Traditions of Lancashire Volume I Part 42

Sir John was bewildered and alarmed. The Silver Knight was trusty, and no suspicion crossed him from that source; yet was their absence wholly unaccountable. The king, seeing some mistake in the unravelling or conception of the plot, good-naturedly commanded the minstrels to strike up a favourite tune; at the hearing of which a number of masks immediately mustered to begin dancing in the soft and dewy twilight.

Amongst the rest came in Buckingham, negligently attired, and without his visor.

"I thought thee hidden amongst the maskers," said the king.

"Ay, my liege, a short s.p.a.ce;--but the night is hot, and I am something distempered and weary in this turmoil."

Buckingham looked flushed and agitated, strangely differing from his usual manner. It was not un.o.bserved by the king, who attributed the change to illness.

"Thou shalt continue about our person," said the monarch. "Jack, see to the sports:--the pageant hath suffered greatly from thine absence. I do think the Queen of Beauty hath played thee false."

Buckingham took his usual station by the king; and Sir John Finett, in great dolour, went forth in search of his mistress. He questioned the guests diligently, but could gain no further tidings, save that she had been seen by many in company with the Silver Knight. Every minute added to his uneasiness: thoughts of a wild and terrible import haunted him.

In vain he tried to shake off these intruders--they came like shadows, horrible and indistinct. His naturally sensitive and sanguine temperament, as p.r.o.ne to the antic.i.p.ation of evil as of delight, was a curse, and not a blessing. Departed hopes may fling a deeper shadow even on the brow of Despair!--and rayless was the night which visited his spirit. It was now too evident--for he was no novice in the science--that his admiration had awakened one dormant but hallowed affection, long lulled in the soft lap of pleasure. The maiden, with whom it was his sole aim to pa.s.s a few hours of pleasantry and amus.e.m.e.nt, had enthralled him by so sudden a spell, that he was more than half inclined to believe in the boasted skill and exploits of the s.e.x, which has rendered Lancas.h.i.+re so famous. Her unaccountable absence impressed itself strangely upon his thoughts. He was in love!--and he writhed at the discovery; but he would have given worlds just then to have proclaimed it at his mistress's feet.

Scarcely conscious how the night wore on, he was obliged to act his part. Supper was announced; and he took his station where he could see the guests unmask as they entered to the banquet.

The tables were nearly filled, but the Silver Knight and his fair lady were still absent. Grace Gerard is doubtless in her own chamber, was the host's reply to some inquiry from Sir John:--she had craved excuse from some slight indisposition. But this did not satisfy him to whom it was addressed: he suspected her chamber would be found unoccupied;--his heart felt wasted and desolate;--it was as if the whole fair face of nature were blotted out,--the light being gone which rendered it visible.

"What ho!" said the king, "bring my Sienna knight a cup of hot sack and a merry-thought, for he seems melancholic and watchful--a wary eye, but a silent tongue. Sir John, are your wits a wool-gathering with your queen?"

"I am in my widowhood, most gracious prince,--my queen having departed."

"More fool thou, to fling thy heart after thy wits. Come, honest Jack, we'll have some minstrelsy after the feast,--a merry troll and a short one."

Sir John was well skilled in handling the lute and rebeck. He had been early trained to their use; and many a kind glance and tender word he had won thereby.

The feast was over, and those hushed halls thrilled to the following ditty:--

I.

"They bade me sing, they bade me smile, They bade my heart be gay; They called my spirit forth, to while The laughing hours away.

I've sung, I've smiled: where'er my path Mirth's dazzling meteors s.h.i.+ne: All hearts have owned its magic power, And all are glad but mine.

II.

"I've soothed the darkest surge of woe, And many a bosom blessed; Forbade the sufferer's tear to flow, And brought the weary rest: I've poured upon the bleeding heart The balm of Hope,--the shrine Where holier, happier thoughts shall dwell;-- But who shall gladden mine?

III.

"Forgive; 'tis but one short complaint, One pang I would reveal: The wretch upon the torturing rack Is not forbid to feel!

Then laugh,--let merry hearts to-night Their brightest wreaths entwine: The flowers that bloom on every breast Will, withering, fade on mine!"[35]

Many were the bright eyes glittering on him through their long silken lashes; but Sir John looked downward,--diligently noting something extraordinary in the disposition of his shoe-roses, or in the tie of his garter.

"One raven will set another croaking," said Sir George.

"That we may escape a concert so detestable," cried out Buckingham, "let Sir John Finett follow me, and we will reel with our fair dames, until cares whirl off like sling-stones."

"And may he that tires first fiddle the witches' jig," said the sapient king.

