The Caged Lion by Charlotte M. Yonge (books to read to increase intelligence TXT) 📕

dare to have such thoughts of—oh, Sir!’ and Malcolm covered his face with his hands.  ‘Oh, that you should have so mistaken me!’

‘I have not mistaken you,’ said James, fixing his keen eyes on him.

‘Oh, Sir!’ cried Malcolm, like one freshly stung, ‘you have!  Never, never dreamt I of aught but worshipping as a living saint, as I would entreat St. Margaret or—’

There was still the King’s steady look and the suppressed smile.  Malcolm broke off, and with a sudden agony wrung his hands together.  The King still smiled.  ‘Ay, Malcolm, it will not do; you are man, not monk.’

‘But why be so cruel as to make me vile in my own eyes?’ almost sobbed Malcolm.

‘Because,’ said the King, ‘she is not a saint in heaven, nor a nun in a convent, but a free woman, to be won by the youth she has marked out.’

‘Marked!  Oh, Sir, she only condescended because she knew my destination.’

‘That is well,’ said King James.  ‘Thus sparks kindle at unawares.’

Malcolm’s groan and murmur of ‘Never!’ made James almost laugh at the evidence that on one side at least the touch-wood was ready.

‘Oh, Sir,’ he sighed, ‘why put the thought before me, to make me wretched!  Even were she for the world, she would never be for me.  I—doited—hirpling—’

‘Peace, silly lad; all that is past and gone.  You are quite another now, and a year or two of Harry’s school of chivalry will send you home a gallant knight and minstrel, such as no maiden will despise.’

The King went, and Malcolm fell into a silent state of musing.  He was entirely overpowered, both by the consciousness awakened within himself, by the doubt whether it were not a great sin, and by the strangeness that the King, hitherto his oracle, should infuse such a hope.  What King James deemed possible could never be so incredible, or even sacrilegious, as he deemed it.  Restless, ashamed, rent by a thousand conflicting feelings, Malcolm roamed up and down his chamber, writhed, tried to sit and think, then, finding his thoughts in a whirl, renewed his frantic pacings.  And when dire necessity brought him again into the ladies’ chamber, he was silent, blushing, ungainly, abstracted, and retreated into the farthest possible corner from the unconscious Esclairmonde.

Then, when again alone with the King, he began with the assertion, ‘It is utterly impossible, Sir;’ and James smiled to see his poison working.  Not that he viewed it as poison.  Monasticism was at a discount, and the ranks of the religious orders were chiefly filled, the old Benedictine and Augustinian foundations by gentlemen of good family who wanted the easy life of a sort of bachelor squire, and the friaries were recruited by the sort of men who would in modern times be dissenting teachers of the lower stamp.  James was persuaded that Malcolm was fit for better things than were usually to be seen in a convent, and that it was a real kindness not to let him merely retire thither out of faintness of heart, mistaken for devotion; and he also felt as if he should be doing good service, not only to Malcolm, but to Scotland, if he could obtain for him a wife of the grand character of Esclairmonde de Luxemburg.

He even risked the mention of the project to the Countess of Hainault, without whose consent nothing could be effected.  Jaqueline laughed long and loud at the notion of her stately Esclairmonde being the lady-love of King James’s little white-visaged cousin; but if he could bring it about she had no objection, she should be very glad that the demoiselle should come down from the height and be like other people; but she would wager the King of Scots her emerald carcanet against his heron’s plume, that Esclairmonde would never marry unless her hands were held for her.  Was she not at that very moment visiting some foundation of bedeswomen—that was all she heard of at yonder feast of cats!

In fact, under Dr. Bennet’s escort, Esclairmonde and Alice were in a barge dropping down the Thames to the neighbourhood of the frowning fortress of the Tower—as yet unstained; and at the steps leading to the Hospitium of St. Katharine the ladies were met, not only by their friend Mrs. Bolt, but by Sir Richard Whittington, his kindly dame, and by ‘Master William Kedbesby,’ a grave and gentle-looking old man, who had been Master of St. Katharine’s ever since the first year of King Richard II., and delighted to tell of the visits ‘Good Queen Anne’ of Bohemia had made to her hospital, and the kind words she had said to the old alms-folk and the children of the schools; and when he heard that the Lady Esclairmonde was of the same princely house of Luxemburg, he seemed to think no honour sufficient for her.  They visited the two houses, one for old men, the other for old women, each with a common apartment, with a fire, and a dining-table in the midst, and sleeping cells screened off round it, and with a paved terrace walk overhanging the river, where the old people could sit and sun themselves, and be amused by the gay barges and the swans that expatiated there.  The bedeswomen, ten in number, had a house arranged like an ordinary nunnery, except that they were not in seclusion, had no grating, and shared the quadrangle with the alms-folk and children.  They were gentle and well-nurtured women, chiefly belonging to the city and country families that furnished servants to the queens; and they applied themselves to various offices of charity, going forth into the city to tend the poor, and to teach the women and children.  The appointments of alms-folk and admissions to the school were chiefly made at their recommendation; and though a master taught all the book-learning in the busy hive of scholars—eighty in number—one or more of them instructed the little girls in spinning and in stitchery, to say nothing of gentle and modest demeanour.  There was a great look of happiness and good order about all; and the church, fair and graceful, seemed well to complete and rule the institution.  Esclairmonde could but sigh with a sort of regret as she left it, and let herself be conducted by Sir Richard Whittington to a refection at his beautiful house in Crutched Friars, built round a square, combining warehouse and manor-house; richly-carved shields, with the arms of the companies of London, supporting the tier of first-floor windows, and another row of brackets above supporting another overhanging story.  A fountain was in the centre of a beautiful greensward, with beds of roses, pansies, pinks, stars of Bethlehem, and other good old flowers, among which a monkey was chained to a tree, while a cat roamed about at a safe distance from him.

