CHAPTER VIII
I
The warning which she had had with regard to her friends, and which shewrote on to them at once, received its fulfilment within a very fewweeks. Mr. John, who was on the eve of departure for London again toserve his brother there, who was back again in the Fleet by now, wrotethat he knew very well that they were all under suspicion, that he hadsent on to his son the message she had given, but that he hoped theywould yet weather the storm.
"And as to yourself, Mistress Marjorie," he wrote, "this makes it allthe more necessary that Booth's Edge should not be suspected; for whatwill our men do if Padley be closed to them? You have heard of ourfriend Mr. Garlick's capture? But that was no fault of yours. The manwas warned. I hear that they will send him into banishment, only, thistime."
* * * * *
The news came to her as she sat in the garden over her needlework on ahot evening in June. There it was as cool as anywhere in thecountryside. She sat at the top of the garden, where her mother and shehad sat with Robin so long before; the breeze that came over the moorbore with it the scent of the heather; and the bees were busy in thegarden flowers about her.
It was first the gallop of a horse that she heard; and even at thatsound she laid down her work and stood up. But the house below herblocked the most of her view; and she sat down again when she heard thedull rattle of the hoofs die away again. When she next looked up a manwas running towards her from the bottom of the garden, and Janet waspeeping behind him from the gate into the court. As she again stood up,she saw that it was Dick Sampson.
He was so out of breath, first with his ride and next with his run upthe steep path, that for a moment or two he could not speak. He wasdusty, too, from foot to knee; his cap was awry and his collarunbuttoned.
"It is Mr. Thomas, mistress," he gasped presently. "I was in Derby andsaw him being taken to the gaol.... I could not get speech with him....I rode straight up to Padley, and found none there but the servants, andthem knowing nothing of the matter. And so I rode on here, mistress."
He was plainly all aghast at the blow. Hitherto it had been enough thatSir Thomas was in ward for his religion; and to this they had becomeaccustomed. But that the heir should be taken, too, and that without ahint of what was to happen, was wholly unexpected. She made him sitdown, and presently drew from him the whole tale.
Mr. Anthony Babington, his master, was away to London again, leaving thehouse in Derby in the hands of the servants. He then--Dick Sampson--wasriding out early to take a horse to be shoed, and had come back throughthe town-square, when he saw the group ride up to the gaol door near theFriar Gate. He, too, had ridden up to ask what was forward, and had beenjust in time to see Mr. Thomas taken in. He had caught his eye, but hadfeigned not to know him. Then the man had attempted to get at what hadhappened from one of the fellows at the door, but could get no more fromhim than that the prisoner was a known and confessed recusant, and hadbeen laid by the heels according to orders, it was believed, sent downby the Council. Then, Dick had ridden slowly away till he had turnedthe corner, and then, hot foot for Padley.
"And I heard the fellow say to one of his company that an informer wascoming down from London on purpose to deal with Mr. Thomas."
Marjorie felt a sudden pang; for she had never forgotten the one she hadset eyes on in the Tower.
"His name?" she said breathlessly. "Did you hear his name?"
"It was Topcliffe, mistress," said Dick indifferently. "The other calledit out."
* * * * *
Marjorie sat silent. Not only had the blow fallen more swiftly than shewould have thought possible, but it was coupled with a second of whichshe had never dreamed. That it was this man, above all others, thatshould have come; this man, who stood to her mind, by a mere chance, forall that was most dreadful in the sinister forces arrayed againsther--this brought misery down on her indeed. For, besides her ownpersonal reasons for terror, there was, besides, the knowledge that thebringing of such a man at all from London on such business meant thatthe movement beginning here in her own county was not a mere caprice.
She sat silent then--seeing once more before her the wide court of theTower, the great keep opposite, and in the midst that thin figure movingto his hateful business.... And she knew now, in this instant, as neverbefore, that the chief reason for her terror was that she had coupled inher mind her own friend Robin with the thought of this man, as if bysome inner knowledge that their lives must cross some day--a knowledgewhich she could neither justify nor silence. Thank God, at least, thatRobin was still safe in Rheims!
