Hugh's first feeling was one of bitter and intense disappointment. He
cared not one jot about the position of the corbel, what he did care for
was the working out his own design, seeing that, as it were, spring into
life under his hand. It was a very different thing to carry out another
man's, for, however good the execution might be, that could not equal
the joy of creation. He turned quite white when Prothasy told him,
thinking the news should give him proud delight, but, curiously enough,
Joan, who was in the room, child as she was, understood his feelings
better, and the moment her mother left slipped her hand in his.
"Alack, alack, poor Hugh!"
"There go all my hopes," he groaned.
"But it is for father," she urged. "Bethink you how grievous it is for
him to have no hand in what he longed for."
"I think of my father, too. I wanted to credit his name."
"Nay," said Joan softly, "if he could speak he would say there were
nobler things than fame."
Was not that really what he had said, and was it not strange that she
should repeat it? But then Joan ever had strange thoughts for her age,
and Hugh's better nature came to his aid.
"In good sooth, thou art right, Joan," he said after a pause. "Whatever
it cost me, I will remember that I might not be working in the Cathedral
at all were it not for the master. I will put aside thought of my own
fancies, and carry his out with my might."
There was something solemn about this promise, and both felt it so, Joan
looking up admiringly into Hugh's face, and more certain than ever
that--her father always excepted--there was no one like him in the
world.
Gervase gave better signs of mending after the bishop's visit, and his
speech began slowly to clear itself, but they soon found that he was
anxious for Hugh to begin work, and that the latter might now leave him
to the care of Prothasy and Joan. He made Hugh bring his design to his
side, and evidently wished him to go through it there and to show that
he fully understood it. It was a conventional design, mixed with
foliage, long, slender, and sharply cut, not unlike the lower leaves of
the shepherd's purse greatly magnified, and depending for its beauty
upon certain strongly marked curves. It had never seemed to Hugh quite
equal to the master's other designs.
There was much wonder and some jealousy of Hugh when Gervase's choice
became known; but also general satisfaction, there being much
competition in the matter, and no one being willing to give up his own
chance of distinguishing himself by producing and carrying out a design
which should surpass all the others. No one, that is to say, but Wat.
He had the lowest opinion of his own powers, and thought it sheer folly
to have been chosen for such a task, and he would very gladly have made
over his pillar to Hugh, and faithfully carried out the master's
drawings. As, however, this was impossible, he set himself to
perpetuate Spot, and at the same time to keep a watchful eye upon Roger.
Roger was the best pleased of all, for, since Hugh could no longer use
his own design, it was pretty sure that no one would interfere with him.
He was a first-rate workman, only wanting in imagination and invention;
he had no fear but that now he had provided himself with the design, his
corbel would hold its own with, perhaps surpass, all others. He even
managed to smooth certain ruffles in his conscience by assuring it that
since Hugh could not have undertaken any independent labour, no harm was
done to him; ivy had always been in his mind, and he had but assisted
his fancy by a means which had fallen in his way.
Nevertheless, it was remarkable that he took the utmost pains to prevent
Wat from getting a sight of his work. The carvings were always covered
when left for the night, and there was a sort of tacit understanding
that no one need openly display his work, although often one called
another to give advice upon some doubtful point. But Roger used unusual
precautions to arrange his materials and himself as he worked, so as
completely to hide the carving from view. Wat pondered long upon this,
and at last, coming home with Hugh one evening, he asked--
"The design which Roger filched, is it yet in thy head?"
"Ay," briefly answered Hugh.
"Draw it out then again."
"Where is the use? I shall never have the chance of using it, and if I
had, I could not now when that false loon has had all this time to push
on with his."
"Still--do as I bid thee," returned Wat obstinately.
Nor would he rest until he had the design safely in his keeping. Then
he carried it to Prothasy.
"Prithee, goodwife, hast thou any place where thou canst bestow this
safely?"
"What for?"
"It is Hugh's design for the corbel which he was to have carved: one he
did before, and has never seen since the day the master was taken ill."
"There are places in the yard without lumbering the house."
"Ay, mistress, but I would have thee keep it where none of us, not even
Hugh himself, should ever see it. He hath marked the day of the month
upon it--see."
