The evening banquet had been anything but gay.
The Queen, as was oft her wont, had hardly said a word. The Cardinal de Moreno looked thoughtful and His Grace of Wessex was singularly silent.
Directly after supper Her Majesty retired to her own apartments, accompanied by her ladies, leaving behind her that desultory atmosphere of dull and purposeless conversation, which hangs round a supper table in the absence of the fair sex.
The brilliant assembly broke up into small groups. The Earl of Pembroke and two or three other lords were leaving for Scotland towards midnight; their friends gathered round them to bid them God-speed. In the deep embrasure of the great bay His Grace of Wessex was in earnest conference with Lord Winchester and Sir William Drury, whilst at one end of the long centre table half a dozen young gallants were idling over a game of hazard.
But there was a feeling of obsession in the air—a sense as if something momentous was about to happen. Whispered rumours, more or less conflicting, were afloat, yet nothing definite was known. On the other hand, idle, far-stretched gossip was rife and was even growing in extravagance as the evening wore on.
No one had been present on the terrace to witness the little incident which occurred there earlier in the afternoon save the three distinguished actors in the brief comedy scene. Obviously from them nothing could be gleaned. The Queen and the Cardinal would not be like to enlighten the curious, whilst the Duke of Wessex, at all times reserved and unapproachable, could not be asked to give his version of the event.
The foreign envoys had very soon followed the example set by Her Majesty and withdrawn from the circle, which seemed more hostile to them than usual to-night. The Cardinal de Moreno and the Marquis de Suarez were the first to go. They occupied the magnificent suite of chambers wherein ill-fated Wolsey had lived, schemed, and fallen. The more sumptuous series of rooms beyond—those built with lavish extravagance by King Henry VIII for his own personal use—had been placed at the disposal of His Grace of Wessex and his numerous retinue.
Between the Duke's apartments and those allotted to the envoys of the King of Spain was the fine audience chamber, used by the Queen herself or by her more distinguished guests for the reception of important visitors. It was here that Lord Everingham, anxious, perturbed, vaguely ashamed of his own actions, had sought out the Cardinal de Moreno after the banquet and begged for an interview.
His Eminence, suave, urbane, a veritable mirror of benevolence, had received him with a smile of welcome on his lips and a wealth of kindly reproach in his eyes.
"Ah, my lord!" he said to the young man, as soon as the servants had withdrawn, "Nature, I fear me, hath not intended you for a diplomatist."
"How so?"
"This interview to-night, with me—was it necessary?"
"I could not rest," said Everingham impulsively, "until——"
"Until you had proclaimed it to the entire Court in general, and to His Grace of Wessex in particular, that you had a secret understanding with his political rival, the Spanish ambassador," rejoined His Eminence drily.
"An interview . . ."
"Have you ever honoured me thus before, my lord?—you or any of your friends?"
"No . . . perhaps not . . . I only requested a brief tête-à-tête. . . ."
"And had I refused that dangerous tête-à-tête, what would you have done?"
"Demanded it," replied Everingham hotly. "I must know what has happened, and what you intend to do."
His Eminence threw a quick look at the young man, a look half of pity, half of contempt. For a moment it seemed as if an angry retort hovered upon his lips. But he merely shrugged his shoulders and said blandly—
"You are very expert at the game of chess, my lord, so they tell me."
"I have played it a great many times," rejoined Everingham, a little astonished at the sudden transition.
"Ah! and have become very proficient, I understand. Will you honour me by playing a game with me?"
"Now?"
"Why not?"
"The lateness of the hour . . . I start for Scotland almost directly."
"Yet in spite of these difficulties you sought a casual interview with an avowed political enemy."
"No one need know . . ." stammered the young man, slightly abashed.
"Every one inside this Palace knows by now that my lord of Everingham, the intimate friend at His Grace of Wessex, is closeted alone with the envoy of His Majesty the King of Spain," rejoined His Eminence with slow emphasis. "Believe me, my lord, a game of chess is the wisest course."
"Will you tell me first . . ."
"I can tell your lordship nothing, except across the chess board."
"Well! . . . since you wish it . . ."
