Читать книгу: «Sweet Mace: A Sussex Legend of the Iron Times», страница 13

How Sir Mark visited Dame Beckley’s Garden of Simples

In the course of the morning a mounted messenger came on to the Pool-house with a despatch for Sir Mark, whose brow clouded as he read that it was a peremptory recall to town.

He handed the despatch to the founder, who read it quietly, and returned it.

“Hah,” he said, “then I am to lose my guest. I hope Sir Mark does not quarrel with my hospitality.”

“Nay, but I do,” said Sir Mark, petulantly. “You deny me the very one thing I ask.”

“And what is that?” said the founder.

“Your daughter’s hand, Master Cobbe.”

“Nay, nay, she’s no mate for thee, my lad, so let that rest.”

“But I cannot, – I will not,” cried Sir Mark.

“But thou must, and thou shalt,” said the founder. “Now, what can I do to speed thee on thy journey?”

“Nothing,” was the reply, “for Sir Thomas has sent a spare horse for my service. Good Master Cobbe, hearken to me. Come: you will accept me as your son-in-law of the future?”

“Go back to the fine madams of the court, my lad, and you’ll forget my little lass in a week.”

“Nay, by Heaven, I never shall.”

“And we shall never see thee more.”

“You consent?”

“No,” said the founder, sternly. “Good-bye, my lad, and I hope thou forgivest me the prick in the shoulder I gave thee.”

“Forgive? I bless you for it,” cried Sir Mark, enthusiastically; “and as to our never meeting again, why, man, I shall be back here ere a month has gone by.”

“Harkye,” cried the founder, laying his hand on the other’s arm, “this can only be by some trick or other of thine in thy report. Sir Mark Leslie, if thou play’st me false, look well to thyself.”

“Play thee false, Master Cobbe! Nay, I’ll only play to win sweet Mace – and your money,” he added to himself. “I shall be back, I tell you, and before long. Now to make my adieux to your daughter.”

But Mace returned for answer through Janet that she was too ill to see Sir Mark; and the message was conveyed to him when he was alone.

“And now, pretty Janet, what’s it to be,” he said – “a kiss or this gold piece?”

“Both,” said Janet, promptly, as she held out hand and cheek.

“There they are, then, and mind this, Janet: help me in my suit to win thy mistress, and thou shalt have the handsomest gown thou canst choose, with a gilded stomacher like they wear at court.”

“Shall I?” cried the girl, with sparkling eyes.

“Ay, and aught else you like to ask for. Now, farewell.”

He printed another kiss on Janet’s rosy cheek and a few on her lips, and stayed some little time before he once more sought the founder, who had, however, gone to one of his sheds.

Here a farewell of anything but a friendly nature took place; and, forgetting to bestow any present on the workmen, Sir Mark mounted the horse awaiting him and rode away, to see what sort of a reception he should have from the pompous baronet and his child.

Sir Mark had had his mind so set upon Mace Cobbe that, when at Roehurst, he could think of nothing else, and his every thought on leaving the place was about how to get back from London with a good excuse for staying.

“I must get the old fellow a big order for powder and cannon,” he said, “and play my cards so that I have the commission to see the order executed, test the guns and the grains, and then I shall have the old man in my fingers. Only let him accept the Royal order, and I can work him. Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed, “powder not of required strength; flaw in this gun; want of carrying power in that; failure in accuracy in another. Why my dear father-in-law, thou wilt be at my mercy; and if I cannot work you to my ends, in spite of all independence and defiance, my name is not Mark Leslie.”

“Why,” he added, laughing, “if I failed in managing thee in any other way, Master Cobbe, I have only to hint to His Majesty that here is a clever artificer who maketh strong powder, which he supplies to the Papist, and I could have a score or two of men down to lay you by the heels. Surely I could manage it all if driven to urge him very hard. But, there, I can get on better by driving him with a light hand. Let me see, why war materials will be wanted for Holland! Tut, lad, it will be easy enough to do.”

He rode gently on, having a care to prevent his horse from setting his feet in the deeper holes; and now began a fresh set of thoughts, to wit, concerning Mistress Anne.

“By Bacchus and Venus, and all the gods and goddesses who had to do with the making of love,” he cried, “and am I to face that bright-eyed, ruddy-haired piece of tyranny? She was ready to fall in love with me at the first meeting, and here have I treated her and Sir Thomas most scurvily. How am I to behave? Apologise, or take the high hand?”

“The latter!” he cried, touching the fat horse he rode with the spur. “If I am humble, I shall be slighted. Hang it, I will be courted, for I am from the court.”

He rode on through the pleasant woodlands, enjoying the sweet-scented breeze, but only for the agreeable sensations it afforded him; and, almost leaving the horse to follow its own bent, he at last came in sight of the stone pillars which supported the gates leading up to the Moat.

