CHAPTER IX
VILLAGE JUSTICE
The village had never known such an awakening as on the morning thatfollowed Sir Nicholas' arrest. Before seven o'clock every house knew it,and children ran half-dressed to the outlying hamlets to tell the story.Very little work was done that day, for the estate was disorganised; andthe men had little heart for work; and there were groups all day on thegreen, which formed and re-formed and drifted here and there anddiscussed and sifted the evidence. It was soon known that the Rectoryhousehold had had a foremost hand in the affair. The groom, who had beenpresent at the actual departure of the prisoners had told the story ofthe black figure that ran out of the door, and of what was cried at theold man's knee; and how he had not moved nor spoken in answer; andThomas, the Rectory boy, was stopped as he went across the green in theevening and threatened and encouraged until he told of the stroke on thechurch-bell, and the Rectory key, and the little company that had sat allthe afternoon in the kitchen over their ale. He told too how a couple ofhours ago he had been sent across with a note to Lady Maxwell, and thatit had been returned immediately unopened.
So as night fell, indignation had begun to smoulder fiercely against theminister, who had not been seen all day; and after dark had fallen thename "Judas" was cried in at the Rectory door half a dozen times, and astone or two from the direction of the churchyard had crashed on thetiles of the house.
Mr. Norris had been up all day at the Hall, but he was the only visitoradmitted. All day long the gate-house was kept closed, and the samemessage was given to the few horsemen and carriages that came to inquireafter the truth of the report from the Catholic houses round, to theeffect that it was true that Sir Nicholas and a friend had been taken offto London by the Justice from East Grinsted; and that Lady Maxwell beggedthe prayers of her friends for her husband's safe return.
Anthony had ridden off early with a servant, at his father's wish, tofollow Sir Nicholas and learn any news of him that was possible, to dohim any service he was able, and to return or send a message the next daydown to Great Keynes; and early in the afternoon he returned with theinformation that Sir Nicholas was at the Marshalsea, that he was well andhappy, that he sent his wife his dear love, and that she should have aletter from him before nightfall. He rode straight to the Hall with thenews, full of chastened delight at his official importance, just pausingto tell a group that was gathered on the green that all was well so far,and was shown up to Lady Maxwell's own parlour, where he found her, veryquiet and self-controlled, and extremely grateful for his kindness inriding up to London and back on her account. Anthony explained too thathe had been able to get Sir Nicholas one or two comforts that the prisondid not provide, a pillow and an extra coverlet and some fruit; and heleft her full of gratitude.
His father had been up to see the ladies two or three times, and in spiteof the difference in religion had prayed with them, and talked a little;and Lady Maxwell had asked that Isabel might come up to supper and spendthe evening. Mr. Norris promised to send her up, and then added:
"I am a little anxious, Lady Maxwell, lest the people may show theiranger against the Rector or his wife, about what has happened."
Lady Maxwell looked startled.
"They have been speaking of it all day long," he said, "they knoweverything; and it seems the Rector is not so much to blame as his wife.It was she who sent for the magistrate and gave him the key and arrangedit all; he was only brought into it too late to interfere or refuse."
"Have you seen him?" asked the old lady.
"I have been both days," he said, "but he will not see me; he is in hisstudy, locked in."
"I may have treated him hardly," she said, "I would not open his note;but at least he consented to help them against his friend." And her oldeyes filled with tears.
"I fear that is so," said the other sadly.
"But speak to the people," she said, "I think they love my husband, andwould do nothing to grieve us; tell them that nothing would pain eitherof us more than that any should suffer for this. Tell them they must donothing, but be patient and pray."
There was a group still on the green near the pond as Isabel came up tosupper that evening about six o'clock. Her father, who had given LadyMaxwell's message to the people an hour or two before, had asked her togo that way and send down a message to him immediately if there seemed tobe any disturbance or threatening of it; but the men were very quiet. Mr.Musgrave was there, she saw, sitting with his pipe, on the stocks, andPiers, the young Irish bailiff, was standing near; they all were silentas the girl came up, and saluted her respectfully as usual; and she sawno signs of any dangerous element. There were one or two older women withthe men, and others were standing at their open doors on all sides as shewent up. The Rectory gate was locked, and no one was to be seen within.
Supper was laid in Sir Nicholas' room, as it generally was, and as it hadbeen two nights ago; and it was very strange to Isabel to know that itwas here that the arrest had taken place; the floor, too, she noticed asshe came in, all about the threshold was scratched and dented by roughboots.
Lady Maxwell was very silent and distracted during supper; she madeefforts to talk again and again, and her sister did her best to interesther and keep her talking; but she always relapsed after a minute or twointo silence again, with long glances round the room, at the Vernacleover the fireplace, the prie-dieu with the shield of the Five Woundsabove it, and all the things that spoke so keenly of her husband.
