Malcolm felt himself a man, and Esclairmonde"s protector, all at once, as he stood forth, still holding her hand.
"Monseigneur," he said, "this lady consents to intrust her troth to me, and be affianced to me"-his chest heaved, but he still spoke firmly-"on condition that no word be spoken of the matter, nor any completion of the rite take place until the mourning for King Henry be at an end;" and, at a sort of shiver from Esclairmonde, he added: "Not for a year, by which time I shall be of full age."
"A strange bridegroom!" said Jaqueline; "but maybe you do well to get her on what terms you can. Do you agree, Monseigneur?"
In truth, Monseigneur may have been relieved that the trial of strength between him and his ward had thus terminated. He was only anxious to have the matter concluded.
The agreement, binding Malcolm to accept a stated number of crowns in instalments, as the value of Esclairmonde"s lands, under the guarantee of the Duke of Burgundy and King James of Scotland, had all been long ago signed, sealed, and secured; and there was nothing to prevent the fiancailles, or espousals, from taking place at once.
It was a much more real ceremony than a mere betrothal, being, in fact, in the eye of the civil law a marriage, though the full blessing and the sacramental words of union were deferred for the completion of the rite. It was the first part of the Marriage Service, binding the pair so indissolubly to one another, that neither could enter into wedlock with any one else as long as the other lived-except, of course, by Papal dispensation; and in cases of stolen weddings, it was all that was deemed needful.
All therefore that remained to be done was, that the Bishop summoned his chaplain to serve as a witness and as scribe; and then the two young people, in their deep mourning dresses, standing before the Bishop, vowed to belong to none other than to one another, and the betrothal rings being produced, were placed on their fingers, and their hands were clasped. Malcolm"s was steady, as he felt Esclairmonde"s rest in his untrembling, but with the quietness of one who trusted all in all where she trusted at all.
"Poor children! they have all to learn," hilariously shouted the Countess. "They have forgotten the kiss!"
"Will you suffer it, my sister?" said Malcolm, with burning cheeks.
"My brother and my guardian!" responded Esclairmonde, raising the white brow to his lips.
At that moment back went the door, and in flew Alice Montagu, crying aloud, "Clairette! the Queen-oh, Madame, your pardon! but I am sent for Esclairmonde. The Queen is in worse fits than ever. Sir Lewis can"t get the ring from her. They think she will rave like her father presently! Come!"
Esclairmonde could only hurry away at this; while Alice, grasping her hand, continued:
"Oh, have they been persecuting you? I dreaded it when I saw yon little wretch; but-oh, Esclairmonde, what is this?" in an utterly changed voice.
"He holds my faith in trust. He will restore it," said Esclairmonde, hurriedly.
But Lady Montagu spoke not another word; and, indeed, they were hard upon the English queen"s rooms, whence they already heard hysterical screams of pa.s.sion.
Jaqueline had immediately set forth in the same direction out of curiosity; and Malcolm in much anxiety, since the mission that he had been cautioned to guard so jealously seemed in danger of being known everywhere. He had himself been allowed to stand by the Queen"s bedside, and rehea.r.s.e James"s message; but when he had further hinted of his being sent by Bedford to bring the ring, the Queen, perhaps at the mention of the brother-in-law, pouted, knew nothing of any ring, and supposed M. le Duc meant to strip her, a poor desolate widow, of all her jewels.
Then Malcolm had spoken in private with Sir Lewis Robsart, who knew the ring was among her jewels, and promised to get it for him as soon as was possible; and it was while waiting for this that Malcolm had been summoned to the Countess of Hainault"s apartments.
But ere Sir Lewis could get the ear of the Queen, as he now told Malcolm, her mother had been with her. Catherine was dull, jealous, unwilling to part with anything, but always easily coaxed over. Her mother Isabeau had, on the other hand, a good deal of low cunning and selfishness, and understood how valuable an instrument might be a duplicate seal of a deceased monarch. Therefore she instigated her daughter to deny that she possessed it, and worked her up into a state of impracticability, in which Sir Lewis Robsart was unable to deal with her, and only produced so wild a tempest of pa.s.sion as perfectly to appal both him and her ladies.
