After I had been musing a little while, Mistress Bess ran into the
room, and cried to some one behind her:
"Nan's friend is here, and she is mine too, for we all played in a
garden with her when I was little. Prithee, come and see her." Then
turning to me, but yet holding the handle of the door, she said: "Will
is so unmannerly, I be ashamed of him. He will not so much as show
himself."
"Then, prithee, come alone," I answered. Upon which she came and sat
on my knee, with her arm round my neck, and whispered in mine ear:
"Moll is very sick to-day; will you not see her, Mistress Sherwood?"
"Yea, if so be I have license," I answered; and she, taking me by the
hand, offered to lead me up the stairs to the room where she lay. I,
following her, came to the door of the chamber, but would not enter
till Bess fetched the nurse, who was the same had been at Sherwood
Hall, and who, knowing my name, was glad to see me, and with a curtsey
invited me in. White as a lily was the little face resting on a
pillow, with its blue eyes half shut, and a store of golden hair about
it, which minded me of the glories round angels' heads in my mother's
missal.
"Sweet lamb!" quoth the nurse, as I stooped to kiss the pale forehead.
"She be too good for this world. Ofttimes she doth babble in her sleep
of heaven, and angels, and saints, and a wreath of white roses
wherewith a bright lady will crown her."
"Kiss my lips," the sick child softly whispered, as I bent over her
bed. Which when I did, she asked, "What is your name? I mind your
face." When I answered, "Constance Sherwood," she smiled, as if
remembering where we had met. "I heard my grandam calling me last
night," she said; "I be going to her soon." Then a fit of pain came
on, and I had to leave her. She did go from this world a few days
after; and the nurse then told me her last words had been "Jesu!
Mary!"
That day I did converse again alone with my Lady Surrey after dinner,
and walked in the garden; and when we came in, before I left, she gave
me a purse with some gold pieces in it, which the earl her husband
willed to bestow on Catholics in prison for their faith. For she said
he had so tender and compassionate a spirit, that if he did but hear
of one in distress he would never rest until he had relieved him; and
out of the affection he had for Mr. Martin, who was one while his
tutor, he was favorably inclined toward Catholics, albeit himself
resolved to conform to the queen's religion. When Mistress Ward came
for me, the countess would have her shown into her chamber, and would
not be contented without she ordered her coach to carry us back to
Holborn, that we might take with us the clothes and cordials which she
did bestow upon us for our poor clients. She begged Mrs. Ward's
prayers for his grace, that he might soon be set at liberty; for she
said in a pretty manner, "It must needs be that Almighty God takes
most heed of the prayers of such as visit him in his affliction
in the person of poor prisoners; and she hoped one day to be free to
do so herself." Then she questioned of the wants of those Mistress
Ward had at that time knowledge of; and when she heard in what sore
plight they stood, it did move her to so great compassion, that she
declared it would be now one of her chiefest cares and pleasures in
life to provide conveniences for them. And she besought Mistress Ward
to be a good friend to her with mine aunt, and procure her to permit
of my frequent visits to Howard House, as the Charter House is now
often called: which would be the greatest good she could do her; and
that she would be most glad also if she herself would likewise favor
her sometimes with her company; which, "if it be not for mine own
sake, Mistress Ward," she sweetly said, "let it be for his sake who,
in the person of his afflicted priests, doth need assistance."
When we reached home, we hid what we had brought under our mantles,
and then in Mistress Ward's chamber, where Muriel followed us. When
the door was shut we displayed these jewelled stores before her
pleased eyes, which did beam with joy at the sight.
"Ah, Muriel," cried Mistress Ward, "we have found an Esther in a
palace; and I pray to God there may be other such in this town we ken
not of, who in secret do yet bear affection to the ancient faith."
Muriel said in her slow way: "We must needs go to the Clink to-morrow;
for there is there a priest whose flesh has fallen off his feet by
reason of his long stay in a pestered and infected dungeon. Mr. Roper
told my father of him, and he says the gaoler will let us in if he be
reasonably dealt with."
"We will essay your ointment, Mistress Sherwood," said Mistress Ward,
"if so be you can make it in time."
"I care not if I sit up all night," I cried, "if any one will buy me
the herbs I have need of for the compounding thereof." Which Muriel
said she would prevail on one of the servants to do.
