"Hast one of these fiddle-faddles thyself? or dost thou desire to have
one?"
"Neither, in good sooth," was his reply.
"There, Mr Louvaine! hearken, prithee."
"Hans is only a boy; I am a man," said Aubrey, loftily: though Hans was
but a year younger than himself.
"Lancaster and Derby! and are you then content, my Lord Man, that a
contemptible boy should have better wit than your magnifical self?
Truly, I think Hans was a man before thou hadst ended sucking of thy
thumb."
Just then Charity brought in the Rector.
"See you here, Mr Marshall!" cried Temperance, brandishing her pipe.
"Be you wont to solace your studies with this trumpery?"
Mr Marshall smiled. "Truly, nay, Mistress Murthwaite; 'tis accounted
scandalous for divines to use that tobago, not to name the high cost
thereof."
"Pray you, how many pence by the ounce hath any man the face to ask for
this stinking stuff?"
"Three shillings or more, and that the poorest sort."
"Mercy me! And can you tell me how folks use it that account it
physical?"
"Ay, I have heard tell that the manner of using it as physic is to fill
the patient's mouth with a ball of the leaves, when he must incline the
face downward, and keep his mouth open, not moving his tongue: then doth
it draw a flood of water from all parts of the body. Some physicians
will not use it, saying it causeth over-quick digestion, and fills the
stomach full of crudities. For a cold or headache the fumes of the pipe
only are taken. His Majesty greatly loathes this new fashion, saying
that the smoke thereof resembles nothing so much as the Stygian fume of
the bottomless pit, and likewise that 'tis a branch of drunkenness,
which he terms the root of all sins."
Aubrey laughed rather significantly.
"Why," asked his mother, "is the King's Majesty somewhat given that
way?"
"Well, I have heard it said that when the King of Denmark was here,
their two Majesties went not to bed sober every night of the week:
marry, 'tis whispered all the Court ladies kept not so steady feet as
they might have done."
"Alack the day! not the Queen, I hope?"
"Nay, I heard no word touching her."
"Ah, friends!" said Mr Marshall with a sigh, "let me ensure you that
England's mourning is not yet over for Queen Elizabeth, and we may live
to lament our loss of her far sorer than now we do. Folks say she was
something stingy with money, loving not to part with it sooner than she
saw good reason: but some folks will fling their money right and left
with no reason at all. The present Court much affecteth masques, plays,
and such like, so that now there be twenty where her late Majesty would
see one."
"Mr Marshall," asked Edith, "is it true, as I have heard say, that King
James is somewhat Papistically given?"
"Ay and no," said he. "He is not at all thus, in the signification of
obeying the Pope, or suffering himself to be ridden of priests: in no
wise. But he hates a Puritan worse than a Papist. Mind you not that in
his speech when he opened his first Parliament, he said that he did
acknowledge the Roman Church to be our mother Church, though defiled
with some infirmities and corruptions?"
"Yet he said also, if I err not, that he sucked in God's truth with his
nurse's milk."
"Ay. But what one calls God's truth is not what an other doth. All the
Papistry in the world is not in the Roman Church; and assuredly she is
in no sense our mother."
"Truly, I thought Saint Austin brought the Gospel hither from Rome."
"Saint Austin brought a deal from Rome beside the Gospel, and he was not
the first to bring that. The Gallican Church had before him brought it
to Kent; and long ere that time had the ancient British Church been
evangelised from no sister Church at all, but right from the Holy Land
itself, and as her own unchanging voice did assert, by the beloved
Apostle Saint John."
"That heard I never afore," said Lady Louvaine, who seemed greatly
interested. "Pray you, Mr Marshall, is this true?"
"I do ensure you it is," replied he; "that is, so far as the wit of man
at this distance of time may discern the same."
"Was the French Church, then, lesser corrupted than that of Rome?"
queried Edith.
"Certainly so," he said: "and it hath resisted the Pope's usurpations
nigh as much as our own Church of England. I mean not in respect of the
Reformation, but rather the time before the Reformation, when our kings
were ever striving with the Pope concerning his right to appoint unto
dignities and livings. Yet the Reformation itself began first in
France, and had they in authority been willing to aid it as in England,
France had been a Protestant country at this day."
