Books: The Midnight Queen
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May Agnes Fleming >> The Midnight Queen
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"I am very sorry, lady, but I have received orders that must be
obeyed! You must come with me, but you need fear nothing; you
will be an safe and secure as in your own home."
"Secure enough, no doubt!" paid Leoline, bitterly. "I never did
like Count L'Estrange, but I never knew he was a coward and a
villain till now!"
Her companion made no reply to this forcible address, and there
was a moment's indignant silence on Leoline's part, broken only
by the dip of the oars, and the rippling of the water. Then
"Will you not tell me, at least, where you are taking me to?"
haughtily demanded Leoline.
"Lady, I cannot! It was to prevent you knowing, that you have
been blindfolded."
"Oh! your master has a faithful servant, I see! How long am I to
be kept a prisoner?"
"I do not know."
"Where is Count L'Estrange?"
"I cannot tell."
"Where am I to see him?"
"I cannot say."
"Ha!" said Leoline, with infinite contempt, and turning her back
upon him she relapsed into gloomy silence. It had all been so
sudden, and had taken her so much by surprise, that she had not
had time to think of the consequences until now. But now they
came upon her with a rush, and with dismal distinctness; and most
distinct among all was, what would Sir Norman say! Of course,
with all a lover's impatience, he would be at his post by
sunrise, would come to look for his bride, and find himself sold!
By that time she would be far enough away, perhaps a melancholy
corpse (and at this dreary passage in her meditations, Leoline
sighed profoundly), and he would never know what had become of
her, or how much and how long she had loved him. And this
hateful Count L'Estrange, what did he intend to do with her?
Perhaps go so far as to make her marry him, and imprison her with
the rest of his wives; for Leoline was prepared to think the very
worst of the count, and had not the slightest doubt that he
already had a harem full of abducted wives, somewhere. But no -
he never could do that, he might do what he liked with weaker
minds, but she never would be a bride of his while the plague or
poison was to be had in London. And with this invincible
determination rooted fixedly, not to say obstinately, in her
mind, she was nearly pitched overboard by the boat suddenly
landing at some unexpected place. A little natural scream of
terror was repressed on her lips by a hand being placed over
them, and the determined but perfectly respectful tones of the
person beside her speaking.
"Remember your promise, lady, and do not make a noise. We have
arrived at our journey's end, and if you will take my arm, I will
lead you along, instead of carrying you."
Leoline was rather surprised to find the journey so short, but
she arose directly, with silence and dignity - at least with as
much of the latter commodity as could be reasonably expected,
considering that boats on water are rather unsteady things to be
dignified in - and was led gently and with care out of the
swaying vessel, and up another flight of stairs. Then, in a few
moments, she was conscious of passing from the free night air
into the closer atmosphere of a house; and in going through an
endless labyrinth of corridors, and passages, and suites of
rooms, and flights of stairs, until she became so extremely
tired, that she stopped with spirited abruptness, and in the
plainest possible English, gave her conductor to understand that
they had gone about far enough for all practical purposes. To
which that patient and respectful individual replied that he was
glad to inform her they had but a few more steps to go, which the
next moment proved to be true, for he stopped and announced that
their promenade was over for the night.
"And I suppose I may have the use of my eyes at last?" inquired
Leoline, with more haughtiness than Sir Norman could have
believed possible so gentle a voice could have expressed.
For reply, her companion rapidly untied the bandage, and withdrew
it with a flourish. The dazzling brightness that burst upon her,
so blinded her, that for a moment she could distinguish nothing;
and when she looked round to contemplate her companion, she found
him hurriedly making his exit, and securely locking the door.
The sound of the key turning in the lock gave her a most peculiar
sensation, which none but those who have experienced it can
properly understand. It is not the most comfortable feeling in
the world to know you are a prisoner, even if you have no key
turned upon you but the weather, and your jailer be a high east
wind and lashing rain. Leoline's prison and jailer were
something worse; and, for the first time, a chill of fear and
dismay crept icily to the core of her heart. But Leoline had
something of Miranda's courage, as well as her looks and temper;
so she tried to feel as brave as possible, and not think of her
unpleasant predicament while there remained anything else to
think about. Perhaps she might escape, too; and, as this notion
struck her, she looked with eager anxiety, not unmixed with
curiosity, at the place where she was. By this time, her eyes
had been accustomed to the light, which proceeded from a great
antique lamp of bronze, pendent by a brass chain from the
ceiling; and she saw she was in a moderately sized and by no
means splendid room. But what struck her most was, that
everything had a look of age about it, from the glittering oak
beams of the floor to the faded ghostly hangings on the wall.
