The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  And thus weeks, and even months, stole on. Viviana had completely regained her strength, and passed a life of perfect seclusion, seldom, if ever, mixing with the others. She, however, took a kindly farewell of Humphrey Chetham, before his departure for Manchester (for which place he set out about a fortnight after his arrival at White Webbs, having first sought out his servant, Martin Heydocke); but though strongly urged by Guy Fawkes, she would hold out no hopes of a change in her sentiments towards the young merchant. Meetings were occasionally held by the conspirators elsewhere, and Catesby and Fawkes had more than one interview with Tresham — but never, except in places where they were secure from a surprise.

  The latter end of September had now arrived, and the meeting of Parliament was still fixed for the third of October. On the last day of the month, Guy Fawkes prepared to start for town; but before doing so he desired to see Viviana. They had not met for some weeks; nor, indeed, since Fawkes had discovered the secret of her heart, (and perhaps of his own,) had they ever met with the same freedom as heretofore. As she entered the room, in which he awaited her coming, a tremor agitated his frame, but he had nerved himself for the interview, and speedily subdued the feeling.

  “I am starting for London, Viviana,” he said, in a voice of forced calmness. “You may guess for what purpose. But as I may never behold you again, I would not part with you without a confession of my weakness. I will not deny that what Humphrey Chetham stated, and which you have never contradicted — namely, that you loved me, for I must speak out — has produced a strong effect upon me. I have endeavoured to conquer it, but it will return. Till I knew you I never loved, Viviana.”

  “Indeed!” she exclaimed.

  “Never,” he replied. “The fairest had not power to move me. But I grieve to say — notwithstanding my struggles — I do not continue equally insensible.”

  “Ah!” she ejaculated, becoming as pale as death.

  “Why should I hesitate to declare my feelings? Why should I not tell you that — though blinded to it so long — I have discovered that I do love you? Why should I hesitate to tell you that I regret this, and lament that we ever met?”

  “What mean you?” cried Viviana, with a terrified look.

  “I will tell you,” replied Fawkes. “Till I saw you, my thoughts were removed from earth, and fixed on one object. Till I saw you, I asked not to live, but to die the death of a martyr.”

  “Die so still,” rejoined Viviana. “Forget me — oh! forget me.”

  “I cannot,” replied Fawkes. “I have striven against it. But your image is perpetually before me. Nay, at this very moment, when I am about to set out on the enterprise, you alone detain me.”

  “I am glad of it,” exclaimed Viviana, fervently. “Oh that I could prevent you — could save you!”

  “Save me!” echoed Fawkes, bitterly. “You destroy me.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “Because I am sworn to this project,” he rejoined; “and if I were turned from it, I would perish by my own hand.”

  “Oh! say not so,” replied Viviana, “but listen to me. Abandon it, and I will devote myself to you.”

  Guy Fawkes gazed at her for a moment passionately, and then, covering his face with his hands, appeared torn by conflicting emotions.

  Viviana approached him, and pressing his arm, asked in an entreating voice, “Are you still determined to pursue your dreadful project?”

  “I am,” replied Fawkes, uncovering his face, and gazing at her; “but, if I remain here a moment longer, I shall not be able to do so.”

  “I will detain you, then,” she rejoined, “and exercise the power I possess over you for your benefit.”

  “No!” he replied, vehemently. “It must not be. Farewell, for ever!”

  And breaking from her, he rushed out of the room.

  As he gained the passage, he encountered Catesby, who looked abashed at seeing him.

  “I have overheard what has passed,” said the latter, “and applaud your resolution. Few men, similarly circumstanced, would have acted as you have done.”

  “You would not,” said Fawkes, coldly.

  “Perhaps not,” rejoined Catesby. “But that does not lessen my admiration of your conduct.”

  “I am devoted to one object,” replied Fawkes, “and nothing shall turn me from it.”

  “Remove yourself instantly from temptation, then,” replied Catesby. “I will meet you at the cellar beneath the Parliament House to-morrow night.”

