CHAPTER IX

LOVE AND THE WOODMAN

_Scene_: A parlour in Rufford Abbey, October, 1574. Elizabeth Cavendish bending over her embroidery frame. The Countess of Shrewsbury seated writing.

A man’s voice [_calling outside the window_]. Mistress! Mistress Elizabeth! Come out!

[_Elizabeth Cavendish starts, rises, looks at her mother._

_Countess_ [_apparently stern_]. Say that I have set you a task. Now do not go to the window!

_Elizabeth_ [_checking herself half-way to the window_]. Nay, my Lord, I cannot come indeed. [_Drops her voice._] Oh! mother, if it were one of the grooms or only my brother!

_Countess._ Little fool! It is the voice of Lennox. Mark you—play him wisely.

_Lennox_ [_calling again_]. Mistress, there is no “cannot” when the sun calls!

_Elizabeth._ My Lord, lady mother says she ... needs me.

_Lennox._ It is not true. She is brewing a hot posset for my mother. I saw her shoulders in the buttery.

_Countess_ [_her shoulders shaking_]. Oho! it was Mrs. Glasse he saw. I gave her once an old gown of mine to wear.

_Elizabeth_ [_moving to the window_]. No, no, my Lord, she says it was Mrs. Gl.... [_The Countess springs up, catches her sharply by the wrist, and gives her a little rap with her fan._]

_Countess._ S-s-t! Let him think I am not here. Play him, play him!

_Lennox._ What is that you say, mistress?

_Elizabeth_ [_embarrassed and miserable_]. Nothing....

[_Lennox throws his cap in at the window. It falls at her feet._]

_Countess._ Girl, do not touch it.

_Lennox._ Oh, mistress, how the sun calls! It has called my cap. Some magic has given wings to it and it is gone.

_Elizabeth._ It is here!

_Countess._ Hush! Not yet—not yet.

[_Enter at back a maid with a bowl of posset._]

_Lennox._ Mistress, is my cap flown in at your window perchance?

_Countess_ [_mimicking Elizabeth’s voice_]. Indeed, no.

_Elizabeth._ Oh—lady mother!

[_The maid with the posset giggles, and receives a frown and a box on the ear for her pains._]

_Maid._ Will your la’ship’s grace be pleased to taste?

_Countess._ Nay, nay, I cannot abide tansy, but it is good for the joints and for rheumy distillations, and will serve the Lady Margaret finely. Go you and wait for me at her door with the bowl.

_Lennox._ Elizabeth, I know you have my cap. Without it I cannot walk abroad. The wind is cool.

_Elizabeth_ [_softly_]. Oh, mother, he will have the rheum too!

_Countess._ Then shall he stay longer and be well nursed and physicked also.

_Lennox._ Bring me my cap, fair mistress.

_Bess_ [_in Elizabeth’s voice_]. Come and fetch it, my Lord.

_Lennox._ That I will, if you will come out with me. But not till you promise.

_Bess_ [_to Elizabeth_]. Say no—say no.

_Elizabeth._ I cannot, because ... because ... I have much work to do, enough for ... many days.

_Lennox._ It can tarry, lady. In two days I shall be over the Border.

_Elizabeth_ [_agonised_]. Oh, mother!

_Bess_ [_in the feigned voice_]. Not without your cap, I trust, my Lord.

_Lennox._ What if you give it me back?

_Elizabeth_ [_in tears_]. Mother, why does he not come to fetch it?

_Bess._ Sh-sh. I scolded him well but half an hour ago, and bid him leave you alone and keep out of my parlour.

_Elizabeth_ [_with dignity_]. Nay, lady mother, he shall have his cap. [_Picks it up._]

_Bess_ [_taking it from her_]. He shall, young impudence, but he shall fetch it. Play him, Bet, play him well, and if he should ask you go into the meadows ... say “Yes.” But not in haste, mark you!

_Elizabeth_ [_on her knees, clinging to her mother’s gown_]. Lady mother ... I mislike it....

