It may be better to fail thus, than to triumph with Lovelace.
Walter Maxwell was proud, lonely, and unhappy. It was under these circumstances that Master Randolph bade him to dinner in his lodging at twelve o’clock noon, and studiously avoided asking any other guest to meet him.
The refined taste of the Englishman had gathered about him even in the northern capital every luxury of which the age admitted. Good living and diplomacy have ever gone together, from the roast mutton consumed in council before Troy to the Nesselrode puddings of to-day.
Honest Jenkin, an invaluable domestic, received his master’s guest with a grin of recognition. He had not forgotten their night skirmish on the Border some two years ago, and after the manner of his kind had assumed a vested interest in Maxwell for the rest of his life.
‘Master Randolph was in his closet concluding a despatch,’ he said, placing a seat for the visitor in the chimney-corner. ‘The soup would be on the table in five minutes; would Master Maxwell divert himself in the meantime with examining these silver-mounted dags? They were pretty pistolets enough. We would have been none the worse of them that moonlight night in the “Debatable Land.”’
Maxwell smiled, and whilst Jenkin bustled to and fro about his hospitable labours, warmed himself at the wood fire and took a survey of the ambassador’s apartment.
It presented the same medley of refinement and simplicity, of comfort and contrivance, which may be observed in an officer’s barrack-room of the present day. Sundry mails and leather trunks, all adapted for carriage on horseback, were converted into cases for books and writings, and otherwise served temporary purposes for which they were not intended. The massive oaken chairs and tables, rough primitive furniture belonging to the mansion, were covered by skins and shawls of considerable value, Randolph’s own property, and presented to him at different times by the great personages with whom he came in contact. Costly arms of beautiful workmanship, richly-chased drinking vessels, and elaborate ornaments of great value in small compass, that had come into his possession in the same manner, were scattered about the apartment. A sword of the finest temper Italian forges could produce, inlaid with gold and ornamented with precious stones, the gift of the Duke of Savoy, lay carelessly on a writing-table across a Bible printed at Geneva, as the inscription on its leather cover attested, for Mr Randolph’s especial acceptance; and propped against the hilt of this beautiful weapon smiled a miniature portrait of Elizabeth, with tightly curling yellow hair, set profusely in diamonds. Quantities of papers and memoranda, none, we may be sure, of the slightest importance, littered the floor; a pair of spurs, a hawking glove with a set of jesses and a lure, were on the high chimney-piece, grouped about the beautiful cup that the Queen of Scotland had herself bestowed on the Minister; whilst ranged in a semicircle before the fire, ripening and mellowing in its comfortable glow, stood a row of tapering flasks, blushing with the goodly vintage of Bordeaux. As Jenkin appeared with the dinner at one door, Randolph came forward with his open pleasant manner to meet his guest through another.
‘Work is done for to-day!’ exclaimed the diplomatist, with the bright air of a boy released from school. ‘Master Maxwell, you are heartily welcome, once for all. Be seated, I pray you. Were a despatch to arrive post from my gracious mistress herself, I should thrust it aside like the noble Roman, fill me a cup of wine, as I do now, to your health, and say, “Business to-morrow!”’
‘No man has so good a right to leisure as yourself,’ replied his guest, doing as he was bid, and returning the pledge in a hearty draught, ‘for no man gets through so much work in so short a time. Even Maitland, who is our most accomplished penman here in the North, vows that he cannot but marvel at the despatch with which the English affairs are conducted.’
‘It is all plain sailing,’ replied Randolph, with an appearance of the most engaging candour. ‘My instructions are usually so intelligible and above-board that I have but to act on them without delay. Frankly, my friend, between you and me, the only complications I have are owing to the mystery that is kept up about your Queen’s marriage. But this is no time for business. Fill your cup once more. Honest Jenkin’s catering requires to be washed down with good wine. The fare is moderate enough, but at least I can answer for the liquor.’