By What Authority?

by Robert Hugh Benson

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE MASSING-HOUSE

  Newman's Court lay dark and silent under the stars on Sunday morning alittle after four o'clock. The gloomy weather of the last three or fourdays had passed off in heavy battalions of sullen sunset clouds on thepreceding evening, and the air was full of frost. By midnight thin icewas lying everywhere; pendants of it were beginning to form on theoverhanging eaves; and streaks of it between the cobble-stones that pavedthe court. The great city lay in a frosty stillness as of death.

  The patrol passed along Cheapside forty yards away from the entrance ofthe court, a little after three o'clock; and a watchman had cried outhalf an hour later, that it was a clear night; and then he too had gonehis way. The court itself was a little rectangular enclosure with twoentrances, one to the north beneath the arch of a stable that gave on toNewman's Passage, which in its turn opened on to St. Giles' Lane that ledto Cheapside; the other, at the further end of the long right-hand side,led by a labyrinth of passages down in the direction of the wharfs to thewest of London Bridge. There were three houses to the left of theentrance from Newman's Passage; the back of a ware-house faced them onthe other long side with the door beyond; and the other two sides wererespectively formed by the archway of the stable with a loft over it, anda blank high wall at the opposite end.

  A few minutes after four o'clock the figure of a woman suddenly appearedsoundlessly in the arch under the stables; and after standing there amoment advanced along the front of the houses till she reached the thirddoor. She stood here a moment in silence, listening and looking towardsthe doorway opposite, and then rapped gently with her finger-nail elevenor twelve times. Almost immediately the door opened, showing onlydarkness within; she stepped in, and it closed silently behind her. Thenthe minutes slipped away again in undisturbed silence. At about twentyminutes to five the figure of a very tall man dressed as a layman slippedin through the door that led towards the river, and advanced to the doorwhere he tapped in the same manner as the woman before him, and wasadmitted at once. After that people began to come more frequently, somehesitating and looking about them as they entered the court, someslipping straight through without a pause, and going to the door, whichopened and shut noiselessly as each tapped and was admitted. Sometimestwo or three would come together, sometimes singly; but by five o'clockabout twenty or thirty persons had come and been engulfed by theblackness that showed each time the door opened; while no glimmer oflight from any of the windows betrayed the presence of any living soulwithin. At five o'clock the stream stopped. The little court lay assilent under the stars again as an hour before. It was a night ofbreathless stillness; there was no dripping from the eaves; no sound ofwheels or hoofs from the city; only once or twice came the long howl of adog across the roofs.

  Ten minutes passed away.

  Then without a sound a face appeared like a pale floating patch in thedark door that opened on to the court. It remained hung like a mask inthe darkness for at least a minute; and then a man stepped through on tothe cobblestones. Something on his head glimmered sharply in thestarlight; and there was the same sparkle at the end of a pole that hecarried in his hand; he turned and nodded; and three or four men appearedbehind him.

  Then out of the darkness of the archway at the other end of the courtappeared a similar group. Once a man slipped on the frozen stones andcursed under his breath, and the leader turned on him with a fierceindrawing of his breath; but no word was spoken.

  Then through both entrances streamed dark figures, each with a steelyglitter on head and breast, and with something that shone in their hands;till the little court seemed half full of armed men; but the silence wasstill formidable in its depth.

  The two leaders came together to the door of the third house, and theirheads were together; and a few sibilant consonants escaped them. Thebreath of the men that stood out under the starlight went up like smokein the air. It was now a quarter-past five.

  Three notes of a hand-bell sounded behind the house; and then, withoutany further attempt at silence, the man who had entered the court firstadvanced to the door and struck three or four thundering blows on it witha mace, and shouted in a resonant voice:

  "Open in the Queen's Name."

  The men relaxed their cautious attitudes, and some grounded theirweapons; others began to talk in low voices; a small party advancednearer their leaders with weapons, axes and halberds, uplifted.

  By now the blows were thundering on the door; and the same shatteringvoice cried again and again:

  "Open in the Queen's name; open in the Queen's name!"

