Escorted throughout the journey home by His Eminence, Ursula had not uttered one word. She sat in the barge, gazing out along the river, her veil closely drawn over her head, lest prying eyes noted the expression on her face.
She was as one who had seen all that she held most dear dying before her eyes. She had made her sacrifice willingly, had offered up her fair name, her every feminine instinct of honour and modesty upon the altar of her love. She had by that sublime holocaust offered up to God a thanksgiving for two brief hours of happiness which she had enjoyed.
How far, far away those transient moments seemed now to be. That half-hour in the park of old Hampton Court, with the nightingale singing its sweet song as an accompaniment to the great hosanna which filled her heart. She closed her eyes, for her heart ached nigh to bursting when she remembered that first touch of his hand upon hers, the gay, merry words which fell from his lips, the passionate ardour which gleamed in his eyes.
Oh God! she had worshipped one of Thy creatures and found him less than human after all. The murmur of the river as the boat glided along recalled to her those few moments among the rushes, when a golden October sun was sinking slowly in the west, and the water-fowl were calling to their mates, while she leant back in a boat, lulled by the peace of that exquisite hour, rocked to blissful rest by the gentle motion of the river, and dreaming of heaven, for he sat opposite to her, and every look of his told her that he thought her fair.
Oh God! she had worshipped one of Thy creatures! How great is Thy vengeance now!
He was false to love! false to her!
All jealousy had died from her heart. Her pain now was because he was false. She had forgotten the other woman, she only remembered him—that he did not love her, that he had accepted her sacrifice, and laughed bitterly, cruelly, when first she told her sublime lie for his sake.
At the Water Gate of the Palace the barge drew up and Ursula prepared to alight. She had spent the short moments of the transit between Westminster and Hampton Court in these heart-breaking daydreams. She hardly realized where she was and what she was doing. Once only, when first the cupolas of the Palace detached themselves from out the mist, she had felt such a desperate pain in her heart, that for a moment the wild hope came to her that God would be merciful and would allow her to die.
But when she alighted she suddenly became conscious that the Cardinal de Moreno was standing before her, his delicate white hand outstretched to help her to step ashore. She shrank away from him as from a viper who had stung her and might sting her again. Not understanding his attitude, nor the motives which had led him to suggest to her the lie that had saved Wessex, she yet knew by instinct that this purple-clad, benevolent person, this kindly and courteous diplomatist was a thing of evil which had first polluted and then killed her love.
His Eminence smiled—a kind, indulgent smile—when he saw the quick look of horror in the young girl's face, and he said very gently—
"Will you not allow me, my daughter, to accompany you to your apartments? The Queen, remember, hath confided you to my charge; I would wish to see you safely in Her Grace of Lincoln's care."
"Your Eminence does me too much honour," she said coldly. "I can find my way alone through the Water Gallery."
"Yet Her Majesty, meseems, will not allow her maids-of-honour to walk unattended in this part of the grounds," he added, with a slight touch of benevolent sarcasm.
"My comings and goings have ceased to interest Her Majesty," rejoined Ursula quietly, "and I am no longer of sufficient importance to require watching or to demand an escort."
"Well, as you will, my daughter. It is not for me to force my presence upon you, though, believe me, I would have wished to serve you."
He was about to beckon to his retinue, who had stood respectfully aside during this brief colloquy, when with a quick, wholly unexpected movement, the young girl placed her hand upon his arm and forced him once more to turn and face her.
"Your Eminence would wish to serve me?" she said, speaking rapidly and with a strange, peremptory ring in her voice.
"Can you doubt it, my child?" he replied urbanely.
"No," she said firmly, "for there is that between Your Eminence and me which, if known to the Queen of England, would for ever ruin your position in any court of Europe."
"You would find it difficult . . ." he began, whilst a slight look—oh, a mere shade!—of fear seemed to creep into his eyes.
