GRAY'S INN
The morning was yet young when Sir John Jefferay entered the library at
Gray's Inn.
It was a noble room with a splendid vaulted roof. All around were
bookshelves laden with heavy volumes; above the shelves were portraits
of famous lawyers, and some few statesmen whose names were associated
with the history of the Inn.
The floor was thickly carpeted, and scattered here and there were tables
strewn with documents and parchments.
Sir John seemed ill at ease this morning; he did not seat himself, nor
did his books and papers seem to have any attraction for him.
He walked to and fro in the spacious room, his hands crossed behind his
back, his grave but handsome face bore the look of one in trouble or in
deep reflection. He was clad in a suit of rich black velvet, the
sombreness of which was relieved by a ruff of spotless whiteness around
the neck and wristbands of delicate lace of the same colour.
A tap at the door awoke him from reflective mood, and as the door
opened, and Susan Jefferay appeared, a welcoming smile dispelled the
gloom from the Treasurer's anxious face.
And no wonder; for not only was Susan the darling of the childless
Treasurer's heart, but her winsome presence, her bright smile and merry,
dancing eyes were to him like a gleam of sunshine which dispels the
clouds from a dark sky.
"Good news! good news! dear uncle," she cried, as she ran up to him with
outstretched hands. "Dr. Barnes has been with the boys for the last
hour, and I have helped him to dress their wounds; he says I am as
clever at it as many a young surgeon. And they are both doing well—much
better than he had dared to hope for.
"There is no fever in their blood, he says, and they need but good
nursing and careful feeding to be as strong and well as they ever were,
and that in a very few days' time."
"I thank God for that!" said the Treasurer fervently. "I could not sleep
last night," he continued; "the sight of their poor gashed and lacerated
bodies was ever before my eyes."
"And yet no vital point was touched by the murderous knives," replied
Susan. "Oh, how good Heaven has been to us! But, dear uncle, you look
very wearied and sad this lovely morning; now, tell me at once, and tell
me truly, have you breakfasted?"
Sir John laughed lightly as he looked on her smiling face.
"No, my child, I have not yet touched food; but I will go now to the
breakfast room with you, for you must need refreshment as much as I."
The dwelling rooms of the Treasurer closely adjoined the library, and
presently Sir John and Susan were seated at a well-spread table.
For half-an-hour they lingered there, Susan attending to all her uncle's
needs with loving care.
"Now I will go and see the boys," said Sir John, rising from his seat.
"Not yet, dear uncle, I beseech you," replied Susan. "Dr. Barnes has
given them some soothing medicine which will probably induce sleep; they
must not be disturbed for some hours. Moreover, I want you for a brief
time all to myself; I have something to tell you which troubles me."
"Really!" said Sir John, as he stooped down and kissed her cheek, "I
always thought that you and trouble were far apart!"
"Let us go back into the library," said his niece; "we shall be
undisturbed there."
"This sounds serious!" said Sir John.
"It is serious—or at least I fear so," replied Susan.
Once more in the library, the Treasurer seated himself in one of the
great leather chairs, and Susan, bringing a footstool to his side, sat
down beside him.
The two made a striking picture.
Sir John's noble and pensive face was lighted up by a gentle and loving
smile as he gazed down on his niece's fair face.
This morning she had not tied her hair, and the long golden locks fell
in rich profusion over her shoulders. Her morning gown was simplicity
itself; its pure whiteness was unrelieved by colour but for a waistband
of blue silk; she wore no ornament save that on her shapely finger a
ring beset with diamonds glittered in the sunlight—it was surely a love
gift!
"Now, Susan, for your revelation," said Sir John, as he took her little
hand and held it caressingly.
"You remember, dear uncle," began Susan, "how Ralph came to us at
Chiddingly last Sunday week, intending to pass at least ten days with
us? Well, he left us on Wednesday night, at which I marvelled."
"So did I," interpolated Sir John.
"I must tell you," continued the fair girl, "that on that Sunday morning
a messenger brought me a letter from Mr. Geoffrey Fynes."
"Ah! ah!" said Sir John, "this grows interesting."
Susan blushed prettily as she looked into her uncle's face, and shook
her head reprovingly.
"Oh, uncle, you must be serious; I think you will be so when I have told
you all!"
"Go on, my child," said Sir John gravely.
