When Jocelyn Mounchensey called for his reckoning, Madame Bonaventure
took him aside, showing, by her looks, that she had something important
to communicate to him, and began by telling him he was heartily welcome
to all he had partaken of at her ordinary, adding that she considered
herself very greatly his debtor for the gallantry and zeal he had
displayed in her behalf.
"Not that I was in any real peril, my fair young Sir," she continued,
"though I feigned to be so, for I have powerful protectors, as you
perceive; and indeed this was all a preconcerted scheme between my Lord
Roos and his noble friends to turn the tables on the two extortioners.
But that does not lessen my gratitude to you; and I shall try to prove
it. You are in more danger than, perchance, you wot of; and I feel quite
sure Sir Giles means to carry his threat into execution, and to cause
your arrest."
Seeing him smile disdainfully, as if he had no apprehensions, she added,
somewhat quickly--"What will your bravery avail against so many, _mon
beau gentilhomme? Mon Dieu_! nothing. No! no! I must get you
assistance. Luckily I have some friends at hand, the 'prentices--_grands
et forts gaillards, avec des estocs;_--Cyprien has told me they are
here. Most certainly they will take your part. So, Sir Giles shall not
carry you off, after all."
Jocelyn's lips again curled with the same disdainful smile as before.
"_Ah I vous etes trop temeraire!"_ Madame Bonaventure cried, tapping his
arm. "Sit down here for awhile. I will give you the signal when you may
depart with safety. Do not attempt to stir till then. You understand?"
Jocelyn did not understand very clearly; but without making any
observation to the contrary, he took the seat pointed out to him. The
position was well-chosen, inasmuch as it enabled him to command the
movements of the foe, and offered him a retreat through a side-door,
close at hand; though he was naturally quite ignorant whither the outlet
might conduct him.
While this was passing, Sir Giles was engaged in giving directions
respecting his partner, whose inebriate condition greatly scandalized
him; and it was in pursuance of his orders that Sir Francis was
transported to the wharf where the misadventure before related befel
him. Never for a moment did Sir Giles' watchful eye quit Jocelyn, upon
whom he was ready to pounce like a tiger, if the young man made any
movement to depart; and he only waited till the tavern should be clear
of company to effect the seizure.
Meanwhile another person approached the young man. This was the friendly
stranger in the furred gown and flat cap, who had sat next him at
dinner, and who, it appeared, was not willing to abandon him in his
difficulties. Addressing him with much kindness, the worthy personage
informed him that he was a bookseller, named John Wolfe, and carried on
business at the sign of the Bible and Crown in Paul's Churchyard, where
he should be glad to see the young man, whenever he was free to call
upon him.
"But I cannot disguise from you, Master Jocelyn Mounchensey--for your
dispute with Sir Francis Mitchell has acquainted me with your name,"
John Wolfe said--"that your rashness has placed you in imminent peril;
so that there is but little chance for the present of my showing you the
hospitality and kindness I desire. Sir Giles seems to hover over you as
a rapacious vulture might do before making his swoop. Heaven shield you
from his talons! And now, my good young Sir, accept one piece of caution
from me, which my years and kindly feelings towards you entitle me to
make. An you 'scape this danger, as I trust you may, let it be a lesson
to you to put a guard upon your tongue, and not suffer it to out-run
your judgment. You are much too rash and impetuous, and by your folly
(nay, do not quarrel with me, my young friend--I can give no milder
appellation to your conduct) have placed yourself in the power of your
enemies. Not only have you provoked Sir Francis Mitchell, whose malice
is more easily aroused than appeased, but you have defied Sir Giles
Mompesson, who is equally implacable in his enmities; and as if two such
enemies were not enough, you must needs make a third, yet more dangerous
than either."
"How so, good Master Wolfe?" Jocelyn cried. "To whom do you refer?"
"To whom should I refer, Master Jocelyn," Wolfe rejoined, "but to my
lord of Buckingham, whom you wantonly insulted? For the latter
indiscretion there can be no excuse, whatever there may be for the
former; and it was simple madness to affront a nobleman of his exalted
rank, second only in authority to the King himself."
"But how have I offended the Marquis?" demanded Jocelyn, surprised.
"Is it possible you can have spoken at random, and without knowledge of
the force of your own words?" John Wolfe rejoined, looking hard at him.
"It may be so, for you are plainly ignorant of the world. Well, then,"
he added, lowering his tone, "when you said that these two abominable
extortioners were the creatures of some great man, who glozed over their
villainous practices to the King, and gave a better account of them than
they deserve, you were nearer the truth than you imagined; but it could
hardly be agreeable to the Marquis to be told this to his face, since it
is notorious to all (except to yourself) that he is the man."
