Raby shook his head. “I know not,” he answered. “I am but the bearer of certain instructions, but I fear that the—that her grace is little consulted in the affair.”
Carew did not reply, but seemed to muse over some grave subject, for his face became almost stern in its repose; and Raby, seeing his preoccupation, took his place at Mistress Betty’s bridle, guiding her horse and talking lightly and pleasantly of those matters that he thought would amuse his young companion. He had been but lately at the court, and told her of the jousts at Greenwich, when the knights tilted before Queen Anne Boleyn.
“It was a beautiful sight,” he said; “they wore white velvet, embroidered in silver, and the lists were surrounded by the gayest ladies of the court; there was a sheen of gold brocade, and jewels; it was a scene worth seeing, and ’twill be remembered long by those who saw it.”
“And the queen?” Betty asked, with a little hesitation, “is the queen as beautiful as they say?”
“She was thought to be the most beautiful woman at court when she was Marchioness of Pembroke,” Raby answered; “and she is still fair to look upon, though I do think that there are others more lovely. I doubt not she would call it treason did she hear me say it,” he added, smiling.
“I should like to see her,” Mistress Carew said thoughtfully.
“You have no need to seek so far to find a fairer face,” Raby answered, with the gallantry of a courtier.
And so they rode on, talking in a friendly way until they seemed no longer strangers, and were but little interrupted by Sir William, who was wrapped in his own thoughts, which were apparently not altogether pleasant ones. Thus the three made the journey together, and still Betty knew nothing of her destination, though she marvelled more and more as the way lengthened, and they stopped at first one tavern and then another. But in those days young girls were little considered and were expected to submit, with implicit obedience, to the guidance of their elders. More than once Betty thought that she was likely to come to her journey’s end without knowing her errand, but it was not to be so. The last day of her travels brought her enlightenment. Toward evening, when they were riding along at an even gait and had just passed through a small village, Master Raby fell back, leaving uncle and niece alone, as though he gave them opportunity for a last talk together, and Sir William, almost at once, availed himself of it.
“Fair niece,” he said, “you are truly a jewel among women, for you have not yet asked me a question. Did your aunt tell you whither you were bound?”
“Nay, uncle,” Mistress Betty answered quietly, “but I remember my cause for gratitude and am willing to do your bidding, though I should like to know where we are going.”