Books: The Midnight Queen
M >>
May Agnes Fleming >> The Midnight Queen
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 | 6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20
Ormiston was so surprised, or rather dismayed, by this unexpected
address, that he complied at once, and placed her on her own
pretty feet. But the young lady's sense of propriety was a good
deal stronger than her physical powers; and she swayed and
tottered, and had to cling to her unknown friend for support.
"You are scarcely strong enough, I am afraid, dear lady," he
said, kindly. "You had better let me carry you. I assure you I
am quite equal to it, or even a more weighty burden, if necessity
required."
"Thank you, sir," said the faint voice, faintly; "but I would
rather walk. Where are you taking me to?"
"To your own house, if you wish - it is quite close at hand,"
"Yes. Yes. Let us go there! Prudence in there, and she will
take care of me.".
"Will she?" said Ormiston, doubtfully. "I hope you do not suffer
much pain!"
"I do not suffer at all," she said, wearily; "only I am so tired.
Oh, I wish I were home!"
Ormiston half led, half lifted her up the stairs.
"You are almost there, dear lady - see, it is close st hand!"
She half lifted her languid eyes, but did not speak. Leaning
panting on his arm, he drew her gently on until they reached her
door. It was still unfastened. Prudence had kept her word, and
not gone near it; and he opened it, and helped her in.
"Where now?" he asked.
"Up stairs," she said, feebly. "I want to go to my own room."
Ormiston knew where that was, and assisted her there as tenderly
as he could have done La Masque herself. He paused on the
threshold; for the room was dark.
"There is a lamp and a tinder-box on the mantel," said the faint,
sweet voice, "if you will only please to find them."
Ormiston crowed the room - fortunately he knew the latitude of
the place -and moving his hand with gingerly precaution along
the mantel-shelf, lest he should upset any of the gimcracks
thereon, soon obtained the articles named, and struck a light.
The lady was leaning wearily against the door-post, but now she
came forward, and dropped exhausted into the downy pillows of a
lounge.
"Is there anything I can do for you, madame?" began Ormiston,
with as solicitous an air as though he had been her father. "A
glass of wine would be of use to you, I think, and then, if you
wish, I will go for a doctor."
"You are very kind. You will find wine and glasses in the room
opposite this, and I feel so faint that I think you had better
bring me some."
Ormiston moved across the passage, like the good, obedient young
man that he was, filled a glass of Burgundy, and as he was
returning with it, was startled by a cry from the lady that
nearly made him drop and shiver it on the floor.
"What under heaven has come to her now?" he thought, hastening
in, wondering how she could possibly have come to grief since he
left her.
She was sitting upright on the sofa, her dress palled down off
her shoulder where the plague-spot had been, and which, to his
amazement, he saw now pure and stainless, and free from every
loathsome trace.
"You are cured of the plague!" was all he could say.
"Thank God!" she exclaimed, fervently clasping her hands. "But
oh! how can it have happened? It mast be a miracle!"
"No, it was your plunge into the river; I have heard of one or
two such cases before, and if ever I take it," said Ormiston,
half laughing, half shuddering, "my first rush shall be for old
Father Thames. Here, drink this, I am certain it will complete
the cure."
The girl - she was nothing but a girl - drank it off and sat
upright like one inspired with new life. As she set down the
glass, she lifted her dark, solemn, beautiful eyes to his face
with a long, searching gaze.
"What is your name?" she simply asked.
"Ormiston, madame," he said, bowing low.
"You have saved my life, have you not?"
"It was the Earl of Rochester who reserved you from the river;
but I would have done it a moment later."
"I do not mean that. I mean" - with a slight shudder - "are you
not one of those I saw at the plague-pit? Oh! that dreadful,
dreadful plague-pit!" she cried, covering her face with her
hands.
"Yes. I am one of those."
"And who was the other?"
"My friend, Sir Norman Kingsley.
"Sir Norman Kingsley?" she softly repeated, with a sort of
recognition in her voice and eyes, while a faint roseate glow
rose softly over her face and neck. Ah! I thought - was it to
his house or yours I was brought?"
"To his," replied Ormiston, looking at her curiously; for he had
seen that rosy glow, and was extremely puzzled thereby; "from
whence, allow me to add, you took your departure rather
unceremoniously."
