"I scantly know, Isoult, if thou wilt be glad to see us, considering the
ill news we bring."
"Why, Philippa, what ill news?" asked I. "I heard of thy brother's
death,--Mr James,--and writ to thee thereupon,"--for methought Philippa
had not received my letter.
"Ay, I had thy letter, and I thank thee for it," answered she. "But
hast heard aught further?"
"No," said I, fearfully. "What is it, Philippa?"
"Kate," she pursued, "hath brought us woeful news from Potheridge--the
death of Frances, twenty days ago."
"Frances?" I well-nigh startled at mine own cry.
"An ill time," addeth Philippa, "close on James's death. We have hardly
time to dry our eyes betwixt them."
"The right time, dear heart," said my Lady Ashley, gently. "God knoweth
best when His corn is ripe."
"Was she ever other, if thou mean ripe for heaven?" said she.
"Perhaps," answered my Lady Ashley, "we could not see much difference,
but He might."
I begged her to tell me, if she were present, any particulars of the
matter.
"Ay, I was there," she said. "I went straight to Potheridge from
Wimborne, on receiving of a letter from Mr Monke, who told me that Frank
had brought him another daughter, and, he could not but fear, was not
faring over well. I came to Potheridge upon the 4th of December, when I
found her in her bed, very weak and white. Still I feared no instant
peril then. On the 5th, methought she seemed somewhat better in the
morning; but that even she grew worse, and thence she sank quickly until
she died, at sunset on Wednesday, the 7th. She remembered you, Mrs
Avery, and bade me give you her most hearty and loving commendations,
and to say that she was but journeying Home a little while afore you,
and that however long the time were to you, it would be short to her,
ere you should meet again. And only an hour ere her death (she was in
her sense to the last), came a messenger to Mr Monke with news of the
Queen's death, and that the Lady Elizabeth was proclaimed Queen. He
brake the tidings gently to her. She smiled when she heard them, as I
should think an angel might smile in Heaven, and she saith softly,
`Lord, Thou hast seen, Thou hast seen the affliction of Thy people.' I
answered her, `Ay, God hath been very gracious to us.' She said, `He
hath been very good to me.' Quoth I, `Thou dost not think He hath given
thee too much thought [anxiety] and sorrow?' And as fervently as her
weakness did allow, she answered, `O no, no! I shall clasp them all to
my heart to-night.' In another minute she repeated softly, `And so
shall we ever be with the Lord.' I do not think she spoke again."
"Did she die hardly?" I faltered amid my tears.
"As softly as a child falling asleep in his mother's arms," answered my
Lady Ashley. "We could not tell the very moment. Her life went out
like a star hidden behind a cloud. We only knew that it was gone."
"Farewell, sister of mine heart, my fair-souled Frances! The world is
darker now thou art thence; but thou shalt never see evil any more. The
storms shall not rave above thine head, nor the winds beat around thee
and chill thee. God hath removed thee, His beautiful lily, from this
rude and barren moor, to that great garden of His Paradise, where thou
shall bloom for ever. `There shall in no wise enter into it any thing
that defileth--but they that are written in the Lamb's Book of Life.'"
So Isoult Avery wrote: but she did not hear until afterwards that Lady
Frances had not passed through the Marian persecution without suffering.
Her blood royal had not saved her. Only one child of her first
marriage was left; and on the 10th of March 1554, men--not God--took
that dearly-prized darling from her. The custody of the person and
marriage of Arthur Basset was granted to James Basset, his Popish uncle
[Rot. Parl., 1 Mary, part 7]. This is sufficient to indicate that the
Roman proclivities of Mr Monke and Lady Frances were at least doubtful.
The double death--of the Queen and James Basset--freed Arthur; and by
dint of hard riding night and day--he scarcely knew why--he reached
Devon just in time to kneel and receive the last blessing of that
beloved mother. She died two hours after her hand had rested on his
head. If the Queen's object had been to make Arthur Basset a Papist,
she scarcely succeeded in her aim.
