Fair Margaret: Chapter 19

Chapter 19

BETTY PAYS HER DEBTS

Betty Dene was not a woman afflicted with fears or apprehensions. Born
of good parents, but in poverty, for six-and-twenty years she had fought
her own way in a rough world and made the best of circumstances.
Healthy, full-blooded, tough, affectionate, romantic, but honest in her
way, she was well fitted to meet the ups and downs of life, to keep her
head above the waters of a turbulent age, and to pay back as much as she
received from man or woman.

Yet those long hours which she passed alone in the high turret chamber,
waiting till they summoned her to play the part of a false bride, were
the worst that she had ever spent. She knew that her position was, in a
sense, shameful, and like to end in tragedy, and, now that she faced it
in cold blood, began to wonder why she had chosen so to do. She had
fallen in love with the Spaniard almost at first sight, though it is
true that something like this had happened to her before with other men.
Then he had played his part with her, till, quite deceived, she gave all
her heart to him in good earnest, believing in her infatuation that,
notwithstanding the difference of their place and rank, he desired to
make her his wife for her own sake.

Afterwards came that bitter day of disillusion when she learned, as
Inez had said to Castell, that she was but a stalking heifer used for
the taking of the white swan, her cousin and mistress--that day when she
had been beguiled by the letter which was still hid in her garments, and
for her pains heard herself called a fool to her face. In her heart she
had sworn to be avenged upon Morella then, and now the hour had come in
which to fulfil her oath and play him back trick for cruel trick.

Did she still love the man? She could not say. He was pleasing to her as
he had always been, and when that is so women forgive much. This was
certain, however--love was not her guide to-night. Was it vengeance then
that led her on? Perhaps; at least she longed to be able to say to him,
"See what craft lies hid even in the bosom of an outwitted fool."

Yet she would not have done it for vengeance' sake alone, or rather she
would have paid herself in some other fashion. No, her real reason was
that she must discharge the debt due to Margaret and Peter, and to
Castell who had sheltered her for years. She it was who had brought them
into all this woe, and it seemed but just that she should bring them out
again, even at the cost of her own life and womanly dignity. Or,
perchance, all three of these powers drove her on,--love for the man if
it still lingered, the desire to be avenged upon him, and the desire to
snatch his prey from out his maw. At least she had set the game, and she
would play it out to its end, however awful that might be.

The sun sank, the darkness closed about her, and she wondered whether
ever again she would see the dawn. Her brave heart quailed a little, and
she gripped the dagger hilt beneath her splendid, borrowed robe,
thinking to herself that perhaps it might be wisest to drive it into her
own breast, and not wait until a balked madman did that office for her.
Yet not so, for it is always time to die when one must.

A knock came at the door, and her courage, which had sunk so low, burned
up again within her. Oh! she would teach this Spaniard that the
Englishwoman, whom he had made believe was his desired mistress, could
be his master. At any rate, he should hear the truth before the end.

She unlocked the door, and Inez entered bearing a lamp, by the light of
which she scanned her with her quiet eyes.

"The bridegroom is ready," she said slowly that Betty might understand,
"and sends me to lead you to him. Are you afraid?"

"Not I," answered Betty. "But tell me, how will the thing be done?"

"The marquis meets us in the ante-room to that hall which is used as a
chapel, and there on behalf of the household I, as the first of the
women, give you both the cups of wine. Be sure that you drink of that
which I hold in my left hand, passing the cup up beneath your veil so as
not to show your face, and speak no word, lest he should recognise your
voice. Then we shall go into the chapel, where the priest Henriques
waits, also all the household. But that hall is great, and the lamps are
feeble, so none will know you there. By this time also the drugged wine
will have begun to work upon Morella's brain, wherefore, provided that
you use a low voice, you may safely say, 'I, Betty, wed thee, Carlos,'
not 'I, Margaret, wed thee.' Then, when it is over, he will lead you
away to the chambers prepared for you, where, if there is any virtue in
my wine, he will sleep sound to-night, that is, as soon as the priest
has given me the marriage-lines, whereof I will hand you one copy and
keep the others. Afterwards----" and she shrugged her shoulders.

"What becomes of you?" asked Betty, when she had fully mastered these
instructions.

