It was six o'clock before any of the birds flew home; and the first to
come was John Avery, who said he had left Robin in charge of Dr
Thorpe,--"or Dr Thorpe in charge of Robin, as it may please thee to take
it. I know not when they will be back. In all my life did I never see
a man so unweary and unwearyable as that our old friend."
"And what hast thou seen, Jack?" said Isoult.
"Three very fine ladies and three very fine gentlemen," answered he;
"with a great many more ladies and gentlemen, not quite so fine."
"What ware they?" asked Kate.
"Was the King there?" Isoult inquired.
"What ware they, Moppet?" said John, taking up Kate; "why, many a yard
of cloth of gold, and satin, and velvet, and I cannot tell thee what
else. They were as fine as ever the tailor could make them.--Ay, dear
heart, the King was there."
But his voice changed, so that Isoult could read in it a whole volume of
bad news.
"Is he sick, then, as we heard?" she asked.
"Hardly," he answered in a low voice, "say rather dying."
"O Jack!" cried she.
"O Isoult, if thou hadst seen him!" said he, his voice quivering. "The
fierce, unnatural radiance in those soft, meek grey eyes, as though
there were a fire consuming him within; the sickly dead-white colour of
his face, with burning red spots on the cheeks; the languor and disease
of his manner, ever leaning his head upon his hand, as though he could
scarce bear it up; and when he smiled--I might scantly endure to look on
him. And above all this, the hollow cough that ever brake the silence,
and seemed well-nigh to tear his delicate frame in twain--it was enough
to make a strong man weep."
"But tell me all about it!" cried Kate, laying her little hand upon her
father's face to make him turn round to her; "I want to know all about
it. How old are these great ladies? and what are they like to? and what
ware they? Was it blue, or red, or green?"
John turned to her with a smile, and his manner changed again.
"What a little queen art thou!" said he. "Well, I must needs strive to
content thy majesty. How old are the ladies that were married? Well,
the Lady Jane is the eldest, and she is, I take it, sixteen or seventeen
years of age. She looketh something elder than her years, yet rather in
her grave, quiet manner than in her face. Then her sister the Lady
Katherine is nigh fourteen. And the years of my Lady Katherine Dudley I
know not. _Item_, what are they like unto? That was the next question,
methinks."
"Ay," replied Kate. "Which is the nicest?"
"Which thou shouldst think the nicest I cannot tell," said John. "But
in so far as mine opinion lieth, the Lady Jane's face liked me the best.
Maybe my Lady Kate Dudley should have stricken thy fancy the rather,
for she ware a mighty brave blue satin gown, and her face was all smiles
and mirth."
"And what ware the other?"
"The Lady Jane and her sister were both donned in white velvet."
"And what colour were their hoods?"
"My Lady Katherine Dudley's amber-colour, set with sapphires; the other
ruby velvet, and their jewels rubies."
"And who married them, Jack?" asked Isoult.
"Bishop Ridley."
"Body o' me! who ever looked at Bishop Ridley, I would like to know!"
cried Dr Thorpe, coming halting in as though he had hurt himself.
"Isoult, if thou canst ever get my left shoe off, I will give thee a
gold angelet [half-angel; in other words, a gold crown]. Yonder dolt of
a shoemaker hath pinched me like a pasty. But O the brave doings! 'Tis
enough to make a man set off to church and be married himself!"
And the old man sat down in a great chair.
"I will strive to earn it, Doctor," said Isoult, laughing, as she sat
down on the hearth before him, and took his lame foot in her lap. "Art
thou weary, Robin?"
"Not much," said Robin, smiling. "The shoemaker did not pinch me."
"Beshrew him for an owl that he did not!" answered Dr Thorpe, testily.
"Thou hadst stood it the better. Eh, child, if thou hadst seen the--
mind thy ways, Isoult!--the brave gear, and the jewels, and the gold
chains, and the estate [Note 2], and the plumes a-nodding right down--
Oh!"
His shoe hurt him in coming off, and he sat rubbing his foot.
"Was Mr Rose there?" said Isoult, when they had finished laughing.
"No," said Robin.
"And Mr Underhill?"
"Ay, that was he, in the bravest and marvellousest velvet gown ever thou
sawest in all thy days, and a doublet and slop [very wide breeches
introduced from Holland] of satin, and a gold chain thick enough to tie
up a dog with. And there, sweet heart, was my most gracious Lord of
Northumberland--in a claret velvet gown sewed with gold braid--and for
as many inches as could be found of the plain velvet in that gown, I
will give any man so many nobles. There was not one! And the bonnet in
's hand!--with a great ruby for a button!--and all set with
seed-pearl!--and the jewels in the hilt of's sword!--and great rubies in
face of his shoes! The dolt and patch that he is!"
"I do believe Dr Thorpe had beheaded my Lord of Northumberland," said
John, laughing, "if that sword had been in his belt in lieu of the
other."
"I never saw him afore," replied he, "and I never do desire to see him
again. He looketh the rogue [then a stronger word than now] that he
is."
"And now, as a physician, what think you of the King?" asked John,
sadly.
