"It's bed-time when thou'rt bidden to go. As to washing-day, it's
always washing-day where thou art. Never was such a boy, I do believe,
for getting into the mud. Thou'rt worser ten times o'er than thou wert.
I do wish lads 'd stop babes till they're men, that one could tuck 'em
in the cradle and leave 'em! There's never a bit of peace! I would the
Black Ladies 'd come for you. I shall be mighty thankful when they do,
be sure."
"Mistress Wade 'll have us," suggested Master William, briskly, looking
up at Ursula.
"Hold that pert tongue o' thine! Mistress Wade's not like to have you.
You're in my care, and I've no leave to deliver you to any save the
Black Ladies."
"Well! I wouldn't mind camping out a bit, if you're so set to be rid of
us," said Will, reflectively. "There's a blanket you've got rolled up
in the loft, that 'd make a tent, and we could cut down poles, if you'll
lend us an axe; and--"
"You cut down poles! Marry come up! You're not about to have any of my
blankets, nor my axes neither."
"It wouldn't be so bad," Will went on, still in a meditative key, "only
for dinner. I don't see where we should get that."
"I see that you're off to bed this minute, and don't go maundering about
tents and axes. You cut down poles! you'd cut your fingers off, more
like. Now then, be off to the loft! Not another word! March!"
Just as Ursula was sweeping Will upstairs before her, a rap came on the
door.
"There! didn't I say a body never had a bit of peace?--Go on, Will, and
get to bed; and mind thou leaves them dirty clothes on the floor by
theirselves: don't go to dirt everything in the room with 'em.--Walk in,
Mistress Wade! So you found Cis?"
"Ay, I found her," said the landlady, as she and Cissy came in together.
"Cis, do thou go up, maid, and see to Will a bit. He's come in all o'er
mud and mire, and I sent him up to bed, but there's no trusting him to
go. See he does, prithee, and cast his clothes into the tub yonder,
there's a good maid."
Cissy knew very well that Ursula spoke so amiably because Mrs Wade was
there to hear her. She went up to look after her little brother, and
the landlady turned to Ursula.
"Now, Ursula Felstede, I want these children."
"Then you must ask leave from the Queen's Commissioners, Mistress Wade.
Eh, I couldn't give 'em up if it were ever so! I daren't, for the life
o' me!"
Mrs Wade begged, coaxed, lectured, and almost threatened her, but for
once Ursula was firm. She dared not give up the children, and she was
quite honest in saying so. Mrs Wade had to go home without them.
As she came up, very weary and unusually dispirited, to the archway of
the King's Head, she heard voices from within.
"I tell you she's not!" said Dorothy Denny's voice in a rather
frightened tone; "she went forth nigh four hours agone, and whither I
know not."
"That's an inquiry for me," said Mrs Wade to herself, as she sprang
down from her old black mare, and gave her a pat before dismissing her
to the care of the ostler, who ran up to take her. "Good Jenny! good
old lass!--Is there any company, Giles?" she asked of the ostler.
"Mistress, 'tis Master Maynard the Sheriff and he's making inquiration
for you. I would you could ha' kept away a bit longer!"
"Dost thou so, good Giles? Well, I would as God would. The Sheriff had
best have somebody else to deal with him than Doll and Bab." And she
went forward into the kitchen.
Barbara, her younger servant, who was only a girl, stood leaning against
a dresser, looking very white and frightened, with the rolling-pin in
her hand; she had evidently been stopped in the middle of making a pie.
Dorothy stood on the hearth, fronting the terrible Sheriff, who was
armed with a writ, and evidently did not mean to leave before he had
seen the mistress.
"I am here, Mr Maynard, if you want me," said Mrs Wade, quite calmly.
"Well said," answered the Sheriff, turning to her. "I have here a writ
for your arrest, my mistress, and conveyance to the Bishop's Court at
London, there to answer for your ill deeds."
"I am ready to answer for all my deeds, good and ill, to any that have a
right to question me. I will go with you.--Bab, go and tell Giles to
leave the saddle on Jenny.--Doll, here be my keys; take them, and do the
best thou canst. I believe thee honest and well-meaning, but I'm feared
the house shall ne'er keep up its credit. Howbeit, that cannot be
helped. Do thy best, and the Lord be with you! As to directions, I
were best to leave none; maybe they should but hamper thee, and set thee
in perplexity. Keep matters clean, and pay as thou goest--thou wist
where to find the till; and fear God--that's all I need say. And if it
come in thy way to do a kind deed for any, and in especial those poor
little children that thou wist of, do it, as I would were I here: ay,
and let Cissy know when all's o'er with her father. And pray for me,
and I'll do as much for thee--that we may do our duty and please God,
and for bodily safety let it be according to His will.--Now, Master
Maynard, I am ready."
Four days later, several strokes were rang on the great bell of the
Bishop's Palace at Fulham. The gaoler came to his gate when summoned by
the porter.
"Here's a prisoner up from Colchester--Philippa Wade, hostess of the
King's Head there. Have you room?"
"Room and to spare. Heresy, I reckon?"
"Ay, heresy,--the old tale. There must be a nest of it yonder down in
Essex."
"There's nought else all o'er the country, methinks," said the gaoler
with a laugh. "Come in, Mistress; I'll show you your lodging. His
Lordship hath an apartment in especial, furnished of polished black oak,
that he keepeth for such as you. Pray you follow me."
Mrs Wade followed the jocose gaoler along a small paved passage between
two walls, and through a low door, which the gaoler barred behind her,
himself outside, and then opened a little wicket through which to speak.
"Pray you, sit down, my mistress, on whichsoever of the chairs you count
desirable. The furniture is all of one sort, fair and goodly;
far-fetched and dear-bought, which is good for gentlewomen, and liketh
them: fast colours the broidery, I do ensure you."
Mrs Wade looked round, so far as she could see by the little wicket,
everything was black--even the floor, which was covered with black
shining lumps of all shapes and sizes. She touched one of the lumps.
There, could be no doubt of its nature. The "polished black oak"
furniture was cobs of coal, and the sumptuous apartment wherein she was
to--lodged was Bishop Bonner's coal-cellar.