IN THE GARDEN OF THE GENTLEMAN-PENSIONER.
Upon reaching the open air, Effingston paused for a moment that the
shock occasioned by the admission of Elinor might in some degree pass
from him. He had gone to her prepared for tears, protests and womanly
anger, and despite the suspicion which had seized his heart, it had
not been in his nature to believe the words of his father would so
soon find confirmation. He felt, indeed, as one about to lay his head
upon the block,--that he must cry out, yet his heart was clutched as
by a giant hand, benumbing all his faculties so that pain and lethargy
paralyzed his will.
As he groped half blindly for the railing which flanked the narrow
steps, the figure of a man confronted him, who, as he perceived the
Viscount Effingston standing upon the threshold of Mistress Fawkes'
dwelling, drew back quickly, his face dark with anger. 'Twas Sir
Thomas Winter.
In that instant all the calmness of the young nobleman returned to
him. The sight of Winter, in whom he saw the bitter enemy of his
house, and whom he now hated for a double reason, turned his pain into
contempt for her who had so illy used him. Pride came to his aid, and
he would have passed the other haughtily; but it was in no wise the
purpose of Sir Thomas that the meeting should have so peaceful an
ending.
Rumor had reached him that the Viscount Effingston was too frequent a
visitor at the house of one for whom he fostered, if not love, at
least a fierce passion, and the presence of his rival, at the very
door of the humble dwelling, aroused him to fury. With an angry frown
distorting his features he advanced toward the spot where stood the
Viscount, who, perceiving he had to deal with one in whom temper had
overcome prudence, laid his hand upon the hilt of his rapier. It was
not the purpose of Winter, however, to come to blows thus openly with
one who was known to be in favor with the King. He therefore contented
himself with obstructing the way in so insolent a manner, and with
such malice in his eyes, that it sent the blood to the cheeks of
Effingston, and he returned the gaze unflinchingly, saying quietly:
"Come, if Sir Thomas Winter hath in mind aught to say to me, let it be
done quickly, that I may go upon my way." At the same time he moved as
though to pass.
"Nay! My Lord of Effingston!" replied Winter turning his eyes upon the
hand which rested on the jeweled sword hilt. "Fear not that in a
street of London I would draw sword against thee, traitor though thou
art. Thy royal master----"
"Traitor!" cried Effingston, the red of his cheeks changing to the
paleness of anger. "Traitor, sayest thou, Sir Winter?"
"Aye!" replied Winter. "All London knoweth."
The Viscount controlled himself by an effort.
"Thy purpose is clear to me," said he coldly, "thou wouldst force a
quarrel; so be it. Traitor, sayest thou? Perchance, thy mirror hath
shown one to thee so frequently that the word is ever on thy tongue."
"As to mirrors," replied Winter, "those in the King's chamber have
revealed to thee their ways, then. Thinkest thou nothing is known
concerning the purpose of my Lord Monteagle in instructing thee as to
Puritanism."
Effingston bit his lip. "'Tis befitting thy manhood, Sir Winter, having
bribed a dastardly servant to give false testimony of what was
listened to from behind a curtain, that thou shouldst insult one whose
cloak buckle thou art unworthy to loosen. 'Twas a fair representation
of thy character, a good showing of thy principles. If it be in thy
mind to prate further, get thee into the market place, where, mounted
upon an ass, thou mayst draw around thee certain of the populace whose
wont it is to gather for such discourse."
This was spoken with a mock gallantry which the Viscount could well
assume, and deprived the other for a moment of utterance. Overcome by
anger, and surprised that the insults heaped upon the Viscount were
met with contempt, he forgot himself so far as to bring the name of
Mistress Fawkes into the quarrel.