That evening, as they sat round the fire, Hans astonished them all.
"Lady Lettice," said he, "were you willing that I should embark in
trade?"
"Hans, my dear boy!" was the astonished response.
"I will not do it without your good-will thereto," said he; "nor would I
at all have done it, could I have seen any better way. But I feel that
I ought to be a-work on some matter, and not tarry a burden on your
hands: and all this time have I been essaying two matters--to look out
for a service, and to make a little money for you. The second I have in
some sense accomplished, though not to the extent I did desire, and here
be the proceeds,"--and rising from his seat, Hans opened his purse, and
poured several gold pieces into his friend's lap. "The former, howbeit,
is not--"
He was interrupted by a little cry from Lady Louvaine.
"Hans! thou surely thinkest not, dear lad, that I shall strip thee of
thy first earnings, won by hard work?"
"You will, Lady Lettice, without you mean to disappoint and dishearten
me very sore," he answered.
"But all this!" she exclaimed.
"'Tis much less than I would have had it; and it hath taken me
three-quarters of a year to scrape so much together. But--nay, Lady
Lettice, forgive me, but never a penny will I take back. You sure
forget that I owe all unto you. What should have come of me but for you
and Sir Aubrey? But I was about to say, I have essayed in every
direction to take service with a gentleman, and cannot compass it in any
wise. So I see no other way but to go into trade."
"But, Hans, thou art a gentleman's son!"
"I am a King's son, Madam," said Hans with feeling: "and if I tarnish
not the escocheon of my heavenly birth by honest craft, then shall I
have no fear for that of mine earthly father."
"Yet if so were, dear lad--though I should be verily sorry to see thee
come down so low--yet bethink thee, thine apprenticeship may not be
compassed without a good payment in money."
"Your pardon, Madam. There is one craftsman in London that is willing
to receive me without a penny. Truly, I did nothing to demerit it,
since I did but catch up his little maid of two years, that could scarce
toddle, from being run over by an horse that had brake loose from the
rein. Howbeit, it pleaseth him to think him under an obligation to me,
and his good wife likewise. And having made inquiries diligently, I
find him to be a man of good repute, one that feareth God and dealeth
justly and kindly by men: also of his wife the neighbours speak well.
Seeing, then, all doors shut upon me save this one, whereat I may freely
enter, it seems to me, under your Ladyship's leave, that this is the way
which God hath prepared for me to walk in: yet if you refuse permission,
then I shall know that I have erred therein."
"Hans, I would give my best rebate Aubrey had one half thy wit and
goodness!" cried Temperance.
"I thank you for the compliment, Mistress Murthwaite," said Hans,
laughingly. "But truly, as for my wit, I should be very ill-set to
spare half of it; and as for my goodness, I wish him far more of his
own."
"Where dwells this friend of thine, Hans?" inquired Lady Louvaine.
"What is his name? and what craft doth he follow?"
"He dwells near, Madam, in Broad Saint Giles'; his name, Andrew Leigh,
and is a silkman."
"We shall miss thee, my boy," said Edith.
"Mrs Edith, that was the only one point that made me to doubt if I
should take Master Leigh's offer or no. If my personal service be of
more value to you than my maintenance is a burden, I pray you tell it
me: but if not--"
"We never yet reckoned thy maintenance a burden, my dear," answered Lady
Louvaine, lovingly. "And indeed we shall miss thee more than a little.
Nevertheless, Hans, I think thou hast wisely judged. There is thine own
future to look to: and though, in very deed, I am sorry that life offer
thee no fairer opening, yet the Lord wot best that which shall be best
for thee. Ay, Hans: thou wilt do well to take the offer."
But there were tears in her eyes as she spoke.
The old feudal estimate was still strong in men's minds, by which the
most honourable of all callings was held to be domestic service; then,
trade and handicraft; and, lowest and meanest of all, those occupations
by which men were not fed, clothed, nor instructed, but merely amused.
