The House of Arden by E. Nesbit (first ebook reader .txt) 📕

and then she paused and dropped two curtsies, one to each of them. Then, quite without meaning to do it, she found herself saying⁠—

“May-day! May-day!
This is the happy play day!
All the woods with flowers are gay,
Lords and ladies, come and play!
Lords and ladies, rich and poor,
Come to the wild woods’ open door!
Hinds and yeomen, Queen and King,
Come do honour to the Spring!
And join us in our merrymaking.”

And when she had said that she made two more nice little curtsies and handed up the flowers to the Queen.

“If we had known your Majesties’ purpose,” said a tall, narrow-faced man in a long gown, “your Majesties had had another than this rustic welcome.”

“Our purpose,” said the King, “was to surprise you. The Earl of Arden, you say, is hence?”

“His son and daughter are here to do homage to your Highness,” said the gowned man, and then Elfrida saw that Edred was beside her.

“Hither, lad,” said the King, and reaching down a hand caught Edred’s. “Your foot on mine,” said his Majesty. “So!” and he swung Edred up on to the saddle in front of him. Elfrida drew nearer to the white horse as the Queen beckoned her, and the Queen stooped low over her saddle to ask her name. Now was the moment that Elfrida had wished for, now was the chance, if ever, to warn the Queen.

“Elfrida Arden’s my name,” she said. “Your Majesty, may I say something?”

“Say on,” said the Queen, raising fine eyebrows, but smiling too.

“I should like to come quite close and whisper,” said Elfrida stoutly.

“Thou’rt a bold lass,” said the Queen, but she stooped still lower.

“I want to warn you,” said Elfrida, quickly whispering, “and don’t not pay attention because I’m only a little girl. I know. You may think I don’t know, but I do. I want to warn you⁠—”

“Already once, this morning I have been warned,” said the Queen. “What croaking voices for May-day!”

“Who warned you, your Majesty?”

“An old hag who came to my chamber in spite of my maids, said she had a May charm to keep my looks and my lord’s love.”

“What was the charm?” Elfrida asked eagerly, forgetting to say “Majesty” again.

“It was quite simple,” said the Queen. “I was to keep my looks and my love so long as I never dropped a kerchief. But if I dropped a kerchief I should lose more than my looks and my love; she said I should lose my head,”⁠—the Queen laughed low⁠—“within certain days from the dropping of that kerchief⁠—this head you see here;” she laughed again.

“Don’t, oh, don’t!” said Elfrida. “Nineteen days, that’s the warning⁠—I do hope it’ll do some good. I do like you, dear Queen. You are so strong and splendid. I would like to be like you when I grow up.”

The Queen’s fine face looked troubled.

“Please Heaven, thou’lt be better than I,” she said, stooping lower still from her horse; Elfrida standing on tiptoe, she kissed her.

“Oh, do be careful,” said Elfrida. “Your darling head!” and the Queen kissed her again.

Then a noise rather like bagpipes rose shrill and sudden, and all drew back, making room for the rustic maids and swains to tread the country dance. Other instruments joined in, and suddenly the King cried, “A merry tune that calls to the feet. Come, my sweeting, shall we tread a measure with the rest?” So down they came from their horses, King and Queen, and led the country dance, laughing and gay as any country lad and lass.

Elfrida could have cried. It seemed such a pity that everybody should not always be good and happy, as everybody looked today.

The King had sprung from his horse with Edred in his arms, and now he and his sister drew back towards Cousin Richard.

“How pretty it all is!” said Edred. “I should like to stay here forever.”

“If I were you,” said Richard, very disagreeably indeed, “I would not stay here an hour.”

“Why? Is it dangerous? Will they cut our heads off?”

“Not that I know of,” said Cousin Richard, still thoroughly disagreeable. “I wasn’t thinking about your heads. There are more important things than your heads in the world, I should think.”

“Not so very much more,” said Elfrida meekly⁠—“to us, I mean. And what are you so cross about?”

“I should have thought,” Richard was beginning, when the old woman who told Elfrida to go forward with the nosegay of ceremony sidled up to them.

“Into the woods, my children,” she whispered quickly⁠—“into the woods. In a moment the Queen will burst into tears, and the King will have scant kindness for those whose warnings have set his Queen to weeping.”

They backed into the bushes, and the green leaves closed behind the four.

“Quick!” said the witch; “this way.” They followed her through the wood under oaks and yew-trees, pressing through hazels and chestnuts to a path.

“Now run!” she said, and herself led the way nimbly enough for one of her great age. Their run brought them to a thinning of the wood⁠—then out of it⁠—on to the downs, whence they could see Arden Castle and its moat, and the sea.

“Now,” the old woman said, “mark well the spot where the moat stream rises. It is there that the smugglers’ cave was, when Betty Lovell foretold the landing of the French.”

“Why,” said Edred and Elfrida, “you’re the witch again! You’re Betty Lovell!”

“Who else?” said the old woman. “Now, call on the Mouldiwarp and hasten back to your own time. For the King will raise the country against the child who has made his sweeting to shed tears. And she will tell him, she keeps nothing from him, and⁠ ⁠… yet⁠—”

“She won’t tell him about the kerchief?”

“She will, and when she drops it on that other May-day at Greenwich he will remember. Come, call your Mouldiwarp and haste away.”

“But we’ve only just come,” said Edred, “and what’s Elfrida been up to?”

“Oh, bother!” said Elfrida. “I want to know what Richard meant about our heads not being important.”

“Your heads will be most important if you wait here