All's Well

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  WHEREIN ALICE COMES HOME.

  Partly moved by a faint sense of remorse, partly by Mrs Tabitha's sharpspeeches, and partly also--perhaps most of all--by his privatediscomfort in respect of Mary's culinary unskilfulness, Mr Benden sethimself to eat his dose of humble pie. He waited on Mr Horden ofFinchcocks, and Mr Colepeper of Bedgebury Park, two of the chief men ofposition and influence in his neighbourhood, to entreat them to exertthemselves in persuading the Bishop to release Alice as soon aspossible. The diocese, of course, was that of Cardinal Pole; but thisportion of it was at that time in the hands of his suffragan, DrRichard Thornton, Bishop of Dover, whom the irreverent populacefamiliarly termed Dick of Dover. This right reverend gentleman was notof the quiet and reasonable type of Mr Justice Roberts. On thecontrary, he had a keen scent for a heretic, and took great delight inbringing one into tribulation. On receiving the letters wherein Messrs.Horden and Colepeper interceded for Alice Benden, his Lordship orderedthe prisoner to be brought before him.

  The Archbishop's gaoler went down to the prison, where Alice Benden, agentlewoman by birth and education, shared one large room with women ofthe worst character and lowest type, some committed for slight offences,some for heavy crimes. These women were able to recognise in an instantthat this prisoner was of a different order from themselves. Those whowere not fallen into the depths, treated her with some respect; but thelowest either held aloof from her or jeered at her--mostly the latter.Alice took all meekly; did what she could for the one or two that wereailing, and the three or four who had babies with them; spoke words ofGospel truth and kindly sympathy to such as would let her speak them:and when sleep closed the eyes and quieted the tongues of most,meditated and communed with God. The gaoler opened the door a littleway, and just put his head into the women's room. The prisoners mighthave been thankful that there were separate chambers for men andwomen... Such luxuries were unknown in many gaols at that date.

  "Alice Benden!" he said gruffly.

  Alice rose, gave back to its mother a baby she had been holding, andwent towards the gaoler, who stood at the top of the stone steps whichled down from the door.

  "Here I am, Master Gaoler: what would you with me?"

  "Tie on your hood and follow me; you are to come afore my Lord ofDover."

  Alice's heart beat somewhat faster, as she took down her hood from oneof the pegs around the room, and followed the gaoler through a longpassage, up a flight of steps, across a courtyard, and into the hallwhere the Bishop was holding his Court. She said nothing which thegaoler could hear: but the God in whom Alice trusted heard an earnestcry of--"Lord, I am Thine; save Thine handmaid that trusteth in Thee!"

  The gaoler led her forward to the end of a long table which stood beforethe Bishop, and announced her name to his Lordship.

  "Alice Benden, of Briton's Mead, Staplehurst, an' it like yourLordship."

  "Ah!" said his Lordship, in an amiable tone; "she it is touching whom Ihad letters. Come hither to me, I pray you, Mistress. Will you now gohome, and go to church in time coming?"

  That meant, would she consent to worship images, and to do reverence tothe bread of the Lord's Supper as if Christ Himself were present? Therewas no going to church in those days without that. And that, as AliceBenden knew, was idolatry, forbidden by God in the First and SecondCommandments.

  "If I would have so done," she said in a quiet, modest tone, "I needednot have come hither."

  "Wilt thou go home, and be shriven of thy parish priest?"

  "No, I will not." Alice could not believe that a man could forgivesins. Only God could do that; and He did not need a man through whom todo it. The Lord Jesus was just as able to say to her from His throneabove, as He had once said on earth to a poor, trembling, despisedwoman--"Thy sins be forgiven thee; go in peace."

  Something had made "Dick of Dover" unusually gentle that afternoon. Heonly replied--"Well, go thy ways home, and go to church when thou wilt."

  Alice made no answer. She was resolved to promise nothing. But apriest who stood by, whether mistakenly thinking that she spoke, or kindenough to wish to help her, answered for her--"She says she will, myLord."

  "Enough. Go thy ways!" said the Bishop, who seemed to wish to set herat liberty: perhaps he was a little afraid of the influential men whohad interceded for her. Alice, thus dismissed, walked out of the hall afree woman. As she came out into Palace Street, a hand was laid uponher shoulder.

  "Well, Alice!" said Edward Benden's voice. "I wrought hard to fetch youforth; I trust you be rightly thankful. Come home."

