CHAPTER SIX.
WAIT A MONTH.
"Alas, long-suffering and most patient God! Thou needst be surelier God to bear with us Than even to have made us."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
The conspirators had just concluded their bargain, and decided that thecellar must be stored with materials in all haste, to be ready for themeeting of Parliament on the seventh of February, when like a bomb-shellin their midst fell a royal proclamation, proroguing Parliament againuntil the third of October. To go on now, especially in haste, wasplainly a useless proceeding.
A short consultation was held, which ended in the decision that theyshould part and scatter themselves in different places. Fawkesparticularly was enjoined to keep out of the way, since he was wanted toappear as a stranger when the moment arrived for action; he thereforedetermined to go abroad.
The rest dispersed in various directions: Percy was left alone at thehouse in Westminster, where he beguiled his leisure by having a doormade through the wall, where the mine had been, so as to give him easieraccess to the vault under the House, and better opportunities ofcarrying in the combustibles unseen. They agreed to meet again, readyfor work, on the second of September; and before parting, one other wasadmitted to their fellowship, to whom was confided the task of aidingFawkes to accumulate the store of powder. This was Mr AmbroseRookwood, of Coldham Hall, Suffolk.
Before Fawkes left England, he accomplished one important piece ofbusiness, by carrying into the vault beneath the House all the wood andcoals hitherto stored in Percy's cellar. Among it was carefully hiddenthe gunpowder also in waiting, billets of wood being heaped upon thebarrels. The door was then locked, and Fawkes took the key, marking thedoor on the inside in such a manner that its having been opened could bedetected thereafter. The wife of the porter, Gideon Gibbons, the nextdoor neighbour, was placed in charge of Percy's house, in which notell-tale combustibles had now been left. Keyes was made againcustodian of the house at Lambeth.
These arrangements being complete, Percy went to see his wife, whom hehad left in the country, and Fawkes, embarking at Dover, took hisjourney to Brussels, where he resumed his own name.
When Aubrey applied next at the door of Winter's lodgings, he wasinformed that the gentlemen were gone into the country. He turned backdisappointed--after a little frothy banter with Betty, which it would bea sad waste of paper and ink to detail--and began to consider what heshould do next. A sensation of extreme relief came to his mind, as theidea occurred to him that there could be no need at all to make anyinquiries during the absence of his friends. He might visit the fairDorothy, and even venture into the jaws of the White Bear, without fearof any thing unpleasant. Merely to say that his friends had left Town,and he was not now cultivating their society, would surely satisfy hisgrandmother: and as for any thing else,--why, let fate take care of thefuture. Being usually the creature of impulse, no sooner was this said,or rather thought, than it was done. Aubrey turned away from the Duck,and retraced his steps to Charing Cross, left Whitehall behind him, andcame out into King Street.
Now came the tug of war. Would he meet Aunt Temperance? or would thatformidable and irresistible individual pounce upon him from the door?But all was still, and he reached the Golden Fish without any mishap.
Another disappointment! He was shown into the parlour, where Gertruderose to meet him, and Mrs Rookwood came in a few minutes later. Tomwas spending the evening with friends, and Anne was with him. Aubreycared nothing about Anne, whom he mentally dubbed a stupid idiot; forTom's absence he was more sorry. But what was Dorothy doing that shedid not shine on her worshipper?
"Had you honoured us with a visit last Tuesday, Mr Louvaine," saidGertrude, glancing at him, as she was wont to do, out of the corners ofher dark eyes, "we had enjoyed the happiness of bringing you acquaintedwith our uncle Rookwood of Coldham Hall. He left us, o' Wednesday inthe morning, for his place in Suffolk."
"Doll is gone with him," placidly added Mrs Rookwood.
The bright colours of Gertrude's embroidery took a sudden tarnish in theeyes of the visitor.
"Ay, for a month or two," said Gertrude, lightly. "She shall find amerry house at Coldham, you may be sure. Our cousins, and all theBurgesses, and the Collinsons--ever so many young gentlemen andgentlewomen--and," with a slight, significant laugh, "Mr Roland Burgessin particular."
Aubrey felt as if he should exceedingly have enjoyed despatching MrRoland Burgess to the Caucasus, or Cochin-China, or any otherinconceivably remote locality. He did not stay long after that. Therewas nothing to keep him. Bows and courtesies were exchanged, andAubrey, feeling as if life were flat and unsatisfying, turned into theWhite Bear.
It was nearly dusk, and he could not see whom he met by the parlourdoor.
"Is that your Lordship?" greeted him, in the voice of Aunt Temperance."Blue or yellow this even? Truly, we scarce looked for so much honouras two visits in the twelvemonth. Why, without I err, 'tis not yetthree months since we had leave to see your Lordship's crimson andsilver. Pray you, walk in--you are as welcome as flowers in May, aswise as Waltom's calf, and as safe to mend as sour ale in summer."
"You are full of compliments, Aunt Temperance," said Aubrey, half vexedand half laughing.
"I'm like, with strangers, Gentleman."
Aubrey went past her into the parlour, to receive a warmer and lesssarcastic welcome from the rest of his relatives--his mother excepted,who reminded him, in her usual plaintive tones, that she was a poorwidow, and it was very hard if she might never see her only child.
"Well, I am here, Mother."
"Ay, but you scarce ever come. 'Tis ever so long that we have not seenyou. 'Tis cruel of my Lord Oxford thus to keep you away from your poormother."
"My Lord Oxford has less to do with it, my dear, than Mr AubreyLouvaine," said her sister. "Young men don't commonly reckon theirmothers' company the sweetest. They never know on which side theirbread's buttered."
"No butter will stick on my bread, Aunt," said Aubrey, answering oneproverb by another.
Instead of replying, Aunt Temperance lighted a candle and calmly lookedher nephew over.
"Well!" said she, as the result of her inspection, "if I were donned ingrass-green velvet, guarded o' black, with silver tags, and asilver-bossed girdle, and gloves o' Spanish leather, I should fancy I'dgot a bit o' butter on my bread. Maybe your honour likes it thick?Promotes effusing of bile, that doth. Pray you, how fare yourPapistical friends this even?"
Lady Louvaine looked up and listened for the answer.
"You set it down they be Papistical somewhat too soon, Aunt," saidAubrey a little irritably. "Mr Winter and his friends, if they be whomyou hit at, be gone away into the country, and I have not seen them thissome time."
