Page 14 of It Might Have Been: The Story of the Gunpowder Plot

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  ENDS WITH JOYCE MORRELL.

  "Vanished is each bright illusion; They have faded one by one: Yet they gaze with happy faces, Westwards to the setting sun:--

  "Talking softly of the future, Looking o'er the golden sands, Towards a never-fading city, Builded not with earthly hands."

  Cyrus Thornton.

  "Well, to be sure! My man wouldn't let me come no sooner--'tis hisfault, not mine. But I did want to know which of them lads o' ours toldhis tale the Tightest. Here's Seth will have it you've had a thousandleft you by the year, and Ben he saith young Master Floriszoon's to be alord."

  "Dear! I hope not," said Hans.

  "Well! but they're a-saying so much all up and down the King's Street, Ican tell you."

  "How could it have crept forth?" said Edith. "Then 'tis true? Eh, butI'm as glad as if I'd had forty shillings left me,--I am, so!" criedMrs Abbott; and she was sincere, for a fresh subject for conversationwas worth quite that to her. "And is it true, as our Seth said, thatyou've a fine house and a park in Northamptonshire come to you, andfifteen hundred head o' red deer and a lake to fish in?"

  "Quite true," said Robert Lewthwaite, with a grave bow, "allowing, mymistress, of four corrections: there is not a park, it is not inNorthamptonshire, there be no red deer, and the lake 'longeth not to thehouse."

  "And jewels worth ever so many thousands, as our Ben saith, for MistressLettice, and ten Barbary horses o' th' best, and a caroche fine enoughfor the King's Majesty?"

  "Ah, I would that last were true," said Edith.

  "My mistress, the Barbary horses be all there saving ten, and thecaroche is a-building in the air: as to the jewels, seeing they beMistress Lettice's, I leave her to reply."

  Lettice was in no condition to do it, for she was suffering tormentsfrom suppressed laughter. Her Uncle Robert's preternatural gravity, andMrs Abbott's total incapacity to see the fun, were barely endurable.

  "Eh, but you will be mortal fine!" said Mrs Abbott, turning herartillery on the afflicted Lettice. "I only wish our Mall had such achance. If she--"

  "Mrs Abbott, I cry you mercy, but here comes your Caleb," said Hanscalmly. "I reckon he shall be after you."

  "I reckon he shall, the caitiff! That man o' mine, he's for ever andthe day after a-sending the childer after me."

  "I rejoice to hear you have so loving an husband," Mr Lewthwaite wassufficiently inconsiderate to respond.

  "Eh, bless you, there's no love about it. Just like them men! they'dshut a woman's mouth up as tight as a fish, and never give her no leaveto speak a word, if they had their way. But I'm not one of your meekbag-puddings, that'll take any shape you pinch 'em,--not I, forsooth;and he knows it. I'll have my say, soon or late, and Prissy, she's adownright chatterbox. Not that I'm that, you know--not a bit of it: butPrissy, she is; and I can tell you, when Prissy and Dorcas and Benthey're all at it, the house isn't over quiet, for none on 'em hearkenswhat t'others are saying, and their father whacks 'em by times--ay, hedoth! Now, Caleb, what's to do?"

  "Nothing particular, Mother," said slow, deliberate Caleb through theopen window: "only there's yon pedlar with the mercery, and he willn'ttarry only ten minutes more--"

  "Thou lack-halter rascal, and ne'er told me while I asked thee!"

  The parlour of the White Bear was free in another moment.

  "There's a deliverance!" said Mr Lewthwaite. "Blessed be the pedlar!--Have you been much pestered by that gadfly?"

  "There's been a bit of buzzing by times," replied Temperance.

  "Now, Mother, darling," said Milisent, "how are we to carry you downhome?"

  "My dear child!" was the response. "Methinks, if you would do that, itshould be only in my coffin. I have one journey to go soon, and it islike to be the next."

  "Mother, sweet heart, I won't have it! You shall yet win to Selwick, ifI carry you every foot of the way."

  "Nay, nay, my dear heart, I cannot hope that at fourscore."

  "Fourscore! ay, or forty score!" cried Milisent. "Why, old MistressOuthwaite journeyed right to the Border but just ere we came, and she'sfour years over the fourscore--and on horseback belike. Sure, you mightgo in a waggon or a caroche!"

  "Where is the caroche, Milly?"

  "Well! but at any rate we might find a waggon."

  "There is a travelling waggon," said Hans, "leaves the Chequers inHolborn for York, once in the month--methinks 'tis the first Thursday inevery month."

  "That is three weeks hence. Why not? Sure, your landlord would sufferyou to let this house, and you might leave some behind till it were offyour hands. What saith Temperance?--or Hans?"

  "That where my Lady goeth, I go," was the answer from Hans.

  "Is it needful, Milly, to settle all our futures ere the clock strike?"humorously inquired Mr Lewthwaite. "Methinks we might leave that forthe morrow."

  Milisent laughed, and let the subject drop.

  Mr Lewthwaite and Temperance happened to be the last up that night.When all the rest had departed, and Charity came with the turf to bankup the parlour fire for the night, Temperance was saying--

  "One thing can I promise you,--which is, if Aubrey return to Selwick aslord and master, you may trust Faith to go withal. As for me, I livebut in other lives, and where I am most needed, there will I be, if Godbe served: but truly, I see not how we shall move my Lady Lettice. Iwould fain with all my heart have her back yonder, and so she wouldherself,--of that am I right sure. But to ride so far on an horse, ather years, and with her often pains--how could she? And though thewaggon were safer, it were too long and weary a journey. Think you notso?"

  Charity, having now settled her peat-sod to her satisfaction, left theroom, with a hearty--"Good-night, Mrs Temperance! Good-night, MesturRobin!"

  "Truly, I think with you," said Mr Lewthwaite, when she was gone: "butthere is time to consider the matter. Let us decide nothing in haste."

  The next morning, for the first time for many weeks, Charity asked for aholiday. It was granted her, and she was out till twelve o'clock, whenshe came home with a very satisfied face.

  Ways and means were discussed that day, but to little practical purpose.Of course Aubrey must be informed of the good fortune which had fallento him: and after some consideration, it was settled that if Hans couldmake arrangements with Mr Leigh, he should be the messenger in thisdirection, setting forth when Sunday was over. People did not rush offby the next train in those days, and scald their tongues with hot coffeein order to be in time.

  The Saturday evening came, and with it the calm quiet which most Puritanfamilies loved to have on the eve of the Lord's Day. While it was notnecessary, it was nevertheless deemed becoming to lay aside secularoccupations, and to let worldly cares rest. There was therefore someastonishment in the parlour when a sudden rap came on the door, andCharity's face and cap made their appearance.

  "If you please, Madam, when'll you be wanting your coach, think you?"

  "My coach, Charity!" said Lady Louvaine in amazement.

  Everybody was staring at Charity.

  "It's ready, Madam," said that damsel with much placidity. "He's onlygot to put the horses to, hasn't 'Zekiel, and they're at Tomkins' stableyon, by th' Tilt Yard--Spring Gardens, I reckon they call it."

  "Charity, lass, are you in your right senses, think you?" demandedTemperance.

  "Well, Mrs Temperance, I reckon you'll be best judge o' that," saidCharity coolly. "Seems to me I am: but that scarce makes sure, Icount."

  "But, Charity!--what Ezekiel?"

  "'Zekiel Cavell, Mrs Edith. He's i' th' kitchen: you can see him ifyou've a mind."

  "Ezekiel Cavell! Aunt Joyce's coachman! Where on earth has he comefrom?"

  "Well, I rather think it was somewhere on earth," answered the calmCharity, "and I expect it was somewhere i' Oxfordshire. Howbeit, herehe is, and so's th' coach, and so's th' horses: and he says to me,`Charity,' says he, `will you ask my Lady when she'll b
e wanting th'coach?' So I come."

  Everybody looked at everybody else.

  "Is it possible?" cried Edith. "Has dear Aunt Joyce sent her coach tocarry down Mother home?"

  "Nay, it's none hers, it's my Lady's," said Charity, "and nobry else's;and if she's a mind to bid me chop it up for firewood, I can, if Mestur'Ans 'll help me. We can eat th' horses too, if she likes; but they munbe put in salt, for we's ne'er get through 'em else. There's six on'em. Shall I tell Rachel to get th' brine ready?"

  "Charity, what have you been doing?" said Hans, laughing.

  "I've done nought, Mestur 'Ans, nobut carry a letter where it belonged,and serve 'Zekiel his four-hours."

  They began to see light dawning on the mystery.

  "A letter to whom, Charity? and who writ it?"

  "To Mestur Marshall: and Mrs Joyce Morrell writ it--leastwise her mandid, at her bidding."

  "What said it?"

  "I didn't read it, Sir," responded Charity, demurely.

  "Come, I reckon you know what was in it," said Mr Lewthwaite. "Outwith it, Charity."

  "Come forward into the room, Charity, and tell your tale like a man,"said Temperance.

  "I amn't a man, Mrs Temperance," answered Charity, doing as she wasbid: "but I'll tell it like a woman. Well, when I were with Mrs Joyce,afore we came hither, hoo gave me a letter,--let's see! nay, it were twoletters, one lapped of a green paper, and one of a white. And hoo said,as soon as yo' geet [got] here, I were to ask my way to Shoe Lane, justoutside o' th' City gate, and gi'e th' letter i' th' white paper toMestur Marshall. And th' green un I were to keep safe by me, till itcame--if it did come--that my Lady lacked a coach either to journey homeor to Minster Lovel, and when I heard that, I were to carry it to MesturMarshall too. So I did as I were bid. What were i' th' letters Icannot tell you, but Mestur Marshall come to see you as soon as he geetth' white un, and when he geet th' green un come 'Zekiel wi' th' coachand th' tits. Mrs Joyce, hoo said hoo were feared nobry'd tell her ifa coach were wanted, and that were why she gave me th' letter. So nowyou know as much as I know: and I hope you're weel pleased wi' it: andif you please, what am I to say to 'Zekiel?"

  "Dear Aunt Joyce!" said Edith under her breath.

  "Make Ezekiel comfortable, Charity," said Lady Louvaine, as she drew offher glasses and wiped them: "and on Monday we will talk over the matterand come to some decision thereupon."

  The decision unanimously come to on the Monday was that Hans should ridedown to Oxford and see Aubrey before anything else was settled. LadyLouvaine would have liked dearly to return home to Selwick, but Aubreywas its master, and was of age, and he might be contemplating matrimonywhen he could afford it. If so, she would make a long visit--possibly alife-long one--to her beloved Joyce at Minster Lovel, accompanied byEdith. Temperance and Lettice were to return to Keswick: Faith mustplease herself. That Faith would please herself, and would not muchtrouble herself about the pleasing of any one else, they were tolerablyconvinced: and of course Aubrey's own mother had a greater claim on himthan more distant relatives. She would probably queen it at Selwick,unless Aubrey provided the Hall with a younger queen in her place.

