CHAPTER FOUR.
WE GET INTO BAD COMPANY.
"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the fly: "'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy."
One afternoon during that winter, as Lettice was coming down-stairs, hersense of smell was all at once saluted by a strange odour, which did notstrike her as having any probable connection with Araby the blest, mixedwith slight curls of smoke suggestive of the idea that something was onfire. But before she had done more than wonder what might be thematter, a sound reached her from below, arguing equal astonishment anddisapproval on the part of Aunt Temperance.
"Northumberland, Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Durham!" was theejaculation of that lady. "Lad, art thou afire, or what ails thee?"
The answering laugh was in Aubrey's voice. "Why, Aunt!" said he, "isthis the first time you did ever see a man to drink Uppowoc?"
"`Drink up a work!'" exclaimed she. "What on earth--"
"Picielt," said he.
"Lettice, is that thou?" inquired Aunt Temperance. "Call Charityquickly, and bid her run for the apothecary: this boy's gone mad."
A ringing peal of laughter from Aubrey was the answer. Lettice had comefar enough to see him now, and there he stood in the hall (his coat moreslashed and puffed than ever), and in his hand a long narrow tube ofsilver, with a little bowl at the end, in which was something that sentforth a great smoke and smell.
"Come, Aunt Temperance!" cried he. "Every gentleman in the land,well-nigh, doth now drink the Indian weed. 'Tis called uppovoc,picielt, petum [whence comes petunia], or tobago, and is sold for itsweight in silver; men pick out their biggest shillings to lay againstit, and 'tis held a favour for a gentlewoman to fill the pipe for herservant [suitor]. I have heard say some will spend three or fourhundred a year after this manner, drinking it even at the table; andthey that refuse be thought peevish and ill company."
"And whither must we flee to get quit of it?" quoth she grimly.
"That cannot I say, Aunt. In France they have it, calling it Nicotine,from one Nicot, that did first fetch it thither; 'twas one Ralph Lanethat brought it to England. Why, what think you? there are over sixthousand shops in and about London, where they deal in it now."
"Six thousand shops for that stinking stuff!"
"Oh, not for this alone. The apothecaries, grocers, and chandlers haveit, and in every tavern you shall find the pipe handed round, evenwhere, as in the meaner sort, it be made but of a walnut shell and astraw. Why, Aunt, 'tis wondrous wholesome and healing for diversdiseases."
"Let's hear which of them."
"Well--migraines [headaches], colics, toothache, ague, colds,obstructions through wind, and fits of the mother [hysterics]; gout,epilepsy, and hydropsy [dropsy]. The brain, look you, being naturallycold and wet, all hot and dry things must be good for it."
"I'd as soon have any of those divers distempers as _that_," solemnlyannounced Aunt Temperance. "`Brain cold and wet!' when didst thouhandle thy brains, that thou shouldst know whether they be cold or not?"
"I do ensure you, Aunt, thus saith Dr Barclay, one of the firstphysicians in London town, which useth this tobago for all thesediseases. He only saith 'tis not to be touched with food, or after it,but must be took fasting. Moreover, it helps the digestion."
"It'll not help mine. And prithee, Mr Aubrey Louvaine, which of allthis list of disorders hast thou?"
"I, Aunt? Oh, I'm well enough."
"Dear heart! When I am well enough, I warrant you, I take no physic."
"Oh, but, Aunt, 'tis not physic only. 'Tis rare comforting andsoothing."
Aunt Temperance's face was a sight to see. She looked Aubrey over fromthe crown of his head to his boots, till his face flushed red, though hetried to laugh it away.
"Soothing!" said she in a long-drawn indescribable tone. "Lettice,prithee tell me what year we be now in?"
"In the year of our Lord 1603, Aunt," said Lettice, trying not to laugh.
"Nay," answered she, "that cannot be: for my nephew, Aubrey Louvaine,was born in the year of our Lord 1583, and he is yet, poor babe, in thecradle, and needs rocking and hushing a-by-bye. S-o-o-t-h-i-n-g!" andAunt Temperance drew out the word in a long cry, for all the world likea whining baby. "Lad, if you desire not the finest thrashing ever youhad yet, cast down that drivelling folly of a silver toy, and turn upyour sleeves and go to work like a man! When you lie abed ill of thesmallpox you may say you want soothing, and no sooner: and if I hearsuch another word out of your mouth, I'll leather you while I can standover you."
