JANET’S PHILOSOPHY

“This world of ours hangs midway ’twixt zenith and nadir: the superior and inferior: the positive and negative; and ’tis a pertinent thought that susceptible human nature takes on the characteristic of the one or the other. One is away up in zenithdom or away down in nadirdom, one is not content to go along the halfway place and see the good that lies ever before them. But, again, there are natures that are not susceptible to extremes; as a simile: a maid whose soul is ever vibrant with the ineffable joys of the world to come, walks by the seashore and mayhap beholds the full moon rise from the water and cast to her very feet a pathway of gold, and she will quickly join herself to those who see like visions, and pathway will lie against pathway and produce a sea of gold; on the other hand, if she be a foolish virgin and looks not before her, but tosses high head in pride or walks with downcast eyes and smiles and blushes and smirks and flings aside thoughts of deity, until she becomes submerged; on a sudden Gabriel will blow and the world will cease revolving, and then where wilt thou be, oh, maid that hath fluttered from sweet to sweet and forgotten thy prayers? There came a great happy sigh from the testered bed

“Thou hast powerful breath, Janet, and ’twas an immense bitterwort bush thou were beating about. I am sorry I forgot my prayers. I will say them twenty times to-day, to make up.”

“And it’s the heathen that repeateth a prayer oft; thou hadst better say ‘God, have mercy upon my untowardness!’ once, from thy heart, than to say thy rosary from now until doom with thy mind upon a bumptious Russian.”

“What is the day, Janet?”

“’Tis as bleak and stormy as one could wish.”

“What is the hour?”

“Eleven.”

“Eleven? and I was to meet Count Adrian at this very hour. He is to teach me battledore and shuttlecock.”

“’Tis a fussy game, played more with the heart than hand; canst give it up; let me rub thee to sleep again?”

“Nay, for I would not disappoint him or myself.”

An hour later she stood opposite the count in the great library, swinging the battledore with grace. There was much soft laughter and gay repartee; and Adrian followed the movements of Katherine’s lithe form, clad in the soft, clinging grey of the convent. She became remiss; for Adrian’s glances were confusing, and intentional laches were made by him, that he might come near her, almost touching her hair in bending to recover the ball. She was flushed and eager, triumphant of a fine return, when the door flew open and in came a number of gallants, among whom was Lord Cedric. His face flushed a warm red and he shot a glance of jealousy at Adrian as he bent low over Katherine’s hand. After a few commonplace remarks, they passed on up the stairway to the broad landing, on which was an arched door that led to the passage opening into the organ loft of the chapel. In a few moments there came the sound of the organ. Katherine swung low her battledore and breathed forth:

“Let us listen; ’tis sweet, who plays, dost know?”

“’Tis St. Mar, a fine fellow; a soldier, duelist and gallant.”

“’Thou dost flank duelist by two words that should scorn being so separated!’”

“’Twas a happy wording; for if thou shouldst meet him, thou wilt fall but two-thirds in love, whereas, if otherwise worded ’twould be altogether.”

“Thou art giving my heart an evil reputation; for after all ’tis not so easy won.”

Tis true, as I know, more than any one else, for my heart misgave me from the moment I first set eyes on thy beauteous countenance; and since I have been in wild despair, not knowing if thou hast a heart for any save thy nurse and my Lord Cedric; for tis to them thy heart seems bent. There was neither shadow nor movement of fair expression on Mistress Penwicks face, as she answered calmly,

“Thou sayest well. I love my nurse she has been mother too, and I honour Lord Cedric as a good man should be honoured, and one whom my father chose to be his daughter’s guardian and holder in trust of her estates.”

“Estates” ’twas a grand word and went straight to Cantemir’s heart; for ’twas something to espouse so beautiful a maiden that had demesne as well.

Katherine was listening to the chords of the organ, and she bent forward eagerly. Her thoughts flew back to the convent where she had enjoyed a pure religious life undisturbed by the trammels of the great outer world.

