PROUD DAYS FOR THE OLD HALL
Of course the queen's approaching visit threw Haddon Hall into a frenzy of
scrubbing and furbishing. Aunt Dorothy was the busiest woman in England.
Floors were newly polished. Draperies were taken down and were carefully
washed with mysterious concoctions warranted to remove dirt without injury
to color. Superfine wax was bought in great boxes, and candles were made
for all the chandeliers and candelabra in the house. Perfumed oil was
purchased for the lamp in the state bedroom. Elizabeth, by the way, when
she came, did not like the odor of the oil, and with an oath tossed both
the oil and the lamp out of the window. The fattest sheep, kine, and hogs
were chosen from the flocks and were brought in to be stall-fed in such
numbers that one might have supposed we were expecting an ogress who could
eat an ox at a meal. Pipers and dancers were engaged, and a merry fool was
brought down from London. At last the eventful day came and with it came
our queen. She brought with her a hundred yeomen of her guard and a score
of ladies and gentlemen. Among the latter was the Earl of Leicester, who
was the queen's prime favorite.
Prior to the queen's announcement of her intention to visit Haddon Sir
George had, with Dorothy's tacit consent, fixed a day upon which the Earl
of Derby and his son, Lord James, should be received at the Hall for the
purpose of signing the marriage contract. Dorothy, of course, had no
intention of signing the contract, but she put off the evil hour of
refusal as far as possible, hoping something might occur in the meantime
to help her out of the dilemma. Something did occur at the last moment. I
am eager to tell you about it, but it must wait its turn. Truly would the
story of this ingenious girl's life make a romance if it were written by a
poet. In her Guinevere and Elaine were moulded into one person with the
tenderness, purity, and fierceness of each.
To postpone further the time of the Stanley visit, Dorothy suggested that
the betrothal should take place in the presence of the queen. Sir George
acquiesced, and in his heart grew less eager for the Stanley match as
Dorothy apparently became more tractable. He was, however, engaged with
the earl to an extent that forbade withdrawal, even had he been sure that
he wished to withdraw.
At the time of which I speak the Earl of Leicester was the most exalted
subject of the realm. He was ardently devoted to the cause of the ladies,
and, although he had fixed his hope on Elizabeth and longed for a seat
beside her on the throne, his inflammable heart was constantly catching
fire from other eyes. He, of course, made desperate efforts to conceal
these manifold conflagrations from the queen, but the inflammable tow of
his heart was always bringing him into trouble with his fiery mistress.
The earl's first glance toward Dorothy was full of admiration. The second
glance was full of conflagration. The second day of the queen's residence
in Haddon I was astonished, grieved, and angered to see that our girl had
turned her powerful batteries upon the earl with the evident purpose of
conquest. At times her long lashes would fall before him, and again her
great luminous eyes would open wide, shedding a soft radiance which no man
could withstand. Once I saw her walking alone with him upon the terrace.
Her head was drooped shamelessly, and the earl was ardent though restless,
being fearful of the queen. I boiled with rage against Dorothy, but by a
strong effort I did not boil over until I had better cause. The better
cause came later.
I failed to tell you of a brief conversation which occurred between Sir
George and me after my cousin first saw the Earl of Leicester. Sir George
had gallantly led the queen to her apartments, and I had conducted
Leicester and several of the gentlemen to their various rooms. Sir George
and I met at the staircase after we had quitted our guests.
He said: "Malcolm, that fellow Thomas whom I knocked in the head looked no
more like Leicester than I do. Why did you tell me there was resemblance?"
"I do not know," I answered. "Perhaps your words suggested the thought of
a resemblance. Perhaps I had lost all memory of Leicester's features. I
cannot answer your question."
Then an expression of anger came to Sir George's face, and he said:--
"I believe Dorothy lied to me when she said that the fellow Thomas was of
noble blood."
The next day a servant reported that Thomas had been seen loitering near
Bowling Green Gate, and Sir George ordered Dorothy not to leave the Hall
without his permission.
