Chapter IV

LADY MAGDALENE DACRE sat over her needlework in the little room opening out of the Queen's chamber at Greenwich, with her serious beautiful face bent low over the wooden frame from which a lily looked out, half filled in with yellow silk, and half an outline of red cotton. The cold spring sunshine poured in from the south-east, and threw lozenges of colour and pale light on to the flattened rushes by her chair.

She worked with great deliberateness, drawing the thread tightly through, and patting it down with her white ringers, but she was thinking of other things. She had sat here for over an hour; ever since the messenger had come from Oxford, and the Queen had passed through alone with the papers in her hands, saying that she must not be disturbed till she gave the signal.

Since then there had been no sound from the inner room except once the opening and closing of a further door; and half an hour later the same sound again. Magdalene knew what that meant; it was the Queen going to her private prayers in the little chapel down the passage, and returning from them.

She knew too what it was that waited for the Queen's decision. Mistress Dormer had looked in once to tell her in a whisper what was said downstairs. It was Master Cranmer's fate that was to be decided. He had been degraded a little more than a month before, one by one his powers had been taken from him under the symbols of the canvas vestments stripped from his

The Queen's Tragedy shoulders. Since that he had broken down utterly; he had signed half a dozen recantations, each more abject than the last; he had confessed his heresy; he had compared himself to the penitent thief; he had submitted himself wholly and without reserve to the judgment of the Holy Roman Church in all matters of faith and morals; and had entreated mercy from the woman in whose hands lay life and death, and whom he had wronged again and again from her childhood to her coronation by every means in his power. In former years he had declared her mother a concubine and herself a bastard; he had insulted her faith as well as her birth; had taken an oath to support the Religion which at the very moment of swearing he intended to subvert; he had plotted against his Queen's succession; he had repudiated the Sacrifice for the offering of which he had been ordained and which she regarded as the most sacred act done on earth; he had betrayed the vast trust committed to him on the most solemn pledges at his consecration — and now, after all this he lay in prison, a broken-down old man, in agony at the prospect of the death that he had inflicted on others for crimes almost identical with his own, signing everything that was put before him, recanting all the opinions which had brought him prosperity, and crying out for pity from the woman whom he loathed and distrusted, and had declared no Queen.

Magdalene could not doubt what the decision would be; she knew too well what was the mind of the Councillors who had come and gone during the last month; even if the Queen had wished to show mercy, it was impossible for her to withstand such a weight of opinion.

Yet her mind shrank from the thought in horror. It

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters was such a piteous picture of humiliation and misery; no submission could be more abject; and, she thought, no lesson more salutary than the sight of Master Cranmer going softly through the few years that remained to him on earth, alive because he was not worth the killing, and free because he was not worth his prison fare — an object lesson of the futility of ambition and heresy and of the mercy of God's ministers. This would be surely better than the fiery halo that the stake would give him. Then he had always been gentle and kindly himself, except when it had been necessary for him to show his zeal for his new-fangled religion; he had had all the domestic virtues — he had been twice married, and had been a good husband, rumour said, to the woman whom he called his wife; he had, in fact, been a timid, quiet, scholarly man all his days, entirely incapable of coping with his public duties or of withstanding the fierce master whom he served. The same feebleness of character that now allowed him to sign his numerous recantations had brought him to the situation where signing was a necessity".

So Magdalene sat and embroidered, and pitied and loathed him in her heart.

Behind that curtained door she knew the final decision was being made. A sickly withered woman was biting her pen as she looked at the papers spread before her, and the tall trembling letters " Thomas Cranmer " at the foot of each. Was it possible, Magdalene wondered, that she should disentangle what he deserved for his heresy from what he had merited from herself, for his treason towards her? Perhaps it was to help her in that unravelling that she had gone out half an hour ago to where the Crucified King of Kings, shrouded in silk, hung over His altar.

The Queen's Tragedy

There were other matters too that helped to complicate the issues.