“Let us go,” said she, “I would see who ’tis that plays!”

She led the way up the broad stairs and through the passage into the organ loft, and at first sight of her Cedric was well-nigh beside himself with delight; for he took it, she had come to be with him. There was a young fop at the organ in rich and modish attire, but otherwise of unattractive and common appearance.

Katherine cast upon him her entire attention, and there came that in her face that drew the glance of every eye. ’Twas as if she was entranced with the player, as well as the sounds he brought forth from the organ. Cedric be-thought him ’twas an unfortunate oversight to have learnt not to thrum upon some sort of thing wherewith to draw the attention if not admiration of such a maid as this. And he straightway made avowal to send at once for tutor and instrument; a violin, when played as he might learn to, would perhaps be as successful in its lodestone requirements as any other thrumming machine. “’Twas an instrument could be handled to such an effect. A man could so well show white, jewelled fingers; display a rare steenkirk to pillow it upon; and withal, a man could stand free and sway his body gracefully this way and that; yes, ’tis the thing to do; she may yet look at me as she now looks at St. Mar!” so thought Cedric. The piece was soft and gentle, with a pathetic motif running through it. Katherine became so rapt she drew closer and closer, until at last she stood beside St. Mar. He became confused and halted, and finally left off altogether and turned to read the admiration in the azure blue of her eyes.

“Thou art from France, and dost thou know many of the great musicians?”

“Aye, a great many

“Hast thou met the great Alessandro Scarlatti? I understand he created a furore as he passed through Paris from London.”

“’Tis true, and I was most fortunate to hear him play portions of ‘L’Onesta nell Amore.’ Queen Christina herself accompanied him to Paris, and wherever he played she was not far away.”

“We used much of his sacred music at the convent; ’tis such warm, tender and sympathetic harmony. He must be a very great man!”

“He hath a son, Domenico, not two years old, who already shows a great ear for his father’s music; and they say he will even be a greater musician than his father. It is possible Alessandro will visit London.”

“’Twould be wondrous fine! I will go and hear him play, surely “ Cedric interrupted their musical converse,

“’Tis cold for thee, I fear, in this damp place; I beg thee to allow me to lead thee to the library.” And without further words he led her away, through the library and on beyond to the saloon, where he begged her to favour him with songs he was quite sure she could sing, naming those he most wished to hear.

Then in came Lady Bettie Payne with three or four others, and they babbled and chattered, and as Lord Cedric stood near he heard them speak of Lady Constance’ indisposition.

“Ah, poor Constance, I was not aware she was ill!” said he, and he went forth to inquire of her condition and find if aught could be done for her enlivenment to health and spirits. When he returned and saw Katherine so surrounded, and his guests engaged at cards and battledore and music, and some in converse as to whether they should ride forth to the chase, he was somehow stirred to think of Constance lying alone in her chamber; and there recurred to him the tale of the night before; ’twas she that loved him. He felt sorry for her if such a thing were true; but ’twas not possible, and to convince himself he would go to her and give her the brotherly kiss as heretofore, and take notice if there was aught in her manner to denote verification of the miserable gipsy’s story. He would put an end to such feeling, if ’twere there. He sent word if he might see her for himself, and be assured her illness was not feigned, in order she might shirk the duty like a wicked sister of presenting her fair face for the enlightenment of the gloom that seemed about to penetrate, from without, the castle walls.

Constance lay propped amongst pillows, in a gorgeous peignoir of lace, arranged for the moment to display advantageously her plump arms and a slender white neck encircled with pearls. Her brow was high and narrow; her dark hair was carefully arranged in wavy folds upon the pillow; her eyes, under drooping lids, glittered coldly and imperiously. The nose was straight, and too thin for beauty. Her lips, touched with rouge, were also thin and full of arrogance. There she lay, impatient for the love of this one man, who was e’en now at the door.