Musicians, painters, poetasters, and above all, actors, were looked on
as the very dregs of mankind. The views of the old Lollards, who held
that art, not having existed in Paradise, was a product of the serpent,
had descended to the Puritans in a modified form. Was it surprising,
when on every side they saw the serpent pressing the arts and sciences
into his service? It was only in the general chaos of the Restoration
that this estimate was reversed. The view of the world at present is
exactly opposite: and the view taken by the Church is too often that of
the world. Surely the dignity of labour is lost when men labour to
produce folly, and call it work. There can be no greater waste either
of time, money, or toil, than to expend them on that which satisfieth
not.
When Hans came home, a day or two afterwards, he went straight to Lady
Louvaine and kissed her hand.
"Madam," said he, in a low voice of much satisfaction, "I bring good
news. I have covenanted with Mr Leigh, who has most nobly granted me,
at my request, a rare favour unto a 'prentice--leave to come home when
the shop is closed, and to lie here, so long as I am every morrow at my
work by six of the clock. I can yet do many little things that may save
you pain and toil, and I shall hear every even of your welfare."
"My dear lad, God bless thee!" replied Lady Louvaine, and laid her hand
upon his head.
Somewhat later in the evening came Aubrey, to whom all this concerning
Hans was news.
"Master Floriszoon, silkman, at the Black Boy in Holborn!" cried he,
laughingly. "Pray you, my worthy Master, how much is the best velvet by
the yard? and is green stamyn now in fashion? Whereto cometh galowne
lace the ounce? Let us hear thee cry, `What do you lack?' that we, may
see if thou hast the true tone. Hans Floriszoon, I thought thou hadst
more of the feeling of a gentleman in thee."
The blood flushed to Hans' forehead, yet he answered quietly enough.
"Can a gentleman not measure velvet? and what harm shall it work him to
know the cost of it?"
"That is a quibble," answered Aubrey, loftily. "For any gentleman to
soil his fingers with craft is a blot on his escocheon, and that you
know as well as I."
"For any man, gentle or simple, to soil his fingers with sin, or his
tongue with falsehood, is a foul blot on his escocheon," replied Hans,
looking Aubrey in the face.
Once more the blood mounted to Aubrey's brow, and he answered with some
warmth, "What mean you?"
"I did but respond to your words. Be mine other than truth?"
"Be not scurrilous, boy!" said Aubrey, angrily.
"Hans, I am astonished at you!" said Faith. "I know not how it is, but
since we came to London, you are for ever picking quarrels with Aubrey,
and seeking occasion against him. Are you envious of his better
fortune, or what is it moves you?"
It was a minute before Hans answered, and when he did so, his voice was
very quiet and low.
"I am sorry to have vexed you, Mrs Louvaine. If I know myself, I do
not envy Aubrey at all; and indeed I desire to pick no quarrel with any
man, and him least of any."
Then, turning to Aubrey, he held out his hand. "Forgive me, if I said
aught I should not."
Aubrey took the offered hand, much in the manner of an insulted monarch
to a penitent rebel. Lettice glanced just then at her Aunt Edith, and
saw her gazing from one to the other of the two, with a perplexed and
possibly displeased look on her face, but whether it were with Aubrey or
with Hans, Lettice could not tell. What made Aubrey so angry did not
appear.
Lettice's eyes went to her grandmother. On her face was a very
sorrowful look, as if she perceived and recognised some miserable
possibility which she had known in the past, and now saw advancing with
distress. But she did not speak either to Hans or Aubrey.
The full moon of a spring evening, almost as mild as summer, lighted up
the Strand, throwing into bold relief the figure of a young man,
fashionably dressed, who stood at the private door of a tailor's shop,
the signboard of which exhibited a very wild-looking object of human
species, clad in a loose frock, with bare legs and streaming hair, known
to the initiated as the sign of the Irish Boy.