Scarcely three days before the Queen had told her of another of the new threads that had come into her hands, of a plot so mysterious and far-reaching that none knew how far it extended. She had broken out in passion in her bed-chamber, binding them first to secrecy, and had hinted of an assault upon the Tower; of a scheme to sweep the Channel and secure the great forts on the south-coast. Henry of France was in it; members of her own Court against whom she had refused to believe evil had joined her enemies; the Catholic Religion, her own claim to the throne, the Spanish marriage, the peace and unity of England were the objects of attack. The following night Manton had brought in a prisoner secretly, and had given in a list of names of those concerned. Was it possible then to expect the Queen to deal lightly with this old ringleader of former conspiracies against her throne, who added to that crime the sin of heresy?

Magdalene sighed, laid down her embroidery and listened.

As she did so the door from the corridor opened noiselessly and old Mrs. Clarentia looked in.

Magdalene shook her head, and the old lady came through and sat down beside her opposite the hearth.

" Eh! " she said, " it is past dinner-time."

" I dare not disturb her," whispered Magdalene. " She bade me not."

''The gentlemen are all waiting," went on Mistress Clarentia; " they would have me come in to see how long her Grace would be."

The girl shook her head, and took up her embroidery once more.

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters

" My lord Cardinal will see her this afternoon, I hear," said the other, watching the growing lily approvingly, with her hands folded together.

" He was here last night too," said the girl. " I suppose it is all the same business."

" But her Grace will make up her mind without him," said the old lady decisively. " None can do it but she."

" Did you ever see him? " asked Magdalene, suddenly, looking up at her.

" My lord? "

" Master Cranmer, I mean."

" Yes; many a time. I saw him in his barge once coming from Lambeth to see his Grace; he passed close beside me.

" What is he like? "

" Nay; I could see nothing of him but his purple and his cross. He has a beard now, they tell me."

Magdalene was silent again for a minute or two. Then the old lady went on.

" He will be burned, I am sure of it. They ail say so."

" My lord of Ely did not think so," said the girl.

Mistress Clarentia said nothing. She was plainly thinking more of the Queen than of the Archbishop, and was distressed that dinner was kept waiting.

They could hear low talking from the gallery outside where the ushers were waiting to form the procession to the little room where the Queen dined during these days; for her table in the great hall had not been used for months. She was not well enough to bear publicity.

From her own room came still no sound. That heavy flowered curtain veiled all mysteries.

Mistress Clarentia could bear it no longer.

Magdalene watched her rise uneasily and go towards the door, and presently saw her old white head bent down

The Queen's Tragedy to catch the faintest sound from within, with her wrinkled hand, dripping with lace, raised for silence.

The girl sighed once or twice, laid down her embroidery once more, and stood up, stretching herself.

Then the old woman suddenly turned and made a swift tremulous gesture, and the next moment drew back the curtain. There was the click of an opening latch, and the Queen came silently through and stood for an instant in the doorway.

Magdalene looked eagerly at her face, and thought she had never seen it look so worn.

It was terribly old and drawn now. Her beauty had faded with extraordinary swiftness during her short reign. Beneath those hard, tired eyes lay dark pouches; her nose stood out sharp beneath white tight-drawn skin; the corners of her mouth were lined with months of pain and sorrow; and her throat above her square-cut dress was thin and shrivelled.

So much Magdalene saw now, as the Queen stood in her rich robes framed in the dark oak, alight with jewels from neck to waist; but she could read no more from that stiff, wrinkled mask of what the decision had been. It might be life and death; she bore either with equal sorrow for herself and others; — a queen of desolation.

The girl recovered herself, and went swiftly across to the gallery door and threw it open. There was a stir of footsteps and then a sudden silence at the sound; and she saw the half dozen gentlemen spring quickly into position.

The Queen was close behind her as she turned; and Mistress Clarentia followed. Magdalene looked at her questioningly as she fell into her place beside her in the gallery, and the old lady turned and nodded twice with solemn eyes.

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters

Then Magdalene followed on down the corridor with a beating heart.

