The King's Daughters Part 12

"I cannot 'bide, Robin. I'm late, even now."

"Tarry but one minute, Bessy. Trust me, thou wouldst if--"

"Well, then, make haste," said Elizabeth, pausing.

"Thou art friends with Alice Mount, of Bentley, and she knows Mistress Ewring, the miller's wife."

"Ay; well, what so?"

"Bid Alice Mount tell Master Ewring there's like to be a writ out against him for heresy and contumaciousness toward the Church. Never mind how I got to know; I know it, and that's enough. He, and Mistress Silverside, and Johnson, of Thorpe, be like enough to come into court.

Bessy, take heed to thy ways, I pray thee, that thou be not suspect."

No thought of herself had caused Elizabeth Foulkes to lay her hand suddenly on the b.u.t.tress of Saint Peter's, beside her. The father who was so dear to little Cissy was in imminent danger; and Cissy had just been asking G.o.d to send somebody to see after him. Elizabeth's voice was changed when she spoke again.

"They must be warned," she said. "Robin, thou and I must needs do this errand to-night. I shall be chidden, but that does not matter. Canst thou walk ten miles for the love of G.o.d?"

"I'd do that for the love of thee, never name G.o.d."

Elizabeth did not answer the words. There was too much at stake to lose time.

"Then go thou to Thorpe, and bid Johnson get away ere they take him.

Mistress Wade has the children, and she'll see to them, or Alice Mount will. I must--"

"Thou'd best not put too much on Alice Mount, for Will Mount's as like as not to be in the next batch."

"Lord, have mercy on us! I'll go warn them--they are with Mistress Ewring at the mill; and then I'll go on to Mistress Silverside. Make haste, Robin, for mercy's sake!"

And, without waiting for anything more, Elizabeth turned and ran up the street as fast as she dared in the comparative darkness. Streets were very rough in those days, and lanterns would not light far.

Old Mistress Silverside lived in Tenant's Lane, which was further off than the mill. Elizabeth ran across from the North Hill to Boucher's Street, and up that, towards the gate, beyond which the mill stood on the bank of the Colne. Mr Ewring, the miller, was a man who kept early hours; and, as Elizabeth ran up to the gate, she saw that the lights were already out in the windows of the mill. The gate was closed.

Elizabeth rapped sharply on the window, and the shutter was opened, but, all being dark inside, she could not see by whom.

"Prithee, let me through the gate. I've a message of import for Master Ewring, at the mill."

"Gate's shut," said the gruff voice of the gatekeeper. "Can't let any through while morning."

"Darnell, you'll let me through!" pleaded Elizabeth. "I'm servant to Master Clere, clothier, of Balcon Lane, and I'm sent with a message of grave import to the mill."

"Tell Master Clere, if he wants his corn ground, he must send by daylight."

And the wooden shutter was flung to. Elizabeth stood for an instant as if dazed.

"I can't get to them," she said to herself. "There's no chance that way. I must go to Tenant's Lane."

She turned away from the gate, and went round by the wall to the top of Tenant's Lane.

"Pray G.o.d I be in time to warn somebody! We are all in danger, we who were at the preaching to-night, and Mistress Wade most of all, for it was in her house. I'll go to the King's Head ere I go home."

Thus thinking, Elizabeth reached Mrs Silverside's, and rapped at the door. Once--twice--thrice--four times. Not a sound came from inside, and she was at last sorrowfully compelled to conclude that n.o.body was at home. Down the lane she went, and came out into High Street at the bottom.

"Then I can only warn Mistress Wade. I dare be bound she'll let the others know, as soon as morning breaks. I do trust that will be time enough."

She picked her way across High Street, and had just reached the opposite side, when her arm was caught as if in an iron vice, and she felt herself held fast by greater strength than her own.

"Hussy, what goest thou about?" said the stern voice of her master, Nicholas Clere.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

STOPPED ON THE WAY.

Nicholas Clere was a man of one idea at once; and people of that sort do a great deal of good when they get hold of the right idea, and a great deal of harm when a wrong idea gets hold of them. Once let notion get into the head of Nicholas, and no reasoning nor persuasion would drive it out. He made no allowances and permitted no excuses. If a thing looked wrong, then wrong it must be, and it was of no use to talk to him about it. That he should have found Elizabeth, who had been ordered to come home at eight o'clock, running in the opposite direction at half-past eight, was in his eyes an enormity which admitted of no explanations. That she either had been in mischief, or was then on her way to it, were the only two alternatives possible to the mind of her master.

And circ.u.mstances were especially awkward for Elizabeth, since she could not give any explanation of her proceedings which would clear her in the eyes of her employers. Nicholas Clere, like many other people of prejudiced minds and fixed opinions, had a mind totally unfixed in the one matter of religion. His religion was whatever he found it to his worldly advantage to be. During King Edward's reign, it was polite and fas.h.i.+onable to be a Protestant; now, under Queen Mary, the only way to make a man's fortune was to be a Roman Catholic. And though Nicholas did not say even to himself that it was better to have plenty of money than to go to Heaven when he died, yet he lived exactly as if he thought so. During the last few years, therefore, Nicholas had gradually been growing more and more of a Papist, and especially during the last few weeks. First, he left off attending the Protestant meetings at the King's Head; then he dropped family prayer. Papists, whether they be the genuine article or only the imitation, always dislike family prayer.

