"Sir William is my mother's kinsman. Is his house far from here?"
"Not far. I pray you let me take you so far."
"By no means," said she, "our ways lie in different directions. I have
a conductor, as you see. Will you inform him as to the way?"
I obeyed, and, further, bade the fellow look well to his mistress, and
keep his eye on a certain captain, who might be at the place to which
they went.
Then, as I assisted the maiden to mount her horse, I summoned up
courage, cost what it would, to say:
"Sir William hath a guest whom you and I saw last at Finsbury Fields. I
beseech you, maiden, let me go thither as your servant."
She bridled up proudly, yet, not unkindly.
"No," said she, "if I needed a protector, I could have none better than
you. But I need none. Farewell, and thanks, good Master Dexter. The
O'Neill's daughter will not forget that one Englishman at least never
did her harm. Adieu."
And without waiting for more, she rode forward, followed by her
attendants.
Then it seemed as if the sun had gone out of heaven. What was I, a mean
London 'prentice, to such as she? Nay, what right had I to suppose she
needed either my warning or my protection?
One thing only comforted me. Sir Ludar was still at his guardian's
house, and with him there, no harm could well befall any distressed
maiden. In my vanity I even wished he could know that in serving her he
would be serving me, his friend. Yet, I fancied, if it came to the
point, he might as soon wring the captain's neck for the maiden's sake,
as for mine.
The one thing this meeting had gained for me, was that it assured me,
however little she cared for me, she yet remembered me; and, further,
now I knew her name, and that to one in my plight was no small prize.
"If your worship be not pressed for time," said a voice, "I am; so good-
day to you."
I looked round, and there was my old acquaintance the ferryman, making
ready to put off.
This roused me, and I jumped into the boat.
This time the ill-looking Charon made no venture for my purse. Little
enough he would have found in it, had he got it. He demanded his fare
as if he had never before seen me; nor was it till I demanded if his
rascally mate, whom I pitched into the river, had ever reached the
shore, that he condescended to recall what happened ten days before.
But I was in no humour to heed his bluster; and I let him swear on. Had
he been civil I should have had to pay him; as it was, he spared me
that, and was lucky that I did not crack his skull with his own oar,
into the bargain. I spent the twopence on bread and meat at his inn,
and he durst not refuse it; then, with light purse and heavy heart, I
set out to reach London that night. It mattered little to me that the
way was beset with robbers and bullies. I had neither horse nor cloak;
my homely apparel was rent and dirty; my boots were in holes, and my
belt was empty. I was not worth robbing, and the few who set on me in
mistake, did not stay long when they found the temper I was in. So late
that night--it must have been towards midnight--I brought my journey to
an end, and stood at my master's door.
Here a sore rebuff met me. For a long time I knocked and called in
vain, and woke the echoes of the sleeping Strand. Then from an upper
window a voice descended:
"Who goes there? Hold your peace, with a plague on you, or I'll call
the watch."
"It is I, Humphrey Dexter. Is that you Master Walgrave?"
"Walgrave! Master Walgrave! you will find him where he has a right to
be, in the White Lion; and if you be the apprentice that he spoke of,
harkee, the less you are seen about here the better for you; for they
say you are as great a knave as your master."
"The White Lion! My master in gaol!" cried I, amazed. "How comes that?
Is it true or a lie? By whose order?"
"Make less noise at this hour," said the voice, "and if you doubt me, go
and ask. But take my warning and be not seen too near here. Your
indentures are ended for long enough. Go and seek a new master and a
better; and leave me to sleep in peace."
With that, the window closed, and there was no more to be said.
I could scarcely believe the news the man told me. And yet, when I
remembered my master's disorderly ways, and the secret press in the
cellar, it was easier understood. Yet it must be for some other
business than that which took me to Oxford. For the Bishop's man I had
met certainly never had Mr Walgrave's name from me, nor had a single
copy of that scandalous libel, "A Whip for the Bishops," escaped from
the hollow tree in Shotover wood.
If Master Walgrave were in durance vile, where was my mistress and her
family? It was vain, I knew, to attempt to learn more from the sleepy
caretaker, at least till morning; nor was there anyone else, that I knew
of, from whom I could get satisfaction. So I had e'en to tramp the
streets like a watchman till daybreak; and weary enough I was at the end
of it.
Then I remembered that Mistress Walgrave had a constant gossip in
Mistress Straw, the horologer's wife, three doors off. Perhaps Mistress
Straw could give me news. So I waited till the 'prentices (the same two
who had shamefully eaten hasty pudding that day the Queen came into
London), came to open the door and set out their ware. With them, to my
surprise, I saw Peter Stoupe, my fellow 'prentice. He looked sheepish
when I hailed him.
"What, Humphrey," said he, in his doleful drawl, "thou hast returned at
last. In what misfortune dost thou find us! Our good master in prison,
you and I homeless, my dear mistress and her poor babes--"
"Ay, what of them?" demanded I, in no humour to hear him out.
"My dear mistress and her poor babes," continued he, heedless of my
tone, "dependent on the goodness of others. Oh! Humphrey, hadst thou
stayed at thy post, instead of--"
"A pox on your canting tongue!" cried I. "Tell me where my mistress is,
or, by my soul, I'll shake every tooth out of your head."
And I put my hand, not lightly, on his shoulder.
This brought him to reason; it generally did. Peter Stoupe could never
remember how to talk till he was reminded.
"She is here, in this house; and I am here to take care of her, by my
master's orders," said he, "and there is no room for thee too."
"And Master Walgrave, when was he arrested, and why?" I asked.