From behind the Queen's chair at dinner Magdalene, trained now in the instincts of the Court, could see that there was a suppressed excitement in the solemn faces that went about the ritual of the table. She could hardly have said what it was that told her that; it was partly the alert silence, partly the quick slight glances at the Queen. Master Manton was there to-day, she saw; he seemed less aware than any, and stood in his place, or went this way and that, with a heavy sullen face. It seemed to her that he was suffering; it was scarcely possible otherwise that a man could look so; and yet so far as she knew he should have been all the other way. It was said that his prisoner had been an important one; at any rate he had been sent to the Tower, and Master Norris had been loud in the praise of Master Manton' s skill and patience. It was certain that the Queen could not allow her zealous servant to go unrewarded. Yet his face showed no excitement or pleasure.

Magdalene ran her eyes along the other gentlemen. Master Kearsley as always, with a peevish air, was taking the rose-water from another. Master Norris, who was standing unoccupied, lifted his eyes to hers, with a question in them. She looked down; she dared not nod; she knew nothing for certain.

As the Queen turned away from table when grace had been said, she paused a moment, and put her hand on Magdalene's arm.

" Tell Master Manton I will see him," she said, " when my lord Cardinal is gone again."

Then she was gone through the doorway, and the girl called up a page and gave her message. As she sped along the gallery after the Queen she met the

The Queen's Tragedy gentlemen coming back, and was surrounded in a moment.

" I know nothing," she said, " nothing. Her Grace has been alone and has told me nothing."

" What think you yourself, my lady? " said a voice.

" I think he will burn; but I know nothing. We shall not know till my lord Cardinal has been."

The ante-chamber was empty when she reached it, and the Queen's door closed. Magdalene sat down by the window to wait.

What a life this was! How strange and difficult! Here she was, set close to tragedy after tragedy, yet untouched by them all. The great personages who swept by her and disappeared through closed doors, had nothing but smiling courtesy for the beautiful maid-ofhonour, even the chief of them all, the odious little Spanish Prince whose courtesy had once over-balanced itself — he too had been tame and respectful enough when she had last seen him. And yet while their faces smiled, their minds were on other things — on plots and counterplots and policy. Even the mistress of the great company, whom she had seen at her weakest moments, was fire and steel in affairs of State, unapproachable, consuming, adamant.

Magdalene had longed once, when she had conquered her timidity, to be admitted to those secrets; now she feared it. It had given her nothing but distress to receive the Queen's confidence three days before. She knew she was not suited to this life. She was more at her ease in it now; she had no fits of shyness or homesickness; but she desired simplicity with all her heart; a house in some pleasant country place with tall grey walls, a timbered park, a towered gateway — she could rule such a place as this, she thought; she could say

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters her prayers in peace, govern her servants, please her husband — for she would surely marry some day, though certainly not gay Mr. Norris; and develop her own serene nature without the warp that the close presence of a hard complex personality such as the Queen's could not but cause. She trembled at her still, shrank from her caresses, did not wish even to search for the heart that inspired her.

The bell rang out suddenly for the ladies' dinner; and, as she rose to go, the door from the Queen's chamber opened and Mistress Clarentia came out with a packet of papers in her hands.

Magdalene stared at them, brought down to earth in a moment, and terrified at the thought of what they contained.

" Nay, child," said the old lady, coming up to her, " my lord Cardinal is to see them all before the messenger leaves again."

" Has she decided? " asked the girl, trembling a little

' I think so, my dear."

The Queen's Tragedy

The Queen came slowly back from the Presence-Chamber an hour later; passed through the ante-room without acknowledging the courtesies of her ladies, shut the door behind her, and sat down in the wide arm-chair before the hearth.

She was miserably tired, and for a few minutes was scarcely conscious of anything but the pleasant warmth of the fire, the comfort of the deep chair and the restful silence and peace of the room. She felt she could not bear to see anyone just now; Master Manton must wait a little; she knew she would not be disturbed till she gave the signal.

She lay perfectly passive, her buckled shoes stretched towards the burning logs; her chin on her breast, her hands listless in her lap, and her whole body from head to feet one mass of sick weariness.

