Back Aa

Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times

Close

<h4>CHAPTER XLII.</h4> Some half hour after she had left the Princess--and we will venture to hope that the reader has particularly marked at what precise moment of time each of the scenes which we have lately described were taking place in the castle of Nottingham--some half-hour after she had left the Princess, Lucy de Ashby, covered with one of those large gowns of grey cloth which were worn by the less strict orders of nuns, while travelling, with her fair head wrapped in a wimple, and a pilgrim's bag hung over shoulder, filled with a few trinkets and some other things which she thought necessary to take with her, leaned thoughtfully upon the table in the wide, oddly-shaped chamber, which had been appropriated to her in Nottingham Castle. Near her stood one of the maids, whom we have seen with her before, and who now watched her mistress's countenance and the eager emotions that were passing over it, with a look of anxiety and affection. At length, with a sudden movement, as if she had long restrained herself, the girl burst forth, "Let me go with thee, lady! "You know not where I go, Claude," replied Lucy; "you know not, indeed, that I am going anywhere!" "Yes, yes," said the girl, "I am sure you are going somewhere; if not, why have you put on that disguise?" "But--but to see if it would do, in case of need," answered Lucy. "Here, take it off good girl! I should not recognise myself, much less would others!" "Ay, lady, but still thou art going somewhere," said the girl, aiding her to pull off the wimple and gown. "I know not where, 'tis true, but I will go with thee, anywhere--neither distance nor danger will scare me; and I am sure I can help thee!" "Well, be it as thou wilt!" replied Lucy, after a moment's thought, "but it may be that we shall leave behind us courts and soft beds for ever, Claude." "I care not--I care not!" cried the girl, "I would rather live with the bold foresters in the wood than at Nottingham or Lindwell either." Lucy smiled, as the girl's words brought back the memory of one happy day, and with it the hopes that then were bright. "Well, haste thee," she said, "haste thee to make ready; there are many here who know thee, Claude, and we must both pass unrecognised." "Oh!" answered her attendant, "I will transform me in a minute in such sort that my lover--if I had one--should refuse me at the altar, or else be forsworn! Hark! there is some one knocks." "Pull it off--pull it off!" cried Lucy, disembarrassing herself of the gown. "Now run, and see!" "The Princess, madam, requires your instant presence," said the girl, after having spoken for a moment to some one at the door; and, with a quick step, and eager eye, Lucy de Ashby advanced along the corridor, following one of Eleanor's ladies who had brought the message. The latter opened the door of the Princess's chamber for her young companion to enter, but did not, as usual, go in herself; and Lucy found Eleanor and her husband alone. Edward was clothed in arms, as he had come from Leicester, dusty, and soiled with travelling, but his head was uncovered, except by the strong curling hair which waved round his lordly brow, while a small velvet bonnet and feather, in which he had been riding, was seen cast upon one of the settles near the door. He was walking, with a slow step, up and down the room, with his brows knit, and a glance of disappointment and even anger in his eye. Eleanor, on the contrary, sat and gazed on him in silence, with a grave and tender look, as if waiting till the first ebullition of feeling was past and the moment for soothing or consolation arrived. "Here she is, Edward," said the Princess, as soon as Lucy entered; and those words showed her that the conversation of her two royal friends had been of herself, and made her fear that the evident anger of Edward had been excited by something she had done. The timid and imploring look which she cast upon him, however, when he turned towards her instantly banished the frown from his brow; and taking her hand, he said, "Be not afraid, dear lady; I am more angry perhaps than becomes me, but 'tis not with you or yours. When I came here, some twenty minutes since, my sweet wife gave me this paper, which tends to clear our poor friend Hugh, and I instantly took it to the King to beseech him but to delay the combat for a week. Judge of my surprise, when he refused me with an oath, and swore that either your brother should make good his charge or die. But 'tis not my father's fault, lady," he continued, seeing a look of horror, mingled somewhat with disgust, come upon Lucy's face--"'tis not my father's fault, I can assure you. Mortimer and Pembroke, and some others who have his ear, have so prepossessed his mind, that for the moment all words or arguments are vain; and yet this combat must not take place, or one of two noble men will be murdered." "Then let me try to stop it," answered Lucy, "Has the Princess, my lord----" "Yes--yes, she has," cried Edward, "and you must try, sweet Lucy; but I doubt that even your persuasions--I doubt that even the bribe of your fair hand will induce Monthermer to fly and