Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times
unwounded! Had he been killed it might have made a mighty difference to
me, and no great harm to any one."
At that point his thoughts seemed to pause for several minutes,
ruminating on the advantages which might have accrued to himself had
the Earl fallen at Evesham. "And yet," he continued, "this bull-headed
cousin of mine, Alured, were nearly as great a stumbling-block in my
way, even if the old man were removed. He would not be long, if left
alone at the head of the house, ere he wedded some fair and fruitful
lady, to exclude my claims for ever with a whole host of healthy
white-headed children. I was in some hopes, if he sought out Monthermer
in the battle, as he said, our enemy's lance might have proved friendly
to me, and sent my noble cousin to another world. But it was not to be,
and I suppose I must go on the poor dependent all my life.
"No," he continued, after another pause, "no, it shall not be so.--Why
should I fear for drivelling tales of other worlds told by the monks
and priests, and invented by them also?--Were Alured once dead, 'twere
an easy matter to remove that weak old man--and yet, perhaps, it were
better to send him first to his account.--Ha! I see, I see.--If one
could manage it so as to cast suspicion on Monthermer, Alured would
speedily accuse him of the deed; wager of battle must follow, and I
were a fool if I could not contrive it so that Alured's vain strength
should go down before Monthermer's skill and courage."
"In such fields as those," he added, speaking, though in a low,
thoughtful tone, "such men separate not with life.--Methinks the matter
were easily managed.--'Tis no light prize one plays for!--the earldom
of Ashby, the broad lands, the parks, the woods, the fields--ay, and to
crown the whole, the fair hand of Lucy herself; for, her brother and
her father dead, she must needs become my ward, and if my ward, my
wife. It is worth striving for, and by heaven and hell, it shall be
so,--ay, let what will stand in the way,--Could I but breed a quarrel
between this old dotard Earl and the ancient enemy of our house, whom
he is so ready to take to his bosom, I would soon accomplish the rest.
But it shall be done,--it shall be done!" And leaning his dark brow
upon his hands, he revolved the means for carrying his plan into
execution.
For several minutes he hesitated as to whether he should write to his
cousin as he had proposed or not; but then again he thought--"I will
not do it!--his presence would but embarrass me. In some chance
encounter with this Monthermer, with arms and weapons unprepared by me,
he might prove the conqueror, and once having vanquished him, he would
take him to his heart and give him half his fortune--the hand of
Lucy--anything. I know my vain-glorious cousin well! No, no, we will
deal with the father first.--But I must on to Nottingham, and seek the
tools to work with. I will write to Ellerby too, he is ready for any
desperate work, and in his store of knowledge has always information
where to find persons as fearless and as shrewd as himself."
Having thus made up his mind, Richard de Ashby rose, and once more
sought out the kitchen of the inn, taking the lamp with him. Revelry
and merriment were still going on in all quarters of the house, and it
was no unpalatable news to the groom, who was waiting below, ready to
depart, that his master had changed his purpose, and would not send him
as he had proposed, though he had orders to be prepared to set out by
cock-crow. After having given this intimation, the Earl's kinsman
retired to his chamber again, and, sitting down at the table, wrote a
few lines to the man whose unscrupulous assistance he required.
It was not without long pauses of thought, however, that he did so, and
in the end he put his hand to his head, saying, "I am tired." Well
indeed he might be so; for though the body had been still, the mind had
struggled and laboured during the last few hours, with that eager and
painful energy, which communicates afterwards to the corporeal frame
itself no slight portion of the lassitude which follows great
exertions. He next sought to seal the letter he had written, but he
could find neither wax nor silk, and laying it down upon the table
again, he said, aloud, "It must wait till to-morrow; but I must take
care that no one comes in and sees it before I wake, for that were ruin
indeed!"
Thus speaking, he turned to the door of the room and locked it; and
then, after a few minutes more given to thought, he undressed himself,
and, without prayer, lay down to rest.--Without prayer!--he never
prayed: the blessed influence even of an imperfect communion with
Heaven never fell like the summer rain upon his heart, softening and
refreshing. The idea of his dependence upon Providence, or his
responsibility to God, would have been far too painful and cumbersome
to be daily renewed and encouraged by prayer. He was one of the
idolaters; and the god of his heart was himself. His cunning was the
wisdom of his Deity, his passions, his pleasures, his power, its other
attributes; and to the Moloch of self he was ready at any time to
sacrifice all else that the world contained. He rose without asking a
blessing on works that he knew were to be evil, he lay down
supplicating no pardon for the offences of the day.
Ay! reader, and he slept, too, with sound, unbroken, heavy sleep. What
between passions, and pleasures, and schemes, and exertions, his body
and his mind were usually exhausted together; and throughout a long
course of years he had slept each night, as he did now, with a slumber,
deep, dreamless uninterrupted.
The lamp remained unextinguished in the chamber; and for about an hour
all was still, his heavy breathing being the only sound that made
itself heard; except the occasional voices of revellers in other parts
of the house, becoming more and more faint as the night advanced. At
the end of that time, however, a female figure glided from between the
curtains of the bed and approached the table.
