The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  ON A JULY AFTERNOON

  In the meanwhile in a remote corner of the park the quality wasassembled round the skittle-alley.

  Imagine Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse standing there, as stiff a Roundheadas ever upheld my Lord Protector and his Puritanic government in thisremote corner of the county of Kent: dour in manner, harsh-featured andhollow-eyed, dressed in dark doublet and breeches wholly void of tags,ribands or buttons. His closely shorn head is flat at the back, squarein front, his clean-shaven lips though somewhat thick are always heldtightly pressed together. Not far from him sits on a rough wooden seat,Mistress Amelia Editha de Chavasse, widow of Sir Marmaduke's elderbrother, a good-looking woman still, save for the look of discontent,almost of suppressed rebellion, apparent in the perpetual dark frownbetween the straight brows, in the downward curve of the well-chiseledmouth, and in the lowering look which seems to dwell for ever in thehandsome dark eyes.

  Dame Harrison, too, was there: the large and portly dowager, florid offace, dictatorial in manner, dressed in the supremely unbecoming styleprevalent at the moment, when everything that was beautiful in art aswell as in nature was condemned as sinful and ungodly; she wore the darkkirtle and plain, ungainly bodice with its hard white kerchief foldedover her ample bosom; her hair was parted down the middle and brushedsmoothly and flatly to her ears, where but a few curls were allowed toescape with well-regulated primness from beneath the horn-comb, and thewhole appearance of her looked almost grotesque, surmounted as it was bythe modish high-peaked beaver hat, a marvel of hideousness anddiscomfort, since the small brim afforded no protection against the sun,and the tall crown was a ready prey to the buffetings of the wind.

  Mistress Fairsoul Pyncheon too, was there, the wife of the Squire ofAshe; thin and small, a contrast to Dame Harrison in her mild andsomewhat fussy manner; her plain petticoat, too, was embellished withpaniers, and in spite of the heat of the day she wore a tippet edgedwith fur: both of which frivolous adornments had obviously stirred upthe wrath of her more Puritanical neighbor.

  Then there were the men: busy at this moment with hurling wooden ballsalong the alley, at the further end of which a hollow-eyed scraggyyouth, in shirt and rough linen trousers, was employed in propping upagain the fallen nine-pins. Squire John Boatfield had ridden over fromEastry, Sir Timothy Harrison had come in his aunt's coach, and youngSquire Pyncheon with his doting mother.

  And in the midst of all these sober folk, of young men in severegarments, of portly dames and frowning squires, a girlish figure,young, alert, vigorous, wearing with the charm of her own youth andfreshness the unbecoming attire, which disfigured her elders yet seemedto set off her own graceful form, her dainty bosom and pretty arms. Herkirtle, too, was plain, and dull in color, of a soft dovelike gray,without adornment of any kind, but round her shoulders her kerchief wasdaintily turned, edged with delicate lace, and showing through its filmyfolds peeps of her own creamy skin.

  'Twas years later that Sir Peter Lely painted Lady Sue when she was agreat lady and the friend of the Queen: she was beautiful then, in thefull splendor of her maturer charms, but never so beautiful as she wason that hot July afternoon in the year of our Lord 1657, when, heatedwith the ardor of the game, pleased undoubtedly with the adulation whichsurrounded her on every side, she laughed and chatted with the men,teased the women, her cheeks aglow, her eyes bright, her brownhair--persistently unruly--flying in thick curls over her neck andshoulders.

  "A remarkable talent, good Sir Marmaduke," Dame Harrison was saying toher host, as she cast a complacent eye on her nephew, who had justsucceeded in overthrowing three nine-pins at one stroke: "Sir Timothyhath every aptitude for outdoor pursuits, and though my Lord Protectordeems all such recreations sinful, yet do I think they tend to thedevelopment of muscular energy, which later on may be placed at theservice of the Commonwealth."

  Sir Timothy Harrison at this juncture had the misfortune of expendinghis muscular energy in hitting Squire Boatfield violently on the shinwith an ill-aimed ball.

  "Damn!" ejaculated the latter, heedless of the strict fines imposed bymy Lord Protector on unseemly language. "I ... verily beg the ladies'pardon ... but ... this young jackanapes nearly broke my shin-bone."

  There certainly had been an exclamation of horror on the part of theladies at Squire Boatfield's forcible expression of annoyance, DameHarrison taking no pains to conceal her disapproval.

  "Horrid, coarse creature, this neighbor of yours, good Sir Marmaduke,"she said with her usual air of decision. "Meseems he is not fit companyfor your ward."

  "Dear Squire Boatfield," sighed Mistress Pyncheon, who was evidentlydisposed to be more lenient, "how good-humoredly he bears it! Clumsypeople should not be trusted in a skittle alley," she added in a mildway, which seemed to be peculiarly exasperating to Dame Harrison'sirascible temper.

