Part 4 (1/2)
”Tell me all about Brandon; I am interested in him. I believe if I knew more persons like him I should be a better girl, notwithstanding he is one of the boldest men I ever knew. He says anything he wishes, and, with all his modest manner, is as cool with me as if I were a burgher's daughter. His modesty is all on the outside, but it is pretty, and pretty things must be on the outside to be useful. I wonder if Judson thought him modest?”
Jane talked of Brandon to Mary, who was in an excellent humor, until the girls fell asleep.
When Jane told me of this I became frightened; for the surest way to any woman's heart is to convince her that you make her better, and arouse in her breast purer impulses and higher aspirations. It would be bad enough should Brandon fall in love with the princess, which was almost sure to happen, but for them to fall in love with each other meant Brandon's head upon the block, and Mary's heart bruised, broken and empty for life. Her strong nature, filled to the brim with latent pa.s.sion, was the stuff of which love makes a conflagration that burns to destruction; and should she learn to love Brandon, she would move heaven and earth to possess him.
She whose every desire from childhood up had been gratified, whose every whim seemed to her a paramount necessity, would stop at nothing when the dearest wish a woman's heart can coin was to be gained or lost. Brandon's element of prudence might help him, and might forestall any effort on his part to win her, but Mary had never heard of prudence, and man's caution avails but little when set against woman's daring. In case they both should love, they were sure to try for each other, and in trying were equally sure to find ruin and desolation.
A few evenings after this I met the princess in the queen's drawing-room. She beckoned me to her, and, resting her elbows on the top of a cabinet, her chin in her hands, said: ”I met your friend, Captain Brandon, a day or two ago. Did he tell you?”
”No,” I answered; ”Jane told me, but he has not mentioned it.”
It was true Brandon had not said a word of the matter, and I had not spoken of it, either. I wanted to see how long he would remain silent concerning an adventure that would have set most men of the court boasting at a great rate. To have a tilt with the ever-victorious Mary, and to come off victor, was enough, I think, to loosen any tongue less given to bragging than Brandon's.
”So,” continued Mary, evidently somewhat piqued, ”he did not think his presentation to me a thing worth mentioning? We had a little pa.s.sage-at-arms, and, to tell you the truth, I came off second best, and had to acknowledge it, too. Now, what do you think of this new friend of yours? And he did not boast about having the better of me?
After all, there is more virtue in his silence than I at first thought.” And she threw back her head, and clapped her hands and laughed with the most contagious little ripple you ever heard. She seemed not to grieve over her defeat, but dimpled as though it were a huge joke, the thought of which rather pleased her than otherwise.
Victory had grown stale for her, although so young.
”What do I think of my new friend?” I repeated after her; and that gave me a theme upon which I could enlarge eloquently. I told her of his learning, notwithstanding the fact that he had been in the continental wars ever since he was a boy. I repeated to her stories of his daring and bravery, that had been told to me by his uncle, the Master of the Horse, and others, and then I added what I knew Lady Jane had already said. I had expected to be brief, but to my surprise found a close and interested listener, even to the twice-told parts, and drew my story out a little, to the liking of us both.
”Your friend has an earnest advocate in you, Sir Edwin,” said the princess.
”That he has,” I replied. ”There is nothing too good to say of him.”
I knew that Mary, with her better, clearer brain, held the king almost in the palm of her hand, so I thought to advance Brandon's fortune by a timely word.
”I trust the king will see fit to favor him, and I hope that you will speak a word in his behalf, should the opportunity occur.”
”What in the name of heaven have we to give him?” cried Mary impatiently, for she kept an eye on things political, even if she were only a girl--”the king has given away everything that can be given, already, and now that the war is over, and men are coming home, there are hundreds waiting for more. My father's great treasure is squandered, to say nothing of the money collected from Empson, Dudley, and the other commissioners. There is nothing to give unless it be the t.i.tles and estate of the late Duke of Suffolk. Perhaps the king will give these to your paragon, if you will paint him in as fair a light as you have drawn him for me.” Then throwing back her head with a laugh, ”Ask him.”
”It would be none too much for his deserts,” I replied, falling in with her humor.
”We will so arrange it then,” went on Mary, banteringly; ”Captain Brandon no longer, but Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. How sounds it, Master Caskoden?”
”Sweet in my ears,” I replied.
”I really believe you would have the king's crown for him, you absurd man, if you could get it. We must have so interesting a person at court; I shall at least see that he is presented to the queen at once.
I wonder if he dances; I suppose not. He has probably been too busy cutting and thrusting.” And she laughed again at her own pleasantry.
When the mirth began to gather in her face and the dimples came responsive to her smiles; when she threw back her perfectly poised head, stretching her soft, white throat, so full and round and beautiful, half closing her big brown eyes till they shone again from beneath the shade of those long, black sweeping lashes; when her red lips parted, showing her teeth of pearl, and she gave the little clap of her hands--a sort of climax to the soft, low, rippling laugh--she made a picture of such exquisite loveliness that it is no wonder men were fools about her, and caught love as one catches a contagion. I had it once, as you already know, and had recovered. All that prevented a daily relapse was my fair, sweet antidote, Jane, whose image rested in my heart, a lasting safeguard.
”I wonder if your prodigy plays cards; that is, such as we ladies play?” asked Mary. ”You say he has lived much in France, where the game was invented, but I have no doubt he would scorn to waste his time at so frivolous a pursuit, when he might be slaughtering armies single-handed and alone.”
”I do not know as to his dancing and card-playing, but I dare venture a wager he does both,” I replied, not liking her tone of sarcasm. She had yet to learn who Brandon was.
”I will hazard ten crowns,” said Mary quickly, for she loved a wager and was a born gambler.
”Taken,” said I.
”We will try him on both to-morrow night in my drawing-room,” she continued. ”You bring him up, but tell no one. I will have Jane there with her lute, which will not frighten you away, I know, and we will try his step. I will have cards, too, and we shall see what he can do at triumph. Just we four--no one else at all. You and Jane, the new Duke of Suffolk and I. Oh! I can hardly wait,” and she fairly danced with joyous antic.i.p.ation.