CHAPTER XX.
THE COMING QUEEN.
I stood glaring at her.
"You were a blind bat or you would have found it out for yourself,"she continued scornfully. "A babe would have guessed it, knowing asmuch of your father as you did."
"Does he know himself?" I muttered hoarsely, looking anywhere but ather now. The shock had left me dull and confused. I did not doubt herword, rather I wondered with her that I had not found this out formyself. But the possibility of meeting my father in that wide worldinto which I had plunged to escape from the knowledge of hisexistence, had never occurred to me. Had I thought of it, it wouldhave seemed too unlikely; and though I might have seen in Gardiner alink between us, and so have identified him, the greatness of theChancellor's transactions, and certain things about Clarence which hadseemed, or would have seemed, had I ever taken the point intoconsideration, at variance with my ideas of my father, had preventedme getting upon the track.
"Does he know that you are his son, do you mean?" she said. "No, hedoes not."
"You have not told him?"
"No," she answered with a slight shiver.
I understood. I comprehended that even to her the eagerness withwhich, being father and son, we had sought one another's lives duringthose days on the Rhine, had seemed so dreadful that she had concealedthe truth from him.
"When did you learn it?" I asked, trembling too.
"I knew his right name before I ever saw you," she answered. "Yours Ilearned on the day I left you at Santon." Looking back I rememberedthe strange horror, then inexplicable, which she had betrayed; and Iunderstood it. So it was that knowledge which had driven her from us!"What will you do now?" she said. "You will save him? You must savehim! He is your father."
Save him? I shuddered at the thought that I had destroyed him! that I,his son, had denounced him! Save him! The perspiration sprang out inbeads on my forehead. If I could not save him I should live pitied bymy friends and loathed by my enemies!
"If it be possible," I muttered, "I will save him."
"You swear it?" she cried. Before I could answer she seized my arm anddragged me up the dim aisle until we stood together before the Figureand the Cross. The chimes above us rang eleven. A shaft of coldsunshine pierced a dusty window, and, full of dancing motes, shotathwart the pillars.
"Swear!" she repeated with trembling eagerness, turning her eyes onmine, and raising her hand solemnly toward the Figure. "Swear by theCross!"
"I swear," I said.
She dropped her hand. Her form seemed to shrink and grow less. Makinga sign to me to go, she fell on her knees on the step, and drew herhood over her face. I walked away on tiptoe down the aisle, butglancing back from the door of the church I saw the small, solitaryfigure still kneeling in prayer. The sunshine had died away. The dustywindow was colorless. Only the red lamp glowed dully above her head. Iseemed to see what the end would be. Then I pushed aside the curtain,and slipped out into the keen air. It was hers to pray. It was mine toact.
I lost no time, but on my return I could not find Master Bertie eitherin the public room or in the inn yard, so I sought him in his bedroom,where I found him placidly reading a book; his patient waiting instriking contrast with the feverish anxiety which had taken hold ofme. "What is it, lad?" he said, closing the volume, and laying it downon my entrance. "You look disturbed?"
"I have seen Mistress Anne," I answered. He whistled softly, staringat me without a word. "She knows all," I continued.
"How much is all?" he asked after a pause.
"Our names--all our names, Penruddocke's, Kingston's, the others; ourmeeting-place, and that we hold Clarence a prisoner. She was that oldwoman whom we saw at the Gatehouse tavern last night."
He nodded, appearing neither greatly surprised nor greatly alarmed."Does she intend to use her knowledge?" he said. "I suppose she does."
"Unless we let him go safe and unhurt before sunset."
"They will never consent to it," he answered, shaking his head.
"Then they will hang!" I cried.
He looked hard at me a moment, discerning something strange in thebitterness of my last words. "Come, lad," he said, "you have not toldme all. What else have you learned?"
"How can I tell you?" I cried wildly, waving him off, and going to thelattice that my face might be hidden from him. "Heaven has cursed me!"I added, my voice breaking.
He came and laid his hand on my shoulder. "Heaven curses no one," hesaid. "Most of our curses we make for ourselves. What is it, lad?"