"I will give him three months to die in," was Dr Thorpe's short and
woeful answer.
By the second of July, England knew that the King was dying. No longer
could there be any question of the sorrowful truth. He was at Greenwich
Palace, Archbishop Cranmer and Bishop Ridley in frequent waiting on him;
and summons was sent to his sisters to come quickly. On the 3rd of
July, which was Sunday, Dr Ridley preached at the Cross, where he dimly
foreshadowed the disposition of the Crown that was coming. All who
heard him were much astonished, for not a word had crept out before. It
was plain from what he said that the King's sisters were to be passed
over (to the no little surprise of all who knew his love for the
Princess Elizabeth); but it was not plain who was to come instead; and
the rumour ran that it would be the Lady Frances, Duchess of Suffolk,
the niece of King Henry, and mother of the Lady Jane Grey.
On the evening of the 6th of July, came a comforting rumour that the
King was better, and a hope sprang up that he would yet recover. Those
who knew the Duke of Northumberland might have guessed at treachery. In
truth, the King died that day; but the Duke kept it secret, until he
thought his plans secure for the Lady Jane's succession.
On the morning of the 10th of July, came Dr Thorpe in great haste, from
the barber's.
"Isoult!" cried he, "tie thine hood and bring the childre!"
"What is now to do?" said she to herself; but she tied on her hood, and
brought down the children with her.
"Where be Jack and Robin?" asked the old man.
"They went forth to Westminster together, half an hour gone," said
Isoult.
"They must shift for themselves, then," said he. "Come away."
"But whither, Doctor?" she wished to know.
"Down to the river side by Saint Katherine's, with all the haste that
may be," answered he. "Isoult, the King is dead, and the Lady Jane
Dudley proclaimed Queen of England, and she cometh apace from Shene to
the Tower. We may chance to see her land, if we lose no time."
"The King dead!"
Isoult said no more, but away they ran down the street, till they
reached Saint Katherine by the Tower. A crowd of people were already
there. They took up their places by the church, whence they could see
the river; and they had not been there two minutes, ere they heard a
sound of cheering from the watermen below; and presently the royal barge
of England glided into sight. At the bow played the standard of the
realm; and about the cloth of estate were several ladies and gentlemen,
all clad in mourning, surrounding a lady who sat under the canopy. This
was all that could be seen till the barge stopped at the Tower-stairs.
Then from it (a blue cloth being first laid to the gate) came the Duke
of Northumberland, robed in a long, black gown trimmed with fox, leading
a fair, slender girl also in mourning, and Frances, Duchess of Suffolk
[Note 3], bore her train. After them came the Duke of Suffolk, the Earl
of Arundel, a slim comely youth unknown to the crowd, and Lord Grey de
Wilton. And the minute after, from the crowd thronging the postern, Mr
Ive, the High Constable (Mr Underhill's friend and neighbour at the Lime
Hurst), made his way to our little group.
"Ah! how do you?" said he. "You are in fair time to see our new Queen."
"I pray you, Mr Ive," said Isoult, "is yonder damsel her Highness, that
my Lord's Grace of Northumberland hath by the hand?"
"Even so," replied he; "and yonder young gentleman that followeth is her
husband, the Lord Guilford Dudley."
Very earnestly they looked then on the face of their new Sovereign. A
soft, gentle face, fair and clear complexion, brown hair, and meek,
thoughtful brown eyes; and eyes that had shed tears but very lately.
But Northumberland bore himself proudly, as though he felt himself a
King already. And very few voices said "God save Queen Jane!" Isoult
did hear a few, but few they were.
In the evening, throughout the City, and without the gates, was the new
Queen proclaimed. It was now known that the King had died on the
Thursday previous, and that Northumberland had kept the matter secret,
until he thought Jane's succession ensured. And by letters patent,
dated the 21st of June, King Edward had bequeathed the realm to the
heirs-male of his cousin the Lady Frances, Duchess of Suffolk; and
should she have no heirs-male before his death, the reversion was to
pass to her eldest daughter, the Lady Jane Dudley, now Queen; and for
lack of her issue, to her cousin Lady Margaret Clifford. The sisters of
Jane were passed over, and also the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth,
sisters of the late King.
All the Queen's officers, and her Council, were sworn to serve her on
the 9th of July; and troops were sent to take the Lady Mary, who had
already been proclaimed Queen at Kenninghall in Norfolk.
Every body was glad to see Mr Rose come in that evening.
"Well!" said he, "we are well into a new reign. Thank God for a
Protestant Prince!"
"There Underhill shall run a tilt with you," said John, smiling.
"My friend, had the Lady Mary not been exempted of the King her brother,
I had bowed to her sceptre," said Mr Rose. "But she is lawfully put
forth; and Queen Jane as lawfully proclaimed."
"Who talks treason here?" cried Mr Underhill's voice behind, which all
dreaded to hear. "What say you--`God save Queen Jane?' I say, God save
Queen Mary! I serve not my Lord of Northumberland, for all the Papists
nick [give me the nick-name] me his spy! _I_ have not proclaimed King
John--whereof, as all men do know, Queen Jane is but the feminine. I am
a servant of the Queen's Majesty that reigneth by right, and that Queen
is Mary. God defend the right, as assuredly He will!"