"Did I?" she said, in a bewildered sort of way. "It is all like
a dream to me. I remember Prudence screaming, and telling me I
had the plague, and the unutterable horror that filled me when I
heard it; and then the next thing I recollect is, being at the
plague-pit, and seeing your face and his bending over me. All
the horror came back with that awakening, and between it and
anguish of the plague-sore I think I fainted again." (Ormiston
nodded sagaciously), "and when I next recovered I was alone in a
strange room, and in bed. I noticed that, though I think I must
have been delirious. And then, half-mad with agony, I got out to
the street, somehow and ran, and ran, and ran, until the people
saw and followed me here. I suppose I had some idea of reaching
home when I came here; but the crowd pressed so close behind, and
I felt though all my delirium, that they would bring me to the
pest-house if they caught me, and drowning seemed to me
preferable to that. So I was in the river before I knew it - and
you know the rest as well as I do. But I owe you my life, Mr.
Ormiston - owe it to you and another; and I thank you both with
all my heart."
"Madame, you are too grateful; and I don't know as we have done
anything much to deserve it."
"You have saved my life; and though you may think that a
valueless trifle, not worth speaking of, I assure you I view it
in a very different light," she said, with a half smile.
"Lady, your life is invaluable; but as to our saving it, why, you
would not have us throw you alive into the plague-pit, would
you?"
"It would have been rather barbarous, I confess, but there are
few who would risk infection for the sake of a mere stranger.
Instead of doing as you did, you might have sent me to the pest-
house, you know."
"Oh, as to that, all your gratitude is due to Sir Norman. He
managed the whole affair, and what is more, fell - but I will
leave that for himself to disclose. Meantime, may I ask the name
of the lady I have been so fortunate as to serve!"
"Undoubtedly, sir - my name is Leoline."
"Leoline is only half a name."
"Then I am so unfortunate an only to possess half a name, for I
never had any other."
Ormiston opened his eyes very wide indeed.
"No other! you must have had a father some time in your life;
most people have," said the young gentleman, reflectively.
She shook her head a little sadly.
"I never had, that I know of, either father or mother, or any one
but Prudence. And by the way," she said, half starting up, "the
first thing to be done is, to see about this same Prudence. She
must be somewhere in the house."
"Prudence is nowhere in the house," said Ormiston, quietly; "and
will not be, she says, far a month to come. She is afraid of the
plague."
"Is she?" said Leoline, fixing her eyes on him with a powerful
glance. "How do you know that?"
"I heard her say so not half an hour ago, to a lady a few doors
distant. Perhaps you know her - La Masque."
"That singular being! I don't know her; but I have seen her
often. Why was Prudence talking of me to her, I wonder?"
"That I do not know; but talking of you the was, and she said she
was coming back here no more. Perhaps you will be afraid to stay
here alone?"
"Oh no, I am used to being alone," she said, with a little sigh,
"but where" - hesitating and blushing vividly, "where is - I
mean, I should like to thank sir Norman Kingsley."
Ormiston saw the blush and the eyes that dropped, and it puzzled
him again beyond measure.
"Do you know Sir Norman Kingsley?" he suspiciously asked.
"By sight I know many of the nobles of the court," she answered
evasively, and without looking up: "they pass here often, and
Prudence knows them all; and so I have learned to distinguish
them by name and sight, your friend among the rest."
"And you would like to see my friend?" he said, with malicious
emphasis.
"I would like to thank him," retorted the lady, with some
asperity: "you have told me how much I owe him, and it strikes me
the desire is somewhat natural."
"Without doubt it is, and it will save Sir Norman much fruitless
labor; for even now he is in search at you, and will neither rest
nor sleep until he finds you."
"In search of me!" she said softly, and with that rosy glow again
illumining her beautiful face; "he is indeed kind, and I am most
anxious to thank him."
"I will bring him here in two hours, then," said Ormiston, with
energy; "and though the hour may be a little unseasonable, I hope
you will not object to it; for if you do, he will certainly not
survive until morning."
She gayly laughed, but her cheek was scarlet.
"Rather than that, Mr. Ormiston, I will even see him tonight.
You will find me here when you come."
"You will not run away again, will you?" said Ormiston, looking
at her doubtfully. "Excuse me; but you have a trick of doing
that, you know."
Again she laughed merrily.
"I think you may safely trust me this time. Are you going?"
By way of reply, Ormiston took his hat and started for the door.
There he paused, with his hand upon it.
"How long have you known Sir Norman Kingsley?" was his careless,
artful question.
But Leoline, tapping one little foot on the floor, and looking
down at it with hot cheeks and humid ayes, answered not a word.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN.