II
She sent him off after a couple of hours' rest, during which once morehe had told his story to Mistress Alice, with a letter to Mr. Thomas'swife, who, no doubt, would have followed her lord to Derby. She had goneapart with Alice, while Dick ate and drank, to talk the affair out, andhad told her of Topcliffe's presence, at which news even the placid faceof her friend looked troubled; but they had said nothing more on thepoint, and had decided that a letter should be written in MistressBabington's name, offering Mrs. FitzHerbert the hospitality of BabingtonHouse, and any other services she might wish. Further, they had decidedthat the best thing to do was to go themselves to Derby next day, inorder to be at hand; since Mr. John was in London, and the sooner Mrs.Thomas had friends with her, the better.
"They may keep him in ward a long time," said Mistress Alice, "beforethey bring him into open court--to try his courage. That is the way theydo. The charge, no doubt, will be that he has harboured and assistedpriests."
* * * * *
It seemed to Marjorie, as she lay awake that night, staring through thesummer dusk at the tall press which hid so much beside her dresses, thatthe course on which her life moved was coming near to the rapids. Eversince she had first put her hand to the work, ever since, even, she hadfirst offered her lover to God and let him go from her, it appeared asif God had taken her at her word, and accepted in an instant that whichshe offered so tremblingly. Her sight of London--the great buildings,the crowds, the visible forces of the Crown, the company of gallantgentlemen who were priests beneath their ruffs and feathers, the Tower,her glimpse of Topcliffe--these things had shown her the dreadfulreality that lay behind this gentle scheming up in Derbyshire. Again,there was Mr. Babington; here, too, she had perceived a mystery whichshe could not understand: something moved behind the surface of whichnot even Mr. Babington's sister knew anything, except that, indeed, itwas there. Again, there was the death of Father Campion--the very manwhom she had taken as a symbol of the Faith for which she fought withher woman's wits; there was the news that came so suddenly and terriblynow and again, of one more priest gone to his death.... It was like theslow rising of a storm: the air darkens; a stillness falls on thecountryside; the chirp of the birds seems as a plaintive word of fear;then the thunder begins--a low murmur far across the horizons; then awhisk of light, seen and gone again, and another murmur after it. And soit gathers, dusk on dusk, stillness on stillness, murmur on murmur,deepening and thickening; yet still no rain, but a drop or two thatfalls and ceases again. And from the very delay it is all the moredreadful; for the storm itself must break some time, and the artillerywar in the heavens, and the rain rush down, and flash follow flash, andpeal peal, and the climax come.
So, then, it was with her. There was no drawing back now, even had shewished it. And she wished it indeed, though she did not will it; sheknew that she must stand in her place, now more than ever, when the blowhad fallen so near. Now more than ever must she be discreet andresolute, since Padley itself was fallen, in effect, if not in fact; andBooth's Edge, in this valley at least, was the one hope of hunted men.She must stand, then, in her place; she must plot and conspire andscheme; she must govern her face and her manner more perfectly thanever, for the sake of that tremendous Cause.
As she lay there, listening to her friend's breathing in the darkness,staring now at the doors o
f the press, now at the baggage that layheaped ready for the early start, these and a thousand other thoughtspassed before her. It was a long plot that had ended in this: it musthave reached its maturity weeks ago; the decision to strike must havebeen reached before even Squire Audrey had given her the warning--for itwas only by chance that she had met him and he had told her.... And he,too, Robin's father, would be in the midst of it all; he, too, that wasa Catholic by baptism, must sit with the other magistrates and threatenand cajole as the manner was; and quiet Derby would be all astir; andthe Bassetts would be there, and Mr. Fenton, to see how their friendfared in the dock; and the crowds would gather to see the prisonerbrought out, and the hunt would be up. And she herself, she, too, mustbe there with the tearful little wife, who could do so little....
Thank God Robin was safe in Rheims!...
III
Derby was, indeed, astir as they rode in, with the servants and thebaggage following behind, on the late afternoon of the next day. Theyhad ridden by easy stages, halting at Dethick for dinner, where theBabingtons' house already hummed with dismay at the news that had comefrom Derby last night. Mr. Anthony was away, and all seemed distracted.
They rode in by the North road, seeing for the last mile or two of theirride the towering spire of All Saints' Church high above the smoke ofthe houses; they passed the old bridge half a mile from themarket-place, near the ancient camp; and even here overheard a sentenceor two from a couple of fellows that were leaning on the parapet, thattold them what was the talk of the town. It was plain that othersbesides the Catholics understood the taking of Mr. Thomas FitzHerbert tobe a very significant matter.
Babington House stood on the further side of the market-place from thaton which they entered, and Alice was for going there through sidestreets.
