Each of the guests retired to his chamber; but, for some little time,
there was a considerable degree of bustle and movement in the castle,
pages and servants hurrying to and fro in attendance upon their
masters, and serving men clearing away the dishes from the hall, while
scullions scraped the trenchers, and the pantry-men cleaned out the
cups. Such operations however were not long in the performance; and
gradually the whole building resumed its quiet. A light might be seen
in a window here and there; and a lamp, which burned all night long in
the high tower, served as a sort of beacon to any traveller wandering
in the darkness, showing him afar where Chidlow castle stood. The
battlements all around were dark and solitary; for there were very
strict laws at that time in force, against collecting what might be
considered a garrison, in the fortified houses of the nobility, or
maintaining, except in a few special cases, watch and ward within the
old baronial castles. The policy of Richard, indeed, seems to have
been somewhat similar to that which was pursued in France, nearly two
centuries later, by the famous Cardinal de Richelieu; and he evidently
aimed at breaking down the feudal power, which had often rendered the
great barons such formidable enemies of the crown. He lived not long
enough, indeed, to carry out his object, or to enforce his laws; but
still the proclamation was in force against giving badges and liveries
to retainers, or, in other words, against maintaining a regular armed
force, arrayed and organised under certain symbols, and independent of
the crown. This law, it is true, was openly violated by many. Every
great house in the land was filled with armed men; badges were
retained, and displayed, in various instances; and many a castle was
as strictly guarded as if it had been a royal fortress. But all who
sought favour or courtly advancement were scrupulous to observe the
king's will; and, as Lord Calverly was one of these, all outward signs
of military precaution had been given up. The chief cannonier had
become the master porter; and the warders were now called porter's
men. The great gates, however, were still closed, bolted, and locked,
the drawbridge raised, and the portcullis let down at the hour of ten;
and the posterns were shut an hour earlier; but, in every other
respect, defensive measures, and, above all, military display, were
abandoned, and an appearance of security was assumed, which, in truth,
no one felt in England during the short reign of Richard III.
All then was tranquil and quiet in Chidlow castle by half an hour
before midnight; and, although it was evident that some were still
watchers within its walls and towers, yet the greater part of the
guests were sound asleep, and almost all the others preparing for
repose.
At about a quarter to twelve, however, Lord Fulmer, with a lamp in his
hand, issued forth from his sleeping-chamber, and walked along the
exceedingly narrow passage into which it opened. Our ancestors of that
age, and of the ages before them, were not very careful to provide
broad corridors or staircases for their guests. The greater and the
lesser halls, the gallery, if a castle had one, several nameless
chambers--which were frequently to be found in what poetically would
be called the lady's bower, but which about that time was more
generally denominated the lady's lodging--and, in short, all rooms of
state were spacious and magnificent enough; but many of the bed-rooms
were exceedingly small; and, where they were on a larger scale, for
the reception of more distinguished guests, the neighbouring passages
were curtailed in proportion.
Along this passage then walked the young nobleman, with a slow and
thoughtful step. He had had time for meditation, and passion had
somewhat cooled down. His irritation had taken a more gloomy and stern
character, but it was not the less persisting. "I will know all," he
thought, "and then judge and act."
Turning sharply to the right, at the end of the first ten or fifteen
yards, he entered and crossed a large sort of vestibule, occupying one
half of the space in one of the flanking towers.
It had two windows in it, through one of which the moon was shining
brightly, marking the stone floor with the chequered shadows of the
leaden frame-work. He passed on, however, and then, turning to his
left, paused and opened a door, which admitted him to a little
ante-room. Two or three small beds were ranged around, of that kind
called by the French "_lit de sangle_;" but they were not occupied,
for their intended tenants, consisting of a page and two ordinary
attendants, were seated at a little table in the middle of the room,
gambling with dice. They all started up, however, when the young
nobleman entered; and, in answer to his question, whether Sir Edward
had retired to sleep, replied:--
"Oh, dear no, my lord. He will not go to bed for some time;" and the
page, stepping forward, opened the door of the inner chamber, saying
aloud, "Lord Fulmer, sir."
On advancing into the room, while the boy held back the tapestry,
Fulmer found Sir Edward Hungerford, with another person, standing
before a table, on which was spread out a large piece of
violet-coloured satin, whereunto were being applied, by the inferior
personage, an enormous pair of shears. The entrance of the young
nobleman made them both start; and the first exclamation of Sir Edward
was, "My God, you've cut it askew. Heaven and earth, what shall we do
now? There will never be enough in that corner to purfle the sleeves."
