‘The King had been smothered, I consider. There were no wounds upon him of any sort, nor any clothes but his shirt. Taylor, the boy, was naked.
‘There, gentlemen, you have a relation of my share in these dark facts, told you by a man whose position (as you may say) between one world and another is likely to sober his fancy and incline him to the very truth.’
French Paris, a jaunty dog—with a kind of brisk, dog’s fidelity upon him which is a better quality in a rascal than no fidelity, or perhaps than dull fidelity—has very little more to say to you and me.
[8] Des-Essars himself, it is to be observed, omits this story altogether.
CHAPTER VII
THE RED BRIDEGROOM
Margaret Carwood, the Queen’s woman, had a tale to tell, if she could be got to repeat it. She had undressed her mistress, who came in exceedingly late from Bastien’s masque, and put the bedgown upon her: then was the time for Father Roche to come in for prayers—if any time were left, which Carwood could not think was the case. Would her Majesty, considering the lateness of the hour, excuse his Reverence?
But her Majesty looked wildly at Carwood and began to rave. ‘Do you think me leprous, Carwood? Am I not to be prayed with? Why, this is treason!’ And she continued to shiver and mutter, ‘Treason! Treason!’ until the woman, terrified, called up the Chaplain, and he came in with the rest of the household and began the accustomed prayers. Gradually the Queen composed herself, and you could hear her voice—as usual—above all the others, leading the responses.
In the midst of the psalms of the hour, Carwood said, there struck on all ears a dull thud, like the booming of water upon a rock in the sea; the windows of the house shook, and litter was heard to fall behind the wainscot. Then complete silence—and out of that, far off in the city, rose a low and long wailing cry, ‘as of one hurt to death and desolate.’ Father Roche, who had stopped his Gloria Patri at the first shock, when he heard that cry, said sharply, ‘O King of Glory, what’s that?’ and stared at the window, trembling like a very old man; and nobody else was much bolder than he. But the Queen, stiff as a stone, went on where he had left off, driving the words out of herself, higher and higher, faster and faster, until she finished on a shrill, fierce note:—‘Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in sæcula sæculorum. Amen‘; and only stopped there because it was not her part to begin the next psalm.