CHAPTER XVIII
THE VEILED WITCH
Lord Everingham felt not a little perplexed. The Cardinal seemed bent onpressing his point, and on obtaining a definite promise of friendship,whilst the young man would have preferred to leave the matter _in statuquo_, a condition of open and avowed enmity.
Moreover he would have wished to speak with some of his friends. LordSussex and the Earl of Oxford were staying at the Palace. Sir HenryJerningham, Arundel, Cheyne, Paget, all hot partisans of Wessex, couldeasily be communicated with. In the meanwhile Everingham was racking hisbrain for the right word to say: the retort courteous, which would nothopelessly alienate His Eminence, if indeed he was seeking temporaryfriendship.
Chance and a zealous night watchman put an abrupt end to LordEveringham's perplexity; even when he was about to speak, a gruff voicewhich seemed to come right out of the darkness interrupted him with thewell-known call--
"Who goes there?"
Almost immediately afterwards the strong light of a lanthorn wasprojected on the figure of the Cardinal.
"How now, friend," quoth His Eminence presently, "art seeking for thetruth with that lanthorn of thine?"
But already the knave, having recognized the brilliant crimson robes andrealized the high quality of their august wearer, had lost himself in averitable maze of humble apologies.
"I crave Your Eminence's merciful pardon," he stammered. "I did notthink . . . I am on duty . . . I . . ."
His thin, shrivelled form was scarce distinguishable in the gloom, onlyhis old face, with large bottle-nose, and his pale, watery eyes appearedgrotesque and quaint in the yellowish light of his lanthorn.
"Then fulfil thy duties, friend," rejoined the Cardinal, who made it apoint always to speak kindly and urbanely, even to the meanest lout.
The man made a low obeisance and would have kissed His Eminence's hand,but the latter withdrew it gently.
"Are there marauders about, friend watchman?" he condescended to ask, asthe man prepared to go. "Thou dost not appear to be very strong, nor yetstoutly armed."
"Your Eminence's pardon," replied the man, "'tis for a woman I am toldto watch."
"A woman?"
"By Her Grace the Duchess of Lincoln's orders."
"Ah!" remarked His Eminence, with sudden interest.
"Mayhap some thief or vagrant, Your Eminence."
"Aye, mayhap! Then go thy way, good watchman; we'll not hinder thee."
Slowly the man shuffled off, dangling his lanthorn before him. TheCardinal watched the patch of brilliant light until it disappearedbehind a projecting bosquet.
His Eminence had been exceedingly thoughtful.
"Know you aught of this, my lord?" he asked of Lord Everingham, who alsoseemed wrapped in meditation.
"I suspect something of it," replied the young man slowly. "There is astory afloat--gossip, I thought it--that one of the Queen'smaids-of-honour has been playing some curious pranks at night . . . andin disguise. . . ."
"Indeed? Know you who the lady is?"
"No! nor can I even guess. All the maids-of-honour are young and full offun, and no doubt the girlish pranks were harmless enough, but HerMajesty is very austere and rigidly stern where questions of decorum areconcerned."
"So the Duchess of Lincoln, like a watchful dragon, would catch the fairmiscreant _in flagrante delicto_, eh?" continued His Eminence.
Mechanically he turned to walk along the path recently followed by thenight watchman. His Eminence would have scorned the idea of anysuperstition influencing his precise, calculating mind, but,nevertheless, he had a strange belief in the guiding hand of Chance, andsomehow at the present moment he had an unaccountable presentiment, thatthis gossip anent some young girl's frolic would in some way exercise aninfluence on his present schemes.
As if in immediate answer to these very thoughts a woman's frightenedscream was suddenly heard close by, followed by muttered curses in thewatchman's gruff voice.
"What was that?" exclaimed Everingham involuntarily.
"The lady _in flagrante delicto_, meseems," rejoined the Cardinalquietly.
And both men began to walk more rapidly in the direction whence had comethe woman's scream. The next few moments brought them upon the scene,and soon in the gloom they distinguished the figure of the old watchmanapparently struggling with a woman, whose head and shoulders wereenveloped in some sort of veil or hood. The lanthorn, evidentlyviolently thrown on the ground, had rolled down the path some littledistance from this group.
The woman was making obvious and frantic efforts to get away, whilst theold watchman exerted all his strength to keep tight hold of her wrists.
"What is it to thee, man, what I am doing here?" the woman gasped in themidst of her struggles. "Let me go, I say!"