_Bess_ [_disengaging herself_]. “It,” “it”? What is “it”? He is a pretty young man, and his blood runs high like Darnley’s. But God be thanked ’tis a wiser fool than his brother. Now remember to carry yourself as a Cavendish should. Be cautious! Make no false step. I go to cosset and posset the mother. S’death, I would I were in your shoes, Bet, to run into the woods instead of tiptoe round a sick-chamber.

_Elizabeth_ [_springing up_]. May I indeed go into the woods?

_Bess_ [_at the door_]. Sh-sh.... Cavendo tutus![27]

_Elizabeth_ [_half runs to the window with the cap, stops, smiles_]. My Lord!

_Lennox._ Are you alone, mistress?

_Elizabeth._ Yes.... No....

_Lennox._ Who is there?

_Elizabeth._ Your cap! [_Looks laughing out of the window._]

_Lennox._ Coming, coming! [_A minute later he bursts open the door and greets her, walks to the embroidery frame, pushes it into a corner, and holds out his hand._] Into the sun, Elizabeth.

_Elizabeth_ [_shyly_]. I have not my hood, my Lord.

_Lennox._ Charles, Elizabeth!

_Elizabeth._ Charles ... my Lord.

_Lennox._ Into the woods, my Lady. What matters your hood? The sun cannot fire your hair if you wear a hood! [_Draws her down the stairway. At the foot of it she slips her hand from his, and they pass demurely across the courtyard and out into the meadows, talking of light and little things. From time to time Lennox sings snatches of song. The larks trill overhead. They plunge into the woods._]

_Elizabeth._ Oh, Charles, I feel as though I had grown lark’s wings ... like your cap.

_Lennox._ No, no. If you would grow into a bird, then I shall needs become a fowler.

_Elizabeth._ Nay, you shall have wings too.

_Lennox._ Why have we not wings, Elizabeth?

_Elizabeth_ [_looking up into the sky between the branches_]. God is wise, Charles. And we have the beautiful warm earth and all the flowers to joy us. Meseems it is more comfortable to talk upon the earth than in the branches.... And to build our mansions on the earth, too. Charles....

_Lennox._ Mansions? I hate them. Great chambers in which one must shiver in cold state because one is poor, great chairs in which one must sit very straight and look wise, great windows where the snow and rain beat and trickle in, or little ones which bar the sun. In Scotland they are like that, little and narrow in the great castles. I hate them.

_Elizabeth_ [_proudly_]. In England we have great windows secure against storms. You should see my mother’s house at Hardwick, Charles. It has high windows. And so fair the house. And she says she will build one there still greater and fairer.

_Lennox._ But I desire no great house. You are little, I am not great.... I want a little house, a bower....

_Elizabeth._ My Lord....

_Lennox_ [_with his arm about her_]. A bower with you, which I would build out of the trees, my own self, like the knight who loved the lady.

_Elizabeth._ Ah? Who was she?

_Lennox._ A lady, like you, Elizabeth, and not much taller, so I take it. I read of her in a little book. See ... here it is. [_Pulls a volume out of the bosom of his jerkin._] My brother Darnley gave it me once. It is a love tale, all in French, and very curious.

_Elizabeth._ Read it to me, Charles.

_Lennox._ Sweetheart, I cannot read it all because the words are so strange, but my brother writ portions of the rightful meanings on the margins.... Come ... let us sit.... [_He draws her to a place under the trees._]

_Elizabeth._ Charles ... I am afraid....

_Lennox._ Not with me....

_Elizabeth._ There are woodmen.... They go to and fro.

_Lennox._ What of that? There are woodmen in the story—many. [_Opens the book._]

_Elizabeth._ Listen, I hear their axes—chip, chop. They are cutting into pieces the lovely trees they felled in the spring. It is very sad.

_Lennox._ Dear, you are sweetly foolish. They cannot hurt you.

_Elizabeth_ [_sadly_]. So do they cut down the happy trees.

_Lennox._ Happy to be cut down to build bowers for you and me.... Listen.... [_Turns over the leaves._] She was a fairy maiden.

_Elizabeth_ [_shocked_]. Oh! Then she said no prayers.

_Lennox._ Her foster-father took her from the fairies, and what prayers she missed she learnt at the feet of love.

