A Gentleman of England: a romance of the time of Sir Philip Sidney

Front matter

A GENTLEMAN OF ENGLAND; A ROMANCE OF THE TIME OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. A GENTLEMAN OF ENGLAND; A ROMANCE OF THE TIME OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. DY ELIZA F. POLLARD, AUTHOR OF "THE WHITE DOVE OF AMRITZIR," "TRUE UNTO DEATH,"' " ROGER THE RANGER," ETC, ETC. " O take fast hold ; let that light be thy guide In this small course which birth draws out to death, And think how Evill cometh him to slide, Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath." Astrophel and Stella.— P. S. LONDON: W. H. ADDISON, QUEEN'S HEAD PASSAGE, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1897. 2>c51cateD TO MY BROTHER, A. W. P. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. A KNIGHT-ERRANT . .... J II. THE POMFRETS . . . . . ■ l7 III. STEPPING STONES 29 IV. TWO FRIENDS ...... 45 V. SEEDS SOWN ...... 59 VI. A FIRST SORROW 6"] VII. ENSNARED ....... 73 VIII. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM . . . . .86 IX.

WAITING 93 X. PENSHURST . . . . . . . I06 XI. NO COURTIER . . . . . . I l6 XII. " STELLA" . . . . . . .126 XIII. AT KENILWORTH 134 XIV. CHANGED PLANS I4O XV. "THE THREE CROWNS " . . . . 1 50 XVI. A DISPERSED HOUSEHOLD . . . . l6l XVII. INTRIGUE I70 CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XVIII. AN ITALIAN COOK 179 xix. "ladie cattelyn" 191 XX. A PROPOSAL ...... 200 XXI. A MARRIAGE AT NIGHT . . . .211 XXII. LOVE VERSUS PASSION .... 220 XXIII. A CONSUMMATION 233 XXIV. IN THE WOODS ...... 24I XXV. INDECISION ...... 256 XXVI. OUT OF FAVOUR ..... 267 XXVII. UNDECEIVED ...... 274 XXVIII. IN THE ENEMIES' HANDS . . . . 28 1 XXIX. LOVE OR HONOUR ? . . . . . 289 XXX. THE CASTLE ON THE STRAND . . . 299 XXXI. "THE WALL CHAMBER" .... 308 XXXII. CHARITY NEVER FAILETH . . . . 3l6 XXXIII. A LIFE FOR A LIFE ..... 324 XXXIV. THE "FOUR FOSTER CHILDREN OF DESIRE " 335 XXXV.

THE BRIDAL CHAMBER .... 347 XXXVI. RIGHT OR WRONG ? . . . . . 360 XXXVII. THE TEMPTATION ..... 373 XXXVIII. A NOBLE WOMAN . . . . . 382 XXXIX. CROSSING THE BAR 39 1 XL. THE SHADES OF PENSHURST . . . ft. 1.omance or tbe mme of Sir ©btlip St&neg.

Chapter I

A K N I G H T-E R R A N T . ONE! two!! three!!!" For a second the blue eyes wavered, and the speaker failed to catch the ball in the cup. " I have no luck to-day ! " she exclaimed, as she laid down the toy. " Rosaline ! " " Yes, Ambrosia." " Come nearer to me ; I want to speak to you." "Dost think I am deaf?" said Rosaline Hopewell, laughing lightly ; but nevertheless she rose from her stool and knelt beside the large armchair in which sat Ambrosia Sidney, daughter of the most noble Sir Henry Sidney and his wife the Lady Mary, and godchild of the great Queen Elizabeth. Oh ! the irony of fate ; Ambrosia lay a-dying, whilst pretty, penniless Rosaline, the poor minister's daughter, to whom life held out few chances as the world goes, was beautiful and buoyant with health. Nevertheless, different as were their estates, these two were close friends.

