Betty laughed archly, still retreating.
“Is a king, then, the only knave?” she asked.
“There is one heart that waits for you to test it, Mistress Carew,” Simon answered, following her, his face flushed and his eyes upon her laughing ones; it was no longer jest with him, but she evaded him.
They had reached the door which opened into the private way to the apartments of the maids of honor, and here he was forced to halt. She, too, paused an instant, with her hand upon the latch, and looked up with serious eyes, her whole manner changing in a moment.
“Master Raby,” she said gently, “I thank you from my heart for the part you have taken this morning in my quarrel. Believe me, sir, the orphan is not ungrateful to her gallant champion.”
Before he could reply, she was gone, and he stood looking at the door with a glowing face. She had bewitched him and he believed that she was not indifferent to him, but she could sustain her manner of gay pleasantry, and was as skilful as he in the trifling talk which made even a serious matter seem of little weight.
He turned, at last, to find his way to his own apartment, determined to bring Mistress Betty to consider the question at a more propitious moment; but he was destined to wait many days for the opportunity. When he reached his room, he found a messenger with a summons for him to come without delay to see his dying father. There was no time for leave-takings; he had to secure the king’s permission to depart, and when that was obtained, was forced to set out with no better satisfaction than a note of farewell to Mistress Betty. Not knowing how carefully she kept that missive, he went with but poor comfort upon his sad errand.
CHAPTER XVIII
A ROYAL LOVE TOKEN
That strange house upon the Thames, with its receding upper stories and its many windows, had strange visitors. Not in the daytime; then its numerous eyes were often blinded with iron shutters, and only the owl’s head above the door, which opened on the street, indicated the office of its master, as did the owl upon the water-gate. At nightfall came the never-ending stream of visitors, and usually by the river entrance, though there were other doors; one, indeed, opening through a labyrinth of cellars into a subterranean passage which had its outlet somewhere by the water’s edge, and whose key was hidden in the wizard’s breast. The master of the house quite naturally was much sought, being, by repute, the greatest necromancer in England and shrewd enough to work upon the fancies of the common people, dealing out philters and horoscopes with a liberal hand; but his real business was of a deeper and darker nature. Men of all conditions came by night to that silent house, and often one party dreamed not of the presence of the other, although the strange, small man held intercourse with both. In the lower portion of the building, with no communication with the stairs by which the queen had entered, was a large plain room, furnished with a long table and many chairs; and the ceiling was dark blue, set with gilded stars, so it was called the wizard’s Star Chamber. Here were frequently assembled a large company, and here the dealings were free from sorcery; they savored of a deeper and more subtle matter. Here, sometimes, were peers of the realm, the vacillating Lord Hussey, Darcy, and, less frequently, my lord of Exeter, and, once or twice, the master of horse, Sir Nicholas Carew. On one occasion, too, appeared the pale, fanatical face of a poorer gentleman, Robert Aske, who was to lead in the Pilgrimage of Grace. In this secret chamber of the secret house festered conspiracy, undiscovered even by the falcon eye of Cromwell. Here were represented the remnant of the party of the White Rose, the infatuated followers of the Nun of Kent and the papists, who flocked to the secret meetings where Pole’s book against the king was known, before the king saw it, and was eagerly devoured; where the pope’s bulls were quoted, while the name of Mary Tudor was coupled first with the dauphin and then with Charles V. The possibilities of resistance to the crown, the downfall of Cromwell and the Archbishop of Canterbury, the king’s increasing corpulence and the sores upon his legs,—all these matters were fruitful of discussion, and in the midst of the malcontents, the dwarfish figure of the master of the house flitted about with fiendish activity. It was in his nature to love the brewing of so evil a caldron, and he was happiest when he could count the greatest number of the peers caught in his net. Yet, if he was sincere in anything, he was in his devotion to the hope of a revival of the old régime. Through the length and breadth of the kingdom spread the tendrils of conspiracy, while the strong hand of the king was on the helm of the ship of state, guiding it through troubled waters to a liberty of which he, despot that he was, had no conception.
Through the months of that short winter, the procession to the wizard’s Star Chamber continued and waxed nightly larger, while at Greenwich the king and queen lived estranged, and the gossips of the court were busy with a matter that they whispered only on the back-stairs or in the chimney-corners, while the beauty of the queen waned under the frown of fortune. A cloud hung over the gayeties of the court, while she was nervous, anxious, ever suspicious of those about her, and time passed heavily with the young maids and court rufflers, and there was much secret grumbling. Master Raby was still in Sussex; his father was dead, but the new Lord Raby could not leave the estates unsettled, and he had not yet returned. My Lady Crabtree, however, had published such an account of the affair in the park that Henge was forced to keep in retirement, and for a while, at least, Betty was free from annoyance.