The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Impossible!” exclaimed Dick. “The matter has gone too far to be stopped now. You might as well attempt to turn back a mill-dam that has burst its bounds, as the headstrong London ‘prentices when they have taken up their cudgels. Go through with the business they will. This is not the only quarrel we have with De Gondomar. We hate him for his insolence and arrogance, which have been often displayed towards us; We hate him because he is the sworn enemy of our religion, and would subvert it if he could. As regards myself, I have my own particular reasons for hating him. Do not you meddle with the affair, but leave its arrangement to us.”

  “But I must interfere,” cried Sir Jocelyn; “if you act thus, in spite of all my remonstrances. I must regard you in the light of enemies rather than friends, and shall lend my help to quell the disturbance you will occasion. Be ruled by me, good Dickon, and desist from it. Call in your comrades, who are raging about like savage dogs broken loose.”

  “If they be dogs,” rejoined Dick, with a laugh, “the Spanish ambassador is likely enough to become acquainted with their teeth. But I might whistle loudly enough to them before the staunch hounds would come back to me; and, in good sooth, I have no inclination to obey your commands in his instance, Sir Jocelyn.”

  So saying, and fearing he might be detained altogether if he waited longer, he darted out of the room, and presently afterwards was heard shouting along the wharf with the loudest of his riotous companions— “No Papists! No Spanish spies! Clubs! — clubs!”

  Sir Jocelyn saw that a storm was roused which it would be very difficult to allay; but an effort must be made to do so, even if he were compelled to act against his friends; and he was about to follow the apprentice into the street, when he was prevented by the sudden entrance of a tall personage, wrapped in a black cloak, and masked, whom he at once recognised as the individual who had given him the token to De Gondomar.

  “I am glad to have found you, Sir Jocelyn,” said this personage. “I have been on the look-out for you to give you a warning. Avoid any place you have been in the habit of frequenting; and, above all, go not near Aveline’s dwelling. The officers of the Star-Chamber are on the watch for you; and if found, your arrest is certain.”

  “I can place little reliance on aught you tell me, Sir,” rejoined Sir Jocelyn, “after the trick you played me in causing me to deliver that ring to the Conde de Gondomar. Nothing you can say shall hinder me from going forth as I am accustomed to do; and it is my purpose to proceed ere long to the dwelling you specially caution me to avoid.”

  “You will repent your rashness, young Sir,” said the other; “but I pray you not to go forth till you have heard certain disclosures which I have to make to you, and which I am well assured will induce you to alter your opinion of me.”

  “I can put no faith in the statements of a hireling, base enough to play the spy for an enemy of his country,” rejoined Sir Jocelyn, scornfully. “Stand aside, Sir. Your employer, De Gondomar, is in danger from these hot-headed apprentices; and if you owe him any gratitude for past favours, you may find occasion for its display now.”

  “What! are you about to take part with your enemy and against your friends? These apprentices are about to redress your wrongs — in a lawless manner it is true — but the circumstances justify their conduct.”

  “No circumstances can justify outrage, and violation of the law,” said Sir Jocelyn; “and if injury be attempted against De Gondomar, I must defend him.”

  “This is mere madness,” cried the other. “Stay and hear what I have to say to you. It imports you much to know it.”

  “Not now,” replied Sir Jocelyn, pushing past him. “On some other occasion.”

  “You are throwing life and liberty away, Sir Jocelyn, and to no purpose,” cried the other. “He heeds me not,” he added, in a tone of deep disappointment. “Imprudent that he is! he will thwart all the plans I have formed for his benefit, and at the very moment they have arrived at maturity. I must follow and protect him.”

  And he too rushed down the stairs, and made all the haste he could across the Vintry wharf after Sir Jocelyn, who was hurrying up a narrow thoroughfare communicating with Thames Street.