Mr Rose looked quietly on him.
"You may live to forethink [regret] the setting of her up, if it were
so," was all he said.
"I may live to be sorry she was ever born," answered Mr Underhill. "I
know that, Father Rose! But right is right, and wrong is wrong; and I
say this is a wrong, and I stand forth for the right."
"God's will is the right," gently answered Mr Rose. "Let us not fight
against God."
"And be you ware you do not!" cried Mr Underhill in his ringing voice.
"How look you to know what His will is herein?"
"We shall all know that ere it be long," said Mr Rose, sadly.
On the 13th of July [exact date unrecorded] was born Guilford Underhill,
Mr Underhill's eldest son. He had already five daughters. The 19th was
appointed for christening the child, and the sponsors were the Queen
(that is to say, Lady Jane), her father the Duke of Suffolk, and the
Earl of Pembroke. John Avery was greatly amused that Mr Underhill
should believe the Lady Jane had no right to be Queen, and yet, because
she was Queen, would have her his child's sponsor. It was an instance
of the consistent inconsistency inherent in human nature.
The 14th of July was a day of contrary rumours, and great trouble, and
running to and fro in the streets of the city. From all sides news
poured in that the Lady Mary was proclaimed Queen--at Kenninghall, and
Framlingham, and Norwich, and in all the eastern parts. The Council
would have sent the Duke of Suffolk against her; but Lady Jane his
daughter entreated with tears that he might remain with her; and they
then sent the Duke of Northumberland. He and Lord Grey de Wilton (who
went unwillingly, being of Mr Underhill's way of thinking) set forth on
the 14th, with six hundred men. That evening came news that Mary was
proclaimed in Buckinghamshire.
On the 16th, at seven o'clock at night, the gates of the Tower were
suddenly locked, and the keys carried to Lady Jane. This was to secure
the Lord Treasurer, (the Marquis of Winchester), who was considered of
doubtful faith, and proved to be as he was considered.
As the party reached Saint Katherine's on their way to the christening,
the Lords of the Council were just riding out of the western gate of the
Tower. These were the Earls of Pembroke, Shrewsbury, and Arundel, the
Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, the Lord Mayor, and sundry knights.
The Duke of Suffolk was left behind. The truth was, that he would have
been in the way. The Council said that it was going to give audience to
the French Ambassador; but it was really bound on a very different
errand. Lady Throgmorton was the Queen's deputy at the christening, and
named the child Guilford.
"Named for a Dudley!" whispered the irrepressible Dr Thorpe to Isoult.
"He will not thrive, take my word for it--unless he turn out a rascal."
Before the ceremony was ended, a great noise was heard in the City:
shouting, singing, and roaring all together. The baptism over, Lady
Throgmorton returned into the Tower; and the rest of the party went on
to the Lamb, where they were all going to pass the afternoon. Mistress
Helen Ive [a fictitious person], the High Constable's daughter, carried
the baby, and accompanied Isoult; but Mr Ive said he would go up to
Aldgate, and see what all the tumult had been; so away he went, while
the others rested and talked, and ate ale-brew [ale and bread, sometimes
called aleberry] and spiced cake; and Kate was wonderfully pleased with
the baby. All at once, as they sat thus, Mr Ive returned, his face
showing that he brought strange tidings.
"They have proclaimed Queen Mary!" he cried breathlessly.
"Who have?" asked Mr Underhill, turning round.
"The Lords of the Council," answered he.
"Robin Hood's tales!" cried Mr Underhill.
"'Tis truth," responded Mr Ive.
"The Council of Queen Jane to proclaim Queen Mary!" said Mr Underhill,
scornfully. "Ive, you are mad as a March hare."
"`Bate me an ace, quoth Bolton,'" said Dr Thorpe, shrugging his
shoulders.
"Bate your aces, and catch your March hares," answered Mr Ive, who took
all this banter very pleasantly; "but this is truth that I do tell you.
An hour gone, we being in the church, when we heard that mighty bruit
from the City, was Queen Mary proclaimed in Cheapside by the Council.
Their audience to the French King's Ambassador was but a feint, to get
well and all together out of the Tower. And when they came to the
Chepe, they called an halt; and my Lord of Arundel, stepping forwards,
did there, in the hearing of all the people, proclaim--`Mary, by the
grace of God, of England, France, and Ireland, Queen'--and so forth.
And no sooner said than every man in the street flung up his cap, and
the people cheered as they had gone mad for joy. The Earl of Pembroke
threw down in the street his cap full of angelets."
"My word on't, but I would Walter had been there, to run about and
gather them up!" said Dr Thorpe. "We might have gleaned that comfort
thence, at least."
"And at the windows of many houses in the City," continued Mr Ive,
"money was thrown out; and bonfires all along the Chepe and Poultry be
a-lighting, and at all the gates, and in Cornhill, and Fleet Street, and
Aldersgate Street, and I know not where else; and (say they) such
shouting, crying, and singing of the people, ringing of bells, playing
of organs, tables of meal and drink setting forth in every street; and
such racket and bruit, as a man might scantly hear his own voice. And
after the proclamation in Cheapside, all the Council rade to Poules, and
there was _Te Deum_ to be sung at evensong."