  With this, he accompanied Guy Fawkes to the door; and the latter, without hazarding a look behind him, set out for London, where he arrived at nightfall.

  On the following night, Fawkes examined the cellar, and found it in all respects as he had left it; and, apprehensive lest some difficulty might arise, he resolved to make every preparation. He, accordingly, pierced the sides of several of the barrels piled against the walls with a gimlet, and inserted in the holes small pieces of slow-burning match. Not content with this, he staved in the tops of the uppermost tier, and scattered powder among them to secure their instantaneous ignition.

  This done, he took a powder-horn, with which he was provided, and kneeling down, and holding his lantern so as to throw a light upon the floor, laid a train to one of the lower barrels, and brought it within a few inches of the door, intending to fire it from that point. His arrangements completed, he arose, and muttered,

  “A vessel is provided for my escape in the river, and my companions advise me to use a slow match, which will allow me to get out of harm’s way. But I will see the deed done, and if the train fails, will hold a torch to the barrels myself.”

  At this juncture, a slight tap was heard without.

  Guy Fawkes instantly masked his lantern, and cautiously opening the door, beheld Catesby.

  “I am come to tell you that Parliament is prorogued,” said the latter. “The House does not meet till the fifth of November. We have another month to wait.”

  “I am sorry for it,” rejoined Fawkes. “I have just laid the train. The lucky moment will pass.”

  And, locking the door, he proceeded with Catesby to the adjoining house.

  They had scarcely been gone more than a second, when two figures muffled in cloaks emerged from behind a wall.

  “The train is laid,” observed the foremost, “and they are gone to the house. You might seize them now without danger.”

  “That will not answer my purpose,” replied the other. “I will give them another month.”

  “Another month!” replied the first speaker. “Who knows what may happen in that time? They may abandon their project.”

  “There is no fear of that,” replied the other. “But you had better go and join them.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE MARRIAGE IN THE FOREST.

  Tresham, for it will have been conjectured that he was one of the speakers mentioned in the preceding chapter, on separating from Lord Mounteagle, took the same direction as the conspirators. He hesitated for some time before venturing to knock at the garden-gate; and when he had done so, felt half-disposed to take to his heels. But shame restrained him; and hearing footsteps approach, he gave the customary signal, and was instantly admitted by Guy Fawkes.

  “What brings you here?” demanded the latter, as they entered the house, and made fast the door behind them.

  “I have just heard that Parliament is prorogued to the fifth of November,” replied Tresham, “and came to tell you so.”

  “I already know it,” returned Fawkes, gloomily; “and for the first time feel some misgiving as to the issue of our enterprise.”

  “Why so?” inquired Tresham.

  “November is unlucky to me,” rejoined Fawkes, “and I cannot recollect a year in my life in which some ill has not befallen me during that month, especially on the fifth day. On the last fifth of November, I nearly died of a fever at Madrid. It is a strange and unfortunate coincidence that the meeting of the Parliament should be appointed
for that particular day.”

  “Shall I tell you what I think it portends?” hesitated Tresham.

  “Do so,” replied Fawkes, “and speak boldly. I am no child to be frightened at shadows.”

  “You have more than once declared your intention of perishing with our foes,” rejoined Tresham. “The design, though prosperous in itself, may be fatal to you.”

  “You are right,” replied Fawkes. “I have little doubt I shall perish on that day. You are both aware of my superstitious nature, and are not ignorant that many mysterious occurrences have combined to strengthen the feeling, — such as the dying words of the prophetess, Elizabeth Orton, — her warning speech when she was raised from the dead by Doctor Dee, — and lastly, the vision at St. Winifred’s Well. What if I tell you the saint has again appeared to me?”

  “In a dream?” inquired Catesby, in a slightly sceptical tone.

  “Ay, in a dream,” returned Fawkes. “But I saw her as plainly as if I had been awake. It was the same vapoury figure — the same transparent robes, the same benign countenance, only far more pitying than before — that I beheld at Holywell. I heard no sound issue from her lips, but I felt that she warned me to desist.”