leave his name to ignominy even for a day." "Nay--nay, he will," said Eleanor; "certain of his own innocence, with the confession of her brother which Lucy has, that he believes him guiltless----" "'Tis but an expression of doubt," interrupted Edward, "if you told me right." "Nay, Edward," asked the Princess, rising and laying her hand upon his arm; "if the case were our own--if I besought you with tears and with entreaties, and every argument that she can use, would you not yield?" "'Twere a hard case, dear lady mine," replied Edward, kissing her--"'twere a hard case, in truth, yet I may doubt. His answer might be clear; with honour, innocence, and courage on his side, why should he fly?" "To save my brother," said Lucy, looking up in the Prince's face. "Ay, but his renown!" exclaimed Edward.--"Yet he must fly. Some means must be found to persuade him." "Cannot you, my most gracious lord?" asked Lucy, "Ay, that is the question," rejoined the Prince, again walking up and down the room. "What will be said of me, if I interfere?--My father's anger, too.--To tell a Knight to fly from his devoir!--Yet it must be done.--Hark ye, fair lady; go to him, as you have proposed, use prayers, entreaties, whatever may most move him--do all that you have proposed--offer to go with him and be his bride. He scarcely can refuse that, methinks;" and he turned a more smiling look towards Eleanor. "But if all fails, tell him that I entreat--nay, that I command him--if he be so sure of shortly proving his innocence, that no man can even dream I have done this thing for favour--tell him I command him to fly this night, and that I will justify him--that I will avow 'twas done by my express command; and let me see the man in all my father's realms to blame it!" "Will you, most gracious lord," said Lucy--"will you give it me under your hand? If I have but words, Hugh may think it is a woman's art to win him to her wishes." "Is there an ink-horn there?" demanded Edward, looking round. "Here--here," said the Princess, shewing him the materials for writing; and with a rapid hand Edward traced a few words upon the paper, and then read them, but still held the order in his hand. "Remember," he said, turning to Lucy, and speaking in an earnest, almost a stern tone, "this is to be the last means you use, and not till every other has been tried in vain. 'Tis a rash act, I fear, and somewhat an unwise one, that I do, though with a good intent, but I would fain it were never mentioned were it possible." "This makes all safe," said Lucy, taking the paper; "he will go now, my lord, that his honour is secure. But I promise you no entreaties of mine shall be spared to make him go without it. I will forget that I have this precious thing, until he proves obdurate to all my prayers. Even then, methinks, I may show some anger to find him go at any words of yours when he has scorned all mine.--But, good sooth, I shall be too grateful to God to see him go at all, to let anger have any part." "Well--well, fair lady," said the Prince, "may God send us safely and happily through this dark and sad affair! We are told not to do evil, that good may come of it; but here, methinks, I only choose between two duties, and follow the greater. I act against my father's will, 'tis true; but thereby I save the shedding of innocent blood, and I spare the King himself a deed which he would bitterly repent hereafter. God give it a good end, I say once more! for we act for the best." "Fear not--fear not, my Edward," said Eleanor; "God will not fail those that trust in him. May He protect thee, Lucy!" and as she spoke she kissed her young friend's forehead tenderly. "Now tell me," she continued, "is all prepared for your expedition?" "All," replied Lucy. "My girl Claude has got me a grey sister's gown, which will conceal me fully." "Is that all?" cried the Prince. "Where are the horses?--but leave that to me. If Monthermer consents to go, bid him make no delay, nor stay for any preparation. He will find horses at the city gate--the northern gate, I mean. In half an hour they shall be there. Know you the way to his lodging?" "Not well," said Lucy; "'tis, I think, the third door down the court;--but Claude will find it quickly, I don't doubt." "There is a speedier way than that," replied the Prince. "Follow the passage running by your room, then down the steps, and you will see a door; if you knock there, you will find his page or some other servant, for it leads into his ante-room. It were better," he continued, thoughtfully, "that you made a servant carry the disguise, and not assume it till you are sure that he will go. Were you to visit him in such a garb, fair lady," he added, taking her hand kindly, "and after to return unwedded, men might speak lightly of your reputation; and that which in holy purity of heart you did to avert a most needless combat, might turn to your discredit." The blood came warmly into Lucy's cheek, but the moment after she looked up in the Prince's face, replying, with an air of ingenuous candour, "You think me, doubtless, somewhat bold, my lord, and many men may censure me, but I have something here"--and she laid her hand upon her heart--"which blames me not, but bids me go, in innocence of purpose, and share his fate whatever it may be. God knows this is a sad and painful bridal, such as I never thought to see. A father's death, a brother's rashness, and a lover's danger, may well cloud it with sorrow. But there is a higher joy in thinking I am doing what is right,--in thinking that I, a poor weak girl, by scorning idle tongues, and the coarse jests of those who cannot feel as I can, have a power to save my brother's life, and to spare him I love the dreadful task of putting a bloody barrier 'twixt himself and me for ever.