THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
After the battle the Earl of Hawick disbanded the greater part of his
forces, retaining but a small nucleus in case it should be necessary
to bring military aid to the party of Argyle and Glencairn in support
of their covenant against the regent. With this small force he moved
northward. The Duke was far too sore hurt to travel and neither he nor
Aline were able to move for some time.
As soon, however, as they could sit a horse they set out for the Castle
of Menstrie, where they arrived in due course and were most warmly
welcomed by the Duchess of Ochil and her daughter Shiona, who had been
anxiously awaiting Ian’s return after they first received news of his
arrival in Scotland.
His mother was overjoyed to see him and he briefly told her the story
of the child. When he had finished she kissed Aline and said, “You poor
sweet thing, now at last you have reached a haven of rest and you must
count me as your mother as far as I can be one.”
Aline had not before felt shy of her boy’s clothes, but the gentle
courteous lady made her long for her own things and she blushingly
began to apologise.
“You need not distress yourself, dear child,” said the Duchess; “we
can soon remedy that. Indeed you look very pretty and you make so
graceful a page that you need not regret your present garb,” she added
kindly and stooped and kissed her again. “We shall just make you one of
ourselves and you have only to tell us what you want. For the present
we can send over to Stirling and get everything that you absolutely
need this very day.”
In the evening, as they were all sitting by the fire, the Lady of Ochil
leaned over and, taking Ian’s hand, said: “I have some sad news for
you, my boy. You know that the estate was very sadly impoverished when
your father succeeded. But he has been extravagant and your eldest
brother was the same, and always borrowing from him. Worst of all, your
brothers induced your father to make over to them during his lifetime,
all the estates that he could. The regent, too, has already shown her
hostility on your succession. It is a very long story; but you will
have little but the title and the small original estates round the
Castle. Even those are so burdened that I doubt whether we can continue
to live here.”
“Do not mind, Mother, about me. I never expected anything, and so I
shall not miss it; it is for you that I am sorry. You will feel the
change so much.”
“No, my son. I am so glad to get you back that I mind nothing.”
Aline rose from where she was and sat down again on the floor at Ian’s
feet. “I am so sorry for you,” she said, and once more she had that
curious kind of feeling that she had noticed before. She _was_ very
sorry for Ian; but was she altogether sorry for the fact in itself? Did
it not in some way bring them closer together?
Ian’s sister, Shiona, had always worshipped her second brother; he
was unto her as a god, and as she watched Aline it rather amused her
to see, as it were, herself, over again, in the way that the child
continually hovered round him. She was the youngest of the family, and
now a tall slim girl of seventeen. She felt curiously shy of Ian, as
she had not seen him for several years. He still looked very young; but
he was now the head of the house in her father’s place.
She soon fell under Aline’s spell and the two girls became fast
friends. Except in appearance and physique Aline was much in advance of
her age; and her recent experiences had matured her view of life. The
girls occupied the same room and were continually together when they
could not be with Ian. Ian sometimes felt even a little touch of envy;
he had come to regard Aline almost as though she specially belonged to
him.
It was a time of considerable trouble and anxiety, both in public and
private affairs, yet it was a very happy household in spite of all
their troubles and difficulties. Ian was very slow in recovering his
strength. Excitement had carried him through, but the collapse was all
the more severe when it came. For two months he could move but little;
however, he gradually began to be able to take short strolls out of
doors.
Even before this he had set his mind to see what could be done to
save the remnant of the estates. Rigid economy had to be practised,
for he was determined that property that had been in the family for
hundreds of years should not go if possible. Unfortunately only a small
portion, even of the fragment, happened to be protected by entail.
Consequently he found it necessary to reduce the fragment still further
by selling two estates that had been acquired by his grandfather.
They were so heavily burdened that the margin was very small, but it
enabled him to prevent the foreclosure of his most pressing creditors.
