CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
THE STORM BREAKS.
When the morning came, Amy's good temper was restored by her night'srest, and she was inclined to look on her locking-in as a piece ofamusement.
"I vow, Bess, this is fun!" said she, "I've twenty minds to get out onthe roof, and see if I can reach the next window. It would be rightjolly to wake up Ellen Mallory--she's always lies abed while seven; andI do think I could. Wilt aid me?"
Ellen Mallory was the next neighbour's daughter, a girl of about Amy'sage; and seven o'clock was considered a shocking late hour for rising in1556.
"Mistress Amy, I do pray you never think of such a thing," criedElizabeth, in horror. "You'll be killed!"
"Well, I'm not wishful to be killed," answered Amy lightly: "I only wantsome fun while we are shut up here. I marvel when Mother shall come tolet us out. She'll have to light the fire herself if she does not;that's one good thing!"
Elizabeth thought it a very undutiful idea; but she was silent. If shehad but had wings like a dove, how gladly would she have flown to warnher friends! She well knew that Mrs Clere was not likely to be in themood to grant a favour and let her go, after what had happened the nightbefore. To go without leave was a thing which Elizabeth nevercontemplated. That would be putting herself in the wrong. But her poorfriends, would they escape? How if Robert Purcas had been stopped, asshe had? I was strange, but her imagination did not dwell nearly somuch upon her own friend, Rose, as on little Cissy. If Johnson weretaken, if he were martyred, what would become of little Cissy? Thechild had crept into Elizabeth's heart, before she was aware. SuddenlyAmy's voice broke in upon her thoughts.
"Come, Bess, art in a better mood this morrow? I'll forgive thee thymiss-words last night, if thou'lt tell me now."
All the cross words there had been the night before had come from Amyherself; but Elizabeth let that pass.
"Mistress Amy," said she, "this matter is not one whereof I may speak toyou or any other. I was charged with a secret, and bidden not todisclose the same. Think you I can break my word?"
"Dear heart! I break mine many a time in the week," cried Amy, with alaugh. "I'm not _nigh_ so peevish as thou."
"But, Mistress Amy, it is not right," returned Elizabeth earnestly.
Before Amy could answer, Mrs Clere's heavy step was heard approachingthe door, and the key turned in the lock. Amy, who sat on the side ofthe bed swinging her feet to and fro for amusement, jumped down.
"Mother, you'll get nought from her. I've essayed both last night andthis morrow, and I might as well have held my tongue."
"Go and light the fire," said Mrs Clere sternly to Elizabeth. "I'llhave some talk with thee at after."
Elizabeth obeyed in silence. She lighted the fire and buttered theeggs, and swept the house, and baked the bread, and washed the clothes,and churned the butter--all with a passionate longing to be free, hiddenin her heart, and constant ejaculatory prayers--silent ones, of course--for the safely of her poor friends. Mrs Clere seemed to expectElizabeth to run away if she could, and she did not let her go out ofher sight the whole day. The promised scolding, however, did not come.
Supper was over, and the short winter day was drawing to its close, whenNicholas Clere came into the kitchen.
"Here's brave news, Wife!" said he, "What thinkest? Here be anhalf-dozen in the town arrest of heresy--and some without, too."
"Mercy on us! Who?" demanded Mrs Clere.
"Why, Master Benold, chandler, and Master Bongeor, glazier, and oldMistress Silverside, and Mistress Ewring at the mill--these did I hear.I know not who else." And suddenly turning to Elizabeth, he said,"Hussy, was this thine errand, or had it ought to do therewith?"
All the passionate pain and the earnest longing died out of the heart ofElizabeth Foulkes. She stood looking as calm as a marble statue, andalmost as white.
"Master," she said, quietly enough, "mine errand was to warn these myfriends. God may yet save them, if it be His will. And may He not layto your charge the blood that will otherwise be shed!"
"Mercy on us!" cried Mrs Clere again, dropping her duster. "Why, thejade's never a bit better than these precious friends of hers!"
