Clare Avery: A Story of the Spanish Armada, Page 3

  CHAPTER THREE.

  BREAKERS AHEAD.

  "Our treasures moth and rust corrupt: Or thieves break through and steal; or they Make themselves wings and fly away. One man made merry as he supped, Nor guessed how, when that night grew dim, His soul should be required of him."

  _Ellen Alleyn_.

  Eleven years had passed away since the events of the previous chapters,and in the room where we first saw her, Rachel Enville sat with the fourgirls around her. Little girls no longer,--young ladies now; for theyoungest, Blanche, was not far from her fifteenth birthday. Margaret--now a young woman of four-and-twenty, and only not married because herbetrothed was serving with the army of occupation in the Netherlands--was very busily spinning; Lucrece--a graceful maiden of twenty-two, notstrictly handsome, but possessed of an indescribable fascination whichcharmed all who saw her--sat with her eyes bent down on her embroidery;Clare--seventeen, gentle, and unobtrusive--was engaged in plain sewing;and Blanche,--well, what was Blanche doing? She sat in the deepwindow-seat, her lap full of spring flowers, idly taking up now one, andnow another,--weaving a few together as if she meant to make a wreath,--then suddenly abandoning the idea and gathering them into a nosegay,--then throwing that aside and dreamily plunging both hands into thefragrant mass. Blanche had developed into a very pretty picture,--lovelier than Lady Enville, whom she resembled in feature.

  "Blanche!" said her aunt suddenly.

  Blanche looked up as if startled. Rachel had changed little. Time hadstiffened, not softened, both her grogram and her prejudices.

  "What dost thou?" she demanded.

  "Oh! I--well--I know not what I did, Aunt Rachel. I was thinking, Ireckon."

  "And where were thy thoughts?" was the next searching query.

  Blanche smelt at her flowers, coloured, laughed, and ended by sayinglightly, "I scantly know, Aunt."

  "Then the sooner thou callest them to order, the better. She must needsbe an idle jade that wits not whereof she thinketh."

  "Well, if you must needs know, Aunt Rachel," said Blanche, laughingagain, and just a trifle saucily, "I thought about--being wed."

  "Fie for shame!" was the prompt comment on this confession. "What hastthou to do withal, till thy father and mother bid thee?"

  "Why, that is even what I thought, Aunt Rachel," said Blanche coolly,"and I would I had more to do withal. I would fain choose mine ownservant." [Suitor.]

  "Thou!--Poor babe!" was the contemptuous rejoinder.

  "Well, Aunt Rachel, you wot a woman must be wed."

  "That's a man's notion!" said Rachel in her severest manner. "Blanche,I do marvel greatly that thou hast not more womanfulness than so. Awoman must be wed, quotha! Who saith it? Some selfish man, I warrant,that thought women were create into the world for none other cause butto be his serving-maids!"

  "I am sure I know not wherefore we were create," muttered Blanche, loudenough for her sisters to hear but not her Aunt.

  Rachel stopped her carding. She saw a first-rate opening for a lecture,and on her own special pet topic.

  "Maidens, I would fain have you all list me heedfully. Prithee, takenot up, none of you, with men's notions. To wit, that a woman mustneeds be wed, and that otherwise she is but half a woman, and the likefoolery. Nay, verily; for when she is wed she is no more at all awoman, but only the half of a man, and is shorn of all her glory. Witye all what marriage truly meaneth? It is to be a slave, and serve aman at his beck, all the days of thy life. A maid is her own queen, andmay do as it like her--"

  "Would I might!" said Blanche under her breath.

  "But a wife must needs search out her lord's pleasure."

  "Or make him search out hers," boldly interposed Blanche.

  "Child, lay thou down forthwith that foolish fantasy," returned Rachelwith great solemnity. "So long time as that thing man is not sure ofthee, he is the meekest mannered beast under the sun. He will promisethee all thy desire whatsoever. But once give leave unto thy finger tobe rounded by that golden ring the which he holdeth out to thee, andwhere be all his promises? Marry, thou mayest whistle for them,--ay,and weep."

  Rachel surely had no intention of bringing her lecture to a close soearly; but at this point it was unfortunately--or, as Blanche thought,fortunately--interrupted. A girl of nineteen came noiselessly into theroom, carrying a small basket of early cherries. She made no attempt toannounce herself; she was too much at home at Enville Court to stand onceremony. Coming up to Rachel, she stooped down and kissed her, settingthe basket on a small table by her side.

  "Ah, Lysken Barnevelt! Thou art welcome. What hast brought yonder,child?"

