ANTHONY BABINGTON
It was that darkest hour of the night, the one just before the dawn, that
Francis was summoned to attend her father. None of the household was
stirring save Brooks, an old servitor, who stood at the foot of the steps
with the horses. The statues of terrace and court gleamed ghostly white
in the darkness, and the grim old keep frowned darkly upon them. The
deserted aspect of the courtyard filled the girl with dismay. High
purposes and noble resolves flourish in the bright light of day and grow
into mightiness in the first hours of the night, but the early dawn
chills enthusiasm and makes the inspirations of the night before seem
poor and weak and hardly worth an effort.
Something of this feeling oppressed Francis Stafford. She missed the
shouting of the gallants, the screaming of the hawks, the yelping of the
dogs and the blowing of horns that was the accompaniment of a
hunting-party. Instead of such a triumphal departure there was only the
low sobbing of Lady Stafford as she bade them farewell.
"My lord, you will have great care for you both, will you not?" she
murmured, trying to control her emotion. "Oh, I like not the journey! I
like it not!"
"Be not dismayed," comforted her husband. "We will return soon, and there
is no danger. We will be with thee again ere thou hast had time to miss
us."
The lady said no more but embraced them mournfully. Both father and child
were silent as they swept out of the courtyard into the park beyond.
Presently the sky began to soften in the east, and the gray uncertain
light gave place to the blushing dawn. Soon the dark shadows that lurked
under the trees fled before the golden beams of the sun. Suddenly the
note of a lark rang out silvery and joyous. Bird after bird took up the
note until from every tree and shrub there swelled a grand chorus as
larks and throstles poured forth their matin song of praise.
"How beautiful!" cried Francis, her eyes sparkling, her spirits rising.
"My father, right glad am I to be here with thee."
"Thine is a wild spirit, Francis," said her father rousing himself. "You
mind me of these birds, so wild and free yet sweet withal. Child, mayhap
I have done ill in taking thee thus from thy mother. And yet, we are not
in the queen's favor! Should misfortune overtake one it would involve
all."
"Father, if by act of mine I can further thy purpose, make use of me, I
pray. Glad am I that thou dost deem me worthy of thy confidence. And do
we not go to the aid of Mary, our rightful queen? What excuse need we for
so doing? Oh, if I can once behold her, can but once kiss her hand, then
would I be willing to lose even my life if 'twere needful."
Lord Stafford smiled at her enthusiasm.
"Has the infection seized upon thee too, child? In like manner so do I
feel, and so do hundreds of others. Strange what an influence Mary Stuart
wields over human hearts! God forfend that thy life should be required,
Francis, though many have been lost in her cause. But I would not that
thine should be numbered among them. Marry, it saddens me to think on't.
No more of this!"
"What name shall you call me by, my father, since I am your page?" asked
Francis presently.
"Thine own. 'Tis a name that thou dost wear because it was my father's,
and will serve. But bear thyself in accordance with it and none will deem
thee other than thou seemest. And I--I must teach my tongue to say boy
instead of child. We have a long ride before us, and I fear that thy
strength will fail ere we reach its end."
"Fear not, good my father. Thou knowest how used to fatigue I am in
hunting and hawking."
"I know thy strength, else I should have feared to risk thee for so long
a jaunt. And thou hast never been so far from home before."
"No; I went with thee once to Lymington where I saw The Solent, and in
the distance the Isle of Wight. But never have I been even across
Southampton water."
"True; I had forgot. Then thou wilt be entertained greatly, for we go
through Wilts, Gloucester and Worcester before we reach Stafford."
And so conversing on through the woods they passed until at length they
came to Bramshaw, a little village standing partly in Hampshire and
partly in Wiltshire and forming the forest boundary. Before them swelled
the rounded forms of the Wiltshire downs, and from their midst towered
the spire of Salisbury with the mound of old Sarum looming darkly
behind.
"I prithee tell me, father," said Francis, "what is that which I see in
yon distance? Methinks it looks like the tower of a church."
"Its looks belie it not, Francis. It is the spire of the cathedral of
Saint Mary, than which there is none higher in England. In the valley
lies Salisbury where we will stop for rest and refreshment. Yon conical
mound is Old Sarum which hath been a fortress from the earliest times.
The fosse and rampart belong to the Roman period. In the vast plain which
lies beneath it the Conqueror reviewed his victorious armies, and there
also did the English landholders swear fealty to him."
Francis looked with the delight of one who goes abroad for the first
time. At the beautiful cathedral, then at the old fort, and lastly at the
town itself which lay in the valley at the confluence of four rivers: the
upper Avon, the Wiley, the Bourne and the Nadder. In the centre of the
city was a large handsome square for the market-place from which the
streets branched off at right angles. The streams flowed uncovered
through the streets which added greatly to the picturesqueness of the
place.