--Judge me aright, my lord!" "I do--I do," replied Edward; "and now, farewell. God speed you, lady, on your noble enterprise!" Lucy kissed his hand, and without more ado returned to her own chamber. "Quick, Claude!" she cried; "are you ready?" "Yes, madam," she answered. "Will you not put on the gown?" "No," said Lucy, still pausing at the door; "bring them with you, and follow quickly." The girl gathered up her lady's disguise and her own in haste, and Lucy led the way along the passage as the Prince had directed her. There were no doors on either side, and but a loophole every here and there, which showed that the corridor, along which they went, was practised in the wall. Full of renewed hope, and eager to see her scheme put in execution, the lady descended the steps, and was about at once to knock at the door, when her raised hand was stayed by hearing some one speaking. She felt faint, and her heart beat quickly, for she recognised her brother's voice. Lucy listened, and distinctly heard the words--"I believe you innocent, from my soul, Monthermer; and I would give my right hand that you or I were a hundred miles hence this night." A smile came upon her countenance. "He is preparing the way for me!" she murmured to herself; and again she listened, but all was silent, save a retreating step and a closing door. "He is gone," said Lucy, turning to her maid. "Stay you here, Claude, for a minute or two;" and without knocking, she gently opened the door and looked in. There was a small room before her, with a fire on the opposite side, and three stools near it, but no one there; and entering with a noiseless step, Lucy gazed round. A door appeared on either hand: that on the right was closed, but through it she heard sounds of talking and laughter: that on the left was in a slight degree ajar, but all was silent within. Gliding up to it with no noise but the light rustle of her garments, Lucy approached, and pushed it gently with her hand--so gently that she saw before she was seen. Nearly in the centre of the room stood he whom she loved, with his arms folded on his broad chest, his fine head bent, his eyes fixed upon the ground, and an expression both sorrowful and stern upon his lip and brow. As the door moved farther open, it roused him from his reverie, and he looked up; but what a sudden change came instantly upon his countenance. An expression mingled of joy, surprise, and anxiety, passed across his face, and exclaiming, "Lucy, dearest Lucy!" he sprang forward to meet her. Drawing her gently into the room, he closed the door, and then held her for a moment to his bosom while both were silent; for the throbbing of her heart left Lucy's tongue powerless, and Hugh dared not speak lest it should dispel what seemed but too happy a dream. "Dearest Lucy," he said, at length, "even while I thank and bless you for coming, I must ask what brings you here? It was rash, dear girl--it was rash! If you had sent to me, I would have been with you in a moment. It is not a minute yet since your brother was here." "I know it," replied Lucy--"I know it all, Hugh. I know it was rash to come; but I am going to do everything that is rash to-night, and this is but the beginning. It is in general that you men sue to us women--till you are our masters, at least; now I come to sue to you." "Oh, Lucy!" cried Hugh, with a sort of prescience of what she was about to say--"what is that you are going to ask? Remember, Lucy--remember my honour. If you love me, that honour ought to be dearer to you than my life. Ask me nothing that may bring shame upon me." "Listen to me--listen to me," she replied. "You must hear me, Hugh, before you can judge. Your honour is dearer to me than your life; and oh, Hugh! you have yet to learn how dear that is to Lucy de Ashby;" and as she spoke, the tears rose into her eyes, but she dashed them away, and went on. "Yet it is not for your life I fear, dear as it is to me. Oh, no! your heart is safe. Panoplied in innocence and strength, you go but to conquer. It is for my brother that I fear--for my rash and hasty brother--ay, and guilty, if you will--for he who brings a false accusation against an innocent man is guilty. I tremble for him, Hugh; I tremble for myself, too; I fear that Hugh de Monthermer will draw upon his hand my brother's blood; and a hand so stained can never clasp mine again." "I know it," said Hugh; "but what can I do? I have no choice, Lucy, but to live for misery or to die disgraced!" "Yes," cried Lucy, eagerly--"yes, you have. Fly, Hugh de Monthermer! give no reason to any one why you go. You are sure, ere long, to establish your innocence.