The next question put to him was the one that Aubrey was expecting, withan expectation which caused his irritability.
"What said my Lady Oxford to the matter, Aubrey?"
"Truly, Madam, I have not yet made the inquiration. My Lady is at thistime full of business, and seeing my friends were away, I thought youshould not require haste."
Aubrey's conscience stirred a little uneasily, and he said to it, "Bequiet! I have not told any falsehood."
"I would not have you to chafe your Lady, if she have no time tolisten," said Lady Louvaine, with a disappointed look: "but indeed,Aubrey, the matter must be seen to, and not done by halves, moreover."
A rap at the door preceded Charity, who came to announce Mrs Abbott--aceremony always used at the White Bear, but entirely unnecessary in theeyes of the lady of the Angel.
"Well, what think you?" she began, before her greetings were well over;for Mistress Abbott was a genuine Athenian, who spent all her leisurehours, and some hours when she should not have been at leisure, in firstgathering information, and then retailing it, not having any specialcare to ascertain its accuracy. "Well, what think you? Here be threeof our neighbours to be presented by the street wardens--Lewce, thebaker, fo
r that they cannot keep his pigs out of the King's Street; JoanCotton the silkwoman as a sower of strife amongst her neighbours; andAdrian Sewell for unlawfully following the trade of a tailor."
"Why, that is thy tailor, Aubrey!" exclaimed Aunt Temperance. "I trustthou art not deep in his books?"
"Never a whit, Aunt; I owe him ne'er a penny," said Aubrey, flushing,and not adding that Mr William Patrick's books were separate volumes,nor that those of Nathan Cohen, in Knightriders' Street, were notentirely guiltless of his name.
"Ay, that's the way," said Mrs Abbott, nodding her head. "Pay as yougo, and keep from small scores. Truly I would, Mr Louvaine, ourStephen were as wise as you. Such a bill as came in this week past froma silkman in Paternoster Row! White satin collars at eight and tenshillings the piece, and a doublet of the same at two pound; curledfeathers, and velvet doublets, and perfumed gloves at twenty pence ormore. His father's in a heavy taking, I can tell you, and saith heshall be ruined. Look you, we've four lads, and here's Stephen a-goingthis path--and if Seth and Caleb and Ben just go along after Stephen,it'll be a fine kettle o' fish, I can tell you. Oh dear, but you've adeal to be thankful for, and only one to trouble you! The bicker thoselads do make!"
"We have all something wherefore we may be thankful, friend," said LadyLouvaine gently, when Mrs Abbott stopped to breathe.
"Well, then, there's the maids--Mall, and Silence, and Prissy, andDorcas, and Hester--and I can promise you, they make such a racketamongst 'em, I'm very nigh worn to a shadow."
Aubrey and Lettice were giving funny glances at each other, and doingtheir utmost not to disgrace the family by laughing. If Mrs Abbottwere worn to a shadow, shadows were very portly and substantialarticles.
"I declare, that Prissy! she's such a rattle as never you saw! nogetting a word in for her. I tell her many a time, I wonder her tonguedoes not ache, such a chatterbox as she is. I'm no talker, you see;nobody can say such a thing of me, but as to her--"
A curious sound in Aubrey's direction was rapidly followed by a cough.
"Eh now, don't you say you've a spring cough!" ejaculated Mrs Abbott,turning her artillery on that young gentleman. "Horehound, and mallow,and coltsfoot, they're the best herbs; and put honey to 'em, and take itfasting of a morrow. There be that saith this new stuff of late comeup--tobago, or what they call it--my husband says he never heard ofaught with so many names. Talking o' names, have you seen that youngmaid, daughter of the baker new set up at back here? Whatever on earthpossessed him to call her Penelope? Dear heart, but they say there's ajolly brunt betwixt my Lord Rich and his Lady--she that was my LadyPenelope Devereux, you know. My Lord he is a great Puritan, and afavourer of that way; and my Lady, she likes a pretty gown and a gaydance as well as e'er a one; so the wars have fallen out betwixt 'em--"
"If it like you, Mistress Abbott," said Charity, opening the doorimmediately after a knock, "here's your Ben, that says your master wantsyou."
"Ay," shouted Ben from the door in no dulcet tones, "and he said if youdidn't come, he'd fetch you. You were safe to be gossiping somewhere,he said, and says he--"
"Take that for your imperence, Sir!" was his mother's answer, hurryingto the door, with a gesture suited to the words. "Well, I do vow, ifever I come forth to have half a word with a neighbour, that man o'mine's sure for to call it gossiping.--Get away wi' thee! I'm coming ina wink.--Well, but you do look cheery and peaceful! I would I could ha'tarried a bit. Mrs Lettice, my dear, you take warning by me, and don'tyou marry a man as gives you no liberty. Stand up for your rights, mydear, and get 'em--that's what I say. Good even! There's no end to theimperence of lads, and no more to the masterfulness of men. Don't youhave nought to do with 'em! Good-night."
"I could not have stood it another minute!" said Aubrey as soon as shewas out of hearing, while he and Lettice made the walls echo.
On a calm June evening, three men met at a house in Thames Street, whereGarnet lodged. They were Robert Catesby, the Reverend Oswald Greenway,and the Reverend Henry Garnet. They met to consult and decide on thelast uncertainties, and as it were to finish off the scheme of the plot.The conclusions ended, Garnet let out his friends, who with hats drawnlow down, and faces muffled in their cloaks, glided softly and darklyaway.
As the month of August ran out, the conspirators gradually returned toLondon, with some exceptions, who joined their ghostly father, Garnet,in a pious pilgrimage to Saint Winifred's Well, better known asHolywell, in Flintshire. The party numbered about thirty, and comprisedLady Digby, two daughters of Lord Vaux, Rookwood, and his wife. ThomasWinter wrote to Grant that "friends" would reach Norbrook on the secondor third of September, begging him to "void his house of Morgan and hisshe-mate," as otherwise it "would hardly bear all the company." Theroute taken was from Goathurst, the home and inheritance of Lady Digby,by Daventry, Norbrook, the residence of Grant, Huddington, the house ofRobert Winter, and Shrewsbury, to Holt, in Flintshire. In some uneasynightmare during that pilgrimage, did a faint prescience of that whichwas to come ever flit before the eyes of Ambrose Rookwood, as to thecircumstances wherein he should journey that road again? From Holt theladies walked barefoot to the "holy well," which, according totradition, had sprung up on the place where Saint Winifred's head hadrolled on being cut off: they remained at the well for the night. Theyreturned the same way, mass being said by Garnet at Huddington andNorbrook. It is difficult to believe that those who went on thispilgrimage could be wholly innocent of "intention" respecting the plotso soon to be executed.