Dorothy replied to her father's command, "I shall obey you, father."
To me there was a note of danger in her voice. Such docile submissiveness
was not natural to the girl. Of course all appearance of harshness toward
Dorothy was suppressed by Sir George during the queen's visit to the Hall.
In truth, he had no reason to be harsh, for Dorothy was a meek,
submissive, and obedient daughter. Her meekness, however, as you may well
surmise, was but the forerunner of dire rebellion.
The fourth day of the queen's presence at Haddon Hall was the one
appointed for the visit of the Stanleys, and Sir George thought to make a
great event of the betrothal by having the queen act as a witness to the
marriage contract. As the day approached Sir George became thoughtful,
while Dorothy grew gleeful. The girl was frequently seen with Leicester,
and Sir George could not help noticing that nobleman's pronounced
admiration for his daughter. These exhibitions of gallantry were never
made in the presence of the queen. The morning of the day when the
Stanleys were expected Sir George called me to his room for a private
consultation. The old gentleman was in a state of excitement, not unmixed
with perplexity and trouble.
He said, "I have great and good news to impart to you, Malcolm; yet I am
in a dilemma growing out of it."
"Tell me the good news first, Sir George," I replied. "The dilemma may
wait."
"Is Doll a very beautiful girl?" he asked eagerly.
"I believe she is the most beautiful woman in the world," I answered.
"Good, good," he replied, rubbing his hands. "Is she so fascinating,
brilliant, and attractive, think you--of course I speak in jest--but think
you she might vie with the court ladies for beauty, and think you she
might attract--for the sake of illustration I will say--might she attract
a man like Leicester?"
"Unless I am much mistaken," I answered, "Leicester is over his ears in
love with the girl now."
"Ah, do you believe so, Malcolm?" replied Sir George, laughing and
slapping his thigh, as he walked to and fro across the room. "You have
seen so much of that sort of thing that you should know it when it comes
under your nose. Eh, Malcolm, eh?"
"I should suppose that any one, however inexperienced in such matters,
could easily see Leicester's infatuation for Dorothy. If you wish me to
tell you what I really believe--"
"I do, I do," interrupted Sir George.
"I should say," I continued, "that Dorothy has deliberately gone in for
conquest. Leave the girl to herself, Sir George. She can conduct the
campaign without help from any one. She understands the art of such
warfare as well as if she were a veteran."
"Gad, but she does, but she does. I believe she could give Venus herself
some good points in the matter. But let me tell you, Malcolm,"--the old
man dropped his voice to a whisper,--"I questioned Doll this morning, and
she confessed that Leicester had spoken words of love to her. Would it not
be a great match for our house?"
He said "our house," mind you, not "our Doll." I might call his condition
of mind patrimonial selfishness. Simple old man! He did not know that
words of love are not necessarily words of marriage.
"Has Leicester spoken to you?" I asked in alarm for John's sake.
"No, no, he has not spoken," returned my cousin; "for that, of course, he
must have the queen's consent. But he will speak, I am sure, all in good
time, Malcolm, all in good time."
"How about the Stanleys?" I asked. "They will be here this afternoon."
"That's the devil's finger in the matter," cried Sir George. "That's where
my dilemma lies. How shall I put them off, and still retain them in case
nothing should come from Leicester? Besides, I am in honor bound to the
earl."
"I have a plan," I replied. "You carry out your part of the agreement
with the earl, but let Dorothy, at the last moment, refuse to give her
consent. Let her ask for more time, on the plea that she does not know her
mind. I will suggest to her, if you wish, the part she is to play; but I
will conceal from her the fact that you are a party to it."
