CHAPTER VII
A QUESTION OF LOYALTY
He did not know how long he stood there, with the bundle of papersgripped in his two hands; and the thoughts racing through his brain.
The noises in the street outside waned and waxed again, as the newsswept down the lanes, and recoiled with a wave of excited crowdsfollowing it. Then again they died to a steady far-off murmur as the mobsurged and clamoured round the Palace and Abbey a couple of hundredyards away.
At last Ralph sat down; still holding the papers. He must clear hisbrain; and how was that possible with the images flashing through it inendless and vivid succession? For a while he could not steady himself;the shock was bewildering; he could think of nothing but the appallingdrama. Essex was fallen!
Then little by little the muddy current of thought began to run clear.He began to understand what lay before him; and the question that stillawaited decision.
His first instinct had been to dash the papers on to the fire and grindthem into the red heart of the wood; but something had checked him. Veryslowly he began to analyse that instinct.
First, was it not useless? He knew he did not possess one hundredth partof the incriminating evidence that was in existence. Of what servicewould it be to his master to destroy that one small bundle?
Next, what would be the result to himself if he did? It was known thathe was a trusted agent of the minister's; his house would be searched;papers would be found; it would be certainly known that he had made awaywith evidence. There would be records of what he had, in the otherhouses. And what then?
On the other hand if he willingly gave up all that was in hispossession, it would go far to free him from complicity.
Lastly, like a venomous snake lifting its head, his own privateresentment looked him in the eyes, and there was a new sting added to itnow. He had lost all, he knew well enough; wealth, honour and positionhad in a moment shrunk to cinders with Cromwell's fall, and for thesecinders he had lost Beatrice too. He had sacrificed her to his master;and his master had failed him. A kind of fury succeeded to his dismay.
Oh, would it not be sweet to add even one more stone to the mass thatwas tottering over the head of that mighty bully, that had promised andnot performed?
He blinked his eyes, shocked by the horror of the thought, and grippedthe bundle yet more firmly. The memories of a thousand kindnessesreceived from his master cried at the door of his heart. The sweatdropped from his forehead; he lifted a stiff hand to wipe it away, anddropped it again into its grip on the papers.
Then he slowly recapitulated to himself the reasons for not destroyingthem. They were overwhelming, convincing! What was there to set againstthem? One slender instinct only, that cried shrill and thin that inhonour he must burn that damning evidence--burn it--burn it--whether orno it would help or hinder, it must be burnt!
Then again he recurred to the other side; told himself that hisinstinct was no more than a ludicrous sentimentality; he must be guidedby reason, not impulse. Then he glanced at the impulse again. Then thetwo sides rushed together, locked in conflict. He moaned a little, andlay back in his chair.
* * * * *
The bright sunlight outside had faded to a mellow evening atmospherebefore he moved again; and the fire had died to one dull core ofincandescence.
As he stirred, he became aware that bells were pealing outside; amelodious roar filled the air. Somewhere behind the house five brazenvoices, shouting all together, bellowed the exultation of the city overthe great minister's fall.
He was weary and stiff as he stood up; but the fever had left his brain;and the decision had been made. He relaxed his fingers and laid thebundle softly down on the table from which he had snatched it a coupleof hours before.
They would be here soon, he knew; he wondered they had not come already.
Leaving his papers there, he went out, taking the key with him, andlocking the door after him. He called up one of his men, telling him hewould be ready for supper immediately in the parlour downstairs, andthat any visitors who came for him were to be admitted at once.
Then he passed into his bedroom to wash and change his clothes.
* * * * *
Half an hour later he came upstairs again.
He had supped alone, listening and watching the window as he ate; but nosign had come of any arrival. He had dressed with particular care,intending to be found at his ease when the searchers did arrive; theremust be no sign of panic or anxiety. He had told his man as he rosefrom table, to say to any that came for him that they were expected, andto bring them immediately upstairs.
He unlocked the door of his private room, and went in. All was as he hadleft it; the floor between the window and table was white with orderedheaps of papers; the bundle on the table itself glimmered where he hadlaid it.
