CHAPTER I
AN ACT OF FAITH
Towards the end of August Beatrice Atherton was walking up the northbank of the river from Charing to Westminster to announce to Ralph herarrival in town on the previous night.
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She had gone through horrors since the June day on which she had seenthe two brothers together. With Margaret beside her she had watchedMaster More in court, in his frieze gown, leaning on his stick, bent andgrey with imprisonment, had heard his clear answers, his searchingquestions, and his merry conclusion after sentence had been pronounced;she had stayed at home with the stricken family on the morning of thesixth of July, kneeling with them at her prayers in the chapel of theNew Building, during the hours until Mr. Roper looked in grey-faced andtrembling, and they knew that all was over. She went with them to theburial in St. Peter's Chapel in the Tower; and last, which was the mostdreadful ordeal of all, she had stood in the summer darkness by thewicket-gate, had heard the cautious stroke of oars, and the footstepscoming up the path, and had let Margaret in bearing her precious burdenrobbed from the spike on London Bridge.
Then for a while she had gone down to the country with Mrs. More andher daughters; and now she was back once more, in a kind of psychicalconvalescence, at her aunt's new house on the river-bank at Charing.
* * * * *
Her face was a little paler than it used to be, but there was aquickening brightness in her eyes as she swept along in her blue mantle,with her maid beside her, in the rear of the liveried servant, whocarried a silver-headed wand a few yards in front.
She was rehearsing to herself the scene in which Ralph had asked her tobe his wife.
Where Chris had left the room the two had remained perfectly still untilthe street-door had closed; and then Ralph had turned to her with aquestion in his steady eyes.
She had told him then that she did not believe one word of what the monkhad insinuated; but she had been conscious even at the time that she wasmaking what theologians call an act of faith. It was not that there werenot difficulties to her in Ralph's position--there were plenty--but shehad determined by a final and swift decision to disregard them andbelieve in him. It was a last step in a process that continued eversince she had become interested by this strong brusque man; and it hadbeen precipitated by the fanatical attack to which she had just been awitness. The discord, as she thought it, of Ralph's character andactions had not been resolved; yet she had decided in that moment thatit need not be; that her data as concerned those actions wereinsufficient; and that if she could not explain, at least she couldtrust.
Ralph had been very honest, she told herself now. He had reminded herthat he was a servant of Cromwell's whom many believed to be an enemyof Church and State. She had nodded back to him steadily and silently,knowing what would follow from the paleness of his face, and his brighteyes beneath their wide lids. She had felt her own breast rise and falland a pulse begin to hammer at the spring of her throat. Even now as shethought of it her heart quickened, and her hands clenched themselves.
And then in one swift moment it had come. She had found her hands caughtfiercely, and her eyes imprisoned by his; and then all was over, and shehad given him an answer in a word.
It had not been easy even after that. Cecily had questioned her morethan once. Mrs. More had said a few indiscreet things that had been hardto bear; her own aunt had received the news in silence.
But that was over now. The necessary consent on both sides had beengiven; and here she was once more walking up the road to Westminsterwith Ralph's image before her eyes, and Ralph himself a hundred yardsaway.
* * * * *
She turned the last corner from the alley, passed up the little street,and turned again across the little cobbled yard that lay before thehouse.
Mr. Morris was at the door as she came up, and he now stood aside. Heseemed doubtful.
"Mr. Torridon has gentlemen with him, madam."
"Then I will wait," said Beatrice serenely, and made a motion to comein. The servant still half-hesitating opened the door wider; andBeatrice and her maid went through into the little parlour on the right.
As she passed in she heard voices from the other door. Mr. Morris'sfootsteps went down the passage.
She had not very long to wait. There was the sound of a carriagedriving up to the door presently, and her maid who sat in view of thewindow glanced out. Her face grew solemn.
"It is Master Cromwell's carriage," she said.
Beatrice was conscious of a vague discomfort; Master Cromwell, in spiteof her efforts, was the shadowed side of Ralph's life.
"Is he coming in?" she said.
The maid peeped again.
"No, madam."
The door of the room they were in was not quite shut, and there wasstill a faint murmur of voices from across the hall; but almostimmediately there was the sound of a lifted latch, and then Ralph'svoice clear and distinct.
"I will see to it, my lord."
Beatrice stood up, feeling a little uneasy. She fancied that perhaps sheought not to be here; she remembered now the servant's slight air ofunwillingness to let her in. There was a footfall in the hall, and thesound of talking; and as Mr. Morris's hasty step came up the passage,the door was pushed abruptly open, and Ralph was looking into the room,with one or two others beyond him.