  “Do you accept the warning?” asked Tresham, eagerly.

  “It is needless to answer,” replied Fawkes. “I have laid the train to-night.”

  “You have infected me with your misgivings,” observed Tresham. “Would the enterprise had never been undertaken!”

  “But being undertaken, it must be gone through with,” rejoined Catesby, sternly. “Hark’e, Tresham. You promised us two thousand pounds in aid of the project, but have constantly deferred payment of the sum on some plea or other.”

  “Because I have not been able to raise it,” replied Tresham, sullenly. “I have tried in vain to sell part of my estates at Rushton, in Northamptonshire. I cannot effect impossibilities.”

  “Tush!” cried Catesby, fiercely. “You well know I ask no impossibility. I will no longer be trifled with. The money must be forthcoming by the tenth of October, or you shall pay the penalty with your life.”

  “This is the language of a cut-throat, Mr. Catesby,” replied Tresham.

  “It is the only language I will hold towards you,” rejoined Catesby, contemptuously. “Look you disappoint me not, or take the consequences.”

  “I must leave for Northamptonshire at once, then,” said Tresham.

  “Do as you please,” returned Catesby. “Play the cut-throat yourself, and ease some rich miser of his store, if you think fit. Bring us the money, and we will not ask how you came by it.”

  “Before we separate,” said Tresham, disregarding these sneers, “I wish to be resolved on one point. Who are to be saved from destruction?”

  “Why do you ask?” inquired Fawkes.

  “Because I must stipulate for the lives of my brothers-in-law, the Lords Mounteagle and Stourton.”

  “If anything detains them from the meeting, well and good,” replied Catesby. “But no warning must be given them. That would infallibly lead to a discovery of the plot.”

  “Some means might surely be adopted to put them on their guard without danger to ourselves?” urged Tresham.

  “I know of none,” replied Catesby.

  “Nor I,” added Fawkes. “If I did, I would warn Lord Montague, and some others whom I shall grieve to destroy.”

  “We are all similarly circumstanced,” replied Catesby. “Keyes is anxious for the preservation of his patron and friend, Lord Mordaunt, — Percy, for the Earl of Northumberland. I, myself, would gladly save the young Earl of Arundel. But we must sacrifice our private feeling for the general good.”

  “We must,” acquiesced Fawkes.

  “We shall not meet again till the night of the tenth of October,” said Catesby, “when take care you are in readiness with the money.”

  Upon this, the conversation dropped, and soon afterwards Tresham departed.

  When he found himself alone, he suffered his rage to find vent in words. “Perdition seize them!” he cried, “I shall now lose two thousand pounds, in addition to what I have already advanced; and, as Mounteagle will not have the disclosure made till the beginning of November, there is no way of avoiding payment. They would not fall into the snare I laid to throw the blame of the discovery, when it takes place, upon their own indiscretion. But I must devise some other plan. The warning shall proceed from an unknown quarter. A letter, written in a feigned hand, and giving some obscure intimation of danger, shall be delivered with an air of mystery to Mounteagle. This will serve as a plea for its divulgement to the Earl of Salisbury. Well, well, they shall have the money; but they shall pay me back in other coin.”

  Early on the following day, Catesby and Fawkes proceeded to White Webbs. Garnet was greatly surprised to see them, and could not conceal his disappointment at the cause of their return.

  “This delay bodes no good,” he observed. “Parliament has been so often prorogued, that I begin to think some suspicion is entertained of our design.”

  “Make your mind easy, then,” replied Catesby. “I have made due inquiries, and find the meeting is postponed to suit the King’s convenience, who wishes to prolong his stay at Royston. He may probably have some secret motive for the delay, but I am sure it in no way concerns us.”

