Fair Margaret | Page 7

him to a prison would be more like
to breed a riot than to let him go."
Henry glanced round him at the great crowd who were gathered
watching this scene, and saw something in their faces which caused
him to agree with d'Aguilar.
"So be it, Marquis," he said. "I have your word, and that of Peter
Brome, that he will be forthcoming if called upon. Let that dead man be
laid in the Abbey till to-morrow, when this matter shall be inquired of.
Excellency, give me your arm; I have greater questions of which I wish
to speak with you ere we sleep."
CHAPTER II
JOHN CASTELL

When the king was gone, Peter turned to those men who had stood by
him and thanked them very heartily. Then he said to Margaret:
"Come, Cousin, that is over for this time, and you have had your wish
and seen his Grace. Now, the sooner you are safe at home, the better I
shall be pleased."
"Certainly," she replied. "I have seen more than I desire to see again.
But before we go let us thank this Spanish señor----" and she paused.
"D'Aguilar, Lady, or at least that name will serve," said the Spaniard in
his cultured voice, bowing low before her, his eyes fixed all the while
upon her beautiful face.
"Señor d'Aguilar, I thank you, and so does my cousin, Peter Brome,
whose life perhaps you saved--don't you, Peter? Oh! and so will my
father."
"Yes," answered Peter somewhat sulkily, "I thank him very much;
though as for my life, I trusted to my own arm and to those of my
friends there. Good night, Sir."
"I fear, Señor," answered d'Aguilar with a smile, "that we cannot part
just yet. You forget, I have become bond for you, and must therefore
accompany you to where you live, that I may certify the place. Also,
perhaps, it is safest, for these countrymen of mine are revengeful, and,
were I not with you, might waylay you."
Now, seeing from his face that Peter was still bent upon declining this
escort, Margaret interposed quickly.
"Yes, that is wisest, also my father would wish it. Señor, I will show
you the way," and, accompanied by d'Aguilar, who gallantly offered
her his arm, she stepped forward briskly, leaving Peter to follow with
her cousin Betty.
Thus they walked in the twilight across the fields and through the
narrow streets beyond that lay between Westminster and Holborn. In

front tripped Margaret beside her stately cavalier, with whom she was
soon talking fast enough in Spanish, a tongue which, for reasons that
shall be explained, she knew well, while behind, the Scotchman's
sword still in his hand, and the handsome Betty on his arm, came Peter
Brome in the worst of humours.
John Castell lived in a large, rambling, many-gabled, house, just off the
main thoroughfare of Holborn, that had at the back of it a garden
surrounded by a high wall. Of this ancient place the front part served as
a shop, a store for merchandise, and an office, for Castell was a very
wealthy trader--how wealthy none quite knew--who exported woollen
and other goods to Spain under the royal licence, bringing thence in his
own ships fine, raw Spanish wool to be manufactured in England, and
with it velvet, silks, and wine from Granada; also beautiful inlaid
armour of Toledo steel. Sometimes, too, he dealt in silver and copper
from the mountain mines, for Castell was a banker as well as a
merchant, or rather what answered to that description in those days.
It was said that beneath his shop were dungeon-like store-vaults, built
of thick cemented stone, with iron doors through which no thief could
break, and filled with precious things. However this might be, certainly
in that great house, which in the time of the Plantagenets had been the
fortified palace of a noble, existed chambers whereof he alone knew the
secret, since no one else, not even his daughter or Peter, ever crossed
their threshold. Also, there slept in it a number of men-servants, very
stout fellows, who wore knives or swords beneath their cloaks, and
watched at night to see that all was well. For the rest, the living-rooms
of this house where Castell, Margaret his daughter, and Peter dwelt,
were large and comfortable, being new panelled with oak after the
Tudor fashion, and having deep windows that looked out upon the
garden.
When Peter and Betty reached the door, not that which led into the
shop, but another, it was to find that Margaret and d'Aguilar, who were
walking very quickly, must have already passed it, since it was shut,
and they had vanished. At his knock--a hard one--a serving-man
opened, and Peter strode through the vestibule, or ante-chamber, into

the