"Oh! I and the priest start to-night for a ride together to Seville,
where his money awaits him; ill company for a woman who means henceforth
to be honest and rich, but better than none. Perhaps we shall meet again
there, or perhaps we shall not; at least, you know where to seek me and
the others, at the house of the Se�or Bernaldez. Now it is time. Are you
ready to be made a marchioness of Spain?"

"Of course," answered Betty coolly, and they started.

Through the empty halls and corridors they went, and oh! surely no
Eastern plot that had been conceived in them was quite so bold and
desperate as theirs. They reached the ante-chamber to the chapel, and
took their stand outside of the circle of light that fell from its
hanging lamps. Presently a door opened, and through it came Morella,
attended by two of his secretaries. He was splendidly arrayed in his
usual garb of black velvet, and about his neck hung chains of gold and
jewels, and to his breast were fastened the glittering stars and orders
pertaining to his rank. Never, or so thought Betty, had Morella seemed
more magnificent and handsome. He was happy also, who was about to drink
of that cup of joy which he so earnestly desired. Yes, his face showed
that he was happy, and Betty, noting it, felt remorse stirring in her
breast. Low he bowed before her, while she curtseyed to him, bending her
tall and graceful form till her knee almost touched the ground. Then he
came to her and whispered in her ear:

"Most sweet, most beloved," he said, "I thank heaven that has led me to
this joyous hour by many a rough and dangerous path. Most dear, again I
beseech you to forgive all the sorrow and the ill that I have brought
upon you, remembering that it was done for your adored sake, that I
love you as woman has been seldom loved, you and you only, and that to
you, and you only, will I cling until my death's day. Oh! do not tremble
and shrink, for I swear that no woman in Spain shall have a better or a
more loyal lord. You I will cherish alone, for you I will strive by
night and day to lift you to great honour and satisfy your every wish.
Many and pleasant may the years be that we shall spend side by side, and
peaceful our ends when at last we lay us down side by side to sleep
awhile and wake again in heaven, whereof the shadow lies on me to-night.
Remembering the past, I do not ask much of you--as yet; still, if you
are minded to give me a bridal gift that I shall prize above crowns or
empires, say that you forgive me all that I have done amiss, and in
token, lift that veil of yours and kiss me on the lips."

Betty heard this speech, whereof she only fully understood the end, and
trembled. This was a trial that she had not foreseen. Yet it must be
faced, for speak she dared not. Therefore, gathering up her courage, and
remembering that the light was at her back, after a little pause, as
though of modesty and reluctance, she raised the pearl-embroidered
veil, and, bending forward beneath its shadow, suffered Morella to kiss
her on the lips.

It was over, the veil had fallen again, and the man suspected nothing.

"I am a good artist," thought Inez to herself, "and that woman acts
better than the wooden Peter. Scarcely could I have done it so
well myself."

Then, the jealousy and hate that she could not control glittering in her
soft eyes, for she too had loved this man, and well, Inez lifted the
golden cups that had been prepared, and, gliding forward, beautiful in
her broidered, Eastern robe, fell upon her knee and held them to the
bridegroom and the bride. Morella took that from her right hand, and
Betty that from her left, nor, intoxicated as he was already with that
first kiss of love, did he pause to note the evil purpose which was
written on the face of his discarded slave. Betty, passing the cup
beneath her veil, touched it with her lips and returned it to Inez; but
Morella, exclaiming, "I drink to you, sweet bride, most fair and adored
of women," drained his to the dregs, and cast it back to Inez as a gift
in such fashion that the red wine which clung to its rim stained her
white robes like a splash of blood.

Humbly she bowed, humbly she gathered the precious vessel from the
floor; but when she rose again there was triumph in her eyes--not hate.

Now Morella took his bride's hand and, followed by his gentlemen and
Inez, walked to the curtains that were drawn as they came into the great
hall beyond, where had mustered all his household, perhaps a hundred of
them. Between their bowing ranks they passed, a stately pair, and,
whilst sweet voices sang behind some hidden screen, walked onward to the
altar, where stood the waiting priest. They kneeled down upon the
gold-embroidered cushions while the office of the Church was read over
them. The ring was set upon Betty's hand--scarce, it would seem, could
he find her finger--the man took the woman to wife, the woman took the
man for husband. His voice was thick, and hers was very low; of all that
listening crowd none could hear the names they spoke.

