THIS was a brave thing, already out to set up its will against the
world. And of the little world in which she lived her father was the
center of authority. He was an august man, high in the service of the
Queen. His explicit word was not lightly to be disobeyed. And it had
gone forth with no uncertainty. Upon no pretext must Mistress Anne
Feversham enter the town of Nottingham, which nestled close about the
Castle rock.
But she was eighteen years old this day, of a head-strong blood,
motherless, craving adventure. The fire in her veins was mounting
high. It must have an outlet, it must find escape from within the grim
precincts of that old fortress which had begun to press upon her life.
Alas! as they returned to the Castle after an hour’s larking among the
crocuses, John Markham’s heart sank. He had been a party to a forbidden
thing. And he knew not what pains, what penalties might overtake the
charming culprit if her naughtiness came to his master’s ear. Moreover,
a share of the consequences was like to fall upon himself. But the
falconer was not the man to care very much about that. He would have
asked nothing better than to be allowed to pay the whole of that
reckoning which he knew very well was bound sooner or later to confront
his young mistress.
That young woman fully realized her guilt. Yet she was far from being
afraid. Indeed, as they rode back in the glow of the April sunset
to the stern house which kept the old town in awe, she was like a
strong-winged bird that knew already the power of its pinions. The
brief and sharp battle with Cytherea, whose end had been a proper
mending of manners for that unruly beast, had put her in great heart.
She was keen for a further display of her powers. Never had she used
her servant with such a magnanimity, never with such a humorous
indulgence.
It was as if she would say to all the world: “See what a will I have.
Be it known to all men it is vain for any to oppose it.”
Nevertheless John Markham was sad at heart. Out of his high devotion
to her she might command him anything, but well he knew there could
only be one end to this overweening mood. The galligaskins were a sore
matter, although the Constable had not seen them yet. As for the visit
to the town, it was neither more nor less than an open flout to his
authority. John had a troubled heart as they passed through the Castle
gate.
As if to confirm the falconer in his fears, Mistress Anne was informed
by the porter of the lodge as they passed through the gate that the
Constable desired her immediate presence in his own apartment.
“For what purpose does he seek it?” The question was asked with the
impatience of a spoiled child.
“I know not, mistress,” said the porter gravely. “I do but know that
when the Constable returned from his ride in the town he asked for you
and left the message I have given.”
“When did Sir John return?”
“Not an hour ago, mistress.”
In the courtyard, with an air of resolute laughter, Mistress Anne
yielded her horse to the falconer’s care. Unabashed, in her amazing
garment, which set off her long-flanked slenderness adorably, she
strode into the great house. The fine, free gait was not without
a suspicion of a manly swagger, which the Queen’s ladies had also
affected. Boldly and fearlessly she entered the presence of the august
Sir John Feversham.
The Constable was seated alone in his dark-paneled room. It was easy
to see whence came his young daughter’s handsome looks and strength of
will. It was a face that few of that age could have matched for power
and masculine beauty. The gray eyes had a very direct and searching
quality, the forehead was lofty and ascetic; indeed the man’s whole
aspect proclaimed that here was one who had learned many high secrets
not only of the body, but of the soul.
This was not a man to be trifled with, and none knew that better than
his daughter. But this unhappy day she was a young woman overborne by a
sense of her own consequence.
“You sent for me, Sir John.” The voice was half defiance, half disdain.
“Yes, mistress, I did so.”
The tones of the Constable were a deep, slow growl. They were used in a
way of such reluctance that it seemed a pain to utter them.
“Wherefore, Sir John, did you send for me?” The half-humorous tones
were all of innocence.
The Constable’s reply was a grave stroking of the chin. The stern gaze
began very slowly to traverse the culprit as she stood in all her
sauciness, in all her defiance. Not a detail of her manners or of her
attire escaped those grim eyes. “Why did I send for you? Do you venture
to ask the question?”
In spite of her reckless courage the tones sent little shivers through
Mistress Anne.
“Yes, Sir John, I do.” She had summoned all that she had of boldness.
“As you dare to ask the question, I will answer it.” It was as if the
Constable turned over each word very carefully in his stern heart
before it was born upon his grim lips. “First I would say to you,
daughter, there is a long and ever-growing accompt between you and me
which has begun to cry aloud for a settlement. I ask you, is it not so?”
Mistress Anne was silent. Even her strength of will had begun at last
to fail before this slow-gathering vehemence. Once before, and once
only, had she heard that tone in her father’s voice. Many years had
passed since then, but on hearing it again the occasion suddenly came
back to her, bringing with it a kind of vivid horror.
“Is it not so, I ask you?”
The tone was that of a judge.
“Daily have I marked a growing frowardness, daily have I marked a
higher measure of your impudency.” The careful words had no unkindness.
“It is but a week since these ears heard you mock at the color of the
hair of the Queen’s most gracious majesty. Is it not so?”
Mistress Anne had no wish to deny that.
“And now to-day do I find you tricked out in a manner whose wicked
unseemliness passes all belief. Furthermore, in open defiance of my
command, you have entered the town. Is it not so?”
The culprit had no word now. The imperious valor was routed utterly.
“I do fear me,” said the Constable, “you are in the toils of a disease
which admits only of the sharpest remedy. Week by week have I remarked
an ever-growing sauciness. It is a malady which in man or woman, horse
or hound, can only be met in one way.”
The Constable rose slowly from his chair. He was a tall, powerful man,
and very formidable and even terrible he looked. He took down a heavy
hunting-whip which hung from a nail on the wall. His daughter had not
imagination enough to be terrified easily. Moreover for her years she
had a particularly resolute will. It was this that an imminent peril
restored to her.
“I will not be beaten,” she said, with proud defiance. “This day I am
eighteen years old. This day I am a woman, and being a woman I will do
in all things as it pleases me.”
The Constable ran the long whip through his fingers. “Oh and soh,
mistress,” said he, “this day you claim the estate of womanhood. And
having come to that high condition you put forth a modest claim to do
in all things as you would. Well, I am bound to say I have heard that a
number of the women of the present age have these froward ideas. But
it is new to me that there are any so vain as to practice them.”
“Wherefore should they not, Sir John?” The clear and brave eyes of his
daughter were fixed on his own. “Is it not that in all things a woman
is the equal of a man, as the Queen herself has shown, always except in
those wherein she is a man’s superior?”
Again the Constable caressed the whip as though he loved it. “These be
very perilous ideas,” he said. “I had not thought this canker had bit
so deep. Of all the diseases that afflict our sorry age I believe there
is none so vile as that which leads a young gentlewoman of careful and
modest nurture to speeches of such an idle vanity. As I am a Christian
man I can hardly believe my ears.”
“Sir John, it is the truth I speak. And has not the Queen herself
approved it?”
“Nay, mistress, I would have you use that name more modestly,” said the
Constable. But now in his eyes was a light that turned her cold.
Very gently the great thong was being shaken out. The long and cruel
length was uncoiling itself like that of a serpent, so that now it lay
crouching in wait among the rushes of the floor.
“I will not be beaten,” was all that Anne could gasp. “I am this day a
woman.”
With a sudden chill of despair she knew that she was helpless. And
if she had not known, in the very next instant that cruel fact would
have been revealed to her. With a surprising dexterous swiftness for
which she was not prepared, the slender wrist was twisted in a lock so
cunning that to struggle would be to break the arm.
“As I am a Christian man it is my duty to cut away so damnable a
heresy.” The sharp, hissing words came through shut teeth.
The defenceless form was held at arm’s length. In the implacable eyes
of the Constable was the sinister fanaticism which is not afraid to
wound itself.