by Guy Thorne
CHAPTER V
THE FINDING OF ELIZABETH
At a little before nine in the late twilight, Commendone left the Tower.He was attended by John Hull, whom he had armed with the shortcutlass-shaped sword which serving-men were allowed to wear.
He might be late, and the City was no very safe place in those days forpeople returning home through the dark. Johnnie knew, moreover, that hewould be carrying a considerable sum in gold with him, and it was aswell to have an attendant.
They walked towards Chepe, Johnnie in front, his man a yard or sobehind. It was summer-time, but even in summer London went to bed early,and the prentices were returning home from their cudgel-play andshooting at the butts in Finsbury fields.
The sky was a faint primrose above the spires of the town. The sun, thattempest of fire, had sunk, but still left long lines in the sky, lineswhich looked as if they had been drawn by a vermilion pencil; while,here and there, were locks, friths, and islands of gold and purplefloating in the sky, billowed and upheaved into an infinity of distantglory.
They went through the narrow streets beneath the hundreds of colouredsigns which hung from shop and warehouse.
At a time when the ordinary porter, prentice, and messenger could hardlyread, each place of business must signify and locate itself by a sign. Amerchant of those days did not send a letter by hand to a businesshouse, naming it to the messenger. He told the man to go to the sign ofthe Three Cranes, the Gold Pig on a black ground, the Tower and Dragonin such and such a street.
London was not lit on a summer night at this hour. In the winter, up tohalf-past eight or so the costers' barrows with their torches providedthe only illumination. After that all was dark, and in summer there wasno artificial light at all when the day had gone.
They came up to the cross standing to the east of Wood Street, which wassilhouetted against the last gleams of day in the sky. Its hexagonalform of three sculptured tiers, which rose from one another like thedivisions of a telescope, cut out a black pattern against the colouredbackground. The niches with their statues, representing many of theSovereigns of England, were all in grey shadow, but the large gilt crosswhich surmounted it still caught something of the evening fires.
To the east there was the smaller tower of octagonal form, which was theConduit, and here also the top was bathed in light--a figure standingupon a gilded cone and blowing a horn.
The gutters in the streets were dry now, for the rain storm of two daysago had not lasted long, and they were sticky and odorous with vegetableand animal filth.
The two men walked in the centre of the street, as was wiser in thosedays, for--as still happens in the narrow quarters of old French townsto-day--garret windows were open, and pails were emptied with but littleregard for those who were passing by.
When they came into Chepe itself, things were a little less congested,for great houses were built there, and Johnnie walked more quickly. Manyof the houses of the merchant princes were but little if at all inferiorto the mansions of the nobility at that time. They stood often enough ingloomy and unfrequented courts, and were accessible only by inconvenientpassages, but once arrived at, their interiors were of extraordinarycomfort and magnificence.
Johnnie knew that Mr. Cressemer's house was hereabouts, but was notcertain of the precise location. He looked up through the endlesssuccession of Saracens' heads, Tudor roses, blue bears, and goldenlambs, but could see nothing in the growing dark. He turned round andbeckoned to John Hull.
"You know the City?" he said.
"Very well, master," the man answered, looking at him, so Johnniethought, with a very strange expression.
"Then, certes, you can tell me the house of Master Robert Cressemer, theAlderman," said Johnnie.
Hull gave a sudden, violent start. His eyes, always keen and alert, nowgrew wide.
"Sir," he said, "I know that house very well, but what do you there?"
Johnnie stared at him in amazement for a moment. Then the blood mantledin his cheeks.
"Sirrah," he said, "what mean you by this? What is it to you where I goor what I do?"
There was nobody in their immediate vicinity at the moment, and thethick-set serving-man, by a quick movement, placed himself in front ofhis master, his right hand upon the newly-provided sword, his leftplaying with the hilt of the long knife which had served him so well atChelmsford.
"I said I would be loyal to ye, master," the fellow growled, "but I seenow that it cannot be. I will be no servant of those who do burn andslay innocent folk, and shalt not to the Alderman's if thou goest withevil intent."
An enormous surprise almost robbed the young man of his anger.