She was evidently not very strong, for the old watchman, shrivelled andshrunken though he was, had already mastered her. She had lost herbalance, and was soon down on her knees. With a vigorous wrench the mancontrived to force her arms behind her back; he held them there with onehand, and with the other was groping in his wallet for a length of rope.
"Not before thou hast given a good account of thyself before the Duchessof Lincoln, my wench!" he said, as he threw the rope round her shouldersand very dexterously contrived to pinion her arms behind her.
"Her Grace?" she murmured contemptuously. "I have naught to do with HerGrace. . . . Let me go, man; thou hast no right to tie me thus."
"Now then, my girl, get up, will ye? and come along quietly with me.. . . I'll not hurt ye . . . if ye come along quietly."
The man helped her to struggle to her feet. Her veil or cloak hadevidently fallen from her head, for the Cardinal and Lord Everingham,who were silently, and with no small measure of curiosity, watching thestrange spectacle, caught the glint of a woman's face and of brightgolden hair.
The watchman was trying to lead her away towards the Palace.
"Let me go, I tell thee," muttered the girl with persistent obstinacy."I have important business here, and . . ."
But the old man laughed derisively.
"Important business? . . . and prithee with whom, wench?"
"With the Duke of Wessex . . ." she retorted after a slight hesitation,"There! . . . now wilt let me go?"
But the watchman laughed more immoderately than before.
"Oho! . . . ho! ho! ho! that's a likely tale, my wench, there's many ayoung woman has business with His Grace, I'll warrant. . . . But thou'stbest tell that tale to the Duchess of Lincoln first. . . . Business withthe Duke of Wessex . . . ha! ha! ha! . . ."
"My friend," here interposed a gentle, very urbane voice, "meseems thyzeal somewhat outruns thy discretion. If this child has indeed businesswith the Duke of Wessex, His Grace might prefer that thou shouldst keepa quieter tongue in thy head."
The Cardinal, at sound of the Duke's name, had gradually drawn nearer tothe group. Lord Everingham, impelled by the same natural curiosity, hadfollowed him.
"You would wish to speak with His Grace, child?" continued His Eminencewith that same gentle benevolence which inspired an infinity ofconfidence in the unwary. "Do you know him?"
The watchman, astonished, abashed, very highly perplexed at thisunexpected interference, was rendered absolutely speechless. The girlhad turned defiantly on her new interlocutor, whose outline she couldbut vaguely distinguish in the darkness.
"What's it to you?" she retorted with obvious suspicion and mistrust.
"Not much I own," replied the Cardinal with imperturbable kindliness; "Ionly thought that being alone and perhaps frightened you would be gladof some help."
"Your Eminence . . ." stammered the watchman, who was trying to recoverhis speech.
"Silence!" commanded His Eminence. "I wish to speak with this youngwoman alone."
The worthy watchman had naught to do but to obey. There was noquestioning an order given by so great a lord as the Cardinal de Morenohimself. The good man discreetly withdrew, His Eminence quietly waitinguntil he was out of earsho
t.
"Now, child, have no fear," said the Cardinal gently. "Tell me . . . youwish to speak with the Duke of Wessex?"
She turned resolutely towards him.
"You'll take me to him?" she asked.
"Perhaps," he replied.
A great struggle must have been raging within her. Even through thegloom His Eminence could see her shoulders and breast workingconvulsively, whilst her breath came and went in quick, feverish gasps.
"I have been watching in the gardens at night," she murmured at last;"for he is a great lord, and I dared not approach him by day. He savedmy life . . . and I can read the stars. . . . I see that a great dangerthreatens him. . . .
"Oh! I must warn him," she added in a sudden outburst of passionatevehemence. "I must go to him . . . I must."
Lord Everingham tried to interpose, but His Eminence restrained him witha quick touch upon his arm. The Cardinal's hands were beautiful, whiteand caressing as those of a woman, delicately scented and be-ringed. Hepassed them gently over the girl's head, whilst he whispered softly--
"So you shall, child . . . so you shall. . . . Then, tell me . . . HisGrace saved your life, you say? and you are very grateful to him, ofcourse . . . more than that, perhaps . . . you love him very dearly, eh?. . ."
"What's that to you?" retorted the girl sullenly.
Lord Everingham once more made as if he would interrupt this curiousinterrogatory. His loyalty to his friend rebelled against this pryinginto matters which might prove unpleasant for Wessex.