"Only yesterday--pray, unhand me, good Humphrey, thy hand is irksome--a
pursuivant of his Grace's, with Timothy Ryder from Stationers' Hall, and
a handful of the Company at their backs, made a sudden visitation, and
searched us up and down, till they lit on--you know what."
"The secret press," cried I, like a fool, letting him see that I knew of
it.
"Alack! Humphrey," said he, "there is nothing secret that shall not be
made manifest. Without more ado, my poor master was seized and hauled
away to the White Lion. 'Woe is me,' said he, as he departed, 'an enemy
hath done this, Peter--a viper whom I have nourished at my hearth. Look
to my poor wife and little ones, my faithful friend'--these were his
words--'and Heaven will reward thy faithful service.' It seemed to me,
Humphrey, that when he spoke of the viper, he meant thee. Pray Heaven I
may be wrong." Fancy if I felt merry at this speech! But that I knew
by the blink of his eyes the rogue was lying, I could have saved the
gallows a job. As it was, I flung him aside and went into the house.
No one but the 'prentices were stirring; so I sat in the shop and
waited. It cost me a pang to see the gourmands devour their breakfast,
with never a bite for myself; yet, since Peter Stoupe was of the
company, it would have cost me a greater pang to eat, had any been
offered me--which it was not. For a round hour I sat there, like a
hungry bear, neither speaking nor spoken to, when at last there came the
sound of a halting footstep on the stairs.
It was my sweet little mistress, and at sight of me she broke forth into
crying and laughing.
"Oh, he has come! _Maman! voici notre bon Humphrey_. Why did you stay
so long? Why were you not there to save our _pauvre pere_? Oh, I am
glad to have you back. We shall be happy again."
And she put up her face to be kissed, which I did with beating heart;
for she had never looked to me so sweet, nor had her voice sounded so
like music to my ears.
"They said you had deserted us," said she, "but I knew it was a bad lie.
Peter, _mechant_, what think you now, he has come back, our Humphrey?
Go and tell _maman_, and Prosper and the little ones."
You would have been sorry for Peter at that! His face was glum enough
when I kissed my little mistress; but it looked fairly ugly when she
sent him on this errand. What cared I? There were some yet who thought
not ill of Humphrey Dexter.
Mistress Walgrave, my dear mistress, received me sadly yet kindly.
Whether she had believed the false tales of my fellow 'prentice or not,
I know not. But she had nothing but welcome for me when she heard my
story. And when it was done she told me how she wished I had been home
when all the trouble happened.
"'Tis as well this journey of yours failed," said she. "It might have
brought us even greater peril. Your master is too busy a man; one press
was not enough for him, nor one libel. What they took was I know not
what, some lamentable complaint, far less harmful than that we sewed in
your cloak. How they knew of it, we know not."
"And what is to be done now?" I asked.
"We cannot stay here," said she, "Mistress Straw, kind as she is, hath
not the room nor the means to keep us. Besides, my husband bade me,
when this happened, seek shelter from Master Udal, the minister, at
Kingston. To him we must go, anon. As for you and poor Peter--who
means well, I think--I grieve for you. For I can give you neither work
nor board."
"Nay," said I, "you are not done with me, mistress. I will at least see
you and the little ones safe to Kingston. But first I would see my
master, if I may."
"You may try," said she, brightening up, "but before that, you must have
food, for you look weary and half-starved. Come, Jeannette, make ready
something for breakfast, and do you, Peter, help us."
After much ado, I was admitted to see Master Walgrave, in the White
Lion. He was in a sour mood and well disposed to look on me as the
author of his troubles. When I showed him how that could not be, he
softened a little.
"I make no complaint for myself," said he. "'Tis a good cause on which
I am embarked, and I shall see it through yet. As for my wife and
little ones, let your last service to me be to see them safe to Master
Udal's. Had it been possible, I would have had them safe at Rochelle,
where even their Graces have no jurisdiction. But for the present I
have a claim on the minister for this shelter. Peter Stoupe I mistrust,
the more so that he bade me mistrust you. When I am released, you may
still claim me as master, though I can no longer claim you as
apprentice."
I assured him I wanted no better master, and hoped I might yet serve
him. Meanwhile, I promised, that same day, to conduct his family to
Kingston.
I had some trouble to persuade Peter Stoupe that his service was neither
expected nor desired. Nay, he claimed so stoutly his master's authority
to be the guardian of the family, that I had to shake his obstinacy out
of him a bit before he would be still. My mistress and the pretty
Jeannette were, I think, glad to be rid of him; and after many thanks to
Mistress Straw, we embarked on a fair tide, by which. Prosper and I
plying the oars diligently, we reached Mortlach; whence in a cart we
drove as night fell to Kingston. Little enough baggage we had, for the
Company's men had forbidden aught to be removed from the house till such
time as a further search should be made. So all had to be left until
then.
You may fancy Master Udal's amazement, when we landed at his door. He
had gone to bed, and had our cart come to take him off to Tyburn, he
could scarcely have shown himself more alarmed. However, he was a good
man, and owed much to Master Walgrave. So, after praying for strength,
he took us all in and bade us lie as we could till morning, when he
would make better provision. His own chamber he gave to my mistress and
her little ones, while Prosper and he and I lay on the hard floor of the
kitchen. Many were the religious exercises in which he led us before he
let us sleep; and even when they were done, he fell on me, and drew from
me a full and penitent account of my journey to Oxford and my follies
there, for the which he called me many hard names, and bade me take
shame to myself, and pray God I might not one day become a knave as well
as a fool. Which prayer I humbly uttered then and there, and many a
time since.