CHAPTER IX.
THE PRAISE OF INNOCENCE.
"He keeps his promise best that breaks with hell."--_The Widow._
The Royal Exchange, or Gresham's Bourse, formed an open quadrangle,where the merchants congregated by day, which was surrounded by acolonnade; the roofed galleries over the colonnade made up the Pawn,where ladies and gentlemen walked and lounged in the evening, amongbazaars and stalls. Naturally the uses of such a resort were not lostupon Captain Ravenshaw and Master Holyday, who had reasons for knowingall places where a houseless man might keep warm or dry in bad weatherwithout cost. When Ravenshaw entered, on this particular May evening,he found the Pawn crowded, and lighted in a manner brilliant for thosedays. The scholar was leaning, pensive, against a post.
"God save you, man, why look you so disconsolate? Is it the sight of somany ladies?"
"No. I heed 'em not, when I am not asked to speak to 'em," repliedHolyday, listlessly. "How fared you?"
"Oh,--so so. The trick served. Faith, I e'en began to think myself Iwas Master Holyday. But what's the matter?"
It was evident the captain did not wish to talk of his own affair. Thescholar was not the man to poke his nose into other people's matters.But neither was he one to make any secret of his own concerns whenquestioned.
"Oh, 'tis not much. I have been commissioned to write a play."
"What?" cried the captain, eagerly. "For which playhouse?--theGlobe?--the Blackfriars?--the Fortune?"
"Nay," said the scholar, sedately; "for Wat Stiles's puppet-show."
"Oh!--well, is not that good news? Is there not money in it? Why shouldit make you down i' the mouth?"
"Oh, 'tis not the writing of the play--but I have no money to buy paperand ink, and no place to write in."
"What, did the rascal showman give you no earnest money?"
"Yes; but I forgot, and spent it for supper. I knew you would makeshift to sup at the goldsmith's."
"Ay, marry, 'twould have gone hard else. Well, I am glad thou hasteaten. It saves our shifting for thy supper. Troth, we shall come byink and paper. The thing is now to find beds for the night. Would I hadappointed to meet my gentleman this evening." But suddenly, at this,the captain's face lengthened.
"When are you to meet him?"
"At ten to-morrow, in the Temple church," said the captain, dubiously.After a moment's silence, he added, "And to think that the fat of theland awaits you in Kent whenever you choose to take a wife to yourfather's house there! Well, well, it must come to your getting thebetter of that mad bashfulness--it must come to that in time."
"Why," quoth Holyday, surprised, "have you not assured me that womenare vipers?"
"Ay, most of them, indeed--but not all; not all." The captain spokethoughtfully.
"Well," said Holyday, after a pause, "I think I shall lodge in ColdHarbour first, ere I take one home to my father." Cold Harbour was ahouse in which vagabonds and debtors had sanctuary; but the two friendshad so far steered clear of it, the captain not liking the company orthe management thereof.
Leaving the Exchange, they found the streets alive with people; notonly had the fine weather brought out the citizens, but the town wasfull of countryfolk up for the Trinity law term.
"'Odslid," a rustic esquire was overheard by the captain to say toanother, "I looked to lie at the Bell to-night, but not a bed's to behad there. 'Twill go hard if all the inns--"
"Excellent," whispered Ravenshaw to the scholar. "We shall sleep dry ofthe dews to-night--else I'm a simple parish ass. Come."
They went at once to the sign of the Bell, where the captain applied,with an important air, for a chamber. On hearing that the housewas full, he made a great ado, saying he and his friend wished toleave early in the morning in Hobson's wagon starting from that inn;being late risers by habit, they durst not trust themselves to sleepelsewhere, lest they miss the wagon. Finally, going into the inn yard,the captain stated his case to one of Hobson's men, and suggested thathe and his companion might lie overnight in the tilt-wagon itself, soas to make sure of not being left behind in the morning. The carrier,glad to get two fares for the downward journey at a season when allthe travel was up to town, thought the idea a good one. And so the twoslept roomily that night on straw, well above ground, sheltered by thecanvas cover of the huge wagon. In the morning, pretending they wentfor a bottle of wine, they did not return; and the carrier, whipping uphis horses at the end of a vain wait of fifteen minutes, was providedwith a subject of thought which lasted all the way to Edmonton.
Meanwhile, the captain and the scholar, postponing their breakfast,whiled away the time till ten o'clock. At that hour, having lefthis friend to loiter round Temple Bar, Ravenshaw stepped across thevenerable threshold of the church of the Temple.
