“I shall remain here,” replied Cholmondeley sternly—” in Cicely’s chamber.”
“Here!” exclaimed Nightgall, starting, but instantly recovering himself, he turned to Peter Trusbut, and in a voice of forced composure added: “You will be responsible then for him, Master Pantler, with your life and goods to the Queen’s Highness, which, if he escapes, will both be forfeited.”
“Indeed!” cried Trusbut in dismay. “I — I”
“Yes — yes — my husband understands all that,” interposed Dame Potentia; “he will be answerable for him — and so will I.”
“You will understand still further,” proceeded Nightgall, with a smile of triumph, “that he is not to stir forth except for one hour at mid-day, and then that his walks are to be restricted to the Green.”
While this was passing, Og observed in a whisper to Xit, “If I were possessed of that bunch of keys at Nightgall’s girdle, I could soon find Cicely.”
“Indeed!” said Xit. “Then you shall soon have them.” And the next minute he disappeared under the table.
“You have a warrant for what you do, I suppose?” demanded Og, desirous of attracting the jailer’s attention.
“Behold it,” replied Nightgall, taking a parchment from his vest. He then deliberately seated himself, and producing an ink-horn and pen, wrote Peter Trusbut’s name upon it.
“Master Pantler,” he continued, delivering it to him, “I have addressed it to you. Once more I tell you, you will be responsible for the prisoner. And with this I take my leave.”
“Not so fast, villain,” said Cholmondeley, seizing his arm with a firm grasp, “where is Cicely?”
“You will never behold her more,” replied Nightgall.
“What have you done with the captive Alexia?” pursued the esquire bitterly.
“She likewise is beyond your reach,” answered the jailer moodily. And shaking off Cholmondeley’s grasp, he rushed out of the chamber with such haste as nearly to upset Xit, who appeared to have placed himself purposely in his path.
This occurrence threw a gloom over the mirth of the party. The conversation flagged, and even an additional supply of wine failed to raise the spirits of the guests. Just as they were separating, hasty steps were heard on the stairs, and Nightgall again presented himself. Rushing up to Cholmondeley, who was sitting apart wrapt in gloomy thought, he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, “My keys! my keys! — you have stolen my keys.”
“What keys?” demanded the esquire, starting to his feet. “Those of Alexia’s dungeon?”
“Restore them instantly,” cried Nightgall furiously, “or I will instantly carry you back to the Nun’s Bower.”
“Were they in my possession,” replied Cholmondeley, “nothing should force them from me till I had searched your most secret hiding-places.”
“’Tis therefore you stole them,” cried Nightgall. “See where my girdle has been cut,” he added, appealing to Peter Trusbut. “If they are not instantly restored, I will convey you all before the lieutenant, and you know how he will treat the matter.”
Terrified by this threat, the pantler entreated the esquire, if he really had the keys to restore them. But Cholmondeley positively denied the charge, and after a long and fruitless search, all the party except Xit, who had disappeared, having declared their ignorance of what had become of them, Nightgall at last departed, in a state of the utmost rage and mortification.
Soon after this the party broke up, and Cholmondeley retired to his own room. Though the pantler expressed no fear of his escaping, he did not neglect the precaution of locking the door. Throwing himself on a couch, the esquire, after a time, fell into a sort of doze, during which he was haunted by the image of Cicely, who appeared pale and suffering, and as if imploring his aid. So vivid was the impression, that he started up, and endeavored to shake it off. In vain. He could not divest himself of the idea that she was at that moment subjected to the persecutions of Nightgall. Having endured this anguish for some hours, and the night being far advanced, he was about to address himself once more to repose, when he heard the lock turned, and glancing in the direction of the door perceived it cautiously opened by Xit. The mannikin placed his finger to his lips in token of silence, and held up a huge bunch of keys, which Cholmondeley instantly conjectured were those lost by Nightgall. Xit then briefly explained how he had possessed himself of them, and offered them to Cholmondeley.
“I love the fair Cicely,” he said, “hate Nightgall, and entertain a high respect for your worship. I would gladly make you happy with your mistress if I can. You have now at least the means of searching for her, and Heaven grant a favorable issue to the adventure. Follow me and tread upon the points of your feet, for the pantler and his spouse occupy the next room.”
As they crossed the kitchen, they heard a sound proceeding from an adjoining room, which convinced them that neither Peter Trusbut nor Dame Potentia was on the watch.