"They will take notice if we go straight through," she said. "It ischeese-market to-day."
"They will take notice in any case," said Marjorie. "It will be over thetown to-morrow that Mistress Babington is here, and it is best,therefore, to come openly, as if without fear."
And she turned to beckon the servants to draw up closer behind.
* * * * *
The square was indeed crowded as they came in. From all the countryround, and especially from Dovedale, the farmers came in on this day, orsent their wives, for the selling of cheeses; and the small oblong ofthe market--the smaller from its great Conduit and Cross--was full withrows of stalls and carts, with four lanes only left along the edges bywhich the traffic might pass; and even here the streams of passengersforced the horses to go in single file. Groups of men--farmers' servantswho had driven in the carts, or walked with the pack-beasts--to whomthis day was a kind of feast, stood along the edges of the booths eyeingall who went by. The inns, too, were doing a roaring trade, and it wasfrom one of these that the only offensive comment was made.
Mistress Babington rode first, as suited her dignity, preceded by one ofthe Dethick men whom they had taken up on their way, and who had pushedforward when they came into the town to clear the road; and MistressManners rode after her. The men stood aside as the cavalcade began togo between the booths, and the most of them saluted Mistress Babington.But as they were almost out of the market they came abreast one of theinns from whose wide-open doors came a roar of voices from those thatwere drinking within, and a group that was gathered on the step stoppedtalking as the party came up. Marjorie glanced at them, and noticedthere was an air about two or three of the men that was plainlytown-bred; there was a certain difference in the cut of their clothesand the way they wore them. Then she saw two or three whisperingtogether, and the next moment came a brutal shout. She could not catchthe sentence, but she heard the word "Papist" with an adjective, andcaught the unmistakable bullying tone of the man. The next instant therebroke out a confusion: a man dashed up the step from the crowd beneath,and she caught a glimpse of Dick Sampson's furious face. Then the groupbore back, fighting, into the inn door; the Dethick servant leapt offhis horse, leaving it in some fellow's hands, and vanished up the step;there was a rush of the crowd after him, and then the way was clear infront, over the little bridge that spanned Bramble brook.
When she drew level with Alice, she saw her friend's face, pale andagitated.
"It is the first time I have ever been cried at," she said. "Come; weare nearly home. There is St. Peter's spire."
"Shall we not--?" began Marjorie.
"No, no" (and the pale face tightened suddenly). "My fellows will givethem a lesson. The crowd is on our side as yet."
IV
As they rode in under the archway that led in beside the great doors ofBabington House, three or four grooms ran forward at once. It was plainthat their coming was looked far with some eagerness.
Alice's manner seemed curiously different from that of the quiet womanwho had sat so patiently beside Marjorie in the manor among the hills: acertain air of authority and dignity sat on her now that she was back inher own place.
"Is Mrs. FitzHerbert here?" she asked from the groom who helped her tothe ground.
"Yes, mistress; she came from the inn this morning, and--"
"Well?"
"She is in a great taking, mistress. She would eat nothing, they said."
Alice nodded.
"You had best be off to the inn," she said, with a jerk of her head. "ALondon fellow insulted us just now, and Sampson and Mallow--"
She said no more. The man who held her horse slipped the reins into thehands of the younger groom who stood by him, and was away and out of thecourt in an instant. Marjorie smiled a little, astonished at her ownsense of exultation. The blows were not to be all one side, sheperceived. Then she followed Alice into the house.
As they came through into the hall by the side-door that led throughfrom the court where they had dismounted, a figure was plainly visiblein the dusky light, going to and fro at the further end, with a quick,nervous movement. The figure stopped as they advanced, and then dartedforward, crying out piteously:
"Ah! you have come, thank God! thank God! They will not let me see him."
"Hush! hush!" said Alice, as she caught her in her arms.
"Mr. Bassett has been here," moaned the figure, "and he says it isTopcliffe himself who has come down on the matter.... He says he is thegreatest devil of them all; and Thomas--"
Then she burst out crying again.
* * * * *
It was an hour before they could get the full tale out of her. They tookher upstairs and made her sit down, for already a couple of faces peepedfrom the buttery, and the servants would have gathered in another fiveminutes; and together they forced her to eat and drink something, forshe had not tasted food since her arrival at the inn yesterday; and so,little by little, they drew the story out.
