A SNARE
MISTRESS BETTY left the Tower with a heavy heart; she could not believe
in the success of the wizard’s plans, and she had failed to see Lord
Raby. He was that day carried before the Council to be examined, by
order of the king, who had not forgotten Betty’s petition. Thus, while
she was thankful that the long suspense was over, she was disappointed
in the hope of seeing her lover, after the months of separation. She
could but wait and hope, in the mean time making every effort to
establish his innocence. Her courage and determination so moved old
Madam to admiration that she lacked no aid from that quarter, and
fortunately, for their success, they found Sir William Carew in London.
He had come up from Devon two days before and was in lodgings on the
Strand, engaged in transacting business with the Council. He was little
inclined, at first, to listen to their talk of Lord Raby, having still
his grievance in regard to his packet, but at the mention of Simon’s
servant, he remembered his wager that the man was a rogue, and was more
willing to undertake any matter that would prove the infallibility of
his own judgment. He was not free of a superstitious awe of the wizard,
and showed himself to be quite ready to follow his instructions, even
without his niece’s entreaties.
“Let be, let be,” he said, in answer to Betty’s suggestions; “I will
take this matter in hand. I have two stout knaves with me, and they
should be enough to catch the varlet. It shall be done secretly too,
that those who employ him may not take warning and so escape us. Go to
your quarters with my Lady Crabtree, and I will see that this business
is executed in good time.”
Betty was reluctant to leave the scene of action; she was eager for the
first gleam of hope that might dawn with Shaxter’s revelations, if he
made them.
“Uncle, you will tell me what he says?” she asked. “I cannot endure
this suspense so long.”
“I will send for you,” Sir William answered. “Your presence here now
is more hindrance than help; but trust me, wench, I will tell you
all there is to know, if indeed this rogue can reveal anything of
importance.”
Old Madam had been below stairs talking with an acquaintance at the
door, and she came up now with a face of importance.
“There are bad tidings from Hampton Court,” she said; “the queen hath
taken cold; was ill last night, and to-day is reported dying. Saint
Thomas! what luck the king hath with his wives!”
“Now may Heaven save the prince!” exclaimed Sir William, baring his
head reverently; “the hope of the realm is centered in that child. We
have scarce had time to express our thanksgiving for his birth, and
cruel indeed would be the blow that took him from us.”
“Ay,” retorted Lady Crabtree; “the papists would have then the merry
stirring that they have looked for these long years, and James of
Scotland might use the nightcap that the pope sent him for Christmas.
Happily, the queen’s death need not now mean the loss of the prince;
but they do say that it is a sickly child, and like to be, with such a
father.”
“I remember the days when the king’s grace was the very type of English
manhood,” Carew remarked thoughtfully, “and as gallant a knight as
ever wore harness; of goodly stature and amiable countenance, wise in
council, learned in philosophy, and as gracious a prince as any man
might desire.”
“A wise man now, save with women,” replied old Madam dryly; “but
carrying too great a load of flesh and with the disease settled in his
legs, no longer like to be a great soldier, or to live long. Well,
well, this is his third queen, and she will not be cool before the
Council will prefer suit to his grace to take another.”
“It may be that another woman will not long for such an unlucky place,”
remarked Betty, quietly; “there seems to be death in it.”
“Cromwell can send abroad then,” said Lady Crabtree; “he will even
get Master Friskyball to help him find an Italian princess; but look
you, my girl, the applicants here will be as thick as cherries. Do you
know your sex so little as to think that they will lose the chance of
a crown? If a man looks like a wild boar, he will yet find a woman to
marry him; some fool who will imagine that his heart is not indicated
by his snout. I tell you women are all fools once; more’s the pity!”
She was putting on her cloak as she spoke, and having muffled it about
her, she gave some parting instructions to Sir William; and then taking
Betty, went down the stairs to the door where her attendants waited her.
“You will go to my lodgings,” she said to her young companion; “but
I have other business, and it may be late this night before I come.
Content yourself, however, with the recollection that I will keep Sir
William spurred up to the pitch.”
Reluctantly enough Mistress Betty resigned herself to the wishes of
her elders, and was escorted to Lady Crabtree’s lodgings by one of her
attendants. It was dusk when she passed through the gates, the porter
closing them behind her. She crossed the little court, and entering the
house, dismissed her follower and went alone up the stairs to the rooms
where they were lodging. One of old Madam’s women was there and had
made the place cheerful. A fire burned on the hearth, the tapers were
lighted, and a supper was laid for two upon the table in the center.