“They don’t snore quite so loud as my friends the giants,” whispered Xit; “but they have tolerably good lungs.”
Having, at Xit’s suggestion, armed himself with a torch and materials to light it, and girded on a sword which he found reared against the wall, the esquire followed his dwarfish companion down a winding stone staircase, and speedily issued from the postern.
The night was profoundly dark, and they were therefore unobserved by the sentinels on the summit of the By-ward Tower and on the western ramparts. Without delaying a moment, Cholmondeley hurried towards the Devilin Tower. Xit accompanied him, and after some little search they found the secret door, and by a singular chance Cholmondeley, on the first application, discovered the right key. He then bade farewell to the friendly dwarf, who declined attending him farther, and entering the passage, and locking the door withinside, struck a light and set fire to the torch.
Scarcely knowing whither to shape his course, and fully aware of the extent of the dungeons he should have to explore, Cholmondeley resolved to leave no cell unvisited, until he discovered the object of his search. For some time he proceeded along a narrow arched passage, which brought him to a stone staircase, and descending it, his farther progress was stopped by an iron door. Unlocking it, he entered another passage, on the right of which was a range of low cells, all of which he examined, but they were untenanted, except one, in which he found a man whom he recognized as one of the Duke of Northumberland’s followers. He did not, however, dare to liberate him, but with a few words of commiseration passed on.
Turning off on the left, he proceeded for some distance, until being convinced by the hollow sound of the floor that there were vaults beneath, he held his torch downwards, and presently discovered an iron ring in one of the stones. Raising it, he beheld a flight of steps, and descending them, found himself in a lower passage about two feet wide, and apparently of considerable length Hastily tracking it, he gradually descended until he came to a level, where both the floor and ceiling were damp and humid. His torch now began to burn feebly, and threw a ghastly light upon the slimy walls and dripping roof.
While he was thus pursuing his way, a long and fearful shriek broke upon his ear, and thinking it might proceed from the captive Alexia, he hastened forward as quickly as the slippery path would allow him. It was evident from the increasing humidity of the atmosphere that he was approaching the river. As he advanced the cries grew louder, and he became aware from the noise around that legions of rats were fleeing before him. These loathsome animals were in such numbers, that Cholmondeley, half fearing an attack from them, drew his sword.
After proceeding about fifty yards, the passage he was traversing terminated in a low wide vault, in the centre of which was a deep pit. From the bottom of this abyss the cries resounded, and hurrying to its edge, he held down the torch, and discovered at the depth of some twenty feet a miserable half-naked object up to his knees in water, and defending himself from hundreds of rats that were swarming around him. While he was considering how he could accomplish the poor wretch’s de
liverance, who continued his shrieks more loudly than ever, asserting that the rats were devouring him, Cholmondeley perceived a ladder in a corner of the vault, and lowering it into the pit, the sides of which were perpendicular and flagged, instantly descended.
If he had been horrified at the vociferations of the prisoner, he was now perfectly appalled by the ghastly spectacle he presented. The unfortunate person had not exaggerated his danger when he said that the rats were about to devour him. His arms, body, and face were torn and bleeding, and as Cholmondeley approached he beheld numbers of his assailants spring from him and swim off. More dead than alive, the sufferer expressed his thanks, and taking him in his arms, Cholmondeley carried him up the ladder.
As soon as he had gained the edge of the pit, the esquire, who had been struck with the man’s voice, examined his features by the light of the torch, and was shocked to find that he was one of the attendants of the Duke of Northumberland, with whom he was well acquainted. Addressing him by his name, the man instantly knew him, and informed him that he had been ordered into confinement by the Council, and having given some offence to Nightgall, had been tortured and placed in this horrible pit.
“I have been here two days and nights,” he said, “as far as I can guess, without food or light, and should soon have perished, had it not been for your aid; and, though I do not fear death, yet to die by inches, a prey to those horrible animals, was dreadful.”
“Let me support you,” returned Cholmondeley, taking his arm, “and while you have strength left, convey you to a more wholesome part of the dungeon, where you will be free from these frightful assailants, till I can procure you further assistance.”
The poor prisoner gratefully accepted his offer, and lending him all the assistance in his power, Cholmondeley slowly retraced his course. Having reached the flight of stone steps leading to the trap-door, the esquire dragged his companion up them, and finding it in vain to carry him farther, and fearing he should be disappointed in the main object of his search, he looked around for a cell in which he could place him for a short time.