Richard de Ashby had left, lying across the letter which he had been
writing, the dagger, with the pommel of which he had prepared to seal
it, and Kate Greenly, with her teeth tight shut, and her brow knit,
took up the weapon, drew it from the sheath, gazed upon the edge, and
felt the sharp point. She then turned her head towards the bed, and
strained her eyes upon it with a wild fierce look.
The moment after, she thrust the blade back into its covering, and
pressed her hand upon her brow, murmuring--"Not now!--No, no, no!--Not
now!--The time may come, however--the time may come, Richard!--But I
will have thee in my power--at all events, I will have thee in my
power! The worm thou treadest on may sting thy heel, oppressor.--Thanks
to the good priest who taught me to read and write!" she continued,
taking up the letter and unfolding it. "Would I had attended to his
other teaching as well;" and bending over the lamp, she read:--
"Come to me post haste, Ellerby,"--so ran the letter--"I have a stag of
ten for you to strike. My mind is made up, and I am resolved to throw
down the screen that keeps me from the sun. If we succeed--and success
is certain--your reward shall be in proportion to the deed: ten
thousand sterlings to begin with. But you must not come alone, you must
bring some three or four men with you, able and willing to perform a
bold act; so make no delay, but quit all vain pastimes and idle
pleasures, and hasten to certain fortune and success.
"Yours, as you shall use diligence,
"R. A."
Kate Greenly read the lines again and again, as if she wished to fix
them indelibly on her mind; then folding up the letter again, she laid
it down upon the table, placed the dagger across it, and remained
musing for several minutes in deep thought.
"No, no," she murmured, at length, "I will not believe it. No; he may
wrong a poor girl like me; he may break his vows, oppress, and trample
on the creature in his power; but murder--the murder of a kinsman?--No,
no!--And yet," she added, "what can the words mean? They are
strange--they are very strange! I will think of it no more--and yet I
must think of it. I wish I had not seen that paper! But having seen it,
I must see more.--I must watch--I must inquire. There shall be nothing
kept from me now.--Murder? It is very horrible.--But I will go to
sleep."
Kate Greenly crept quietly back to bed again; but the reader need not
be told that she found there no repose. Had her heart not been burdened
even with her own sin, the dangerous knowledge she had acquired of the
guilt of others would have been quite sufficient to banish sleep from
her eyes. Hour after hour she lay and thought over the words which she
had read. She strove to find some other meaning for them; but, alas!
she had, more than once before, heard muttered hints and dark longings
for the possessions of others, which directed her mind ever to the same
course, and ever to the same conclusion.
The thought was agonizing to her; for, notwithstanding all her
wrongs--notwithstanding anger and indignation--notwithstanding her
knowledge that he was a villain--notwithstanding her certainty that he
would cast her off whensoever it pleased him--ay, doom her to poverty,
contempt, and disgrace--love for Richard de Ashby yet lingered in the
heart of poor Kate Greenly.
At length, just as the morning was growing grey, her heavy eyelids fell
for a moment; and she was still asleep when her seducer rose and began
his preparations for departure. He discovered not that the letter had
been examined; but making her get up in haste to find some wax and
silk, he sealed the epistle; and, after dispatching it by a messenger,
set out himself for Nottingham, carrying the unhappy girl with him,
followed by only two attendants.
CHAPTER XXVII.
"What seekest thou, fat friar?" said one of a party of three gentlemen,
who were standing under the arch which gave entrance into the great
court of Nottingham Castle. He was speaking to a large heavy-looking
man, with round rosy face and double chin, who had been wandering
hither and thither in the court for some time, but apparently without
any very definite object--"What seekest thou, incarnation of the jolly
god?"
"I seek, my son," replied the friar, with a leer, "what you, perhaps,
can show me, but which, nevertheless, it would be well, were you to
seek it yourself."
"Nay, nay, no riddles, most jovial sphinx," replied Sir William Geary;
"speak in plain language and I may help thee, but I am not inclined to
play [OE]dipus for thy convenience. What is it thou meanest?"
"I mean that I seek the right way," replied the priest.
"But whither? whither?" asked Sir William. "Who, or what is it you
want?"
"I want to speak with the noble lord, Hugh de Monthermer," answered the
friar, "who, I hear, comes in the King's train."
"Is brought, you mean," said Sir Harry Grey; "for he comes as a
prisoner. But to tell the truth, his captivity seems to captivate the
whole court, for there is none now who receives any notice but Hugh de
Monthermer."
"The court must be getting wise in its old age," rejoined the friar.
"Methinks I shall follow it, too, as merit meets advancement. But, I
beseech you, fair sir, tell me where the young lord makes abode; for
though I find the doors of this castle as strait for, my fat sides as
those of heaven, they are as many as those of the other place."
"By my life, friar," replied Sir William Geary, "you will find him, if
I judge rightly, with a lady, in the deep window of the great hall,
taking thy trade over thy head; for, as I passed them, she seemed very
much as if she were making confession."