She looked questioningly at him, then took the board without a word, and
carried it away with her, while Wat rubbed his hands and pushed back the
lathes of the window to whistle to Spot, who, as usual, was basking
lazily in the sun on the opposite side of the street.
Hugh worked with all his might. His chief difficulty consisted in the
extreme anxiety of bishop and chapter, who were really terror-struck at
the idea of so young a workman having so great a responsibility thrust
upon him, particularly without the master being there to oversee.
Constantly one or another was coming, desiring to speak with him, and
urging him if he were in any doubt to seek counsel from the older men.
When he answered modestly enough that he would do so if he felt he
needed help, but that at present he found no difficulty, they looked the
more anxious and uncomfortable, shook their heads, and said it was
impossible that he could have the necessary experience. All this was
sufficiently depressing, but Hugh found comfort in Gervase's evident
faith in him. He was so far recovered that his speech had come back,
and a certain amount of power in the disabled arm; he could get about
the house and even listen to Franklyn's account of the work done; but
his supreme pleasure lay in hearing Hugh's report of his work at what
Elyas ever called _his_ corbel, and his chief longing was for the time
when he should get down and see it with his own eyes, though that day
they feared was far away.
He laughed over Hugh's description of the fears of the canons, and
managed to see the bishop and to assure him so confidently of his
prentice's power to carry through the task entrusted to him, that Bishop
Bitton, who had hitherto doubted whether it had not been the fancy of a
sick man, was completely reassured, and tried Hugh no more with advice
to seek counsel. The chaunter or precentor, however, was not to be
persuaded. He was a sour little man, who liked to be in opposition, and
one day came bustling up to the foot of the ladder on which Hugh was at
work, intimating that he wished to speak to him. Hugh accordingly came
down, though not with the best grace in the world, for he knew very well
what he was likely to hear.
"Young lad," said the precentor, pursing his mouth and throwing out his
chest, "it appears to me that this task is beyond thy years."
Hugh was silent, standing gazing down at the precentor. His face was
much the same as it had been when he was a child, fair and ruddy, with
light hair and honest grey eyes, which looked full in the face of those
who talked with him. He was tall and very powerfully made; with promise
indeed, in a few years' time, of unusual strength and size.
"As it has been rashly, over-rashly to my thinking, committed to thee, I
say nothing," the precentor continued; "we must bear the risk. But that
should not prevent precaution. I desire, therefore, that thou wilt call
upon the older men to counsel thee, and correct thy mistakes. From what
I learn, thou hast done naught of this; thou art too self-satisfied, too
presumptuous, and we, forsooth, must suffer for thine overweening
confidence. See that thou act as I desire."
Hugh did not immediately answer, perhaps finding some difficulty in
keeping back hasty words. When he did speak it was to ask a question.
"Reverend sir," he said, "who of all our guild would know best what I
can or cannot do?"
The precentor hesitated.
"Thy master--in health," he added, with emphasis on the last word.
"Before aught ailed him, he was set upon my carving a corbel."
"Ay, but not a forward one, such as this, and not without his being here
to overlook thee. This is another matter."
"It may be so, reverend sir. In good sooth, I found it hard to give up
my own work and take his, but since it pleasured him, and since he can
trust it in my hands, I must work, if I work at all, without such let or
hindrance as you would put on me. You say truly that it is a great
task. I cannot carry it out fettered and cramped. If the Lord Bishop
and his chapter hold that I have forfeited the trust they committed to
me, I would humbly pray to be allowed to resign it. If it is left in my
hands, then I must be as the other men, free to work undisturbed."
Hugh spoke with great modesty, yet so firmly as to amaze the little
precentor, who had thought he might meet with a boy's petulance, which
he was determined to put down. He would have liked to take Hugh at his
word and dismiss him, but this he could not venture to do, since the
bishop, though he had had his fears, thought highly of the lad's genius,
and would have strongly resented any such high-handed act. He found
himself in a position for which he was quite unprepared, obliged to
withdraw his commands, but he was not the man to do this frankly or
fully.
"Thou art a malapert springald to bandy words with me," he said angrily.
