CHAPTER IX
I
"Marjorie! Marjorie! Wake up! the order hath come. It is for to-night."
Very slowly Marjorie rose out of the glimmering depths of sleep intowhich she had fallen on the hot August afternoon, sunk down upon the armof the great chair that stood by the parlour window, and saw Mrs. Thomasradiant before her, waving a scrap of paper in her hand.
Nearly two months were passed; and as yet no opportunity had been givento the prisoner's wife to visit him, and during that time it had beenimpossible to go back into the hills and leave the girl alone. The heatof the summer had been stifling, down here in the valley; a huge plagueof grasshoppers had ravaged all England; and there were times when evenin the grass-country outside Derby, their chirping had becomeintolerable. The heat, and the necessary seclusion, and the anxiety hadtold cruelly upon the country girl; Marjorie's face had perceptiblythinned; her eyes had shadows above and beneath; yet she knew she mustnot go; since the young wife had attached herself to her altogether,finding Alice (she said) too dull for her spirits. Mr. Bassett was goneagain. There was no word of a trial; although there had been a hearingor two before the magistrates; and it was known that Topcliffecontinually visited the prison.
One piece of news only had there been to comfort her during this time,and that, that Mr. John's prediction had been fulfilled with regard tothe captured priest, Mr. Garlick, who, back from Rheims only a fewmonths, had been deported from England, since it was his first offence,But he would soon be over again, no doubt, and next time with death asthe stake in the game.
* * * * *
Marjorie drew a long breath, and passed her hands over her forehead.
"The order?" she said. "What order?"
The girl explained, torrentially. A man had come just now from theGuildhall; he had asked for Mrs. FitzHerbert; she had gone down into thehall to see him; and all the rest of the useless details. But the effectwas that leave had been given at last to visit the prisoner--for twopersons, of which Mrs. FitzHerbert must be one; and that they mustpresent the order to the gaoler before seven o'clock, when they would beadmitted. She looked--such was the constitution of her mind--as happy asif it were an order for his release. Marjorie drove away the last shredsof sleep; and kissed her.
"That is very good news," she said. "Now we will begin to do something."
* * * * *
The sun had sunk so far, when they set out at last, as to throw thewhole of the square into golden shade; and, in the narrow, overhungFriar's Gate, where the windows of the upper stories were so near that aman might shake hands with his friend on the other side, the twilighthad already begun. They had determined to walk, in order less to attractattention, in spite of the filth through which they knew they must pass,along the couple of hundred yards that separated them from the prison.For every housewife emptied her slops out of doors, and swept her house(when she did so at all) into the same place: now and again the heapswould be pushed together and removed, but for the most part they laythere, bones and rags and rotten fruit,--dusty in one spot, so that allblew about--dampened in others where a pail or two had been pouredforth. The heat, too, was stifling, cast out again towards evening fromthe roofs and walls that had drunk it in all day from the burning skies.
As they stood before the door at last and waited, after beating thegreat iron knocker on the iron plate, a kind of despair came down onMarjorie. They had advanced just so far in two months as to be allowedto speak with the prisoner; and, from her talkings with Mr. Biddell, hadunderstood how little that was. Indeed, he had hinted to her plainlyenough that even in this it might be that they were no more than pawnsin the enemy's hand; and that, under a show of mercy, it was oftenallowed for a prisoner's friends to have free access to him in order toshake his resolution. If there was any cause for congratulation then, itlay solely in the thought that other means had so far failed. One thingat least they knew, for their comfort, that there had been no talk oftorture....
It was a full couple of minutes before the door opened to show them athin, brown-faced man, with his sleeves rolled up, dressed over hisshirt and hose in a kind of leathern apron. He nodded as he saw theladies, with an air of respect, however, and stood aside to let themcome in. Then, with the same civility, he asked for the order, and readit, holding it up to the light that came through the little barredwindow over the door.
It was an unspeakably dreary little entrance passage in which theystood, wainscoted solidly from floor to ceiling with wood that lookeddamp and black from age; the ceiling itself was indistinguishable in thetwilight; the floor seemed composed of packed earth, three or four doorsshowed in the woodwork; that opposite to the one by which they hadentered stood slightly ajar, and a smoky light shone from beyond it.The air was heavy and hot and damp, and smelled of mildew.
The man gave the order back when he had read it, made a little gesturethat resembled a bow, and led the way straight forward.
They found themselves, when they had passed through the half-open door,in another passage running at right-angles to the entrance, withwindows, heavily barred, so as to exclude all but the faintest twilight,even though the sun was not yet set; there appeared to be foliage ofsome kind, too, pressing against them from outside, as if a littlecentral yard lay there; and the light, by which alone they could seetheir way along the uneven earth floor, came from a flambeau which hungby the door, evidently put there just now by the man who had opened tothem; he led them down this passage to the left, down a couple of steps;unlocked another door of enormous weight and thickness and closed thisbehind them. They found themselves in complete darkness.