I covered my face with my hands. "He--he is my father," I muttered."Do you understand? Do you see what I have done? He is my father!"
"Ha!" Master Bertie uttered that one exclamation in intenseastonishment; then he said no more. But the pressure of his hand toldme that he understood, that he felt with me, that he would help me.And that silent comprehension, that silent assurance, gave thesweetest comfort. "He must be allowed to go, then, for this time," heresumed gravely, after a pause in which I had had time to recovermyself. "We will see to it. But there will be difficulties. You mustbe strong and brave. The truth must be told. It is the only way."
I saw that it was, though I shrank exceedingly from the ordeal beforeme. Master Bertie advised, when I grew more calm, that we should bethe first at the rendezvous, lest by some chance Penruddocke's ordersshould be anticipated; and accordingly, soon after two o'clock, wemounted, and set forth. I remarked that my companion looked verycarefully to his arms, and, taking the hint, I followed his example.
It was a silent, melancholy, anxious ride. However successful we mightbe in rescuing my father--alas! that I should have to-day and alwaysto call that man father--I could not escape the future before me. Ihad felt shame while he was but a name to me; how could I endure tolive, with his infamy always before my eyes? Petronilla, of whom I hadbeen thinking so much since I returned to England, whose knot ofvelvet had never left my breast nor her gentle face my heart--howcould I go back to her now? I had thought my father dead, and his nameand fame old tales. But the years of foreign life which yesterday hadseemed a sufficient barrier between his past and myself--of what usewere they now? Or the foreign service I had fondly regarded as a kindof purification?
Master Bertie broke in on my reverie much as if he had followed itscourse. "Understand one thing, lad!" he said, laying his hand on thewithers of my horse. "Yours must not be the hand to punish yourfather. But after to-day you will owe him no duty. You will part fromhim to-day and he will be a stranger to you. He deserted you when youwere a child; and if you owe reverence to any one, it is to your uncleand not to him. He has himself severed the ties between you."
"Yes," I said. "I will go abroad. I will go back to Wilna."
"If ill comes of our enterprise--as I fear ill will come--we will bothgo back, if we can," he answered. "If good by any chance should comeof it, then you shall be my brother, our family shall be your family.The Duchess is rich enough," he added with a smile, "to allow you ayounger brother's portion."
I could not answer him as I desired, for we passed at that momentunder the archway, and became instantly involved in the bustle goingforward in the courtyard. Near the principal door of the inn stoodeight or nine horses gayly caparisoned and in the charge of threeforeign-looking men, who, lounging in their saddles, were passing ajug from hand to hand. They turned as we rode in and looked at uscuriously, but not with any impertinence. Apparently they were waitingfor the rest of their party, who were inside the house. Civillydisposed as they seemed, the fact that they were armed, and wore richliveries of black and gold, caused me, and I think both of us, amomentary alarm.
"Who are they?" Master Bertie asked in a low voice, as he rode to theopposite door and dismounted with his back to them.
"They are Spaniards, I fancy," I said, scanning them over theshoulders of my horse as I too got off. "Old friends, so to speak."
"They seem wonderfully subdued for them," he answered, "and on t
heirbest behavior. If half the tales we heard this morning be true, theyare not wont to carry themselves like this."
Yet they certainly were Spanish, for I overheard them speaking to oneanother in that language; and before we had well dismounted, theirleader--whom they received with great respect, one of them jumpingdown to hold his stirrup--came out with three or four more and got tohorse again. Turning his rein to lead the way out through the northgate he passed near us, and as he settled himself in his saddle took agood look at us. The look passed harmlessly over me, but reachingMaster Bertie became concentrated. The rider started and smiledfaintly. He seemed to pause, then he raised his plumed cap and bowedlow--covered himself again and rode on. His train all followed hisexample and saluted us as they passed. Master Bertie's face, which hadflushed a fiery red under the other's gaze, grew pale again. He lookedat me, when they had gone by, with startled eyes.
"Do you know who that was?" he said, speaking like one who hadreceived a blow and did not yet know how much he was hurt.