_Elizabeth._ Where did she first see her lover...?

_Lennox._ How can I tell? He loved her from the beginning ... as I love you.

_Elizabeth._... The beginning?

_Lennox._ Two days ago.

_Elizabeth_ [_starting up_]. A woodman comes. [_He pulls her down again._]

_Lennox._ How can I tell the story if you run away?

_Elizabeth._ Indeed ... I love to listen.

_Lennox_ [_goes on rapidly_]. Well ... thus was it. These two loved ... oh, terribly! And the father of the knight, a great count, parted them, since the boy would not go fight against his country’s enemies except he wedded the lady ... and the Count bid her foster-father shut her in a prison so that she should weave no spells about him more.

_Elizabeth._ This is too sad a story. [_Wipes her eyes._]

_Lennox._ It was a very fair prison in a great castle, dearest.... And she quickly escaped from it by her art.

_Elizabeth._ Good, good!

_Lennox._ But her love knew not where she went.... And he said to his father, “If I trounce your foes in battle, let me but kiss my lady.” To which the lord said “Yes.” But he kept not his word, and put the knight in prison when he came home bruised and weary after battle.

_Elizabeth._ Alack!

_Lennox._ But she—she found the prison and sang through the window, and cut her hair to throw into the chamber that he might remember her.

_Elizabeth_ [_slyly_]. Like your cap, but just now, Charles.

_Lennox._ Yes, yes.... And they called courage to one another till the soldiers came and she hid for fear they should kill her.... And then she walked far till she came to a great wood.... [_A woodman passes with his axe._]

_Elizabeth._ There is the axe, again. It minds me of—of death, Charles!

_Lennox._ Dearest, it is only a foolish axe to chop your lady mother’s fuel.

_Elizabeth._ And how did the knight find his lady?

_Lennox._ When the Count deemed the fairy lady gone for ever he let his son the knight come out of the tower where he was, and feasted him. But the lady dwelt in the woods and he knew it not.

_Elizabeth_ [_indignant_]. He stayed to feast while she wandered in a strange wood?

_Lennox._ He stayed but little. And when he could he took his horse and rode out and came to five roads which met.... Stay ... my brother writ of these cross-roads. It is a pretty conceit he made. The one was called “The World,” and another “The Wars,” a third was “Power,” and the fourth ... see, can you read this?

_Elizabeth._ “Riches.” And the next word is “Poverty.”

_Lennox._ There he waited—perplexed.

_Elizabeth._ Quick, quick! Which did he choose?

_Lennox._ Faith, he tried them all save “Poverty.”... Yet when he would travel down one or the other her voice called him back, and his horse stood like stone till the knight trembled in the twilight and feared she was all a fairy and no woman, but mocked him. And then from his bosom there fell a sheaf of her hair. When he stooped to gather it, it grew into a fine chain, the end whereof he could not see, and it closed about his wrist like a bracelet and drew him to the road called “Poverty.”

_Elizabeth._ Then, surely, he rode fast?

_Lennox._ Horse and man were exceeding glad—so says the book ... because of the noble road which opened before them.... And the moon and the sun shone together upon them till at last they were come to a little house of boughs twined with lilies.... Over the door was written, “Her Heart and My Desire” ... and there he found his lady, singing fairy songs because she knew that he was faithful.... [_Closes the book and bends over her._]

_Elizabeth_ [_softly_]. And there they stayed surely a little while.

_Lennox._... To the end of the world....

_Elizabeth._... But the woodman came by with his axe to cut down the bower.

_Lennox._ Not in this tale.

_Elizabeth._ The lilies faded.

_Lennox._ They were fadeless.

_Elizabeth._ They grew old ... and ... could not feel the sun....

_Lennox._ Never, never.

_Elizabeth._ I would it were true, Charles. [_The sound of the axe again interrupts them. There is laughter from men, who pass and repass and point out the lovers to each other._] There! They have seen us—the rude woodmen. We have no bower any more. [_Hurries away from the tree._]

_Lennox_ [_in pursuit_]. What mean you by this “woodman”...?

