"And yet I fought for their father," said my father.
"Ay, and like the honest man thou art, declared that thou couldst never fight for him again after the contents of his papers which were found on Naseby field were made known," retorted the woman. "I know this, too, that if Charles had gained the victory over Cromwell, thou wouldst have been beheaded for what thou didst say at that time. Mark you, a Stuart never forgets, and never forgives, for all the fair promises that they make. Therefore if ever thou dost get back thine own, and if ever thy son is to be more than a mere yeoman ploughing his own fields – ay, and poor fields at that, for the best have all been taken away – he must be able to force the new king's hand."
"Ay, I know all this," replied my father impatiently, "but let us hear what you have discovered, Katharine; let us know the truth concerning the strange things I have heard."
"It is no use telling of what I know, unless this son of thine be bold enough to make use of it," replied the woman. "I am a girl no longer, Master Rashcliffe; I am not so simple as I was in those days when I was waiting maid to Mistress Rashcliffe. Enough to say that I have found out sufficient to make Charles Stuart, who is even now preparing to come back to England as king, eager not only to restore thy lands, but to give a place of honour to Master Roland here. Ay, but that is not all. The thing which I know to exist must be in our hands, ay, and in our hands in such a way that we shall be able to make our own bargain with the new king."
"But what is it?"
"It is this. James, Duke of York, is not the next heir to the throne."
"Well, and what of that?"
"This," replied the woman. "You have heard of the Welsh girl, Lucy Walters?"
"Ay, I have hear of her."
"And you have heard of her son, a lad who goes by the name of James Croft?"
"Yes," said my father, "I have heard of him; but it doth not matter."
"Ay, but it doth matter."
"Why?"
"Because he, although Charles Stuart will doubtless deny it, is the next heir to the throne of England."
My father started back in amazement.
"He is Charles' son," continued the woman.
"Ay, but – "
"Charles married Lucy Walters – married her in Holland."
"But the proof, the proof!" cried my father.
"It is this proof of which I come to speak," said Katharine Harcomb. "But answer me this: suppose the proof could be obtained, suppose the box containing the contract of marriage between Charles Stuart and Lucy Walters could be obtained – what then?"
For a time my father was silent. Evidently he regarded the woman's declaration of great import, and I saw that he carefully considered her words.
"Charles would not desire it to be known," he said at length.
"Nay, that he would not," said the woman with a laugh; "but there is more than that, Master Rashcliffe."
"Ay, there is," said my father thoughtfully. "He who could be fortunate enough to possess that marriage contract would be able to make his terms not only with the king, but the king's brother."
"Ah, you begin to see."
"The man who possessed such a secret could stir up civil war in England," said my father; "such a war that might well make men forget the war between Charles I and Cromwell."
"Ay," said the woman; "but what is more to our purpose, Master Rashcliffe, he could make the king restore the Rashcliffe lands, and gain for his son a place in England worthy his name."
"And do others know of this secret, Katharine?" asked my father.
"Yes," replied the woman; "it hath been guessed at by many, but I alone know where the box containing the marriage contract is hidden. It hath cost me much trouble to find out, but at last I have done it."
I looked at the woman as she said this, and I thought there was a furtive look in her eyes.
"And how did you find it out?" asked my father presently.
"Of that more anon," replied Katharine Harcomb. "Enough to say now that this is the secret I promised to tell you, a secret which should give you the power to make your own terms with the king. All now depends on young Roland here."
"On me!" I cried, speaking for the first time, although, as may be imagined, I listened eagerly to every word which had been spoken.
"Ay, on you," replied the woman, "for that marriage contract is in hiding. It is hidden in a black box,1 and may be obtained only with difficulty. The question is, Master Roland, will you undertake the work of bringing it hither?"
"How old is the king's son?" I cried, for her story had excited my imagination and appealed to that love for adventure which for a long time had been struggling for expression.
"How old?" repeated the woman; "he is a lad of about eleven years. At present he is with the dowager queen."
"And do you mean that he is the next heir to the English throne?" I cried.
"Ay, that he is," replied the woman; "and the man who can find the marriage contract can go far to be one of the masters of England."
"And if it be not brought to light?" I cried, "then if Charles has no other son, the Duke of York will become king."
"That is not the thing of import," replied the woman; "the thing that is of weight is this: the man who hath the secret can make the king obey him."
But this was not the thought which fired my imagination. A great overmastering desire came into my heart to place my hand upon this marriage contract that I might be the means of doing justice to the king's disowned son, and even as she spoke I found myself making plans for going out into the world to unearth this secret. For it must be remembered that I was but a lad of twenty-three, and that up to now, in spite of my many day dreams, I had been kept mewed up in the old manor with my father, knowing but little of what was going on in the great world.
Still, I was not so young but that I saw many difficulties in the way. I reflected that we had only the word of this Katharine Harcomb, who had lived at Rashcliffe Manor many years before, and who, according to belief, had been dead for some time. Where had she been all these years? what were her motives in seeking out this mystery? and more than all, why had she chosen my father and myself as the men to whom she could disclose this momentous secret? Not that these matters troubled me much. I was too much excited by the story of the mystery to weigh well those things which, had I been ten years older, I should have considered carefully. Still, they came into my mind, and I was on the point of putting them to her, when she rose from her chair and placed her hand on my shoulder. I remember even then thinking how tall she was, for as I stood by the fireplace, and she came up to me, her face was level with mine, and I am not a short man.
"Roland Rashcliffe," she said, "will you undertake this thing?"
I looked at my father, who appeared to be pondering deeply.
"Where is it?" I asked.
"Where is what?"
"This black box."
"Before I make known where it is I must have your promise. Nay, Master Roland, look not darkly at me, for this is no light matter. I dare not make known the hiding place until I am assured that you will undertake to go wherever it is, and then alone, and in secret, bring it hither."
The words pleased me, although they raised more questions in my mind. I liked the words "alone and in secret," even although I little understood what they portended.
"How came you to know these things?" I asked.
"I saw the woman called Lucy Walters when she was in England," replied Katharine Harcomb; "I saw her as she was taken to the Tower."
"You saw Lucy Walters!" I cried.
"Ay, I saw her. No wonder Charles Stuart