"Heavens!" exclaimed Jocelyn, "I now see the error I have committed."
"A grave error indeed," rejoined Wolfe, shaking his head, "and most
difficult to be repaired--for the plea of ignorance, though it may
suffice with me, will scarcely avail you with the Marquis. Indeed, it
can never be urged, since he disowns any connection with these men; and
it is suspected that his half-brother, Sir Edward Villiers, goes between
them in all their secret transactions. Of this, however, I know nothing
personally, and only tell you what I have heard. But if it were not
almost treasonable to say it, I might add, that his Majesty is far too
careless of the means whereby his exchequer is enriched, and his
favourites gratified; and, at all events, suffers himself to be too
easily imposed upon. Hence all these patents and monopolies under which
we groan. The favourites _must_ have money; and as the King has little
to give them, they raise as much as they please on the credit of his
name. Thus everything is _sold_; places, posts, titles, all have their
price--bribery and corruption reign everywhere. The lord-keeper pays a
pension to the Marquis--so doth the attorney-general--and simony is
openly practised; for the Bishop of Salisbury paid him £3,500 for his
bishopric. But this is not the worst of it. Is it not terrible to think
of a proud nobleman, clothed almost with supreme authority, being
secretly leagued with sordid wretches, whose practices he openly
discountenances and contemns, and receiving share of their spoil? Is it
not yet more terrible to reflect that the royal coffers are in some
degree supplied by similar means?"
"'Tis enough to drive an honest man distracted," Jocelyn said, "and you
cannot wonder at my indignation, though you may blame my want of
caution. I have said nothing half so strong as you have just uttered,
Master Wolfe."
"Ah! but, my good young Sir, I do not publicly proclaim my opinions as
you do. My lord of Buckingham's name must no more be called in question
than his Majesty's. To associate the Marquis's name with those of his
known instruments were to give him mortal offence. Even to hint at such
a connection is sufficient to provoke his displeasure! But enough of
this. My purpose is not to lecture you, but to befriend you. Tell me
frankly, my good young Sir--and be not offended with the offer--will my
purse be useful to you? If so, 'tis freely at your service; and it may
help you in your present emergency--for though there is not enough in it
to bribe the master to forego his purpose against you, there is amply
sufficient to procure your liberation, privily, from the men."
"I thank you heartily, good Master Wolfe, and believe me, I am not
withheld by false pride from accepting your offer," Jocelyn replied;
"but I must trust to my own arm to maintain my liberty, and to my own
address to regain it, if I be taken. Again, I thank you, Sir."
"I grieve that I cannot lend you other aid," John Wolfe replied, looking
compassionately at him; "but my peaceful avocations do not permit me to
take any part in personal conflicts, and I am loath to be mixed up in
such disturbances. Nevertheless, I do not like to stand by, and see
outrage done."
"Concern yourself no more about me, worthy Sir," interrupted Jocelyn.
"Perhaps I shall not be molested, and if I should be, I am well able to
take care of myself. Let those who assail me bear the consequences."
But John Wolfe still lingered. "If some of my apprentices were only
here," he said, "and especially that riotous rogue, Dick Taverner,
something might be done to help you effectually.--Ha! what is that
uproar?" as a tumultuous noise, mixed with the cries of "Clubs!--Clubs!"
was heard without, coming from the direction of the wharf. "As I live!
the 'prentices _are_ out, and engaged in some mischievous work, and it
will be strange if Dick Taverner be not among them. I will see what they
are about." And as he spoke he hurried to the oriel window which looked
out upon the wharf, exclaiming--"Ay, ay,--'t is as I thought. Dick _is_
among them, and at their head. 'Fore heaven! they are attacking those
ruffianly braggarts from Whitefriars, and are laying about them lustily
with their cudgels. Ha! what is this I see? The Alsatians and the
myrmidons are routed, and the brave lads have captured Sir Francis
Mitchell. What are they about to do with him? I must go forth and see."
His purpose, however, was prevented by a sudden movement on the part of
Sir Giles and his attendants. They came in the direction of Jocelyn
Mounchensey, with the evident intention of seizing the young man.
Jocelyn instantly sprang to his feet, drew his sword, and put himself in
a posture of defence. The myrmidons prepared to beat down the young
man's blade with their halberds, and secure him, when Jocelyn's cloak
was plucked from behind, and he heard Madame Bonaventure's voice
exclaim--"Come this way!--follow me instantly!"
Thus enjoined, he dashed through the door, which was instantly fastened,
as soon as he had made good his retreat.