Fawkes arrived from abroad on the first of September, staying the firstnight at an inn outside Aldgate. The next day, he went down to theTower Wharf, hailed a boat, and was ferried to Westminster, where, underhis alias of John Johnson, and Percy's servant, he relieved Mrs Gibbonsof her charge, took possession of his master's house, and of the cellarwhere was stored his master's stock of winter fuel. A carefulexamination of the door of the vault showed that it had not beentampered with during the absence of the conspirators.
Winter now returned to London, taking up his abode in his old quartersat the Duck, where Keyes, Rookwood, and Christopher Wright, hadapartments also. Catesby and Percy did not return till later. Thelatter had gone to Bath, where he found Lord Monteagle; and the two sentto Catesby, entreating "the dear Robin" to join them. Catesby obeyed,and came.
The Bath, as it was then usual to call the ancient city of hot springs,was a very different town from that which we now know. Like all ofRoman origin, its design was cruciform, with four gates, and as usual achurch at every gate. The only one of these churches now standing--andthat has been rebuilt--is Saint James's, at South Gate. The modernfashionable part of Bath, including Milsom Street, the Circus, and theCrescent, lies outside the walls of the ancient Aqua Solis.
Mr Catesby found his friends in Cheap Street, which ran from StawlesChurch, in the midst of the city, to East Gate, Here he vegetated for aweek, resting after his toil, and applying himself to the business whichhad apparently brought him, by diligent attendance at the King's Bath,on the site of the present Pump-room. Here, at this time, ladies andgentlemen, in elaborate costumes and adorned by wonderful hair-dressing,bathed together under the eyes of the public, which contributed itsquota of amusement and interest by pelting the bathers with dead dogs,cats, and pigs--a state of things not considered disgusting, butlaughable.
On the morning after the arrival of Catesby, he and Percy went down tothe East Gate, hailed a boat, which ferried them across the Avon, whereLaura Place now stands, and leaving Bathwick Mill on the left hand, theybegan to ascend the hill on whose summit once stood the yet olderBritish city of Caer Badon.
"Mr Percy," said Catesby, as they walked slowly upwards, "since I havetarried here, I have had some time for thought; and I can tell you, I amnigh beat out of heart touching our matter."
"You, Mr Catesby! Truly, I never thought to see you struck into yourdumps. But what now, I beseech you?"
Gentlemen did not, at that time, speak to eac
h other without therespectful prefix of "Mister," though they might now and then speak ofan acquaintance without it. When intimacy was so great as to warrantlaying it aside, the Christian name took its place.
"Well, look you here," said Catesby. "We are all men of birth, but notone of us is a man of money. You, 'tis true, have my LordNorthumberland behind you, but how long time may he tarry? Were he todie, or to take pepper in the nose, where then are we? All is naughtwith us at once, being all but mean men of estate."
"My cousin of Northumberland is not like to play that prank, or I err,"answered Percy, who well knew that Lord Northumberland was not in allcases cognisant of the use made of his name by this very worthy cousin:"as to death, of course that may hap,--we are all prone to be tumbledout of the world at short notice. But what then is your project? forwithout you have some motion in your mind, good Mr Catesby, I read younot aright."
"To be sure I have," said Catesby with a smile. "But first--if Iremember rightly, your friend young Louvaine is not he that can aid usin this juncture?"
"Hasn't a penny to bless himself with," replied Percy, "save his wagefrom my Lord Oxford, and that were but a drop in the sea for us. Hisold grandmother can do but little for him--so much have I picked out ofhis prattle. But, surely, Mr Catesby, you would not think to take intoour number a green lad such as he, and a simpleton, and a Protestant toboot?"
"Take into our number!" cried Catesby. "Good Mr Percy, you miss thecushion [make a mistake]. A good tale, well tinkered, should serve thatcompanion, and draw silver from his pockets any day. What we lack istwo or three men of good estate, and of fit conditions and discreetyears, that may safely be sworn--and I think I know where to find them."
"I'll lay my crown to pawn you do!" exclaimed Percy admiringly. "Prayyou, who be they?"
"Sir Everard Digby, of Tilton, in Rutland; and my cousin, Frank Treshamof Rushton."
"Good men and true? Both are strange to me."
"Ay; Digby is a staunch Catholic, but may lack some persuasion to joinus. Tresham--well, I count he may be trusted. His money-bags be heavy,though his character is but light. I will make certain that he will notblab nor tattle--that is the thing most to be feared. Know you notFrank Tresham?--my cousin, and my Lord Monteagle's wife's brother."
"Oh ay! I have met him," said Percy. "I wist not it was he you meant."
"I had hope once that Mr Fawkes should bring grist to our mill," saidGatesby, thoughtfully: "but I see that is but a Will-o'-the-Wisp."
"Mr Fawkes? Oh no! His father was but a younger son--Mr EdwardFawkes of Farnley, a notary at York, and Registrar of the ConsistoryCourt there. He left him but a farm of some thirty pound by the year,and Guy ran through it like a herring through the water. The only hopeby his means would be the borrowing of money from his step-father, MrFoster, and methinks he hath a larger heart than purse."
They walked on for a few minutes in silence, when Percy said, "How willyou get hold of these men?"
"Send Tom Winter to Sir Everard, and I will tackle Tresham. Then, whenI return, will we go forth with the mine."
"Done!" said Percy.
And the pair of conspirators came down the hill.
Instead of returning direct to London, Catesby went to visit RobertWinter at Huddington, Percy going to his own house at the upper end ofHolborn. Catesby remained for three days with Robert Winter, whom heinduced to send for Stephen Littleton of Holbeach and his cousinHumphrey Littleton. These gentlemen were not, however, initiated intothe plot, but only desired to lend their assistance to "a matter ofweight, and for the especial good of all Catholics."