What a strange room it was, too, thought Isabel, with its odd mingling ofthe two worlds, with the tapestry of the hawking scene and the stiffherons and ladies on horseback on one side, and the little shelf ofdevotional books on the other; and yet how characteristic of its ownerwho fingered his cross-bow or the reins of his horse all day, and hisbeads in the evening; and how strange that an old man like Sir Nicholas,who knew the world, and had as much sense apparently as any one else,should be willing to sacrifice home and property and even life itself,for these so plainly empty superstitious things that could not please aGod that was Spirit and Truth! So Isabel thought to herself, with nobitterness or contempt, but just a simple wonder and amazement, as shelooked at the painted tokens and trinkets.
It was still daylight when they went upstairs to Lady Maxwell's roomabout seven, but the clear southern sky over the yew hedges and the tallelms where the rooks were circling, was beginning to be flushed with deepamber and rose. Isabel sat down in the window seat with the sweet airpouring in and looked out on to the garden with its tiled paths and itscool green squares of lawn, and the glowing beds at the sides. Over toher right the cloister court ran out, with its two rows of windows,bedrooms above with galleries beyond, as she knew, and parlours andcloisters below; the pleasant tinkle of the fountain in the court camefaintly to her ears across the caw of the rooks about the elms and thelow sounds from the stables and the kitchen behind the house. Otherwisethe evening was very still; the two old ladies were sitting near thefireplace; Lady Maxwell had taken up her embroidery, and was looking atit listlessly, and Mistress Margaret had one of her devotional books andwas turning the pages, pausing here and there as she did so.
Presently she began to read, without a word of introduction, one of themusings of the old monk John Audeley in his sickness, and as the tenderlines stepped on, that restless jewelled hand grew still.
"As I lay sick in my languor In an abbey here by west; This book I made with great dolour, When I might not sleep nor rest. Oft with my prayers my soul I blest, And said aloud to Heaven's King, 'I know, O Lord, it is the best Meekly to take thy visiting. Else well I wot that I were lorn (High above all lords be he blest!) All that thou dost is for the best; By fault of Thee was no man lost, That is here of woman born.'"
And then she read some of Rolle's verses to Jesus, the "friend of allsick and sorrowful souls," and a meditation of his on the Passion, andthe tranquil thoughts and tender fragr
ant sorrows soothed the tornthrobbing soul; and Isabel saw the old wrinkled hand rise to herforehead, and the embroidery, with the needle still in it slipped to theground; as the holy Name "like ointment poured forth" gradually broughtits endless miracle and made all sweet and healthful again.
Outside the daylight was fading; the luminous vault overhead wasdeepening to a glowing blue as the sunset contracted on the westernhorizon to a few vivid streaks of glory; the room was growing darkerevery moment; and Mistress Margaret's voice began to stumble over words.
The great gilt harp in the corner only gleamed here and there now insingle lines of clear gold where the dying daylight fell on the strings.The room was full of shadows and the image of the Holy Mother and Childhad darkened into obscurity in their niche. The world was silent now too;the rooks were gone home and the stir of the household below had ceased;and in a moment more Mistress Margaret's voice had ceased too, as shelaid the book down.
Then, as if the world outside had waited for silence before speaking,there came a murmur of sound from the further side of the house. Isabelstarted up; surely there was anger in that low roar from the village; wasit this that her father had feared? Had she been remiss? Lady Maxwell toosprang up and faced the window with wide large eyes.
"The letter!" she said; and took a quick step towards the door; butMistress Margaret was with her instantly, with her arm about her.
"Sit down, Mary," she said, "they will bring it at once"; and her sisterobeyed; and she sat waiting and looking towards the door, clasping andunclasping her hands as they lay on her lap; and Mistress Margaret stoodby her, waiting and watching too. Isabel still stood by the windowlistening. Had she been mistaken then? The roar had sunk into silence fora moment; and there came back the quick beat of a horse's hoofs outsideon the short drive between the gatehouse and the Hall. They were right,then; and even as she thought it, and as the wife that waited for news ofher husband drew a quick breath and half rose in her seat at the sound ofthat shod messenger that bore them, again the roar swelled up louder thanever; and Isabel sprang down from the low step of the window-seat intothe dusky room where the two sisters waited.
"What is that? What is that?" she whispered sharply.
There was a sound of opening doors, and of feet that ran in the housebelow; and Lady Maxwell rose up and put out her hand, as a man-servantdashed in with a letter.
"My lady," he said panting, and giving it to her, "they are attacking theRectory."
Lady Maxwell, who was half-way to the window now, for light to read herhusband's letter, paused at that.
"The Rectory?" she said. "Why--Margaret----" then she stopped, and Isabelclose beside her, saw her turn resolutely from the great sealed letter inher hand to the door, and back again.
"Jervis told us, my lady; none saw him as he rode through--they werebreaking down the gate."
Then Lady Maxwell, with a quick movement, lifted the letter to her lipsand kissed it, and thrust it down somewhere out of sight in the folds ofher dress.
"Come, Margaret," she said.
