"And you will come and tell me all about your visit. The world turned upside down is an entertaining spectacle. By my troth, I am glad to see it at second hand! Ann Clarges the market-woman in one palace, and Elizabeth Cromwell in another——"
"The Cromwells are my friends, Matilda. And I will assure you that Hampton Court never saw a more worthy queen than Elizabeth Cromwell."
"I have a saucy tongue, Jane—do not mind when it backbites; there is no one like you. I love you well!"—These words with clasped hands and kisses between the two girls. Then Matilda's face became troubled, and she sat down alone, with her brows drawn together and her hands tightly clasped. "What shall I do?" she asked herself, and she could not resolve on her answer; not, at least, while swayed by the gentle, truthful atmosphere with which Jane had suffused the room. This influence, however, was soon invaded by her own personality, dominant, and not unselfish, and she quickly reasoned away all suggestions but those which guarded her own happiness and comfort.
"If I tell about the duel with Rupert," she thought, "it can do no good to the dead, and it may make scandal and annoyance for the living. Cromwell will take hold of it, and demand not only the jewels and money and papers, but also the body of Neville. That will make more ill feeling to the Stuarts, and it is manifest they are already very unwelcome with the French Court. It will be excuse for further unkindness, and they have enough and more than enough to bear."
For a long time she sat musing in this strain, battling down intrusive doubts, until at last she was forced to give them speech. She did so impatiently, feeling herself compelled to rise and walk rapidly up and down the room, because motion gave her a sense of resistance to the thoughts threatening to overwhelm her.
"Did Rupert kill Neville?" she asked herself. "Oh, me, I do fear it. And if so, I am to blame! I am to blame! I told Rupert Neville was going to take charge of my aunt's jewels. Why was I such a fool? And Rupert knew that Neville had papers Charles Stuart would like to see, and money he would like to have. Oh, the vile, vile coin! I do fear the man was slain for it—and by Rupert. He lied to me, then; of course he lied; but that was no new thing for him to do. He has lied a thousand times to me, and when found out only laughed, or said 'twas for my ease and happiness, or that women could not bear the truth, or some such trash of words; and so I was kissed and flattered out of my convictions. Faith in God! but I have been a woman fit for his laughter! What shall I do?" She went over and over this train of thought, and ended always with the same irresolute, anxious question, "What shall I do?"
It was not the first time she had accused Rupert in her heart. She knew him to be an incomparable swordsman; she knew he regarded duelling as a mere pastime or accident of life. The killing of Neville would not give him a moment's discomfort,—quite otherwise, for he was a trifle jealous of him in more ways than one; and there were money and information to be gained by the deed. Politically, the man was his enemy, and to kill him was only "satisfaction." The story Rupert told her of the duel had always been an improbable one to her intelligence. She did not believe it at the time, and the lapse of time had impaired whatever of likelihood it possessed.
"Yes, yes," she said to herself. "Rupert undoubtedly killed Neville, and gave the jewels and money and papers to Charles Stuart. But how can I tell this thing? I cannot! If it would restore the man's life—perhaps. Oh, that I had never seen him! How many miserable hours I can mix with his name! The creature was very unworthy of Jane, and I am glad he is dead. Yes, I am. Thousands of better men are slain, and forgotten—let him be forgotten also. I will not say a word. Why should I bring Rupert in question? One never knows where such inquiries set on foot will stop, especially if that wretch Cromwell takes a hand in the catechism." But she was unhappy, Jane's face reproached her; she could not put away from her consciousness and memory its stillness, its haunting pallor and unworldlike far-offness.
The next day Jane went to Hampton Court. The place made no more favourable impression on her than it had done at her first visit. Indeed, its melancholy, monastic atmosphere was even more remarkable. The forest was bare and desolate, the avenues veiled in mist, the battlemented towers black with rooks, the silence of the great quadrangles only emphasised by the slow tread of the soldier on guard. But Mrs. Cromwell had not lived in the Fen country without learning how to shut nature's gloom outside. Jane was cheered the moment she entered the old palace by the blaze and crackle of the enormous wood-fires. Posy bowls, full of Michaelmas daisies, bronzed ferns, and late autumn flowers were on every table; pots of ivy drooped from the mantel, and the delicious odour of the tiny musk flower permeated every room with its wild, earthy perfume.
She was conducted to an apartment in one of the suites formerly occupied by Queen Henrietta Maria. It was gaily furnished in the French style, and though years had dimmed the gilding and the fanciful paintings and the rich satin draperies, it was full of a reminiscent charm Jane could not escape. As she dressed herself she thought of the great men and women who had lived and loved, and joyed and sorrowed under this ancient roof of Wolsey's splendid palace. Henry the Eighth and his wives, young Edward, the bloody Queen Mary, and the high-mettled Elizabeth; the despicable James, and the tyrant Charles with his handsome favourite, Buckingham, and his unfortunate advisers, Strafford and Laud. And then Oliver Cromwell! What retributions there were in that name! It implied, in its very simplicity, changes unqualified and uncompromising, reaching down to the very root of things.