Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

"And art thou little Dick Heartley?" exclaimed Doctor Wilbraham. "We are both changed, Dick; but open me the door, good Dick, for by that Portingalo's speech I fancy the young lady is here also with the prisoners, though I conceive not how."

Heartley accordingly opened the door sufficiently to allow the clergyman to pass, and then following, he shut it, taking care to put his dagger under the latch, to prevent its obstructing his exit, in case of the servants' leaving the spot during his stay.

At first the change from a bright light to comparative obscurity prevented the good tutor from distinguishing clearly the objects in the apartment to which he was admitted by Longpole; but who can express his astonishment when he beheld Sir Osborne? Forgetting Lady Constance and every other circumstance, he clasped his hands in a sort of agony. "Good God!" exclaimed he, "is it possible? You here! You, my lord, in the power of your bitterest enemy? Oh! Osborne, Osborne! what can be done to save you? And is it you," cried he, raising his voice, and turning to Longpole, in a tone of bitter reproach, "and is it you, Richard Heartley, that do the work of jailer upon your own born lord and only lawful master?"

"My born lord!" cried Heartley, springing forward; "what does your reverence mean? Who is he? They told me his name was Maurice--Osborne Maurice."

"Osborne Darnley, they should have said," replied the young knight. "Your old lord's son, Dick Heartley."

Heartley threw himself at his lord's feet. "Why did not you tell me? Why did not you tell me?" cried he. "I'd sooner have chopped my hand off. I that first taught you to draw a bow and level an arrow! I that sought you all through the camp at Terrouenne to be your servant and servitor, as in duty bound, only that you were away guarding the fort bridge on the Lambre! Cut my hand off! I'd rather have ripped myself up with my dagger."

It may be supposed that the surprise of Lady Constance and of Jekin Groby was somewhat analogous to that expressed by Longpole on finding that the person they had known only as Osborne Maurice, or at best as Sir Osborne Maurice, an adventurous soldier, whose necessitous courage had obtained for him the honour of knighthood, was in fact the young Lord Darnley, whose misfortunes and accomplishments had already furnished much employment for the busy tongue of fame. To the young lady, especially, this discovery gave a sensation of timid shame, for the interest she had so unguardedly displayed in his fate; an interest which nevertheless she might perhaps feel heightened when she found all that she had heard of Lord Darnley identified with all that she knew of Osborne Maurice. "I too may ask, my lord," she said, "why you did not tell me; or rather, why you did not tell my father, who ever expressed the deepest interest in your fate, and in his life-time might have served you?"

"Your noble father, lady," replied Lord Darnley, "was well aware who I was, even when I was a guest at his mansion; and he, as well as the rest of my friends, thought it best that I should still conceal my name while in England, in order to veil me from the machinations of a man whose unaccountable interest at court, and unscrupulous nature, were almost certain to carry through whatever villanous attempt he undertook against me. Our lands and lordships he holds, not as we did, by chivalry and tenure of possession, but only as steward of Dover Castle, an office given and recalled at pleasure. You now see how wise was the precaution, since here, in the midst of the most civilised country in Europe, I have been unlawfully seized, on the king's highway, accused of fictitious crimes, and destined to a fate that only time will show. To think that I, a man-at-arms, long used to camps, and, without boasting, on bad soldier either, should be, like an infant, in the hands of this deep-plotting usurper! 'Tis enough to drive me mad!"

"No, no, my lord," said Heartley, or, as we have called him, Longpole, "don't you fear. They say that when Old Nick stirs the fire, he is sure to burn his fingers, and when he salts a birch broom, he pickles a rod for his own back. But stay, let me see that there is no one at the door listening: no, there they are, at the farther end of the hall, but they can't hear. So, my lord, I'll undertake to get you out this blessed night. My oath to Sir Payan is up at twelve o'clock to-night."

"No oath can bind you to commit a crime," said the clergyman; "and that it is a crime to aid in any way in detaining your lord here, can easily be proved."