There was a bed at one end - a great spectral ark of a thing,
like a mausoleum, with drapery as old and spectral as that on the
walls, and in which she could no more have lain than in a moth-
eaten shroud. The seats and the one table the room held were of
the same ancient and weird pattern, and the sight of them gave
her a shivering sensation not unlike an ague chill. There was
but one door - a huge structure, with shining panels, securely
locked; and escape from that quarter was utterly out of the
question. There was one window, hung with dark curtains of
tarnished embroidery, but in pushing them aside, she met only a
dull blank of unlighted glass, for the shutters were firmly
secured without. Altogether, she could not form the slightest
idea where she was; and, with a feeling of utter despair, she sat
down on one of the queer old chairs, with much the same feeling
as if she were sitting in a tomb.
What would Sir Norman say? What would he ever think of her, when
he found her gone. And what was destined to be her fate in this
dreadful out-of-the-way place? She would have cried, as most of
her sex would be tempted to do in such a situation, but that her
dislike and horror of Count L'Estrange was a good deal stronger
than her grief, and turned her tears to sparks of indignant fire.
Never, never, never! would she be his wife! He might kill her a
thousand times, if he liked, and she wouldn't yield an inch. She
did not mind dying in a good cause; she could do it but once.
And with Sir Norman despising her, as she felt he must do, when
he found her run away, she rather liked the idea than otherwise.
Mentally, she bade adieu to all her friends before beginning to
prepare for her melancholy fate - to her handsome lover, to his
gallant friend Ormiston, to her poor nurse, Prudence, and to her
mysterious visitor, La Masque.
La Masque! Ah! that name awoke a new chord of recollection - the
casket, she had it with her yet. Instantly, everything was
forgotten but it and its contents; and she placed a chair
directly under the lamp, drew it out, and looked at it. It was a
pretty little bijou itself, with its polished ivory surface, and
shining clasps of silver. But the inside had far more interest
for her than the outside, and she fitted the key and unlocked it
with a trembling hand. It was lined with azure velvet, wrought
with silver thread, in dainty wreathe of water lilies; and in the
bottom, neatly folded, lay a sheet of foolscap. She opened it
with nervous haste; it was a common sheet enough, stamped with
fool's cap and bells, that showed it belonged to Cromwell's time.
It was closely written, in a light, fair hand, and bore the title
"Leoline's History."
Leoline's hand trembled so with eagerness, she could scarcely
hold the paper; but her eye rapidly ran from line to line, and
she stopped not till she reached the end. While she read, her
face alternately flushed and paled, her eyes dilated, her lips
parted; and before she finished it, there came over all a look of
the most unutterable horror. It dropped from her powerless
fingers as she finished; and she sank back in her chair with such
a ghastly paleness, that it seemed absolutely like the lividness
of death.
A sudden and startling noise awoke her from her trance of horror
- some one trying to get in at the window! The chill of terror
it sent through every vein acted as a sort of counter-irritant to
the other feeling, and she sprang from her chair and turned her
face fearfully toward the sounds. But in all her terror she did
not forget the mysterious sheet of foolscap, which lay, looking
up at her, on the floor; and she snatched it up, and thrust it
and the casket out of sight. Still the sounds went on, but
softly and cautiously; and at intervals, as if the worker were
afraid of being heard. Leoline went back, step by step, to the
other extremity of the room, with her eyes still fixed on the
window, and on her face a white terror, that left her perfectly
colorless.
Who could it be? Not Count L'Estrange, for he would surely not
need to enter his own house like a burglar - not Sir Norman
Kingsley, for he could certainly not find out her abduction and
her prison so soon, and she had no other friends in the whole
wide world to trouble themselves about her. There was one, but
the idea of ever seeing her again was so unspeakably dreadful,
that she would rather have seen the most horrible spectre her
imagination could conjure up, than that tall, graceful,
rich-robed form.
Still the noises perseveringly continued; there was the sound of
withdrawing bolts, and then a pale ray of moonlight shot between
the parted curtains, shoving the shutters had been opened.