"I beg your worship's pardon," replied the other, without taking any
more notice of Lord Fulmer than his master had done. "There will be
quite enough. If I cut it slant so, from the corner to the middle, it
will just leave what is needful for the bands."
"I want to speak with you, Hungerford," said the young nobleman. "I
pray you, send this fellow away."
"Wait a moment, wait a moment," replied the knight. "This is the most
important thing in life. You can't imagine what trouble it has given
us to devise.--Now, cut away, Master Graine, and let me see how you
will manage it?"
"Oh, quite easily," answered the other; and, delicately using his
shears, he cut the satin straight across, and then divided one part of
it into two, from which he again pared two long strips, pointing to
the whole in triumph, and saying, "There, worshipful sir, I told
you--"
"Yes, yes, I see, I see," said Hungerford, in a meditative tone. "It
is a great question settled. Now, take them away; and, remember, I
shall want it by to-morrow night."
The man bowed and withdrew; and then, for the first time, Sir Edward
turned to Lord Fulmer, and invited him to be seated, saying, "That was
a momentous business, Fulmer; and your imprudent entrance so suddenly
had well nigh spoiled all."
"I did not know that you were engaged upon matters of life and death,"
replied Fulmer, bitterly, lifting up the tapestry at the same time, to
see that the tailor had closed the door behind him.
"I have somewhat of less importance to say," he then continued,
seating himself, "but still of some moment to me."
"What is it, my dear lord?" asked Hungerford, taking a chair
opposite. "I can conceive nothing very important, when compared with
the cutting out of a surcoat. However, I have seen that you have been
uneasy--or to speak more accurately, nearly as hot in your skin as a
poor devil of a lollard, whom I once beheld, when I was a boy, burned
in a pitch barrel. He looked just as uncomfortable as you did at
supper, when one could get a sight of his face through the flames. I
wish you could bear as easy a mind as I do, and see the little value
of things that men make themselves uncomfortable about--and angry
about into the bargain, it would seem."
"Nay, I am not in the least angry," replied Fulmer, who believed he
was speaking truth. "I merely want to hear some simple facts to which
you alluded somewhat mysteriously this morning. Marriage, you know,
Hungerford," he continued, affecting a light and jesting tone, the
better to conceal the bitter feelings within, "marriage, you know, is
a matter of destiny; but, when a man is about to unite his fate to a
fair lady, it is quite as well that he should be made aware of all
previous passages, in order that he may take his measures
accordingly."
"Upon my word, I disagree with you," answered Hungerford, with a
smile. "No man should ever do anything that can make him uneasy. Calm
and perfect indifference to all things in life is the only means of
obtaining that greatest blessing in life--tranquillity. If we have a
stock of enthusiasm, which must be spent upon something, it is much
better to spend it upon what you call trifles, because, if any
misadventure happens, the evil is easily repaired. Now, if when you
came in just now, you had made Master Graine irremediably damage that
piece of satin, which I should have considered the greatest misfortune
in the world, I could send a man on horseback to London or York, to
get me another piece, and thus the evil is cured. But, if a man cuts
another man's throat, or makes his wife hate him by black looks and
cold words, he cannot give his friend a new throat, or send to York
for a new love."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Fulmer, sharply. "I wish to Heaven you would be
serious but for a moment."
"I am perfectly serious," replied Hungerford. "The only question is,
which is the best philosophy, yours or mine? However, each man knows
his own nature. What do you wish to ask me?"
"Simply this," answered Fulmer. "What is the previous acquaintance to
which you alluded with a sneer, this morning, between my contracted
wife, the Lady Iola St. Leger, and that very noble and excellent
gentleman, the Lord Chartley?"
"With a sneer, my dear lord!" exclaimed Hungerford. "See what it is to
be of an imaginative disposition. I sneered not at all."
"Then the simple question," rejoined Fulmer, restraining his feelings
with a great effort, "what know you of their acquaintance?"
"Mighty little, my good lord," replied Sir Edward Hungerford, who was,
to say the truth, a little amused by the eager impetuosity of his
companion, and somewhat inclined to spur him on, merely for the joke's
sake; but, knowing that the affair might have very serious
consequences, he kept to the strict truth, and even within it, though
he could not refrain from playing a little with Fulmer's impatience.
"Be it known unto you then," he continued, "that somewhere about a
fortnight ago--let me see. It was on Monday----"
"The date matters little," said Fulmer, moodily. "All I want are the
facts."