They say that a church is the proper place to pray in, though our Lord's bidding is, "When thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret." The third step which Nicholas took was to go to ma.s.s, and command all his household to follow him. This had Elizabeth hitherto, but quite respectfully, declined to do. She was ready to obey all orders of her earthly master which did not interfere with her higher duty to G.o.d Almighty. But His holy Word--not her fancy, nor the traditions of men-- forbade her to bow down to graven images; or to give His glory to any person or thing but Himself.

And Elizabeth knew that she could not attend ma.s.s without doing that. A piece of consecrated bread would be held up, and she would be required to wors.h.i.+p it as G.o.d. And it was not G.o.d: it could neither see, nor hear, nor speak; it was not even as like G.o.d as a man is. To wors.h.i.+p a bit of bread because Christ likened His body to bread, would be as silly as to wors.h.i.+p a stone because the Bible says, "That _Rock_ was Christ."

It was evident that He was speaking figuratively, just as He spoke when He said, "I am the door of the sheep," and "I am the Morning Star." Who in his senses would suppose that Christ meant to say that He was a wooden door? It is important that we should have true ideas about this, because there are just now plenty of foolish people who will try to persuade us to believe that that poor, powerless piece of bread is G.o.d Himself. It is insulting the Lord G.o.d Almighty to say such a thing.

Look at the 115th Psalm, from the fifth verse to the eight, and you will see how G.o.d describes an idol, which He forbids to be wors.h.i.+pped: and then look at the 26th and 27th verses of the 24th chapter of Saint Matthew, and you will see that the Lord Jesus distinctly says that you are not to believe anybody who tells you that He is come before you see Him. When He really does come, n.o.body will want any telling; we shall all see Him for ourselves. So we find from His own words in every way that the bread and wine in the Sacrament are just bread and wine, and nothing more, which we eat and drink "in remembrance of Him," just as you might keep and value your mother's photograph in remembrance of her.

But I am sure you never would be so silly as to think that the photograph was her own real self!

This was the reason why Elizabeth Foulkes would not go to ma.s.s. Every Sunday morning Mrs Clere ordered her to go, and Elizabeth quietly, respectfully, but firmly, told her that she could not do so. Elizabeth had G.o.d's Word to uphold her; G.o.d forbade her to wors.h.i.+p idols. It was not simply that she did not like it, nor that somebody else had told her not to do it. Nothing can excuse us if we break the laws of our country, unless the law of our country has broken G.o.d's law; and Elizabeth would have done very wrong to disobey her mistress, except when her mistress told her to disobey G.o.d. What G.o.d said must be her rule; not what she thought.

Generally speaking, Mrs Clere called Elizabeth some ugly names, and then let her do as she liked. Up to this time her master had not interfered with her, but she was constantly expecting that he would.

She was not afraid of answering for herself; but she was terribly afraid for her poor friends. To tell him that she was on her way to warn them of danger, and beg them to escape, would be the very means of preventing their escape, for what he was likely to do was to go at once and tell the priests, in order to win their favour for himself.

"Hussy, what goest thou about?" came sternly from Nicholas Clere, as he held her fast.

"Master, I cry you mercy. I was on my way home, and I was turned out of it by one that prayed me to take a word of grave import to a friend."

Elizabeth thought she might safely say so much as that.

"I believe thee not," answered Nicholas. "All young maids be idle gadabouts, if they be not looked to sharply, and thou art no better than the rest. Whither wert thou going?"

"I have told all I may, Master, and I pray you ask no further. The secret is not mine, but theirs that sent me and should have received my message."

In those days, nothing was more usual than for secret messages to be sent from one person to another. It was not safe then, as it is now, for people to speak openly. Freedom always goes hand in hand with Protestantism. If England should ever again become a Roman Catholic country--which many people are trying hard to make her--Englishmen will be no longer free.

Nicholas Clere hesitated a moment. Elizabeth's defence was not at all unlikely to be true. But he had made up his mind that she was in fault, and probabilities must not be allowed to interfere with it.

"Rubbis.h.!.+" said he. "What man, having his eyes in his head, should trust a silly maid with any matter of import? Women can never keep a secret, much less a young jade like to thee. Tell no more lies, prithee."

And he began to walk towards Balcon Lane, still firmly holding Elizabeth by the arm.

"Master, I beseech you, let me go on my way!" she pleaded earnestly. "I will tarry up all night, if it be your pleasure, to make up for one half-hour now. Truly as I am an honest maid, I have told you the truth, and I am about nothing ill."

"Tush, jade! Hold thy tongue. Thou goest with me, and if not peaceably, then by force."