THE KING'S MARRIAGE CONTRACT
Bidding the woman be seated, and going straight to the room we called
the library, I knocked at the door.
"Who is there?" asked my father.
"It is I, Roland."
My father opened the door, and looked at me questioningly. I saw that
the woman Katharine Harcomb was standing by the chair on which she had
sat during the time I had been in the room; but the hard defiant look in
her eyes had gone. Rather I thought I saw fear, almost amounting to
terror in them. Evidently my father had been speaking about matters
which moved her mightily. She no longer bore the expression of one who
would make her own terms, but rather as one who lived under the shadow
of a great fear.
"You are back soon Roland," said my father, "it is not an hour since you
left us."
"Nay," I replied, "but I met an old woman from St. Paul's Cross who was
coming hither, who declared she must see Katharine Harcomb."
The woman gave a start as I spoke.
"Where is she?" she cried, "let me see her without delay."
"Tarry a little," said my father; "tell me more of this, Roland."
So without more ado I told him of my meeting with the dame, and of what
had passed between us.
"I would speak to her, I would speak to her alone!" cried Katharine
Harcomb, like one bereft of her senses, and she made for the doorway as
if to pass me. But my father closed the door quickly and seemed to be
deep in thought. A moment later I saw that he had made up his mind.
"Have any of the kitchen wenches seen her?" he asked.
"Nay," I replied. "I myself opened the door, and she is waiting in the
hall."
"Then do you bring her here, Roland, and afterward do you leave us
again."
I have no doubt I showed my disappointment at this, for I was eager to
understand the meaning of it all. My father took but little heed,
however, so doing his bidding I went to the hall, where the woman was
still sitting.
It was at this time I called to mind that I had not heard her name, so
without first telling her to follow me where my father was I said
quietly, "What is your name, good dame?"
"Name," she replied, "when Katharine Harcomb knows that Mistress Walters
is here she will not keep me waiting."
"That is well," I replied; "will you follow me?" But although I spoke
quietly my heart beat quickly, for I felt sure that she was in some way
connected with Lucy Walters, whose son, Katharine Harcomb said, was the
next heir to the throne of England.
No sooner had the library door opened than I saw the two women exchange
glances, but I had no opportunity of noticing more, for my father gave
me a look which told me that I must leave them alone, which I did much
to my impatience.
I did not go far away, however. It is true I left the house, for cool as
the night had become the air seemed stifling, so I stepped on to the
grass outside, and began to walk up and down in the light of the window,
behind which I knew my father and the two women were. How long I stayed
there I know not, but it must have been more than an hour, for I noticed
that the moon which stood high in the heavens when I went out had
dropped behind the trees. In a sense the time seemed long. To a lad
barely twenty-three, to be kept away from the knowledge of a secret
which promised to vitally affect his future, was calculated to multiply
every minute into five. Nevertheless I had so much to think about, that
I thought but little of the time, and that in spite of my impatience.
The mystery of the box containing the marriage contract between the new
king and Lucy Walters, and the woman's request that I should go on a
voyage of discovery kept me wondering so much, that at times I almost
forgot that I knew very little of the whole business, and that my father
was even then talking about these things with the two women who had in
such an unaccountable way entered my life.
The moon had sunk far behind the trees when I was startled by the loud
noises of those within the house. A minute later I heard my father's
voice.
"Roland, my son."
I entered the house again, and soon found myself in the room where I had
left the two women. I could see that something of importance had passed
between them. The woman Katharine Harcomb seemed much wrought upon,
while in her eyes was a look which might mean anger or terror.
I looked from one to the other questioningly, for I was eager to know
what had been said.
"Roland, my son," said my father, "you have long complained of idleness.
You will have no need to complain longer."
I did not speak, although many questions came into my mind.
"Ay," cried the old woman, "and what is done must be done quickly and in
secret, for remember the Duke of York is already at work. He knows that
my grandson will be the lawful heir to the throne, and if he can find
the marriage contract, my poor Lucy's child will be kept out of his
rights."
"You mean the new king's brother?" I asked, for I was somewhat taken
back by the vehemence of the dame's speech.
"Ay, who else?" she replied. "If Charles dies, will he not claim the
crown? Already it is said that he speaks of what he will do when he is
crowned."
"As to that," I made answer, "are not his chances small? He is but three
years younger than the king, and may not live as long. Besides, Charles
may marry again."
