IN THE WOODS OF ALTHORPE

ALTHORPE, called in Domesday Books “Ollethorp,”—and held before the Conquest, as the freehold of Tosti and Snorterman,—had been the home of the Spencers since the days of Henry the Seventh, when one John Catesby, second son of John Catesby of Legus Ashby, sold it to John Spencer, Esquire, son of William Spencer of Wormleighton, in Warwickshire, descended from the younger branch of the Despencers, anciently Earls of Gloucester and Winchester, and still more remotely from Ivo, Viscount Constantine, who married Emma, daughter of Alan of Brittany, before the Conquest—coming, therefore, by blood from one of the great feudal lords of France.

Althorpe House was built of freestone, in the form of the letter H, the two long wings joined by a central building in which was the main entrance facing south. It stood in a beautiful spot, level and well wooded. The old gatehouse, remnant of the feudal strength of Althorpe, had once been surrounded by a moat, but that had long since run dry and was overgrown with turf as smooth as velvet. The long avenues of elms and beeches and limes ran from it to the very doors of the earl’s house, and about it lay the park, enfiladed by those avenues of stately trees, while beyond were the meadows—in the old time it was said that there were eight acres of meadowland and two of thornwood in one small portion of the freehold of Ollethorp—and now the great domain stretched out on every hand, beautified by nature and by art.

It was in the woods of the park that Lady Betty and her attendant, Alice Lynn, walked on the morning after her interview with her father. It was too threatening to set out upon the journey to Newmarket, so they strolled on the outskirts of the earl’s domain. Both girls were cloaked and hooded and prepared for rain and, indeed, more than once there was the sharp pattering of drops on the thick foliage overhead. They did not hasten their steps, for neither of them feared the elements, and Lady Betty really feared nothing greatly, being a high-spirited and daring young creature who loved adventure well. A fresh breeze began to blow, rustling the leaves, and the branches swayed and creaked above them, a trellis-work of wavering green through which the gray sky blinked occasionally. To the left was a coppice, black with shadows; before them, here and there, a wide vista of open fields showed the grass rippling in a thousand waves; and again the tree-tops that seemed to touch the long, ragged clouds scudding so low, heavy with moisture and torn by wind. And the same wind—grown caressing—tossed the soft locks of Lady Betty’s hair into little curls about her face under the yellow bird’s-eye hood.

“What have you there, Alice?” she asked, as the girl stooped and peeped into a patch of grass growing in an opening between the trees.

“’Tis but a four-leafed clover, madam,” Alice replied, pulling it.

Lady Clancarty took it and looked at it with a quizzical eye.

“There is a saying in Devonshire,” she said, “that if you find a four-leafed clover and an even-leafed ash on the same day you will surely see your love ere sundown.”

“I have none, my lady,” replied Alice demurely.Lady Betty laughed with a delicious ripple of merriment.

“You have none, girl?” she said archly. “What a prompt confession! I grow suspicious, Alice, and see, there is the tell-tale blood creeping up to your hair. Fie, girl, fie! Where is thy true love, thine own love now?”

“Indeed, I know not, madam,” replied Alice meekly; “no one ever wooed me but the parson, and his mouth was so large that it frightened me; it did open his head like a lid.”

“Mercy on us, girl, ’twas an opening in life for you,” laughed Lady Betty; “and ’tis said that a large mouth is generous.”

“He was a great eater, madam,” replied the handmaid bluntly.

“Then were you surely meant for him, lass, for you are a famous maker of pastries, as I know. But tell me, Alice, did ever you have your fortune told?”

“Nay, ’twas not thought seemly by my aunt,” replied Alice; “I was reared as strict as any Calvinist.”

“And yet live with a sinner,” said Lady Clancarty with a smile. “I would inquire my fate, if there be any fortune-teller or sooth-sayer near. I grow more curious every day, Alice, to know what the end may be.”

“Ignorance is ofttimes best, my lady,” quietly replied her attendant.

“It may be,” Lady Clancarty said; “but sooth, Alice, ’tis very trying. I would fain know—I would fathom that dark cloud that hangs upon my destiny.”

“Dear Lady Betty,” Alice said, “is there indeed a dark cloud upon it? It seems to my humble vision fair as summer sunshine, and high and noble.”

The mistress sighed. “Ah, simple maid,” she said, “look not enviously upon high estate. Light hearted I was born, gay and full of recklessness, I believe, but happy—ah, Alice, once I was! But now, my mind keeps turning ever to the thought of one less happy; I have a home and he—he has none; I have friends—belike, he is friendless. I have money, a dower cut from his estates in Munster; he is a beggar! O Alice, it grieves me; I would fain help him; I would fain give him back my dower; I would—oh, do you not see what I must seem to him? Heartless, cold, without sense of my duty, a robber and an enemy? I who am true, I who have only too kind a heart, I who would give my all to help him—what is the song?

