But Bertram’s projected journey never took place, for a most unexpected event intervened to stop it.
It was the seventh of November, and a warm, close, damp day, inducing languor and depression in any person sensitive to the influence of weather. Custance and Maude had received no visit that day from any one but Bertram, who was busy preparing for his journey. There were frequent comers and goers to Kenilworth Castle, so that the sound of a bugle-horn without was likely to cause no great curiosity; nor, as Custance’s drawing-room window opened on a little quiet corner of the inner court-yard, did she often witness the arrival of guests. So that three horns rang out on that afternoon without awakening more than a passing wonder “who it might be;” and when an unusual commotion was heard in the guard-room, the cause remained unsurmised. But when the door of the drawing-room was opened, a most unexpected sight dawned on the eyes of the prisoners. Unannounced and completely unlooked-for, in the doorway stood Henry of Bolingbroke, the King.
It was no wonder that Maude’s work dropped from her hands as she rose hastily; nor that Custance’s eyes passed hurriedly on to see who composed the suite. But the suite consisted of a solitary individual, and this was her ubiquitous brother, Edward of York.
“God give you good even, fair Cousin!” said Henry, with a bend of his stately head. His manners in public, though less really considerate, were stiffer and more ceremonious than those of his predecessor. “You scantly looked, as methinks, for a visit of ours this even?”; “Your Highness’ servant!” was all chat Custance said, in a voice the constrained tone of which had its source rather in coldness than in reverence.
“Christ save thee, Custance!” said Edward, sauntering in behind his royal master. “Thou hast here a fine look-out, in very deed.”
“Truth, Ned; and time to mark it!” rejoined his sister.
The door opened again, and with a lout (the old English courtesy, now considered rustic) of the deepest veneration, Isabel made her appearance.
“I pray you sit, ladies,” commanded the King.
The Princesses obeyed, but Maude did not consider herself included. The King took the isolated chair with which the room was provided.
“An’ you be served, our fair Cousins,” he remarked, “we will to business, seeing our tarrying hither shall be but unto Monday; and if your leisure serve, Lady Le Despenser, we would fain bear you with us unto London. Our fair cousin Isabel, as methinks, did you to wit of our pleasure?”