Fair Margaret

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In due course it came, carried by jailers--meat, eggs, and wine, and
glad enough were they to see it. While they ate, also the governor
appeared with a notary, and, having waited till their meal was finished,
began to question them.

"Our story is long," said Castell, "but with your leave I will tell it
you, only, I pray you, suffer my daughter, the Dona Margaret, to go to
rest, for she is quite outworn, and if you will you can question her
to-morrow."

The governor assenting, Margaret threw off her veil to embrace her
father, thus showing her beauty for the first time, whereat the governor
and the notary stared amazed. Then having given Peter her hand to kiss,
and curtseyed to the governor and the notary, she went to her bed in the
next room, which opened out of that in which they were.

When she had gone, Castell told his story of how his daughter had been
kidnapped by the Marquis of Morella, a name that caused the governor to
open his eyes very wide, and brought from London to Granada, whither
they, her father and her betrothed, had followed her and escaped. But of
Betty and all the business of the changed bride he said nothing. Also,
knowing that these must come out in any case, he told them his name and
business, and those of his partners and correspondents in Seville, the
firm of Bernaldez, which was one that the governor knew well enough,
and prayed that the head of that firm, the Senor Juan Bernaldez, might
be communicated with and allowed to visit them on the next morning.
Lastly, he explained that they were no thieves or adventurers, but
English subjects in misfortune, and again hinted that they were both
able and willing to pay for any kindness or consideration that was shown
to them, of all of which sayings the governor took note.

Also this officer said that he would communicate with his superiors,
and, if no objection were made, send a messenger to ask the Senor
Bernaldez to attend at the prison on the following day. Then at length
he and the notary departed, and, the jailers having cleared away the
food and locked the door, Castell and Peter lay down on the beds that
they had made ready for them, thankful enough to find themselves at
Seville, even though in a prison, where indeed they slept very well
that night.

On the following morning they woke much refreshed, and, after they had
breakfasted, the governor appeared, and with him none other than the
Senor Juan Bernaldez, Castell's secret correspondent and Spanish
partner, whom he had last seen some years before in England, a stout man
with a quiet, clever face, not over given to words.

Greeting them with a deference that was not lost upon the governor, he
asked whether he had leave to speak with them alone. The governor
assented and went, saying he would return within an hour. As soon as the
door was closed behind him, Bernaldez said:

"This is a strange place to meet you in, John Castell, yet I am not
altogether surprised, since some of your messages reached me through
our friends the Jews; also your ship, the _Margaret_, lies refitted in
the river, and to avoid suspicion I have been lading her slowly with a
cargo for England, though how you will come aboard that ship is more
than I can say. But we have no time to waste. Tell me all your story,
keeping nothing back."

So they told him everything as quickly as they could, while he listened
silently. When they had done, he said, addressing Peter:

"It is a thousand pities, young sir, that you could not keep your hands
off that soldier, for now the trouble that was nearly done with has
begun anew, and in a worse shape. The Marquis of Morella is a very
powerful man in this kingdom, as you may know from the fact that he was
sent to London by their Majesties to negotiate a treaty with your
English King Henry as to the Jews and their treatment, should any of
them escape thither after they have been expelled from Spain. For
nothing less is in the wind, and I would have you know that their
Majesties hate the Jews, and especially the Maranos, whom already they
burn by dozens here in Seville," and he glanced meaningly at Castell.

"I am very sorry," said Peter, "but the fellow handled her roughly, and
I was maddened at the sight and could not help myself. This is the
second time that I have come into trouble from the same cause. Also, I
thought that he was but a bandit."

"Love is a bad diplomatist," replied Bernaldez, with a little smile,
"and who can count last year's clouds? What is done, is done. Now I will
try to arrange that the three of you shall be brought straight before
their Majesties when they sit to hear cases on the day after to-morrow.
With the Queen you will have a better chance than at the hands of any
alcalde. She has a heart, if only one can get at it--that is, except
where Jews and Maranos are concerned," and again he glanced at Castell.
"Meanwhile, there is money in plenty, and in Spain we ride to heaven on
gold angels," he added, alluding to that coin and the national
corruption.

Before they could say more the governor returned, saying that the Senor
Bernaldez' time was up, and asking if they had finished their talk.

