CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
OLD HAUNTS.
"O the oak, and the birch, and the bonny holly tree, They flourish best at home in my own countree."
When the absence of the barbarous token of the execution was discovered,suspicion instantly fell on the More family, and Margaret, her husband,and her brother, were all imprisoned. The brave lady took all uponherself, and gave no names of her associates in the deed, and as Henrythe Eighth still sometimes had better moods, all were soon released.
But that night had given Ambrose a terrible cough, so that Dennet kepthim in bed two days. Indeed he hardly cared to rise from it. His wholenature, health, spirits, and mind, had been so cruelly strained, and hewas so listless, so weak, so incapable of rousing himself, or turning toany fresh scheme of life, that Stephen decided on fulfilling a long-cherished plan of visiting their native home and seeing their uncle, whohad, as he had contrived to send them word, settled down on a farm whichhe had bought with Perronel's savings, near Romsey. Headley, who waslingering till Aldonza could leave her mistress and decide on any plan,undertook to attend to the business, and little Giles, to his greatdelight, was to accompany them.
So the brothers went over the old ground. They slept in the hostel atDogmersfield where the Dragon mark and the badge of the Armourers'Company had first appeared before them. They found the very tree wherethe alderman had been tied, and beneath which Spring lay buried, whilelittle Giles gazed with ecstatic, almost religious veneration, andAmbrose seemed to draw in new life with the fresh air of the heath, nowbecoming rich with crimson bells. They visited Hyde Abbey, and thewell-clothed, well-mounted travellers received a better welcome than hadfallen to the lot of the hungry lads. They were shown the grave of oldRichard Birkenholt in the cloister, and Stephen left a sum to beexpended in masses for his behoof. They looked into Saint Elizabeth'sCollege, but the kind warden was dead, and a trembling old man wholooked at them through the wicket hoped they were not sent from theCommissioners. For the visitation of the lesser religious houses wasgoing on, and Saint Elizabeth's was already doomed. Stephen inquired atthe White Hart for Father Shoveller, and heard that he had grown too oldto perform the office of a bailiff, and had retired to the parent abbey.The brothers therefore renounced their first scheme of taking Silkstedein their way, and made for Romsey. There, under the shadow of themagnificent nunnery, they dined pleasantly by the waterside at the signof Bishop Blaise, patron of the woolcombers of the town, and halted longenough to refresh Ambrose, who was equal to very little fatigue. Itamused Stephen to recollect how mighty a place he had once thought thelittle town.
Did mine host know Master Randall? What Master Randall of Baddesley?He should think so! Was not the good man or his good wife here everymarket-day, with a pleasant word for every one! Men said he had hadsome good office about the Court, as steward or the like--for he wasplainly conversant with great men, though he made no boast. If theseguests were kin of his, they were welcome for his sake.
So the brothers rode on amid the gorse and heather till they came to abroad-spreading oak tree, sheltering a farmhouse built in frames ofheavy timber, filled up with bricks set in zigzag patterns, with a high-pitched roof and tall chimneys. Barns and stacks were near it, andfields reclaimed from the heath were waving with corn just tinged withthe gold of harvest. Three or four cows, of the tawny hue that lookedso home-like to the brothers, were being released from the stack-yardafter being milked, and conducted to their field by a tall, white-hairedman in a farmer's smock with a little child perched on his shoulder, whogave a loud jubilant cry at the sight of the riders. Stephen, pushingon, began the question whether Master Randall dwelt there, but it brokeoff half way into a cry of recognition on either side, Harry's anabsolute shout. "The lads, the lads! Wife, wife! 'tis our own lads!"
And as Perronel, more buxom and rosy than London had ever made her, cameforth from her dairy, and there was a _melee_ of greetings, and Stephenwould have asked what homeless little one the pair had adopted, he wascut short by an exulting laugh. "No more adopted than thy Giles there,Stephen. 'Tis our own boy, Thomas Randall! Yea, and if he have comelate, he is the better loved, though I trow Perronel there will everlook on Ambrose as her eldest son."
"And by my troth, he needs good country diet and air!" cried Perronel."Thou hast had none to take care of thee, Ambrose. They have let theepine and dwine over thy books. I must take thee in hand."
"'Tis what I brought him to thee for, good aunt," said Stephen, smiling.