"I'm sore afeared we have been nourishing a serpent in our bosoms," saidNicholas, in his sternest manner. "I had best see to this."
"Well, I wouldn't hurt the maid," said his wife, in an uneasy tone;"but, dear heart! we must see to ourselves a bit. We shall get intotrouble if such things be tracked to our house."
"So we shall," answered her husband. "I shall go, speak with thepriest, and see what he saith. Without"--and he turned toElizabeth--"thou wilt be penitent, and go to mass, and do penance forthy fault."
"I am willing enough to do penance for my faults, Master," saidElizabeth, "but not for the warning that I would have given; for nofault is in it."
"Then must we need save ourselves," replied Nicholas: "for the innocentmust not suffer for the guilty. Wife, thou wert best lock up this hussyin some safe place; and, daughter, go thou not nigh her. This manner ofheresy is infectious, and I would not have thee defiled therewith."
"Nay, I'll have nought to do with what might get me into trouble," saidAmy, flippantly. "Bessy may swallow the Bible if she likes; I shan't."
Elizabeth was silent, quietly standing to hear her doom pronounced. Sheknew it was equivalent to a sentence of death. No priest, consulted onsuch a subject would dare to leave the heretic undenounced. And she hadno friends save that widowed mother at Stoke Nayland--a poor woman,without money or influence; and that other Friend who would be sure tostand by her,--who, that He might save others, had not saved Himself.
Nicholas took up his hat and marched out, and Mrs Clere orderedElizabeth off to a little room over the porch, generally used as alumber room, where she locked her up.
"Now then, think on thy ways!" said she. "It'll mayhap do thee good.Bread and water's all thou'lt get, I promise thee, and better than thydemerits. Dear heart! to turn a tidy house upside-down like this, andall for a silly maid's fancies, forsooth! I hope thou feels ashamed ofthyself; for I do for thee."
"Mistress, I can never be ashamed of God's truth. To that will I stand,if He grant me grace."
"Have done with thy cant! I've no patience with it."
And Mistress Clere banged the door behind her, locked it, and leftElizabeth alone till dinner-time, when she carried up a slice of bread--only one, and that the coarsest rye-bread--and a mug of water.
"There!" said she. "Thou shouldst be thankful, when I've every bit ofwork on my hands in all this house, owing to thy perversity!"
"I do thank you, Mistress," said Elizabeth, meekly. "Would you sufferme to ask you one favour? I have served you well hitherto, and I neverdisobeyed you till now."
It was true, and Mrs Clere knew it.
"Well, the brazen-facedness of some hussies!" cried she. "Prithee,what's your pleasure, mistress? Would you a new satin gown for yourtrial, and a pearl-necklace? or do you desire an hundred pounds given tothe judges to set you free? or would you a petition to the Queen'sMajesty, headed by Mr Mayor and my Lord of Oxenford?"
Elizabeth let the taunts go by her like a summer breeze. She felt themkeenly enough. Nobody enjoys being laughed at; but he is hardly worthcalling a man who allows a laugh to turn him out of the path of duty.
"Mistress," she said, quietly, "should you hear of any being arrestedfor heresy, would you do me so much grace as to let me know the name?and the like if you hear of any that have escaped?"
Mrs Clere looked down into the eyes that were lifted to her, asElizabeth stood before her. Quiet, meek, tranquil eyes, without a lookof reproach in them, with no anxiety save that aroused for the fate ofher friends. She was touched in spite of herself.
"Thou foolish maid!" said she. "Why couldst thou not have done as otherfolks, and run no risks? I vow I'm well-nigh sorry for thee, for allthy perversity. Well, we'll see. Mayhap I will, if I think on't."
"Thank you, M
istress!" said Elizabeth gratefully, as Mistress Clere tookthe mug from her, and left the little porch-chamber as before, lockingher prisoner in the prison.
The King's Daughters Page 16