Prentice Hugh

by Frances Mary Peard

traitor! Ifonly I could wring his neck! Let me see the place."

  He strode off, boiling over with excitement, and Andrew, with a whistleof some amusement, sauntered slowly after him.

  It was quite true. One of the rungs of the ladder about half-way up hadbeen so cut where it ran into the upright that it must necessarily havegiven way under an ordinary weight, and Hugh, who would have gone upencumbered with his tools, could scarcely have avoided a bad fall. Hearrived very soon, and the other men dropped in, Wat questioning themall closely, not, it must be owned, with any thought that they couldhave done such a dastardly deed, but with a hope of getting evidencethat Roger had been seen near the ladder. In this he failed. No onehad noticed anything, all the ladders lay near each other, and whoeverhad done it had undoubtedly exercised much caution and ingenuity. Themen were angry. Many of them were jealous of Hugh, but not to theextent of committing a crime in order to incapacitate him; such an act,if proved, would be visited by the most severe punishment the guildcould inflict. Roger himself came late, he cast a swift glance at thegroups of men standing about in unusual idleness, and another, which Watnoted, towards Hugh's pillar. When he saw Hugh there, engaged on hiswork as on every other day, the colour left his face, and he glanceduneasily from one to the other, finally pausing before Wat, who hadplanted himself aggressively in his way.

  "Is aught the matter?" he demanded.

  "Murder or maiming might have been the matter," returned Wat grimly."Now, maybe, there will be naught but the hanging."

  "Hanging?"

  "Of the villain who tried this wickedness. Canst thou give a guess whothat might be?"

  "Thou talkest riddles," said Roger impatiently. "Let me pass to mywork."

  "Ay," returned Wat, "pass. We others mean to find out who it is amongus who filches designs, and cuts through ladders, and brings shame onall our body."

  Flinging a glance of rage at him, Roger pushed by, and Wat went off tomeet the other warden, John Hamlyn, and to lay the complaint before him.Andrew's presence and what he had himself experienced in the matterhelped to make it serious, and the crime was sufficiently grave for thewarden to promise that there should be a guild meeting to consider it.

  "What evidence hast thou against Roger?"

  "He hath done Hugh other harm, sir," answered Wat after a pause. "Hehath stolen his designs."

  "Take care, take care," said the warden warningly, "these be gravecharges. How knowest thou? Hast thou seen his work?"

  "Nay, sir. Nevertheless I can prove it, if you will."

  "How then?"

  "When the master was taken ill, Hugh's designs were stolen, but I madeHugh draw them out again, and Mistress Prothasy hath them in herkeeping."

  "But thou knowest not that there thou hast what Roger is working upon.Tush, man, these are but idle tales. Thou must bring better proofs."

  Wat was far more grave and sober than usual.

  "I wot not if we shall get proofs of this last villainy," he said."Someone hath done it, and no other bears Hugh a grudge. But the other,thou, sir, may'st prove for thyself if thou wilt."

  "Prithee, how?"

  "Come with me, sir, and get the board with the design from the goodwife.Thou wilt see by the date--Saint George's Day--that the carving was notfar enough advanced for Hugh to have drawn his from that. Keep it bythee, Master Hamlyn, and when Roger's work is uncovered, judge forthyself."

  "Thou hast not seen the corbel, thou sayest, and this is no more thanthy fancy."

  "No more. Yet I will stake my fair fame upon it," said Wat, boldly.

  The warden hesitated, finally said the test was a fair one, and promisedto come that evening and receive the board from Prothasy. This littlearrangement partly compensated Wat for the failure to bring home anyevidence connecting Roger with the ladder. At the same time a feelinghad risen up against him among the other workmen, who felt that theywere in a measure compromised until the offender was discovered, andRoger found himself treated to cold and doubtful looks, while evenFranklyn appeared to have his confidence shaken. Hugh was the one whomade least of the affair; he was so persuaded of Roger's ill-will thatthis fresh proof scarcely affected him, and it was he who inducedAndrew--though more, it must be owned, for the credit of the guild thanfrom any charitable feelings--to give up his plan of taking summaryvengeance by administering a sound thrashing.