"My wishes have naught to do with this matter. I was following the most elementary dictates of prudence."
He touched the handbell and rang. A liveried servant appeared.
"Had I not told thee, sirrah," said His Eminence, "that my lord Everingham had kindly consented to give me my revanche at chess ere he departed? How is it that the board has not been prepared?"
"I crave Your Eminence's most humble pardon," protested the man in confusion. "I had not understood . . ."
"Not understood?" laughed the Cardinal good-naturedly. "Marry! the knave doth impugn my knowledge of the English tongue."
"I would not presume, Your Eminence . . ."
"Tush, man! hold thy tongue and repair thy negligence. Where's the board? His lordship hath but an hour to spare."
Everingham watched with ill-concealed impatience the elaborate preparations made for the game. He thought it quite unnecessary, and had he dared he would have refused to join in the senseless deception. But in this matter he had ceased to trust his own judgment, and, much against his will, was allowing the Cardinal to take the lead. He felt out of his own intellectual depths in this slough of intrigue wherein he had so impulsively ventured, and out of which he now felt incapable of extricating himself.
Simple-minded and loyal to the core, he had a horror of any treachery against his friend. No other consideration would ever have prompted him to join in an underhand scheme with the Spanish Cardinal, save his own earnest faith in the ultimate good which would accrue therefrom, both to the country at large and to Wessex himself. With his whole heart and soul he believed that, at this moment, the Duke's marriage with Lady Ursula Glynde would be nothing short of a national calamity.
Reluctantly, he sat down to the board at last. His Eminence, opposite to him, was shading his face with his delicate white hand, and at first seemed absorbed in the intricacies of the game. Two servitors were still busy about the room. One of them asked if His Eminence would desire more light.
But the Cardinal preferred the fitful flicker of a few wax tapers. He liked the fantastic shadows which left the greater part of the vast chamber in gloom. Lord Everingham was a noted and very proficient player; His Eminence was enjoying the game thoroughly.
"Check to your king, my lord Cardinal," said the young Englishman at last.
"Only a temporary check, you see, my lord," rejoined His Eminence, as with slender, tapering fingers he moved one of the ivory pieces on the board. "By the help of this one little pawn, the safety of the whole combination is assured, and 'tis your knight now which is in serious danger."
"Not serious, I think, Your Eminence, and once more check to your king."
Even as he spoke the two servitors finally left the room, closing the heavy doors noiselessly behind them.
"Oh!" said the Cardinal thoughtfully, "this will necessitate a bolder move on my part. You mark, my son," he added as soon as he had made a move, "how beautifully Nature herself plays into our hands: you and I desired to part His Grace of Wessex effectually and for ever from his beautiful affianced bride. Two hours ago this seemed impossible, and lo!—a girl comes across our path: low-born, brainless, probably a wanton, yet the very physical counterpart of virtuous Lady Ursula, and——"
"Check," said Everingham drily, as he moved his castle.
"Nay! nay! we'll once more move this little pawn," rejoined His Eminence, with his usual pleasant benevolence, "and see how simple the plan becomes."
"'Tis of that plan I longed to hear."
"So you shall, my son, so you shall," said the Cardinal very kindly. "What would you wish to know?"
"The girl Mirrab?—Where is she?"
"In Don Miguel de Suarez rooms, dressing herself in quaint finery, collected for the purpose by my faithful servant Pasquale, who has a valuable female friend in the Queen's own entourage. A silk kirtle, rich white robes, some fantastic ornaments for the hair, and the likeness 'twixt our Mirrab and the high-born Lady Ursula will be more strangely apparent than ever. Your turn to move, my lord. I pray you do not lose the thread of this interesting game."
"'Tis easy enough to lose oneself in the mazes of Your Eminence's diplomacy," quoth the young man anxiously. "Having dressed the girl up in all that finery, what do you propose to do?"
His Eminence was silent for awhile; he seemed absorbed in an elaborate strategical combination, directed against his opponent's king. Then he moved his queen right across the board and said quietly—
"What do I propose to do, my lord? Only, with the aid of that diplomacy which you English affect to despise, contrive that His Grace of Wessex should see a lady—whom he will naturally mistake for the Lady Ursula Glynde—in a highly compromising situation, and the love idyll begun this afternoon will abruptly end to-night."
