"Your Majesty . . ." retorted Ursula, proud and rebellious at this slight put upon her, and forgetting for the moment even the invisible presence of the man she loved.

But Mary Tudor, though at times capable of n.o.ble and just impulses, was far too blinded by her own pa.s.sion to give up the joy of this victory over the girl who had become her rival. At any rate, Fate had done one great thing for her: she was the Queen, ruling as every Tudor had ruled, by divine right, absolutely, unquestionably.

She would not let the girl speak, she would see her go, humiliated, with head bent, forcibly swallowing her tears of shame. Mary only regretted this: that Wess.e.x could not be witness of this scene.

She threw back her head, drew herself up to her full height, and pointed peremptorily up towards the gallery.

"Silence, wench!" she commanded. "Go!"

And Ursula could not help but obey.

Slowly she mounted the stairs, her heart burning with defiance. To have angered Mary Tudor further by renewed rebellion would have been worse than madness; it would inevitably have brought more ignominy and worse perchance upon herself.

But the tears, which she tried in vain to suppress, were not caused by the Queen's harsh words, but by the terrible doubts which a.s.sailed her when she thought of Wess.e.x.

Had he heard?

What would he think?

Would he understand the cause of her innocent deception, or would he believe--as indeed he must if he heard them--the evil insinuations so basely put forward by the Queen.

As she found her way along the gallery she heard Mary's voice once more.

"d.u.c.h.ess, I pray you see that in future more strict surveillance is kept over the young maids under your charge. Lady Ursula's conduct has put me verily to shame before the amba.s.sadors of foreign Courts."

With a sob of impotent revolt Ursula disappeared within the upper room.

The Cardinal watched her until the door closed upon her and he was quite sure that she was well out of hearing. Then he approached the Queen and said in his most suave manner--

"Nay! Your Majesty, methinks, takes this trifling matter too much _au serieux_. You deigned to mention the Marquis de Suarez just now. Believe me, he is far too proud of the favours bestowed upon him by Lady Ursula to look on England with any reproach."

The d.u.c.h.ess of Lincoln would have spoken, if she dared. Her loyal old soul rebelled against this insinuation, which she knew to be utterly false. But to tax His Eminence with the uttering of unfounded gossip and in the presence of the Queen of England--that task was quite beyond the worthy d.u.c.h.ess's powers.

But in her motherly heart she registered the resolution to take Ursula's part as hotly as she dared whenever Her Majesty would give her leave to speak, and in any case she would not allow the Cardinal's imputation to rest long upon the innocent young girl.

The Queen, on the other hand, had visibly brightened up when His Eminence himself mentioned the name of the young Spaniard in such close connection with that of Ursula. She seemed to drink in with delight the poisoned cup of thinly veiled slander which His Eminence held so temptingly before her.

She wanted to think of Ursula as base and wanton and had, until now, never quite dared to believe the many strange rumours which certainly had reached her ears.

With all her faults, Mary was a just woman and above all a proud one; she would never have allowed her rival to suffer long and seriously under a false calumny. The name of the Marquis de Suarez, when she uttered it, had been but a shaft hurled at random.

But since His Eminence so palpably hinted a confirmation of her hopes, she was more than ready to give his insinuations the fullest credence.

So pleased was she that she gave him quite a pleasant smile, the first he had had from her since the afternoon.

"As Your Eminence justly remarks," she said graciously, "the matter is perhaps not of grave moment. But our interest in the young maidens who form our Court is a genuine one nevertheless. I pray you let it pa.s.s--d.u.c.h.ess, we'll speak of it all on the morrow. My lord Cardinal, we will wish you good night."

She was about to finally pa.s.s him and to leave the room when her curiosity got the better of her usual dignified reserve.

"Is it the last night Your Eminence will spend at our Court?" she asked pointedly.

"I think not, Your Majesty," replied the Cardinal blandly. "'Tis many days yet which I shall hope to spend in Your Majesty's company."

"Yet the skein is still entangled, my lord."

"'Twill be unravelled, Your Majesty."

"When?"

"_Quien sabe?_" he replied. "Perhaps to-night."

"To-night?"

She had allowed herself to be led away by the eagerness of her desire to know what was happening. Shrewd enough where her own wishes and plans were concerned, she could not help but notice the air of contentment, even of triumph, which the Cardinal had worn throughout the evening. He certainly did not look like a man about to be sent back discomfited, to an irate master, there to explain that he had failed in the task allotted to him.

Mary's curiosity was very much on the alert, but His Eminence's monosyllabic answers were not intended to satisfy her, and perforce she had to desist from further questioning him. Obviously he did not mean to tell her anything just yet. She bade him good night with more graciousness than he could have antic.i.p.ated, and his bow to her was full of the most profound respect.

A moment later she had pa.s.sed out of the room, followed by Her Grace of Lincoln and her maids-of-honour.

CHAPTER XXIV

CHECK TO THE KING

The colloquy between Mary Tudor and Ursula Glynde had probably not lasted more than a few minutes.

To Wess.e.x it seemed as if years had elapsed since he had closed the door of the small inner room behind him, shutting out from his sight the beautiful vision which had filled his soul with gladness.

Years! during which he had learnt chapter by chapter, the history of woman's frailty and deceit. Now, he suddenly felt old, all the buoyancy had gone out of his life, and he was left worn and weary, with a millstone of shattered illusions hung around his neck.

It had come about so strangely.

She was not exquisite "f.a.n.n.y," mysterious, elusive, after all. She was Lady Ursula Glynde.

Well! what mattered that?

The name first p.r.o.nounced by the Queen's trenchant voice had grated harshly on his ear. Why?

At first he could not remember.

f.a.n.n.y or Ursula? Why not? The woman whom conventionality had in some sense ordained that he should marry. Why not?

Surely 'twas for him to thank conventionality for this kind decree.

But the Lady Ursula Glynde!

When did he last hear that name? Surely it was on that Spaniard's lips half an hour ago, accompanied by a thinly veiled, coa.r.s.e jest and an impudent laugh.