A burst of harsh music followed, and Sir John's feebly tinkling strings were thrown aside. Never had he wished so anxiously for one short hour of quietness; and right fain he was when the king retired to his chamber. His duties for that day were over, and he strolled out from the hot and oppressive atmosphere into a calm quiet moonlight. The cool breeze came like a healing balm upon his spirit, the soft dew fell upon his cheek,--but the fire in his veins burnt fiercely. His mistress's form, her face, the sweet influence of her smile, were fixed indelibly on his heart. Away from the bustle and cares of office,--which, like waves on the surface, for a while effaced their image,--the whole beauteous impression was revealed before him in all its loveliness and truth. His heart bounded at the thought:--it was but for a moment. Again he stood, hopeless and desolate, gazing upon the soft mist-wreath in the valley, as though expecting it would render up the form of his beloved.

Suddenly the short swift steps of a steed were heard hurrying up the avenue. A horseman approached the gateway: it was his friend, the _soi-disant_ knight of the silver mantle!

"How now, Weldon![36]--whither have thy unlucky familiars carried thee?

Hast thou bestridden the enchanted horse, or wert thou bidden to a witch-feast?"

"I have been to Myerscough with your message,--and the pains I have had for my labour."

"My message!" said Sir John, with amazement: "I sent thee on no other errand than to guard the lady, whom thou hast either made away with or she hath slipped from thine hold."

"You are pleasant, Sir John. Your tricks are well enough in court-hours.

Come, be serious, and tell me thou hast had a fool's errand out of me."

"I never was more serious in my life, Weldon, I do vouch, as my head shall swing safely on its pivot. But who gave thee a message--and to whom?"

"To our fair hostess at Myerscough. Thy page thrust a sc.r.a.p of writing into my hand after prayers. The request was, that I should see the accompanying billet safely delivered, and with mine own hand, without loss of time. It was one of your curiously-folded fantastic love-billets, as I thought. Knowing I could well be spared hence, I immediately took horse, and came in a bath of foam to the lady; but when she opened her pretty token, she drew herself erect with great majesty.

'Tell Sir John Finett,' said she, 'that when he next sends thee forth on his fooleries, to choose another b.u.t.t; to shoot his arrows where they will stick, or his goose-feathers may fly back again.'"

Horror almost deprived Sir John of utterance. That some foul play had been meditated, and in all probability accomplished, was but too plain; but how, or by whom, was inscrutable as ever.

The page was straitly questioned; but he merely said that his message was given him by some person he did not recognise in the crowd at the chapel-doors, who said he was to seek Weldon forthwith, and deliver him the papers from his master. What course to adopt, or where to begin their search, were questions alike embarra.s.sing and impossible to answer. In the end they determined to lay the matter before the king on the morrow.

It may be needful to go back a short s.p.a.ce to "The Bower of Beautie,"

wherein the knight of the silver mantle, having safely ensconced himself, as the reader may remember, the arras was let down; after which, being wheeled away to their destination, they were to await for the commencement of the masque. But the Silver Knight, lifting up the curtain, observed they were much too early for the performance, and courteously entreated the lady that she would alight. The evening was hot, and the bower close and oppressive. An hour might, in all probability, elapse ere their presence would be required. Grace, trusting to her companion, quitted the car, strolling out amongst the masks. Gradually they left the main crowd, unconsciously approaching the steep brow of the hill, where, looking towards the east, they beheld the broad red moon swinging out from the blue horizon. The loud hum of the revellers came softly and pleasantly on the ear. It was an hour of quietness and delight--a few hasty, happy moments s.n.a.t.c.hed from these gaudy hours--the pomp and circ.u.mstance of life. Would that Sir John had been here in lieu of his friend! thought Grace. No, she did not think so, but she felt as though such a thought might have been nursed into being with little effort. They were now stealing down the hill, and the dark waters of the Orr were leaping and bubbling at their feet.

"We must return," said the maiden, looking up, alarmed at seeing, for the first time, that they were cut off from all connection and intercourse with their companions. Her attendant was a perfect stranger, except in name, and though counselled to rely implicity on his care by the master of the ceremonies himself, she felt her situation embarra.s.sing and unpleasant.

"And why must we return?" said the mask. The tone startled her; its expression was now soft and beseeching, as though he had before spoken in a masked voice.

"Why!" said she, looking as though she would have pierced through his disguise.

"Nay, whet not thy glance so keenly. I am not what I seem, and yet am not unseemly."

"Your jests had been better timed had they taken a fitter season. I must hence."

"Go not, my beauteous queen," said the stranger, taking her hand, which she dashed from her with indignation and alarm. She was darting up the crag, but was again detained.

"I will wors.h.i.+p thee:--thou shall be my star--the axle of my thoughts.

All"----

"Unhand me, sir, or I'll call those who have the power to punish as well as to humble thy presumption!"

"Whom wilt thou call, my pretty lamb? The wolf? The snake is scotched in the bower, and I but beseech thy grat.i.tude. How that look of scorn becomes thee! Pout not so, my queen, or thou wilt indeed make an excuse for my rudeness."

"How? Again this insult! Begone, or thou shalt rue that ever thy thought escaped thy tongue. I'll report thee to thy betters."