Chapter 22

HERMAN DE FARO

Oh, Clifford! but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o’errun my former time,
And if thou canst for blushing, view this face!

SHAKSPEARE.

“Where is the traitor?” Neville’s question resounded through Flanders, and was re-echoed in groans from the English shores. Each man feared the other, and saw the mark of Henry’s malice on the brow of all. It was a worse scene in England: executions followed imprisonment; the scaffolds flowed with blood; and suspicion was still greedy of prey. Among the papers seized by the king there was found a letter from Clifford to Lord Fitzwater, containing these words: “I do protest, my lord, that the proof of York’s truth is most pertinent. You know this; and yet he who cut the crooked rose-bush to the roots still doubts; forsooth, he is still at his ‘ifs’—’if he were sure that young man were King Edward’s son, he would never bear arms against him.’ Pray deprive my lord of his ‘if;’ for arms he must never bear: he is too principal to any cause.”

Henry tormented himself to find who this doubter might be: again he sought to bribe Clifford, who was at first dogged that so much was done without him, and then tried to barter his intelligence for Lord Fitzwater’s life. Such grace had he left, that he was ready to exert his wits to save his former patron; this was granted. This noble alone of the conspirators who were laymen was spared: he was sent prisoner to Calais.

At the first word of discovery, Monina’s friends had endeavoured to insure her escape to Flanders; but her name was known to Henry, and there was none whom he was more desirous to get into his power. She remained concealed at a little distance from London. She grew mad in inaction: the work of death and misery around wound up her tender spirit to torture; and the execution of her former friends filled her with such horror as made day hateful, night the parent of frightful visions. After several weeks’ seclusion, she all at once resolved to visit London, to seek some one of her former friends—to learn whether the tragedy was over, and what further mischiefs despair might have engendered. She inhabited a solitary mansion, with one old woman, who opposed her going, but vainly. Monina was too young to bear uncertainty with any degree of patience. Some slight joy visited her as she found herself on her road to London. Before she arrived a heavy rain fell; but she was not to be discouraged. Sir Edward Lisle, she knew, had not been arrested: she was unaware of his escape, and thought perhaps that he had not been discovered; she might get intelligence from him. His house was deserted and empty. Another hope remained—Sir William Stanley. She knew his timidity, and resolved to be cautious as to the manner of her visit. Sir William had ever been peculiarly kind to the gentle maiden; fearing to see her openly, she had often come to him by water: his mansion, near the palace at Westminster, had a garden upon the Thames. Without exciting any remark, she could land here. It was already night, and this favoured secrecy. With some difficulty, in the city, where she then was, she contrived to find her way to an obscure wharf, and embarked in a wherry. Fortunately it was high water, and she landed without difficulty in the garden, and dismissed the men. Now she began, to be puzzled as to how she should make her way, dripping with rain, unexpected, to Sir William’s presence. She had been accustomed to be admitted by a little door opening on stairs which led her to her old friend’s library: this was shut now. Suddenly she thought she heard voices, and then perceived a thread of light that streamed through the key-hole of the summer-house in the garden. There was a noise on the water, too: and a boat was paddled to the landing-place. Bewildered, yet believing that all this secrecy was connected with the grand conspiracy, she moved towards the summer-house: the door was opened, and the light falling full upon her, she saw several figures within, and a female shriek burst upon her ear. Quick steps were heard behind: to retreat or go forward equally terrified her; when one of the persons in the summer-house, a man in an uncouth foreign garb, cried, “Thou here, Monina! What miracle is this? Come, come in; there is danger in all we do!”

Monina recognized the voice of Frion, and entered: there she saw one, a lady richly attired, yet half disguised in a large black cloak. Fear was painted on her cheek; her blue eyes were cast up to Heaven. A female attendant with her seemed yet more terrified. About the room were scattered globes and astrolabes, and all the gear of an astrologer. In the lady, Monina recognized York’s sister, Tudor’s queen, the fair Elizabeth of England. At once compassion and respect entered her heart: she addressed the royal lady with reverence, and all that touching grace that was her sweetest charm; she assured her of inviolable secrecy; she reminded her of their former interview. Elizabeth grew calmer as she recognized her visitor at Shene: she stretched out her hand to the Spaniard, saying, “I do indeed believe and trust thee; thou shalt hear again from me.” Then folding her mantle round her, and leaning on her attendant, she quitted the house, and with trembling haste embarked.

For many weeks after this scene, Monina continued concealed in Sir William Stanley’s mansion. When the arrest of the conspirators had taken place, Frion, balked in an attempt to escape, for safety’s sake had assumed the habit and character of an astrologer, and so far worked upon Stanley’s fears, and won him by his flattery, that he permitted him to take up his residence in his summer-house. Frion was a clever prophet, and too restless not to become notorious. It was a good mode, he averred, to put hope in the hearts of the Yorkists, by prognosticating all manner of success to them. His fame spread. The queen questioned Stanley about his new astrologer; and the confusion the poor chamberlain evinced, served only to excite her curiosity. She sent one of her attendants to see what manner of man he might be; and the subtle Frion profited by this little artifice, which Sir William in his terror divulged, to entice the queen herself to his cell. She came, and the result of her visit was to bring Monina again before her.