Mr. Thomas and his wife were actually on their way from Norbury when thearrest had been made. Mr. Thomas had intended to pass a couple of nightsin Derby on various matters of the estates; and although, his wife said,he had been somewhat silent and quiet since the warning had come to himfrom Mr. Audrey, even he had thought it no danger to ride through Derbyon his way to Padley. He had sent a servant ahead to order rooms at theinn for those two nights, and it was through that, it appeared, that thenews of his coming had reached the ears of the authorities. However thatwas, and whether the stroke had been actually determined upon longbefore, or had been suddenly decided upon at the news of his coming, itfell out that, as the husband and wife were actually within sight ofDerby, on turning a corner they had found themselves surrounded by menon horses, plainly gathered there for the purpose, with a magistrate inthe midst. Their names had been demanded, and, upon Mr. Thomas'hesitation, they had been told that their names were well known, and awarrant was produced, on a charge of recusancy and of aiding her Grace'senemies, drawn out against Thomas FitzHerbert, and he had been placedunder arrest. Further, Mrs. FitzHerbert had been told she must not enterthe town with the party, but must go either before them or
after them,which she pleased. She had chosen to go first, and had been at thewindows of the inn in time to see her husband go by. There had been noconfusion, she said; the townsfolk appeared to know nothing of what washappening until Mr. Thomas was safely lodged in the ward.
Then she burst out crying again, lamenting the horrible state of theprison, as it had been described to her, and demanding to know whereGod's justice was in allowing His faithful servants to be so tormentedand harried....
* * * * *
Marjorie watched her closely. She had met her once at Babington House,when she was still Elizabeth Westley, but had thought little or nothingof her since. She was a pale little creature, fair-haired and timorous,and had now a hunted look of misery in her eyes that was very piteous tosee. It was plain they had done right in coming: this woman would be oflittle service to her husband.
Then when Alice had said a word or two, Marjorie began her questions.
"Tell me," she said gently, "had you no warning of this?"
The girl shook her head.
"Not beyond that which came from yourself," she said; "and we neverthought--"
"Hath Mr. Thomas had any priests with him lately?"
"We have not had one at Norbury for the last six months, whilst we werethere, at least. My husband said it was better not, and that there was aplenty of places for them to go to."
"And you have not heard mass during that time?"
The girl looked at her with tear-stained eyes.
"No," she said. "But why do you ask that? My husband says--"
"And when was the first you heard of Topcliffe? And what have you heardof him?"
The other's face fell into lines of misery.
"I have heard he is the greatest devil her Grace uses. He hath authorityto question priests and others in his own house. He hath a rack therethat he boasts makes all others as Christmas toys. My husband--"
Marjorie patted her arm gently.
"There! there!" she said kindly. "Your husband is not in Topcliffe'shouse. There will be no question of that. He is here in his own county,and--"
"But that will not save him!" cried the girl. "Why--"
"Tell me" interrupted Marjorie, "was Topcliffe with the men that tookMr. Thomas?"
The other shook her head.
"No; I heard he was not. He was come from London yesterday morning. Thatwas the first I heard of him."
Then Alice began again to soothe her gently, to tell her that herhusband was in no great danger as yet, that he was well known for hisloyalty, and to do her best to answer the girl's pitiful questions. AndMarjorie sat back and considered.
Marjorie had a remarkable knowledge of the methods of the Government,gathered from the almost endless stories she had heard from travellingpriests and others; it was her business, too, to know them. Two or threethings, therefore, if the girl's account was correct, were plain. First,that this was a concerted plan, and not a mere chance arrest. Mr.Audrey's message to her showed so much, and the circumstances ofTopcliffe's arrival confirmed it. Next, it must be more than a simpleblow struck at one man, Mr. Thomas FitzHerbert: Topcliffe would nothave come down from London at all unless it were a larger quarry thanMr. Thomas that was aimed at. Thirdly, and in conclusion, it would notbe easy therefore to get Mr. Thomas released again. There remained anumber of questions which she had as yet no means of answering. Was itbecause Mr. Thomas was heir to the enormous FitzHerbert estates in thiscounty and elsewhere, that he was struck at? Or was it the beginning,merely, of a general assault on Derbyshire, such as had taken placebefore she was born? Or was it that Mr. Thomas' apparent coolnesstowards the Faith (for that was evident by his not having heard mass forso long, and by his refusal to entertain priests just at present)--wasit that lack of zeal on his part, which would, of course, be known tothe army of informers scattered now throughout England, which had markedhim out as the bird to be flown at? It would be, indeed, a blow to theCatholic gentry of the county, if any of the FitzHerberts should fall!
