CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
UNEXPECTED TIDINGS.
When Roger Hall came home that evening, he was greeted by Christie withan amount of excited enthusiasm which he did not often hear from hislittle invalid daughter.
"Oh Father, Father! I have a new friend, and such a good, pleasant maidshe is!"
Christie did not term her new friend "nice," as she certainly would havedone in the present day. To her ear that word had no meaning exceptthat of particular and precise--the meaning which we still attach to itsrelative "nicety."
"A new friend, forsooth?" said Christie's father with a smile. "And whois she, sweet heart? Is it Mistress Final's niece, that came to visither this last week?"
"Oh no, Father! 'Tis somebody much--ever so much grander! Only think,the master's daughter, Mistress Pandora Roberts, came with her aunt,Mistress Holland; and Mistress Holland went on to Cranbrook, and tookAunt Tabitha with her--she was here when she came--and Mistress Pandoratarried with me, and talked, till her aunt came back to fetch her. Oh,she is a sweet maid, and I do love her!"
Roger Hall looked rather grave. He had kept himself, and even more, hisChristie, from the society of outsiders, for safety's sake. For eitherof them to be known as a Gospeller, the name then given to the true,firm-hearted Protestants, would be a dangerous thing for theirliberties, if not their lives. Pandora Roberts was the daughter of aman who, once a Protestant, had conformed to the Romanised form ofreligion restored by Queen Mary, and her uncle was one of themagistrates on the Cranbrook bench. Roger was sorry to hear that one sonearly allied to these dangerous people had found his little violetunder the leaves where he had hoped that she was safely hidden. A sharppang shot through his heart as the dread possibility rose before him ofhis delicate little girl being carried away to share the comfortlessprison of his sister. Such treatment would most likely kill her verysoon. For himself he would have cared far less: but Christie!
He was puzzled how to answer Christie's praises of Pandora. He did notwish to throw cold water on the child's delight, nor to damage her newlyfound friend in her eyes. But neither did he wish to drag her into thethorny path wherein he had to walk himself--to hedge her round withperpetual cautions and fears and terrors, lest she should let slip someword that might be used to their hurt. An old verse says--
"Ye gentlemen of England That sit at home at ease, Ye little know the miseries And dangers of the seas."
And it might be said with even greater truth--Ye men and women, ye boysand girls of free, peaceful, Protestant England, ye little know thedangers of life in lands where Popish priests rule, nor the miseriesthat you will have to endure if they ever gain the ascendancy hereagain!
Roger Hall had never heard Dr Abernethy's wise advice--"When you don'tknow what to do, do nothing." But in this emergency he acted on thatprinciple.
"I trust, my dear heart," he said quietly, "that it may please the Lordto make thee and this young gentlewoman a blessing to each other."
"Oh, it will, I know, Father!" said Christie, quite unsuspicious of thecourse of her father's thoughts. "Only think, Father! she told me firstthing, pretty nigh, that she loved the Lord Jesus, and wanted to be likeHim. So you see we couldn't do each other any hurt, could we?"
Roger smiled rather sadly.
"I am scarce so sure of that, my Christie. Satan can set snares evenfor them that love the Lord; but 'tis true, they be not so like to slipas they that do not. Is this young mistress she that dwelt away fromhome some years back, or no?"
"She is, Father; she hath dwelt away in the shires, with hergrandmother, these five years. And there was a good man there--she toldme not his name--that gave her counsel, and he said, `To do God's workis to do God's will.' That is good, Father, isn't it?"
"Good, and very true, sweeting."
Roger Hall had naturally all the contempt of a trueborn man of Kent forthe dwellers in "the shires," which practically meant everybody inEngland who was not a native of Kent. But he knew that God had said,"He that despiseth his neighbour sinneth;" so he said in his heart, "Getthee behind me, Satan," to the bad feeling, and went on to wonder whothe good man might be. Had Pandora told the name of that man, halfRoger's doubts and terrors would have taken flight. The name of MasterJohn Bradford of Manchester--the martyr who eighteen months before hadglorified the Lord in the fires--would have been an immediate passportto his confidence. But Pandora knew the danger of saying more than wasneedful, and silently suppressed the name of her good counsellor.