That the Duke of Bedford had sent for a ring, which she would not give up, was known over the whole palace; the only matter still not perhaps known was, what was the value of that individual ring.
Robsart, however, promised to exonerate Malcolm from having shown any indiscretion; he charged it all on himself for having left his Queen for an instant to Isabeau.
Meanwhile, Malcolm and he, with other n.o.bles and ladies, waited, waited in the outer chamber, listening to the fearful storm of shrieks and cries, till they began to spend themselves and die away; and then they heard Esclairmonde"s low voice singing her lullaby, and every one breathed freer, as though relieved, and murmurs of conversation rose again. Malcolm moved across to greet the Lady Montagu; and though she looked at him with all the disdain her little gentle face could accomplish, he had somehow a spring and strength in him that could not now be brow-beaten.
He bent over her, and said, "Lady, I see you know all. It is but a trust."
"If you so treat it, Sir, you will do well," responded the young matron, with as much stern gravity as she could a.s.sume; the fact being that she longed to break down and cry heartily, that Esclairmonde should so far have failed, and become like other people.
Long, long they waited-Malcolm with a strange dreamy feeling at his heart, neither triumph nor disappointment, but something between both, and peace above all. Dinner was served in the hall; the company returned to the outer apartment, yet still all was silent within; till at last, late in the afternoon, there came a black figure forth from under the black hangings, and Esclairmonde, turning to Lady Warwick, said, "The Queen is awake, and desires her ladies" presence." And then coming towards Malcolm, who was standing near Sir Lewis Robsart, she placed in his hand the signet-ring.
Both, while the attendants of the Queen filed back into her chamber, eagerly demanded how the ring had been obtained.
"Poor lady!" said Esclairmonde, "she was too much spent to withhold anything. She was weak and exhausted with cries and tears; and when she had slept, she was as meek as a lamb; and there was no more ado but to bid her remember that the blessed King her lord would have bidden her let the ring be broken up at once, lest it should be used so as to harm her son."
That Esclairmonde had prevailed by that gentle force of character which no one could easily resist, could not, however, be doubted for a moment; and a fresh thrill of amazement, and almost of joy, came over Malcolm at the sense that he had become the protector of such a being, and that in a sort she belonged to him, and was in his power, having trusted herself to him.
Robsart advised, and Esclairmonde concurred in the counsel, that Lord Glenuskie should set forth for Vincennes immediately, before there should be time for any more cabals, or for Queen Isabeau to have made her daughter repent of having delivered up the signet-ring.
Malcolm therefore at once took leave of his affianced, venturing to kiss her hand as he looked wistfully in her face, and said, "Dear lady, how shall I thank you for this trust?"
Esclairmonde gave her sweet grave smile, as she said, "To G.o.d"s keeping I commend you, Sir." She would not even bid him be true to his trust; it would have seemed to her to insult him in whom her confidence was placed, and she only added: "I shall ever bless you for having saved me. Farewell! Now am I bound for ever to pray for you and your sister."
And it would be impossible to tell how the sense of Esclairmonde"s trust, and of the resolute self-denial it would require of him, elevated Malcolm"s whole tone, and braced his mind. The taking away of his original high purpose had rendered him as aimless and pleasure-loving as any ordinary lad; but the situation in which he now stood-guarding this saintly being for her chosen destiny, at the expense of all possible earthly projects for his own happiness or ambition-was such as to bring out that higher side of his nature that had well-nigh collapsed. As he stood alone in the ante-room, waiting until his horse and escort should be ready for his return, a flood of happiness seemed to gush over him. Esclairmonde was no more his own, indeed, than was King Henry"s signet; but the trust was very precious, and gave him at least the power of thinking of her as joined by a closer link than even his sister Lilias. And towards her his conscience was again clear, for this very betrothal put marriage out of the question for him, and was a real seal of his dedication. He only felt as if his heart ought not to be so light and peaceful, while his penance was still unsaid, his absolution not yet p.r.o.nounced.