Was this man, this "faithfullest servant," some brigand or robber, orassassin, in disguise? What could it mean? His hand was upon his swordin a moment, it was ready to flash out, and the accomplished fencer whohad been trained in every art and trick of sword-play, knew well thatthe strength of the thick-set man before him would avail nothing. Buthe waited a moment, really more interested and surprised than angered oralarmed.
"I don't want to kill you, my good man," he said, "and so I will giveyou leave to speak. But by the Mass! this is too much; an you don'texplain yourself, in the kennel and carrion you lie."
"I beg your pardon, sir," Hull answered, his face taking into it a noteof apology, "but you come from the Court; you rode with those bloodyvillains that did take my dear master that was to his death. Are you notnow going with a like intent to the house of Mr. Cressemer?"
"I don't know," Johnnie answered, "why I should explain to you thereason for my visit to His Worship, but despite this gross impudence, Iwill give you a chance, for I have learnt to know that there is often anexplanation behind what seemeth most foul. The Alderman is one of theoldest and best friends my father, the Knight of Kent, hath ever had.The letter thou gavest me two hours agone was from His Worship biddingme to supper. And now, John Hull, what hast to say before I slit you?"
For answer, John Hull suddenly fell upon his knees, and held out hishands in supplication.
"Sir," he said, in a humble voice, "I crave that of your mercy andgentleness you will forgive me, and let this pass. Sure, I knew you fora gallant gentleman, and no enemy to my people when first I saw you. Imarked you outside St. Botolph's Church, and knew you again atChelmsford. But I thought you meant harm...."
His voice died away in an inarticulate mumble. He seemed enormouslysincere and penitent, and dreadfully embarrassed also by some knowledgeor thought at the back of his mind, something which he feared, or wasunable to disclose.
Johnnie's heart was beating strangely, though he did not know why. Heseemed to tread into something strange and unexpected. Life was full ofsurprises now.
All he said was: "Make a fool of thyself no longer, John Hull; get upand lead me to His Worship's. I forgive thee. But mark you, I shallrequire the truth from you anon."
The man scrambled up, made a clumsy bow, and hurried on for a few yards,until a narrow opening between two great stacks of houses discloseditself. He walked down it, his shoes echoing upon a pavement stone.Johnnie followed him, and they came out into a dark courtyard in which asingle lantern of glass and iron hung over a massive door studded withnails.
"This is His Worship's house," said John Hull.
Johnnie went up to the door and beat upon it with the handle of hisdagger, standing on the single step before it. In less than half aminute, the door was opened and a serving-man in livery of yellow stoodbefore him.
"Mr. John Commendone," Johnnie said, "to see His Worship the Aldermanupon an invitation."
The man bowed, opened the door still wider, and invited Johnnie into alarge flagged hall, lit by three silver lamps.
"Worshipful sir," he said, "my master told me that perchance you wouldbe a-coming this night, and he awaits you in the parlour."
"This is my servant," Johnnie said to the man, and even as he did so, hesaw a look of immense surprise, mingled with welcome, upon the fellow'sface.
"I w
ill take him to the kitchen, Your Worship," the man said, and as hespoke, a footman came out of a door on the opposite side of the hall,bowed low to Johnnie, and led him up a broad flight of stairs.
Commendone shrugged his shoulders. There were mysteries here, it seemed,but so far they were none of his, and at any rate he was within thehouse of a friend.
At first there was no evidence of any particular luxury, and Johnnie wassurprised. Though he had little idea how wealthy his own father hadbecome, the great house of Commendone was a very stately, well-foundplace. He knew, moreover, that Mr. Robert Cressemer was one of therichest citizens of London, and he had heard his friends talking atCourt of the state and splendour of some of those hidden mansions whichclustered in the environs of Chepeside, Wood Street, and BasinghallStreet.