Aunt Temperance marched to the parlour door, and flung it wide open.
"Madam," said she, "give me leave to introduce to your Ladyship the Kingof Fools. I go forth to buy a cradle for him, and Edith, prithee run tothe kitchen and dress him some pap. He lacks soothing, Madam; andhaving been brought so low as to seek it, poor fool, at the hands of theevillest-smelling weed ever was plucked off a dunghill, I am moved tocrave your Ladyship's kindliness for him. Here's his rattle,"--and AuntTemperance held forth the silver pipe,--"which lacks but the bells to beas rare a fool's staff as I have seen of a summer day.--Get thee in,thou poor dizard dolt! [Note 1] to think that I should have to callsuch a patch my cousin!"
Lady Louvaine sat, looking first at Aubrey and then at Temperance, asthough she marvelled what it all meant. Edith said, laughingly--
"Why, Aubrey, what hast thou done, my boy, so to vex thine aunt?" andFaith, throwing down her work, rose and came to Aubrey.
"My darling! my poor little boy!" she cried, as a nurse might to achild; but Faith's blandishment was real, while Temperance's wasmockery.
All Aunt Temperance's mocking, nevertheless, provoked Aubrey less thanhis mother's reality. He flushed red again, and looked ready to weep,had it been less unmanly. Temperance took care not to lose her chance.
"Ay, poor little boy!" said she. "Prithee, Faith, take him on thy lapand cuddle him, and dandle him well, and sing him a song o' sixpence.Oh, my little rogue, my pretty bird! well, then, it shall have a newcoral, it shall--Now, Madam, pray you look on this piece of wastry!(Dear heart, but a fool and his money be soon parted!) What think you'tis like?"
"Truly, my dear, that cannot I say," replied Lady Louvaine, looking atthe pipe as Temperance held it out: "but either that or somewhat else,it strikes me, hath a marvellous ill savour."
"Ill savour, Madam!" cried Temperance. "Would you even such mean scentsas roses and lilies to this celestial odour? Truly, this must it be theangels put in their pouncet-boxes. I am informed of my Lord of Tobagohere that all the gentlemen of the Court do use to perfume their velvetswith it."
"Well, I can tell you of two which so do," said Aubrey in a nettledfashion--"my Lord of Northumberland and Sir Walter Raleigh: and you'llnot call them fools, Aunt Temperance."
"I'll give you a bit of advice, Mr Louvaine: and that is, not to layyour week's wages out in wagers what I shall do. I call any man foolthat is given to folly: and as to this filthy business, I should scarcestick at the King's Majesty himself."
"Nay, the King is clean contrary thereto," saith Aubrey, with a ratherunwilling air: "I hear of my Lord that he saith it soils the inwardparts of men with oily soot, and is loathsome to the eye, hateful to thenose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, counted effeminateamong the Indians themselves, and by the Spanish slaves called sauce forLutheran curs."
"Well, on my word!" cried Aunt Temperance. "And knowing this, thouLutheran cur, thou wilt yet soil thine inward parts with this oilysoot?"
"Oh, Aunt, every one so doth."
Lady Louvaine and Edith exchanged sorrowful looks, and the former said--
"Aubrey, my boy, no true man accounts that a worthy reason for hisdeeds. It was true of the Israelites when they fell to worship thegolden calf, and of the scribes and priests when they cried, `CrucifyHim!' Hadst thou been in that crowd before Pontius Pilate, wouldst thouhave joined that cry?"
Edith went up to her mother, and said i
n a low voice, "May I tell him?"
Evidently it cost Lady Louvaine some pain to say "Yes," yet she said it.Edith went back to her seat.
"Aubrey," she said, "four-and-twenty years gone, thine uncle, my brotherWalter, was what thou art now, in the very same office and household.His wages were then sixteen pound by the year--"
"But mine are thirty-five, Aunt," responded Aubrey quickly, as though heguessed what she was about to say.
"In order to be like every one else, Aubrey, and not come in bad odourwith his fellows, he spent well-nigh four hundred pound by the year,and--"
"Uncle Walter!" cried Aubrey in amazement, and Lettice could have beenhis echo.