She stood up presently, grave with her thoughts. Mistress Alice glancedup.
"I am going out for a little," said Marjorie.
"But--"
"May two of your men follow me at a little distance? But I shall be safeenough. I am going to a friend's house."
* * * * *
Marjorie knew Derby well enough from the old days when she rode insometimes with her father and slept at Mr. Biddell's; and, above all,she knew all that Derby had once been. In one place, outside the town,was St. Mary-in-Pratis, where the Benedictine nuns had lived; St.Leonard's had had a hospital for lepers; St. Helen's had had theAugustinian hospital for poor brothers and sisters; St. Alkmund's hadheld a relic of its patron saint; all this she knew by heart; and it wasbitter now to be here on such business. But she went briskly out fromthe hall; and ten minutes later she was knocking at the door of a littleattorney, the old partner of her father's, whose house faced theGuildhall across the little market-square. It was opened by an old womanwho smiled at the sight of her.
"Eh! come in, mistress. The master saw you ride into town. He is in theupstairs parlour, with Mr. Bassett."
The girl nodded to her bodyguard, and followed the old woman in. Shebowed as she passed the lawyer's confidential clerk and servant, Mr.George Beaton, in the passage--a big man, with whom she had hadcommunications more than once on Popish affairs.
Mr. John Biddell, like Marjorie's own father and his partner, was one ofthose quiet folks who live through storms without attracting attentionfrom the elements, yet without the sacrifice of principle. He was aCatholic, and never pretended to be anything else; but he was so littleand so harmless that no man ever troubled him. He pleaded before themagistrates unobtrusively and deftly; and would have appeared before herGrace herself or the Lord of Hell with the same timid and respectfulair, in his iron-rimmed spectacles, his speckless dark suit, and hislittle black cap drawn down to his ears. He had communicated withMarjorie again and again in the last two or three years on the subjectof wandering priests, calling them "gentlemen," with the greatest care,and allowing no indiscreet word ever to appear in his letters, Heremembered King Harry, whom he had seen once in a visit of his toLondon; he had assisted the legal authorities considerably in therestoration under Queen Mary; and he had soundlessly acquiesced in thechanges again under Elizabeth--so far, at least, as mere law wasconcerned.
Mr. William Bassett was a very different man. First he was thebrother-in-law of Sir Thomas FitzHerbert himself; and was entirely ofthe proper spirit to mate with that fearless family. He had considerableestates, both at Langley and Blore, in both of which places hecheerfully evaded the new laws, maintaining and helping priests in alldirections; a man, in fact, of an ardent and boisterous faith which heextended (so the report ran) even to magic and astrology; a man ofmeans, too, in spite of his frequent fines for recusancy, and aged aboutfifty years old at this time, with a high colour in his face and bright,merry eyes. Marjorie had spoken with him once or twice only.
These two men, then, first turned round in their chairs, and then stoodup to salute Marjorie, as she came into the upstairs parlour. It was asomewhat dark room, panelled where there was space for it between thebooks, and with two windows looking out on to the square.
"I thought we should see you soon," said the attorney. "We saw you come,mistress; and the fellows that cried out on you."
"They had their deserts," said Marjorie, smiling.
Mr. Bassett laughed aloud.
"Indeed they did," he said in his deep, pleasant voice. "There were twoof them with bloody noses before all was done.... You have come for thenews, I suppose, mistress?"
He eyed her genially and approvingly. He had heard a great deal of thisyoung lady in the last three or four years; and wished there were moreof her kind.
"That is what I have come for," said Marjorie. "We have Mrs. Thomas overat Babington House."
"She'll be of no great service to her husband," said the oth
er. "Shecries and laments too much. Now--"
He stopped himself from paying his compliments. It seemed to him thatthis woman, with her fearless, resolute face, would do very well withoutthem.
Then he set himself to relate the tale.