  It was on a lovely summer afternoon that Hans rode into Oxford by theWater Gate or Little Gate, from which a short street led up northwardsto Christ Church and Saint Aldate's. Just beyond these, he passedthrough the city portal of South Gate, and turning to the left downBrewers' Street, he soon came to Mr Whitstable's shop under the shadow,of West Gate. Just on the eastern side was a livery-stable, where Hansput up his horse: and then, wishing to see Aubrey before he should berecognised, he walked straight into the shop. At the further end,Aubrey was showing some solid-looking tomes to two solid-looking dons,while Mr Whitstable himself was just delivering a purchase to agentleman in canonicals. Hans stepped up to the bookseller, and in alow tone asked him for a Book of Articles. This meant the famousThirty-Nine, then sold separate from the Prayer-Book at a cost of aboutsixpence.

  Mr Whitstable laid three copies on the counter, of which Hans selectedone, and then said, still speaking low--

  "May I, with your good leave, tarry till my brother yonder is atliberty, and have speech of him? I have ridden from London to see him."

  The keen eyes examined Hans critically.

  "You--brothers?" was all the reply of the old bookseller.

  "Not by blood," said Hans with a smile, "nor truly by nation: but wewere bred up as brothers from our cradles."

  "You may tarry. Pray you, sit."

  Hans complied, and sat for a few minutes watching Aubrey. He perceivedwith satisfaction that his costume was simple and suitable, entirelydevoid of frippery and foppery; that his mind seemed to be taken up withhis employment; that he was looking well, and appeared to understand hisbusiness. At last the grave and reverend signors had made their choice;Bullinger's Decades, at nine shillings, was selected, and Beza's NewTestament, at sixteen: Aubrey received the money, gave the change, anddelivered the books. He was following his customers down the shop whenhis eyes fell on Hans. Whether on this occasion he was welcome or not,Hans was not left to doubt. Every feature of Aubrey's face, everyaccent of his voice, spoke gratification in no measured tones.

  "Hans, my dear brother!" he said as they clasped hands. "When came you?and have you had to eat since? How left you all at home?"

  Mr Whitstable was looking on, with eyes that saw.

  "I came but now, and have left all well, God be thanked," said Hans. "Ihave not yet eaten, for I wished to see you first. I will now go andbreak bread, and we can meet in the evening, when you are at large."

  There was a momentary look of extreme disappointment, and then Aubreysaid--

  "That is right, as you alway are. Where meet we? under West Gate?"

  Mr Whitstable spoke. "Methinks, Mr Louvaine, it were pity to snatchthe crust from an hungry man. Go you now with your brother, until hemake an end of his supper; then return here in time to make up accountsand close. If this gentleman be the steady and sober man that his looksand your words promise, you can bring him hither to your chamber for thenight."

  "I thank you right heartily, Master. He is sober as MrVice-Chancellor, and good as an angel," said Aubrey.

  Hans followed him, with an amused look, to the Golden Lion, where theysupped on chicken and Banbury cakes, and Aubrey heard all the news--theone item excepted which Hans had come especially to tell. The tongueswent fast, but no sooner had the hour rung out from the clock of SaintEbbe's than Aubrey sprang up and said he must return.

  "Thou canst wander forth for an hour, only lose not thyself," he said toHans, "and when my work is done, I will join thee beneath the arch ofWest Gate."

  Hans obeyed with amused pleasure. This was an altered Aubrey. When hadhe cared to keep promises and be in time for work? They met presentlyunder West Gate, and Aubrey played cicerone until dusk set in, when hetook Hans to his own quiet little chamber at the bookseller's shop. Itwas very plainly furnished, and Hans quickly saw that on the drawers laya Bible which bore evidence of being used.

  "Thou little wist," said Hans affectionately, when they were thus alone,"how glad I am to see thee, Aubrey, and to perceive thy good welfare inthis place."

  He did not add "good conduct," but he meant it.

  "How much richer shouldst thou have been, Hans, if thou hadst neverbeheld me?" was the answer.

  "I should have been poorer, by the loss of the only brother I ever had."

  There was more feeling in Aubrey's look than Hans was wont to see, andan amount of tenderness in his tone which he had no idea how itastonished Hans to hear.

  "My brother," he said, "you have had your revenge, and it is terrible."

  Hans looked, as he felt, honestly surprised. It was his nature toremember vividly benefits received, but to forget those which heconferred.

  "Dost thou not know?" said Aubrey, reading the look. "After my unworthyconduct toward thee, that thou shouldst take my debts upon thine own--"

  "Prith
ee, shut thy mouth," answered Hans with a laugh, "and make me notto blush by blowing the trumpet over that which but gave me a pleasure.I ensure thee, my brother," he added more gravely, "that I had asufficiency to cover all was a true contentment unto me. As to revenge,no such thought ever crossed my mind for a moment."

  "The revenge had been lesser if it were designed," was the reply.

  "And how goeth it with thee here?" asked Hans, not sorry to change thesubject. "Art thou content with thy work?--and doth Mr Whitstableentreat thee well?"

  "Mr Whitstable is the manner of master good for me," responded Aubreywith a smile: "namely, not unkindly, but inflexibly firm and just. Iknow that from him, if I deserve commendation, I shall have it; and if Idemerit blame, I am evenly sure thereof: which is good for me. As tocontent--ay, I am content; but I can scarce go further, and say I find apleasure in my work. That were more like thee than me."

  "And if it so were, Aubrey, that the Lord spake unto thee and me,saying, `Work thus no more, but return unto the old life as it was ereye came to London town,'--how shouldst thou regard that?"

  The momentary light of imagination which sprang to Aubrey's eyes wassucceeded and quenched by one of wistful uncertainty.

  "I cannot tell, Hans," said he. "That I were glad is of course: that Iwere wise to be glad is somewhat more doubtful. I am afeared I mightbut slip back into the old rut, and fall to pleasing of myself. Richesand liberty seem scarce to be good things for me; and I have of late,"--a little hesitation accompanied this part of the sentence--"I havethought it best to pray God to send me that which He seeth good, and notto grant my foolish desires. Truly, I seem to know better, well-nighevery day, how foolish I have been, and how weak I yet am."

  There was a second of silence before Hans said--

  "Aubrey, what God sees good for thee, now, is the old home at SelwickHall. May He bless it to thee, and fit thee for it!"

  "What mean you?" asked the bewildered Aubrey.

  A few minutes put him in possession of the facts. Nothing which hadpassed convinced Hans of a radical change in Aubrey's heart, socompletely as the first sentence with which he greeted the news of hisaltered fortune.

  "Then my dear old grandmother can go home!"

  "Thou wilt be glad to hear," added Hans, quietly, "that Mrs JoyceMorrell hath sent her a caroche and horses wherein to journey at herease. Mrs Temperance and Lettice go back to Keswick."

  "Not if I know it!" was the hearty response. "I lack Aunt Temperance tokeep me straight. Otherwise I should have nought save soft south-westairs playing around me, and she is a cool north breeze that shall braceme to my duty. But how quick, Hans, canst thou get free of Mr Leigh?for we must not tarry Grandmother at her years, and in this summerweather when journeying were least weariful."

  "Wilt thou have me, then, Aubrey?"

  "Hans, that is the worst cut thou hast ever given me. I have a mind tosay I will not turn back without thee."

  Hans smiled. "I thank thee, my dear brother. I dare say that I can bequit with Mr Leigh as soon as thou canst shake thee free of MrWhitstable."

  Mr Whitstable smiled rather cynically when the matter was laid beforehim.

  "Well, young gentleman!" said he to Aubrey. "Methinks you shall make abetter country squire than you should have done three months gone, andmaybe none the worse for your tarrying with the old bookseller."

  "Mr Whitstable, I con you hearty thanks for your good and justentreatment of me," said Aubrey, "and if ever your occasions call youinto Cumberland, I promise you a true welcome at Selwick Hall."

  That night, Aubrey seemed to be in a brown study, and the sagacious Hanslet him alone till his thoughts should blossom forth into words ofthemselves. They came at last.

  "Hans, thou wist it is customary for chaplains to be entertained ingreat houses?"

  "Ay," said Hans, smiling to himself.

  "I desire not to ape the great: but--thinkest thou we might not have aprophet's chamber in some corner at Selwick--the chamber over the eastporch, belike?"

  "Truly, if the prophet were to hand," said Hans, looking as grave as ifhe were not secretly amused.

  "The prophet is to hand rather than the chamber," was the answer."Couldst thou not guess I meant Mr Marshall?"

  Hans had guessed it some seconds back.

  "A good thought, truly," he replied.

  "That will I ask my grandmother," said Aubrey.

  It was the evening after Aubrey's return to the White Bear when thatproposal was suggested to Lady Louvaine. A light of gladness came tothe dim blue eyes.

  "My dear lad, how blessed a thought!" said she.

  "But what should come of Mrs Agnes, then?" suggested Temperance.

  "Oh, she could easily be fitted with some service," answered MrsLouvaine, who for once was not in a complaining mood. "Hans, you mightask of Mr Leigh if he know of any such, or maybe of some apprenticeshipthat should serve her. She can well work with the needle, and is adecent maid, that should not shame her mistress, were she not over highin the world."

  "Mother!"

  The indignant tone of that one word brought the handkerchief instantlyout of Mrs Louvaine's pocket.

  "Well, really, Aubrey, I do think it most unreasonable! Such a way tospeak to your poor mother, and she a widow! When I have but one child,and he--"

  "He is sorry, Mother, if he spake to you with disrespect," said Aubreyin a different tone. "But suffer me to say that if Mr Marshall comewith us, so must Mrs Agnes."

  "Now, Faith, do be quiet! I've been counting on Mrs Agnes to see tothings a bit, and save Edith,--run about for my Lady Lettice, see you,and get our Lettice into her good ways."

  "You don't say, to spare _me_," wailed Mrs Louvaine.

  "No, my dear, I don't," replied Temperanoe, significantly. "I'll spareyou when you need sparing; don't you fear."

