The Fortunes of Nigel
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“Lord Mayor? pshaw!” replied Margaret.
“And why pshaw at my Lord Mayor, sweetheart? or perhaps you pshaw at my prophecy; but there is a cross in every one’s line of life as well as in yours, darling. And what though I see a ‘prentice’s flat cap in this pretty palm, yet there is a sparking black eye under it, hath not its match in the Ward of Farringdon-Without.”
“Whom do you mean, dame?” said Margaret coldly.
“Whom should I mean,” said Dame Ursula, “but the prince of ‘prentices, and king of good company, Jenkin Vincent?”
“Out, woman – Jenkin Vincent? – a clown – a Cockney!” exclaimed the indignant damsel.
“Ay, sets the wind in that quarter, Beauty!” quoth the dame; “why, it has changed something since we spoke together last, for then I would have sworn it blew fairer for poor Jin Vin; and the poor lad dotes on you too, and would rather see your eyes than the first glimpse of the sun on the great holiday on May-day.”
“I would my eyes had the power of the sun to blind his, then,” said Margaret, “to teach the drudge his place.”
“Nay,” said Dame Ursula, “there be some who say that Frank Tunstall is as proper a lad as Jin Vin, and of surety he is third cousin to a knighthood, and come of a good house; and so mayhap you may be for northward ho!”
“Maybe I may” – answered Margaret, “but not with my father’s ‘prentice – I thank you, Dame Ursula.”
“Nay, then, the devil may guess your thoughts for me,” said Dame Ursula; “this comes of trying to shoe a filly that is eternally wincing and shifting ground!”
“Hear me, then,” said Margaret, “and mind what I say. – This day I dined abroad – ”
“I can tell you where,” answered her counsellor, – “with your godfather the rich goldsmith – ay, you see I know something – nay, I could tell you, as I would, with whom, too.”
“Indeed!” said Margaret, turning suddenly round with an accent of strong surprise, and colouring up to the eyes.
“With old Sir Mungo Malagrowther,” said the oracular dame, – “he was trimmed in my Benjamin’s shop in his way to the city.”
“Pshaw! the frightful old mouldy skeleton!” said the damsel.
“Indeed you say true, my dear,” replied the confidant, – “it is a shame to him to be out of Saint Pancras’s charnel-house, for I know no other place he is fit for, the foul-mouthed old railer. He said to my husband – ”
“Somewhat which signifies nothing to our purpose, I dare say,” interrupted Margaret. “I must speak, then. – There dined with us a nobleman – ”
“A nobleman! the maiden’s mad!” said Dame Ursula.
“There dined with us, I say,” continued Margaret, without regarding the interruption, “a nobleman – a Scottish nobleman.”
“Now Our Lady keep her!” said the confidant, “she is quite frantic! – heard ever any one of a watchmaker’s daughter falling in love with a nobleman – and a Scots nobleman, to make the matter complete, who are all as proud as Lucifer, and as poor as Job? – A Scots nobleman, quotha? I had lief you told me of a Jew pedlar. I would have you think how all this is to end, pretty one, before you jump in the dark.”
“That is nothing to you, Ursula – it is your assistance,” said Mistress Margaret, “and not your advice, that I am desirous to have, and you know I can make it worth your while.”
“O, it is not for the sake of lucre, Mistress Margaret,” answered the obliging dame; “but truly I would have you listen to some advice – bethink you of your own condition.”
“My father’s calling is mechanical,” said Margaret, “but our blood is not so. I have heard my father say that we are descended, at a distance indeed, from the great Earls of Dalwolsey.” [Footnote: The head of the ancient and distinguished house of Ramsay, and to whom, as their chief, the individuals of that name look as their origin and source of gentry. Allan Ramsay, the pastoral poet, in the same manner, makes
“Dalhousie of an auld descent, My chief, my stoup, my ornament.”]“Ay, ay,” said Dame Ursula; “even so – I never knew a Scot of you but was descended, as ye call it, from some great house or other; and a piteous descent it often is – and as for the distance you speak of, it is so great as to put you out of sight of each other. Yet do not toss your pretty head so scornfully, but tell me the name of this lordly northern gallant, and we will try what can be done in the matter.”
“It is Lord Glenvarloch, whom they call Lord Nigel Olifaunt,” said Margaret in a low voice, and turning away to hide her blushes.
“Marry, Heaven forefend!” exclaimed Dame Suddlechop; “this is the very devil, and something worse!”