"Ay!" said Edith, sadly. "And for over ten years thereafter was myfather so crippled with his debts, that I mind it being a fine treatwhen I and my sisters had a new gown apiece, though of the commonestserge, and all but bare necessaries were cut off from our board. Walterlaid it so to heart that of a spendthrift he became a miser. I wouldnot have thee so to do, but I bid thee mind that we have very little tolive on, owing all we yet have, and have brought withal, to the goodnessof my dear Aunt Joyce; and if thou fall in such ways, Aubrey--"
"Dear heart, Aunt! Think you I have no wit?"
"Thou hast not an ill wit, my lad," said Aunt Temperance, "if a wise manhad the keeping of it."
"Temperance, you are so unfeeling!" exclaimed Faith. "Must I needsstand up for my fatherless boy?"
"You'd ruin any lad you were mother to," answered her sister.
Hans now coming in, she set on him.
"Look here, Hans Floriszoon! Didst ever see any thing like this?"
Hans smiled. "Oh ay, Mistress Murthwaite, I have seen men to use them."
"Hast one of these fiddle-faddles thyself? or dost thou desire to haveone?"
"Neither, in good sooth," was his reply.
"There, Mr Louvaine! hearken, prithee."
"Hans is only a boy; I am a man," said Aubrey, loftily: though Hans wasbut a year younger than himself.
"Lancaster and Derby! and are you then content, my Lord Man, that acontemptible boy should have better wit than your magnifical self?Truly, I think Hans was a man before thou hadst ended sucking of thythumb."
Just then Charity brought in the Rector.
"See you here, Mr Marshall!" cried Temperance, brandishing her pipe."Be you wont to solace your studies with this trumpery?"
Mr Marshall smiled. "Truly, nay, Mistress Murthwaite; 'tis accountedscandalous for divines to use that tobago, not to name the high costthereof."
"Pray you, how many pence by the ounce hath any man the face to ask forthis stinking stuff?"
"Three shillings or more, and that the poorest sort."
"Mercy me! And can you tell me how folks use it that account itphysical?"
"Ay, I have heard tell that the manner of using it as physic is to fillthe patient's mouth with a ball of the leaves, when he must incline theface downward, and keep his mouth open, not moving his tongue: then dothit draw a flood of water from all parts of the body. Some physicianswill not use it, saying it causeth over-quick digestion, and fills thestomach full of crudities. For a cold or headache the fumes of the pipeonly are taken. His Majesty greatly loathes this new fashion, sayingthat the smoke thereof resembles nothing so much as the Stygian fume ofthe bottomless pit, and likewise that 'tis a branch of drunkenness,which he terms the root of all sins."
Aubrey laughed rather significantly.
"Why," asked his mother, "is the King's Majesty somewhat given thatway?"
"Well, I have heard it said that when the King of Denmark was here,their two Majesties went not to bed sober every night of the week:marry, 'tis whispered all the Court ladies kept not so steady feet asthey might have done."
"Alack the day! not the Queen, I hope?"
"Nay, I heard no word touching her."
"Ah, friends!" said Mr Marshall with a sigh, "let me ensure you thatEngland's mourning is not yet over for Queen Elizabeth, and we may liveto lament our loss of her far sorer than now we do. Folks say she wassomething stingy with money, loving not to part with it sooner than shesaw good reason: but some folks will fling their money right and leftwith no reason at all. The present Court much affecteth masques, plays,and such like, so that now there be twenty where her late Majesty wouldsee one."
"Mr Marshall," asked Edith, "is it true, as I have heard say, that KingJames is somewhat Papistically given?"
"Ay and no," said he. "He is not at all thus, in the signification ofobeying the Pope, or suffering himself to be ridden of priests: in nowise. But he hates a Puritan worse than a Papist. Mind you not that inhis speech when he opened his first Parliament, he said that he didacknowledge the Roman Church to be our mother Church, though defiledwith some infirmities and corruptions?"
"Yet he said also, if I err not, that he sucked in God's truth with hisnurse's milk."
"Ay. But what one calls God's truth is not what an other doth. All thePapistry in the world is not in the Roman Church; and assuredly she isin no sense our mother."
"Truly, I thought Saint Austin brought the Gospel hither from Rome."
