So occupied was I with my new joy, that for a day or two what I had
heard from drunken Tom Price in Moorfields slipped me. Or, if I thought
of it, it seemed all was well. For I gathered from his wild talk that
the maiden--left no doubt by her harsh step-dame to fight her own
battles--had fled from the Captain's persecutions with the help of Tom,
to Canterbury, where (as I knew), was the convent school in which she
had been brought up. Here she was safe from his clutches, even if he
knew where she was, which Tom took care he should not. And, to make all
surer, there was that English soldier--Ludar's prisoner, whom he had
charged to protect her--hovering near, true to his trust and ready to
defend her from all and every foe that should assail her.
Therefore, I felt easy in my mind to leave her thus secure, and set
myself to win my mistress' and master's good-will for my match with the
sweet Jeannette.
'Twas no easy task. For my mistress said the child was over young; and
my master told me I had somewhat else to think of than such tomfoolery.
Howbeit, when I told them that, say what they pleased, Jeannette was
mine, and that so soon as my time was up two years hence I should take
her to myself with leave or without, they thought better of it, and
yielded somewhat.
My mistress said, two years hence we should all be grown older, and if
we were then of the same mind perchance she might be of another. My
master, too, counting to retain me in his service as a son-in-law, said
there was time enough betwixt now and then. And thus it came to pass
Jeannette and I were left to our hopes, and needed no sweeter comfort to
make the weeks fly.
But, one day early in February, as I walked on my master's business near
Charing, I saw a sight which made me uneasy on another's behalf. For
there, at the road corner as you go to Whitehall, I perceived a man who
pulled out a purse and gave it to another; and when I looked closer, I
saw that he who gave was Captain Merriman, and he who received was my
old fellow-apprentice, Peter Stoupe.
Instantly, although I heard not a word, and there might have been a
hundred other considerations, I took it into my head that this business
meant mischief to Ludar. And, cudgelling my brains further, I called to
mind how, that memorable night in Moorfields, while I talked with the
drunken sergeant, Peter had sneaked past us, and put my sweet little
mistress in a flutter.
What if, instead of heeding us, he had been listening to what the
soldier said? He knew or guessed enough of the maiden's story--having
heard me tell it often--to put two and two together. What if he, as
well as I, had learned the soldier's secret; and, to despite me and
profit himself, had sold it to the one man from whom it was by all means
to be kept?
I cursed my wickedness, who, lapped in my own happy fortune, had thus
neglected my absent master's interest and let this knave get beforehand
with me. For, be Ludar alive or dead, I owed it to him to save the
maiden from the Captain, even if it cost me my life.
So, as I say, this vision of the passing of the purse woke me out of my
dream, and warned me that there was danger in the wind.
That afternoon, the same Providence which gave me the alarm put into my
way a means of acting upon it.
My master I found in a sore state of vexation because a certain book he
was printing, from which he expected some profit, was refused a licence
by the Stationers' Company. They liked it not, said the clerk, and had
sent it on to his Grace, who had other matters to think of, and was,
besides, away in Canterbury on a visitation.
At this my ears pricked.
"By your leave, Master Walgrave," said I, "here is a matter that
presses. If we get not his Grace's licence now, the occasion for the
book will be gone by. How if you let me go to Canterbury, to wait upon
him?"
Master Walgrave shrugged his shoulders.
"Have you forgot your last journey for me?" said he. "For if you have,
I have not."
"Oh," said I, rather sheepish, "I am older than that now. Besides, I
know what I go for this time, and have not my business sewn up in my
cloak's lining."
"'Tis bad weather for so long a journey," said my mistress.
"I heed not that," said I, like a hypocrite, "so I get my master his
licence."
"Beside," said Jeannette, who knew what was afoot, "Humphrey likes to
travel, and he pines, I know, to be freed a day or so from my apron
strings."
I vowed she wronged me there; but between us all, my master yielded and
said I should start next day to see his Grace.
"Nay," said I, "I will start to-night. There is no time to lose."
But they would not hear of that, and for fear of betraying myself, I
forbore to press it, and went betimes to bed, promising to be away
before daybreak on the morrow.
Early as I was next morning, Jeannette was astir to bid me God-speed and
give me my breakfast.
"Humphrey, _mon ami_," said she. "I should not grudge to see thee go on
so good an errand. Yet, I shall be glad to see thee home."
"Perhaps," said I, "it is all for nothing, and Ludar's maiden may be
safe from harm. Yet, something tells me she needs my help."
"You may tell that maiden," said Jeannette, "that I lend you to her; and
if she need shelter, she shall have it here."
