A BARGAIN
But Mary would not have been the woman she was if she admitted a
failure, whilst there was still a chance of victory.
The first half-hour after Wessex' departure she gave way to weakness and
to a flood of tears, she turned to her prie-Dieu and prayed fervently
for resignation to the heavenly will, for strength to bear her cross.
"Holy Mother of our crucified Lord, pray for me now and at the hour of
_his_ death," was the burden of her passionate orisons.
"Take my life since _he_ must die," she added, striking her breast and
falling prostrate before the holy images.
And then reaction set in. She felt more calm after her prayers, and
began to think more clearly. The inevitableness of a catastrophe seemed
to become less tangible, a persistent and hopeful "if" crept in amongst
her desperate litanies. She dried her tears, rang for her waiting-woman,
had her face bathed with soothing, scented waters, her temples rubbed
with perfumed vinegar.
All the while now she repeated to herself--
"I _will_ save him . . . I _will_ save him . . . but how? . . . how?"
She had less than twenty-four hours in which to do it, and she had spent
fourteen days previously in the same endeavour, without arriving at any
definite plan, save the one which had so signally failed just now.
"If being found guilty I were acquitted at Your Majesty's desire,
'twould be said the Queen had saved her lover--and then married a
felon!" was his sole reply to her impassioned query whether he loved her
and would be saved by her command.
She would have been content to lose her honour for his sake, he would
not even jeopardize his own self-esteem for hers. If he had one spark of
love for her he would have been content to challenge the opinion of the
world, whilst accepting his life at her hands, but he cared naught about
death, and all the world for another woman who was false, a coward, a
wanton, and who boldly allowed him to sacrifice his honour for her,
whilst she herself had none to lose.
"Then I will save him in spite of himself," repeated Mary for the
hundredth time.
Suddenly a thought struck her. She rang her hand-bell, and to the
servitor who appeared at the door she commanded briefly--
"His Eminence the Cardinal de Moreno;--I desire his presence here at
once."
The servitor retired, and she waited in seeming calm, sitting at her
desk, her trembling hand alone betraying the excitement of her mind.
Five minutes later, the Cardinal stood before her, placid, urbane,
picturesque in his brilliant, flowing robes, with one white, richly
be-ringed hand raised in benediction, as he stood waiting for the Queen
to speak.
"I pray Your Eminence to be seated," began Mary, speaking with feverish
haste. "I have something of grave import to say to you, which brooks of
no delay, else I had not interrupted you at your orisons."
"My time is ever at Your Majesty's service," replied the Cardinal
humbly. "In what way may I have the honour to serve the Queen of England
to-day?"
He was looking keenly at her face: not a single sign of her intense
mental agitation escaped his shrewd observation. A satisfied smile
lurked round the corners of his thin lips, and a flash of triumph lit up
the depths of his piercing eyes.
That searching glance at Mary Tudor had told the envoy of the King of
Spain that victory was at last within his grasp.
"My lord Cardinal," rejoined Mary firmly, "you are aware of the fact
that His Grace of Wessex is on the eve of being tried by his peers, for
a heinous crime of which he is innocent."
"I am aware," replied the Cardinal gently, "that His Grace stands
self-convicted of the murder of my friend and colleague Don Miguel,
Marquis de Suarez, a guest at Your Majesty's Court."
"Truce on this folly, my lord," retorted Mary impatiently, "you know
just as well as I do, that His Grace is incapable of any such act of
cowardice, and that some mystery, which no one can fathom, lies at the
bottom of this monstrous self-accusation."
"Whatever may be my own feelings in this matter, Your Majesty," said His
Eminence, still speaking very guardedly, "I was forced to accomplish my
duty, when I made and signed my deposition, which I fear me has gone far
towards confirming the guilt of His Grace."
"I have heard of your deposition, my lord. It rests on your finding His
Grace's dagger. . . ."
"Beside the body of the murdered man, and still stained with Don
Miguel's blood."
"What of that? Some one else must have used the dagger."
"Possibly."
"You did not suggest this in your deposition."