"No," I said.
"It was the Count de Feria, the Spanish Ambassador," he answered. "Andhe recognized me. I met him often, years ago. I knew him again as soonas he came out, but I did not think he would by any chance recognizeme in this dress."
"Are you sure," I asked in amazement, "that it was he?"
"Quite sure," he answered.
"But why did he not have you arrested, or at least detained? Thewarrants are still out against you."
Master Bertie shook his head. "I cannot tell," he said darkly. "He isa Spaniard. But come, we have the less time to lose. We must join ourfriends and take their advice; we seem to be surrounded by pitfalls."
At this moment the lame ostler came up, and grumbling at us as if hehad never seen us in his life before, and never wished to see usagain, took our horses. We went into the kitchen, and taking the firstchance of slipping upstairs to No. 15, we were admitted with the sameprecautions as before, and descending the shaft gained the cellar.
Here we were not, as we had looked to be, the first on the scene. Isuppose a sense of the insecurity of our meeting-place had led everyone to come early, so as to be gone early. Penruddocke indeed was nothere yet, but Kingston and half a score of others were sitting aboutconversing in low tones. It was plain that the distrust and suspicionwhich we had remarked on the previous day had not been allayed by thediscovery of Clarence's treachery.
Indeed, it was clear that the distrust and despondency had to-daybecome a panic. Men glared at one another and at the door, and talkedin whispers and started at the slightest sound. I glanced round. Theone I sought for with eager yet shrinking eyes was not to be seen. Iturned to Master Bertie, my face mutely calling on him to ask thequestion. "Where is the prisoner?" he said sharply.
A moment I hung in suspense. Then one of the men said, "He is inthere. He is safe enough!" He pointed, as he spoke, to a door whichseemed to lead to an inner cellar.
"Right," said Master Bertie, still standing. "I have two pieces of badnews for you nevertheless. Firstly I have just been recognized by theSpanish Ambassador, whom I met in the courtyard above."
Half the men rose to their feet. "What is he doing here?" they cried,one boldly, the others with the quaver very plain in their voices.
"I do not know; but he recognized me. Why he took no steps to detainor arrest me I cannot tell. He rode away by the north road."
They gazed at one another and we at them. The wolfish look which fearbrings into some faces grew stronger in theirs.
"What is your other bad news?" said Kingston, with an oath.
"A person outside, a friend of the prisoner, has a list of our names,and knows our meeting-place and our plans. She threatens to use theknowledge unless the man Clarence or Crewdson be set free."
There was a loud murmur of wrath and dismay, amid which Kingston alonepreserved his composure. "We might have been prepared for that," hesaid quietly. "It is an old precaution of such folk. But how did youcome to hear of it?"
"My friend here saw the messenger and heard the terms. The man must beset free by sunset."
"And what warranty have we that he will not go straight with his plansand his list to the Council?"
Master Bertie could not answer that, neither could I; we had nosurety, and if we set him free could take none save his word. _Hisword!_ Could even I ask them to accept that? To stake the life of themeanest of them on it?
I saw the difficulties of the position, and when Master Kingstonpronounced coolly that this was a waste of time, and that the onlywise course was to dispose of the principal witness, both in theinterests of justice and our own safety, and then shift for ourselvesbefore the storm broke, I acknowledged in my heart the wisdom of thecourse, and felt that yesterday it would have received my assent.
"The risk is about the same either way," Master Bertie said.
"Not at all," Kingston objected, a sparkle of malice in his eye. Lastnight we had thwarted him. To-night it was his turn; and the darklowering looks of those round him showed that numbers were with him."This fellow can hang us all. His accomplice who escapes can knownothing save through him, and could give only vague and uncertainevidence. No, no. Let us cast lots who shall do it, get it donequickly, and begone."
"We must wait at least," Bertie urged, "until Sir Thomas comes."
"No!" retorted Kingston, with heat. "We are all equal here. Besidesthe man was condemned yesterday, with the full assent of all. It onlyremains to carry out the sentence. Surely this gentleman," hecontinued, turning suddenly upon me, "who was so ready to accuse himyesterday, does not wish him spared to-day?"
