On the evening following the suicide of Shedlock, shortly after
dusk, the mild and benevolent Master Craftall, the partner of
that ill-fated man, was sitting at the desk of his countinghouse,
evidently in expectation of some visiter. He had not been sitting
thus long, when a door behind him, leading into the street, was
suddenly pushed open, and the visiter he had been expecting
rushed in.
The stranger paused on his entry, and, previous to advancing into
the chamber, closed and bolted the door. He then turned round,
and confronted Craftall.
In the situation which he now took up, the light on the
neighbouring desk, at which Craftall had just before been
sitting, poured full upon him, and thus discovered his
proportions. He was a tall man; and his figure (for, as he
was habited in a long cloak, the precise fact could not be
ascertained) appeared to be stout, and to correspond with his
height. His features were sharp, and harsh; and his eyes, which
were remarkably small, emitted a bright and unnatural lustre,
such as might indicate a disposition to insanity. His years,
judging from his appearance, might be about fifty, but, as he
was now breathless, and, withal, seemed to be greatly agitated,
he might look older than he was, and be really some five years
younger.
Craftall had started up on his entry, and, observing him to be
discomposed, began to look somewhat agitated himself.
“What hath happed, holy father?” he asked.
“I have been dogged since I went forth,” answered the
priest--for, as will have been inferred, such he was; “and have
had but a near escape.”
“Wast thou followed hard by?” asked Craftall, alarmed.
“Almost to the door,” replied the priest. “And only that my hour
had not yet come, I had been well content, in my heart, to have
rendered me up, and found on the gibbet a crown of glory.”
“_Ave Maria!_” ejaculated Craftall, crossing himself.
“_Eripe me, Domine!_” cried the priest, also crossing himself.
“Shall we heed this corrupt body in the service of Holy Church?
Would the gibbet were now”----
Here a loud knock was inflicted on the door.
“Hush!” whispered Craftall, in a trembling voice.
The priest, whose countenance had just before beamed with the
loftiest resolution, crouched with terror.
“’Tis the persecutor!” he faltered.
“Hie thee within, then, holy father!” stammered Craftall,
beseechingly.
Whether it was that his hour had not yet come, or that the
persecutor, however contemptible in the distance, appeared
formidable at close quarters, the priest readily embraced this
advice, and passed through the inner door to another chamber.
When he had thus disappeared, Craftall, with more composure of
manner, proceeded to the outer door, and there demanded who was
without.
“The servants of the Lord,” answered a harsh voice.
This answer, though so indefinite, greatly disturbed Craftall,
and confirmed him in the impression he had conceived, that the
persons calling themselves the servants of the Lord were what he
considered the Lord’s enemies, and, in short, were no other than
the persecutors. But, whatever they might be, one thing he was
assured of, and that was, that it would be highly injudicious to
give them any offence; and, consequently, he determined to admit
them on the instant.
“I am not worthy that ye should come under my roof,” he cried;
“yet a good man, one worthy Master Chatter, cometh hither oft,
and telleth me glad tidings of Israel.”
With these conciliatory words, he drew open the door, when, to
his amazement, the servants of the Lord who entered were, not the
persons whom he had expected, but the servants of his partner
Shedlock.
Abigail and Zedekiah, without pausing at the door, pushed past
him to the light, and there turned to salute him. Before they
could carry their purpose into effect, however, Craftall,
recovering from his surprise, ventured to inquire their business.
“What seek ye here?” he demanded.
“They be both departed,” answered Abigail. “The crowner’s quest
sat this morning, and, by their law, _he’s a fellow at sea_.”
“The burying, forsooth, will be at night,” observed Zedekiah,
turning up the whites of his eyes. “Verily, a goodly sight!”
“Whom speak ye of, ye fools?” cried Craftall, enraged.
There lay the mystery. They were, indeed, willing to disclose
the items thereof, but who those items referred to was not to
be elicited so easily. Craftall, however, seeing that something
singular had happened, persevered in his inquiries; and, in the
end, learned from Abigail, who was the more communicative of the
two, that both Dame Shedlock and her husband had ceased to exist.
The tidings were melancholy, and, by his own account, grieved him
exceedingly, but they were not without consolatory points. If,
by the death of Shedlock, he had been bereaved of a dear friend,
his mental loss might still turn to his personal profit, and
he might augment his fortune with that friend’s possessions.
Shedlock, he knew, had left no heir; and, by a little management,
which no one would ever inquire into, he might seize on his
property, and appear to succeed to it by a lawful right and title.