"Not altogether," said Margaret. "Noble Governor, is it permitted that
the Senor Bernaldez should send me some Christian clothes to wear, for I
would not appear before your judges in this soiled heathen garb, nor, I
think, would my father or the Senor Brome?"

The governor laughed, and said he thought that might be arranged, and
even allowed them another five minutes, while they talked of what these
clothes should be. Then he departed with Bernaldez, leaving them alone.

It was not until the latter had gone, however, that they remembered that
they had forgotten to ask him whether he had heard anything of the woman
Inez, who had been furnished with his address, but, as he had said
nothing of her, they felt sure that she could not have arrived in
Seville, and once more were much afraid as to what might have happened
after they had left Granada.

That night, to their grief and alarm, a new trouble fell on them. Just
as they finished their supper the governor appeared and said that, by
order of the Court before which they must be tried, the Senor Brome,
who was accused of murder, must be separated from them. So, in spite of
all they could say or do, Peter was led away to a separate cell, leaving
Margaret weeping.

CHAPTER XIX

BETTY PAYS HER DEBTS

Betty Dene was not a woman afflicted with fears or apprehensions. Born
of good parents, but in poverty, for six-and-twenty years she had fought
her own way in a rough world and made the best of circumstances.
Healthy, full-blooded, tough, affectionate, romantic, but honest in her
way, she was well fitted to meet the ups and downs of life, to keep her
head above the waters of a turbulent age, and to pay back as much as she
received from man or woman.

Yet those long hours which she passed alone in the high turret chamber,
waiting till they summoned her to play the part of a false bride, were
the worst that she had ever spent. She knew that her position was, in a
sense, shameful, and like to end in tragedy, and, now that she faced it
in cold blood, began to wonder why she had chosen so to do. She had
fallen in love with the Spaniard almost at first sight, though it is
true that something like this had happened to her before with other men.
Then he had played his part with her, till, quite deceived, she gave all
her heart to him in good earnest, believing in her infatuation that,
notwithstanding the difference of their place and rank, he desired to
make her his wife for her own sake.

Afterwards came that bitter day of disillusion when she learned, as
Inez had said to Castell, that she was but a stalking heifer used for
the taking of the white swan, her cousin and mistress--that day when she
had been beguiled by the letter which was still hid in her garments, and
for her pains heard herself called a fool to her face. In her heart she
had sworn to be avenged upon Morella then, and now the hour had come in
which to fulfil her oath and play him back trick for cruel trick.

Did she still love the man? She could not say. He was pleasing to her as
he had always been, and when that is so women forgive much. This was
certain, however--love was not her guide to-night. Was it vengeance then
that led her on? Perhaps; at least she longed to be able to say to him,
"See what craft lies hid even in the bosom of an outwitted fool."

Yet she would not have done it for vengeance' sake alone, or rather she
would have paid herself in some other fashion. No, her real reason was
that she must discharge the debt due to Margaret and Peter, and to
Castell who had sheltered her for years. She it was who had brought them
into all this woe, and it seemed but just that she should bring them out
again, even at the cost of her own life and womanly dignity. Or,
perchance, all three of these powers drove her on,--love for the man if
it still lingered, the desire to be avenged upon him, and the desire to
snatch his prey from out his maw. At least she had set the game, and she
would play it out to its end, however awful that might be.

The sun sank, the darkness closed about her, and she wondered whether
ever again she would see the dawn. Her brave heart quailed a little, and
she gripped the dagger hilt beneath her splendid, borrowed robe,
thinking to herself that perhaps it might be wisest to drive it into her
own breast, and not wait until a balked madman did that office for her.
Yet not so, for it is always time to die when one must.

A knock came at the door, and her courage, which had sunk so low, burned
up again within her. Oh! she would teach this Spaniard that the
Englishwoman, whom he had made believe was his desired mistress, could
be his master. At any rate, he should hear the truth before the end.

She unlocked the door, and Inez entered bearing a lamp, by the light of
which she scanned her with her quiet eyes.

"The bridegroom is ready," she said slowly that Betty might understand,
"and sends me to lead you to him. Are you afraid?"

"Not I," answered Betty. "But tell me, how will the thing be done?"