The Christmas holidays being over, the mining was resumed, theconspirators having now added to their number Francis Tresham and SirEverard Digby. It was not done without some difficulty. The oath wasadministered to both; but when they learned to what they had boundthemselves, they recoiled in horror. Sir Everard was disposed of withcomparative ease. His own good sense led him to demur, but no soonerwas he told that three priests had approved of the scheme than, as induty bound, the poor weak creature laid his good sense aside, told hisconscience to be quiet, and united cordially and thoroughly in theproject, finding horses, arms, and money, to the amount of 1500 pounds.If the Church approved, "the prerogative of the laity was to listen andto obey." Francis Tresham proved less pliable. He at once inquired ifthe Roman Catholic peers were to be warned, so as to keep away fromParliament on the doomed day.
"Generally, only," said Catesby. "We have let them understand thatstrict laws are to be passed against the Catholics, which they cannotprevent, and therefore they had best tarry away."
"My Lord Arundel, though he be not of age, is very desirous to bepresent," said Percy.
"My Lord Montague, on the contrary part, would fain be thence," returnedCatesby, "and I have told him he can do no good there."
"I asked my Lord Mordaunt if he meant to come," said Winter, laughing,"and quoth he, `Nay, for I was too much disgusted at the former session,being forced to sit there with my robes on, all the time the King was inchurch.'" [Note 1.]
"But surely," cried Tresham, looking from one to another, "you will takesome further means to save our brethren than only these? Mr Percy, younever will suffer your cousin the Earl of Northumberland to perish?"
"Indeed, Mr Tresham, I should be loth so to do, because I am bounden tohim."
"Gentlemen," said the voice of Fawkes, who had hitherto been silent inthe conclave, "what we must principally respect is our own safety, andwe will pray for the Catholic Lords."
"And how shall we set ourselves right with the Catholic commons?"demanded Keyes.
"Oh, we will satisfy the Catholics at large that the act is done for therestitution of religion," answered Catesby; "and the heretics, that itwas to prevent the Union sought to be established at this Parliament."
"Sirs, I cannot brook this!" Tresham broke in eagerly. "My LordsMonteagle and Stourton, as you know, have wedded my sisters. I imploreyou to warn them: at the least, I do beseech you, save my LordMonteagle!"
"What, to tell him what shall hap?" cried Catesby. "Never!"
"Impossible, Mr Tresham!" replied Percy. "I regret it as much as you."
"They _shall_ be warned!" cried Tresham vehemently.
"Remember your oath!" answered Catesby sternly.
"I shall not forget it. But something must be done to save my LordMonteagle. I am beholden to him, and I love him dear."
"Well, well!" suggested Winter, making an endeavour to cast oil upon thetroubled waters, "can you not be earnest with him to do something onthat day, which shall carry him out of the way?"
"I am afraid not!" said Tresham, shaking his head. "He will reckon ithis duty to be there, or I err."
"Time enough betwixt now and October," said Fawkes.
"Ay, time enough, indeed," echoed Winter. "My Lord Monteagle may beabroad, or what not, when the Parliament opens. Pray you, Mr Tresham,trouble not yourself. I doubt not all shall go well."
Tresham murmured something to the effect that things left to drift asthey would did not invariably drift into the right harbour: but hedropped the topic for the moment.
Hitherto the secret meetings of the conspirators had been in the housebeyond Clement's Inn: but it was now deemed necessary to have a moresecluded and secure retreat.
In the forest depths of Enfield Chase was an old hunting-lodge, namedWhite Webbs, never used except occasionally by sportsmen. This wasselected as a non-suspicious place of meeting. The conspirators werenow nearly ready: a few days would make them quite so. Satan was alsoready, and probably required no time for preparation. And God was readytoo.
They met at White Webbs on the 21st of September, just a fortnightbefore the day appointed for the meeting of Parliament: Catesby, theWinters, the Wrights, Digby, Keyes, Grant, and Bates. Tresham was notthere; he had ceased to attend the meetings, and said, if Lord Monteagleat least might not be saved he would neither find the money he hadpromised, nor assist any fur
ther with the plot.
They had not sat many minutes, when Percy and Fawkes joined them, theformer impetuous person being in an evident state of suppressedexcitement, while the latter very cool individual showed no trace ofemotion.
"Now, what think you?" cried Percy. "The Parliament is prorogued yetagain."
"Sure, they have never wind of our project?" suggested one of thebrothers Wright.
"Till when?" demanded Catesby, knitting his brows.
"For another month--till the fifth of November."
Catesby pondered for a moment in silence.
"Is there any stir thereabouts?--any search made of the house or thevault?"
"No--no semblance thereof."
"Then I think they have not got wind of it. But if so--Mr Fawkes, isall the powder now in the cellar?"
"No, Mr Catesby; there are five or six barrels to come, which I meantto move thither on Monday night next."
"Wait a little. You had best make sure that all is safe. Tarry foranother fortnight, and move them then. Is this not your minds,gentlemen?"
The rest of the group, as usual, deferred to their leader.
There was now another point requiring discussion, and it was introducedby Catesby.
"'Tis time, methinks, gentlemen, that we took thought on a questionwhereof we have not yet spoken. After the thing you wot of is done,what then shall follow? If not the King alone be present there, but theQueen also, and maybe the Prince--"
"If they be, we will not save them," interjected Fawkes.
"We need not," coolly responded Catesby: "but if all be gone, who thenshall be published or elected king?"
"Why, we have never entered into that consideration," said Grant,dubiously.
"Had we not best enter into it? Our plans must be ready at once, whenthe time comes, not all hanging betwixt the eyelids." [i.e. inuncertainty.]
"The Queen and Prince are safe to be there," said Percy. "And in anycase, the Prince were best away; for if all be true that is said, or thehalf thereof, he were like to do us more mischief than his father. Heis not of the King's humour, but more like old Bess--hath a will of hisown, and was bred up strictly Protestant."
"Bad, that!" said Catesby. "Then the Prince must go."
"'Tis pity, though," observed Robert Winter. "A bright little lad."
Catesby laughed scornfully. "Come now, Robin, no sensibility[susceptibility, sentimentality], I beg! We cannot afford to bepunctual [particular] in this affair. There are bright lads by thedozen everywhere, as cheap as blackberries. Now, what of the littleDuke?"
The man who spoke thus was himself the father of two boys.
