A very neat wherry was waiting, with a boatman well dressed, bearing his badge upon his arm; and handing her in, Weston took his seat by Mrs. Turner's side, while the boy who carried his sword, and the lady's serving-man, sat in the stern behind them. The proximity of the two latter personages prevented all private conversation, but the lady, taking off her mask for the sake of the cool air, displayed what had once been a very pretty face, and which still, considering her age, was in a high state of preservation. Cutting rapidly over the water, the boat stopped some short way before it reached the Tower; and, being handed out with great gallantry by her companion, Mrs. Turner led him through several narrow lanes to a small house, between which and the public street was a little paved yard, with an elm-tree growing in the midst of the smoke.
"This is my house now," said the lady; "and you see I, too, have prospered in the world."
"I see, I see," answered Weston; "some friend who has become sensible to your merits."
"Not alone that," replied the lady; "for though Sir Arthur Manwaring bestowed the house upon me, I owe him little more. No, no, I have many a good friend at Court, who, for the services I can render them, are right liberal in their payments. But come in, come in, and take a glass of Malmsey with me."
Thus saying, she led him up a long narrow flight of stairs, to a small well-furnished sitting-room, in which was hung up a viol da gamba, and several other musical instruments, while on the table lay one or two books in velvet covers, which, when taken up, displayed to the curious eye any other subjects than those which men might have supposed formed the studies of the mistress of the mansion. One was a book of canticles, very neatly written; another was a volume of meditations by some pious divine; and a third was a still holier book, which it was almost profanation to bring into such a place.
By the orders of his mistress, the serving-man fetched some wine and sweetmeats upon a silver salver, and retired, closing the door. The lady helped her guest, and took some wine herself, smacking her lips at the flavour thereof with more unction than was quite seemly. Weston, however, was intent upon his business; and, after he had half drained the long measure with its twisted stalk, he set it down, inquiring, "Now, sweet Mrs. Turner, what is this great affair?"
"I will tell you, I will tell you," said the lady, drawing her high-backed chair nearer to him--"You must know--take some sweetmeats, Weston--Doctor Foreman, I mean. You must know that there is a great personage at the Court, of my own sex, and consequently one I am bound to assist in the way of friendship, who is in a very lamentable case--Fill your glass, Doctor, it will bear repeating. This lady is the daughter of one of the King's great friends, and the niece of another--"
"Hum!" cried Weston, laying his finger on the side of his nose; "Lady Cranbourne?"
Mrs. Turner shook her head; "Wrong," she replied, "wrong; but not far wrong either."
"I have it," said Weston,--"the Countess of Essex?"