Come Rack! Come Rope!

  CHAPTER II

  I

  It was strange to Robin to walk about the City, and to view all that hesaw from his new interior position. The last time that he had been inhis own country on that short visit with "Captain Fortescue," he hadbeen innocent in the eyes of the law, or, at least, no more guilty thanany one of the hundreds of young men who, in spite of the regulations,were sent abroad to finish their education amid Catholic surroundings.Now, however, his very presence was an offence: he had broken every lawframed expressly against such cases as his; he had studied abroad, hehad been "ordained beyond the seas"; he had read his mass in his ownbedchamber; he had, practically, received a confession; and it was hisfixed and firm intention to "reconcile" as many of "her Grace'ssubjects" as possible to the "Roman See." And, to tell the truth, hefound pleasure in the sheer adventure of it, as would every young man ofspirit; and he wore his fine clothes, clinked his sword, and cocked hissecular hat with delight.

  The burden of what he had heard still was heavy on him. It was true thatin a manner inconceivable to any but a priest it lay apart altogetherfrom his common consciousness: he had talked freely enough to Mr.Charnoc and the rest; he could not, even by a momentary lapse, allowwhat he knew to colour even the thoughts by which he dealt with men inordinary life; for though it was true that no confession had been made,yet it was in virtue of his priesthood that he had been told so much.Yet there were moments when he walked alone, with nothing else todistract him, when the cloud came down again; and there were moments,too, in spite of himself, when his heart beat with another emotion, whenhe pictured what might not be five years hence, if Elizabeth were takenout of the way and Mary reigned in her stead. He knew from his fatherhow swiftly and enthusiastically the old Faith had come back with MaryTudor after the winter of Edward's reign. And if, as some estimated, athird of England were still convincedly Catholic, and perhaps not morethan one twentieth convincedly Protestant, might not Mary Stuart, withher charm, accomplish more even than Mary Tudor with her lack of it?

  * * * * *

  He saw many fine sights during the three or four days after his comingto London; for he had to wait there at least that time, until a partythat was expected from the north should arrive with news of where he wasto go. These were the instructions he had had from Rheims. So he walkedfreely abroad during these days to see the sights; and even ventured topay a visit to Fathers Garnett and Southwell, two Jesuits that arrived amonth ago, and were for the present lodging in my Lord Vaux's house inHackney.

  He was astonished at Father Southwell's youthfulness.

  This priest had landed but a short while before, and, for the present,was remaining quietly in the edge of London with the older man; forhimself was scarcely twenty-five years old, and looked twenty at themost. He was very quiet and sedate, with a face of almost femininedelicacy, and passed a good deal of his leisure, as the old lord toldRobin, in writing verses. He appeared a strangely fine instrument forsuch heavy work as was a priest's.

  On another day Robin saw the Archbishop land at Westminster Stairs.

  It was a brilliant day of sunshine as he came up the river-bank, and alittle crowd of folks at the head of the stairs drew his attention. Thenhe heard, out of sight, the throb of oars grow louder; then a cry ofcommand; and, as he reached the head of the stairs and looked over, theArchbishop, with a cloak thrown over his rochet, was just stepping outof the huge gilded barge, whose blue-and-silver liveried oarsmensteadied the vessel, or stood at the salute. It was a gay and dignifiedspectacle as he perceived, in spite of his intense antipathy to thesight of a man who, to him, was no better than an usurper and a deceiverof the people. Dr. Whitgift, too, was no friend to Catholics: he had,for instance, deliberately defended the use of the rack against them andothers, unashamed; and in one particular instance, at least, as Bishopof Worcester, had directed its exercise in the county of Denbigh. Thesethings were perfectly known, of course, even beyond the seas, to thepriests who were to go on the English mission, in surprising detail.Robin knew even that this man was wholly ignorant of Greek; he looked athim carefully as he came up the stairs, and was surprised at the kindlyface of him, thin-lipped, however, though with pleasant, searching eyes.His coach was waiting outside Old Palace Yard, and Robin, following withthe rest of the little crowd, saluted him respectfully as he climbedinto it, followed by a couple of chaplains.