"He'll not be much of aught at five years old," said Winter. "MrPercy, you were the most like of any of us to win him into your hands."
Percy, as one of the band of gentleman pensioners, whose duty it was towait on the King, had opportunities of access to the little Prince,beyond any of his accomplices.
"I will undertake that," said Percy eagerly.
"Do we concur, then, to elect him King?" asked Catesby.
"Hold, good gentlemen! by your leave, we go something too fast," saidFawkes. "How if Mr Percy be unable--as may be--to win Duke Charlesinto his hands?"
"Why, then comes the Lady Elizabeth," said Winter.
"What say you to the only English-born of the royal issue--the LadyMary? She, at least, is uninfect with heresy."
There was a laugh at this suggestion: for the Princess Mary was notquite five months old.
"Very well, if we could win her," answered Catesby: "but she would behard to come by. No--the one easiest had, and as likely as any to serveour turn, is the young lady at Combe. Let the memory of Elizabeth theheretic, so dear to the hearts of Englishmen, be extinguished in thebrighter glories of Elizabeth the Catholic. Bring her up in theCatholic faith, and wed her to a Catholic Prince, and I will lay minehead to pawn that she shall make a right royal queen, and the star ofEngland's glory shall suffer no tarnish in her hands. I have seen thelittle maid, and a bright, brave, bonnie lass she is."
"How old?" asked Robert Winter.
"Nine years. Just the right age. Old enough to queen it, and take apleasure therein; and not old enough to have drunk in much heresy--nomore than Fathers Garnet and Gerard can soon distil out again."
"Nay! Too old, Mr Catesby," said Thomas Winter. "At five years, thelittle Duke might be so: but not his sister at nine. She'll havelearned heresy enough by then; and women are more perverse than men.They ever hold error tighter, and truth likewise."
"Well, have the little Duke, if you can win him," replied Catesby. "Idoubt thereof."
"Trust me for that," cried Percy.
"I'll trust you to break your neck in the attempt," said Catesby with agrim smile.
"But how look you to secure the Lady Elizabeth? My Lord Harrington's anold fox, and none so easy to beguile. He shall smell a rat, be sure,before you have half your words out, and then you may whistle for therest of your hopes--and are like enough to do it in the Fleet orNewgate."
"Kit Wright," said Percy, addressing the last speaker, who was hiswife's brother, "all the wit in the world is sure not in thine head.Thinkest we shall march up to the door at Combe, and sweetly demand ofmy Lord Harrington that he give us up the Lady Elizabeth? Why, man, wemust compass the matter that he shall wit nought till all be done."
"You might make a hunting-party," suggested Fawkes.
"Say you so, Mr Fawkes? You have eyes in your head. We'll send SirEverard Digby down to see to that business."
"How went your business, Mr Catesby?" asked Grant.
"Why, right well, Mr Grant. I gathered together a goodly number offriends to assist the Archduke Albert in Flanders: bought horses, andlaid in powder. All shall be ready when the Archduke hath need ofthem."
The laugh went round.
"That was a jolly fantasy of yours, to levy troops for the Archduke,"said Robert Winter. "Truly, these heretics are easy to beguile. Notone, methinks, hath the least suspicion."
"It were soon up with us if they had," added his brother.
"Look out for yourself, Tom, and smoke not too many pipes with externs,"responded Robert. "That young Louvaine that you affect--I scarce trusthim."
"That affects me, you mean. Trust him! I never do. He's only asimpleton at best."
"Have you never heard of simpletons carrying tidings?" said Fawkes."Mind you drop not any chance words, Mr Winter, that might domischief."
"Let me alone for that," was the answer.
"Gentlemen," said Catesby, who had been in a brown study for someminutes, "methinks Mr Fawkes's proposal to seize the Lady Elizabethunder cover of a hunting-party is good. Sir Everard, will you undertakethis?"
"Willingly. Where must they be gathered?"
"Gather them at Dunchurch," said Catesby, "for a hunt on Dunsmoor Heath,and for the day of the Parliament's meeting: you shall have notice ofthe blow struck, as quick as a horseman can reach you. As soon as youhear it, then away to Combe, and carry off the young lady to my mother'sat Ashby. Proclaim her Queen, and bring her next day to London,proclaiming her in all the towns on your way."
"May there not be some awkwardness in the matter, if her brothers bealive?" suggested the most cautious of the party, Robert Winter.
"Pooh!" ejaculated the impetuous Percy. "`Nothing venture, nothinghave.'"
"`Faint heart never won fair lady' were more pertinent to the occasion,"said Thomas Winter, raising a general laugh.
"We must see to that," grimly responded Catesby.
The conspirators then separated. Sir Everard Digby set out forWarwickshire, Percy went to see Lord Northumberland at Syon, Keyesreturned to Lambeth, and Fawkes resumed his duties at the house on theriverbank. Mr Marshall, on his way to call at the White Bear littleguessed that the apparently respectable, busy man-servant in bluecamlet, who met him as he went down King Street, was engaged in an evilwork which would hand down his name to everlasting infamy.
Mr
s Abbott was standing at her door as he went past.
"Well to be sure! so 'tis you, Parson? How's Mrs Agnes this even? Ireckoned I saw her t'other day, a-passing through the Strand, but shesaw not me--in a green perpetuance gown, and a black camlet hood. Itrust it'll wear better than mine, for if ever a camlet was no worth,'tis that Dear heart, the roguery of wool-drapers, and mercers beside!I do hope Master Floriszoon 'll not learn none of their tricks. If Isee my Lady Lettice this next day or twain, I'll drop a word to her.Don't you think she's looking a bit pale and poorly this last week orso? But mayhap you have not seen her, not of late."
"I have not, but I am now on my way," answered Mr Marshall, turninginto the White Bear, in the hope of escaping Silence's tongue. It wasthe first word he had been able to cast into the stream she pouredforth.
"Well, maybe you'll drop a word to her touching Master Floriszoon? Dearheart, what queer names them foreign folks do get! I never could abideno foreigners, and if I--Bless us, the man's off--there's no having aword with him. I say, Charity, I don't believe them eggs you had ofthat--"
"You'll excuse me, Mistress Abbott, but I've no time to waste i' talk.`The talk of the lips tendeth only to penury,'--and if you'll go in andlook for that i' th' Good Book, it'll happen do you a bit o' good--morethan talking. Good even."