  "Only cherries, Mistress Rachel:--our early white-hearts, which my Ladyloveth, and Aunt Thekla sent me hither with the first ripe."

  "Wherefore many thanks and hearty, to her and thee. Sit thee down,Lysken: thou art in good time for four-hours. Hast brought thy work?"

  Lysken pulled out of her pocket a little roll of brown holland, which,when unrolled, proved to be a child's pinafore, destined for the help ofsome poverty-stricken mother; and in another minute she was seated atwork like the rest. And while Lysken works, let us look at her.

  A calm, still-faced girl is this, with smooth brown hair, dark eyes, acomplexion nearly colourless, a voice low, clear, but seldom heard, andsmall delicate hands, at once quick and quiet. A girl that has nothingto say for herself,--is the verdict of most surface observers who seeher: a girl who has nothing in her,--say a few who consider themselvespenetrating judges of character. Nearly all think that the ReverendRobert Tremayne's partiality has outrun his judgment, for he says thathis adopted daughter thinks more than is physically good for her. Agirl who can never forget the siege of Leyden: never forget the deadmother, whose latest act was to push the last fragment of malt-caketowards her starving child; never forget the martyr-father burnt atGhent by the Regent Alva, who boasted to his master, Philip of Spain,that during his short regency he had executed eighteen thousandpersons,--of course, heretics. Quiet, thoughtful, silent,--how couldLysken Barnevelt be anything else?

  A rap came at the door.

  "Mistress Rachel, here's old Lot's wife. You'll happen come and seeher?" inquired Jennet, putting only her head in at the door.

  "I will come to the hall, Jennet."

  Jennet's head nodded and retreated. Rachel followed her.

  "How doth Aunt Rachel snub us maids!" said Blanche lazily, clasping herhands behind her head. "She never had no man to make suit unto her, soshe accounteth we may pass us [do without] belike."

  "Who told thee so much?" asked Margaret bluntly.

  "I lacked no telling," rejoined Blanche. "But I say, maids!--whom wereye all fainest to wed?--What manner of man, I mean."

  "I am bounden already," said Margaret calmly. "An' mine husband leaveme but plenty of work to do, he may order him otherwise according to hisliking."

  "Work! thou art alway for work!" remonstrated ease-loving Blanche.

  "For sure. What were men and women made for, if not work?"

  "Nay, that Aunt Rachel asked of me, and I have not yet solute [solved]the same.--Clare, what for thee?"

  "I have no thought thereanent, Blanche. God will dispose of me."

  "Why, so might a nun say.--Lysken, and thou?"

  Lysken showed rather surprised eyes when she lifted her head. "Whatquestions dost thou ask, Blanche! How wit I if I shall ever marry? Irather account nay."

  "Ye be a pair of nuns, both of you!" said Blanche, laughing, yet in aslightly annoyed tone. "Now, Lucrece, thou art of the world, I am wellassured. Answer me roundly,--not after the manner of these holysisters,--whom wert thou fainest to wed?"

  "A gentleman of high degree," returned Lucrece, readily.

  "Say a king, while thou goest about it," suggested her eldest sister.

  "Well, so much the better," was Lucrece's cool admission.

  "So much the worse, to my thinking," said Margaret. "Would I by mygood-will be a queen, and s
it all day with my hands in my lap, a-toyingwith the virginals, and fluttering of my fan,--and my heaviestconcernment whether I will wear on the morrow my white velvet gownguarded with sables, or my black satin furred with minever? By mytroth, nay!"

  "Is that thy fantasy of a queen, Meg?" asked Clare, laughing. "Truly, Ihad thought the poor lady should have heavier concernments than so."

  "Well!" said Blanche, in a confidential whisper, "I am never like to bea queen; but I will show you one thing,--I would right dearly love to bepresented in the Queen's Majesty's Court."

  "Dear heart!--Presented, quotha!" exclaimed Margaret. "Prithee, takenot me withal."

  "Nay, I will take these holy sisters," said Blanche, merrily. "What sayye, Clare and Lysken?"

  "I have no care to be in the Court, I thank thee," quietly repliedClare.

  "I shall be, some day," observed Lysken, calmly, without lifting herhead.

  "Thou!--presented in the Court!" cried Blanche.

  For of all the five, girls, Lysken was much the most unlikely ever toattain that eminence.

  "Even so," she said, unmoved.

  "Hast thou had promise thereof?"

  "I have had promise thereof," repeated Lysken, in a tone which was lostupon Blanche, but Clare thought she began to understand her.

  "Who hath promised thee?" asked Blanche, intensely interested.