  They were all sorry when Andrew departed, carrying not only messages forMoll and Friar Luke, but a scroll for this latter, written in Hugh'sfairest penmanship, and a marvel to the whole household.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  "HERE'S A COIL!"

  "Hugh, when will it be finished--truly? I am so weary of to-morrow, andto-morrow, and to-morrow, and it never gets any nearer! Father islonging, too, for all he pretends to be patient."

  "It is finished now," answered Hugh, gloomily, "only I cannot keep myhands from it."

  "In good sooth! And art not glad?"

  "Nay. It is not what I would have it. I had such brave ideas, and theyhave all come to naught, as ever. Joan, will one ever be satisfied?"

  "I have heard father say something about `a noble discontent.' I didnot understand it, but maybe this was in his mind. And I don't think heis ever satisfied with his own work. But thine is sure to bebeautiful," cried Joan, brightening. "Is it really then to beto-morrow?"

  "Nay; the bishop has decided that as four or five are nearly ready, theyshall wait to be uncovered together on Lammas Day. The best is to havethe choice of the other corbels."

  "And which shalt thou choose?" demanded Joan securely.

  "There will be no choosing for me. Master Hamlyn has a beautiful designof pears and apples, they say, and Franklyn of vine leaves, and there isthat traitor Roger, he can work. I shall grudge it to him, but not toold Wat. Joan, I verily believe that Wat's will be one of the best."

  "Hath he really stuck Spot up there?"

  "Hath he not?" said Hugh, with a laugh. "There he is, to the life, atthe base, but 'tis so cleverly done, and he thinks so little of it!"

  "Lammas Day!" sighed Joan, "a whole three weeks! I shall get one ofyour tally sticks, and cut a notch for every day. I shall stitch a newcoat for Agrippa, and take him with me under my arm. Where art thougoing? To the Cathedral?"

  "Nay, I had best keep away from the Cathedral. I am going to speak withthe bridge warden, for a mischievous loon has knocked away a bit of themonument to Master Gervase, in his chapel on the bridge, and they havesent up here for some one to repair it."

  Elyas had recovered so marvellously that scarcely any trace of hissevere attack was noticeable except to those who knew him best. He didnot mount on ladders, but in other respects had resumed work, and hadbeen frequently at the Cathedral in consultation with the bishop, whowas delighted to have his right-hand adviser again. Of course he might,had he so pleased, have seen the corbels, finished or unfinished, whichwere being executed by his own men, but he had determined to wait forthe general view, and to give his voice as to the best with the otherjudges. Meanwhile, his interest was intense, and he could talk oflittle, so that Prothasy, between husband, child, journeymen, andprentice, had some reason for vowing that she could not get a sensibleword on any subject from a creature in the house.

  And this excitement increased as Lammas Day drew nearer. Roger saidlittle, but his pale face grew paler, his lips more tightly set, andthere was a feverish light in his eyes which spoke of a fire within.Franklyn, who was one of the last, worked stolidly on, very much as hehad been used to work in the yard, taking it as a matter of business tobe got through fairly and conscientiously, and knowing the value of hiswork so well that he was not troubled with fear of failure. Wat waswild with conjectures, thinking most of all about Hugh, but alsodevoured by a wish that he had given more care to the beginning of hiswork, and ready, if other justice failed, to break Roger's head soonerthan allow him to enjoy the fruit of his wickedness.

  The last of Joan's notches was made at last, and Lammas Day dawne
d,fair, and hot, and tranquil. Joan was up with the lark, looking verysweet and maidenly in her new blue kirtle, and seeing that the greenbranches were ready which she had brought in the day before in order todeck the house as soon as either of their own workers was declared to befirst.

  "Saving Roger," she announced. "There shall be no decking for Roger."

  Her father rebuked her for her lack of charity, but he himself lookeduneasy, for he could not forget that Roger had been one of his family,and treated as a son, and it pained him to the heart to suppose that hecould be guilty of such baseness as that of which he was suspected. Hehoped with all his heart that his work would prove him innocent.