"No," said the old man, "that would be bad faith toward the earl." After a
pause he continued doubtingly: "No, do not speak to Doll. I believe she
needs no suggestions in the matter. I fear that mischief is in her mind
already. Her easy acquiescence in my wishes have of late had a suspicious
appearance. No, don't speak to her, Malcolm. If ever there lived a girl
who could be perverse and wilful on her own account, without help from any
one, it is my girl Doll. God bless you, man, if she but knew that I wanted
her to reject Stanley, she would have him in spite of hell itself. I
wonder what she means by her docility and obedience? No, don't speak a
word to her on the subject. Let her believe I am serious regarding this
marriage, and she will have some plan of her own to raise the devil. I
have been expecting signs of it every day. I had determined not to bear
with her perversity, but now that the Leicester possibility has come up
we'll leave Doll to work out her own salvation, Malcolm. Don't interfere.
No man living can teach that girl a new trick in deviltry. Gods, Malcolm!
I am curious to know what she will be doing, for she certainly will be
doing something rather than sign that contract of betrothal."
"But suppose out of obedience to you she should sign the contract?" I
asked.
"Malcolm, you don't know Doll," he replied. Then, after a pause, "Neither
do I. I wish she were well married."
When I left Sir George, I found Dorothy in close consultation with the
queen and two of her ladies. I heard the name of Lord James Stanley spoken
amid suppressed laughter, and I suspected Dorothy had on foot some prank
touching that young man, to which her Majesty was a party.
After dinner the Stanleys came a-wooing. The party consisted of father,
son, and four retainers, who looked as if they had been preserved in
alcohol for the occasion, so red were their faces.
The Earl of Derby was a fine old gentleman of the rural type. His noble
son was an uncouth rustic, who had no thought above a stable boy or tavern
maid, nor any ambition above horse trading. His attire was a wonder to
behold. He wore a ruff of stupendous proportions. His trunks were so
puffed out and preposterous in size that they looked like a great painted
knot on a tree; and the many-colored splendors of his sleeves, his hat,
his hose, and his shoes were dazzling to the eye. Add to this wondrous
raiment feet and hands that could not be satisfactorily disposed of, and
an unrest of manner painful to behold, and you may possibly conceive the
grandiose absurdity of Dorothy's wooer. The sight of him almost made Sir
George ill; and his entrance into the long gallery, where the queen was
seated with her ladies and gentlemen, and Sir George and his friends
standing about her, was a signal for laughter in which her Majesty openly
joined.
I shall not lead you through the tedious ceremony of presentation and
introduction, nor shall I tell you of the pompous manner in which one of
the earl's retinue, a lawyer, read the marriage contract. The fact that
the contract was read without the presence of Dorothy, whom it so nearly
concerned, was significant of the small consideration which at that time
was given to a girl's consent. When all was ready for the signing, Dorothy
was summoned.
Sir George stood beside the Stanleys, and his nervousness was painfully
apparent. Two servants opened the great doors at the end of the long
gallery, and Dorothy, holding up the skirt of her gown, bounded into the
room. She kneeled to the queen, and turned toward her uncle Stanley and
her lover-cousin with a low bow. Then she courtesied and said--
"Good even, uncle, and how do you do, cousin. Have you come to inspect me,
and, perchance, to buy?"
Sir George's face bore an expression of mingled shame, wonder, and alarm,
and the queen and her suite laughed behind their fans.
"It is well," continued Dorothy. "Here am I, ready for inspection."
Thereupon she began to disrobe herself before the entire company.
Leicester laughed outright, and the queen and her ladies suppressed their
merriment for a moment, and then sent forth peals of laughter without
restraint. Sir George stepped toward the girl and raised his hand
warningly, but the queen interposed:--
"Silence, Sir George, I command you;" and Sir George retreated to his
former place beside the Earl of Derby. Dorothy first removed her bodice,
showing her shoulders and a part of her arms, clothed in the fashion of a
tavern maid.
Leicester, who stood by me, whispered, "God never made anything more
beautiful than Mistress Vernon's arms."
Sir George again spoke angrily, "Doll, what are you doing?" But the queen
by a wave of her hand commanded silence. Then the girl put her hands
behind her, and loosened the belt which held her skirt in place. The skirt
fell to the floor, and out of it bounded Dorothy in the short gown of a
maid.
"You will be better able to judge of me in this costume, cousin," said
Dorothy. "It will be more familiar to you than the gowns which ladies
wear."