  As he walked on, he glanced back across the river at Lambeth. There itlay, then, the home of Warham and Pole and Morton, with the waterlapping its towers. It had once stood for the spiritual State of God inEngland, facing its partner--(and sometimes its rival)--Westminster andWhitehall; now it was a department of the civil State merely. It wasoccupied by men such as Dr. Grindal, sequestrated and deprived of evenhis spiritual functions by the woman who now grasped all the reins ofthe Commonwealth; and now again by the man whom he had just seen, placedthere by the same woman to carry out her will more obediently againstall who denied her supremacy in matters spiritual as well as temporal,whether Papists or Independents.

  * * * * *

  The priest was astonished, as he reached the precincts of Whitehall, toobserve the number of guards that were everywhere visible. He had beenwarned at Rheims not to bring himself into too much notice, no more thanmarkedly to avoid it; so he did not attempt to penetrate even the outercourts or passages. Yet it seemed to him that an air of watchfulness waseverywhere. At the gate towards which he looked at least half a dozenmen were on formal guard, their uniforms and weapons sparklingbrilliantly in the sunshine; and besides these, within the open doors hecaught sight of a couple of officers. As he stood there, a man came outof one of the houses near the gate, and turned towards it: he wasimmediately challenged, and presently passed on within, where one of theofficers came forward to speak to him. Then Robin thought he had stoodlooking long enough, and moved away.

  * * * * *

  He came back to the City across the fields, half a mile away from theriver, and, indeed, it was a glorious sight he had before him. Here,about him, was open ground on either side of the road on which hewalked; and there, in front, rose up on the slope of the hill the longline of great old houses, beyond the stream that ran down into theThames--old Religious Houses for the most part, now disguised and pulledabout beyond recognition, ranging right and left from the Ludgateitself: behind these rose again towers and roofs, and high above all thetall spire of the Cathedral, as if to gather all into one, culminantaspiration.... The light from the west lay on every surface that lookedto his left, golden and rosy; elsewhere lay blue and dusky shadows.

  II

  "There is a letter for you, sir," said the landlord, who had an uneasylook on his face, as the priest came through the entrance of the inn.

  Robin took it. Its superscription ran shortly: "To Mr. Alban, at the RedBull Inn in Cheapside. Haste. Haste. Haste."

  He turned it over; it was sealed plainly on the back without arms or anydevice; it was a thick package, and appeared as if it might hold anenclosure or two.

  Robin had learned caution in a good school, and what is yet more vitalin true caution, an appearance of carelessness. He weighed the packeteasily in his hand, as if it were of no value, though he knew it mightcontain very questionable stuff from one of his friends, and glanced ata quantity of baggage that lay heaped beside the wall.

  "What is all this?" he said. "Another party arrived?"

  "No, sir; the party is leaving. Rather, it is left already; and thegentlemen bade me have the baggage ready here. They would send for itlater, they told me."

  This was unusually voluble from this man. Robin looked at him quickly,and away again.

  "What party?" he said.

  "The gentlemen you were with this two nights past, sir," said thelandlord keenly.

  Robin was aware of a feeling as if a finger had been laid on his heart;but not a muscle of his face moved.

  "Indeed!" he said. "They told me nothing of
it."

  Then he moved on easily, feeling the landlord's eyes in every inch ofhis back, and went leisurely upstairs.

  He reached his room, bolted the door softly behind him, and sat down.His heart was going now like a hammer. Then he opened the packet; anenclosure fell out of it, also sealed, but without direction of anykind. Then he saw that the sheet in which the packet had come was itselfcovered with writing, rather large and sprawling, as if written inhaste. He put the packet aside, and then lifted the paper to read it.