He had not gone much farther in his progress when he knew. He passedthrough a pair of folding doors, inlaid with rare woods--a novelty tohim at that time, for he had never travelled in Italy or France. Hewalked down a broad corridor, the walls hung with pictures and the floortesselated with wood, and was shown by another footman who was standingat a door at the end of the corridor into a superb room, wainscoted withcedar up to half of its height, and above it adorned with battles ofgods and giants in fresco. The room was brilliantly lit by candles, atfrequent intervals all round the panelled walls, and close to the gildedbeading which divided them from the frescoes above, were arms of someblack wood or stone, which they were he could not have said, stretchedout, and holding silver sconces in which the candles were set.
It was as though gigantic Moors or Nubians had thrown their arms throughthe wall to hold up the light which illuminated this large and splendidplace. At one end of the room was a high carved fire-place, and thoughit was summer, some logs of green elm smouldered and crackled upon thehearth, though the place was cool enough.
Seated by the fireside was a stout, short, elderly man, with a pointedgrey beard, and heavy black eyebrows from beneath which large, slightlyprominent, and very alert eyes looked out. His hair was white, andapparently he was bald, because a skull cap of black velvet covered hishead. He wore a ruff and a long surtout of wool dyed crimson, andpointed here and there with braid of dark green and thin lace of gold. Abelt of white leather was round his middle, and from it hung achatelaine of silver by his right side, from which depended a pen caseand some ivory tablets. On his left side, Johnnie noticed that a shortserviceable dagger was worn. His trunk hose were of black, his shoeseasy ones of Spanish leather with crimson rosettes upon the instep.
"Mr. John Commendone," said the footman.
Mr. Cressemer rose from his seat, his shrewd, capable face lighting upwith welcome.
"Ah," he said, "so thou hast come to see me, Mr. Commendone. 'Tis verygood of thee, and a welcome sight to eyes which have looked upon yourfather so often."
He went up to the slim young man as the footman closed the door, andshook him warmly by the hand, looking him in the face meanwhile with akeen wise scrutiny, which made Johnnie feel young, inexperienced, alittle embarrassed.
He felt he was being summed up, judged and weighed, appraised in themost kindly fashion, but by one who did not easily make a mistake in hisestimate of men.
At Court, King Philip had regarded him with cold interest, the Queenherself with piercing and more lively regard. Since his arrival inLondon, Johnnie had been used to scrutinies. But this was different fromany other he had known. It was eminently human and kindly first of all,but in the second place it was more searching, more real, than anyother he had hitherto undergone. In short, a king or queen looked at acourtier from a certain point of view. Would he serve their ends? Was hethe right man in the right place? Had they chosen well?
There was nothing of this now. It was all kindliness mingled with agrave curiosity, almost with hope.
Johnnie, who was much taller than Mr. Cressemer, could not help smilinga little, as the bearded man looked at him so earnestly, and it was hissmile that broke the silence, and made them friends from that verymoment.
The Alderman put his left hand upon Johnnie's shoulder.
"Lad," he said, and his voice was the voice of a leader of men, "lad, Iam right glad to see thee in my poor house. Art thy father's son, andthat is enough for me. Come, sit you down t'other side of the fire.Come, come."
With kindly geniality the merchant bustled his guest to a chair oppositehis own, and made him sit. Then he stood upon a big hearthrug ofbear-skin, rubbed his hands, and chuckled.
"When I heard ye announced," he said, "I thought to myself, 'Here'sanother young gallant of the Court keen on his money; he hath lost notime in calling for it.' But now I see thee, and know thee for what thouart--for it is my boast, and a true one, that I was never deceived inman yet--I see my apprehensions were quite unfounded."
Johnnie bowed. For a moment or two he could hardly speak. There wassomething so homelike, so truly kind, in this welcome that his nerves,terribly unstrung by all he had gone through of late, were almost uponthe point of breakdown.
This was like home. This was the real thing. This was not the Court--andhere before him he knew very well was a man not only good and kindly,but resolute and great.
"Now, I'll tell thee what we'll do, Master Johnnie, sith thou hast cometo me so kindly. We will sip a little water of Holland--I'll wageryou've tasted nothing like it, for it cometh straight from the EnglishExchange house at Antwerp--and then we will to supper, where you willmeet my dear sister, Mistress Catherine Cressemer, who hath been thelong companion of my widowerhood, and ordereth this my house for me."