"I will retract," said Leicester, whispering to me, and gazing ardently
at Dorothy's ankles. "God has made something more beautiful than Mistress
Vernon's arms. By Venus! I suppose that in His omnipotence He might be
able to create something more beautiful than her ankles, but up to this
time He has not vouchsafed to me a vision of it. Ah! did any one ever
behold such strength, such perfect symmetry, such--St. George! the gypsy
doesn't live who can dance like that."
Sure enough, Dorothy was dancing. The pipers in the balcony had burst
forth in a ribald jig of a tune, and the girl was whirling in a wild,
weird, and wondrous dance before her lover-cousin. Sir George ordered the
pipers to cease playing; but again Elizabeth, who was filled with mirth,
interrupted, and the music pealed forth in wanton volumes which flooded
the gallery. Dorothy danced like an elfin gypsy to the inspiring strains.
Soon her dance changed to wondrous imitations of the movements of a horse.
She walked sedately around in an ever increasing circle; she trotted and
paced; she gave the single foot and racked; she galloped, slowly for a
while, and then the gallop merged into a furious run which sent the blood
of her audience thrilling through their veins with delight. The wondrous
ease and grace, and the marvellous strength and quickness of her
movements, cannot be described. I had never before thought the human body
capable of such grace and agility as she displayed.
After her dance was finished she stepped in front of her cousin and
delivered herself as follows:--
"I am sound from ear tip to fetlock. There is not a blemish in me."
"No, by my faith, I will swear there is not!" cried the Earl of Leicester.
"I have good wind," continued Dorothy, "two good eyes. By night or by day
I can see everything within the range of my vision, and a great deal that
is not. I shy, at times, when an uncouth object suddenly comes upon me. I
am warranted gentle if properly handled, but otherwise it is unsafe to
curry my heels."
Sir George could no longer restrain himself, and again tried to prevent
Dorothy from proceeding with her terrible insult to the Stanleys. The
queen, however, was determined to see the end of the frolic, and she
said:--
"Proceed, Mistress Vernon, proceed."
Dorothy, nothing loath, continued: "As for my disposition, it might be
better. It probably will improve with age, if it doesn't grow worse. I
have all the gaits a horse should have. I am four years old, I have never
been trained to work double, and I think I never shall be. What think you?
Now what have you to offer in exchange? Step out and let me see you move."
She took the poor youth by the hand and led him to the middle of the
floor.
"How old are you? Show me your teeth," she said. The heir to Derby smiled
uneasily, and drew his hand across his nose.
"Ah, you have a touch of the distemper, I see. Are you subject to it?"
Stanley smiled, and the earl said:--
"Sir George, this insult has gone far enough."
"Stand back, my Lord Derby," said the queen. "Do not interfere with this
interesting barter."
The earl reluctantly lapsed into silence. He remembered the insult of her
Majesty's words all his life.
"Now step off," said Dorothy to Lord James.
The young man stood in helpless confusion. Dorothy took a step backward
from him, and after watching Stanley a moment said:--
"What! You can neither trot, pace, nor gallop? I don't believe you can
even walk alone." Then she turned toward Sir George. A smile was on her
lips, but a look from hell was in her eyes as she said:--
"Father, take a lesson from this day. I gave you fair warning. Bring me no
more scurvy cobs for barter nor trade." Then she turned to the Earl of
Derby and to her cousin Lord James, made a deep courtesy, and said:--
"You can have no barter with me. Good day."
She ran from the room, and a great peal of laughter from all save Sir
George and the Stanleys followed her as she passed out through the double
door. When the laughter had subsided, the Earl of Derby turned to Sir
George and said:--
"Sir George, this insult is unbearable, and I shall expect satisfaction
for it." Then he turned to the queen: "I beg that your Majesty will give
me leave to depart with my son."