And Charity shut the door uncompromisingly.
Mr Marshall was too much at home in the White Bear to needannouncement. He tapped softly at the parlour door, and opened it."Mrs Gertrude, I don't care who saith it! it's a wicked heresy!" werethe first words he heard, in the blunt tones of Temperance Murthwaite."And it's not true to say we Puritans teach any such thing. It's acalumny and a heresy both.--Mr Marshall, I'm fain to see you. Do, prayyou, tell this young gentlewoman we hold not that if a man but believein the merits of Christ, he may live as he list, and look for Heaven inthe end. 'Tis a calumny, I say--a wicked calumny!"
"A calumny as old as the Apostle James, Mrs Murthwaite," answered MrMarshall, as he turned from greeting Lady Louvaine. "Some in those dayshad, it should seem, been abusing Paul's doctrine of justification byfaith, and said that a man need but believe, and not live accordingthereto."
"Why, Mr Marshall, I have heard you to say a man may believe and besaved!" cried Gertrude, who sat on a velvet-covered stool beside LadyLouvaine, having run in from the next door without hood or scarf.
"That I doubt not, Mrs Gertrude, and yet may, since you have heardPaul, and John, and the Lord Himself, to say it in the Word. But,believe what? Believe that a man once lived whose name was Jesus, andwho was marvellous good, and wrought many great works? That faith shallnot save you,--no more than believing in King James's Majesty should.It is a living faith you must have, and that is a dead."
"Mr Marshall, I thought Puritans made much of the doctrine of imputedrighteousness?"
"You thought truth, Mrs Gertrude."
"Well, but what is that save believing that Christ hath wrought allgoodness for me, and I need not work any goodness for mine ownsalvation? Look you, there is no need, if all be done."
"No need of what? No need that you should attempt to do what you nevercan do, or no need that you should show your love to Him that did it foryou at the cost of His own life?"
"Well!" said Gertrude in a slow, deprecating tone, "but--"
"Mrs Gertrude, you mix up two things which be utterly separate, andwhich cannot mix, no more than oil and water. The man whom Christ hathsaved, it is most true, hath no need to save himself. But hath he noneed to save others? hath he no need to honour Christ? hath he no needto show forth to angels and to men his unity with Christ, the oneness ofhis will with His, the love wherewith Christ's love constraineth him?You mix up justification and sanctification, as though they were butone. Justification is the washing of the soul from sin; sanctificationis the dressing of the soul for Heaven. Sanctification is not a thingyou do for God; 'tis a thing God doth in you. There is need for it, notthat it should justify you before His tribunal, but that it should makeyou meet for His presence-chamber. It were not fit that you shouldenter the King's presence, though cleansed, yet dressed in your oldsoiled clothes. But you make a third minglement of things separate,when you bring in imputed righteousness. The righteousness of Christimputed unto us justifieth us before the bar of God. It payeth ourdebt, it washeth our stains, it unlocketh our fetters. But this is notsanctification. Justification was wrought by Christ for us;sanctification is wrought by the Holy Ghost in us. Justification wascompleted on Calvary; sanctification is not finished so long as we be inthis life, Justification is quick and lively; the moment my faithtoucheth the work of Christ for me, that moment am I fully justified,and for ever. Sanctification is slow, and groweth like a plant. I amas entirely justified as I ever shall be, but I am not as sanctified asI ever shall be. I look to be more and more sanctified--`to grow upunto Him in all things,' to be like Him, to be purified even as He ispure. I pray you make no mingle-mangle of things that do so differ inthemselves, though 'tis true they come all of one source--the union andthe unity of Christ and the believer."
Gertrude was yawning behind her hand before the clergyman was halfthrough his explanation.
"I thank you, Mr Marshall," said Temperance, who had listenedattentively. "Methinks I had some apprehension of the difference inmyself, but I could not have expounded it thus clearly."
"To know it in yourself, my sister, is a far greater thing, and abetter, than being able to expound it.--And how is it with you, LadyLettice?"
"Well, Mr Marshall," she said with her soft smile. "At times I thinkthat a few more pins of the tabernacle are taken down, and then thepassing wind causeth the curtains to shake. But at worst it shall beonly the moving of the pillar of cloud--the `Come up higher' into thevery presence of the King."
"And in the interim `the Lord sitteth between the cherubim, be thepeople never so unquiet.' And how is it, dear Sister, with your twoyoung men?"
Lady Louvaine paused to accept Gertrude's offered hand and bid hergood-night. That young woman did not enjoy Mr Marshall's conversation,and suddenly discovered that it was time for her return home.
"Hans is all I could desire," said the old lady, returning to thesubject: "he is a dear, good, sober-minded lad as need be. But I willnot disguise from you, Mr Marshall, that I am in some disease of mindtouching Aubrey."
"May I ask wherefore?"
"You may ask, indeed, yet can I scarce tell. That is no wise-soundingthing to say: yet one may have cause for fear where he hath no evidencefor demonstration."
"He may so, indeed. Then you reckon there is good cause for fear?"
"Mr Marshall, you told us some time back that our neighbour MrRookwood was brother to a Papist. Know you aught of a friend of his,one Mr Winter, that is in London at times, and hath his lodging in theStrand?"
"A friend of this Mr Rookwood, your neighbour?"
"I reckon so. At least, a friend of his son."
"Sons do at times make friends apart from their fathers," said MrMarshall with a smile. "I cannot say, Lady Lettice, that the name isquite unknown to me; yet cannot I, like you, lay a finger on any specialthing I may have heard thereabout."
"What were the other names, Edith? I cannot call them to mind."
"Mr Catesby, Mother, and Mr Percy, and Mr Darcy: those, I think, werewhat Aubrey told us."
"Mr Percy!--what Percy is he?"
"I know not: some kin to my Lord Northumberland."
"Where dwells he?"
"That know I not."
"At the Green Dragon in Upper Holborn, in Saint Giles's parish," saidanother voice.
"Ha!" echoed Mr Marshall, turning to his new informant. "A recusant,Madam, and a dangerous fellow. And if this Mr Catesby you name be MrRobert Catesby of Ashby Ledgers, he also is a recusant, and if I knowhim, a worser man than the other."
"Hans, art thou sure of this Mr Percy?--that he whom Aubrey wist is thesame man of whom Mr Marshall speaks?"
