WHAT FRANCIS OVERHEARD
Francis awaited the coming of the day with some trepidation, fearing that
she might be obliged to render an account of the night before. And indeed
had the result been other than it was, she would have been called to a
very serious reckoning. It was marvelous that there was not more damage
sustained, but it came to her ears during the day that the fire had been
extinguished before it had gone beyond the rushes. The hair had been
totally consumed.
The girl soon became aware that the episode was known throughout the
court. When the Lady Priscilla Rutland made her appearance there was
subdued laughter and titterings among the ladies and their gallants.
Francis' shorn head was the cynosure of all eyes, but her manner was so
haughty that it repelled all facetious remarks.
The incident was recounted to Elizabeth. The queen laughed heartily at
the discomfiture of the lady for she was never ill pleased when one of
her maids brought ridicule upon herself, and turning to Lord Shrope who
stood near while it was being related she remarked graciously:
"Upon my word, my lord, there is more in that charge of thine than I
thought. If certain rumors which have come to our ears be not verified we
will have him placed nearer our person. Methinks such spirit well trained
could be made useful."
"You speak truly, madam," returned Lord Shrope. "I know not what is the
nature of the rumors, but knowing Francis Stafford, I make bold to say
that Rumor hath played thee false."
"We shall see, my lord," was Elizabeth's reply.
Lord Shrope feared to press the matter, but as soon as it was expedient
he hastened to seek Francis.
"The tide hath turned, child," he ejaculated. "Fate hath at last become
propitious to thee, for Elizabeth hath begun to look upon thee with
kindness. The accident of the hair hath done for thee what naught else
hath been able to do," and he told her what the queen had said.
To his surprise Francis was not so elated as he expected. On the contrary
his words filled her with alarm.
"Said the queen of what the rumors consisted?" she asked with
uneasiness.
"No, child; but there can be naught of harm in them. Thy life hath been
so innocent in thy Hampshire wilds that there is no act or thought of
thine but could be laid open to the queen. Thou hast naught to fear from
any gossip. 'Tis only when conscious of baseness that we fear to have our
lives searched. Thou hast done nothing wrong; therefore fear nothing."
"My lord," said Francis touched by his faith, "you honor me too much.
Pray Heaven that you may never have cause to repent your words."
"Tut, child! why should I repent them? Now be advised by me, and take
advantage of the humor of the queen. A good husbandman, as thou knowest,
improves the sunshine to make hay. We must do likewise. It is the queen's
habit to repair to her closet to play each day upon the virginals. This
she doeth for the most part privately, but, as she plays markedly well,
she is not ill pleased to have others hear her. Especially is this true
if it transpires accidentally. Now do you place yourself in the gallery
behind the arras. When the queen plays seem to be drawn into her presence
by the sweetness of her music, even as Orpheus drew Eurydice from among
the demons. Then excuse thy intrusion with some well-timed phrase.
Elizabeth is great, but she hath a weakness for judicious flattery the
which, in truth, doth not ill accord with her femininity. Then, if she
receive thee graciously, throw thyself upon her mercy and confess all."
"But, my lord, doth it not savor too much of guile?" objected Francis,
her spirit revolting at the manner of the transaction.
"It doth, Francis, but what would you? 'Tis the manner of all courts, and
the queen is not deceived thereby. Such things the rather appeal to her
if the fashion of them be adroit. What boots the method then if the end
is accomplished, and the queen pleased. No harm is done."
"My lord, I like not the style of it. It seemeth to me that nothing is
ever done in a straightforward manner any more. Is life full of naught
but crookedness and devious windings and turnings? Let me go to the queen
openly, I beseech you."
"Nay; 'twill avail thee nothing. Subdue thy pride for once, and be guided
by one to whom all the ways of the court are as an open book. Thou dost
hold thyself with too much of spirit. Set not thyself above those who are
older and of superior wisdom."
Francis felt the rebuke so sharply spoken, and answered in a conciliatory
manner.
"My lord, I intend not to hold my judgment higher than thine for thou art
of superior wisdom and age. I am willing to be guided by thee, but I
would that the end could be gained by other ways than those of
crookedness."