"Saint Austin brought a deal from Rome beside the Gospel, and he was notthe first to bring that. The Gallican Church had before him brought itto Kent; and long ere that time had the ancient British Church beenevangelised from no sister Church at all, but right from the Holy Landitself, and as her own unchanging voice did assert, by the belovedApostle Saint John."
"That heard I never afore," said Lady Louvaine, who seemed greatlyinterested. "Pray you, Mr Marshall, is this true?"
"I do ensure you it is," replied he; "that is, so far as the wit of manat this distance of time may discern the same."
"Was the French Church, then, lesser corrupted than that of Rome?"queried Edith.
"Certainly so," he said: "and it hath resisted the Pope's usurpationsnigh as much as our own Church of England. I mean not in respect of theReformation, but rather the time before the Reformation, when our kingswere ever striving with the Pope concerning his right to appoint untodignities and livings. Yet the Reformation itself began first inFrance, and had they in authority been willing to aid it as in England,France had been a Protestant country at this day."
That evening, as they sat round the fire, Hans astonished them all.
"Lady Lettice," said he, "were you willing that I should embark intrade?"
"Hans, my dear boy!" was the astonished response.
"I will not do it without your good-will thereto," said he; "nor would Iat all have done it, could I have seen any better way. But I feel thatI ought to be a-work on some matter, and not tarry a burden on yourhands: and all this time have I been essaying two matters--to look outfor a service, and to make a little money for you. The second I have insome sense accomplished, though not to the extent I did desire, and herebe the proceeds,"--and rising from his seat, Hans opened his purse, andpoured several gold pieces into his friend's lap. "The former, howbeit,is not--"
He was interrupted by a little cry from Lady Louvaine.
"Hans! thou surely thinkest not, dear lad, that I shall strip thee ofthy first earnings, won by hard work?"
"You will, Lady Lettice, without you mean to disappoint and disheartenme very sore," he answered.
"But all this!" she exclaimed.
"'Tis much less than I would have had it; and it hath taken methree-quarters of a year to scrape so much together. But--nay, LadyLettice, forgive me, but never a penny will I take back. You sureforget that I owe all unto you. What should have come of me but for youand Sir Aubrey? But I was about to say, I have essayed in everydirection to take service with a gentleman, and cannot compass it in anywise. So I see no other way but to go into trade."
"But, Hans, thou art a gentleman's son!"
"I am a King's son, Madam," said Hans with feeling: "and if I tarnishnot the escocheon of my heavenly birth by honest craft, then shall Ihave no fear for that of mine earthly father."
"Yet
if so were, dear lad--though I should be verily sorry to see theecome down so low--yet bethink thee, thine apprenticeship may not becompassed without a good payment in money."
"Your pardon, Madam. There is one craftsman in London that is willingto receive me without a penny. Truly, I did nothing to demerit it,since I did but catch up his little maid of two years, that could scarcetoddle, from being run over by an horse that had brake loose from therein. Howbeit, it pleaseth him to think him under an obligation to me,and his good wife likewise. And having made inquiries diligently, Ifind him to be a man of good repute, one that feareth God and dealethjustly and kindly by men: also of his wife the neighbours speak well.Seeing, then, all doors shut upon me save this one, whereat I may freelyenter, it seems to me, under your Ladyship's leave, that this is the waywhich God hath prepared for me to walk in: yet if you refuse permission,then I shall know that I have erred therein."
"Hans, I would give my best rebate Aubrey had one half thy wit andgoodness!" cried Temperance.
"I thank you for the compliment, Mistress Murthwaite," said Hans,laughingly. "But truly, as for my wit, I should be very ill-set tospare half of it; and as for my goodness, I wish him far more of hisown."
"Where dwells this friend of thine, Hans?" inquired Lady Louvaine."What is his name? and what craft doth he follow?"
"He dwells near, Madam, in Broad Saint Giles'; his name, Andrew Leigh,and is a silkman."
"We shall miss thee, my boy," said Edith.
"Mrs Edith, that was the only one point that made me to doubt if Ishould take Master Leigh's offer or no. If my personal service be ofmore value to you than my maintenance is a burden, I pray you tell itme: but if not--"
"We never yet reckoned thy maintenance a burden, my dear," answered LadyLouvaine, lovingly. "And indeed we shall miss thee more than a little.Nevertheless, Hans, I think thou hast wisely judged. There is thine ownfuture to look to: and though, in very deed, I am sorry that life offerthee no fairer opening, yet the Lord wot best that which shall be bestfor thee. Ay, Hans: thou wilt do well to take the offer."