"He will," cried the dame, "he will, but there will be no children."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I do know, and that is enough," she replied. "Charles will never have a
child which shall be heir to the throne of England save only the son of
my daughter Lucy."
I took but little notice of this speech, although the dame uttered it
with much warmth. I imagined that in spite of the severe measures which
had been taken with witches, and those who professed to foretell the
future, she had either consulted some of these people, or was perchance
herself a "wise woman." Not that I paid much heed to these things, for
my father, although he denied not that some had it in their power to
reveal the future, had generally made light of their professions, and
had taught me to treat them with scorn.
"Be that as it may," I said, "you have it that the new king married your
daughter."
"Ay, I hold to that," she cried, "and poor and humble as I seem to be, I
say that I am grandmother to him who should be king of England when his
father dies."
"That remains to be proved," I said, for I was eager to get back to the
question which had been broached by Katharine Harcomb when first we had
met earlier in the evening.
"Ay, that remains," replied the dame, angrily I thought; "and it is by
you, Master Roland Rashcliffe, that this is to be done."
"But why have you chosen me?" I asked, for young though I was, ay and
eager to undertake any work which meant movement, and romance, I could
not help asking why I among all others should be chosen for this work.
"You shall know some day Roland," said my father. "It is enough for you
to know now you have a great work to do, a work which if successfully
done will make you a power in England."
"But what is it?" I asked somewhat impatiently, for it seemed to me that
I was asked to do something the nature of which was hidden from my
eyes.
"To bring hither the marriage contract," he replied.
"Ay, but where is it?"
"It is in England," replied Katharine Harcomb, and then she looked at me
with keen, searching eyes.
At this I doubt not I made an impatient gesture, for truly they seemed
to regard me as a child who might not be trusted.
"Nay, be not angry," said my father, almost gently I thought. And this
surprised me, for although I was a man in years he had not ceased to
expect absolute and unquestioning obedience from me. In truth he held
strongly that every man should be complete master in his house, and that
no one should dare to dream of questioning his will.
But if I was not angry I was impatient. I had been on the tip-toe of
expectation for hours, I had been told that I had a great work to do and
yet I had only received hints as to how that work was to be done. For to
be told that the marriage contract was in England was to tell me
nothing, as any one can see. Still I held my peace and waited, wondering
what was to come next.
"The marriage took place at a place called The Hague," said the old dame
with downcast eyes, "away across the sea in that outlandish country
called Holland. It was performed in secret by a Papist priest. The
priest had to swear that he would never reveal the marriage,
nevertheless my daughter Lucy, for the sake of her good name, so cajoled
the priest that he drew up the contract and gave it to her, unknown to
the king. For fear it should be taken from her she determined to place
it in safe keeping."
At this the woman ceased speaking, while I, who had been waiting for
some news which would give me something like a reason for action, felt
as though she were conjuring up a story.
"This showed," she went on presently, "that my daughter was not foolish
as some have said, neither was she careless of her good name."
"But to whom did she give this precious document?" I asked, "and where
is it now?"
"She gave it one in whom she trusted," said the dame sourly. "But he
betrayed her trust. He found out the value of the paper, and brought it
to England. Since then it hath changed hands again; but Katharine
Harcomb hath discovered where it is now."
"Where?" I asked eagerly.
"It is at the house of Master Elijah Pycroft, who lives within five
miles of Folkestone town," said Katharine Harcomb.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I have been told by one who knows," she replied mysteriously.
"And who is Master Elijah Pycroft?" I asked again, for the whole
business seemed to be as unsubstantial as a vapour cloud.
"Ah, it is easy to tell you who he is, but difficult to say what he is,"
replied the woman. "But there be many stories told about him. Some say
he hath sold himself to the devil, others that he is at the head of a
gang of highwaymen, and that although he never appears among them, it is
he who gives them information and shelters them when they are in danger.
I have also been told that he is a Papist who is a servant of the Pope,
and is plotting to bring England back to Popery again. But it is he who
hath the contract, and it is he who will make use of it, if it be not
taken from him. Some have it that the priest who married Lucy Walters to
King Charles is in league with him."
Now this seemed to be a cock-and-bull story, and yet it had enough of
meaning to set my nerves a-tingling again.
"What is the name of the priest?" I asked. "Is his home at The Hague?