  The middle house of the three was unoccupied; but the windows of thehouse next the stable, and the windows in the loft over the archway,where the stable-boys slept, suddenly were illuminated; latches werelifted, the windows thrust open and heads out of them.

  Then one or two more pursuivants came up the dark passage bearing flamingtorches with them. A figure appeared on the top of the blank wall at theend, and pointed and shouted. The stable-boys in a moment more appearedin their archway, and one or two persons came out of the house next thestable, queerly habited in cloaks and hats over their night-attire.

  * * * *

  The din was now tremendous; the questions and answers shouted to and frowere scarcely audible under the thunder that pealed from the battereddoor; a party had advanced to it and were raining blows upon the lock andhinges. The court was full of a ruddy glare that blazed on thehalf-armour and pikes of the men, and the bellowing and the crashes andthe smoke together went up into the night air as from the infernal pit.It was a hellish transformation from the deathly stillness of a fewminutes--a massacre of the sweet night silence. And yet the house wherethe little silent stream of dark figures had been swallowed up rose uphigh above the smoky cauldron, black, dark, and irresponsive.

  * * * *

  There rose a shrill howling from behind the house, and the figure on thetop of the wall capered and gesticulated again. Then footsteps camerunning up the passage, and a pursuivant thrust his way through to theleaders; and, in a moment or two, above the din a sharp word was given,and three or four men hurried out through the doorway by which the manhad come. Almost at the same moment the hinges of the door gave way, thewhole crashed inwards, and the attacking party poured into the darkentrance hall beyond. By this time the noise had wakened many in thehouses round, and lights were beginning to shine from the high windowsinvisible before, and a concourse of people to press in from all sides.The approaches had all been guarded, but at the crash of the door some ofthe sentries round the nearer corners hurried into the court, and thecrowd poured after them; and by the time that the officers and men haddisappeared into the house, their places had been filled by thespectators, and the little court was again full of a swaying, seething,shouting mass of men, with a few women with hoods and cloaks amongthem--inquiries and information were yelled to and fro.

  "It was a nest of papists--a wasp's nest was being smoked out--what harmhad they done?--It was a murder; two women had had their throatscut.--No, no; it was a papists' den--a massing-house.--Well, God save herGrace and rid her of her enemies. With these damned Spaniards everywhere,England was going to ruin.--They had escaped at the back. No; they triedthat way, but it was guarded.--There were over fifty papists, some said,in that house.--It was a plot. Mary was mixed up in it. The Queen was tobe blown up with powder, like poor Darnley. The barrels were all storedthere.--No, no, no! it was nothing but a massing-house.--Who was thepriest?--Well, they would see him at Tyburn on a hurdle; and serve himright with his treasonable mummery.--No, no! they had had enough ofblood.--Campion had died like a man; and an Englishman too--praying forhis Queen."--The incessant battle and roar went up.

  * * * *

  Meanwhile lights were beginning to shine everywhere in the dark house. Aman with a torch was st
anding in a smoky glare half way up the stairsseen through the door, and the interior of the plain hall wasilluminated. Then the leaded panes overhead were beginning to shine out.Steel caps moved to and fro; gigantic shadows wavered; the shadow of ahalberd head went across a curtain at one of the lower windows.

  A crimson-faced man threw open a window and shouted instructions to thesentry left at the door, who in answer shook his head and pointed to thebellowing crowd; the man at the window made a furious gesture anddisappeared. The illumination began to climb higher and higher as thesearchers mounted from floor to floor; thin smoke began to go up from oneor two of the chimneys in the frosty air;--they were lighting straw tobring down any fugitives concealed in the chimneys. Then the sound ofheavy blows began to ring out; they were testing the walls everywhere forhiding-holes; there was a sound of rending wood as the flooring was tornup. Then over the parapet against the stairs looked a steel-crowned faceof a pursuivant. The crowd below yelled and pointed at first, thinking hewas a fugitive; but he grinned down at them and disappeared.

  Then at last came an exultant shout; then a breathless silence; then thecrowd began to question and answer again.

  "They had caught the priest!--No, the priest had escaped,--damn him!--Itwas half a dozen women. No, no! they had had the women ten minutes ago ina room at the back.--What fools these pursuivants were!--They had foundthe chapel and the altar.--What a show it would all make at thetrial!--Ah! ah! it was the priest after all."