  "The King!" replied Lysken, with deep feeling. "And I shall be theKing's daughter!"

  "Lysken Barnevelt!" cried Blanche, dropping many of her flowers in herexcitement, "art thou gone clean wood [mad], or what meanest thou?"

  Lysken looked up with a smile full of meaning.

  "`Now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present youfaultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy,--to theonly wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty.'--Do but think,--faultless! and, before His glory!"

  Lysken's eyes were alight in a manner very rare with her. She was lessshy with her friends at Enville Court than with most people.

  "So that is what thou wert thinking on!" said Blanche, in a mostdeprecatory manner.

  Lysken did not reply; but Clare whispered to her, "I would we might allbe presented there, Lysken."

  While the young ladies were thus engaged in debate, and Rachel waslistening to the complaints of old Lot's wife from the village, andgravely considering whether the said Lot's rheumatism would be thebetter for a basin of viper broth,--Sir Thomas Enville, who wasstrolling in the garden, perceived two riders coming up to the house.They were evidently a gentleman and his attendant serving-man, and assoon as they approached near enough for recognition, Sir Thomas hurriedquickly to meet them. The Lord Strange, heir of Lathom and Knowsley,must not be kept waiting.

  Only about thirty years had passed over the head of Ferdinand Stanley,Lord Strange, yet his handsome features wore an expression of thedeepest melancholy. People who were given to signs and auguries saidthat it presaged an early and violent death. And when, eight yearslater, after only one year's tenancy of the earldom of Derby, he died ofa rapid, terrible, and mysterious disease, strange to all the physicianswho saw him, the augurs, though a little disappointed that he was notbeheaded, found their consolation in the conviction that he had beenundoubtedly bewitched. His father, Earl Henry, seems to have been acool, crafty time-server, who had helped to do the Duke of Somerset todeath, more than thirty years before, and one of whose few good actionswas his intercession with Bishop Bonner in favour of his kinsman, themartyr Roger Holland. His mother was the great heiress MargaretClifford, who had inherited, before she was fifteen years of age,one-third of the estates of Duke Charles of Suffolk, the wealthiest manin England.

  "'Save you, my good Lord!" was Sir Thomas's greeting. "You be rightheartily welcome unto my poor house."

  "I have seen poorer," replied Lord Strange with a smile.

  "Pray your Lordship, go within."

  After a few more amenities, in the rather ponderous style of thesixteenth century, Sir Thomas ceremoniously conducted his guest to LadyEnville's boudoir. She sat, resplendent in blue satin slashed withyellow, turning over some ribbons which Barbara Polwhele was displayingfor her inspection. The ribbons were at once dismissed when the noblevisitor appeared, and Barbara was desired to "do the thing she wot of inthe little chamber."

  The little chamber was a large, light closet, opening out of theboudoir, with a window looking on the garden; and the doorway betweenthe rooms was filled by a green curtain. Barbara's work was to make upinto shoulder-knots certain lengths of ribbon already put aside for thatpurpose. While the speakers, therefore, were to her invisible, theirconversation was as audible as if she had been in the boudoir.

  "And what news abroad, my good Lord?" asked Sir Thomas, when the usualformal civilities were over.

  "Very ill news," said Lord Strange, sadly.

  "Pray your Lordship, what so? We hear none here, lying so far from theQueen's highway."

  "What heard you the last?"

  "Well, methinks it were some strange matter touching the Scottish Queen,as though she should be set to trial on charge of some matter ofknowledge of Babington's treason."

  Sir Thomas's latest news, therefore, was about seven months old. Therewere no daily papers and Reuter's telegrams in his day.

  "Good Sir Thomas, you have much to hear," replied his guest. "For theScottish Queen, she is dead and buried,--beheaden at Fotheringay Castle,in Yorkshire, these three months gone."

  "Gramercy!"

  "'Tis very true, I do ensure you. And would God that were the worstnews I could tell you!"

  "Pray your Lordship, speak quickly."

