Chapter XVIII: A Very Secret Marriage

BEFORE Miles left Oxford, his friend, Master John Clark, advised that he should marry Cicely for her due protection, but she demurred to this hasty marriage, saying she would rather wait until she had seen her mother and father again, although she did not hesitate to promise Miles that she would marry him in a few months.

Of course Cicely had her way, but Master Clark told Miles that if any sudden need should arise, when he reached Woodstock, for the marriage to be hastened, he would come to Paton Hall and perform the ceremony if a messenger was sent to tell him that his services were required.

It was winter now, and the ill-kept roads almost impassable for mire and water, so that the journey to Woodstock was long and uncomfortable, and when at last the little town was reached, the travellers heard that Sir Thomas Paton had died the day before.

It was a painful shock to both of them, for Miles greatly desired to see his father once more, and both could see now that it would have been better to have taken the advice of friends, and had the marriage celebrated in Oxford.

But Miles was not long deciding what was best to be done, and, after a few words with Cicely, a messenger was sent back in hot haste to ask Master Clark to journey to Paton Hall, as Sir Thomas was dead.

There was no need to say more than this, for the priest would understand why he was needed, and that it would be for a marriage, and not for a funeral, that he was summoned.

When the party reached Paton Hall it was Margery who came to receive them, and then Miles heard for the first time that his mother had been ill as well as his father, and she was now too weak to leave her bed. "I am so glad you have come, Miles," said his sister, with a sob.

"And I am glad I could come, and I have not come alone, for I have brought you a little sister, Margery, who will be a comfort to us both I think."

In the bustle and confusion Margery had failed to notice Cicely until her brother spoke, but now she turned and greeted her, feeling somewhat relieved at the first glance to see that she looked a simple maiden, and not like the Lady Audrey, whose coming to Paton Hall had seemed to bring such painful changes in its train.

"Take her to your room, Margery, and don't ask her any questions until I see you. She is hungry and weary I doubt not."

"And you, Miles?" said his sister, anxiously, but grasping the little hand that had been placed in hers.

"Oh, I will shift for myself. Where is Reuben?" he asked, looking round the wide hall, and wondering that his old servant did not come forward to proffer his services.

"Reuben has gone away," said Margery, in a lower tone. "Do not ask questions about anything just now. I will bid them set a meal."

"No, no; take Cicely away to your own room, for she is almost fainting with fatigue and hunger. I am strong, and can look after myself when I have seen my mother. Ah, there is her serving-woman—"; and Miles hurried across the hall at once, leaving his sister to take Cicely to her own rooms, and care for her out of the sight of the servants, who began to gather round to have a peep at the new mistress of Paton Hall, for they knew well enough that the present Lady Paton would not rule them much longer.

"How is my mother, Deborah?" asked Miles, as he hurried the middle-aged lady's maid towards his mother's room.

"Master Miles, she is very ill, and knows nothing of what has happened to Sir Thomas, and she must not be told."

"How long has she been ill?" asked Miles.

"It would be better to say, 'How long is it since she was well?'" said the serving-woman, in a solemn tone, as she shook her head and wiped her eyes. She did not hesitate to add that in her belief the new learning had just broken his mother's heart.

Miles looked at the woman in amazement. "What do you know about the new learning?" he said, sharply.

"Thank the Blessed Virgin I know nothing of such folly," said Deborah, "but I have heard the master say, many times of late, that all the troubles that had come upon the land were through this learning they taught at Oxford; so I hope, Master Miles, that now you have come you will leave all that has brought the trouble behind you in Oxford, for the land is well-nigh ruined now, and a little more will quite ruin us all. Father Boniface says it is all on account of the heresy they teach in the new books. So that you see Sir Thomas was not far wrong in what he thought about it."

There was no time to say more, even if Miles had thought it wise to argue the point with his mother's maid, for Lady Paton's room was reached, and Deborah hurried forward to prepare her mistress for the coming of Miles.

She had told her early that morning that he would probably visit them soon, but she seemed too ill to take very much notice of anything just now, and in fact Miles stood by her bedside for several minutes before she quite took in the fact that he was there.

When she had grasped the idea it seemed to waken in her other trains of thought, for she said, quickly, "I am glad you have come, Miles. Now you can marry Audrey, and the sheep need not be sold, and—and—" And then she fell into an incoherent murmur about his father being tired, and not able to come to see her, and soon she had sunk back into a state of semi-unconsciousness.

"She's asleep now, Master Miles, and she mustn't be disturbed any more to-day." And then Miles learned that about once in the twenty-four hours his mother woke for a few minutes like this, and lapsed into the stupor that seemed to have seized and benumbed all her faculties the last few weeks.