“How mean you?” said the damsel, surprised at the vivacity of her exclamation.
“Why, know ye not,” said the dame, “what powerful enemies he has at Court? know ye not – But blisters on my tongue, it runs too fast for my wit – enough to say, that you had better make your bridal-bed under a falling house, than think of young Glenvarloch.”
“He IS unfortunate then?” said Margaret; “I knew it – I divined it – there was sorrow in his voice when he said even what was gay – there was a touch of misfortune in his melancholy smile – he had not thus clung to my thoughts had I seen him in all the mid-day glare of prosperity.”
“Romances have cracked her brain!” said Dame Ursula; “she is a castaway girl – utterly distraught – loves a Scots lord – and likes him the better for being unfortunate! Well, mistress, I am sorry this is a matter I cannot aid you in – it goes against my conscience, and it is an affair above my condition, and beyond my management; – but I will keep your counsel.”
“You will not be so base as to desert me, after having drawn my secret from me?” said Margaret, indignantly; “if you do, I know how to have my revenge; and if you do not, I will reward you well. Remember the house your husband dwells in is my father’s property.”
“I remember it but too well, Mistress Margaret,” said Ursula, after a moment’s reflection, “and I would serve you in any thing in my condition; but to meddle with such high matters – I shall never forget poor Mistress Turner, my honoured patroness, peace be with her! – she had the ill-luck to meddle in the matter of Somerset and Overbury, and so the great earl and his lady slipt their necks out of the collar, and left her and some half-dozen others to suffer in their stead. I shall never forget the sight of her standing on the scaffold with the ruff round her pretty neck, all done up with the yellow starch which I had so often helped her to make, and that was so soon to give place to a rough hempen cord. Such a sight, sweetheart, will make one loath to meddle with matters that are too hot or heavy for their handling.”
“Out, you fool!” answered Mistress Margaret; “am I one to speak to you about such criminal practices as that wretch died for? All I desire of you is, to get me precise knowledge of what affair brings this young nobleman to Court.”
“And when you have his secret,” said Ursula, “what will it avail you, sweetheart? – and yet I would do your errand, if you could do as much for me.”
“And what is it you would have of me?” said Mistress Margaret.
“What you have been angry with me for asking before,” answered Dame Ursula. “I want to have some light about the story of your godfather’s ghost, that is only seen at prayers.”
“Not for the world,” said Mistress Margaret, “will I be a spy on my kind godfather’s secrets – No, Ursula – that I will never pry into, which he desires to keep hidden. But thou knowest that I have a fortune, of my own, which must at no distant day come under my own management – think of some other recompense.”
“Ay, that I well know,” said the counsellor – “it is that two hundred per year, with your father’s indulgence, that makes you so wilful, sweetheart.”
“It may be so,” – said Margaret Ramsay; “meanwhile, do you serve me truly, and here is a ring of value in pledge, that when my fortune is in my own hand, I will redeem the token with fifty broad pieces of gold.”
“Fifty broad pieces of gold!” repeated the dame; “and this ring, which is a right fair one, in token you fail not of your word! – Well, sweetheart, if I must put my throat in peril, I am sure I cannot risk it for a friend more generous than you; and I would not think of more than the pleasure of serving you, only Benjamin gets more idle every day, and our family – ”
“Say no more of it,” said Margaret; “we understand each other. And now, tell me what you know of this young man’s affairs, which made you so unwilling to meddle with them?”
“Of that I can say no great matter as yet,” answered Dame Ursula; “only I know, the most powerful among his own countrymen are against him, and also the most powerful at the Court here. But I will learn more of it; for it will be a dim print that I will not read for your sake, pretty Mistress Margaret. Know you where this gallant dwells?”
“I heard by accident,” said Margaret, as if ashamed of the minute particularity of her memory upon such an occasion, – “he lodges, I think – at one Christie’s – if I mistake not – at Paul’s Wharf – a ship-chandler’s.”
“A proper lodging for a young baron! – Well, but cheer you up, Mistress Margaret – If he has come up a caterpillar, like some of his countrymen, he may cast his slough like them, and come out a butterfly. – So I drink good-night, and sweet dreams to you, in another parting cup of sack; and you shall hear tidings of me within four-and-twenty hours. And, once more, I commend you to your pillow, my pearl of pearls, and Marguerite of Marguerites!”