She felt terribly alone. Philip was abroad and would not answer her letters; Gardiner was dead, the Duke of Norfolk was dead, and even the Cardinal this afternoon had been of no help to her; and, worst of all, she did not know how far his deficiencies had arisen from her own fault.

Perhaps she had been too decisive, she thought; too clearly resolved on Master Cranmer's death; but she had not meant that; she had only wished to show that for her part she was ready to take the consequences of his death. On the other hand she had been perfectly prepared to listen to persuasion. Yet the Cardinal had said very little; he had looked at her out of his deep eyes and told her that she was Queen; he had not offered in the least to shift the responsibility from her weary shoulders. She had told him shortly of all the advice she had received, of the will of the Council; she had

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters reminded him of the laws of three of her predecessors, of the Pope's instructions, and of the Archbishop's crimes; then she had shown him the recantations, and looked again at copies of the letters that the Legate had written to the prisoner. Then she had waited for help, for a strong approval or of a dignified entreaty; and there had been silence instead.

They had gone on to speak of other matters then, of the diocese of Canterbury which would presently be vacant, of the arrangements for the Cardinal's consecration and appointment. He had asked again after her health; spoken a word or two on other things; and that had been all. And here she sat now, worn out and distracted; and the messenger was on his way to Oxford with instructions for the case to go forward according to law.

It seemed to her now as if some irresistible force had closed round that compelled her to act in a certain way. She had done the utmost of which her broken-down body and mind were capable, to dissociate herself from her own passions on the one side and from external influences on the other; she seldom saw her Councillors; she tried to be human and natural; she struggled to pray, to follow internal guidance; but, in spite of all, circumstances would not let her alone. On the one side her people were still busy against her, with plot after plot; on the other side there was the machinery of the law brought into being by the votes of her Parliament. What could she do but permit its working? It was not that she had not tried tenderness— she had abolished many penalties, she had pardoned hundreds who had incurred death; she had done her best to please them; she had refused to believe evil against them; and time after time they had responded with treachery and assault. Even her own

The Queen's Tragedy servants were against her; Magdalene shrank from her — she knew that very well; Master Norris was indifferent, though loyal; Master Underbill, she did not doubt, hated her and her Faith, and had plotted against her person, though there was no legal evidence against him.

What could she do with her people? She could neither understand them nor explain herself to them. Yet she assured herself that it was not for want of trying.

Again, as regards heresy, what was to be done? She had begun by hoping that the Faith was not extinguished, and that by acting gradually, by restoring little by little the old worship, the light would be re-kindled. And her people had answered by attacking her priests, mocking her Religion, and weaving sedition and heresy so inextricably together that it was impossible to punish the one without glorifying the other. If God had not brought her to the throne that she might re-establish the Faith of His Church, why had He brought her there at all? She felt stupid and bewildered from the torment of the morning's decision and her own sickness.

Eighteen months ago she had been so happy. The Legate had come with a splendour that promised great things; England, she thought, had been restored to unity; her husband had been with her; the babe had leapt in her womb — the dear babe that was to take up the government when she laid it down. Now it seemed as if all were a ghastly delusion; the Legate indeed was still here, but how powerless! The heart-shaking scene in Westminster Hall was no more than the rehearsal of a play that seemed postponed indefinitely; her husband had disappeared into silence, and the leap of the child was the thrill of a horrible disease.

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters

Her head sank lower still on to her breast; and her tired eyes closed.

Half an hour later she opened them again and sat up a little. Her head ached intolerably after the heavy doze.

She must see Master Manton; he had been waiting so long. There were none too many faithful servants left; and then she must write to Philip again; she had not written for three days.

She went painfully across to the door, called to one of her ladies and gave directions; then returned once more and sat down

She had not long to wait; the door presently opened and Master Manton came across the floor, knelt and saluted her, and stood upright again as she gave the signal.

What was it that she was to say to him? She had forgotten. What was it he had done? Ah, yes! She made an effort and sat upright.

" I wished to thank you, sir, for your zeal "

No; that was too cold. She must show more gratitude; the lack of it had been one of her mistakes.

