The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “We have the Duke of Northumberland’s authority for what we have done,” replied the foremost herald, sullenly; “that is sufficient for us.”

  “The punishment we have inflicted is wholly disproportioned to the villain’s offence, which is little short of high treason,” observed the other. “When we proclaimed the Queen’s Highness at Cheapside, the audacious knave mounted a wall, flung his cap into the air, and shouted for Queen Mary. For this we set him in the pillory, and nailed his head to the wood; and he may think himself fortunate if he loseth it not as well as his ears, which have been cut off by the hangman.”

  “Ungrateful wretch!” cried Cholmondeley, addressing the prisoner, his former commiseration being now changed to anger; “is it thus you requite the bounty of your Queen?”

  “I will never acknowledge a usurper,” returned Gilbert, firmly. “Peace!” cried the esquire; “your rashness will destroy you,”

  “It may so,” retorted Gilbert, boldly; “but while I have a tongue to wag, it shall clamour for Queen Mary.”

  “Where are you going to bestow the prisoner?” inquired Gog from the foremost herald.

  “In the guard-room,” replied the man, “or some other place of security, till we learn his grace’s pleasure.”

  “Bring him to the Stone Kitchen, then,” returned Gog. “He will be as safe there as anywhere else, and you will be none the worse for a can of good liquor, and a slice of one of Dame Trusbut’s notable pasties.”

  “Agreed,” rejoined the heralds, smiling; “bring him along.”

  While this was passing, Cholmondeley, whose impatience could brook no further delay, entreated Magog to conduct him at once to the habitation of the fair Cicely. Informing him that it was close at hand, the giant opened a small postern on the left of the gateway leading to the western line of fortifications, and ascending a short spiral staircase, ushered his companion into a chamber, which, to this day, retains its name of the Stone Kitchen. It was a low large room, with the ceiling supported by heavy rafters, and the floor paved with stone. The walls were covered with shelves, displaying a goodly assortment of pewter and wooden platters, dishes and drinking-vessels; the fire-place was wide enough to admit of a whole ox being roasted within its limits; the chimney-piece advanced several yards into the room, while beneath its comfortable shelter were placed a couple of benches on either side of the hearth, on which a heap of logs was now crackling. Amid the pungent smoke arising from the wood could be discerned, through the vast aperture of the chimney, sundry hams, gammons, dried tongues, and other savoury meats, holding forth a prospect of future good cheer. At a table running across the room, and furnished with flagons and pots of wine, several boon companions were seated. The chief of these was a jovial-looking warder, who appeared to be the life and soul of the party, and who had a laugh, a joke, or the snatch of a song, for every occasion. Opposite to him sat Peter Trusbut, the pantler, who roared at every fresh witticism uttered by his guest till the tears ran down his cheeks. Nor did the warder appear to be less of a favourite with Dame Potentia, a stout buxom personage, a little on the wrong side of fifty, but not without some remains of comeliness. She kept his glass constantly filled with the best wine, and his plate as constantly supplied with the choicest viands, so that, what with eating, drinking, singing, and a little sly love-making to Dame Trusbut, Ribald, for so was the warder named, was pretty well employed. At the lower end of the table was placed a savage-looking person, with red bloodshot eyes and a cadaverous countenance. This was Mauger, the headsman. He was engaged in earnest conversation with Master Hairun, the bearward, assistant-keeper of the lions, — an office, at that time, of some consequence and emolument. In the ingle nook was ensconced a venerable old man with a snowy beard descending to his knees, who remained with his eyes fixed vacantly upon the blazing embers. Seated on a stool near the hearth, was a little boy playing with a dog, whom Cholmondeley perceived at once was Cicely’s companion; while the adjoining chair was occupied by the fair creature of whom the enamoured esquire was in search. Pausing at the doorway, he lingered for a moment to contemplate her charms. A slight shade of sadness clouded her brow — her eyes were fixed upon the ground, and she now and then uttered a half-repressed sigh. At this juncture, the jolly-looking warder struck up a Bacchanalian stave, the words of which ran as follows

  With my back to the fire and my paunch to the table,

  Let me eat, — let me drink as long as I am able:

  Let me eat, — let me drink whate’er I set my whims on,

  Until my nose is blue, and my jolly visage crimson.

  The doctor preaches abstinence, and threatens me with dropsy,

  But such advice, I needn’t say, from drinking never stops ye

  The man who likes good liquor is of nature brisk and brave, boys,

  So drink away! drink while you may! — there’s no drinking in the grave, boys!

  “Well sung, my roystering Ribald,” cried Magog, striding up to him, and delivering him a sounding blow on the back— “thou art ever merry, and hast the most melodious voice and the lustiest lungs of any man within the Tower.”

  “And thou hast the heaviest hand I ever felt on my shoulder, gigantic Magog,” replied Ribald; “so we are even. But come, pledge me in a brimmer, and we will toss off a lusty measure to the health of our sovereign lady, Queen Jane. What say you, Master Trusbut? — and you, good Hairun — and you, most melancholic Mauger, a cup of claret will bring the colour to your cheeks. A pot of wine, good dame, to drink the Queen’s health in. But whom have we yonder? Is that gallant thy companion, redoubted Magog?”

