Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

"If there be justice in the land," replied Darnley; "but mark me, good Jekin; you call me my lord. You have heard me say that it may be of the utmost detriment to my interest if I be known as Lord Darnley. Circumstances have put you in possession of my secret; but if you would pleasure me, if you would not injure me, forget from this moment that I am any other than Sir Osborne Maurice: call me by no other title, think of me under no other name."

"No, indeed, my lord," said Jekin; "I promise your lordship never to call you my lord again; I won't indeed, my lord! Lord! There, only see, my lord, I have called you my lord again! Well, it does come so natural to one, when one knows that you are my lord, to call you my lord. What a fool I am! But your lordship will forgive me; and so I'll go and sleep in that straw in the closet, and forget it all, for I shan't get my natural rest to-night, that's clear."

So saying, Jekin nestled himself in the straw, which had attracted his attention, and shutting the door to exclude all light, he was soon buried in a profound sleep; while Sir Osborne (which, according to his wish, we shall not cease to call him) continued his meditations, walking up and down, as if on guard at some dangerous post.

CHAPTER VII.

This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon.

The Tempest.

One of the strangest problems of our inexplicable nature is the choice of evil and the rejection of good, even after long experience has proved that evil and misery are uniformly synonymous. Virtue, it is true, does not always exempt from sorrow, but crime must ever be wretchedness. Hope loses its balsam, and fear acquires a keener sting; the present is anxiety, the past remorse, and the future is despair; and yet wayward man drinks of the bitter cup when the sweet is offered to him, and launches his boat upon an angry sea, where storms attend his course, and shipwreck terminates his voyage, rather than glide down the smooth current of a tranquil stream, where peace pilots him on his way, and happiness waits him at the shore.

Sir Payan Wileton knew not what happiness is. He had drunk the intoxicating bowl of pleasure, he had drained the boiling draught of revenge: pride, avarice, vanity, had all been gratified in turn; but peace he had never sought, content he had never found, and vengeful passions, like the Promethean vulture, preyed upon him for ever. Possessed of the vast estates of Chilham Castle, joined to those he also held of Elham Manor and Hyndesford, his wealth had been fully sufficient to create for him that interest amongst the powerful of the land which he could not hope to obtain by virtues or qualities. Thus powerful, rich, and full of desperate fearlessness, he was dreaded, detested, courted, and obeyed. He felt, too, that he was detested; and hating mankind the more, he became the tyrant of the country round. Seeking to govern by fear instead of esteem, he made his misanthropy subservient to his pride and to his avarice; and wherever he received or pretended an offence, there he was sure both to avenge and to enrich himself. Thus his life was a continual warfare, and in this active misanthropy he took as much delight as his heart was capable of feeling. It was to him what ardent spirits are to the drunkard, or the dice-box to the gambler.

But there was one constant thorn that goaded him, even in the midst of the success which attended his other schemes; namely, the fear that the king might deprive him of the stewardship of Dover Castle, by which alone he held the estates of Chilham. In vain he had used all the influence he possessed to have the grant made absolute, or to hold his land by sergeantry, as it had been held by Lord Fitzbernard; the king was inexorable, and imagined that he did equal justice when he refused to restore the estates to the forfeited family, or to grant the feof thereof to Sir Payan. Indeed, it had been held by cunning lawyers of the day that Lord Fitzbernard could not lawfully be dispossessed, except under an attainder, which had never been attempted against him; and that if it could be proved that the estates had not reverted to the crown by any default of tenure, or by extinction, Sir Payan's right would fall to the ground; and that the only effect of the king's patent of the stewardry of Dover would be to alienate that office from the family holding the estates.

Sir Payan was too wise to moot the question; and Lord Fitzbernard, hiding his indigence in a far part of Wales, had neither the means nor opportunity of succeeding in a suit against him. The few friends, indeed, that the test of misfortune had left the earl out of many acquaintances, strongly urged the king to revoke the grant which his father had made to a bad man, and to restore the property to a good one; but they never ventured to hint to the choleric monarch that the grant itself was illegal.