That the girl was no Court lady out on some mad frolic was patentenough, whilst the passionate ring of her voice, when she mentioned theDuke's name, proved very clearly that she had seen him, and seeing himhad perhaps learnt to love him.
Who knows? Some secret intrigue, not altogether avowable, might lie atthe bottom of this strange adventure. Everingham's heart misgave him atthe thought that Wessex' most open enemy should perhaps learn a secrethitherto kept from all his friends.
The girl, on the other hand, seemed willing to trust the Cardinal. Sherepeated doggedly once or twice--
"You'll take me to him? . . . at once? . . ."
"If I can," replied His Eminence, still very protecting, very suave andkind, "but not just now. . . . His Grace is with the Queen . . . you aretoo sensible and earnest, I feel sure, to wish to intrude upon him.. . . But will you not trust me a little while? . . . and I promise youthat you shall see him."
"Nay! I've nothing to lose by trusting you or any one," she replied. "Ifyou do not take me to him, I'll find my way alone."
"Come, that's brave independence. But, child, if I am to help you withHis Grace of Wessex, I must at least know who you are."
"They call me Mirrab."
At sound of the name Everingham started. One or two vague recollections,in connection with the soothsayer of East Molesey Fair, seemed to bechasing one another in his mind, but he could not give them definiteshape.
A strange feeling, made up of uneasiness and shame, coupled withexcitement and intense curiosity, caused him to go and pick up thewatchman's lanthorn, which lay on the ground close by.
When he was near the girl again he held it up, and the light fell fullon her face.
Then he remembered.
It was Mirrab, the necromancer, the kitchen wench, used by a vulgartrickster to hoodwink some gullible burgesses and their dames at thevillage fair, but whom Nature had, in one of her unaccountable freaks,endowed with the same golden hair, the same exquisite features, the samedeep and wonderful eyes, as the most beautiful woman at Mary Tudor'scourt, the Lady Ursula Glynde.
The veil which usually enveloped Mirrab's head had fallen round hershoulders; her dress was of coarse woollen stuff, open at the neck andshort in the sleeves; the arms and hands, rough and clumsy in shape,betrayed the girl's humble origin, and the likeness to Lady Ursula wasconfined to the face and hair. But it was there, nevertheless; quiteunmistakable, even bewildering to the two men who were gazing,speechless, at this strange spectacle.
Then Everingham put down the lanthorn. He dared not look at theCardinal, half fearing, perhaps, that the wild thoughts and schemeswhich had suddenly arisen in his mind at sight of this extraordinaryfreak of nature should have already found more definite shape in HisEminence's astute and far-seeing brain.
Strangely enough, at this moment, the practised diplomatist, the wilyand unscrupulous Spaniard, met the more simple-souled Englishman oncommon ground, and at once felt sure of his co-operation.
Both had the same end in view: a desire to break up any relationshipwhich may have sprung up between the Duke of Wessex and the beautifulyoung girl, of whom this otherwise coarse wench was the perfect physicalcounterpart. But the Spaniard was the quicker in thought and in action.Whilst Everingham still vaguely wondered how the extraordinaryresemblance might be utilized to gain that great end which he had inview, the Cardinal had already formed and matured a plan.
He took the veil from Mirrab's shoulders and once more drew it over herhead. Then he undid the clumsy knot with which the watchman had pinionedher hands. Mirrab remained perfectly passive the while; she seemed underthe magic spell of the soft, velvety hands, which had, as it were, takenpossession of her person.
The two men had not exchanged one word since the light of the lanthornhad revealed the strange secret to them; they seemed to be acting inperfect accord. There was no longer any need for protestation of outwardfriendship, or for cementing the compact of temporary alliance.
Everingham once more picked up the lanthorn and went in search of thewatchman, in order to dismiss him with a word of command and to ensurehis silence with a threat and a few silver coins. The man, of course,knew nothing of the importance of the event which he had unwittinglybrought about. He may have vaguely wondered in his mind why His Eminencethe Spanish Cardinal should take such a keen interest in a femalevagrant, found trespassing on royal ground. But the few pieces of silvergiven to him by the noble lord, soon silenced even this transitoryastonishment.
Stolidly he resumed his nightly round, satisfied that he need no longerlook for lurking thieves in the park.
When Everingham, having seen the last of the watchman, returned to thespot where he had left His Eminence and Mirrab, he found that both haddisappeared.
PART III
A GAME OF CHESS