This was the last sad entry in that volume of Isoult's diary. God did
help the Gospellers when the morning appeared; and the morning was
dawning now. There is a ringing of church-bells through all that was
written in England, throughout that happy year, 1559. New Year's Day
was the gladdest Sunday since the persecution began. For at Bow Church
Mr Carter ministered openly; and throughout London the Gospel and
Epistle were read in English. After the evening service was over, the
Averys received a visit from Annis and her husband; and before they had
sat and talked for ten minutes, who should follow them but Mr Underhill,
of whose return to London they had heard, but had not yet seen him.
"Is it not glorious?" were the first words he spoke. "We shall have the
English service next Sunday, and the service-book restored ere
February."
"What a leaper art thou," said John, laughing. "None that know thee
need ask wherefore men call thee the _Hot Gospeller_!"
"But can there be any other?" answered he.
"Why," said John, "wert thou King of England, by the name of Edward the
Seventh, I reckon we had had all ere November were fairly run out. But
the Queen is a little more prudent and wary than thou, and remember thou
(as I bade Ferris, but he did little) that she is _not_ a Gospeller."
"A truce to thy wariness and prudence!" cried Mr Underhill.
"That shall be, assuredly, where thou art," answered John.
"I have no patience," said he, "with such faintheartedness (for I can
call it by no better name). Who ever saw a Lutheran burn a Gospeller?"
"Ned Underhill," said John, sadly, "hast thou forgot so soon that we
have seen a Gospeller beheaded by Lutherans?"
"Whom point you at there?"
"The Duke of Somerset."
"Come! go not back to the time afore the Flood," exclaimed he. "Let
bygones be bygones."
"I have no objection," said John, "if bygones will be bygones."
"Jack Avery, hold thy peace, or we shall quarrel! I will not have cold
water flung over my fair bonfire of rejoicing!"
"It should take much to put it out, methinks," said Dr Thorpe.
"What say you, my master?" inquired Mr Underhill, turning with one of
his quick motions to Don Juan.
"Marry," answered Don Juan, smiling (he spoke English fairly), "I say,
we shall all know more about it a year hence."
"Gramercy! you are one of the wary ones," grumbled Mr Underhill. "Come,
let me see if I cannot find one of my way of thinking. Mrs Avery, are
you only Jack in a gown, or have you a mind of your own?"
"Verily, Mr Underhill, I know not how things shall go," said she, "and
therefore I were wisest to hold my peace."
"Alas!" answered he. "Dr Thorpe, you are Prudence herself, and a
Lutheran to boot, wherefore--"
"Lutheran!" cried the old man, hastily. "I am no more a Lutheran than
you!"
They all laughed at Dr Thorpe, thus brought to confession at last.
"Are you not so?" said Mr Underhill, laughing and bowing. "In good
sooth, I am rejoiced to hear it.--Well! Mrs Rose, allow me to ask at
you if you go with me or no?"
"Assuredly, Mr Underhill, no," said she. "If I had ever any belief in
the goodness of the world, it did fly away from me a long time ago; and
I do not look to see the peace or the right all over it, as you seem to
look. It may be that I answer rather your thoughts than your words; but
it seemed me you had that thought."
"But, Mrs Rose," said he, "if you take us all for ill and wicked, you
must find it hard work to love your neighbour as yourself. We are
leaving our subject-matter, but let that pass."
"Ah, Mr Underhill!" she answered, with a smile, "I am as bad as any one
else; and I do not think we wait for people to become angels before we
love them."
"We do wait--for them to become angels, sometimes," said Annis, softly,
"before we know how well we love them."
They sat silent for a while after this: even Mr Underhill seemed to be
meditating; neither did he pursue his inquiry any further. Marguerite
rose and went up-stairs, where Thekla was already; but the rest kept
their places. And while they sat, there came a very soft rapping at the
door. The party looked one on another in doubt, for the rapping was in
the form of the old signal-tap which the Gospellers were wont to use
when they assembled for prayer in each others' houses. And there was no
gathering at the Lamb to-night.
Barbara rose and went to the door. The minute she opened it, they heard
her cry "Eh!" but no more. The person outside spoke, and Barbara
answered, more than once, but too low for those within to hear words, or
even whose voice it was; then Barbara stepped forward, and opened the
door of the chamber. All felt some strange thing at hand, and they held
their breath. And the next minute they were saluted by a voice which
had been silent to them for four long, weary years.