They had grown up together, Mistress Ambrosia in stately Penshurst, and Rosaline in the minister's humble house. But when the former was at home Rosaline dwelt much at the castle, for the eldest daughter of the Sidneys was never so content as when her friend was with her, and the Lady Mary was well pleased it should be so, en couraging Rosaline to share in the studies and sports of the Mistress Ambrosia and Mary, until she herself grew to love the maiden for her gentle brightness, her quick parts, but especially for her straightforward, upright bearing in all things pertaining to their daily life. Ambrosia had ever been tender to rear, not strong and active as was Mary her younger sister ; also for learning she was not so quick — the study of Latin and Greek was burdensome to her, and yet Lady Mary, the pupil of Roger Ascham, deemed it necessary that her daughters should thus be reared.

So it ever happened that, when the tasks were hardest, Rosaline would come to Ambrosia's rescue, and with arms entwined round each other, she would make things easy for her friend. Often she and Mary would fall out, because neither needed the other; then Ambrosia would come between, and smooth away their differences with her tender, loving nature. But the happiest hours the two friends passed together were on winter afternoons in the great chimney corner of the minister's house, or on bright summer days, when they wandered together through the meadows and down the long avenues, conversing of many things. Maybe it was in one of those wanderings that they had lingered too late, and the autumn mists, which crept up from the swollen Medway, had given Ambrosia a chill. At first no great heed was taken of her ailments ; only Barbara, the old nurse, would prepare possets and would not suffer her to go abroad when the days grew damp and cold.

Still the fever did not leave her, and her limbs would shiver and ache with ague until all strength seemed to go from her. Her mother sent for the best leech from London, who assured her that her daughter had merely outgrown her strength, ordered herb drinks, and satisfied her that when the winter was passed Mistress Ambrosia would be herself again. Sir Henry Sidney, being Lord President of Wales, was forced to dwell at Ludlow Castle, and his solitude was burdensome to him ; therefore it was that he bade his wife join him with the children for the Christmas festivities. Ever a loving, obedient wife, Lady Mary did not hesitate to fulfil his desire, but to have taken Ambrosia to so hard a climate had not been considered advisable ; therefore she decided to leave her at Penshurst until after the New Year, in the care of Nurse Barbara, who had reared her and loved her well.

She also asked Minister Hopewell to let Rosaline take up her residence at the Place during her absence ; and as it was but a stone's throw from his own dwelling he consented, and from henceforth the two friends dwelt together. They occupied a room on the ground floor, looking out over the flower garden, gay in summer, but dreary in its quaint stiffness on this winter day, when we introduce them to our readers. Nevertheless, the sun was pouring in through the broad, low window, and a bright fire burnt on the hearth, so that within there was no lack of cheerfulness. Indeed, it would have been difficult for any place brightened by Rosaline's presence to have been other wise than cheerful. She was herself a sunbeam, and those who looked at her once desired to look again. Her eyes were of the very deepest blue with golden lashes, bright as was the hair, tightly coiled and half hidden under the close cap, from beneath which it escaped in lovelocks on the white brow.

The whole face was pathetically tender, as at her friend's bidding she knelt beside her ; a strange contrast one to the other. Ambrosia was very tall and slight, with large hazel eyes set in a pale face, and masses of red hair falling in long plaits to her waist. A hectic flush was on the hollow cheeks, and deep black rings encircled the hazel eyes. As she spoke tears were streaming down her face, which she had turned towards the window, where she could see the pleasance and the great park beyond of her beautiful home, Penshurst Place. Caressingly Rosaline threw her arms round Ambrosia, and, stretching up till her rosy lips touched the pale colourless ones, she said, " Is that as you would have it ? Now what secret are you going to confide to me ? " "No secret at all," answered Ambrosia, brushing away the tears and then smiling, as she played with the little soft curls on Rosaline's brow.