"Granted," answered Elizabeth, and father and son started to leave the
room, moving backward toward the great doors. Sir George asked the earl
and Lord Stanley to remain, and in the presence of the company who had
witnessed the insult, he in the humblest manner made abject apology for
the treatment his distinguished guests had received at the hands of his
daughter. He very honestly and in all truth disclaimed any sympathy with
Dorothy's conduct, and offered, as the only reparation he could make, to
punish her in some way befitting the offence. Then he conducted the guests
to the mounting block near the entrance tower and saw them depart. Dorothy
had solved her father's dilemma with a vengeance.
Sir George was not sure that he wanted to be angry at Dorothy, though he
felt it was a duty he owed to himself and to the Stanleys. He had wished
that the girl would in some manner defer the signing of the contract, but
he had not wanted her to refuse young Stanley's hand in a manner so
insulting that the match would be broken off altogether.
As the day progressed, and as Sir George pondered over Dorothy's conduct,
he grew more inclined to anger; but during the afternoon she kept well
under the queen's wing, and he found no opportunity to give vent to his
ill-temper.
Late that night he called me to his room. He had been drinking during the
evening and was poised between good-humored hilarity and ill-tempered
ferocity. The latter condition was usually the result of his libations.
When I entered the room it was evident he was amused.
"Did you ever hear or see such brazen effrontery?" he asked, referring to
Dorothy's treatment of the Stanleys. "Is there another girl on earth who
would have conceived the absurd thought, or, having conceived it, would
have dared to carry it out?"
I took a chair and replied, "I think there is not another."
"I hope not," continued Sir George. He sat in thought for a moment, and
then broke forth into a great laugh. When he had finished laughing he
said: "I admit it was laughable and--and pretty--beautiful. Damme, I
didn't know the girl could do it, Malcolm! I didn't know she had it in
her. There is not another girl living could have carried the frolic
through." Then he spoke seriously, "But I will make her smart for it when
the queen leaves Haddon."
"Sir George, if you will allow me to suggest what I feel on the subject, I
would say that you have no reason whatever for desiring to make Dorothy
smart. She may have deeper designs than we can see."
"What designs do you suppose she can have? Tell me, Malcolm," asked Sir
George.
I remained silent for a moment, hardly knowing how to express my thought.
"Certainly she could not have appeared to a better advantage than in her
tavern maid's costume," I said.
"That is true," answered Sir George. "Though she is my own daughter, I
must admit that I have never seen any woman so beautiful as she." The old
gentleman laughed softly for a moment and said: "But wasn't it brazen?
Wasn't it shameless? I have always given the girl credit for modesty,
but--damme, damme--"
"Her beauty in the tavern maid's costume fired Leicester's heart as
nothing else could have done," I said. "He stood by my side, and was in
raptures over her charms."
Sir George mused a moment and said something about the "Leicester
possibility," which I knew to be an impossibility, and before I left him
he had determined to allow the matter to drop for the present. "I am
making a damned pretty mess of the whole affair, I fear, Malcolm," he
said.
"You don't seem to be clearing it up, Sir George," I responded.
After talking over some arrangements for the queen's entertainment, I said
good night, and left my cousin brooding over as complicated a problem as
man ever tried to solve.
The next morning I told Dorothy how her father felt with respect to the
"Leicester possibility." She laughed and said:--
"I will encourage father in that matter, and," with a saucy twinkle in her
eye, "incidentally I will not discourage my proud lord of Leicester. I
will make the most of the situation, fear not, Malcolm."
"I do not fear," said I, emphatically.
There it was: the full-blown spirit of conquest, strong even in a
love-full heart. God breathed into Adam the breath of life; but into Eve
he breathed the love of conquest, and it has been growing stronger in the
hearts of her daughters with each recurring generation.
"How about John?" I asked.
"Oh, John?" she answered, throwing her head contemplatively to one side.
"He is amply able to protect his own interests. I could not be really
untrue to him if I wished to be. It is I who am troubled on the score of
infidelity. John will be with the most beautiful queen--" She broke off in
the midst of her sentence, and her face became clouded with an expression
of anger and hatred. "God curse her! I wish she were dead, dead, dead.