" I am very grateful, sir, for your courage and discretion. Master N orris tells me you put yourself in great peril. I told you once before that I valued faithfulness above everything; I tell it you again now, more than ever."

She looked up a moment at the young man; but his face was in shadow; and he said nothing.

She went on, twisting her rings round her shrunken fingers.

" The fellow is in the Tower, is he not? "

" Yes, madam."

The Queen's Tragedy

" Yes; well, there will be more there soon. I have seen the papers you took from him, and the names — you kept all private, of course? "

" Yes, madam."

" I must think what reward will be fitting. We will wait, perhaps, till his Highness comes here. That will be soon now, please God."

Again there was silence. Mary could not think what else to say to this stern gentleman of hers. She was blind and stupid with headache.

" We must wait too," she went on presently, " until we have sifted the matter to the bottom. I am astonished that Master Kingston is in it. He was released from the Tower scarcely six months ago. I thought him a foolish fellow, but no rascal. Are you sure he is in it, Master Manton? "

" I know he came to see Master Ashton at Oxford, and his name is in the list. I know no more than that, your Grace."

Mary considered a moment.

" Well, we shall know more soon when Master — Master "

' Brownrigg, madam."

" When Master Brownrigg speaks."

There was a pause.

" Did you speak, sir? "

"No, madam."

She wished she could see his face; but it was impossible. He stood with his back to the window, and the light beyond his head dazzled and stung her tired eyes. There was certainly some emotion close to her; or was it merely her own weariness and nerves?

" It is a greater affair than I thought at first, Master Manton. We moved the money from the Tower, you know, sir, some while ago. They were after that; but

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters that is not all; and your prisoner proves it. It is strange there were no more papers on him? "

" Perhaps he feared treachery, madam," said the steady voice.

" There were no more? You searched him well? "

" I searched him well, madam."

"Ah! well "

She could not bear any more talking. Her head throbbed and burned with pain; and she mechanically put out her hand once more to be kissed.

She caught a glimpse of his face as he knelt and took it, and it seemed to her that it was older than she had thought; his lips too were hot, though they scarcely touched her hand.

" I tell you again, sir, I am grateful to you; and shall not forget it."

When he was gone, she still sat a minute or two before going to her table, closing her eyes and leaning back in her chair.

She had done that at least — thanked this ungracious young man personally; and it was a good deal in these days when she refused audiences to almost all who applied for them. She was weary of councillors; prosperity did not lie that way. Rather it was to be found in fearless action, and above all in finding the will of God by prayer and devotion. She was doing what she could, she told herself, towards restoring those old roads to His Heart down which grace had passed for so many centuries; the Observant Friars were back in their old home where her mother had worshipped — herself a tertiary of the Order; the Black Friars were moving into St. Bartholomew's. The Carthusians would be back at Sheen before the end of the year, and there was a great scheme for the return of the black monks to

The Queen's Tragedy

Westminster. Master Feckenham was coming to see her, she remembered, in a few days. Had she not, perhaps, been too anxious about many things; too faithless to the resolution which she had made before Stephen Gardiner — (Jesu rest him!) — to trust God and believe the best of man?

To believe the best of man! Well, she must write to Philip.

She rose and went to her table.

The broad paper was laid out, and the pounce-box beside it. The pens were ready to her hand, and the ink-horn in front.

But she could not begin. She had begun so often; she had poured out her heart again and again — her heart restrained and guided by her cautious head — and it had been so useless. He was so unreasonable too; the men that came from him at long intervals brought no letter or love, but they brought impossible demands instead — impossible to all who knew England as she did. Was she hard on him? God knew she had given him all she could, and the love of her heart with it. Perhaps he was too busy with his wars and with the control of his huge dominions, to understand how difficult was this vehement little country which he had left his sick wife to rule.

She must write once more, but the tears blinded her as she began.

" Monseigneur..."

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters

Greenwich was in a greater stir a few days later than had been seen there for many months. The newly-made Archbishop was come from Bow Church, where he had that day received the Pall, to pay his respects to the Queen. Outside a fleet of barges and boats rocked at the steps, and a strip of scarlet carpet ran from the water's edge to the grand entrance; a crowd of priests, gentlemen and servants congregated here to see the prelate come out; and a steady buzz of talk went up on all sides in the sunny air.