The bell did then ring for supper; and when we were all seated, Kate
was urgent with me for to tell her how my Lady Surrey was dressed;
which I declared to her as follows: "She had on a brown juste au corps
embroidered, with puffed sleeves, and petticoat braided of a deeper
nuance; and on her head a lace cap, and a lace handkerchief on her
bosom."
"And, prithee, what jewels had she on, sweet coz?"
"A long double chain of gold and a brooch of pearls," I answered.
"And his grace of Norfolk is once more removed to the Tower," said Mr.
Congleton sorrowfully. "'Tis like to kill him soon, and so save her
majesty's ministers the pains to bring him to the block. His
physician, Dr. Rhuenbeck, says he is afflicted with the dropsy."
Polly said she had been to visit the Countess of Northumberland, who
was so grievously afflicted at her husband's death, that it was feared
she would fall sick of grief if she had not company to divert her from
her sad thoughts.
"Which I warrant none could effect so well as thee, wench," her father
said; "for, beshrew me, if thou wouldst not make a man laugh on his
way to the scaffold with thy mad talk. And was the poor lady of better
cheer for thy company?"
"Yea, for mine," Polly answered; "or else for M. de la Motte's, who
came in to pay his devoirs to her, for the first time, I take it,
since her lord's death. And after his first speech, which caused her
to weep a little, he did carry on so brisk a discourse as I never
noticed any but a Frenchman able to do. And she was not the worst
pleased with it that the cunning gentleman did interweave it with
anecdotes of the queen's majesty; which, albeit he related them with
gravity, did carry somewhat of ridicule in them. Such as of her
grace's dancing on Sunday before last at Lord Northampton's wedding,
and calling him to witness her paces, so that he might let
monsieur know how high and disposedly she danced; so that he would not
have had cause to complain, in case he had married her, that she was a
boiteuse, as had been maliciously reported of her by the friends of
the Queen of Scots. And also how, some days since, she had flamed out
in great choler when he went to visit her at Hampton Court; and told
him, so loud that all her ladies and officers could hear her
discourse, that Lord North had let her know the queen-mother and the
Duke of Guise had dressed up a buffoon in an English fashion, and
called him a Milor du Nord; and that two female dwarfs had been
likewise dressed up in that queen's chamber, and invited to mimic her,
the queen of England, with great derision and mockery. 'I did assure
her,' M. de la Motte said, 'with my hand on my heart, and such an
aggrieved visage, that she must needs have accepted my words as true,
that Milor North had mistaken the whole intent of what he had
witnessed, from his great ignorance of the French tongue, which did
render him a bad interpreter between princes; for that the
queen-mother did never cease to praise her English majesty's beauty to
her son, and all her good qualities, which greatly appeased her grace,
who desired to be excused if she, likewise out of ignorance of the
French language, had said aught unbecoming touching the queen-mother.'
'Tis a rare dish of fun, fit to set before a king, to hear this
Monsieur Ambassador speak of the queen when none are present but such
as make an idol of her, as some do."
"For my part," said her father, when she paused in her speech, "I
mislike men with double visages and double tongues; and methinks this
monseer hath both, and withal a rare art for what courtiers do call
diplomacy, and plain men lying. His speeches to her majesty be so
fulsome in her praise, as I have heard some say who are at court, and
his flattery so palpable, that they have been ashamed to hear it; but
behind her back he doth disclose her failings with an admirable
slyness."
"If he be sly," answered Polly, "I'll warrant he finds his match in
her majesty."
"Yea," cried Kate, "even as poor Madge Arundell experienced to her
cost."
"Ay," quoth Polly, "she catcheth many poor fish, who little know what
snare is laid for them."
"And how did her highness catch Mistress Arundell?" I asked.
"In this way, coz," quoth Polly: "she doth often ask the ladies round
her chamber, 'If they love to think of marriage?' and the wise ones do
conceal well their liking thereunto, knowing the queen's judgment in
the matter. But pretty, simple Madge Arundell, not knowing so deeply
as her fellows, was asked one day hereof, and said, 'She had thought
much about marriage, if her father did consent to the man she loved.'
'You seem honest, i' fait said the queen; 'I will sue for you your
father.' At which the dam was well pleased; and when father, Sir
Robert Arundell, came court, the queen questioned him his daughter's
marriage, and pressed him to give consent if the match were discreet.