"I do wish it," I said, in a low tone.
"Ho! ho!" he cried, folding his arms and throwing back his head,astonished at the success of his own question. "Then may we ask foryour reasons, sir? Last night you could not lay your tongue to wordstoo bad for him. Tonight you wish to spare him, and let him go?"
"I do," I said. I felt that every eye was upon me, and that, MasterBertie excepted, not one there would feel sympathy with me in myhumiliation. They were driven to the wall. They had no time for finefeeling, for sympathy, for appreciation of the tragic, unless ittouched themselves. What chance had I with them, though I was a sonpleading for a father? Nay, what argument had I save that I was hisson, and that I had brought him to this? No argument. Only the appealto them that they would not make me a parricide! And I felt that atthis they would mock.
And so, in view of those stern, curious faces, a new temptation seizedme--the temptation to be silent. Why should I not stand by and letthings take their course? Why should I not spare myself the shamewhich I already saw would be fruitless? When Master Kingston, with acynical bow, said, "Your reasons, sir?" I stood mute and trembling. IfI kept silence, if I refused to give my reasons, if I did notacknowledge the prisoner, but merely begged his life, he would die,and the connection between us would be known only to one or two. Ishould be freed from him and might go my own way. The sins ofFerdinand Cludde were well-nigh forgotten--why take to myself the sinsof Clarence, which would otherwise never stain my name, would never beassociated with my father or myself?
Why, indeed? It was a great and sore temptation, as I stood therebefore all those eyes. He had deserved death. I had given him up inperfect innocence. Had I any right to call on them to risk their livesthat I might go harmless in conscience, and he in person? Had I----
What, was there after all some taint in my blood? Was I going tobecome like him--to take to myself a shame of my own earning, in theeffort to escape from the burden of his ill-fame? I remembered in timethe oath I had sworn, and when Kingston repeated his question, Ianswered him quickly. "I did not know yesterday who he was," I said."I have discovered since that he is my father. I ask nothing on hisaccount. Were he only my father I would not plead for him. I plead formyself," I murmured. "If you show no pity, you make me a parricide."
I had done them wrong. There was something in my voice, I suppose, asI said the words which cost me so much, which wrought with
almost allof them in a degree. They gazed at me with awed, wondering faces, andmurmured "His father!" in low tones. They were recalling the scene oflast night, the moment when I had denounced him, the curse he hadhurled at me, the half-told story of which that had seemed the climax.I had wronged them. They did see the tragedy of it.
Yes, they pitied me; but they showed plainly that they would still dowhat perhaps I should have done in their place--justice. "He knows toomuch!" said one. "Our lives are as good as his," muttered another--thefirst to become thoroughly himself again--"why should we all die forhim?" The wolfish glare came back fast to their eyes. They handledtheir weapons impatiently. They were longing to be away. At thismoment, when I saw I had indeed made my confession in vain, MasterBertie struck in. "What," he said, "if Master Carey and I take chargeof him, and escorting him to his agent without, be answerable for bothof them?"
"You would be only putting your necks into the noose!" said Kingston.
"We will risk that!" replied my friend--and what a friend and what aman he seemed amid that ignoble crew!--"I will myself promise you thatif he refuse to remain with us until midnight, or tries wherever weare to raise an alarm or communicate with any one, I will run himthrough with my own hand? Will not that satisfy you?"
"No," Master Kingston retorted, "it will not! A bird in the hand isworth two in the bush!"
"But the woman outside?" said one timidly.
"We must run that risk!" quoth he. "In an hour or two we shall be inhiding. Come, the lot must be drawn. For this gentleman, let him standaside."
I leaned against the wall, dazed and horror-stricken. Now that I hadidentified myself with him I felt a great longing to save him. Iscarcely noticed the group drawing pieces of paper at the table. Myevery thought was taken up with the low door over there, and thewretched man lying bound in the darkness behind it. What must be thehorror, the black despair, the hate and defiance of his mind as he laythere, trapped at last like any beast of prey? It was horrible!horrible! horrible!