It seemed that little Mrs. Thomas had given a true enough report. It wastrue that Topcliffe had arrived from London on the morning of thearrest; and Mistress Manners was perfectly right in her opinion thatthis signified a good deal. But, it seemed to Mr. Bassett, the Councilhad made a great mistake in striking at the FitzHerberts. The quarry wastoo strong, he said, for such birds as the Government used--too strongand too many. For, first, no FitzHerbert had ever yet yielded in hisallegiance either to the Church or to the Queen's Grace; and it was notlikely that Mr. Thomas would begin: and, next, if one yielded (_suadentediabolo_, and _Deus avertat_!) a dozen more would spring up. But theposition was serious for all that, said Mr. Bassett (and Mr. Biddellnodded assent), for who would deal with the estates and make suitablearrangements if the heir, who already largely controlled them, were laidby the heels? But that the largeness of the undertaking was recognisedby the Council, was plain enough, in that no less a man than Topcliffe(Mr. Bassett spat on the floor as he named him), Topcliffe, "the devilpossessed by worse devils," was sent down to take charge of the matter.
Marjorie listened carefully.
"You have no fear for yourself, sir?" she asked presently, as the mansat back in his chair.
Mr. Bassett smiled broadly, showing his strong white teeth between theiron-grey hair that fringed his lips.
"No; I have no fear," he said. "I have a score of my men quartered inthe town."
"And the trial? When will that--"
"The trial! Why, I shall praise God if the trial falls this year. Theywill harry him before magistrates, no doubt; and they will squeeze himin private. But the trial!... Why, they have not a word of treasonagainst him; and that is what they are after, no doubt."
"Treason?"
"Why, surely. That is what they seek to fasten upon us all. It would notsound well that Christian should shed Christian's blood forChristianity; but that her Grace should sorrowfully arraign her subjectswhom she loves and cossets so much, for treason--Why, that is as sound acause as any in the law-books!"
He smiled in a manner that was almost a snarl, and his eyes grew narrowwith ironic merriment.
"And Mr. Thomas--" began Marjorie hesitatingly.
He whisked his glance on her like lightning.
"Mr. Thomas will laugh at them all," he cried. "He is as staunch as anyof his blood. I know he has been careful of late; but, then, you mustremember how all the estates hang on him. But when he has his back tothe wall--or on the rack for that matter--he will be as stiff as iron.They will have their work to bend him by a hair's breadth."
Marjorie drew a breath of relief. She did not question Mr. Bassett'sjudgment. But she had had an uneasy discomfort in her heart till he hadspoken so plainly.
"Well, sir," she said, "that is what I chiefly came for. I wished toknow if I could do aught for Mr. Thomas or his wife; and--"
"You can do a great deal for his wife," said he. "You can keep her quietand comfort her. She needs it, poor soul! I have told her for hercomfort that we shall have Thomas out again in a month--God forgive mefor the lie!"
Marjorie stood up; and the men rose with her.
"Why, what is that?" she said; and went swiftly to the window; for thenoise of the crying of the cheeses and the murmur of voices had ceasedall on a sudden.
Straight opposite the window where she stood was the tiled flight ofstairs that ran up from the market-place to the first floor of theGuildhall, a great building where the business of the town was largelydone, and where the magistrates sat when there was need; and a lane thatwas clear of booths and carts had been left leading from that doorstraight across the square, so that she could see the two littlebrobonets--or iron guns--that guarded the door on either side. It was upthis lane that she looked, and down it that there advanced a littleprocession, the very sight of which, it seemed, had stricken the squareto silence. Already the crowd was dividing from end to end, rangingitself on either side--farmers' men shambled out of the way and turnedto see; women clambered on the carts holding up their children to see,and from across the square came country-folk running, that they toomight see. The steps of the Cross were already crowded with sightseers.
Yet, to outward sight, the little procession was ordinary enough. Firstcame three or four of the town-guard in livery, carrying their staves;then half a dozen sturdy fellows; then a couple of dignifiedgentlemen--one of them she knew: Mr. Roger Columbell, magistrate of thetown--and then, walking all alone, the figure of a man, tall and thin, alittle rustily, but very cleanly dressed in a dark suit, who carried hishead stooping forward as if he were looking on the ground for something,or as if he deprecated so much notice.
Marjorie saw no more than this clearly. She did not notice the group ofmen that followed in case protection were needed for the agent of theCouncil, nor the crowd that swirled behind. For, as the solitary figurecame beneath the windows she recognised the man whom she had seen oncein the Tower of London.
"God smite the man!" growled a voice in her ear. "That is Topcliffe,going to the prison, I daresay."
And as Marjorie turned her pale face back, she saw the face of kindlyMr. Bassett, suffused and convulsed with fury.