When Constance was a baby, she had watched Cedric upon his nurse’s knee taking his pap, and a little later amused him with her dolls. She had played with him at bat and ball; had ridden astride behind him upon a frisking pony; had learned and used the same oaths when none were by to note her language but grooms and stable-boys always when Angel, the head nurse, was not about. She would outswear the young lad and then tease him because he could not find words to equal hers. They had played at “Lord and Lady,” and rode about the terraces in a miniature sedan chair, and cooks and scullions winked and nodded, wisely and predictively. And when they came to man’s and woman’s estate, Cedric’s regard for her was as a brother’s; but hers for him, alas! was deep love. It seemed to her as if the world was just beginning; a bright, glorious world full of untold wealth of love, when she thought perhaps she might yet win him for her own; and indeed she thought, as already possessing him. On his part there was being born in his heart a great joy: that of a new and first love. Heretofore he and Constance had known all things in common, and now suddenly he was satiate of her. But Katherine, he had thought, was so young and bright and beautiful; a child that had lived within the cloister and had grown to maidenhood in sweet innocence. ’Twas like finding in some tropic clime, embowered and shaded by thick, waxy leaves, a glorious, ripe pomegranate, which he would grasp and drink from its rich, red pulp, a portion that would cool and ’suage a burning thirst; while Constance, by the side of Katherine, was like a russet apple, into whose heart the worm of worldly knowledge had eaten its surfeit and taken all sweetness away, and the poor thing hung low, all dried and spiritless upon a broken bough to the convenience of any passing hand. “Nay, nay; give me only the rich, ripe pomegranate; my Katherine, Kate! Kate!” and blinded thus by the fever of desire to possess only his sweet Kate, he swung wide the door of Constance’s room and passed to the bedside and leant over and kissed her.

She flushed red as she met his eyes now cold and unimpassioned looking into the very depths of her own. He saw the sudden scarlet that mantled her face, and knew knew she loved him. And his heart went out to her, for he was attached to the russet thing, an attachment heretofore unnamed, but now now suddenly christened with that parsimonious appellation pity; the object of which is never satisfied. But he had naught else to give, for Katherine had suddenly impoverished him.

“’Tis generous of thee, Cedric, to break from thy gay company; what are they engaged in?”

“Various, some at cards, others at music

“And what was thy pastime that thou couldst sever thyself so agreeably?”

“I was listening to Bettie, and she on a sudden remarked of thy indisposition. I straightway came to note thy ailing. I have talked not with thee in private since thy arrival, and there is much news. Hast seen her, Constance, to talk with her?”

“Whom meanest thou? There are many ‘hers’ in the house!”

“The beauty that flew to me over seas, of course; whom else could I mean?”

“Oh! oh! to be sure; the maid from Quebec. Aye, I talked with her some. Thou sayest she is Sir John Penwick’s daughter?”

“Aye, and she’s a glorious beauty, eh, Constance?”

“But how camest thou by her?”

Cedric reached to that nearest his heart and drew forth Sir John’s letter and gave it opened into Constance’s hand. She read it with blazing eyes and great eagerness; for ’twas a bundle of weapons she was examining and would take therefrom her choice. She flashed forth queries as to the probability of this or that with a semblance of interest that disarmed Cedric and made him wonder if this woman loved to such an extent, she could fling aside her own interests and submerge all jealousy, all self-love into the purest of all sacrifices, abnegation?

“What! no estates? That looks ill, for at one time Sir John was affluent, for Aunt Hettie has told me of him many a time.”

“But he lost it all, as I’ve heard ofttime from father; he has spoken not infrequent of Sir John’s high living; he had great demesne, a great heart and great temper; and ’tis the last named that has fallen clear and uncumbered to his daughter; and the heart will be found by careful probing, no doubt; and the demesne she will have when she condescends to take me as spouse.”

“Thou, thou espouse her?” and Constance feigned surprise, as if ’twere a new thing to her, when in reality she had suffered agony from its repetition.