I thanked her for that brave speech, and tore myself away. By dint of
hard walking--for I had no nag to carry me this time--I arrived late
that night at Rochester, where I was glad enough to turn into the first
inn I met, and sleep.
I know not how it was. I dreamed all night that Ludar was calling to me
to turn back, while the maiden was bidding me go forward; and betwixt
them I was torn in two, and lay kicking all night, listening to the
clatter of hoofs that went past, and fancying that while I tarried
there, his Grace of Canterbury was carrying off my sweet Jeannette, I
know not whither. It must have been towards morning when at last I
shook off my nightmares and fell asleep. And thus it happened that,
instead of being far on my road, at ten of the clock I still lay
snoring, with all my day's work before me to reach Canterbury that
night.
As it fell out, I did not even do that. For close by Feversham I met a
parcel of knaves who laid hold of me and rifled me of all I had, save
one noble that I had hid in my hat. And because I showed fight, and ran
two of them through, they wanted to hang me at the roadside and so end
my travelling days for ay. But as they must needs find a tall tree,
which was not to be had at the roadside, they hauled me away to the wood
to make an end of me there. And since I walked meekly with my head hung
down, they slackened their guard of me, so that presently I was able to
make a dash away from them, and hide myself in the forest.
I escaped them, but it cost me a whole afternoon. For I lost myself
among the trees; and daring not to show myself, must needs lie low while
the hue and cry lasted, and afterwards find my road under shelter of
night as best I could.
You may guess if I chafed not under this delay; specially as the way
from there to Canterbury was too hard to be walked in the dark. Halt
where I was, I must; but I did it, feeling that I might be too late, and
that each moment lost to me was a gain to that foul Captain.
At early dawn I was afoot, and before mid-day stood in the city of
Canterbury. As in duty bound, I asked my way first of all to his
Grace's palace (which was hard by the great Church), where I longed to
have my master's business disposed of.
Alack! his Grace was not to be seen, being away on a visitation; and his
Grace's secretary had other matters to attend to, and sent word to me to
enquire again to-morrow about the same time. So I was forced to let the
business wait, much to my sorrow, and meanwhile seek to hear some news
of Ludar's maiden.
I remembered what Tom Price in his drunken speech had said of the
nunnery, hard by which was a certain tavern by name of the "Oriflame,"
where I was like to hear of the English soldier, Jack Gedge. Thither,
accordingly, I went, being told I should find it outside the walls on
the Dover road.
'Twas a low, mean house, with little accommodation for man or beast,
being, indeed, as much farmhouse as hostel, with naught but the flaming
sign to tell me I might wade through the muck and litter to the door and
there call for refreshment.
The host was a civil, stupid fellow, who eyed me like one from whom he
suspected mischief, and seemed impatient till I had drained my pot and
was gone.
But I had no thought of going, and bade him, since business kept me that
night in Canterbury, get me a bed.
He declared he had none to spare, and that I might get better quarters
in the town. But I replied I wanted no better quarters than the
"Oriflame," and if it came to a lack of beds, he and I could do with one
betwixt us.
"Or," said I, "if, as I am told, my old friend and comrade Jack Gedge,
once a soldier, lodgeth here, he and I will not quarrel over our share
of a crib."
At that he looked uneasy and said Jack Gedge was not there. He would
have me believe at first he knew no man of the name; but I wormed it out
of him that a month back a fellow had come and taken service with him as
drawer and labourer, calling himself plain Gedge. But only a week ago,
as this same fellow was bringing in the pigs, a handful of men had set
upon him, with a magistrate's warrant, and arrested him as a deserted
soldier, skulking to avoid her Majesty's service, and had carried him
away to Rochester gaol. I questioned him as to who his captors were,
but he said he knew them not, but supposed them to be men in the company
of the Captain whose colours the fellow had abandoned.
Knowing what I did, I guessed this was so, and that it had been part of
a plan against the maiden thus to get one of her protectors out of the
way.
"And have you had much company here of late," I asked, "that your house
is so full?"
He looked queerly at me, for he knew as well as I there was no guest but
myself beneath the roof.
"By your leave," said he, "I am ill prepared to make any guest welcome,
and pray you do me the favour to seek entertainment elsewhere."
"Nay," said I, "I like the place. And if you suspect me, let me tell
you I am a plain London printer's 'prentice, come to seek my Grace's
licence for a book, which I hope to receive to-morrow."
