Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century

by Georgiana Fullerton

father, that through his rashconduct he had been the occasion of so great fear and trouble to him.

  "I warrant thee, my good boy," quoth my father, "thou didst cause methe most keen anguish, and the most sudden relief from it, which canwell be thought of; and so no more need be said thereon. And as thoumust needs be going to the public church, 'tis time that thou bestirthyself; for 'tis a long walk there and back, and the sun waxing hot."

  When Edmund was gone, and I alone with him, my father clasped me inhis arms, and cried:

  "God send, my wench, thou mayest justify thy sponsors who gave theethy name in baptism; for 'tis a rare constancy these times do callfor, and such as is not often seen, saving in such as be of a nobleand religious spirit; which I pray to God may be the case with thee."

  My mother did not speak, but went away with her hand pressed againsther heart; which was what of late I had often seen her to do, as ifthe pain was more than she could bear.

  One hour later, as I was crossing the court, a man met me suited as afarmer; who, when I passed him, laid his hand on my shoulder; at thewhich I started, and turning round saw it was Father Bryan; who,smiling as I caught his hand, cried out:

  "Dost know the shepherd in his wolf's clothing, little mistress?" andhastening on to the chapel he said mass, at the which only a fewassisted, as my parents durst not send to the Catholics so late in theday. As soon as mass was over, Mr. Bryan said he must leave, for therewas a warrant issued for his apprehension; and our house famed forrecusancy, so as he might not stay in it but with great peril tohimself and to its owners. We stood at the door as he was mounting hishorse, and my father said, patting its neck:

  "Tis a faithful servant this, reverend father; many a mile he hascarried thee to the homes of the sick and dying since our troublesbegan."

  "Ah! good Mr. Sherwood," Mr. Bryan replied, as he gathered up thebridle, "thou hast indeed warrant to style the poor beast faithful. IfI were to shut my eyes and let him go, no doubt but he would find hisway to the doors of such as cleave to the ancient faith, in city or inhamlet, across moor or through thick wood. If a pursuivant bestrodehim, he might discover through his means who be recusants a hundredmiles around. But I bethink me he would not budge with such a burthenon his back; and that he who made the prophet's ass to speak, would,give the good beast more sense than to turn informer, and to carry thewolf to the folds of the lambs. And prithee, Mistress Constance," saidthe good priest, turning to me, "canst keep a secret and be silent,when men's lives are in jeopardy?"

  "Aye," cried my father quickly, "'tis as much as worthy Mr. Bryan'slife is worth that none should know he was here to-day."

  "More than my poor life is worth," he rejoined; "that were little tothink of, my good friends. For five years I have made it my prayerthat the day may soon come--and I care not how soon--when I may lay itdown for his sake who gave it. But we must e'en have a care for thosewho are so rash as to harbor priests in these evil times. So MistressConstance must e'en study the virtue of silence, and con the meaningof the proverb which teacheth discretion to be the best part ofvalor."

  "If Edmund Genings asketh me, reverend father, if I have heard massto-day, what must I answer?"

  "Say the queen's majesty has forbidden mass to be said in this herkingdom; and if he presseth thee more closely thereon, why then tellhim the last news from the poultry-yard, and that the hares have eatthy mignonette; which they be doing even now, if my eyes deceive menot," said the good father, pointing with his whip to theflower-garden.

  So, smiling, he gave us a last blessing, and rode on toward the Chase,and I went to drive the hares away from the flower-beds, andthen to set the chapel in fair order. And ever and anon, that day andthe next, I took out of my pocket my sweet Lady Surrey's last letter,and pictured to myself all the scenes therein related; so that Iseemed to live one-half of my life with her in thought, so greatly wasmy fancy set upon her, and my heart concerned in her troubles.

  CHAPTER V.

