In Doublet and Hose: A Story for Girls

I A Question of Skill 7

II The Soldier Guest 17

III The Page's Dress 27

IV Anthony Babington 37

V On the Road to Stafford 48

VI A Glimpse of Mary 56

VII Francis to the Front 66

VIII The Delivery of the Letters 75

IX The Coming of Elizabeth 90

X The Queen Takes Offense 101

XI At the Queen's Command 111

XII The Favor of Princes 121

XIII A Familiar Face and a Challenge 137

XIV A Strange Duel 149

XV The Strange Weakness of Francis Stafford 160

XVI What Came of an Offer of Friendship 171

XVII What Francis Overheard 182

XVIII An Adventure 4 192

XIX A Shelter from the Storm 203

XX Francis Finds a Helper 213

XXI An Unlooked for Reception 223

XXII As It Fell Out 229

XXIII In the Tower of London 238

XXIV A Friend in Need 250

XXV A Great Sorrow Befalls Francis 260

XXVI A Fellow Prisoner 272

XXVII The Escape 284

XXVIII The Three Volunteers 297

XXIX A Britomarte of the Armada 304

XXX Pardon And Happiness 321

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Illustrations

PAGE

"Methinks the Maid will Serve our Purpose Well!" frontispiece

Queen Mary's Wit Grasped the Situation 77

Elizabeth Extended her Hand Graciously 107

The Two were Deep in the Mysteries of Fencing 156

She Gave a Faint Gasp 190

"I Will Not Tell, Sir Francis" 248

"Pull, Pull for Your Life!" 318

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It was June, and the peaceful stillness of a summer's day hung over an ancient wood which lay in the heart of the New Forest near the village of Lyndhurst. The wood was a part of a large demesne which had at one time been bordered by hedges of yew and holly, but these, having been untrimmed for years, had grown into great bushes which in many places were choked up by underwood and brambles.

The forest stretched in every direction. Wood after wood rose before the eye, masses of color, the birches hung with softest green, the oak boughs breaking into amber and olive made doubly bright by the dark gloom of the firs. Wide-branched oaks were intermingled with beeches and copsewood of various 8 descriptions so closely in some places as to intercept the sunshine. In others the trees receded from each other, forming wide vistas that gave glimpses of other recesses of sylvan solitude.

Down the long sunlit glades the gold belted bees sounded their humming horns through every flowery town of the weald. Gauze-winged dragon-flies darted hither and thither while butterflies of every hue sailed by on wings of sheeny bronze. In the bracken wild roses rioted in the richest profusion; the foxglove blazed like pillars of fire through the shadowy underwood and the woodbine flaunted its tall head proudly among the leaves. A gentle breeze rustled the fern, and breathed upon the quaking grass, setting its beautiful spikelets in motion until they seemed like fairy bells rung by elfin fingers. The flutter and hum of the wild things served but to intensify the stillness of the wood.

All at once the deep bass notes of a hound broke upon the air. Louder and louder grew the baying, and soon from out of the purplish shade of the trees there dashed a large 9 greyhound followed by a laughing, panting maiden.

"Content thee, Echo," she cried flinging herself upon the sward under a wide-spreading oak. "I have breath to follow thee no more. Rest until our good cousin joins us."

The dog obediently stretched himself by her side, and once more quiet reigned in the wold. Presently the maiden sat up with an impatient movement.

"He tarries long," she said throwing a mass of auburn curls from a broad, low brow. "Marry! I fear that we have done but an ill turn to the good Hugh."

As she spoke the form of an elderly man emerged from the trees and approached her slowly. He was withered and thin and though but fifty years of age seemed much older. His doublet and hose were of some dark stuff and his short cloak was surmounted by a huge ruff, the edges of which almost joined the brim of the small, high, cone-shaped hat which partly concealed his gray hair.

"By the mass, Francis! methinks that thou dost grow more unmannerly each day. 10 Thou art as unthinking as the butterfly, else thou wouldst not have burdened my fore-wearied flesh with thy bow."

"In sooth, it was but a poor return for thy kindness to leave thee my bow," observed the girl as she hastened to relieve him of the crossbow that he held. "Thy pardon, Master Hugh. I was intent upon the race and thought not of it. It was a good dash, I promise you."

"Ay! I make no doubt of it," grumbled the old man seating himself. "But 'twere meeter for a maiden to embroider, or to play the virginals than to shoot the bow or run with the hounds as thou dost."

"Said I not my Latin well this morning, cousin?" queried Francis. "Doth not my lady mother instruct me in the tent and cross-stitch each day? Besides doth not even the Queen's Majesty disport herself with the bow? 'Tis the fashion, good my master."

"Ay! 'Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt,'"[A] spoke the old man sharply.