But there were tears in her eyes as she spoke.
The old feudal estimate was still strong in men's minds, by which themost honourable of all callings was held to be domestic service; then,trade and handicraft; and, lowest and meanest of all, those occupationsby which men were not fed, clothed, nor instructed, but merely amused.Musicians, painters, poetasters, and above all, actors, were looked onas the very dregs of mankind. The views of the old Lollards, who heldthat art, not having existed in Paradise, was a product of the serpent,had descended to the Puritans in a modified form. Was it surprising,when on every side they saw the serpent pressing the arts and sciencesinto his service? It was only in the general chaos of the Restorationthat this estimate was reversed. The view of the world at present isexactly opposite: and the view taken by the Church is too often that ofthe world. Surely the dignity of labour is lost when men labour toproduce folly, and call it work. There can be no greater waste eitherof time, money, or toil, than to expend them on that which satisfiethnot.
When Hans came home, a day or two afterwards, he went straight to LadyLouvaine and kissed her hand.
"Madam," said he, in a low voice of much satisfaction, "I bring goodnews. I have covenanted with Mr Leigh, who has most nobly granted me,at my request, a rare favour unto a 'prentice--leave to come home whenthe shop is closed, and to lie here, so long as I am every morrow at mywork by six of the clock. I can yet do many little things that may saveyou pain and toil, and I shall hear every even of your welfare."
"My dear lad, God bless thee!" replied Lady Louvaine, and laid her handupon his head.
Somewhat later in the evening came Aubrey, to whom all this concerningHans was news.
"Master Floriszoon, silkman, at the Black Boy in Holborn!" cried he,laughingly. "Pray you, my worthy Master, how much is the best velvet bythe yard? and is green stamyn now in fashion? Whereto cometh galownelace the ounce? Let us hear thee cry, `What do you lack?' that we, maysee if thou hast the true tone. Hans Floriszoon, I thought thou hadstmore of the feeling of a gentleman in thee."
The blood flushed to Hans' forehead, yet he answered quietly enough.
"Can a gentleman not measure velvet? and what harm shall it work him toknow the cost of it?"
"That is a quibble," answered Aubrey, loftily. "For any gentleman tosoil his fingers with craft is a blot on his escocheon, and that youknow as well as I."
"For any man, gentle or simple, to soil his fingers with sin, or histongue with falsehood, is a foul blot on his escocheon," replied Hans,looking Aubrey in the face.
Once more the blood mounted to Aubrey's brow, and he answered with somewarmth, "What mean you?"
"I did but respond to your words. Be mine other than truth?"
"Be not scurrilous, boy!" said Aubrey, angrily.
"Hans, I am astonished at you!" said Faith. "I know not how it is, butsince we came to London, you are for ever picking quarrels with Aubrey,and seeking occasion against him. Are you envious of his betterfortune, or what is it moves you?"
It was a minute before Hans answered, and when he did so, his voice wasvery quiet and low.
"I am sorry to have vexed you, Mrs Louvaine. If I know myself, I donot envy Aubrey at all; and indeed I desire to pick no quarrel with anyman, and him least of any."
Then, turning to Aubrey, he held out his hand. "Forgive me, if I saidaught I should not."
Aubrey took the offered hand, much in the manner of an insulted monarchto a penitent rebel. Lettice glanced just then at her Aunt Edith, andsaw her gazing from one to the other of the two, with a perplexed andpossibly displeased look on her face, but whether it were with Aubrey orwith Hans, Lettice could not tell. What made Aubrey so angry did notappear.
Lettice's eyes went to her grandmother. On her face was a verysorrowful look, as if she perceived and recognised some miserablepossibility which she had known in the past, and now saw advancing withdistress. But she did not speak either to Hans or Aubrey.
The full moon of a spring evening, almost as mild as summer, lighted upthe Strand, throwing into bold relief the figure of a young man,fashionably dressed, who stood at the private door of a tailor's shop,the signboard of which exhibited a very wild-looking object of humanspecies, clad in a loose frock, with bare legs and streaming hair, knownto the initiated as the sign of the Irish Boy.