All the retainers and servants were dismissed except one serving man
and a maid, the horses were sold and the castle was all shut up except
the hall, the library and a few bedrooms. The arras, the plate and
everything of value except the heirlooms were sold. The only thing Ian
retained was a famous sword, given to him by the Regent Arran for his
services against the Lords Wharton and Grey. It was of immense value,
magnificently jewelled. He took it out and looked at it. No, he could
not part with that. It was too full of association and interest.
The household arrangements were simplified to the barest necessities.
The girls did the housework and Ian himself, when necessary, assisted
the serving man. He wore the simplest homespun and his sister dressed
as plainly as possible. Ian refused to allow his mother to wear the
things that the rest of them did, because, he said, they all had the
future before them in a way that she had not.
She smiled and kissed him, and assured him that she would be quite
happy whatever she wore, as she had her dear son back again, and she
chaffingly impressed upon him that it was still long before she would
be an old lady.
Aline absolutely insisted on wearing things that even Mistress Mowbray
would not have provided, both gowns and body linen. But they were
beautifully made by Shiona and herself, and although the material
was coarse, the general effect was always charming. She succeeded in
getting some frieze in excellent shades of green and brown, that made
most pleasing colour combinations with the brownish white of the full
sleeves and skirt of her coarse dowlas chemise, and the rich red of her
glorious hair.
The result of the new Duke’s efforts was that he gained the respect of
every one; and two of his largest creditors came to him one day and not
only said that they would not press for payment, but offered to lend
him more at a much lower rate of interest. This offer he accepted and
paid off a number of smaller creditors, who lived at a distance and did
not know what was going on.
After a few months he brought things into such a condition that, though
he saw no prospect of being anything but poor all his life, he hoped to
leave the property in a fairly sound condition when he died.
There was one little extravagance that he had determined to allow
himself. Aline’s thirteenth birthday took place in April and he
resolved that she should have the happiest day of her life, if human
means could accomplish it. He pondered for a long time how it was to be
done; because he regarded the property rather as a trust than in any
way his own. At last he bethought him of the sword. That at least was
his own. It was, it was true, his most cherished possession; but he
would part with it. He took it out one evening and fingered it fondly.
Truly it was beautiful and the only relic of his early youth. Other
things might be replaced, but that could not. Moreover it would be a
joy forever, whereas a day’s pleasure was soon gone by. “’Sdeath. How
could he think such things?” He hated himself. So he resolutely shut
the case and turned the key. “What was a sword compared with Aline’s
happiness?”
He had to take his sister into his confidence, as he wanted Aline to
have a complete outfit for the occasion, and this Shiona was to arrange
unknown to her. Ian took the sword to a goldsmith in Stirling, but the
man did not like to take it, the sword was so well known and considered
as one of the local marvels. At last he persuaded Ian to let him lend
him the value of the sword, allowing a year in which it could be
redeemed. Ian gave the man a few commissions to execute for the great
occasion and departed.
Everything was planned with all secrecy and Aline was not told about
it till two days before, when a number of persons arrived to put the
old place into order. The old rooms were thrown open and cleaned, the
arras, that had been sold, was temporarily replaced by other fine
specimens. Sconces with hundreds of candles were brought and the floor
and the furniture and the metalwork was polished till all shone like a
mirror. The old heirlooms, including the magnificent nef[29] and other
gold and silver plate, which Ian could not sell, but which had been put
away, were brought out.
[29] A gold or silver centre piece for the table made in the shape
of a ship.
The beautiful old castle had never looked finer. Serving men and
maids, pleasantly attired, were everywhere at hand. There was a new
costume for every one. Ian’s was of very simple material, but he looked
wonderfully handsome when he met Aline on the morning of the great day.
“I have a very nice present for your birthday, princess,” he said,
stroking her hair, “but it will be rather a shock at the same time, so
you must prepare yourself for it. I have been thinking that you need a
lady’s maid,” he went on, laughing, “and I have succeeded in finding
you one.”