"But who be `they'?" cried Mr Underhill. "Who told you all this jolly
tale?"
"The keeper of Aldgate, and your friend Mr Newman, and George Ferris,
and divers other. I gat not all from one man."
"Newman and Ferris! Then it is true," murmured Mr Underhill, very
gravely.
It was true. Before night they knew all concerning this deed of
treachery.
And--last and worst of all--no sooner did the Duke of Suffolk, within
the Tower, hear that the Council had proclaimed Queen Mary without, than
out he came upon the hill, and saying "he was but one man, and would not
withstand all the Council," proclaimed Queen Mary on Tower Hill, to the
ruin of his own daughter: and then went into London, leaving poor Lady
Jane almost alone in the Tower,--for only Lord Guilford, and the Duchess
of Northumberland, and Lady Throgmorton and her husband Sir Nicholas,
and Sir John Bridges, were left with her. And when Lady Throgmorton
returned from Saint Katherine's to the Tower, she found the cloth of
estate already taken down, and all changed; and when she would have
quitted the Tower again, she was not permitted to do so.
That evening, there was a gathering at the Lamb. Mr Underhill stayed to
rejoice; Mr Rose came to mourn; Philippa Basset came to rail; and Mr
Holland came to pacify them. And no very soft nor sweet words were
bestowed on Lord Sussex by Mr Holland (whose words were not all peace);
nor on Lord Arundel by Mr Rose; nor on Lord Grey by Mr Underhill; nor on
the Duke of Suffolk by any body; nor on any body by Philippa. Only to
one no hard words were given by any; and that was the Lady Jane, whom
all united to excuse and pity. But all agreed in calling Lord Arundel a
traitor, and Suffolk a man too weak and pitiful to be blamed.
All hope of the Lady Jane's success was now gone. The Duke of
Northumberland himself proclaimed Queen Mary when he discovered it; but
notwithstanding this feeble attempt to curry favour, on the 22nd he was
apprehended at Cambridge. Lord Grey de Wilton and others who submitted
themselves early were pardoned. Lady Jane, Lord Guilford, and those
with them, were kept prisoners in the Tower.
Towards the end of July, Isoult and Esther were coming along the
riverside by the Tower, when they saw a great crowd shouting and running
towards them. Neither John nor Robin being with them, Isoult was rather
frightened, and turned aside into the porch of Saint Katherine's for
safety. But when they came nearer, she saw that here were the prisoners
borne under guard to the Tower. First rode the traitor Earl of Arundel,
who had them in his guard; and had he received his deserts, he would
have been among them. And after him, riding upon horses, their bridles
tied to those of the guards, came the Duke of Northumberland, his sons,
the Earl of Warwick, Lord Ambrose, and Lord Henry Dudley; Lord
Huntingdon, Lord Hastings, Sir John Gates, and his brother Sir Henry,
Sir Andrew Dudley (brother to the Duke), and Dr Sands, Chancellor of
Cambridge. But when Isoult saw the face of the last prisoner, she was
unspeakably startled. Esther asked if she were ill; "for (said she),
you look ever so white and faint!" It was no wonder, when she looked up
into the unforgotten face of Sir Thomas Palmer.
Thirteen years had passed since she saw him; but Isoult knew him in a
moment. All the old Calais memories came flashing back on her like an
overwhelming flood, drowning the newer evil he had done, as she saw this
man, who had persecuted the saints of God, who had done the Duke of
Somerset to death, who had been one of the four destroyers of her
beloved master--led to his prison and to his suffering in turn.
Sir Thomas looked at Isoult as he passed, seeing her eyes fixed on him;
but it was the look of a stranger to a stranger.
The storm broke now. Few days passed unmarked by fresh arrests. The
phrase "the Queen" had almost insensibly passed from Jane to Mary. But
for a little while yet the crisis was political, not religious. When
the danger was over, and before Mary reached her metropolis, the scene
was shifted, and the first Protestant arrest took place. And so sudden
and unexpected was the blow, that it fell upon the Gospellers like a
thunderbolt. Thirty hours had barely elapsed since her meeting with Sir
Thomas Palmer, when Isoult, coming down into the parlour, heard her
husband's voice say sorrowfully--"Ay, this is the beginning of sorrows."
"Is there any more news?" cried Isoult, fearfully; for fresh news then
meant bad news.
"The worst we have had yet," he said; "the Bishop of London is committed
to the Tower."
"And that all suddenly, with scantly a minute's warning," added Dr
Thorpe.
"Woe worth the day!" she wailed. "Ay, thou mayest say so," answered he.
"God grant this be not the first step of a longer and dreader
persecution than we have yet known."
On Friday the Duke of Suffolk was brought to the Tower, where his
hapless daughter remained a prisoner. But on the Monday following,
Suffolk was released.