“I must back with thee out of hand,” he said to Abigail. “We must
look after the good man’s chattels.”
“The man’s there, and he suffers no lookers,” replied Abigail.
“What man?” demanded Craftall.
“Master Bernard Gray,” answered Abigail.
Craftall changed colour. After a brief pause, however, he seemed
to recover himself, and resumed his conversation with Abigail.
He then learned, to his surprise, that Bernard had claimed all
the property of his late partner for some unknown heir, and,
in pursuance of that claim, had sealed up the papers of the
deceased, and taken possession of his house. His chagrin was
unbounded at this unexpected intelligence. Yet what could he do?
Bernard, it was to be feared, acted on authority; and even if he
did not, how could he, whom Bernard could impeach as a recusant,
dare to molest him?
While he was pondering how he should proceed, it suddenly
occurred to him, that, though he could not possess himself of
Shedlock’s estate, he might secure his share in their mercantile
investments, and so increase his wealth even yet more. But would
Bernard be blind to such a glaring fraud? As the inquiry struck
him, he conceived a scheme of aggrandizement also. He remembered,
with a smile, that a ship was about to be despatched from Topsham
to the plantations, and in her he could bestow all that he could
scrape together, and proceed to a shore beyond Bernard’s reach.
On conceiving this scheme, he briefly dismissed Abigail and
Zedekiah, and determined to put it on foot without delay. Several
days elapsed, however, before he could make any progress,
although, in the mean time, he spared no effort to carry it fully
out. He arranged with the captain of the vessel, a man after
his own heart, respecting his passage, and secured his aid in
removing his chattels. But, though the captain afforded him his
cordial support, his project still went on slowly, as it was
expedient, he thought, that it should be executed by night, so as
not to excite the suspicions of the townspeople. Moreover, the
assets of the firm, being invested in various ways, could not be
quickly converted into cash, and hence accrued to him another
source of delay. For a week, however, all went on smoothly
enough, when, one night, as he was sitting in his countinghouse,
speculating how he could best dispose of what assets remained, he
was startled by a knock at the door.
He hesitated a moment before he answered the summons, but then,
whatever had caused his hesitation, he became reassured, and,
without inquiring who was without, he drew the door open. A
cavalier, little taller than himself, and muffled in a long
cloak, appeared in the doorway, and demanded to know if that were
the residence of Master Craftall.
“It is,” answered Craftall: “I am he.”
“I would speak with thee apart, then,” replied the cavalier.
And though Craftall proffered him no invitation to enter, he
pushed rudely by him, and passed into the chamber.
“Be not afeard,” he said; “but close the door. I am a friend.”
There was something in the stranger’s manner that, in spite of
himself, overawed Craftall, and he obeyed his injunction without
hesitation.
“Now, prithee lead me to holy father Paul,” pursued the stranger,
when Craftall had closed the door.
The recusant merchant started.
“I tell thee, I am a friend,” continued the stranger. “Were I
aught else, would I come to thee by night, and alone? I am a
foreigner, a true son of the church, by name Felix di Corva.”
Craftall pointed to the inner door of the room. “Thou wilt find
him in the chamber beyond,” he said.
Don Felix--for the stranger was indeed he--made no reply, but
hastened towards the door pointed at. He did not pause to knock,
but, on arriving at the door, opened it at once, and passed in.
As he crossed the threshold, he drew the door close behind him.
Craftall remained perfectly still till the door was closed, when,
with a stealthy step, he also proceeded thitherwards. On reaching
it, however, he did not draw it open, but, bending on one knee,
knelt down before it, and applied his ear to the keyhole. He
continued in this posture till, after an interval of about half
an hour, a noise within induced him to rise, and retreat to the
contiguous desk. Just as he arrived at the desk, the door was
opened from within, and Don Felix reappeared.
Craftall pretended to be startled on his entry; but the Spaniard,
full of other thoughts, took no heed of him, but passed across
the chamber in silence. On reaching the outer door, he turned
round, and bade the wondering merchant a good-night.
“God-den, Sir!” replied Craftall. “May our Lady and St. Bridget”--
He paused; for Don Felix, not looking for a response, had passed
out, and closed the door in his rear.
On being thus left to himself, Craftall mused a few moments,
when, though it was contrary to his habit, he began to deliver
his thoughts aloud.
“A week hence,” he said; “and the holy father is to go the night
afore. ’Twill just serve me. We shall sail the same night.”