"Well, I have the letter here; I meant to show it to you last night;
please read it."
The Treasurer took the letter, and as he read it his face assumed an
increased expression of gravity.
"And did the Pursuivant come—only to find the Vicarage empty?"
"No," said Susan, "and that is my trouble! I showed the letter to Ralph,
little thinking that any harm would ensue from my doing so.
"On the Wednesday, when I expected to see the Queen's officer, Ralph was
absent from home all day, and on making inquiries I found he had gone on
horseback into the woods.
"I began to be anxious, and I made inquiries about him in the stables
and elsewhere. Then I found to my alarm that many of our young men were
missing from Chiddingly that day.
"Ralph returned home in the afternoon, but he would tell me nothing—
'these were not women's matters,' he said. That same night he took the
road for London."
"And since then have you heard nothing?" said Sir John eagerly.
"Not until to-day," replied Susan. "This morning a messenger from
Chiddingly brought me another letter from Mr. Geoffrey Fynes; he did not
know that I had left home for London. It is this letter which fills me
with anxiety and no little astonishment. I will read you the passage
which deals with this business."
Susan's fair face flushed as she glanced over the letter which she held
in her hand; then she read as follows—
"'There is danger abroad for some members of your house, I fear.
"'I am revealing a State secret to you at the risk of the loss of
place, reputation, and, perhaps, even life itself! Yet I do not
hesitate to tell you, my sweet Susan, all I know, for your interests
are dearer to me than aught else in this world.
"'In a few words the matter stands thus—
"'The Queen's Pursuivant was assaulted by a band of men in
Chiddingly wood on Wednesday morning; his warrant was forcibly taken
from him and torn to pieces by the leader of the band. That leader
was recognized by one of his men as Mr. William Jefferay.
"'The Queen's officers suffered no personal injury, but they were
bound to trees in the forest, where they remained until nightfall,
when a passing woodman released them. The Pursuivant is hastening to
London to lay the whole matter before the Council.
"'Warn William that he may be arrested any day, and be brought
before the Chancellor in the Star Chamber. My advice is that he take
instant flight abroad.'"
Sir John rose hastily from his seat and walked to and fro in the
library, full of disquietude and fear. Suddenly he turned to Susan.
"This is serious news indeed," he said; "it is a matter of life or
death. Oh, foolish, foolish boy! what madness could have possessed him?
"But tell me, Susan," he exclaimed eagerly, "why is this charge brought
against William? Surely, if the offence was committed, it was Ralph who
was the offender."
"I think I can answer that question," said Susan tremblingly. "I
observed that when Ralph returned home on that fatal Wednesday, he was
wearing William's grey cap; he must have taken it by mistake."
"Ah, I see a gleam of light here," said Sir John quickly. "The warrant
will be made out in William's name.
"Now it so happens, by God's good grace, that the Master of the Rolls,
Sir Philip Broke, was with me all that Wednesday in question; we were
holding a long legal consultation, and William acted as my secretary.
"We will let matters take their course! If the worst befall, it will be
many days before the poor wounded boy can appear before the Court of the
Star Chamber, and, when he does, Sir Philip and I will be a match for
the Queen's Pursuivant."
Then, moving swiftly to Susan's side, he kissed her cheek fondly.
"Fear not, dear child," he cried; "I have hope that God will bring us
safely through this trouble!"
"But if they find out that Ralph is the real culprit?" said Susan
falteringly.
"Yes, there lies the real danger," said Sir John musingly. "Alas, that
he lies helpless on a bed of sickness; but for that he should be in
Holland, with our dear Vicar, ere twenty-four hours had passed."
A sudden thought struck him.
"Think you, Susan, that William knows aught of this mad adventure?"
"I think so," replied Susan, "for the boys have no secrets apart from
each other, and if matters came to the worst, as you say, I believe that
William would plead guilty rather than Ralph should suffer!"
"Oh, boys, boys! how you wring my heart!" cried Sir John, with
uncontrollable emotion.
He resumed his seat, and for a short time remained in deep thought; then
he spoke slowly and with deep emphasis.
"The innocent must not suffer for the guilty—no, God forbid! But let us
hope for the best," he continued, as he marked the growing pallor of
poor Susan's face. "It was a foolish freak, but no man has been injured—
no blood was shed.
