It was a morning towards the end of May (some little time after Edward’s gracious reception of the London deputies), when Nicholas Alwyn, accompanied by two servitors armed to the teeth,—for they carried with them goods of much value, and even in the broad daylight and amidst the most frequented parts of the city, men still confided little in the security of the law,—arrived at the Tower, and was conducted to the presence of the queen.
Elizabeth and her mother were engaged in animated but whispered conversation when the goldsmith entered; and there was an unusual gayety in the queen’s countenance as she turned to Alwyn and bade him show her his newest gauds.
While with a curiosity and eagerness that seemed almost childlike Elizabeth turned over rings, chains, and brooches, scarcely listening to Alwyn’s comments on the lustre of the gems or the quaintness of the fashion, the duchess disappeared for a moment, and returned with the Princess Margaret.
This young princess had much of the majestic beauty of her royal brother; but, instead of the frank, careless expression so fascinating in Edward, there was, in her full and curved lip and bright large eye, something at once of haughtiness and passion, which spoke a decision and vivacity of character beyond her years.
“Choose for thyself, sweetheart and daughter mine,” said the duchess, affectionately placing her hand on Margaret’s luxuriant hair, “and let the noble visitor we await confess that our rose of England outblooms the world.”
The princess coloured with complaisant vanity at these words, and, drawing near the queen, looked silently at a collar of pearls, which Elizabeth held.
“If I may adventure so to say,” observed Alwyn, “pearls will mightily beseem her highness’s youthful bloom; and lo! here be some adornments for the bodice or partelet, to sort with the collar; not,” added the goldsmith, bowing low, and looking down,—“not perchance displeasing to her highness, in that they are wrought in the guise of the fleur de lis—”
An impatient gesture in the queen, and a sudden cloud over the fair brow of Margaret, instantly betokened to the shrewd trader that he had committed some most unwelcome error in this last allusion to the alliance with King Louis of France, which, according to rumour, the Earl of Warwick had well-nigh brought to a successful negotiation; and to convince him yet more of his mistake, the duchess said haughtily, “Good fellow, be contented to display thy goods, and spare us thy comments. As for thy hideous fleur de lis, an’ thy master had no better device, he would not long rest the king’s jeweller.”
“I have no heart for the pearls,” said Margaret, abruptly; “they are at best pale and sicklied. What hast thou of bolder ornament and more dazzling lustrousness?”
“These emeralds, it is said, were once among the jewels of the great House of Burgundy,” observed Nicholas, slowly, and fixing his keen, sagacious look on the royal purchasers.