The fire had sunk to a spark. He tenderly lifted off the masses of blacksheets that crackled as he touched them; it had not occurred to himbefore that these evidences of even a harmless destruction had better beremoved; and he slid them carefully on to a broad sheet of paper, foldedit, shaking the ashes together as he did so, and stood a moment,wondering where he should hide it.
The room was growing dark now; he put the package down; went to the fireand blew it up a little, added some wood, and presently the flames weredancing on the broad hearth.
As he stood up again he heard the knocker rap on his street-door. For amoment he had an instinct to run to the window and see who was there;but he put it aside; there was scarcely time to hide the ashes; and itwas best too to give no hint of anxiety. He lifted the package of burntpapers once more, and stood hesitating; a press would be worse thanuseless as a hiding-place; all such would of course be searched. Then athought struck him; he stood up noiselessly on his chair. The Holbeinportrait of Cromwell in his furred gown and chain leaned forward fromthe tapestry over the mantelpiece. Ralph set one hand against the wallat the side; and then tenderly let the package fall behind the portrait.As he did so the painted and living eyes were on a level; it seemedstrange to him that the faces were so near together at that moment; andit struck him with a grim irony that the master should be so protectingthe servant under these circumstances.
Then he dropped lightly to the ground, and sat quickly in the chair,snatching up the bundle of papers from the table as he did so.
The steps were on the landing now; he heard the crack of the balustrade;but it seemed they were coming very quietly.
There was a moment's silence; the muscles of his throat contractedsharply, then there came the servant's tap; the handle was turned.
Ralph stood up quickly, still holding the papers, as the door opened,and Beatrice stepped forward into the room. The door shut noiselesslybehind her.
* * * * *
She stood there, with the firelight playing on her dark loose-sleevedmantle, the hood that surrounded her head, her pale face a littleflushed, and her black steady eyes. Her breath came quickly between herparted lips.
Ralph stared at her, dazed by the shock, still gripping the bundle ofpapers. She moved forward a step; and the spell snapped.
"Mistress Beatrice," he said.
"I have come," she said; "what is it? You want me?"
She came round the table, with an air of eager expectancy.
"I--I did not know," said Ralph.
"But you wanted me. What is the matter? I heard you call."
Ralph stared again, bewildered.
"Call?" he said.
"Yes, I heard you. I was in my room at my aunt's house--ah! a couple ofhours ago. You called me twice. 'Beatrice! Beatrice!' Then--then theytold me what had happened about my Lord Essex."
"I called you?" repeated Ralph.
"Yes--you called me. Your voice was quite close to me, at my ear; Ithought you were in the room. Tell me what it is."
She loosened her hold of her mantle as she stood there by the table; andit dropped open, showing a spa
rkle of jewels at her throat. She threwback her hood, and it dropped on to her shoulders, leaving visible thecoiled masses of her black hair set with knots of ribbon.
"I did not call," said Ralph dully. "I do not know what you mean,Mistress Atherton."
She made a little impatient gesture.
"Ah! yes," she said, "it is something. Tell me quickly. I suppose it hasto do with my Lord. What is it?"
"It is nothing," said Ralph again.
They stood looking at one another in silence. Beatrice's eyes ran amoment up and down his rich dress, the papers in his hands, thenwandered to the heaped floor, the table, and returned to the papers inhis hands.
"You must tell me," she said. "What is that you are holding?"
An angry terror seized Ralph.
"That is my affair, Mistress Atherton. What is your business with me?"
She came a step nearer, and leant her left hand on his table. He couldsee those steady eyes on his face; she looked terribly strong andcontrolled.
"Indeed you must tell me, Mr. Torridon. I am come here to do something.I do not know what. What are those papers?"
He turned and dropped them on to the chair behind him.
"I tell you again, I do not know what you mean."
"It is useless," she said. "Have they been to you yet? What do you meanto do about my Lord? You know he is in the Tower?"
"I suppose so," said Ralph, "but my counsel is my own."
"Mr. Torridon, let us have an end of this. I know well that you musthave many secrets against my lord--"
"I tell you that what I know is nothing. I have not a hundredth part ofhis papers."