CHAPTER XV: THE TRUST
James of Scotland and John of Bedford sat together in the twilight of a long and weary day, spent by the one in standing like a statue at the head of his deceased friend as a part of the pageant of the lying-in-state in the chapel, whither mult.i.tudes had crowded throughout the day to see the "mighty victor, mighty lord, lie low on his funeral couch;" the n.o.bles gazing with a certain silent and bitter satisfaction at him who had not only broken the pride of their country, but had with his iron hand repressed their own private exactions, while the poor and the peasants openly bewailed him as the father and the friend who had stood between them and their harsh feudal lords. By the other, the hours had pa.s.sed in the press of toil and perplexity that had fallen on him as the yet unaccredited representative of English power in France, and in writing letters to those persons at home from whom he must derive his authority. The hour of rest and relaxation was welcome to both, though they chiefly spent it each leaning back in his chair in silence.
"Your messenger is not come back," said Bedford, presently, rousing himself.
"It may have been no easy task," replied James, not however without uneasiness.
"I would," said Bedford, presently, "that I had writ the matter straight to Robsart. The lad is weak, and may be tampered with."
"He knows that I have pledged my honour for him," said James.
Bedford"s thin lips moved at the corners.
"Nay," said James, not angrily, "the youth hath in some measure disappointed me. The evil in him shot forth faster than the good under this camp life; but methinks there is in him a certain rare quality of soul that I loved him for at the first, and though it hath lain asleep all this time, yet what he hath now seen seemed to me about to work the change in him."
"It may be so," said Bedford; "and yet I would I had not consented to his going where that woman of Hainault might work on him to fret the Lady Esclairmonde."
James started somewhat as he remembered overruling this objection of Malcolm"s own making. "She cannot have the insolence," he said.
At that moment a hasty step approached; the door was opened with scant ceremony, and Ralf Percy, covered from head to foot with blood, hurried in breathless and panting.
"My lord Duke, your license! Here is Malcolm Stewart set upon in the forest by robbers and stabbed!"
"Slain? Dead?" cried both princes, springing up in horror.
"Alive still-in the chapel-asking for you, my lord," said Percy. "He bade us lay him there at the King"s feet; and as it was the readiest way to a priest, we did his bidding."
"My poor Malcolm!" sighed James; and he and Bedford hastened to obey the summons.
There was time on the way for Ralf Percy to give them the particulars. "We had gone forth-Trenton, Kitson, altogether some half-dozen of us-for a mouthful of air in the forest after our guard all day in the chapel, when about a mile from the Castle we heard a scuffle, and clashing of arms. So breaking through the thicket, we saw a score of fellows on horseback fully armed, and in the midst poor Glenuskie dragged to the ground and struggling hard with two of them. We drew our swords, hallooed, and leapt out; and the knaves never stayed to see how many of us there were, but made off like the dastards they were, but not till one had dealt poor Stewart this parting stroke. He hath been bleeding like a sheep all the way home, and hath scarce spoken but a thanksgiving for our having come in time, as he called it, and to ask for Dr. Bennet and the Duke."
The words brought them to the door of the chapel, where for a time the chants around King Henry had paused in the agitation of the new arrival. As the black and white crowd of priests and monks opened and made way for the King and Duke, they saw, in the full light of the wax tapers, laid on a pile of cushions not far from King Henry"s feet, the figure of Malcolm, his riding-gown open at the breast, and kerchiefs dyed and soaked with blood upon it; the black of his garments and hair enhancing the ghastly whiteness of his face, and yet an air of peace and joy in the eyes and in the folded hands, as Dr. Bennet and another priest stood over him, administering those abbreviated rites of farewell blessing which the Church sanctioned in cases of sudden and violent death. The princes both stood aside, and presently Malcolm faintly said, "Thank G.o.d! I trusted to His mercy to pardon! Now all would be well could I but see the Duke."