"How do you all, dear friends?" said Mr Rose.
All gathered round him with joyful greeting, but Isoult. She never
stayed to think, but she found herself at the head of the stairs before
she had time to consider. Thekla was just closing the door of the
chamber to come down.
"Thekla!" cried Isoult, seizing her by the arm.
"Who is come?" asked she. "I heard something."
"Tell thy mother, darling," said Isoult--"but canst thou bear glad news
thyself?"
"I see them in your eyes," she answered. "They are too glad but for one
of two things. Is it my father?"
Ah! it was only one. Thekla prepared her mother, in the gentle way she
knew, and then running below, was clasped in her father's arms. She
took him up-stairs, and no more was seen of any of them; for,
anticipating that they would prefer to be alone, Isoult sent Esther
above with a dish from the supper-table.
It was four years to a day since Mr Rose was taken. In his case, God
had been very gracious to them. The four years were the same for Robin;
but how should the end be? And--a thought at once joyous and yet
terrible--the end could not be far-off now.
Isoult saw that Mr Rose had aged in those four years, when she had time
to study his countenance. If such a thing were possible, she thought
him even gentler and kinder than he used to be; yet even more grave and
quiet. She asked him what he thought of Thekla, and was slightly
comforted to hear him say that he found her better than he dared to
hope.
"She hath suffered much, poor child!" said Isoult.
"Poor child!" he echoed. "It was not in her nature to do other."
"And what think you," she asked, "of the chances touching Robin?"
"Mrs Avery," said he, "there are no chances in God's government. And
this is a matter wherein we cannot so much as guess what may have been
His will. Yet if you would know what I think most likely in mere human
reasoning, I confess I have little hope of his life."
Isoult's heart sank like lead: she felt now how much hope she had
nursed, though she thought it so little. But her faith in Mr Rose's
forecast was great. And Lady Ashley's words came back to her--"God
knoweth best when His corn is ripe." Ah! how afraid she was that that
sheaf was ripe, and had been carried into the garner! Yet could she
tell God that He had judged ill, or that He should have left His fair
sheaf to the spoiling, for her pleasure?
When John came home one evening, he told them that he had met with Mr
Underhill, who held by the hand his little Guilford. And coming through
Cornhill, at the shop-door of a bowyer were bows and quivers of shafts;
and Guilford, pulling his father's hand, cried, "Father, Father, do buy
me a bow and arrows!"--"Buy thee a bow and arrows, quotha!" answered Mr
Underhill, "a shred and snip like thee!"
"What wouldst thou do an' thou hadst a bow and arrows, Guilford?" said
John. "Shoot all the Papists," replied the child. "Thou bloodthirsty
little ruffian!" cried Mr Underhill, yet laughing. "Nay," said John to
him, "blame not the child: he doth but take mightily after a certain
father of his, that I know." Whereat (said John) Mr Underhill laughed
till the tears ran from his eyes.
Mr Rose preached his first sermon since coming home, in the pulpit of
Bow Church, on the 8th of January. It was a glad day to the Gospellers.
His text was, "When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we
were like them that dream." He spoke highly of the Queen, saying that
"she had suffered for the Gospel, and should know how to be compatient
[sympathising] with other that had suffered." Of himself he said
little; but of Christ much.
And when he came out of the church, dozens and dozens of hands were held
forth to welcome him, till the tears came into his eyes at such a
greeting. One old Gospeller woman cried out, "Lord, now lettest Thou
Thy servant depart in peace!"
"Nay, good Joan," answered Mr Rose. "The reason wherefore the Lord hath
kept us alive is, that we have not yet done all our work. At least so I
take it. 'Tis somewhat too early to be singing the harvest-home afore
all the corn be gathered in. Let us hasten to finish the reaping, and
then we may sing."
Then came Mr Underhill with great strides, and held out his hand. (John
said aside to his wife, "I would Ned Underhill could learn, without any
telling him, that a man's hand, and yet more a woman's, is not made of
mill-stones. He hath given me some cruel gripes ere now: 'tis a painful
form of love.")