--appear not at the sound of the trumpet--appear not till you can prove his guilt upon the foul wretch who did the deed with which they charge you." "What!" exclaimed Hugh de Monthermer--"to be condemned, not only as a criminal, but as a coward and a recreant--to have my name pass from mouth to mouth throughout all Europe as a byword--to have heralds say, when they would point out a craven and a traitor--'He is like Hugh de Monthermer!' Oh, Lucy, Lucy! think of my honour--think of my renown!" "But your honour is safe, Hugh," answered Lucy, clinging to his arm. "Alured himself admits your innocence. I heard him say but now----" "Ay, in this room between him and me," replied Hugh de Monthermer; "but to-morrow he goes into the lists, and calls God to witness that his cause is just. To me he owns the falsehood of the charge, but to the world upholds that it is true." "Not so!" cried Lucy--"look here, Monthermer--see what he says to me here!"--and she drew forth the paper which Alured had given her. Hugh read it eagerly; and as he saw her brother's wish expressed, that, if he fell, their hands might be united, he turned his eyes towards the sweet girl beside him, with a look of tenderness and love deep and unutterable; but then the moment after, waving his head with a melancholy air, he said, "He knows you not as I know you, Lucy. His wish is kind and generous--noble--most noble, and atones for all. But would Lucy follow it?" "No!" she replied, raising her head, firmly. "Were I to waste away my life in hopeless regret and misery, my hand should never be given to him who sheds my brother's blood. I vow it, so help me God at my utmost need! But hear me; Hugh," she continued, her cheek, which had been very pale during the last words, becoming crimson--"Hear me, Hugh! hear me, my beloved!--hear me, and ho, grant my request! As eagerly, as fondly as ever you have sued for this hand, I now beseech you to take it.--On my knees, Hugh de Monthermer," and she sunk upon her knees before him--"on my knees thus, bedewing your hand with my tears, I beseech you to make Lucy de Ashby your wife." "But how, dearest Lucy!" he cried, stooping to raise her. "What--what do you mean? How--how is this to be!" "Fly!" exclaimed Lucy--"fly with me this night! Here is my brother's full consent--here, also, is your justification--here, at the very first, he proclaims your innocence!" "Ah, no!" replied Hugh de Monthermer, shaking his head; "he says, but that he doubts my guilt. Oh, Lucy! you will drive me mad to give me such a precious sight in prospect, and then to sweep it all away. I tell thee, my beloved, there is not an honest man in all the realm that would not call me coward, if I fled." "Is that all that stays you?" demanded Lucy. "What, if I show you that, amongst the highest and most honourable of the land, there are those who will exculpate and defend you?" "You cannot do it, Lucy," replied Hugh. "You may think they would. They may have said some chance words--that 'twere better to fly--that I might avoid the combat for some days; but when the time came, their voices would be raised with all the rest against me. You can shew me no more than this, dear girl." "I can!" answered Lucy. "There! read that; and if you hesitate a moment more, 'tis that Hugh de Monthermer loves not his promised bride, rejects her proffered hand, and scorns the rash and giddy girl, who for the sake of any ungrateful man cast from her every thought but one--the saving those she loves." Hugh de Monthermer held the paper in his hand for a moment without reading it, gazing upon the beautiful being beside him, as with her eyes full of lustre and light, her cheek glowing, her lip quivering, she addressed to him the only reproachful words which had ever fallen from her lips. "Lucy," he said, "I will not merit that reproach. You yourself have told me that my honour is dearer to you than my life. Let it be dearer than all other things, Lucy, and then tell me whether I can go with honour. Whether, if I do, men will not cry coward on me?--whether my renown will not suffer in the eyes of Europe? If you say yes, oh, with what joy will I fly, with Lucy for my companion! With what deep devotion will I strive through life to repay her generous self-devotion, and to show her what I think of that heart which could cast away all idle forms and ceremonies, set at nought empty opinion, and entertain, as you say, but the one thought--the saving those she loves." As he spoke, he clasped his arms around her, and Lucy hid her eyes upon his bosom, for they were running over with tears. But after a moment, she raised them again, saying--"Read--read, Hugh, that will satisfy you!" Hugh de Monthermer approached nearer the lamp, and looking at the paper, exclaimed--"Prince Edward's writing! What is this?