CHAPTER X.
THE LADY ARBELL.
After several weary months of languishing, Charles Stewart was savedfrom the miseries which seemed the natural inheritance of his name bysinking into his grave. His funeral was conducted with the utmostmagnificence, though the Earl of Shrewsbury declined to be present atit, and shortly after, the Countess intimated her purpose of returningto Sheffield, bringing with her the little orphan, Lady ArabellaStewart. Orders came that the best presence chamber in the Manor-houseshould be prepared, the same indeed where Queen Mary had been quarteredbefore the lodge had been built for her use. The Earl was greatlyperturbed. "Whom can she intend to bring?" he went about asking. "Ifit were the Lady Margaret, it were be much as my head were worth toadmit her within the same grounds as this Queen."
"There is no love lost between the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law,"observed his son Gilbert in a consolatory tone.
"Little good would that do to me, if once it came to the ears of herGrace and the Lord Treasurer that both had been my guests! And if Ihad to close the gates--though in no other way could I save my life andhonour--your mother would never forget it. It would be cast up to mefor ever. What think you, daughter Talbot?"
"Mayhap," said Dame Mary, "my lady mother has had a hint to make readyfor her Majesty herself, who hath so often spoken of seeing the Queenof Scots, and might think well to take her unawares."
This was a formidable suggestion. "Say you so," cried the poor Earl,with an alarm his eye would never have betrayed had Parma himself beenwithin a march of Sheffield, "then were we fairly spent. I am animpoverished man, eaten out of house and lands as it is, and were theQueen herself to come, I might take at once to the beggar's bowl."
"But think of the honour, good my lord," cried Mary. "Think of allHallamshire coming to do her homage. Oh, how I should laugh to hearthe Mayor stumbling over his address."
"Laugh, ay," growled the Earl; "and how will you laugh when there isnot a deer left in the park, nor an ox in the stalls?"
"Nay, my Lord," interposed Gilbert, "there is no fear of her Majesty'scoming. That post from M. de la Mauvissiere reported her at Greenwichonly five days back, and it would take her Majesty a far longer time tomake her progress than yonder fellow, who will tell you himself thatshe had no thoughts of moving."
"That might only be a feint to be the more sudden with us," said hiswife, actuated in part by the diversion of alarming her father-in-law,and in part really fired by the hope of such an effectual enlivenmentof the dulness of Sheffield.
They were all in full family conclave drawn up in the hall for thereception, and Mistress Susan, who could not bear to see the Earl soperplexed and anxious, ventured to say that she was quite sure that myLady Countess would have sent warning forward if indeed she werebringing home such a guest, and at that moment the blare of trumpetsannounced that the cavalcade was approaching. The start which the Earlgave showed how much his nerves had become affected by his years ofcustody. Up the long avenue they came, with all the state with whichthe Earl had conducted Queen Mary to the lodge before she wasabsolutely termed a prisoner. Halberdiers led the procession, horseand foot seemed to form it. The home party stood on the top of thesteps watching with much anxiety. There was a closed litter visible,beside which Lady Shrewsbury, in a mourning dress and hood, could beseen riding her favourite bay palfrey. No doubt it contained the LadyMargaret, Countess of Lennox; and the unfortunate Earl, forgetting allhis stately dignity, stood uneasily moving from leg to leg, and pullinghis long beard, torn between the instincts of hospitality and of loyalobedience, between fear of his wife and fear of the Queen.
The litter halted at the foot of the steps, the Earl descended. All hesaw was the round face of an infant in its nurse's arms, and he turnedto help his wife from the saddle, but she waved him aside. "My sonGilbert will aid me, my Lord," said she, "your devoir is to theprincess."
Poor Lord Shrewsbury, his apologies on his tongue, looked into thelitter, where he saw the well-known and withered countenance of thefamily nurse. He also beheld a buxom young female, whose dress markedher as a peasant, but before he had time to seek further for theprincess, the tightly rolled chrysalis of a child was thrust into hisastonished arms, while the round face puckered up instantly with terrorat sight of his bearded countenance, and he was greeted with a loudyell. He looked helplessly round, and his lady was ready at once torelieve him. "My precious! My sweetheart! My jewel! Did he looksour at her and frighten her with his ugsome beard?" and the likeendearments common to grandmothers in all ages.
"But where is the princess?"
"Where? Where should she be but here? Her grandame's own precious,royal, queenly little darling!" and as a fresh cry broke out, "Yes,yes; she shall to her presence chamber. Usher her, Gilbert."
"Bess's brat!" muttered Dame Mary, in ineffable disappointment.
Curiosity and the habit of obedience to the Countess carried the entiretroop on to the grand apartments on the south side, where Queen Maryhad been lodged while the fiction of her guestship had been kept up.Lady Shrewsbury was all the time trying to hush the child, who wasquite old enough to be terrified by new faces and new scenes, and whowas besides tired and restless in her swaddling bands, for which shewas so nearly too old that she had only been kept in them for greatersecurity upon the rough and dangerous roads. Great was my lady'sindignation on reaching the state rooms on finding that no nurserypreparations had been made, and her daughter Mary, with a giggle hardlyrepressed by awe of her mother, stood forth and said, "Why, verily, mylady, we expected some great dame, my Lady Margaret or my Lady Hunsdonat the very least, when you spoke of a princess."