  "There be afloat strange things of private import:--to wit, of mykinsman the Earl of Arundel, who, as 'tis rumoured, shall this nextmonth be tried by the Star Chamber, and, as is thought, if he 'scapewith life, shall be heavily charged in goods [Note 1]: or the BlackAssize at Exeter this last year, whereby, through certain Portugals thatwere prisoners on trial, the ill smells did so infect the Court, [Note2] that many died thereof--of the common people very many, and diversmen of worship,--among other Sir John Chichester of Raleigh, that youand I were wont to know, and Sir Arthur Basset of Umberleigh--"

  Barbara Polwhele heard no more for a while. The name that had been lastmentioned meant, to Lord Strange and Sir Thomas, the head of a countyfamily of Devonshire, a gentleman of first-class blood. But to her itmeant not only the great-grandson of Edward the Fourth, and the heir ofthe ruined House of Lisle,--but the bright-faced boy who, twenty-sevenyears before, used to flash in and out of John Avery's house in theMinories,--bringing "Aunt Philippa's loving commendations," or news that"Aunt Bridget looketh this next week to be in the town, and will be rarefain to see Mistress Avery:"--the boy who had first seen the light atCalais, on the very threshold of the family woe--and who, to the Averys,and to Barbara, as their retainer, was the breathing representative ofall the dead Plantagenets. As to the Tudors,--the Queen's Grace, ofcourse, was all that was right and proper, a brave lady and trueProtestant; and long might God send her to rule over England!--but theTudors, apart from Elizabeth personally, were--Hush! in 1587 it wasperilous to say all one thought. So for some minutes Lord Strange'sfurther news was unheard in the little chamber. A pathetic visionfilled it, of a night in which there would be dole at Umberleigh, whenthe coffin of Sir Arthur Basset was borne to the sepulchre of hisfathers in Atherington Church. [Note 3.] He was not yet forty-six."God save and comfort Mistress Philippa!"

  For, eldest-born and last-surviving of her generation, in a green oldage, Philippa Basset was living still. Time had swept away all thegallant brothers and fair sisters who had once been her companions atUmberleigh: the last to die, seven years before, being the eloquentorator, George. Yet Philippa lived on,--an old maiden lady, with heartas warm, and it must be confessed, with tongue as sharp, as in the daysof her girlhood. Time had mellowed her slightly, but had changednothing in her but one--for many years had passed now since Philippa washeard to sneer at
Protestantism. She never confessed to any alterationin her views; perhaps she was hardly conscious of it, so gradually hadit grown upon her. Only those perceived it who saw her seldom: and thesigns were very minute. A passing admission that "may-be folk need notall be Catholics to get safe up yonder"--meaning, of course, to Heaven;an absence of the set lips and knitted brows which had formerly attendedthe reading of the English Scriptures in church; a courteous receptionof the Protestant Rector; a capability of praying morning and eveningwithout crucifix or rosary; a quiet dropping of crossings and holywater, oaths by our Lady's merits and Saint Peter's hosen: a generalcalm acquiescence in the new order of things. But how much did it mean?Only that her eyes were becoming accustomed to the light?--or that agehad weakened her prejudices?--or that God had touched her heart?

  Some such thoughts were passing through Barbara's mind, when LordStrange's voice reached her understanding again.

  "I ensure you 'tis said in the Court that his grief for the beheading ofthe Scots Queen is but a blind, [Note 4] and that these two years goneand more hath King Philip been making ready his galleons for to invadethe Queen's Majesty's dominions. And now they say that we may look forhis setting forth this next year. Sir Francis Drake is gone by HerHighness' command to the Spanish main, there to keep watch and bringword; and he saith he will singe the Don's whiskers ere he turn again.Yet he may come, for all belike."

  The singeing of the Don's whiskers was effected soon after, by theburning of a hundred ships of war in the harbour of Cadiz.

  "Why, not a man in England but would turn out to defend the Queen andcountry!" exclaimed Sir Thomas.

  "Here is one that so will, Sir, by your leave," said another voice.

  We may peep behind the green curtain, though Barbara did not. Thatelegant young man with such finished manners--surely he can never be ourold and irrepressible friend Jack? Ay, Jack and no other; more courtly,but as irrepressible as ever.

  "We'll be ready for him!" said Sir Thomas grimly.

  "Amen!" was Jack's contribution, precisely in the treble tones of theparish clerk. The imitation was so perfect that even the grave LordStrange could not suppress a smile.

  "Shall I get thee a company, Jack Enville?"

  "Pray do so, my good Lord. I thank your Lordship heartily."

  "Arthur Tremayne is set on going, if it come to hot water--as seemethlike enough."

  "Arthur Tremayne is a milksop, my Lord! I marvel what he means to do.His brains are but addled eggs--all stuffed with Latin and Greek."

  Jack, of course, like the average country gentleman of his time, was aprofound ignoramus. What knowledge had been drilled into him inboyhood, he had since taken pains to forget. He was familiar with thepunctilio of duelling, the code of regulations for fencing, the rules ofathletic sports, and the intricacies of the gaming-table; but anythingwhich he dubbed contemptuously "book-learning," he considered as farbeneath him as it really was above.