-- "'Follow the plan of your fair lady, Monthermer. Fly with her as speedily as may be--she will tell you more; but fear not for your honour--I will be your warranty, and will say 'twas my command. You are my prisoner still, remember, and as such, cannot fight without the consent of "'EDWARD'" "This changes all!" cried Hugh de Monthermer; "but why not give me this before, dear Lucy?" "Because the Prince required me so to act," replied Lucy--"only to use this as a last resource; and she went on to tell him briefly but clearly all that had occurred. "Let us be quick," she said, "dear Hugh! There will be horses down at the north gate by this time. My poor girl, Claude, is waiting on the steps with a nun's gown for me, and some cunning disguise for herself. Have you nothing that you could cast over these gay garments? for as you are about to travel by night with a poor grey sister, 'twere as well not to seem so much the courtly cavalier." Poor Lucy's heart, relieved from the burden that had rested on it, beat up high with renewed hope; but still the agitation which she suffered remained, like the flying clouds that follow a summer's storm, and filled her eyes with tears, while the jest was still upon her lips. Hugh held her to his heart; and soothed her, and might have felt inclined to spend a few minutes more in such a sweet employment, but Lucy reminded him of how quickly moved the wings of time. "Remember, Hugh," she said, "the minutes and my courage are not stable things, and both are ebbing fast. My heart beats strangely quick and fearfully, and I must not faint or lag behind till we have passed the gates." "Nor there either!" cried Hugh; "but your courage will rise, dear Lucy, when the immediate danger is past. We had better not go quite alone, however, for we may yet have to use the strong hand by the way. I will send down Blawket and another to the gate with horses for themselves." "But a disguise!" cried Lucy--"a disguise for you. Ere we quit the castle, all this gold and silk will send the tale abroad to every horse-boy in the place." "I have one ready," answered Hugh; "the priest's gown, in which I escaped before, may answer well a second time. Where Is this girl of yours?" "Upon the steps," replied Lucy. "I will call her." "Nay, let me," said Hugh de Monthermer; and, opening the door of the ante-room and then that which opened on the stairs, he whispered, "Come in, my pretty maiden; bring the lamp with you--I will be back directly;" and passing on into the outer room, as soon as the maid was in his chamber and had shut the door, he called Blawket aside and gave him orders. Then sitting down at a table, he wrote a few words on a scrap of paper, which he entrusted to one of the armourers, saying, "Do not disturb Sir John Hardy to-night, but give him that at day break to-morrow morning." "'Twere a hard matter to disturb him, sir," answered the man; "for he's asleep by this time, and when once his eyes are shut, lightning will not make them wink for eight hours to come." "It matters not," rejoined Hugh, "to-morrow will be soon enough--only be sure to give it;" and thus saying, he returned to his chamber, closing the doors carefully behind him. The young knight actually started when he beheld Lucy in the grey gown and wimple, such was the change which it had made. "You see, Hugh," she cried, smiling as she remarked his surprise--"you see what Lucy's beauty is made of. It all disappears when you take away from her her gay apparel, and cover her with the dull stole of the nun." There might be a little coquetry in what she said, for Hugh de Monthermer could make but one answer, and he made it; but to say the truth, it was the coquetry of agitation, for Lucy sought to cover her own fears, and prevent her mind from resting on them. No time was now lost, however; the black gown of the priest was speedily found and thrown over the other garments of the young Knight; and then the question became how they were to go forth, without passing through the room in which the servants and followers of Hugh de Monthermer were sitting. "Can we not return by the steps in the passage, madam?" asked Claude. "Close to the door of your room there is the little staircase which leads by the tower into the great court." "That will be the best way," said Hugh. "Draw the veil over your face, dear Lucy. No one will know us in such a guise as this; and there is little chance that we shall meet any one." The plan proposed was adopted, and neither in the corridor nor on the staircase did they find a living creature, though, as they came near the apartments of the Prince and Princess, steps were heard going on before them, and then a door opened and shut at some little distance. They reached the court, too, in safety, and Hugh de Monthermer took a step or two forward to see that all was clear. A flash of light, however, proceeding from the main building, caused him instantly to draw back again under shelter of the doorway. "There are torches coming," he said. "Does the King ascend by this staircase?" "Never, that I know of," replied Lucy. "Never," said the girl Claude--"never!" Hugh de Monthermer pushed the door partly to, but looked out through the remaining aperture to see what was passing. "There is a crucifix," he said, "and the host: they are carrying the sacrament to some one in extremis." "St. Mary bless me!" cried the girl Claude, as he mentioned the word crucifix, "I have forgot mine;" and away she ran up the stairs again, to seek her cross, which she had left behind. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2