  Mr Marshall and Agnes were as glad as they were astonished--and thatwas no little--to hear of the provision in store for them. To pass fromthose three rooms in Shoe Lane to the breezy hills and wide chambers ofSelwick Hall--to live no more from hand to mouth, with little in either,but to be assured, as far as they could be so, among the changes andchances of this mortal life, of bread to eat and raiment to put on--tobe treated as beloved and honoured friends instead of meeting withscornful words and averted looks--this was glad news indeed. MrMarshall rejoiced for his daughter, and Agnes for her father. Hers wasa nature which could attain its full happiness only in serving God andman. To have shut herself up and occupied herself with her ownamusement would have been misery, not pleasure. The idea of savingtrouble to Lady Louvaine and Edith, of filling in some slight degree theempty place of that beloved friend whom Selwick Hall called "CousinBess" and Agnes "Aunt Elizabeth"--this opened out to Agnes Marshall aprospect of unadulterated enjoyment. To her father, whose active dayswere nearly over, and who was old rather with work, hardship, andsorrow, than by the mere passage of time, the lot offered him seemedequally happy. The quiet rest, the absence of care, the plenitude ofbooks, the society of chosen friends who were his fellow-pilgrims,Zionward,--to contemplate such things was almost happiness enough initself. And if he smothered a sigh in remembering that his Eleanorslept in that quiet churchyard whence she could never more be summonedto rejoice with him, it was followed at once by the happier recollectionthat she had seen a gladder sight than this, and that she was satisfiedwith it.

  It was but natural that the journey home should be of the most enjoyablecharacter. The very season of the year added to its zest. The fiveladies and two girls travelled in the coach--private carriages were muchmore roomy then than now, and held eight if not ten persons withcomfort--Mr Lewthwaite, Aubrey, Hans, and the two maids, were onhorseback. So they set forth from the White Bear.

  "Farewell to thee!" said Charity to that stolid-looking animal, as sherode under it for the last time. "Rachel, what dost thou mean, lass?--art thou crying to leave yon beast or Mistress Abbott?"

  "Nay, nother on 'em, for sure!" said Rac
hel, wiping her eyes; "I'venobut getten a fly into my eye."

  Mrs Abbott, however, was not behindhand. She came out to her gate tosee the cavalcade depart, followed by a train of youthful Abbotts, twoor three talking at once, as well as herself. What reached the ears ofthe ladies in the coach, therefore, was rather a mixture.

  "Fare you well, Lady Louvaine, and all you young gentlewomen--and I hopeyou'll have a safe journey, and a pleasant; I'm sure--"

  "I'll write and tell you the new modes, Mrs Lettice," said Prissy;"you'll have ne'er a chance to--"

  "Be stuck in the mud ere you've gone a mile," came in Seth's voice.

  "And where tarry you to-night, trow?" demanded Mrs Abbott. "Is it tobe at Saint Albans or--"

  "Up atop of yon tree," screamed Hester; "there she was with a kitten inher mouth, and--"

  "All the jewels you could think of," Dorcas was heard to utter.

  The words on either side were lost, but nobody--except, perhaps, thespeakers--thought the loss a serious one.

  Under way at last, the coach rumbled with dignity up King Street,through the Court gates, past Charing Cross and along the Strand--aplace fraught with painful memories to one at least of the party--pastthe Strand Cross, through Temple Bar, up Fetter Lane, over HolbornBridge and Snow Hill, up Aldersgate Street, along the Barbican, and bythe fields to Shoreditch, into the Saint Alban's Road. As they came outinto the Shoreditch Road, a little above Bishopsgate, they were equallysurprised and gratified to find Lady Oxford's groom of the chambersstanding and waiting for their approach. As he recognised the faces, hestepped forward. In his hand was a very handsome cloak of fine cloth,of the shade of brown then called meal-colour, lined with crimson plush,and trimmed with beaver fur.

  "Madam, my Lady bids you right heartily farewell, and prays you acceptthis cloak to lap you at night in your journey, with her lovingcommendations: 'tis of her Ladyship's own wearing."

  It was considered at that time to add zest to a gift, if it had beenused by the giver.

  Lady Louvaine returned a message suited to the gratitude and pleasurewhich she felt at this timely remembrance, and the coach rolled away,leaving London behind.

  "Weel, God be wi' thee and all thine!" said Charity, looking back at thegreat metropolis: "and if I ne'er see thee again, it'll none break myheart."

  "Nay, nor mine nother!" added Rachel. "I can tell thee, lass, I'm fairfain to get out o' th' smoke and mire. Th' devil mun dwell i' London, Ido think."

  "I doubt it not," said Hans, who heard the remark, "but he has countryhouses, Rachel."

  "Well!" said that damsel, in a satisfied tone: "at any rate, we shalln'tfind him at Selwick!"

  "Maybe not, if the house be empty," was Hans's reply: "but he will comein when we do, take my word for it."

  "Yo're reet, Mestur 'Ans," said Charity, gravely.

  Four days' travelling brought them to the door of the Hill House atMinster Lovel. They had had no opportunity of sending word of theircoming.

  "How amazed Aunt Joyce will be, and Rebecca!" said Edith, with a happylaugh.

  "I reckon they'll have some work to pack us all in," answeredTemperance.

  "Let be, children," was the response of Lady Louvaine. "The Hill Houseis great enough to hold every one of us, and Aunt Joyce's heart is yetbigger."

  For a coach and six to draw up before the door of a country house wasthen an event which scarcely occurred so often as once a year. It wasno great wonder, therefore, if old Rebecca looked almost dazed as sheopened the door to so large a party.

  "We are going home, Rebecca!" cried Edith's bright, familiar voice."How fares my Aunt?"

  "Eh, you don't mean it's you, mine own dear child?" cried the oldservant lovingly. "And your Ladyship belike! Well, here is a blessedeven! It'll do the mistress all the good in the world. Well, she'svery middling, my dear--very middling indeed: but I think 'tis ratherweariness than any true malady, and that'll flee afore the sight of youlike snow afore the warm sun. Well, there's a smart few of you!--allthe better, my dear, all the better!"

  "You can hang one or two of us up in a tree, if you can't find us room,"said Aubrey as he sprang from his saddle.

  "There's room enough for such good stuff, and plenty to spare," answeredold Rebecca. "If you was some folks, now, I might be glad to have thespare chambers full of somewhat else--I might! Come in, every one ofyou!"

  "We'll help you to make ready, all we can," said Rachel, as she trudgedafter Rebecca to the kitchen.

  "Ay, we will," echoed Charity.

  Warmer and tenderer yet was the welcome in the Credence Chamber, whereAunt Joyce lay on her couch, looking as though not a day had passedsince she bade them farewell. She greeted each of them lovingly untilAubrey came to her. Then she said, playfully yet meaningly,--"Who isthis?"

  "Aunt Joyce," replied Aubrey, as he bent down to kiss her, "shall I say,`A penitent fool?'"

  "Nay, my lad," was the firm answer. "A fool is never a penitent, nor apenitent a fool. The fool hath been: let the penitent abide."

  "This is our dear, kind friend, Mr Marshall, Joyce," said LadyLouvaine. "He is so good as to come with us, and be our chaplain atSelwick: and here is his daughter."

  "I think Mrs Joyce can guess," said the clergyman, "that the truemeaning of those words is that her Lady ship hath been so good as toallow of the same, to our much comfort."

  "Very like you are neither of you over bad," said Aunt Joyce with herkindly yet rather sarcastic smile. "I am glad to see you, Mr Marshall;hitherto we have known each other but on paper. Is this your daughter?Why, my maid, you have a look of the dearest and blessedest woman of allyour kin--dear old Cousin Bess, that we so loved. May God make you likeher in the heart, no less than the face!"

  "Indeed, Mistress, I would say Amen, with all mine heart," answeredAgnes, with a flush of pleasure.

  There was a long discussion the next day upon ways and means, whichended in the decision that Aubrey and Hans, Faith and Temperance, withthe two maids, should go forward to Selwick after a few days' rest, toget things in order; Lady Louvaine, Edith, Lettice, Agnes, and MrMarshall, remaining at Minster Lovel for some weeks.

  "And I'm as fain as I'd be of forty shillings," said old Rebecca toEdith. "Eh, but the mistress just opens out when you're here like aflower in the sunlight!"

  "Now, don't you go to want Faith to tarry behind," observed Temperance,addressing the same person: "the dear old gentlewomen shall be a dealhappier without her and her handkerchief. It shall do her good tobustle about at Selwick, as she will if she's mistress for a bit, andI'll try and see that she does no mischief, so far as I can."

  Aunt Joyce, who was the only third person present, gave an amused littlelaugh.

  "How long shall she be mistress, Temperance?"

  "Why, till my Lady Lettice comes," said Temperance, with a ratherperplexed look.

  "For `Lady Lettice,' read `Mrs Agnes Marshall,'" was the answer of AuntJoyce.

  "Aunt Joyce!" cried Edith. "You never mean--"

  "Don't I? But I do, Mistress Bat's-Eyes."

  "Well, I never so much as--"

  "Never so much as saw a black cow a yard off, didst thou? See if itcome not true. Now, my maids, go not and meddle your fingers in thepie, without you wish it not to come true. Methinks Aubrey hath scarceyet read his own heart, and Agnes is innocent as driven snow of allimagination thereof: nevertheless, mark my words, that Agnes Marshallshall be the next lady of Selwick Hall. And I wouldn't spoil the pie,were I you; it shall eat tasty enough if you'll but leave it to bake inthe oven. It were a deal better so than for the lad to fetch home somefine town madam that should trouble herself with his mother andgrandmother but as the cuckoo with the young hedge-sparrows in hisfoster-mother's nest. She's a downright good maid, Agnes, and she isbounden to your mother and yon, and so is her father: and though, ifSelwick were to turn you forth, your home is at Minster Lovel, as mychild here knows,"--and Aunt Joyce laid her hand lovingly on that ofEdith--"yet while we be here in this short
wilderness journey, 'tis bestnot to fall out by the way. Let things be, children: God can takebetter care of His world and His Church than you or I can do it."

  "Eh, I'll meddle with nought so good," responded Temperance, heartily."If the lad come to no worse than that, he shall fare uncommon well, andbetter than he deserveth. As for the maid, I'm not quite so sure: butI'll hope for the best."

  "The best thing you can do, my dear. `We are saved by hope'--not as aman is saved by the rope that pulleth him forth of the sea, but ratheras he is saved by the light that enableth him to see and grasp it. Hemay find the rope in the dark; yet shall he do it more quicklier andwith much better comfort in the light. `Hope thou in God,' `Have faithin God,' `Fear not,'--all those precepts be brethren; and one or otherof them cometh very oft in Scripture. For a man cannot hope withoutsome faith, and he shall find it hard to hope along with fear. Faith,hope, love--these do abide for ever."

  The party for Selwick had set off, with some stir, in the early morning,and the quiet of evening found the friends left at the Hill Housefeeling as those left behind usually do,--enjoying the calm, yet with asense of want.