Fashionably dressed meant a good deal at that date. It implied adoublet of velvet or satin, puffed and slashed exceedingly, and oftencovered with costly embroidery or gold lace; trunk hose, padded to anenormous width, matching the doublet in cost, and often in pattern;light-coloured silk stockings, broad-toed shoes, with extremely highheels, and silver buckles, or gold-edged shoe-strings; garters of broadsilk ribbons, often spangled with gold, and almost thick enough forsashes; a low hat with a feather and silk hatband, the latter sometimesstudded with precious stones; a suspicion of stays in the region of thewaist, but too likely to be justified by fact; fringed and perfumedgloves of thick white Spanish leather; lace ruffs about the neck andwrists, the open ones of immense size, the small ones closer than in theprevious reign; ear-rings and love-locks: and over all, a gaudy cloak,or rather cape, reaching little below the elbow. In the youth's handwas an article of the first necessity in the estimation of a gentlemanof fashion,--namely, a tobacco-box, in this instance of chased silver,with a mirror in the lid, whereby its owner might assure himself thathis ruff sat correctly, and that his love-locks were not out of curl. Along slender cane was in the other hand, which the youth twirled withbusy idleness, as he carelessly hummed a song.
"Let's cast away care, and merrily sing, For there's a time for every thing: He that plays at his work, and works at his play, Doth neither keep working nor holy day."
A second youth came down the street westwards, walking not with an airof haste, but of one whose time was too valuable to be thrown away. Hewas rather shorter and younger than the first, and was very differe
ntlyattired. He wore a fustian doublet, without either lace or embroidery;a pair of unstuffed cloth hose, dark worsted stockings, shoes withnarrow toes and plain shoe-strings of black ribbon; a flat cap; clothgloves, unadorned and unscented, and a cloak of black cloth, of a morerational length than the other. As he came to the tailor's shop hehalted suddenly.
"Aubrey!" The tone was one of surprise and pain.
"Spy!" was the angry response.
"I am no spy, and you know it. But I would ask what you do here andnow?"
"Are you my gaoler, that I must needs give account to you?"
"I am your brother, Aubrey; and I, as well as you, am my brother'skeeper in so far as concerns his welfare. It is over a month since youvisited us, and your mother and Lady Lettice believe you to be with yourLord in Essex. How come you hither, so late at night, and at anotherdoor than your own?"
"No business of yours! May a man not call to see his tailor?"
"Men do not commonly go to their tailors after shops be shut."
"Oh, of course, you wot all touching shop matters. Be off to yourgrograne and cambric! I'm not your apprentice."
"My master's shop is shut with the rest. Aubrey, I saw you last night--though till now I tried to persuade myself it was not you--in Holborn,leaving the door of the Green Dragon. What do you there?"
The answer came blazing with wrath.
"You saw--you mean, sneaking, blackguardly traitor of a Dutchshopkeeper! I'll have no rascal spies dogging my steps, and--"
"Aubrey," said the quiet voice that made reply, "you know me better thanthat. I never played the spy on you yet, and I trust you will nevergive me cause. Yet what am I to think when as I pass along the street Ibehold you standing at the door of a Pa--"
"Hold your tongue!"
The closing word was cut sharply in two by that fierce response. Itmight be a pavior, a pear-monger, or a Papist. Hans was silent untilAubrey had again spoken, which he did in a hard, constrained tone.
"I shall go where I please, without asking your leave or any body'selse! I am of age, and I have been tied quite long enough to theapron-strings of a parcel of women: but I mean not to cut myself loosefrom them, only to pass under guidance of a silly lad that hath never aspark of spirit in him, and would make an old woman of me if I gave himleave." Then, in a voice more like his own, he added, "Get you in toyour knitting, old Mistress Floriszoon, and tie your cap well o'er yourears, lest the cold wind give you a rheum."
"I will go in when you come with me," said Hans calmly.
"I will not."
"To-night, Aubrey--only just to-night!"
"And what for to-night, prithee? I have other business afloat.To-morrow I will maybe look in."
Perhaps Aubrey was growing a little ashamed of his warmth, for his voicehad cooled down.
"We can never do right either to-morrow or yesterday," answered Hans."To-night is all we have at this present."