A mischievous look came into the latter's face. " Then I know it is something about Master Philip ; though how you can find anything new to say concerning him I cannot imagine ; " and she threw up her small white hands in pretended astonishment. " Thou art very pert, Rosaline, methinks," said Ambrosia with a touch of reproach in her voice. "Pardon me," said Rosaline instantly. "I did but jest. Say what you will, I am content to listen — more than content ; " and once more she kissed her. " Yes, it is about Philip," said Ambrosia, breaking forth into low hysterical sobs. " If I could but see him once again before I die, Rosaline ! I shall never live to see the roses bloom in our favourite walk, and Philip promised to be home by then." "Surely you will, dearest," answered Rosaline soothingly ; " and his home-coming will make you well and strong."

But Ambrosia shook her head. " Nothing will ever make me well again," she answered ; " but I should die happier if I could see his kind face once more." The very thought seemed to overpower her, and such a piteous, strange longing came into her eyes. " If I mistake not, he is at Frankfort," said Rosaline. " Is it Master Philip you are speaking of ? " asked a young, strong voice. " You here, Guy ? and to what purpose ? " said Rosaline. "To enquire after Mistress Ambrosia, forsooth," said Guy Pomfret, stepping forward and bowing courteously before the sick girl. He was a handsome youth — manly, with broad shoulders and well-knit limbs, over six feet in height, though it might be thought he had not yet come to his full growth. A frank, open face, with laughing blue eyes, and nut-brown, curly hair.

He brought into the invalid's room a fresh atmosphere of life, which Ambrosia seemed to feel, for she sat up and looked at him. "It is good of you to come, Guy, and ask for me; but then you are always kind and good." The young man blushed with pleasure, and a mar vellously gentle look came into his eyes. " I wish I could do more for you, Mistress Ambrosia," he answered, and as he spoke he laid a tiny bunch of winter violets on her lap, saying, " They are the first, and all I could find." " Oh, how sweet ! how sweet ! " said Ambrosia, as the delicate perfume came to her. Sharply she turned and looked at him, and after a second she said, " Guy, do you still love Philip ? " " Mistress Ambrosia, you are not wont to ask idle questions, and it is an idle question to ask me if I love Master Philip," he answered.

He spoke almost surlily, but Ambrosia smiled as she looked at the tall manly figure before her. " If you love him so well, surely you might carry him a message ? " she said slowly. " I would gladly do so, if it would give you pleasure ; but how should I find him ? " asked Guy. " He is at Frankfort with Master Hubert Languet. Oh, Guy, I am dying, and I so long to see his face once more." " And you would have me fetch him ? " he asked. " Yes, there is no one can do it but you — no one," and she clasped her hands. Had Guy been older and more experienced he might have hesitated, but he was young and enthusiastic, and before such natures as his, difficulties fade, or rather they have no existence. He himself so desired to see Philip, to be near him, that he could well understand that, if Mistress Ambrosia really thought she was dying, it must be a terrible grief to her to think she would never again see the brother she loved so well.

He, too, was weary of his life of idleness and inaction, and but for Lady Mary's reasonings would long since have gone forth to seek his fortunes. " Mistress Ambrosia," he said thoughtfully, " you know I would gladly go, though I am a stranger to foreign travel, but what shall I say to my stepmother, and — I should need money for my journey. I have little of my own till I come of age." The hope, the bare possibility, that Philip might come to her seemed to bring life back to the girl. " Would you go ? Would you really go ? " she said. " Why not ? " he answered. " I am strong and no fool. I could take ship to Flushing, and with a tongue in my head surely I should find my way to Frankfort, if you say Master Philip is there." " But you would have to be speedy," said Ambrosia, " for " she hesitated a moment — " it may not be long that I shall be here.

Go ; do go, Guy, and bring Philip home," she pleaded. " Rosaline, in the pouch by my bed you will find a purse ; bring it hither. My father and mother are wont to give us gifts at Christmas, New Year, and the festivals. I have had no need to spend mine." Obedient to her friend, Rosaline disappeared, and returned with a leathern purse. Ambrosia took it from her, and emptying the contents on to a small table which stood beside her, counted ten nobles. " It is not much," she said ; " but it will take you to Philip, and then you will be all right." She handed him the gold. " And now about Dame Pomfret ? " " That is soon settled," said Guy ; " I must go with out her knowledge, or else, a month hence, I should still be here." The two maidens looked at each other ; the accom plishment of so daring a deed had never before crossed their minds.