It was thought by some that a new era had begun. So long as Cranmer was alive there had been complications; for although he had been deposed and degraded, it had been thought better that the diocese should lie vacant until his fate had been decided; now, however, the last obstacle had been removed, and the Cardinal was in full and lawful possession of the See and all officers belonging to it. It was the party that took this view that talked the louder this morning on the palace-steps.

There were others who were silent.

Within Placentia itself there was not the same expression of opinion, except in groups here and there gathered in the parlours on the ground floor. The long corridors upstairs and down were lined with silent figures, that leaned forward and craned watching heads this way and that, as great personages swept up and down, or ushers scurried along from the direction of the little suite of rooms where the Queen and the Cardinal were closeted together.

In the first of these rooms there was one group of which the members knew perhaps more than anyone of the real state of affairs, and of the reasons for hope and fear, but they talked very little.

Old Father Peto, the Greenwich friar, in his grey habit, who had weathered many storms under Henry, and had been in peril of his life again and again, was saying his office in a chair drawn up to the hearth, his bare feet crossed before him.

Monsignor Priuli, the Venetian, and the intimate friend of Reginald Pole for many years, who had refused the sacred purple that he might be near the Archbishop, was standing in the window-recess and looking out at the crowd of boats, the mob of sightseers and officials on either side of the scarlet cloth, and the sunlit river beyond.

Dr. Feckenham, designated Abbot of Westminster, was beside him, dressed and shorn as a secular priest, was looking out too

The Italian sighed softly once or twice, and turned round.

" When do you go to Westminster, sir? "

Dr. Feckenham told him, in the autumn, he thought.

" I spoke with her Grace yesterday," he said.

He was a little man, stout and rosy, with quiet contented eyes and white teeth. It was very pleasant to him to contemplate the return to Westminster, and he beamed as he spoke of it.

" Her Grace is doing wonders," he went on. " The Religious are coming back ever)'where." He indicated Father Peto with his head. " He is more fortunate. He is home again already."

" Why, yes," said Monsignor shortly. He paused: " And what of Master Cranmer? "

" What of him? " asked the monk.

The Italian raised his delicate black eyebrows and pursed his lips.

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters

" A heretic all the while! " he said softly. " He has lost his soul. But has he saved us? "

Dr. Feckenham looked puzzled.

" You mean his final recantation? "

" I mean that. I mean that what Master Latimer said is true. They have lit a candle between them. And they all hate my lord of London like the devil, though he be a kindly man at heart."

The monk was silent a moment. Then he came a step forward close beside the other.

" Would my lord Cardinal not have burned him then? "

Monsignor Priuli looked over his shoulder, but the old friar's lips were moving, and he wore a heavy frown of attention as he said his office.

" Why, no; my lord would not. But her Grace would have it so. My lord said it was useless to speak."

He turned again to the window and began to drum on the glass softly, with his fingers. Then he went on again in a yet lower voice.

" And now there is this new matter of the plot. They have Throgmorton, Peckham, Brownrigg, Daniel and Rosey in the Tower, with above thirty others. And God knows how many more will be in it soon."

" Master Ashton is in France, I hear," observed the monk presently.

" But he will not stay there," said the other priest bitterly. " I wish to God he would! "

They talked of the plot for a few minutes in undertones; and it was indeed enough to alarm the most sanguine optimist. Someone had blabbed within a day or two of Brownrigg' s arrest. There had been strange parties going about the City, pointing to the comet that shone like a pale streamer of cloud in the blue sky, and

The Queen's Tragedy telling folks that it portended great things; and the Council had acted swiftly and decisively. Nearly forty persons were already in the Tower; some of them prominent men — Master Rosey, for example, was the keeper of the Star-Chamber; Master Uvedale, who was on his way to London under arrest had held no less a post than that of Captain of the Isle of Wight; John Daniel had been a confidential servant to Lord Northampton. The pretext for the plot was supposed to be King Henry's will by which he had attempted to leave the kingdom away from both Mary and Elizabeth if they married without the Council's consent, and King Edward's " device " for the succession of the Lady Jane Grey; and the object of the plot was to depose and execute Mary, and set Elizabeth in her place. No man knew how far the conspiracy did not extend; the Earl of Westmoreland and Lord Williams were under suspicion; Sir Anthony Kingston was certainly attempting to raise men in Wales, and even the King of France was supposed to be privy to the whole affair. There was no doubt that Ashton and Horsey were at present at his Court and under his protection; but these had not yet been actually proclaimed as traitors.