"I'll be with you in a moment, mistress," said his voice; and they heardhis steps go on into the dark and cease.
Marjorie stood passive; she could feel the girl's hands clasp her arm,and could hear her breath come like sobs. But before she could speak, alight shone somewhere on the roof; and almost immediately the man cameback carrying another flambeau. He called to them civilly; theyfollowed. Marjorie once trod on some soft, damp thing that crackledbeneath her foot. They groped round one more corner; waited, while theyheard a key turning in a lock. Then the man stood aside, and they wentpast into the room. A figure was standing there; but for the firstmoment they could see no more. Great shadows fled this way and that asthe gaoler hung up the flambeau. Then the door closed again behindthem; and Elizabeth flung herself into her husband's arms.
II
When Marjorie could see him, as at last he put his wife into the singlechair that stood in the cell and gave her the stool, himself sittingupon the table, she was shocked by the change in his face. It was truethat she had only the wavering light of the flambeau to see him by (forthe single barred window was no more than a pale glimmer on the wall),yet even that shadowy illumination could not account for his palenessand his fallen face. He was dressed miserably, too; his clothes weredisordered and rusty-looking; and his features looked out, at oncepinched and elongated. He blinked a little from time to time; his lipstwitched beneath his ill-cut moustache and beard; and little spasmspassed, as he talked, across his whole face. It was pitiful to see him;and yet more pitiful to hear him talk; for he assumed a kind ofcourtesy, mixed with bitterness. Now and again he fell silent, glancingwith a swift and furtive movement of his eyes from one to the other ofhis visitors and back again. He attempted to apologise for themiserableness of the surroundings in which he received them--saying thather Grace his hostess could not be everywhere at once; and that herguests must do the best that they could. And all this was mixed withsudden wails from his wife, sudden graspings of his hands by hers. Itall seemed to the quiet girl, who sat ill-at-ease on the littlethree-legged stool, that this was not the way to meet adversity. Thenshe drove down her criticism; and told herself that she ought rather toadmire one of Christ's confessors.
"And you bring me no hope, then, Mistress Manners?" he said presently(for she had told him that there was no talk yet of any formaltria
l)--"no hope that I may meet my accusers face to face? I had thoughtperhaps--"
He lifted his eyes swiftly to hers, and dropped them again.
She shook her head.
"And yet that is all that I ask now--only to meet my accusers. They canprove nothing against me--except, indeed, my recusancy; and that theyhave known this long time back. They can prove nothing as to theharbouring of any priests--not within the last year, at any rate, for Ihave not done so. It seemed to me--"
He stopped again, and passed his shaking hand over his mouth, eyeing thetwo women with momentary glances, and then looking down once more.
"Yes?" said Marjorie.
He slipped off from the table, and began to move about restlessly.
"I have done nothing--nothing at all," he said. "Indeed, I thought--"And once more he was silent.
* * * * *
He began to talk presently of the Derbyshire hills of Padley and ofNorbury. He asked his wife of news from home, and she gave it him,interrupting herself with laments. Yet all the while his eyes strayed toMarjorie as if there was something he would ask of her, but could not.He seemed completely unnerved, and for the first time in her life thegirl began to understand something of what gaol-life must signify. Shehad heard of death and the painful Question; and she had perceivedsomething of the heroism that was needed to meet them; yet she had neverbefore imagined what that life of confinement might be, until she hadwatched this man, whom she had known in the world as a curt and almostmasterful gentleman, careful of his dress, particular of the deferencethat was due to him, now become this worn prisoner, careless of hisappearance, who stroked his mouth continually, once or twice gnawing hisnails, who paced about in this abominable hole, where a tumbled heap ofstraw and blankets represented a bed, and a rickety table with a chairand a stool his sole furniture. It seemed as if a husk had been strippedfrom him, and a shrinking creature had come out of it which at presentshe could not recognise.
Then he suddenly wheeled on her, and for the first time some kind offorcefulness appeared in his manner.
"And my Uncle Bassett?" he cried abruptly. "What is he doing all thiswhile?"
Marjorie said that Mr. Bassett had been most active on his behalf withthe lawyers, but, for the present, was gone back again to his estates.Mr. Thomas snorted impatiently.
"Yes, he is gone back again," he cried, "and he leaves me to rot here!He thinks that I can bear it for ever, it seems!"
"Mr. Bassett has done his utmost, sir," said Marjorie. "He exposedhimself here daily."
"Yes, with twenty fellows to guard him, I suppose. I know my UncleBassett's ways.... Tell me, if you please, how matters stand."