Sir Robert, much astonished, said, 'He never had heard his daughter
had liking to any man; but he would give his free consent to what was
most pleasing to her highness's will and consent.' Then I will do the
rest,' saith the queen. Poor Madge was called in, and told by the
queen that her father had given his free consent. 'Then,' replied the
simple one, 'I shall be happy, an' it please your grace.' 'So thou
shalt; but not to be a fool and marry,' said the queen. 'I have his
consent given to me, and I vow thou shalt never get it in thy
possession. So go-to about thy business. I see thou art a bold one to
own thy foolishness so readily.'"
"Ah me!" cried Kate, "I be glad not to be a maid to her majesty; for I
would not know how to answer her grace if she should ask me a
like question; for if it be bold to say one hath a reasonable desire
to be married, I must needs be bold then, for I would not for two
thousand pounds break Mr. Lacy's heart; and he saith he will die if I
do not marry him. But, Polly, thou wouldst never be at a loss to
answer her majesty."
"No more than Pace her fool," quoth Polly, "who, when she said, as he
entered the room, 'Now we shall hear of our faults,' cried out, 'Where
is the use of speaking of what all the town doth talk of?'"
"The fool should have been whipped," Mistress Ward said.
"For his wisdom, or for his folly, good Mistress Ward?" asked Polly.
"If for wisdom, 'tis hard to beat a man for being wise. If for folly,
to whip a fool for that he doth follow his calling, and as I be the
licensed fool in this house--which I do take to be the highest
exercise of wit in these days, when all is turned upside down--I do
wish you all good-night, and to be no wiser than is good for your
healths, and no more foolish than suffices to lighten the heart;" and
so laughing she ran away, and Kate said in a lamentable voice,
"I would I were foolish, if it lightens the heart."
"Content thee, good Kate," I said; but in so low a voice none did
hear. And she went on,
"Mr. Lacy is gone to Yorkshire for three weeks, which doth make me
more sad than can be thought of."
I smiled; but Muriel, who had not yet oped her lips whilst the others
were talking, rising, kissed her sister, and said, "Thou wilt have,
sweet one, so great a contentment in his letters as will give thee
patience to bear the loss of his good company."
At the which Kate brightened a little. To live with Muriel was a
preachment, as I have often had occasion since to find.
On the first Sunday I was at London, we heard mass at the Portuguese
ambassador's house, whither many Catholics of his acquaintance
resorted for that purpose from our side of the city. In the afternoon
a gentleman, who had travelled day and night from Staffordshire on
some urgent business, brought me a letter from my father, writ only
four days before it came to hand, and about a week after my departure
from home. It was as follows:
"MINE OWN DEAR CHILD,--The bearer of this letter hath promised to do
me the good service to deliver it to thee as soon as he shall reach
London; which, as he did intend to travel day and night, I compute
will be no later than the end of this week, or on Sunday at the
furthest. And for this his civility I do stand greatly indebted to
him; for in these straitened times 'tis no easy matter to get
letters conveyed from one part of the kingdom to another without
danger of discovering that which for the present should rather be
concealed. I received notice two days ago from Mistress Ward's
sister of your good journey and arrival at London; and I thank God,
my very good child, that he has had thee in his holy keeping and
bestowed thee under the roof of my good sister and brother; so that,
with a mind at ease in respect to thee, my dear sole earthly
treasure, I may be free to follow whatever course his providence may
appoint to me, who, albeit unworthy, do aspire to leave all things
to follow him. And indeed he hath already, at the outset of my
wanderings, sweetly disposed events in such wise that chance hath
proved, as it were, the servant of his providence; and, when I did
least look for it, by a divine ordination furnished me, who so short
a time back parted from a dear child, with the company of one who
doth stand to me in lieu of her who, by reason of her tender sex and
age, I am compelled to send from me. For being necessitated, for the
preservation of my life, to make seldom any long stay in one place,
I had need of a youth to ride with me on those frequent journeys,
and keep me company in such places as I may withdraw unto for
quietness and study. So being in Stafford some few days back, I
inquired of the master of the inn where I did lay for one night, if
it were not possible to get in that city a youth to serve me as a
page, whom I said I would maintain as a gentleman if he had
learning, nurture, and behavior becoming such a person. He said his
son, who was a schoolmaster, had a youth for a pupil who carried