Whatever he might refer to, he dismissed the subject with these
words, and directed his attention to a contiguous heap of
accounts. He was engaged at the accounts till the night was far
advanced; and the next morning, after having taken only a few
hours’ rest, he turned to them again. Thus he laboured, night and
day, with unceasing vigilance, till he found that his scheme was
almost accomplished, and that he had now only to remove his last
treasures to the ship.
It was on the sixth morning after the visit of Don Felix that
this issue came fairly before him. While he was pondering
thereon, he was joined by father Paul, the priest, booted and
cloaked for a journey.
“Whither goest thou, holy father?” cried Craftall, with affected
surprise--for he well knew the priest’s destination.
“To a fold of the faithful,” answered Paul. “But I cannot tarry
to speak further; for, by my appointment, a man awaits me now,
with a horse, at the city-gate. _Benedicite!_”
“Good morrow!” rejoined Craftall.
The priest had passed out of hearing; and Craftall, now quit of
all impediment, rubbed his hands with glee.
He had the day before him, and he failed not to turn it to
account. In the first place, he arranged with the captain, whom
he had completely bought over to his interests, to have some
sailors at hand that night, at an early hour, to carry off his
last luggage; and, in the mean time, he spared no effort to get
the luggage ready. He laboured so earnestly, that shortly after
nightfall, at which time he had appointed the captain to be
prepared, his object was achieved, and he only waited the arrival
of the sailors to take his departure. It seemed that fortune
favoured him, for hardly had he finished packing, when, to his
great satisfaction, a knock on the outer door, in his rear, led
him to believe that the sailors were at hand.
“Enter!” he cried.
The door opened, and there entered--not the sailors, but Bernard
Gray.
Craftall drew back as, after throwing-to the door, Bernard
approached him. They had not met since the occasion described
in a former chapter; and though, contrary to his expectations,
Bernard had never denounced him to the Government, he had lived
in constant apprehension of such a result ever since. Bernard’s
appearance at this moment, just as he was on the point of
absconding, completely took him aback, and he saw him draw nigh
without the power of accosting him.
“Be under no fear!” cried Bernard, perceiving his discomposure.
“I have kept thy secret, and will never betray thee!”
Craftall was reassured by these words, albeit, judging of
Bernard by himself, he had no notion that they sprang from any
sentiment of compassion, but supposed that, though it did not
appear on the instant, Bernard was making him an overture,
under which he sought to advance some interest of his own. At
another time he would gladly have associated with Bernard, while
it should serve his purpose, on terms so favourable; but his
object now was, at any hazard, to get him out of the way, and
so have the stage clear for his departure. There was only one
way, he thought, in which such an object could be accomplished;
and that was, by betraying his ghostly friend, the priest. He
would have shrunk from this alternative, indeed, under ordinary
circumstances--not from any feeling of honour, but, what weighed
more with him, from the scruples of superstition; but his dread
of ulterior retribution, if it occurred to him at all, now sank
under his apprehension of present detection.
“I thank thee, good Master Gray,” he said. “’Tis what I looked
for at thy hands; for a certain friend of mine, one Master
Pry, hath commended thee to me in this wise very oft. Truly, I
have repented me of the evil, and will sin no more. I see thou
doubtest me! But”----
“Peace! peace!” cried Bernard. “I sought thee on another matter,
concerning the affairs of thy sometime partner.”
“Anon; we will discourse of them anon,” replied Craftall. “Now,
to give thee assurance of my amendment, let me tell thee where,
to my knowledge, a seminary-priest is in hiding.”
“Let him be!” returned Bernard. “He hath a licence, no doubt; and
even if he have not, ’twould be a hard matter, I dare affirm, to
seize him in the discharge of his functions.”
“I tell thee, he hath no licence,” said Craftall,
impatiently--for he expected to be visited by the sailors every
moment. “Moreover, an’ thou wilt be guided by me, thou shalt
seize him in the exercise of his office. To-morrow morning, he
marries a cavalier of Spain, one Felix di Corva, to Mistress
Evaline de Neville.”
Bernard started.
“Art advised of this?” he cried.
“An’ it be not true, denounce me!” exclaimed Craftall, solemnly.
“I must to horse straight, then!” said Bernard. “Here is some
devilry at work!”
He turned away with these words, and, without further speech,
made for the door, and darted into the street.
“Ha! ha!” cried Craftall. “’Tis a good deed! ’Tis well done!”
That night he sailed for America.