“Aye, and why not, pray? Am I not of ripe years and know my mind?”

“And why so? because thou shouldst wed one of high degree and fortune and worldly wisdom.”

“Nay, thou art wrong. ’Tis enough that she is of noble blood from father and mother; and I have fortune for us both; and worldly wisdom bah! Constance, dost thou expect her to know all the intrigues of court, when she is but lightly past fifteen?”

“Fifteen? Now by heaven, Cedric, thou wouldst not lie to me?”

“Nay, Con, I would not I have no object in this case, ’tis a truth.”

“Fifteen, and indeed she is well-formed for such youth!”

“And what a beautiful and innocent face she has, too?”

“Beauteous, admitted; but innocent of what?”

“Innocent of all we know; she knows naught of this great world. Janet keeps all evil from her. We cannot conceive of such innocence in any one. The child has eaten the simplest things all her life; milk and gruel and beef-whey; ’tis no great wonder she is so pink and strong; Janet says in hand-to-hand battle in their convent chamber, the child hath thrown her oft in fair wit of strength; such rough sport was not indulged in openly and Janet taught her thrusts and flings to broaden her chest and strengthen hip and back; she is stout and strong, and yet she makes one think of a beautiful flower until she falls in anger; then she shows a stout temper as well, and is wilful to all save Janet, who governs her by some strange method I ne’er saw before; for ’tis odd to see servant lead mistress. But, ’twas an awful thing happened me; I knew not, or had forgotten rather, the arrival of the babe Sir John speaks of. As thou knowest, I came home unexpectedly, and I found the letter here. It had arrived some time before, and I read it hastily, told Wasson my duty and passed the letter to a convenient pocket, and thence until the night of the masque forgot all about the arrival of the infant. I was masqued, mad and raving at Christopher for not mending my bag-pipe, and I rushed swearing after him and Mistress Penwick heard my oaths, my broad Scotch ones thou knowest I love to use when in anger. She hates me for it, and I can do naught to win the confidence due me as her rightful guardian. So I have settled upon an immediate espousal

“Immediate? Thou marry a child, ’tis unseemly

“Nay, ’tis not unseemly; ’tis the most proper thing to do. Janet says so, too, and will urge her to accept me as soon as I wish to wed which shall be at the earliest moment.”

“Janet, indeed! What right has a servant to forward the doings of master and mistress? Thou hadst best wait and have her Grace of Ellswold present her at Court and give the child at least one season in London to improve her convent ways.”

“Nay, Constance, if she were to grow one whit more beautiful, ’twould kill me dead.”

“I am afraid thou art easily slain; indeed, I never knew beauty was so murderous before. Thou art surely beside thyself; she here alone in this great castle without a mother’s love to guide! No one to whom she can tell her troubles! How must the poor child feel to be forced into a marriage she most like hates;” and her ladyship’s voice took on such a tone of pity one would think she was about to break into tears, “’tis a barbarous act for thee to talk of marriage so soon to a helpless being.”

“There is nothing helpless about Kate, she can take her own part. She hath wit and temper for a half dozen.”

“But thou wilt acknowledge if she will have her way she must leave the castle; for thou art bent upon thy way thou wilt not listen to reason; so, see to it, and wed her straightway if if thou canst.” He was about to answer her with an oath, when suddenly Katherine stood in the half-open door smiling over the top of a great bunch of roses. On Constance’ face was a look of triumph, as she noted Cedric’s confusion; but Katherine’s words put Cedric at ease.

“I was told thou wert ill and that Lord Cedric was uneasy and had come to thee; and I reproached myself for not coming earlier to see if thou wert in need of aught.” She placed the vase of roses on a table close. Constance thanked her and took the tapering fingers and hugged them between her own. Katherine looked down upon her thin, arrogant lips; and as there always comes to the innocent when dealing with those of other mould a warning, a feeling of repulsion, took possession of her and she withdrew her hand, and, in a moment, her presence.