"It was not asked of me by His Grace's judges."
"There is time to make a further statement."
"It could but be in consonance with what I have already said."
"And your servant?"
"Pasquale?"
"He lied when he averred that he heard angry words 'twixt His Grace and
Don Miguel."
"He has sworn it upon oath. Pasquale is a good Catholic, and would not
commit the deadly sin of perjury."
"You are fencing with me, my lord," said Mary Tudor with sudden
vehemence.
"I but await Your Majesty's command!" rejoined His Eminence blandly.
"My command?" she said firmly. "This, my lord, that you save His Grace
of Wessex from the consequences of this crime, in which he had no hand."
"To save His Grace of Wessex?" he ejaculated with the greatest
astonishment, "I? and at this eleventh hour? Nay! meseems that were
impossible."
"Then Your Eminence can set your wits to attempt the impossible,"
rejoined Mary curtly.
"But why should Your Majesty suggest this strange task to me?" he urged
with the same well-feigned surprise.
"Because Your Eminence hath more brains than most."
"Your Majesty is too gracious."
"And because you have the success of your own schemes more at heart than
most," added the Queen significantly.
"Then, if I do not succeed in effecting the impossible, Your Majesty, am
I to be sent back to Spain ignominiously to-morrow?" queried the
Cardinal with more than a soupcon of sarcasm.
"No!" rejoined Mary quietly, "but if you succeed I will give you in
reward anything which you may ask."
"Anything, my daughter? Even your hand in marriage to King Philip of
Spain?"
"If Your Eminence succeeds in effecting the impossible," replied Mary
firmly, "I will marry King Philip of Spain."
There was silence for a moment or two. His Eminence was meditating. Not
that he had been taken unawares. For the past fortnight he had been
expecting some such interview as the Queen had now demanded at the
eleventh hour. He was far-seeing and shrewd enough to have anticipated
that, sooner or later, Mary Tudor would propose a bargain, whereby he
would be expected to pit his wits against Fate, and thereby earn the
victory which she knew he coveted. The task was a difficult one; not
impossible--for the Cardinal never admitted that anything was
impossible. But he was peculiarly placed, and he knew the value of royal
promises and of royal compacts. This one he thought he could enforce,
but only if his methods were above suspicion. To have confessed the
whole dastardly intrigue of that eventful night would certainly have
saved the Duke from condemnation, but the tale itself would so disgust
these stiff-necked Britishers, that Mary would see herself easily
released from her promise through unanimous public opinion.
That simple and sure method of obtaining the Duke's acquittal was
therefore barred to him, and he had perforce to reflect seriously, ere
he closed with the bargain which Mary Tudor held so temptingly before
him. His mind was clearer, less scrupulous than that of his colleagues,
and he had most at stake now, for nothing but ultimate success could
justify the heinousness of his methods. If his schemes failed, then
these methods became monstrous and criminal beyond hope of pardon.
For the moment the Cardinal had no remorse. The sacrifice of every piece
in the great human game of chess was of no importance if the final
mating of his enemies were gained. Don Miguel was dead, Lord Everingham
far away; the wench Mirrab, terrified at her own act probably, had
disappeared and no doubt would not be heard of again until His
Eminence's victory was assured. This he had hoped to attain with the
death of the Duke of Wessex and Mary's consequent grief and feebleness
of will, always supposing that Lord Everingham did not return in time to
ruin the whole scaffolding of his tortuous diplomacy.
That was the great danger and one which was ever present before the
Cardinal's mind: the return of Lord Everingham. Every day added to the
danger, and it was Wessex' own impatience to see the end of his own
shattered existence, which had up to now saved His Eminence from
exposure.
The Duke had urged that his trial should come on speedily. This was
readily granted, for he was the Duke of Wessex still. The trial itself
would not last more than the one day, seeing that the accused had made
full confession and only a few secondary depositions were to be read for
form's sake. His Grace had refused counsel, there could be no argument.
The judges on the face of the circumstantial self-accusation were bound,
in the name of justice, to convict and condemn, in spite of public
opinion, in spite of the machinations of the Duke's friends, in spite
even of the Queen's commands.