There! you know how I feel toward your English-French-Scottish beauty.
Curse the mongrel--" She halted before the ugly word she was about to use;
but her eyes were like glowing embers, and her cheeks were flushed by the
heat of anger.
"Did you not promise me, Dorothy, that you would not again allow yourself
to become jealous of Queen Mary?" I asked.
"Yes, I promised, but I cannot prevent the jealousy, and I do not intend
to try. I hate her, and I love to hate her."
"Why should you hate her?" I asked. "If John remains true to you, there is
certainly no cause for you to hate any one. If he should be untrue to you,
you should hate him."
"Hate him?" she exclaimed. "That, indeed, is pretty reasoning. If he
should be untrue to me, I should of course hate her. I could not hate him.
I did not make myself love him. I would never have been so great a fool as
to bring that pain upon myself intentionally. I suppose no girl would
deliberately make herself love a man and bring into her heart so great an
agony. I feel toward John as I do, because I must; and I hate your
Scottish mongrel because I must. I tell you, Malcolm, when she comes to
Rutland, if I hear of her trying any of her wanton tricks on John there
will be trouble--mark my words!"
"I ask you to promise me this, Dorothy: that you will do nothing
concerning John and Queen Mary without first speaking to me."
She paced across the room angrily. "I promise you nothing, Malcolm, save
that I shall not allow that woman to come between John and me. That I
promise you, on my oath."
Dorothy continued to shed her luminous smiles on Leicester, though she was
careful not to shine in the queen's presence. My lord was dazzled by the
smiles, and continually sought opportunities to bask in their dangerous
light. As a result of this smiling and basking the great London
heart-breaker was soon helplessly caught in the toils of Doll, the country
maiden. She played him as an angler plays a trout. The most experienced
court coquette could not have done the part better than did this girl,
whose knowledge of the subject was wholly intuitive, for her life had all
been spent amid the green hills and groves of Derbyshire. She so managed
the affair that her father should see enough of Leicester's preference to
keep alive in Sir George's mind the hope for the "Leicester possibility."
Those words had become with her a phrase slyly to play upon.
One afternoon when the sun was graciously warm and bright, I induced Madge
to walk with me upon the terrace, that I might for a few moments feel the
touch of her hand and hear her whispered words. We took a seat by a large
holly bush, which effectually concealed us from view. We had been there
but a few moments when we heard footsteps approaching. Looking between the
branches of the holly bush I saw Dorothy and Leicester coming toward us
from the north end of the terrace. Dorothy's eyes were cast down demurely,
and her head hung in the attitude of a shy, modest girl, who listens
timidly to words that are music in her ears. Never have I seen an attitude
more indicative of the receptive mood than that which Dorothy assumed
toward Leicester.
"Ah," thought I, "poor John has given his heart and has risked his life
for the sake of Doll, and Doll is a miserable coquette."
But there was conduct still more objectionable to come from Dorothy.
Unconscious of our presence, Leicester said, "My fair beauty, my Venus,
here is a settle under this holly bush, well hidden from prying eyes. It
invites us. Will you sit here with me for one happy moment, and give me a
taste of Paradise?"
"I fear I should not sit with you, my lord, however much I--may--may wish
to do so. My father or the queen might observe us." The black lashes fell
upon the fair cheek, and the red golden head with its crown of glory hung
forward convincingly.
"You false jade," thought I.
"I ask for but one moment," pleaded Leicester. "The queen sleeps at this
time after dinner, and perhaps your father would not object if you were to
grant this little favor to the first nobleman of the realm."
"You do not know my father, my lord. He is very strict regarding my
conduct," murmured the drooping head.
"I ask for but one little moment," continued the earl, "in which to tell
you that you have filled my heart with adoration and love."
"I should not listen to you, my lord. Were I mindful of my happiness, I
should return to the Hall at once," said the drooping lashes and hanging
head.
"You lying wench," thought I. By that time I was thoroughly angered.
"Only one little moment on the settle," pleaded Leicester, "that I may
speak to you that which I wish so ardently to say."