"Cheer up, my child, we have powerful friends in Court, even in this
Court of the Star Chamber—the worst of all our Courts! In the last
issue, if all else fails, it may be but a matter of a fine, and we are,
happily, rich enough to pay it; or a short imprisonment, and the boy is
young, and will live through it. Cheer up, Susan; wipe those tears away,
and trust in God that all will come right!
"Now go and see the boys, and let me know if I may see them also,"
continued Sir John.
"I go, dear uncle," said Susan, rising to her feet; "but pardon me if I
urge that you say nothing to them at present about this sad matter;
remember that Dr. Barnes enjoins the most watchful care on our part;
they must have rest and peace both for body and mind."
"I will remember, most wise nurse!" said Sir John, as he rose to open
the door for her with a smile on his grave countenance.
Susan had scarcely left the library than, with a preliminary knock at
the door, Sir John's valet entered it.
Bowing low, the man informed his master that his Excellency the Spanish
Ambassador and his son Don Diego d'Olivares were in the entrance-hall,
and that they craved the honour of a brief interview.
Sir John nodded assent, and a few moments later he heard the steps of
his visitors as they ascended the stairs to the library.
Hastening to the top of the staircase the Treasurer met his
distinguished visitors with deep obeisance.
But the Ambassador was evidently in no mood to stand upon points of
ceremony.
Hurrying forward, with extended hands, he warmly saluted the Treasurer,
yet the anxiety which had prompted this early morning call found
immediate utterance in the first words he spoke.
"Your boys, Mr. Treasurer, are they doing well?"
"Dr. Barnes has just left them, your Excellency, and his report is
altogether favourable; they have many serious flesh wounds, yet, by the
mercy of God, no vital injury has been inflicted; and, if nothing
unforeseen occurs, they will make a rapid recovery to health."
"They are noble boys!" cried the Ambassador, with enthusiasm. "They
saved my son's life at the peril of their own, and with a manly daring
which moves all men to admiration. London is ringing with their praises
to-day; they are the heroes of the hour!"
Then Don Diego intervened with an eager request that he might visit the
sick-room.
"It may not be, young sir," said Sir John. "You know they have a
masterful young nurse in Mistress Susan Jefferay, and I myself have just
been refused an interview with the boys by their stern guardian; they
are to be kept in absolute quiet, she says, or Dr. Barnes will not
answer for the consequences."
So the visitors took their departure, Diego obtaining permission to
return to Gray's Inn in the evening.
Throughout that day visitors poured in at the Treasurer's lodgings with
eager inquiries respecting the lads whose deed of daring had become
public property from the moment when the Queen's guardship came to their
rescue.
To many of these visitors the lads were unknown personally, though their
handsome faces and strongly knit bodies had attracted much observation
in Gray's Inn and its neighbourhood.
But Sir John was one of the leading men of the day; not only was he
known to be a great lawyer, but he sat in Queen Mary's Parliament as a
member for the City of London, and was fast becoming a strong leader
among the members of the House who were silently ranging themselves as
partisans of the young Princess Elizabeth.
In the evening the young Spaniard, Don Diego, returned to the Inn, and
he brought news with him which Susan promised to impart to her brothers
at the earliest possible moment.
Diego had gone down the Thames that morning on board a guardship in the
hope of discovering the hulk to which his captors would have taken him,
but his efforts had been useless.
There were many suspicious-looking hulks moored on the banks of the
stream, but he had no means of identifying the one he sought.
When the twins were themselves again, they would make another attempt;
he had been lying in the bottom of the boat, fast bound, when one of his
captors had endeavoured to moor the boat alongside the hulk.
But he had other news.
The watermen had picked up the bodies of the two ruffians who had leapt
overboard—they had paid the due penalty of their crime.
The hour was growing late when the young Spaniard took his leave, and
the wearied Treasurer was just congratulating himself that the labours
of the day were over, when the valet once more presented himself in the
library.
"Another visitor—and at this late hour!" said Sir John, somewhat
impatiently. "Make my excuses, Robin," he continued; "say that I have
retired to rest."
"Yes, Sir John", said Robin, yet he lingered as if he had something
further to say.
"What is it, man?" said Sir John, perceiving Robin's hesitation.
"Please, your honour, and craving your pardon, I doubt if the visitor
will take your dismissal thus easily: it is Sir William Anson, the
Sheriff of London."
Sir John rose hastily from his chair, and Susan ran from the couch
whereon she was seated to her uncle's side.
