FRANCIS FINDS A HELPER
"It is the pursuivants," cried Francis in consternation. "Good mother,
hide me, I entreat. They must not know that I am here."
Then, indeed, was she thankful that she had taken the old woman into her
confidence. The beldame arose and with an agility that was surprising in
one of her years glided across the room, and opened a small door that was
so small, and black, and grimy that it had escaped the girl's attention.
"Enter," whispered the woman. "Enter and fear nothing. They shall not
know of thy presence."
Francis passed through the entrance and closed the door after her just as
the rapping came again with renewed vigor.
"What, ho inside!" came a voice. "Give entrance, whosoe'er ye be, else it
will be made by force."
"Now who be ye who would seek admittance to the house of a white witch?"
asked Dame Margery's shrill voice.
"Gramercy! we will show who we be," and there was a sound as of a man
pressing against the panels of the door. The dame undid the fastenings
and threw open the door. A man who had evidently put his shoulder against
it for the purpose of forcing an entrance sprawled his entire length on
the floor. With a loud laugh at his discomfiture several other men
crowded into the room.
"Marry! what an unmannerly welcome," cried the man picking himself up.
"My good woman, is this the way to receive guests?"
"Be that the way to enter a body's house?" cried the dame. "Ye bean't
gentle, surely, else ye would know that an old woman can't move the
swiftest when she's bent with the rheums."
"I crave thy pardon, dame," said the leader who was evidently a man of
high degree. "I crave thy pardon for such an unceremonious entrance. I
thought that no one was within. Give us shelter from the storm and
supper. Then must we on our way. We pay for your trouble."
"Well, ye won't get either supper or shelter here. Do ye take this for an
inn?" she asked querulously.
"Nay, dame; for then would we find greeting and good cheer," returned the
leader good naturedly. "This seemeth more in truth like witch's dwelling.
Whatsoe'er it be here we stay until the storm abates. We are from the
queen, woman."
Dame Margery said no more, but began to bestir herself about the supper.
"Some of you see about the horses," commanded the leader, placing himself
before the fire.
Two of the men went out and presently returned.
"'Tis a crazy sort of a barn, sir," said one, "but it encloses as good a
bit of horseflesh as e'er trod a heath. How now, dame? Where didst thou
get so fine a horse?"
"Are there men here other than us?" asked the leader hastily. "If there
be we must look to ourselves for we are on the queen's business, and
naught must delay us."
"No men, sir," answered Margery.
"The stable is bad, sayst thou, Martin?" with an expression of relief on
his face as he heard the dame's reply. "The dwelling, too, is none of the
best."
"None asked ye to enter it," said the woman bluntly. "An ye like not mine
abode, ye can leave it."
"Hold thy tongue, old beldame!" said the leader imperiously. "Nay;" as
the dame flashed an angry glance at him, "be not prodigal of thy looks.
An thou cast the evil eye on me, I'll sheathe my blade in thy flesh. We
want no witch's work here."
Margery made no answer, but placed the supper before them. The men fell
to, and soon disposed of all that was on the table. Then the leader began
to show signs of impatience for the storm had not yet subsided.
"Beshrew me!" he exclaimed to his companions. "I fear that we will be
compelled to pass the night in this vile place. Marry! how it rains!"
"It doth, Master Wainwright," answered one. "But better the storm than
pass the night in the abode of a witch, and if yon dame be not the
veriest witch in the kingdom then I ne'er saw one. The house makes me
creepy. 'Tis fitting place for some dark deed to be committed. The horse
in the stable, I dare say, belonged to some belated traveler caught like
ourselves in a storm afar from an inn. Marked you how she answered me not
when I spoke on't? How the wind howls, and how blue the taper burns!
'Sblood! I'd sooner be out in the storm."
"I would not," observed Master Wainwright. "One drenching a day is enough
for me. Marry! there is naught to do but to possess our souls in
patience. I dare say, we will o'ertake the boy on the morrow."
"Marry! yes, master. If he be out in this storm he will drown like a rat.
Who would have thought that he could have kept so far ahead of us?"
"They ride fast who flee from justice," quoth another sententiously. "If
we be not careful he will outstrip us, and we will be void of our
quarry."