"Be not angry, cousin, I did but ill in running from thee." 11

"Marry! let it pass, but I mislike such sturdiness, Francis. Thou hast led me a sorry chase and we are far from the Hall. If I mistake not, we are even now in Sanborne Park and that, thou knowest, is trespass."

"Nay, cousin; not unless we kill some of the red deer with which it abounds, and that we have not done-yet," spoke the maiden demurely.

"The thought of such a thing should not be entertained by the daughter of Lord William Stafford. Thou durst not think it, Francis."

"Durst not?" laughed Francis teasingly. "Should one stray in our path I will show thee what I durst."

"Boast not, girl. It bespeaks ill for thy breeding. Thou art too prone to vaunt thy skill in shooting. Not so was that flower of womanhood, the Lady Jane Grey. Once," and the tutor spoke warmly for this was a favorite theme, "once it was my good hap to pass some time at Broadgate, her father's seat in Leicestershire, and never have I seen her like for love of learning. Greek, Latin, French and Italian spoke she as well as her 12 own tongue. Some knowledge had she also of Hebrew, Chaldee and Arabic. She loved not such idle sport as the chase. Would that thou wert like her."

"Out upon thee for so evil a wish," chided Francis, but there was a merry twinkle in her eye that softened the harshness of her tone. "Wouldst have me beheaded? Yet it may be that I am such a dullard that thou dost wish that I should meet with a like fate."

"Nay, child! Thou knowest better." The face of the old man softened involuntarily as he gazed into the laughing countenance of the girl before him.

Her head was crowned by a mass of red gold hair which, guiltless of crisping or curling pins, fell in ringlets over her shoulders; her complexion was of creamy fairness; her features regular, her eyes dark and luminous; her whole expression full of winsomeness; but there was a sparkle in the dark eyes now so full of mischief, and a set to the rich red lips that spoke volumes for the spirit of Mistress Francis Stafford.

"I would only that thy desire for learning was like to that of the Lady Jane's," went on 13 the tutor. "Yet I do not dislike thy courage, and thou art a good wench, surely."

"Hark!" cried Francis springing to her feet. "I hear the hounds. Look ware, Echo! Look ware! Ware, ware!"

The greyhound, answering with short sharp yelps, rushed forward frantically, and then stood at gaze as a tall red deer bounded from the covert into the open glade. The noble animal's strength was almost spent. His mouth was embossed with foam and large round tears were dropping from his eyes. With a motion that was at once despairing and majestic he turned to face his pursuers as a pack of hounds dashed from the trees and surrounded him, making the air hideous with their clamor.

Instantly the maiden fitted a shaft to her bow and let fly a bolt as the tutor uttered a shrill cry of remonstrance:

"Stay thy hand, girl! Knowest thou not the danger?"

Before the wounded animal could turn to charge this new assailant an answering twang sounded from among the trees and a second arrow, sent with unerring precision, imbedded 14 itself in the deer's body. As the stag fell, a lad of some sixteen years, clad in the dress of a forester, ran hastily forward and reached the animal at the same moment that Francis did.

"Behold, cousin," cried the girl triumphantly, "I have slain the deer. Could thy Lady Jane Grey have done so well, thinkest thou?"

"Nay, fair maid," and the boy turned quickly, "'twas mine own bolt that did the deed. Behold for thyself that thy shaft struck too far to the left."

"'Tis false," cried Francis angrily. "'Twas mine arrow that slew him. This one is mine, and thou seest that it alone hath entered the vital part. 'Tis thine that is too far to the left."

"Nay; not mine, but thine," retorted the lad. "What? Would I, who lack but little of man's estate be excelled by a girl? See for thyself, mistress. The two are not an inch apart. The point is only which did the deed. On mine honor, I tell thee, that it was mine own arrow. Thou seest that it hath penetrated deeper than thine."

"I see naught of the kind," answered 15 Francis with passion. "It was mine that did it."

"Good master," said the boy appealing to the tutor, "didst mark that the stag fell not until he received my shot?"

"Ay! I noted it, lad, and 'tis a point well taken," quoth Master Hugh. "But a truce to thy quibbling. Here are the huntsmen."

The noise of the horns had been growing louder and louder as the hunting party drew near, but the boy and girl were so absorbed in their controversy that they had not heeded it.

"Fair maiden, there is a penalty," began the lad, but one of the hunters called out:

"Beshrew me! if the quarry be not slain! What varlet hath done this?"

As Francis started forward the lad spoke,

"I, good my master. Give me thy knife, I pray thee, that I may make the essay."

"What, ho, boy? Thou? Then instead of breaking the stag, thou shalt break the jail. Knowest thou not that it is trespass to kill deer upon the land of another?"

"He did it not," cried Francis. "'Twas I. What is the penalty? My father, Lord William 16 Stafford, will requite the loss; but permit me, I pray, to take trophy of my skill."

"Thou?" The foresters who had surrounded the youth looked with amusement at the girl, and then broke into loud guffaws.

