The name was no unknown sound to Frideswide Marston, for John Combe had been Queen Marguerite's personal attendant—equerry, secretary, confidant, friend—ever since that dark and evil day when, stung by Warwick's cruel stab in the dark, the beautiful young Queen, to avoid all ground for evil surmisings, had selected a boy of fourteen to ride before her. Truest of the true had John Combe proved to his royal lady. He was low down, indeed, in her household—no peerage ever adorned his name, nor order glittered on his breast—but there was not a man about her whom Marguerite would have trusted as she trusted him. His feeling towards her was one of reverential tenderness—the sentiment of a devotee towards his chosen saint. In fact, it was John Combe's nature to look out for, to protect, to love, whatever he found in need of it. "The man who wanted him was the man he wanted." A timid, shrinking girl, who looked frightened and uncomfortable, would have won John Combe's notice, though a dozen luxuriously-appointed beauties were fluttering about him in vain. What had originally attracted him to Marguerite herself was not the beauty nor the Queen, but the lonely, helpless, calumniated woman.
The world holds a few John Combes. Would there were more!
The long stretch of stairs came to an end at last, and John Combe led Frideswide into the private closet of Queen Marguerite. It was the first time she had ever seen the royal lady who to her was the incarnation of every thing that was fair and noble. While the Queen was occupied with the Countess and her daughters, Frideswide had time to look at her.
Marguerite of Anjou was now just forty years of age, but she still retained, in every item but one, that wonderful beauty which had won her the reputation of the loveliest woman in Europe. The once brilliant complexion was dimmed and faded by long years of anxiety and privation. But the graceful figure, lithe and slender, was not changed—the gracious bearing was no less fascinating than of old—the blue eyes were bright and sparkling still, and the golden hair held its own without a silver thread. She received the Countess with the affectionate concern of an old friend who was sorry for her recent suffering, and her daughters with motherly kindness. Perhaps there was just a shade more of it for the Lady Anne than her sister. But Anne was the younger, and was at that moment looking the more wearied of the two. Then the Queen turned to the suite, greeted Mother Bonham as she might have done her own old nurse, and gave her hand to kiss to Frideswide and Avice. The Earl, who had been first to wait on King Louis, made his appearance last. Marguerite received him with cold civility, very different from her manner to the ladies. But she condescended to converse with him on political affairs, though it was in a grave and distant style. Marguerite showed to most advantage when she spoke, for then her face lighted up, her eyes were animated, and her natural vivacity made itself apparent. Let her be silent, and the face grew grave and sad, as she had good cause to be.
Before much of this political converse had gone on, the Queen, by a motion of her hand, summoned John Combe, who, whatever he might be doing, always seemed to keep one eye upon every act and gesture of his royal mistress. She desired him to call the Lady de Vivonne, and a plump, lively, gesticulating Frenchwoman accordingly sailed into the room. To her care the Queen committed the ladies who had accepted her hospitality, desiring her to see that they wanted for nothing: and the Lady de Vivonne carried them off to the apartments already prepared for them. Here were several other women, both French and English, who busied themselves in offering help. One of the latter, a girl of about their own age, devoted herself to Frideswide and Avice.
"Gramercy, my damsels, but you must be a-weary!" said she. "I wis I was when we hither came. You shall yet have seen none, as I reckon, save our own Queen?"
"None at all," answered Avice. "I would right fain see my Lord Prince."
"And the King and Queen of France—be they here?" said Frideswide.
"They be so," replied Christian, as they found the girl was named: "but, gramercy! they be not much to look at."
"Ill-favoured both?"