  * * * *

  Those nearest the door saw the man with the torch on the stairs standback a little; and then a dismal little procession began to appear roundthe turn.

  First came a couple of armed men, looking behind them every now and then;then a group of half a dozen women, whom they had found almostimmediately, but had been keeping for the last few minutes in a roomupstairs; then a couple more men. Then there was a little space; and thenmore constables and more prisoners. Each male prisoner was guarded by twomen; the women were in groups. All these came out to the court. The crowdbegan to sway back against the walls, pointing and crying out; and a lanewith living walls was formed towards the archway that opened intoNewman's Passage.

  When the last pursuivants who brought up the rear had reached the door,an officer, who had been leaning from a first-floor window with the paleface of Lackington peering over his shoulder, gave a sharp order; and theprocession halted. The women, numbering fourteen or fifteen, were placedin a group with some eight men in hollow square round them; then came adozen men, each with a pursuivant on either side. But plainly they werenot all come; they were still waiting for something; the officer andLackington disappeared from the window; and for a moment too, the crowdwas quiet.

  A murmur of excitement began to rise again, as another group was seendescending the stairs within. The officer came first, looking back andtalking as he came; then followed two pursuivants with halberds, andimmediately behind them, followed by yet two men, walked James Maxwell incrimson vestments all disordered, with his hands behind him, and hiscomely head towering above the heads of the guard. The crowd surgedforward, yelling; and the men at the door grounded their halberds sharplyon the feet of the front row of spectators. As the priest reached thedoor, a shrill cry either from a boy or a woman pierced the roaring ofthe mob. "God bless you, father," and as he heard it he turned and smiledserenely. His face was white, and there was a little trickle of blood rundown across it from some wound in his head. The rest of the prisonersturned towards him as he came out; and again he smiled and nodded atthem. And so the Catholics with their priest stood a moment in thatdeafening tumult of revilings, before the officer gave the word toadvance.

  Then the procession set forward through the archway; the crowd pressingback before them, like the recoil of a wave, and surging after them againin the wake. High over the heads of all moved the steel halberds, shininglike grim emblems of power; the torches tossed up and down and threwmonstrous stalking shadows on the walls as they passed; the steel capsedged the procession like an impenetrable hedge; and last moved thecrimson-clad priest, as if in some church function, but with a bristlingbarrier about him; then came the mob, pouring along the narrow passages,jostling, cursing, reviling, swelled every moment by new arrivals dashingdown the alleys and courts that gave on the thoroughfare; and so withtramp and ring of steel the pageant went forward on its way of sorrows.

  * * * *

  Before six o'clock Newman's Court was empty again, except for one armedfigure that stood before the shattered door of No. 3 to guard it. Insidethe house was dark again except in one room high up where the altar hadstood. Here the thick curtains against the glass had been torn down, andthe window was illuminated; every now and again the shadows on theceiling stirred a little as if the candle was being moved; and once thewindow opened and a pale smooth face looked out for a moment, and thenwithdrew again. Then the light disappeared altogether; and presentlyshone out in another room on the same floor; then again after an half anhour or so it was darkened; and again reappeared on the floor below. Andso it went on from room to room; until the noises of the waking citybegan, and the stars paled and expired. Over the smokeless town the skybegan to glow clear and brilliant. The crowing of cocks awoke here andthere; a church bell or two began to sound far away over the roofs. Thepale blue overhead grew more and more luminous; the candle went out onthe first floor; the steel-clad man stretched himself and looked at thegrowing dawn.

  A step was heard on the stairs, and Lackington came down, carrying asmall valise apparently full to bursting. He looked paler than usual; anda little hollow-eyed for want of sleep. He came out and stood by thesoldier, and looked about him. Everywhere the court showed signs of thenight's tumult. Crumbled ice from broken icicles and trampled frozenpools lay powdered on the stones. Here and there on the walls were greatsmears of black from the torches, and even one or two torn bits of stuffand a crushed hat marked where the pressure had been fiercest. Mosteloquent of all was the splintered door behind him, still held fast byone stout bolt, but leaning crookedly against the dinted wall of theinterior.