He turned to where a square sheet of copper hung from a peg upon a cordof twisted purple silk. Taking up the massive silver pen case at the endof his chatelaine, he beat upon the gong, and the copper thunder echoedthrough the big room.
A man entered immediately, to whom Mr. Cressemer gave orders, and thensat himself down upon the other side of the fire.
"Your father," he said confidentially, "came to me after he left you inthe Tower the morning before this. He was very pleased with what he sawof you, Master Johnnie, and what he heard of you also. Art going to be abig man in affairs without doubt. I wish I had met ye before. I havebeen twice to Commendone Park. Once when thou wert a little rosy thingof two year old or less, and the Senora--Holy Mary give her grace!--hadthee upon her knee. I was staying with the Knight. And then again whenFather Chilches was thy tutor, and thou must have been fourteen year ormore. I was at the Park for three days. But thou wert away with thyaunt, Miss Commendone, of Wanstone Court, and I saw nothing of thee."
"So you knew my mother," Johnnie said eagerly.
"Aye, that I did, and a very gracious lady she was, Master Commendone. Iwill tell thee of her, and thy house in those days, at supper. My sisterwill be well pleased to hear it also. Meanwhile"--he sipped at the whiteliqueur which the servant had brought, and motioned Johnnie towards hisown thin green glass with little golden spirals running throughit--"meanwhile, tell me how like you the Court life?"
Johnnie started. They were the exact words of his father. "I am gettingon very well," he said in reply.
"So I hear, and am well pleased," the Alderman answered. "You haveeverything in your favour--a knowledge of Spanish, a pleasant presence,and trained to the usage of good society. But, though you may not thinkit, I have influence, even at Court, though it is in no ways apparent.Tell me something of your aims, and your views, and I shall doubtless beable to help your advancement. There are ticklish times coming, becertain of that, and my experience may be of great service to you. HerGrace, God bless her! is, I fear--I speak to you as man to man, Mr.Commendone--too keen set and determined upon the Papal Supremacy for thetrue welfare of this realm. I am Catholic. I have always been Catholic.But doctrine, and a purely political dominion from Rome, aye, or fromSpain either, is not what we of the City, and who control the financesof the kingdom much more than less, desire or wish to see. After all,Mr. Commendone, I trust I make myself clearly understood to you, andthat you are of the same temper
and mind as your father and myself;after all is loudly set and perchance badly done, we have to look to theupholding of the realm, inside and out, rather than to be fine uponpoints of doctrine."
He leant forward in his seat with great earnestness, clasped his righthand, upon the little finger of which was a great ring, with a cut sealof emerald, and brought it down heavily upon the table by his side.
"I believe," he said, "in the Mass, and if I were asked to die for mybelief, that would I do. I would do it very reluctantly, Master John. Iwould evade the necessity for doing it in every way I knew. But if Iwere set down in front of judges or eke inquisitors, and asked to saythat when the priest hath said the words of consecration, the elementsare not the very true body of Our Lord Jesus, then I would die for thatbelief. And of the Invocation of Saints, and of the greatest saint ofall--Our Lady--I see no harm in it, but a very right and pleasantpractice. For, look you, if these are indeed, as we believe and knowclustering around the throne of God, which is the Holy Trinity, thenindeed they must hear our prayers, if we believe truly in the Communionof Saints; and hearing them, being in high favour in heaven, theirtroubles past and they glorified, certes, we down here may well thinktheir voices will be heard around the Throne. That is true Catholicdoctrine as I see it. But of the power of the Bishop of Rome to directand interfere in the honest internal affairs of a country--well, I snapmy fingers at it. And of the power of the priesthood, which is but partof the machinery by which His Holiness endeavoureth to accrue to himselfall earthly power, at that also I spit. From my standpoint, a priest isan ordained man of God; his function is to say Mass, to consecrate theelements, and so to bring God near to us upon the altar. But of yourconfessions, your pryings into family life, your temporal dominion, Ihave the deepest mistrust. And also, I think, that the cause of HolyChurch would be much better served if its priests were allowed--forsuch of them as wished it--to be married men. A man is a man, and Godhath given him his natural attributes. I am not really learned, nor am Iwell read in the history of the world, but I have looked into it enough,Master Commendone, to know that God hath ordained that men should takewomen in marriage and rear up children for the glory of the Lord and thewelfare of the State. Mark you"--his face became striated with lines ofcontempt and dislike--"mark you, this celibacy is to be the thing whichwill destroy the power of the sacrificing priest in the eyes of allbefore many hundred years have passed. I shall not see it, thou wilt notsee it. We are good Church of England men now, but what I say will cometo pass, and then God himself only knoweth what anarchs and deniers,what blasphemers and runagates will hold the world.