It was a spot that would have delighted poet or artist, that long, embowering avenue of trees, at the end of which stood the mossy pillars, each supporting an impossible monster, which seemed to be putting out its tongue derisively at the visitors to the old house.

Riding along the avenue and through the gates, Sir Mark passed a park-like stretch of grass, and then a belt of trees which almost hid the house, till he was close up to the old moat, from which it took its name; a broad, deep dyke of water that surrounded the building, bordered with a wide-spreading lawn of soft green turf, which was kept closely-shaven, and was dotted with spreading trees, and gnarled, rugged old hawthorns. This wide lawn ran from the edge of the moat to the ivy-grown walls of the quaint mansion, evidently the work, with its florid red brick, of some clever architect of Henry VII’s days. To a lover of the picturesque, the place was perfect, with its ivy-softened walls and buttresses, quaintly-shaped windows, shady corners, seats beneath hawthorns, and clipped yews that dotted the old pleasaunce; and nothing could have been more attractive than the wild garden formed by the great lawn, broken by mossy boles, which ran down to the great lily-dappled moat.

Sir Mark drew rein upon the old stone bridge, and gazed around him for a while at the broad leaves floating on the dark, clear water, where some great carp every now and then thrust up its broad snout and with a loud smack sucked down a hapless fly. There was something very attractive about the place; the quaint red building seen amongst the oaks and firs; the dashes of colour here and there of Dame Beckley’s flower-beds, many of which were rich with strange plants that Gil Carr had brought from foreign lands and given to Mace for the garden at the Pool-house, and of which Dame Beckley had begged or taken cuttings.

There was an air of sleepy calmness about the old moat that had its effect upon Sir Mark, whose musings upon the bridge took something of this form.

“I am in debt; I get more deeply so; and I can never recover myself, as my expenses increase, without wedding a rich wife. Sir Thomas Beckley, Baronet, cannot live for ever; and this would be a charming place for me to settle down to when I get middle-aged and stout, and have grown to care little for the court.

“But then the lady!

“Hah!” he sighed, “It is the way of the world. If rustic Mace, with her sweet beauty, had thrown herself at me, and dropped like a luscious fruit into my hands, I should have wearied of her in a week; but she is hard to reach so I strive the more; while Mistress Anne, here —

“Hah! I will not be too rash. Suppose I temporise, and am gentle and respectful by turns. Even if I marry Mace, there is no reason why I should scorn one who is nearly as fair. Besides which, if Master Culverin is in favour, then a little revenge upon him by tasting the sweet lips of his other love would not come amiss. Only I must be cautious, or I may go wrong. By Bacchus! here is the lady herself!”

He touched the flank of his horse, for just then he caught sight of the gay colours of Mistress Anne’s brocaded gown, where she sat upon a rustic seat, reading beneath a shady tree, of course sublimely ignorant of Sir Mark’s approach, as she had been watching for him ever since the messenger had left; and, though her eyes were fixed upon her book, she had read no words since she had seen him pause upon the bridge, and her heart went fluttering beneath its hard belaced cage.

Sir Mark did not know it, but the lady who sat before him in the old pleasaunce, not far from the moat, had come to precisely the same determination as himself. Could she win Gil she would, for his dashing life of adventure always made him seem quite a hero of romance; but, failing Gil, Sir Mark would do. So once more she determined to play a cautious waiting game of the two-strings-to-the-bow fashion; and, therefore, when Sir Mark leaped from the fat cob, sent by Sir Thomas by her special command, and approached her hat in hand, no stranger could possibly have imagined that there was such a place in the world as the Pool-house, where dwelt sweet Mace Cobbe, to whose greater attractions Sir Mark had yielded, and stayed away. The handsome courtier from town might have just returned from a visit to the foundry after but a few hours’ absence so smiling and pleasant was his reception beneath the trees.

“By Bacchus, she’s a sensible girl after all,” thought Sir Mark.

“I may bring him to my knees yet,” thought Mistress Anne; “and, if I do, I’ll hold him till Gil Carr asks me to be his wife, and then – ”

A flash sped from her eye full of malicious glee, as, taking her hand once more à la minuet, Sir Mark led her up towards the house, where, well-schooled by his daughter, Sir Thomas squeezed his fat face into a smile, and declared he was glad to see his guest again.

“Your inspection has taken you a long time, Sir Mark,” he said.

“It has been a tedious task,” was the reply; “and even now I have not done.”

“Indeed?” said Mistress Anne.

“Nay,” he replied; “it is quite possible that I may have to return within the month to continue my report.”

As he spoke he glanced furtively at Mistress Anne, to see what effect it would have upon her. To his satisfaction, she clapped her hands joyously.