Great was the interchange of news over the homely hearty meal. It wasplain that no one could be happier, or more prosperous in a humble way,than the ex-jester and his wife; and if anything could restore Ambroseit would surely be the homely plenty and motherly care he found there.
Stephen heard another tale of his half-brother. His wife had soon beendisgusted by the loneliness of the verdurer's lodge, and was alwaysfinding excuses for going to Southampton, where she and her daughter hadboth caught the plague, imported in some Eastern merchandise, and haddied. The only son had turned out wild and wicked, and had been killedin a broil which he had provoked: and John, a broken-down man, with noone to enjoy the wealth he had accumulated, had given up his office asverdurer, and retired to an estate which he had purchased on the skirtsof the Forest.
Stephen rode thither to see him, and found him a dying man, tyrannisedover and neglected by his servants, and having often bitterly regrettedhis hardness towards his young brothers. All that Stephen did for himhe received as tokens of pardon, and it was not possible to leave himuntil, after a fortnight's watching, he died in his brother's arms. Hehad made no will, and Ambrose thus inherited a property which made hisfuture maintenance no longer an anxiety to his brother.
He himself seemed to care very little for the matter. To be allowed torest under Perronel's care, to read his Erasmus' Testament, and attendmass on Sundays at the little Norman church, seemed all that he wished.Stephen tried to persuade him that he was young enough at thirty-five tomarry and begin life again on the fair woodland river-bordered estatethat was his portion, but he shook his head. "No, Stephen, my work isover. I could only help my dear master, and that is at an end. DeanColet is gone, Sir Thomas is gone, what more have I to do here? Oldties are broken, old bonds severed. Crime and corruption were protestedagainst in vain; and, now that judgment is beginning at the house ofGod, I am thankful that I am not like to live to see it."
Perronel scolded and exhorted him, and told him he would be strongerwhen the hot weather was over, but Ambrose only smiled, and Stephen sawa change in him, even in this fortnight, which justified hisforebodings.
Stephen and his uncle found a trustworthy bailiff to manage the estate,and Ambrose remained in the house where he could now be no burthen.Stephen was obliged to leave him and take home young Giles, who had, hefound, become so completely a country lad, enjoying everything to theutmost, that he already declared that he would much rather be a yeomanand forester than an armourer, and that he did not want to beapprenticed to that black forge.
This again made Ambrose smile with pleasure as he thought of the boy askeeping up the name of Birkenholt in the Forest. The one wish heexpressed was that Stephen would send down Tibble Steelman to be withhim. For in truth they both felt that in London Tib might at any timebe laid hands on, and suffer at Smithfield for his opinions. The hopeof being a comfort to Ambrose was perhaps the only idea that could havecounterbalanced the sense that he ought not to fly from martyrdom; andas it proved, the invitation came only just in time. Three days afterTibble had been despatched by the Southampton carrier in charge of allthe comforts Dennet could put together, Bishop Stokesley's grim"soumpnour" came to summon him to the Bishop's court, and there could belittle question that he would have courted the faggot and stake. But ashe was gone out of reach, no further inquiries were made after him.
Dennet had told her husband that she had been amazed to find how, inspite of a very warm affection for her, her husband, and ch
ildren, herfather hankered after the old name, and grieved that he could not fulfilhis old engagement to his cousin Robert. Giles Headley had managed thebusiness excellently during Stephen's absence, had shown himself verycapable, and gained good opinions from all. Rubbing about in the worldhad been very good for him; and she verily believed that nothing wouldmake her father so happy as for them to offer to share the business withGiles. She would on her part make Aldonza welcome, and had no fears ofnot agreeing with her. Besides--if little Giles were indeed to be heirto Testside was not the way made clear?
So thus it was. The alderman was very happy in the arrangement, andGiles Headley had not forfeited his rights to be a freeman of London ora member of the Armourers' Guild. He married Aldonza at Michaelmas, andall went well and peacefully in the household. Dennet never quitted herfather while he lived; but Stephen struggled through winter roads andfloods, and reached Baddesley in time to watch his brother depart inpeace, his sorrow and indignation for his master healed by the sense ofhis martyrdom, and his trust firm and joyful. "If this be, as it is,dying of grief," said Hal Randall, "surely it is a blessed way to die!"
A few winters later Stephen and Dennet left Giles Headley in solepossession of the Dragon, with their second son as an apprentice, whilethey themselves took up the old forest life as Master and MistressBirkenholt of Testside, where they lived and died honoured and loved.
THE END.
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