"Well, about a fortnight ago, then," continued Hungerford, "as I was
riding from London, I chanced to stumble upon my good friend Lord
Chartley, at the little inn at Kimbolton. The whole place was occupied
by himself and his people; but he kindly made room for me, and gave me
an excellent good supper, prepared by his own cook. The snipes were
excellent; and there was an alaud of salmon, I never tasted anything
better--"
"Well, well, what then?" said Fulmer, quickly.
"Why, I thought him too good a companion to be parted with easily,"
said Hungerford. "So we passed the evening in talking of Bohemia,
where we had last met, and drawing savoury comparisons between the
cookery of that rude land and good old England. Finding we were
travelling the same way, I joined myself to his train, which was
discreet and well ordered, having a friar to bless the meat, and a
cook to cook it. Good faith, it was a pleasant journey; and I put
myself in mind of the gentleman who gave crumbs to Lazarus; for I took
care to be dressed in purple and fine linen, and with him I fared
sumptuously every day. At length, one evening, after having dallied
away some time at Tamworth, we stopped to sup at the abbey of St.
Clare--an abbey of nuns, you know--"
"Yes, yes. I know all about it," replied Fulmer. "Go on."
"I had no inclination to go on, when I was there, I can assure you, my
good lord," said Hungerford, laughing; "for right happily did the
merry little abbess entertain us, and not only supped with us herself,
in the strangers' refectory, but brought a prioress as deaf as a post,
and the two pretty cousins, her nieces, Iola and Constance. The Lady
Iola sat next to my noble friend; and, as a courteous gentleman, he
did his best to entertain her, and, to my thinking, succeeded. I could
have made up my mind to lodge there for the night; but Chartley was
peremptory to go forward to Hinckley. So, after supper, we rode on.
The friar, indeed, remained behind, pretending to be sick; and, when
we had got some two miles through the wood, Chartley suddenly
perceived--how, I know not, for it was dark enough amongst the
trees--that some one had left the train. It turned out to be one of
Sir Charles Weinant's men; for that smooth gentleman was with
us--playing the traitor, if I mistake not. However, Chartley set spurs
to his horse to catch the deserter, telling us to ride on, and he
would overtake us. We good people did as he bade; but we got to
Hinckley before him, and were roused early the next morning from our
beds, by news that his lordship was in danger, and needed our instant
help. Arden was in the saddle in a moment; and away we went pell mell,
getting what intelligence we could, till we came to the wood which
covers the hills over the abbey. There we found the whole place full
of soldiers, searching a bit of the forest ground, for whom or what we
could not learn; and, at length, riding round between the wood and the
abbey, we found Chartley, his tawny Moor, and half a dozen woodmen,
keeping a pass between two banks against Catesby, and a good number of
the king's soldiers."
He paused, and rubbed his temple, till Lord Fulmer exclaimed:--
"Well, what then?"
"Why, that is all I know, of my own knowledge," answered Hungerford,
"except that Chartley's coat seemed somewhat worse for a night's
lodging in the forest."
"There is something more, Sir Edward Hungerford," said Fulmer, in a
low, stern, bitter tone. "I must know it."
"Perhaps it is better to tell the rest," said the knight; "although,
you must remember, my good lord, that I now speak only what I have
gathered from other people's conversation. Of course, Chartley had not
planted himself there, and embroiled himself with the king's troops,
for nothing; and I made out, that his resistance was offered to cover
the retreat of a lady into the convent. She had, by some chance, been
out in the wood at night, and was cut off by the soldiers, who were
searching, it seems, for good old Doctor Morton, the bishop of Ely.
Chartley had met with her, and gallantly escorted her through the
midst of the men; but, to do him all justice, he spoke of her with
knightly reverence; and moreover, I should have told you before, that
this friar of his, who, as I said blessed the meat, was none other
than the good bishop himself, in effecting whose escape Chartley had
the principal share. Thus, he had a personal interest in the whole
matter."
Fulmer pressed his hand upon his brow, and murmured: "Alone with him
in the wood all night!"
"Nay, nay, my good lord, do not so disturb yourself," said Hungerford.
"Chartley is a man of very peculiar notions, and doubtless----"
"Pshaw!" said Lord Fulmer. "I do not disturb myself in the least,
Doubtless, he is full of courtesy, and a man of high honour--All night
in the wood with him!--I will go out upon the ramparts and walk. The
moon is shining clear."
"You had better keep out of the moonlight, my good lord," said
Hungerford, carelessly. "Stay, I will throw on a hood and come with
you."