"To ease the Tower dungeons, which must now be choke-full," suggested Dr
Thorpe; "or it may be the Queen thought him a sely [harmless, simple]
fellow, not worth the turning of an axe edge."
The Queen's grand entry into London took place on the 3rd of August.
There was no need for any in the Minories to go far to see her, for she
came to them, riding down Shoreditch and in at Aldgate. She was
preceded by a guard of seven hundred and forty "velvet coats;" then rode
that "honourable man" my Lord of Arundel, bearing in his hand the sword
of state; then (after reaching Aldgate) the Lord Mayor; then the Queen,
royally arrayed, riding by herself on a richly-caparisoned barb, Sir
Anthony Browne bearing up her train. What were the thoughts of that
long-persecuted woman, now in her turn to become a persecutor? Then
followed her sister, the Lady Elizabeth. What, too, were her thoughts?
After the royal sisters rode Elizabeth Stafford, wife of the imprisoned
Duke of Norfolk, and Gertrude, Marchioness of Exeter, mother of the
imprisoned Edward Courtenay. Ladies and gentlemen followed to the
number of a hundred and eighty. Lastly came the guard, with a crowd of
men from Northampton, Buckingham, and Oxford shires, all in armour, and
the peers' servants. The number of horsemen, we are assured, was about
ten thousand.
And when the Queen came to the Tower, there, beside the gate, kneeling
upon the Tower green, were the old prisoners of her father and brother,
the old Duke of Norfolk, and Dr Stephen Gardiner, and the Duchess of
Somerset, and the young Lord Courtenay, who had scarcely ever been out
of the Tower in his life. They, kneeling there, saluted her; and no
sooner had the Queen alighted, than she went to them and kissed them,
and said, "These are my prisoners."
The time-serving Earl of Pembroke had been ordered to wait upon the
Queen, but was too terrified to obey. He felt himself too deeply
compromised for pardon. One point, however, he was careful not to
neglect. His son, Lord Herbert, was divorced in all haste and fear from
Lady Katherine Grey, the hapless sister of the "nine days' Queen."
On Saturday night, Mr Underhill walked into the Lamb, and tacitly asked
himself to supper. He was in feverish delight.
"The good cause hath triumphed! and Queen Mary being known to be of
merciful complexion, I cast no doubt all shall be spared that can be."
Deluded man! but he was quickly to be undeceived in a very personal
manner.
"But meantime," responded John Avery, "some are being spared that should
not be--all them that have troubled the realm in King Edward's time, or
yet sooner. Bishop Day is delivered; and Bishop Bonner not only
delivered, but restored to his see, and shall henceforth be Bishop of
London in the stead of Dr Ridley. And what shall become of that our
good Bishop no man knoweth. Moreover, Bishop Tunstal is delivered out
of prison; and Dr Gardiner (woe worth the day!) was this morrow sworn of
the Council. Howso merciful be the Queen, the Council shall be little
that way inclined, if they have him amongst them."
It was not yet dinner-time on the following morning, when Barbara came
up-stairs to tell her mistress that Mrs Helen Ive wished to see her.
Her first words were ominous.
"Mrs Avery, I come from the Lime Hurst, with rare ill tidings."
"Alack!" said Isoult. "Is Mistress Underhill worser? or the little babe
sick?"
"Neither," said she; "but Mr Underhill is in Newgate."
"Mr Underhill!" cried Isoult. "For what cause?"
"God knoweth, and they that have him," said she; "for the rest, I wis
not whether he know himself. But he was taken in the midst of the
night, being ten of the clock, and after long trial by the Council, is
now sent unto Newgate. The Sheriff of Middlesex come unto my father's
house thus late, and brake the matter to my father, whom he desired to
go with him, as being Mr Underhill's very friend; and my father did
entreat him to leave him go and fetch his prisoner, for frightening of
Mrs Underhill in her weakness. So my father, followed of the Sheriff
and his men bearing bills and glaives, knocked on the door, and there
came one to the door, unto whom he desired that he should ask Mr
Underhill to come out. But upon this he heard Mr Underhill's voice,
calling to him to go within. So he went within, and found Mr Underhill
in his bed; who demanding of him in his merry fashion what he did
breaking into a man's house at that hour of the night, my father
answered him that the Sheriff, and with him a great company were come to
fetch him. Upon which Mr Underhill rose, and made him ready; and
willing not that Mistress Underhill should know anything of the matter,
he would not go into her chamber for any other gear, but cast about him
such as he had there, which was a brave satin gown that he had worn the
even afore."
"Ay," said Isoult, "a tawny satin night-gown [evening costume] laced
with green; he had it here at supper."