"Ah, my lord! surely we must trust Chance a little. The fickle jade has served us well already."
"I'll not allow a pure woman's reputation to be sullied by any dastardly trick . . ." began Everingham hotly.
"Pray, my lord, what is your definition of a dastardly trick?" rejoined His Eminence suavely. "Is it the use made by a political opponent of every means, fair or foul, to accomplish his own aims, which he considers great and just? or is it the work of a friend—an intimate, confidential friend—joining issue for the like purpose? Nay, nay! understand me, my dear lord," he added, with an infinity of gentle kindliness expressed in the almost paternal tone of his voice, "'twas not I, remember, who ever thought to blame you. Your aims and ambitions are as selfless as mine own: for the moment our purpose is the same. Will you honour me by allowing me to show you the way of attaining that purpose, quickly and surely? I'll not ask you to lend me a hand. I would gladly have kept from you the knowledge of my own intricate diplomacy. Why should you fear for the Lady Ursula? Is her reputation in your eyes of greater moment than the success of your schemes?—yours and all your faction, remember."
"Ah! there you have me, my lord," rejoined Everingham with a sigh. "All England is at one with us in a burning desire to see Wessex wedded to our Queen. But this is where your diplomacy escapes me. Once Wessex is turned away from the Lady Ursula, he will, we hope, naturally turn to the Queen, who loves him passionately, and . . . Check!" he added, moving one of his pieces.
"Ah! you press me hard. Your lordship is a skilful player," said the Cardinal, intently studying the board. "As for me, you see I seem to move my pawns somewhat aimlessly. For the moment, I wish to part His Grace of Wessex from Lady Ursula . . . after that—we shall see."
Everingham was silent. A truly bitter conflict was raging in his simple heart. Loyalty to his friend, love for his country, and an overwhelming anxiety for its welfare, cried out loudly within him. The very thought of meeting Wessex face to face at this moment was terrible to him, and yet he would not undo what he had already done, and would not thwart the Spaniard's tortuous schemes by betraying them to the Duke.
The purpose which he had in view blinded him to everything save the hope of its ultimate achievement. At this moment he felt that, if Wessex shared Mary Tudor's throne with her, so much that was great and good would come to England thereby, that all petty considerations of temporary disloyalty, or the reputation of one innocent woman, would quickly vanish into insignificance.
The very feelings of remorse and of shame which he was experiencing at this moment strengthened him in his faith, for he was suffering keenly and acutely to the very depths of his honest heart, and he imagined that he was earning a crown of martyrdom thereby; he believed that by trampling on his own prejudices and jeopardizing his friendship with the man he loved and honoured best in all the world, he was adding to the cause, which he held to be sacred, the additional lustre of self-sacrifice.
His Eminence no doubt knew all this. With his intimate knowledge of the foibles of mankind, he found it an easy task enough to probe the inner thoughts of the transparent soul before him. He divined the young man's doubts and fears, the battle waged within him betwixt an abstruse political aim and his own upright nature. The game was continued in silence, Everingham's state of mind being revealed in the one bitter sigh—
"Ah! I go away with a heavy heart, feeling that I have helped to commit a treachery."
The Cardinal looked benevolently compassionate. At heart he was more than glad to think that this blundering Englishman would be well out of the way. Could he have foreseen the marvellous turn by which Fate meant to aid him in his intrigue, he would never have made overtures to so clumsy an ally as Lord Everingham. But at the time he had been driven into a corner through the furious jealousy of the Queen, who had well-nigh staggered him.
His Eminence then did not know how to act. For the first time in his life he had been completely outwitted by the events which he himself had helped to bring about. They had shaped themselves in exact opposition to his keenest expectations. How to part Wessex from Lady Ursula, with whom his volatile Grace was probably by then more than half in love, became an almost insolvable problem.
The Queen's ultimatum was almost a fiat. His Eminence saw himself and his retinue ignominiously quitting the English Court and returning—baffled, vanquished, humbled—to the throne of an infuriated monarch, who never forgave and always knew how to punish.