When Sir Norman Kingsley entered the ancient ruin, his head was
fall of Leoline - when he knelt down to look through the aperture
in the flagged floor, head and heart were full of her still. But
the moment his eyes fell on the scene beneath, everything fled
far from his thoughts, Leoline among the rest; and nothing
remained but a profound and absorbing feeling of intensest amaze.
Right below him he beheld an immense room, of which the flag he
had raised seemed to form part of the ceiling, in a remote
corner. Evidently it was one of a range of lower vaults, and as
he was at least fourteen feet above it, and his corner somewhat
in shadow, there was little danger of his being seen. So,
leaning far down to look at his leisure, he took the goods the
gods provided him, and stared to his heart's content.
Sir Norman had seen some queer sights daring the four-and-twenty
years he had spent in this queer world, but never anything quite
equal to this. The apartment below, though so exceedingly large,
was lighted with the brilliance of noon-day; and every object it
contained; from one end to the other, was distinctly revealed.
The floor, from glimpses he had of it in obscure corners, was of
stone; but from end to end it was covered with richest rugs and
mats, and squares of velvet of as many colors as Joseph's coat.
The walls were hung with splendid tapestry, gorgeous in silk and
coloring, representing the wars of Troy, the exploits of Coeur de
Lion among the Saracens, the death of Hercules, all on one side;
and on the other, a more modern representation, the Field of the
Cloth of Gold. The illumination proceeded from a range of wax
tapers in silver candelabra, that encircled the whole room. The
air was redolent of perfumes, and filled with strains of softest
and sweetest music from unseen hands. At one extremity of the
room was a huge door of glass and gilding; and opposite it, at
the other extremity, was a glittering throne. It stood on a
raised dais, covered with crimson velvet, reached by two or three
steps carpeted with the same; the throne was as magnificent as
gold, and satin, and ornamentation could make it. A great velvet
canopy of the same deep, rich color, cut in antique points, and
heavily hang with gold fringe, was above the seat of honor.
Beside it, to the right, but a little lower down, was a similar
throne, somewhat lees superb, and minus a canopy. From the door
to the throne was a long strip of crimson velvet, edged and
embroidered with gold, and arranged in a sweeping semi-circle, on
either side, were a row of great carved, gilded, and cushioned
chairs, brilliant, too, with crimson and gold, and each for
every-day Christians, a throne in itself. Between the blaze of
illumination, the flashing of gilding and gold, the tropical
flush of crimson velvet, the rainbow dyes on floor and walls, the
intoxicating gushes of perfume, and the delicious strains of
unseen music, it is no wonder Sir Norman Kingsley's head was
spinning like a bewildered teetotum.
Was he sane - was he sleeping? Had he drank too much wine at the
Golden Crown, and had it all gone to his head? Was it a scene of
earnest enchantment, or were fairy-tales true? Like Abou Hasson
when he awoke in the palace of the facetious Caliph of Bagdad, he
had no notion of believing his own eyes and ears, and quietly
concluded it was all an optical illusion, as ghosts are said to
be; but he quietly resolved to stay there, nevertheless, and see
how the dazzling phantasmagoria would end. The music was
certainly ravishing, and it seemed to him, as he listened with
enchanted ears, that he never wanted to wake up from so heavenly
a dream.
One thing struck him as rather odd; strange and bewildered as
everything was, it did not seem at all strange to him, on the
contrary, a vague idea was floating mistily through his mind that
he had beheld precisely the same thing somewhere before.
Probably at some past period of his life he had beheld a similar
vision, or had seen a picture somewhere like it in a tale of
magic, and satisfying himself with this conclusion, he began
wondering if the genii of the place were going to make their
appearance at all, or if the knowledge that human eyes were upon
them had scared them back to Erebus.
While still ruminating on this important question, a portion of
the tapestry, almost beneath him, shriveled up and up, and out
flocked a glittering throng, with a musical mingling of laughter
and voices. Still they came, more and more, until the great room
was almost filled, and a dazzling throng they were. Sir Norman
had mingled in many a brilliant scene at Whitehall, where the
gorgeous court of Charles shown in all its splendor, with the
"merry monarch" at their head, but all he had ever witnessed at
the king's court fell far short of this pageant. Half the
brilliant flock were ladies, superb in satins, silks, velvets and
jewels. And such jewels! every gem that ever flashed back the
sunlight sparkled and blazed in blending array on those beautiful
bosoms and arms - diamonds, pearls, opals, emeralds, rubies,
garnets, sapphires, amethysts - every jewel that ever shone. But
neither dresses nor gems were half so superb as the peerless
forms they adorned; and such an army of perfectly beautiful
faces, from purest blonde to brightest brunette, had never met
and mingled together before.