" It is not well," said Ambrosia, " it is not well ; and yet, she would not let you go, and I want Philip." Even in those few seconds, with the dawn of hope, the longing seemed to have gained strength. " You must go, and I will tell Mistress Pomfret. She will not be hard on me, for I am dying." Guy looked at her with strange pity. He had known her all her life. They had, so to speak, grown up together. She was Philip's sister, and asked him to do her this service. Could he say her nay ? Rosaline watched him anxiously. She knew all that was passing in his mind. Yet she realised but one thing — Ambrosia's desire ; it was so great, and she was dying. She gave a little sigh of relief when Guy, lifting up his head, said curtly, " I will start to-night, when the house is at rest." A look of such intense joy came over Ambrosia's face that Guy felt he had his reward.

"Take the purse," she said, holding the leathern pouch out to him, " and keep it for my sake, Guy." Then the three, putting their heads together like young conspirators, talked of the journey, and Ambrosia showed Philip's letters, in which he spoke of his own travels. " One thing I know," said Guy ; " I must make my way to Flushing, and then, somehow, down the Rhine till I reach Frankfort." Very vague it all seemed to them, but the two girls felt so sure Guy could do it, and he never doubted. Strict secrecy must be maintained for forty-eight hours after his departure ; that would give him time. So Guy went his way to prepare for his journey as Barbara entered with a covered dish, saying somewhat crossly, " Begone, Guy Pomfret ! What are you hanging about for, wearying Mistress Ambrosia ? We want no gallants here."

" Guy is no gallant," said Ambrosia ; " he is Philip's good friend, and we were speaking of him. Farewell, Guy," and she smiled at him and held out her hand — such a thin, white hand that Guy was overtaken by a great pity, and wondered whether he should bring Philip back in time to satisfy her desire. " It shall be no fault of mine if I do not," he thought, and for the first time in his life the spring of action, the attainment of some great object, rose before him, and bowing low before Ambrosia, he turned and went his way. Nurse Barbara looked after him. " What's come to the lad ? " she said ; " he looks a man." " He is a man," said Ambrosia ; " he is my brother Philip's squire." " Hoity toity ! " said Barbara suspiciously. " Now, nurse, let Guy alone and feed me. I am right hungry." And indeed it seemed as if new life had come to her, for she sat up and ate as she had not done for many a day, and Barbara was well pleased.

Chapter II. The Pomfrets

OAKLEY MANOR had been in the tenure of the Pomfrets for many generations. It adjoined the Penshurst property, and if not so vast a holding, it was still a fair heritage, situated in the most lovely part of the sweet county of Kent, with rich pasture lands and thick woods. The river Medway marked the boundary between the two estates, and the squires of Oakley and the lords of Penshurst had ever been staunch friends. The late Squire Pomfret had been particularly attached to Sir Henry Sidney and Lady Mary, and, with his young wife, had been a frequent guest at the Place. She was a pretty creature, this Dame Pomfret, and the Lady Mary grieved sorely when she died, during the first year of her married life, in giving birth to her son. She was with her almost at the last, and, with tears flowing down the kindly face, had comforted the dying mother, promising to watch over and care for the child.

The old church at Penshurst had never seen a sadder sight than when the coffin of young Dame Pomfret was carried through the lych-gate to '7 its burying. The Pomfrets were right well beloved, and many came from afar to do the squire honour. Sir Henry and his household walked in the procession ; but the most touching sight of all, on which every eye was turned, was the Lady Mary, surrounded by her women in deep mourning, and carrying in her arms the motherless heir. Before the coffin was lowered to its place in the family vault the child of so much sorrow and so much love was enrolled under the banner of Christ crucified, " to be His faithful soldier and servant unto his life's end." Sir Henry Sidney and Lady Mary stood sponsors, and as she, still carrying the child, passed beneath the stone porch leading from the church to the Penshurst gardens, she felt some one pluck at her black velvet robe, and looking down saw her little son Philip gazing up at her.