“Marry, I need no lady’s maid,” she replied, somewhat puzzled at the
twinkle in his eye, “and you must not think of such a thing. I prefer
to look after myself. I am not a grand lady and, even if I were, I
would rather not have one. I am sure I should not like her.”
“I am sure you would,” said Ian, “and in any wise you must try and like
her, because I insist.”
“You must not tease me, your Grace, I really do not want one.”
“I will not be called ‘your Grace,’ pussie,” he said, gently pulling
her hair.
“Well, if you get me a lady’s maid, I shall call you ‘your Grace’ and
then we shall all be grand together.”
“But I have gotten her already. I heard of her in a curious way in a
letter from Walter Margrove, but I kept it as a surprise until I could
get hold of her.”
“Oh, but really, Ian, I do not want her,” Aline protested. “I should
hate her. Yes, by my troth, I should,” and she looked genuinely
distressed.
“You would not hate this one,” he replied a little sadly; “it is some
one that you know. But I must not tease you.”
“Do you mean Audry?” she asked doubtfully.
“That would not be a shock, sweet child. No,--here she is.” He then
beckoned to some one out of sight through the open door; and a slim
girl of nearly twelve came shyly forward and stood hesitatingly on the
threshold.
Aline gave a little startled glance and then looked at Ian, who smiled
reassuringly. “O Joan,” she cried, “they told me you were dead.”
“I was very ill,” said the child, louting low, “but I was not dead,
Mistress Aline; it was the little girl that came from Barnard Castle,
who died, whom Mistress Ellen Allen had sent to Durham from Teesdale
too, much in the same manner that you sent me.”
“But how did the mistake happen, Joan, and why did you not let me know?”
“The woman that was looking after me died, and I was taken to
Newcastle. I was ill, oh, so ill for a long time and I knew nothing
about it, and when I heard, I could not for long enough get any one to
write for me and then, at last, I was told that you had disappeared.
When Walter Margrove heard about it he looked me up in Newcastle and
then, some time after, he told me that I was to go into service with
the Right Honourable Sir Ian Menstrie, Knight of the Most Noble Order
of St. Michael, Lord Duke of Ochil and Earl of Strath Allan, and I was
so frightened.”
Ian could not control himself and the child had to pause while he
laughed. “Whoever put all that into your head? Never mind, you can
forget it,--just go on.”
“It was Walter Margrove, your Grace, and he told me not to be afeared,
as I should find some one that I knew. But it was not till I came here
last night that I knew who it was and, oh, Mistress Aline, I heard what
you were saying just now and you will not hate me really, will you?”
“No, Joan, no, I will never hate you and indeed I am so glad to see you
looking so much better”; and Aline flung her arms round the child’s
neck and kissed her, while tears of joy stood in her eyes.
For a time the children forgot everything but themselves and Ian stood
and watched them in their perfect happiness. Aline was very much taller
than Joan and in contrast with the frail delicate child looked like a
goddess of strength. Joan clung to her in ecstatic abandon and gazed
into those wonderful ultramarine blue eyes as though they were the
windows of heaven. “I never knew before what it was,” she said, “to be
perfectly happy. Mistress Aline, I think the old folk at Holwick were
right. You cannot be a child of ordinary flesh and blood like the rest
of us.”
“Hush, Joan, you must not talk like that, and I told you long ago that
you must not call me Mistress Aline. But, oh, I am so glad to get you
back; you cannot tell how glad.”
Ian was just going to steal away and leave them to their joy, it was so
pure, so unalloyed, when Aline suddenly bethought herself of him and
leaving little Joan she rushed forward, seized his hand with both her
own and pressed it to her lips. “It was you who thought out all this;
oh, you are good to me.”
She lifted up her face and he printed a kiss on her forehead. “No,
princess; you remember my quotation from Homer. It is you that are good
to me. I owe you everything--I do not mean mere physical life--that is
nothing--nothing.”