"Thou, a mere prentice, to put thyself on a level with other men! This
comes of being cockered and made much of, out of thy fit place. But I
shall speak with the bishop, and I wot we shall see whether thine
insolence is to go unchastised."
He spoke loud enough for some of the other men to hear, and marched off,
leaving Hugh very angry, though he had been able to control all outward
signs of wrath. He went up his ladder again, hearing a chuckle of
laughter among the others, and feeling sore and bitter with all the
world.
"As if it were not enough to have given up what I had thought of so
long," he muttered, looking round at the corbel on the other side,
which, somewhat to his surprise, no one had yet been set upon, "but I
must be flouted at for failing when I have scarce begun, and set to ask
counsel from--whom? Roger, maybe, Roger, who could not do his own task
without stealing from my wits! Well, I have finely angered the
precentor, and it will be no wonder if it is all stopped, and I am sent
off, though I said naught that was unbecoming, or that I should not be
forced to say again. I will tell the master, and he shall judge."
The precentor was indeed very angry, and the first person he met, and to
whom he poured out his indignation, was Master William Pontington, the
canon, who had been one of the last to admit the possibility of the
prentice being allowed to undertake the carving of a corbel.
"This," said the precentor solemnly, "this comes of the bishop's weak--
hem--over-easiness. If he permitted such a thing, it should have been
under control and direction, instead whereof we have a young jackanapes
perched up there, and left to amuse himself as he likes, and telling
me--telling me to my very face--that he is as good as any other!"
It was well-known among the chapter that the precentor never omitted a
chance of saying a word against the bishop, and the canon smiled.
"The dean thinks as well of the lad as doth the bishop," he said. "My
counsel is to leave him alone. If he be trusted with a man's work, we
must trust him as to the manner in which he carries it out, and not fret
him with constant restrictions. Beshrew me, but were I in his place I
should feel the same!"
So supported, Hugh was left very fairly at peace to toil at his carving,
although even his friends among the chapter felt deep anxiety for the
result, and tried hard to get peeps at what he had already done. But
Hugh, having once suffered, was almost as careful as Roger to keep his
work concealed, and as for Wat, he made a complete watch-dog of himself,
staying the last of the workmen, and being one of the earliest to
arrive. He cared far more for Hugh's success than for his own, and he
was the only one who had seen the corbel. Somehow or other, however,
perhaps from words he let drop, perhaps from glimpses caught of its
progress, the report went about that it was very beautiful.
Every day Gervase eagerly questioned Hugh as to what progress he had
made. Once or twice Hugh told him of changes he had made in the
design--told him with some doubt lest it should displease him that his
apprentice should dream of bettering his work. But Gervase was of a
rarely generous nature, frankly acknowledging the improvement.
"I would I could get to see it; thou art right, thou art right, Hugh,
that change takes off a certain stiffness. Do what thou wilt, I trust
thee ungrudgingly, in spite of precentor or any of them. And they will
have to own that we are in the right when they see it finished. Now,
art ready for our game at chess?"
Slowly, but surely, the doubts and anxieties as to the lad's work died
away, and instead of them grew up an impression that when the day came
for its uncovering, something of great merit would be displayed. The
one most affected by all these rumours was Roger. His own was
progressing well, and he was the more eager not to be outdone; moreover,
he had injured Hugh, and this very fact made his jealousy and dislike
more bitter. If, after all, Hugh should surpass him! Roger gnawed his
lip, and meditated day and night upon some possible means of preventing
such a catastrophe. He would have given a great deal to see the carving
and judge for himself, and he made several attempts in this direction,
always baffled by Wat's vigilance. One day he got hold of Franklyn, and
asked him what he heard of Hugh and his work. Franklyn was a
narrow-minded man, but honest, and he answered openly, that from a
glimpse he had caught, and from what the master had repeated, he doubted
whether the lad had ever done anything so good before.
"He hath great power," added Franklyn musingly.
"Ay, to work at another man's design!" said Roger, with a sneer. "I
call that another matter from working one's own."
"Marry amen! and so do I," said a voice, emphatically.
Roger started as if he had been stung. He had not known that Wat was
just behind, and he knew too well the meaning of the words. But it made
him the more bitter against Hugh.
