TOWN AND GOWN.
THE Cardinal's commissioner stood for a moment and stared blankly at
the elderly nun who had personated Cicely, and then broke into a storm
of oaths and imprecations, cursing himself for a fool, and Miles for
suffering himself to be cheated; and during this hurricane of passion
the nun managed to make her escape and return to the convent to tell
her story.
Miles, too, was dumbfounded; but it was with grief and dismay, as he
thought of what Cicely's fate was likely to be, left defenceless in the
hands of the hard woman who had unrestrained power over her.
As soon as he could recover from the fit of passion, Master Baldock
exclaimed, "Now they will send her back to the Abbess at Greenwich,
and we may not be able to release her from that convent, even with the
Cardinal to help us."
"Then let us follow and overtake her at once," said Miles, springing
up as he spoke, and calling to the ostler to saddle his horse without
delay.
But Master Baldock countermanded the order. "We must go to work warily
in this matter," he said, "and fortunately I left a man to watch
the convent gates and inform us what took place in the night, for I
mistrusted that she-wolf, though I did not think she would try to cheat
us twice in the same way. By our Lady, she must think we are a pair of
fools, Master Paton!" he exclaimed, angrily. And then he picked up the
short sword he had thrown on the table, and said, "I will go in search
of my messenger near the convent and see what he can tell us. It may
be they have not started with Cicely yet. They would need horses and
an escort for a journey to Greenwich, and they are but a household of
women."
Miles was only too thankful to follow his friend; and the two were soon
in the street, and hastening towards the other end of the town. But
Miles was too impatient to wait for his companion; and the well-known
cry of the students in a Town and Gown row, which was evidently being
fought out close at hand, fired his blood, and he tucked up his cloak
and ran much as he did in the old student days, his knowledge of the
city enabling him to take several short cuts, so as to avoid the
thronging streets, and bring him more quickly to the convent, which he
was now anxious to reach before the nun who had gone with them to the
hostelry should get back to tell her tale.
But presently his way was blocked, for he came face to face with the
main body of the combatants, the students slowly driving the town lads
and apprentices before them; and Miles saw to his chagrin that it would
be the wisest course for him to turn and fly too, unless he would take
part in the melee; and he was just about to do this, when a woman laid
her hand upon his shoulder and panted, "Oh sir, for the love of our
Blessed Lady, come and help me. A poor girl has fallen down, and will
be trampled to death by the mob," and, as she spoke, the woman dragged
him to the side of the road, and pointed to the prostrate figure of a
girl which was almost unseen in the gathering gloom of evening; and, by
the fact, that she was closely enveloped in the thick folds of a black
cloak.
There was no time to ask questions. He could only snatch up the girl,
swing her across his shoulders, and fly before the crowd that came
surging down the street, and would have trampled the girl to death the
next minute if he had not been at hand to rescue her.
"Come, sir, come, I live close by," said the woman, when Miles began to
falter with his burden.
The next minute a stalwart, burly man appeared. "What ho, dame! who
have we here? Come indoors, sir, and rest a minute," and he led the way
down a gloomy entry, but into a comfortable cottage that seemed to have
fastened itself on to the walls of some large building.
Miles deposited his burden on the earth-trodden floor, and then turned
to look at the man who had greeted him, for something in the tone of
his voice sounded familiar; and the next minute he held out both hands,
exclaiming, "What, Rankin! is it you, my friend?"
"Master Miles! Master Miles! Bless the saints for giving me a sight
of you once more. Molly! Molly! it is our Master Miles Paton, who
made our fortune a year or two ago," said Rankin, shaking his wife by
the shoulder in the exuberance of his joy, while she, breathless, and
panting still from her run, could only curtsey and smile, and glance at
the black bundle on the floor.
"What is it, dame?" her husband asked, a little anxiously, turning to
look at the girl.
"One of your girls, isn't it, dame?" said Miles, but at the same time
thinking that she must have grown very tall during the last year or two.
"No, no, it is no girl of mine, but a stranger, who ran to me for help
from the crowd, and she fell down just as you came up."
While she had been speaking, Dame Rankin had knelt down beside the
prostrate figure and loosened the hood of the cloak, so as to give
the girl air, and in that moment Miles caught sight of the face, and
recognised it.
"Cicely! my Cicely!" he exclaimed, pushing Dame Rankin aside, and
taking the girl into his arms once more.
She slowly opened her eyes, and looked at him, and a smile of ineffable
joy and peace passed over her as she whispered, "Miles, take care of
me,—don't let them take me back."
"Never, my darling, never," he said; and then he pressed the first
lover's kiss upon her lips, and silently thanked God for His help and
guidance in bringing him to her in her hour of need.
