She wore raised cloth of gold, and round her thin throat was a partlet or collar of emeralds. Her stomacher was of diamonds, an almost barbaric display of twinkling fire, and over her gold caul was a cap of black velvet sewn with pearls.
During the whole of supper it was remarked that Her Grace was merry. The gay lords and ladies who surrounded her and the King – for all alike, young maids and grey-haired dames of sixty must blaze and sparkle too – nodded and whispered to each other, wondering at this high good-humour.
When the Server advanced with his white wand, heading the procession of yeomen-servers with the gilt dishes of the second course – he was a fat pottle-bellied man – the Queen turned to the Duke of Norfolk.
"Dame!" she said in French, "here is a prancing pie! Ma mye! A capon of high grease! Methinks this gentleman hath a very single eye for the larder!"
"Yes, m'am," the Duke answered, "and so would make a better feast for Polypheme than e'er the lean Odysseus."
They went on with their play of words upon the names of the dishes in the menu…
"But say rather a porpoise in armour."
"Halibut engrailed, Madam, hath a face of peculiar whiteness like the under belly of that fish!"
"A jowl of sturgeon!"
"A Florentine of puff paste, m'am."
"Habet!" the Queen replied, "I can't better that. Could you, Lady Paget? You are a great jester."
Lady Paget, a stately white-haired dame, bowed to the Duke and then to the Queen.
"His Grace is quick in the riposte," she said, "and if Your Majesty gives him the palm —qui meruit ferat! But capon of high grease for my liking."
"But you've said nothing, Lady Paget."
"My wit is like my body, m'am, grown old and rheumy. The salad days of it are over. I abdicate in favour of youth."
Again this adroit lady bowed.
The Queen flushed up, obviously pleased with the compliment. She looked at the King to see if he had heard or understood it.
The King had been talking to the Bishop of London, partly in such Latin as he could muster, which was not much, but principally with the aid of Don Diego Deza, who stood behind His Majesty's chair, and acted as interpreter – the Dominican speaking English fluently.
During the whole of supper Philip had appeared less morose than usual. There was a certain fire of expectancy and complacence in his eye. He had smiled several times; his manner to the Queen had been more genial than it was wont to be – a fact which, in the opinion of everybody, duly accounted for Her Grace's high spirits and merriment.
He looked up now as Lady Paget spoke.
"Ensalada!" he said, having caught one word of Lady Paget's speech – salad. "Yes, give me some salad. It is the one thing" – he hastened to correct himself – "it is one of the things they make better in England than in my country."
The Queen was in high glee.
"His Highness grows more fond of our English food," she said; and in a moment or two the Comptroller of the Household came up to the King's chair, followed by a pensioner bearing a great silver bowl of one of those wonderful salads of the period, which no modern skill of the kitchen seems able to produce to-day – burridge, chicory, bugloss, marigold leaves, rocket, and alexanders, all mixed with eggs, cinnamon, oil, and ginger.
Johnnie, who was sitting at the Esquires' table, with the Gentlemen of the Body and Privy Closet, had watched the gay and stately scene till supper was nearly over.
The lights, the music, the high air, the festivity, had had no power to lighten the oppression which he felt, and when at length the King and Queen rose and withdrew to the great gallery where the Masque was presently to begin, he had slipped out alone into the garden.
"His golden locks time hath to silver turned."
The throbbing music of the old song, the harps' thridding, the lutes shivering out their arpeggio accompaniment, the viols singing together – came to him with rare and plaintive sweetness, but they brought but little balm or assuagement to his dark, excited mood.
Ten o'clock beat out from the roof of the Palace. Johnnie left the garden. He was to receive his instruction as to his night's doing from Mr. Medley, the Esquire of Sir John Shelton, in the Common Room of the Gentlemen of the Body.
He strode across the square in front of the façade, and turned into the long panelled room where he had breakfasted that morning.
It was quite empty now – every one was at the Masque – but two silver lamps illuminated it, and shone upon the dark walls of the glittering array of plate upon the beaufet.
He had not waited there a minute, however, leaning against the tall carved mantelpiece, a tall and gallant figure in his rich evening dress, when steps were heard coming through the hall, the door swung open, and Mr. Medley entered.
He was a thick-set, bearded man of middle height, more soldier than courtier, with the stamp of the barrack-room and camp upon him; a brisk, quick-spoken man, with compressed lips and an air of swift service.
"Give you good evening, Mr. Commendone," he said; "I am come with Sir John's orders."
Johnnie bowed. "At your service," he answered.
The soldier looked round the room carefully before speaking.
"There is no one here, Mr. Medley," Johnnie said.
The other nodded and came close up to the young courtier.
"The Masque hath been going this half-hour," he said, in a low voice, "but His Highness hath withdrawn. Her Grace is still with the dancers, and in high good-humour. Now, I must tell you, Mr. Commendone, that the Queen thinketh His Highness in his own wing of the Palace, and with Don Diego and Don de Castro, his two confessors. She is willing that this should be so, and said 'Good night' to His Highness after supper, knowing that he will presently set out to the burning of Dr. Taylor. She knoweth that the party sets out for Hadley at two o'clock, and thinketh that His Highness is spending the time before then in prayer and a little sleep. I tell you this, Mr. Commendone, in order that you go not back to the Masque before that you set out from the Tower to a certain house where His Highness will be with Sir John Shelton. You will take your own servant mounted and armed, and a man-at-arms also will be at the door of your lodging here at ten minutes of midnight. The word at the Coal Harbour Gate is 'Christ.' With your two men you will at once ride over London Bridge and so to Duck Lane, scarce a furlong from the other side of the bridge. Doubtless you know it" – and here the man's eyes flickered with a half smile for a moment – "but if not, the man-at-arms, one of Sir John's men, will show you the way. You will knock at the big house with the red door, and be at once admitted. There will be a light over the door. His Highness will be there with Sir John, and that is all I have to tell you. Afterwards you will know what to do."
Johnnie bowed. "Give you good night," he said. "I understand very well."
As soon as the Esquire had gone, Johnnie turned out of the Common Room, ascended the stairs, went to his own chamber and threw himself upon the little bed.
He had imagined that something like this was likely to occur. The King's habits were perfectly well known to all those about him, and indeed were whispered of in the Court at large, Queen Mary, alone, apparently knowing nothing of the truth as yet. The King's unusual bonhomie at supper could hardly be accounted for, at least so Johnnie thought, by the fact that he was to see his own and the Queen's bigotry translated into dreadful reality. To the keen young student of faces the King had seemed generally relieved, expectant, with the air of a boy about to be released from school. Now, the reason was plain enough. His Highness had gone with Sir John Shelton to some infamous house in a bad quarter of the city, and it was there the Equerry was to meet him and ride to the death scene.
Johnnie tossed impatiently upon his bed. He remembered how on that very morning he had expressed his hopes to Sir Henry that his duties would not lead him into dubious places.