Alice, I must know how my husband fares, I—mercy on us, girl, what ails you?” she cried, for Alice had given a scream of alarm, starting back from the coppice near at hand.

“There’s some one there!” cried the handmaid, in agitation, “I saw a man’s boot and spur yonder.”

“Where?” demanded Lady Betty impatiently, “where is your scare-crow, you little simpleton?”

But before Alice could reply a large man emerged from the beeches and advanced toward them. He was clad in a long riding coat of dark blue with deep capes, and his high boots were splashed with mud. As he approached he lifted his wide-brimmed, beplumed hat, uncovering a head which was striking in contour. His face was of a bold and handsome type and his dark gray eyes were keen; he wore the full, long periwig of the prevailing fashion and a flowing cravat of Flemish lace.“A likely bugbear, my girl,” whispered Lady Betty roguishly, pinching Alice’s arm, but turning an innocent face upon the stranger.

“I crave pardon,” he said, with an easy salutation, “I have lost my way; will you direct me to Northampton?”

“The town lies five miles from us, sir,” replied Lady Betty, “and the tavern of the King’s Arms is upon the high street.”

“I thank you,” he replied courteously, but with no apparent desire to depart, and gazed at Lady Clancarty with an open admiration that offended Alice, who plucked at her mistress’ sleeve.

“Will you tell me what place this is?” he added, pointing at Althorpe House.

“It belongs to our master, the Earl of Sunderland,” replied Lady Betty, affecting the pert air of a waiting-maid; “’tis a fine place, sir, with a gallery full of pictures and another full of books and books and books! Dear me, sir, a sight of ’em! Your worship should go and look at ’em; ’tis a very hospitable house, too, and strangers are made welcome.”

“Indeed,” he said, with a smile, “I would be glad to avail myself of the opportunity—at another season. And you, my pretty maids, are the keeper’s daughters?”

“Faith, yes, sir,” said Lady Clancarty, dropping a courtesy, “we’re twins.”

“By Saint Patrick, you are strangely untwinlike!” remarked the stranger frankly; “never saw I two birds from one nest with less resemblance; one a pigeon and the other—”

“What, your honor?” demanded Lady Betty roguishly, while Alice plucked at her skirts in genuine confusion and fear.

“A bird of Paradise,” said he gallantly, kissing the tips of his fingers to her.

Lady Betty hung her head, simpering like the veriest country girl.

“Faith, sir,” she said, fingering her kerchief, “I don’t know what that is. Is it poultry?”

“It has wings, my dear,” he replied smiling, “but, in this case, they are only figurative.”

“La, sir!” cried Lady Betty, “what’s that? It sounds like something strange.”

“It’s a figure of speech, my girl,” he replied, a daring smile in his gray eyes as he drew a step nearer and Betty retreated a step, partly drawn by Alice; “but eyes like stars and cheeks like roses do not belong to the barnyard.”Her ladyship, suspecting that she had betrayed herself, bridled a little, but her love of mischief kept her from flight.

“Faith!” she said, looking down, “you fine gentlemen talk so finely that a poor maid cannot follow you. Go to the tavern, sir, and there your worship will find a listener after your own heart, for they do say that saucy Polly can talk up to Lord Spencer himself, and he’s the most learned man in England, sir; and, indeed, I do believe that all the others that ever knew half as much died of it immediately and were buried! Go to the tavern, sir, and good cheer to you and good by,” and her ladyship dropped another awkward courtesy.

“Here, lass, a kiss and a crown for your pains,” said the stranger, making a sudden attempt to catch her by the arm.

But Lady Betty danced off as light as a feather, laughing roguishly under her hood.

“Nay, sir,” she said wickedly, “girls do not kiss strangers in this country if they do—in France!”

“Confound the witch!” ejaculated the traveller, with a start of surprise. “Pshaw! ’twas my French coin she saw,” he added, and smiled as he watched the two girlish figures flying through the trees.Meanwhile Lady Betty was laughing and Alice remonstrating.

“Oh, my lady, how could you?” she said; “he might recognize you, he might have kissed you!”

“So he might!” admitted Lady Clancarty gleefully, “and how handsome he is! Did you mark him, Alice, is he not handsome?”

“Nay, madam,” said the discreet handmaid, still shocked and frightened, “that I know not, but he was overbold in staring at your ladyship.”

“Did he so?” asked Lady Betty pensively, blushing in a tell-tale fashion; “I noted it not; but was he not tall and strong and finely framed, Alice, with a bonny gray eye?”