There was a little truckle-bed in one corner of the room, and he
carried her to that; and then told Rankin something of the day's
doings, and how he had sent for his sister to meet this lady when she
should leave the convent, and how another had been imposed upon them
instead of Mistress Cicely Guildford.
"How she came to be in the streets in this part of the town, I do
not know, but, doubtless, she will tell us when she has somewhat
recovered." And then Miles devoted himself to comforting and reassuring
the frightened girl, who could not be persuaded that she was safe here
from her persecutors; for it seemed that she had been made to suffer
a great deal of unkind treatment, since she had told the abbess at
Greenwich that she did not wish to become a nun, through having been
able to read some portions of God's Word for herself.
These, of course, were from the translation of Miles, which he had
copied, and given to her, and which she had taken with her to the
convent, and lent to some of the other novices secretly, when she
learned that such reading was not approved by her superiors.
She managed to tell Miles this as he sat by her side, while Dame Rankin
busied herself about her household affairs, a little doubtful and
uneasy as to whether she had done right in fetching Miles to the rescue
of a nun, since it seemed likely, as they had found each other, that
she would not go back to a monastic life.
After about an hour Cicely had so far recovered that she said to Miles,
"I am so hungry; we had to keep a special fast to-day. But I may have
something to eat now."
"Of course, you may, my darling. What a stupid fellow I am! I can
scarcely think of anything else because I have found you." And then he
went to enquire what the cottage larder would afford, for he had at
last realised that he was hungry too.
But Rankin, although he had risen to the position of a leading workman,
and had had this cottage built for him close to the walls of Cardinal
College, did not presume to keep white bread in his house, or anything
else that was fit to set before the gentry; but he readily agreed to go
to the hostelry, and fetch Master Baldock if he could be found there,
and also to order a meal to be sent by one of the turnspits to Miles
and Cicely.
It was arranged that she should stay here for the night in the care of
Dame Rankin; for no inconvenience was too great if the man could do
anything for the son of his old master, who had saved him from ruin,
and made him a man again, as he said.
A month later, and this might have been impossible; for, by that time,
the poor fellow would probably have been caught begging, and lashed at
the cart-tail through the neighbourhood of Woodstock. And after that,
the man could no longer have held up his head among his fellow-men,
but would have descended from a man to a savage brute only too easily;
so that Rankin was not far wrong when he said that Miles had saved him
soul and body, and he would serve him with both till death if he needed
such service.
So the simple service of fetching supplies from the hostelry was
quickly accomplished, and he was only too eager to give up the best his
cottage afforded for the accommodation of Cicely.
When she had eaten a hearty meal, and seemed disposed to go to sleep,
Miles left her in charge of his friends; and, as Master Baldock had not
returned to the hostelry, he went in search of him, but did not find
him until the city gates closed, and then he came galloping in from the
London road, his horse covered with foam, and himself almost exhausted
from want of food and the exertion and discomfort of the day. At the
sight of Miles, however, he sprang from his horse, exclaiming, "Thank
God you are safe at least; but I began to think that she-wolf had
somehow spirited you away. She has gone, I am sorry to say, and is half
way to London by this time I fear."
"Who is?" asked Miles, fearing his friend's wits had wandered a little.
"My niece, Mistress Cicely Guildford. My watchman saw them leave the
convent soon after we went to the hostelry, but, as I had bidden him
abide at his post until I saw him, he could not leave to give me notice
of what had happened."
"But I found Cicely here in the streets of Oxford," said Miles.
"Found—Cicely—in—the—street," slowly uttered Master Baldock, who
thought Miles must have sought to drown his sorrow in too much Canary,
and said as much to the young man.
But Miles could afford to be good-tempered, and he laughed at the
insinuation, as he said, "It is true enough, Master Baldock. It seems
that they sent her in charge of two sisters to another convent in the
city, but the Town and Gown riot frightened the women, and they ran
away from the mob, and bade Cicely follow them. But she had caught
sight of a poor woman coming out of a shop, and ran towards her, not
knowing I was close at hand, for the woman ran screaming to me to
rescue a girl who had fallen down almost at the feet of the mob. I
picked her up and carried her to the woman's home, thinking it was her
daughter, until her face was uncovered, and I recognised my Cicely. I
have left her there, for I know the people well, and the man would lay
down his life to defend her."
This story astonished Master Baldock. "The she-wolf has outwitted
herself for once, then," he said, in a tone of satisfaction.
The two hastened back to the hostelry, for now that the city gates were
closed and the shops shut up, it was scarcely safe to be abroad without
an armed guard being in attendance. They had left the hostelry in such
hot haste that there had been no time to summon those who had attended
them from London, and it was certainly unsafe for strangers to be out
so late unattended.