virtue in his very countenance; but that he was the child of a
widow, who, he much feared, would not easily be persuaded to part
from him. Thereupon I expressed a great desire to have a sight of
this youth and charged him to deal with his master so that he should
be sent to my lodgings; which, when he came there, lo and behold, I
perceived with no small amazement that he was no other than Edmund
Genings, who straightway ran into my arms, and with much ado
restrained himself from weeping, so greatly was he moved with
conflicting passions of present joy and recollected sorrow at this
our unlooked-for meeting; and truly mine own contentment therein was
in no wise less than his. He told me that his mother's poverty
increasing, she had moved from Lichfield, where it was more bitter
to her, by reason of the affluence in which she had before lived in
that city, to Stafford, where none did know them; and she dwelt in a
mean lodging in a poor sort of manner. And whereas he had desired to
accept the offer of a stranger, with a view to relieve his mother
from the burden of his support, and maybe yield her some assistance
in her straits, he now passionately coveted to throw his fortune
with mine, and to be entered as a page in my service. But though she
had been willing before, from necessity, albeit averse by
inclination, to part with him, when she knew me it seemed awhile
impossible to gain her consent. Methinks she was privy to Edmund's
secret good opinion of Catholic religion, and feared, if he should
live with me, the effect thereof would follow. But her necessities
were so sharp, and likewise her regrets that he should lack
opportunities for his further advance in learning, which she herself
was unable to supply, that at length by long entreaty he prevailed
on her to give him license for that which his heart did prompt him
to desire for his own sake and hers. And when she had given this
consent, but not before, lest it should appear I did seek to bribe
her by such offers to so much condescension as she then evinced, I
proposed to assist her in any way she wished to the bettering of her
fortunes, and said I would do as much whether she suffered her son
to abide with me or no: which did greatly work with her to conceive
a more favorable opinion of me than she had heretofore held, and to
be contented he should remain in my service, as he himself so
greatly desired. After some further discourse, it was resolved that
I should furnish her with so much money as would pay her debts and
carry her to La Rochelle, where her youngest son was with her
brother, who albeit he had met with great losses, would
nevertheless, she felt assured, assist her in her need. Thus has
Edmund become to me less a page than a pupil, less a servant than a
son. I will keep a watchful eye over his actions, whom I already
perceive to be tractable, capable, willing to learn, and altogether
such as his early years did promise he should be. I thank God, who
has given me so great a comfort in the midst of so great trials, and
to this youth in me a father rather than a master, who will ever
deal with him in an honorable and loving manner, both in respect to
his own deserts and to her merits, whose prayers have, I doubt not,
procured this admirable result of what was in no wise designed, but
by God's providence fell out of the asking a simple question in an
inn and of a stranger.
"And now, mine only and very dear child, I commend thee to
God's holy keeping; and I beseech thee to be as mindful of
thy duty to him as thou hast been
(and most especially of late) of thine to me; and imprint
in thy heart those words of holy writ, 'Not to fear those
that kill the body, but cannot destroy the soul;' but
withal, in whatever is just and reasonable, and not
clearly against Catholic religion, to observe a most exact
obedience to such as stand to thee at present in place of
thy unworthy father, and who, moreover, are of such virtue
and piety as I doubt not would move them rather to give
thee an example how to suffer the loss of all things for
Christ his sake than to offend him by a contrary
disposition. I do write to my good brother by the same
convenience to yield him and my sister humble thanks for
their great kindness to me in thee, and send this written
in haste; for I fear I shall not often have means
hereafter. Therefore I desire Almighty God to protect,
bless, and establish thee. So in haste, and _in
visceribus Christi_, adieu."
The lively joy I received from this letter was greater than I can
rehearse, for I had now no longer before my eyes the sorrowful vision
of my dear father with none to tend and comfort him in his wanderings;
and no less was my contentment that Edmund, my dearly-loved playmate,
was now within reach of his good instructions, and free to follow that
which I was persuaded his conscience had been prompting him to seek
since he had attained the age of reason.