Fashionably dressed meant a good deal at that date. It implied a
doublet of velvet or satin, puffed and slashed exceedingly, and often
covered with costly embroidery or gold lace; trunk hose, padded to an
enormous width, matching the doublet in cost, and often in pattern;
light-coloured silk stockings, broad-toed shoes, with extremely high
heels, and silver buckles, or gold-edged shoe-strings; garters of broad
silk ribbons, often spangled with gold, and almost thick enough for
sashes; a low hat with a feather and silk hatband, the latter sometimes
studded with precious stones; a suspicion of stays in the region of the
waist, but too likely to be justified by fact; fringed and perfumed
gloves of thick white Spanish leather; lace ruffs about the neck and
wrists, the open ones of immense size, the small ones closer than in the
previous reign; ear-rings and love-locks: and over all, a gaudy cloak,
or rather cape, reaching little below the elbow. In the youth's hand
was an article of the first necessity in the estimation of a gentleman
of fashion,--namely, a tobacco-box, in this instance of chased silver,
with a mirror in the lid, whereby its owner might assure himself that
his ruff sat correctly, and that his love-locks were not out of curl. A
long slender cane was in the other hand, which the youth twirled with
busy idleness, as he carelessly hummed a song.
"Let's cast away care, and merrily sing,
For there's a time for every thing:
He that plays at his work, and works at his play,
Doth neither keep working nor holy day."
A second youth came down the street westwards, walking not with an air
of haste, but of one whose time was too valuable to be thrown away. He
was rather shorter and younger than the first, and was very differently
attired. He wore a fustian doublet, without either lace or embroidery;
a pair of unstuffed cloth hose, dark worsted stockings, shoes with
narrow toes and plain shoe-strings of black ribbon; a flat cap; cloth
gloves, unadorned and unscented, and a cloak of black cloth, of a more
rational length than the other. As he came to the tailor's shop he
halted suddenly.
"Aubrey!" The tone was one of surprise and pain.
"Spy!" was the angry response.
"I am no spy, and you know it. But I would ask what you do here and
now?"
"Are you my gaoler, that I must needs give account to you?"
"I am your brother, Aubrey; and I, as well as you, am my brother's
keeper in so far as concerns his welfare. It is over a month since you
visited us, and your mother and Lady Lettice believe you to be with your
Lord in Essex. How come you hither, so late at night, and at another
door than your own?"
"No business of yours! May a man not call to see his tailor?"
"Men do not commonly go to their tailors after shops be shut."
"Oh, of course, you wot all touching shop matters. Be off to your
grograne and cambric! I'm not your apprentice."
"My master's shop is shut with the rest. Aubrey, I saw you last night--
though till now I tried to persuade myself it was not you--in Holborn,
leaving the door of the Green Dragon. What do you there?"
The answer came blazing with wrath.
"You saw--you mean, sneaking, blackguardly traitor of a Dutch
shopkeeper! I'll have no rascal spies dogging my steps, and--"
"Aubrey," said the quiet voice that made reply, "you know me better than
that. I never played the spy on you yet, and I trust you will never
give me cause. Yet what am I to think when as I pass along the street I
behold you standing at the door of a Pa--"
"Hold your tongue!"
The closing word was cut sharply in two by that fierce response. It
might be a pavior, a pear-monger, or a Papist. Hans was silent until
Aubrey had again spoken, which he did in a hard, constrained tone.
"I shall go where I please, without asking your leave or any body's
else! I am of age, and I have been tied quite long enough to the
apron-strings of a parcel of women: but I mean not to cut myself loose
from them, only to pass under guidance of a silly lad that hath never a
spark of spirit in him, and would make an old woman of me if I gave him
leave." Then, in a voice more like his own, he added, "Get you in to
your knitting, old Mistress Floriszoon, and tie your cap well o'er your
ears, lest the cold wind give you a rheum."
"I will go in when you come with me," said Hans calmly.
"I will not."
"To-night, Aubrey--only just to-night!"
"And what for to-night, prithee? I have other business afloat.
To-morrow I will maybe look in."
Perhaps Aubrey was growing a little ashamed of his warmth, for his voice
had cooled down.
"We can never do right either to-morrow or yesterday," answered Hans.
"To-night is all we have at this present."
"I tell you I will not!" The anger mounted again. "I will not be at
the beck and call of a beggarly tradesfellow!"
"You love better to be at Satan's?"
"Take that for your impudence!"