" Master Jerningham and Master Hastings were with the Council this morning, I hear," said Monsignor Priuli at last. " It is they who are to examine the prisoners."

" And the Lady Elizabeth is at Bishop's Hatfield? " questioned the monk softly.

The Italian shrugged his shoulders eloquently once more.

" I shall not be surprised if she is sent for," he said.

Master Feckenham sighed, and his eyes looked melancholy in his rosy face. He hated these affairs, and could not understand why folks were so troublesome. There was not the shadow of a doubt in his mind as to which side would win; of course the old faith would

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters come back, and he and his fellows would sing again in Westminster, and the old Catholic life begin to beat again in England's shrivelled veins. And why would not others understand that, and leave rebellion alone, and learn to serve God and their prince loyally, as their fathers had done? Well, it was not his business. It was her Grace who had to deal with them; and if only her Grace would not be so cold.

He broke off his meditations as the door from the direction of the Queen's inner rooms opened, and an usher came through.

" My lord Cardinal will be coming out immediately," said the gentleman bowing, and disappeared back again.

Old Father Peto sprang to his feet, thrusting a finger into his breviary, and began to mutter a paternoster to mark the break.

" Who was that? " asked Monsignor Priuli, turning to the monk. " I have seen him at Lambeth."

Master Feckenham shook his head. He had not noticed.

" That man has something on his soul," whispered the Italian shortly. " Did you not see his eyes? "

The monk turned astonished.

" I know him now," went on Monsignor, as if talking to himself. " I remember."

" Who is it, then? "

" That is Master Guy Manton."

The door fell back between bowing gentlemen; and the stately bearded figure came through in rochet and scarlet cape, smiling at the three friends who awaited him. A couple of boys carried his train.

" To Lambeth," he said; " come with us, my lord Abbot."

Master Feckenham beamed, and followed.

The Queen's Tragedy

There were others besides Monsignor Priuli who noticed that there was something the matter with Master Manton. It seemed to Jack Norris that his friend was a very tiresome and incomprehensible fellow. A week had passed since Brownrigg's arrest, and he had not had a word with him. Guy had gone about his duties silent and sullen; his door had been locked twice when Jack had tried to open it, and there had been only the shortest answer when he tapped. And yet the man had done a brilliant stroke; he had laid hands on an important unit in the plot before the officials had done much more than suspect that there was a plot at all. He had been thanked personally by the Queen, and a reward was imminent. What more did the fellow want? He had always complained of lack of work, and was now dissatisfied when he had got it.

There were two possible explanations to Jack's mind. One was that the paper which Guy had retained held something unforeseen which altered the state of affairs; the other that there was truth in what Brownrigg had said, and the two had indeed been friends at College. The former of these two solutions appeared unlikely; but the latter was surely more unlikely still. It was not credible that a man should show such zeal and skill in the capture of his friend.

Jack determined to get the truth out of Tom; he was certain the boy knew it.

On the evening of the day that the Cardinal had been to Greenwich Master Norris sent a message to the household at supper that he desired Master Bradshawe to come to the music parlour at seven o'clock and to bring his notes with him.

There was a charming virginal there, once belonging to King Henry, that had somehow found its way to the

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters pensioners' room; and this Jack Norris had caused to be set in a separate little chamber where a harp or two was also kept. He knew he would not be disturbed here this evening; and the music too was a pretext for sending for the boy.

He was so absorbed in the delicate tinkle of the strings, and in his own ingenious harmonies, to the air on the paper propped before him that he did not notice Tom's entrance. The boy waited a moment, and then came across the room softly.