I note not down in this history the many visits I paid to the Charter
House that autumn, except to notice the growing care Lady Surrey did
take to supply the needs of prisoners and poor people, and how this
brought her into frequent occasions of discourse with Mistress Ward
and Muriel, who nevertheless, as I also had care to observe, kept
these interviews secret, which might have caused suspicion in those
who, albeit Catholic, were ill-disposed to adventure the loss of
worldly advantages by the profession of what Protestants do term
perverse and open papistry. Kate and Polly were of this way of
thinking--prudence was ever the word with them when talk of religion
was ministered in their presence; and they would not keep as much as a
prayer-book in their chambers for fear of evil results. They were
sometimes very urgent with their father for to suffer them to attend
Protestant service, which they said would not hinder them from hearing
mass at convenient times, and saying such prayers as they listed; and
Polly the more so that a young gentleman of good birth and high
breeding, who conformed to the times, had become a suitor for her
hand, and was very strenuous with her on the necessity of such
compliance, which nevertheless her father would not allow of. Much
company came to the house, both Protestant and Catholic; for my aunt,
who was sick at other times, did greatly mend toward the evening. When
I was first in London for some weeks, she kept me with her at such
times in the parlor, and encouraged me to discourse with the visitors;
for she said I had a forwardness and vivacity of speech which, if
practised in conversation, would in time obtain for me as great a
reputation of wit as Polly ever enjoyed. I was nothing loth to study
in this new school, and not slow to improve in it. At the same time I
gave myself greatly to the reading of such books as I found in my
cousins' chambers; amongst which were some M. de la Motte had lent to
Polly, marvellous witty and entertaining, such as _Les Nouvelles de la
Reine de Navarre_ and the _Cents Histoires tragiques;_ and others done
in English out of French by Mr. Thomas Fortescue; and a poem, writ by
one Mr. Edmund Spenser, very beautiful, and which did so much bewitch
me, that I was wont to rise in the night to read it by the light of
the moon at my casement window; and the _Morte d' Arthur_, which Mr.
Hubert Rookwood had willed me to read, whom I met at Bedford, and
which so filled my head with fantastic images and imagined scenes,
that I did, as it were, fall in love with Sir Launcelot, and
would blush if his name were but mentioned, and wax as angry if his
fame were questioned as if he had been a living man, and I in a
foolish manner fond of him.
This continued for some little time, and methinks, had it proceeded
further, I should have received much damage from a mode of life with
so little of discipline in it, and so great incitements to faults and
follies which my nature was prone to, but which my conscience secretly
reproved. And among the many reasons I have to be thankful to Mistress
"Ward, that never-to-be-forgotten friend, whose care restrained me in
these dangerous courses, partly by compulsion through means of her
influence with my aunt and her husband, and partly by such admonitions
and counsel as she favored me with, I reckon amongst the greatest
that, at an age when the will is weak, albeit the impulses be good,
she lent a helping hand to the superior part of my soul to surmount
the evil tendencies which bad example on the one hand, and weak
indulgence on the other, fostered in me, whose virtuous inclinations
had been, up to that time, hedged in by the strong safeguards of
parental watchfulness. She procured that I should not tarry, save for
brief and scanty spaces of time, in my aunt's parlor when she had
visitors, and so contrived that it should be when she herself was
present, who, by wholesome checks and studied separation from the rest
of the company, reduced my forwardness with just restraints such as
became my age. And when she discovered what books I read, oh, with
what fervent and strenuous speech she drove into my soul the edge of a
salutary remorse; with what tearful eyes and pleading voice she
brought before me the memory of my mother's care and my father's love,
which had ever kept me from drinking such empoisoned draughts from the
well-springs of corruption which in our days books of entertainment
too often prove, and if not altogether bad, yet be such as vitiate the
palate and destroy the appetite for higher and purer kinds of mental
sustenance. Sharp was her correction, but withal so seasoned with
tenderness, and a grief the keenness of which I could discern was
heightened by the thought that my two elder cousins (one time her
pupils) should be so drawn aside by the world and its pleasures as to
forget their pious habits, and minister to others the means of such
injury as their own souls had sustained, that every word she uttered
seemed to sink into my heart as if writ with a pen of fire; and mostly
when she thus concluded her discourse:
"There hath been times, Constance, when men, yea and women also, might
play the fool for a while, without so great danger as now, and dally
with idle folly like children who do sport on a smooth lawn nigh to a
running stream, under their parents' eyes, who, if their feet do but
slip, are prompt to retrieve them. But such days are gone by for the
Catholics of this land. I would have thee to bear in mind that 'tis no
common virtue--no convenient religion--faces the rack, the dungeon, and
the rope; that wanton tales and light verses are no _viaticum_ for a
journey beset with such perils. And thou--thou least of all--whose
gentle mother, as thou well knowest, died of a broken heart from the
fear to betray her faith--thou, whose father doth even now gird
himself for a fight, where to win is to die on a scaffold--shouldst
scorn to omit such preparation as may befit thee to live, if it so
please God, or to die, if such be his will, a true member of his holy
Catholic Church. O Constance, it doth grieve me to the heart that thou
shouldst so much as once have risen from thy bed at night to feed thy
mind with the vain words of profane writers, in place of nurturing thy
soul by such reasonable exercises and means as God, through the
teaching of his Church, doth provide for the spiritual growth of his
children, and by prayer and penance make ready for coming conflicts.
