THE BRANTLE

Mistress Penwick sat in her chamber, trying to calm herself to reason; for the chest had come from London-town laden with splendid raiment; all had been unpacked and examined, and ’twas enough to cure all grievances, the very sight of such adornings; but her ladyship was disappointed that there were no stays. Janet for the time was distraught and said:

“I would that had been sent that would mend thy untowardness and bring thy temper to a comelier mould. ’Tis past time for thee to clothe thyself in that in which thy noble lord hath seen fit to purchase for thee; I heard some moments since the arrival of the hunters and it’s time ” There was a sounding rap and ’twas his Lordship’s lackey begging the admittance of his master. Janet bade Lord Cedric enter. He came forth in riding-coat and field boots and rattling spurs. Mistress Penwick vouchsafed a nod of recognition and turned her eyes away. The hot blood mounted Cedric’s face and at a look at Janet understood all was not well; he essayed to speak with coolness:

“Art not happy with the contents of thy chest, Kate?”

“’Tis more than one could expect, but sadly it lacked that I wished for most a thing that marks one as lady and not child in grown-up people’s clothes.”

“And what might that be, Kate?” for indeed he had forgotten about her order that stays be sent.

“Simple, modest, commonplace stays, my lord,” and she said it slowly and with a mighty air.

“Nay, nay stays they did forget?” and he stamped his foot in seeming wrath and broke forth: “I’ll thrash that damned lackey blue for so forgetting!” and he turned as if to quit the room, but Mistress Penwick ran to stay his hurry.

“Nay, thou wilt not hurt him, ’twas not his fault, ’twas not by his hand the order was writ.” And Cedric feigned further show of temper, and Katherine’s tapering fingers ventured upon either lapel of his lordship’s velvet coat, and he turned red and white and could hardly contain himself with delight. Janet, fearing a confusion of her master’s words, put forth her arms and drew away Katherine’s hands and said, softly:

“His Lordship will not thrash the lad, if thou wilt don thy most beautiful frock and forget the stays.”

“That will I, if ’tis his desire; and ” she looked up into his Lordship’s face with a look that was almost tender “thou wilt say no word to the boy?” His voice was soft and pleading as he answered:

“Anything thou wouldst ask of me thus, thou couldst have it without the asking.”

“Then, my lord, when there is aught I would have, I may take it without thy spoken yea?”

“Nay, not so; that would be highway robbery; for thou wouldst take from me the dearest thing that has yet happened to me; ’tis thy sweet pleading for that ’tis already thine.”

“’Tis a generous thing for thee to say, but if I might have perfect freedom to do all things as I desire

“And what are the ‘all things’ that thou wouldst desire?”

“I should like to have many changes made in the Chapel, and bring one who is well able to play on the great organ. And ’twould be a wondrous good thing to bring from the village of Crandlemar youths for the training of a choir, such as I have heard are of much repute among the poor lads for strength and sweetness of voice; and after all things are made ready, have the Chapel opened again with pomp of priest and solemn ceremony.”

“If such are thy desires, I will put forward the work at once.” Now indeed Katherine forgot the sad lack of stays and for the moment forgot all else save that the handsome Cedric stood before her flushed and eager to gratify her every whim. He, one of the richest noblemen in Great Britain, whom she could have for a look; the stretching out of the hand. And she quite well knew that he was ready at the first opportunity to renew the subject of marriage, and for this very thing she turned from him thinking that some time she would consider his proposal. So again he went from her presence with a throbbing in his breast that was half-hope, half-despair and knew not what to do.

’Twas the last ball at Crandlemar Castle, for the hunting season was over. A goodly company gathered from neighbouring shires, and Mistress Pen wick was the mark of all eyes in a sweeping robe of fawn that shimmered somewhat of its brocadings of blue and pink and broiderings of silver. She had decorously plaited a flounce of old and rare lace and brought it close about her shoulders and twined her mother’s string of pearls about her white throat, the longer strands reaching below her waistband and caught low again upon the shoulder with a knot of fresh spring violets. Cedric stood apart with his kinsman, his Grace of Ellswold, who enjoyed the freedom of speech of all Charles’ Court; indeed it appeared that not only looseness of tongue but morals also held sway in the most remote as well as the best known portions of the kingdom. And at his Grace’s first sight of Katherine he uttered an oath and some other expression that savoured of common hackney; for Cedric had been telling him of the soothsayer’s words.

“The soothsayer spoke false and I’ll wager thee the East Forest thou hast coveted against thy Welsh demesne. I tell thee, Cedric, a jewel hast thou found. Never have I seen her equal. And that is John Penwick’s daughter!” and he took a great pinch of snuff and looked at Cedric. “She will make thee a fine wife, but who is the man that dangles after her now? Indeed, I would say thou hadst better watch out for him. I do not like the look in his eyes; he is

“Egad, uncle! I would as soon think of being jealous of of thee. He is Constance’ cousin from Russia, and as she is staying here for some time, at her request I asked him also. Bah! I could never imagine him as a rival!”

“Well, so be it; but how about the wager of the East Forest?”