  The giant nodded an affirmative.

  “By my faith he is a well-looking youth,” said Ribald—” but he seems to have eyes for no one excepting fair Mistress Cicely.” Aroused by this remark, the young damsel looked up and beheld the passionate gaze of Cholmondeley fixed upon her. She started, trembled, and endeavoured to hide her confusion by industriously pursuing her occupation of netting. But in spite of her efforts to restrain herself, she could not help stealing a sidelong glance at him; and emboldened by this slight encouragement, Cholmondeley ventured to advance towards her. It is scarcely necessary to detail the common-place gallantries which the youth addressed to her, or the monosyllabic answers which she returned to them. The language of love is best expressed by the look which accompanies the word, and the tone in which that word is uttered; and this language, though as yet neither party was much skilled in it, appeared perfectly intelligible to both of them. Satisfied, at length, that she was not insensible to his suit, Cholmondeley drew nearer, and, bending his head towards her, poured the most passionate protestations in her ear. What answer she made, if she made answer at all to these ardent addresses, we know not, but her heightened complexion and heaving bosom told that she was by no means insensible to them. Meanwhile, Og and Gog, together with the heralds and one or two men-at-arms, had entered the chamber with the prisoner. Much bustle ensued, and Dame Potentia was so much occupied with the new-comers and their wants, that she had little time to bestow upon her adoptive daughter.

  It is true that she thought the handsome stranger more attentive than was needful, or than she judged discreet; and she determined to take the earliest opportunity of putting a stop to the flirtation — but, just then, it happened that her hands were too full to allow her to attend to minor matters. As to Peter Trusbut, he was so much entertained with the pleasantries of his friend Ribald — and so full of the banquet he had provided for the Queen, the principal dishes of which he recapitulated for the benefit of his guests, that he saw nothing whatever that was passing between the young couple. Not so a gloomy-looking personage shrouded behind the angle of the chimney, who, with his hand upon his dagger, bent eagerly forward to catch their lightest whisper. Two other mysterious individuals had also entered the room, and stationed themselves near the doorway. As soon as Dame Trusbut had provided for the wants of her numerous guests, she turned her attention to the prisoner, who had excited her com
passion, and who sat with his arms folded upon his breast, preserving the same resolute demeanour he had maintained throughout. Proffering her services to the sufferer, she bade her attendant, Agatha, bring a bowl of water to bathe his wounds, and a fold of linen to bind round his head. At this moment, Xit, the dwarf, who was by no means pleased with the unimportant part he was compelled to play, bethought him of an expedient to attract attention. Borrowing from the herald the scroll of the proclamation, he mounted upon Og’s shoulders, and begged him to convey him to the centre of the room, that he might read it aloud to the assemblage, and approve their loyalty. The good-humoured giant complied. Supporting the mannikin with his left hand, and placing his large two-handed sword over his right shoulder, he walked forward, while the dwarf screamed forth the following preamble to the proclamation:—” Jane, by the grace of God Queen of and — Ireland, Defender of the Faith, and of the Church of, and also of Ireland, under Christ on earth the supreme. To all our loving faithful, and obedients, and to every of, greeting” Here he paused to shout and wave his cap, while the herald, who had followed them, to humour the joke raised his embroidered trumpet to his lips, and blew a blast so loud and shrill, that the very rafters shook with it. To this clamour Og added his stunning laughter, while his brethren, who were leaning over a screen behind, and highly diverted with the incident, joined in lusty chorus. Almost deafened by the noise, Dame Trusbut, by way of putting an end to it, raised her own voice to its utmost pitch, and threatened to turn Xit, whom she looked upon as the principal cause of the disturbance, out of the house. Unfortunately, in her anger, she forgot that she was engaged in dressing the prisoner’s wounds, and while her left hand was shaken menacingly at the dwarf, her right convulsively grasped the poor fellow’s head, occasioning him such exquisite pain, that he added his outcries to the general uproar. The more Dame Trusbut scolded, the more Og and his brethren laughed, and the louder the herald blew his trumpet — so that it seemed as if there was no likelihood of tranquillity being speedily restored — nor, in all probability would it have been so without the ejectment of the dwarf, had it not been for the interference of Ribald, who at length, partly by cajolery, and partly by coercion, succeeded in pacifying the angry dame. During this tumult, the two mysterious personages, who, it has been stated, had planted themselves at the doorway, approached the young couple unobserved, and one of them, after narrowly observing the features of the young man, observed in an under-tone to his companion. “It is Cuthbert Cholmondeley — You doubted me, my lord Pembroke, but I was assured it was Lord Guilford’s favourite esquire, who had conveyed the note to his master, warning him of our scheme.”

  “You are right, M. Simon Renard,” replied the earl. “I bow to your superior discernment.”

  “The young man is in possession of our secret,” rejoined Renard, “and though we have intercepted the missive, he may yet betray us. He must not return to the palace.”

