The Lions Whelp 54

The Lions Whelp 54

"My dear sweet Jane, do you think I keep the Cromwell girls and their

affairs in my memory? They are in their kingdom now; I do not pretend

to keep foot with them—and I have troubles of my own; pray God they be

not too many for me!"

 

It was evident Matilda was not in an amiable mood, and Jane having said

the few words that brought her to Jevery House that morning, left her

friend. She went away with a troubled look, and Matilda watched the

change and smiled to herself at it. "I am quite content to have her

made a little unhappy," she thought; "her constant air of satisfaction

is insufferable. And if my Lady Rich loses her husband, Jane can assure

her that such griefs do not kill. On my honour! Jane looks younger and

prettier than when Neville was alive and worrying her. Lovers die and

husbands die, and ’tis a common calamity; and better people than either

Jane or Frances have endured it. I will go now to my aunt’s parlour; I

dare say she will have some visitor chock full of the new plot—and I may

hear something worth while."

 

These thoughts filled her mind as she went to Lady Jevery’s parlour.

She found there an acquaintance whom they had known in Paris, the

Countess Gervais.

 

"I have but now sent a messenger for you, Matilda," said Lady Jevery;

"the Countess desired greatly to see you." Then the conversation became

reminiscent, and the new plot was not named, and Matilda began to be

bored. Suddenly, however, her interest was roused to the highest pitch,

for the Countess, touching a bracelet which Lady Jevery wore, said,

 

"I must tell you a strange thing. I was lately at a dinner where the

niece of his Eminence, Cardinal Mazarin, sat at my side. And she wore a

necklace and brooch and one bracelet precisely like the bracelet you are

now wearing. I cannot help noticing the circumstance, because the

jewelry is so exceedingly singular and beautiful."

 

"Yes," replied Lady Jevery. "And what you say is also very curious, for

I once possessed a necklace, brooch and two bracelets like the one I am

now wearing. All the pieces were lost excepting this bracelet."

 

"But how?—let me inquire; where were they lost?"

 

"Somewhere near Paris. I had intrusted them to a friend who has never

since been heard of."

 

"But the bracelet you are wearing?—this is so singular—you will please

pardon——"

 

"This bracelet," said Laid Jevery, "was more fortunate. Some of the gems

were loose, and I sent it to my jeweler for repair, just before we left

for Paris. He was to forward it to me if he found a safe messenger;

luckily he kept it until I returned to London."

 

"But this is most strange—most strange——"

 

"Most strange and most suspicious," said Matilda indignantly. "I should

say it was evidence that Lord Neville was murdered, and that his

Eminence bought jewelry for Hortense Mancini in some irregular way. If

I were Lady Jevery, I would insist on knowing from whom."

 

"Oh, you do make one great mistake, I do assure you! Mademoiselle

Mancini is impeccable. You must rest content that the jewels came into

her possession in the most correct manner."

 

Barely listening to these words, Matilda curtsied and abruptly left the

room. She was in the greatest distress, and forced to conclusions it

drove her distracted to entertain. All now seemed plain to her

intelligence. Rupert had lied to her. He had slain and robbed Neville,

and the jewels had been sold to Mazarin. The Cardinal’s passion for

rare jewels was well known, and these opals and rubies in their settings

of fretted gold work were unique and precious enough, even for the

extravagant taste of Hortense Mancini.

 

A sudden passion of pity for the handsome young lord came over her. "It

was too mean, too savagely cruel for anything!" she almost sobbed. "Men

who can do such things are not fit to be loved by women. They are

brutes. I will write to Rupert at once. I must know the truth of this

matter. If such a crime has been committed, there is no king or prince

or priest on earth to absolve it, and I will wash my hands forever of

the Stuarts."

 

She did not wait for any second or more prudent thoughts. She wrote

Rupert that hour a letter, every word of which was flame and tears.

When it was finished, she sent a man with it on the instant to catch the

Dover mail packet; and all this was accomplished before she had any

opportunity to talk over the affair with her uncle. When she did so, he

regretted her precipitancy, and refused to move in the matter at all.

"It would be the height of imprudence," he said. "The young man is dead

and gone, and we cannot bring him back, though England went to war with

France on that quarrel. The Protector is ill, worn out with sorrow and

anxiety, and if one of his old attacks should seize him at this time, it

would have the mastery. I count not his life worth a year’s purchase.

Last week I talked a few minutes with him, and there is the shadow of

death on his face. He said to me, ’I am weary. Oh, that I had wings

like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest!’ And when Cromwell

dies, there is no question of what will happen. The nation will give

Charles the Second a trial. Then Matilda, when Charles comes back,

Prince Rupert comes with him. They have been one in adversity, they

will be one in the hour of triumph. We may need the friendship of

Prince Rupert to save ourselves. No one can tell how this reputedly

good-natured Charles will act, when his hands are able to serve his

will. I will not then make an enemy of so powerful a man as Prince

Rupert is like to be. If he slew Neville, he must answer to God for the

deed. As for the jewels, I will not be inquisitive after them. And I

pray you keep your influence over Prince Rupert. I am not used to

forecast evil, but I do think within one year we shall see the world

turn round again. It may also be suggested that Neville himself returned

to Paris and sold the jewels. Who can prove different? You see how the

case lies."

