The King's Daughters Part 30

Cissy knew very well that Ursula spoke so amiably because Mrs Wade was there to hear her. She went up to look after her little brother, and the landlady turned to Ursula.

"Now, Ursula Felstede, I want these children."

"Then you must ask leave from the Queen's Commissioners, Mistress Wade.

Eh, I couldn't give 'em up if it were ever so! I daren't, for the life o' me!"

Mrs Wade begged, coaxed, lectured, and almost threatened her, but for once Ursula was firm. She dared not give up the children, and she was quite honest in saying so. Mrs Wade had to go home without them.

As she came up, very weary and unusually dispirited, to the archway of the King's Head, she heard voices from within.

"I tell you she's not!" said Dorothy Denny's voice in a rather frightened tone; "she went forth nigh four hours agone, and whither I know not."

"That's an inquiry for me," said Mrs Wade to herself, as she sprang down from her old black mare, and gave her a pat before dismissing her to the care of the ostler, who ran up to take her. "Good Jenny! good old la.s.s!--Is there any company, Giles?" she asked of the ostler.

"Mistress, 'tis Master Maynard the Sheriff and he's making inquiration for you. I would you could ha' kept away a bit longer!"

"Dost thou so, good Giles? Well, I would as G.o.d would. The Sheriff had best have somebody else to deal with him than Doll and Bab." And she went forward into the kitchen.

Barbara, her younger servant, who was only a girl, stood leaning against a dresser, looking very white and frightened, with the rolling-pin in her hand; she had evidently been stopped in the middle of making a pie.

Dorothy stood on the hearth, fronting the terrible Sheriff, who was armed with a writ, and evidently did not mean to leave before he had seen the mistress.

"I am here, Mr Maynard, if you want me," said Mrs Wade, quite calmly.

"Well said," answered the Sheriff, turning to her. "I have here a writ for your arrest, my mistress, and conveyance to the Bishop's Court at London, there to answer for your ill deeds."

"I am ready to answer for all my deeds, good and ill, to any that have a right to question me. I will go with you.--Bab, go and tell Giles to leave the saddle on Jenny.--Doll, here be my keys; take them, and do the best thou canst. I believe thee honest and well-meaning, but I'm feared the house shall ne'er keep up its credit. Howbeit, that cannot be helped. Do thy best, and the Lord be with you! As to directions, I were best to leave none; maybe they should but hamper thee, and set thee in perplexity. Keep matters clean, and pay as thou goest--thou wist where to find the till; and fear G.o.d--that's all I need say. And if it come in thy way to do a kind deed for any, and in especial those poor little children that thou wist of, do it, as I would were I here: ay, and let Cissy know when all's o'er with her father. And pray for me, and I'll do as much for thee--that we may do our duty and please G.o.d, and for bodily safety let it be according to His will.--Now, Master Maynard, I am ready."

Four days later, several strokes were rang on the great bell of the Bishop's Palace at Fulham. The gaoler came to his gate when summoned by the porter.

"Here's a prisoner up from Colchester--Philippa Wade, hostess of the King's Head there. Have you room?"

"Room and to spare. Heresy, I reckon?"

"Ay, heresy,--the old tale. There must be a nest of it yonder down in Ess.e.x."

"There's nought else all o'er the country, methinks," said the gaoler with a laugh. "Come in, Mistress; I'll show you your lodging. His Lords.h.i.+p hath an apartment in especial, furnished of polished black oak, that he keepeth for such as you. Pray you follow me."

Mrs Wade followed the jocose gaoler along a small paved pa.s.sage between two walls, and through a low door, which the gaoler barred behind her, himself outside, and then opened a little wicket through which to speak.

"Pray you, sit down, my mistress, on whichsoever of the chairs you count desirable. The furniture is all of one sort, fair and goodly; far-fetched and dear-bought, which is good for gentlewomen, and liketh them: fast colours the broidery, I do ensure you."

Mrs Wade looked round, so far as she could see by the little wicket, everything was black--even the floor, which was covered with black s.h.i.+ning lumps of all shapes and sizes. She touched one of the lumps.

There, could be no doubt of its nature. The "polished black oak"

furniture was cobs of coal, and the sumptuous apartment wherein she was to--lodged was Bishop Bonner's coal-cellar.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

"READY! AY, READY!"

It was the evening of the first of August. The prisoners in the Castle, now reduced to four--the Mounts, Rose, and Johnson--had held their Bible-reading and their little evening prayer-meeting, and sat waiting for supper. John and Margaret Thurston, who had been with them until that day, were taken away in the morning to undergo examination, and had not returned. The prisoners had not yet heard when they were to die.

They only knew that it would be soon, and might be any day. Yet we are told they remained in their dungeons "with much joy and great comfort, in continual reading and invocating the name of G.o.d, ever looking and expecting the happy day of their dissolution."

We should probably feel more inclined to call it a horrible day. But they called it a happy day. They expected to change their prison for a palace, and their prison bonds for golden harps, and the prison fare for the fruit or the Tree of Life, and the company of scoffers and tormentors for that of Seraphim and Cherubim, and the blessed dead: and above all, to see His Face who had laid down His life for them.

Supper was late that evening. They could hear voices outside, with occasional exclamations of surprise, and now and then a peal of laughter. At length the door was unlocked, and the gaoler's man came in with four trenchers, piled on each other, on each of which was laid a slice of rye-bread and a piece of cheese. He served out one to each prisoner.

"Want your appet.i.tes sharpened?" said he with a sarcastic laugh.

"Because, if you do, there's news for you."

"Prithee let us hear it, Bartle," answered Mount, quietly.

"Well, first, writs is come down. Moot Hall prisoners suffer at six to-morrow, on the waste by Lexden Road, and you'll get your deserving i'

th' afternoon, in the Castle yard."

"G.o.d be praised!" solemnly responded William Mount, and the others added an Amen.

"Well, you're a queer set!" said Bartle, looking at them. "I shouldn't want to thank n.o.body for it, if so be I was going to be hanged: and that's easier of the two."

"We are only going Home," answered William Mount. "The climb may be steep, but there is rest and ease at the end thereof."

"Well, you seem mighty sure on't. I know nought. Priests say you'll find yourselves in a worser place nor you think."

"Nay! G.o.d is faithful," said Johnson.

"Have it your own way. I wish you might, for you seem to me a deal tidier folks than most that come our way. Howbeit, my news isn't all told. Alegar, your brats be gone to Hedingham."

"G.o.d go with them!" replied Johnson; but he seemed much sadder to hear this than he had done for his own doom.

"And Margaret Thurston's recanted. She's reconciled and had to better lodging."

It was evident, though to Bartle's astonishment, that the prisoners considered this the worst news of all.

"And John Thurston?"

"Ah, they aren't so sure of him. They think he'll bear a f.a.ggot, but it's not certain yet."

"G.o.d help and strengthen him!"

"And Mistress Wade, of the King's Head, is had up to London to the Bishop."

"G.o.d grant her His grace!"

"I've told you all now. Good-night."

The greeting was returned, and Bartle went out. He was commissioned to carry the writ down to the Moot Hall.