I covered my face and could not restrain the cry of unutterabledistress which rose to my lips. They looked round, two or three ofthem, from the table. But the impression my appeal had made upon themhad faded away already, and they only shrugged their shoulders andturned again to their task. Master Bertie alone stood apart, his armsfolded, his face grave and dark. He too had abandoned hope. Thereseemed no hope, when suddenly there came a knocking at the door. Thepapers were dropped, and while some stood as if stiffened into stone,others turned and gazed at their neighbors. It was a knocking morehasty and imperative than the usual summons, though given in the samefashion. At last a man found tongue. "It is Sir Thomas," he suggested,with a sigh of relief. "He is in a hurry and brings news. I know hisknock."
"Then open the door, fool," cried Kingston. "If you can see through atwo-inch plank, why do you stand there like a gaby?"
Master Bertie anticipated the man, and himself opened the door andadmitted the knocker. Penruddocke it was; he came in, still drummingon the door with his fist, his eyes sparkling, his ruddy cheeks aglow.He crossed the threshold with a swagger, and looking at us all burstinto a strange peal of laughter. "Yoicks! Gone to earth!" he shouted,waving his hand as if he had a whip in it. "Gone to earth--goneforever! Did you think it was the Lords of the Council, my lads?"
He had left the door wide open behind him, and we now saw in thedoorway the seafaring man who usually guarded the room above. "Whatdoes this mean, Sir Thomas?" Kingston said sternly. He thought, Ifancy, as many of us did, that the knight was drunk. "Have you giventhat man permission to leave his post?"
"Post? There are no more posts," cried Sir Thomas, with a strangejollity. He certainly was drunk, but perhaps not with liquor. "Exceptgood fat posts," he continued, smacking Master Bertie on the shoulder,"for loyal men who have done the state service, and risked their livesin evil times! Posts? I shall get so drunk to-night that the stoutestpost on Ludgate will not hold me up!"
"You seem to have gone far that way already," my friend said coldly.
"So will you, when you hear the news!" Penruddocke replied moresoberly. "Lads, the Queen is dying!"
In the vaulted room his statement was received in silence; a silencedictated by no feeling for the woman going before her Maker--howshould we who were plotting against her feel for her, we who were forthe most part homeless and proscribed through her?--but the silence ofmen in doubt, in doubt whether this might mean all that from SirThomas's aspect it seemed to mean.
"She cannot live a week!" Penruddocke continued. "The doctors havegiven up hope, and at the palace all is in confusion. She has namedthe Princess Elizabeth her successor, and even now Cecil is drawing upthe proclamations. To show that the game is really up, the Count deFeria, the Spanish Ambassador, has gone this very day to Hatfield topay his respects to the coming queen."
Then indeed the vaulted roof did ring--ring and ring again with shoutsof "The Coming Queen!" Men over whom the wings of death had seemed aminute ago to be hovering, darkening all things to them, looked up andsaw the sun. "The Coming Queen!" they cried.
"You need fear nothing!" continued Penruddocke wildly. "No one willdare to execute the warrants. The Bishops are shaking in their miters.Pole is said to be dying. Bonner is more likely to hang himself thanburn others. Up and out and play the man! Away to your counties andget ready your tar-barrels! Now we will give them a taste of the CujusRegio! Ho! drawer, there! A cup of ale!"
He turned, and shouting a scrap of a song, swaggered back into theshaft and began to ascend. They all trooped after him, talking andlaughing, a reckless, good-natured crew, looking to a man as if theyhad never known fear or selfishness--as if distrust were a thingimpossible to them. Master Kingston alone, whom his losses had souredand who still brooded over his revenge, went off moodily.
I was for stopping one of them; but Master Bertie directed my eyes bya gesture of his hand to the door at the far end of the cellar, and Isaw that the key was in the lock. He wrung my hand hard. "Tell himall," he muttered. "I will wait above."
The Story of Francis Cludde Page 21