The guests were to arrive at what a later age would have deemed the
very early hour of eleven o’clock, so after breakfast Ian suggested
that Aline should go upstairs and get ready.
“But I am ready,” she said.
“You cannot appear like that,” said Ian. “You must get Shiona to tidy
you up,” he said with assumed severity.
“But I have nothing better than this,” she answered, just a little
wistfully.
“Oh, yes, Shiona has some kind of a thing that will look better for
to-day. Run along with her and take Joan; it can be an apprentice
lesson for her.”
When Aline reached her room she was lost in amazement at the things
that had been prepared for her and was charmed with them all. Shiona
helped her to dress and Joan folded up the things she took off and put
them away.
The linen was of the very finest quality that French looms could
produce, smoother to the touch than anything she had ever worn, and
adorned with bands of _tela tirata_. There was a pair of the fine silk
hose that had recently been introduced into Britain, of a beautiful
blue, somewhat lighter than those she had lost, and with white clocks.
The broad toed shoes were of white kid, with blue satin showing through
the slashes, and a large real sapphire set in silver on each shoe.
The camise was of soft white silk rather full, smocked at the throat
and reaching below the knees, with two bands of lace insertion of the
finest Italian _punto a reticella_ near the hem. Above this Shiona put
on the armless surcoat, which was low at the neck and short, showing
the white camise both above and below as well as the arms, which were
full at the shoulder but tighter toward the wrist. This was decorated
round the open sides with orphreys or borders of cloth-of-silver
embroidered with white heather, the badge of the Menstries, in which
the little white blooms were real pearls.
The cloak was of rich blue velvet with two exquisitely designed diamond
clasps and tasselled cords of white silk, the whole lined with white
satin and adorned with a short cape and border of miniver. In the two
lower corners and again near the clasps, it was delicately embroidered
with coloured silk and gold and silver thread, after the fashion of
old Scandinavian work. A belt of large rectangular silver plates, each
with its own sculptured design, and a chatelaine of gold completed the
costume. It was a little old-fashioned in style, but Ian preferred the
lines of the earlier date to those that were coming into vogue.
Aline was so overwhelmed with delight that she did not at first pause
to reflect; but after a time she suddenly exclaimed horror-struck;
“Shiona, what are you doing; you know that I have not the right to
wear any of these things, except perhaps the chemise? My father was a
gentleman so I may wear white silk, and I might have had black velvet,
but not blue. No one below a Knight of the Garter or the highest
orders may wear blue velvet. I do not know even whether I may wear the
chatelaine. I doubt if father had two hundred merks of land and of
course I cannot wear cloth of silver or gold, no one less than barons
can wear that; and as for miniver, I do not even know if barons may
wear it: I believe I should have to be a countess, and I know for
certain that diamonds and pearls are reserved for dukes and duchesses.
So I shall have to take everything off and just wear my old things and
the silk chemise”; and she gave a little sigh.
“It is all right, dear; we thought of that. Ian says that you are
his ward now and that therefore they could not object to you wearing
anything that I may wear, and I may wear anything I like except purple,
which is reserved for the blood royal.”
To reach such a height of unimagined grandeur almost took Aline’s
breath away. “By my troth this is a wonderful birthday,” she said,
and little Joan looked on in sympathetic wonder, secretly pleased at
being associated with any one so exalted. But her cup was filled to
overflowing when she found that Ian had provided her with a costume of
silk and fine red camlet trimmed with black velvet, besides a small
gold chain, which things he said she was entitled to wear as a lady in
waiting in his household.
Shiona was giving a few last attentions to Aline’s hair and adding
the finishing touch, a blue velvet fillet decorated with five large
crystals and three pearls;--“What wonderful hair you have, dear!” she
said.
Aline had always refrained from any allusion to her hair and even
turned the subject aside; but it had grown so phenomenally that she was
feeling happier about it and she cried gaily;--“Oh, that’s nothing,”
and darted away to Ian’s room, where she happened to find him.