  Perhaps Mr Marshall was the least conscious of loss of any of theparty, for he was supremely happy in the library over the works ofBishop Jewell. In the gallery upstairs, Lettice and Agnes sat in frontof the two portraits which had so greatly interested the former on herprevious visit, and talked about "Aunt Anstace" and "Cousin Bess," andthe blessed sense of relief and thankfulness which pervaded Agnes'sheart. And lastly, in the Credence Chamber, Aunt Joyce lay on hercouch, and Lady Louvaine sat beside her in the great cushioned chair,while Edith, on a low stool at the foot of the couch, sat knittingpeacefully, and glancing lovingly from time to time at those whom shecalled her two mothers.

  "Joyce, dear," Lady Louvaine was saying, "'tis just sixty years since Icame over that sunshine afternoon from the Manor House, to makeacquaintance with thee and Anstace. Sixty years! why, 'tis the lifetimeof an old man."

  "And it looks but like sixty days, no doth it?" was the rejoinder."Thou and I, Lettice, by reason of strength have come to fourscoreyears; yet is our life but a vapour that vanisheth away. I marvel, attimes, how our Anstace hath passed her sixty years in Heaven. What dothey there?"

  "Dost thou mind, Joyce, Aubrey's once saying that we are told mainlywhat they do _not_ there? Out of that, I take it, we may pick what theydo. There shall be no night--then there must be eternal light; nocurse--then must there be everlasting blessedness; no tears--then isthere everlasting peace; no toil--then is there perpetual rest andcomfort."

  "Go on, Lettice--no sickness, therefore perfect health; no parting,therefore everlasting company and eternal love."

  "Ay. What a blessed forecast! Who would not give all that he hath, butto be sure he should attain it? And yet men will fling all away, but tobuy one poor hour's sinful pleasure, one pennyworth of foolish delight."

  "And howsoe'er often they find the latter pall and cloy upon theirtongues, yet shall they turn to it again with never-resting eagerness,as the sow to her wallowing in the mire. There is a gentleman dwells amatter of four miles hence, with whose wife and daughters I am acquaint,and once or twice hath he come with them to visit me. He hath got holdof a fancy--how, judge you--that man is not a fallen creature;indiscreet at times, maybe, and so forth, yet not wholly depraved. Howman comes by this indiscretion, seeing God made him upright, he isdiscreet enough not to reveal. `Dear heart!' said I, `but how comes it,if so be, that man shall sell his eternal birthright for a mess of sorrypottage, as over and over again you and I have seen him do? Call youthis but indiscretion? Methinks you should scarce name it thus if MrsAletheia yonder were to cast away a rich clasp of emeralds for a pieceof a broken bottle of green glass. If you whipped her not well for suchindiscretion, I were something astonied.' Well, see you, he cannotperceive it."

  "Man's perceptions be fallen, along with all else."

  "Surely: and then shall this blind bat reckon, poor fool, that he coulddevise out of his disordered imagination a better God than the real.Wot you what this Mr Watkinson said to me once when we fell to talkingof the sacrifice of Isaac? Oh, he could not allow that a loving andperfect God could demand so horrible a sacrifice; and another time,through Christ had we won the right notion of God. `Why,' said I, `howknow you that? Are you God, that you are able to judge what God shouldbe? Through Christ, in very deed, have we won to know God; but that isby reason of the knowledge and authority of Him that revealed Him, notby the clear discernment and just judgment of us that received thatrevelation.' I do tell thee, Lettice--what with this man o' the oneside with his philosophical follies, and Parson Turnham on the other,with his heathenish fooleries, I am at times well-nigh like old Elias,ready to say, `Now then, O Lord, take me out of this wicked world, for Icannot stand it any longer.'"

  "He will take thee, dear Joyce, so soon as thou shalt come to thefurther end of the last of those good works which He hath prepared forthee to walk in."

  "Well!--then must Edith do my good works for me. When our Father callsthis child in out of the sun and wind, and bids her lie down and fallasleep, must that child see to it that my garden-plots be kept trim, andno evil insects suffered to prey upon the leaves. Ay, my dear heart:thou wilt be the lady of the Hill House, when old Aunt Joyce is laidbeneath the mould. May God bless thee in it, and it to thee! butwhensoever the change come, I shall be the gainer by it, not thou."

  "Not I, indeed!" said Edith in a husky voice.

  "`As a watch in the night!'" said Joyce Morrell solemnly. "`As a vapourthat vanisheth away!' What time have we for idle fooleries? Only timeto learn the letters that we shall spell hereafter--to form the strokesand loops wherewith we shall write by and bye. Here we know but thealphabet of either faith or love."

  "And how often are we turned back in the very alphabet of patience!"

  "Ay, we think much to tarry five minutes for God, though He may havewaited fifty years for us. I reckon it takes God to bear with this poorthing, man, that even at his best times is ever starting aside like abroken bow,--going astray like a lost sheep. Thank God that He hathlaid on the only Man that could bear them the iniquities of us all, andthat He hath borne them into a land not inhabited, where the LordHimself can find them no more."

  "And let us thank God likewise," said Lady Lettice, "that our blessedduty is to abide in Him, and that when He shall appear, we may haveconfidence, and not be ashamed before Him at His coming."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  APPENDIX.

  ROBERT CATESBY.

  He was a descendant of another infamous Catesby, Sir John, thewell-known Minister of Richard the Third, satirised in the distich--

  "The _Cat_, the Bat, and Lovel the Dog, Govern all England under the Hog."

  This gentleman fought with his master at Bosworth, and was beheadedthree days after the battle. His son George, who died in 1495-6, wasfather of Sir Richard, who died in 1552, and who was succeeded by hisgrandson Sir William, then aged six years, having been born atBarcheston in 1546. He was perverted by Campion in 1580, and developedinto a famous recusant; was cited before the Star Chamber in 1581,chiefly on the confession of Campion, for being a harbourer of Jesuitsand a hearer of mass; married at Ashby, 9th June 1566, Anne, daughter ofSir Robert Throckmorton of Coughton, Warwickshire; and died in 1598.The eldest of his children (four sons and two daughters) was RobertCatesby, the conspirator, born at Lapworth, Warwickshire, in 1573. Atthe age of thirteen--for boys went up to college then at a much earlierage than now--he matriculated, October 27th, 1586, at Gloucester Hall(now Worcester College), Oxford, a house "much suspected," many of itsundergraduates being privately Roman Catholics. It was probably duringhis residence in Oxford that he became a Protestant; and his change ofreligion being evidently of no moral value, he also led a dissipated andextravagant life. In 1592 he married a Protestant wife, Katherine,daughter of Sir Thomas Leigh of Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire; she diedbefore 1602. His talents were cons
iderable, his will inflexible, and hepossessed that singular power of attraction inherent in some persons. Aportrait reputed to be his exists at Brockhall, near Ashby. "He wasvery wise," writes Gerard, "and of great judgment, though his utterancenot so good. Besides, he was so liberal and apt to help all sorts, asit got him much love. He was of person above two yards high, and thoughslender, yet as well-proportioned to his height as any man one shouldsee." Greenway adds that "his countenance was singularly noble andexpressive, his power of influencing others very great."

  In 1593, on the death of his grandmother, he came into possession ofChastleton, near Chipping Norton, county Oxford, where he resided until1602, when, in consequence of foolishly joining (like many otherRomanists) the insurrection of Lord Essex, he sold Chastleton for 4000pounds to pay the fine of 3000 pounds imposed on him for treason. Hehad in 1598 returned to his original faith, in defence of which he wasthenceforward very zealous. Nine days before the death of QueenElizabeth, Catesby, undeterred by his past experiences, and"hunger-starved for innovations," joined Sir Edward Baynham and theWrights in a second plot, for which he suffered imprisonment. TheGunpowder Plot was his third treasonable venture; and to him principallyis due the inception of this fearful project, though John Wright, andafterwards Thomas Winter, joined him at a very early stage. UntilEaster, 1605, Catesby himself "bore all the charge" of the mine. Duringthe summer, he was very busy gathering volunteers, arms, and ammunition,in the country, ostensibly for the service of the Archduke Albrecht inFlanders, but in reality for the purpose of creating a general commotionat the time of the intended explosion. About September, 1605, he metPercy at Bath, when they agreed to take into the plot two or threemoneyed men, as their own means were fast failing. These were Digby andTresham; Robert Winter, Rookwood, and Grant followed a little later.Catesby, however, never ceased to regret the admission of Tresham. (SeeTresham.) In London he had three lodgings: a chamber in Percy's housein Holborn; apartments in the house of William Patrick, tailor, at the"Herishe Boy" in the Strand; and also "in the house of one Powell, atPaddle Wharf."

  On the 26th of October, Catesby dined at the "Mighter" in Bread Street,with Lord Mordaunt, Sir Josceline Percy, and others; the last-named wasa brother of Lord Northumberland, and a frequent visitor of Catesby.After this he met his servant William Pettye, "in a field called thecommon garden in London, by druerye lane." The story of the flight toHolbeach is given in the tale, and embraces many little details notbefore in print. Catesby was only thirty-three years of age at death.He left two sons, William and Robert, the latter of whom was with hisfather in London when the plot was discovered; they were subsequentlysent in Mrs Rookwood's coach, under charge of a lady not named, totheir grandmother at Ashby. Robert alone lived to grow up, and marriedone of Percy's daughters; but he left _no_ issue. "His posterity wascut off; and in the generation following, their name was blotted out."

  SIR EVERARD DIGBY.

  This weak and bigoted young man, who was only twenty-four at death, hadreally little part in the Gunpowder Plot. He was the son of EverardDigby, of Drystoke, county Rutland, and Mary, daughter and co-heir ofFrancis Nele, of Heythorpe, county Leicester. He was born in 1581, andlost his father, a Romanist, in 1592. His mother married again (toSampson Erdeswick, of Landon, county Stafford, who was a Protestant),and young Digby was brought up in a Protestant atmosphere. Until hismajority, he was much at Court, where he was noted for "graceful mannersand rare parts," says Greenway and Gerard adds that "he was very littlelower [in height] than Mr Catesby, but of stronger making... skilful inall things that belonged unto a gentleman, a good musician, and excelledin all gifts of mind." He is also described as "of goodly personage,and of a manly aspect." He was always strongly inclined to his father'sreligion, but did not openly profess it until he reached manhood. SirEverard married, in 1596, Mary, daughter and heir of William Mulsho ofGoathurst, county Buckingham, who survived him, and by whom he left ason, the famous Sir Kenelm Digby, who was little more than two years oldat his father's death. If her piteous letter to Lord Salisbury may bebelieved, Lady Digby was treated with unnecessary harshness. Shecomplains that the Sheriff has not left her "the worth of one penibelonging to the grounds, house, or within the walls; nor so much asgreat tables and standing chests that could not be removed withoutcutting and sawing apeses. He permitted the base people to ransack all,so much as my closet, and left me not any trifle in _it_... He will notlet me have so much as a suit of apparel for Mr Digby [the littleKenelm], nor linens for my present wearing about my bodi." She imploresto be allowed to retain Goathurst, her own inheritance, during theimprisonment of her husband, for whose life she would give hers or wouldbeg during life. (_Burghley Papers_, Additional Manuscript 6178, folio94.)