"Thou dost but jest with me," he cried, taking a step nearer his
rival; "perchance, having come from the arms of thy mistress, thy wits
are so dulled that----"
The reply of Effingston was sudden and unexpected. Resolved to avoid
an open quarrel with one whom he considered beneath him, he had sought
to return words, only, to the other's insults, but the reference to
one whom he had held most dear, fired his brain. Scarce had Winter
uttered the base accusation when the young nobleman snatched off his
heavy gauntlet and with it struck him across the face; so great was
the force of the blow that the other staggered, lost his footing on
the slippery street, and fell at the feet of his enemy.
Having thus given expression to his anger, Effingston calmly replaced
the glove, and with hand upon hilt, awaited the arising of his
companion.
Stunned for the moment by so sturdy a buffet, Winter remained
motionless for a little space, but soon regained his feet, and, with
garments soiled and earth stained, with blood upon his face, drew his
sword and made as though he would thrust the Viscount through.
Effingston drew also, and more serious results would have followed had
not one in the crowd which had gathered to watch the ending of the
quarrel, cried that the King's soldiers were approaching.
Sobered by the danger which threatened him, for the arrest of a
Catholic with sword in hand was like to bring evil consequence, Winter
made haste to sheathe his blade, which example the Viscount quickly
followed. However, it was a false alarm, and raised only for the
pleasure of seeing two fine gentlemen thrown into confusion. The
crowd, catching the spirit of the varlet, straightway raised a tumult,
showering the nobles with sundry jibes and insulting remarks,
considering it rare sport to have at their mercy those of high degree.
The commotion turned for a moment the mind of Winter from his first
grievance, and he bethought himself of the sorry figure he must show
with dress awry, face soiled and blood-stained, and, worse than all,
insulted dignity. Therefore he made haste to leave a company so
unappreciative, and destitute of sympathy. To Effingston, the thought
that against his better judgment he had been drawn into a public
brawl, caused his face to glow with passion, and his desire to leave
the locality was not less than that of the other. The lookers on,
finding their sport ended, did not follow, but took themselves to
other ways, and the two gentlemen, who had hurried blindly, without
attention or knowledge as to direction, soon found themselves in a
quiet street somewhat remote from the neighborhood which had witnessed
Sir Thomas Winter's discomfiture.
"My Lord of Effingston!" cried he, as he gathered together his
disturbed senses, noting the presence of his companion. "Thou hast
grievously insulted me, therefore----"
"When thou wilt!" the Viscount interrupted. "My sword is ever at thy
service."
"'Tis well!" said Winter, drawing his cloak about him; "one hour from
now in the garden of Thomas Percy, whom, methinks, is known to thee.
Yet if thou dost fear----"
Effingston shrugged his shoulders. "In Sir Percy's garden," repeated
he haughtily, and turning upon his heel left Sir Thomas in the
roadway.
The garden of the official dwelling occupied by the
Gentleman-Pensioner consisted of perhaps a quarter of an acre of
sward, fringed by a sorry row of leafless trees, and surrounded by a
high wall, beyond the top of which shone the metal gables of half a
score of straight-backed dwellings. 'Twas no uncommon thing for the
parties to a dispute to settle the same by force of arms, but they
carried on the affair with all secrecy, lest the report thereof reach
the ears of those in authority, as it was contrary to the King's wish
that a private quarrel should end in the killing of an English
gentleman. Such being the fact, those gardens which adjoined the
houses of certain nobles, and by reason of their privacy precluded the
presence of prying eyes, were oft turned into duelling grounds, and
the square of sward flanking the dwelling of Thomas Percy was well
adapted for a contest in which the evenness of the ground, as well as
others matters, was of much consequence to the combatants.
To this garden the Viscount Effingston, accompanied by Sir Francis
Tillinghurst and another, who bore beneath his cloak a case of
instruments, presented himself at the hour appointed for his meeting
with Sir Thomas Winter. Having gained admittance by a gate set in the
wall, the three found awaiting them, Sir Thomas, my Lord of Rookwood,
the Gentleman-Pensioner and a surgeon summoned by the latter to look
to the welfare of the challenger.