"Heed her not, masters. Could a maiden do such a thing? She knows not of what she speaks."

"Nay; give heed to me, I beseech you," cried Francis, but the lad interrupted her.

"Permit it to be as I have said, mistress. If there be penalty, 'twere meeter for me to suffer it than for thee. Withdraw, I beseech you."

"The boy is right," said Hugh Greville. "It is no place for thee, Francis. I will speak to thy father concerning the matter. Meantime we can serve no good purpose here. Come!"

"No, no," cried the girl trying vainly to make the foresters attend her. "'Twas I who killed the deer. It was not this lad."

But the verderers paying no further attention to her words busied themselves about the cutting up of the deer. With a burst of angry tears Francis reluctantly permitted the tutor to lead her away.

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[A] While fools avoid one error they fall into the opposite one.

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THE SOLDIER GUEST

Passing out of the park, Francis and her tutor came into the forest proper. One vast sea of woods rolled, a flood of green, over hill and valley onward and ever on till lost among the moors. Presently they ascended Stoney Cross Hill and there opened out one long view. On the northeast rose the hills of Winchester but the city was hidden in their valley. To the east lay Southampton by the waterside; and to the north, gleamed the green Wiltshire downs lit up by the sunlight.

Among the beeches but a short distance away lay Castle Malwood with its single trench and Forest lodge, where tradition says that William Rufus feasted before his death, and down in the valley was the spot where he is said to have fallen. The road now became a long avenue of trees-beeches with their smooth trunks, oaks growing in groups, with here and there long lawns stretching far away 18 into distant woods. All at once the manor burst upon the view.

Situated in the midst of a noble park which crowned the summit of one of the hills that fringed the borders of the weald, Stafford Hall, in this year of grace 1586, the twenty-eighth of Elizabeth, was graceful and stately in the extreme. The general design of the castle was a parallelogram defended by a round tower at each of the angles with an Anglo-Saxon keep. The entrance through a vaulted passageway was its most striking feature. Of the time of the first Edward, there were signs of decay in tower and still more ancient keep. Crevices bare of mortar gave rare holding ground for moss and wall flower, and ivy and clematis mantled chapel and turrets with a dank shroud that added to the picturesqueness of the building.

The park, full of ferny depths, glorious old oaks and deep glades, stretched away on one side toward the soft recesses of the forest. On the other its wooded declivities sloped down to an idle brook now stopped up by water-lilies and white crowfoot. The fair corn lands sloping to the southeast so as to 19 miss no gleam of morning or noonday sun; the fat meadows where the herbage hid the hocks of the browsing kine, and the hanging woods holding so many oaks and beeches ripe for the felling, formed an appanage that was almost royal.

The views of the castle, the winding declivity of hill, the trees, the fields, the exquisite landscape in the distance made an assemblage of nature's beauties that was at once inspiring and noble.

But Francis Stafford was too angry to heed either beauty of scene or sky, and she hurried toward the Hall with so quick a step that the tutor could scarcely keep pace with her.

"I cry you mercy, Francis," he panted querulously as the girl paused reluctantly in answer to his pleading. "Age hath stolen my vigor and I cannot walk as thou canst. Already thou hast made me plod many a weary step beyond my strength; and now thou wouldst have me run as though I were a lad. Thou art too unheeding."

"A truce to thy chiding, cousin," rebuked the girl sharply. "I marvel that thou dost appeal to my compassion. Thou knowest my 20 skill with the bow, and thou didst see the deer fall under my shaft; yet thou didst say with the boy that 'twas he who did the deed. Catiff! How dared he claim the stag? And 'twas a hart royal!"

"Yet had he not done so thou wouldst have had to suffer fine and imprisonment. Dost know the law? It says--"

"I care not what it says," declared Francis haughtily. "If I offend against the law then 'twere meet that I should bear the penalty. My father shall right the matter."

Master Greville knowing full well the futility of contradicting his charge when she was in such a wilful mood said no more, but meekly followed her as she started once more on her way. Through the great doors, which were of weathered oak thickly studded with nails, over which hung the family coat of arms, a shield, azure, three quatrefoils, argent, the girl and the old man passed across the paved courtyard, up a flight of steps to the terrace which led to the porch and from thence to the ante-hall passage.

Serving men clothed in blue with the family arms upon the left sleeve, and retainers clothed 21 also in blue but without the heraldic device thronged courtyard, terrace and hall. Francis hastened through the ante-hall passage to the great hall which lay beyond. The floors were freshly strewn with rushes, the walls were hung with rich tapestries representing stories from the classics. The upper end contained an oriel window under which was a fringed dais. On one side of the apartment was a huge fireplace over which the ancestral arms hung with the arms of England over them. On the other side towered lofty windows. A screen gallery, an organ and a high table completed the hall which was the principal room of the castle and the place where all of the feasts, mummeries and masques were held.

