CHAPTER I
I
The "Red Bull" in Cheapside was all alight; a party had arrived therefrom the coast not an hour ago, and the rooms that had been bespoken bycourier occupied the greater part of the second floor; the rest of thehouse was already filled by another large company, spoken for by Mr.Babington, although he himself was not one of them. And it seemed to theshrewd landlord that these two parties were not wholly unknown to oneanother, although, as a discreet man, he said nothing.
The latest arrived party was plainly come from the coast. They hadarrived a little after sunset on this stormy August day, splashed to theshoulders by the summer-mud, and drenched to the skin by the heavythunder-showers. Their baggage had a battered and sea-going air aboutit, and the landlord thought he would not be far away if he conjecturedRheims as their starting-point; there were three gentlemen in the party,and four servants apparently; but he knew better than to ask questionsor to overhear what seemed rather over-familiar conversation between themen and their masters. There was only one, however, whom he rememberedto have lodged before, over five years ago. The name of this one was Mr.Alban. But all this was not his business. His duty was to be hearty anddeferential and entirely stupid; and certainly this course of behaviourbrought him a quantity of guests.
* * * * *
Mr. Alban, about half-past nine o'clock, had finished unstrapping hisluggage. It was of the most innocent description, and contained nothingthat all the world might not see. He had made arrangements that articlesof another kind should come over from Rheims under the care of one ofthe "servants," whose baggage would be less suspected. The distributionwould take place in a day or two. These articles comprised five sets ofaltar vessels, five sets of mass-vestments, made of a stuff woven of allthe liturgical colours together, a dozen books, a box of medals, anotherof _Agnus Deis_--little wax medallions stamped with the figure of a Lambsupporting a banner--a bunch of beads, and a heavy little square packageof very thin altar-stones.
As he laid out the suit of clothes that he proposed to wear next day,there was a rapping on his door.
"Mr. Babington is come--sir." (The last word was added as an obviousafterthought, in case of listeners.)
Robin sprang up; the door was opened by his "servant," and Anthony camein, smiling.
* * * * *
Mr. Anthony Babington had broadened and aged considerably during thelast five years. He was still youthful-looking, but he was plainly a manand no longer a boy. And he presently said as much for his friend.
"You are a man, Robin," he said.--"Why, it slipped my mind!"
He knelt down promptly on the strip of carpet and kissed the palms ofthe hands held out to him, as is the custom to do with newly-ordainedpriests, and Robin murmured a blessing.
Then the two sat down again.
"And now for the news," said Robin.
Anthony's face grew grave.
"Yours first," he said.
So Robin told him. He had been ordained priest a month ago, atChalons-sur-Marne.... The college was as full as it could hold.... Theyhad had an unadventurous journey.
Anthony put a question or two, and was answered.
"And now," said Robin, "what of Derbyshire; and of the country; and ofmy father? And is it true that Ballard is taken?"
Anthony threw an arm over the back of his chair, and tried to seem athis ease.
"Well," he said, "Derbyshire is as it ever was. You heard of ThomasFitzHerbert's defection?"
"Mistress Manners wrote to me of it, more than two years ago."
"Well, he does what he can: he comes and goes with his wife or withouther. But he comes no more to Padley. And he scarcely makes a feint evenbefore strangers of being a Catholic, though he has not declaredhimself, nor gone to church, at any rate in his own county. Here inLondon I have seen him more than once in Topcliffe's company. But Ithink that every Catholic in the country knows of it by now. That isMistress Manners' doing. My sister says there has never been a womanlike her."
Robin's eyes twinkled.
"I always said so," he said. "But none would believe me. She has the witand courage of twenty men. What has she been doing?"
"What has she not done?" cried Anthony. "She keeps herself for the mostpart in her house; and my sister spends a great deal of time with her;but her men, who would die for her, I think, go everywhere; and half thehog-herds and shepherds of the Peak are her sworn men. I have given yourDick to her; he was mad to do what he could in that cause. So her men gothis way and that bearing her letters or her messages to priests who areon their way through the county; and she gets news--God knows how!--ofwhat is a-stirring against us. She has saved Mr. Ludlam twice, and Mr.Garlick once, as well as Mr. Simpson once, by getting the news to themof the pursuivants' coming, and having them away into the Peak. And yetwith all this, she has never been laid by the heels."