"Be not alarmed. We will o'ertake him," reassured the leader. "Though I
like not for the storm to continue. It delays us too much." He mused for
a moment and then turned to the dame suddenly.
"My good woman," he said, "have ye seen aught of a boy to-day?"
"A boy? What boy?" asked she stupidly.
"A boy of the court in page's dress. Hast thou seen him?"
"No boy have I seen this day," answered the dame stolidly. "Marry! nor
for many days for the matter of that. What did ye want with the boy?"
"We have a warrant for his arrest," said the leader. "Also one for his
father, Lord William Stafford. What think you, my good dame? There has
been foul attempt to slay the queen."
"Ye do well to say 'attempt,'" said the woman. "Elizabeth will never die
by the hand of an assassin."
"Say ye so?" asked the leader eagerly. "Good dame, how will she die?"
"Not in her bed. No hand shall be raised against her, and she dies by
misease; yet shall she not die in bed," and the old woman nodded
prophetically.
"Ask her how long the queen will live," whispered one. "The queen waxeth
in years and it may not be amiss to be prepared."
"Seek no further, sir," said Margery quickly. "Know that thou wilt never
live to see the day of her death. Thy time is nigh."
"Now a murrain on thee for that foul prophecy," cried the man starting
up, his hand on the hilt of his sword. But Master Wainwright interposed.
"No brawling, sirrah. We are on the queen's business. Thou and thy right
arm may be needed ere it be completed. Have done!"
The man sank back. Quiet fell upon them, broken only by the sweep of the
rain against the house and the fitful howling of the wind. Night
deepened, and still the storm continued. The men disposed themselves
about the hearth for their damp clothing made them chilly, and soon one
after another fell into slumber, until, after a time, all were asleep.
Then Dame Margery rose to her feet and tiptoeing to the small door opened
it, and passed out of the room.
Francis stood just within where she could hear everything that went on in
the outer chamber. She came forward eagerly as the woman entered.
"Mother," she cried, "those men must be detained here, but how? Canst
thou help me?"
"Child, I could make them sleep until the sun was high noon, but they are
about the queen's business, and I durst not."
"Good mother, tell me how, and let me do it," coaxed Francis. "I must get
to my father. O, if you have ever had a loved one, for the sake of that
one, give me the aid I ask. I am but a girl. Weak and helpless with the
great queen and her ministers against me. Yet I must warn my father. O
dame, I lack so little of being home. If I had a few hours more, just a
few hours! Please, good mother,"--she paused, and flinging her arms
around the woman's neck, she kissed her. Dame Margery's frame shook and
she held the girl close. Then she whispered, stroking her hair softly:
"My bonny maiden, thou shalt have thy wish. For that kiss I would give
thee anything. It hath been years since Margery felt the touch of fresh
young lips. Men fear me, and children shun me, but thou hast not. Once
more, child."
Gratefully Francis kissed her; not once but many times. Then the dame
stole softly out, and the girl followed her. To a corner cupboard the old
woman went, and taking out a phial that held some dark mixture she held
it to the light for a second and shook it gently. Then with that
marvelous agility that had caused Francis to wonder earlier in the
evening she glided among the sleeping men and let fall a tiny drop of the
decoction near the nostrils of each slumberer. A sweet odor filled the
room so subtle and penetrating that the girl beat a hasty retreat into
the smaller chamber, fearing that she too might be overcome by it.
"Come, child," called Margery. "They sleep as slept the seven sleepers of
long ago. And so they will sleep until the dawn. I dare not give them
more for fear of death. And they are the queen's men. Thou wilt have to
hasten, child. With these few hours' advantage thou shouldst reach thy
father in time. The storm hath broken. Now thou must away."
The storm had indeed passed. The rain still fell, but gently. In the west
a few stars peeped between the rifts in the clouds.
"How can I ever repay thee?" whispered Francis embracing the dame warmly.
"Heaven bless thee, mother. Farewell!"
"Farewell. Fear naught. Trust to the guidance of thy horse and this
lanthorne. The night is dark, but the dawn comes early. Ride now for thy
life, girl. Farewell."