The Golden Grasshopper: A story of the days of Sir Thomas Gresham

by William Henry Giles Kingston

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  A MEETING WITH MASTER OVERTON.

  I left Smithfield far behind me, and found myself again amidst thestreets of the City, when, overcome by my feelings, I sank on one sideof the road, just within an archway. How long I remained there I knownot, when I heard a voice addressing me by name:

  "Rise, my boy; rise, Ernst Verner; I will conduct you to your home."

  I looked up and saw the friar whom I had met in the morning.

  "I am thankful I found you," he said, "or in your fainting state youmight have suffered injury from some of the thieves and cut-purses whoinfest this City. What has happened to you?"

  I told him that I had fled from the burnings at Smithfield.

  "I do not wonder at that," he answered; "it was a fearful sight."

  "And the poor lady with whom I saw you on her way thither, has sheescaped?" I asked.

  "No; she was among those who suffered death. She witnessed a goodconfession, and died, I believe, rejoicing, without feeling one pang ofpain."

  While the friar was speaking I gradually recovered.

  "We will now set forward," he said, "for I must leave this City, andcontinue my search for my friend, who has, I believe, returned toEngland. I did not say this to you before, but I do so now I know thatI may trust you. Should you by chance meet him, let him know that hewho was once Friar Roger is so no longer, and earnestly desires to seehim."

  I assured him that I should be ready to help him, as well as MasterOverton, and that I believed nothing would induce me to betray them.

  "Yes, I know that I can trust you," he said. "And now I have to askyou, did not the lady give you a packet, desiring you to carry out thewishes which are therein expressed?"

  "Yes," I answered, feeling in the bosom of my frock, in which I placedit. "I have it here safe, and hope to do as she desired."

  "It might, however, be better if you were to give it to me," heobserved. "You are but a youth, and might lose it, or may be unable tofulfil her request."

  I could not help looking at the speaker suspiciously as he said this.Was his object to deprive me of the packet, that he might make use of itfor his own purposes? If such was the case, he might have done so whileI lay in a swoon.

  "You will pardon me, my friend," I answered, after a minute'sconsideration; "that poor lady confided the packet to me, almost withher dying breath, and I purpose, if I have the power, to carry out herwishes."

  Friar Roger looked at me and smiled.

  "You act wisely," he answered. "You have not yet proved my fidelity,and are right not to trust me; and, besides, I think you have a greaterprospect of remaining in this life than I have, for assuredly if myheresy were discovered I should speedily be brought into the same stateas the poor people you saw this morning."

  We had not gone far when A'Dale came hurrying after me. He had not atfirst missed me when I fled from Smithfield, but hearing some one remarkwith a laugh that a lad had been frightened by the fires, and had takento flight, he concluded that I was the person spoken of. Friar Rogerexpressed his satisfaction at the appearance of A'Dale, and, confidingme to his charge, wished us farewell.

  At length I reached Master Gresham's house in Lombard Street. The LadyAnne remarked upon my pale face and haggard features, and inquired whathad occurred. Knowing her kind disposition, I told her the occurrencesof the morning.

  "Alas! alas!" she answered. "We must commiserate their fate, though Ibelieve firmly that all of them are tasting the joys of heaven. But forthat poor lady you speak of I feel more particularly. Can you tell meher name?"

  I bethought me of the packet, for to the Lady Anne I knew that I couldconfide it properly.

  "That will tell us," I observed.

  We carefully opened the packet, which I drew from my bosom. Lady Anneread it.

  "Alas! alas!" she said; "even while you were describing the poor lady Ihad an idea that she might be one I knew well in my early days, and forwhom I had a warm affection. Even at that time I thought her opinionsdangerous. And, my sweet Barbara, has such been indeed your fate? Iwould that I had the means of discovering her daughter; this documentgives but a slight clue, saying little more than she told you. Shebelieves that her child will be found among certain Flemish artisanssettled at Norwich. There are many in that city, and thus among them itwill be difficult to discover her. Still it must be done, and I willconsult my husband on his return."

  "Could I not go down to Norwich and search among the artisans there?" Iasked. "I have indeed a fellow-feeling for the poor young lady, and Iwould thankfully be employed on such a service."

  "I will think about it," answered Lady Anne; "but Norwich is a long wayoff, and you are young to undertake such a journey alone. If JamesBrocktrop can be spared I will send him, though he might not undertakethe task with the zeal I should desire."

  "But could not I accompany him?" I asked. "The holidays will soonbegin, and if Master Gresham does not return, I shall be at liberty."