Whiter and whiter Leoline grew, and she felt herself growing cold
and rigid with mortal fear. Softly the window was raised, a hand
stole in and parted the curtains, and a pale face and two great
dark eyes wandered slowly round the room, and rested at last on
her, standing, like a galvanized corpse, as far from the window
as the wall would permit. The hand was lifted in a warning
gesture, as if to enforce silence; the window was raised still
higher, a figure, lithe and agile as a cat, sprang lightly into
the room, and standing with his back to her, re-closed the
shutters, re-shut the window, and re-drew the curtains, before
taking the trouble to turn round.
This discreet little manoeuvre, which showed her visitor was
human, and gifted with human prudence, re-assured Leoline a
little; and, to judge by the reverse of the medal, the nocturnal
intruder was nothing very formidable after all. But the stranger
did not keep her long in suspense; while she stood gazing at him,
as if fascinated, he turned round, stepped forward, took off his
cap, made her a courtly bow, and then straightening himself up,
prepared, with great coolness, to scrutinize and be scrutinized.
Well might they look at each other; for the two faces were
perfectly the same, and each one saw himself and herself as
others saw them. There was the same coal-black, curling hair;
the same lustrous dark eyes; the same clear, colorless
complexion, the same delicate, perfect features; nothing was
different but the costume and the expression. That latter was
essentially different, for the young lady's betrayed amazement,
terror, doubt, and delight all at once; while the young
gentleman's was a grand, careless surprise, mixed with just a
dash of curiosity.
He was the first to speak; and after they had stared at each
other for the space of five minutes, he described a graceful
sweep with his hand, and held forth in the following strain
"I greatly fear, fair Leoline, that I have startled you by my
sudden and surprising entrance; and if I have been the cause of a
moment's alarm to one so perfectly beautiful, I shall hate myself
for ever after. If I could have got in any other way, rest
assured I would not have risked my neck and your peace of mind by
such a suspicious means of ingress as the window; but if you will
take the trouble to notice, the door is thick, and I am composed
of too solid flesh to whisk through the keyhole; so I had to make
my appearance the best way I could."
"Who are you?" faintly asked Leoline.
"Your friend, fair lady, and Sir Norman Kingsley's."
Hubert looked to see Leoline start and blush, and was deeply
gratified to see her do both; and her whole pretty countenance
became alive with new-born hope, as if that name were a magic
talisman of freedom and joy.
"What is your name, and who are you?" she inquired, in a
breathless sort of way, that made Hubert look at her a moment in
calm astonishment.
"I have told you your friend; christened at some remote period,
Hubert. For further particulars, apply to the Earl of Rochester,
whose page I am."
"The Earl of Rochester's page!" she repeated, in the same quick,
excited way, that surprised and rather lowered her in that good
youth's opinion, for giving way to any feelings so plebeian. "It
is - it must be the same!"
"I have no doubt of it," said Hubert. "The same what?"
"Did you not come from France - from Dijon, recently?" went on
Leoline, rather inappositely, as it struck her hearer.
"Certainly I came from Dijon. Had I the honor of being known to
you there?"
"How strange! How wonderful!" said Leoline, with a paling cheek
and quickened breathing. "How mysterious those things turn out I
Thank Heaven that I have found some one to love at last!"
This speech, which was Greek, algebra, high Dutch, or
thereabouts, to Master Hubert, caused him to stare to such an
extent, that when he came to think of it afterward, positively
shocked him. The two great, wondering dark eyes transfixing her
with so much amazement, brought Leoline to a sense of her talking
unfathomable mysteries, quite incomprehensible to her handsome
auditor. She looked at him with a smile, held out her hand; and
Hubert received a strange little electric thrill, to see that her
eyes were full of tears. He took the hand and raised it to his
lips, wondering if the young lady, struck by his good looks, had
conceived a rash and inordinate attack of love at first sight,
and was about to offer herself to him and discard Sir Norman for
ever. From this speculation, the sweet voice aroused him.
"You have told me who you are. Now, do you know who I am?"
"I hope so, fairest Leoline. I know you are the most beautiful
lady in England, and to-morrow will be called Lady Kingsley!"
"I am something more," said Leoline, holding his hand between
both hers, and bending near him; "I am your sister!"
