Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century

at the top of the house, wherein the prisonersare leastways able to stretch their limbs and to see the light; but hehaving been before prevailed on to yield against his consciencetouching that point of going to Protestant worship, no peace is leftto him by his persecutors, which never cease to urge on him some sortof conformity to their religion. And, Constance, when a man hath oncebeen weak, what security can there be, albeit I deny not hope, that heshall always after stand firm?"

  "But by what means," I eagerly asked, '"do you forecast to procure hisescape?"

  "I have permission," she answered, "to bring him necessaries, which Ido in a basket, on condition that I be searched at going in and comingout, for to make sure I convey not any letter unto him or from him;and this was so strictly observed the first month that they must needsbreak open the loaves or pies I take to him lest any paper should beconveyed inside. But they begin now to weary of this strict search,and do not care at ways to hearken when I speak with him; so he couldtell me the last time I did visit him that he had found a way by whichif he had but a cord long enough for his purpose, he could let himselfdown from the top of the house, and so make his escape in the night."

  "Oh," I cried, "dear Mistress Ward, but this is a perilous venture, toaid a prisoner's escape. One which a daughter might run for herfather, oh, how willingly, but for a stranger--"

  "A stranger!" she answered. "Is he a stranger for whom Christ died,and whose precious soul is in danger, even if not a priest; andbeing so, is he not entitled to more than common reverence, chiefly inthese days when God's servants minister to us in the midst of suchgreat straits to both soul and body?'

  "I cry God mercy," I said; "I did term him a stranger who gave ghostlycomfort to my dear mother on her death-bed; but oh, dear MistressWard, I thought on your peril, who, he knoweth, hath been as a motherto me for these many years. And then-if you are resolved to run thisdanger, should it not be possible to save my father also by the samemeans? Two cords should not be more difficult to convey, methinks,than one, and the peril not greater."

  "If I could speak with him," she replied, "it would not be impossible.I will tell Muriel to make two instead of one of these cords, whichshe doth twine in some way she learnt from a Frenchman, so strong as,albeit slight, to have the strength of a cable. But without we doprocure two men with a boat for to fetch the prisoners when theydescend, 'tis little use to make the attempt. And it be easier, Iwarrant thee, Constance, to run one's self into a manifest danger thanto entice others to the like."

  "Should it be safe," I asked, "to speak thereon to Hubert Rookwood? Hedid exhibit this morning much zeal in my father's behalf, and promisedto move Sir Francis Walsingham to procure his release."

  "How is he disposed touching religion? she asked, in a doubtfulmanner.

  "Alas!" I answered, "there is a secrecy in his nature which in moreways than one doth prove unvestigable, leastways to me; but when hecomes this evening I will sound him thereon. Would his brother were inLondon! Then we should not lack counsel and aid in this matter."

  "We do sorely need both," she answered; "for your good uncle, thanwhich a better man never lived, wanes feeble in body, and hence easilyovercome by the fears such enterprises involve. Mr. Wells is not inLondon at this tune, or he should have been a very palladium ofstrength in this necessity. Hubert Rookwood hath, I think, a goodhead."

  "What we do want is a brave heart," I replied, thinking on Basil.

  "But wits also," she said.

  "Basil hath them too," I answered, forgetting that only in mine ownthinking had he been named.

  "Yea," she cried, "who doth doubt it? but, alas! he is not here."

  Then I prayed her not to be too rash in the prosecution of her design."Touching my father," I said, "I have yet some hope of his release;and as long as any remaineth, flight should be methinks a toodesperate attempt to be thought of."

  "Yea," she answered, "in most cases it would be so." But Mr. Watson'sdisposition she perceived to be such as would meet a present dangerand death itself, she thought, with courage, but not of that stampwhich could endure prolonged fears or infliction of torments.