"Well," pursued Helen, "so out came he to the Sheriff, and demanded what
he would. `Sir,' said he, `I have commandment from the Council to
apprehend you, and forthwith to bring you unto them.'--`Why,' answers Mr
Underhill, `it is now ten of the clock in the night; you cannot now
carry me unto them.'--`No, Sir,' said he; `ye shall go with me to my
house to London, where ye shall have a bed; and to-morrow I shall bring
you unto them at the Tower.'--`In the Name of God!' [Note 4] quoth Mr
Underhill; and so went with the Sheriff. `Know you the cause?' saith he
also; who [the Sheriff] answered that he knew of none. Then said Mr
Underhill, `This needed not; any one messenger might have fetched me
unto them.' So away went they, and my father turned home. And this
morning went my father early unto the Tower, where the Council were
sitting, and took his place at the gate, where was a great throng of
people, that he might hear what should befall. It was a mighty long
time ere Mr Underhill came forth; but at long last out came he, led
betwixt two of the guard, and my father (with a great throng) followed
to Mr Garret's house, the Sheriff, in the Stock Market. There they took
Mr Underhill in, and after a while, to my father's great easement, came
forth without him. Then, after some time, came forth Mr Underhill
again, with two of the Sheriff's men; but they had no bills with them,
nor they led him not, but followed a pretty way behind. So he coming
into the street, my father, seeing him have such liberty, and such
distance between him and the officers, he stepped before them, and so
went talking with him through Cheapside. And Mr Underhill told him
that my Lord of Sussex would have ordered him to the Fleet, and Sir
Richard Southwell cried out to have him to the Marshalsea: but neither
should content Sir John Gage nor Secretary Bourne, and they made great
ado that he were sent to Newgate, and prevailed. Arrived thither, Mr
Underhill was delivered of the officers to Alisaunder the keeper [Note
5], who unlocked a door, and bade him go up-stairs into the hall. My
father would not yet leave him, but went up with him, and there they sat
down and had some talk one with the other. And Mr Underhill did require
my father not to let Mrs Underhill know that he was sent to Newgate, but
to the Counter, until such time as she were near her churching, and
better to abide ill news; and that she should send him his night-gown,
his Bible, and his lute. So my father took his leave; and meeting me at
Aldgate on his way home, desired me to turn aside hither and tell you
thereof; and to ask you that you would come and visit Mrs Underhill in
her trouble, if it might stand with your conveniency."
"That will I, assuredly," said Isoult; "and it shall be the very first
thing I do on the morrow."
Isoult fulfilled her promise. She rode to the Lime Hurst, with Tom as
escort; and found Mrs Underhill lying on the day-bed [the predecessor of
the sofa], with Helen Ive sitting by her; while Anne, her eldest girl,
was nursing her baby brother, and looked very much gratified to be
trusted with him. Mrs Underhill burst into tears the moment her visitor
approached. Taking the seat which Helen vacated for her, Isoult
endeavoured to cheer her invalid friend. When she was able to speak,
Mrs Underhill was found very resolute.
"So soon as ever my strength shall serve," she said, "I will hie me to
the Lords of the Council, to entreat them for Ned's deliverance; and
methinks my Lord of Bedford at the least shall hear me, for the good hap
that we had to recover his son. And I will moreover get help of Jack
Throgmorton, Master of the Quest, that is Ned's countryman and kinsman."
"But, dear heart," cried Isoult, "you are not strong enough to bear so
weary a burden."
"I will be strong enough!" she answered, determinately. "And to that
end I do mean to be churched this next Sunday. But to tell you the very
truth, Mrs Avery, I do fear this shall not be all. Men do say Mr Rose
shall be deprived ere many days; and it may be, set in ward likewise.
Ah, well-a-day I we have need to take heed to our ways. My way lieth
toward the Counter; if I might be there with Ned, I would not much lay
to heart for what cause. Methinks when they take a man, they should
seize both halves of him."
Isoult smiled, but made no reply.
"And 'tis whispered about," she pursued, "that my Lord Archbishop should
forsake the Gospel, and be again a Lutheran, if not a Papist; and that
the mass shall be again set up; and that proclamation shall be made to
put forth from their cures all married priests. Mrs Avery, have a care
of your Robin, that he either receive not orders, or wed not. When
looked you for his being a priest?"
"Why," said Isoult, "he had been ordained of Bishop Ridley this next
Rogation-tide; but now I know not what shall fall, for no Popish Bishop
will admit him, nor would we ask it if he would so do. May be, if Mr
Rose would speak with him (Robin being Cornwall-born), Bishop Coverdale
should grant him, an' he knew the case."
"Bishop Coverdale, and Mr Rose to boot," said she, "shall shortly have
enough to do to see to themselves. Mrs Rose is sorely distressed
touching the forbiddance of wedded priests, which 'tis thought shall
shortly be had. And 'twill be no gain to be Mr Rose his son when the
storm come. An' I were you and Mr Avery, I would put him off both his
orders and his wedding."
"We have no right over him, Mrs Underhill," said Isoult.
"No right!" answered she. "Doth not every man that knoweth you and him
know that you have but to whisper, and he shall run at your bidding?
Mrs Avery, if you asked that lad for his head, I do very nigh believe he
should cut it off for you."
"I must talk with Jack of this matter," responded Isoult, thoughtfully.
So, when she left the Lime Hurst, she came home to dinner, and after
dinner rode on to West Ham. In the parlour there she found Thekla at
her spinning; but Mrs Rose (a most unwonted thing for her), sat by the
casement idle, with her hands lying before her.