In despair the Cardinal had turned to an ally. He knew that His Grace was quite inaccessible. Towards all the foreign ambassadors the Duke of Wessex was always ensconced behind a barrier of unbendable hauteur and of frigid reserve. It would have been impossible to attack the lady of his choice openly, and in offering his own help to Everingham His Eminence vaguely hoped to arrive at some half-hidden mystery, a secret perhaps in His Grace's life which would have helped him to strike in the dark.
Then Fate interposed: exactly ten minutes too late, and when the Cardinal had already saddled himself with an over-scrupulous, vacillating, ultra-honest ally. He could not now throw him over without endangering the success of his own schemes, and therefore brought all his powers of dissimulation into play to effectually hide the impatience which he felt.
The entrance of Don Miguel, Marquis de Suarez, created a diversion.
"Ah, my dear Marquis," said His Eminence, with a sigh of relief, "your arrival is most opportune. I pray you help me to persuade Lord Everingham that we are not scheming black treachery against His Grace of Wessex."
Don Miguel came forward, a smile of the keenest satisfaction upon his lips.
"Why treachery?" he said lightly.
But Everingham, having heard all that there was to know, was now in a hurry to depart. Having made up his mind to go through with his purpose to the end, he had but one wish—to turn his back upon the events which he had helped to bring about, and let them take their course.
With it all he felt a keen antipathy for these two plotters who had drawn him into their net. Whilst acting in concert with these Spaniards, he had an overwhelming desire to insult them or throw his contempt in their smooth, clever faces.
"Check and mate, my lord Cardinal," he said drily, as he took advantage of His Eminence's absence of mind to bring the game to a successful close. Then he rose to go. He was already booted and spurred for his journey northwards, and had unhitched his sword-belt when settling down to play. Whilst he was buckling it on again, Don Miguel approached him.
"I entreat you, milor, do not talk of treachery," said the young Spaniard earnestly. "Believe me that in this matter, your conscience is over-sensitive. After all, what does His Eminence propose? Only this, that for a little while—a few days only perhaps—His Grace of Wessex should be led to believe, through the testimony of his own eyes, that the Lady Ursula Glynde is not altogether worthy to become Duchess of Wessex. The wench Mirrab will play her part unconsciously, and therefore to perfection. No one but His Grace shall be witness of the scene which we propose to enact, and though his disenchantment will be complete, do you think that he will greatly suffer thereby? Surely you do not imagine that he has fallen seriously in love with Lady Ursula in one hour: his own amour-propre will suffer a very transitory pang et tout sera dit."
"The Duke of Wessex will never break his heart or quarrel with a friend for the sake of a woman," added the Cardinal in his smooth, gentle voice.
"Like the bee, His Grace lingers over a flower only whilst he finds the perfume sweet," continued Don Miguel. "If he thinks the Lady Ursula false, he will turn to some other pretty maid with an indulgent smile for woman's frailty."
All this sounded plausible enough, and Lord Everingham, at war with his own conscience, was only too willing to be persuaded that he was in no way wronging his friend. One scruple, however, still held him back and would not be denied.
"There is one person in all this, my lord Marquis," he said, "whom I notice you and His Eminence scarce trouble to think about."
"Who is that, milor?"
"The Lady Ursula Glynde!"
"Bah! What of her?"
"A girl's reputation, my lord, is in England held to be sacred."
"Why should her reputation suffer? Who will gossip of this affair? You? I'll not believe it! His Grace of Wessex?—perish the thought. Nay! to satisfy that over-sensitive conscience of yours, milor, may I remind you that you are not pledged to secrecy. If on your return from Scotland you find that the Lady Ursula's reputation has suffered in any way through the little scheme which we purpose, you will be at liberty to right the innocent and to confound the guilty. Is that not so, Your Eminence?"
"You have said it, my son," replied the Cardinal.
"Well, are you satisfied, milor?" queried Don Miguel, who at an impatient sign from the Cardinal was courteously leading Everingham towards the door.