Because he is the man to find out first of all. If he confesses to the
marriage, then----"
"Do you dare to doubt that my Lucy was a lawful wedded wife?" cried the
old dame angrily. "She that is dead now, poor child. Why think ye that
the young King's mother, the old dowager queen, would have taken the boy
if there was no marriage?"
"Still it would be well to find him out," I urged. "Do you know his
name?"
"That I do," cried she. "He is a French priest, and was in Holland only
by stealth, seeing that the people who live in Holland do hate the
priests so much owing to their past sufferings. But Lucy told me his
name, she did, ay, she told me when she was in England before they put
her in the Tower. For my Lucy was a Catholic at heart, being brought to
that way of thinking while she was in those foreign parts. He told her
his name, and told her where he lived."
"Ah," I said, "that is better. Tell me, good dame."
"He lives at Boulogne," said the woman, "and his name is Father Pierre
Rousseau, and I have been told that his church is the Church of St.
Antony; but of that I am not sure."
But here at last was something definite to go upon. Boulogne was only a
few hours' sail from English shores, and if Father Pierre Rousseau lived
there he could be easily found out. I imagined that it would be easy to
find out whether the woman's story were true or false, and upon this
discovery a plan of action could be formed.
After this we fell to talking again, but beyond what I have written
down, little of import could be gathered. I saw that much heed was paid
to old wives' stories if they agreed with the desires of the women, but
as to well proved facts there seemed nothing besides these two things.
Still this was something. I could quickly find out whether Father Pierre
Rousseau were flesh and blood, while the discovery of Master Elijah
Pycroft should also be easy.
Had I been older, and known more of the ways of the world, I should, I
doubt not, have asked many more questions, but by this time my mind was
all aflame with the prospect of something to do, while the nature of my
work was all that a youth might ask for. Neither did I trouble much as
to why I should be chosen. My father had told me that I should know some
day, and with this I was fain content. I had a work to do, and that was
enough.
"It may be that this priest knows more than he has told you," I cried at
length; "my first business therefore will be to go to Boulogne, and
after that to seek out Master Elijah Pycroft."
My father nodded his head approvingly, and yet I thought I saw doubt in
his eyes.
"But what about the coming of the king?" I went on. "You told me only
to-day that we must go to Dover to meet him, and if he comes to England
soon, there will be no time for me to set out on my journey before
seeing him."
"The king will not arrive for two weeks," replied my father.
"Two weeks?" I said questioningly.
"Ay, two weeks. This dame hath it, that according to messages which have
been received in London town he will not come until the twenty-seventh
or the twenty-eighth day of the month. There will therefore be time, if
fortune favours you, to do much of your work before he comes hither."
Now being hot of blood, and not being aware of the many things which
might hinder me, I was content with this reply, and determined not to
fail being at Dover when the king should land.
Without wasting time by retailing what was said further, I hasten on to
say that by break of day on the following morning I was on my horse's
back, clad in my best attire, on my way to Folkestone town, whither I
hoped to get a passage to the coast of France. I was in gay spirits. I
had pistols in my holsters, a sword by my side, and more money in my
pouch than I ever hoped my father would give. Servant I had none, and
that for two reasons. The first was, there was no man in my father's
house who was fitted for such a post, even although I were rich enough
to keep him; but more than this, it was deemed best that I should go
quietly and alone, so that no one should suspect what my business might
be. Servants, as all the world knows, have a way of talking about their
masters' business, and if I had one he might unwittingly endanger me in
my work.
My father had spoken gaily and confidently to me on my departure.
"I shall be at Dover on the twenty-sixth day of the month," he said. "I
shall make my way to the _Fox and Hounds Inn_, and thither you must come
and meet me, if your affairs allow you."
To this I gladly assented, thinking of the things I might have to tell
him by that time.
"And mark you, Roland," continued my father earnestly, "be wary and bold
in this matter. If you succeed, you will have such power at your
command that even the new king will not be able to deny you what you
ask. But be bold, my lad, and be wary. Speak but few words, and when you
speak impart but as little information as possible. Ask questions
without seeming to ask them, and ask them in such a way as to befool
those you ask. Never allow want of courage to keep you from obtaining
what you desire. If you have to strike, strike hard. Be careful of your
companions. Trust no man with your secrets. Remember that in ninety-nine
times out of a hundred every man hath his own ends to serve, and if you
are not eager and brave another will outdo you. Don't expect gratitude,
and never trust any party or faction. Had I acted upon the advice I am
giving you now, I should not be called 'landless Rashcliffe,' and you
would not be a poor man's son. God be with you."