Aline’s beauty was proverbial, but she looked more dazzling than ever.
Ian caught her in his arms and kissed her. “You are the loveliest thing
on earth,” he said.
“Nonsense,” answered Aline, “but I want to show Shiona the hair that
was cut off.”
Ian took it from its hiding place, handling it lovingly and gave it
her. “Come back,” he said, “I have something else for you.”
She took the hair and with innocent joy showed it to Shiona, who was
lost in astonishment. She then returned with it to Ian.
He carefully put it away and then said; “Shiona has dressed you, but I
want to do the very last bit myself.” He then opened his hand and in it
lay a light chain with a subtly designed pendant of which the dominant
feature was a brilliant mass of red, one gigantic ruby, which Ian had
taken from the pommel of his sword.
He clasped it round her neck and it just fell on the white silk. “One
touch of red in the blue and white,” he said, “but after all, it’s not
as fine a red as your lips, heartsease,” and he kissed them.
The stone was obviously of immense value and Aline tiptoed hesitatingly
backward till she came to the wall. There on tiptoe she stood, with the
palms of her hands flat against the wall and her chin slightly lifted
till the back of her head also touched.
She was a little dazed. At first the beautiful things had been a sheer
joy. Even the momentary cloud of the “sumptuary laws” had been swiftly
dispelled; but now the thought suddenly overcame her;--“How could Ian
afford it?” She noticed the plain simplicity of his own attire and her
quick intuition told her the truth.
“Ian, Ian,” she cried, “you should not give me all these things. What
have you done?--How did you do it?--You have parted with something you
should not.”
She did not move and looked very tall in the becoming costume, standing
with her heels raised high from the ground.
Suddenly Ian realised that she would soon be a child no longer, and
then he would lose her. It came like a knife. He had not admitted
even to himself how much she was to him; but his love for her had
gradually absorbed his whole being. It was the greatest shock he had
ever experienced in his life. He stepped forward and picked her up in
his strong arms and kissed her passionately. “It was my sword, heart
of mine,” he said, “but there is nothing in the world that I would not
wish you to have.”
Aline endeavoured to protest, but he laughingly put his hand over her
mouth and led her down-stairs.
There was a large concourse of guests and the dinner was quite a
sumptuous ceremony, with a great boar’s head brought in with much
solemnity. Ian and his mother sat in the middle of the high table and
Aline had the seat of honour on his right.
When dinner was over they strolled in the pleasaunce and afterwards
came in and played games such as hot cockles, and hunt the slipper,
in which every one, both old and young, took part. Then followed the
dancing. If the guests had been charmed before by Aline’s beauty, now
they were enthralled. Aline and the Duke led off with a stately pavan
and all watched with rapt interest the slow dreamy movements, that
displayed to perfection the exquisite loveliness of the child’s form.
Ian had learned dancing in Italy and France and was a consummate
exponent of the art, so that the two made a picture the like of which
had never been seen in broad Scotland. After the pavan they danced the
cinque paces, a new dance not long introduced from Italy, which in turn
was succeeded by the lively coranto, that gave a new opportunity for
Aline to reveal her light and agile grace, vying in its airy swiftness
with the beauty of the more studied movements of the slower dance.
Ian’s costume was of a blue somewhat deeper in tone than Aline’s, with
white hose and other touches of white as in hers; and the result made a
pleasing colour effect as they whirled together in the dance.
But it was not only by her appearance, but by her subtle charm of
manner that the child fascinated every one present. They had heard the
main facts of her sad story and each and all did their utmost to give
her pleasure. At the close of the evening they held a mock coronation
ceremony, in which Aline was crowned with a plain gold circlet and
then, while seated on the throne, every guest was presented to the
Queen of the evening and they all kneeled and kissed her hand,--barons,
earls, countesses and every one present.
Aline could not help a smile when the Earl of Hawick, who was present,
kneeled before her. This was the man that only a few months ago she had
been nervous to see and now he was humbly kneeling and kissing her hand.
