am very happy to see you here."
The moment she paused, however, agitation and apprehension took
possession of her again.
"I feel sick and faint," she said; and the ostler, who was holding the
horses, remarking her face turn deadly pale, inquired, "Shall I call
for some wine? The young gentleman seems ill."
"No, no," answered Arabella; "some water. I am only fatigued with a
long quick walk."
Water was accordingly brought; and then Markham, approaching to assist
her, said, "We are rather late; we had better make haste."
He then aided her to mount, while Crompton paid the ostler, who shook
his head, observing, "The young gentleman will hardly hold out to
London, I think." But the moment after, her paleness disappeared,
blood mounted into her face, and, with a crimson cheek, she rode on
with Markham.
Crompton followed them immediately, and, pursuing the by-paths, with
which they were well acquainted, the two gentlemen led her at a quick
pace towards Blackwall. They reached the shore of the river about six
o'clock, and there they found waiting a boat with four oars,
containing two of her old men-servants, and two women.
"We will see you down the river," said Markham; "but Crompton and I
must there leave you. The boat behind contains your apparel and Mr.
Seymour's."
"But my husband!" asked Arabella, in a low voice; "Where is my
husband, sir?"
"He will follow, he will follow," answered Markham. "Sit here, sir,"
said Crompton, giving a sign to Markham to be cautious; "remember,
lady," he continued, in a whisper, "these boatmen know nothing of the
scheme;" and, ordering the rowers to pull away, they were soon
skimming over the bosom of the Thames.
The boat directed its course at once to Gravesend, which they reached
two or three hours after nightfall.
"We must land here for a moment or two," whispered Crompton to the
lady; "but Markham will arrange with the men to take you on, while you
get some refreshment."
Poor Arabella did all they wished; and though it was not without
difficulty that her companions persuaded the rowers to go on to Leigh,
a large bribe ultimately induced them to consent, and the lady and her
companions were soon once more upon the Thames. The night,
fortunately, was warm and clear; and although Arabella was wearied and
exhausted with anxiety, exertion and want of repose during the
preceding night, she closed not an eye, but watched the progress of
the boat, with her thoughts full of him she loved; the hope of soon
seeing him mingling with fears for his safety, and giving plentiful
occupation for the busy mind during the whole night.
At length the sky began to glow with the first beams of the morning;
and a ship of considerable size was seen lying about a mile farther
down the river.
"There is the vessel, lady," whispered Markham, "which I hope will
soon bear you and your husband safe to the shores of France."
"Perhaps he may be on board already," said Arabella, raising her head,
which had been drooping with pure lassitude. "That indeed would give
me new life."
"Perhaps he may be so," replied Markham, "but yet I doubt it. The wind
is freshening for your voyage, however."
"We must stay for him, at all events," cried Arabella; "if he has not
escaped, I cannot make up my mind to go."
"Indeed you are wrong," answered her companion, in the same low tone;
"recollect, it is you who are the subject of the King's persecution,
not Mr. Seymour. You once safe in a foreign land, his liberation would
soon follow. I doubt not, ere three months were over, the King's full
consent to your union would be given, in order to induce you to
return."
Arabella saw that there was some truth in what he said; but her mind
took instant alarm at Markham's words. "I think you are apprehensive
that he has not escaped," she said, in as firm a tone as she could
command.
"No, indeed I am not," he replied; "I feel confident he has; for Sir
George Rodney, Sir Harry West, and many faithful friends, are all
aiding him, and Wade, the Lieutenant of the Tower, disgusted at the
treatment of the Court, will keep no very watchful eye upon his
prisoner."
"God send it," cried Arabella.
"We shall soon know," rejoined Markham, "for he must be here in an
hour at the latest."
"I hope--I trust, he is on board already," answered Arabella. "I have
a fancy that it is so; and she went on buoying herself up with the
happy expectation, till they were alongside of the vessel, and she
could see the people upon deck."
Her husband was not amongst them. "He may be below," she thought, and
her first question, when lifted into the vessel was, "Has Mr. Seymour
arrived?"
The answer was in the negative; and the hope which had supported her
during the last two hours being taken away, she sank at once,
fainting, into the arms of Crompton, who was aiding her to her seat.
It was long ere she recovered herself sufficiently to speak; and then,
gazing around her, she found herself in the cabin of the vessel, with
the two maids who had been waiting for her at Blackwall, using means
to bring her to herself. She closed her eyes again, for Seymour was
not there. In about twenty minutes after, there was a knock at the
door; and starting up, she exclaimed in a weak tone, but eagerly,
"Open it, open it, perhaps he has come."
But it was only Markham who appeared.
"Dear lady," he said, approaching her side, "Mr. Seymour has not
arrived, and there is nothing to be seen of him, as far as we can see
up the river. Every moment that you stay endangers your safety. If he
has escaped, he has gone to some other port; if not, your remaining
here is ruinous to him and to yourself."
"Half an hour, yet half an hour," cried Arabella; "I beseech, entreat
you, my kind friend, stay but that short space."
"Be it as you will, madam," replied Sir Griffin Markham, in a grave
tone; "but that one half hour may be regretted bitterly hereafter,
when it cannot be recalled."
"Well then, half that time," said Arabella; and bowing, the gentleman
retired, giving orders to have everything ready to set sail the
instant the signal was given.
The quarter of an hour was barely at an end, when he again went down,
and approaching Arabella, said, "Now lady, now, remember, the safety
of many others is compromised, as well as your own."
Arabella closed her eyes, and a slight shudder passed over her; but
she made no reply.
Sir Griffin Markham, however, took her silence for a mark of
acquiescence, and going back to the foot of the ladder, exclaimed to
those on deck, "Away! Set sail!" and Arabella turned round upon the
couch and deluged it with tears.