It was with these words ringing in my ears that I set my face towards
London town on a bright May morning, and although it lay fully twelve
miles from my home, I saw St. Paul's Church before seven o'clock, so
early was I in the starting.
My heart was strangely light, I remember, for although I was much in the
dark concerning my mission, its very nature stirred my blood, and made
me fearless at coming difficulties. Nay, I rejoiced in them: who would
not, when the fate of the country depended on my success? To find the
king's marriage contract, and thus alter the succession to the crown of
England! Surely that were enough to give nerve to a letterless
ploughboy, much less the only son of the bravest gentleman in the county
of Essex.
So early was I in London town that I had to wait fully an hour before I
could get breakfast, but this I presently obtained at an inn which stood
close by Ludgate, and within sight of Fleet Prison.
I found that the talk of every one was concerning the coming of the new
king, and every man seemed to be on the tip-toe of expectation
concerning the revelries which were to take place when he appeared.
"Ay," said the innkeeper to me, "I know that Old Nol made the English
feared the world all o'er, while never such an army was ever known as
he led to battle; but what of that? He wanted to turn the whole land
into Independent meeting houses. He wanted every man to turn
psalm-singer, and would have none about him but those who spoke the
Puritan cant. If ever a man loved to see a cock-fight, or a bull baited,
he was treated like a murderer, while no man dared to drink as an
Englishman should drink. But that is all over now. The king loves his
wine and his pleasure even as a king should. That's why he could not do
with the sour-faced Scots. When he comes we shall be able to drink
again, and these psalm-singing chaps will have to bark at back doors.
Old Drury will have its fun, and a man will be able to speak to a pretty
woman without being placed in the lock-up."
"Think you that aught will be done to those who fought against the new
king's father?" I asked.
"Ay, that is what people say. Men have it that every Puritan will be
dragged out of his house, and every man who fought against his sacred
Majesty's person will be hanged. As for these Independents, well,
already they who carried their heads so high be slinking along back ways
like whipped dogs. Ah well, it is right. Let us live a merry life, and
God save the king!"
Presently, as I went towards the river, I found out that the man had
spoken truly: I saw men clad in sober-coloured garments talking one to
another, as though some calamity were near. And this was no wonder, for
presently, as the number of the people in the streets increased I saw
that these same men were howled at by the mob. Some pointed to the
Bibles which hung from their girdles, and called out "Pharisees,
hypocrites!" Others again cried out "Psalm-singing rogues!" while others
threatened them with the stocks and the pillory when the king came.
"It becomes worse each day," I heard one of these sober-clad men say to
another.
"Ay the Scriptures be fulfilled; and the devil is unloosed."
"The people of God will fare badly, methinks."
"Nevertheless, the new king hath promised that every man shall be
forgiven for what he hath done."
"The new king! The son of Charles Stuart, a traitor and a liar whom our
great Oliver beheaded! As well expect mercy from a wolf."
"Hush, man! If we be heard we shall be taken note of. Let us be wise as
serpents and harmless as doves."
And this kind of thing I found everywhere as I rode through London
streets. On the one hand was a kind of lawless joy, which prevailed
greatly; and on the other fearful foreboding as to the coming days.
But I stayed not long in London, for I was eager to make my way to
Folkestone. The wedding contract hidden in the black box was more to me
than the rejoicings of the Royalists, or the fears of the Separatists.
It took me two days to reach Folkestone; indeed, I did not reach this
town till the evening of the second day. Moreover, the second day of my
journey had been rainy, and I was both wet and tired when I reached the
_Barley Sheaf Inn_, which looked homely and comfortable, for the which I
was very thankful. As the evening was rainy, I thought I should
perchance be the only traveller; but no sooner had the ostler taken my
horse from me than I saw two persons ride up, which interested me
greatly. Perhaps this was because they both seemed anxious to hide their
faces. The one was, as far as I could judge, a strongly-built man, but
of what age I could not judge; the other was a woman, clad from head to
foot in a long cloak. Moreover, she wore a hood, which almost hid her
face. Nevertheless, I caught one glimpse of it as she passed in at the
door. It was as pale as death, while her eyes were full of terror.
"Private rooms," said the man, "and that without delay."
After they had passed out of sight I fell to wondering who they were;
but I never dreamed then that their fate would be linked with mine in
such a wondrous way.