"Welcome home the second time!" cried Mr Underhill, cheerily. "Mrs
Rose, your servant. But I say, man! do you not know you are divorced by
process of law?"
"Nay," answered Mr Rose, smiling; "I neither do nor will."
"What an ungovernable piece of merchandise are you!" said Mr Underhill,
laughing. "But in good sooth, I have not talked with one of our
ministers that holdeth not the same view."
"Men parted us," said Marguerite, her voice trembling a little; "but I
think God never did. At any rate, He hath undone it now."
Mr Rose talked with the Averys about his future, and they entreated him
to stay with them a little longer. It was expected that the Queen would
present the deprived ministers to such benefices as would now be left
vacant by the Papists' deprivations; and at least, they urged, it would
be well to do nothing rashly. And though they said little to each
other, all were waiting to see what would happen on the Coronation Day.
This was fixed for the ensuing Sunday, the Queen having consulted Dr
Dee, and heard from him that Sunday would be a fortunate day. All were
now preparing for the Coronation. Isoult had cloths ready to hang out,
and Kate and Frances were as busy as they could be, sewing green leaves
upon white linen, to form the Queen's name--Elizabeth.
Frances said "it was well her Highness had so long a name, for the work
should not be by the half so handsome were she called Jane or Anne."
But Thekla's work was by far the most beautiful. She was skilled at
making wax-flowers, and had wreathed a garland of white roses, which,
set upon a green ground, was to encircle the name with which Kate and
Frances were busied [green and white were the Queen's colours]. It was
intended to be a magnificent piece of work; and the only grief was that
the Queen would never see it, for she was going from the Tower.
Mr Underhill had ordered a new velvet coat, wherein (said his wife) he
should be as fine as my Lord High Treasurer. Moreover, Dr Thorpe would
needs have a new doublet.
"Why, dear child, my Sunday doublet hath a patch on it," said he; "and
if the Queen's Highness' gracious eyes should chance to alight on me,
thou wouldst not have them to light on a patch." [Dr Thorpe might have
spared his concern; for Queen Elizabeth was much too near-sighted to
detect the patch.]
"Maybe they should take little hurt," said John. "But, Doctor, if you
have a new doublet, I must needs have a new coat; and then Isoult shall
want a new gown; and we shall have Walter clamouring for a gaberdine,
and Kate for an hood. Certes, but the Coronation shall be as chargeable
unto her Highness' lieges as to herself!"
"Nay, Father, I lack no new hood," said Kate, laughing; "I want only to
see the Queen's Grace, and I can do that as well in an old hood as a
new."
"Ay, sweet heart," answered he; "but Dr Thorpe would have one thing
more, to wit, that the Queen's Grace should see him."
Sir Henry and Lady Ashley came on the 12th to bid their friends
farewell, for they were about to leave town early on the morning after
the Coronation, and they expected to have little time at liberty. They
advised the Averys not to take their stand in Bow Churchyard, as they
intended to do, but to beg the loan of some friend's window. Mr
Underhill had too many customers to help them; but Annis, whose lodging
was in Saint Paul's Churchyard, was very glad to be of service.
In the afternoon they went down early to the waterside, to see the Queen
come to the Tower from Westminster Palace. Her Majesty came about two
o'clock, royally arrayed, in her state barge, and landed at the privy
stairs. Little Frances was in the greatest glee, because she said she
was most unfeignedly certain that the Queen looked on her. "And she
walketh about the house," said John, "a fair foot the higher in her own
account, that she hath been seen of the Queen's Majesty."
The next day came Mr Underhill, bringing news that the Queen had dubbed
many Knights of the Bath, and had also created Edward Seymour, eldest
son of the late Duke of Somerset, Earl of Hertford.
"But which Edward?" said John, in his quiet way.
"Which?" replied Mr Underhill. "Why, my Lord had but one son of his own
name."
"No had?" said John. "I thought he had two."
"What mean you, Jack Avery?" said Mr Underhill.
"I know well what he meaneth," answered Mr Rose. "It was the worst blot
on my Lord of Somerset's life. I trust he did repent thereof ere God
called him."