"The marquis meets us in the ante-room to that hall which is used as a
chapel, and there on behalf of the household I, as the first of the
women, give you both the cups of wine. Be sure that you drink of that
which I hold in my left hand, passing the cup up beneath your veil so as
not to show your face, and speak no word, lest he should recognise your
voice. Then we shall go into the chapel, where the priest Henriques
waits, also all the household. But that hall is great, and the lamps are
feeble, so none will know you there. By this time also the drugged wine
will have begun to work upon Morella's brain, wherefore, provided that
you use a low voice, you may safely say, 'I, Betty, wed thee, Carlos,'
not 'I, Margaret, wed thee.' Then, when it is over, he will lead you
away to the chambers prepared for you, where, if there is any virtue in
my wine, he will sleep sound to-night, that is, as soon as the priest
has given me the marriage-lines, whereof I will hand you one copy and
keep the others. Afterwards----" and she shrugged her shoulders.

"What becomes of you?" asked Betty, when she had fully mastered these
instructions.

"Oh! I and the priest start to-night for a ride together to Seville,
where his money awaits him; ill company for a woman who means henceforth
to be honest and rich, but better than none. Perhaps we shall meet again
there, or perhaps we shall not; at least, you know where to seek me and
the others, at the house of the Senor Bernaldez. Now it is time. Are you
ready to be made a marchioness of Spain?"

"Of course," answered Betty coolly, and they started.

Through the empty halls and corridors they went, and oh! surely no
Eastern plot that had been conceived in them was quite so bold and
desperate as theirs. They reached the ante-chamber to the chapel, and
took their stand outside of the circle of light that fell from its
hanging lamps. Presently a door opened, and through it came Morella,
attended by two of his secretaries. He was splendidly arrayed in his
usual garb of black velvet, and about his neck hung chains of gold and
jewels, and to his breast were fastened the glittering stars and orders
pertaining to his rank. Never, or so thought Betty, had Morella seemed
more magnificent and handsome. He was happy also, who was about to drink
of that cup of joy which he so earnestly desired. Yes, his face showed
that he was happy, and Betty, noting it, felt remorse stirring in her
breast. Low he bowed before her, while she curtseyed to him, bending her
tall and graceful form till her knee almost touched the ground. Then he
came to her and whispered in her ear:

"Most sweet, most beloved," he said, "I thank heaven that has led me to
this joyous hour by many a rough and dangerous path. Most dear, again I
beseech you to forgive all the sorrow and the ill that I have brought
upon you, remembering that it was done for your adored sake, that I
love you as woman has been seldom loved, you and you only, and that to
you, and you only, will I cling until my death's day. Oh! do not tremble
and shrink, for I swear that no woman in Spain shall have a better or a
more loyal lord. You I will cherish alone, for you I will strive by
night and day to lift you to great honour and satisfy your every wish.
Many and pleasant may the years be that we shall spend side by side, and
peaceful our ends when at last we lay us down side by side to sleep
awhile and wake again in heaven, whereof the shadow lies on me to-night.
Remembering the past, I do not ask much of you--as yet; still, if you
are minded to give me a bridal gift that I shall prize above crowns or
empires, say that you forgive me all that I have done amiss, and in
token, lift that veil of yours and kiss me on the lips."

Betty heard this speech, whereof she only fully understood the end, and
trembled. This was a trial that she had not foreseen. Yet it must be
faced, for speak she dared not. Therefore, gathering up her courage, and
remembering that the light was at her back, after a little pause, as
though of modesty and reluctance, she raised the pearl-embroidered
veil, and, bending forward beneath its shadow, suffered Morella to kiss
her on the lips.

It was over, the veil had fallen again, and the man suspected nothing.

"I am a good artist," thought Inez to herself, "and that woman acts
better than the wooden Peter. Scarcely could I have done it so
well myself."

Then, the jealousy and hate that she could not control glittering in her
soft eyes, for she too had loved this man, and well, Inez lifted the
golden cups that had been prepared, and, gliding forward, beautiful in
her broidered, Eastern robe, fell upon her knee and held them to the
bridegroom and the bride. Morella took that from her right hand, and
Betty that from her left, nor, intoxicated as he was already with that
first kiss of love, did he pause to note the evil purpose which was
written on the face of his discarded slave. Betty, passing the cup
beneath her veil, touched it with her lips and returned it to Inez; but
Morella, exclaiming, "I drink to you, sweet bride, most fair and adored
of women," drained his to the dregs, and cast it back to Inez as a gift
in such fashion that the red wine which clung to its rim stained her
white robes like a splash of blood.