"I hope you say true," said he, "for I have had trouble enough with
guests here lately, not as honest as you. Why, sir," said he, filling
my mug, "only yesterday there came here such a surly-faced varlet as you
never saw, who whined and sang psalms as he drank my ale; and then when
the time came to pay, told me to score it to one Captain Merriman, in
whose sendee he was, and who would come and pay it presently. I ask
you, sir, how would you like that at your inn?"
"Thank Heaven I have no inn; but tell me, landlord, this varlet, was he
a long pale fellow, with straight hair, and eyes half shut; and was this
the tune he whined?" And I hummed Peter's favourite tune.
"The very man," said my landlord, rising to his feet with a start. "You
have hit him to a point. And be you then this Captain Merriman that is
to pay my score?"
"Not so," said I, laughing, "and you may bid farewell to your money if
you are to look for it to him. I know the villain, landlord, and if I
saw him here, I warrant you this sword of mine would not be lying thus
in its sheath. But tell me. This surly-faced rogue, what did he do?
What was his business?"
"Indeed, I know not. Save to ogle all the women that came this way, not
sparing the Popish nuns in yonder convent."
And he pointed to a plain building close at hand, peeping from among the
trees, and walled all round with a high wall.
"He asked so many questions of the place, and was so curious to see the
sisters and their scholars walk abroad, that had I a daughter in keeping
there, I would be glad to get her safe back under my roof."
"And did he see them?"
"I warrant you, yes. For while he was questioning me the bell sounded,
and they walked across to the Popish Chapel in the wood. And there was
my gentleman, turned Papist all of a sudden, and must needs go and
worship images too."
"And where has he gone now?" I asked.
"I know not, neither do I care, so I am rid of him. But come, guest, if
you must stay, get you to bed; for we be early folk here."
I slept not a wink that night, and before daylight was astir and out of
doors. For I, too, was curious concerning this nunnery and its inmates;
and was minded to turn Catholic too for occasion, and see if, amongst
the ladies, might appear the stately form of her whose fate had been so
oddly woven with mine own.
But ill fortune attended me. For early as I was, matins had been sung
an hour ago; nor was there another service till noon, and that only for
the sisters. I must wait till evensong, to satisfy myself, and, with
much misgiving at the delay, dragged myself back to the "Oriflame."
Just as I turned off from the Dover road, there passed me in haste two
men habited as priests, travel-stained, as coming off a long journey,
yet apparently familiar enough with the path which led to the friendly
shelter of the convent. I saw neither of their faces, for both were
bent over the books they read; but I marked that one of them was tall
and lean, while the other, who walked with more of a swagger, was
shorter and better fed. I doubt if either of them saw me. But somehow
I liked not the sight of them, or the path they took. It seemed to me
to bode ill to the maiden; and I longed to have my business with his
Grace ended that I might return and be near the place where she was.
For three mortal hours, that forenoon, was I kept kicking my heels in
his Grace's ante-chamber; and in the end was told curtly his Grace had
no leisure at present for such business, and that I must come again on
the morrow. I own I spake disrespectfully of his Grace when they gave
me this message, and was fain, on that account, to retreat from the
precincts more hastily than most suitors are wont to do. Here was
another day wasted, and who was to say that the same put-off did not
await me to-morrow?
It was late in the afternoon when I found myself again at the
"Oriflame," and there I found mine host in a monstrous flutter, thinking
I, too, had given him the slip without paying my account. I made him
happy on that score with the moiety of my gold piece, and thereby bound
him to me for ever and a day. For he seemed a man whose wont it was
never to get his due.
I was solacing my impatience as I waited for vespers, by pacing to and
fro in the wood which divided the road to Dover from the convent wall;
when I was startled to come suddenly upon a horse, saddled and bridled,
tied up in a covert. It had a pillion on its back; and seemed like the
beast on which a farmer and his wife might ride together to market. So,
indeed, I thought it to be, when, looking about me, I perceived in the
saddle-bow a knife, the hilt of which I had seen before. It was, in
fact, a knife I had myself given to Peter, one day two years ago, when I
had won a new one at Finsbury Fields, and when my fellow 'prentice and I
were better friends than we became later on.
The sight of this knife suddenly brought the blood to my head with a
mighty rush. For it showed that this horse waited here for Peter; and
if for Peter, for what lady was the pillion provided? I had wit enough,
without a moment's delay, to hide myself among the trees; assured that
whatever mischief was in the air, it would come at length to this
trysting place. And so it fell out.