"I did not know," he began, and flushed a little, smiling and making asif to close the door. But Cromwell's face, with its long upper lip andclose-set grey eyes, appeared over his shoulder, and Ralph turned round,almost deprecatingly.
"I beg your pardon, sir; this is Mistress Atherton, and her woman."
Cromwell came forward into the room, with a kind of keen smile, in hisrich dress and chain.
"Mistress Beatrice Atherton?" he said with a questioning deference; andRalph introduced them to one another. Beatrice was conscious of a gooddeal of awkwardness. It was uncomfortable to be caught here, as if shehad come to spy out something. She felt herself flushing as sheexplained that she had had no idea who was there.
Cromwell looked at her very pleasantly.
"There is nothing to ask pardon for, Mistress," he said. "I knew youwere a friend of Mr. Torridon. He has told me everything."
Ralph seemed strangely ill-at-ease, Beatrice thought, as Cromwellcongratulated them both with a very kindly air, and then turned towardsthe hall again.
"My lord," he called, "my lord--"
Then Beatrice saw a tall ecclesiastic, clean-shaven, with a strangelyinsignificant but kindly face, with square drooping lip and narrow hazeleyes, come forward in his prelate's dress; and at the sight of him hereyes grew hard and her lips tight.
"My lord," said Cromwell, "this is Mistress Beatrice Torridon."
The prelate put out his hand, smiling faintly, with the ring uppermostto be kissed. Beatrice stood perfectly still. She could see Ralph at anangle looking at her imploringly.
"You know my Lord of Canterbury," said Cromwell, in an explanatoryvoice.
"I know my Lord of Canterbury," said Beatrice.
There was a dead silence for a moment, and then a faint whimper from themaid.
Cranmer dropped his hand, but still smiled, turning to Ralph.
"We must be gone, Mr. Torridon. Master Cromwell has very kindly--"
Cromwell who had stood amazed for a moment, turned round at his name.
"Yes," he said to Ralph, "my lord is to come with me. And you will beat my house to-morrow."
He said good-day to the girl, looking at her with an amused interestthat made her flush; and as Dr. Cranmer passed out of the street-door tothe carriage with Ralph bare-headed beside him, he spoke very softly.
"You are like the others, mistress," he said; and shook his heavy headat her like an indulgent father. Then he too turned and went out.
* * * * *
Beatrice went across at once to the other room, leaving her m
aid behind,and stood by the hearth as Ralph came in. She heard the door close andhis footstep come across the floor beside her.
"Beatrice," said Ralph.
She turned round and looked at him.
"You must not scold me," she said with great serenity. "You must leaveme my conscience." Ralph's face cleared instantly.
"No, no," he said. "I feared it would be the other way."
"A married priest, they say!" remarked the girl, but without bitterness.
"I daresay, my darling,--but--but I have more tenderness for marriagethan I had."
Beatrice's black eyes just flickered with amusement.
"Yes; but priests!" she said.
"Yes--even priests--" said Ralph, smiling back.
Beatrice turned to a chair and sat down.
"I suppose I must not ask any questions," she said, glancing up for amoment at Ralph's steady eyes. She thought he looked a little uneasystill.
"Oh! I scarcely know," said Ralph; and he took a turn across the roomand came back. She waited, knowing that she had already put herquestion, and secretly pleased that he knew it, and was perplexed by it.
"I scarcely know," he said again, standing opposite her."Well,--yes--all will know it soon."
"Oh! I can wait till then," said Beatrice quickly, not sure whether shewere annoyed or not by being told a secret of such a common nature.Ralph glanced at her, not sure either.
"I am afraid--" he began.
"No--no," she said, ashamed of her doubt. "I do not wish to know; I canwait."
"I will tell you," said Ralph. He went and sat down in the chairopposite, crossing his legs.
"It is about the Visitation of the Religious Houses. I am to go with theVisitors in September."
Beatrice felt a sudden and rather distressed interest; but she showed nosign of it.
"Ah, yes!" she said softly, "and what will be your work?"
Ralph was reassured by her tone.
"We are to go to the southern province. I am with Dr. Layton's party. Weshall make enquiries of the state of Religion, how it is observed and soforth; and report to Master Cromwell."
Beatrice looked down in a slightly side-long way.
"I know what you are thinking," said Ralph, his tone a mixture ofamusement and pride. She looked up silently.
"Yes I knew it was so," he went on, smiling straight at her. "You arewondering what in the world I know about Religious Houses. But I have abrother--"
A shadow went over her face; Ralph saw she did not like the allusion.
"Besides," he went on again, "they need intelligent men, notecclesiastics, for this business."
"But Dr. Layton?" questioned Beatrice.