So saying, she kissed the reluctant cheek of her young friend, or patroness, and took her departure with the light and stealthy pace of one accustomed to accommodate her footsteps to the purposes of dispatch and secrecy.
Margaret Ramsay looked after her for some time, in anxious silence. “I did ill,” she at length murmured, “to let her wring this out of me; but she is artful, bold and serviceable – and I think faithful – or, if not, she will be true at least to her interest, and that I can command. I would I had not spoken, however – I have begun a hopeless work. For what has he said to me, to warrant my meddling in his fortunes? – Nothing but words of the most ordinary import – mere table-talk, and terms of course. Yet who knows” – she said, and then broke off, looking at the glass the while, which, as it reflected back a face of great beauty, probably suggested to her mind a more favourable conclusion of the sentence than she cared to trust her tongue withal.
CHAPTER IX
So pitiful a thing is suitor’s state! Most miserable man, whom wicked fate Hath brought to Court to sue, for had I wist, That few have found, and many a one hath miss’d! Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is, in sueing long to bide: To lose good days that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow; To have thy Prince’s grace, yet want her Peers’; To have thy asking, yet wait many years; To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares — To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs. To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run, To spend, to give, to want, to be undone.Mother Hubbard’s Tale.On the morning of the day on which George Heriot had prepared to escort the young Lord of Glenvarloch to the Court at Whitehall, it may be reasonably supposed, that the young man, whose fortunes were likely to depend on this cast, felt himself more than usually anxious. He rose early, made his toilette with uncommon care, and, being enabled, by the generosity of his more plebeian countryman, to set out a very handsome person to the best advantage, he obtained a momentary approbation from himself as he glanced at the mirror, and a loud and distinct plaudit from his landlady, who declared at once, that, in her judgment, he would take the wind out of the sail of every gallant in the presence – so much had she been able to enrich her discourse with the metaphors of those with whom her husband dealt.
At the appointed hour, the barge of Master George Heriot arrived, handsomely manned and appointed, having a tilt, with his own cipher, and the arms of his company, painted thereupon.
The young Lord of Glenvarloch received the friend, who had evinced such disinterested attachment, with the kind courtesy which well became him.
Master Heriot then made him acquainted with the bounty of his sovereign; which he paid over to his young friend, declining what he had himself formerly advanced to him. Nigel felt all the gratitude which the citizen’s disinterested friendship had deserved, and was not wanting in expressing it suitably.
Yet, as the young and high-born nobleman embarked to go to the presence of his prince, under the patronage of one whose best, or most distinguished qualification, was his being an eminent member of the Goldsmiths’ Incorporation, he felt a little surprised, if not abashed, at his own situation; and Richie Moniplies, as he stepped over the gangway to take his place forward in the boat, could not help muttering, – “It was a changed day betwixt Master Heriot and his honest father in the Kraemes; – but, doubtless, there was a difference between clinking on gold and silver, and clattering upon pewter.”
On they glided, by the assistance of the oars of four stout watermen, along the Thames, which then served for the principal high-road betwixt London and Westminster; for few ventured on horseback through the narrow and crowded streets of the city, and coaches were then a luxury reserved only for the higher nobility, and to which no citizen, whatever was his wealth, presumed to aspire. The beauty of the banks, especially on the northern side, where the gardens of the nobility descended from their hotels, in many places, down to the water’s edge, was pointed out to Nigel by his kind conductor, and was pointed out in vain. The mind of the young Lord of Glenvarloch was filled with anticipations, not the most pleasant, concerning the manner in which he was likely to be received by that monarch, in whose behalf his family had been nearly reduced to ruin; and he was, with the usual mental anxiety of those in such a situation, framing imaginary questions from the king, and over-toiling his spirit in devising answers to them.
His conductor saw the labour of Nigel’s mind, and avoided increasing it by farther conversation; so that, when he had explained to him briefly the ceremonies observed at Court on such occasions of presentation, the rest of their voyage was performed in silence.
They landed at Whitehall Stairs, and entered the Palace after announcing their names, – the guards paying to Lord Glenvarloch the respect and honours due to his rank.
The young man’s heart beat high and thick within him as he came into the royal apartments. His education abroad, conducted, as it had been, on a narrow and limited scale, had given him but imperfect ideas of the grandeur of a Court; and the philosophical reflections which taught him to set ceremonial and exterior splendour at defiance, proved, like other maxims of mere philosophy, ineffectual, at the moment they were weighed against the impression naturally made on the mind of an inexperienced youth, by the unusual magnificence of the scene. The splendid apartments through which they passed, the rich apparel of the grooms, guards, and apartments, had something in it, trifling and commonplace as it might appear to practised courtiers, embarrassing, and even alarming, to one, who went through these forms for the first time, and who was doubtful what sort of reception was to accompany his first appearance before his sovereign.