  * * * * *

  When he had finished, he sat quite still. The room looked to him mistyand unreal; the paper crackled in his shaking fingers, and a drop ofsweat ran suddenly into the corner of his dry lips. Then he read thepaper again. It ran as follows:

  "It is all found out, we think. I find myself watched at every point,and I can get no speech with B. I cannot go forth from the house withouta fellow to follow me, and two of my friends have found the same. Mr.G., too, hath been with Mr. W. this three hours back. By chance I sawhim come in, and he has not yet left again. Mr. Ch. is watching for mewhile I write this, and will see that this letter is bestowed on atrusty man who will bring it to your inn, and, with it, another letterto bid our party save themselves while they can. I do not know how weshall fare, but we shall meet at a point that is fixed, and after thatevade or die together. You were right, you see. Mr. G. has acted thetraitor throughout, with Mr. W.'s connivance and assistance. I beg ofyou, then, to carry this letter, which I send in this, to Her for whomwe have forfeited our lives, or, at least, our country; or, if youcannot take it with safety, master the contents of it by rote anddeliver it to her with your own mouth. She has been taken back to C.again, whither you must go, and all her effects searched."

  There was no signature, but there followed a dash of the pen, and then ascrawled "A.B.," as if an interruption had come, or as if the man whowas with the writer would wait no longer.

  * * * * *

  A third time Robin read it through. It was terribly easy ofinterpretation. "B." was Ballard; "G." was Gifford; "W." was Walsingham;"Ch." was Charnoc; "Her" was Mary Stuart; "C." was Chartley. It fittedand made sense like a child's puzzle. And, if the faintest doubt couldremain in the most incredulous mind as to the horrible reality of itall, there was the piled luggage downstairs, that would never be "sentfor" (and never, indeed, needed again by its owners in this world).

  Then he took up the second sealed packet, and held it unbroken, whilehis mind flew like a bird, and in less than a minute he decided, andopened it.

  It was a piteous letter, signed again merely "A.B.," and might have beenwritten by any broken-hearted reverent lover to his beloved. It spoke aneternal good-bye; the writer said that he would lay down his life gladlyagain in such a cause if it were called for, and would lay down athousand if he had them; he entreated her to look to herself, for thatno doubt every attempt would now be made to entrap her; and it warnedher to put no longer any confidence in a "detestable knave, G.G."Finally, he begged that "Jesu would have her in His holy keeping," andthat if matters fell out as he thought they would, she would pray forhis soul, and the souls of all that had been with him in the enterprise.

  He read it through three or four times; every line and letter burneditself into his brain. Then he tore it across and across; then he torethe letter addressed to himself in the same manner; then he went throughall the fragments, piece by piece, tearing each into smaller fragments,till there remained in his hands just a bunch of tiny scraps, smallerthan snowflakes, and these he scattered out of the window.

  Then he went to his door, unbolted it, and walked downstairs to find thelandlord.

  III

  It was not until ten days later, soon after dawn, that Robin set out onhis melancholy errand. He rode out northward as soon as the gates wereopened, with young "Mr. Arnold," a priest ordained with him in Rheims,and one of his party, disguised as a servant, following him on apack-horse with the luggage. It was a misty morning, white andcheerless, with the early fog that had drifted up from the river. Lastnight the news had come in that Anthony and at least one other had beentaken near Harrow, in disguise, and the streets had been full of riotousrejoicing over the capture.

