Transcriber's Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text
enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=)
The web browser version of this book contains links to Midi, PDF,
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Additional Transcriber's Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
Sir Christopher
[Illustration]
Sir Christopher
_A Romance of a Maryland
Manor in 1644_
BY
MAUD WILDER GOODWIN
Author of "The Head of a Hundred," "White Aprons,"
"The Colonial Cavalier," etc.
_Illustrated by_
HOWARD PYLE, AND OTHER ARTISTS
[Illustration]
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1901
_Copyright, 1901_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Entered at Stationers' Hall
UNIVERSITY PRESS · JOHN WILSON
AND SON · CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
TO
BLANCHE WILDER BELLAMY
AND
FREDERICK PUTNAM BELLAMY
Preface
On a bluff of the Maryland coast stand a church, a school, a huddle of
gravestones, and an obelisk raised to the memory of Leonard Calvert.
These alone mark the site of St. Mary's, once the capital of the
Palatinate.
It is near this little town, about the middle of the seventeenth
century, that my story begins, among the feuds then raging between
Catholic and Protestant, Cavalier and Roundhead, Marylander and
Virginian. The Virginians of that day were but a generation removed
from the pioneers who suffered in the massacre of 1622; and the sons
and daughters of those early settlers whose lives were traced in "The
Head of a Hundred"[A] appear in the present romance.
The adventures of Romney Huntoon, of the Brents, and, most of all, of
Christopher Neville and Elinor Calvert, furnish the material of my
story; but I venture to hope that the reader will feel beneath the
incidents and adventures that throbbing of the human heart which has
chiefly interested me.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] Published 1895.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ROBIN HOOD'S BARN 1
II. ST. GABRIEL'S AND ST. INIGO'S 16
III. BLESSING AND BANNING 34
IV. THE LORD OF THE MANOR 49
V. PEGGY 72
VI. THE KING'S ARMS 90
VII. IN GOOD GREEN WOOD 108
VIII. A CLUE 130
IX. A REQUIEM MASS 144
X. THE ORDEAL BY TOUCH 159
XI. THE GREATER LOVE 172
XII. HOW LOVERS ARE CONVINCED 180
XIII. A CHANGE OF VENUE 196
XIV. IN WHICH FATE TAKES THE HELM 215
XV. DIGITUS DEI 223
XVI. LIFE OR DEATH 240
XVII. ROMNEY 256
XVIII. THE EMERALD TAG 274
XIX. THE ROLLING YEAR 292
XX. A BIRTHNIGHT BALL 309
XXI. A ROOTED SORROW 334
XXII. CANDLEMAS EVE 354
XXIII. "HEY FOR ST. MARY'S, AND WIVES FOR US
ALL!" 370
XXIV. THE CALVERT MOTTO 392
Illustrations
"'Let me go to him!' she shrieked, in her anguish
of soul" _Frontispiece_
_From a drawing by Howard Pyle_
"Stretch out thy rod, Cecil" _Page_ 58
_From a drawing by James E. McBurney_
"You are quite a courtier, Master Huntoon" " 116
_From a drawing by S. M. Palmer_
"This is love indeed" " 194
_From a drawing by S. M. Arthurs_
"He sang to the music of his lute, and she to the
accompaniment of her whirring wheel" " 301
_From a drawing by S. M. Palmer_
"As it is, I am satisfied. Go!" " 390
_From a drawing by James E. McBurney_
SIR CHRISTOPHER
CHAPTER I
ROBIN HOOD'S BARN
Through the January twilight a sail-boat steered its course by the
light of a fire which blazed high in the throat of the chimney at St.
Gabriel's Manor. Within the hall, circled by the light from the fire, a
Danish hound stretched its lazy length on the floor, and, pillowing his
head against the dog's body, lay a boy eight or nine years old.
