The Constable of the Tower by W. Harrison Ainsworth

“The fire of intellect, an please your Majesty,” replied the other, “which burns so brightly in your Grace and my Lady Jane, that you have no need of any grosser element to warm you—at least, it would seem so. For my own part, the little wit I possess is frostbitten, like the point of my nose—if so blunt a nose can be said to have a point—and, if I tarry here much longer, I am like to lose both wit and nose.”

“Thou shouldst have advised me of thy sorry case before, good fellow,” said the king, laughing. “Let us in, sweet cousin; or, while we discourse here at our ease, this dainty gentleman will be turned to ice.”

“Of a verity shall I, my gracious liege,” rejoined Fowler; “an I be not speedily delivered hence, I shall be fixed to the spot like yonder frozen fountain.”

“And albeit thou mightst ornament the garden as a statue, I cannot afford to lose a good servant, so I will take compassion upon thee. Come, fair coz.”

So saying, the young king gave his hand to the Lady Jane, and led her towards the entrance of the palace, followed by Fowler, upon whose features the anticipation of a warm fire and plenteous repast had produced a very pleasurable expression.

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Chapter VI

OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE LORD PROTECTOR AND SIR THOMAS SEYMOUR, AND HOW IT WAS ADJUSTED

The privy garden was bounded on the north by a long stone gallery, extending from the Lanthorn Tower to the Salt Tower, and communicating by a corridor with the royal apartments. From an upper window in this gallery two persons had for some time been looking down upon the youthful pair, and the window luckily being open, no part of their discourse escaped them. They listened to it with the greatest attention, and both seemed equally well pleased with what they heard. Though these eavesdroppers were wholly unobserved by the young monarch and his companion, they were not unnoticed by Fowler, who, having nothing else to do, was casting his eyes about in every direction; but, as he recognized in them the Marquis of Dorset, the Lady Jane’s father, and Sir Thomas Seymour, he did not think it necessary to give his royal master a hint of their proximity. Moreover, a sign from Seymour, with whom he seemed to have a secret understanding, served to make him hold his tongue.

Just at the point when Edward called to his attendant to relieve him and the Lady Jane from the books, the listeners withdrew from the window, and the gallery being empty at the time, Seymour said to the marquis, with a proud smile:

“What think you of what you have heard, my lord? How stand I with his Majesty? Have I overrated my influence with him?”

“Not a jot,” replied Dorset. “You stand so well with your royal nephew, that it will be your own fault if you be not the first peer of the realm.”

“What! do you place me above the lord protector?” cried Seymour. “Bethink you that the council have given him all the power.”

“I am not unmindful of it,” replied the marquis; “but you have the king on your side, and unless the lord protector contrives to wean his Highness’s love from you, you must ere long gain the ascendancy.”

“You are in the right, my Lord of Dorset,” said Seymour; “I shall both gain it and maintain it. And as I rise, others shall rise with me—that you may reckon on. A thought crossed me while listening to yon pretty pair, and I will make you privy to it. They seem made for each other. Why should they not be wedded when they arrive at a suitable age?”

“Even if I dared indulge the thought,” replied the marquis, evidently well pleased by the suggestion, though striving to appear unconcerned, “his Majesty’s extreme youth and my daughter’s tender years forbid it.”

“What is to hinder their affiancement?” rejoined Seymour. “The alliance may be brought about, I tell you, my lord. Nay, to be plain, it shall be brought about, if we fairly understand one another.”