  "A good night's work, friend," said Lackington to the man. "Another hivetaken, and here"--and he tapped his valise--"here I bear the best of thehoney."

  The soldier looked heavily at the bag. He was tired too; and he did notcare for this kind of work.

  "Well," said Lackington again, "I must be getting home safe. Keep thedoor; you shall be relieved in one hour."

  The soldier nodded at him; but still said nothing; and Lackington liftedthe valise and went off too under the archway.

  * * * *

  That same morning Lady Maxwell in her room in the Hall at Great Keynesawoke early before dawn with a start. She had had a dream but could notremember what it was, except that her son James was in it, and seemed tobe in trouble. He was calling on her to save him, she thought, and awokeat the sound of his voice. She often dreamt of him at this time; for thelife of a seminary priest was laid with snares and dangers. But thisdream seemed worse than all.

  She struck a light, and looked timidly round the room; it seemed stillringing with his voice. A great tapestry in a frame hung over themantelpiece, Actaeon followed by his hounds; the hunter panted as he ran,and was looking back over his shoulder; and the long-jawed dogs streamedbehind him down a little hill.

  So strong was the dream upon the old lady that she felt restless, andpresently got up and went to the window and opened a shutter to look out.A white statue or two beyond the terrace glimmered in the dusk, and thestars were bright in the clear frosty night overhead. She closed theshutter and went back again to bed; but could not sleep. Again and againas she was dozing off, something would startle her wide awake again:sometimes it was a glimpse of James' face; sometimes he seemed to behurrying away from her down an endless passage with closed doors; he wasdressed in something crimson. She tried to cry out, her voice would not
rise above a whisper. Sometimes it was the dream of his voice; and onceshe started up crying out, "I am coming, my son." Then at last she awokeagain at the sound of footsteps coming along the corridor outside; andstared fearfully at the door to see what would enter. But it was only themaid come to call her mistress. Lady Maxwell watched her as she openedthe shutters that now glimmered through their cracks, and let a greatflood of light into the room from the clear shining morning outside.

  "It is a frosty morning, my lady," said the maid.

  "Send one of the men down to Mistress Torridon," said Lady Maxwell, "andask her to come here as soon as it is convenient. Say I am well; butwould like to see her when she can come."

  There was no priest in the house that Sunday, so there could be no mass;and on these occasions Mistress Margaret usually stayed at the DowerHouse until after dinner; but this morning she came up within half anhour of receiving the message.

  She did not pretend to despise her sister's terror, or call itsuperstitious.

  "Mary," she said, taking her sister's jewelled old fingers into her owntwo hands, "we must leave all this to the good God. It may mean much, orlittle, or nothing. He only knows; but at least we may pray. Let me tellIsabel; a child's prayers are mighty with Him; and she has the soul of alittle child still."

  So Isabel was told; and after church she came up to dine at the Hall andspend the day there; for Lady Maxwell was thoroughly nervous and upset:she trembled at the sound of footsteps, and cried out when one of the mencame into the room suddenly.

  Isabel went again to evening prayer at three o'clock; but could not keepher thoughts off the strange nervous horror at the Hall, though it seemedto rest on no better foundation than the waking dreams of an oldlady--and her mind strayed away continually from the darkening chapel inwhich she sat, so near where Sir Nicholas himself lay, to the upstairsparlour where the widow sat shaken and trembling at her own curiousfancies about her dear son.

  Mr. Bodder's sermon came to an end at last; and Isabel was able to getaway, and hurry back to the Hall. She found the old ladies as she hadleft them in the little drawing-room, Lady Maxwell sitting on thewindow-seat near the harp, preoccupied and apparently listening forsomething she knew not what. Mistress Margaret was sitting in a tallpadded porter's chair reading aloud from an old English mystic, but hersister was paying no attention, and looked strangely at the girl as shecame in. Isabel sat down near the fire and listened; and as she listenedthe memory of that other day, years ago, came to her when she sat oncebefore with these two ladies in the same room, and Mistress Margaret readto them, and the letter came from Sir Nicholas; and then the suddenclamour from the village. So now she sat with terror darkening over her,glancing now and again at that white expectant face, and herselflistening for the first far-away rumour of the dreadful interruption thatshe now knew must come.

