He pulled at the stays under his waistcoat. “Do stays always hurt like this, Mrs. Pack?”
“They are meant to make you straight so they are bound to restrict a little.”
“They do not make me feel very friendly toward Mr. Hughes,” said the Prince.
“This way. Bring him here. Hurry, men.”
“What the …” gasped Mr. Hughes as his legs and arms were seized by small hands and he was dragged to the floor; for small as his attackers were, they were numerous and they swarmed over him.
“Over here,” was the order. “This way. We’ll teach him to make stiff stays.”
“Help me!” cried Mr. Hughes, so bewildered that he could not imagine what was happening to him.
A voice said: “Your Highness, what is this?”
“My men are in control,” was the answer.
“It’s Mr. Hughes, the tailor. Why Mr. Hughes, what has happened to you then?”
Mr. Hughes gasped his thankfulness to hear the voice of his friend and fellow Welshman, Lewis Jenkins.
“I do not know. These … imps fell on me as I came into the hall.”
“We are taking him to the wooden horse,” said a high pitched voice. “He is to be punished for making stiff stays that hurt.”
“Mr. Hughes,” said Lewis Jenkins, “get you up then, man. Now stand away, you boys.”
“They take orders from none but me.”
“The wooden horse, Mr. Hughes, man, is the punishment they use for soldiers who disobey. Take no notice. Mr. Hughes is not one of Your Highness’s men.”
“He makes stays that hurt. They’re hurting me now.”
“Why don’t you ask him to remake them for Your Highness. That would be more sensible than this game you’re playing.”
Mr. Hughes was on his feet, but hands still pulled at his clothes. He said: “I’m sorry the stays are too tight, Your Highness. You must allow me to alter them.”
“You can alter them?” asked the Duke.
“Certainly, Your Highness. I can make them so that you won’t feel you’re wearing stays at all, and would have done so, had you asked me.”
“Men … dismiss!” cried Gloucester. “Mr. Hughes, to my apartments quick … march.”
So Gloucester went off with the tailor and in a short time the stays had been altered to fit comfortably.
Lewis Jenkins laughed at the affair with his fellow attendants. “He’ll get what he wants, that little one,” he commented, and it struck him that they were fortunate to be in the service of the Duke of Gloucester. It was time he was acknowledged the Prince of Wales, for the more honors that befell him, the more they would all benefit.
THE END OF A LIFE
“You have great influence with my lord Shrewsbury,” said Elizabeth, “and I can well understand that.”
Mrs. Lundy, a vain and pretty woman, laughed. “He’s an obstinate devil,” she said, “once he has made up his mind.”
“What man is not?” asked Elizabeth. “But sometimes—nay, often—it is possible to use a little gentle persuasion.”
“You think Shrewsbury would listen to me?”
“If he would not listen to you he would listen to no one.”
That pleased the woman; she tossed her head. No doubt she was proud of her conquest, for Shrewsbury was reckoned to be a fascinating man. He had a damaged eye which some people found repulsive; yet that seemed but to add to his attractions where others were concerned. Elizabeth herself knew the value of some slight imperfection and how it could be turned to an asset.
She must get Shrewsbury to take office. William would be so delighted if she did; and she was eager to bind him closer and closer to herself.
“A Dukedom. That is worth having,” went on Elizabeth. Surely, she implied, you would rather be the mistress of a Duke than an Earl? As the mistress of a King, Elizabeth could show that the rank of one’s lover was of the utmost importance.
“He doesn’t seem to care for titles.”
“He is well equipped in that direction,” added Elizabeth. “But I have yet to know the man who was not ready to take a little more. I’ll warrant you will make him do as you wish.”
Mrs. Lundy was not at all sure that it was her wish; but Elizabeth was subtly convincing her that it was.