It had been a supremely happy day for Aline, and her only regret was
that Audry had not been able to share it. Even this was modified by
a curious coincidence, after the guests had gone. They had all left
early, as most of them had ridden from long distances and even those
who were putting up in Stirling had some way to go.
After the last guest had departed, and while the family were seated
round the hearth, the castle bell rang and they heard the drawbridge
being lowered. Their own serving man appeared shortly afterward. “My
lord, a man named Walter Margrove, who hath a boy with him, hath
arrived and saith that he wisheth to see you on a matter of private
concern.”
“Shew him up,” said Ian.
Walter Margrove came in somewhat hesitatingly, accompanied by a still
more nervous lad. Aline in her white and blue costume rushed forward to
greet them; whereat Walter was quite taken aback and Wilfred, for it
was he, nearly turned tail and fled.
Ian advanced and shook their hands and presented them to the Duchess
and the Lady Shiona. “If you had arrived a few minutes ago,” he said,
“you should have been presented to the Queen’s Grace. Get on your
throne again, Your Highness,” he said to Aline, and then with much
laughter they made Walter and Wilfred kneel and kiss her hand.
Walter had recently been in Holwick and had decided that he might vary
his programme by a tour in Scotland, and make it an opportunity of
seeing Ian and Aline and little Joan, and of taking them the news from
Upper Teesdale, together with a letter from Audry. The venture had
proved a great success and Walter was in an unusually contented frame
of mind, even for him.
“Sit down, man,” said Ian, “and tell us everything about Holwick. We
should much like to know all that befell after we escaped.”
“Oh, but tarry a little, Ian,” said Aline; “there is something that
must be done first. You tell Walter what we have been doing, while I
talk awhile with Wilfred. Wilfred, come hither,” she continued, leading
the way to one of the double seated windows.
“I am so glad to see you again, Wilfred,” she said, when they had sat
down, “and you are looking well.”
“Yes, Mistress Aline, and I am glad to see you, and, oh, Mistress,
you are looking bonnie in those brave things,” he added in a burst of
boyish admiration, and then subsided overcome by shyness for having
said too much.
“Wilfred,” she said, “you recall the last time that we met and what we
spake about?”
“I do, indeed, and I shall not forget your sympathy.”
“Do you remember my saying that I thought the spirit of light must in
its own time triumph over the spirit of darkness? I did not know at the
time what moved me to say it. I only meant it in a general way, and yet
I had a strange presentiment that it had some special meaning for you.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Wilfred, what was the sad news that you heard at Kirkoswald? Tell me.”
“They told us that little Joan had gone to Durham and died there.”
“Yes, but did you hear it from any one who really knew Joan?”
“No, Mistress, it was from a man who had been over to Holwick.”
“Then how do you know it was true?”
“Oh, Mistress Aline, Mistress Aline,” said the boy, “do you think it
might be untrue?”
“I know it was untrue,” she said gently.
For the moment the boy was too overcome to speak. His heart beat
violently, his eyes grew round and large. “Oh, tell me, tell me,” he
besought.
“I promised that I would bring you back the things you gave to Joan.
I cannot do that yet; so I am going to bring you Joan herself. She is
here in this place.”
“Here in this place!” he repeated as Aline rose and went to fetch the
little girl.
She was back in a minute or two and the boy was still seated in the
same attitude, dumbfounded.
“Here she is, Wilfred,” she said, leading Joan forward by the hand.
The boy looked from one to the other too bewildered to know what to do.
Oh, how lovely Joan looked in her red costume guarded with black velvet
and the white linen chemise showing below her throat and beneath the
velvet hem. But he was too bashful to advance.
Joan, however, was equal to the occasion. “Well, Wilfred, are you not
going to speak to me?” and she stepped forward and threw her arms round
his neck.
Aline withdrew and left the two children in the window seat, whence
they emerged a few minutes afterwards and timidly drew near the group
round the fire.