Miles sat for a few minutes beside his mother, and then, finding that she was wholly unconscious of his presence, he went to the room where a meal had been placed on the table in readiness for him.

To his great relief it was his father's old servant who stood near the door when he went into the room, and he bade the man stay and tell him all about his father's illness, while he ate his dinner.

But there was not a great deal to tell. Sir Thomas had been ailing for some time, like his wife, and a severe cold, brought on by a change in the weather, had resulted in the last illness, in spite of all that Father Boniface had been able to do in the way of doctoring, and the exertions of another monk at the monastery, who was a famous witch-finder, and held to his opinion that the illness of the old people was caused by the spells of some witch who had a grudge against them.

Unfortunately the way things had been managed lately, both in the house and village, and on the land, had given occasion enough for the poor to have a grudge against Sir Thomas. But still Miles only smiled, and shook his head, when old Roger talked of witchcraft.

Not that he disbelieved in it. But he thought there were causes enough at work to account for the illness of both father and mother without seeking for it in witchcraft; unless it was that malign influence that had first set his father on the quest for more money than the ordinary rent of the land would bring in. This might have been the work of witchcraft, he was willing to believe, but then it was one that had seized so many other English landlords at the same time, and they all seemed so eager to engage in the race for wealth that the witchcraft must have been on a mighty scale to seize upon so many at once.

Miles tried to explain this to old Roger, but the man only shook his head. He had lived a good many years at Paton Hall, and it was his world, and the ideas gathered from his master and the monks at the monastery were enough for him; and these had said again and again that the changes which had come the last few years had been the work of the new learning. That might be another word for witchcraft. He did not know, nor was he sure whether his master had died from witch spells, but the holy father, learned in such matters, had given it as his opinion that he had.

As soon as he had attended to the first most pressing duties that now developed upon him, Miles went to his sister's room, and was glad to hear that Cicely was fast asleep.

"Who is she, Miles?" asked Margery, in a whisper; "she says she is not married."

"No, dear, but I hope she will be to-morrow or the next day. That we are not married is because she wanted to go home and see her mother and father first; and if my father had lived I should have taken her on to London with all speed, and been married at the Church of St. Dunstan-in-the-West. Now, however, we must have a secret marriage performed in your room by my friend, Master John Clark, who is coming from Oxford with all speed for the purpose."

"Then she will really be your wife and my sister," said Margery, in a tone of satisfaction.

"Ah, you are glad, little sister," said Miles, in a tone of relief.

"I am glad it is not Audrey," whispered Margery.

"Why should you be glad of that? I have just heard from my mother that she greatly wished it."

"Oh, yes, to save the sheep being sold; but sheep are not everything, although wool is a good price. In the first place, the Church would not bless a marriage like that. I learned that from my confessor."

Miles took his sister's hand, and looked earnestly into her face. "Suppose the Church should refuse to bless this marriage, Margery," he said, in a whisper.

Margery shivered. "What do you mean, Miles?" she said, in a tone of horror. "Surely this girl has not been married—she looks almost a child?"

"And yet she has known much sorrow," said Miles.

"Yes; she told me she had suffered much of late," answered Margery.

"Did she tell you wherefore this was?" asked her brother.

"No; she seemed to remember something you had said to her, and when I asked her to tell me all about it, she said, 'Miles will tell you when he thinks best.' What is it, Miles? Why is there such a sad look in her sweet, grey eyes, and how is it she is travelling alone with you if she is not your wife?"

"Margery, we did not know how much we loved each other until it was too late. I used to go to Greenwich, and the Tower, and the Palace of Sheen, in attendance upon my master, and wherever I might go I would meet Mistress Cicely about the Court, because she was one of the Queen's favourites, and we talked, and walked, and met at Cicely's home. But at last somebody found out more than we knew, or, at least, were quite sure of ourselves, and to prevent our marriage and please the Queen, Cicely was sent to a convent a few months ago, and it was not until she had gone that I knew how much I loved her."

"But—but—is she a nun?" asked Margery in a frightened whisper.

"No, Margery, she was only a novice," said Miles, boldly.

"But is not that almost the same?" asked his sister, anxiously.

"No, indeed, there is a very great deal of difference. If a man or woman is betrothed to another they can change their minds before they are married, and none can say aught against it. You understand that, Margery?"

"Oh yes, that is quite clear," said Margery.

"Well, Cicely was a novice, but she had not taken the vows of a nun; and more than that, the Cardinal Legate has absolved all novices from whatever vows they may have made, either public or secret; and so my Cicely is quite free to marry me so soon as Master Clark shall come, though it will be a poor bridal for my darling," added Miles with a sigh.