It was over. The priest bowed and blessed them. They signed some papers,
there by the light of the altar candles. Father Henriques filled in
certain names and signed them also, then, casting sand upon them, placed
them in the outstretched hand of Inez, who, although Morella never
seemed to notice, gave one to the bride, and thrust the other two into
the bosom of her robe. Then both she and the priest kissed the hands of
the marquis and his wife, and asked his leave to be gone. He bowed his
head vaguely, and--if any had been there to listen--within ten short
minutes they might have heard two horses galloping hard towards the
Seville gate.

Now, escorted by pages and torch-bearers, the new-wed pair repassed
those dim and stately halls, the bride, veiled, mysterious, fateful; the
bridegroom, empty-eyed, like one who wanders in his sleep. Thus they
reached their chamber, and its carved doors shut behind them.

* * * * *

It was early morning, and the serving-women who waited without that room
were summoned to it by the sound of a silver gong. Two of them entered
and were met by Betty, no longer veiled, but wrapped in a loose robe,
who said to them:

"My lord the marquis still sleeps. Come, help me dress and make ready
his bath and food."

The women stared at her, for now that she had washed the paint from her
face they knew well that this was the Se�ora Betty and not the Dona
Margaret, whom, they had understood, the marquis was to marry. But she
chid them sharply in her bad Spanish, bidding them be swift, as she
would be robed before her husband should awake. So they obeyed her, and
when she was ready she went with them into the great hall where many of
the household were gathered, waiting to do homage to the new-wed pair,
and greeted them all, blushing and smiling, saying that doubtless the
marquis would be among them soon, and commanding them meanwhile to go
about their several tasks.

So well did Betty play her part indeed, that, although they also were
bewildered, none questioned her place or authority, who remembered that
after all they had not been told by their lord himself which of these
two English ladies he meant to marry. Also, she distributed among the
meaner of them a present of money on her husband's behalf and her own,
and then ate food and drank some wine before them all, pledging them,
and receiving their salutations and good wishes.

When all this was done, still smiling, Betty returned to the
marriage-chamber, closing its door behind her, sat her down on a chair
near the bed, and waited for the worst struggle of all--that struggle on
which hung her life. See! Morella stirred. He sat up, gazing about him
and rubbing his brow. Presently his eyes lit upon Betty, seated stern
and upright in her high chair. She rose and, coming to him, kissed him
and called him "Husband," and, still half-asleep, he kissed her back.
Then she sat down again in her chair and watched his face.

It changed, and changed again. Wonder, fear, amaze, bewilderment,
flitted over it, till at last he said in English:

"Betty, where is my wife?"

"Here," answered Betty.

He stared at her. "Nay, I mean the Dona Margaret, your cousin and my
lady, whom I wed last night. And how come you here? I thought that you
had left Granada."

Betty looked astonished.

"I do not understand you," she answered. "It was my cousin Margaret who
left Granada. I stayed here to be married to you, as you arranged with
me through Inez."

His jaw dropped.

"Arranged with you through Inez! Mother of Heaven! what do you mean?"

"Mean?" she answered--"I mean what I say. Surely"--and she rose in
indignation--"you have never dared to try to play some new trick
upon me?"

"Trick!" muttered Morella. "What says the woman? Is all this a dream, or
am I mad?"

"A dream, I think. Yes, it must be a dream, since certainly it was to no
madman that I was wed last night. Look," and she held before him that
writing of marriage signed by the priest, by him, and by herself, which
stated that Carlos, Marquis of Morella, was on such a date, at Granada,
duly married to the Se�ora Elizabeth Dene of London in England.

He read it twice, then sank back gasping; while Betty hid away the
parchment in her bosom.

Then presently he seemed to go mad indeed. He raved, he cursed, he
ground his teeth, he looked round for a sword to kill her or himself,
but could find none. And all the while Betty sat still and gazed at him
like some living fate.

At length he was weary, and her turn came.