" Mother," he said, " he shall be my squire and my friend." " So be it, my son," replied the Lady Mary. For the first two years of the child's life, the Sidneys were high in court favour, and seldom at Penshurst ; but whenever Lady Mary did come, she sent for her godson and made much of him. When Guy was about four years old, Squire Pomfret had occasion to go on business into the distant county of Yorkshire, and he did not return alone. A new wife accompanied him on the pillion behind. No one quite knew whence she came, but it was rumoured she had brought much money, and the pack horses, which followed the bride and bridegroom, were well laden with household linen and personal effects. She was esteemed a woman of fine presence, not altogether pleasing of aspect, being somewhat over-tall and angular, even in her early days.

Her face was shrewd, with cold, piercing grey eyes, which had a shifty look. Her lips were thin and pale of colour, but she was notably clever and ruled her house well, even as it was said she ruled her husband. As housewife, no one in the country round could rival her. There were no pasties to be compared to Madame Pomfret's ; her butter and her cheese were never known to fail. If thrifty, she was not ungenerous ; her maids and her servants were well if roughly cared for, and lacked for nought. The bread was sweet, the mead of the best — not watered as was generally the custom for the retainers. Yet she was not beloved, which might perchance be attributed to the fact that she was no southern woman, and in those days the north and the south had a certain jealousy of each other. Two children were born of this marriage, a boy called Cyprian, and a girl, Beatrice — heathen names, the country folk declared.

The squire belonged to the Reformed faith, but he was by no means overweighted with religion ; his father had served in the wars with Henry VIII. and had received as guerdon a portion of Church lands, and so had thrown in his lot with the new religion. After he married his second wife, the squire was seldom seen in church except on high festivals such as Christmas and Easter, when he would appear accompanied by his wife and children ; for the rest of the year the boy Guy represented the family, often sitting alone in the big pew, for had he not promised " My lady Sidney," when he was seven years old, that he would be a good Christian and attend Minister Hopewell's catechising? Three years later the squire had a fit, from which he only partially recovered. Sending for the minister, he desired him to write to Lady Mary and entreat of her to come to him.

She answered to the call as she ever did when her services were needed ; and found the squire seated in a big armchair in the chimney corner of the oak sitting-room. After the first greetings, when Dame Pomfret had done her all honour, he bade his wife leave him alone with her ladyship. The Lady Mary noticed the cloud which darkened the Dame's face and would have interposed, bidding her stay, but the squire raised his hand and signed for her to go, and she obeyed. " My lady," said the squire, " I have nought against my wife — she has been a good mate to me — but it is not natural she should look favourably upon my son and heir, seeing he stands in the light of her own son. I do not say she would harm the boy, but it is as well they should be parted, until such time as Guy shall be able to hold his own.

I have named Sir Henry and my brother John, trustees ; I have also willed that until Guy shall be of age, his stepmother and her children shall dwell at the manor house. The rents will go to Guy, but I have settled a good jointure upon her, and she was an heiress in her own right, so is well to do. It is about the boy that I am troubled, for though he be boisterous and self-willed, he is a good lad. I have therefore sent for you to entreat you to take him in your train, as your page, and see he is properly instructed. " That I will do right gladly," said Lady Mary ; " you need have no fear, squire. Is he not my godson, and did I not love his mother ! Sir Henry and myself will be as parents to him." " I thank you," said the squire, raising her white hand to his lips. " You are a good woman, my lady, and my son will be safe with you."

So it came about that when the squire died, Guy Pomfret went to Penshurst Castle as " my lady's page," but indeed he was almost counted as one of the family. Robert Sidney was but a year older than himself, and Guy, though he had not received the training which was in those days usually given to young gentlemen in the tilt-yard and the tennis courts, was yet bigger and stronger. His had been a rougher rearing ; he could ride the wildest horse in his father's stable barebacked, and, young though he still was, he could wrestle with lads bigger than himself and hold his own. All the finest part of his nature was brought into play. When he became Robert's com panion, they shared sports and teaching together, and, if physically Guy was stronger than Robert, he was far behind him in book learning, as Master Hopewell was not slow to tell him.