He was a plain laddie, with a freckled nose, a wide mouth, and round
apple cheeks over which flaxen curls tumbled in confusion. His big
eyes, the redeeming feature of the face, were just now fixed upon the
shadows cast by the motion of his joined hands on the wall. At length
the lips parted over a row of baby teeth with a gap in the centre,
through which the little tongue showed blood-red, as the boy laughed
long and loud.
"Thee, Knut!" he lisped, with that occasional slip of the letter s
which was a lingering trick of babyhood and cost him much shame, "is
not that broad-shouldered shadow like Couthin Giles? And the tall
one,--why, 'tis the very image of Father Mohl! And the short one ith
Couthin Mary. Look how she bows as she goes before the father! And what
a fine cowl I have made of my kerchief!"
Unconscious of observation as the boy was, he was being closely watched
from two directions. In the shadow of the settle by the fire sat a
tonsured priest, holding before him a breviary over the top of which
he was contemplating the boy on the floor; opposite the priest, on the
landing of the stairs, a woman leaned on the balustrade, following
with absorbed interest every movement of the chubby hands, and every
expression of the childish face, which bore a burlesqued resemblance
to her own. After a moment the woman gathered her skirts closer about
her and stealing down the winding stair, crept up behind the boy and
clasped both hands playfully over his eyes.
"Who is it?" she asked gaily.
"Mother!" cried the child, wrenching himself free only to jump up and
throw himself into the arms outstretched to receive him. "Didst fancy
I was like to mithtake thy hands?" he asked. "No, faith! Father Mohl's
hands are long and cold, and Couthin Mary's fingers are stiff and hard,
no more like to thine than a potato to a puff-ball."
"Hush, Cecil! Hush, little ingrate!" whispered the mother, clapping
her hands this time over his lips. "I would not thy Cousin Mary heard
that speech for a silver crown." Nevertheless, she smiled.
Elinor Calvert, as she stood there with one hand on her son's shoulder
and the other bending back his face, looked like some sunshiny goddess.
Her dress well became her height. She wore a long petticoat of figured
damask, beneath a robe of green stuff. Her bodice, long and pointed,
fitted the figure closely, and the flowing sleeves of green silk fell
back from round white arms. Around her neck was a string of pearls,
bearing a heart-shaped miniature set also in pearls, and held to the
left side of her bodice by a brooch of diamonds. Her figure was tall,
and crowned by a head nobly proportioned and upheld by a white pillar
of throat. Her features were heavily moulded, especially the lips and
chin. The golden hair which swept her brow softened its marked width,
yet the impression conveyed by the face might have been cold had it not
been for the softness of the eyes under their fringe of dark lashes.
In spite of the flashes of gaiety which marked her intercourse with
her son, the prevailing expression of Mistress Calvert's face was sad.
Rumor said that there was enough to account for this in the story
of her brief married life in England, for Churchill Calvert was a
spendthrift and a gambler, who died leaving his widow with her little
son a year old, and no other support than the income of a slender dowry.
In those dark days of her early widowhood Elinor received a letter from
her husband's kinsman, Lord Baltimore.
"I know your pride too well," he wrote, "to offer you any help; but
you must not deny my right to provide for my godson. Money with me is
scarce, but land is plenty, and I offer you in Cecil's name a grant of
seven thousand acres in Maryland. It is covered with virgin forest.
Like the old outlaw you must needs store your grain in caves and stable
your horses and cattle under the trees; wherefore I shall counsel Cecil
to name his manor _Robin Hood's Barn_. Should you be willing to remove
thither, make up your mind speedily, for at the sailing of a ship now
in harbor, our cousins the Brents start for the new world, and would
rejoice to have you and Cecil in their keeping."
Baltimore was right in foreseeing the struggle in Elinor's mind between
pride and love for her child; but he was also right in predicting that
love would triumph, and Elinor thanked him and Heaven daily for this
asylum, where her boy could grow up safe from the temptations of London
which had wrecked his father's life.