Bethink thee of the many holy priests, yea and laymen also, who be in
uneasy dungeons at this time, lying on filthy straw, with chains
on their bruised limbs, but lately racked and tormented for their
religion, whilst thou didst offend God by such wanton conduct. Count
up the times thou hast thus offended; and so many times rise in the
night, my good child, and say the psalm 'Miserere,' through which we
do especially entreat forgiveness for our sins."
I cast myself in her arms, and with many bitter tears lamented my
folly; and did promise her then, and, I thank God, ever after did keep
that promise, whilst I abode under the same roof with her, to read no
books but such as she should warrant me to peruse. Some days after she
procured Mr. Congleton's consent, who also went with us, to carry me
to the Marshalsea, whither she had free access at that time by reason
of her acquaintanceship with the gaoler's wife, who, when a maid, had
been a servant in her family, and who, having been once Catholic, did
willingly assist such prisoners as came there for their religion.
There we saw Mr. Hart, who hath been this long while confined in a
dark cell, with nothing but boards to lie on till Mistress Ward gave
him a counterpane, which she concealed under her shawl, and the gaoler
was prevailed on by his wife not to take from him. He was cruelly
tortured some time since, and condemned to die on the same day as Mr.
Luke Kirby and some others on a like charge, that he did deny the
queen's supremacy in spiritual matters; but he was taken off the
sledge and returned to prison. He did take it very quietly and
patiently; and when Mr. Congleton expressed a hope he might soon be
released from prison, he smiled and said:
"My good friend, my crosses are light and easy; and the being deprived
of all earthly comfort affords a heavenly joy, which maketh my prison
happy, my confinement merciful, my solitude full of blessings. To God,
therefore, be all praise, honor, and glory, for so unspeakable a
benefit bestowed upon his poor, wretched, and unworthy servant."
So did he comfort those who were more grieved for him than he for
himself; and each in turn we did confess; and after I had disburdened
my conscience in such wise that he perceived the temper of my mind,
and where to apply remedies to the dangers the nature of which his
clearsightedness did foresee, he thus addressed me:
"The world, my dear daughter, soon begins to seem insipid, and all its
pleasures grow bitter as gall; all the fine shows and delights it
affords appear empty and good for nothing to such as have tasted the
happiness of conversing with Christ, though it be amidst torments and
tribulations, yea and in the near approach of death itself. This joy
so penetrates the soul, so elevates the spirit, so changes the
affections, that a prison seems not a prison but a paradise, death a
goal long time desired, and the torments which do accompany it jewels
of great price. Take with thee these words, which be the greatest
treasure and the rarest lesson for these times: 'He that loveth his
life in this world shall lose it, and he that hateth it shall find
it;' and remember the devil is always upon the watch. Be you also
watchful. Pray you for me. I have a great confidence that we shall see
one another in heaven, if you keep inviolable the word you have given
to God to be true to his Catholic Church and obedient to its precepts,
and he gives me the grace to attain unto that same blessed end."
These words, like the sower's seed, fell into a field where thorns
oftentimes threatened to choke their effect; but persecution, when it
arose, consumed the thorns as with fire, and the plant, which would
have withered in stony ground, bore fruit in a prepared soil.