This church, too, was a midday gathering-place, as was also WestminsterAbbey. But ten o'clock was too early for the crowd, and the captainfound himself almost alone among the recumbent figures, in dark marble,of bygone knights of the Temple in full armour. Not even the lawyers,in any considerable number, had yet taken their places by the clusteredNorman pillars at which they received clients. The gentleman whomRavenshaw had come to meet, to report the outcome of his attempt withthe goldsmith's daughter, was not there.
Master Jerningham, indeed, had cause to be late. He had cause also forhis mind to be, if not upset, at least tumbled about. In the firstplace, though he did not try to resist it, he cursed his unreasonablepassion for this girl, which took so much time and thought from hisfinal preparations for the voyage on which he had set so heavy astake. He had been compelled to leave many things to his companiongentlemen-adventurers, which he ought to have overseen himself. Andeven as matters were, he was not clear as to what he would be about,concerning the girl. Suppose he won her to a meeting, could such apassion as his be cooled in the few hours during which he might bewith her before sailing? Or should he indeed, as he had hinted to SirClement, set himself to carry her off on his voyage by persuasionor force? He knew not; events must decide; only two things werecertain--he must behold her a yielding conquest in his arms; and hemust sail at the time set or as soon after as weather might permit.
Upon leaving Ravenshaw in St. Paul's, the day before, he had gone tosee a cunning man by whom his nativity had been cast with relation tothe voyage. The astrologer had foretold an obstacle to be encounteredat the last moment, and to be avoided only by great prudence. This haddarkened Master Jerningham's thoughts for awhile, but he had forgottenit in the busy cares of the afternoon at Deptford, whither he hadhastened to see the bestowal of stores upon the ship. He had alreadygot his men down from London and Wapping, all taking part in the work,some living aboard, some at the inns; so as to risk no desertions. Hehad returned late to Winchester House, passed a restless night, slepta little after daylight, and set forth in good time before ten for hisappointment.
Just as he was going down the water-stairs, a small craft shot inahead of the boat his man Gregory had hailed; a woman sprang upfrom the stern and, gaining the stairs with a fearless leap, stoodfacing him. She was a tall, finely made, ruddy-faced creature, inher twenties, attired in the shabby remains of a country gentlewoman'sgown, and wearing a high-crowned, narrow-brimmed hat.
"BADE HIS VISITOR BE SEATED UPON A STONE BENCH, ANDFACED HER SULLENLY."]
"Name of the fiend!" muttered Master Jerningham, starting back in angerand confusion. "What the devil do you here?"
"Peace," said the woman, in a low voice. "Have no fear. If yourvirtuous kinsman sees me, say I'm old Jeremy's niece come to tell youwhat men he'll need for the farm work." Her voice befitted her talland goodly figure, being rich and full; the look upon her handsomecountenance was one of mingled humiliation and scorn.
"I am in haste," said Jerningham, in great vexation.
"You must hear me first," she replied, resolutely.
Jerningham, stifling his annoyance, motioned Gregory to keep thewaterman waiting; then led the way up the stairs to the terrace, badehis visitor be seated upon a stone bench, an
d faced her sullenly.
"Is this how you keep your promise?" he said, rebukingly.
"Oh, marry, I put you in no danger. I might have walked boldly to thedoors and asked for you. But I lay off yonder in the boat till you cameforth; it put me to the more cost, but you are shielded."
"Well, why in God's name have you come?"
"Because you would not come to the Grange, and I must needs have speechwith you. You forbade messages."
"Then have speech with me, and make an end. But look you, Meg, I haveno money. I have kept my word with you; I have given you a home at theGrange; 'twas all I promised."
"'Tis all I ask. But the place must be a home, not a hell. 'Tis wellenough by day, and I mind not the loneness--troth, I'm glad to hidemy shame. But by night 'tis fearful, with none but old Jeremy forprotection, and he so feeble and such a coward. You must send a manthere, you must!--a man that is able to use a sword and pistol, and notafraid."
"Why, who would go so far from the highroad to rob such a rotten huskof a house?"
"'Tis not robbers," she said, sinking her voice to a terrified whisper."'Tis ghosts, and witches."
Jerningham laughed in derision of the idea.
"I tell you it's true. I know what I say," she went on. "Spirits walkthere every night; there are such sounds--!"