  GUY FAWKES.

  Guy Fawkes, whom his horrified contemporaries termed "the great devil ofall" the conspirators, but who was simply a single-eyed fanatic, oweshis reputation chiefly to the fact that he was the one selected to setfile to the powder. His responsibility was in reality less than that ofCatesby, Percy, or Thomas Winter. His father, Edward Fawkes,--in allprobability a younger son of the old Yorkshire family of Fawkes ofFarnley,--was a notary at York, and Registrar of the Consistory Court ofthe Minster. He could not of course have filled such as office, unlesshe had been a Protestant. Edward Fawkes died in 1578, and was buriedJanuary 17th in the Church of Saint Michael-le-Belfry, York. His widow,whose maiden name was Edith Jackson, is said by some to havesubsequently married a zealous Roman Catholic, Mr Denis Bainbridge, ofScotton; but Sir W. Wade gives the name of her second husband as "oneFoster, within three miles of York." She was living at the time of theplot. Guy, who was baptised in Saint Michael's Church, April 16th,1570, and educated at the Free School in the Horse Fair, did not becomea professed Papist until he was about sixteen years of age. He had astep-brother of whom no more is known than that he belonged to one ofthe Inns of Court in 1605. Guy was not eight years old when he lost hisfather, who left him no patrimony beyond a small farm worth about 30pounds per annum; he soon ran through this, sold the estate, and at theage of twenty-three went abroad, living in Flanders for eight years,during which time he was present at the taking of Calais by the ArchdukeAlbrecht. In 1601 he returned to England, with the reputation of one"ready for any enterprise to further the faith." He now entered, alongwith the Winters and the Wrights, into negotiations with Spain for afresh invasion of England, which was put a stop to by Elizabeth's death,since the King of Spain declined to take up arms against his old ally,King James. Fawkes's own statements in his examinations have beenproved to consist of such a mass of falsehood, that it is scarcelypossible to sift out the truth: and all that can be done is to accept asfact such portions of his narrative as are either confirmed by otherwitnesses, or seem likely to be true from circumstantial evidence. Hiscontradictions of his own previous assertions were perpetual, and whereconfirmation is accessible, it sometimes proves the original statement,but sometimes, and more frequently, the contradiction. This utterdisregard for truth prepares us to discount considerably the descriptiongiven of Fawkes by Greenway, as "a man of great piety, of exemplarytemperance, of mild and cheerful demeanour, an enemy of broils anddisputes, a faithful friend, and remarkable for his punctual attendanceupon religious observances." So far as facts can be sifted fromfiction, they seem to be that Thomas Winter, who had known Fawkes fromchildhood, came to him in Flanders to acquaint him with the plot, andsubsequently introduced him to Catesby and Percy; that Fawkes was in theservice of Anthony Browne, Lord Montague, about 1604; that in the summerof that year, when the mine was stopped on account of the prorogation ofParliament, he went to Flanders, returning about the 1st of September.During the progress of the mine, he served as sentinel, passing by thename of John Johnson, Mr Percy's man; and he was the only one of theconspirators allowed to be seen about the house, his face being unknownin London. He said that he "prayed every day that he might perform thatwhich might be for the advancement of the Catholic faith, and the saving
of his own soul." Fawkes provided the greater part of the gunpowder,and stowed it in the cellar, as is described in the story. His lodgingwhen in London was at the house of Mrs Herbert, a widow, at the back ofSaint Clement's Inn. Mrs Herbert disliked Fawkes, suspecting him to bea priest. On his return from Flanders, he took up his quarters in thehouse at Westminster, where the mine had been, and brought in theremainder of the gunpowder. At the end of October, he went to WhiteWebbs, whence he was sent to Town on the 30th, to make sure of thesafety of the cellar and its dangerous contents. He returned at nightto report all safe, but came back to Town not later than the 3rd, whenhe was present at the last meeting of the conspirators: but as to theexact day he made three varying statements. The circumstances of hisarrest are told in the story. It is difficult, however, to reconcilesome of the details. According to Greenway, Fawkes was taken as heopened the door of the vault; according to the official report, he was"newly come out of the vault;" while according to Fawkes himself, whenhe heard the officers coming to apprehend him, he threw the match andtouchwood "out of the window in his chamber, near the Parliament House,towards the water,"--which can only refer to the room in Percy's house.The one certainty is that he was not apprehended inside the vault. Hesaid himself that if this had been the case, he would at once have firedthe match, "and have blown up all." The lantern (now in the BodleianLibrary) was found lighted behind the door; the watch which Percy hadsent by Keyes was upon the prisoner. Fawkes originally assumed anappearance of rustic stupidity; for Sir W. Wade writes to Lord Salisburya little later that he "appeareth to be of better understanding anddiscourse than, before, either of us conceived him to be." (AdditionalManuscript 6178, folio 56.) That Fawkes was tortured there can be nodoubt, from the King's written command, and the tacit evidence ofFawkes's handwriting. Garnet says he was half-an-hour on the rack; SirEdward Hoby, that he "was never on the rack, but only suspended by hisarms upright." Nothing could induce him to betray his companions untilhe was satisfied that all was known: and with a base treachery andfalsehood only too common in the statecraft of that day, he was deceivedinto believing them taken before they were discovered. Lying iswickedness in all circumstances; but the prisoner's falsehood was basedon a worthier motive than the lies which were told to him. There was,indeed, in the fearless courage and unflinching fidelity of Guy Fawkes,the wreck of what might have been a noble man; and he certainly was farfrom being the vulgar ruffian whom he is commonly supposed to have been.In person he was tall and dark, with brown hair and auburn beard.

  HENRY GARNET.

  If Catesby be regarded as the most responsible of the Gunpowderconspirators, and Fawkes as the most courageous, Garnet may fairly beconsidered the most astute. Like the majority of his companions, he wasa pervert. His father, Brian Garnet, was a schoolmaster at Nottingham,and his mother's maiden name was Alice Jay. He was born in 1555,educated at Winchester College, in the Protestant faith, and was to havepassed thence to New College, Oxford. This intention was never carriedinto effect: his Romish biographers say, because he had imbibed atWinchester a distaste to the Protestant religion; adding that "heobtained the rank of captain [of the school], and by his modesty andurbanity, his natural abilities and quickness in learning, sorecommended himself to the superiors, that had he" entered at Oxford,"he might safely have calculated on attaining the highest academicalhonours. But he resolved, by the grace of God, upon embracing theCatholic faith, although his old Professors at Winchester, Stemp andJohnson, themselves Catholic in heart, together with another namedBilson, at first favourable, but afterwards hostile to Catholicity, madeevery exertion to persuade him to remain." Unhappily for this rosynarrative, the "other named Bilson," afterwards Bishop of Worcester andWinchester, has left on record his account of the matter: namely, thatGarnet when at Winchester was a youth of such incorrigible wickedness,that the Warden dissuaded his going to the University, for the sake ofthe young men who might there be corrupted by his evil example. Thereader can accept which version he may see good. On leaving school,Garnet proceeded to London, where for about two years he was employed ascorrector of the press by the celebrated law-printer, Tottel. At theend of this time, he was received into the Church of Rome, andsubsequently travelled abroad, first to Spain, and afterwards to Rome,where on 11th September, 1575, he entered the Society of Jesus. In theJesuit College at Rome he studied diligently, under Bellarmine andothers: and he was before long made Professor of Hebrew, and licenced tolecture on mathematics. In 1586, on the recommendation of Parsons, hewas appointed to the Jesuit Mission to England, where he landed on July7th. It is said that he was so remarkably amiable and gentle thatAquaviva, the General of the Jesuits, objected to his appointment on theground that the post required a man of sterner and more unyieldingcharacter. Bellarmine records that his sanctity of life wasincomparable; but Jesuits are apt to entertain peculiar notions ofsanctity. As was then usual, Garnet on coming to his native countryadopted a string of aliases--Walley, Darcy, Mease, Roberts, Parmer, andPhillips. Walley, however, was the name by which he was best known.Two years after he joined the Mission, he was promoted to be itsSuperior. For some years he lived in the neighbourhood of London,following various occupations to disguise his real calling, but chieflythat of a horse-dealer. That he was implicated in the intrigues withSpain before the death of Elizabeth, he never attempted to deny: butduring the lull in the penal legislation which followed the accession ofJames, Garnet purchased a general pardon for all past politicaloffences. He was frequently at Harrowden, the house of Lord Vaux, whosedaughter Anne travelled everywhere with him, passing as his sister, MrsPerkins. About 1599, as "Mr Mease, a Berkshire man," he took the housein Enfield Chase, named White Webbs, for the meetings of the Romanists,after which he was "seldom absent from it for a quarter of a yeartogether." (Examination of James Johnson, servant in charge of WhiteWebbs, _Gunpowder Plot Book_, article 188.) This house was ostensiblytaken for Anne Vaux, and was maintained at her expense; her sisterEleanor, with her husband Mr Brooksby (whose alias was Jennings, andwho is described as "of low stature, red beard, and bald head"), beingoften with her. Catesby was a frequent visitor. Anne Vaux had also ahouse at Wandsworth, where she and Garnet occasionally resided.

  These details, gathered from the evidence of Anne Vaux herself, JamesJohnson, and others, do not, however, agree with some statements ofGerard. He asserts that Mrs Brooksby was a widow, and was the realmistress of the house; and he compares the two to the sisters ofLazarus, "the two women who received our Lord"! It is impossible toavoid seeing the tacit further comparison as to Garnet. When a Queen'smessenger arrived, Gerard writes, "rosaries, etcetera, all signs ofpiety [!] are thrown into a cavern; the mistress is hidden away: onthese occasions the younger sister, the unmarried one, passed for themistress of the house." (Gerard to Aquaviva, quoted by Foley, _Recordsof the English Province of the Society of Jesus_, volume 4, page 36.)All the evidence, apart from this, tends to show that Brooksby wasalive, and that he and Eleanor were only visitors--though very constantones--at White Webbs, where Anne was the real mistress. In 1603, Garnetwas returned as living "with Mrs Brooksby, of Leicestershire, atArundell House. He hath lodgings of his own in London." (_DomesticState Papers_, James the First, volume 8, article 50.) These lodgingswere in Thames Street. A large house at Erith was also a frequentmeeting-place of the recusants.