As we left the prison, it did happen that, passing by the gaoler's
lodge, I saw him sitting at a table drinking ale with one whose back
was to the door. A suspicion came over me, the most unlikely in the
world, for it was against all credibility, and I had not seen so much
as that person's face; but in the shape of his head and the manner of
his sitting, but for a moment observed, there was a resemblance
to Edmund Genings, the thought of which I could not shake off. When we
were walking home, Mr. Congleton said Mr. Hart had told him that a
short time back a gentleman had been seized, and committed to close
confinement, whom he believed, though he had not attained to the
certainty thereof, to be Mr. Willisden; and if it were so, that much
trouble might ensue to many recusants, by reason of that gentleman
having dealt in matters of great importance to such persons touching
lands and other affairs whereby their fortunes and maybe their lives
might be compromised. On hearing of this, I straightway conceived a
sudden fear lest it should be my father and not Mr. Willisden was
confined in that prison; and the impression I had received touching
the youth who was at table with the gaoler grew so strong in
consequence, that all sorts of fears founded thereon ran through my
mind, for I had often heard how persons did deceive recusants by
feigning themselves to be their friends, and then did denounce them to
the council, and procured their arrest and oftentimes their
condemnation by distorting and false swearing touching the speech they
held with them. One Eliot in particular, who was a man of great
modesty and ingenuity of countenance, so as to defy suspicion (but a
very wicked man in more ways than one, as has been since proved), who
pretended to be Catholic, and when he did suspect any to be a Jesuit,
or a seminary priest, or only a recusant, he would straightway enter
into discourse with him, and in an artful manner cause him to betray
himself; whereupon he was not slow to throw off the mask, whereby
several had been already brought to the rope. And albeit I would not
credit that Edmund should be such a one, the evil of the times was so
great that my heart did misgive me concerning him, if indeed he was
the youth whom I had espied on such familiar terms with that ruffianly
gaoler. I had no rest for some days, lacking the means to discover the
truth of that suspicion; for Mrs. Ward, to whom I did impart it, dared
not adventure again that week to the Marshalsea, by reason of the
gaoler's wife having charged her not to come frequently, for that her
husband had suddenly suspected her to be a recusant, and would by no
means allow of her visits to the prisoners; but that when he was drunk
she could sometimes herself get his keys and let her in, but not too
often. Mr. Congleton would have it the prisoner must be Mr. Willisden
and no other, and took no heed of my fears, which he said had no
reasonable grounds, as I had not so much as seen the features of the
youth I took to be my father's page. But I could by no means be
satisfied, and wept very much; and I mind me how, in the midst of my
tears that evening, my eyes fell on the frontispiece of a volume of
the _Morte d' Arthur_ which had been loosened when the book was in my
chamber, and in which was picture of Sir Launcelot, the present mirror
of my fancy. I had pinned it to my curtain, and jewelled it as a
treasure and fund of foolish musings, even after yielding up, with
promise to read no more therein, the book which had once held it. And
thus were kept alive the fantastic imaginings wherewith I clothed a
creature conceived in a writer's brain, whose nobility was the
offspring of his thoughts and the continual entertainment of mine own.
But, oh, how just did I now find the words of a virtuous friend, and
how childish my folly, when the true sharp edge of present fear
dispersed these vapory clouds, even as the keen blast of a north wind
doth drive away a noxious mist! The sight of the dismal dungeon that
day visited, the pallid features of that true confessor therein
immured, his soul-piercing words, and the apprehensions which were
wringing my heart--banished of a sudden an idle dream engendered by
vain readings and vainer musings, and Sir Launcelot held henceforward
no higher, or not so high, a place in my esteem as the good Sir
Guy of Warwick, or the brave Hector de Valence.
A day or two after, my Lady Surrey sent her coach for me; and I found
her in her dressing-room seated on a couch with her waiting-women and
Mistress Milicent around her, who were displaying a great store of
rich suits and jewels and such-like gear drawn from wardrobes and
closets, the doors of which were thrown open, and little Mistress Bess
was on tiptoe on a stool afore a mirror with a diamond necklace on,
ribbons flaring about her head, and a fan of ostrich-feathers in her
hand.
"Ah, sweet one," said my lady, when I came in, "thou must needs be
surprised at this show of bravery, which ill consorts with the
mourning of our present garb or the grief of our hearts; but, i'
faith, Constance, strange things do come to pass, and such as I would
fain hinder if I could."
"Make ready thine ears for great news, good Constance," cried Bess,
running toward me encumbered with her finery, and tumbling over sundry
pieces of head-gear in her way, to the waiting-woman's no small
discomfiture. "The queen's majesty doth visit upon next Sunday the
Earl and Countess of Surrey; and as her highness cannot endure the
sight of dool, they and their household must needs put it off and
array themselves in their costliest suits; and Nan is to put on her
choicest jewels, and my Lady Bess must be grand too, to salute the
queen."
"Hush, Bessy," said my lady; and leading me into the adjoining
chamber, "'tis hard," quoth she, holding my hand in hers,--"'tis hard
when his grace is in the Tower and in disgrace with her majesty, and
only six weeks since our Moll died, that she must needs visit this
house, where there be none to entertain her highness but his grace's
poor children; 'tis hard, Constance, to be constrained to kiss the
hand which threatens his life who gave my lord his, and mostly to
smile at the queen's jesting, which my Lord Arundel saith we must of
all things take heed to observe, for that she as little can endure
dool in the face as in the dress."