  "I pray you, Sir Timothy," here interposed Lady Sue, trying to repressthe laughter which would rise to her lips, "forgive poor Squire John.You scarce can expect him to moderate his language under suchprovocation."

  "Oh! his insults leave me completely indifferent," said the young manwith easy unconcern, "his calling me a jackanapes doth not of necessitymake me one."

  "No!" retorted Squire Boatfield, who was still nursing his shin-bone,"maybe not, Sir Timothy, but it shows how observant I am."

  "Oliver, pick up Lady Sue's handkerchief," came in mild accents fromMistress Pyncheon.

  "Quite unnecessary, good mistress," rejoined Dame Harrison decisively,"Sir Timothy has already seen it."

  And while the two young men made a quick and not altogether successfuldive for her ladyship's handkerchief, colliding vigorously with oneanother in their endeavor to perform this act of gallantrysingle-handed, Lady Sue gazed down on them, with good-humored contempt,laughter and mischief dancing in her eyes. She knew that she was good tolook at, that she was rich, and that she had the pick of the county,aye, of the South of England, did she desire to wed. Perhaps she thoughtof this, even whilst she laughed at the antics of her bevy of courtiers,all anxious to win her good graces.

  Yet even as she laughed, her face suddenly clouded over, a strange,wistful look came into her eyes, and her laughter was lost in a quick,short sigh.

  A young man had just crossed the tiny rustic bridge which spanned theha-ha dividing the flower-garden from the uncultivated park. He walkedrapidly through the trees, towards the skittle alley, and as he camenearer, the merry lightheartedness seemed suddenly to vanish from LadySue's manner: the ridiculousness of the two young men at her feet,glaring furiously at one another whilst fighting for her handkerchief,seemed now to irritate her; she snatched the bit of delicate linen fromtheir hands, and turned somewhat petulantly away.

  "Shall we continue the game?" she said curtly.

  The young man, all the while that he approached, had not taken his eyesoff Lady Sue. Twice he had stumbled against rough bits of root or branchwhich he had not perceived in the grass through which he walked. He hadseen her laughing gaily, whilst Squire Boatfield used profane language,and smile with contemptuous merriment at the two young men at her feet;he had also seen the change in her manner, the sudden wistful look, thequick sigh, the irritability and the petulance.

  But his own grave face expressed neither disapproval at the one mood norastonishment at the other. He walked somewhat like a somnambulist, witheyes fixed--almost expressionless in the intensity of their gaze.

  He was very plainly, even poorly clad, and looked a dark figure evenamongst these soberly appareled gentry. The grass beneath his feet haddeadened the sound of his footsteps but Sir Marmaduke had apparentlyperceived him, for he beckoned to him to approach.

  "What is it, Lambert?" he asked kindly.

  "Your letter to Master Skyffington, Sir Marmaduke," replied the youngman, "will you be pleased to sign it?"

  "Will it not keep?" said Sir Marmaduke.

  "Yes, an you wish it, Sir. I fear I have intruded. I did not know youwere busy."

  The young man ha
d a harsh voice, and a strange brusqueness of mannerwhich somehow suggested rebellion against the existing conditions oflife. He no longer looked at Lady Sue now, but straight at SirMarmaduke, speaking the brief apology between his teeth, without openinghis mouth, as if the words hurt him when they passed his lips.

  "You had best speak to Master Skyffington himself about the business,"rejoined Sir Marmaduke, not heeding the mumbled apology, "he will behere anon."

  He turned abruptly away, and the young man once more left to himself,silently and mechanically moved again in the direction of the house.

  "You will join us in a bowl of sack-posset, Master Lambert," saidMistress de Chavasse, striving to be amiable.

  "You are very kind," he said none too genially, "in about half-an-hourif you will allow me. There is another letter yet to write."

  No one had taken much notice of him. Even in these days when kingshipand House of Lords were abolished, the sense of social inequalityremained keen. To this coterie of avowed Republicans, young RichardLambert--secretary or what-not to Sir Marmaduke, a paid dependent at anyrate--was not worth more than a curt nod of the head, a condescendingacknowledgment of his existence at best.

  But Lady Sue had not even bestowed the nod. She had not actually takennotice of his presence when he came; the wistful look had vanished assoon as the young man's harsh voice had broken on her ear: she did notlook on him now that he went.

  She was busy with her game. Nathless her guardian's secretary was of nomore importance in the rich heiress's sight than that mute row ofnine-pins at the end of the alley, nor was there, mayhap, in her mindmuch social distinction between the hollow-eyed lad who set them upstolidly from time to time, and the silent young student who wrote thoseletters which Sir Marmaduke had not known how to spell.