A SNARE.
Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive.
_Scott._
In a preceding chapter we left two right honourable lords--to wit,
the earls of Bothwell and Glencairn--in search of Master Patten, the
scribe or secretary to Edward Shelly, the captain of the Boulogners.
These gentlemen, as supposed followers of the house of Glencairn,
resided in a quaint old-fashioned stone house, then known as
Cunninghame's Land, which had been galleried and fronted with timber
in the time of James IV. It was situated above the Upper Bow Porte,
and there they were found readily enough by the two nobles, who had
free entrance at all times. On this occasion, however, the earls, on
coming in, hurriedly and unannounced, found the Englishmen seated at
a table, immersed among letters, dockets of papers, maps, and
manuscripts: they were both busy writing. Glencairn, who had a
supreme contempt for such work, gave a hasty and impatient glance at
Bothwell, whose only literary efforts had been to make his mark or
fix his seal to a notary's deed; for, like Bell-the-Cat, of whom we
read in "Marmion," or his majesty King Cole of the popular ditty,
this untutored lord
"Quite scorn'd the fetters of four-and-twenty letters,
And it saved him a _vast deal of trouble_."
On their abrupt entrance, Patten and Shelly started in alarm from
their work. The former spread his hands over the papers, as if to
protect them; but the valiant captain of the Boulogners drew his
sword, with the first instinct of a soldier, to protect his
compatriot and himself.
"Uds daggers! what new plot art thou hatching, worthy scribe, to put
men's weasons in peril?" asked Glencairn; "how many human souls are
bartered in these piles of scribbled paper--eh?"
"Up with thy sword, Master Shelly," said Bothwell, laughing, and
twisting up his large black moustache. "Did you think we were the
provost halberds or the queen's guard come to arrest you?"
"Either had found me ready, my lord. But I knew not what to think,"
replied Shelly with some displeasure, as he dropped his long straight
sword into its scabbard, swept the papers into a drawer, and locked
it. "Master Patten and I were deeply engaged----"
"Plotting--eh?"
"Nay, my Lord of Bothwell; I have had enough of that," replied the
soldier coldly. "We were simply reducing the bulk of our
correspondence to suit the compass of our cloak-bags, committing some
papers to the flames, and selecting others for conveyance to England,
for whither we set out----"
"Not before the convention at Stirling, I hope?"
"No."
"When?"
"Immediately after. Our work will then be completed, for peace or
for war--for good or for evil."
"But time presses, and our man is not yet gone," said Glencairn,
glancing anxiously from the window.
"What would your lordships with us?" asked Shelly; "and to what do we
owe the honour of this visit?"
"To our lack of skill in the perilous art of clerking like worthy
Master Patten," replied Glencairn.
"And to our zeal in the young king your master's service," added
Bothwell, with his quiet mocking smile.
"To the point, my lords!" said Shelly haughtily, while he drew
tighter, by a hole or two, the silver buckle of his sword-belt.
"Florence Fawside, the French envoy, spy, or what you will, is even
now with Mary of Lorraine!"
"Art sure of this?" asked Shelly in a low voice, full of interest, as
he gazed through the barred window.
"Sure as my name is Patrick Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell; we both saw
him enter her residence; and a soldier of her guard holds the bridle
of his grey horse at the door--a soldier, who says he departs
thereafter for Cadzow--dost thou see, _for Cadzow_!"
"To the lord regent. This must not be!" said Master Patten, starting
up.
"Let us follow and cut him off--'tis the simplest plan," said Shelly.
"Nay--nay!"
"Why, thou, Bothwell, art not wont to be wary!"
"Our trains are scattered abroad throughout the city, and if we fared
ill----"
"Four to one?"
"He might still cut his way through us; and, if once he reaches
Arran, with promises of French succour, the Hamiltons in the west and
Huntly in the north will take the field at once against all
malcontents: thus, the sooner we begin our _Miserere mei Dominus_,
and commit our neckverse to memory, the better."
"If a long sword will not keep me from having a long neck, or my head
from rolling among the sawdust, I shall e'en submit; I were not my
father's son else!" said the grim Earl of Glencairn, frowning till
his black eyebrows met over his fierce nose.
"But what can I do in this matter, my lords?" asked Shelly with
impatience.
"Simply this. Desire Master Patten to write, with all speed, a note
to a friend of mine. This note Champfleurie, captain of the queen's
guard, a gentleman in our interest, will prevail upon Fawside to
deliver, as he rides westward, to a friend of mine, mark you; and
this friend will place him in sure ward till we arrive. Then, after
investigating his cloak-bags and pockets to our hearts' content, if
we do not find what will satisfy us, we can roast him over the
potcruicks and baste him well with grease till his tongue tells us
all he knows of the Guises and their desperate game."
"Agreed!" said Shelly, with a disdainful smile. "And this friend----"
"Is Allan Duthie, laird of Millheugh, whose tower, a strong but
sequestered place, standeth near the highway that leads through
Cadzow Forest. Quick!--indite me this note. We have no time to
lose, for every moment I expect to see him come forth and betake him
to horse, and then our plot will fail."
Patten with great deliberation selected a sheet of the coarse
brown-tinted paper then used, and dipping his quill in the ink-horn,
wrote to Bothwell's dictation the following note:--
"RIGHT TRUSTY FRIEND,--I greet you well and heartillie. It will be
for the furtherance of our great cause if the bearer hereof, a spy of
the Guises, who is on his way to Cadzow, be detained at your house
until such time as I and my friends arrive. These with my hand at
the pen,
"BOITHWELLE."
"For the Right Hon. the Laird of Millheugh. _These_."
"Can your friend read?" asked Shelly.
"Like Duns Scotus himself," replied Bothwell; adding, "Master Patten,
I thank you. When I am the husband of Katharine Willoughby, I will
requite this and other services as they deserve. And now for our
messenger, who must receive this from the hand of Champfleurie to
lull all suspicion."
"Fawside is quite unsuspecting," said Glencairn.
"And therefore, the more open to guile and to attack, poor fellow!"
added Shelly with some commiseration, though not much afflicted with
tender scruples at any time.