“Madam,” interrupted the young girl, sharply, “I crave your permission to withdraw;” and without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked from the room, holding her head high and with crimson cheeks.
“There, Sir Barton,” laughed the old woman, “see how welcome you are! The wench has sense, I tell you, and will none of you.”
“I am not so confident of that as you, my Lady Crabtree,” he retorted angrily; “I can find a way to bring this haughty young mistress to reason.”
The old woman looked at him sharply.
“You have an air of mystery,” she said coldly, “but look you, Barton Henge, I love this wench, and I swear that you shall not disturb her, nay, or trouble her one whit. Sit down and eat; you are hungry, doubtless; but nourish no dreams of conquest, unless the maid is willing, which she may be in time, for all girls are fools once, else there would be fewer marriages.”
CHAPTER XII
THE PRECONTRACT
Mistress Carew, finding herself pursued even to Wildrick Hall by the bold addresses of Sir Barton Henge, and having a superstitious dread of his scarred face, withdrew from the company assembled about Lady Crabtree. She pleaded a slight indisposition and kept her room for a few days, although even there she was followed by flowery missives from her persistent suitor. They were brought to her by one of the women, and after the first two, Betty returned them unopened. She would have dreaded Henge less had she been more independent, but her peculiar position made her fearful of his persecutions. She did not know how her uncle would view the matter, and if Sir Barton’s suit was seconded by Sir William’s commands, it might distress her yet more deeply. As she sat alone, she had food enough for sorrowful meditations; she was an orphan and, unhappily as she thought, endowed with a beauty which attracted the admiration that she least desired. Had the suitor been Simon Raby, her reflections would have been of a totally different nature. But she was not yet certain of Raby’s feeling for her; she was wise enough to know that the fine speeches of a courtier counted for little, and she was too proud to permit herself to believe in the tender words which Simon had spoken to her. But there was no room for doubt of Henge’s bold suit, and she shrank with horror from the thought of such a lover, although his fine appearance and gallant bearing might have won the fancy of many a young woman placed in similar circumstances; but Mistress Betty had a temper and a will that matched with decided opinions.
Henge had been two days at Wildrick, when the household was surprised by the arrival of Sir William Carew. He had been to London on a business matter and came to Deptford to see his niece before returning home. It was difficult to feign illness while her uncle was there, and Betty was forced from her retirement at last. She came down to receive a kind greeting from Sir William, but to be annoyed by the addresses of her suitor. She saw, too, that Carew treated Henge with courtesy, and the fear beset her that her relatives might be glad to be free of a penniless girl, at any cost. She was likely to have little voice in the affair, not even her preference would be consulted; and it might be that she would be driven into a marriage that she despised, nor would it matter if her heart was elsewhere. And indeed there was something more than prejudice in her hatred of Henge, a handsome man and one usually much favored by women. Betty saw, instead, a vision of the manly form and fine face of Simon Raby, and she found nothing agreeable in her dark-browed wooer.
It was the day after her uncle’s arrival that she sat alone in a little turret chamber which looked out over the river, and here Sir William found her. A glance at his face told her that his visit had some unusual import, and she was troubled, half divining the truth. Carew came in and sat down on a high oaken settle beside her and was a moment silent, as if in thought.
“There is some trouble, uncle?” Mistress Betty said, a quiver of excitement in her voice, and her dark eyes on his face.