"Well, you might call him an ecclesiastic; but you would scarcely guessit from himself. And no man could call him a partisan on that side."
"He would do better in one of his rectories, I should think," saidBeatrice.
"Well, that is not my business," observed Ralph.
"And what is your business?"
"Well, to ride round the country; examine the Religious, and makeenquiries of the country folk."
Beatrice began to tap her foot very softly. Ralph glanced down at thebright buckle and smiled in spite of himself.
The girl went on.
"And by whose authority?"
"By his Grace's authority."
"And Dr. Cranmer's?"
"Well, yes; so far as he has any."
"I see," said Beatrice; and cast her eyes down again.
There was silence for a moment or two.
"You see too that I cannot withdraw," explained Ralph, a littledistressed at her air. "It is part of my duty."
"Oh! I understand that," said Beatrice.
"And so long as I act justly, there is no harm done."
The girl was silent.
"You understand that?" he asked.
"I suppose I do," said Beatrice slowly.
Ralph made a slight impatient movement.
"No--wait," said the girl, "I do understand. If I cannot trust you, Ihad better never have known you. I do understand that I can trust you;though I cannot understand how you can do such work."
She raised her eyes slowly to his; and Ralph as he looked into them sawthat she was perfectly sincere, and speaking without bitterness.
"Sweetheart," he said. "I could not have taken that from any but you;but I know that you are true, and mean no more nor less than your words.You do trust me?"
"Why, yes," said the girl; and smiled at him as he took her in his arms.
* * * * *
When she had gone again Ralph had a difficult quarter of an hour.
He knew that she trusted him, but was it not simply because she did notknow? He sat and pondered the talk he had had with Cromwell and theArchbishop. Neither had expressly said that what was wanted was adversetestimony against the Religious Houses; but that, Ralph knew very well,was what was asked of him. They had talked a great deal about thecorruptions that the Visitors would no doubt find, and Cranmer had tolda story or two, with an appearance of great distress, of scandalouscases that had come under his own notice. Cromwell too had pointed outthat such corruptions did incalculable evil; and that an immoral monkdid far more harm in a countryside than his holy brethren could do ofgood. Both had said a word too about the luxury and riches to be foundin the houses of those who professed poverty, and of the injury done toChrist's holy religion by such insincere pretences.
Ralph knew too, from previous meetings with the other Visitors, the kindof work for which such men would be likely to be selected.
There was Dr. Richard Layton first, whom Ralph was to join in Sussex atthe end of September, a priest who had two or three preferments andnotoriously neglected them; Ralph had taken a serious dislike to him. Hewas a coarse man who knew how to cringe effectively; and Ralph hadlistened to him talking to Cromwell, with some dismay. But he would beto a large extent independent of him, and only in his company at some ofthe larger houses that needed more than one Visitor. Thomas Legh, too, ayoung doctor of civil law, was scarcely more attractive. He was a man ofan extraordinary arrogance, carrying his head high, and looking abouthim with insolently drooping eyes. Ralph had been at once amused andangry to see him go out into the street after his interview withCromwell, where his horse and half-a-dozen footmen awaited him, and towatch him ride off with the airs of a vulgar prince. The Welshman ApRice too, and the red-faced bully, Dr. London, were hardly persons whomhe desired as associates, and the others were not much better; and Ralphfound himself feeling a little thankful that none of these men had beenin his house just now, when Cromwell and the Archbishop had called inthe former's carriage, and when Beatrice had met them there.
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Ralph had a moment, ten minutes after Beatrice had left, when he wasinclined to snatch up his hat and go after Cromwell to tell him to dohis own dirty work; but his training had told, and he had laughed at thefolly of the thought. Why, of course, the work had to be done! Englandwas rotten with dreams and superstition. Ecclesiasticism had corruptedgenuine human life, and national sanity could not be restored except bya violent process. Innocent persons would no doubt suffer--innocentaccording to conscience, but guilty against the commonwealth. Everygreat movement towards good was bound to be attended by individualcatastrophes; but it was the part of a strong man to carry outprinciples and despise details.
The work had to be done; it was better then that there should be atleast one respectable workman. Of course such a work needed coarse mento carry it out; it was bound to be accompanied by some brutality; andhis own presence there might do something to keep the brutality withinlimits.
* * * * *
And as for Beatrice--well, Beatrice did not yet understand. If sheunderstood all as he did, she would sympathise, for she was strong too.Besides--he had held her in his arms just now, and he knew that love wasking.
But he sat for ten minutes more in
silence, staring with unseeing eyesat the huddled roofs opposite and the clear sky over them; and the pointof the quill in his fingers was split and cracked when Mr. Morris lookedin to see if his master wanted anything.
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