The Nest of the Sparrowhawk | Page 9

the privilege of escorting Lady Sue to
the house, and if she prove somewhat disdainful this beautiful
summer's afternoon, I pray you remember that faint heart never won
fair lady, and that the citadel is not worth storming an it is not
obdurate."
The suggestion of sack-posset proved vastly to the liking of the merry
company. Mistress de Chavasse who had been singularly silent all the
afternoon, walked quickly in advance of her brother-in-law's guests, no
doubt in order to cast a scrutinizing eye over the arrangements of the
table, which she had entrusted to the servants.
Sir Marmaduke followed at a short distance, escorting the older women,
making somewhat obvious efforts to control his own irritability, and to
impart some sort of geniality to the proceedings.
Then in a noisy group in the rear came the three men still fighting for
the good graces of Lady Sue, whilst she, silent, absorbed, walked
leisurely along, paying no heed to the wrangling of her courtiers, her
fingers tearing up with nervous impatience the delicate cups of the
acorns, which she then threw from her with childish petulance.
And her eyes still sought the distance beyond the boundaries of Sir
Marmaduke's private grounds, there where cornfields and sky and sea
were merged by the summer haze into a glowing line of emerald and
purple and gold.
CHAPTER IV
GRINDING POVERTY
It was about an hour later. Sir Marmaduke's guests had departed, Dame
Harrison in her rickety coach, Mistress Pyncheon in her chaise, whilst
Squire Boatfield was riding his well-known ancient cob.
Everyone had drunk sack-posset, had eaten turkey pasties, and enjoyed

the luscious fruit: the men had striven to be agreeable to the heiress, the
old ladies to be encouraging to their protégés. Sir Marmaduke had tried
to be equally amiable to all, whilst favoring none. He was an unpopular
man in East Kent and he knew it, doing nothing to counterbalance the
unpleasing impression caused invariably by his surly manner, and his
sarcastic, often violent, temper.
Mistress Amelia Editha de Chavasse was now alone with her
brother-in-law in the great bare hall of the Court, Lady Sue having
retired to her room under pretext of the vapors, and young Lambert
been finally dismissed from work for the day.
"You are passing kind to the youth, Marmaduke," said Mistress de
Chavasse meditatively when the young man's darkly-clad figure had
disappeared up the stairs.
She was sitting in a high-backed chair, her head resting against the
carved woodwork. The folds of her simple gown hung primly round her
well-shaped figure. Undoubtedly she was still a very good-looking
woman, though past the hey-day of her youth and beauty. The
half-light caused by the depth of the window embrasure, and the
smallness of the glass panes through which the summer sun hardly
succeeded in gaining admittance, added a certain softness to her
chiseled features, and to the usually hard expression of her large dark
eyes.
She was gazing out of the tall window, wherein the several broken
panes were roughly patched with scraps of paper, out into the garden
and the distance beyond, where the sea could be always guessed at,
even when not seen. Sir Marmaduke had his back to the light: he was
sitting astride a low chair, his high-booted foot tapping the ground
impatiently, his fingers drumming a devil's tattoo against the back of
the chair.
"Lambert would starve if I did not provide for him," he said with a
sneer. "Adam, his brother, could do naught for him: he is poor as a
church-mouse, poorer even than I--but nathless," he added with a
violent oath, "it strikes everyone as madness that I should keep a

secretary when I scarce can pay the wages of a serving maid."
"'Twere better you paid your servants' wages, Marmaduke," she
retorted harshly, "they were insolent to me just now. Why do you not
pay the girl's arrears to-day?"
"Why do I not climb up to the moon, my dear Editha, and bring down a
few stars with me in my descent," he replied with a shrug of his broad
shoulders. "I have come to my last shilling."
"The Earl of Northallerton cannot live for ever."
"He hath vowed, I believe, that he would do it, if only to spite me. And
by the time that he come to die this accursed Commonwealth will have
abolished all titles and confiscated every estate."
"Hush, Marmaduke," she said, casting a quick, furtive look all round
her, "there may be spies about."
"Nay, I care not," he rejoined roughly, jumping to his feet and kicking
the chair aside so that it struck with a loud crash against the flagged
floor. "'Tis but little good a man gets for cleaving loyally to the
Commonwealth. The sequestrated estates of the Royalists would have