  That Garnet was acquainted with the Gunpowder Plot from its verybeginning is a moral certainty, notwithstanding his earnest efforts toshow the contrary. He not only made assertions which he afterwardsallowed to be false; but he set up at different times two lines ofdefence which were inconsistent. He had been told nothing: yet, he hadtried to dissuade Catesby and his colleagues from the execution of theplot. If the first allegation were true, the other must have beenfalse. But Garnet's distinctly avowed opinions on the question ofequivocation make it impossible to accept any denial from him. Hebelieved that while, "in the common intercourse of life, it is notlawful to use equivocation," yet "where it
becomes necessary to anindividual for his defence, or for avoiding any injustice or loss, orfor obtaining any important advantage, without danger or mischief to anyother person, there equivocation is lawful." He held, as some do at thepresent day, that "if the law be unjust, then is it, _ipso facto_, voidand of no force:" so that "the laws against recusants--are to beesteemed as no laws by such as steadfastly believe these [Romish rites]to be necessary observances of the true religion... That is no treasonat all which is made treason by an unjust law." In other words, thesubject is to be the judge of the justice of the law, and if in his eyesit be unjust, he is released from the necessity of obeying it! This issimply to do away with all law at once; for probably no law was evermade which did not appear unjust to somebody: and it lays down the grandand ancient principle that every man shall do what is right in his owneyes. We have heard a good deal of this doctrine lately; it is ofJesuit origin, and a distinct contradiction of that Book which teachesthat "the powers that be are ordained of God, and whosoever resisteththe power, resisteth the ordinance of God." Those who set up suchclaims, however they may disavow it, really hold that Christ's kingdom_is_ of this world, since they place it in rivalry to the secularauthority. "If thou judge the law, thou art not a doer of the law, buta judge." One great distinction of the Antichrist is that he is _hoanomos_, the Lawless One. Even further than this, Garnet was preparedto go, and did go at his last examination. "In all cases," he said,"where simple equivocation is allowable, it is lawful if necessary toconfirm it by an oath. This I acknowledge to be according to myopinion, and the opinion of the Schoolmen; and our reason is, for thatin cases of lawful equivocation, the speech by equivocation being savedfrom a lie, the same speech may be without perjury confirmed by oath, orby any other usual way, though it were by receiving the Sacrament, ifjust necessity so require." (_Domestic State Papers_, James the First,volume 20, article 218.) Garnet asserted that Catesby did him muchwrong, by saying that in Queen Elizabeth's time he had consulted him asto the lawfulness of the "powder action," which was "most untrue;" butafter the preceding extracts, who could believe their writer on hisoath? Poor Anne Vaux, who undoubtedly meant to excuse and save him,urged that he used to say to the conspirators in her hearing, "Goodgentlemen, be quiet; God will do all for the best:" and Garnet's ownlast confession admitted that "partly upon hope of prevention, partlyfor that I would not betray my friend, I did not reveal the generalknowledge of Mr Catesby's intention which I had by him." (_DomesticState Paper_, volume 20, article 12.) He allowed also that about a yearbefore the Queen's death, he had received two briefs from Rome, biddinghim not consent to the accession of any successor to her who would notsubmit to the Pope: he had shown them to Catesby, and then burned them.Catesby, said Garnet, considered himself authorised to act as he did bythese briefs; but he had tried vainly to dissuade him from so doing,since the Pope had forbidden the action. (_Ibidem_, volume 18, articles41, 42.) In September, 1605, Garnet led a pilgrimage of Roman Catholicsto Saint Winifred's Well, in returning from which, he and Anne Vauxvisited Rushton, the seat of Francis Tresham. Sir Thomas, his father,was then just dead, and the widowed Lady Tresham "kept her chamber"accordingly. They stayed but one night (Examination of Anne Vaux,_Gunpowder Plot Book_, article 212), and then returned to Goathurst,where they remained for some weeks, until on the 29th of October theyremoved, with the Digbys and Brooksbys, to Coughton, the house of MrThomas Throckmorton, which Sir Everard had borrowed, on account of itsconvenient proximity to Dunchurch, the general rendezvous for theconspirators after the execution of the plot. This journey to Coughtonwas considered strong evidence against Garnet; and his meaning has neverbeen solved, in writing that "all Catholics know it was necessary."(_Domestic State Papers_, volume 19, article 11.) At Coughton was theReverend Oswald Greenway, another Jesuit priest, who has left anarrative of the whole account, wherein he describes the conspiratorsand their doings with a pen dipped in honey. In the night betweenNovember 5th and 6th, Bates arrived at Coughton with Digby's letter,which afterwards told heavily against Garnet. Garnet remained atCoughton until about the 16th of December, when at the instigation ofhis friend Edward Hall (alias Oldcorne) he removed to Hendlip Hall.Garnet and Hall made up between them an elaborate story describing theirarrival at Hendlip, and immediate hiding, on Sunday night, January 19th;but this was afterwards confessed both by Hall and Owen to be false, andGarnet was overheard to blame Hall for not having kept to the text ofhis lesson in one detail.

  Nicholas Owen, Garnet's friend and servant, committed suicide in theTower, on March 2nd, from fear of further torture. Mr Abington, whohad "voluntarily offered to die at his own gate, if any such were to befound in his house or in that sheire," was condemned to death, butafterwards pardoned on condition of never again quitting the county.Made wiser by adversity, he spent the rest of his life in innocent studyof the history and antiquities of Worcestershire.

  The remainder of Garnet's story is given in the tale, and is almost purehistory as there detailed. In his conferences with Hall, he made noreal profession of innocence, only perpetual assurances that he "trustedto wind himself out" of the charges brought against him; and when LordSalisbury said--"Mr Garnet, give me but one argument that you were notconsenting to it [the plot], that can hold in any indifferent man's earor sense, besides your bare negative,"--Garnet made no answer. Hepersistently continued to deny any knowledge of White Webbs, untilconfronted with Johnson; and all acquaintance with the plot before hisreceipt of Digby's letter at Coughton, until shown the writtenconfession of Hall, and the testimony of Forset and Locherson concerninghis own whispered admissions. When at last he was driven to admit thefacts previously denied with abundant oaths, he professed himselfastonished that the Council were scandalised at his reckless falsehoods."What should I have done?" he writes. "Why was I to be denied everylawful [!] means of escape?" That the Government did not deal fairlywith Garnet--that, as is admitted by the impartial Dr Jardine, "few mencame to their trial under greater disadvantages," and that "he had beenliterally surrounded by snares,"--may be allowed to the full; but whenall is said for him that honesty can say, no doubt remains that he wasearly acquainted with and morally responsible for the Gunpowder Plot.The evidence may be found in Jardine's Narrative of the Plot; to produceit here would be to swell the volume far beyond its present dimensions.One point, however, must not be omitted. There have been two raids onthe Public Record Office, two acts of abstraction and knavery withrespect to these Gunpowder Plot papers; and it can be certainly stated,from the extracts made from them by Dr Abbott and Archbishop Bancroft,that the stolen papers were precisely those which proved Garnet's guiltmost conclusively. A Manuscript letter from Dr Jardine to Mr RobertLemon, attached to the _Gunpowder Plot Book_, states that Mr Lemon'sfather had "often observed to me that `those fellows the Jesuits, in thetime of the Powder Plot (not the Gunpowder Plot) had stolen away some ofthe most damning proofs against Garnet.' That thievery of some kindabstracted such documents as the Treatise of Equivocation, with Garnet'shandwriting on it--the most important of the interlocutions betweenGarnet and Hall in the Tower--and all the examinations of Garnetrespecting the Pope's Breves, is quite clear. _The first thievery Ihave proved to have been made by Archbishop Laud_; the others probablyoccurred in the reigns of Charles the Second and James the Second, whenJesuits and `Jesuited persons' had free access to the State PaperOffice." An old proverb deprecates "showing the cat the way to thecream;" but there is one folly still more reprehensible--placing the catin charge of the dairy. Let us beware it is not done again.

  JOHN GRANT.

  Of this conspirator very little is known apart from the plot. Hisresidence was at Norbrook, a few miles south of Warwick,--a walled andmoated house, of which nothing remains save a few fragments of massivestone walls, and the line of the moat may be distinctly traced, while"an ancient hall, of large dimensions, is also apparent among thepartitions of a modern farmer's kitchen." Before May, 1602, he marriedDorothy Winter, the sister of two of the conspir
ators. He had beenactive in the Essex insurrection, for which he was fined; and with hisbrother-in-law, Robert Winter, he was sent for by Catesby, in January,1605, for the purpose of being initiated into the conspiracy: but he wasnot sworn until March 31. Greenway describes him as "a man ofaccomplished manners, but of a melancholy and taciturn disposition;"Gerard tells us that "he was as fierce as a lion, of a very undauntedcourage," which he was wont to exhibit "unto poursuivants and prowlingcompanions" when they came to ransack the house--by which dubiousexpression is probably intended not burglars but officers of the law."He paid them so well for their labour, not with crowns of gold, butwith cracked crowns sometimes, and with dry blows instead of drink andgood cheer, that they durst not visit him any more, unless they broughtgreat store of help with them." Mr Grant appears to have anticipatedsome tactics of modern times. All else that is known of him will befound in the tale. His wife Dorothy seems to have been a lady of acheerful and loquacious character, to judge by the accounts of Sir E.Walsh and Sir R. Verney, who thought she had no knowledge of theconspiracy. (_Gunpowder Plot Book_, articles 75, 90.) It is, however,possible that Mrs Dorothy was as clever as her brothers, and contrivedto "wind herself out of" suspicion better than she deserved.

  John Grant had at least two brothers, Walter and Francis, the latter ofwhom was apprenticed to a silk-man; the relationship of Ludovic Grant isless certain. He had also two married sisters, Mrs Bosse, and Anne,wife of his bailiff Robert Higgins. (_Gunpowder Plot Book_, articles34, 44, 68, 90.) His mother, and (then unmarried) sister Mary wereliving in 1603.

  ROBERT KEYES.

  This man, who appears to have been one of the most desperate andunscrupulous of the conspirators, was the son of a Protestant clergymanin Derbyshire, who is supposed to have been the Reverend Edward Kay ofStavely, a younger son of John Kay of Woodsam, Yorkshire. His name isvariously rendered as Keyes, Keis, and Kay; he himself signs Robert Key.His mother was a daughter of Sir Robert Tyrwhitt of Kettleby, a veryopulent Roman Catholic gentleman of Lincolnshire, and through her he wascousin of Mrs Rookwood. The opulence of the grandfather did notdescend to his grandson, whose indigence was a great cause of hisdesperate character. He lived for a time at Glatton, inHuntingdonshire, but afterwards entered the service of Lord Mordaunt askeeper of his house at Turvey, his wife being the governess of hisLordship's children. He is described as "a young man with no hair onhis face." (Additional Manuscript 6178, folio 808.) It was about June,1605, when Keyes was taken into the plot, and his chief work thereafterwas the charge of the house at Lambeth "sometimes called Catesby's,afterwards Mr Terrett's, since Rookwood's," (_Ibidem_, folio 62), wherethe powder was stored. His only other service was the bringing of thewatch from Percy to Fawkes just before the discovery of the plot. Keyesleft one son, Robert (Foley's _Records_, volume 1, page 510), who wasliving about 1630, and was then a frequent visitor of his relatives theRookwoods (_Domestic State Papers_, Charles the First, 178, 43).