"Poh!" he interrupted. "The creaking of the timbers; the moving ofthe casements in the wind; the flapping of the arras; the gnawing andrunning of rats and mice."
"'Tis more than that. There be things I see; forms that pass swiftly;they appear for a moment, then melt away."
"'Tis in your dreams you see them."
"I know when I am awake; besides, often I see them when I am not abed."
"They are the tricks of moonlight, then; or of rays that steal in atcracks and crevices; or they are the moving of arras and such in afaint breeze."
"I know better. Think not to put me off so. I'll not stay there alonewith old Jeremy. I cannot bear it--such fright! Good God, what nightsI've passed!"
Jerningham quieted her with a gesture of caution, as he lookedfearfully around to see if her excited manner was observed.
"Then there are witches," she went on, more calmly. "They slink aboutthe house and the garden in the shape of cats. Terrible noises theymake at night."
"Why, they _are_ cats, like enough; they seek the rats and mice. Troth,for horrible noises--"
"Nay, but I know better. T'other evening Jeremy was late fetching homethe cow from the field, and so when I had done milking 'twas nearnightfall. As I was crossing the yard with the milk, what did I seebut an old woman leaning on her stick, by the corner of the house. Shewas chewing and mumbling, and looking straight at me. I saw 'twas oldGoody Banks, whom the whole countryside knows to be a witch."
"Foh! a poor crazy beldame, no doubt come to beg or steal a crust or acup of milk."
"I thought so too, at first, after I had got over the fright of seeingher--for 'tis rare we ever see any one at the Grange. But as I wasgoing to speak to her, she looked at me so evilly I remembered what thecountryfolk say of her, and such a fright came over me again, I criedout, 'Avaunt in the name of Jesus!' and flung the pail of milk at her.I heard a kind of whisk,--for I had closed my eyes as I threw,--andwhen I opened them, there, instead of the old woman, stood a great cat,staring at me with the very same evil eyes! So I knew she must be awitch--turning into a cat before my very eyes!"
"But your eyes were closed, you say."
"Ay, she had bewitched me to close 'em, no doubt, so I might not seehow she transformed herself."
"Why, 'tis all clear. The whisk you heard was of the old woman'srunning away from the milk-pail. The cat had been there all the while,belike, but you had not seen it for the old woman."
"I tell you I know what I saw," she replied, growing vehement again."You need not think to fool me, and turn me off. Sith you have no otherplace for me to live, I am content to live at the Grange; but you mustsend a man there to guard the place against ghosts and witches. Youmust do it,--a stout, strong man afraid of nothing; no shivering olddotard like Jeremy, who durs'n't stick his nose out of his bedclothesbetween dusk and daybreak. You promised to give me a home, and I tokeep silent and unseen; but a house of spirits and witches is no fithome, and so what becomes of our agreement? So best send a man."
"Why, if it be not possible?"
"Then I shall hold myself freed of my promise, and if you cannot makeone place a home for me, you shall make another. I shall tell thebishop all that is between us--oh, I shall get word to him, doubt itnot!--and I know what so good a man will do. He will make you marry me,that is what he will! My birth--"
"Oh, peace! I was jesting. I will send a man. Is that all?"
"Ay, and little enough. There's much a man can do there, for the goodof the place itself. Will you send him to-day?"
"Why, faith, if I can find him--a man fit for the place, I mean. I havemuch to do to-day."
"But I cannot endure another night there, with none but Jeremy in thehouse. You must send him to-day; else I swear I will come--"
"Nay, give me a little time," pleaded Jerningham, thinking that if hecould but hold her off with promises for two days, her disclosurewould matter little, as by that time he would be afloat--unless weathershould hinder the sailing. At this "unless," he frowned, and rememberedthe fortune-teller's prediction. Without doubt, what Mistress Meg mightdo was the obstacle in the case. He entertained a morbid fear of animpediment arising at the last moment. The woman was capable of keepingher threat; and the bishop was capable of staying him at the verylifting of the anchor, capable even of having him pursued and broughtback as long as he was in home waters. Meg knew nothing of his voyage.He must keep that from her, as well as satisfy her in the matter ofher request. The wise man had said that "prudence" might avoid theobstacle; Jerningham must deal prudently with her. "I will send a mannext week," quoth he.
"I will give you till to-morrow to find a fit man," she replied,resolutely. "To-night I can sit up with candles lit. But if your man benot there to-morrow at four o'clock in the afternoon, I shall start forLondon; if I come a-horseback I can be here by eight."