 

It was rarely Sir Thomas spoke with such decision, and Matilda was much

impressed by his words. They made her hesitate still more about her

marriage with Cymlin. She did not believe Rupert could now induce her to

break with Cymlin; and she doubted very much whether Rupert would be

permitted to marry her, even though her title to de Wick was confirmed.

But Rupert’s ill-will would be dangerous; and the result of thought in

every direction was the wisdom of delay.

 

During the first hours of her discovery, Matilda had wondered if she

ought to tell Jane what proof of Cluny’s death had come to them; for in

her heart she scoffed at the idea of Cluny returning to Paris to sell

the jewels. But Jane did not visit her for some time, and she was daily

expecting an answer from Prince Rupert. This letter might be of great

importance, one way or another, and she resolved to wait for it. It

came more rapidly than she had anticipated, and its contents temporarily

fanned to a feeble flame her dying illusions concerning her first lover.

In this letter Rupert "on his honour" reiterated his first statement.

He declared that he left Neville in health and safety, having at the

last moment urged upon him his own swift Barb, which offer Neville

refused. He said he should seek mademoiselle’s presence until he saw

her wearing the jewels, and then make question concerning them; and if

not satisfied, go at once to her Uncle Mazarin. He was sure it was now

only a few weeks ere the truth would be discovered. These promises were

blended with his usual protestations of undying devotion, and Matilda

was pleased, though she was not satisfied. For to Rupert’s letter there

was a postscript, and in this postscript one word, which sent the blood

to her heart, cold with terror—

 

"P.S. It may be the _Bastile_, and not the grave, which holds the

Neville secret."

 

_The Bastile_! She had heard enough in Paris of that stone hell to make

her tremble at the word. And now it kept upon her heart a persistent

iteration that was like blow upon blow. All night she endured it, but

in the morning; she was resolved to throw the intolerable burden on some

one more able to bear it. But on whom? Sir Thomas would not have the

subject named in his presence. Cymlin did not like Neville, and would

probably "talk down" all her fears and efforts. It would be cruel to

tell Jane,—but there was Cromwell. There was the Protector. It was his

business to look after Englishmen, else what was the use of a Protector?

And if any man had power to question the Bastile, Cromwell had it.

Mazarin was just at this time seeking his aid against the Spaniards, who

were on French soil, and Cromwell was about to send his own famous troop

of Ironsides to help the French. Besides which, Cromwell loved Neville.

Taking all these things together, Matilda easily satisfied herself that

interference was Cromwell’s bounden duty, and that all which could be

asked of her was to make Cromwell aware of this duty.

 

She could not tell how much or how little Cromwell knew of her meddling

in a variety of plots against his life and government, but she expected

her father’s name would secure her an audience, and she had such

confidence in herself as to believe that an "opportunity" to influence

the Protector was all she needed. Her first request, however, was met

with a prompt refusal. She was not to be daunted. If her own name was

not sufficient, she had others more potent. So she wrote on a card

these words: "Lady Matilda de Wick has important information regarding

Lord Cluny Neville; and for Mistress Jane Swaffham’s sake, she asks an

interview."

 

This message was instantly effective. While Matilda was telling herself

that "she would not do the least homage to the Usurper," the door opened

hastily, and he entered her presence. In the twinkling of an eye all

her resolves vanished. His grave, sorrowful face, his majestic manner,

and the sad, reproachful tenderness of the gaze that questioned her were

omnipotent against all her prejudices. She fell at his feet, and taking

his hand kissed it, whether in homage or in entreaty, she knew not.

 

"My lord," she said, and then she began to sob. "My lord, I crave of

you so many pardons—so much forbearance—I will never offend again."

 

He raised her with an imperious movement, and leading her to a chair,

remained standing at her side. "We will forget—the past is to be

forgot—for your dear father’s sake. Quickly tell me what you know, I am

in a great hurry."

 

Without one unnecessary word she related all, and then put into his

hands Prince Rupert’s letter, with her finger directing his attention to

the terrifying postscript. And she saw with fear the rising passion in

his countenance, and for a moment trembled when he looked into her eyes

with such piercing inquiry that she could not resist nor misunderstand

their question.

 

"Sir," she cried, with a childlike abandon, "in this matter I am

single-hearted as I can be. I wish only to put a great wrong right."

 

"You tell me the truth, I believe you," he answered; "and I will take

upon me _to see that it is done_. Say not a word to Jane Swaffham until

there be a surety in the matter."

 

Then she rose, and looking with eyes full of tears into his face, said,

"Sir, I remember the day you pulled down the hazelnuts for me in de Wick

park. My father walked with you, arm in arm, and I had your hand until

you lifted me at the gates and kissed me. Sir, I entreat you, forget

all that has come and gone since that hour, and dismiss me now, as

then,"—and she lifted her lovely face, wet with the tears of contrition,

and Cromwell took it between his broad, strong hands, and kissed it, even as he had kissed it in her childhood.