"'Tis for thy parents' sake as well as thine," observed the other. "Thou
knowest how full of anxiety they must be, and how solicitously they await
thy return. Thou shouldst be willing to adopt any course that would allay
that uneasiness and restore thee to their arms."
"And I am willing," responded the girl with fervor. "Away, indecision!
Away, doubts! No longer will I listen to ye; for what says Will
Shakspeare:
"'Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt.'
Speak on, my lord. Unfold again thy plan, and I will follow it, be the
issue what it may."
"There spake the Stafford blood," exclaimed the nobleman approvingly.
"Listen, girl, then haste thee to the queen's gallery; for on the hazard
of this die depends thy fortune."
Francis gave heed to all of his instructions, and then made her way to
the queen's apartment. The chamber was unoccupied, and she looked about
in quest of some suitable hiding-place. At one end of the room the
mullioned window opened upon a long balcony which overlooked the private
garden. Francis resolved to place herself there rather than behind the
rich tapestries.
She had scarcely taken her position near an open window where she could
both see and hear without being herself seen when Elizabeth entered. To
the girl's consternation she was not alone, but attended by Walsingham,
Burleigh, Hatton and Leicester.
Elizabeth seemed much agitated, and Francis, unwilling to be a listener
in matters of state, looked about her for some means of retiring when her
attention was caught by a name.
"And thou art sure, Walsingham, of the truth of this matter? Hast thou
indisputable proofs that Anthony Babington is guilty of design to murder
us? Long have I known that he inclined toward the claims of our cousin,
Mary of Scotland, but so too do my Lord Stafford, my Lord Percy, and
other of our subjects. Yet none of these gentlemen would lift a hand
against the person of his queen. Art sure of what thou art saying?"
"I have here the proofs, Your Majesty," returned Walsingham. "Here is a
tablet upon which is painted the face of Babington and five others who
are associated with him in perilous enterprise, as thou seest engraved.
Further: here are letters which have passed between Mary of Scotland and
the conspirators in which she commends the performance of the deed. The
act was to be committed on thy way to chapel."
"Then, my lord, if this be true, why have you not apprehended these men?
Methinks that the safety of your queen should be your first
consideration."
"Her Highness is right," cried Leicester. "Upon her life depends not only
the safety of her ministers but the welfare of the Commonwealth."
"Pardon me, my liege lady," said Walsingham, "if I have seemed to be
careless of that life which is so dear to all of us. But I wished to
involve Mary so deeply in this conspiracy as to open the way to rid the
country of her. Your Majesty will never be safe while that woman lives.
She is a menace as long as she remains in England."
"Deport her then," suggested Elizabeth. "France would gladly receive
her."
"Nay, madam. That were to place her where she could abet the design of
Phillip to invade England. That bourne from which no traveler returns is
the only proper abode for Mary Stuart. And for thy protection, madam, I
took precautions. Ballard, the priest, as thou knowest, hath long since
been confined in the Tower. Babington has been lodged in mine own house
where I could watch him. He can be taken at any time. That time hath now
come. The warrants are issued, not only for him, but for Tilney, Savage,
Tichbourne, Stafford and other conspirators associated in the
enterprise."
Stafford! Francis gave a faint gasp, and started up in terror. Her
father? Was he to be taken with these men? But the queen was speaking:
"Lord Stafford?" she said interrogatively. "Stafford, Walsingham? Surely
not he. He is an honorable gentleman, and would not be concerned in such
foul designs."
"Did I not tell you some time since that it was whispered in mine ear
that Stafford and his son delivered letters to Mary? The whisper hath
become a certainty. Those letters were to apprise the queen of the intent
to slay thee, deliver her from custody, and raise her to the throne. This
hour will I send to arrest Lord Stafford as well as the others. And
then----"
[Illustration: _SHE GAVE A FAINT GASP_]
"Death to the traitors," said Burleigh impressively. "They must perish,
as must all who are traitors to England and to England's queen."
Francis waited to hear no more. Her father to be taken and tried for
treason? That would mean death. She must warn him.
She ran quickly to the other end of the balcony, and swung herself over
the balustrade. Hastily she made her way through the grounds to Lord
Shrope's lodgings, bursting in upon that astonished nobleman just as he
was about to partake of his dinner.