Ushers were hurrying through the great hall for it was "covering time," and the household was mustering for the midday meal. Francis threaded her way through the crowd of yeomen to the door of the presence chamber, and drawing aside the arras that hid the entrance, opened it and entered.

"My father," she began abruptly, and then paused for she saw that her father was not alone. 22

"Is it you, my daughter?" Lord Stafford rose to meet her. The resemblance between them was very striking. "I had just asked for you. This is my child, Fortescue. She of whom we were speaking. Give greeting, Francis, to my good friend Captain Fortescue."

Francis gave a quick glance at her father's guest. He was a man of commanding stature, with black hair and keen black eyes that held a cruel light in them. He was arrayed in a blue velvet jerkin with hose of the same material. A large beaver hat with a long feather in it lay on the table. A rapier depending from his belt completed his attire which was that of a soldier. Without heeding this fact something in his bearing caused the girl to address him as a priest.

"I give thee welcome, good father."

"Said I not that the wench was shrewd?" asked Lord Stafford with a hearty laugh.

"Ay, my lord; and 'twas well said," returned the guest. "My child, do you not see that I am attired as a soldier?"

"I crave forbearance," faltered Francis in some confusion. "I did not notice thy dress, 23 but judged from thy manner. Nathless, priest or soldier, I give thee greeting. Prithee heed not mine error."

"'Twas naught," smiled Captain Fortescue. "It is to my praise that thou didst accost me as an holy man. My lord, methinks the maid will serve our purpose well."

"I trow so," answered Lord Stafford with a proud look. "She hath spirit and courage to a rare degree in a maid. I know no lad of her age that can equal her in hunting or hawking. No tercelet for her, but the fiercest goshawk that e'er seized quarry. How now, Francis?"

"My father, I knew that thou wouldst believe my skill," said Francis eagerly. "Yet a lad did but now contend that he it was who shot a deer in the forest," and she related the incident graphically.

"Beshrew me, I doubt not but that thine was the arrow that slew the buck, yet it contents me well that the lad should endure the penalty of the deed in thy stead. How now, Greville?" to the tutor. "Was the youth of noble birth?"

"Methought there seemed something of the 24 gentle in him, though he was but meanly garbed. Yet the apparel doth not always make the man," answered Greville.

"Not always," acquiesced Lord Stafford.

"He was not noble," interjected Francis shortly. "Else he would not have claimed the deer. I would, good my father, that you compass his release, and let me take the consequences of my action. I killed the deer."

"Be that as it may, child, the lad must bear the penalty. There are matters of grave import that must now be considered, and thou canst aid me."

"I aid thee?" asked the girl in surprise. "Father, didst thou say my aid?"

"Thine, child. Come to me anon, and I will acquaint thee with the full import of the matter. Greville, thou standest like a hind. Give greeting to our guest. One would think that thou hadst never been at court."

"I give thee welcome, sir," said Greville bowing. "As my lord's friend, I welcome thee."

"Methinks thy countenance is not unfamiliar, Master Greville," and the soldier returned his obeisance courteously. 25

"In London mayhap thou hast seen me. It was mine abode for a time," replied the tutor carelessly.

"Perchance 'twas there," mused the other with a searching look at the old man. "But howsoe'er that may be, later will I pledge to our better friendship."

"I drink with no enemy of the queen," said Greville coldly.

"Greville!" exclaimed Lord Stafford.

"We differ not, Master Greville," smiled the soldier. "My life, my service, my all is devoted to our queen. God bless Her Majesty!"

"God bless Her Majesty, Elizabeth," returned Greville pointedly.

"Thy mother waits thee, Francis, in her tiring-room," interposed Lord Stafford hastily. "Come to me anon. Greville, no more of this an thou lovest me."

The tutor without another word withdrew from the room accompanied by his pupil.

"Was it not strange, cousin, that I should have thought our guest a priest?" queried Francis when they were beyond the portals of the door. 26

"Nay; the habit doth not always proclaim the monk," quoth Greville sententiously. "You spoke truer than you knew when you called him 'father.'"

"Is he in sooth then a priest?" asked the girl curiously. "Why comes he then in such array? Are not priests always welcome in my father's house?"

"Is it not within thy ken that an edict hath been passed making it treason for priests to be found within the kingdom, and felony to harbor them? And, forsooth, there is much reason for such a law. So many have been the plots against the Queen's Majesty that much precaution must be taken to preserve her from them."

"Would evil befall my father should it come to the ears of the queen that he had given a priest entertainment?"

"I make no doubt of it, child. Therefore it behooves us to be silent respecting the matter. But, by my life, girl! we dally too long. Away! and set a guard upon thy lips. If thou canst carry so weighty a matter sub silentio then will I deem thee better than the most of thy sex."

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