_Elizabeth_ [_holding out her hands for protection_]. I mean there ... is no for ever.... They died, and the lilies and the branches died. Let us go home ... Charles, hide me ... from the woodman!

_Lennox._ Always, always! Elizabeth, stay with me. Do not ever go from me. You ... you shall never die!

[_He puts his cloak about her and they walk, closely knit, through the meadows till they reach the Abbey. At the gates they slip apart and go in demurely as before. The Countess looks through a window on to the court over which they pass._]

_Countess._ Bet, come instantly to your chamber!

_Lennox_ [_saluting_]. My Lady, she cannot leave me. For so has she promised.

_Countess._ Lord, Lord! What have you done?

_Elizabeth._ Lady mother, I ...

_Countess._ Come in, come in, you sad fools. Every scullion will hear you. [_The three meet on the staircase and the Countess motions them austerely into the parlour._]

_Countess_ [_to Lennox_]. I bid you stay far from Elizabeth.

_Elizabeth._ Oh, mother, make no more feints. He loves me. If he goes from me ... [_Her voice breaks._]

_Lennox._ My Lady, she will go to the Border with me and into the world.

_Countess_ [_with a cry of dismay_]. So, so.... “He loves me.”... “I will go over the Border.”... And how shall a poor woman permit such naughty contrivings!

_Elizabeth._ Mother.... We are not naughty. I did not know he loved me till ... till we spoke of a story.... And then ... it was very sweet, mother ... till the woodmen came.... And I was frightened and ran, and ... Charles bid me come home.... He says the woodman ... [_Turns to Lennox for protection._]

_Countess_ [_with a cry of anger_]. The woodmen. What is this of the woodmen?

_Elizabeth._ They mocked, and....

_Countess._ Lord, Lord!... What is to be done now...? You should both be whipped. The woodmen to see you kissing and cozening under the trees? The woodmen? And you a Cavendish! Stay you here till I have told the Lady Lennox. Oh, oh, oh! that I should have such a tale for her....

[_At the sound of her voice Lady Lennox, roused, comes down the corridor in her bedgown._]

_Countess._ My Lady!

_Lennox._ Mother....

_Lady Lennox._... I was affrighted. I thought you wept, my Lady.

_Countess._ Matter for weeping, in truth. [_Points to Elizabeth and Lennox, who stand together._]

_Lady Lennox._ But ... how? [_Sinks into a chair._]

_Countess_ [_vehemently_].... My Lady, ... these naughty children have carried themselves no better than a pair of turtle-doves; and all in the woods.... And the whole world knows it. My very woodmen ... low fellows ... laughed!... Your son plots to carry my Elizabeth over the Border an if she were a truss of hay! And she, the wretch, too, content to be bundled that way ... any way ... so long as it be on his road! Oh! my Lady, help us all, lest shame fall on my house.

_Lennox_ [_defiant_]. No shame to love well, my Lady. Are there no priests? And this an Abbey!

_Lady Lennox._ Boy, go you to your room and leave me talk with my Lady here.

_Lennox._ I go with Elizabeth to the gallery. When you call, mother, we will come.... [_Kisses her hand and goes out with Elizabeth._]

_Lady Lennox._ A priest! There is time enough....

_Countess._ How do I know if they will not fly like birds together if we say them “Nay”?

_Lady Lennox._... The saints forbid!...

_Countess_ [_quickly_]. The boy is wild ... for love makes wildlings of men.... It is the only word of wisdom he has said ... that of the priest.

_Lady Lennox._ Great Heaven!...

_Countess._ Young fools.... Yet, if we part them ... shall not our consciences give us everlasting punishment?

_Lady Lennox._ True, true.... The girl is very gentle, my Lady.... There is a look in her eye that.... And he is very ripe for love. [_The Countess punctuates her speeches with sympathetic gestures._] And I have seen much sorrow, and the House of Lennox dies ... with Charles.

_Countess._ Come ... let us not talk of death ... but look properly upon this matter and devise, instead of funerals, weddings. Come, my sweet friend, dear Lady ... to your chamber.... Rest, and let us comfort one another.... Come! [_She supports Lady Lennox out of the room._]