  HUMPHREY AND STEPHEN LITTLETON.

  These cousins belonged to the family of the present Baron. Sir JohnLittleton of Hagley had with other issue two sons, of whom Gilbert, theeldest, was the father of Humphrey, while Sir George Littleton ofHolbeach, the third son, was the father of Stephen. Humphrey was knownas Red Humphrey, to distinguish him from another of his name, and one ofthese two was a University man, of Broadgate Hall, Oxford, where he tookhis B.A. degree 29th January 1580, and his M.A., 2nd July, 1582. Hiscousin Stephen was born in 1575. With the plot Humphrey at least wasbut partially acquainted, for Catesby "writ to Mr Humphrey Littleton[from Huddington] to meet him at Dunchurch, but he, being then destituteof a horse, returned written answer that he could not then meet him, inregard of his unfurnishment before remembered: whereupon Mr RobertWinter sent a good gelding to Mr Humphrey Littleton, whereon he rodeaway to Dunchurch, and (saith himself) demanding of the matter in hand,and what it might be, Mr Catesby told him that it was a matter ofweight, but for the especial good of them all, which was all he wouldthen disclose to him." (Harl. Manuscript 360.) The account given inthe text, from this volume, of the escape and wanderings of RobertWinter and Stephen Littleton is somewhat varied by another narrative inthe same manuscript, according to which Humphrey "bade the officersbegone, or he would fetch that should send them packing." He affirmedin his confession, 26th January 1606, that he "had intention toapprehend" the refugees, "in regard of the odiousness of their treasonsand the horribleness of the offence, which this partie in his heartdetested," and that he deferred doing so "out of love to his cousin andaffection to their religion," until he should be able to obtain counselof Hall. (_Ibidem_.) Mrs John Littleton, the lady of Hagley Park, wasMuriel, daughter of Sir Thomas Bromley, and a Protestant; thoughrenowned for her hospitality and benevolence, she contrived to pay off9000 pounds of debt left by her father-in-law and husband.

  WILLIAM PARKER, LORD MONTEAGLE.

  Lord Monteagle was of very distinguished and ancient race, being theeldest son of Edward third Baron Morley of his line (heir of a youngerbranch of the Lovels of Tichmersh) and Elizabeth, only daughter and heirof William Stanley, Lord Monteagle. Born in 1574, he succeeded hismother as Lord Monteagle, and his father in 1618 as Lord Morley. Hiswife was Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Thomas Tresham, and his sister Marywas the wife of Mr Thomas Abington of Hendlip Hall.

  The chief interest attaching to Lord Monteagle concerns the famousletter: and the two questions requiring answer are--Who wrote it? and,Was the recipient a party to the plot?

  The second question, which may be first dealt with, must be answeredalmost certainly in the affirmative. Nay, more, Lord Monteagle was notonly a party to the Gunpowder Plot, but there is strong reason tobelieve that in conjunction with Lord Salisbury and others, he got up acounter-plot for its discovery. The laying of the letter before LordSalisbury on the night of October 24th [Note 1], was probably not thefirst intimation which Salisbury had received, and assuredly not thefirst given to Lord Monteagle. The whole catena of circumstances, whencarefully studied, shows that the episode of the letter was acleverly-devised countermarch, designed at once to inform the public andat the same time to give a warning to the conspirators. The party gotup at Hoxton, where Lord Monteagle was not living; the mysteriousdelivery of the letter; the placing of it in the hands of Thomas Ward, aknown confidant of the conspirators: these and other circumstances alltend to one conclusion--that Monteagle was acting a part throughout, andthat it was in reality he who gave warning to them, not they to him. Ifthe conspirators had taken his warning, they might all have escaped withtheir lives; for the vessel designed to bear Fawkes abroad as soon as heshould have fired the mine was lying in the river, and there wasabundant time for them all to have made good their escape, had they notfoolishly tried to retrieve their loss at Dunchurch. This is made morecertain by the fact that the Government were, as Garnet remarked,"determined to save Lord Monteagle," and that any reference in theconfessions of the prisoners which tended to implicate him wasdiligently suppressed. In one examination, the original words ran,"Being demanded what other persons were privy [to the plot] beside _theLord Mounteagle_, Catesby," etcetera. The three words in italics havebeen rendered illegible, by a slip of paper being pasted over them, anda memorandum in red ink made on the back. Time, however, has faded thered ink, and the words are again visible. (Criminal Trials, page 67.)Garnet, too, confessed that "Catesby showed the [Pope's] breves to myLord Mounteagle at the time when Mr Tresham was with him at WhiteWebbs." (Additional Manuscript 6178, folio 161.) These facts raise adoubt whether the whole story of Tresham's anxiety to warn LordMonteagle was not false, and a mere blind to cover something else, whichperhaps is not now to be revealed. It remains to inquire, Who wrote theletter? It has been ascribed to three persons beside Tresham: Percy,Mrs Abington, and Anne Vaux. If it really were a part of theGovernment counterplot, as is very probable, it was not likely to be anyof them. If not so, Tresham seems the most likely, though it iscustomary to charge Mrs Abington with it. Lord Mont
eagle would at oncehave recognised his sister's writing, and perhaps that of her intimatefriend, his wife's cousin, Anne Vaux. Why Percy should be supposed tohave written it is a mystery. The handwriting is undoubtedly very likethat of Anne Vaux; indeed, for this reason I suspected her as the writeron the first investigation, and before I knew that she had ever beencharged with it. Dr Jardine votes decidedly in favour of Tresham. Thereal truth respecting this matter will in all probability never be knownin this world.

  Lord Monteagle was in the Essex rebellion, for which he was fined andimprisoned until the end of 1601; but he was in high favour with KingJames, probably owing to his strenuous efforts to secure his succession.He died in 1622, leaving three sons and three daughters.

  A characteristic letter from this nobleman is yet extant, which showshis style and tone, and has not, I believe, been printed. It is thatsummoning Catesby to Bath, and if it were written in 1605, ratherconfirms the supposition that the writer was an accomplice. Dr Jardineand others suppose it, I know not why, to belong rather to 1602. Itruns as follows:--

  "To my loving kinsman, Rob Catesbye Esquire, give these. Lipyeat. Ifall creatures born under the moons sphere cannot endure without theelements of aier and fire In what languishment have we led our lifesince we departed from the dear Robin whose conversation gave us suchwarmth as we needed no other heat to maintain our healths: sincetherefore it is proper to all to desire a remedy for their disease I doby these bind the by the laws of charity to make thy present aparancehere at the bath and let no watery Nimpes divert you, who can betterlive with[out] the air and better forbear the fire of your spirit andVigour then we who accumpts thy person the only sone that must ripen ourharvest. And thus I rest. Even fast tied to your friendshipp, WilliamMounteagle." (Cott. Manuscript Titus, B. 2, folio 294.)

  THOMAS PERCY.

  The exact place of this conspirator in the Northumberland pedigree hasbeen the subject of much question. He is commonly said to have been anear relative of the Earl; but Gerard thinks that "he was not very nearin blood, although they called him cousin." Among the varioussuggestions offered, that appears to be the best-founded whichidentifies him not with the Percys of Scotton, but as the son of EdwardPercy of Beverley, whose father, Joscelyn, was a younger son of thefourth Earl. The wife of Joscelyn was Margaret Frost; the wife ofEdward, and mother of the conspirator, was Elizabeth, daughter of SirThomas Waterton of Walton, Yorkshire--of the family of the famousnaturalist, Charles Waterton, of whom it was said that he felt tenderlytowards every living thing but two--a poacher and a Protestant. Thecharacter of Percy, as sketched by one of the Jesuit narrators, isscarcely consistent with that given by the other. Greenway writes ofhim, "He was about forty-six years of age, though from the whiteness ofhis head, he appeared to be older; his figure was tall and handsome, hiseyes large and lively, and the expression of his countenance pleasing,though grave; and notwithstanding the boldness of his mind, his mannerswere gentle and quiet." Gerard says, "He had been very wild in hisyouth, more than ordinary, and much given to fighting--so much so thatit was noted in him and in Mr John Wright... that if they heard of anyman in the country more valiant than the others, one or other of themwould pick a quarrel to make trial of his valour... He had a great wit,and a very good delivery of his mind, and so was able to speak as wellas most in the things wherein he had experience. He was tall, and of avery comely face and fashion; of age near fifty, as I take it, for hishead and beard was much changed white." The proclamation for hisapprehension describes him as "a tall man, with a great broad beard, agood face, the colour of his beard and head mingled with white hairs,but his head more white than his beard. He stoupes somewhat in theshoulders, well coloured in face, longe foted, smale legged." Percy wassteward and receiver of rents to his kinsman the Earl, whose rents heappropriated to the purposes of the plot--without the owner's knowledge,if his earnest denial may be trusted. Percy married Martha, sister ofJohn and Christopher Wright, by whom he had three children: Elizabeth,who died young, and was buried at Alnwick, 2nd February 1602; a daughter(name unknown), who married young Robert Catesby; and Robert Percy, ofTaunton, who married Emma Meade at Wivelscomb, 22nd October 1615, andwas the founder of the line of Percy of Cambridge. Percy's widow livedprivately in London after his execution.

  AMBROSE ROOKWOOD.