“Now tell us all about Holwick, Walter,” said Aline, making a place for
the two children.
“Yes,” said Ian, “why were they so slow in pursuit?”
“Mistress Mowbray would not let them have the horses from the Hall
and the folk broke the girths and bridles of their own horses, and
finally they had to get fresh horses in Middleton. The excitement was
tremendous; but the strangest thing to the most part of us was the
behaviour of Mistress Mowbray. She seemed to be greatly concerned and
wrung her hands and said, ‘By my Lady, I trust the child hath escaped,’
and, later in the day, Elspeth told me that she met Thomas in the
lower quadrangle and he, knowing the hatred that Mistress Mowbray had
toward you, must needs cry unto her. ‘Methinks those fresh horses
from Middleton will soon bring the jade back,’ and she grew purple in
the face and said to him that, if they did, she would see whether it
were too late to lodge him in gaol because of the corn he had taken
along with Andrew. I saw Thomas when I was there last. He is an ill
creature, and he much misliked it when it was clear that Mistress Aline
was safely away. Yet is he but a white livered knave. Father Ambrose
rouseth my ire more than he.”
“But you spake of Mistress Mowbray,” said Ian.
“Yes, the first thing that she did was to send over to Appleby that
very night for Mistress Audry, who came the next morning. Elspeth said
that the proud woman wept on her neck, so that it were pity to see. I
would not have been in the place of Father Martin or Father Austin if
they had fallen into her power. For days she made the household tremble
under the weight of her authority.
“The next day Master Richard came back looking like a broken man. He
said he had tried everything but could do nothing. As the time passed
on, and it gradually became clear that the pursuit had failed, he
recovered himself.
“Luckily for Mistress Audry no one thought of questioning her as she
had been away so long; but every one was marvelling who it could
possibly have been that had dropped on a sudden from heaven.
“Then news began to leak through. First they heard that two of the
pursuers had been buried at Haltwhistle. Then came the news of the
night that you spent at Brampton. Wilfred Ackroyd was found and stuck
to his tale that you had gone to Carlisle, but they found nothing
there.”
“Oh, Wilfred!” said Aline.
“I cannot help it,” he said, “I did laugh when I saw them galloping off
the wrong way.”
“Timothy held his peace,” continued Walter, “and no one seemed to
connect the drowned prisoner in the Eden with Mistress Aline. Indeed I
doubt if the tale of your drowning ever reached Holwick, your Grace.
The priests went south and Master Mowbray failed to track them, at any
rate at first. I believe he did eventually get into communication, but
they refused to say anything.
“It seemed pretty clear that Mistress Aline had escaped but who was her
saviour has remained to this day an insoluble mystery.”
“Then they guessed nothing from your letter, Ian?” said Aline.
“No,” said Walter. “When I was there your note, that you sent in a
round about way through Master Eustace Cleveland, had just arrived.
They were overjoyed to hear of the child’s safety and after much
discussion came to the conclusion that Cleveland himself had something
to do with it in spite of his denial. ‘Marry,’ said Mistress Mowbray,
‘I saw the way he was taken with the child.’ ‘So was every one except
yourself, woman,’ said Master Richard, ‘that proves nothing.’ Mistress
Mowbray mumbled something about not taking up with every new face, like
some people, and Master Richard did not press the point.”
“Who told you that?” asked Aline.
“Mistress Audry, and she says that since the first few days, when her
anger had passed, her mother has been much gentler than was her wont
to every one. She has had your little garden carefully wrought over.
‘Mistress Aline might come back,’ she says. She is much changed.
“Master Richard believes that Mistress Aline is somewhere in hiding in
Teesdale, but he has forbidden enquiry to be made, as he thinks, under
the circumstances, it is safer, in the event of any attempt on the part
of the authorities to find her, that they can all honestly say they
know nothing. I believe that he personally thinks Master Gower knows
more than Master Cleveland.”