I heard the chapel bell begin to toll ere long, and pictured in my mind
the sisters and their wards crossing devoutly from the convent garden to
the little chapel in the wood. No doubt the sleek Peter would be there
to eye them as they glided in; and when the service was done, perchance,
he would seek to make his wicked swoop on that poor, unsuspecting lamb,
and carry her off to his foul paymaster. In an hour--
What was that? I suddenly heard close to me staggering footsteps and a
stifled groan, accompanied by the hard panting of a man who laboured
with a heavy load. That they were coming my way was evident by the
crackling of the underwood and the impatience of the horse. What a year
did those two minutes seem as I waited there, sword in hand!
Then there broke into the covert a man, dragging on his arm the fainting
form of her whom, though I had not seen her for a long year, I knew in a
moment to be Rose O'Neill, my master Ludar's maiden. But what amazed me
most was the man who carried her. I had looked for Peter Stoupe to a
certainty; but instead of him I saw the taller of the two priests whom I
had passed only that morning on the way to the convent. The delusion
lasted only a moment. For as he turned his head, I saw beneath the cowl
the well-known, cadaverous, hungry visage of my masquerading 'prentice,
and knew that I was right after all.
He flung his senseless burden to the ground with a curse, and was
turning to the horse, when I stepped out, sword in hand, and faced him.
I gave him no time for parley or excuse. I heeded not the yell he sent
up as he saw who I was, and felt nothing of the one savage blow he aimed
at me with his knife. Time was short. At any moment that other
masquerading priest, whose name I guessed shrewdly enough now, might be
here on the top of us. So I had at him and ran him through the carcase,
and without waiting to look twice to see if he lived or no, or to
restore his fainting victim, I lifted her on to the horse in front of
me, and dashed, in the gathering night, through the forest roads.
Two days later, as the snow fell thick in the London streets, I stood
with the maiden at my master's door without Temple Bar. There were
crowds in the Strand, I remember, talking over some notable news which
had just come in; and so full was every one of the same, that we passed
unheeded, and not a man had time to recognise me or wonder who was my
companion. Even my master and mistress were abroad gossiping; so that,
to my vast relief, when I opened the door and walked in, there was
Jeannette to meet us and no one else.
"Thee art welcome, dear Humphrey," said she, coming forward; "and so is
this lady."
And she dropped a curtsey as she turned to my companion. But seeing her
pale face and sad looks, she went to her and, taking her hand, kissed
her on the cheek. I think that sisterly welcome put new life into the
maiden, for the colour came again to her face, and a smile to her lips,
as she said--
"We are not strangers, sweet Jeannette. It does me good to see thee
now."
And somehow I was overlooked in the talk that ensued betwixt those two,
and so left them and went out to the street to hear what this great news
might be.
It was indeed great news. Yesterday, in the early morning, the Scotch
Queen had paid the penalty of her grievous treasons, and had been
beheaded at Fotheringay Castle. Men seemed half dazed by the news. To
many it had seemed that the dangers of which she was the author were to
trouble England's peace for ever; and now that, by a single blow, the
cloud had been lifted, some of us fetched a great sigh of relief and had
time to pity the fate of the fair woman, whose name we had so lately
hated. So there was not much shouting or burning of bonfires. But
every one felt something wonderful had happened, and rubbed their eyes,
like those awakened out of some long drawn nightmare.
When I returned my master and mistress were still abroad. Jeannette, I
found, had carried the maiden to her own bed, and having left her there
to rest--and indeed she needed it, for we had travelled hard two days by
long and tiresome roads--awaited me with a grave face.
"All this is passing strange," said she, "and I love this maiden. But,
my Humphrey, I have sad news to tell you since you left. Twas the
evening of the very day you went; as I was helping the father draw his
charges, there came suddenly into the shop a man, tall, haggard, but
noble to look at, and seeming like a hunted lion. He looked round him
wildly, and then asked, was this the printer's house outside Temple Bar?
The father answered shortly, yes. 'Then,' said he 'is there one here,
Humphrey Dexter by name?' 'No,' said the father, who, I thought,
mistrusted the fellow's looks, and wanted to be rid of him. Without a
word, then, he turned and left us; before I could so much as cry to him
that you would be back anon. Where he went I know not, but that this
was Sir Ludar, and that he goes in peril of his life I am as sure as
that I speak now to thee."
Now, I understood why, as I lay dreaming that night at Rochester, I had
heard my master's voice calling me back, while that of the maiden urged
me forward. To think he had been here, in this very spot, calling for
me, and I not at hand to answer! It was too bitter a cup; and late as
it was, I rushed out once again into the street, in the foolish hope of
seeing or hearing of him. But it was all too late!