Nicholas Clere was a man of one idea at once; and people of that sort do
a great deal of good when they get hold of the right idea, and a great
deal of harm when a wrong idea gets hold of them. Once let notion get
into the head of Nicholas, and no reasoning nor persuasion would drive
it out. He made no allowances and permitted no excuses. If a thing
looked wrong, then wrong it must be, and it was of no use to talk to him
about it. That he should have found Elizabeth, who had been ordered to
come home at eight o'clock, running in the opposite direction at
half-past eight, was in his eyes an enormity which admitted of no
explanations. That she either had been in mischief, or was then on her
way to it, were the only two alternatives possible to the mind of her
master.
And circumstances were especially awkward for Elizabeth, since she could
not give any explanation of her proceedings which would clear her in the
eyes of her employers. Nicholas Clere, like many other people of
prejudiced minds and fixed opinions, had a mind totally unfixed in the
one matter of religion. His religion was whatever he found it to his
worldly advantage to be. During King Edward's reign, it was polite and
fashionable to be a Protestant; now, under Queen Mary, the only way to
make a man's fortune was to be a Roman Catholic. And though Nicholas
did not say even to himself that it was better to have plenty of money
than to go to Heaven when he died, yet he lived exactly as if he thought
so. During the last few years, therefore, Nicholas had gradually been
growing more and more of a Papist, and especially during the last few
weeks. First, he left off attending the Protestant meetings at the
King's Head; then he dropped family prayer. Papists, whether they be
the genuine article or only the imitation, always dislike family prayer.
They say that a church is the proper place to pray in, though our
Lord's bidding is, "When thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when
thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret." The
third step which Nicholas took was to go to mass, and command all his
household to follow him. This had Elizabeth hitherto, but quite
respectfully, declined to do. She was ready to obey all orders of her
earthly master which did not interfere with her higher duty to God
Almighty. But His holy Word--not her fancy, nor the traditions of men--
forbade her to bow down to graven images; or to give His glory to any
person or thing but Himself.
And Elizabeth knew that she could not attend mass without doing that. A
piece of consecrated bread would be held up, and she would be required
to worship it as God. And it was not God: it could neither see, nor
hear, nor speak; it was not even as like God as a man is. To worship a
bit of bread because Christ likened His body to bread, would be as silly
as to worship a stone because the Bible says, "That _Rock_ was Christ."
It was evident that He was speaking figuratively, just as He spoke when
He said, "I am the door of the sheep," and "I am the Morning Star." Who
in his senses would suppose that Christ meant to say that He was a
wooden door? It is important that we should have true ideas about this,
because there are just now plenty of foolish people who will try to
persuade us to believe that that poor, powerless piece of bread is God
Himself. It is insulting the Lord God Almighty to say such a thing.
Look at the 115th Psalm, from the fifth verse to the eight, and you will
see how God describes an idol, which He forbids to be worshipped: and
then look at the 26th and 27th verses of the 24th chapter of Saint
Matthew, and you will see that the Lord Jesus distinctly says that you
are not to believe anybody who tells you that He is come before you see
Him. When He really does come, nobody will want any telling; we shall
all see Him for ourselves. So we find from His own words in every way
that the bread and wine in the Sacrament are just bread and wine, and
nothing more, which we eat and drink "in remembrance of Him," just as
you might keep and value your mother's photograph in remembrance of her.
But I am sure you never would be so silly as to think that the
photograph was her own real self!
This was the reason why Elizabeth Foulkes would not go to mass. Every
Sunday morning Mrs Clere ordered her to go, and Elizabeth quietly,
respectfully, but firmly, told her that she could not do so. Elizabeth
had God's Word to uphold her; God forbade her to worship idols. It was
not simply that she did not like it, nor that somebody else had told her
not to do it. Nothing can excuse us if we break the laws of our
country, unless the law of our country has broken God's law; and
Elizabeth would have done very wrong to disobey her mistress, except
when her mistress told her to disobey God. What God said must be her
rule; not what she thought.
Generally speaking, Mrs Clere called Elizabeth some ugly names, and
then let her do as she liked. Up to this time her master had not
interfered with her, but she was constantly expecting that he would.
She was not afraid of answering for herself; but she was terribly afraid
for her poor friends. To tell him that she was on her way to warn them
of danger, and beg them to escape, would be the very means of preventing
their escape, for what he was likely to do was to go at once and tell
the priests, in order to win their favour for himself.
"Hussy, what goest thou about?" came sternly from Nicholas Clere, as he
held her fast.
"Master, I cry you mercy. I was on my way home, and I was turned out of
it by one that prayed me to take a word of grave import to a friend."
Elizabeth thought she might safely say so much as that.
"I believe thee not," answered Nicholas. "All young maids be idle
gadabouts, if they be not looked to sharply, and thou art no better than
the rest. Whither wert thou going?"
"I have told all I may, Master, and I pray you ask no further. The
secret is not mine, but theirs that sent me and should have received my
message."
In those days, nothing was more usual than for secret messages to be
sent from one person to another. It was not safe then, as it is now,
for people to speak openly. Freedom always goes hand in hand with
Protestantism. If England should ever again become a Roman Catholic
country--which many people are trying hard to make her--Englishmen will
be no longer free.
Nicholas Clere hesitated a moment. Elizabeth's defence was not at all
unlikely to be true. But he had made up his mind that she was in fault,
and probabilities must not be allowed to interfere with it.
"Rubbish!" said he. "What man, having his eyes in his head, should
trust a silly maid with any matter of import? Women can never keep a
secret, much less a young jade like to thee. Tell no more lies,
prithee."
And he began to walk towards Balcon Lane, still firmly holding Elizabeth
by the arm.
"Master, I beseech you, let me go on my way!" she pleaded earnestly. "I
will tarry up all night, if it be your pleasure, to make up for one
half-hour now. Truly as I am an honest maid, I have told you the truth,
and I am about nothing ill."
"Tush, jade! Hold thy tongue. Thou goest with me, and if not
peaceably, then by force."
"Will you, of your grace, Master, let me leave my message with some
other to take instead of me? May I have leave to speak, but one moment,
with Mistress Wade, of the King's Head? She would find a trusty
messenger to go forward."
"Tell me thy message, and if it be truly of any weight, then shall it be
sent," answered Nicholas, still coldly, but less angrily than before.
Could she tell him the message? Would it not go straight to the priest,
and all hope of escape be thus cut off? Like Nehemiah, Elizabeth cried
for wisdom.
"Master, I cry you mercy yet again, but I may not tell the message."
"Yet thou wouldst fain tell Mistress Wade! Thou wicked hussy, thou
canst be after no good. What message is this, which thou canst tell
Mistress Wade, but mayest not tell me? I crede thee not a word. Have
forward, and thy mistress shall deal with thee."