"Can you not speak while we walk, my lord?" asked Dorothy.
I felt a bitter desire to curse the girl.
"It is difficult for me to speak while we walk," said Leicester,
cautiously taking the girl's hand; so she permitted him to lead her to the
settle under the holly bush, on the opposite side of which Madge and I
were sitting.
The earl retained the hand for a moment after he and Dorothy were seated,
but she gently drew it away and moved a little distance from his Lordship.
Still, her eyes were drooped, her head hung low, and her bosom actually
heaved as if with emotion.
"I will tell John of your shamelessness," I said to myself. "He shall feel
no more heartaches for you--you wanton huzzy."
Then Leicester poured forth his passion most eloquently. Poesy, verse, and
rhetoric all came to help him in his wooing. Now and then the girl would
respond to his ardor with "Please, my lord," or "I pray you, my lord," and
when he would try to take her hand she would say, "I beg you, my lord, do
not." But Leicester evidently thought that the "do not" meant "do," for
soon he began to steal his arm about her waist, and she was so slow in
stopping him that I thought she was going to submit. She, however, arose
gently to her feet and said:--
"My lord, I must return to the Hall. I may not longer remain here with
you."
The earl caught her hand and endeavored to kiss it, but she adroitly
prevented him, and stepping out into the path, started slowly toward the
Hall. She turned her head slightly toward Leicester in a mute but eloquent
invitation, and he quickly followed her.
I watched the pair walk up the terrace. They descended the steps to the
garden, and from thence they entered the Hall by way of the porch.
"Was it not very wicked in Dorothy to listen to such words from
Leicester?" asked Madge. "I do not at all understand her."
Madge, of course, knew only a part of what had happened, and a very small
part at that, for she had not seen Dorothy. Madge and I returned to the
Hall, and we went at once to Dorothy's room, hoping to see her, and
intending to tell her our opinion of the shameless manner in which she had
acted.
Dorothy was in her room alone when we entered. She clapped her hands, ran
to the door, bolted it, and bounded back toward us.
"I have the greatest news to tell you," she cried laughingly,--"the
greatest news and the greatest sport of which you ever heard. My lord
Leicester is in love with me."
"Indeed, that is very fine," I responded; but my irony met its usual fate.
She did not see it.
"Yes," continued Dorothy, brimming over with mirth, "you should have heard
him pleading with me a few moments since upon the terrace."
"We did hear him," said Madge.
"You heard him? Where? How?" Her eyes were wide with wonder.
"We were on the opposite side of the holly bush from you," I answered. "We
heard him and we saw you."
"Did you? Good. I am glad of it," said Dorothy.
"Yes, we saw and we heard all, and we think that your conduct was
shameless," I responded severely.
"Shameless?" demanded Dorothy. "Now pray tell me what I did or said that
was shameless.".
I was at a loss to define the wrong in her conduct, for it had been of an
intangible quality which in itself was nothing, but notwithstanding meant
a great deal.
"You permitted him to hold your hand," I said, trying to fix on something
real with which to accuse her.
"I did nothing of the sort," said Dorothy, laughingly. "He caught my hand
several times, but I withdrew it from him"
I knew she spoke the truth regarding her hand, so I tried again.
"You--you hung your head and kept your eyes cast down, and you looked--"
"Oh, I hung my head, I cast down my eyes, and I looked?" she answered,
laughing heartily. "Pray let me ask you, Master Fault-finder, for what use
else are heads and eyes made?"
I was not prepared to say that the uses to which Dorothy had put her head
and eyes were not some of the purposes for which they were created. They
are good purposes, too, I admit, although I would not have conceded as
much to Dorothy. I knew the girl would soon wheedle me into her way of
thinking, so I took a bold stand and said:--
"It is my intention to tell John about your conduct with Leicester, and I
shall learn for what purpose he thinks eyes and heads are created."