  Second son of Robert Rookwood of Stanningfield, by his second wifeDorothy, daughter of Sir William Drury of Hawkstead; he becameeventually the heir of his father. Ambrose was born in 1578, and waseducated in Flanders as a Roman Catholic. According to Greenway, he was"beloved by all who knew him;" Gerard describes him as "very devout, ofgreat virtue and valour, and very secret; he was also of very good partsas for wit and learning." He was remarkable for his stud of finehorses. Coldham Hall, his family mansion, built by his father in 1574,is still standing, and is a picturesque house, about four miles fromBury Saint Edmunds. Very reluctant at first to join the plot, (March31st, 1605), when arrested he "denied all privity, on his soul andconscience, and as he was a Catholic." He was drawn into it by Catesby,with whom he had long been acquainted, and whom he said that he "lovedand respected as his own life." Objecting that "it was a matter ofconscience to take away so much blood," Catesby replied that he was"resolved that in conscience it might be done," whereon Rookwood, "beingsatisfied that in conscience he might do it, confessed it neither to anyghostly father nor to any other." (Exam, of Rookwood, _Gunpowder PlotBook_, article 136.) Sir William Wade writes that "Rookwood can procureno succour from any of his friends in regard of the odiousness of hisactions," (Additional Manuscript 6178, folio 34). He seems to have beenfond of fine clothes, for he not only had a "fair scarf" embroideredwith "ciphres," but "made a very fair Hungarian horseman's cote, lynedall with velvet, and other apparel exceeding costly, not fyt for hisdegree," (_Ibidem_, folio 86). His wife, who was "very beautiful" and"a virtuous Catholic," was the daughter of Robert Tyrwhitt, Esquire, ofKettleby, county Lincoln. They had three children: Sir Robert Rookwood,who warmly espoused the cause of Charles the First, and was buried 10thJune, 1679; he married Mary, daughter of Sir Robert Townsend of Ludlow,and left issue: Henry: and Elizabeth, wife of William Calverley,Esquire. The Rookwoods of the Golden Fish, in the story, are allfictitious persons. The real brother of Ambrose was the Reverend ThomasRookwood of Claxton, the correspondent of Garnet.

  FRANCIS TRESHAM.

  Sir Thomas Tresham, the father of Francis, had suffered much in thecause of Rome. Perverted by Campion in 1580, he was repeatedlyimprisoned for recusancy and harbouring Jesuits, but remained the moreresolutely devoted to the faith of which he speaks as "his beloved,beautiful, and graceful Rachel," for whom his "direst adversity" seemed"but a few days for the love he had to her." By his wife Muriel,daughter of Sir Robert Throckmorton, he had two sons, of whom Franciswas the elder. He was educated at Gloucester Hall; and having been veryactively participant in the rebellion of Essex, was on his trialextremely insolent to the Lord Chancellor. His life was saved only bythe intercession of Lady Catherine Howard, whose services were purchasedapparently for 1500 pounds. Catesby never ceased to regret theadmission of Tresham to the conspiracy: but if as is probable (see_ante_, Monteagle), Lord Monteagle were himself a party to the plot, themuch-vaunted earnestness of Tresham to save him is in all probability afiction, and a mere piece of the machinery. Gerard says that he was "ofgreat estate, esteemed to be worth 3000 pounds a year. He had been wildin his youth, and even till his end was not known to be of so goodexample as the rest." Jardine says, "He was known to be mean,treacherous, and unprincipled." He vehemently denied, however, thecharge of having sent the warning letter to Lord Monteagle, of which hewas always suspected by his brother conspirators. Catesby and ThomasWinter had determined to "poniard him on the spot" if he had shown anyhesitation in this denial. He escaped the gallows by dying of illnessin the Tower on the 23rd of November. Lord Salisbury has been accusedof poisoning Tresham because he knew too many State secrets. But whythen did he not poison Lor
d Monteagle for the same reason? The factthat Tresham's wife and servant were admitted into his prison, andallowed to nurse him till he died, is surely sufficient answer. By hiswife, Anne, daughter of Sir John Tufton, Tresham left no issue. He"showed no remorse, but seemed to glory in it as a religious act, to theminister that laboured with him to set his conscience straight at hisend: had his head chopped of and sent [to] be set up at Northampton, hisbody being tumbled into a hole without so much ceremony as theformalitye of a grave." (_Domestic State Papers_, 17; 62.)

  ROBERT, THOMAS, AND JOHN WINTER.

  The Winters of Huddington are a family of old standing inWorcestershire; and Anne Winter, sister of the great grandfather ofthese brothers, was the mother of Edward Underhill, the "Hot Gospeller."His grandson, George Winter of Huddington and Droitwich, was a"recusant," yet was High Sheriff of his county in 1589. He married,first, Jane, daughter of Sir William Ingleby of Ripley, in Yorkshire,and secondly, Elizabeth, daughter of Sir John Bourne. By the firstmarriage he had issue two sons--Robert and Thomas; by the second, John,Dorothy, and Elizabeth.

  Robert, the eldest son, was born in or soon after 1565. Gerarddescribes him as "a gentleman of good estate in Worcestershire, about athousand marks a year (666 pounds, 13 shillings 4 pence)--an earnestCatholic, though not as yet generally known to be so. He was a wiseman, and of grave and sober carriage, and very stout (i.e., courageous),as all of that name have been esteemed." He joined the conspirators,March 31st, 1605; but he, like others, objected at first to the "scandalto the Catholic cause," and was a half-hearted accomplice to the end.He is said to have been terrified by a horrible dream on the night ofNovember 4th, which made him more willing to desert the cause. Hemarried Gertrude, daughter of Sir John Talbot (of the Shrewsbury line)and of Katherine Petre, by whom he had four children,--John, who died in1622, leaving issue; Helen, of Cooksey, died 5th May 1670; Mary, a nun;and Catherine, died before 1670. All the daughters were unmarried.

  Thomas Winter, one of the chief actors in the plot, was probably bornabout 1570, and seems to have died a bachelor. He may have been the"Thomas or William Wynter," apparently of Bradgate Hall, Oxford, whotook his B.A. degree on 29th January 1589. He had served in the Dutcharmy against Spain, and quitted it on account of religious scruples, butso long afterwards as 1605, he is spoken of as Captain Winter(Additional Manuscript 6178, folio 62). After this he was secretary toLord Monteagle. He was, says Greenway, "an accomplished and able man,familiarly conversant with several languages, the intimate friend andcompanion of Catesby, and of great account with the Catholic partygenerally, in consequence of his talents for intrigue, and his personalacquaintance with ministers of influence in foreign Courts." Gerardadds that his "elder brother, and another younger, were also broughtinto the action by his means. He was a reasonable good scholar, andable to talk in many matters of learning, but especially in philosophyor histories, very well and judicially. He could speak both Latin,Italian, Spanish, and French. He had been a soldier, both in Flanders,France, and I think against the Turk, and could discourse exceeding wellof those matters; and was of such a wit, and so fine carriage, that hewas of so pleasing conversation, desired much of the better sort, but aninseparable friend to Mr Robert Catesby. He was of mean stature, butstrong and comely, and very valiant, about thirty-three years or more.His means were not great, but he lived in good sort, and with the best.He was very devout and zealous in his faith, and careful to come oftento the Sacraments, and of very grave and discreet carriage, offensive tono man, and fit for any employment." His "living was eight score poundby the year, by report of his man," (_Gunpowder Plot Book_, article 41);namely, his annual income was about 160 pounds. Several letters of hisare still extant; three have been published in Notes and Queries (3rdSeries, one; 341), and are all addressed to Grant. One written toCatesby has not seen the light hitherto, and as it is characteristic, Iappend it. (Cott. Manuscript Titus, B. two; folio 292.)

  "To my loving friend, Mr Robert Catesby.

  "Though all you malefactors flock to London, as birds in winter to adunghill, yet do I, Honest man, freely possess the sweet country air:and to say truth, would fain be amongst you, but cannot as yet get moneyto come up. I was at Asbye to have met you, but you were newly gone; mybusiness and your uncertain stay made me hunt no further. I pray youcommend me to other friends. And when occasion shall require, send downto my brother's or Mr Talbott's; within this month I will be with youat London. So God keep you this 12th of October. Your loving friend,Thomas Wintour."

  John Winter, the youngest brother, seems to have had very little sharein the plot, and most fervently denied any knowledge of it whatever.Gerard (see _ante_) asserts that he was engaged in it, and GertrudeWinter bore witness that he came to Huddington with the otherconspirators on November 7th. His own amusing narrative is to theeffect that Grant asked him on the 4th of November, if he would go to ahorse-race, and he answered that he would if he were well; that on the5th, he went to "a little town called Rugby," where he and others suppedand played cards; that a messenger came to them and said, "The gentlemenwere at Dunchurch, and desired their company to be merry;" that atHolbeach he "demanded of Mr Percy and the rest, being most of themasleep, what they meant to do," and they answered that they would go onnow; and shortly afterwards he left them. (_Gunpowder Plot Book_,article 110). John Winter was imprisoned, but released. There is noevidence to show that he was married.

  JOHN AND CHRISTOPHER WRIGHT.

  Concerning the parentage of these brothers, I can find no more than thatthey were of the family of Wright of Plowland, in Holderness, Yorkshire.They were cousins of Robert Winter, perhaps through his mother; wereboth schoolfellows of Guy Fawkes, and "neighbours' children." JohnWright originally lived at Twigmore, in Lincolnshire, and removed toLapworth, in Warwickshire, when he became a party to the plot. He wasthe first layman whom Catesby took into his confidence, Thomas Winterbeing the second, and Fawkes the third. Like so many of the others, thebrothers were involved in Essex's rebellion. They were perverts, andsince their perversion John had been "harassed with persecutions andimprisonment." Greenway says he was one of the best swordsmen of histime. Gerard describes him as "a gentleman of Yorkshire, not born toany great fortune, but lived always in place and company of the bettersort. In his youth, very wild and disposed to fighting... He grew tobe staid and of good, sober carriage after he was Catholic, and kepthouse in Lincolnshire, where he had priests come often, both for hisspiritual comfort and their own in corporal helps. He was about fortyyears old, a strong and a stout man, and of a very good wit, though slowof speech: much loved by Mr Catesby for his valour and secrecy incarriage of any business." Of Christopher he says that "though he werenot like him [John] in face, as being fatter, and a lighter-colouredhair, and taller of person, yet was he very like to the other inconditions and qualities, and both esteemed and tried to be as stout aman as England had, and withal a zealous Catholic, and trusty and secretin any business as could be wished." But little is known of therelatives of these brothers. John Wright's wife was named Dorothy, andshe was "sister-in-law of Marmaduke Ward of Newby, Yorkshire,gentleman;" they had a daughter who was eight or nine years old in 1605,and probably one or more sons, as descendants of John Wright are saidstill to exist Christopher's wife was called Margaret, but nothing isknown of his children. The brothers had two sisters,--Martha, the wifeof their co-traitor, Percy; and another who was the mother of a certainWilliam Ward, spoken of as Wright's nephew. (_Gunpowder Plot Book_,articles 44, 47, 52, 90.)

  By Greenway, Gerard, or both, it is asserted of nearly every one of theconspirators that they were very wild in youth, and became persons ofexemplary virtue after their perversion to Popery.

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  Note 1. "Thursday, 24th October," (not 26th, as usually stated), is theendorsement on the letter itself (_Gunpowder Plot Book_, article 2), andalso the date given in the official account (_Ibidem_, article 129).
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