"I have seen Aubrey leave hi
s house, Madam."
Lady Louvaine looked very uneasy.
"And Mr Darcy?" said Edith.
"Him I know not," answered Mr Marshall: which was not surprising, sincehe knew him only as Mr Walley.
"Hans, how much dost thou know?"
Hans knelt down by the large cushioned chair, and kissed the thin,blue-veined hand.
"Dear Lady Lettice, I know very little: and Aubrey would account me asneak and a spy, were I to tell you what I do know. But I would notcare for that if it might save him."
"I do hope Mr Louvaine is not drawn in among them," said Mr Marshall,thoughtfully.
"They have been away of late," replied Hans, "and he hath not been thereso often."
"Are they away now?"
"No, lately returned."
"I would I could win Aubrey for a talk," said Edith.
"Shall I call at my Lord Oxford's and leave a message that you wouldhave him call here?"
"Truly, Mr Marshall, you should do me a great kindness."
"Then I so will. Good-night."
Aubrey was playing billiards with his young master and several of theyounger gentlemen of his household, when he was told that Mr Marshallrequested a word with him. The information alarmed him, for he thoughtit meant bad news. Having obtained the young Earl's leave to go andascertain why he was wanted, Aubrey ran hastily down the stairs, andfound Mr Marshall awaiting him in the hall.
"Good even, Mr Louvaine," said he, rising: "I had the honour thisevening to wait on my Lady your grandmother, and was desired to drop aword to you as I went home, to the effect that your friends have a mindto speak with you on some matter of import. Her Ladyship bids you, thefirst opportunity you can make, to visit the White Bear."
"I will do so," said Aubrey, recovering from his alarm. "I cry youmercy for my short greeting, but truly I was afraid, not knowing if youhad ill news for me."
"That I have not at this time, God be thanked! Yet if I may, I wouldfain ask you, Mr Louvaine, whether some time hath not run since you sawyour friends in King Street?"
"Oh no! not very long--at least not more than common--only about--"Aubrey hesitated and flushed, as he realised that it was now the middleof October, and his last visit had been paid early in June. "You see,Sir, I am close tied by my duties here," he added in haste.
"So close tied that you may not even be away for an hour? Well, youknow your own duty; do it, and all shall be well. But I would beseechyou not to neglect this call any longer than till your earliestopportunity shall give leave."
Mr Marshall bowed, and with an official "May God bless you!" passed outof the hall door. Aubrey returned to his urgent duties in thebilliard-room.
"Who is your visitor, Louvaine?" asked the youthful Earl.
"If it please your Lordship, 'tis but a messenger from my grandmother."
"What would the ancient dame?" inquired one of the irreverent younggentlemen-in-waiting.
"She would have me go and wait on her: what else I know not. I shallfind out, I reckon, when I go."
"When saw you her Ladyship, Mr Louvaine?" said an unexpected voicebehind him, and Aubrey turned to meet the Countess.
"Madam, in June last, under your Ladyship's pleasure."
"It scarcely is to my pleasure. Son Henry, cannot you allow this younggentlemen to visit his friends more often?"
"Under your leave, Madam, he can visit them every day if he will. Itarry him not."
"Then how comes it, Mr Louvaine, that you have not waited on my LadyLettice for four months?"
Aubrey mentally wished Mr Marshall in America, and himself anywhere butin Oxford House. There was no escape. The wise Countess added nounnecessary words to help him out, but having put her question in plainterms, quietly awaited his reply. He muttered something not veryintelligible, in which "business" was the chiefly audible word.
"Methinks your duty to your mother and Lady Lettice should be your firstbusiness after God," said the Countess gravely. "I pray you, MrLouvaine, that you wait on her Ladyship to-morrow even. The Earl willgive you leave."
Aubrey bowed, and as the Countess took her departure, for she had merelypaused in passing through the room, gave a vicious blow to the nearestbilliard ball.
"You are in for it now, Louvaine!" said his next neighbour.
"Poor lad! will his gra'mmer beat him?" suggested another in mockcompassion.
"He's been stealing apples, and the parson has told of him," added athird.
"Will you hold your stupid tongues?" said Aubrey, stung beyondendurance.
"Take a pinch of sneezing tobago," said one of his companions, holdingout his snuff-box. "Never mind it, lad! put on a bold face, and useruffling language, and you'll get over this brunt."
Aubrey flung down his cue and escaped, pursued by his companions'laughter.
"We were somewhere near the truth," said the young Earl.
"He looks for a scolding, take my word for it."
Very like it Aubrey felt, as he went down King Street on the followingevening. He, too, met a man, not in blue camlet, but in a porter'sfrock, trundling a truck with two or three barrels on it, in whom he didnot in the least recognise the dark, tall stranger to whom he had notbeen introduced in Catesby's rooms. He received a warm welcome at theWhite Bear.
"Aubrey, hast thou of late seen thine acquaintance Mr Percy?"
"Not since his return out of the country, Madam."
He had seen Winter, but he did not think it necessary to mention it.
"Nor Mr Catesby?"
"Nay, save to meet him in the street, Madam."
"My son, should it give thee great compunction [grief, annoyance] if Ibade thee have no more ado with either of these gentlemen?"
"What mean you, Madam?"
"I mean not that if thou meet them in the street thou shalt not givethem greeting; but no more to visit them in their lodgings. My boy, MrPercy is a Popish recusant, and there is much fear of Mr Catesbylikewise."
"Not all recusants are bad men, I hope," answered Aubrey evasively, asif he were unwilling to respond by a direct promise to that effect.
"I hope likewise: but some are, as we know. And when innocent men bedrawn in with bad men, 'tis often found that the bad slip forth unhurt,and leave the innocent to abide the hazard. Promise me, Aubrey, thatthou wilt haunt [visit] these men's company no longer."
"Truly, Madam, I know not what I should say to my friends. Bethink youalso, I pray, that I am of age."
"Of what age?" demanded his Aunt Temperance in her usual style. "Not ofthe age of discretion, I being witness."
"Of the age at which a man commonly takes care of himself," answeredAubrey, loftily.
"`Bate me an ace, quoth Bolton.' At the age at which a man commonlytakes no care of himself, nor of any other belike. Nor you are not thewisest man of your age in this world, my master: don't go for to thinkit. You don't need to look at me in that way, my fine young gentleman:you'll not get sugar-plums from Temperance Murthwaite when you needrhubarb."