Heriot, in anxious attention to save his young friend from any momentary awkwardness, had taken care to give the necessary password to the warders, grooms of the chambers, ushers, or by whatever name they were designated; so they passed on without interruption.
In this manner they passed several ante-rooms, filled chiefly with guards, attendants of the Court, and their acquaintances, male and female, who, dressed in their best apparel, and with eyes rounded by eager curiosity to make the most of their opportunity, stood, with beseeming modesty, ranked against the wall, in a manner which indicated that they were spectators, not performers, in the courtly exhibition.
Through these exterior apartments Lord Glenvarloch and his city friend advanced into a large and splendid withdrawing-room, communicating with the presence-chamber, into which ante-room were admitted those only who, from birth, their posts in the state or household, or by the particular grant of the kings, had right to attend the Court, as men entitled to pay their respects to their sovereign.
Amid this favoured and selected company, Nigel observed Sir Mungo Malagrowther, who, avoided and discountenanced by those who knew how low he stood in Court interest and favour, was but too happy in the opportunity of hooking himself upon a person of Lord Glenvarloch’s rank, who was, as yet, so inexperienced as to feel it difficult to shake off an intruder.
The knight forthwith framed his grim features to a ghastly smile, and, after a preliminary and patronising nod to George Heriot, accompanied with an aristocratic wave of the hand, which intimated at once superiority and protection, he laid aside altogether the honest citizen, to whom he owed many a dinner, to attach himself exclusively to the young lord, although he suspected he might be occasionally in the predicament of needing one as much as himself. And even the notice of this original, singular and unamiable as he was, was not entirely indifferent to Lord Glenvarloch, since the absolute and somewhat constrained silence of his good friend Heriot, which left him at liberty to retire painfully to his own agitating reflections, was now relieved; while, on the other hand, he could not help feeling interest in the sharp and sarcastic information poured upon him by an observant, though discontented courtier, to whom a patient auditor, and he a man of title and rank, was as much a prize, as his acute and communicative disposition rendered him an entertaining companion to Nigel Olifaunt. Heriot, in the meantime, neglected by Sir Mungo, and avoiding every attempt by which the grateful politeness of Lord Glenvarloch strove to bring him into the conversation, stood by, with a kind of half smile on his countenance; but whether excited by Sir Mungo’s wit, or arising at his expense, did not exactly appear.
In the meantime, the trio occupied a nook of the ante-room, next to the door of the presence-chamber, which was not yet thrown open, when Maxwell, with his rod of office, came bustling into the apartment, where most men, excepting those of high rank, made way for him. He stopped beside the party in which we are interested, looked for a moment at the young Scots nobleman, then made a slight obeisance to Heriot, and lastly, addressing Sir Mungo Malagrowther, began a hurried complaint to him of the misbehaviour of the gentlemen-pensioners and warders, who suffered all sort of citizens, suitors, and scriveners, to sneak into the outer apartments, without either respect or decency. – “The English,” he said, “were scandalised, for such a thing durst not be attempted in the queen’s days. In her time, there was then the court-yard for the mobility, and the apartments for the nobility; and it reflects on your place, Sir Mungo,” he added, “belonging to the household as you do, that such things should not be better ordered.”
Here Sir Mungo, afflicted, as was frequently the case on such occasions, with one of his usual fits of deafness, answered, “It was no wonder the mobility used freedoms, when those whom they saw in office were so little better in blood and havings than themselves.”
“You are right, sir – quite right,” said Maxwell, putting his hand on the tarnished embroidery on the old knight’s sleeve, – “when such fellows see men in office dressed in cast-off suits, like paltry stage-players, it is no wonder the Court is thronged with intruders.”
“Were you lauding the taste of my embroidery, Maister Maxwell?” answered the knight, who apparently interpreted the deputy-chamberlain’s meaning rather from his action than his words; – “it is of an ancient and liberal pattern, having been made by your mother’s father, auld James Stitchell, a master-fashioner of honest repute, in Merlin’s Wynd, whom I made a point to employ, as I am now happy to remember, seeing your father thought fit to intermarry with sic a person’s daughter.”