"Oh, uncle," she cried, as she flung her arms around his neck, "he
comes, surely, on the Queen's business; the fatal hour has come. Oh God,
help us!"
"Courage, dear one!" whispered Sir John in her ear. "Sir William is a
friend of mine; his errand may be but one of friendly inquiry. Compose
yourself; remain in the library, you may hear all that he has to say."
Then he bade Robin admit the late visitor.
A moment later the Sheriff entered the room, bowing low to both its
occupants as he did so.
He was a man of stately presence, his dress of sombre colours yet of
rich material.
He advanced towards Sir John with extended hand, and his handsome face
was lit up with a cordial smile. Susan's heart was reassured as she
marked his friendly behaviour; but Sir John's eyes were fixed upon a
small gold chain of office which the Sheriff wore around his neck.
"He comes officially, on the Queen's business!" said Sir John within
himself.
Sir William seated himself at the invitation of the Treasurer.
"Tell me, first, Sir John," he said, "how your gallant nephews fare. It
is a scandal to London that such an outrage could happen on our own
river; but we are overrun with foreigners, outlaws and riffraff of all
sorts; we must see to it!"
Then, hearing a good report of the lads, he thanked Heaven for the news,
and therewith glanced nervously towards Susan.
Sir John perceived his difficulty.
"You have something private to say to me, Sir William," he said; "you
may say it before my niece, I have no secrets from her."
"I can understand that, Sir John," said the gallant Sheriff, with a
courtly smile as he bowed towards Susan. "I will therefore tell you
plainly and fully why I am come to you at so untimely an hour.
"Yet let me ask you both to keep my visit from the knowledge of others,
for I am exceeding my office to-night, and might be called in question
for what I do."
Sir John and Susan gravely bowed assent.
"It is respecting one of your noble boys, William Jefferay, that I have
come hither. To-night I come as your friend and well-wisher, but to-
morrow, alas! I shall bring you a warrant for his arrest in the Queens
name and by order of the Court of the Star Chamber."
Sir John gave a low groan, and poor Susan hid her fair face in her
hands.
"You will ask me why I come to you to-night with this sad news," said
the Sheriff, with real sympathy in his kindly heart. "I will tell you
why I come. My warrant commands me to possess myself of William
Jefferay's body, and to commit it forthwith to Her Majesty's prison at
the Fleet.
"Be not surprised, not alarmed, therefore, when to-morrow morning I
serve the warrant with all due state and ceremony. Yet will I not attach
his body until he shall have regained his strength if you, Sir John,
will give me your word of honour that no attempt at escape be made on
his behalf."
"I give you my word, Mr. Sheriff," said Sir John, "and I count it an act
of friendship on your part that you have thus given me warning."
The Sheriff rose from his seat, advanced towards Sir John, and shook his
hand heartily.
"My good friend," said he, "would to God that I could do more for you!
but keep a good heart, for you have many a friend both at Court and in
the city."
So saying, the kind-hearted Sheriff made his adieux and took his
departure.
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Susan had borne up bravely during this brief interview; yet, when the
Sheriff had gone, and she and Sir John were left to themselves, her
fortitude gave way, and she began to sob gently.
Sir John moved to her side and took her hand caressingly.
"Is this the brave and trusty nurse," he said to her in a low voice, "of
whom I was so proud to-day?
"Oh, Susan, dear Susan, have faith in God; let us kneel together and
commit the whole matter to His most gracious keeping!
"Now go to rest, dear child," said Sir John, as they rose from their
kneeling posture.
"Presently, dear uncle, I will seek rest," replied Susan; "but I have
work in the sick-room awaiting me, and I keep watch there the first half
of the night."
Then, bidding her uncle "Good-night," Susan lit a wax candle and quitted
the library.
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For a full hour the Treasurer sat alone in deep thought. He resolved
that on the morrow he would send a trusty messenger to the Hague, who
should inform his brother of all that had passed, and the present
position of affairs.
How he longed for the presence of William—how valuable would his counsel
be to him at this crisis!
Yet it could not be, for it was known full well to those in power that
William had aided the Vicar of Chiddingly to escape, that he had gone
with him to Holland.
He therefore lay under grave suspicion, and must remain an exile until
happier days.
At length, weary and worn, the Treasurer betook himself to rest.
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