Jerningham fetched a heavy sigh. He knew this woman, and when shemeant what she said, and how impossible it was to move her on thoseoccasions. He thought what a close player his adverse fiend was, toset the time of her possible revelation upon the very eve of hisdeparture. Durst he hazard some very probable hitch of her causing? No;that would not be "prudence." He must not only promise her; he mustalso send the man. After all, that was no difficult matter; once themaster was safe away on the seas, destined to come back rich enoughto defy bishop and all, or come back never at all, let the man lookwhere he might for his wage. It was but palming off upon her the firstruffian to be hired, who might behave decently for a week or so.
Jerningham's face lightened, therefore; he gave his word, slipped thewoman a coin to pay her boatman, saw her to the boat by which she hadcome, and then took his seat in the one awaiting him, and bade thewaterman make haste to the Temple stairs.
As he and Gregory walked into the Temple church, he did not immediatelyknow the man who hastened up to meet him; for the up-turned moustaches,and the bareness of chin, except for the little tuft beneath thelip, gave the captain a somewhat spruce and gallant appearance,notwithstanding his plain attire.
"God save you, sir. I thought you had changed your mind."
"By my soul, sir--oh, 'tis Ravenshaw! 'Faith, 'tis you have changedyour face. I was detained, against my will. Let's go behind thatfarthest pillar. Troth, this transformation--" He broke off and eyedthe captain narrowly, with a sudden suspicion.
"A man's face is his own," said Ravenshaw, bluffly.
"One would think you had set yourself to charm the ladies."
"Fear not. I have no designs upon the lady you wot of. And now let mespeak plain words. When I undertook your business yesterday, 'twas leftin doubt between us whether your desire of this maid meant honestly."
"'Slight,
it shall remain in doubt, as far as your knowledge isconcerned," replied Jerningham, quickly, nettled at the other's tone.
"It was left in doubt, as far as speech went," continued Ravenshaw."But there was little doubt in my mind. And yet I bound myself tothe service because I was at war with womankind. I thought all womenbad--nay, in my true heart I knew better, but I lost sight of thatknowledge, and chose to think them so."
"Wherein does your opinion of the sex concern me?"
"But I was wrong," pursued the captain. "I have met one who proves theyare not all bad. I were a fool, then, to hold myself at feud with thesex; and the greater fool to pay back my grudge, if I must pay it, uponone that is innocent."
"Why, thou recreant knave! Do you mean you have failed in the businessand would lay it to your virtue?"
"Softly, good sir! I will tell you this: I can win the maid to meetyou, if I will."
"Then what the devil--? How much money--? Come to an end, that I mayknow whether to use you or--"
"I will win the maid to meet you--if you will pledge yourself--"
"Go on; what price?"
"If you will pledge yourself to make her your wife at the meeting, andacknowledge her openly as such."
Jerningham stared for a moment in amazement. Then he gave a harsh laugh.
"A rare jest, i' faith! The roaring captain, desiring a city maid forhis mistress, offers to get her a gentleman husband! A shrewd captain!Belike, a shrewd maid, rather!"
"By this hand, I ought to send you to hell! But for her sake, I willrather explain. She seeks no husband. But I conceived you might be afit man for such a maid. You are young and well-favoured,--a fitter manthan some that might be forced upon her. I thought a marriage with sucha mate might save-- But to the point: if you love her, why not honestly?And if honestly, why not in marriage? You will behold few maids asbeautiful, none more innocent. As to her portion, the marriage mustneeds be against her father's knowledge, by license and bond; but whenhe finds his son is so likely a gentleman, I warrant--"
"Come, come, an end of this; I am not to be coney-catched. Shall I meetthe wench through your mediation, or shall I not?"
"You shall not. And I tell you this: she is not to be won to such ameeting as you are minded for; not by the forms of gods, the treasuresof kings, or the tongues of poets!"
Jerningham shrugged his shoulders.
"It is the truth," said the captain. "Virtue beats in her heart,modesty courses with her blood, purity shines in her eyes, she is themirror of innocence. Should you find means to try her, I swear toyou the attempt would but mar her peace, and serve you nothing. Nay,even if that were not so,--if there were a chance of your enticingher,--black curses would fall upon the man by whose deed that stainlessflower were smirched. Innocence robed in beauty--there's too little ofit walks the world, that gentlemen should take a hand in spoiling it!"