"Hear you Mr Underhill is in prison?" were her first words.
"Ay," said Isoult; "and that you, dear friend, are sore disquieted, for
the which cause I come."
"Disquieted!" she answered, the tears springing to her eyes. "Is it
like I shall be quiet? How know I who shall be in prison to-morrow?
They may burn mine husband and banish me before a month. And what is to
come of Thekla?"
"Dear mother," said Thekla, gently, "they will not put God in prison."
"They may put there every servant that He hath," said she, bitterly.
"I think you know, dear heart," replied Isoult, "that so long as we have
any shelter to offer unto her, Thekla shall not be without one."
"But how long may be that?" she answered; and, burying her face in her
handkerchief, she began sobbing.
Isoult hardly knew what to say, but she heard Mr Rose's step, and
awaited his coming. He greeted her kindly, and then turning at once to
his wife, said, "Sweet heart, why weepest thou?"
"Mrs Rose feareth we may all be prisoned or execute afore a month be
over," said Isoult, for Mrs Rose was sobbing too heartily to speak.
"Truth," he answered. "What then?"
"What then?" she cried through her tears. "Why, Tom, art thou mad?
`What then,' to such matter as the breaking of our hearts and the
burning of our bodies? `What then!'"
"Then," said he, gently, "thou art not ready (as Paul was) `not only to
be bound, but also to die' for the Lord Jesus? Is it so, my
Marguerite?"
"I know not what I were ready to do myself," she said, "but I am not
ready to see thee nor Thekla to do so."
"Well, sweet heart," said he, "methinks I am ready. Ready--to be
confessed before the angels of God, and the Father which is in Heaven:
ready--to wear a martyr crown before all the world: ready--to reign with
Christ a thousand years! Is that matter to be wept for, Marguerite?"
"There is something else to come first," she said, shaking her head.
"There is so," replied he. "To confess Christ, ere He confess us: to be
envied of angels, that have no such means of showing forth His glory: to
give a very little thing for the Redeemer who gave all He is, and all He
hath, for us. Is that, also, matter for tears?"
"Ah, Tom!" said she, smiling through her tears, "thou turnest it all to
the contrary. But thou knowest what I mean."
"The brighter and better way," he answered. "But I do know thy meaning,
dear heart. And in truth, it is hard, and the flesh is weak. But
remember, our Lord knoweth that as well as we. He hath not forgotten
the days of His flesh, when He offered up prayer, with strong crying and
tears, to Him that was able to save Him from death; though there were
one thing (and that the worst thing) in His sorrow, that there can never
be in ours. The way may be rough and stony--but, mind thou, it is only
very short."
"When it may last for all the life, Tom! Hard prison, and scant fare,
and loneliness, and bitter mourning! Methinks the death were better
than that."
"Very short, still," repeated he, "to the endless days of eternity. The
days of the journey be few indeed, compared with the number of those to
be spent in the Father's House. And, sweet heart, even should we be
forced to go that journey apart, we will strive to look forward to the
glad meeting in the Home."
"Apart!" she echoed drearily, and her tears came streaming back. "O
Tom, Tom!"
"I meant not to make thee weep again," he said, tenderly; "and yet there
is no good in shutting our eyes on a sorrow that must come, though there
be little use in grieving over such as may never come. It is not yet
come; and when it so doth, it is only a little while. Only a little
while, my Marguerite! `In the world ye shall have tribulation; but be
of good cheer; I have overcome the world!'"
Thekla ceased her spinning, and coming forward to her mother, she passed
her arm round her, and kissed her brow.
"Mother!" she said, sweetly, "it may be God will let us go to Him
together. Need we mourn for the night ere it be dark! It will be so
sweet to go to Him. Will it not help us to bear almost any thing, to
know that presently thereafter we shall see Christ, and be with Him for
ever?"
Mrs Rose was crying more quietly now, and Isoult rose to depart. Mr
Rose said he would help her to mount, and she fancied that he wished to
speak with her in private. And so she found it; for no sooner had he
shut the door, than he said--
"Mrs Avery, what do you touching Robin's orders?"
Isoult replied as she had done to Mrs Underhill, and added that she
meant to talk the matter over with John, when she could do so quietly.
"But, Mr Rose," she said, "your three years be already gone."
"Friend," he answered, his lip quivering, "had I made it three hundred
years, maybe it had been the better."
"I pray you say not that you will not give her unto him!" cried Isoult--
for she guessed what that would be to Robin, and perchance to Thekla.
"I will say no such thing," he answered. "It should seem that Robin's
orders can now scarce be had; and if it were so, I tell you the truth,
mine heart were the lighter. Thekla must choose for herself. She is
now of ripe age to _know_ what is for and against the same; and if she
would have rather Robin and what may hap than to leave both, I will not
gainsay her choice. But if she seeketh mine avisement--"
"You will say her nay?" asked Isoult, fearfully, as he hesitated.
"Can I say any thing else?" answered Mr Rose in a low voice. "Were it
worse for Thekla to be let from wedding him, or to be roughly parted
from him ere they had been wed a year--perchance a month? If Robin
should choose not to endeavour himself for the priesthood, then of force
is there no such difficulty. But can I look forward to the parting that
must ere long come between my Marguerite and me, and lightly choose the
same doom for our child?"