"Ah, the funeral baked meats for the bridal marchpane," said Margery. "Could it not be otherwise? It is not fitting that you who are Sir Miles Paton now should have no wedding feast."

"Better be without the feast than without the bride," said Miles. "I cannot feel that Cicely is safe for a moment out of my sight until we are married; for if she could be taken back to the convent I might not be able to rescue her again, and that is why I want you to keep her close in your rooms, and never leave her for a moment until Master Clark comes and the wedding is over. Until then say nought about her, even to the servants, for I would they should think that we married at Oxford, or before we journeyed from London. Once we are married I can speak of her as my dame, the young Lady Paton."

Miles was too impatient for the arrival of his friend to be able to settle to the consideration of business, although the family scrivener, having heard of his arrival, had walked over from the monastery to greet him, and ask if he had need of his services.

"Nay, not yet. I did but hear of my father's death this morning, and knew not that my mother was ill. You know to whom general and special invitations to the funeral should be sent. It cannot be hastened, for all must have time to journey hither. Send messengers with letters to all old friends of my father both near and far," he said.

This commission satisfied the scrivener for the time, for writing the letters and going and coming of messengers would cause a little stir in the torpid life of the brotherhood. And so Miles and his whilom enemy parted very good friends, for the time being.

Master Clark arrived early the next morning, having ridden with such hot haste, that people, seeing he was a priest, thought he must be riding to the death-bed of some patient; and when he enquired for Paton Hall, they informed him there was no need to hurry, as Sir Thomas had passed away before his son had reached him.

His arrival was not such a startling surprise to the servants as Miles feared it might be, and the traveller being taken almost immediately to Mistress Margery's rooms did not excite any surprise, as the priest might be expected to go and say a word of comfort to the daughter, seeing he had arrived too late to speak a word to Sir Thomas himself.

So there was a very small wedding-party gathered in Margery's winter parlour, and Cicely Guildford became Cicely, Lady Paton; but there was no marchpane or hippocras, or anything that could suggest that a wedding had taken place in the house of mourning.

The ladies still kept to their own wing of the house, as was usual in such cases, and Miles was not in too much haste to speak of his wife as Lady Paton, or even to mention her at all, leaving the servants to surmise what they liked, as he was sure now of being able to introduce her as his wife when the time came for her to emerge from her retirement with Margery after the funeral.

Master Clark was prevailed upon to stay and take part in the funeral service; and during the interval he and Miles had many serious talks as to the future.

As one of the great Cardinal's secretaries, Miles could return to London with his wife, and turn his back upon all the confusion and muddle that his father's affairs seemed to have fallen into of late.

If he did this, however, things would inevitably go from bad to worse; and there was his mother and sister to think for as well as himself, although it must be confessed that Miles rebelled at the thought of being so far from London just now, when his friend at the "Golden Fleece" might be in need of his help in the work of translating God's Word into English.

Still, great as this work was, and needful as it might be, Master Clark held that, for the present at least, Miles' duty was to stay at Paton Hall, and try to alleviate the lot of the peasants, who were apparently on the verge of a revolt against the landlords.

"You can do something to lighten their lot, and it is the duty that lies nearest to you now," said his friend; "and though you may not be able to set up a ready-made Utopia, after the pattern of my friend's, still you might begin to set one growing, and that would be worth something."

The two were gazing out over the pasture-land that had been almost denuded of its sheep, and the sight of which had doubtless done much to shorten the days of the late baronet.

The sheep had been sold, and the money paid over to Lady Audrey, but this could not bring back the men who had farmed the land; and as he thought of this and the beggars' camp in the woods, and how many had been driven off the land to this roving life by the landlord's passion for making money by wool, he thought he would try to set right the wrong that had been wrought in that little corner of the country. He could thank God now that he had stood firm, and refused to do his part in ousting the last of the tenants from their holdings. These still remained, though they were in great trouble, for, as the baronet could not let the land for sheep farming, he had put a higher rental upon it than the tenants had ever paid before, and there had been distress and poverty in every home since.

Now Master Clark thought it would be worth something to put the teaching of Christ into practice on the Paton lands. At all events it was the duty that lay nearest to his hand now, and consequently the one for him to do; and so, before the funeral, a letter was written to the Cardinal, telling him what had happened, and that he had found his father's affairs in such confusion that he must ask leave to stay, for a time at least, and put things in order. And, having despatched this letter, Miles felt he began to sever his connection with the life in London, though he still hoped to be able to help his friend at the "Golden Fleece."