"Her Grace," he went on, "believeth that as Moses ordered blasphemers tobe put to death, so she thinketh it the duty of a Christian prince toeradicate the cockle from the fold of God's Church, to cut out thegangrene that it may not spread to the sounder parts. But Her Grace is awoman that hath been much sequestered all her life till now. She comethto the throne, and is but--I trust I speak no treason, Mr. Commendone--atool and instrument of the priests from Spain, and the man from Spainalso who is her lord. Why! if only the Church in this realm could go onas King Henry started it--not a new Church, mind you, but a Church whichhath thrown off an unnecessary dominion from Italy--if it could go on asunder the reign of the little King Edward was set out and promised verywell, 'twould be truly Catholic still, and the priests of the Churchwould be all married men and citizens within the State, with a stake incivil affairs, and so by reason of their spiritual power and civilobligations, the very bulwark of society."
Johnnie listened intently, nodding now and then as the Alderman made apoint, and as he himself realised the value of it.
"Look you, Master Commendone," His Worship continued, "look you, onlyyesterday a worthy clergyman, whom I knew and loved, a man of hisinches, a shrewd and clever gentleman of good birth, was haled from theCity down to his own parish and burnt as a heretic. Heretic doubtlessthe good man was. He would be living now if he had not denied theblessed and comforting truth of Transubstantiation before thatblood-stained wolf, the Bishop of London. The man I speak of was a goodman, and though he was mistaken on that issue, he would, under kindlierauspices, doubtless have returned to the central truth of our religion.He was married, and had lived in honourable wedlock with his wife formany years. She was a lady from Wales, and a sweet woman. But it was hismarriage as much as any other thing about him that brought him to hisdeath."
The Alderman's voice sank into something very like a whisper. "One of mymen," he said, "was riding down with the Sheriff of London to Hadley,where Dr. Taylor, he of whom I speak, suffered this very morning. Atfive this afternoon my man was back, and told me how the good doctordied. He died with great constancy, very much, Mr. Commendone, as one ofthe old saints that the Romans did use so cruelly in the early years ofOur Lord's Church. Yet, as something of a student of affairs--and Dr.Taylor is not the first good heretic who hath died rather than recant--Isee that the married clergy suffer with the most alacrity. And why?Because, as I see it, they are bearing testimony to the validity andsanctity of their marriage. The honour of their wives and children is atstake; the desire of leaving them an unsullied name and a virtuousexample, combined with a sense of religious duty. And thus the heartderives strength from the very ties which in other circumstances mightwell tend to weaken it.
"I am in mourning to-night, mourning in my heart, Mr. Commendone, for agood, mistaken friend who hath suffered death."
As his voice fell, the Alderman was looking sadly into the red embers ofthe fire with the music of a deep sadness and regret in his voice. Hewasn't an emotional man at all--by nature that is--Johnnie saw it atonce. But he saw also that his host was very deeply moved. Johnnie rosefrom his chair.
"You are telling me no news at all, Mr. Alderman," he said. "I hadorders, and I was one of those who rode with Sir John Shelton and theSheriff to take Dr. Taylor to the stake at Aldham Common."
Mr. Cressemer started violently.
"Mother of God!" he said, "did you see that done?"
Johnnie nodded. He could not trust himself to speak.