  He had thought it more prudent to wait till after receiving the news,which he so much dreaded, lest haste should bring suspicion on himself,and the message that he carried; since for him, too, to disappear atonce would have meant an almost inevitable association of him with theparty of plotters; but it had been a hard time to pass through. Early inthe morning, after Anthony's flight, he had awakened to hear a rappingupon the inn door, and, peeping from his window, had seen a couple ofplainly dressed men waiting for admittance; but after that he had seenno more of them. He had deliberately refrained from speaking with thelandlord, except to remark again upon the luggage of which he caught asight, piled no longer in the entrance, but in the little room that theman himself used. The landlord had said shortly that it had not yet beensent for. And the greater part of the day--after he had told thecompanions that had come with him from Rheims that he had had a letter,which seemed to show that the party with whom they had made friends haddisappeared, and were probably under suspicion, and had made thenecessary arrangements for his own departure with young Mr. Arnold--hespent in walking abroad as usual. The days that followed had been bitterand heavy. He had liked neither to stop within doors nor to go abroad,since the one course might arouse inquiry and the second lead to hisidentification. He had gone to my Lord Vaux's house again and again,with his friend and without him; he had learned of the details ofAnthony's capture, though he had not dared even to attempt to get speechwith him; and, further, that unless the rest of the men were caught, itwould not be easy to prove anything against him. One thing, therefore,he prayed for with all his heart--that the rest might yet escape. Hetold his party something of the course of events, but not too much. Onthe Sunday that intervened he went to hear mass in Fetter Lane, wherenumbers of Catholics resorted; and there, piece by piece, learned moreof the plot than even Anthony had told him.

  Mr. Arnold was a Lancashire man and a young convert of Oxford--one ofthat steady small stream that poured over to the Continent--asufficiently well-born and intelligent man to enjoy acting as a servant,which he did with considerable skill. It was common enough for gentlemento ride side by side with their servants when they had left the town;and by the time that the two were clear of the few scattered housesoutside the City gates, Mr. Arnold urged on his horse; and they rodetogether. Robin was in somewhat of a difficulty as to how far he wasjustified in speaking of what he knew. It was true that he was not atliberty to use what Anthony had originally told him; but the letter andthe commission which he had received certainly liberated his conscienceto some degree, since it told him plainly enough that there was a ploton behalf of Mary, that certain persons, one or two of whom he knew forhimself, were involved in it, that they were under suspicion, and thatthey had fled. Ordinary discretion, however, was enough to make him holdhis tongue, beyond saying, as he had said already to the rest of them,that he was the bearer of a message from Mr. Babington, now in prison,to Mary Stuart. Mr. Arnold had been advertised that he might take up hisduties in Lancashire as soon as he liked; but, because of hisinexperience and youth, it had been decided that he had better ride with"Mr. Alban" so far as Chartley at least, and thence, if all were well,go on to Lancaster itself, where his family was known, and whither hecould return, for the present, without suspicion.

  * * * * *

  The roads, such as they were, were in a terrible state still with theheavy rain of a few days ago, and the further showers that had fallen inthe night. They made very poor progress, and by dinner-time were not yetin sight of Watford. But they pushed on, coming at last about oneo'clock to that little town, all gathered together in the trench of thelow hills. There was a modest inn in the main street, with a littlegarden behind it; and while Mr. Arnold took the horses of
f for watering,Robin went through to the garden, sat down, and ordered food to beserved for himself and his man together. The day was warmer, and the suncame out as they sat over their meal. When they had done, Robin sent hisfriend off again for the horses. They must not delay longer than wasnecessary, if they wished to sleep at Leighton, and give the horsestheir proper rest.

  * * * * *

  When he was left alone, he fell a-thinking once more; and, what with themorning's ride and the air and the sunshine, and the sense of liberty,he was inclined to be more cheerful. Surely England was large enough tohide the rest of the plotters for a time, until they could get out ofit. Anthony was taken, indeed, yet, without the rest, he might very wellescape conviction. Robin had not been challenged in any way; thegatekeepers had looked at him, indeed, as he came out of the City; butso they always did, and the landlady here had run her eyes over him; butthat was the way of landladies who wished to know how much should becharged to travellers. And if he had come out so easily, why should nothis friends? All turned now, to his mind, on whether the rest of theconspirators could evade the pursuivants or not.

  He stood up presently to stretch his legs before mounting again, and ashe stood up he heard running footsteps somewhere beyond the house: theydied away; but then came the sound of another runner, and of another,and he heard voices calling. Then a window was flung up beyond thehouse; steps came rattling down the stairs within and passed out intothe street. It was probably a bull that had escaped, or a mad dog, hethought, or some rustic excitement of that kind, and he thought he wouldgo and see it for himself; so he passed out through the house, just intime to meet Mr. Arnold coming round with the horses.