  On all Sundays and holy days the officers of the city, the mayor, thesheriff, the aldermen, the wardens of Exe bridge, and at times themembers of the guilds, were bound to attend the bishop to St Peter'sChurch. But this day had in it the promise of an especial ceremony, onein which the bishop took deep interest. The office of nones being endedin the Lady Chapel, the procession was to enter the choir, where sixcorbels, for the first time uncovered, were to meet the eyes of thespectators. And this being so, the usual number was greatly increased,and presented a splendour of colour which at this time can hardly berealised. The ecclesiastical dress was extremely gorgeous, and herewere bishop, dean, and chapter in full robes, the mayor and aldermen notfar behind in magnificence, with a great preponderance of blue in thecivil dresses, and robes lined with fur (or vair). The guilds addedtheir brilliancy of colour, the craftsmen wearing their distinctivedress, and as the procession swept round into the choir, the sunlightfalling brilliantly through the stained glass windows, in themselves oneof the wonders of the time, and as all the beauty of the choir revealeditself, the grey Purbeck stone contrasting delicately with the somewhatyellowish tinge of the walls, the scene was one of amazing splendour,and the burst of song which broke forth as the singers raised the psalmsof degrees, told that it had touched an answering chord in the hearts ofthe people. Most of the great families of the county had sent somerepresentative. There were Grenvils and Fitz-Ralffes, Greenways ofBrixham, Bartholomew and Joan Giffard of Halsberry, Sir Roger Hale, andnumbers of ladies wearing long trains, and gold-embroidered mantles, andon their heads veils; while the black or grey frocks of the friars fromthe neighbouring priories gave the necessary relief to colour whichmight otherwise have been too dazzling. Lammas Day, moreover, was theday of Exeter fair, which added to the concourse.

  But Joan had no eyes for any of this great assemblage. She could justcatch sight of Hugh moving on in his place among the guild apprentices,and she could see that his head was bent, and knew that his hands wouldbe knotted together, as was ever the way with him when he was feelingstrong emotion. But even Joan, clasping her mother's hand, and sendingher heart out to him in sympathy, little knew what a storm of feelingwas surging up in the young man's heart. His father had never seemed sonear. He understood, as he had never understood before, thewood-carver's longing to see his name famous; he understood, too, thathigher longing which had moved him before his death. In this work ofhis Hugh had resigned the ambition for his own honour and glory, for hehonestly believed that all he had done had been to carry out hismaster's design, and was unaware of what his own power had added. Norwas he going in with hope that even this execution would surpass that ofthe others. He knew his own shortcomings, they often seemed to him tobe absolutely destructive, and he imagined all the excellences he haddreamed of distributed among the others. But at this moment it scarcelytroubled him; what he felt was the solemnity and beauty of the scene,the glory of the building, the greatness of having been permitted tohelp in making it beautiful; he raised his head and a light shone in hiseyes, for he knew that his father's deepest yearnings would have beensatisfied. There were the six corbels, fair and fresh from the carvers'hands, the rich stone with its almost golden tints adding the charm ofcolour to the nobility of the work; there were the clustered columns,massive, yet light, and high up the glorious lines of vaulting. Righton one of the corbels--it was Wat's--struck a shaft of sunlight, and asthe long procession crossed this gleam, all the brilliant colours wereintensified, and the upturned faces of the little acolytes looked likethose of child-angels. The procession did not pause. It swept throughthe choir and out of the side gate, still chanting the psalms ofdegrees, till the voices died away, and the choir was filled by thosewho had come to see Bishop Bitton's work thus nobly carried out.

  Hugh did not return--he could not, though Franklyn had almost draggedhim by force, and told him that Gervase had asked for him. He shook offWat, who begged him at least to come outside and see the horses andtrappings of the Lord of Pomeroy who had come in from his castle ofBiry, a castle much renowned in the county, and who was famous for hissuccess in the jousts. Here was his coal-black horse Paladin, whosesire he had brought back from the Crusades, and the noblest mastiff Wathad ever beheld, and such a jester as--

  But Hugh was gone.