  “He never shall return, my lords,” said a tall dark man, advancing towards them, “if you will entrust his detention to me.”

  “Who are you?” demanded Renard, eyeing him suspiciously, “Laurence Nightgall, the chief jailor of the Tower.”

  “What is your motive for this offer?” pursued Renard.

  “Look there!” returned Nightgall. “I love that damsel.”

  “I see,” replied Renard, smiling bitterly. “He has supplanted you.”

  “He has,” rejoined Nightgall; “but he shall not live to profit by his good fortune.”

  “Hum!” said Renard, glancing at Cicely, “the damsel is lovely enough to ruin a man’s soul. We will trust you.”

  “Follow me, then, without, my lords,” replied Nightgall, “and I will convey him where he shall not cause further uneasiness to any of us. We have dungeons within the Tower, from which those who enter them seldom return.”

  “You are acquainted, no doubt, with the secret passages of the White Tower, friend?” asked Renard.

  “With all of them,” rejoined Nightgall. “I know every subterranean communication — every labyrinth — every hidden recess within the walls of the fortress, and there are many such — and can conduct you wherever you desire.”

  “You are the very man I want,” cried Renard, rubbing his hands, gleefully. “Lead on.”

  And the trio quitted the chamber, without their departure being noticed.

  Half an hour afterwards, as Cuthbert Cholmondeley issued from the postern with a heart elate with rapture at having elicited from the fair Cicely a confession that she loved him, he received a severe blow on the head from behind, and before he could utter a single outcry, he was gagged, and forced away by his assailants.

  CHAPTER IV.

  OF THE MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE THAT HAPPENED TO QUEEN JANE IN SAINT JOHN’S CHAPEL IN THE WHITE TOWER.

  ON that night Lord Guilford Dudley was summoned to a secret council by his father, the Duke of Northumberland, and as he had not returned at midnight, the Lady Hastings, who was in attendance upon the Queen, proposed that, to while away the time, they should pay a visit to St. John’s Chapel in the White Tower, of the extreme beauty of which they had all heard, though none of them had seen it. Jane assented to the proposal, and accompanied by her sister, the Lady Herbert, and the planner of the expedition, Lady Hastings, she set forth. Two ushers led the way through the long galleries and passages which had to be traversed before they reached the White Tower; but on arriving at the room adjoining the council-chamber which had so lately been thronged with armed men, but which was now utterly deserted, Jane inquired from her attendants the way to the chapel, and on ascertaining it, commanded her little train to await her return there, as she had determined on entering the sacred structure alone. In vain her sisters remonstrated with her — in vain the ushers suggested that there might be danger in trusting herself in such a place, at such an hour, without protection — she remained firm — but promised to return in a few minutes, after which they could explore the chapel together.

  Taking a lamp from one of the attendants, and pursuing the course pointed out to her, she threaded a narrow passage, similar to that she had traversed with the Duke in the morning, and speedily entered upon the gallery above the chapel. As she passed through the opening in the wall leading to this gallery, she fancied she beheld the retreating figure of a man, muffled in a cloak, and she paused for a moment, half-inclined to turn back. Ashamed, however, of her irresolution, and satisfied that it was a mere trick of the imagination, she walked on. Descending a short spiral wooden staircase, she found herself within one of the aisles of the chapel, and, passing between its columns, entered the body of the fane. For some time, she was lost in admiration of this beautiful structure, which, in its style of architecture — the purest Norman — is without an equal. She counted its twelve massive and circular stone pillars, noted their various ornaments and mouldings, and admired their grandeur and simplicity. Returning to the northern aisle, she glanced at its vaulted roof, and was enraptured at the beautiful effect produced by the interweaving arches.

  While she was thus occupied, she again fancied she beheld the same muffled figure she had before seen glide behind one of the pillars. Seriously alarmed, she was now about to retrace her steps, when her eye rested upon an object lying at a little distance from her, on the ground. Prompted by an undefinable feeling of curiosity, she hastened towards it, and holding forward the light, a shudder ran through her frame, as she perceived at her feet an axe l It was the peculiarly-formed implement used by the headsman, and the edge was turned towards her.

  At this moment, her lamp was extinguished.

  CHAPTER V.

  OF THE MISUNDERSTANDING THAT AROSE BETWEEN QUEEN JANE AND HER HUSBAND, LORD GUILFORD DUDLEY.

  JANE not appearing, and some time having elapsed since her departure, her sisters, who were anxiously awaiting her return in the room adjoining the council-chamber, became so uneasy, that, notwithstanding her injunctions to the contrary, they resolved to go in search of her. Accordingly, bidd
ing the ushers precede them, they descended to the chapel; and their uneasiness was by no means decreased on finding it buried in darkness, and apparently empty. As they gazed around in perplexity and astonishment, a deep-drawn sigh broke from the northern aisle; and, hurrying in that direction, they discovered the object of their search, who had been hidden from view by the massive intervening pillars, extended upon a seat, and just recovering from a swoon into which she had fallen. Revived by their assiduities, Jane was soon able to speak, and the first thing she uttered was a peremptory order that no alarm should be given, or assistance sent for.