Alice Montagu raised a laugh by asking if it were the cat; to which her city namesake replied that ‘her master’ never could abide to be without a cat in memory of his first friend, and marshalled them into the beautiful hall, with wainscot lining below, surmounted by an arcade containing statues, and above a beautiful carved ceiling.  Here a meal was served to them, and the Lady talked with Whittington of the grand town-halls and other buildings of the merchants of the Low Countries, with whom he was a trader for their rich stuffs; and the visit passed off with no small satisfaction to both parties.

Esclairmonde sat in the barge on her return, looking out on the gray clear water, and on the bright gardens that sloped down to it, gay with roses and fruitful with mulberries, apples, and strawberries, and the mansions and churches that were never quite out of sight, though there were some open fields and wild country ere coming to Westminster, all as if she did not see them, but was wrapped in deep contemplation.

Alice at last, weary of silence, stole her arm round her waist, and peeped up into her face.  ‘May I guess thy thoughts, sweet Clairette?  Thou wilt found such a hospice thyself?’

‘Say not I will, child,’ said Esclairmonde, with a crystal drop starting in each dark eye.  ‘I would strive and hope, but—’

‘Ah! thou wilt, thou wilt,’ cried Alice; ‘and since there are Béguines enough for their own Netherlands, thou wilt come to England and be our foundress here.’

‘Nay, little one; here are the bedeswomen of St. Katharine’s in London.’

‘Ah! but we have other cities.  Good Father, have we not?  Hull—Southampton—oh! so many, where poor strangers come that need ghostly tendance as well as bodily.  Esclairmonde—Light of the World—oh! it was not for nothing that they gave thee that goodly name.  The hospice shall bear it!’

‘Hush, hush! sweet pyet; mine own name is what they must not bear.’

‘Ah! but the people will give it; and our Holy Father the Pope, he will put thee into the canon of saints.  Only pity that I cannot live to hear of Ste. Esclairmonde—nay, but then I must overlive thee, mind I should not love that.’

‘Oh, silence, silence, child; these are no thoughts to begin a work with.  Little flatterer, it may be well for me that our lives must needs lie so far apart that I shall not oft hear that fond silly tongue.’

‘Nay,’ said Alice, in the luxury, not of castle-building but of convent-building; ‘it may be that when that knight over there sees me so small and ill-favoured he will none of me, and then I’ll thank him so, and pray my father to let him have all my lands and houses except just enough to dower me to follow thee with, dear Lady Prioress.’

But here Alice was summarily silenced.  Such talk, both priest and votaress told her, was not meet for dutiful daughter or betrothed maiden.  Her lot was fixed, and she must do her duty therein as the good wife and lady of the castle, the noble English matron; and as she looked half disposed to pout, Esclairmonde drew such a picture of the beneficent influence of the good baronial dame, ruling her castle, bringing up her children and the daughters of her vassals in good and pious nurture, making ‘the heart of her husband safely trust in her,’ benefiting the poor, and fostering holy men, wayfarers, and pilgrims, that the girl’s eyes filled within tears as she looked up and said, ‘Ah! lady, this is the life fitted for thee, who can paint it so well.  Why have I not a brother, that you might be Countess of Salisbury, and I a poor little sister in a nunnery?’

Esclairmonde shook her head.  ‘Silly child, petite nïaise, our lots were fixed by other hands than ours.  We will strive each to serve our God, in the coif or in the veil, in samite or in serge, and He will only ask which of us has been most faithful, not whether we have lived in castle or in cloister.’

Little had Esclairmonde expected to hear the greeting with which the Countess received her, breaking out into peals of merriment as she told her of the choice destiny in store for her, to be wedded to the little lame Scot, pretending to read her a grave lecture on the consequences of the advances she had made to him.

Esclairmonde was not put out of countenance; in fact, she did not think the Countess in earnest, and merely replied with a smile that at least there was less harm in Lord Malcolm than in the suitors at home.

Jaqueline clapped her hands and cried, ‘Good tidings, Clairette.  I’ll never forgive you if you make me lose my emerald carcanet!  So the arrow was winged, after all.  She prefers him—her heart is touched by the dainty step.’

‘Madame!’ entreated Esclairmonde, with agitation; ‘at least, infirmity should be spared.’

‘It touches her deeply!’ exclaimed the Duchess.  ‘Ah! to see her in the mountains teaching the wild men to say their Aye, and to wear culottes, the little prince interpreting for her, as King James told us in his story of the saint his ancestor.’

Raillery about Malcolm had been attempted before, but never so pertinaciously; and Esclairmonde heeded it not at all, till James himself sought her out, and, within all his own persuasive grace, told her that he was rejoiced to hear from Madame of Hainault that she had spoken kindly of his youthful kinsman, for whose improvement he was sure he had in great measure to thank her.

Esclairmonde replied composedly, but as one on her guard, that the Sieur de Glenuskie was a gentle and a holy youth, of a good and toward wit.

‘As I saw from the first,’ said James, ‘when I brought him away from being crushed among our rude cousins; but, lady, I knew not how the task of training the boy would be taken out of my hands by your kindness; and now, pardon me, lady, only one thing is wanting to complete your work, and that is hope.’

‘Hope is always before a holy man, Sir.’

‘O, madame! but we peer earthly