Humbly she bowed, humbly she gathered the precious vessel from the
floor; but when she rose again there was triumph in her eyes--not hate.

Now Morella took his bride's hand and, followed by his gentlemen and
Inez, walked to the curtains that were drawn as they came into the great
hall beyond, where had mustered all his household, perhaps a hundred of
them. Between their bowing ranks they passed, a stately pair, and,
whilst sweet voices sang behind some hidden screen, walked onward to the
altar, where stood the waiting priest. They kneeled down upon the
gold-embroidered cushions while the office of the Church was read over
them. The ring was set upon Betty's hand--scarce, it would seem, could
he find her finger--the man took the woman to wife, the woman took the
man for husband. His voice was thick, and hers was very low; of all that
listening crowd none could hear the names they spoke.

It was over. The priest bowed and blessed them. They signed some papers,
there by the light of the altar candles. Father Henriques filled in
certain names and signed them also, then, casting sand upon them, placed
them in the outstretched hand of Inez, who, although Morella never
seemed to notice, gave one to the bride, and thrust the other two into
the bosom of her robe. Then both she and the priest kissed the hands of
the marquis and his wife, and asked his leave to be gone. He bowed his
head vaguely, and--if any had been there to listen--within ten short
minutes they might have heard two horses galloping hard towards the
Seville gate.

Now, escorted by pages and torch-bearers, the new-wed pair repassed
those dim and stately halls, the bride, veiled, mysterious, fateful; the
bridegroom, empty-eyed, like one who wanders in his sleep. Thus they
reached their chamber, and its carved doors shut behind them.

* * * * *

It was early morning, and the serving-women who waited without that room
were summoned to it by the sound of a silver gong. Two of them entered
and were met by Betty, no longer veiled, but wrapped in a loose robe,
who said to them:

"My lord the marquis still sleeps. Come, help me dress and make ready
his bath and food."

The women stared at her, for now that she had washed the paint from her
face they knew well that this was the Senora Betty and not the Dona
Margaret, whom, they had understood, the marquis was to marry. But she
chid them sharply in her bad Spanish, bidding them be swift, as she
would be robed before her husband should awake. So they obeyed her, and
when she was ready she went with them into the great hall where many of
the household were gathered, waiting to do homage to the new-wed pair,
and greeted them all, blushing and smiling, saying that doubtless the
marquis would be among them soon, and commanding them meanwhile to go
about their several tasks.

So well did Betty play her part indeed, that, although they also were
bewildered, none questioned her place or authority, who remembered that
after all they had not been told by their lord himself which of these
two English ladies he meant to marry. Also, she distributed among the
meaner of them a present of money on her husband's behalf and her own,
and then ate food and drank some wine before them all, pledging them,
and receiving their salutations and good wishes.

When all this was done, still smiling, Betty returned to the
marriage-chamber, closing its door behind her, sat her down on a chair
near the bed, and waited for the worst struggle of all--that struggle on
which hung her life. See! Morella stirred. He sat up, gazing about him
and rubbing his brow. Presently his eyes lit upon Betty, seated stern
and upright in her high chair. She rose and, coming to him, kissed him
and called him "Husband," and, still half-asleep, he kissed her back.
Then she sat down again in her chair and watched his face.

It changed, and changed again. Wonder, fear, amaze, bewilderment,
flitted over it, till at last he said in English:

"Betty, where is my wife?"

"Here," answered Betty.

He stared at her. "Nay, I mean the Dona Margaret, your cousin and my
lady, whom I wed last night. And how come you here? I thought that you
had left Granada."

Betty looked astonished.

"I do not understand you," she answered. "It was my cousin Margaret who
left Granada. I stayed here to be married to you, as you arranged with
me through Inez."

His jaw dropped.

"Arranged with you through Inez! Mother of Heaven! what do you mean?"

"Mean?" she answered--"I mean what I say. Surely"--and she rose in
indignation--"you have never dared to try to play some new trick
upon me?"

"Trick!" muttered Morella. "What says the woman? Is all this a dream, or
am I mad?"