"Listen," she said. "Yonder in London you promised to marry me; I have
it hidden away, and in your own writing. By agreement I fled with you to
Spain. By the mouth of your messenger and former love this marriage was
arranged between us, I receiving your messages to me, and sending back
mine to you, since you explained that for reasons of your own you did
not wish to speak of these matters before my cousin Margaret, and could
not wed me until she and her father and her lover were gone from
Granada. So I bade them farewell, and stayed here alone for love of you,
as I fled from London for love of you, and last night we were united, as
all your household know, for but now I have eaten with them and received
their good wishes. And now you dare--you dare to tell me, that I, your
wife--I, who have sacrificed everything for you, I, the Marchioness of
Morella, am _not_ your wife. Well, go, say it outside this chamber, and
hear your very slaves cry 'Shame' upon you. Go, say it to your king and
your bishops, aye, and to his Holiness the Pope himself, and listen to
their answer. Why, great as you are, and rich as you are, they will
hale you to a mad-house or a prison."

Morella listened, rocking himself to and fro upon the bed, then with an
oath sprang towards her, to be met by a dagger-point glinting in
his eyes.

"Hear me again," she said as he shrank back from that cold steel. "I am
no slave and no weakling; you shall not murder me or thrust me away. I
am your wife and your equal, aye, and stronger than you in body and in
mind, and I will have my rights in the face of God and man."

"Certainly," he said with a kind of unwilling admiration--"certainly you
are no weakling. Certainly, also, you have paid back all you owe me with
a Jew's interest. Or, mayhap, you are not so clever as I think, but just
a strong-minded fool, and it is that accursed Inez who has settled her
debts. Oh! to think of it," and he shook his fist in the air, "to think
that I believed myself married to the Dona Margaret, and find you in her
place--_you_!"

"Be silent," she said, "you man without shame, who first fly at the
throat of your new-wedded wife and then insult her by saying that you
wish you were wedded to another woman. Be silent, or I will unlock the
door and call your own people and repeat your monstrous talk to them."
And she drew herself to her full height and stood over him on the bed.

Morella, his first rage spent, looked at her reflectively, and not
without a certain measure of homage.

"I think," he remarked, "that if he did not happen to be in love with
another woman and to believe that he had married her, you, my good
Betty, would make a useful wife to any man who wished to get on in the
world. I understood you to say that the door is locked, and if I might
hazard a guess, you have the key, as also you happen to have a dagger.
Well, I find the air in this place close, and I want to go _out_."

"Where to?" asked Betty.

"Let us say, to join Inez."

"What," she asked, "would you already be running after that woman
again? Do you already forget that you are married?"

"It seems that I am not to be allowed to forget it. Now, let us bargain.
I wish to leave Granada for a while, and without scandal. What are your
terms? Remember that there are two to which I will not consent. I will
not stop here with you, and you shall not accompany me. Remember also,
that, although you hold the dagger at present, it is not wise of you to
try to push this jest too far."

"As you did when you decoyed me on board the _San Antonio_," said Betty.
"Well, our honeymoon has not begun too sweetly, and I do not mind if you
go away for a while--to look for Inez. Swear now that you mean me no
harm, and that you will not plot my death or disgrace, or in any way
interfere with my liberty or position here in Granada. Swear it on the
Rood." And she took down a silver crucifix that hung upon the wall over
the bed and handed it to him. For she knew Morella's superstitions, and
that if once he swore upon this symbol he dare not break his oath.

"And if I will not swear?" he asked sullenly.

"Then," she answered, "you stop here until you do, you who are anxious
to be gone. I have eaten food this morning, you have not; I have a
dagger, you have none; and, being as we are, I am sure that no one will
venture to disturb us until Inez and your friend the priest have gone
further than you can follow."

"Very well, I will swear," he said, and he kissed the crucifix and threw
it down, "You can stop here and rule my house in Granada, and I will do
you no mischief, nor trouble you in any way. But if you come out of
Granada, then we cross swords."

"You mean that you intend to leave this city? Then, here is paper and
ink. Be so good as to sign an order to the stewards of your estates,
within the territories of the Moorish king, to pay all their revenue to
me during your absence, and to your servants to obey me in everything."