There was the sound of a sharp, heavy blow--so heavy that the recipient
almost staggered under it. Then came an instant's dead silence: and
then a voice, very low, very sorrowful, yet with no anger in it--
"Good-night, Aubrey. I hope you will come to-morrow."
And Hans's steps died away in the distance.
Left to himself, Aubrey's feelings were far from enviable. He was
compelled to recognise the folly of his conduct, as more calculated to
fan than deter suspicion; and it sorely nettled him also to perceive
that Hans, shopkeeper though he might be, had shown himself much the
truer gentleman of the two. But little time was left him to indulge in
these unpleasant reflections, for the door behind him was opened by a
girl.
"Mr Catesby at home?"
"Ay, Sir, and Mr Winter is here. Pray you, walk up."
Aubrey did as he was requested, adding an unnecessary compliment on the
good looks of the portress, to which she responded by a simper of
gratified vanity--thereby showing that neither belonged to the wisest
class of mankind--and he was ushered upstairs, into a small but pleasant
parlour, where three gentlemen sat conversing. A decanter stood on the
table, half full of wine, and each gentleman was furnished with a glass.
The long silver pipe was passing round from one to another, and its
smoker looked up as Aubrey was announced.
"Ah! welcome, Mr Louvaine. Mr Winter, you know this gentleman. Sir,
this is my very good friend Mr Darcy,"--indicating the third person by
a motion of the hand. "Mr Darcy, suffer me to make you acquainted with
Mr Louvaine, my good Lord Oxford's gentleman and a right pleasant
companion.--Pray you, help yourself to Rhenish, and take a pipe."
Aubrey accepted the double invitation, and was soon puffing at the pipe
which Catesby handed to him.
He had not taken much notice of the stranger, and none at all of a
gesture on the part of Mr Catesby as he introduced him--a momentary
stroking upwards of his forehead, intended as a sign not to Aubrey, but
to the other. The stranger, however, perfectly understood it. To him
it said, "Here is a simpleton: mind what you say."
Mr Catesby, the occupant of the furnished apartments, was a man of
unusually lofty height, being over six feet, and of slender build,
though well-proportioned; he had a handsome and expressive face, and,
while not eloquent, was possessed of the most fascinating and attractive
manners by which man ever dragged his fellow-man to evil. Mr Winter,
on the other hand, was as short as his friend was tall. His rather
handsome features were of the Grecian type, and he had the power of
infusing into them at will a look of the most touching child-like
innocence. He spoke five, languages, and was a well-read man for his
time.
The stranger, to whom Aubrey had been introduced as Mr Darcy, was an
older man than either of the others. Mr Catesby was aged thirty-two,
and Mr Winter about thirty-five; but Mr Darcy was at least fifty. He
was a well-proportioned man, and dressed with studied plainness. A
long, narrow face, with very large, heavy eyelids, and a long but not
hooked nose, were relieved by a moustache, and a beard square and
slightly forked in the midst. This moustache hid a mouth which was the
characteristic feature of the face. No physiognomist would have placed
the slightest confidence in the owner of that mouth. It was at once
sanctimonious and unstable. The manners of its possessor might be suave
or severe; his reputation might be excellent or execrable; but with that
mouth, a Pharisee and a hypocrite at heart he must be. This gentleman
found it convenient not to be too invariably known by a single name, and
that whereby he had been introduced to Aubrey was one of five aliases--
his real one making a sixth. Different persons, in various parts of the
country, were acquainted with him as Mr Mease, Mr Phillips, Mr
Farmer, and--his best-known alias--Mr Walley. But his real name was
Henry Garnet, and he was a Jesuit priest.
To do justice to Aubrey Louvaine, who, though weak and foolish, being
mainly led astray by his own self-sufficiency, was far from being
deliberately wicked, it must be added that he entertained not the least
idea of the real characters of his new friends. At the house of Mr
Thomas Rookwood, whither he was attracted by the fair Dorothy--who, had
he but known it, regarded him with cleverly concealed contempt--he had
made the acquaintance of Mr Ambrose Rookwood, the elder of the
brothers, and the owner of Coldham Hall. This gentleman, to Aubrey's
taste, was not attractive; but by him he was introduced to Mr Percy,
and later, to Mr Thomas Winter, in whose society the foolish youth took
great pleasure. For Mr Catesby he did not so much care; the fact being
that he was too clever to suit Aubrey's fancy.