Each lovely face was unmasked, but Sir Norman's dazzled eyes in
vain sought among them for one he knew. All that "rosebud garden
of girls" were perfect strangers to him, but not so the gallants,
who fluttered among them like moths around meteors. They, too,
were in gorgeous array, in purple and fine linen, which being
interpreted, signifieth in silken hose of every color under the
sun, spangled and embroidered slippers radiant with diamond
buckles, doublets of as many different shades as their tights,
slashed with satin and embroidered with gold. Most of them wore
huge powdered wigs, according to the hideous fashion then in
vogue, and under those same ugly scalps, laughed many a handsome
face Sir Norman well knew. The majority of those richly-robed
gallants were strangers to him as well as the ladies, but whoever
they were, whether mortal men or "spirits from the vasty deep,"
they were in the tallest sort of clover just then. Evidently
they knew it, too, and seemed to be on the best of terms with
themselves and all the world, and laughed, and flirted, and
flattered, with as mach perfection as so many ball-room Apollos
of the present day.
Still no one ascended the golden and crimson throne, though many
of the ladies and gentlemen fluttering about it were arrayed as
royally as any common king or queen need wish to be. They
promenaded up and down, arm in arm; they seated themselves in the
carved and gilded chairs; they gathered in little groups to talk
and laugh, did everything, in short, but ascend the throne; and
the solitary spectator up above began to grow intensely curious
to know who it was for. Their conversation he could plainly
hear, and to say that it amazed him, would be to use a feeble
expression, altogether inadequate to his feelings. Not that it
was the remarks they made that gave his system each a shook, but
the names by which they addressed each other. One answered to
the aspiring cognomen of the Duke of Northumberland; another was
the Earl of Leicester; another, the Duke of Devonshire; another,
the Earl of Clarendon; another, the Duke of Buckingham; and so
on, ad infinitum, dukes and earls alternately, like bricks and
mortar in the wall of a house. There were other dignitaries
besides, some that Sir Norman had a faint recollection of hearing
were dead for some years - Cardinal Wolsey, Sir Thomas More, the
Earl of Bothwell, King Henry Darnley, Sir Walter Raleigh, the
Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Southampton, the Duke of York, and
no end of others with equally sonorous titles. As for mere lords
and baronets, and such small deer, there was nothing so plebeian
present, and they were evidently looked upon by the distinguished
assembly, like small beer in thunder, with pity and contempt.
The ladies, too, were all duchesses, marchionesses, countesses,
and looked fit for princesses, Sir Norman thought, though he
heard none of them styled quite so high as that. The tone of
conversation was light and easy, but at the same time extremely
ceremonious and courtly, and all seemed to be enjoying themselves
in the moat delightful sort of a way, which people of, such
distinguished rank, I am told, seldom do. All went merry as a
marriage-bell, and sweetly over the gay jingle of voices rose the
sweet, faint strains of the unseen music.
Suddenly all was changed. The great door of glass and gilding
opposite the throne was flung wide, and a grand usher in a grand
court livery flourished a mighty grand wand, and shouted, in a
stentorian voice
"Back: back, ye lieges, and make way for Her Majesty, Queen
Miranda!"
Instantly the unseen band thundered forth the national anthem.
The splendid throng fell back on either hand in profoundest
silence and expectation. The grand usher mysteriously
disappeared, and in his place there stalked forward a score of
soldiers, with clanking swords and fierce moustaches, in the
gorgeous uniform of the king's body-guard. These showy warriors
arranged themselves silently on either side of the crimson
throne, and were followed by half a dozen dazzling personages,
the foremost crowned with mitre, armed with crozier, and robed in
the ecclesiastical glory of an archbishop, but the face
underneath, to the deep surprise and scandal of Sir Norman, was
that of the fastest young roue of Charles court, after him came
another pompous dignitary, in such unheard of magnificence that
the unseen looker-on set him down for a prime minister, or a lord
high chancellor, at the very least. The somewhat gaudy-looking
gentlemen who stepped after the pious prelate and peer wore the
stars and garters of foreign courts, and were evidently
embassadors extraordinary to that of her midnight majesty. After
them came a snowy flock of fair young girls, angels all but the
wings, slender as sylphs, and robed in purest white. Each bore
on her arm a basket of flowers, roses and rosebuds of every tint,
from snowy white to darkest crimson, and as they floated in they
scattered them lightly as they went. And then after all came
another vision, "the last, the brightest, the best - the
Midnight Queen" herself. One other figure followed her, and as
they entered, a shout arose from the whole assemblage, "Long live
Queen Miranda!" And bowing gracefully and easily to the right
end left, the queen with a queenly step, trod the long crimson
carpet and mounted the regal throne.