He felt himself desperate and bewildered, like a man being pushed to theedge of a precipice, step by step. But those black eyes held andcompelled him on. He scarcely knew what he was saying.
"And are these papers all his? What have you been doing with them?"
"My Lord told me to sort them."
The words were drawn out against his own will.
"And those in your hand--on the chair. What are they?"
Ralph made one more violent effort to regain the mastery.
"If you were not a woman, Mistress Atherton, I should tell you you wereinsolent."
Not a ripple troubled those strong eyes.
"Tell me, Mr. Torridon, what are they?"
He stood silent and furious.
"I will tell you what they are," she said; "they are my Lord's secrets.Is it not so? And you were about to burn them. Oh! Ralph, is it not so?"
Her voice had a tone of entreaty in it. He dropped his eyes, overcome bythe passion that streamed from her.
"Is it not so?" she cried again.
"Do you wish me to do so?" he said amazed. His voice seemed not his own;it was as if another spoke for him. He had the same sensation ofpowerlessness as once before when she had lashed him with her tongue inthe room downstairs.
"Wish you?" she cried. "Why, yes; what else?"
He lifted his eyes to hers; the room seemed to have grown darker yet inthose few minutes. He could only see now a shadowed face looking at him;but her bright passionate eyes shone out from it and dominated him.
Again he spoke, in spite of himself.
"I shall not burn them," he said.
"Shall not? shall not?"
"I shall not," he said again.
There was silence. Ralph's soul was struggling desperately within him.He put out his hand mechanically and took up the papers once more, as ifto guard them from this fierce, imperious woman. Beatrice's eyesfollowed the movement; and then rested once more on his face. Then shespoke again, with a tense deliberateness that drove every word home,piercing and sharp to the very centre of his spirit.
"Listen," she said, "for this is what I came to say. I know what you arethinking--I know every thought as if it were my own. You tell yourselfthat it is useless to burn those secrets; that there are ten thousandmore--enough to cast my lord. I make no answer to that."
"You tell yourself that you can only save yourself by giving them up tohis enemies. I make no answer to that."
"You tell yourself that it will be known if you destroy them--that youwill be counted as one of His Highness's enemies. I make no answer tothat. And I tell you to burn them."
She came a step nearer. There was not a yard between them now; and thefire of her words caught and scorched him with their bitterness.
"You have been false to every high and noble thing. You have been falseto your own conscience--to your father--your brother--your sister--yourChurch--your King and your God. You have been false to love and honour.You have been false to yourself. And now Almighty God of His courtesygives you one more opportunity--an opportunity to be true to yourmaster. I say nothing of him. God is his judge. You know what thatverdict will be. And yet I bid you be true to him. He has a thousandclaims on you. You have served him, though it be but Satan's service;yet it is the highest that you know--God help you! He is calledfriendless now. Shall that be wholly true of him? You will be called atraitor presently--shall that be wholly true of you? Or shall there beone tiny point in which you are not false and treacherous as you havebeen in all other points?"
She stopped again, looking him fiercely in the eyes.
* * * * *
From the street outside there came the sound of footsteps; the ring ofsteel on stone. Ralph heard it, and his eyes rolled round to the window;but he did not move.
Beatrice was almost touching him now. He felt the fragrance that hungabout her envelop him for a moment. Then he felt a touch on the papers;and his fingers closed more tightly.
The steps outside grew louder and ceased; and the house suddenlyreverberated with a thunder of knocking.
Beatrice sprang back.
"Nay, you shall give me them," she said; and stood waiting withoutstretched hand.
Ralph lifted the papers slowly, stared at them, and at her.
Then he held them out.
* * * * *
In a moment she had snatched them; and was on her knees by the hearth.Ralph watched her, and listened to the steps coming up the stairs. Thepapers were alight now. The girl dashed her fingers among them,grinding, tearing, separating the heavy pages.
They were almost gone by now; the thick smoke poured up the chimney; andstill Beatrice tore and dashed the ashes about.
There was a knocking at the door; and the handle turned. The girl rosefrom her knees and smiled at Ralph as the door opened, and thepursuivants stood there in the opening.
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