A Lady of Quality Part 23

"They are but lacqueys, and I would dare to ask what was in my mind," he answered; "but she is near her wedding-day, and little as I know of brides' ways, I am of the mind that she will not like to be troubled."

"That I stand in fear of," she said; "but, oh! I pray you, ask some one of them-a kindly one."

The young man looked aside. "Luck is with you," he said. "Here comes one now to air himself in the sun, having naught else to do. Here is a young woman who would speak with her ladys.h.i.+p," he said to the strapping powdered fellow.

"She had best begone," the lacquey answered, striding towards the applicant. "Think you my lady has time to receive traipsing wenches."

"'Twas only for a moment I asked," the girl said. "I come from-I would speak to her of-of Sir John Oxon-whom she knows."

The man's face changed. It was Jenfry.

"Sir John Oxon," he said. "Then I will ask her. Had you said any other name I would not have gone near her to-day."

Her ladys.h.i.+p was in her new closet with Mistress Anne, and there the lacquey came to her to deliver his errand.

"A country-bred young woman, your ladys.h.i.+p," he said, "comes from Sir John Oxon-"

"From Sir John Oxon!" cried Anne, starting in her chair.

My Lady Dunstanwolde made no start, but turned a steady countenance towards the door, looking into the lacquey's face.

"Then he hath returned?" she said.

"Returned!" said Anne.

"After the morning he rode home with me," my lady answered, "'twas said he went away. He left his lodgings without warning. It seems he hath come back. What does the woman want?" she ended.

"To speak with your ladys.h.i.+p," replied the man, "of Sir John himself, she says."

"Bring her to me," her ladys.h.i.+p commanded.

The girl was brought in, overawed and trembling. She was a country-bred young creature, as the lacquey had said, being of the simple rose-and-white freshness of seventeen years perhaps, and having childish blue eyes and fair curling locks.

She was so frightened by the grandeur of her surroundings, and the splendid beauty of the lady who was so soon to be a d.u.c.h.ess, and was already a great earl's widow, that she could only stand within the doorway, curtseying and trembling, with tears welling in her eyes.

"Be not afraid," said my Lady Dunstanwolde. "Come hither, child, and tell me what you want." Indeed, she did not look a hard or shrewish lady; she spoke as gently as woman could, and a mildness so unexpected produced in the young creature such a revulsion of feeling that she made a few steps forward and fell upon her knees, weeping, and with uplifted hands.

"My lady," she said, "I know not how I dared to come, but that I am so desperate-and your ladys.h.i.+p being so happy, it seemed-it seemed that you might pity me, who am so helpless and know not what to do."

Her ladys.h.i.+p leaned forward in her chair, her elbow on her knee, her chin held in her hand, to gaze at her.

"You come from Sir John Oxon?" she said.

Anne, watching, clutched each arm of her chair.

"Not from him, asking your ladys.h.i.+p's pardon," said the child, "but-but-from the country to him," her head falling on her breast, "and I know not where he is."

"You came to him," asked my lady. "Are you," and her speech was pitiful and slow-"are you one of those whom he has-ruined?"

The little suppliant looked up with widening orbs.

"How could that be, and he so virtuous and pious a gentleman?" she faltered.

Then did my lady rise with a sudden movement.

"Was he so?" says she.

"Had he not been," the child answered, "my mother would have been afraid to trust him. I am but a poor country widow's daughter, but was well brought up, and honestly-and when he came to our village my mother was afraid, because he was a gentleman; but when she saw his piety, and how he went to church and sang the psalms and prayed for grace, she let me listen to him."

"Did he go to church and sing and pray at first?" my lady asks.

"'Twas in church he saw me, your ladys.h.i.+p," she was answered. "He said 'twas his custom to go always when he came to a new place, and that often there he found the most heavenly faces, for 'twas piety and innocence that made a face like to an angel's; and 'twas innocence and virtue stirred his heart to love, and not mere beauty which so fades."

"Go on, innocent thing," my lady said; and she turned aside to Anne, flas.h.i.+ng from her eyes unseen a great blaze, and speaking in a low and hurried voice. "G.o.d's house," she said-"G.o.d's prayers-G.o.d's songs of praise-he used them all to break a tender heart, and bring an innocent life to ruin-and yet was he not struck dead?"

Anne hid her face and shuddered.

"He was a gentleman," the poor young thing cried, sobbing-"and I no fit match for him, but that he loved me. 'Tis said love makes all equal; and he said I was the sweetest, innocent young thing, and without me he could not live. And he told my mother that he was not rich or the fas.h.i.+on now, and had no modish friends or relations to flout any poor beauty he might choose to wed."

"And he would marry you?" my lady's voice broke in. "He said that he would marry you?"

"A thousand times, your ladys.h.i.+p, and so told my mother, but said I must come to town and be married at his lodgings, or 'twould not be counted a marriage by law, he being a town gentleman, and I from the country."

"And you came," said Mistress Anne, down whose pale cheeks the tears were running-"you came at his command to follow him?"

"What day came you up to town?" demands my lady, breathless and leaning forward. "Went you to his lodgings, and stayed you there with him,-even for an hour?"

The poor child gazed at her, paling.

"He was not there!" she cried. "I came alone because he said all must be secret at first; and my heart beat so with joy, my lady, that when the woman of the house whereat he lodges let me in I scarce could speak. But she was a merry woman and good-natured, and only laughed and cheered me when she took me to his rooms, and I sate trembling."

"What said she to you?" my lady asks, her breast heaving with her breath.

"That he was not yet in, but that he would sure come to such a young and pretty thing as I, and I must wait for him, for he would not forgive her if she let me go. And the while I waited there came a man in bands and ca.s.sock, but he had not a holy look, and late in the afternoon I heard him making jokes with the woman outside, and they both laughed in such an evil way that I was affrighted, and waiting till they had gone to another part of the house, stole away."

"But he came not back that night-thank G.o.d!" my lady said-"he came not back."

The girl rose from her knees, trembling, her hands clasped on her breast.

"Why should your ladys.h.i.+p thank G.o.d?" she says, pure drops falling from her eyes. "I am so humble, and had naught else but that great happiness, and it was taken away-and you thank G.o.d."

Then drops fell from my lady's eyes also, and she came forward and caught the child's hand, and held it close and warm and strong, and yet with her full lip quivering.

"'Twas not that your joy was taken away that I thanked G.o.d," said she. "I am not cruel-G.o.d Himself knows that, and when He smites me 'twill not be for cruelty. I knew not what I said, and yet-tell me what did you then? Tell me?"

"I went to a poor house to lodge, having some little money he had given me," the simple young thing answered. "'Twas an honest house, though mean and comfortless. And the next day I went back to his lodgings to question, but he had not come, and I would not go in, though the woman tried to make me enter, saying, Sir John would surely return soon, as he had the day before rid with my Lady Dunstanwolde and been to her house; and 'twas plain he had meant to come to his lodgings, for her ladys.h.i.+p had sent her lacquey thrice with a message."

The hand with which Mistress Anne sate covering her eyes began to shake. My lady's own hand would have shaken had she not been so strong a creature.