As she bent over Cecil to-night, her heart was full of contending
emotions. She and her boy were safely sheltered under the roof of
her dear cousin, Mary Brent, Cecil would soon be old enough to take
possession of the manor at Cecil Point, the future was apparently
bright with promise; yet she was conscious of some unsatisfied hunger
of the heart, and, deeper than that, of a sense of some impending
grief; but she was a woman of shaken nerves easily sunk in melancholy.
"Hark!" cried Cecil, suddenly pulling himself away from his mother's
arms,--"I hear the sound of footsteps outside." At the same moment Mary
Brent came slipping down the stairs.
"Elinor," she said with a little nervousness, "Giles was expecting a
friend to-night."
"Ah?" said Elinor, indifferently.
"Yes; 'tis a pity he was called to St. Mary's in such haste, for the
friend comes on business."
"Perchance he may tarry till Giles returns."
"I hope so,--but, Elinor,--this business concerns thee."
"_Me!_"
"Ay, the new-comer is one who would fain have a lease of the manor at
Cecil Point."
"Robin Hood's Barn? Now, Mary, have I not told thee and Giles that
I would hear of no such plan? I am a woman of affairs and can well
manage till Cecil is old enough to take control. Another six months we
shall rest under your roof,--then, dear cousin, we must be gone to our
own."
Mary Brent laid her hand upon the younger woman's arm.
"Vex me not, Elinor," she said, "by speaking so. Let it be settled that
this is your home. 'Tis not kind to talk of leaving me. Besides, you
could not live upon your lands without an arm to protect you, stout
enough for defence and for toil."
"We will hire laborers."
"Common laborers are not enough. There must be a man with head to
direct as well as hands to work."
Cecil, who had stood by an eager listener, suddenly stripped up the
sleeve of his jerkin and bared his arm.
"Feel that!" he cried, doubling his elbow till the muscle stood out.
Mary Brent laughed as she laid her hand upon it.
"Truly, 'tis a pretty muscle. Yet will it be better for a few more
years of growth. Say, Elinor, wilt thou take this man for thy tenant?
Giles has left the lease already drawn for thee, as Cecil's guardian,
to sign when thou hast settled terms with the man. Giles says he is as
fine a fellow as hath yet set foot in Maryland. He is a gentleman,
moreover, and hath a title, having been knighted for gallant service in
that ill-fated Cadiz expedition some years since."
"Who is the man?"
"Neville is his name, Sir Christopher Neville."
"Christopher Neville!" repeated Elinor, slowly, but the shuffling
of snow-covered feet upon the stepping-stones outside put an end to
further speech. Knut began to bark.
"Give over barking, thou naughty dog! Hie away to the kitchen and make
way for thy betters!" said Mary Brent, making a feint at taking down
a stick from over the fireplace. The dog continued barking, and Cecil
began to laugh.
"Hush, Cecil," said his mother; "where are thy manners? Make haste to
open the door!"
Cecil ran to the door and flinging it wide let in a great gust of wind.
The light from within fell upon a man wrapped in a heavy cloak and
wearing a broad-brimmed cavalier hat with plumes at the side.
"Come in, good thir!" cried Cecil, "before you are frozen stiff;"
and he led the way to the fire, before which Mary Brent stood with
outstretched hand of welcome.
"My brother Giles is called to St. Mary's; but he left a welcome for
you, and bade us keep you without fail till his return."
The new-comer bowed low above Mistress Brent's hand. He was a
tall, plain man, approaching middle age, with keen eyes, and dents
in his face as if Time had nicked it with his sickle. Around his
firm-set mouth, hovered a smile that had summered and wintered many
disappointments.
"Elinor, let me make Sir Christopher Neville known to thee! My cousin,
Elinor Calvert, Sir Christopher, the mistress of Cecil Point."
With this, Elinor, who had stood still as a statue, moved slowly
forward and held out her hand. Neville kissed it.
The priest who had sat in the shadow of the settle, a silent observer
of the scene before him, rose, now that all eyes were turned toward the
stranger, and glided quietly out at the further doorway, murmuring,
"_Suscipiat Dominus sacrificium de manibus meis ad laudem et gloriam
nominis sui!_"
"Come, Cecil!" said Mary Brent. "Let us make ready the hot posset.