"Have they been after her, then?" asked Robin eagerly.
"They have had a spy in her house twice to my knowledge, but neveropenly; and never a shred of a priest's gown to be seen, though mass hadbeen said there that day. But they have never searched it by force. AndI think they do not truly suspect her at all."
"Did I not say so?" cried Robin. "And what of my father? He wrote to methat he was to be made magistrate; and I have never written to himsince."
"He hath been made magistrate," said Anthony drily; "and he sits on thebench with the rest of them."
"Then he is all of the same mind?"
"I know nothing of his mind. I have never spoken with him this six yearsback. I know his acts only. His name was in the 'Bond of Association,'too!"
"I have heard of that."
"Why, it is two years old now. Half the gentry of England have joinedit," said Anthony bitterly. "It is to persecute to the death anypretender to the Crown other than our Eliza."
There was a pause. Robin understood the bitterness.
"And what of Mr. Ballard?" asked Robin.
"Yes; he is taken," said Anthony slowly, watching him. "He was taken aweek ago."
"Will they banish him, then?"
"I think they will banish him."
"Why, yes--it is the first time he hath been taken. And there isnothing great against him?"
"I think there is not," said Anthony, still with that strangedeliberateness.
"Why do you look at me like that?"
Anthony stood up without answering. Then he began to pace about. As hepassed the door he looked to the bolt carefully. Then he turned again tohis friend.
"Robin," he said, "would you sooner know a truth that will make youunhappy, or be ignorant of it?"
"Does it concern myself or my business?" asked Robin promptly.
"It concerns you and every priest and every Catholic in England. It iswhat I have hinted to you before."
"Then I will hear it."
"It is as if I told it in confession?"
Robin paused.
"You may make it so," he said, "if you choose."
Anthony looked at him an instant. "Well," he said, "I will not make aconfession, because there is no use in that now--but--Well, listen!" hesaid, and sat down.
II
When he ceased, Robin lifted his head. He was as white as a sheet.
"You have been refused absolution before for this?"
"I was refused absolution by two priests; but I was granted it by athird."
"Let me see that I have the tale right.
"Yourself, with a number of others, have bound yourselves by an oath tokill her Grace, and to set Mary on the throne. This has taken shape nowsince the beginning of the summer. You yourself are now living in Mr.Walsingham's house, in Seething Lane, under the patronage of her Grace,and you show yourself freely at court. You have proceeded so far, underfear of Mr. Ballard's arrest, as to provide one of your company withclothes and necessaries that can enable him to go to court; and it wasyour intention, as well as his, that he should take opportunity to killher Gra
ce. But to-day only you have become persuaded that the old designwas the better; and you wish first to arrange matters with the Queen ofthe Scots, so that when all is ready, you may be the more sure of arising when that her Grace is killed, and that the Duke of Parma may bein readiness to bring an army into England. It is still your intentionto kill her Grace?"
"By God! it is!" said Anthony, between clenched teeth.
"Then I could not absolve you, even if you came to confession. You maybe absolved from your allegiance, as we all are; but you are notabsolved from charity and justice towards Elizabeth as a woman. I haveconsulted theologians on the very point; and--"
Then Anthony sprang up.
"See here, Robin; we must talk this out." He flicked his fingerssharply. "See--we will talk of it as two friends."
"You had better take back those words," said the priest gravely.
"Why?"
"It would be my duty to lay an information! I understood you spoke to meas to a priest, though not in confession."
"You would!" blazed the other.
"I should do so in conscience," said the priest. "But you have not yettold me as a friend, and--"
"You mean--"
"I mean that so long as you choose to speak to me of it, now and here,it remains that I choose to regard it as _sub sigillo_ in effect. Butyou must not come to me to-morrow, as if I knew it all in a plain way. Ido not. I know it as a priest only."
There was silence for a moment. Then Anthony stood up.
"I understand," he said. "But you would refuse me absolution in anycase?"
"I could not give you absolution so long as you intended to kill herGrace."