Through those summer days work went on briskly in the Cathedral. All
were fired with enthusiasm, partly from the bishop's example, partly
from personal longing to distinguish themselves. The choir with its
noble vaulting was completed, a splendid monument of Bitton's
episcopate; but the corbels would be a prominent and beautiful feature
in the work, and perhaps, with some prevision that his life would not be
long, the bishop desired very greatly to see them finished. Hugh worked
incessantly; he hoped before the summer was over to have brought his
carving to an end. Gervase had been out several times, indeed his
recovery was amazing, but now that matters had gone so far, he said that
he should keep away from the Cathedral until Hugh's corbel was a
finished work.
Hugh had been so much absorbed that he had thought little of Roger,
although he did not relax any of his precautions as to keeping his work
hidden, and Wat and Joan were far more watchful guardians than he dreamt
of.
He had a great surprise one Sunday when they came in from St Mary
Arches, and he saw a big man standing in the doorway, which was still
wreathed with the midsummer greenery, and looked at him at first as if
he were a stranger. The man, in his turn, stared from one to the other
as if in search of someone; something struck Hugh as familiar, and the
next moment he sprang to his side and seized his hand.
"Master Andrew!" he cried in delight, "where have you come from? How
long have you been here? Are you well? How is Moll?"
The sailor put his hands on his shoulders, held him at arm's length, and
looked him up and down in amazement, which soon broadened into a laugh.
"I never thought to have found thee grown to this size!" he said; "thou
art a man, and a proper one! Where have I come from? From Exmouth, and
I would have sailed up in the _Queen Maud_ if your burgesses of Exeter
had not been fools enough to let a woman ruin their river for them with
her weir. I have had a wish many a time to know how thou fared, and
Friar Luke--we are good friends, what thinkest thou of that? I never
thought to be friends with a grey friar--gives me no peace because I
bring him no tidings. Thy father? Ay, anyone could see it was that way
with him, honest man! And Agrippa?"
There was much to hear and tell. The warden took a great fancy to
Andrew and would not listen to his going to a hostelry for the night,
and Prothasy was pleased to see her husband interested. But the one who
took most to Andrew, and who in his turn was greatly liked by the
sailor, was Wat. Andrew vowed that Wat should have been a sailor, and
Wat was almost ready to renounce everything in favour of the sea. Wat
told him all about Hugh, and his work and his genius, and what great
things were entrusted to him at the Cathedral, and promised to take him
there the next morning as early as the doors were opened, and Joan,
Hugh, and Wat must all go forth after the five o'clock supper, and show
him the castle and St Nicolas' Priory, which he looked at with
disfavour in spite of his friendship with Friar Luke, and the
alms-houses of Saint Alexius, which pleased him better. All these, but
more especially the bridge, made him own that Exeter was a very noble
city.
Hugh could not go to the Cathedral as early as the others the next
morning, because the master wanted some measurements taken, but he was
to follow almost immediately, and there could not have been a prouder
showman than Wat. He scarcely let Andrew glance round at the fair
beauty of the building before he was off to fetch Hugh's ladder and to
set it up against the pillar. They were, as he intended to be, the
first there, and the covering might be safely taken off, but he was so
prudent that he darted off to watch, calling to Andrew to go up and
unwrap the covering for himself. As he stood in the nave, it struck him
that he heard a cry, but he set it down to someone outside, and when
some minutes had passed, and he thought time enough had been given, he
hurried back, expecting to find the sailor full of admiration. Instead
of this he met him coming towards him, looking, as even Wat could not
fail to see, rather strangely disturbed. He said at once and roughly--
"Fine traps you set for strangers!"
"How, master?"
"How? In placing a ladder which has been cut through. Nay, I like not
such jests."
"Cut through!" cried Wat, with such genuine amazement that Andrew looked
keenly at him.
"Beshrew me, yes! Didst thou not know it? The ladder gave way, and I
might have made a fool of myself on the stones below, but that I have
been long enough on shipboard to hold on by the very hair of my head. I
gave thee a halloo."
"I never thought it was thou, sir. Cut through! Then that is Roger's
work again; he would have done Hugh a mischief, the false traitor! If
only I could wring his neck! Let me see the place."