"Man, you waste my time prating," said Jerningham, who had beenthinking swiftly, and imagining many possibilities, and hence sawreason for calm speaking. "I see you are stubborn against the businessI bespoke you for. When I want an orator to recommend me a wife, I mayseek you. If I wish to hear sermons out of church, I can go to Paul'sCross any day."
The two looked at each other searchingly. The captain sought to findwhy Jerningham, after his exceeding desire, should show but a momentaryanger, and speedily turn indifferent. Had his desire melted at asingle disappointment? Perhaps; but affairs would bear watching. OnJerningham's part, he was wondering what the other would really beat, concerning the maid; what had passed between them, and how farthe captain stood in the way of Jerningham's possessing her by suchdesperate means as might yet be used. If the man could only be keptunsuspecting, and got out of London for a few days! Jerningham had athought.
"So let us say no more of this maid," he resumed, "and if you forgether as soon as I shall, she will be soon forgot. No doubt you rememberI spoke of other employments I might have for you. Of course I meant ifyou served me well with the goldsmith's wench. You proved a frail staffto lean upon in that matter, but I perceive 'tis no fair test of youwhere a woman is in the case. So, as you are a man to my liking, I willtry you in another business. By the foot of a soldier, it cuts my heartto see men of mettle hounded by ill fortune!"
So soft and urbane had Master Jerningham suddenly grown, so tenderand courteous was his voice, so sweet a smile had transformed hismelancholy face, that the captain was disarmed. All the gentleman inRavenshaw seemed to be touched by the other's manner; he would havefelt graceless and churlish to resist.
"If the business be one that goes less against my stomach, I will showmy thanks in it," said he, in conciliated tones.
"'Tis a kind of stewardship over a little estate I have in Kent--if youmind not going to the country."
"Say on!" quoth the captain, opening his eyes at the beneficentprospect.
Master Jerningham depicted his small inheritance of neglected fieldsand crazy house in as favourable colours as he could safely use. Thecaptain, dissembling not his satisfaction, averred he could wear thegold chain of stewardship as well as another man. An agreement wasstruck upon the spot; Jerningham imparted the general details, and saidhe would have the necessary writings made, and full instructions drawnup, within a few days; meanwhile, he desired the new steward to installhimself in the house at once.
"Marry, a bite and a sup, and I am ready," cried Ravenshaw, gaily; thensuddenly remembered his promise to meet the goldsmith's daughter thatevening. "Nay, I forgot; I have some affairs to settle. I cannot gobefore to-morrow."
Jerningham, whose purpose had been so happily met by the captain'sreadiness, lost his gratified look.
"Oh, a plague on your affairs! You must go to-day," he said.
Ravenshaw shook his head. "I cannot go till to-morrow, and there's anend on't!"
Jerningham sighed with suppressed vexation. He dared not urge lest hearouse suspicion. It was too late to back out of the bargain withoutbetraying himself. Moreover, to get the captain away on the morrow wasbetter than nothing.
"Well, well; look to your affairs, then. But go early to-morrow."
Ravenshaw pondered a few moments. "I will start at noon, not before."
"But you must be at the Grange by four o'clock; I have given my word tothe people there."
"I can do so, setting forth at noon. 'Tis eighteen miles, you say. Iwill go by horse."
"'Slight, man, have you a horse?"
"No, but you will give me one--or the means to buy one at Smithfield;and then may I die in Newgate if I be not at your country-house at fouro'clock!"
After a little thought, Jerningham told him to call at a certain gateat Winchester House on the morrow at noon, where a horse would be inwaiting; he then handed him a gold angel and dismissed him to hisaffairs.
The captain had no sooner strutted jauntily off than Jerningham quicklybeckoned Gregory, and said earnestly:
"Dog his footsteps. Lose not his track till he comes to me to-morrow;and if he meets _her_--Begone! you will lose him. Haste!"
The jealous lackey, raised to sudden joy by this congenial commission,glided away like a cat.
"I will have her, 'gainst all the surly fathers and swaggering captainsin London; and 'gainst her own will, and fiends and angels, to boot!"said Master Jerningham, in his heart.
About the same moment, Ravenshaw was saying in _his_ heart, as he trodthe stones of Fleet Street:
"Ere I leave London, I'll see her safe from the old man's hopes and theyoung man's devices. I'll pawn my brains, else!"
Captain Ravenshaw; Or, The Maid of Cheapside. A Romance of Elizabethan London Page 12