  "He will be as good for the Spaniards to shoot at as any other,"jocularly observed Sir Thomas.

  "Then pray you, let Lysken Barnevelt go!" said Jack soberly. "I warrantyou she'll stand fire, and never so much as ruffle her hair."

  "Well, I heard say Dame Mary Cholmondeley of Vale Royal, that an' themen beat not back the Spaniards, the women should fight them with theirbodkins; wherewith Her Highness was so well pleased that she dubbed thedame a knight then and there. My wife saith, an' it come to that, shewill be colonel of a company of archers of Lancashire. We will haveMistress Barnevelt a lieutenant in her company."

  "My sister Margaret would make a good lieutenant, my Lord," suggestedJack. "We'll send Aunt Rachel to the front, with a major's commission,and Clare shall be her adjutant. As for Blanche, she may stand behindthe baggage and screech. She is good for nought else, but she'll dothat right well."

  "For shame, lad!" said Sir Thomas, laughing.

  "I heard her yesterday, Sir,--the occasion, a spider but half the sizeof a pin head."

  "What place hast thou for me?" inquired Lady Enville, delicatelyapplying a scented handkerchief to her fastidious hose.

  "My dear Madam!" said Jack, bowing low, "you shall be the trumpeter sentto give challenge unto the Spanish commandant. If he strike not hiscolours in hot haste upon sight of you, then is he no gentleman."

  Lady Enville sat fanning herself in smiling complacency, No flatterycould be too transparent to please her.

  "I pray your Lordship, is any news come touching Sir Richard Grenville,and the plantation which he strave to make in the Queen's Highness'country of Virginia?" asked Sir Thomas.

  Barbara listened again with interest. Sir Richard Grenville was aDevonshire knight, and a kinsman of Sir Arthur Basset.

  "Ay,--Roanoke, he called it, after the Indian name. Why, it did wellbut for a time, and then went to wrack. But I do hear that he purposethfor to go forth yet again, trusting this time to speed better."

  "What good in making plantations in Virginia?" demanded Jack, loftily."A wild waste, undwelt in save by savages, and many weeks' voyage fromthis country,--what gentleman would ever go to dwell there?"

  "May-be," said Lord Strange thoughtfully, "when the husbandmen thatshall go first have made it somewhat less rough, gentlemen may be foundto go and dwell there."

  "Why, Jack, lad! This country is not all the world," observed hisfather.

  "'Tis all of it worth anything, Sir," returned insular Jack.

  "Thy broom sweepeth clean, Jack," responded Lord Strange. "What, isnought worth in France, nor in Holland,--let be the Emperor's dominions,and Spain, and Italy?"

  "They be all foreigners, my Lord. And what better are foreigners thansavages? They be all Papists, to boot."

  "Not in Almayne, Jack,--nor in Holland."

  "Well, they speak no English," said prejudiced Jack.

  "That is a woeful lack," gravely replied Lord Strange. "Specially whenyou do consider that English was the tongue that Noah spake afore theflood, and the confusion of tongues at Babel."

  Jack knew just enough to have a dim perception that Lord Strange waslaughing at him. He got out of the difficulty by turning theconversation.

  "Well, thus much say I: let the King of Spain come when he will, andwhere, at every point of the coast there shall be an Englishmanawaiting--and we will drive him home thrice faster than he came at thefirst."

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  Note 1. He was fined 10,000 pounds for contempt of court. What hisreal offences were remains doubtful, beyond the fact that he was aPapist, and had married against the will of the Queen.

  Note 2. The state of the gaols at this time, and for long afterwards,until John Howard effected his reformation of them, was simply horrible.The Black Assize at Exeter was by no means the only instance of itsland.

  Note 3. I stated in _Robin Tremayne_ that I had not been able todiscover the burial-place of Honor Viscountess Lisle. Since that time,owing to the kindness of correspondents, personally unknown to me, Ihave ascertained that she was probably buried at Atherington, with herfirst husband, Sir John Basset. In that church his brass stillremains--a knight between two ladies--the coats of arms plainly showingthat the latter are Anne Dennis of Oxleigh and Honor Granville of Stow.But the Register contains no entry of burial previous to 1570.

  Note 4. In the custody of the (Popish) Bishop of Southwark is a quartovolume, containing, under date of Rome, April 28, 1588,--"An admonitionto the nobility and people of England and Ireland, concerning thepresent warres made _for the execution of His Holiness' sentence_, bythe highe and mightie King Catholicke of Spaine: by the Cardinal ofEngland." [Cardinal Allen.]--(Third Report of Royal Commission ofHistorical Manuscripts, page 233).