Anthony made an impatient gesture.
"See here," he said. "Let me tell you the whole matter from thebeginning. Now listen."
He settled himself again in his chair, and began.
* * * * *
"Robin," he said, "you remember when I spoke to you in the inn on theway to Matstead; it must be seven or eight years gone now? Well, thatwas when the beginning was. There was no design then, such as we haveto-day; but the general purpose was there. I had spoken with man afterman; I had been to France, and seen Mr. Morgan there, Queen Mary's man,and my lord of Glasgow; and all that I spoke with seemed of onemind--except my lord of Glasgow, who did not say much to me on thematter. But all at least were agreed that there would be no peace inEngland so long as Elizabeth sat on the throne.
"Well: it was after that that I fell in with Ballard, who was over hereon some other affair; and I found him a man of the same mind as myself;he was all agog for Mary, and seemed afraid of nothing. Well; nothingwas done for a great while. He wrote to me from France; I wrote back tohim again, telling him the names of some of my friends. I went to seehim in France two or three times; and I saw him here, when you yourselfcame over with him. But we did not know whom to trust. Neither had weany special design. Her Grace of the Scots went hither and thitherunder strong guards; and what I had done for her before--"
Robin looked up. He was still quite pale and quite quiet.
"What was that?" he said.
Anthony again made his impatient gesture. He was fiercely excited; butkept himself under tolerable control.
"Why, I have been her agent for a great while back, getting her lettersthrough to her, and such like. But last year, when that damned Sir AmyasPaulet became her gaoler, I could do nothing. Two or three times mymessenger was stopped, and the letters taken from him. Well; after thattime I could do no more. There her Grace was, back again at Tutbury, andnone could get near her. She might no more give alms, even, to the poor;and all her letters must go through Walsingham's hands. And then Godhelped us: she was taken last autumn to Chartley, near by which is thehouse of the Giffords; and since that time we have been almost merry. Doyou know Gilbert Gifford?"
"He hath been with the Jesuits, hath he not?"
"That is the man. Well, Mr. Gilbert Gifford hath been God's angel to us.A quiet, still kind of a man--you have seen him?"
"I have spoken with him at Rheims," said Robin. "I know nothing of him."
"Well; he contrived the plan. He hath devised a beer-barrel that haththe beer all roundabout, so that when they push their rods in, thereseems all beer within. But in the heart of the beer there is secured alittle iron case; and within the iron case there is space for papers.Well, this barrel goes to and fro to Chartley and to a brewer that is agood Catholic; and within the case there are the letters. And in thisway, all has been prepared--"
Robin looked up again. He remained quiet through all the story; andlifted no more than his eyes. His fingers played continually with abutton on his doublet.
"You mean that Queen Mary hath consented to this?"
"Why, yes!"
"To her sister's death?"
"Why, yes!"
"I do not believe it," said the priest quietly. "On whose word does thatstand?"
"Why, on her own! Whose else's?" snapped Anthony.
"You mean, you have it in her own hand, signed by her name?"
"It is in Gifford's hand! Is not that enough? And there is her seal toit. It is in cypher, of course. What would you have?"
"Where is she now?" asked Robin, paying no attention to the question.
"She hath just now been moved again to Tixall."
"For what?"
"I do not know. What has that to do with the matter? She will be backsoon again. I tell you all is arranged."
"Tell me the rest of the story," said the priest.
"There is not much more. So it stands at present. I tell you her Gracehath been tossed to and fro like a ball at play. She was at Chatsworth,as you know; she has been shut up in Chartley like a criminal; she wasat Babington House even. God! if I had but known it in time!"
"In Babington House! Why, when was that?"
"Last year, early--with Sir Ralph Sadler, who was her gaoler then!"cried Anthony bitterly; "but for a night only.... I have sold thehouse."
"Sold it!"
"I do not keep prisons," snapped Anthony. "I will have none of it!"
"Well?"
"Well," resumed the other man quietly. "I must say that when Ballard wastaken--"
"When was that?"