As the gate clicked behind the Viscount and his companions, Lord
Rookwood, who was in close converse with the others at the further
side of the garden, advanced haughtily, bowing to Sir Francis, whom he
perceived represented the interests of the young nobleman. The two,
withdrawing from the others, made haste to arrange the preliminaries
of the meeting.
"Thy promptness is most commendable," said Rookwood, casting a look
upward at the cold gray of the sky, "and 'twere well that our
principals do quickly that which has brought them hither. Methinks a
storm is brewing, and a fall of snow might end the matter illy."
A few white flakes upon his doublet bore witness to the correctness of
his prophecy. Sir Francis bowed assent.
"Thou canst perceive," continued Rookwood, pointing to the strip of
sward, "that good Thomas Percy has had a care to have no element of
fairness lacking. Hast any objection to the spot chosen?"
"I can see no catch or fault in it," replied Tillinghurst, casting his
eyes over the ground, "the light is good, and there seemeth to be no
advantage in position."
"'Tis well!" said Rookwood, "wilt measure swords that the contest be
in all fairness?"
Tillinghurst complied, and the principals, casting aside their
cloaks, stepped forward to the strip of sward prepared for them.
The demeanor of the Viscount was serious; he well knew that in Sir
Thomas Winter he had no unskilled swordsman, but a man of much
experience, with wrist of steel, and a trick of fence acquired by long
practice in foreign service. The face of Winter was darkened by a
frown in which was blended a shadow of anxiety. The Lord of Monteagle
was a famous swordsman, and it might well be that the son had learned
from a good master.
"Gentlemen, are you ready?" cried Rookwood drawing his rapier, as also
did Sir Francis, that they might interfere should need arise.
The principals saluted, stood at guard, and awaited the signal; when
it was given, their blades crossed with a clash which rang out sharp
and clear on the cold winter air.
The hate and jealousy with which Winter regarded his young rival were
intensified by the tingling blow dealt him an hour before, and from
which he still suffered,--and as he was confident beyond doubt of his
skill as a swordsman, he attacked with a fury which pressed his
younger adversary back toward the wall, and those witnessing the
contest thought to see Effingston speedily thrust through.
The Viscount was, however, too adroit a fencer to yield readily to
such a fate. Careful, at first, only to defend himself, he met each
thrust and pass with a parry which deepened the frown on Winter's
brow, and having retreated to the edge of the duelling ground, he
there held his position despite the fierceness of the onslaught.
Suddenly Winter's blade darted serpent-like beneath the guard of his
adversary. A red stain appeared on Effingston's shoulder, and the
seconds interposed their swords.
The Viscount waved them back, as also he did the surgeon, who hastened
to perform his office.
"'Tis a touch only," said he hoarsely, breathing heavily, "on guard,
sir, that we may finish quickly."
And now their positions were reversed. Instead of acting on the
defensive, Effingston in turn became the assailant, regaining his lost
ground, and forcing Sir Thomas back, step by step.
Maddened at thus losing vantage ground Winter's calmness failed him;
he made a sudden thrust forward, and it being parried, lost his
footing, the blade of his rapier ringing against the hilt of the other
ere he could regain guard.
A cry arose to the lips of Rookwood, for he thought the other would
show no mercy; but before he could utter a sound, Effingston, with a
quick turn of the wrist, sent the opposing sword ringing to the
ground, leaving his enemy weaponless before him.
For an instant Winter recoiled as if in fear of the thrust which he
was now powerless to avert. A scornful smile passed over the pale
features of the victor.
"'Tis thus I would deal with such as thou," said he haughtily, and,
pushing his sword into its scabbard, he took up Sir Thomas' rapier,
and breaking it across his knee, tossed the pieces contemptuously
aside.
"Come!" said he as his second threw a cloak about him. "Our matters
are ended." Then saluting with grave courtesy the four Catholic
gentlemen, he left the garden, followed by his companions.