"I tell you I will not!" The anger mounted again. "I will not be atthe beck and call of a beggarly tradesfellow!"
"You love better to be at Satan's?"
"Take that for your impudence!"
There was the sound of a sharp, heavy blow--so heavy that the recipientalmost staggered under it. Then came an instant's dead silence: andthen a voice, very low, very sorrowful, yet with no anger in it--
"Good-night, Aubrey. I hope you will come to-morrow."
And Hans's steps died away in the distance.
Left to himself, Aubrey's feelings were far from enviable. He wascompelled to recognise the folly of his conduct, as more calculated tofan than deter suspicion; and it sorely nettled him also to perceivethat Hans, shopkeeper though he might be, had shown himself much thetruer gentleman of the two. But little time was left him to indulge inthese unpleasant reflections, for the door behind him was opened by agirl.
"Mr Catesby at home?"
"Ay, Sir, and Mr Winter is here. Pray you, walk up."
Aubrey did as he was requested, adding an unnecessary compliment on thegood looks of the portress, to which she responded by a simper ofgratified vanity--thereby showing that neither belonged to the wisestclass of mankind--and he was ushered upstairs, into a small but pleasantparlour, where three gentlemen sat conversing. A decanter stood on thetable, half full of wine, and each gentleman was furnished with a glass.The long silver pipe was passing round from one to another, and itssmoker looked up as Aubrey was announced.
"Ah! welcome, Mr Louvaine. Mr Winter, you know this gentleman. Sir,this is my very good friend Mr Darcy,"--indicating the third person bya motion of the hand. "Mr Darcy, suffer me to make you acquainted withMr Louvaine, my good Lord Oxford's gentleman and a right pleasantcompanion.--Pray you, help yourself to Rhenish, and take a pipe."
Aubrey accepted the double invitation, and was soon puffing at the pipewhich Catesby handed to him.
He had not taken much notice of the stranger, and none at all of agesture on the part of Mr Catesby as he introduced him--a momentarystroking upwards of his forehead, intended as a sign not to Aubrey, butto the other. The stranger, however, perfectly understood it. To himit said, "Here is a simpleton: mind what you say."
Mr Catesby, the occupant of the furnished apartments, was a man ofunusually lofty height, being over six feet, and of slender build,though well-proportioned; he had a handsome and expressive face, and,while not eloquent, was possessed of the most fascinating and attractivemanners by which man ever dragged his fellow-man to evil. Mr Winter,on the other hand, was as short as his friend was tall. His ratherhandsome features were of the Grecian type, and he had the power ofinfusing into them at will a look of the most touching child-likeinnocence. He spoke five, languages, and was a well-read man for histime.
The stranger, to whom Aubrey had been introduced as Mr Darcy, was anolder man than either of the others. Mr Catesby was aged thirty-two,and Mr Winter about thirty-five; but Mr Darcy was at least fifty. Hewas a well-proportioned man, and dressed with studied plainness. Along, narrow face, with very large, heavy eyelids, and a long but nothooked nose, were relieved by a moustache, and a beard square andslightly forked in the midst. This moustache hid a mouth which was thecharacteristic feature of the face. No physiognomist would have placedthe slightest confidence in the owner of that mouth. It was at oncesanctimonious and unstable. The manners of its possessor might be suaveor severe; his reputation might be excellent or execrable; but with thatmouth, a Pharisee and a hypocrite at heart he must be. This gentlemanfound it convenient not to be too invariably known by a single name, andthat whereby he had been introduced to Aubrey was one of five aliases--his real one making a sixth. Different persons, in various parts of thecountry, were acquainted with him as Mr Mease, Mr Phillips, MrFarmer, and--his best-known alias--Mr Walley. But his real name wasHenry Garnet, and he was a Jesuit priest.
To do justice to Aubrey Louvaine, who, though weak and foolish, beingmainly led astray by his own self-sufficiency, was far from beingdeliberately wicked, it must be added that he entertained not the leastidea of the real characters of his new friends. At the house of MrThomas Rookwood, whither he was attracted by the fair Dorothy--who, hadhe but known it, regarded him with cleverly concealed contempt--he hadmade the acquaintance of Mr Ambrose Rookwood, the elder of thebrothers, and the owner of Coldham Hall. This gentleman, to Aubrey'staste, was not attractive; but by him he was introduced to Mr Percy,and later, to Mr Thomas Winter, in whose society the foolish youth tookgreat pleasure. For Mr Catesby he did not so much care; the fact beingthat he was too clever to suit Aubrey's fancy.