"I feel somewhat easier in my mind, perhaps," responded the young man. "I dare admit that His Eminence and yourself are more right in your surmises than I am. But I have the honour of calling His Grace of Wessex my friend, and I have an earnest wish in my heart that I could stay another twenty-four hours here, to see that no grievous harm come to him from all this."
With a heavy sigh he finally took up his cloak and bade adieu to the two Spaniards.
Don Miguel escorted him as far as the cloisters, until a servitor took charge of his lordship. Then he turned back to the audience chamber, where he found His Eminence sitting placidly in a high-backed arm-chair.
"Marry! this was the most unprofitable half-hour I have ever spent in my life," quoth the Cardinal with a half-smothered yawn, and speaking in his own native tongue. "These English are indeed impossible with their scruples and their conscience, their friendships and their prejudices. Carramba! what would become of Europe if such follies had to be pandered to?"
"By the Mass! 'tis a mighty lucky chance which hath sent that blundering young fool to the frozen kingdom of Scotland to-night," rejoined Don Miguel with a laugh.
"Chance, my son, is an obedient slave and a cruel mistress. Let us yoke her to our war-chariot whilst she seems amenable to our schemes. I'll now retire to chapel and read my breviary there until Her Majesty hath need of me for her evening orisons. Her curiosity will not allow her to dispense with my services to-night, though she showed me the cold shoulder throughout the banquet. There's a good deal which devolves upon you, my son. Seek out His Grace of Wessex as soon as you can for the special interview which we have planned. I pray you be light-hearted and natural. It should not be a difficult task for Don Miguel de Suarez to play the part of a young and callous reprobate. I, the while, will watch my opportunity, and will have our dramatic little scene well in rehearsal by the time the Duke retires to his own apartments. He must cross this audience chamber to reach them. . . . There shall be no garish light . . . only an open window and the moon if she will favour us. . . . One short glimpse at the wench shall be sufficient. . . . I will contrive that it be brief but decisive. . . . Your talk with His Grace will have paved the way. . . . I will contrive . . . Chance will aid me, but I will contrive."
The voice was changed. It was no longer suave now, but harsh and determined, cruel too in its slow, cold monotones. His Eminence paused awhile, then said more quietly—
"What is the wench doing now?"
"Gazing in rapt admiration at her own face in the mirror," replied Don Miguel lightly, "and incessantly talking of the Duke of Wessex, whom she vows she will see before the dawn. She mutters a good deal about the stars, and some danger which she says threatens her dear lord. Ha! ha! ha!"
His laugh sounded hoarse and bitter, and there was a glimmer of hatred in his deep-set, dark Spanish eyes. There was obviously no love lost here 'twixt His Grace and these schemers, for His Eminence's bland unctuousness looked just now as dangerous as the younger man's hate.
"Does she talk intelligently?" asked the Cardinal.
"Intelligently? No!" quoth Don Miguel. "Awhile ago she talked intelligibly enough, but three bumpers of heavy Spanish wine have addled her feeble wits by now. I doubt me but the wench was always half crazed. I thought so when I saw her in that booth, covered with tinsel and uttering ridiculous incantations."
"She might prove dangerous too," remarked His Eminence softly.
"To the man who thwarted her—yes!"
"Then, if His Grace should find out the deception, and, mayhap, were none too lenient with her, she would . . ."
He did not complete the sentence, and after a moment or two said blandly—
"In either case, meseems, chance is bound to favour us. Our good Pasquale shall see that the wench is provided with a short dagger, eh? . . . of English make . . . and with unerring and . . . poisoned blade. . . . What? . . ."
There was silence between the two men after that. The thought which now reigned in both their minds was too dark to be put into more precise words.
Don Miguel took up a cloak, which was lying on a chair, and wrapped it round him. His Eminence drew a breviary from his pocket and settled himself more comfortably in the high-backed chair. Don Miguel turned to go, but at the door he paused and came back close to where the Cardinal was sitting. Then he said quietly—
"Is Your Eminence prepared for that eventuality too?"
"We must always be prepared for any eventuality, my son," replied the Cardinal gently.
Then he became absorbed in his breviary, whilst Don Miguel slowly strolled out of the room.