  "Have patience, my boy; I will consider it," repeated Lady Anne.

  When I told A'Dale, he was eager to accompany me. I knew I could trusthim. It wanted but two weeks to the holidays; and we agreed that ifLady Anne could not then send Brocktrop, we ourselves, with herpermission and that of my patron, would set forth together.

  At length term time was over, and I was at liberty.

  "I have consulted my lord's factor, Master John Elliot, and he will sendJames Brocktrop, for the purpose of inquiring into the trade and produceof Norwich, where he is given to understand a considerable amount ofmanufactures has been produced by the Flemish refugees settled in thatcity," said Lady Anne. "You can accompany him, and you will thus have afavourable opportunity of inquiring for the young girl."

  I was greatly pleased at this arrangement; it was so exactly what Iwished. A'Dale likewise obtained leave to make holiday and to accompanyus. Horses were provided for our journey, and with a change of clothesand other necessaries packed in our valises and strapped before us, withthick cloaks to guard us from the inclemency of the weather, ourequipment was complete.

  To enable us to defend ourselves, we each of us also had a brace ofpistolets, and an arquebus, which hung at the saddlebow. Thus wellprovided, we set forth to the North. I found the roads very differentto those I had been accustomed to in the Low Countries. Instead ofaffording a broad level way, they were full of ruts and inequalities.Sometimes we had to pass through a wide extent of mud, and at othertimes to pick our way amidst the boulders, rocks, and stones which laybefore us. This prevented us from proceeding as rapidly as we shouldhave desired. We could talk, however, as we rode along, and had manysubjects of conversation.

  At length we reached the ancient town of Norwich, standing on its tenhills. In the late reign numerous Flemish families, driven out of theNetherlands by dread of the Edicts and the Inquisition, had settledhere.

  Brocktrop had been supplied with a sufficient excuse for his visit,being sent thither by the well-known mercer, Master Gresham, to examineinto the state of trade and make purchases accordingly, assisted by me;while A'Dale had a similar commission from his employer. We were thusable to go about through the town and to visit the houses of thesettlers for the purpose of examining the produce of their looms. Somewe found employed in the manufacture of lutestrings, brocades,paduasoys, tabinets, and velvets, while a considerable number wereengaged in making cutlery, knives, daggers, swords, lancets and otherarticles for the use of surgeons, as also clocks and watches.Lace-making we also found carried on extensively.

  Still during our search we had not discovered the child of the martyredlady. At last one day we entered a humble cottage where a man wasseated at a loom. His back was turned towards us. Even to my eye hedid not appear to be as expert as others we had visited. Still heworked on diligently; the material he was producing being of a somewhatrough character, Brocktrop turned away, seeing that the stuff would notsuit his purpose, when I apologised to the workman for intrud
ing: onhim. He turned round as I did so, and I saw a countenance with thefeatures of which I was acquainted. Brocktrop and A'Dale had just goneout of the door. The workman rose.

  "I would speak with you," he said. "Are those to be trusted?"

  "Yes, sir, I am sure they are," I answered; and I at once saw that theperson speaking to me was he whom I had first known as Father Overton.

  He greeted me cordially, and so I ran out and begged Brocktrop andA'Dale to wait for me for a few minutes.

  "I have been anxious to hear of you since we parted at Antwerp," I said."John Foxe, too, in his letters has inquired of you, and we feared thatyou had fallen into evil plight."

  "I left Antwerp secretly," he answered, "for I was in danger. Besides,I had a longing to return to England, first to minister to these poorrefugees who had been driven by persecution from their native land, andalso to spread the truth among my own countrymen. Having learned theart of weaving, I have remained here for some time in disguise; though Ibelieve I am already suspected, and perhaps may again have to seek forsafety in flight--though ready, if needs be, to suffer as a martyr forthe truth."

  I replied that I hoped he would yet escape till better times, whichmight come, seeing that there was no prospect of the Queen's Majestyhaving a son to succeed her. I then told him of the happy conversion ofFriar Roger, by means of the letters he had written from Antwerp, andthat he desired once more to meet with him.

  A gleam of satisfaction passed over the countenance of Overton.

  "I trust it is so," he answered; "and yet it may be prudent in me not toplace myself in his power until I am sure of his fidelity." He theninquired what had brought me to Norwich. I at once told him the secretobject of our visit, mentioning the name of the unhappy lady who hadbeen put to death.