Mr Rose's voice fell, and his face changed so painfully that the
listener could scarcely bear to see it.
"Think you that must come?" she said in a voice hardly above a whisper.
"It must come, if the Queen continue as she hath begun," answered he, in
a low voice. "It may not be for long, if the Lord only try us, to
humble us, and to prove us, whether we will keep His commandments or no:
it may be for all this life. Beyond this life, it cannot be. The keys
of Heaven and earth are in the hands of Jesus Christ, not in those of
Mary Tudor!"
No more was said for that time. The friends clasped hands and parted.
But when Isoult and John had their quiet talk together, she found that
he had already been thinking on the subject; and had conversed with
Robin.
"I did somewhat marvel," she admitted, "seeing the three years for the
which Mr Rose did covenant were run out in June, that Robin made no
motion thereunto. But verily I did think he should speak the first."
"He hath spoken, dear heart," said John, "and I did entreat him to await
a season the upshot of this matter, till we should see who should
succeed the King, and what manner of government we were like to fall
under. And I pressed him with much of the same reasoning that (as I
hear) Mr Rose hath given thee."
"And what saith he touching his priesthood?"
"I think he hardly knew what to say."
When all else had gone to bed, John and Isoult took Robin aside, and
John told him what Mr Rose had said. Robin's eyes filled with tears.
"Then," said he, "it comes to this; I must either give up mine orders,
or give up--"
He uttered not, nor did they need, the name of Thekla Rose.
"But one other point, Robin, leave not out of thine account," said John.
"It may be thou canst not receive orders."
"Why, then," replied he, "if I cannot, I cannot. But when shall I know
that I cannot?"
"When all the Protestant Bishops are in prison, I take it," said John,
smiling.
"Were it not better, Robin," suggested Isoult, "to fix thee a time, not
unreasonable distant, whereat, if thou mayest not hap to receive orders
afore, thou shalt resign that expectation, and be free to wed?"
"Good and wise counsel!" cried John. "Thou hast hit the nail on the
head. Thinkest not so, Robin?"
Robin sat silent for a moment. Then he said,--"Ay--if Mr Rose agree
thereto."
"We will ask him that," answered John, "so soon as we may."
On the 11th of August, to borrow the expression of the Gospellers, the
abominable thing was once more set up in England. For the first time
for six years, an old priest sang the Latin mass in Saint Bartholomew's
Church, to the awakening of such burning indignation on the part of his
hearers, that he was compelled to escape for his life by a side door.
The application to Mr Rose was made on the Sunday evening following,
when John and Isoult, with Robin, rode over to the evening service at
West Ham. Mr Rose's sermon was a very solemn one, on the text, "I am
now ready to be offered."
Ready to be offered! how many of the Gospellers needed to be so, in that
autumn of 1553!
After the sermon, they waited for Mr Rose, and he walked with them for
one or two miles on their way home. Robin led the horses a short
distance behind them. Mr Rose was quite satisfied with Isoult's
proposal to fix a time beyond which Robin should resign the hope of
entering the ministry, and indeed seemed relieved by the suggestion. At
his request, Robin was waited for, and when he came up with them, Mr
Rose asked him what was the reason of his unwillingness to resign the
hope of receiving holy orders.
Robin answered, that "having offered himself and his service unto God,
he counted it not right to withdraw the same, unless it should be plain
that this was not the way wherein God would have him to serve."
And Mr Rose's reply was,--"Then, Robin, wouldst thou give up rather
Thekla than thine orders?"
"It were well-nigh giving up my life; yet I would do as God will have
me," said Robin, softly.
Mr Rose grasped his hand, and called him a brave lad, adding that "if
God so would, he would be right glad of such a son."
This speech made the tears no further from Robin's eyes, but he smiled
and thanked him. And he continued,--"Mr Rose, I would have you to know
that I do desire only to know and do what is God's will for me. If He
will make me His minister, I will be thankful for so great an honour;
for I do account the service of God higher than the dominion over men.
Yet, if I can serve Him better as a door-porter or a scullion, I would
have Him do His will with me."
"Ah Robin, God bless thee!" answered Mr Rose, earnestly. "Thou hast
learned a lesson which many a scholar of threescore and ten can yet
hardly spell."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The two ladies first named were second cousins of the King, and
stood in the line of the succession. The details here given are almost
entirely fictitious (except such as concern Edward himself), for little
is really known beyond the time, the place, and the King's presence.
Note 2. The canopy over the throne was called the cloth of estate,
often abbreviated into the estate.
Note 3. The Duchess Frances appears to have played a quiescent part in
this drama, so soon to turn into tragedy. Otherwise she (from whom
alone the title was derived) would scarcely have borne so meekly the
train of her own daughter.
Note 4. This must not be mistaken for swearing. It was an expression
used in the most reverential manner, and equivalent to "God's will be
done."
Note 5. A man infamous for his cruelty, especially to the Protestant
prisoners.