  Here a numerous body of ‘prentices were already collected, holding a consultation as to their plan of attack. After listening to a brief but stirring harangue from Dick Taverner, who got upon a horse-block for the purpose of addressing them, and recommended them to proceed to Ely House, in Holborn, the residence of the offending Ambassador, and there await his return from Whitehall; they approved of his proposal, and unanimously electing Dick as their leader, set forth on their expedition, gathering strength as they went along.

  By the time they reached Blackfriars they numbered many hundreds. Little or no interruption was offered them on their route; and the slight hindrance they encountered from a detachment of the city-watch was speedily overborne. Skirting Bridewell, they traversed Shoe Lane, and ascending Holborn Hill, found themselves in the vicinity of Ely House, where they came to a halt, and arranged their forces.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  A Noble Revenge.

  Nothing could be pleasanter than the situation of the Spanish ambassador’s residence, surrounded as it was by noble gardens; but its beauties seemed now likely to be devastated by the blind fury of the apprentices. Much mischief would indeed have been done in a very short time if it had not been for their leader. He authoritatively commanded them to refrain from the work of demolition till they had settled accounts with the ambassador himself, who might be expected each moment, as they had ascertained that he was on his way home from the palace. The information they had received proved to be correct; and ere many minutes elapsed, a magnificent litter, borne by eight stout varlets, and attended by several gentlemen and pages, in the well-known liveries of De Gondomar, was seen to pass through Holborn Bars and advance towards them.

  Very soon, however, the bearers of the litter halted, surprised and alarmed at the sight of the crowd investing Ely House; but De Gondomar, who had no apprehension, commanded them to proceed, and they reluctantly obeyed. The ‘prentices allowed the litter to come on till they could surround it, when they set up a loud shout, making it evident that mischief was intended.

  On this the gentlemen and pages in attendance upon the ambassador drew their swords and put themselves into a posture of defence, endeavouring to keep off the crowd. But their resistance was of little avail. The ‘prentices’ clubs quickly shivered their weapons, and drove them back.

  When he became aware of the jeopardy in which he stood, De Gondomar, anxious to gain time, in the hope that assistance might arrive, demanded of the leader of the furious-looking crew who had drawn aside the curtains of his litter, and ordered him in insolent tones to come forth, why they molested him. The individual appealed to replied that, having heard of his infamous usage of Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey, and of the false accusation he had brought against him to the King, they were determined to inflict upon his Excellency the punishment due to public and notorious slanderers.

  “And by what right do you constitute yourselves my judges?” cried De Gondomar. “Take heed what you do — you may bring yourselves within reach of a halter.”

  “You hear what he says, brother ‘prentices?” cried Dick Taverner. “He threatens to hang us, and no doubt if he could carry out his schemes, and bring back the Pope’s authority, he would burn us in Smithfield, as they did the holy martyrs in Mary’s days. He has charged a true and loyal subject of his Majesty with being a spy. In return we tell him he is the worst of spies — a spy employed by the Pope; and we will teach him the danger of his employment.”

  “Hands off, base varlets!” exclaimed De Gondomar, endeavouring to shake himself free from the rude grasp imposed upon him.

  But, in spite of his resistance, he was dragged from the litter, while a shower of blows from the ‘prentices cudgels fell upon his shoulders; and it is probable he would have experienced much severer treatment, if indeed he had escaped with life, if at thi
s moment Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey, sword in hand and followed by Clement Lanyere, had not burst through the throng.

  “Ha! as I suspected,” cried De Gondomar. “You, Mounchensey, are the author and instigator of this outrage, and are come to see that your tools do their work properly.”

  “It is false,” cried Dick Taverner. “Your Excellency judges of others by yourself. Sir Jocelyn would have checked us if he could.”

  “I cannot be expected to believe such an assertion as this,” cried De Gondomar incredulously.

  “Let my actions speak for me,” cried Mounchensey. “Friends,” he called out, “it is undoubtedly true that I have good ground of complaint against the Conde de Gondomar — that he has deeply injured me — and that I will compel him to make me reparation in due season — but I cannot permit outrage to be offered him; and if aught further be attempted, my arm will be raised in his defence.”

  “How! can this be possible!” exclaimed De Gondomar in surprise.

