Great Britain -- History -- Henry VIII, 1509-1547 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
The young stranger made his obeisance with the easy grace of a
courtier, drawing near to the group by the fire, and at Sir William’s
invitation laying aside his cloak and disclosing a gallant figure. A
tall man, broad-shouldered enough, yet graceful, with a fine, frank
face, which had in it the pink and white color of a girl’s, but bold
and brave enough to bear this dainty touch of nature. His hair was
chestnut color, and his dark eyes were keen, but with a merry glance in
them. He wore the rich dress of the court, his velvet doublet slashed
with satin and edged with fur, Flanders lace upon his ruff, and in
the side of his velvet cap were set three crimson feathers, clasped
with a great jewel, while his velvet cloak was lined with crimson
sarsenet. Certainly a figure for the two young girls to look at in some
amazement, being little used to court gallants down in Devonshire;
and while they viewed him, no doubt approvingly but in discreet
silence, his eyes rested in some wonder and manifest admiration upon
the glowing face of Mistress Betty. All the time, however, he talked
with Master Raleigh, while Lady Carew and her husband spoke apart.
Sir William held in his hand a letter, of which he evidently had much
to say, and both he and his wife glanced frequently at the two young
maidens by the fire. At last Carew turned abruptly to his niece.
“Betty,” he said, “what say you to a brief absence from home, that you
may attend upon a great lady, who is in poor health and--unhappy, and
so has need of your service?”
Mistress Betty looked up amazed, with a pretty deepening of the color
in her cheeks, and it was noted that Master Raby listened to her answer
with much attention.
“I am so happy here at Mohun’s Ottery, good uncle,” she said, “that I
love not the thought of quitting it; yet so deep am I in your debt that
it is for you to direct me as you will, and for me to obey with love
and cheerfulness.”
Sir William smiled. “Wisely and modestly spoken, wench,” he said, “and
I have so little wish to part with you that I would fain find an excuse
to my lord privy seal, but there is none. Therefore prepare for the
journey; to-morrow morning you will ride with me.”
Mistress Betty’s bright face paled a little and her eyes clouded.
“Where go we, uncle?” she asked quickly.
“Of that you shall know hereafter,” he answered shortly, his own brow
frowning slightly; “it is enough that you attend a noble lady by order
of the privy seal.”
Mistress Betty bit her lips, casting down her eyes, a sudden chagrin
in her manner. Young as she was, she had no love of orders that were
unexplained, and Master Raby, seeing her expression, addressed her with
a pleasant courtesy.
“I fear your service may be sad, mistress,” he said gravely, “but,
happily for you, it is like to be a short one, if rumor saith the
truth.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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