The Earl of Rochester's page must have had good blood in his
veins; for never was there duke, grandee, or peer of the realm,
more radically and unaffectedly nonchalant than he. To this
unexpected announcement he listened with most dignified and
well-bred composure, and in his secret heart, or rather vanity,
more disappointed than otherwise, to find his first solution of
her tenderness a great mistake. Leoline held his hand tight in
hers, and looked with loving and tearful eyes in his face.
"Dear Hubert, you are my brother - my long-unknown brother, and I
love you with my whole heart!"
"Am I?" said Hubert. "I dare say I am, for they all say we look
as much alike as two peas. I am excessively delighted to hear
it, and to know that you love me. Permit me to embrace my new
relative."
With which the court page kissed Leoline with emphasis, while she
scarcely knew whether to laugh, cry, or be provoked at his
composure. On the whole, she did a little of all three, and
pushed him away with a halt pout.
"You insensible mortal! How can you stand there and hear that
you have found a sister with so much indifference?"
"Indifferent? Not I! You have no idea how wildly excited I am!"
said Hubert, in a voice not betokening the slightest emotion.
"How did you find it out, Leoline?"
"Never mind! I shall tell you that again. You don't doubt it, I
hope?"
"Of course not! I knew from the first moment I set eyes on you,
that if you were not my sister, you ought to be! I wish you'd
tell me all the particulars, Leoline."
"I shall do so as soon as I am out of this; but how can I tell
you anything here?"
"That's true!" said Hubert, reflectively. "Well, I'll wait.
Now, don't you wonder how I found you out, and came here?"
"Indeed I do. How was it, Hubert?"
"Oh, well, I don't know as I can altogether tell you; but you
see, Sir Norman Kingsley being possessed of an inspiration that
something was happening to you, came to your house a short time
ago, and, as he suspected, discovered that you were missing. I
met him there, rather depressed in his mind about it, and he told
me - beginning the conversation, I must say, in a very excited
manner," said Hubert, parenthetically, as memory recalled the
furious shaking he had undergone - "and he told me he fancied you
were abducted, and by one Count L'Estrange. Now I had a hazy
idea who Count L'Estrange was, and where he would be most apt to
take you to; and so I came here, and after some searching, more
inquiring, and a few unmitigated falsehoods (you'll regret to
hear), discovered you were locked up in this place, and succeeded
in getting in through the window. Sir Norman is waiting for me
in a state of distraction so now, having found you, I will go and
relieve his mind by reporting accordingly."
"And leave me here?" cried Leoline, in affright, "and in the
power of Count L'Estrange? Oh! no, no! You must take me with
you, Hubert!"
"My dear Leoline, it is quite impossible to do it without help,
and without a ladder. I will return to Sir Norman; and when the
darkness comes that precedes day-dawn, we will raise the ladder
to your window, and try to get you out. Be patient - only wait
an hour or two, and then you will be free."
"But, O Hubert, where am I? What dreadful place it this?"
"Why, I do not know that this is a very dreadful place; and most
people consider it a sufficiently respectable house; but, still,
I would rather see my sister anywhere else than in it, and will
take the trouble of kidnapping her out of it as quickly as
possible."
"But, Hubert, tell me - do tell me, who is Count L'Estrange?"
Hubert laughed.
"Cannot, really, Leoline! at least, not until to-morrow, and you
are Lady Kingsley."
"But, what if he should come here to-night?"
"I do not think there is much danger of that, but whether he does
or not, rest assured you shall be free to-morrow! At all events,
it is quite impossible for you to escape with me now; and even as
it is, I run the risk of being detected, and made a prisoner,
myself. You must be patient and wait, Leoline, and trust to
Providence and your brother Hubert!"
"I must, I suppose!" said Leoline, sighing, "and you cannot take
me away until day-dawn."
"Quite impossible; and then all this drapery of yours will be
ever so much in the way. Would you object to garments like
these?" pointing to his doublet and hose. "If you would not, I
think I could procure you a fit-out."
"But I should, though!" said Leoline, with spirit "and most
decidedly, too! I shall wear nothing of the kind, Sir Page!"
"Every one to her fancy!" said Hubert, with a French shrug, "and
my pretty sister shall have hers in spite of earth, air, fire,
and water! And now, fair Leoline, for a brief time, adieu, and
au revoir !"
"You will not fail me!" exclaimed Leoline, earnestly, clasping
her hands.
"If I do, it shall be the last thing I will fail in on earth; for
if I am alive by to-morrow morning, Leoline shall be free!"