Neither had Aubrey any conception of the use which was being made of him
by his new friends. He was very useful; he had just brains enough, and
not too much, to serve their purpose. It delighted Aubrey to air his
familiarity with the Court and nobility, and it was convenient to them
to know some one whom they could pump without his ever suspecting that
he was being pumped. They often required information concerning the
movements and present whereabouts of various eminent persons; and
nothing was easier than to obtain it from Aubrey as they sat and smoked.
A few glasses of Rhenish wine, and a few ounces of tobacco, were well
worth expending for the purpose.
Aubrey's anger with Hans, therefore, was not based on any fear of
discovery, arising from suspicion of his associates. He was only aiming
at independence, combined with a little secret unwillingness to
acknowledge his close connection with Mr Leigh's apprentice. Of the
real end of the road on which he was journeying, he had not the least
idea. Satan held out to him with a smile a fruit pleasant to the eyes
and good for food, saying, "Thou shalt be as a god," and Aubrey liked
the prospect, and accepted the apple.
Having enjoyed himself for about an hour in this manner, and--quite
unconsciously on his part--given some valuable information to his
associates, he bade them good evening, and returned to Lord Oxford's
mansion, in a state of the most delicately-balanced uncertainty whether
to appear or not at the White Bear on the following evening. If only he
could know how much Hans would tell the ladies!
In the room which he had left, he formed for some minutes the subject of
conversation.
"Where picked you up that jewel?" asked Garnet of Winter.
"He lives--or rather his friends do--next door to Tom Rookwood,"
answered Winter.
"A pigeon worth plucking?" was the next question.
"As poor as a church-mouse, but he knows things we need to know, and in
point of wits he is a very pigeon. He no more guesseth what time of day
it is with us than my Lord Secretary doth."
The trio laughed complacently, but a rather doubtful expression
succeeded that of amusement in Garnet's face.
"Now, good gentlemen, be quiet," said he, piously. Was there a faint
twinkle in his eyes? "God will do all for the best. We must get it by
prayer at God's hands, in whose hands are the hearts of princes."
"You pray, by all means, and we'll work," said Catesby, removing the
pipe from his lips for an instant.
At that moment the door opened, and a fourth gentleman made his
appearance. He was as tall and as handsome as Catesby; but the
considerable amount of white in his dark hair, and more slightly in his
broad beard, made him look older than his real age, which was forty-six.
He stooped a little in the shoulders. His manners were usually gentle
and grave; but a pair of large and very lively eyes and an occasional
impulsive eagerness of speech, wherein he was ready and fluent at all
times, showed that there was more fire and life in his character than
appeared on the surface. Those who knew him well were aware that his
temper was impetuous and precipitate, and on given occasions might be
termed quarrelsome without calumny.
"Shall we always talk, gentlemen, and never do anything?" demanded the
newcomer, without previous greeting.
"Come in, Mr Percy, and with a right good welcome! The talk is
well-nigh at an end, and the doing beginneth."
"Our Lady be thanked!" was Percy's response. "We have dallied and
delayed long enough. This morning have I been with Mr Fawkes over the
house; and I tell you, the mining through that wall shall be no child's
play."
Winter lifted his eyebrows and pursed his lips. Catesby only remarked,
"We must buy strong pickaxes, then," and resumed his puffing in the
calmest manner.
"The seventh of February, is it not, Parliament meets?"
"Ay. I trust the Bulls will come from Rome before that."
"They will be here in time," said Garnet, rising. "Well, I wish you
good-night, gentlemen. 'Tis time I was on my way to Wandsworth. I lie
to-night at Mrs Anne's, whither she looks for her cousin Tresham to
come."
"My commendations to my cousins," said Catesby. "Good-night. We meet
at White Webbs on Tuesday."
"_Pax vobiscum_," said Garnet softly, as he left the room.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. All these are old terms signifying a fool or idiot. Patch was
the favourite jester of Henry the Eighth, whose name was used as
synonymous with fool.