A few tears fell from those sweet eyes upon my hand, which she still
held, and I said, "Comfort you, my sweet lady. It must needs be that
her majesty doth intend favor to his grace through this visit. Her
highness would never be minded to do so much honor to the children if
she did not purpose mercy to the father."
"I would fain believe it were so," said the countess, thoughtfully;
"but my Lord Arundel and my Lady Lumley hold not, I fear, the same
opinion. And I do hear from them that his grace is much troubled
thereat, and hath written to the Earl of Leicester and my Lord
Burleigh to lament the queen's determination to visit his son, who is
not of age to receive her." [Footnote 1]
[Footnote 1: Calendar of State Papers, Domestic Series, 1547 to
1580: "Duke of Norfolk to the Earl of Leicester and Lord Burleigh;
laments the queen's determination to visit his son's house, who is
not of age to receive her."]
"And doth my Lord of Surrey take the matter to heart?"
"My lord's disposition doth incline him to conceive hope where others
see reason to fear," she replied. "He saith he is glad her majesty
should come to this house, and that he will take occasion to petition
her grace to release his father from the Tower; and he hath drawn up
an address to that effect, which is marvellous well expressed; and,
since 'tis written, he makes no more doubt that her majesty will
accede to it than if the upshot was not yet to come, but already past.
And he hath set himself with a skill beyond his years, and altogether
wonderful in one so young, to prepare all things for the queen's
reception; so that when his grandfather did depute my Lord Berkeley
and my Lady Lumley to assist us (he himself being too sick to go out
of his house) in the ordering of the collation in the banqueting-room,
and the music wherewith to greet her highness on her arrival, as well
as the ceremonial to be observed during her visit, they did find that
my lord had so disposedly and with so great taste ordained the
rules to be observed, and the proper setting forth of all things, that
little remained for them to do. And he will have me to be richly
dressed, and to put on the jewels which were his mother's, which,
since her death, have not been worn by the two Duchesses of Norfolk
which did succeed her. Ah me, Mistress Constance, I often wish my lord
and I had been born far from the court, in some quiet country place,
where there are no queens to entertain, and no plots which do bring
nobles into so great dangers."
"Alack," I cried, "dear lady, 'tis not the highest in the land that be
alone to suffer. Their troubles do stand forth in men's eyes; and when
a noble head is imperilled all the world doth know of it; but blood is
spilt in this land, and torments endured, which no pen doth chronicle,
and of which scant mention is made in palaces."
"There is a passion in thy speech," my lady said, "which betrayeth a
secret uneasiness of heart. Hast thou had ill news, my Constance?"
"No news," I answered, "but that which my fears do invent and
whisper;" and then I related to her the cause of my disturbance, which
she sought to allay by kind words, which nevertheless failed to
comfort me.
Before I left she did propose I should come to the Charter House on
the morning of the queen's visit, and bring Mistress Ward and my
cousins also, as it would pleasure them to stand in the gallery and
witness the entertainment, and albeit my heart was heavy, methought it
was an occasion not to be overpast to feast my eyes with the sight of
majesty, and to behold that great queen who doth hold in her hands her
subjects' lives, and who, if she do but nod, like the god of the
heathen which books do speak of, such terrible effects ensue, greater
than can be thought of; and so I gave my lady mine humble thanks, and
also for that she did gift me with a dainty hat and a well-embroidered
suit to wear on that day; which, when Kate saw, she fell into a
wonderful admiration of the pattern, and did set about to get it
copied afore the day of the royal visit to Howard House. As I returned
to Holborn in my lady's coach there was a great crowd in the Cornhill,
and the passage for a while arrested by the number of persons on their
way to what is now called the Royal Exchange, which her majesty was to
visit in the evening. I sat very quietly with mine eyes fixed on the
foot-passengers, not so much looking at their faces as watching their
passage, which, like the running of a river, did seem endless. But at
last it somewhat slackened, and the coach moved on, when, at the
corner of a street, nigh unto a lamp over a shop, which did throw a
light on his face, I beheld Edmund Genings. Oh, how my heart did beat,
and with what a loud cry I did call to the running footmen to stop!
But the noise of the street was so great they did not hear me, and I
saw him turn and pursue his way down another street toward the river.
My good uncle, when he heard I had verily seen my father's new page in
the city, gave more heed to my suspicions, and did promise to go
himself unto the Marshalsea on the next day, and seek to verify the
name of the prisoner Mr. Hart had made mention of.