Even as he stepped down from the bar and his adherents showered good wishes upon him, he looked twenty years older than he had done on that bright happy day a fortnight ago when, the cynosure of all eyes, the most brilliant ornament of that gorgeous court, he seemed to stand smiling on the steps of the throne, gently dallying with a crown.
Yet Mary Tudor, wilfully forgetting for the moment her pledge to the Spaniards, longing to enjoy these last few hours when she was still free, had showered smiles, fêtes, honours upon the man she loved, happy to feel his lips pressed upon her hand in loyalty and gratitude.
She had never inquired of him how much real truth there was in the story which Ursula Glynde had told in open court. Perhaps she did not care to know. She was weak enough—woman enough—to rejoice at the thought of her rival's complete humiliation. She was content to let the events of that fateful night remain completely wrapped in mystery. Vaguely she felt that in some sort of way the elucidation of it would not be altogether detrimental to Ursula Glynde, at the same time she knew that never now could the young girl, who had come between her and the man she loved, aspire to become Duchess of Wessex.
The scandal had been too great, and unless some unexpected and wonderful thing happened, which would signally clear Ursula's maiden fame, she would for ever remain under the ban of this mystery which had besmirched her good name.
Ursula had been quite right when she asserted with bitter sarcasm that His Eminence the Cardinal de Moreno seemed to be the prime mover in the game of puppets, which was now proceeding within the precincts of the Palace. With the royal signature appended to his bond, he felt that his position was now impregnable, and he moved about among the English lords and courtiers as a vice-regent would in the absence of a king.
The fact that a messenger from Scotland had arrived in the morning with news of the ambassadors to the Queen Regent, without any mention of either Lord Pembroke's or Lord Everingham's sudden departure from thence, had completely calmed any fears he still might have of the latter's too sudden reappearance at Hampton Court. In any case now he had still some days before him during which he could consolidate his success, by establishing direct intercourse between King Philip and the Queen of England. He hoped before many hours had elapsed to obtain from Mary Tudor an actual letter, writ in her own hand to her royal betrothed.
Thus secure in his invulnerable position, the Cardinal had thought it prudent as well as expedient to accede to Ursula's wishes, which seemed very like commands, and he had used his diplomatic skill to good purpose in persuading Mary Tudor to allow the interview between the young girl and His Grace.
At the same time His Eminence was sufficiently wary so to manipulate his puppets that the interview should be of the briefest, and in this he was like enough to succeed.
It was in order to celebrate the happy return of His Grace to Court that the Queen had, at his request, granted a free pardon to all those who were to be brought for trial on the same day as the Duke. Two o'clock in the afternoon of the day following this great event, had been fixed when all these poor people, vagrants and beggars mostly, one or two political prisoners, perhaps, were to thank His Grace for their freedom publicly in the grounds of the Palace.
The Cardinal, well aware of this, skilfully working too on the Queen's still restive jealousy, had suggested to Mary that Ursula Glynde should await the Duke of Wessex in the hall at fifteen minutes before the hour.