No such impression was conveyed to Lawrence Madison. Roger, who was in an exalted mood which disposed him, knight-errant-like, to insist upon all beholders' instantaneous acknowledgment of the pre-eminence of the lady of his heart, was quite put out by the cool, indifferent tone in which Lawrence assented to his rapturous comments on the beauty of the Lady Alianora. Accustomed as he was to sudden changes in his impulsive master, yet this one took Lawrence by surprise. He had not expected Roger to alter in that direction. Love, to him, was not a blow to be struck all at once, but a plant to ripen by degrees. The sudden and absorbing passion which had taken possession of Roger's heart by assault, was not merely unexpected to Lawrence; it was incomprehensible.
The transfer of Roger from the care of the Earl of Arundel to that of the Earl of Kent was marked by one peculiarity very unusual at the time. It was purely a personal transfer, and did not include any change with regard to the administration of the estates, which were still left in the hands of Arundel, except that the Earls of Warwick and Northumberland were joined with him in the guardianship. The care of the heir and of the estate so generally went together as to rouse the suspicion in this case that the severance was a fresh clever move on the part of the Princess. To leave the estate in the enemy's hands might be intended as a hidden purchase of his acquiesence in the transfer of the boy. It was a sacrifice of the casket to secure the safety of the gem. Perhaps the Princess was also sagacious enough to divine that—as it turned out—there would be no sacrifice in the matter. Arundel proved in this case an honourable man, and administered the estates well, resigning them without difficulty into Roger's hands when he was called upon to do so.
Between Roger and Thomas, eternal friendship was sworn without delay. Their characters were somewhat alike, save that Roger was slightly the more impulsive, and considerably the more self-willed. The younger children were in Roger's eyes quite beneath his contempt.
There was one point of the matter in respect to which Lawrence was by no means indifferent. The style in which the Lady Alianora behaved to her youthful admirer enraged him beyond words. The beautiful girl was a born coquette. And she treated Roger to every variety of behaviour suggested by that despicable type of character. One day she would lift him up to the heights of ecstacy with her notice and favour, and on the next would plunge him into the lowest depths of despair. It appeared to delight her to play with his feelings like a cat with a mouse. That she had any of her own Lawrence could not discover. But as time went on, and they grew older, and the sentimental adoration of the boy, instead of fading away, blossomed into the solid and enduring love of the man, the sensation of aversion on Lawrence's part became stronger than ever. He would never have used Roger as she did, had he been in her place.
Roger appeared not to perceive this blemish in his chosen idol. All that she chose to do was perfection in his eyes.
It may perhaps strike the reader as hardly possible that a boy of Roger's age could have entertained such feelings. But we have abundant evidence that our fathers, five hundred years ago, grew up much earlier than we do—probably in part from the shorter average duration of human life, and in part from the forcing nature of the life they led. A boy of twelve, in 1385, had attained a period of life equivalent to that of a youth of at least sixteen in the present day.
If it could have been whispered to Roger Mortimer that he was flinging away his true and faithful heart upon a worthless weed, while there were modest violets to be found under the leaves—that he was bartering his priceless diamonds for glass beads which were not worth the picking up—well, he would not have believed it. But in truth he had met with the evil angel of his life, and he was yielding unto her fair false hands the perfect trust and the passionate devotion which were only due to God. Would he ever awake from the dream? and if he did, would it be while there was yet time left to repair his blunder, or only when it was too late, and there remained but a long weary stretch of the wilderness before the end should come?
Ah, the Good Shepherd goes after His lost sheep, until He find them. But they are apt to lead Him up arid steeps and into sunless gulfs, through thorns which tear their feet as well as His, and into dry places where no water is beside the stream which flows from the smitten Rock.
Reserve and reticence were not in the nature of Roger Mortimer. The Princess very soon perceived, with equal amusement and delight, the fulfilment of her prophecy; and urged upon her royal son the desirability of at once betrothing Roger and Alianora. The King, however, preferred a little delay. There was time enough, he said: both were yet very young; matters might alter before they were old enough to be married. So the formal ceremony, though fully intended, was deferred, leaving an element of uncertainty which added to Roger's intermittent misery.
The autumn which followed the spring of Roger's transference to Woking witnessed some most painful events. The second son of the Princess, Sir John de Holand, entering into a squabble between his attendants out of which he had far better have kept himself, killed Sir Ralph Stafford, the favourite squire of the young Queen. He was condemned to die, and the Princess in an agony of grief, sent Sir Lewis Clifford to the King at York, earnestly beseeching for mercy to his brother. She was refused, and it was the first refusal which her royal son had ever given to an intercession of hers. As the event proved, he was ready enough to grant it as man, but he could not feel it his duty as King. The Princess laid it so to heart that her heart broke. A fortnight after the return of Sir Lewis from his fruitless errand, she lay dead at Wallingford Castle.