"Last week only. Well, when he was taken I thought perhaps all wasknown. But I find Mr. Walsingham's conversation very comforting, thoughlittle he knows it, poor man! He knows that I am a Catholic; and he waslamenting to me only three days ago of the zeal of these informers. Hesaid he could not save Ballard, so hot was the pursuit after him; thathe would lose favour with her Grace if he did."
"What comfort is there in that?"
"Why; it shows plain enough that nothing is known of the true facts. Ifthey were after him for this design of ours do you think that Walsinghamwould speak like that? He would clap us all in ward--long ago."
The young priest was silent. His head still whirled with the tale, andhis heart was sick at the misery of it all. This was scarcely thehome-coming he had looked for! He turned abruptly to the other.
"Anthony, lad," he said, "I beseech you to give it up."
Anthony smiled at him frankly. His excitement was sunk down again.
"You were always a little soft," he said. "I remember you would havenought to do with us before. Why, we are at war, I tell you; and it isnot we who declared it! They have made war on us now for the last twentyyears and more. What of all the Catholics--priests and others--who havedied on the gibbet, or rotted in prison? If her Grace makes war upon us,why should we not make war upon her Grace? Tell me that, then!"
"Anthony, I beseech you to give it up. I hate the whole matter, and fearit, too."
"Fear it? Why, I tell you, we hold them _so_." (He stretched out hislean, young hand, and clenched the long fingers slowly together.) "Wehave them by the throat. You will be glad enough to profit by it, whenMary reigns. What is there to fear?"
"I do not know; I am uneasy. But that is not to the purpose. I tell youit is forbidden by God's--"
/>
"Uneasy! Fear it! Why, tell me what there is to fear? What hole can youfind anywhere?"
"I do not know. I hardly know the tale yet. But it seems to me theremight be a hundred."
"Tell me one of them, then."
Anthony threw himself back with an indulgent smile on his face.
"Why, if you will have it," said Robin, roused by the contempt, "thereis one great hole in this. All hangs upon Gifford's word, as it seems tome. You have not spoken with Mary; you have not even her own hand onit."
"Bah! Why, her Grace of the Scots cannot write in cypher, do you think?"
"I do not know how that may be. It may be so. But I say that all hangsupon Gifford."
"And you think Gifford can be a liar and a knave!" sneered Anthony.
"I have not one word against him," said the priest. "But neither had Iagainst Thomas FitzHerbert; and you know what has befallen--"
Anthony snorted with disdain.
"Put your finger through another hole," he said.
"Well--I like not the comfort that Mr. Secretary Walsingham has givenyou. You told me a while ago that Ballard was on the eve of going toFrance. Now Walsingham is no fool. I would to God he were! He has laidenough of our men by the heels already."
"By God!" cried Anthony, roused again. "I would not willingly call youa fool either, my man! But do you not understand that Walsinghambelieves me as loyal as himself? Here have I been at court for the lastyear, bowing before her Grace, and never a word said to me on myreligion. And here is Walsingham has bidden me to lodge in his house, inthe midst of all his spider's webs. Do you think he would do that if--"
"I think he might have done so," said Robin slowly.
Anthony sprang to his feet.
"My Robin," he said, "you were right enough when you said you would notjoin with us. You were not made for this work. You would see an enemy inyour own father--"
He stopped confounded.
Robin smiled drearily.
"I have seen one in him," he said.
Anthony clapped him on the shoulder, not unkindly.
"Forgive me, my Robin. I did not think what I said. Well; we will leaveit at that. And you would not give me absolution?"
The priest shook his head.
"Then give me your blessing," said Anthony, dropping on his knees. "Andso we will close up the _quasi-sigillum confessionis_."
III
It was a heavy-hearted priest that presently, downstairs, stood withAnthony in one of the guest-rooms, and was made known to half a dozenstrangers. Every word that he had heard upstairs must be as if it hadnever been spoken, from the instant at which Anthony had first sat downto the instant in which he had kneeled down to receive his blessing. Somuch he knew from his studies at Rheims. He must be to each man that hemet, that which he would have been to him an hour ago. Yet, though as aman he must know nothing, his priest's heart was heavy in his breast. Itwas a strange home-coming--to pass from the ordered piety of thecollege: to the whirl of politics and plots in which good and evil spanround together--honest and fiery zeal for God's cause, mingled with whathe was persuaded was crime and abomination. He had thought that apriest's life would be a simple thing, but it seemed otherwise now.