Isabel followed them down the stairs and out through the hall-door; andthere, as they came out on to the steps that savage snarling roar swelledup from the green. There was laughter and hooting mixed with that growlof anger; but even the laughter was fierce. The gatehouse stood up blackagainst the glare of torches, and the towers threw great swinging shadowson the ground and the steps of the Hall.
Isabel followed the two grey glimmering figures, and was astonished atthe speed with which she had to go. The hoofs of the courier's horse rangon the cobbles of the stable-yard as they came down towards thegatehouse, and the two wings of the door were wide-open through which hehad passed just now; but the porter was gone.
Ah! there was the crowd; but not at the Rectory. On the right the Rectorygate lay wide open, and a flood of light poured out from the house-doorat the end of the drive. Before them lay the dark turf, swarming withblack figures towards the lower end; and a ceaseless roar came from them.There were half a dozen torches down there, tossing to and fro; Isabelsaw that the crowd was still moving down towards the stocks and the pond.
Now the two ladies in front of her were just coming up with the skirts ofthe crowd; and there was an exclamation or two of astonishment as thewomen and children saw who it was that was coming. Then there came thefurious scream of a man, and the crowd parted, as three men came reelingout together, two of them trying with all their power to restrain afighting, kicking, plunging man in long black skirts, who tore and beatwith his hands. The three ladies stopped for a moment, close together;and simultaneously the struggling man broke free and dashed back into thecrowd, screaming with anger and misery.
"Marion, Marion--I am coming--O God!"
And Isabel saw with a shock of horror that sent her crouching and clingingclose to Mistress Margaret, that it was the Rector. But the two men wereafter him and caught him by the shoulders as he disappeared; and as theyturned they faced Lady Maxwell.
"My lady, my lady," stammered one, "we mean him no harm. We----" But hisvoice stopped, as there came a sudden silence, rent by a high terribleshriek and a splash; followed in a moment by a yell of laughter andshouting; and Lady Maxwell threw herself into the crowd in front.
There were a few moments of jostling in the dark, with the reek and pressof the crowd about her; and Isabel found herself on the brink of theblack pond, with Lady Maxwell on one side, and Piers on the other keepingthe crowd back, and a dripping figure moaning and sobbing in the trampledmud at Lady Maxwell's feet. There was silence enough now, and the ring offaces opposite stared astonished and open-mouthed at the tall old ladywith her grey veiled head upraised, as she stood there in the torchlightand rated them in her fearless indignant voice.
"I am ashamed, ashamed!" cried Lady Maxwell. "I thought you were men. Ithought you loved my husband; and--and me." Her voice broke, and thenonce more she cried again. "I am ashamed, ashamed of my village."
And then she stooped to that heaving figure that had crawled up, and laidhold tenderly of the arms that were writhed about her feet.
"Come home, my dear," Isabel heard her whisper.
It was a strange procession homeward up the trampled turf. The crowd hadbroken into groups, and the people were awed and silent as they watchedthe four women go back together. Isabel walked a little behind with herfather and Anthony, who had at last been able to come forward through thepress and join them; and a couple of the torchbearers escorted them. Infront went the three, on one side Lady Maxwell, her lace and silksplashed and spattered with mud, and her white hands black with it, andon the other the old nun, each with an arm thrown round the woman in thecentre who staggered and sobbed and leaned against them as she went, withher long hair and her draggled clothes streaming with liquid mud everystep she took. Once they stopped, at a group of three men. The Rector wassitting up, in his torn dusty cassock, and Isabel saw that one of hisbuckled shoes was gone, as he sat on the grass with his feet before him,but quiet now, with his hands before him, and a dazed stupid look in hislittle black eyes that blinked at the light of the torch that was heldover him; he said nothing as he looked at his wife between the twoladies, but his lips moved, and his eyes wandered for a moment to LadyMaxwell's face, and then back to his wife.
"Take him home presently," she said to the men who were with him--andthen passed on again.
As they got through the gatehouse, Isabel stepped forward to MistressMargaret's side.
"Shall I come?" she whispered; and the nun shook her head; so she withher father and brother stood there to watch, with the crowd silent andashamed behind. The two torchbearers went on and stood by the steps asthe three ladies ascended, leaving black footmarks as they went. The doorwas open and faces of servants peeped out, and hands were thrust out totake the burden from their mistress, but she shook her head, and thethree came in together, and the door closed.
As the Norrises went back silently, the Rector passed them, with a littlegroup accompanying him too; he, too, could hardly w
alk alone, soexhausted was he with his furious struggles to rescue his wife.
"Take your sister home," said Mr. Norris to Anthony; and they saw himslip off and pass his arm through the Rector's, and bend down hishandsome kindly face to the minister's staring eyes and moving lips as hetoo led him homewards.
Even Anthony was hushed and impressed, and hardly spoke a word until heand Isabel turned off down the little dark lane to the Dower House.
"We could do nothing," he said, "father and I--until Lady Maxwell came."
"No," said Isabel softly, "she only could have done it."