The Alderman's cry of horror brought home to him almost for the firsttime not the terror of what he had seen--that he had realised longago--but a sense of personal guilt, a disgust with himself that heshould have been a participator in such a deed, a spectator, howeverpitying.
He felt unclean.
Then he said in a low voice: "What I tell you, Mr. Cressemer, will, Iknow, remain as a secret between us. I feel I am not betraying any trustin telling _you_. I am, as you know, attached to the person of HisMajesty, and I have been admitted into great confidence both by him andHer Grace the Queen. The King rode to Hadley disguised as a simplecavalier, and I was with him as his attendant."
He stopped short, feeling that the explanation was bald and unsufficing.
The Alderman stepped up to Johnnie and put his hand upon his arm. "Poorlad, poor lad," he said in tones of deepest pity. "I grieve in thatthou hadst to witness such a thing in the following of thy duty."
"I had thought," the young man faltered, his assurance deserting him fora moment at the words of this reverend and broad-souled man, "I thoughtyou would think me stained in some wise, Mr. Cressemer. I...."
"Whist!" the elder man answered impatiently. "Have no such foolishthoughts. Am I not a man of affairs? Do I not know what disciplinemeans? But this gives me great cause for thought. You have confided inme, Mr. Commendone, and so likewise will I in you. This morning theDoctor's wife, his little son, and little daughter Mary, set off for theMarches of Wales with a party of my men and their baggage. MistressTaylor was born a Rhyader, of a good family in Conway town. Her brotherliveth there, and all her friends are of Wales. It was as well that thedame should leave the City at once, for none knoweth what will be doneto the relations of heretics at this time----Why, man! Thou art white aslinen, thy hand shakes. What meaneth it?"
Johnnie, in truth, was a strange sight as he stood in front of his host.All his composure was gone. His ey
es burnt in a white face, his lipswere dry and parted, there was an almost terrible inquiry in his wholeaspect and manner.
"'Tis nothing," he managed to say in a hoarse voice, which he hardlyknew for his own. "Pr'ythee continue, sir."
Mr. Cressemer gave the young man a keen, questioning glance before hewent on speaking. Then he said:
"As I tell you, these members of the good Doctor's family are now safelyon their way, and God grant them rest and peace in their new life. Theywill want for nothing. But the Doctor's other daughter, MistressElizabeth, was not his own daughter, but was adopted by him when she wasbut a little child. The girl is a very sweet and good girl, and mysister, Mistress Catherine, has long loved her. And as this is achildless house, alas! the maid hath come to live with us and she willbe as my own daughter, if God wills it."
"She is well?" Johnnie asked, in a hoarse whisper.
The Alderman shook his head sadly. "She is the bravest maiden I haveever met," he said. "She hath stuff in her which recalls the ladies ofold Rome, so calm and steadfast is she. There is in her at this timesome divine illumination, Mr. Commendone, that keepeth her strong andunafraid. Ah, but she is sore stricken! She knew some hours agone of thedoings at Hadley, for as I told you, one of my men brought the news. Shehath been in prayer a long time, poor lamb, and now my sister is withher to hearten her and give her such comfort as may be. God's ways arevery strange, Mr. John. Who would have thought now that you should cometo this house to-night from that butchery?" He sighed deeply.
Johnnie made the sign of the cross. "God moveth in a mysterious way," hesaid, "to perform His wonders. He rides upon the tempest, and ekedirects the storm, and leadeth pigmy men and women with a sure hand anda certain purpose."
"Say not 'pigmy,' Mr. John," the Alderman answered, "we are not small inHis eyes, though it is well that we should be in our own. But you speakwith a certain meaning. You grew pale just now. I think you may justlyconfide in me. I am of thy father's age, and a friend of thy father's.What is it, lad?"
Speaking with great difficulty, looking downwards at the floor, Johnnietold him. He told him how he had met John Hull and taken him into hisservice, how that even now the man was in the kitchen among the servantsof the Alderman. He told of the fellow's menace in Chepe, and howinexplicable it had seemed to him. Then he hesitated, and his voice sunkinto silence.