“Now let me read Audry’s letter,” said Aline. This was a matter of some
difficulty, as Audry was barely able to write; but the evident trouble,
that the letter had been, made it a dearer token of affection. Aline
made it out as follows:
“To my dearest and most beloved cousin Aline Gillespie,
“Thou canst not think how fain I was to get thy dear letter.
Walter will tell thee the most part of the news, but I must with
mine own hand tell thee how overjoyed I was to know of a surety
of thy safety. When Mother sent for me and I came home I was
heartbroken. I used to sleep in thy bed and kiss the things that
thou hadst worn and cry myself to sleep. But gradually it seemed
clear that thou hadst escaped and I offered up many prayers of
thankfulness as shall I again and again this night.
“I have one item of good news. Dost remember the linen that
Mother found in our room. It was then lying with the wrappings
and cord with which it came. She took them all down and must
herself have put the wrappings on that little dark shelf near her
linen chest. I recognised them one day by the colour of the cord,
and I took them down, and lo, within, there was the little book.
I have put it in its own secret place in the lock in the library.
I am sure this will glad thine heart. Someday I trust thou wilt
be able to read the rest to me. Thou wilt indeed be the grand
lady now;--to think of thee living in a great castle with a real
Duke! May God be with thee.
“From AUDRY MOWBRAY.”
After Aline had read the letter they told Walter the true state of
affairs and how he had happened to come on the only festal day that
they had had.
It was arranged that Walter and Wilfred should put up for the night.
There certainly was ample room for the horses in the empty stables.
The Duchess was tired and went to bed early and was soon followed by
Shiona, so that Ian and Aline were left by themselves.
They sat quietly for a long time, Ian gazing silently at Aline, idly
sketching her shifting poses on the easel that happened to be standing
near; but he was not conscious of what he was doing; his thoughts
were far away as they wandered over the strange circumstances of his
career. Aline was more like her mother than ever, although still
more surpassingly beautiful. He was quite sure about it now. It was
undoubtedly Aline’s mother that he had loved with that wild boy-love
when he was but thirteen, and now Aline would soon be a woman herself!
“Who was there,” he wondered, “who would be worthy of such a treasure?
In any case it could not be very long now before some one claimed her.
His own mother was married at fifteen, so was the Lady Jane Grey, whom
Aline in some ways resembled.” He sighed sadly.
“Are you not happy, Ian? I am so happy to-night,” said Aline, and came
across and kissed him and then nestled at his feet after her favourite
manner.
“Not altogether,” he said.
“Tell me what it is.”
“Not to-night, heartsease,” he answered, bending down and kissing the
fragrant hair. “Some day, perhaps, I will.”
For a time the room was very still. Suddenly a thought occurred to Ian.
“I have just remembered something,” he said; “I will get it.”
The rush of events had crowded the little pouch and its contents out of
his mind, but his present mood reminded him of it.
He brought the amulet from its hiding place. Aline was still seated
on the floor. He sat down on the floor also, a little behind her, and
lifted one of the lovely hands. “I have something else that I meant to
give you before,” he said, holding up the bracelet.
The strange blue stones shone in the firelight as if they themselves
were on fire. “‘Weal where I come as a gift of love,’” he read. “Pray
God it may be so, heart of mine.”
Aline leaned back and lay with her head on his lap, looking up at him
as he told the story.
“There are no scars on the beautiful hands now,” he said softly.
She half drew the hand away and then stopped and it lay passively in
his hold as he lovingly fastened the bracelet round the perfect wrist.
She did not thank him; she did not speak; she only lay there quietly
looking into his eyes.
A log slipped from the fire; it did not make much noise, but the sound
echoed through the deserted rooms. How absolutely alone together they
were!
Somehow the bracelet seemed to have a special significance: perhaps she
might be held after all. A feeling of peace, almost of happiness, stole
over him.
“You are good to me,” she said at last. “Yes, I am happy.”