He strode off, boiling over with excitement, and Andrew, with a whistle
of some amusement, sauntered slowly after him.
It was quite true. One of the rungs of the ladder about half-way up had
been so cut where it ran into the upright that it must necessarily have
given way under an ordinary weight, and Hugh, who would have gone up
encumbered with his tools, could scarcely have avoided a bad fall. He
arrived very soon, and the other men dropped in, Wat questioning them
all closely, not, it must be owned, with any thought that they could
have done such a dastardly deed, but with a hope of getting evidence
that Roger had been seen near the ladder. In this he failed. No one
had noticed anything, all the ladders lay near each other, and whoever
had done it had undoubtedly exercised much caution and ingenuity. The
men were angry. Many of them were jealous of Hugh, but not to the
extent of committing a crime in order to incapacitate him; such an act,
if proved, would be visited by the most severe punishment the guild
could inflict. Roger himself came late, he cast a swift glance at the
groups of men standing about in unusual idleness, and another, which Wat
noted, towards Hugh's pillar. When he saw Hugh there, engaged on his
work as on every other day, the colour left his face, and he glanced
uneasily from one to the other, finally pausing before Wat, who had
planted himself aggressively in his way.
"Is aught the matter?" he demanded.
"Murder or maiming might have been the matter," returned Wat grimly.
"Now, maybe, there will be naught but the hanging."
"Hanging?"
"Of the villain who tried this wickedness. Canst thou give a guess who
that might be?"
"Thou talkest riddles," said Roger impatiently. "Let me pass to my
work."
"Ay," returned Wat, "pass. We others mean to find out who it is among
us who filches designs, and cuts through ladders, and brings shame on
all our body."
Flinging a glance of rage at him, Roger pushed by, and Wat went off to
meet the other warden, John Hamlyn, and to lay the complaint before him.
Andrew's presence and what he had himself experienced in the matter
helped to make it serious, and the crime was sufficiently grave for the
warden to promise that there should be a guild meeting to consider it.
"What evidence hast thou against Roger?"
"He hath done Hugh other harm, sir," answered Wat after a pause. "He
hath stolen his designs."
"Take care, take care," said the warden warningly, "these be grave
charges. How knowest thou? Hast thou seen his work?"
"Nay, sir. Nevertheless I can prove it, if you will."
"How then?"
"When the master was taken ill, Hugh's designs were stolen, but I made
Hugh draw them out again, and Mistress Prothasy hath them in her
keeping."
"But thou knowest not that there thou hast what Roger is working upon.
Tush, man, these are but idle tales. Thou must bring better proofs."
Wat was far more grave and sober than usual.
"I wot not if we shall get proofs of this last villainy," he said.
"Someone hath done it, and no other bears Hugh a grudge. But the other,
thou, sir, may'st prove for thyself if thou wilt."
"Prithee, how?"
"Come with me, sir, and get the board with the design from the goodwife.
Thou wilt see by the date--Saint George's Day--that the carving was not
far enough advanced for Hugh to have drawn his from that. Keep it by
thee, Master Hamlyn, and when Roger's work is uncovered, judge for
thyself."
"Thou hast not seen the corbel, thou sayest, and this is no more than
thy fancy."
"No more. Yet I will stake my fair fame upon it," said Wat, boldly.
The warden hesitated, finally said the test was a fair one, and promised
to come that evening and receive the board from Prothasy. This little
arrangement partly compensated Wat for the failure to bring home any
evidence connecting Roger with the ladder. At the same time a feeling
had risen up against him among the other workmen, who felt that they
were in a measure compromised until the offender was discovered, and
Roger found himself treated to cold and doubtful looks, while even
Franklyn appeared to have his confidence shaken. Hugh was the one who
made least of the affair; he was so persuaded of Roger's ill-will that
this fresh proof scarcely affected him, and it was he who induced
Andrew--though more, it must be owned, for the credit of the guild than
from any charitable feelings--to give up his plan of taking summary
vengeance by administering a sound thrashing.
They were all sorry when Andrew departed, carrying not only messages for
Moll and Friar Luke, but a scroll for this latter, written in Hugh's
fairest penmanship, and a marvel to the whole household.