"Ye saw the poor lamb?" Mr. Cressemer said in a low voice, whichnevertheless trembled with excitement. "Ye saw her weeping as good Dr.Taylor was borne away? Ye took this good varlet Hull into thy service?And now thou art in my house. It seemeth indeed that God's finger iswriting in the book of thy life; but I must hear more from thee, Mr.Commendone. Tell me, if thou wilt, what it may mean."
Johnnie straightened himself. He put his hand upon the pummel of hissword. He looked his host full in the eyes.
"It means this, sir," he said, in a quiet and resolute voice. "All mylife I have kept myself from those pleasures and peccadilloes that younggentlemen of my station are wont to use. I have never looked upon amaiden with eyes of love--or worse. Before God His Throne, Our Lady theBlessed Virgin, and all the crowned saints I say it. But yester morn,when I saw her weeping in the grey, my heart went out from me, and is nomore mine. I vowed then that by God's grace I would be her knight andlover for ever and a day. My employment hath not to-day given me theopportunity to go to Mass, but I have promised myself to-morrow mornthat in the chapel of St. John I will vow myself to her with all fealty,and indeed nor man, nor power, nor obstacle of any sort shall keep mefrom her, if God allows. Wife she shall be to me, and so I can make herlove me. All this I swear to you, by my honour"--here he pulled hissword from the scabbard and reverently kissed the hilt--"and to theBlessed Trinity." And now he pulled his crucifix from his doublet, andkissed it.
Then he turned away from the Alderman, took a few steps to thefire-place, and leant against the carving, his head bowed upon his arms.
There was a dead silence in the big room. Tears were gathering in theeyes of the grave elderly man, while his mind worked furiously. He sawin all this the direct hand of Providence working towards a definite andcertain end.
He had loved the slim and gracious lad directly he saw him. His hearthad gone out to one so gallant and one so debonair, the son of his oldand trusted friend. He had long loved the Rector of Hadley's sweetdaughter, who was so idolised also by Mistress Catherine Cressemer, hissister. During the reign of Edward VI the girl had often come up toLondon to spend some months with her wealthy and influential friends.She had a great part in the heart of the childless widower.
Now this strange and wonderful thing had happened.
These thoughts passed through the old man's mind in a few seconds, whilethe silence was not broken. Then, as he was about to turn and speak toJohnnie, the door of the room opened quickly, and a short, elderly womanhurried in.
She was very simply dressed in grey woollen stuff, though the bodice andskirt were edged with costly fur. The white lace of Bruges upon her headframed a face of great sweetness, and now it was alive with excitement.
She was a little woman, fifty years of age, with a flat wrinkled face;but her eyes were full of kindness, and, indeed, so was her whole face,although her lips were drawn in by the loss of her front teeth, and thisgave her a rather witch-like mouth.
"Robert! Robert!" she said in a high, excited voice. "John Hull, thatwas servant to our dear Doctor, is in this house. The men have him inthe kitchen--word has just been sent up to me. What shall we do? DearLizzie--she is more tranquil now, and bearing her cross verybravely--dear Lizzie had thought not to see him again. Will it be wellthat we should have him up? Think you the child can bear seeing him?"
The lady had piped this out in a rush of excited words. Then suddenlyshe saw Johnnie, who had turned round and stood by the fire, bowing. Hisface was drawn and white, and he was trembling.
"Catherine," Mr. Cressemer said, "strange things are happening to-night,of which I must speak with you anon. But this is Mr. John Commendone,son of our dear Knight of Kent, who hath come to see me, and who haplyor by design of God was forced to witness the death of Dr. Rowland thismorning."
Johnnie made a low bow, the little lady a lower curtsey.
Then, heedless of all etiquette, with the tears streaming down hercheeks, she trotted up to the young man and caught hold of both hishands, looking up at him with the saddest, kindest face he had everseen.
"Oh, boy, boy," she said, "thou hast come at the right time. We knowwith what constancy the Doctor died, but our lamb will be well contentto hear of it from kindly lips, for she is very strong and stedfast, thepretty dear! And thou hast a good face, and surely art a true son of thyfather, Sir Henry of Commendone."