  "The Goodness of God," read the old nun, "is the highest prayer, and itcometh down to the lowest part of our need. It quickeneth our soul andbringeth it on life, and maketh it for to waxen in grace and virtue. Itis nearest in nature; and readiest in grace: for it is the same gracethat the soul seeketh, and ever shall seek till we know verily that Hehath us all in Himself enclosed. For he hath no despite of that He hathmade, nor hath He any disdain to serve us at the simplest office that toour body belongeth in nature, for love of the soul that He hath made toHis own likeness. For as the body is clad in the clothes, and the fleshin the skin, and the bones in the flesh, and the heart in the whole, soare we, soul and body, clad in the Goodness of God, and enclosed. Yea,and more homely; for all these may waste and wear away, but the Goodnessof God is ever whole; and more near to us without any likeness; for trulyour Lover desireth that our soul cleave to Him with all its might, andthat we be evermore cleaving to His goodness. For of all things thatheart may think, this most pleaseth God, and soonest speedeth us. For oursoul is so specially loved of Him that is highest, that it overpasseththe knowing of all creatures----"

  "Hush," said Lady Maxwell suddenly, on her feet, with a lifted hand.

  There was a breathless silence in the room; Isabel's heart beat thick andheavy and her eyes grew large with expectancy; it was a windless frostynight again, and the ivy outside on the wall, and the laurels in thegarden seemed to be silently listening too.

  "Mary, Mary," began her sister, "you----;" but the old lady lifted herhand a little higher; and silence fell again.

  Then far away in the direction of the London road came the clear beat ofthe hoofs of a galloping horse.

  Lady Maxwell bowed her head, and her hand slowly sank to her side. Theother two stood up and remained still while the beat of the hoofs grewand grew in intensity on the frozen road.

  "The front door," said Lady Maxwell.

  Mistress Margaret slipped from the room and went downstairs; Isabel tooka step or two forward, but was checked by the old lady's uplifted handagain. And again there was a breathless silence, save for the beat of thehoofs now close and imminent.

  A moment later the front door was opened, and a great flood of cold airswept up the passages; the portrait of Sir Nicholas in the halldownstairs, lifted and rattled against the wall. Then came the clatter onthe paved court; and the sound of a horse suddenly checked with theslipping up of hoofs and the jingle and rattle of chains and stirrups.There were voices in the hall below, and a man's deep tones; then camesteps ascending.

  Lady Maxwell still stood perfectly rigid by the window, waiting, andIsabel stared with white face and great open eyes at the door; outside,the flame of a lamp on the wall was blowing about furiously in thedraught.

  Then a stranger stepped into the room; evidently a gentleman; he bowed tothe two ladies, and stood, with the rime on his boots and a whip in hishand, a little exhausted and disordered by hard riding.

  "Lady Maxwell?" he said.

  Lady Maxwell bowed a little.

  "I come with news of your son, madam, the priest; he is alive and well;but he is in trouble. He was taken this morning in his mass-vestments;and is in the Marshalsea."

  Lady Maxwell's lips moved a little; but no sound came.

  "He was betrayed, madam, by a friend. He and thirty other Catholics weretaken all together at mass."

  Then Lady Maxwell spoke; and her voice was dead and hard.

  "The friend, sir! What was his name?"

  "The traitor's name, madam, is Anthony Norris."

  The room turned suddenly dark to Isabel's eyes; and she put up her handand tore at the collar round her throat.

  "Oh no, no, no, no!" she cried, and tottered a step or two forward andstood swaying.

  Lady Maxwell looked from one to another with eyes that seemed to seenothing; and her lips stirred again.

  Mistress Margaret who had followed the stranger up, and who stood nowbehind him at the door, came forward to Isabel with a little cry, withher hands trembling before her. But before she could reach her, LadyMaxwell herself came swiftly forward, her head thrown back, and her armsstretched out towards the girl, who still stood dazed and swaying moreand more.

  "My poor, poor child!" said Lady Maxwell; and caught her as she fell.