Indeed, but for the strong influence of the elder brother, Philip Sidney, he would have often played truant and carried Robert with him ; but neither of them thought ever of vexing this idol of the household. He was to them a luminary star ; and to grow like him, to be like him, was the object of their lives. " My squire," as Philip ever called Guy, with that wondrous smile of his, and straightway no task he set the lad seemed hard to him. Madame Pomfret remained as tenant at the Manor and brought up her two children in a somewhat strange fashion. They were seldom seen at church or in the village, and when they were of age to be taught, a cousin of her own came from the north and took up his abode at the Manor. He was a young man of serious mien, evidently a student, rather handsome than otherwise, tall and well built, with regular features, small black eyes, and close-cropped, dark hair.

He had a noiseless way of moving about, suddenly appearing on the scene when least expected. He was also much given to taking long solitary walks, especially on summer evenings, by the Medway, whence he could see the grey towers of Penshurst Place, which had a marvellous attraction for him. Notwithstanding his somewhat severe aspect, Peter Carroll had great influence over Cyprian and Beatrice. When he came to the Manor, they were two turbulent, spoilt children, but before the year was out they were perfectly submissive ; he had but to look at them to enforce immediate obedience. To the widow he had become indispensable ; imperceptibly, no one quite knew how, the manage ment of everything glided into his hands. It was a long time before the farm, and even the house servants guessed such to be the case.

He never gave an order, he never raised his voice, but by degrees they noticed that the mistress was less prompt to command, and would often delay the carrying out of some plan till the morrow, when it gradually oozed out that she was heard of an evening to consult with Cousin Peter, and to abide by his decision. Moreover, the former liberal state of things had by degrees changed, and many little meannesses crept into the household. " I am but a poor widow," Dame Pomfret was wont to say, " and when my stepson comes of age, it may please him to turn me and my children out of the Manor ; it behoves me to lay up for a rainy day." It was whispered that Cousin Peter ruled the mother as well as the children. There was no love lost between Guy and the tutor, though the latter took particular care not to offend the young heir.

Until the last year, however, Guy was but seldom at the Manor ; but he had grown too tall and old to continue a page's service, and he vowed he would wait until his beloved master Philip should come home and then he would be his squire, for he would serve no one else. Sir Henry Sidney being, as stated, Lord President of Wales, the family were, therefore, in those last years ofttimes at Ludlow Castle, near Shrewsbury. At first Guy accompanied them ; but of late, as he had no duties to perform it was thought better that he should remain at Penshurst and continue his studies under Minister Hopewell. He had therefore gone to reside with his stepmother at the Manor, but this did not prevent his frequent visits to the Place, which was far more home to him than Oakley Manor. This year more especially, when Ambrosia was left behind, he never let a day pass but what he sought to cheer the maidens, bringing the earliest flowers from the Manor gardens, though they were not lacking at Penshurst, coaxing some delicacy out of his stepmother, and, when Nurse Barbara would let him, beguiling the time with stories of some field sport, the last run, or any bit of gossip of court or country.

He would visit the kennels and the stables, and ride the horses left at Penshurst, " to keep them in training," as he said. He knew full well the Manor would be his one day, but as yet he felt as a stranger there. He could ill brook to be treated as if he were of no account, and fretted and fumed not a little at what he called his idleness. Therefore it was that when Ambrosia and Rosaline besought him to go in quest of Philip, he jumped at the opportunity for a spice of adventure, though he bitterly regretted the cause. Still, he was young and did not realise what death meant, as long as he had life before him. Moreover, he laughed mischievously at the idea of giving Dame Pomfret the slip. He knew how sore she was at her short tenure of the Manor, and that she coveted his birthright for her son.