Neither had Aubrey any conception of the use which was being made of himby his new friends. He was very useful; he had just brains enough, andnot too much, to serve their purpose. It delighted Aubrey to air hisfamiliarity with the Court and nobility, and it was convenient to themto know some one whom they could pump without his ever suspecting thathe was being pumped. They often required information concerning themovements and present whereabouts of various eminen
t persons; andnothing was easier than to obtain it from Aubrey as they sat and smoked.A few glasses of Rhenish wine, and a few ounces of tobacco, were wellworth expending for the purpose.
Aubrey's anger with Hans, therefore, was not based on any fear ofdiscovery, arising from suspicion of his associates. He was only aimingat independence, combined with a little secret unwillingness toacknowledge his close connection with Mr Leigh's apprentice. Of thereal end of the road on which he was journeying, he had not the leastidea. Satan held out to him with a smile a fruit pleasant to the eyesand good for food, saying, "Thou shalt be as a god," and Aubrey likedthe prospect, and accepted the apple.
Having enjoyed himself for about an hour in this manner, and--quiteunconsciously on his part--given some valuable information to hisassociates, he bade them good evening, and returned to Lord Oxford'smansion, in a state of the most delicately-balanced uncertainty whetherto appear or not at the White Bear on the following evening. If only hecould know how much Hans would tell the ladies!
In the room which he had left, he formed for some minutes the subject ofconversation.
"Where picked you up that jewel?" asked Garnet of Winter.
"He lives--or rather his friends do--next door to Tom Rookwood,"answered Winter.
"A pigeon worth plucking?" was the next question.
"As poor as a church-mouse, but he knows things we need to know, and inpoint of wits he is a very pigeon. He no more guesseth what time of dayit is with us than my Lord Secretary doth."
The trio laughed complacently, but a rather doubtful expressionsucceeded that of amusement in Garnet's face.
"Now, good gentlemen, be quiet," said he, piously. Was there a fainttwinkle in his eyes? "God will do all for the best. We must get it byprayer at God's hands, in whose hands are the hearts of princes."
"You pray, by all means, and we'll work," said Catesby, removing thepipe from his lips for an instant.
At that moment the door opened, and a fourth gentleman made hisappearance. He was as tall and as handsome as Catesby; but theconsiderable amount of white in his dark hair, and more slightly in hisbroad beard, made him look older than his real age, which was forty-six.He stooped a little in the shoulders. His manners were usually gentleand grave; but a pair of large and very lively eyes and an occasionalimpulsive eagerness of speech, wherein he was ready and fluent at alltimes, showed that there was more fire and life in his character thanappeared on the surface. Those who knew him well were aware that histemper was impetuous and precipitate, and on given occasions might betermed quarrelsome without calumny.
"Shall we always talk, gentlemen, and never do anything?" demanded thenewcomer, without previous greeting.
"Come in, Mr Percy, and with a right good welcome! The talk iswell-nigh at an end, and the doing beginneth."
"Our Lady be thanked!" was Percy's response. "We have dallied anddelayed long enough. This morning have I been with Mr Fawkes over thehouse; and I tell you, the mining through that wall shall be no child'splay."
Winter lifted his eyebrows and pursed his lips. Catesby only remarked,"We must buy strong pickaxes, then," and resumed his puffing in thecalmest manner.
"The seventh of February, is it not, Parliament meets?"
"Ay. I trust the Bulls will come from Rome before that."
"They will be here in time," said Garnet, rising. "Well, I wish yougood-night, gentlemen. 'Tis time I was on my way to Wandsworth. I lieto-night at Mrs Anne's, whither she looks for her cousin Tresham tocome."
"My commendations to my cousins," said Catesby. "Good-night. We meetat White Webbs on Tuesday."
"_Pax vobiscum_," said Garnet softly, as he left the room.
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Note 1. All these are old terms signifying a fool or idiot. Patch wasthe favourite jester of Henry the Eighth, whose name was used assynonymous with fool.