" Ah! you are come then," said Jack, without turning round. " Listen to this."

He began to play the Miserere very softly and movingly, murmuring the words, and singing aloud between each verse the refrain, " In diebus illis mulier quae erat in civitate peccatrix...."

He sang half-a-dozen verses and stopped.

" Do you know what that is, my lad? " he said, still without turning round.

" No, sir," said a melancholy voice.

"It is the Maundy music, which you will sing when her Grace washes feet next week."

He began to touch the notes again.

" What have you brought? " he said.

He heard the same desolate voice name a song or two, and perceived from the tone that he would have to put the boy at his ease before approaching the great subject; so he still did not turn or look at him, and began to play softly the prelude to one of Walter Mapes' Latin drinking-songs that young Mr. Byrde had lately set, with his eyes fixed steadily on the blaze of painting above the keys where the King's beasts, ramping within a gilt Garter, pawed the crest that held the Royal arms.

But the performance, which should have been rollicking, was a very dreary affair. Tom seemed strangely

The Queen's Tragedy out of spirits, and Jack kept back his criticisms with considerable difficulty. He proposed another song, and that was sung too, and then the accompanist wheeled swiftly round and faced the singer.

" My lad," he said, "What is the matter with you? "

He saw instantly the boy's face break into lines, and his eyes fill with tears. He leaned forward and took him by the arms, drawing him close up.

" Tom, tell me, Is it Master Brownrigg? "

The boy struggled violently and the tears ran down his cheeks. But Jack held him.

" Who is Master Brownrigg? Did you know him at College? "

" He — he gave me a gown once," sobbed the boy with a convulsed face. Then he tore himself free, and in another moment was out of the room, leaving his music-sheets scattered on the floor.

Jack sat a moment considering. Then he turned round again and began to play.

He was so rapt in contemplation that he did not hear a step coming down the passage; but he heard the door violently thrust open and then shut to again; and turned round astonished to see Guy his face white with passion and his mouth working, looking at him from the centre of the floor.

" God damn you, sir! How dare you tamper with my servant? "

Jack made a motion as of whistling and set his hands on his knees surveying Master Manton from head to foot, insolently.

" Your servant can sing no better than a cat to-night," he said.

Guy's hands rose swiftly; and Jack rose with them, defiant through fear.

Mary the Queen Decides a Few Matters

" See here, Master Manton, I will not have this threatening. I am your officer, sir. How dare you speak to me like that? "

Guy's mouth opened to answer, but Jack was beforehand.

"It is my business to see that there be no trickery. How do I know if you be not sheltering Master Brownrigg with that paper you hold back? "

The other's face closed like a trap; his lips snapped together and his brows came down.

" You swore, sir! " he said.

" I did swear," said Jack. " Then do not make me break my oath."

The two eyed one another a moment; but Guy's defence was weakening, and the other saw it.

" Why will you not tell me what is in it?" he said more quietly.

Guy's lips worked a little. Then he broke out —

" Because I do not know myself. I swear I do not; it is in cypher."

" Pooh! " said Jack, " a hundred can read it."

" But I dare not show it."

" Well, then, let me see it."

Guy's face darkened again; and Jack smiled a little bitterly.

" Well, then — that priest who was here to-day — my lord Priuli; he is skilled in such things."

Guy shook his head.

" I will show it to no one," he said, " this is my affair."

" Pah! But the paper is not what is troubling you. It is Master Brownrigg."

Once more Guy's face became hard, but there was something else in it too. Jack could see he was only controlling himself with a great effort

Then he spoke with a loud hard voice.

The Queen's Tragedy

" It is not, sir; Master Brownrigg may save himself He is a damned traitor."

He wheeled and went out of the room.

Jack stood looking after him a moment or two; then he sat down at the virginal again, and began to play little minor chords, sounding the fifth below in soft resonant taps. • Then again he paused with his fingers on the keys.

" The poor devil! " he said softly.

Nihil difficile amanti •puto.

Cic. Orat.