“I am so glad,” she cried, with childlike glee. Then, as if ashamed of her outburst, she looked down and blushed, ending by glancing timidly at Sir Mark.

“She’s very charming, after all,” he thought, as he smiled upon her. “Poor girl, she can’t help it, I suppose;” and he felt a pleasant glow of self-satisfaction and conceit run through his veins.

“We see so little company,” simpered Anne.

“Really, you’ve seen very little of me,” said Sir Mark. “But duty – duty, Sir Thomas. I felt bound to stay there and keep matters well under my own eyes.”

“It must have been very tedious and tiresome,” said Anne, innocently; “but then, Mace Cobbe is very nice and pleasant, is she not?”

Sir Mark looked sharply to the speaker to see if this was a venomed shaft, but Mistress Anne’s eyes were as wide open as her face was vacant and smooth.

“Yes,” he said, quickly; “a very pleasant, sensible girl. Well educated, too.”

“Yes,” said Anne, dreamily. “I like Mace Cobbe, only dear father and my mother don’t quite approve of my making her an intimate.”

The faint “Oh!” that escaped from Sir Thomas Beckley’s lips must have been caused by a twinge of gout, for he did not venture to speak when he caught his daughter’s eye.

“Will you not come and see my mother, Sir Mark?” continued Anne, sweetly. “She is down in her simple-garden, by the southern wall.”

“I shall be delighted,” was the reply; and rising, he escorted the lady out through an open bay window, and along the closely-shaven lawn.

“Anne means to marry him,” said Sir Thomas, gazing after his daughter, and rubbing his nose in a vexed manner. “What a smooth, soft puss it is! Who’d think she had such claws?”

“She’s innocence itself,” said Sir Mark to himself, as he twisted his moustache-points, and smiled down tenderly at his companion, who blushed and trembled and faltered when he spoke to her, as naturally as a simple-hearted girl who had been longing for his return. “By all the gods it would be much easier work to make up matters here!”

“Let me run on, and tell my mother you have come, Sir Mark,” said Anne, ingenuously.

“Nay, nay,” said the guest, pressing the trembling little white hand he took; “I have not many hours to stay.”

“Oh!” cried Anne, gazing with piteous wide open eyes. “You are not going away to-day?”

“In two hours’ time, sweet, I must be on the road to London. Must – I must.”

To give Anne credit for her efforts, she tried very hard to squeeze two little tears out of the corners of her eyes; but they were obstinate, and refused to come. She heaved a deep sigh, though, and gazed sadly down at her little silk shoes, as they toddled over the short grass, her heels being packed up on the bases of a couple of inverted pyramids, which just allowed her toes to reach the ground.

“Poor child!” thought Sir Mark; and the desire was very strong upon him to just bend down and kiss her. But he resisted the temptation bravely, his strength of mind being fortified by the knowledge that they were well in sight of the latticed windows.

A minute later, and they had to go through a narrow path, winding through and overarched by broad-leaved nut-stubbs, which formed quite a bower belaced with golden sunbeams, that seemed to fall in drops upon the enchanter’s night-shade, the briony, and patches of long thick grass.

“Is this the way to the simple-garden, Mistress Anne?” he said, playing with the hand that lay upon his arm.

“Yes, Sir Mark,” she faltered; “it is close at hand.”

It might have been a mile away as far as seeing what went on in the nutwalk was concerned; and feeling this, and a very tender sensation of pitying sorrow for the weak girl at his side, Sir Mark thought that to yield to the temptation would be only kindness, and an act that would solace the poor child, so he said with a sigh:

“Yes, Mistress Anne, I must away in a couple of hours.”

“So soon?” she whispered.

“Yes; so soon.”

And then somehow, sweet Mistress Anne, in her girlish innocency, thought not of resistance, as her companion drew her softly nearer and nearer to him, one of his arms passing round her slight waist, so that she hung upon it, with her head thrown slightly back. Her veined lids drooped over her eyes, her lips were half parted to show her white teeth, and the lips themselves were red and moist as her soft perfumed breath. For she was very young, and did not know what it was to be taken in the arms of a man, saving upon such an occasion as that when Gil had held her and half borne her along. It was quite natural, then, that when Sir Mark’s lips drew nearer and pressed hers, at first so softly that a gnat would have hardly felt the touch, then harder, more closely, and ended by joining them tightly, that she should not shrink from the contact, but, though motionless, seem to passively return kiss for kiss – a score of kisses joined in one.

This one might have lasted an hour or a moment – Sir Mark did not know. All he knew was that for the time being Mace Cobbe was forgotten, and that the kiss was very nice. In fact, it seemed to him that he was just in the middle of it when an excited voice broke it right in half by exclaiming —

“Oh, my gracious!”