The next day letters were sent by different messengers to the parents
of the novices who wished to return home. These friends were informed
that for the better ruling and guidance of the Church the monastic
system was to be gradually restricted, and for the next few years
no more novices of either sex would be allowed to take the vows of
the monastic life. The great abuses which had crept into the abbeys
and convents had forced the heads of the Church to exercise this
discipline, and therefore the daughter or niece had been sent back to
the care of her friends, and the business of her dowry would be settled
later.
Having settled this matter, Master Baldock began to look round for a
temporary home for these novices, for he scarcely liked to trust them
to the tender mercies of the woman who had deceived him so grossly. But
no one cared to shelter girls who would practically break their vows
by leaving the convent, even under the protection of the Cardinal's
commissioner; and as there were no married clergy in the city, no one
of importance, who could protect the girls from scandal, was willing to
run the risk of offending the higher clergy by receiving a disgraced
nun; and so, for want of protectors, they were obliged to remain in the
convent, and Cicely was securely hidden in the little homely cottage
that had first received her.
The business upon which Miles and his friend had been sent was pressed
forward with all diligence, and the two commissioners found little
difficulty, after sending the novices home, in finding accommodation
for the nuns of two convents, and even three where the sisterhood was
very small, in one only.
By this means the revenue of the houses that were suppressed could be
taken for the further development of colleges, schools, and learning
generally, while the buildings themselves could either be pulled down
and their stones used in the completion of the Cardinal College, or
they might be used for grammar schools or hostelries for students,
who, at present, often had to beg from door to door like the monks,
to maintain themselves while mastering the Greek and Latin tongues,
or preparing themselves to take their degrees as Doctors of Law or
Philosophy; and this daily hunt for food often sorely hindered them in
their studies, the Cardinal knew.
Miles knew it, too, by bitter experience, so that he was willing enough
to press forward the work for the work's own sake, to say nothing of
the plan he had formed in his mind of taking Cicely to Woodstock until
she should become his wife.
But the best laid plans are often upset, and just before the close of
the commission a messenger brought a letter from Paton Hall, bidding
him ride home with all speed if he wished to see his father before he
died. It was not the first letter he had received from home since he
had been in Oxford. He had hoped that his sister could join him there,
but his father had forbidden it, and had sent to tell him that he was
in failing health, and could not spare his daughter Margery to go
junketing about the country. Miles had only half-believed it, although
a letter from his sister herself confirmed the old man's report of his
health.
The fact was Miles did not want to believe it, because it would be very
inconvenient just now. But the inconvenient had happened, it seemed,
and now he was in a dilemma as to what he should do with Cicely. He
rather shrank from taking her home to Paton Hall at such a time as
this, especially when he remembered his father's anger at Greenwich.
But resection taught him that this anger was unreasonable on his
father's part, and he owed a duty to Cicely now which must stand before
all considerations of what people would say; and he made up his mind
how to act before speaking to his friend, Master Baldock, who, as
Cicely's uncle, might think he had a right to interfere if he did not
make up his mind at first.
So, after pondering over the messenger's news for a little while,
he went to Master Baldock, and told him what had happened. "Now, I
must have a strong escort to protect Cicely, and set off at daybreak
to-morrow, for I would fain see my father once again before he dies."
Contrary to his expectations, Master Baldock did not object to this
plan. "It would be better thus, I think," he said, slowly, "for, from
all I can hear, the nuns think she was killed the night of the riot,
and have sent to tell the abbess at Greenwich the story of how it
happened. Of course it will all be hushed up, as such things are, but
I have taken care to send a letter to my brother, informing him of the
true state of the case; and before she leaves Oxford she had better lay
aside the dress of a novice, and no one at Woodstock need know that she
ever contemplated entering the monastic life. You can understand how
inconvenient it would be for her to go home to Greenwich just now."
"I would not let her go. Until she is my wife she shall not go near the
Court or Queen," said Miles, hotly.
Master Baldock shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. Perhaps he thought
it would be just as well if Miles did not have to continue much longer
in the service of the Cardinal, for the affair had already caused more
talk than was pleasant, and Wolsey was apt to think that someone had
blundered if a matter was not settled with the silence and despatch
with which he liked to characterise all his business transactions.
So a secular dress was provided for Cicely, and an escort engaged to
take them to Woodstock, so that they should not be waylaid either by
beggars or miscreants hired by the Mother-Superior to kidnap Cicely and
murder Miles. For, he thought, either fate might befall them if they
were not sufficiently guarded.
So, with his beloved Cicely beside him, and a well-armed guard, Miles
once more passed through the gate of Oxford city, along the Northern
Road, delighted to point out to his companion this and that along the
road, and trying to keep up her spirits, but all the time feeling
gravely anxious as to what reception he should get at the end of his
journey, and wondering whether the Lady Audrey still lived at Paton
Hall.