"Tell John?" cried Dorothy. "Of course you may tell John. He well knows
the purposes of heads and eyes, and their proper uses. He has told me many
times his opinion on the subject." She laughed for a moment, and then
continued: "I, too, shall tell John all that happened or shall happen
between Lord Leicester and me. I wish I could tell him now. How I wish I
could tell him now." A soft light came to her eyes, and she repeated
huskily: "If I might tell him now; if I might tell him now. Why, Malcolm,
I despise Leicester. He is a poor, weak fool. He has no more force nor
strength than I have. He is not a man. He is no more attractive than a
woman. He wanted to kiss me. He begged me to give him but one. It is but a
poor kiss which a man gets by begging. Think you I would give him one? Had
he but touched my lips, think you I would ever allow John to soil himself
again by kissing them? Fear not, Malcolm. Fear not for John nor for me.
No man will ever receive from me a favor, the granting of which would make
me unfit to be John's--John's wife. I have paid too dearly for him to
throw him away for a penny whistle that I do not want." Then she grew
earnest, with a touch of anger: "Leicester! What reason, suppose you,
Malcolm, have I for treating him as I do? Think you I act from sheer
wantonness? If there were one little spot of that fault upon my soul, I
would tear myself from John, though I should die for it."
Her laughing mood had passed away, and I feared to say that I could see no
reason other than coquetry for her conduct, I feared the red-haired
tigress would scratch my eyes out.
"I have wanted to see you," she continued, "that I might tell you of my
plans and of the way they are working out, but now since you have spoken
to me in this manner, Sir Malcolm François de Lorraine Vernon, I shall
tell you nothing. You suspect me. Therefore, you shall wait with the rest
of the world to learn my purposes. You may tell John all you have seen and
heard. I care not how quickly you do it." Then with a sigh: "I pray God it
may be very soon. He will wish for no explanation, and he shall one day
have in me a rich reward for his faith."
"Do you trust him as he trusts you?" I asked, "and would you demand an
explanation were he to act toward Mary Stuart as you have acted toward
Leicester?"
"He could not act toward her as I did toward Lord Leicester," she said
thoughtfully. Then after a moment she laughingly continued: "John
can't--he can't hang his head and--droop his eyes and look."
"But if--" I began.
"I want no more of your hellish 'ifs,'" cried the girl in sudden fury. "If
John were to--to look at that Scottish mongrel as I looked at Leicester, I
would--I would kill the royal wanton. I would kill her if it cost my
life. Now, for God's sake, leave me. You see the state into which you
have wrought me." I left Madge with Dorothy and walked out upon Bowling
Green to ponder on the events that were passing before me.
From the time we learned that John had gone to fetch the Scottish queen I
had fears lest Dorothy's inflammable jealousy might cause trouble, and now
those fears were rapidly transforming themselves into a feeling of
certainty. There is nothing in life so sweet and so dangerous as the love
of a hot-blooded woman.
I soon saw Dorothy again. "Tell me," said I, in conciliation, "tell me,
please, what is your reason for acting as you do toward Leicester, and why
should you look differently upon similar conduct on John's part?"
"I will not tell you my plans," she responded,--"not now, at least.
Perhaps I shall do so when I have recovered from my ill-temper. It is hard
for me to give my reasons for feeling differently about like conduct on
John's part. Perhaps I feel as I do because--because--It is this way:
While I might do little things--mere nothings--such as I have done--it
would be impossible for me to do any act of unfaithfulness to John. Oh, it
could not be. But with him, he--he--well, he is a man and--and--oh, don't
talk to me! Don't talk to me! You are driving me mad. Out of my sight! Out
of my room! Holy Virgin! I shall die before I have him; I know I shall."
There it was again. The thought of Mary Stuart drove her wild. Dorothy
threw herself on her face upon the bed, and Madge went over and sat by her
side to soothe her. I, with a feeling of guilt, so adroit had been
Dorothy's defence, left the girls and went to my room in the tower to
unravel, by the help of my pipe, the tangled web of woman's
incomprehensibility. I failed, as many another man had failed before me,
and as men will continue to fail to the end of time.