"Nay! I was not thinking of betraying Your Eminence, nor the trap which you set for me, into which I was full willing to fall. I merely mentioned the existence of this secret for the awakening of your own conscience and because I have need of a service from you."
"I will endeavour to fulfil your behests, my child."
"I desire three words with His Grace of Wessex this afternoon."
"My child . . . !" he ejaculated, with still a tone of nervousness perceptible in his voice, and a trace of that newly awakened fear lurking in the anxious look which he cast upon her.
But she seemed quite self-possessed, and almost commanding as one who had the right to demand obedience. The Cardinal did not quite know how to read her character at this moment. There was no doubt that if she chose to betray the part which he had played in her voluntary self-immolation, there would be plenty of people at the English Court only too ready to believe her, or at any rate to seem to do so. The Queen of England herself would lend a willing ear to any tale which would release her from her promise, with a semblance of honour to herself. His Grace of Wessex stood fully exonerated now, and in the face of so much humiliation the Cardinal would find it impossible to demand a fresh trial, whilst Mary Tudor had probably already repented of her pledge to marry King Philip of Spain.
On the other hand, was it not dangerous to allow an interview to take place between Wessex and Ursula? In a flash the Cardinal reviewed the situation, and weighed all the consequences of the two courses thus opened before him—acquiescence and negation, and with his usual quickness of intellect he decided that acquiescence would be least dangerous. All he wanted was the time in which he could obtain the Queen's actual signature to her pledge. Once that was done, Mary Tudor would never go back on her royal sign-manual. In any case not much harm could be done in a brief interview. Both Wessex and Ursula were so far from guessing the truth, so ignorant of the tangled meshes of the intrigue in which they were still being held, that it would undoubtedly require the testimony of a third person at least, to bring daylight into the black shadows of the mystery.
Therefore His Eminence, after these few seconds of serious thought, resumed his kind, suave manner and, dismissing all fears from his mind, placed his services with alacrity at Lady Ursula's disposal.
"But I fear me," he added reflectively, "that you place too much reliance upon my humble powers. His Grace of Wessex is not like to listen to me, and meseems that you could more easily obtain an interview with him through your own influence, which just now should be boundless, if the Duke has any gratitude in his heart."
"Your Eminence seems to be the prime mover in this drama of puppets," rejoined Ursula drily, "and the Queen will put every obstacle in my way unless Your Eminence interferes."
"Your confidence honours me, my daughter; I will do my humble best beside Her Majesty, and you can do the rest. But this, on one condition."
"Name it."
"That you will have patience until to-morrow. His Grace arrives at the Palace to-night, Her Majesty will no doubt honour him specially; there may be festivities to-morrow afternoon. I think I can so contrive it that you have ten minutes alone then with His Grace."
She bent her head in acquiescence, and then stepped back so as to intimate to him that this interview was at an end.
"Be prudent, my daughter," he added, as he finally turned to go, "and remember that a sin is best atoned for by humility and silence."
"At what hour can I rely on Your Eminence's promise to-morrow?" she rejoined, calmly ignoring his urbane speech.
"In the early part of the afternoon, if God will grant me power."
"Your Eminence had best pray for that power then," she added finally.
The Cardinal took leave of her with his usual dignified benevolence. It did not suit him at present to appear to be taking notice of her thinly veiled threats. He did not think that she would actually betray him, even if she did talk to His Grace for a few moments, for to betray the lie would mean also to acknowledge her love and her jealousy, and proud Ursula Glynde would never suffer that humiliation.
The situation was delicate and difficult, more so perhaps than it had ever been, but the next few hours should see the Queen of England's signature at the bottom of a bond.
Thoughtfully His Eminence began walking along the Water Gallery, whilst Ursula quietly watched his purple robes gliding along the flagged corridor.
She too had gained her wish—to see and speak to Wessex. What would she say? and how would he reply? Vaguely she wondered if she would have the strength to show him the contempt which she felt for his cowardice, and inwardly prayed for the strength not to let him see how much she loved him still.