“Oh, comely enough in appearance, my lady, but bold and with a reckless air; I trembled lest he should insult you.”

“Pooh, pooh, girl, you would love a milksop!” said Lady Betty petulantly; “he has the very eye and front of a soldier. I’ll wager he is some gallant who can strike a good blow for his sweetheart. What fun would there be in life without a harmless jest? He took me for a waiting-woman.”

“That he did not!” cried Alice, “he knew you, take my word for it, and he would have kissed you, the daring wretch!”

The handmaid shuddered at the thought and the mistress laughed at her perturbation, laughed with sweet gayety, her mirth rippling in low, joyous notes.

“You have no eye for a fine man, Alice,” she said blithely; “you little prude, do you think I would have let him? Nay, then do you not know me; but ’twas rare fun to see the dare-devil in those gray eyes of his. He has French gold, too, and mercy, how startled he was at my haphazard shot. ’Tis some Jacobite, and there are fierce Whigs at Northampton! Lackaday, the poor gentleman may come into trouble, I must warn him.”

“My lady, my lady,” protested Alice, and then stood aghast. “The saints help us,” she murmured, “there she runs after that bold gallant, like a village lass, and if the earl should see her!”

But generous-hearted Lady Clancarty thought of neither Alice nor the earl. Light of foot as any fawn, she flew over the green after the stranger’s retreating figure, for he had turned in another direction and was leading a black horse by the bridle. The swift run and the excitement of the moment brought the blood to Betty’s cheeks, and she panted for breath when she overtook him.

He turned with a smile. “What, lass,” he said gayly, “hast come for your kiss?”

Lady Clancarty gasped and grew crimson with shame; then drawing herself up to her full height, she flashed at him a look of withering scorn.

“You mistake, sir,” she said haughtily, “you are addressing Lady Clancarty.”

He took off his hat and the long plumes swept the ground at her feet as he made her a profound obeisance.

“I beseech your ladyship’s pardon,” he said, graceful and gracious—but not one whit abashed, “my eyes were dazzled—else they would have made no such mistake.”

But Betty would not be appeased; like a child who has been naughty and repented, she tried to appear as if it had not been. She was cold and haughty.

“Sir, I would merely warn you to be less careless of your French gold at Northampton,” she said; “we do not love St. Germain here,” and with a courtesy as low as his bow she left him.

Left him staring after her with a glow in his gray eyes.

Alice Lynn usually slept in a little anteroom of Lady Betty’s bedchamber, and that night as she lay abed she was awakened suddenly. The room was full of moonlight, and in it stood Lady Betty in her night-rail,—a charming figure, with softly dishevelled hair about her shoulders, and eyes that seemed to sparkle in the pale duskiness of her face. The tirewoman started up in alarm.

“My lady, oh, my lady!” she cried, “are you ill? Has aught happened?”

“Hush, no, no!” whispered Lady Betty, with a soft little laugh; “but, Alice, didn’t you notice that he said ‘by Saint Patrick’?”

“He! Who?” groaned poor Alice sleepily.

“The stranger, little goose!”

“Nay, madam,” said the poor handmaid; “I noticed naught but his bold eyes; I was afraid of him.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Betty exclaimed with a gesture of impatience; and she tripped lightly to the window and stood looking out over the moonlit park.

Alice yawned, drawing herself together on the edge of her bed in a crumpled attitude, one pink foot swinging near the floor; she was fairly nodding with sleep. Not so her mistress. Lady Betty brushed the soft hair from her face and stood in the moonlight a lovely figure, half revealed and half concealed by thin white draperies.

“I wonder,” she said musingly, “if—if Clancarty looks at all like this man?”

“I cannot tell, madam,” replied Alice demurely; “but it may be so.”

“You rogue!” laughed her mistress, “you would insinuate that two rakes may well resemble each other! Ah, Alice, he is my husband, mind you that, and a woman’s husband is not as other men.”

“You know him not at all, my lady,” yawned Alice, rubbing her eyes, “and if he’s like some—”

“Fudge, my girl, what do you know of husbands?” said Betty gayly; “I believe you have never even glanced out of the tail of that blue eye of yours at any bold gallant yet.”

The handmaid sighed sleepily.

“’Tis better so, my lady,” she said meekly.

“The parson not excepted!” laughed Lady Betty, dancing back lightly over the floor and pinching the girl’s cheek as she passed.

sang my lady, taking dancing steps as she tripped toward her own door; she was full of gayety, incorrigible and delightful as ever, though the great clock on the stairs was striking twelve. But Alice sighed drearily, and her mistress heard her.

“Poor lass!” she laughed, “go to sleep; I am a heartless wretch,” and she ran off laughing to her room, and Alice sank on her pillows again with a sigh of despair.