Marjorie explained again. There was nothing in the world to be doneuntil the order came for his trial--or, rather, everything had been donealready. His lawyers were to rely exactly on the defence that had beenspoken of just now; it was to be shown that the prisoner had harbouredno priests; and the witnesses had already been spoken with--men fromNorbury and Padley, who would swear that to their certain knowledge nopriest had been received by Mr. FitzHerbert at least during the previousyear or eighteen months. There was, therefore, no kind of reason whyMr. Bassett or Mr. John FitzHerbert should remain any longer in Derby.Mr. John had been there, but had gone again, under advice from thelawyers; but he was in constant communication with Mr. Biddell, who hadall the papers ready and the names of the witnesses, and had made morethan one application already for the trial to come on.
"And why has neither my father nor my Uncle Bassett come to see me?"snapped the man.
"They have tried again and again, sir," said Marjorie. "But permissionwas refused. They will no doubt try again, now that Mrs. FitzHerbert hasbeen admitted."
He paced up and down again for a few steps without speaking. Then againhe turned on her, and she could see his face working uncontrolledly.
"And they will enjoy the estates, they think, while I rot here!"
"Oh, my Thomas!" moaned his wife, reaching out to him. But he paid noattention to her.
"While I rot here!" he cried again. "But I will not! I tell you I willnot!"
"Yes, sir?" said Marjorie gently, suddenly aware that her heart hadbegun to beat swiftly.
He glanced at her, and his face changed a little.
"I will not," he murmured. "I must break out of my prison. Only theiraccursed--"
Again he interrupted himself, biting sharply on his lip.
* * * * *
For an instant the girl had thought that all her old distrust of him wasjustified, and that he contemplated in some way the making of terms thatwould be disgraceful to a Catholic. But what terms could these be? Hewas a FitzHerbert; there was no evading his own blood; and he was thevictim chosen by the Council to answer for the rest. Nothing, then,except the denial of his faith--a formal and deliberate apostasy--couldserve him; and to think that of the nephew of old Sir Thomas, and theson of John, was inconceivable. There seemed no way out; the torment ofthis prison must be borne. She only wished he could have borne it moremanfully.
It seemed, as she watched him, that some other train of thought hadfastened upon him. His wife had begun again her lamentations, bewailinghis cell and his clothes, and his loss of liberty, asking him whether hewere not ill, whether he had food enough to eat; and he hardly answeredher or glanced at her, except once when he remembered to tell her that agood gift to the gaoler would mean a little better food, and perhapsmore light for himself. And then he resumed his pacing; and, three orfour times as he turned, the girl caught his eyes fixed on hers for oneinstant. She wondered what was in his mind to say.
Even as she wondered there came a single loud rap upon the door, andthen she heard the key turning. He wheeled round, and seemed to come toa determination.
"My dearest," he said to his wife, "here is the gaoler come to turn youout again. I will ask him--" He broke off as the man stepped in.
"Mr. Gaoler," he said, "my wife would speak alone with you a moment."(He nodded and winked at his wife, as if to tell her that this was thetime to give him the money.)
"Will you leave Mistress Manners here for a minute or two while my wifespeaks with you in the passage?"
Then Marjorie understood that she had been right.
The man who held the keys nodded without speaking.
"Then, my dearest wife," said Thomas, embracing her all of a sudden,and simultaneously drawing her towards the door, "we will leave you tospeak with the man. He will come back for Mistress Manners directly."
"Oh! my Thomas!" wailed the girl, clinging to him.
"There, there, my dearest. And you will come and see me again as soon asyou can get the order."
* * * * *
The instant the door was closed he came up to Marjorie and his facelooked ghastly.
"Mistress Manners," he said, "I dare not speak to my wife. But ... but,for Jesu's sake, get me out of here. I ... I cannot bear it....Topcliffe comes to see me every day.... He ... he speaks to mecontinually of--O Christ! Christ! I cannot bear it!"
He dropped suddenly on to his knees by the table and hid his face.
III
At Babington House Marjorie slept, as was often the custom, in the sameroom with her maid--a large, low room, hung all round with paintedcloths above the low wainscoting.
On the night after the visit to the prison, Janet noticed that hermistress was restless; and that while she would say nothing of what wastroubling her, and only bade her go to bed and to sleep, she herselfwould not go to bed. At last, in sheer weariness, the maid slept.
She awakened later, at what time she did not know, and, in heruneasiness, sat up and looked about her; and there, still before thecrucifix, where she had seen her before she slept, kneeled her mistress.She cried out in a loud whisper:
"Come to bed, mistress; come to bed."
And, at the word, Marjorie started; then she rose, turned, and in thetwilight of the summer night bega
n to prepare herself for bed, withoutspeaking. Far away across the roofs of Derby came the crowing of a cockto greet the dawn.