"It is easy to see that you were brought up in the house of a Jew
merchant," said Morella, biting the pen and considering this woman who,
whether she were hawk or pigeon, knew so well how to feather her nest.
"Well, if I grant you this position and these revenues, will you leave
me alone and cease to press other claims upon me?"

Now Betty, bethinking her of those papers that Inez had carried away
with her, and that Castell and Margaret would know well how to use them
if there were need, bethinking her also that if she pushed him too far
at the beginning she might die suddenly as folk sometimes did in
Granada, answered:

"It is much to ask of a deluded woman, but I still have some pride, and
will not thrust myself in where it seems I am not wanted. Therefore, so
be it. Till you seek me or send for me, I will not seek you so long as
you keep your bargain. Now write the paper, sign it, and call in your
secretaries to witness the signature."

"In whose favour must I word it?" he asked.

"In that of the Marquessa of Morella," she answered, and he, seeing a
loophole in the words, obeyed her, since if she were not his wife this
writing would have no value.

Somehow he must be rid of this woman. Of course he might cause her to be
killed; but even in Granada people could not kill one to whom they had
seemed to be just married without questions being asked. Moreover, Betty
had friends, and he had enemies who would certainly ask them if she
vanished away. No, he would sign the paper and fight the case
afterwards, for he had no time to lose. Margaret had slipped away from
him, and if once she escaped from Spain he knew that he would never see
her more. For aught he knew, she might already have escaped or be
married to Peter Brome. The very thought of it filled him with madness.
There had been a conspiracy against him; he was outwitted, robbed,
befooled. Well, hope still remained--and vengeance. He could still fight
Peter, and perhaps kill him. He could hand over Castell, the Jew, to the
Inquisition. He could find a way to deal with the priest Henriques and
the woman Inez, and, perhaps, if fortune favoured him he could get
Margaret back into his power.

Oh! yes, he would sign anything if only thereby he was set at liberty
and freed for a while from this servant who called herself his wife,
this strong-minded, strong-bodied, clever Englishwoman, of whom he had
thought to make a tool, and who had made a tool of him.

So Betty dictated and he wrote: yes, it had come to this--she dictated
and he wrote, and signed too. The order was comprehensive. It gave power
to the most honourable Marquessa of Morella to act for him, her husband,
in all things during his absence from Granada. It commanded that all
rents and profits due to him should be paid to her, and that all his
servants and dependants should obey her as though she were himself, and
that her receipt should be as good as his receipt.

When the paper was written, and Betty had spelt it over carefully to see
that there was no omission or mistake, she unlocked the door, struck
upon the gong, and summoned the secretaries to witness their lord's
signature to a settlement. Presently they came, bowing, and offering
many felicitations, which to himself Morella vowed he would remember
against them.

"I have to go a journey," he said. "Witness my signature to this
document, which provides for the carrying on of my household and the
disposal of my property during my absence."

They stared and bowed.

"Read it aloud first," said Betty, "so that my lord and husband may be
sure that there is no mistake."

One of them obeyed, but before ever he had finished the furious Morella
shouted to them from the bed:

"Have done and witness, then go, order me horses and an escort, for I
ride at once."

So they witnessed in a great hurry, and left the room. Betty left with
them, holding the paper in her hand, and when she reached the large hall
where the household were gathered waiting to greet their lord, she
commanded one of the secretaries to read it out to all of them, also to
translate it into the Moorish tongue that every one might understand.
Then she hid it away with the marriage lines, and, seating herself in
the midst of the household, ordered them to prepare to receive the most
noble marquis.

They had not long to wait, for presently he came out of the room like a
bull into the arena, whereon Betty rose and curtseyed to him, and at her
word all his servants bowed themselves down in the Eastern fashion. For
a moment he paused, again like the bull when he sees the picadors and is
about to charge. Then he thought better of it, and, with a muttered
curse, strode past them.

Ten minutes later, for the third time within twenty-four hours, horses
galloped from the palace and through the Seville gate.

"Friends," said Betty in her awkward Spanish, when she knew that he had
gone, "a sad thing has happened to my husband, the marquis. The woman
Inez, whom it seems he trusted very much, has departed, stealing a
treasure that he valued above everything on earth, and so I, his
new-made wife, am left desolate while he tries to find her."

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