Looking up, he found himself face to face with dumpy, chubby Dame Beckley, staring vacantly astounded, in her spectacles and garden-gloves, her basket having dropped from her hand.

“I – beg – I – ”

“Oh, Sir Mark!” exclaimed the lady, angrily; and then, catching her daughter’s eye, she went on in a trembling, fluttering way; “I never thought – I couldn’t see – I really – Oh, dear me; how do you do, Sir Mark? I – I – I am glad to see you back.”

He held out his hand, smiling in her face the while, and in her confusion Dame Beckley placed therein a little trowel, making him start. Then, starting herself, she grew more confused, and snatched the trowel away, dropped it, and nearly struck her head against the visitor, as he stooped quickly to pick up the fallen tool.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Mark,” she stammered, as she finally succeeded in getting trowel and garden-gloves comfortably settled in the basket, a frown from her daughter hastening her pace.

“Sir Mark was coming with me to see you in the simple-garden, mother,” said Mistress Anne, calmly enough. “Will you show him some of your choicest plants?”

“Oh, yes, child, if I – that is – bless me, I hardly know what I am saying. This way, Sir Mark, this way,” and turning abruptly she led the little party down the garden.

Sir Mark pressed Mistress Anne’s hand, and gave her a meaning look and smile, but he was disconcerted to find his companion’s face as innocent and guileless-looking as her limpid eyes.

“Confound it all,” he muttered; “I must not trifle with her, or I shall break the poor girl’s heart.”

“These are my simples, Sir Mark,” said the dame, pointing to the various old-fashioned herbs growing beneath the shelter of a sunny wall; lavender, rosemary, rue, and balm; peppermint, spearmint, and lemon-thyme; pennyroyal, basil, and marigold; wall-hyssop; and sweet marjoram, borage, and dill, with a score more, – which she hastened to point out to hide her confusion.

“That is agrimony, Sir Mark, for fevers, and that is the new long snake-rooted glycorice from Spain, a fine thing for colds and burning throats. These are the echeverias for making up when there are scalds and burns, and applying cool to the place.”

“And what is that great long-leaved plant, madame?” said Sir Mark, showing an interest in what he saw.

“The Indian weed – tobacco, sir, and this is a strange new gourd from the same land; and this is a root that grows into curious floury lumps or balls, when underground. But maybe you have heard of them before we simple people in the country. It is the batata.”

“Yes; I have heard of that, and tasted it too,” said Sir Mark.

“Would you like to see my vines, Sir Mark?” said the lady, eagerly. “They are in the shelter of the old walls here, and I ripen my grapes, and make my wine, that you shall taste when we go in.”

“I thank you, madam, and shall be right glad.”

“Here, too, is my woodsage, or germander,” cried Dame Beckley, eagerly. “It is a fine bitter, with which we make our ale. I have tried to get Cobbe at the Pool to use it when he brews, but he is obstinate and headstrong, and will take the strange-smelling hop-nettle, which twines and runs up the stakes. Maybe Sir Mark has seen the plantation there.”

“Ay, that I have,” said Sir Mark, smiling at Anne, while her mother prattled on.

“The founder has a goodly garden, but not like mine,” said the little lady, proudly. “He never grows such apples as these, nor yet such berries or such plums. I have told him much and given him many seeds, but he is a headstrong and a hard man to teach.”

Sir Mark bowed.

“I gave him the graft to place in his stock for the choice Christmas pippins, – the Noel beauty, Sir Mark, – or he would not have had a worthy apple in his garden. Now, I prithee, come and see my bees.”

“Perhaps Sir Mark would not care to see the bees, mother,” said Mistress Anne, demurely; “he might get stung.”

“I should be too pleased to see them,” said Sir Mark, eagerly; and he was led up this long walk, down that, between the closely-cropped yew-trees and the edges of box, all kept in wondrously-regular order, and the beds lush with many-coloured, sweet-scented plants, which grew in clusters luxuriant and strong.

Sir Mark assumed a look of pleasure, and Mistress Anne was innocence itself; her eyes downcast and a trembling, hesitating expression in her countenance, though she plainly saw that Sir Mark was wearied out and longed to go in and rest.

“There is the orchard, that Sir Mark has not yet seen,” cried Dame Beckley, to her daughter’s great delight, as she hung upon the visitor’s arm.

“But, ladies, I must be thinking of my journey back to town.”

“Not without tasting our hospitality, Sir Mark,” exclaimed Dame Beckley, apparently in answer to a signal from her child, and leading the way. So he was amply feasted and petted for the time, until, mounting horse once more, he rode over the bridge, and stopped to wave his hand before the trees hid Mistress Anne and her mother from view, with Sir Thomas in his feather-stuffed breeches and cock-tail hat.