"I would rather be alone," answered Lord Fulmer; and, taking up his
lamp, he left the room.
Hurrying along the narrow passage, he soon reached that large open
sort of vestibule, which I have mentioned, in one of the square
flanking towers; and there he paused, and stood for a moment or two
with his eyes fixed upon the ground in deep thought. After a while, a
sound, as of voices singing, came upon his ear. At first it did not
wake him from his reverie; but gradually it seemed to steal upon his
senses and call his thoughts, at least in some degree, from that which
had previously occupied them. There were seats on either side; and,
setting down the lamp on one of them, he opened the window which
looked to the south west, and through which the moonlight was
streaming. The music then became more distinct, though it evidently
proceeded from a great distance. It was calm, and sweet, and solemn; a
strain of exquisite melody, not so rich and full in the harmony,
indeed, as the anthems or masses of the Roman church, but yet
apparently of a religious character. It seemed a hymn; and, after
listening for a moment, Fulmer said:--
"This is strange! What can it mean? I will go forth and listen. It
seems to come from the wood, there. I shall hear better on the
battlements."
Descending the narrow winding staircase, which terminated the passage
about ten yards beyond the door of his own apartments, he entered the
inner court, and thence, through a tall archway, reached the outer
court, beyond which lay the ramparts. Then ascending by the steps to
the top of the wall, he walked round, till he had reached a spot
exactly below the window in the square tower. The music, however, had
ceased; and he listened for some minutes in vain, though he thought he
heard a murmur of many voices speaking or reading altogether.
The momentary excitement of curiosity passed away; and, sitting down
upon a stone bench placed for the warders' temporary repose, ha leaned
his arm upon the battlement, and returned to his dark thoughts. Still,
the calm and solemn scene around, the grey landscape lying stretched
out afar in the moonlight, the waving lines of hill and dale faintly
traced in the dim obscurity, the light mist lying in the hollows, a
bright gleaming line in the distance where the rays fell upon some
sheet of water, the tall dark towers of the castle rising by his side,
the blue sky overhead, flooded in the south west with silver radiance,
and in the north and east speckled with gemlike stars, the motionless
air, the profound silence, seemed to calm and still his angry
feelings, if not to soften or remove them. There are things in life,
which, like frost, harden while they tranquillize. Such was not
altogether the case with him, but still the root of bitterness was in
his heart.
He paused and thought; but, before many minutes had passed, the music
burst forth again, rising and falling in solemn swell and cadence,
evidently many voices singing some holy song. It came from far; no
articulate sounds reached his ear; but music is a language--a language
understood by the whole earth--speaking grand truths to the heart;
wordless, but more eloquent than all words. If he was not softened
before, he was softened now; if his spirit before had been tied down
to earthly passions, it was now, for a time at least, elevated, above
himself.
I have said "for a time;" for Richard had described him rightly. He
was a man of varying moods, naturally generous, high-minded, kind, but
subject to all the impulses of the clay, and in whom there was an
everlasting warfare between the mortal and immortal. He thought of
Iola, and her beauty, and the dreams which in his imaginative heart he
had dreamed of her; and still that wild and thrilling strain sounded
in his ears amidst the solemn scene, raising his feelings up, above
selfishness, and worldly lessons, to generous feelings and noble
aspirations. He thought what a grand though melancholy joy it would be
to give her happiness even by the sacrifice of his own. Something of
pride might mingle with it too; for, in the picture of the mind, Iola
was seen confessing that she had misunderstood him, and admiring where
she could not love; but still it was not a low pride; and he felt more
satisfied, more at peace with himself. His eyes wandered over the
space before him, and he recollected how he had seen it that very day,
as he rode towards the castle, lighted up with sunshine, bursting
forth into green life, and full of the song of birds. Now it was all
grey and still, with no sounds, but that faint echo-like hymn, pouring
on the air like the dirge of departed hopes. It seemed a picture of
his own fate, so lately lighted up with bright expectations, and now
all dark and cold.
Suddenly, on the green slope beyond the walls, he saw a figure--a
woman's figure, clad in white. With a quiet gliding motion, it walked
quickly on; and, ere he had recovered from his surprise, it had
disappeared amongst the first trees at the nearest angle of the wood.
He thought it looked like Iola, that its movements were like hers, so
easy, so effortless, so graceful. He turned towards the place where he
knew her chamber was, and gazed up. There was a light still burning
there, and, as he gazed, a female figure passed across the window.