  His heart was too full for speech with anyone. He had always been aself-restrained boy who, when deeply moved, liked to be alone, andsometimes vexed faithful Joan by escaping even her sympathy. And now hefelt as if only the woods could shelter him. He loved them deeply, hewent to them for inspiration for his work; he went now when he wanted heknew not what, for it was neither comfort nor rejoicing, only anover-fulness of heart. He could not have told whether he had failed orsucceeded, for the perception of something higher than success hadtouched him, and it was this which drove him forth into the solitudes ofthe woods.

  When an hour had passed the throng had left the choir, and the bishopand chapter, together with all the officers of the Guild of Stonemasons,came in once more to pronounce upon the work. Bishop Bitton wasstrangely moved. He saw before him a work, not yet, it is true,complete, yet, for the length of his episcopate, marvellous; a work inwhich he had loyally carried out the lines laid down by his predecessor.His health was failing, and the conviction was strong upon him that notmany years of life remained to him. He, too, like Hugh, would havethankfully passed these hours alone, but for him it was not possible; hemust listen to the kindly congratulations of the dean, the half-veiledspite of the precentor, the unintelligent praise of others. But all thewhile his heart was sending up its thankful _Nunc dimittis_.

  And Gervase? His thoughts were perhaps the most mingled of any, and themost unselfish. To him the desire of his soul had not been granted. Hehad been forced to relinquish it to others, yet he could rejoiceungrudgingly, giving full meed of praise and admiration. And, indeed,the corbels were of noble beauty. From one to another the groupspassed, pausing to note each characteristic, and so fair was each thatit was hard to gather judgment.

  With one exception.

  Unanimously Hugh's corbel, or, as it was rather called, Gervase's, wasdeclared the best both in design and execution. It varied from theothers, in which the whole mass was formed of leafage, while this wasbroken by curved lines round which the foliage grouped itself, andnothing could have been more admirable than the freedom of the lines,and the grace and spontaneousness of the design. The bishop, afterstanding long to gaze at it, turned and stretched out his hand to Elyas.

  "This is a proud day for thee, friend," he said heartily, "for by commonconsent thy design is held so far to surpass all the others that thereis not one can come near it. And thy prentice hath ably carried out thyviews."

  "He hath done more, my lord," said Elyas, quickly; "the parts of thedesign which delight you all are his, not mine. Never saw I aught moreenriched than my thoughts in his hands. There is none other to equalit, that I allow, but the credit belongs to Hugh Bassett, not to ElyasGervase."

  The bishop looked incredulously at him, and others who had gatheredround shook their heads.

  "'Tis impossible," said the bishop. "Bethink thee, goodman, the lad,though clever in his craft, is youngest of all the workmen. Thou hastever favoured him, and maybe art scarcely aware how much thy skill hathaided him."

  "My lo
rd, no one knows better than myself how much and how little."

  But Gervase, to his great distress, found that his protestations weredisregarded. Some, like the bishop, believed that in his zeal for hisapprentice, in whom it was known that he took more than usual interest,he did not remember all the advice he had given; others were perhapswilling to yield the first place to one who as a leading burgess wasgreatly respected in the city, and whose illness had raised the readysympathy of all, while 'twould have been another matter to put a lad--younger than any--there. Hardly one was there who would give the creditof more than an excellent execution to Hugh, though Elyas grew hot andfevered with his efforts to persuade them of the truth, and couldscarcely keep his usually even temper under the congratulations whichpoured upon him, and which made him feel like a traitor, though a mostunwilling traitor, to Hugh. The master of the guild, who was an old manand deaf, especially pooh-poohed his remonstrances.

  "I mind me, goodman, that when thou wast a prentice, and an idle one, Iever maintained that the day would come when thou wouldst do us credit,and thy father, honest man, he cast up his hands, and `Alack, MasterGarland,' quoth he, `the day is long in coming!' `The day is long incoming,' those were his very words. What dost thou say? My hearing isnot so sharp as it was--thy prentice? Ay, ay, the lad hath done well,very well, but anyone can see whose was the band that directed his."

  "Beshrew me if they will not soon persuade me that I am an old dotard,knowing neither what I say nor what I do!"