  "What was the noise about?" he asked.

  The other looked at him.

  "I heard none, sir," he said. "I was in the stable."

  Robin looked up and down the street. It seemed as empty as it should beon a summer's day; two or three women were at the doors of their houses,and an old dog was asleep in the sun. There was no sign of anydisturbance.

  "Where is the woman of the house?" asked Robin.

  "I do not know, sir."

  They could not go without paying; but Robin marvelled at the simplicityof these folks, to leave a couple of guests free to ride away; he wentwithin again and called out, but there was no one to be seen.

  "This is laughable," he said, coming out again. "Shall we leave a markbehind us and be off?"

  "Are they all gone, sir?" asked the other, staring at him.

  "I heard some running and calling out just now," said Robin. "I supposea message must have been brought to the house."

  Then, as he stood still, hesitating, a noise of voices arose suddenlyround the corner of the street, and a group of men with pitchforks ranout from a gateway on the other side, fifty yards away, crossed theroad, and disappeared again. Behind them ran a woman or two, a barkingdog, and a string of children. But Robin thought he had caught a glimpseof some kind of officer's uniform at the head of the running men, andhis heart stood still.

  IV

  Neither of the two spoke for a moment.

  "Wait here with the horses," said Robin. "I must see what all this isabout."

  * * * * *

  Mr. Arnold was scarcely more than a boy still, and he had all the desireof a boy, if he saw an excited crowd, to join himself to it. But he wasbeing a servant just now, and must do what he was told. So he waitedpatiently with the two horses that tossed their jingling heads andstamped and attempted to kick flies off impossibly remote parts of theirbodies. Certainly, the excitement was growing. After he had seen hisfriend walk quickly down the road and turn off where the group ofrustically-armed men had disappeared in the direction where newly-madehaystacks shaded their gables beyond the roofs of the houses, severalother figures appeared through the opposite gateway in hot pursuit. Onewas certainly a guard of some kind, a stout, important-looking fellow,who ran and wheezed as he ran loud enough to be heard at the inn door.The women standing before the houses, too, presently were after therest--all except one old dame, who put her head forth, and peered thisway and that with a vindictive anger at having been left all alone. Moreyet showed themselves--children dragging puppies after them, an old manwith a large rusty sword, a couple of lads each with a pike--theseappeared, like figures in a pantomime play, whisking into sight frombetween the houses, and all disappearing again immediately.

  And then, all on a sudden, a great clamour of voices began, all shoutingtogether, as if some quarry had been sighted: it grew louder, sharpcries of command rang above the roar. Then there burst out of the side,where all had gone in, a ball of children, which exploded into fragmentsand faced about, still with a couple of puppies that barked shrilly; andthen, walking very fast and upright, came Mr. Robin Audrey, white-facedand stern, straight up to where the lad waited with the horses.

  Robin jerked his head.

  "Quick!" he said. "We must be off, or we shall be here all night." Hegathered up his reins for mounting.

  "What is it, sir?" asked the other, unable to be silent.

  "They have caught some fellows," he said.

  "And the inn-account, sir?"

  Robin pulled out a couple of coins from his pouch.

  "Put that on the table within," he said. "We can wait no longer. Give meyour reins!"

  His manner was so dreadful that the young man dared ask no more. He ranin, laid the coins down (they were more than double what could have beenasked for their entertainment), came out again, and mounted his ownhorse that his friend held. As they rode down the street, he could notrefrain from looking back, as a great roar of voices broke out again;but he could see no more than a crowd of men, with the pitchforks movinglike spears on the outskirt, as if they guarded prisoners within, comeout between the houses and turn up towards the inn they themselves hadjust left.

  * * * * *

  As they came clear of the village and out again upon the open road,Robin turned to him, and his face was still pale and stern.

  "Mr. Arnold," he said, "those were the last of my friends that I toldyou of. Now they have them all, and there is no longer any hope. Theyfound them behind the haystacks next to the garden where we dined. Theymust have been there all night."