I have the ale on the fire a-heating and the milk and sugar and
spices ready, and with a sippet of bread 'tis wonderful sustaining.
Sir Christopher, you will find its sting comforting after your long
journey."
As she drew the child after her she whispered to Elinor, "To business,
Cousin! Tell him he may have the manor for the clearing of the land and
half the harvest!"
The door closed behind her. Elinor Calvert and Christopher Neville
stood looking at each other across the width of the fireplace. A long
silence followed, broken at last by Elinor's impulsive speech.
"Why art thou come hither?"
"Maryland is free to all."
"Why dost thou seek to become my tenant?"
"I have a fancy for the land at Cecil Point."
"Thy answers ring false. Tell me the real reason in a word."
"As well in one word as in a thousand, since the word is _Thou_."
The flush mounted to Elinor Calvert's brow and she stood playing with
the tassels of her girdle, finding nothing to say in answer.
"Yes," Neville went on, "for thy sake I am come hither out of England.
For thy sake I came this night that I might have speech of thee. For
this reason I would fain be thy tenant, that I might add one strong arm
for thy defence in the dangers which threaten."
"Thou art a friend indeed."
"Ay, a true friend, since thou wilt have me for naught beyond. It is
ten years since I asked thee wouldst thou have me for a husband, and
thou didst deny me, and wed Calvert. For four years I strove as an
honest man should to put thee out of my mind. I was fain to believe I
had succeeded, when the news of thy freedom reached me; then the old
love I had counted dead rose up stronger than ever, rose up out of the
grave where I had laid it as in a trance, rose up and bade me never
again cheat myself into the belief that I and it could be put asunder."
The man paused for breath, so shaken was he by the force of his passion.
Elinor Calvert looked at him in terror, unable to break by word or
movement the spell under which he held her. He made a stride closer,
and grasped her hand.
"What stands between us?" he asked, holding her eyes with his, those
penetrating eyes that had the power to pierce all disguises, to rend
all shams to tatters, "Norse een like grey goshawks." Most eyes only
look--Neville's _saw_. The woman before him felt evasions impossible,
subterfuges of no avail.
"Your faith," she answered.
"You cared a little for me, then, in the old days?"
"I did," she answered, like one in a trance bending to the will of
the questioner. As she spoke she unconsciously laid her hand upon the
diamond crescent at her breast.
His eyes followed her motion and he colored high, for he saw that it
was the brooch he had sent her at her marriage. She saw that he saw,
and she too blushed, a painful blush that stained her face crimson and
ran up to lose itself in the shadow of her hair.
"I know who have stood in the way of thy loving me; but let them no
longer come between thee and me, or their tonsured heads shall answer
for it to my sword."
Elinor frowned, and Neville saw that he was endangering his cause.
"Forgive my impetuous speech!" said he. "Forget that the words were
spoken."
"I cannot."
If Elinor had told the whole truth she would have added, "I do not wish
to."
"Then at least put them aside and deal with me in cold business terms
as though we were the strangers thy cousins believe us to be. Wilt thou
have me for thy tenant on shares--three quarters of the harvest to go
to thee and one quarter to me?"
"Tenant of mine thou shalt never be. I could not be so unfair, to let
thee give thy life for me and get nothing in return!"
"To let me do the thing I have set my heart on and get in return a
sight of thee once in the year. That is to make one three-hundred-and
sixty-fifth of every year blessed."
"My tenant," said Elinor, slowly, "thou canst not be."
Neville bent his head.
"But--"
"Blessed be but--! But what?"
"But--perhaps--Cecil's."
"Ay, that is better!" said Neville, smiling a little; "that will be
best, for then there will be no favor on either side, and as the lad
grows older he and I can deal together as man to man."
"Oh, it is such a relief to my mind!" sighed Elinor.
