‘I am, indeed,’ sighed Anne. ‘I was so terrified that some of them would get to know the Countess wasn’t here and start some sort of a scandal story going. That was another funny thing; I never told you about that cat. Yesterday, I left Barbara’s rooms and forgot to lock the door behind me. While I was away, one of the guests—a duchess, I believe, she was—took a notion to call on the Countess. It seemed she knocked, and getting no answer, had half opened the door to walk in. Anyway, I arrived back just in time to see the big cat attacking the duchess, spitting at her and driving her away. And you remember what a friendly creature it is ordinarily—even playing with the spaniel. What do you make of that?’
‘Well, nothing much out of the way,’ grunted Luke. ‘The cat likes spaniels, it seems, and doesn’t like duchesses. Very natural.—Oh, there’s somebody beckoning from the door. One of the Queen’s ladies. It will be for you, Anne.’
‘Goodness!’ whispered Anne, springing up. ‘I hope it’s not bad news about the King.’
‘If it is,’ Luke called after her, ‘come back and let me know as soon as you can get away. I’ll be here.’
As a matter of fact, it was bad news. The King was worse. But even if Anne had come back to bring it, she would not have found Luke upon the terrace.
For, shortly after she had left, those watching eyes of the esquire had spied at last the tiny shape of a coach, away off in the distance, lumbering towards the castle.
In a dozen breakneck bounds he went flying down the garden steps. At the foot, within a small clump of trees, he had a horse tied, saddled and waiting.
A moment later he was galloping down the road to meet his master.
14 The return of the Finder
Giles had hardly spoken to Barbara since they left the convent—no more than a polite word or two at the places where he had halted to change horses or get food for his passengers.
Now, from afar, he was glad to see the figure of Luke galloping towards him. He was glad, too, to see the old castle loom up at last. It meant the end of a hard and anxious journey. But somehow coming back to it this evening was not the same. Usually this ancient home of kingship, with its weather-beaten battlements rising up and up against the sky like the fingers of Majesty itself, used, without fail, to thrill him every time he saw it. He was a part of it, fitted into its power and being—just as the castle itself fitted so perfectly round the top of the sharply pointed hill it stood on.
Tired and travel-worn he was; but at this moment he did not, he felt, want to sleep in it tonight. He would go off again at once, he told himself. As soon as he had handed Barbara over he would ask for leave to go upon his holiday. What mattered his weariness? He would take the trip home in easy stages and rest upon the way. He would not linger at the palace of the King.
As soon as Luke joined up with him, falling in behind the coach and riding at his side, he told these plans to his esquire.
‘Giles, you can’t do it,’ whispered Luke when he had ended. ‘Of course the King will give you leave if you wish to go. Certainly he has always been more friend than master—to both of us. But he will think it strange of you, your wanting to leave him again right away—even if he doesn’t speak of it. Especially now—when he is not well, as I told you.’
Giles said nothing.
‘Besides that, we need you, the Queen Mother above all. She has had to arrange everything, with no one to share authority or to give advice. She is nearly crazed with fear.’
‘With fear?’ asked Giles. ‘What of?’
‘Oh, things are at a dreadful pass up there! The King fell and hurt himself. They have a surgeon with him. Nobody knows what’s going to happen.’
‘You mean—’ Giles hesitated and his expression changed queerly. It was almost as if he were trying to beat back some dreadful guilty thing rising in his thoughts. ‘You mean there is danger? That the King may—may die?’
‘No one knows,’ said Luke. ‘But stay, I beg you, tonight at least—if only for the Queen Mother’s sake.’
Again Giles made no answer. And Luke persuaded him no further. They rode on up to the castle.
Here no noisy welcome awaited the King’s Finder, returning with the King’s bride. Instead, a solemn hush of anxious fear seemed hanging over the whole palace. Luke directed the driver round to a private entrance to the King’s tower. There Giles got Barbara quietly out of the coach and at once led her up the winding stair. The esquire followed.
In the ante-chamber to the King’s bedroom they found three persons: the Queen Mother, Anne and Doctor Seymour. The faces of all were very grave. The Queen barely glanced at them. Seymour was the first to speak.
‘I fear there is very little hope for His Majesty’s recovery. He has not once regained his senses since he fell. It is the spine, badly hurt—very badly. The pulse is so weak now it can hardly be felt. It is my sad duty to tell Your Majesty,’ (he turned, bowing, to the Queen) ‘that the end can only be a matter of a few hours—perhaps a few minutes.’
Giles came over to the poor mother sitting huddled in a chair.
‘Will Your Majesty give me leave to go in and see him?’ he whispered.
The Queen nodded without looking up. Giles turned the handle softly and passed into the bedroom.
A dim light came through half-drawn curtains. In a raised alcove, on the bed, the body of the King lay very still. Coming nearer, Giles could see the face was twisted in pain; but the chest did not seem to move. It looked almost as though breathing had stopped already. He leant over and spoke into his friend’s ear softly. There was no answering sign.
Tears came suddenly into his own eyes. He turned away and moved to the open door.
The awful waiting stillness was only disturbed by the gentle sobbing of the Queen’s prayers. But Giles did not hear it. He stood there on the threshold between the two rooms, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. It was as if all the world and all his senses were blotted out. Only one thing kept pounding in his head, over and over: his friend, the greatest friend he had ever had, was dying. Not even finding that the success of his faithful quest had come too late, not even knowing that the bride he brought back could never be the King’s; nothing had power to hold his mind now but the picture of that stricken man upon the bed behind him. His friend was dying.
And then there came a gentle knock on the stair door. Swiftly Luke tiptoed across the room and opened it.
An old woman stood in the archway peering in, two enormous black cats at her feet.
‘May I see the King?’ was all she said.
‘Agnes!’ gasped Anne, springing forward.
The Queen stopped praying and raised her head.
‘Your Majesty,’ snapped Doctor Seymour. ‘I beg you do not allow that woman in here. That is Shragga the Witch.’
At this the two cats suddenly raised their backs and hissed.
‘She is a dangerous sorceress,’ he went on. ‘Please do not let her see the King. She is from my town. I know her.’
‘Yes,’ said Agnes, coming forward, fixing him with an angry eye. ‘You know me. And I know you. For it was you, for years, who set the magistrates on me, with your tales of devil tricks, hounding me from place to place, forcing me to hide like a rat. You’d have had me burned if you could. And why? Because you knew I was a better doctor than you could ever be, you pompous, blowing bag of bombast! You never knew enough anatomy to cure a baby of the colic. And now you, with your great learning, would keep me from the King, would you? We shall see.’
Suddenly she turned from him to the Queen Mother.