  “Why, we are fighting Sir Jocelyn’s battles, and he turns round upon us!” cried a burly ‘prentice, while loud murmurs arose from the others, and the cudgels were again brandished menacingly.

  “Leave him to us, Sir Jocelyn,” said Dick Taverner.

  “Ay, he had better not interfere, of he will come in for his share of the blows,” roared several voices.

  “I care not what befals me,” shouted Mounchensey. “You shall not injure a hair of his Excellency’s head while I stand by.”

  And as he spoke he warded off several blows aimed at the ambassador.

  “I am with you, Sir Jocelyn,” said Clement Lanyere, clearing a space around them with his long rapier, but avoiding, so far as possible, doing injury to the ‘prentices.

  At this critical juncture, and when it seemed likely that, owing to his chivalrous interference, Sir Jocelyn would share the ambassador’s fate, he being fairly resolved, as he showed, to defend him with his life, a cry was raised that a body of the royal guards were approaching; and as the trampling of horse, accompanied by the clatter of swords, left no doubt of the fact, and as, moreover, the bold ‘prentices felt no disposition to encounter regular soldiery, they instantly abandoned their prey and took to their beels, the chief part of them leaping the hedge which then grew along the north side of Holborn, and scouring off through the fields in every direction. Some half dozen were made prisoners by the guard; and amongst these, we regret to state, was the leader of the riotous assembly, Dick Taverner.

  “Thou art likely to make acquaintance with the pillory and the cart’s tail, if not with the hangman, friend,” said the soldier who secured him, with a laugh.

  “So I begin to fear,” replied Dick. “Alack! and well-a-day! what will become of Gillian!”

  “An that be thy mistress’s name, friend, you should have thought of her before you engaged in this disturbance. You are likely now to part company with her for ever.”

  While Dick lamented the predicament in which he had placed himself, the Conde de Gondomar, freed from all apprehension, turned towards his deliverer, and proffering him his hand, said— “You have nobly revenged yourself, Sir Jocelyn. I trust we may be friends once more. I will make you ample reparation for the wrong I have done you.”

  But the young knight, folding his arms upon his breast, sternly replied— “When reparation is made, Count, I may accept your hand, but not till then.”

  “At least enter my house,” urged the ambassador, “where you will be protected from arrest.”

  “Do not hesitate, Sir Jocelyn,” subjoined Lanyere. “You are in great peril.”

  But the young knight haughtily refused.

  “I will not owe an asylum to you, Count,” he said, “till my name be cleared from reproach.” And, with a proud salutation, he departed.

  The Spanish ambassador shrugged his shoulders, and looked after him with mingled admiration and contempt. He then turned to the promoter, and said, “Come in with me, Lanyere. I have somewhat to say to you.”

  “I must pray your Excellency to excuse me just now,” replied the other. “I have business on hand.”

  And bowing with nearly as much haughtiness as Sir Jocelyn, he followed in the course taken by the young knight.

  CHAPTER XX.

  A Place of Refuge.

  After quitting De Gondomar, as before related, Sir Jocelyn hurried along Holborn with the intention of proceeding to Aveline’s cottage, which was at no great distance from Ely House, though in a secluded situation, withdrawn from the road; and he was just about to strike into the narrow lane leading to it, when he was arrested by the voice of Clement Lanyere, who had followed him, unobserved.

  “Stay, Sir Jocelyn, I beg of you,” cried the promoter, coming quickly up to him; “you are rushing on certain destruction. You must not go nigh that cottage to-day; no, nor for several days to come. Foes are lying in ambush round it; and the only spectacle you will afford her you love will be that of your arrest.”

  There was an earnestness in the speaker’s manner that could not fail to carry conviction of his sincerity to the breast of his hearer.

  “By my soul, I speak the truth,” said Lanyere, perceiving the impression he had made, “as you will find if you go many steps further. Place yourself in my hands, and I will save you.”

  “What motive can you have for acting thus?” demanded Sir Jocelyn. “What interest do you take in me?”

