CHAPTER NINETEEN.
"FATHER'S COME TOO!"
"Why, my dear hearts!" cried old Mrs Silverside, as the children camein. "How won ye hither?"
"Please, we haven't been naughty," said Will, rubbing his eyes with hisknuckles.
"Father's come too, so it's all right," added Cissy in a satisfied tone.
Mrs Silverside turned to Robert Purcas. "Is not here a lesson for theeand me, my brother? Our Father is come too: God is with us, and thus itis all right."
"Marry, these heretics beareth a good brag!" said Wastborowe the gaolerto his man.
It is bad grammar now to use a singular verb with a plural noun; but in1556 it was correct English over the whole south of England, and the useof the singular with the singular, or the plural with the plural, was apeculiarity of the northern dialect.
"They always doth," answered the under-gaoler.
"Will ye be of as good courage, think you," asked Wastborowe, "the dayye stand up by Colne Water?"
"God knoweth," was the reverent answer of Mrs Silverside. "If He holdsus up, then shall we stand."
"They be safe kept whom He keepeth," said Johnson.
"Please, Mr Wastborowe," said Cissy in a businesslike manner, "wouldyou mind telling me when we shall be burned?"
The gaoler turned round and stared at his questioner.
"Thou aren't like to be burned, I reckon," said he with a laugh.
"I must, if Father is," was Cissy's calm response. "It'll hurt a bit, Isuppose; but you see when we get to Heaven afterwards, every thing willbe so good and pleasant, I don't think we need care much. Do you,please, Mr Wastborowe?"
"Marry come up, thou scrap of a chirping canary!" answered the gaoler,half roughly and half amused. "If babes like this be in such minds,'tis no marvel their fathers and mothers stand to it."
"But I'm not a baby, Mr Wastborowe!" said Cissy, rather affronted."Will and Baby are both younger than me. I'm going in ten, and I takescare of Father."
Mr Wastborowe, who was drinking ale out of a huge tankard, removed itfrom his lips to laugh.
"Mighty good care thou'lt take, I'll be bound!"
"Yes, I do, Mr Wastborowe," replied Cissy, quite gravely; "I dressFather's meat and mend his clothes, and love him. That's taking care ofhim, isn't it?"
The gaoler's men, who were accustomed to see every body in the prisonappear afraid of him, were evidently much amused by the perfectfearlessness of Cissy. Wastborowe himself seemed to think it a verygood joke.
"And who takes care of thee?" asked he.
Cissy gave her usual answer. "God takes care of me."
"And not of thy father?" said Wastborowe with a sneer.
The sneer passed by Cissy quite harmlessly.
"God takes care of all of us," she said. "He helps Father to take careof me, and He helps me to take care of Father."
"He'll be taken goodly care of when he's burned," said the gaolercoarsely, taking another draught out of the tankard.
Cissy considered that point.
"Please, Mr Wastborowe, we mustn't expect to be taken better care ofthan the Lord Jesus; and He had to suffer, you know. But it won'tsignify when we get to Heaven, I suppose."
"Heretics don't go to Heaven!" replied Wastborowe.
"I don't know what heretics are," said Cissy; "but every body who lovesthe Lord Jesus is sure to get there. Satan would not want them, youknow; and Jesus will want them, for He died for them. He'll look afterus, I expect. Don't you think so, Mr Wastborowe?"
"Hold thy noise!" said the gaoler, rising, with the empty jug in hishand. He wanted some more ale, and he was tired of amusing himself withCissy.
"Hush thee, my little maid!" said her father, laying his hand on herhead.
"Is he angry, Father?" asked Cissy, looking up. "I said nothing wrong,did I?"
"There's somewhat wrong," responded he, "but it's not thee, child."
Meanwhile Wastborowe was crossing the court to his own house, jug inhand. Opening the door, he set down the jug on the table, with theshort command, "Fill that."
"You may tarry till I've done," answered Audrey, calmly ironing on. Shewas the only person in the place who was not afraid of her husband. Infact, he was afraid of her when, as he expressed it, she "was wrong sideup."
"Come, wife! I can't wait," replied Wastborowe in a tone which he neverused to any living creature but Audrey or a priest.
Audrey coolly set down the iron on its stand, folded up the shirt whichshe had just finished, and laid another on the board.
"You can, wait uncommon well, John Wastborowe," said she; "you've had asmuch as is good for you already, and maybe a bit to spare. I can'tleave my ironing."
"Am I to get it myself, then?" asked the gaoler, sulkily.
"Just as you please," was the calm response. "I'm not going."
Wastborowe took up his jug, went to the cellar, and drew the ale forhimself, in a meek, subdued style, very different indeed from the aspectwhich he wore to his prisoners. He had scarcely left the door when ashrill voice summoned him to--
"Come back and shut the door, thou blundering dizzard! When will menever have a bit of sense?"
The gaoler came back to shut the door, and then, returning to thedungeon, showed himself so excessively surly and overbearing, that hismen whispered to one another that "he'd been having it out with hismistress." Before he recovered his equanimity, the Bailiff returned andcalled him into the courtyard.
"Hearken, Wastborowe: how many of these have you now in ward? Well-nighall, methinks." And he read over the list. "Elizabeth Wood, ChristianHare, Rose Fletcher, Joan Kent, Agnes Stanley, Margaret Simson, RobertPurcas, Agnes Silverside, John Johnson, Elizabeth Foulkes."
"Got 'em all save that last," said Wastborowe, "Who is she? I know notthe name. By the same token, what didst with the babe? There werethree of Johnson's children, and one in arms."
"Left it wi' Jane Hiltoft," said the gaoler, gruffly. "I didn't want itscreeching here."
The Bailiff nodded. "Maybe she can tell us who this woman is," said he;and stepping a little nearer the porter's lodge, he summoned theporter's wife.
Mrs Hiltoft came to the door with little Helen Johnson in her arms."Well, I don't know," said she. "I'll tell you what: you'd best askAudrey Wastborowe; she's a bit of a gossip, and I reckon she knowseverybody in Colchester, by name and face, if no more. She'll tell youif anybody can."
The Bailiff stepped across the court, and rapped at the gaoler's door.He was desired by a rather shrill voice to come in. He just opened thedoor about an inch, and spoke through it.
"Audrey, do you know aught of one Elizabeth Foulkes?"
"Liz'beth What-did-you-say?" inquired Mrs Wastborowe, hastily dryingher arms on her apron, and coming forward.
"Elizabeth Foulkes," repeated the Bailiff.
"What, yon lass o' Clere's the clothier? Oh, ay, you'll find her inBalcon Lane, at the Magpie. A tall, well-favoured young maid she is--might be a princess, to look at her. What's she been doing, now?"
"Heresy," said the Bailiff, shortly.
"Heresy! dear, dear, to think of it! Well, now, who could have thoughtit? But Master Clere's a bit unsteady in that way, his self, ain't he?"
"Oh nay, he's reconciled."
"Oh!" The tone was significant.
"Why, was you wanting yon maid o' Mistress Clere's?" said the porter'swife. "You'll have her safe enough, for I met Amy Clere this even, andshe said her mother was downright vexed with their Bess, and had turnedthe key on her. I did not know it was her you meant. I've never heardher called nought but Bess, you see."
"Then that's all well," said Maynard. "I'll tarry for her till themorrow, for I'm well wearied to-night."
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