  Everything being now fully arranged, the conspirators had only to wait patiently for the arrival of the expected fifth of November. Most of them decided upon passing the interval in the country. Ambrose Rookwood departed for Clopton, near Stratford-upon-Avon, — a seat belonging to Lord Carew, where his family were staying. Keyes went to visit Lord Mordaunt at Turvey, in Bedfordshire; and Percy and the two Wrights set out for Gothurst, in Buckinghamshire, to desire Sir Everard Digby to postpone the grand hunting-party which he was to hold at Dunsmore Heath, as an excuse for mustering a strong party of Catholics, to the beginning of November. The two Winters repaired to their family mansion, Huddington, in Worcestershire; while Fawkes and Catesby, together with the two priests, remained at White Webbs. The three latter held daily conferences together, but were seldom joined by Fawkes, who passed his time in the adjoining forest, selecting its densest and most intricate parts for his rambles.

  It was now the beginning of October, and, as is generally the case in the early part of this month, the weather was fine, and the air pure and bracing. The forest could scarcely have been seen to greater advantage. The leaves had assumed their gorgeous autumnal tints, and the masses of timber, variegated in colour, presented an inexpressibly beautiful appearance. Guy Fawkes spent hours in the depths of the wood. His sole companions were the lordly stag and the timid hare, that occasionally started across his path. Since his return, he had sedulously avoided Viviana, and they had met only twice, and then no speech had passed between them. One day, when he had plunged even deeper than usual into the forest, and had seated himself on the stump of a decayed tree, with his eyes fixed on a small clear rivulet welling at his feet, he saw the reflection of a female figure in the water; and, filled with the idea of the vision of Saint Winifred, at first imagined he was about to receive another warning. But a voice that thrilled to his heart’s core, soon undeceived him, and, turning, he beheld Viviana. She was habited in a riding-dress, and appeared prepared to set out upon a journey.

  “So you have tracked me to my solitude,” he observed, in a tone of forced coldness. “I thought I was secure from interruption here.”

  “You will forgive me, I am sure, when you know my errand,” she replied. “It is to take an eternal farewell of you.”

  “Indeed!” he exclaimed. “Are you about to quit White Webbs?”

  “I am,” she mournfully rejoined. “I am about to set out with Father Oldcorne for Gothurst, where I shall remain till all is over.”

  “I entirely approve your determination,” returned Fawkes, after a short pause.

  “I knew you would do so, or I should have consulted you upon it,” she rejoined. “And as you appear to a
void me, I would fain have departed without taking leave of you, but found it impossible to do so.”

  “You well know my motive for avoiding you, Viviana,” rejoined Fawkes. “We are no longer what we were to each other. A fearful struggle has taken place within me, though I have preserved an unmoved exterior, between passion and the sense of my high calling. I have told you I never loved before, and fancied my heart immoveable as adamant. But I now find out my error. It is a prey to a raging and constant flame. I have shunned you,” he continued, with increased excitement, “because the sight of you shakes my firmness, — because I feel it sinful to think of you in preference to holier objects, — and because, after I have quitted you, your image alone engrosses my thoughts. Here, in the depths of this wood, by the side of this brook, I can commune with my soul, — can abstract myself from the world and the thoughts of the world — from you — yes, you, who are all the world to me now, — and prepare to meet my end.”

  “Then you are resolved to die?” she cried.

  “I shall abide the explosion, and nothing but a miracle can save me,” returned Fawkes.

  “And think not it will be exerted in your behalf,” she replied. “Heaven does not approve your design, and you will assuredly incur its vengeance by your criminal conduct.”

  “Viviana,” replied Guy Fawkes, rising, “man cannot read my heart, but Heaven can; and the sincerity of my purpose will be recognised above. What I am about to do is for the regeneration of our holy religion; and if the welfare of that religion is dear to the Supreme Being, our cause must prosper. If the contrary, it deserves to fail, and will fail. I have ever told you that I care not what becomes of myself. I am now more than ever indifferent to life, — or rather,” he added, in a sombre tone, “I am anxious to die.”