Part 50 (1/2)

”It bodes,” said Richard, ”that I have brought thee back a good daughter with a pair of pale cheeks, which must be speedily coloured anew in our northern breezes.”

”Ah, how sweet to be here at home,” cried Cicely, turning round in rapturous greeting to all the serving men and women, and all the dogs. ”We want only the boys! Where is Ned?”

Their arrival having been unannounced, Ned was with Master Sniggius, whose foremost scholar he now was, and who kept him much later than the other lads to prepare him for Cambridge; but it was the return to this tender foster-mother that seemed such extreme bliss to Cicely. All was most unlike her reluctant return two years previously, when nothing but her inbred courtesy and natural sweetness of disposition had prevented her from being contemptuous of the country home. Now every stone, every leaf, seemed precious to her, and she showed herself, even as she ascended the steps to the hall, determined not to be the guest but the daughter. There was a little movement on the parents' part, as if they bore in mind that she came as a princess; but she flew to draw up Master Richard's chair, and put his wife's beside it, nor would she sit, till they had prayed her to do so; and it was all done with such a graceful bearing, the n.o.ble carriage of her head had become so much more remarkable, and a sweet readiness and responsiveness of manner had so grown upon her, that Susan looked at her in wondering admiration, as something more her own and yet less her own than ever, tracing in her for the first time some of the charms of the Queen of Scots.

All the household hovered about in delight, and confidences could not be exchanged just then: the travellers had to eat and drink, and they were only just beginning to do so when Ned came home. He was of slighter make than his brothers, and had a more scholarly aspect: but his voice made itself heard before him. ”Is it true? Is it true that my father is come? And our Cis too? Ha!” and he rushed in, hardly giving himself time for the respectful greeting to his father, before he fell upon Cis with undoubting brotherly delight.

”Is Humfrey come?” he asked as soon as he could take breath. ”No? I thought 'twas too good to be all true.”

”How did you hear?”

”Hob the hunter brought up word that the Queen's head was off. What?” as Cicely gave a start and little scream. ”Is it not so?”

”No, indeed, boy,” said his father. ”What put that folly into his head?”

”Because he saw, or thought he saw, Humfrey and Cis riding home with you, sir, and so thought all was over with the Queen of Scots. My Lady, they say, had one of her shrieking fits, and my Lord sent down to ask whether I knew aught; and when he found that I did not, would have me go home at once to bid you come up immediately to the Manor; and before I had gotten out Dapple, there comes another message to say that, in as brief s.p.a.ce as it will take to saddle them, there will be beasts here to bring up you and my mother and Cis, to tell my Lady Countess all that has befallen.”

Cis's countenance so changed that kind Susan said, ”I will make thine excuses to my Lady. Thou art weary and ill at ease, and I cannot have thee set forth at once again.”

”The Queen would never have sent such sudden and hasty orders,” said Cicely. ”Mother, can you not stay with me?-I have so much to say to you, and my time is short.”

The Talbots were, however, too much accustomed to obedience to the peremptory commands of their feudal chiefs to venture on such disobedience. Susan's proposal had been a great piece of audacity, on which she would hardly have ventured but for her consciousness that the maiden was no Talbot at all.

Yet to Cis the dear company of her mother Susan, even in the Countess's society, seemed too precious to be resigned, and she had likewise been told that Lady Shrewsbury's mind had greatly changed towards Mary, and that since the irritation of the captive's presence had been removed, she remembered only the happier and kindlier portion of their past intercourse. There had been plenty of quarrels with her husband, but none so desperate as before, and at this present time the Earl and Countess were united against the surviving sons, who, with Gilbert at their head, were making large demands on them. Cicely felt grateful to the Earl for his absence from Fotheringhay, and, though disappointed of her peaceful home evening, declared she would come up to the Lodge rather than lose sight of ”mother.” The stable people, more considerate than their Lord and Lady, proved to have sent a horse litter for the conveyance of the ladies called out on the wet dark October evening, and here it was that Cis could enjoy her first precious moment of privacy with one for whom she had so long yearned. Susan rejoiced in the heavy lumbering conveyance as a luxury, sparing the maiden's fatigue, and she was commencing some inquiries into the indisposition which had procured this holiday, when Cicely broke in, ”O mother, nothing aileth me. It is not for that cause-but oh! mother, I am to go to see Queen Elizabeth, and strive with her for her-for my mother's life and freedom.”

”Thou! poor little maid. Doth thy father-what am I saying? Doth my husband know?”

”Oh yes. He will take me. He saith it is my duty.”

”Then it must be well,” said Susan in an altered voice on hearing this. ”From whom came the proposal?”

”I made it,” said Cicely in a low, feeble voice on the verge of tears. ”Oh, dear mother, thou wilt not tell any one how faint of heart I am? I did mean it in sooth, but I never guessed how dreadful it would grow now I am pledged to it.”

”Thou art pledged, then, and canst not falter?”

”Never,” said Cicely; ”I would not that any should know it, not even my father; but mother, mother, I could not help telling you. You will let no one guess? I know it is unworthy, but-”

”Not unworthy to fear, my poor child, so long as thou dost not waver.”

”It is, it is unworthy of my lineage. My mother queen would say so,” cried Cis, drawing herself up.

”Giving way would be unworthy,” said Susan, ”but turn thou to thy G.o.d, my child, and He will give thee strength to carry through whatever is the duty of a faithful daughter towards this poor lady; and my husband, thou sayest, holds that so it is?”

”Yea, madam; he craved license to take me home, since I have truly often been ailing since those dreadful days at Tixall, and he hath promised to go to London with me.”

”And is this to be done in thine own true name?” asked Susan, trembling somewhat at the risk to her husband, as well as to the maiden.

”I trow that it is,” said Cis, ”but the matter is to be put into the hands of M. de Chateauneuf, the French Amba.s.sador. I have a letter here,” laying her hand on her bosom, ”which, the Queen declares, will thoroughly prove to him who I am, and if I go as under his protection, none can do my father any harm.”

Susan hoped so, but she trusted to understand all better from her husband, though her heart failed her as much as, or even perhaps more than, did that of poor little Cis. Master Richard had sped on before their tardy conveyance, and had had time to give the heads of his intelligence before they reached the Manor house, and when they were conducted to my Lady's chamber, they saw him, by the light of a large fire, standing before the Earl and Countess, cap in hand, much as a groom or gamekeeper would now stand before his master and mistress.