“Thou art on the winning side. So thou couldst not wager without an opponent, and ’twill be futile to find one, lest thou dost charge upon some landless bumpkin.”

“And how soon wilt thou espouse her?”

“At the first moment of her consent

“Consent ’tis thou art waiting for? Thou hadst better keep her close; for if his Majesty gains inkling of such fresh, young beauty and finds her out of bans, ’twill go hard with thee to sword thy way to a lady in waiting or perhaps

“’Sdeath, by God! I had not thought of that! ’Twould be too bold and out of place, she being under my guardianship, to press her to espousal without fair consent; but I know best; ’twould be for her own safety, is it not so, uncle?”

“If she knows naught of the frailties of all mankind and the Court in particular, I should say as thou art her rightful guardian and the suitor chosen of her father, and ’twas thy wish for her immediate espousal, ’twould best serve thee to use all manner of means to gain her consent, and if this prove abortive, I would abduct the maid and have thy Chaplain ready to marry thee to her; and after he pronounces thee man and wife, what can she do but love thee straightway for thy strong handling; ’tis the way of women. I would marry such a beauty in haste, ere another takes the vantage.”

Lord Cedric chose Mistress Penwick for the brantle and led her forth. They moved with such majestic grace, they attracted all eyes. It seemed Cedric could not contain himself for love of Kate, and he vowed to gain her ear this very night and know for a certainty if she would ever marry with him.

It pleased Mistress Penwick to dance with Cedric, for she was more at ease with him than any other, and she was hardly pleased when he bade her rest and took her to another room, where they were quite alone. But she would not sit down, and stood fanning and smiling up into his face, saying half pettishly:

“Thou art soon tired; the brantle has just begun.”

“Kate, hast thou patience?”

“Aye, but ’tis of dwarfish mould.”

“Kate, dost love any human being?”

“Aye, ’tis a poor thing that loves not.”

“Dost love me, Kate?”

“As a father or brother and as one should love her father’s best friend.”

“Then give me a kiss as thou wouldst give thy brother.” The hot blood suffused her face. At sight of it, Cedric’s heart leapt with a mighty gladness.

“Not having had a brother, I know not how to give that thou askest; and ’tis unseemly of thee to ask for that that makes one blush for very shame to be questioned of.”

“Blushes are not always for shame ’tis for love, sometimes. Kate, ’tis time I knew thy heart, for thou knowest I am about to die for love of thee. Dost not understand that thy father wished thee to marry at an early age and to marry the son of his bosom friend to whom he gave his daughter’s keeping?”

“Nay, he said naught of my marriage with thee, as he knew not thou wert in existence.”

“Aye, of a truth he hath done so; it is here next my heart,” and he drew forth Sir John’s letter. “Wilt read but the lines I show thee; for there are secrets belonging to thy father and me alone?” He marked the lines with his jewelled finger, his love locks falling against her cheek as she read: “My last wish and the one of greatest import to my child is that thou find for her a spouse of rank and fortune. ’Tis my desire she marry early to such an one. Ah! Cedric, if thou had hadst a son, their union would have been our delight

“Ah! ah!” and Katherine’s eyes grew wide. “Thou hast said naught of this as it appears here before me now; and it might have been too late.”

“Too late! What meanest thou?”

“The noble nay, now I cannot tell thee, for ’tis a secret but half mine.”

“My God! who dares have secrets with thee save thy nurse and guardian; whose damned heart hath played the lover to thee?” His hand fell upon his sword and he drew it half way. “What guest hath so dishonoured name as to make profit of that I have already made known as my espoused? Tell me, Kate!” Seeing her frightened eyes, that were justly so, he pushed back the jewelled hilt and threw his arm about her and drew her close, so close she was well-nigh crushed by his warm and passionate embrace and choked by pulverulent civet as her face was pressed against the folds of his steenkirk. She felt the tumultuous beating of his heart, and ’twas a great, new feeling came to her and she trembled and swayed, and loved and hated both, in one brief moment and drew from him and looked with angry eyes. “Kate, Kate, what saidst the false lover; tell me every word. Did he ask thee for espousal?” Now Mistress Penwick faltered and flushed, for she dare not tell him who her suitor was and thought if she told him well what was said, he would not press her for name, and ’twas meet she should tell him truthfully. She feared his hot temper not a little, for she had heard that one time he locked Lady Constance in the tower for two whole days for telling him a falsehood.

“Aye, he asked me to espouse him.”

“And what didst thou say?”

“I said him nay, ’twas too soon to wed, ’twould be wiser to speak a year hence.”

“And what answer did he make thee?”

“He said the king’s sister, Princess Mary, when but ten married William, Prince of Orange, and

“And what?” said Cedric, leaning forward his hand upon his sword, a curse between his white teeth and a line of light from between his half-closed lids like the flashing of a two-edged sword. “What sdeath? And Kate trembled forth

“And fifteen was none too soon to wed.”

“And did he say naught else appertaining thereto?”

“Nay, I know naught else he could say!” and the innocence of her inquiring face proved his evil imagining a perjury. He caught his breath in a flutter of sheer heart’s-ease.