From the first moment of his looking down, Sir Norman had been
staring with all the eyes in his head, undergoing one shock of
surprise after another with the equanimity of a man quite need to
it; but now a cry arose to his lips, and died there in voiceless
consternation. For he recognized the queen - well he might! - he
had seen her before, and her face was the face of Leoline!
As she mounted the stairs, she stood there for a moment crowned
and sceptred, before sitting down, and in that moment he
recognized the whole scene. That gorgeous room and its gorgeous
inmates; that regal throne and its regal owner, all became
palpable as the sun at noonday; that slender, exquisite figure,
robed in royal purple and ermine; the uncovered neck and arms,
snowy and perfect, ablaze with jewels; that lovely face, like
snow, like marble, in its whiteness end calm, with the great,
dark, earnest eyes looking out, and the waving wealth of hair
falling around it. It was the very scene, and room, and vision,
that La Masque had shown him in the caldron, and that face was
the face of Leoline, and the earl's page.
Could he be dreaming? Was he sane or mad, or were the three
really one?
While he looked, the beautiful queen bowed low, and amid the
profoundest and most respectful silence, took her seat. In her
robes of purple, wearing the glittering crown, sceptre in hand,
throned and canopied, royally beautiful she looked indeed, and a
most vivid contrast to the gentleman near her, seated very much
at his ease, on the lower throne. The contrast was not of dress
- for his outward man was resplendent to look at; but in figure
and face, or grace and dignity, he was a very mean specimen of
the lords of creation, indeed. In stature, he scarcely reached
to the queen's royal shoulder, but made up sideways what he
wanted in length - being the breadth of two common men; his head
was in proportion to his width, and was decorated with a wig of
long, flowing, flaxen hair, that scarcely harmonized with a
profusion of the article whiskers, in hue most unmitigated black;
his eyes were small, keen, bright, and piercing, and glared on
the assembled company as they had done half an hour before on Sir
Norman Kingsley, in the bar-room of the Golden Crown; for the
royal little man was no other than Caliban, the dwarf. Behind
the thrones the flock of floral angels grouped themselves;
archbishop, prime minister, and embassadors, took their stand
within the lines of the soldiery, and the music softly and
impressively died sway in the distance; dead silence reigned.
"My lord Duke," began the queen, in the very voice he had heard
at the plague-pit, as she turned to the stylish individual next
the archbishop, "come forward and read us the roll of mortality
since our last meeting."
His grace, the duke, instantly stepped forward, bowing so low
that nothing was seen of him for a brief space, but the small of
his back, and when he reared himself up, after this convulsion of
nature, Sir Norman beheld a face not entirely new to him. At
first, he could not imagine where he had seen it, but speedily
she recollected it was the identical face of the highwayman who
had beaten an inglorious retreat from him and Count L'Estrange,
that very night. This ducat robber drew forth a roll of
parchment, and began reading, in lachrymose tones, a select
litany of defunct gentlemen, with hifalutin titles who had
departed this life during the present week. Most of them had
gone with the plague, but a few had died from natural causes, and
among these were the Earls of Craven and Ashley.
"My lords Craven and Ashley dead!" exclaimed the queen, in tones
of some surprise, but very little anguish; "that is singular, for
we saw them not two hours ago, in excellent health and spirits."
"True, poor majesty," said the duke, dolefully, "and it is not an
hour since they quitted this vale of tears. They and myself rode
forth at nightfall, according to Custom, to lay your majesty's
tax on all travelers, and soon chanced to encounter one who gave
vigorous battle; still, it would have done him little service,
had not another person come suddenly to his aid, and between them
they clove the skulls of Ashley and Craven; and I," said the
duke, modestly, "I left."
"Were either of the travelers young, and tall, and of courtly
bearing?" exclaimed the dwarf with sharp rudeness.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 | 6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20