“’Tis a vision of loveliness more refreshing than the nosegay she brought, thinkest thou not so, Constance?”

“Thou dost see with lover’s eyes. How soon wilt thou espouse her; thy house is somewhat taken up by company, who are to remain for the summer, and how wilt thou get through the irksomeness of grand ceremonies without great preparation, for much will be expected of thy wealth and rank?”

“Damme, I’ll have no pranks and ceremonies and entertainments; I have not time. I must wed her at once. Canst thou not see, under the circumstances, scandal-mongers will make eyes and prate of wrong for me thus to have a young maid here alone?” Now indeed this thought had not occurred to Constance in just this way; but now it struck her with a mighty force, and she shot at him a piercing glance through the half-closed imperious eyes.

“I had thought of it, but determined mine should not be the first breath to breathe forth scandal, even in private converse with thee; ’twas an awful thing for her to come here knowing of thy youth.”

“But she did not know, as that letter and thou thyself can testify.”

“But the world the Court where thou wilt go to hold sway they know not the circumstances.”

“Now, by God, Constance, one would think thou wert an alien to King Charles’ Court. If Charles knew I had here this maid and had not yet taken her to wife why why, he would take her away himself and laugh me to scorn for my slothfulness. But all London knows by now, as I have sent a message to my solicitors.”

“But if she be set upon not marrying thee. What wilt thou do?” Lord Cedric hung his head, as if in profound meditation; then, without raising it, but remaining in a hopeless attitude, said:

“I will guard her from all evil. I will stand between her and harm and wait. And thou must help me, Constance. Wilt thou persuade her?”

“Have I not always taken thy part, even when thou wert in the wrong?”

When Cedric left Lady Constance, he sought Janet and poured into her willing ears his woes. He feared lest some gallant should win his Kate’s love, and Janet must tell him of some way to win it for himself.

Janet now loved Lord Cedric as if he were already Katherine’s lord; and she, knowing ’twould be one of the best matches in all England, vowed ’twas best for them to marry at once; beside, Kate, being wilful and having a tendency for men of foreign birth, with nothing in their favour but a small share of good looks and some musical ability, might see fit to plant her affections with such, and ’twas plain mischance would kill Cedric outright, for he was passionate to self-destruction; so when he said: “’Twould be instant death to me, Janet. What wouldst thou advise me to do thou dost so fully understand her?” she answered him:

“’Tis somewhat the way with maidens to sigh for that not easily attained, and it might serve thee to put forth an indifferent air and incline thy attentions toward another and act a mighty cold lord and coddle not her desires.”

“That would take so long a time; I cannot wait. I will speak to her once more, then I will be cold and indifferent as thou sayest. When shall I have an opportunity to speak with her?”

“How soon dost expect the chests with my lady’s raiment, my lord?”

“On the morrow they should be here.”

“’Tis then she will think of thy goodness, and I will put in a word for thee, and perchance thou wilt come to see if all things came, and ’twill give thee opportunity to speak of other things. She is wanting many things for the Chapel; she wishes to reopen it; and ’tis in matters of religion thy hot tempers will clash, for Mistress Penwick is a Roman Catholic, and thou art of the English Church.”

“Thou art a wise Janet! I will turn the people, and they shall become Catholics.”

“Nay, if thou dost undertake it, thy people will rise in arms against thee.”

“So be it, let her have her way. I’ll bother her not in her simple ideas of religion.”

“Not so simple, my lord. Thou hast not seen the teachings of nine years take root and spread and grow as I have. Dost think she would allow thy Chaplain to bind thee to her? Nay, she will be wed by none but a priest. But she is kindly intentioned and feels sorry for thy poor Chaplain, who hath so hard a time to keep his flock together. I look any day for her to carry in a cross and hang it behind his pulpit, then then he will faint away from fright of her.”

“Nay, Janet, he will fall down and worship it, and her.”