Once His Grace was out of the way, His Eminence had felt that he would
be able to breathe more freely, but until then he was living at the edge
of a volcano, and often wondered how it had not broken out ere now.
The news of the crime and of Wessex' arrest had been sent to Scotland,
he knew that; but the way thither was long, the late October gales would
make the journey by sea difficult, whilst the overland roads, sodden
with the rain, were unusually bad; but in any event, Everingham was
bound to arrive in England within the next ten days, for, of a surety,
he would travel with mad speed on hearing the terrible news.
But now Mary Tudor suddenly offered him a definite promise, a bargain
which he could clinch before exposure had shamed him publicly. The task
proposed was indeed difficult, but it was not impossible to such a
far-reaching mind as that of my lord Cardinal.
A few moments' deep reflection, whilst the Queen watched him eagerly,
and he had already formed a plan.
"Does Your Eminence accept the bargain?" asked Mary impatiently at last,
seeing that he seemed disinclined to break the silence.
"I accept it, Your Majesty," he replied quietly.
"You have my royal promise if you succeed."
"If His Grace to-morrow is acquitted by his judges, through my
intervention," said His Eminence, "I will claim Your Majesty's promise
in the evening."
"Your Eminence can have a document ready and I will sign it."
"It shall be done as Your Majesty directs."
"Then I'll bid Your Eminence farewell, until to-morrow."
"I am ever at Your Majesty's service. But before retiring I would crave
one favour."
"I pray you speak."
"To speak to the Lady Ursula Glynde."
A long bitter laugh of the keenest disappointment came from Mary Tudor's
oppressed heart.
"Nay!" she said in a tone of deep discouragement, "an you pin your faith
on that hussy, Your Eminence had best give up the attempt at once."
"Did I not say that I would attempt the impossible?" said the Cardinal,
unperturbed.
"The impossible indeed, an you wish to appeal to that wench," retorted
Mary drily.
"Have I Your Majesty's permission to speak to the lady?" persisted the
Cardinal blandly.
Mary shrugged her shoulders impatiently. She was terribly disappointed.
All her hopes had been built on the clever machinations of this man, on
some tortuous means which his brain would surely evolve if she held out
a sufficiently tempting bait to him. She had half endowed him with
supernatural powers . . . and now . . . an empty scheme to make an
appeal to that heartless coward, who might save Wessex, yet refused to
do it!
But the Cardinal was smiling: he looked a rare picture of benevolence
and dignity, with those white hands of his which seemed ever ready for a
caress. He looked triumphant too, his eyes were eagerly fixed upon her
as if her consent to the useless interview was of great and supreme
moment. To her the appeal to Ursula did not even seem to be a last
straw, but something far more ephemeral, intangible, a breath from some
mocking demon. Yet the Cardinal looked so satisfied. She shrugged her
shoulders again, as if dismissing all hope, all responsibility, all
interest, but she said nevertheless--
"When does Your Eminence desire to see her?"
"To-morrow in the Lord Chancellor's Court," he replied, "half an hour
before the arrival of the Lord High Steward. Can that be done?"
"It shall be, since Your Eminence wishes it."
"And to-night I will announce the joyful news by special messenger to
the King of Spain," he added significantly.
"Is Your Eminence so sure of success then?"
"As sure as I am of the fact that the Queen of England is the most
gracious lady in Europe," he replied, with all the courtly grace which
he knew so well how to assume. "I pray you then to trust in God," he
concluded earnestly, "and in the devotion of Your Majesty's humble
servant."
He took his leave ceremoniously, with pompous dignity, as was his wont.
She did not care to prolong the interview, and nodded listlessly when he
prepared to go. She felt more than ever hopeless and angered with
herself for having clinched a bargain with that man.
But His Eminence the Cardinal de Moreno left the presence of the Queen
of England with a smile of satisfaction and a sigh of anticipated
triumph.
It was not an appeal which he meant to address to the Lady Ursula
Glynde.