"And you will be careful - you will both be careful!"
"Excessively careful! Now then."
The last two words were addressed to the window which he
noiselessly opened as he spoke. Leoline caught a glimpse of the
bright free moonlight, and watched him with desperate envy; but
the next moment the shutters were closed, and Hubert and the
moonlight were both gone.
CHAPTER XIX
HUBERT'S WHISPER.
Sir Norman Kingsley's consternation and horror on discovering the
dead body of his friend, was only equalled by his amazement as to
how he got there, or how he came to be dead at all. The livid
face, up turned to the moonlight, was unmistakably the face of a
dead man - it was no swoon, no deception, like Leoline's; for the
blue, ghastly paleness that marks the flight of the soul from the
body was stamped on every rigid feature. Yet, Sir Norman could
not realize it. We all know how hard it is to realize the death
of a friend from whom we have but lately parted in full health
and life, and Ormiston's death was so sudden. Why, it was not
quite two hours since they had parted in Leoline's house, and
even the plague could not carry off a victim as quickly as this.
"Ormiston! Ormiston!" he called, between grief and dismay, as he
raised him in his arms, with his hand over the stilled heart; but
Ormiston answered not, and the heart gave no pulsation beneath
his fingers. He tore open his doublet, as the thought of the
plague flashed through his mind, but no plague-spot was to be
seen, and it was quite evident, from the appearance of the face,
that he had not died of the distemper, neither was there any
wound or mark to show that he had met his end violently. Yet the
cold, white face was convulsed, as if he had died in throes of
agony, the hands were clenched, till the nails sank into the
flesh; and that was the only outward sign or token that he had
suffered in expiring.
Sir Norman was completely at a lose, and half beside himself,
with a thousand conflicting feelings of sorrow, astonishment, and
mystification. The rapid and exciting events of the night had
turned his head into a mental chaos, as they very well might, but
he still had commonsense enough left to know that something must
be done about this immediately. He knew the best place to take
Ormiston was to the nearest apothecary's shop, which
establishments were generally open, and filled, the whole
livelong night, by the sick and their friends. As he was
meditating whether or not to call the surly watchman to help him
carry the body, a pest-cart came, providentially, along, and the
driver-seeing a young man bending over a prostrate form-guessed
at once what was the matter, and came to a halt.
"Another one!" he said, coming leisurely up, and glancing at the
lifeless form with a very professional eye. "Well, I think there
is room for another one in the cart; so bear a hand, friend, and
let us have him out of this."
"You are mistaken!" said Sir Norman sharply, "he has not died of
the plague. I am not even certain whether he is dead at all."
The driver looked at Sir Norman, then stooped down and touched
Ormiston's icy face, and listened to hear him breathe. He stood
up after a moment, with some thing like a small laugh.
"If he's alive," he said, turning to go, "then I never saw any
one dead! Good night, sir, I wish you joy when you bring him
to."
"Stay!" exclaimed the young man, "I wish you to assist me in
bringing him to yonder apothecary's shop, and you may have this
for your pains."
"This" proved to be a talisman of alacrity; for the man pocketed
it, and briskly laid hold of Ormiston by the feet, while Sir
Norman wrapped his cloak reverently about him and took him by the
shoulders. In this style his body was conveyed to the
apothecary's shop which they found half full of applicants for
medicine, among whom their entrance with the corpse produced no
greater sensation than a momentary stare. The attire and bearing
of Sir Norman proving him to be something different from their
usual class of visitors, bringing one of the drowsy apprentices
immediately to his side, inquiring what were his orders.
"A private room, and your master's attendance directly," was the
authoritative reply.
Both were to be had; the former, a hole in the wall behind the
shop; the latter, a pallid, cadaverous-looking person, with the
air of one who had been dead a week, thought better of it and
rose again. There was a long table in the aforesaid hole in the
wall, bearing a strong family likeness to a dissecting-table;
upon which the stark figure was laid, and the pest-cart driver
disappeared. The apothecary held a mirror close to the, face;
applied his ear to the pulse and heart; held a pocket-mirror over
his mouth, looked at it; shook his head; and set down the candle
with decision.
"The man is dead, sir!" was his criticism, "dead as a door nail!
All the medicine in the shop wouldn't kindle one spark of life in
such ashes!"
"At least, try! Try something - bleeding for instance,"
suggested Sir Norman.
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