Most conspicuous among them was a large freshly-built erection in Tudor architecture, with a wide portal arch, and five separate gables starting from one central building, which bore a large clock-tower, and was decorated at every corner with the Talbots' stout and sturdy form. This was the great hall, built by the present Earl George, and containing five baths, intended to serve separately for each sex, gentle and simple, with one special bath reserved for the sole use of the more distinguished visitors. Besides this, at no great distance, was the Earl's own mansion, "a very goodly house, four square, four stories high," with stables, offices, and all the requisites of a nobleman's establishment, and this was to be the lodging of the Scottish Queen.
Farther off was another house, which had been built by permission of the Earl, under the auspices of Dr. Jones, probably one of the first of the long series of physicians who have made it their business to enhance the fame of the watering-places where they have set up their staff. This was the great hostel or lodging-house for the patients of condition who resorted to the healing springs, and nestled here and there among the rocks were cottages which accommodated, after a fashion, the poorer sort, who might drag themselves to the spot in the hope of washing away their rheumatic pains and other infirmities. In a distant and magnificent way, like some of the lesser German potentates, the mighty Lord of Shrewsbury took toll from the visitors to his baths, and this contributed to repair the ravages to his fortune caused by the maintenance of his royal captive.
Arriving just at noontide, the Queen and her escort beheld a motley crowd dispersed about the sward on the banks of the river, some playing at ball, others resting on benches or walking up and down in groups, exercise being recommended as part of the cure. All thronged together to watch the Earl and his captive ride in with their suite, the household turning out to meet them, while foremost stood a dapper little figure with a short black cloak, a stiff round ruff, and a square barrett cap, with a gold-headed cane in one hand and a paper in the other.
"Prepare thy patience, Cis," whispered Barbara Mowbray, "now shall we not be allowed to alight from our palfreys till we have heard his full welcome to my Lord, and all his plans for this place, how—it is to be made a sanctuary for the sick during their abode there, for all causes saving sacrilege, treason, murder, burglary, and highway robbery, with a license to eat flesh on a Friday, as long as they are drinking the waters!"
It was as Mistress Mowbray said. Dr. Jones's harangue on the progress of Buxton and its prospects had always to be endured before any one was allowed to dismount; but royalty and nobility were inured to listening with a good grace, and Mary, though wearied and aching, sat patiently in the hot sunshine, and was ready to declare that Buxton put her in good humour. In fact the grandees and their immediate attendants endured with all the grace of good breeding; but the farther from the scene of action, the less was the patience, and the more restless and confused the movements of the retinue.
Diccon Talbot, hungry and eager, had let his equally restless pony convey him, he scarce knew where, from his father's side, when he saw, making her way among the horses, the very woman with the basket whom he had encountered at Tideswell in the early morning. How could she have gone such a distance in the time? thought the boy, and he presently caught the words addressed to one of the grooms of the Scottish Queen's suite. "Let me show my poor beads and bracelets." The Scotsman instantly made way for her, and she advanced to a wizened thin old Frenchman, Maitre Gorion, the Queen's surgeon, who jumped down from his horse, and was soon bending over her basket exchanging whispers in the lowest possible tones; but a surge among those in the rear drove Diccon up so near that he was absolutely certain that they were speaking French, as indeed he well knew that M. Gorion never could succeed in making himself understood in English.
The boy, bred up in the perpetual caution and suspicion of Sheffield, was eager to denounce one who he was sure was a conspirator; but he was hemmed in among horses and men, so that he could not make his way out or see what was passing, till suddenly there was a scattering to the right and left, and a simultaneous shriek from the ladies in front.
When Diccon could see anything, his father was pressing forward to a group round some one prostrate on the ground before the house, and there were exclamations, "The poor young lady! The chirurgeon! To the front, the Queen is asking for you, sir," and Cicely's horse with loose bridle passed before his eyes.
"Let me through! let me through!" cried the boy; "it is my sister."
He threw his bridle to a groom, and, squeezing between horses and under elbows, succeeded in seeing Cis lying on the ground with her eyes shut and her head in his mother's lap, and the French surgeon bending over her. She gave a cry when he touched her arm, and he said something in his mixture of French and English, which Diccon could not hear. The Queen stood close by, a good deal agitated, anxiously asking questions, and throwing out her hands in her French fashion. Diccon, much frightened, struggled on, but only reached the party just as his father had gathered Cicely up in his arms to carry her upstairs. Diccon followed as closely as he could, but blindly in the crowd in the strange house, until he found himself in a long gallery, shut out, among various others of both sexes. "Come, my masters and mistresses all," said the voice of the seneschal, "you had best to your chambers, there is naught for you to do here."