"A dream, I think. Yes, it must be a dream, since certainly it was to no
madman that I was wed last night. Look," and she held before him that
writing of marriage signed by the priest, by him, and by herself, which
stated that Carlos, Marquis of Morella, was on such a date, at Granada,
duly married to the Senora Elizabeth Dene of London in England.

He read it twice, then sank back gasping; while Betty hid away the
parchment in her bosom.

Then presently he seemed to go mad indeed. He raved, he cursed, he
ground his teeth, he looked round for a sword to kill her or himself,
but could find none. And all the while Betty sat still and gazed at him
like some living fate.

At length he was weary, and her turn came.

"Listen," she said. "Yonder in London you promised to marry me; I have
it hidden away, and in your own writing. By agreement I fled with you to
Spain. By the mouth of your messenger and former love this marriage was
arranged between us, I receiving your messages to me, and sending back
mine to you, since you explained that for reasons of your own you did
not wish to speak of these matters before my cousin Margaret, and could
not wed me until she and her father and her lover were gone from
Granada. So I bade them farewell, and stayed here alone for love of you,
as I fled from London for love of you, and last night we were united, as
all your household know, for but now I have eaten with them and received
their good wishes. And now you dare--you dare to tell me, that I, your
wife--I, who have sacrificed everything for you, I, the Marchioness of
Morella, am _not_ your wife. Well, go, say it outside this chamber, and
hear your very slaves cry 'Shame' upon you. Go, say it to your king and
your bishops, aye, and to his Holiness the Pope himself, and listen to
their answer. Why, great as you are, and rich as you are, they will
hale you to a mad-house or a prison."

Morella listened, rocking himself to and fro upon the bed, then with an
oath sprang towards her, to be met by a dagger-point glinting in
his eyes.

"Hear me again," she said as he shrank back from that cold steel. "I am
no slave and no weakling; you shall not murder me or thrust me away. I
am your wife and your equal, aye, and stronger than you in body and in
mind, and I will have my rights in the face of God and man."

"Certainly," he said with a kind of unwilling admiration--"certainly you
are no weakling. Certainly, also, you have paid back all you owe me with
a Jew's interest. Or, mayhap, you are not so clever as I think, but just
a strong-minded fool, and it is that accursed Inez who has settled her
debts. Oh! to think of it," and he shook his fist in the air, "to think
that I believed myself married to the Dona Margaret, and find you in her
place--_you_!"

"Be silent," she said, "you man without shame, who first fly at the
throat of your new-wedded wife and then insult her by saying that you
wish you were wedded to another woman. Be silent, or I will unlock the
door and call your own people and repeat your monstrous talk to them."
And she drew herself to her full height and stood over him on the bed.

Morella, his first rage spent, looked at her reflectively, and not
without a certain measure of homage.

"I think," he remarked, "that if he did not happen to be in love with
another woman and to believe that he had married her, you, my good
Betty, would make a useful wife to any man who wished to get on in the
world. I understood you to say that the door is locked, and if I might
hazard a guess, you have the key, as also you happen to have a dagger.
Well, I find the air in this place close, and I want to go _out_."

"Where to?" asked Betty.

"Let us say, to join Inez."

"What," she asked, "would you already be running after that woman
again? Do you already forget that you are married?"

"It seems that I am not to be allowed to forget it. Now, let us bargain.
I wish to leave Granada for a while, and without scandal. What are your
terms? Remember that there are two to which I will not consent. I will
not stop here with you, and you shall not accompany me. Remember also,
that, although you hold the dagger at present, it is not wise of you to
try to push this jest too far."

"As you did when you decoyed me on board the _San Antonio_," said Betty.
"Well, our honeymoon has not begun too sweetly, and I do not mind if you
go away for a while--to look for Inez. Swear now that you mean me no
harm, and that you will not plot my death or disgrace, or in any way
interfere with my liberty or position here in Granada. Swear it on the
Rood." And she took down a silver crucifix that hung upon the wall over
the bed and handed it to him. For she knew Morella's superstitions, and
that if once he swore upon this symbol he dare not break his oath.

"And if I will not swear?" he asked sullenly.

"Then," she answered, "you stop here until you do, you who are anxious
to be gone. I have eaten food this morning, you have not; I have a
dagger, you have none; and, being as we are, I am sure that no one will
venture to disturb us until Inez and your friend the priest have gone
further than you can follow."

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