He spoke with those half-dozen men--those who knew him well enough for apriest; and presently, when some of his own party came, drew aside againwith Anthony, who began to tell him in a low voice of the personagesthere.
"These are all my private friends," he said, "and some of them be men ofsubstance in their own place. There is Mr. Charnoc, of Lancashire, hewith the gilt sword. He is of the Court of her Grace, and comes and goesas he pleases. He is lodged in Whitehall, and comes here but to see hisfriends. And there is Mr. Savage, in the new clothes, with his beard cutshort. He is a very honest fellow, but of a small substance, though ofgood family enough."
"Her Grace has some of her ladies, too, that are Catholics, has shenot?" asked Robin.
"There are two or three at least, and no trouble made. They hear masswhen they can at the Embassies. Mendoza is a very good friend of ours."
Mr. Charnoc came up presently to the two. He was a cheerful-looking man,of northern descent, very particular in his clothes, with large goldear-rings; he wore a short, pointed beard above his stiff ruff, and hiseyes were bright and fanatical.
"You are from Rheims, I understand, Mr. Alban."
He sat down with something of an air next to Robin.
"And your county--?" he asked.
"I am from Derbyshire, sir," said Robin.
"From Derbyshire. Then you will have heard of Mistress Marjorie Manners,no doubt."
"She is an old friend of mine," said Robin, smiling. (The man had agreat personal charm about him.)
"You are very happy in your friends, then," said the other. "I havenever spoken with her myself; but I hear of her continually as assistingour people--sending them now up into the Peak country, now into thetowns, as the case may be--and never a mistake."
* * * * *
It was delightful to Robin to hear her praised, and he talked of herkeenly and volubly. Exactly that had happened which five years ago hewould have thought impossible; for every trace of his old feelingtowards her was gone, leaving behind, and that only in the very deepestintimacies of his thought, a sweet and pleasant romance, like the glowin the sky when the sun is gone down. Little by little that had comeabout which, in Marjorie, had transformed her when she first sent him toRheims. It was not that reaction had followed; there was no contempt,either of her or of himself, for what he had once thought of her; butanother great passion had risen above it--a passion of which the humanlover cannot even guess, kindled for one that is greater than man; apassion fed, trained and pruned by those six years of studious peace atRheims, directed by experts in humanity. There he had seen what Lovecould do when it could rise higher than its human channels; he had seenyoung men, scarcely older than himself, set out for England, as fortheir bridals, exultant and on fire; and back to Rheims had come againthe news of their martyrdom: this one died, crying to Jesu as ahome-coming child cries to his mother at the garden-gate; this one hadsaid nothing upon the scaffold, but his face (they said who brought thenews) had been as the face of Stephen at his stoning; and others hadcome back themselves, banished, with pain of death on their returning,yet back once more these had gone. And, last, more than once, there hadcrept back to Rheims, borne on a litter all the way from the coast, thephantom of a man who a year or two ago had played "cat" and shouted atthe play--now a bent man, grey-haired, with great scars on wrists andankles.... _Te Deums_ had been sung in the college chapel when the newsof the deaths had come: there were no _requiems_ for such as these; andthe place of the martyr in the refectory was decked with flowers....Robin had seen these things, and wondered whether his place, too, wouldsome day be so decked.
For Marjorie, then, he felt nothing but a happy friendliness, and a realdelight when he thought of seeing her again. It was glorious, hethought, that she had done so much; that her name was in all men'smouths. And he had thought, when he had first gone to Rheims, that hewould do all and she nothing! He had written to her then, freely andhappily. He had told her that she must give him shelter some day, as shewas doing for so many.
Meanwhile it was pleasant to hear her praises.
"'Eve would be Eve,'" quoted Mr. Charnoc presently, in speaking of piouswomen's obstinacy, "'though Adam would say Nay.'"
* * * * *
Then, at last, when Mr. Charnoc said that he must be leaving for his ownlodgings, and stood up; once more upon Robin's heart there fell thehorrible memory of all that he had heard upstairs.