"I was thinking," said John, in a low voice, "of one Katherine Folliott,
an humble violet plucked from her mossy bed, and after, flung withering
away to reach a peony."
"A black-thorn rather, if you would picture her complexion," suggested
Dr Thorpe.
"What, the Duke's first wife?" answered Mr Underhill. "Why, man! the
whole world hath forgot her!"
"So did himself," responded John.
"I see," said Mr Underhill. "You think, all, that my Lord did wickedly
in divorcing of her, in order to wed the great heir of the Stanhopes.
Well, it may be so: but, my word for it! he had leisure for repentance.
I would not lightly have been my Lady Duchess her lackey, much less her
lord."
"Well!" answered John, "I meant not to speak ill of the dead; surely not
of one whom I do hope and believe that God hath pardoned and taken to
Himself. I did but signify the very thing I did ask--to wit, which of
the Edwards had been create Earl of Herts."
"The son of the Lady Anne Stanhope, of course!" said Mr Underhill.
"It might have been more just and righteous," pursued John, "had it been
the son of Katherine Folliott. It may be that his last thought in this
world, just ere the axe slid down, was of that woeful wrong he never
could right more. Alas for men's hearts in this wicked world! and yet
rather, alas for men's consciences! Well, God forgive us all!"
At two o'clock on the morning of the 14th, forth sallied all, and
trudged amongst a moving crush of men and women to Annis' lodging, where
she and Don Juan willingly gave them standing-room with themselves at
their two windows. John lifted Frances on his shoulder, where, said he,
she should have the best sight of all; and Walter was perched upon a
high chair in the window. Kate stood below, in front of her father.
Her Majesty sat in a rich chariot, covered with crimson velvet,
splendidly attired, and a canopy was borne over her head by knights.
Many pageants and gifts were offered to her; but one must not be left
untold, which is that a copy of the English Bible was given to her at
the Little Conduit in Cheapside, and she, receiving it let down into her
chariot by a silken string, in both hands, kissed it, clasped it to her
bosom, and thanked the City for it, "the which," said she, "I do esteem
above all other, and will diligently read therein." Mr George Ferris
and Mr Underhill were in the procession. [Strange to say, hardly any
details are preserved of the procession and coronation of Elizabeth.]
The Bishop of Carlisle [Dr Oglethorpe] had at last been prevailed upon
to crown the Queen, but that so lately, that vestments were not ready
for him, and they had to be borrowed of Bishop Bonner. He was the only
Bishop to meet her Majesty at Westminster Abbey. The day following was
the Coronation Day of Queen Elizabeth.
First thing in the morning, Barbara and Ursula hung out the garland and
name that Kate and Thekla had made, which had been taken in over-night,
after the Queen's procession. Then the party breakfasted; and, there
being no service anywhere, Mr Rose read the Common Prayer to the
assembled household, and gave them a short discourse on a passage from
the Psalms,--"With joy and gladness shall they be brought, and shall
enter into the King's Palace." He could hardly be said to preach, for
he only sat on a chair in the midst of the group. He spoke of the
Coronation Day; bidding them not to forget "that other fairer day of the
more glorious Coronation, when Christ shall see of the travail of His
soul, and shall be satisfied: when all His people shall be gathered
together, a full and perfected Church, the Lamb's Bride: when He shall
take unto Him His great power and reign."
The afternoon was spent quietly, no one looking in upon them; and when
the dark began to fall, and the candles were lighted, Mr Rose read the
Evening Prayers, and spoke again, this time on a text in the
Revelation,--"They are without fault before the Throne of God."
"Because," said he, "betwixt them and that Throne standeth Christ to
present [represent] them before God; and while all faults be in them, in
Him is no fault; and He covereth them with the fair white robe of His
own righteousness, that God's justice cannot see them apart from it and
Him that gave and wrought it."
When Evensong was over, John and Mr Rose went out for a half-hour's
walk: and there were left in the chamber Dr Thorpe, Esther, Isoult and
the children, and Thekla. Isoult called to Barbara for candles, for
those they had were burning low in the socket; and while she was gone to
fetch them, came a low gentle tapping at the door.
"May I open it, Mother?" said Kate; and leave being given, away she ran.