"I know that, Aunt Temperance," said Aubrey, trying to laugh.
"And you may as well open your mouth and take your physic with a goodgrace. If not, there'll be another dose to follow."
"What?" demanded Aubrey with drawn brows, and a flash in his eyes.
"`Three can keep a secret if twain be away,'" was the enigmaticalanswer. "Now then, answer Lady Lettice."
"He has no mind to promise--that can I see," said Lady Louvaine,sorrowfully.
"He shall, afore he go," was the cool reply of Temperance.
"Aunt Temperance, I am not a babe!" exclaimed Aubrey rather angrily.
"That you are, and in sore need of leading-strings."
"Aubrey here?" asked his mother, coming in. "Well now, I do think oneof you might have told me. But you never think of me. Why, Aubrey, itmust be six months since we saw you!"
"Four, Mother, under your pleasure."
"I am sure 'tis six. Why come you no oftener?"
"I have my duties," s
aid Aubrey in a rather constrained voice.
"Closer than to thy mother, my boy?" asked Edith softly.
"Prithee harry not him," retorted Aunt Temperance. "Hast thou notheard, he hath his duties? To hold skeins of silk whilst my Lady windsthem, maybe, and to ride the great horse, and play tennis andshuttlecock with his Lord, and to make up his mind to which of all hisLady's damsels he'll make love o' the lightest make."
"Aubrey, I do hope you are ne'er thinking of marriage!" said hismother's querulous voice. "Thou shouldst be put out of thine office,most like, and not a penny to keep her, and she saddled upon us that--"
"That'll kick and throw her, as like as not," said Aunt Temperance byway of interjection.
"I ensure you, Mother, I have no expectations of the kind. 'Tis butAunt Temperance that--that--"
"That sometimes hits the white, Sir, if she do now and then shoot asideo' the mark. Howbeit, hold thou there. And if thou want leave to carryon thine acquaintance with these gentlemen, bring them to see us. I'lllay mine head to an orange I see in ten minutes if they be true men orno."
"What business have they?" asked Edith.
Aubrey hesitated. He knew of none except Garnet's pretended professionof horse-dealing.
"Is there any woman amongst them?" said Temperance.
"I never saw one."
"Not even at Mr Percy's house?"
"I went there but once, to ask for him. I have heard that he hath awife, but she lives very privately, and teaches children. He dwellethnot with her, but hath his lodging at my Lord Northumberland's. I neversaw her."
"That's an ill hearing. 'Tis meet for men to come together bythemselves for business: but to dwell in their own homes, and never awoman with them, wife, mother, sister, nor daughter,--that meansmischief, lad. It means some business of an evil sort, that they don'twant a woman to see through. If there had been one, I went about tosay, take me with thee some even to visit her. I'd have known all aboutit under an hour, trust me."
"You should have seen nought, Aunt."
"Tell that to the cowcumbers. You see nought, very like."
Lady Louvaine laid her hand on her grandson's.
"Aubrey, promise me at least this: that for a month to come thou wiltnot visit any of these gentlemen."
After an instant's pause, Aubrey replied, "Very well, Madam; I am readyto promise that."
"That's not much to promise," commented Temperance.
"It is enough," said Lady Louvaine, quietly.
An hour later, when Aubrey was gone, Faith asked rather complaininglywhat had induced Lady Louvaine to limit the promise to a month.
"I cannot tell thee, Faith," was the answer. "Something seemed towhisper within me that if the lad would promise that, he would be safe.It may be no more than an old woman's fantasy; and even so, no harm isdone. Or it might be that God spake to me--and if thus, let us obey Hisvoice. He knows what He will do, and what men will do."
"I've as great a mind as ever I had to eat--"
"What to do, Temperance?"
"Get to see those fellows, somehow."
"Wait the month, Temperance," suggested Edith, quietly.
"Wait! you're always for waiting. I want to work."
"Waiting is often the hardest work," said Edith.
The middle of the month was nearly come. The six last barrels of powderwere in the vault; the whole thirty-six were covered with stones andiron bars: Gideon Gibbons, the porter, was delivering at the door threethousand billets and five hundred faggots of wood and another man in aporter's frock was stacking the wood in the vault.
"There, that's the last lot!" said Gibbons, throwing in a packet oftied-up billets. "Count right, Johnson?"
"All right, Gibbons."
"Your master likes a good fire, I should say," observed Gibbons, with agrin of amusement, as he looked into the vault. "There's fuel there tolast most folks a couple of winters."
"Ay, he doth so: he's a northern man, you see--comes from wheresea-coal's cheaper than here, and they are wont to pile their firesbig."
"Shouldn't ha' thought them billets wouldn't hardly ha' taken all thatthere room," said Gibbons, looking into the vault, while he scratchedhis head with one hand, and hitched up his porter's frock to put theother in his pocket.
"Oh, I didn't stack 'em so tight," said Mr Percy's man, carelessly,tying up a bit of string which he picked from the floor.
"Ah! well, but tight or loose, shouldn't hardly ha' thought it. Mastercoming soon, eh?"
"Haven't heard what day. Afore long, very like."
"Has he e'er a wife that he'll bring?"
"She's in the country," said the disguised man-servant, who knew thatshe was then at the Green Dragon, teaching sundry little girls themysteries of felling and whipping cambric.
"Well, 'tis dry work. Come and have a pint at the Maid's Head."
"No, thank you, I don't care for it. There's a penny for yours."
As this was the price of a quart of the best ale, Mr Gibbons pocketedthe penny with satisfaction, and forbore to remark censoriously on whathe deemed the very singular taste of Mr Percy's man. He shambledawkwardly off with his waggon, meaning first to put up his horses, andthen go and expend his penny in the beverage wherein his soul delighted.His companion gave a low laugh as he turned the key in the door of thecellar.
"No, thank you, Gideon Gibbons," said he to himself. "It may suit youto sit boozing at the Maid's Head, telling all you know and guessingmuch that you don't: here's wishing your early muddlement before you geton the subject of this wood! But it won't do for Guy Fawkes, my finefellow!"
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Note 1. Lord Mordaunt was a trimmer, afraid of being known to be aPapist, and, like most half-hearted people, a great sufferer from thestruggle between the conscience and the flesh.