  "Barbara Radford, did you say? Alas! alas! has she been murdered bythese bloodthirsty bigots? Tell me how she looked; what she said. Mysister, my dear sister, you were ever true and faithful! It would haverejoiced your heart to know that the brother you ever treated soaffectionately had been brought to a knowledge of the truth. But oh!Ernst Verner, think what are my feelings when I tell you that it was I,in my blindness and bigotry, who first brought the family of theRadfords before the notice of the cruel Bonner as firm anduncompromising Protestants. Yet I loved my sister as much as any priestof Rome, imbued with its principles, can entertain love; but I thoughtit right to crush all such feelings, for the sake of advancing the causeI advocated. In what a different light do I now view such conduct!"

  "The great Apostle Paul was a fearful persecutor, and yet he became oneof the most mighty instruments in God's hands for spreading the truth,"I replied.

  "Yes, yes; but it becomes not me to liken myself to such a man," heanswered. "You say that you believe that my sister's child is even nowin this town? Then my heart did not deceive me. Not many days ago Imet a lovely little girl in the family of some poor Flemish weavers.They told me that she was not their own child, but that they feltthemselves bound to support her as if she were, and would sacrifice allthat they possess rather than allow her to want. I made no furtherinquiries then, for a stranger coming in they were silent. Yet I wellremember that while I spoke to her, a look came over her countenancewhich reminded me of my once-loved sister. I thought it was fancy, andbanished it from my mind. I now feel sure that my feelings did notmislead me. But I cannot leave my work. I owe my safety, I believe, tonever going forth during the day; for so well-known are my features,that I might be recognised. When evening sets in, return hither, and Iwill accompany you to the cottage where the family of Crugeot reside."

  I bade my friend farewell, and hurried after my companions.

  "Ask no questions," I said; "it will be the safest; but I have a clue atlength to the object of which we are in search, and I trust that we maybe able to carry out the Lady Anne's beneficent designs."

  Having concluded our rambles about the city, and James Brocktrop havinggained all the information he required, we returned to our hostelry. Ibegged that I might go forth alone when it was dark. I had fullconfidence in the faithfulness of Brocktrop, as well as in thediscretion of A'Dale; but yet I was sure that the fewer who knewOverton's secret the better. One who like him had left the Church ofRome, if discovered, would be sure to meet with no mercy.

  I accordingly set out by myself through the streets of Norwich. I hadnoted the house where I had seen him, and fully believed that I shouldfind it again. There are, however, so many ups and downs in the city,and the streets wind about so much, that it is no easy matter to findthe way, especially dark as it then was. Here and there only a lightgleamed forth from some artisan's workshop, making the obscurity inother places still more dense. At last I recognised a building I hadseen in the morning, and knew that Master Overton's house was not far onone side of it. I hastened on and knocked. A voice told me to come in,and I saw him, as before, with a small lamp by his side, working away athis loom.

  "I thank you very much, my young friend, for coming," he said; "I amanxious, as you are, to try and discover my niece. I have no doubt,however, that she will be found. We will soon go forth in search of theworthy Flemings in whose company I saw her."

  Saying this, he threw a cloak round him such as was worn by theFlemings, and taking me by the arm we together left the house, which helocked carefully behind him. My eyes had now become accustomed to thedarkness of the streets, and I could without difficulty walk on by theside of my companion. We had not gone far, when he stopped at the doorof a low cottage. We listened, for a sweet, low hymn was being sung bysome one within. It was one of Marot's, such as my own dear parents haddelighted in. The sound melted me almost to tears. Now another voicejoined in: it was that of a woman. And now a man's tones were heard,full and rich. I would not for much have interrupted that hymn.Perhaps the singers scarcely knew the risk they ran, for had any Romishpriests heard them they might have recognised the hymns as those of theProtestant poet of France; he whose verses had afforded consolation tomany a persecuted Christian, to many an exile from his native land. Atlength the hymn ceased. Overton knocked gently at the door. It wasopened by a woman, the light from within falling on her person, showingby her costume that she was a Fleming.

  "I am a friend," said Overton; "you know me. I have come to see you,and ask a few questions."

  "You are welcome, Master Holt," she said in broken English. "Come in,for I know you to be a friend to the people of our faith."

  We entered. The woman looked at me. "He is trustworthy," said Overton."I saw a young girl in your company the other day," he continued; "I amanxious to talk with her, for a strange communication has been made me,and I think I know more about her than you may suppose." The womanlistened attentively.