“Now who is this swain who hath taken advantage of my invitation and come up from among the rustics yonder to make love to thee? I will run him through the first time I meet his insolence. Who is he, Kate; what’s his name?” She vouchsafing no answer, aroused his suspicion.

“’Sdeath! what ails thy tongue? Haste thee, what is his name?” and he glared at her, furiously, ’til she was well nigh cold with fright.

“Sooth, thou art strong with temper for the very meagre cause a maiden will not bewray a poor man’s name.”

“Poor, indeed, when such as thou bestoweth upon him the priceless gift of thy heart as a locker for his secrets; by God! give his name, quick, ere I slay a dozen for one paltry fool that would rob me!” She read aright the steely light ’neath his half-closed lids and was distraught, for she dared not give him the name of one of his guests; for the noble Russian Adrian Cantemir had pressed his suit and was upheld by Lady Constance, who told him of Katherine’s vast demesne, knowing well he could not marry one without estates, as his were in great depletion. And the noble Cantemir had well nigh won her heart by his voice and music, and now that he was in danger of Lord Cedric’s anger, he became an object of commiseration, and not for her life would she give his name to this raging man with murder in his heart.

“Nay, nay, my lord; give me grace. I have told thee truly all else, and now I beg

“Dost thou say thou wilt not give his name? Then, by God, I will cut my way to his black heart!” He drew his sword and strode forth to slash the curtain that barred his way, and Katherine caught his upstretched arm and fell upon her knees, bursting into tears. At sight of tears and touch of fingers he dropped his sword and raised her quickly, saying:

“Nay, nay, not tears. Dry them, Sweet, they wring my heart to greater pain than all thy secrets, and for this one thou boldest I will take thy shoulder-knot instead.” She looked up surprised at the sudden surcease of storm, and seeing his handsome face becalmed, she wondered at the magic that had caused it, and her heart smote her for withholding aught from one that loved her so. She hastily drew from her shoulder the knot of violets that were still humid with freshness; and as she drew the fastenings the lace fell from her shoulder, disclosing her too-low cut bodice, and Cedric’s quick eye saw why the screen of lace was used, and with trembling fingers caught up the lace and drew from his steenkirk a rare jewel and pinned it safe as deftly as her maid. He touched her hand with his warm red lips, saying in a voice resonant as music: “God bless thee, Kate, for thy sweet modesty!” He thought if the modish beauties in yonder rooms could boast of such perfect charm, ’twould not be hid by a fall of lace and a shoulder knot of violets. And he pressed the nosegay to his heart and left them there, folded within her father’s letter. A calmness settled upon him, such as had not come to him heretofore, and trembling with happiness he led Katherine forth in the brantle; she feeling quite like an heroine for being able to hold her secret from this passionate man.

For all the convent had environed Mistress Pen wick with sacred influences, and she had absorbed its most potent authority, religion, yet even that was not efficacious to the annihilating that ’twas born within; and one can but excuse the caprice and wantonness of a coquette, when ’tis an inheritance. She adhered pertinaciously to the requirements of a lady of title, and loved opulence and luxury and admiration. She foresaw young as she was and reared as she had been with all simpleness an opportunity, being a noblewoman and the ward of a wealthy titled gentleman, to become a favourite at Court. This idea, however, was not altogether original; for Lady Constance had given her a graphic description of her presentation, and the requirements due to all ladies of note. And while Katherine fully intended to carry out her father’s wishes for an early and noble marriage; yet she felt there was no haste; she was sure it would be his desire for her to enjoy one of those seasons at Court she had heard so much converse of. ’Tis not much wonder, having been so short a time in the great world and having won the hearts of two noblemen, she should wish for fresh fields to conquer. But now was not the time for a trip to London, for spring was upon them and there was much to look after in Crandlemar. His Lordship had sadly neglected his duties in keeping up the village and looking after the poor. The church must be built up. It had not occurred to her that there were other religions beside the Catholic; and when Lord Cedric’s chaplain made known to her the difficulties of arranging Catholic orders in a Protestant Church, she could not understand. Janet explained to her what she would be compelled to surmount to bring her religion to be the accepted one in Crandlemar. Again her mind was turned to Count Adrian, and she thought ’twould be well to wed with one of her own faith, and he was as warm a Catholic as herself. Cedric was a Protestant and a very poor one, indeed it seemed he had no religion. And yet he had told her that he petitioned not to God for aught; but ’twas his diurnal duty to thank Him for His benevolence and chastening; ever deeming chastisement the surety of his alien thought or action, and he speedily mended his ways or made an effort to; but what great sin he had committed that her love should not be given him was more than he could tell, and he should keep on trying to find out what his faults were, that he might receive that he wished for most. He wrangled not of religion, but ever kept the divine spark in his own heart alive, if not fanned to flame. Indeed so indifferent was his Lordship to the great questions of the times, he thought not of the ancient monastery in the depths of the vast forest upon his estate, where still resided recluses. ’Twas seldom he thought of these simple monks. They lived in seeming quiet, enjoying the freehold of their castle. But there was a storm brewing, and in its midst his Lordship was to be severely reminded of their presence.