  Not many days after the sheriff and the pursuivants had been at ourhouse, and Mr. Bryan, by reason of the bloody laws which had beenenacted against Papists and such as harbor priests, had left us,--though intending to return at such times as might serve our commodity,and yet not affect our safety,--I was one morning assisting my motherin the store-room, wherein she was setting aside such provisions aswere to be distributed to the poor that week, together with salves,medicines, and the like, which she also gave out of charity, when aspasm came over her, so vehement and painful, that for the moment shelost the use of speech, and made signs to me to call for help. I ranaffrighted into the library for my father, and brought him to her,upon which, in a little time, she did somewhat recover, but desired hewould assist her to her own chamber, whither she went leaning on hisarm. When laid on her bed she seemed easier; and smiling, bade meleave them for awhile, for that she desired to have speech with myfather alone.

  For the space of an hour I walked in the garden, with so oppressive agrief at my heart as I had never before experienced. Methinks thegreat stillness in the air added thereunto some sort of physicaldisorder; for the weather was very close and heavy; and if a leaf didbut stir, I started as if danger was at hand; and the noise of thechattering pies over my head worked in me an apprehensive melancholy,foreboding, I doubt not, what was to follow. At about eleven o'clock,hearing the sound of a horse's feet in the avenue, I turned round, andsaw Edmund riding from the house; upon which I ran across the grass toa turning of the road where he would pass, and called to him to stop,which he did; and told me he was going to Lichfield for his father,whom my mother desired presently to see. "Then thou shouldst nottarry," I said; and he pushed on and left me standing where I was; butthe bell then ringing for dinner, I went back to the house, and, in sodoing, took notice of a bay-tree on the lawn which was withered anddried-up, though the gardener had been at pains to preserve it bysundry appliances and frequent watering of it. Then it came to myremembrance what my nurse used to say, that the dying of that sort oftree is a sure omen of a death in a family; which thought sorelydisturbed me at that time. I sat down with my father to a brief andsilent meal; and soon after the physician he had sent for came, whomhe conducted to my mother's chamber, whereunto I did follow, andslipped in unperceived. Sitting on one side of the bed, behind thecurtains, I heard her say, in a voice which sounded hollow and weak,"Good Master Lawrenson, my dear husband was fain to send for you, andI cared not to withstand him, albeit persuaded that I am hastening tomy journey's end, and that naught that you or any other man mayprescribe may stay what is God's will. And if this be visible to youas it is to me, I pray you keep it not from me, for it will be to mymuch comfort to be assured of it."

  When she had done speaking, he did feel her pulse; and the while myheart beat so quick and, as it seemed to me, so loud as if it mustneeds impede my hearing; but in a moment I heard him say: "God defend,good madam, I should deceive you. While there is life, there is hope.Greater comfort I dare not urge. If there be any temporal matteron your mind, 'twere better settled now, and likewise of your soul'shealth, by such pious exercises as are used by those of your way ofthinking."

  At the hearing of these his words, my father fetched a deep sigh; butshe, as one greatly relieved, clasped her hands together, and cried,"My God, I thank thee!"

  Then, stealing from behind the curtain, I laid my head on the pillownigh unto hers, and whispered, "Sweet mother, prithee do not die, orelse take me with thee."

  But she, as one not heeding, exclaimed, with her hands uplifted, "Ofaithless heart! O selfish heart! to be so glad of death!"

  The physician was directing the maids what they should do for herrelief when the pain came on, and he himself stood compounding somemedicine for her to take. My father asked of him when he next wouldcome; and he answered, "On the morrow;" but methinks 'twas even thenhis belief that there would be no morrow for her who was dying beforeher time, like the bay-tree in our garden. She bade him farewell in akindly fashion; and when we were alone, I lying on the bed by herside, and m
y father sitting at its head, she said, in a low voice,"How wonderful be God's dealings with us, and how fatherly his care;in that he takes the weak unto himself, and leaves behind the strongto fight the battle now at hand! My dear master, I had a dreamyesternight which had somewhat of horror in it, but more methinks ofcomfort." My father breaking out then in sighs and tears as if hisheart would break, she said, "Oh, but thou must hear and acknowledge,my loved master, how gracious is God's providence to thy poor wife.When thou knowest what I have suffered--not in body, though that hasbeen sharp too, but in my soul--it will reconcile thine own to aparting which has in it so much of mercy. Thou dost remember the nightwhen Mr. Mush was here, and what his discourse did run