Maxwell looked stern; but, conscious there was nothing to be got of Sir Mungo in the way of amends, and that prosecuting the quarrel with such an adversary would only render him ridiculous, and make public a mis-alliance of which he had no reason to be proud, he covered his resentment with a sneer; and, expressing his regret that Sir Mungo was become too deaf to understand or attend to what was said to him, walked on, and planted himself beside the folding-doors of the presence-chamber, at which he was to perform the duty of deputy-chamberlain, or usher, so soon as they should be opened.
“The door of the presence is about to open,” said the goldsmith, in a whisper, to his young friend; “my condition permits me to go no farther with you. Fail not to present yourself boldly, according to your birth, and offer your Supplication; which the king will not refuse to accept, and, as I hope, to consider favourably.”
As he spoke, the door of the presence-chamber opened accordingly, and, as is usual on such occasions, the courtiers began to advance towards it, and to enter in a slow, but continuous and uninterrupted stream.
As Nigel presented himself in his turn at the entrance, and mentioned his name and title, Maxwell seemed to hesitate. “You are not known to any one,” he said. “It is my duty to suffer no one to pass to the presence, my lord, whose face is unknown to me, unless upon the word of a responsible person.”
“I came with Master George Heriot,” said Nigel, in some embarrassment at this unexpected interruption.
“Master Heriot’s name will pass current for much gold and silver, my lord,” replied Maxwell, with a civil sneer, “but not for birth and rank. I am compelled by my office to be peremptory. – The entrance is impeded – I am much concerned to say it – your lordship must stand back.”
“What is the matter?” said an old Scottish nobleman, who had been speaking with George Heriot, after he had separated from Nigel, and who now came forward, observing the altercation betwixt the latter and Maxwell.
“It is only Master Deputy-Chamberlain Maxwell,” said Sir Mungo Malagrowther, “expressing his joy to see Lord Glenvarloch at Court, whose father gave him his office – at least I think he is speaking to that purport – for your lordship kens my imperfection.” A subdued laugh, such as the situation permitted, passed round amongst those who heard this specimen of Sir Mungo’s sarcastic temper. But the old nobleman stepped still more forward, saying, – “What! – the son of my gallant old opponent, Ochtred Olifaunt – I will introduce him to the presence myself.”
So saying, he took Nigel by the arm, without farther ceremony, and was about to lead him forward, when Maxwell, still keeping his rod across the door, said, but with hesitation and embarrassment – “My lord, this gentleman is not known, and I have orders to be scrupulous.”
“Tutti – taiti, man,” said the old lord, “I will be answerable he is his father’s son, from the cut of his eyebrow – and thou, Maxwell, knewest his father well enough to have spared thy scruples. Let us pass, man.” So saying, he put aside the deputy-chamberlain’s rod, and entered the presence-room, still holding the young nobleman by the arm.
“Why, I must know you, man,” he said; “I must know you. I knew your father well, man, and I have broke a lance and crossed a blade with him; and it is to my credit that I am living to brag of it. He was king’s-man and I was queen’s-man during the Douglas wars – young fellows both, that feared neither fire nor steel; and we had some old feudal quarrels besides, that had come down from father to son, with our seal-rings, two-harided broad-swords, and plate-coats, and the crests on our burgonets.”
“Too loud, my Lord of Huntinglen,” whispered a gentleman of the chamber, – “The King! – the King!”
The old earl (for such he proved) took the hint, and was silent; and James, advancing from a side-door, received in succession the compliments of strangers, while a little group of favourite courtiers, or officers of the household, stood around him, to whom he addressed himself from time to time. Some more pains had been bestowed on his toilette than upon the occasion when we first presented the monarch to our readers; but there was a natural awkwardness about his figure which prevented his clothes from sitting handsomely, and the prudence or timidity of his disposition had made him adopt the custom already noticed, of wearing a dress so thickly quilted as might withstand the stroke of a dagger, which added an ungainly stiffness to his whole appearance, contrasting oddly with the frivolous, ungraceful, and fidgeting motions with which he accompanied his conversation. And yet, though the king’s deportment was very undignified, he had a manner so kind, familiar, and good-humoured, was so little apt to veil over or conceal his own foibles, and had so much indulgence and sympathy for those of others, that his address, joined to his learning, and a certain proportion of shrewd mother-wit, failed not to make a favourable impression on those who approached his person.