  Since my coming to London I had been too much engaged in these weightycares to go abroad; but on that day I resolved, if it were possible,to see my Lady Surrey. A report had reached me that the breach betweenher and her husband had so much deepened that a separation had ensued,which if true, I, which knew her as well almost as mine own self,could judge what her grief must be. I was also moved to this endeavorby the hope that if my Lord Arundel was not too sick to be spokenwith, she should perhaps obtain some help through his means for thatdear prisoner whose captivity did weigh so heavily on my heart.

  So, with a servant to attend on me, I went through the city to theChapter-house, and with a misgiving mind heard from the porter thatLady Surrey lodged not there, but at Arundel House, whither she hadremoved soon after her coming to London. Methought that in thetelling of it this man exhibited a sorrowful countenance; but notchoosing to question one of his sort on so weighty a matter, I went onto Arundel House, where, after some delay, I succeeded in gainingadmittance to Lady Surrey's chamber, whose manner, when she first sawme, lacked the warmth which I was used to in her greetings. Thereseemed some fear in her lest I should speak unadvisedly that which shewould be loth to hear; and her strangeness and reserve methinks arosefrom reluctance to have the wound in her heart probed,--too sore aone, I ween, even for the tender handling of a friend. I inquired ofher if my Lord Arundel's health had improved. She said he was better,and like soon to be as well as could be hoped for now-a-days, when hisinfirmities had much increased.

  "Then you will return to Kenninghall?" I said, letting my speechoutrun discretion.

  "No," she replied; "I purpose never more to leave my Lord Arundel ormy Lady Lumley as long as they do live, which I pray God may be manyyears."

  And then she sat without speaking, biting her lips and wringing thekerchief she held in her hands, as if to keep her grief fromoutbursting. I dared not to comment on her resolve, for I foresaw thatthe least word which should express some partaking of her sorrow, orany question relating to it, would let loose a torrent weakly stayedby a mightful effort, not like to be of long avail. So I spoke of mineown troubles, and the events which had occasioned my sudden departurefrom Lynn Court. She had heard of Lady l'Estrange's mishap, and thatthe following day I had journeyed to London; but naught of the causesthereof, or of the apprehension of any priest by Sir Hammond's orders.Which, when she learnt the manner of this misfortune, and the poorlady's share therein, and that it was my father she had thusunwittingly discovered, her countenance softened, and throwing herarms round my neck, she bitterly wept, which at that moment methinksdid her more good than anything else.

  "Oh, mine own good Constance," she said, "I doubt not nature risethmany passionate workings in your soul at this time; but, my dearwench, when good men are in trouble our grief for them should be asnoble as their virtues. Bethink thee what a worst sorrow it should beto have a vile father, one that thou must needs love,--for who cantear out of his heart affection strong as life?--and he should thenprove unworthy. Believe me, Constance, God gives to each, even in thisworld, a portion of their deserts. Such griefs as thy present one Itake to be rare instances of his favor. Other sorts of trials are meetfor cowardly souls which refuse to set their lips to a chalice ofsuffering, and presently find themselves submerged in a sea of woes.But can I help thee, sweet one? Is there aught I can do to lighten thyaffliction? Hast thou license for to see thy father?"

  "No, dear lady," I answered; "and his name being concealed, I may notpetition as his daughter for this permission; but if my Lord Arundelshould be so good a lord to me as to obtain leave for me to visit thisprisoner, without revealing his name and condition, he should do methe greatest benefit in the world."

  "I will move him thereunto," my lady said. "But he who had formerly noequal in the queen's favor, and to whom she doth partly owe her crown,is now in his sickness and old age of so little account in he
r eyes,that trifling favors are often denied him to whom she would once havesaid: 'Ask of me what thou wilt, and I will give it unto thee.' Butwhat my poor endeavors can effect through him or others shall not belacking in this thy need. But I am not in that condition I was oncelike to have enjoyed." Then with her eyes cast on the ground sheseemed for to doubt if she should speak plainly, or still shutup her grief in silence. As I sat painfully expecting her next words,the door opened, and two ladies were announced, which she whispered inmine ear she would fain not have admitted at that time, but that LordArundel's desire did oblige her to entertain them. One was MistressBellamy,