"And to mine," quoth Neville.
"It is not the same thing as being my tenant?"
"Not at all--quite different. And thou wilt come with Cecil to see how
the land fares from time to time?"
"Why, that were but business."
"Truly to do aught else were treason to thy son's interest, and by and
by when the house is built and the title of Robin Hood's Barn suits the
manor no more, thou and he will come to visit me there?"
"That could not be--"
"No, I feared that was asking too much," Neville said humbly, "but at
least thou wilt let me have the boy?"
"How good thou art!"
"_Good!_--I to thee? Shall I tell thee whose picture dwells in my soul
by day and night, Elinor?" There was a curious vibration in Neville's
voice, as if memory were pulling out the stops of an organ.
"Ay, tell me," said Elinor, tremulously, in a voice scarce above a
whisper.
"'Tis that of a girl in a robe of green like the one thou wearest this
night--ay, and floating sleeves like thine, whereby she caught the name
she bears in my heart."
A softness stole into Elinor's eyes and the flush of girlhood rose to
her cheek.
"Ah," Neville went on. "Dost thou remember that day in the Somerset
wood, and how I gave thee the name of Lady Greensleeves, and how I sang
thee the dear old ballad, thou sitting on the stone wall and I leaning
against the great chestnut-tree?"
"Nay, 'twas not a chestnut--'twas an oak, for I do recall the acorns
that lay about thy feet as I listened with my eyes cast down."
"And I stood looking at thy lashes, scarce knowing whether I would have
them lift or not, as they lay against the rose of thy cheek."
"How long ago it all was!" sighed Elinor.
"Yet when thou dost speak and look like that it seems but yesterday.
Oh, my dearest--"
Neville, carried beyond his prudence, drew nearer and was about to fall
upon his knees before her, when he saw the door open to admit Mistress
Brent, followed by a servant bearing a steaming bowl of posset.
How much of his speech had been overheard, he knew not. Manlike he
found it hard to steer his bark in an instant from deep waters into the
shallows of conversation; but Elinor took the helm and dashed into the
safe channel.
"Mary, thou art come in good time to help me to argue terms with a too
generous tenant."
Mary Brent came forward smiling, but a little bewildered.
Elinor took the goblets from the tray and filled them with the posset.
"Drink!" she cried gaily. "Drink both of you to the prosperity of Cecil
Manor, and I will drink a health to Cecil's tenant, Sir Christopher
Neville."
With this, she swept a deep courtesy, and rising, clinked her goblet
against Neville's.
At the same moment Cecil burst upon them from the stairs, his golden
curls topped by Master Neville's brown cavalier hat, and the heavy
cloak sweeping the floor after him as he walked.
"Good evening, madam!" he cried, sweeping off his hat before Mary Brent
with a droll imitation of Neville's manner.
"Small boys," said Elinor, "wax bold as bed hour draws near. Ask pardon
of Sir Christopher and be off to thy bed."
"Thou wilt come with me?"
"Not to-night, sweetheart; we have a guest--"
"Guest or no guest, I go not without thee," cried the child. "'Tis the
first time since our coming thou didst ever deny me. I should lie awake
and see bogies an thou didst not tuck in the counterpane about me with
thine own hands."
"I pray thee," said Neville, under his breath, "grant the boy his wish.
Let not his acquaintance and mine begin with misliking."
At this, Cecil, who till now had hung back and glowered at the stranger
from behind his mother's skirts, came forward with the grace of the
Calvert line, and stretching out his hand frankly to Neville, said: "I
thank you, thir; I am glad you are come to stay with us." As his mother
led him away to bed he turned on the landing and kissed his hand to the
new-comer. Then, with a sudden relapse into the barbarism of childhood,
he dropped on hands and knees and climbed the remaining stairs in that
fashion--growling like a wolf as he went. Ten minutes later the group
in the hall heard him chanting an evening hymn, and his voice had the
high, unearthly sweetness, the clear, angelic note of those who stand
before the Throne.