Some days elapsed before Roger was again able to visit Canterbury. Theywere very busy just then at the cloth-works, and his constant presencewas required. But when February began, the pressure was past, and onthe first holy-day in that month, which was Candlemas Day, he rode tothe metropolitan city of his county on another visit to Alice. On hisarm he carried a basket, which held a bottle of thick cream, a dozennew-laid eggs, and a roll of butter; and as he came through Canterbury,he added to these country luxuries the town dainties of a bag of datesand half a pound each of those costly spices, much used and liked atthat time--cloves, nutmeg, and cinnamon. On these articles he spent 7shillings 8 pence--8 pence for the dates, 3 shillings for cinnamon, 2shillings 6 pence for cloves, and 1 shilling 6 pence for nutmegs.Lastly, he bought a sugarloaf, then an unusual luxury, which cost him 7pence. The basket was now quite full, and leaving his horse at the StarInn, he went up to the prison, and struck with his dagger on the greatbell, which was then the general mode of ringing it. Every man, exceptlabourers, carried a dagger. The porter had become so accustomed to thesight of Roger, that he usually opened the door for him at once, with anod of greeting. But this morning, when he looked from the wicket tosee who it was, he did not open the door, but stood silently behind it.Roger wondered what this new style of conduct meant.
"May I within, by your good leave, to see my sister?" he asked.
"You may within, if you desire to tarry here, by my Lord's good leave,"said the porter; "but you'll not see your sister."
"Why, what's ado?" asked Roger in consternation.
"Removed," answered the porter shortly.
"Whither?"
"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," was the proverbialreply.
"Lack-a-day! Can I find out?"
The porter elevated his eyebrows, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Come within a moment," said he.
Roger obeyed, and the porter drew him into his lodge, where he spoke ina cautious whisper.
"Master Hall, you be an honest man; and though I am here found, yet Itrust so am I. If you be likewise a wise man, you will find somewhat tokeep you at home for the future. Whither Mistress Benden is now taken,I could not tell you if I would: but this can I say, you'll follow ifyou have not a care. Be ruled by me, that am dealing by you as by afriend, and keep out of Canterbury when you are out, and let that be assoon as you may. For your good stuff, leave it an' you will forMistress Potkin: but if you tarry here, or return and be taken, say notyou were not warned. Now, void your basket, and go."
Like a man dazed or in a dream, Roger Hall slowly emptied his basket ofthe good things which he had brought for Alice. He was willing enoughthat Rachel Potkin should have those or any other comforts he couldbring her. But that basket had been packed under Christie's eyes, andin part by Christie's hands, and the child had delighted herself in thethought of Aunt Alice's pleasure in every item. And when at last theroll of butter was lifted out, and behind it the eggs which it hadconfined in a safe corner, and Roger came to the two tiny eggs whichChristie had put in with special care, saying, "Now, Father, you'll besure to tell Aunt Alice those eggs were laid by my own little hen, andshe must eat them her own self, because I sent them to her"--as Rogertook out the eggs of Christie's hen, he could hardly restrain a sob,which was partly for the child's coming disappointment, and partlycaused by his own anxious suspense and distress. The porter had notspoken very plainly--he had probably avoided doing so on purpose--but itwas sufficie
ntly manifest that the authorities had their eyes on Rogerhimself, and that he ran serious risk of arrest if he remained inCanterbury.
But what had they done with Alice? He must find her. Whatever becameof him, he must look for Alice.
Roger turned away from the gate of the gaol, sick at heart. He scarcelyremembered even to thank the friendly porter, and turned back to repairthe omission.
"If you be thankful to me," was the porter's significant answer, "lookyou take my counsel."
Slowly, as if he were walking in a dream, and scarcely knew where he wasgoing, Roger made his way back to the Star. There all was bustle andcommotion, for some people of high rank had just arrived on a pilgrimageto the shrine of Saint Thomas of Canterbury, or rather to the placewhere the shrine had stood in past ages. King Henry the Eighth haddestroyed the shrine, and a soldier had "rattled down proud Becket'sglassy bones," but the spot where it had been was considered holy, andthe poor deluded people even yet sometimes came to worship there, and tomake their painful way up the Pilgrims' Stairs, which they had to ascendon their knees. Those stairs are now to be seen in CanterburyCathedral, worn by the thousands of knees which went up them, the poorcreatures fancying that by this means they would obtain pardon of theirsins, or earn a seat in Heaven.
The bustle in the inn rather favoured Roger's escape. He mounted hishorse, tied the basket to his saddle, and rode out of Wincheap Gate,wondering all the while how he could discover the place to which Alicehad been removed, and how he should tell Christie. He met severalpeople on the road, but noticed none of them, and reached his own housewithout having exchanged a word with any one he knew. He let himselfin, and with a sinking heart, opened the parlour door.
"Dear heart, Master Hall!" said the voice of Collet Pardue, who wasseated by Christie's couch, "but there's ill news in your face! What'sado, prithee?"
"Oh, Father, is Aunt Alice sick?" cried Christie.
Roger came round to the couch, and knelt down, one hand clasping that ofhis little girl, and the other tenderly laid upon her head.
"My Christie," he said, "they have taken Aunt Alice away, I know notwhither. But our Father knows. Perchance He will show us. But whetheror not, all is well with her, for she is in His care that loveth hermore than we."
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