Lord Stafford turned into one of the side streets, and drew rein before a
small inn, The Mermaid by name. As he rode into the courtyard the host
hurried forward to greet him.
"Good my lord," he said obsequiously, "light, and grace my poor house, I
pray you. There be one here who hath waited since yester e'en to see
you."
"Beshrew me, sayst thou so!" ejaculated Lord Stafford. "I thought not to
meet with any here. But oft must a man's pleasuring be staid for by
affairs of business. Is it not true, good Giles?"
"Marry, 'tis only too true," replied the host.
"Where is he that would speak with me, Giles?"
"In the east parlor, my lord. I crave forbearance, sir, for placing any
in the room which is reserved for your use, but I knew not that you were
about to fare this way."
"Trouble not thyself concerning the matter, good Giles," returned his
lordship. "Come, Francis."
Tossing his cloak to Francis he strode toward the entrance of the tavern.
The girl threw the garment over her arm, started to follow him, and then
paused in sheerest confusion at finding the eyes of the myrmidons of the
inn upon her.
Donning male attire in her own home had been mere sport, but with the
curious eyes of strangers upon her the girl felt painfully embarrassed.
"Look to thyself, boy," came in sharp tones from her father, and there
was a note of warning in the faint emphasis that he placed upon the word
boy.
Thus adjured Francis collected her wits, and, looking neither to the
right nor to the left, she followed after her father with all the
boldness which she could assume. Lord Stafford wended his way to the
east parlor of the inn with the air of being perfectly familiar with the
place, giving his orders to the rotund host as he went.
"'Tis but a short time that we will trouble thee, Giles," he said. "Serve
us with dinner, I pray you. We will rest for a time, and then speed
onward. Anthony," he ejaculated as the host threw open the door of the
chamber, "it is thou?"
"'Tis even I, my lord," answered a tall young man coming forward. "I had
news that you were coming this way and hurried hither to greet you."
"Right glad am I to see thee, Babington," was Stafford's rejoinder. "I
have much to say to thee. Hast dined?"
"No, my lord."
"Then let us eat, and afterward there will be leisure for converse. Be in
haste with thy meal, Giles."
The host hastened from the room while Francis slipped quietly into the
nearest chair, and looked with interest at the young man. She had heard
of Anthony Babington. His attachment to Mary of Scotland was well known,
and his devotion invested him with a romantic glamour now that she too
had espoused the same cause. The young man was speaking in low, rapid
tones to her father:
"I tell you, my lord, that the attempt will not be successful. No
invasion or insurrection can occur during Elizabeth's life, for any open
endeavor in Mary's favor will cause Sir Amyas Paulet to slay her. He hath
sworn it."
"Then, Anthony, it may be unwise to try to release Mary from her prison.
She hath suffered much of late from illness. It was my hope that if we
were successful, to place her where she might obtain the comforts of
which she hath been bereft, and so placed she would regain her health."
"The matter hath gone too far to end in her mere release," cried
Babington earnestly. "Elizabeth must die."
"Babington, thou art mad!" exclaimed Lord Stafford starting up in
horror.
"Mad? Nay; I have just begun to see that I have been called to rid
England of that most unjust queen who transcends the laws of blood by
keeping her own kin imprisoned as she hath done. And I am not alone,
Stafford. There are others who believe as I do. Wilt thou join us?"
"Never," cried Lord Stafford sternly. "May my right hand drop from its
shoulder ere it be raised against England's queen. Unjust to Mary she
hath been. Unjust in her treatment of her, and unjust in usurping the
throne. But still she is her father's daughter, and crowned queen of
England. If it be so that the release of Mary can be compassed, and
Elizabeth forced to recognize her as her successor, I will join the
effort even as I have already pledged to do. But no more."
"Hast thou not seen Ballard?" asked the young man in surprise.
"Yes; he tarried with me at mine own house as Captain Fortescue. How
now?"
"He said that thou wert ripe for the project," mused the other.
"Not to assassinate Elizabeth," returned Lord Stafford firmly. "I go to
Chartley now to acquaint Mary with the plan for her release. But I tell
thee, Anthony, if what thou tellest me be true, then will I withdraw
from the enterprise."
"My lord, I did but try thee. Some there be who advocate the slaying of
Elizabeth, but they are few. I beseech you, as you have given your
pledge, aid us in acquainting Mary with the plan for her rescue. No more
than this do we ask, and thou art depended on for this much."
"As mine honor hath been given, I will continue to Chartley," said Lord
Stafford.
"Then, my lord, wilt thou bear this letter also from me," and Babington
handed him a small missive. "It hath given her some uneasiness at not
hearing from me, and I would ease her mind."
"Yes, Anthony; the letter shall be given her with these others." Lord
Stafford concealed it in his belt. "Methinks that thou art in a bad way,
my lad."
"More anon," said Babington. "Our host comes. Thy dinner is served, my
lord."