  “Do not question me now: you shall have full explanation hereafter. Be satisfied I am a friend, — perchance your best friend. Come with me, and I will take you to a place of safety.”

  “But what is to happen to Aveline?” cried the young knight, in deep anxiety.

  “I will endeavour to watch over her,” replied the promoter; “and I trust no harm will befall her. At all events, you will deprive yourself of the power of rendering her any protection, if you are rash enough to go forward now.”

  Struck by the force of these remarks, our young knight felt he had no alternative but to submit to circumstances, and he accordingly agreed to accept the aid proffered him by his mysterious friend. But it was not without feelings of intense anguish that he turned away from the path leading to the little secluded cottage containing all he held dear, and followed his conductor, who seemed resolved to allow him no time for further hesitation, but proceeding at a rapid pace towards the west till he reached Broad Saint Giles’s — then a rural village — and entered a small tavern, bearing the sign of “The Rose and Crown,” the landlord of which appeared to have an understanding with the promoter, for at a sign from him, he immediately ushered his guests into a chamber up-stairs, and without saying a word, left them alone together.

  “Here you will be secure and undisturbed,” said Lanyere; “and all your wants will be cared for by my trusty ally, Barnabas Boteler; but, for your own sake, you must consent to remain a close prisoner, till I bring you word that you may go forth with safety. I must now leave you, having much to do, and must defer the explanations I design to give you to a more convenient season. Be not uneasy if you should not see me for a few days, as circumstances may prevent my coming to you. When I next appear, I trust it may be to bring you good tidings. Till then, farewell.”

  And without waiting for any reply from Sir Jocelyn, he hastily departed.

  Left alone, our young knight did the best he could to reconcile himself to the strange situation in which he was placed. He was naturally full of anxiety, both on his own account, and on that of Aveline; yet, on calm reflection, he felt satisfied he had acted for the best, and that, in accepting the protection of the mysterious individual who seemed bent upon directing his fortunes, he had followed the dictates of prudence. Barnabas Boteler attended him in person, and suffered no one else to come near him; but though the worthy host seemed anxious to anticipate his wants in every particular, his manner was reserved, and, in Sir Jocelyn’s opinion, he had something of the look of a jailor, and this notion was strengthened when he found himself locked in his room. Probably this was on
ly done as a precautionary measure by the host; and as the window was at no great height from the ground, and he could descend from it when he chose, he gave himself no great concern about the matter.

  In this way three days passed by without anything occurring to break the monotony of his wearisome confinement, — not even a visit from Clement Lanyere. To Sir Jocelyn’s inquiries concerning him, the host professed utter inability to give a precise answer, but said that he might arrive at any moment. As he did not appear, however, on the fourth day, Sir Jocelyn’s patience got quite worn out, and his uneasiness respecting Aveline having become insupportable, he determined, at all hazards, on visiting her cottage. Without acquainting the host with his intention, or asking to have the door unfastened, he opened the window which looked into a garden at the back of the house, and sprang from it. His furtive departure did not appear to be noticed, and he soon gained the road, and took the direction of Aveline’s dwelling.

  CHAPTER XXI.

  The Arrest.

  As he approached the cottage a heavy presentiment of ill seized Sir Jocelyn. The place seemed to have lost its customary smiling air. No fair countenance beamed upon him from the casement; no light footsteps were heard hastening to the door; no one opened it to give him welcome. Could Aveline have fled’? — or had some dire misfortune happened to her. Suspense was worse than certainty of ill: and after a moment’s hesitation, he raised the latch, and with trembling footsteps crossed the threshold.

  She was gone — he could no longer doubt it. The disordered appearance of the chamber in which he found himself, with its furniture scattered about, seemed to tell of a struggle, and a forcible abduction. Nevertheless, though expecting no answer, he called forth her name in accents of wildest despair. She came not to his cries — neither she nor her companion, Dame Sherborne, nor her faithful attendant old Anthony Rocke. All were gone. The house was indeed desolate.