  "She is in the back room," she said; "I will call her. I told you thatshe is not my child, but I love her as if she were. I would not partwith her, unless it was greatly to her benefit."

  "If she is the child I believe her to be, she is my niece," answeredOverton, "and a lady of wealth and distinction is ready to take chargeof her. A sound Protestant, moreover. Would you not then yield herup?"

  "I would not selfishly prevent the dear girl from doing anything whichwould advance her interests. But you may be wrong; perhaps she is notthe child you seek. However, I will call her, and you can speak to heryourself."

  The Flemish woman, opening a door, called, and in an instant a girleleven or twelve years old came bounding into the room. She was veryfair, with blue eyes, her countenance full of animation, her light-brownhair long and silky.

  "Aveline," she said, "here is a worthy gentleman who wishes to speakwith you. He thinks he knew your dear mother. Will you describe her tohim, that he may judge whether he is right?"

  Aveline ran up to Overton, and taking his hand, exclaimed:

  "Oh yes! she was an angel, so sweet and loving and kind, and her figureso tall and graceful."

  "Yes, yes," said Overton, looking eagerly in the child'
s face; "but hername, what was her name?"

  "My dear father, before he went away, always called her Barbara."

  "Ah! yes," said Overton, "that was the name; but the surname; by whatname was your father known?"

  "My father's name was Radford--Captain Radford. He went away a longtime ago, in a big ship, belonging to some merchant adventurers, and hehas never since come back, and poor dear mamma was accused of readingthe Bible, and of loving God's people more than the ways of the world,and some cruel men came and dragged her off to prison. They very nearlytook me, but she told me to fly away, and to get clear of them, and thatI must throw myself on the mercy of the first Protestant family I couldmeet. I ran and ran on, wishing to obey my mother, and fearing that theQueen's guards would be in pursuit of me, till I came upon an encampmentof travellers by the roadside. I stopped and listened; they weresinging a hymn. I knew that it was a Protestant hymn, and thus I knewthat I might trust them. They did not understand much I said, for theyhad not been long in the country. Yet I made myself understood, andwhen they heard my tale they undertook to afford me protection. In vainI have since frequently begged that I might go forth and search for mymother, but they always shook their heads, and said it was of no use.Still I am sure that I shall meet her again. Do you not think so, sir?"

  "Yes, dear child; there is a place where all who are clothed in therobes of the Lamb will assuredly meet, and there I trust that you willmeet with your mother."

  Aveline looked up in Overton's face with an inquiring glance. "What doyou mean?" she asked eagerly; and then in a deep low whisper, painfullydrawing her breath, she said, "Is she dead?"

  "The body in which you knew her has returned to dust, but she herself isnow rejoicing with a joy unspeakable. Do not mourn for her, my child.Only accept the same gracious offer she accepted, and follow the courseshe has followed, and assuredly you will be reunited to her."

  "Yes, yes, I will indeed!" exclaimed Aveline, clasping her hands andlooking upwards.

  Never had I seen a countenance more beautiful and radiant. Already anangelic expression rested on it, such as I am sure it will wear whenglorified in heaven.

  The husband, Crugeot, now came forward, for before his wife had openedthe door he had concealed himself in the further room; even a humblefamily, such as I have described, in those days lived in dread ofpersecution. Yet even they would not altogether hold their tongues, butdesired to witness for the truth.

  We had interrupted, I found, their usual evening service, and on ourknocking they had scattered, not knowing who might be about to enter.

  Overton now explained to Aveline that he was her uncle, and asked herwhether she would go and reside with a rich lady who would be herpatroness. She looked at Dame Crugeot.

  "I cannot leave her," she said, "unless she wishes to part with me."

  "I do not wish to part with you, my child; but yet I would advise you toaccept the generous offer which has been made."

  "But will they talk to me as you have done, of the Saviour and of mydear mother? I cannot go to people who will not do that," said thelittle girl firmly.

  Her uncle explained that she could enjoy all the advantages of wealth;but promised amusements and luxuries did not tempt her. Almostunwillingly, however, at last, by the urgent advice of her uncle, sheconsented to leave her Flemish friends. Hitherto I had said verylittle. I merely again repeated Lady Anne's offer, and told her howkind and generous a friend she had been to me, and that I was sure shewould prove the same to her.

  "But you will not take me to-morrow," she said; "let me have another daywith my kind nurse, or more than nurse--my second mother."

  I was sure that James Brocktrop would consent to remain another day;indeed, our horses required a longer rest before they were fit for thereturn journey.