It was a fast day, and there were some salted eels, a gurnet and a
chet loaf set out, with a tankard of ale; for my Lady Crabtree always
did good trencher duty even when fasting, which she did after her own
fashion.
Betty Carew could not eat, she was far too anxious for the fate of the
man she loved, and she walked to and fro, wrapped in her own thoughts
and alone, having dismissed the woman. Lord Raby had been before the
Council, but doubtless, by this time, was back in the Tower. How had
it fared with him? she wondered. Had his innocence shone out clear as
noonday, or had he been entrapped by the skilful cross-questioning
and false accusations of his enemies? Believing in him with all her
heart, she was yet fully conscious of the pitfalls in these secret
proceedings, and she trembled for him. It was in her nature to love him
more dearly in the hour of his evil fortune; she possessed that loyalty
which is unshaken by the sharpest trials, and her greatest sorrow now
was her own inability to fight his battles for him. Her persistence had
won the king’s attention to his case, had roused even her uncle from
his angry apathy, had stirred old Madam to energetic action; but now,
at the supreme moment, being a woman, she was powerless to help him.
She longed for Sir William’s summons, which would mean that something
material had been accomplished, and in her eagerness, she ran twenty
times to the window and looked down into the street; a light burned in
the court, and this showed her that there was no one at the door. The
time dragged wearily; Lady Crabtree came not, and there seemed little
hope of any decisive action that night. Weary of her restless walk,
she sat down by the fire, which was beginning to burn low, and waited.
Every sound in the house, every step in the hall made her start with
impatience; yet she scarcely knew what she expected. Nature has strong
claims upon the young and healthy; no matter how great the anxiety,
sleep comes at last, stealing over the senses, pressing down the
lids, stilling the eager heart-beats. Betty had been under an almost
continuous strain, and the warmth of the fire relaxed her nerves,
comforted her physical weariness; her head drooped on her hand, her
eyes closed, her breathing became soft and regular, in a few moments
she would have drifted into unconsciousness. But suddenly there was a
stir below, the sound of feet on the stairs, and Lady Crabtree’s woman
came hurrying in. Betty started up at once, alert and eager.
“’Tis a message from my uncle!” she exclaimed; “from Sir William Carew?”
“Two men with a litter below, mistress,” the woman replied, “and a
message from Sir William that you come at once to his lodgings.”
Betty’s fingers trembled with eagerness as she fastened her cloak with
the attendant’s aid. Something had happened, something was known; she
could not brook a moment’s delay.
“Shall I go with you, Mistress Betty?” the tirewoman asked.
“Nay; you must stay for Lady Crabtree,” Betty replied; “and tell
her where I am. It does not matter; I can go alone with my uncle’s
servants.”
Without further delay, she ran lightly down the stairs, where she found
two serving men in Sir William’s livery, and at the door a litter
carried by four others, and there were two pages with lanterns. She did
not recognize any of the men, but observed that one was cross-eyed, a
powerful fellow, standing by the litter. She asked no questions, but
sprang into her place, dropping the curtains to keep out the chill
night air, and in a moment they were off upon their journey. Her
attendants said nothing, but walked so rapidly along the streets that
she was jolted from side to side; but they could not travel fast enough
to keep pace with her eagerness. Twice or thrice she peeped out from
behind her curtains, but the night was so dark that she could not see
beyond the small circles of light made by the lanterns. They passed the
watch, for she heard them answering his challenge, and it seemed to her
that it took longer to reach Sir William’s lodgings than it had taken
to come from them earlier in the evening. Yet no doubt crossed her
feverishly excited brain, and she was all hope and expectation when at
last the party halted, and the men helped her to alight. She had been
but once to her uncle’s quarters, and was not sufficiently familiar
with them to be startled when she found herself at the door of a tall
house; but something in its aspect roused her first suspicion. Before
she could realize where she was, the door opened, and partly because
she was not yet aroused, and partly, too, because the men gathered
behind her, leaving no retreat, she entered, and seeing a staircase
like the one at Sir William’s lodgings, began to ascend. Stopping
half-way, she asked the man who followed her, the cross-eyed escort,
where her uncle was? He pointed to a door before her without speaking,
and she opened it and walked in. It was dimly lighted, and at the
farther end was standing a tall man with his back toward her.
“Uncle, I have come,” she exclaimed; “what tidings have you?”
He turned and came slowly forward; as the light of the solitary taper
that burned on the table fell on his face, she recognized Sir Barton
Henge.