"And who should it be but one who has both the royal blood of Englandand Scotland in her veins? You have not saluted the child to whom youhave the honour to be akin, Mary! On your knee, minion; I tell you shehath as good or a better chance of wearing a crown as any woman inEngland."
"She hath a far better chance of a prison," muttered the Earl, "if allthis foolery goes on."
"What! What is that? What are you calling these honours to my orphanprincess?" cried the lady, but the princess herself here broke in withthe lustiest of squalls, and Susan, who was sorry for the child,contrived to insert an entreaty that my lady would permit her to betaken at once to the nursery chamber that had been made ready for her,and let her there be fed, warmed, and undressed at once.
There was something in the quality of Susan's voice to which peoplelistened, and the present necessity overcame the Countess's desire toassert the dignity of her granddaughter, so she marched out of the roomattended by the women, while the Earl and his sons were only too gladto slink away--there is no other word for it, their relief as to theexpected visitor having been exchanged for consternation of anotherdescription.
There was a blazing fire ready, and all the baby comforts of the timeprovided, and poor little Lady Arbell was relieved from her swathingbands, and allowed to stretch her little limbs on her nurse's lap, theone rest really precious to babes of all periods and conditions--butthe troubles were not yet over, for the grandmother, glancing round,demanded, "Where is the cradle inlaid with pearl? Why was it notprovided? Bring it here."
Now this cradle, carved in cedar wood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl,had been a sponsor's gift to poor little George, the first male heir ofthe Talbots, and it was regarded as a special treasure by his mother,who was both wounded and resentful at the demand, and stood pouting andsaying, "It was my son's. It is mine."
"It belongs to the family. You," to two of the servants, "fetch ithere instantly!"
The ladies of Hardwicke race were not guarded in temper or language,and Mary burst into passionate tears and exclamations that Bess's bratshould not have her lost George's cradle, and flounced away to getbefore the servants and lock it up. Lady Shrewsbury would have sprungafter her, and have made no scruple of using her fists and nails evenon her married daughter, but that she was impeded by a heavy table, andthis gave time for Susan t
o throw herself before her, and entreat herto pause.
"You, you, Susan Talbot! You should know better than to take the partof an undutiful, foul-tongued vixen like that. Out of my way, I say!"and as Susan, still on her knees, held the riding-dress, she received astinging box on the ear. But in her maiden days she had known theweight of my lady's hand, and without relaxing her hold, she onlyentreated: "Hear me, hear me for a little space, my lady. Did you butknow how sore her heart is, and how she loved little Master George!"
"That is no reason she should flout and miscall her dead sister, ofwhom she was always jealous!"
"O madam, she wept with all her heart for poor Lady Lennox. It is notany evil, but she sets such store by that cradle in which her childdied--she keeps it by her bed even now, and her woman told me how, forall she seems gay and blithe by day, she weeps over it at night, as ifher heart would break."
Lady Shrewsbury was a little softened. "The child died in it?" sheasked.
"Yea, madam. He had been on his father's knee, and had seemed a littleeasier, and as if he might sleep, so Sir Gilbert laid him down, and hedid but stretch himself out, shiver all over, draw a long breath, andthe pretty lamb was gone to Paradise!"
"You saw him, Susan?"
"Yea, madam. Dame Mary sent for me, but none could be of any aid whereit was the will of Heaven to take him."
"If I had been there," said the Countess, "I who have brought up eightchildren and lost none, I should have saved him! So he died in yondercedar cradle! Well, e'en let Mary keep it. It may be that there isinfection in the smell of the cedar wood, and that the child will sleepbetter out of it. It is too late to do aught this evening, butto-morrow the child shall be lodged as befits her birth, in thepresence chamber."
"Ah, madam!" said Susan, "would it be well for the sweet babe if herMajesty's messengers, who be so often at the castle, were to report herso lodged?"
"I have a right to lodge my grandchild where and how I please in my ownhouse."
"Yea, madam, that is most true, but you wot how the Queen treats allwho may have any claim to the throne in future times; and were itreported by any of the spies that are ever about us, how royal honourswere paid to the little Lady Arbell, might she not be taken from yourladyship's wardship, and bestowed with those who would not show hersuch loving care?"
The Countess would not show whether this had any effect on her, or elsesome sound made by the child attracted her. It was a puny littlething, and she had a true grandmother's affection for it, apart fromher absurd pride and ambition, so that she was glad to hold counselover it with Susan, who had done such justice to her training as to be,in her eyes, a mother who had sense enough not to let her childrenwaste and die; a rare merit in those days, and one that Susan could notdisclaim, though she knew that it did not properly belong to her.
Cis had stood by all the time like a little statue, for no one, noteven young Lady Talbot, durst sit down uninvited in the presence ofEarl or Countess; but her black brows were bent, her gray eyes intent.
"Mother," she said, as they went home on their quiet mules, "are greatladies always so rudely spoken to one another?"
"I have not seen many great ladies, Cis, and my Lady Countess hasalways been good to me."
"Antony said that the Scots Queen and her ladies never storm at oneanother like my lady and her daughters."
"Open words do not always go deep, Cis," said the mother. "I hadrather know and hear the worst at once." And then her heart smote heras she recollected that she might be implying censure of the girl'strue mother, as well as defending wrath and passion, and she added, "Bethat as it may, it is a happy thing to learn to refrain the tongue."