  Not a word did he say of the pains he had taken originally to drive herinto the prison; neither did Alice allude to that item. She only saidin the meekest manner--"I thank you, Edward"--and followed her lord andmaster down Mercery Lane towards Wincheap Gate. She did not even askwhether he had made any preparations for her journey home, or whether heexpected her to follow him on foot through the five-and-twenty mileswhich lay between Canterbury and Staplehurst. But when they reached thewestern corner of the lane, Mr Benden stopped at the old Chequers Inn,and in a stentorian voice demanded "that bay." The old bay horse whichAlice knew so well, and which her husband had not succeeded in sellingfor more than its worth, as he desired, was brought forth, laden with asaddle and pillion, on the latter of which Alice took her place behindMr Benden.

  Not a word was spoken by either during the journey. They were about amile from Staplehurst, and had just turned a corner in the road, whenthey were greeted by words in considerable number.

  "Glad to see you!" said a brown hood--for the face inside it was notvisible. "I reckoned you'd think better of it; but I'd got a good fewbitters steeping for you, in case you mightn't. Well, Alice! how likedyou yonder?--did Dick o' Dover use you metely well?--and how came he tolet you go free? Have you promised him aught? He doesn't set folks atliberty, most commonly, without they do. Come, speak up, woman! andlet's hear all about it."

  "I have promised nothing," said Alice calmly; "nor am I like so to do.Wherefore the Bishop let me go free cannot I tell you; but I reckon thatEdward here wist more of the inwards thereof than I. How go matterswith you, Tabitha?"

  "Oh, as to the inwards," said the brown hood, with a short, satiricallaugh, "I guess I know as much as you or Edward either; 'twas rather theoutwards I made inquiry touching. Me? Oh, I'm as well as common, andso be folks at home; I've given Friswith a fustigation, and tied up Joanto the bedpost, and told our Tom he'd best look out. He hasn't thespirit of a rabbit in him. I'd fain know where he and the childre 'd bethis day month, without I kept matters going."

  "How fares Christabel, I pray you?"

  "Oh, same as aforetime; never grows no better, nor no worser. It capsme. She doesn't do a bit o' credit to my physicking--not a bit. AndI've dosed her with betony, and camomile, and comfrey, and bugloss, andhart's tongue, and borage, and mugwort, and dandelion--and twenty herbsbeside, for aught I know. It's right unthankful of her not to mend; butchildre is that thoughtless! And Roger, he spoils the maid--neverstands up to her a bit--gives in to every whim and fantasy she takes inher head. If she cried for the moon, he'd borrow every ladder in theparish and lash 'em together to get up."

  "What 'd he set it against?" gruffly demanded Mr Benden, who had notuttered a word before.

  "Well, if he set it against your conceit o' yourself, I guess he'd gethigh enough--a good bit higher than other folks' conceit of you. Imarvel if you're ashamed of yourself, Edward Benden. I am."

  "First time you ever were ashamed of yourself."

  "Ashamed of _myself_?" demanded Tabitha Hall, in tones of supremecontempt, turning her face full upon the speaker. "You'll not butteryour bread with that pot o' dripping, Edward Benden, if you please.You're not fit to black my shoes, let alone Alice's, and I'm rightpleased for to tell you so."

  "Good even, Mistress Hall; 'tis time we were at home."

  "Got a home-truth more than you wanted, haven't you? Well, 'tis timeenou
gh Alice was, so go your ways; but as where 'tis time you were, mydainty master, that's the inside of Canterbury Gaol, or a worser placeif I could find it; and you've got my best hopes of seeing you there oneo' these days. Good den."

  The bay horse was admonished to use its best endeavours to reachBriton's Mead without delay, and Mistress Tabitha, tongue and all, wasleft behind on the road.

  "Eh, Mistress, but I'm fain to see you!" said Mary that evening, as sheand Alice stood in the pleasant glow of the kitchen fire. "I've had aweary fortnight on't, with Master that contrarious, I couldn't do noughtto suit him, and Mistress Hall a-coming day by day to serve him wi'vinegar and pepper. Saints give folks may be quiet now! We've hadtrouble enough to last us this bout."

  "I am glad to come home, Mall," was the gentle answer. "But man is bornto trouble, and I scarce think we have seen an end of ours. Godlearneth His servants by troubles."

  "Well, I wouldn't mind some folks being learned thus, but I'd fain seeother some have a holiday. What shall I dress for supper, Mistress?There's a pheasant and a couple of puffins, and a platter of curds andwhey, and there's a sea-pie in the larder, and a bushel o' barberries."

  "That shall serve, Mall. We had best lay in some baconed herrings fornext fish-day; your master loves them."

  "Afore I'd go thinking what he loved, if I were you!"

  This last reflection on Mary's part was not allowed to be audible, butit was very earnest notwithstanding.