Perceiving a door standing ajar on the left, he pushed it open, and entering a small cell, found the floor covered with straw, and, what was still more satisfactory to him, discovered a loaf on a shelf, and a large jug of water. Placing the prisoner on the straw, he spread the provisions before him, and having seen him partake of them, promised to return as soon as possible.
“Bestow no further thought on me,” said the man. “I shall lie content now.”
Cholmondeley then departed, and proceeding along the passage he had just traversed, came to a wide arched opening on the left, which he entered, and pursuing the path before him, after many turnings, arrived at another low circular vault, about nineteen feet in diameter, which from the peculiar form of its groined arches, he supposed (and correctly) must be situated beneath Devereux Tower.
Of a style of architecture of earlier date than the Beauchamp Tower, the Devilin, or, as it is now termed, the Devereux Tower, from the circumstance of Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, the favorite of Queen Elizabeth, having been confined within it in 1601, has undergone less alteration than most of the other fortifications, and except in the modernizing of the windows, retains much of its original character. In the dungeon into which Cholmondeley had penetrated, several curious spear-heads of great antiquity and a gigantic thigh-bone have been recently found.
At the farther end of the vault Cholmondeley discovered a short flight of steps, and mounting them, unlocked a door, which admitted him to another narrow winding-stone staircase. Ascending it, he presently came to a door on the left, shaped like the arched entrance in which it was placed. It was of strong oak, studded with nails, and secured by a couple of bolts.
Drawing back the fastenings, he unsheathed his sword, and pushing aside the door with the blade, raised his torch, and beheld a spectacle that filled him with horror. At one side of the cell, which was about six feet long and three wide, and contrived in the thickness of the wall, upon a stone seat rested the dead body of a woman, reduced almost to a skeleton. The face was turned from the door, but rushing forward he instantly recognized its rigid features. On the wall close to where she lay, and evidently carved by her own hand, was traced her name — ALEXIA.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW EDWARD UNDERHILL, THE “HOT-GOSPELLER,” ATTEMPTED TO ASSASSINATE QUEEN MARY; AND HOW SHE WAS PRESERVED BY SIR HENRY BEDINGFELD.
AMONG those who viewed Mary’s accession to the throne ‘with the greatest dissatisfaction was the Hot-Gospeller. Foreseeing the danger with which the Protestant Church was menaced, he regarded the change of sovereigns as one of the most direful calamities that could have befallen his country. The open expression of these sentiments more than once brought him into trouble, and he was for some time placed in durance. On his liberation he observed more caution; and though his opinions were by no means altered, but rather strengthened, he no longer gave utterance to them.
During his imprisonment, he had pondered deeply upon the critical state of his religion; and having come to the conclusion that there was no means but one of averting the threatened storm, he determined to resort to that desperate expedient. Underhill’s temporal interests had been as much affected as his spiritual by the new government. He was dismissed from the post he had hitherto held of gentleman pensioner; and this circumstance, though he was, perhaps, scarcely conscious of it, contributed in no slight degree to heighten his animosity against the Queen. Ever brooding upon the atrocious action he was about to commit, he succeeded in persuading himself, by that pernicious process of reasoning by which religious enthusiasts so often delude themselves into the commission of crime, that it was not only justifiable, but meritorious.
Though no longer a prisoner, or employed in any office, the Hot-Gospeller still continued to linger within the Tower, judging it the fittest place for the execution of his purpose. He took up his abode in a small stone cell, once tenanted by a recluse, and situated at the back of St. Peter’s Chapel, on the Green; devoting his days to prayer, and his nights to wandering, like a ghost, about the gloomiest and least frequented parts of the fortress. He was often challenged by the sentinels, often stopped and conveyed to the guardroom by the patrol; but in time they became accustomed to him, and he was allowed to pursue his ramblings unmolested. By most persons he was considered deranged, and his wasted figure — for he almost denied himself the necessaries of life, confining his daily meal to a crust of bread, and a draught of water — together with his miserable attire, confirmed the supposition.
Upon one occasion, Mary herself, who was making the rounds of the fortress, happened to notice him, and ordered him to be brought before her. A blaze of fierce delight passed over the enthusiast’s face when the mandate was conveyed to him. But his countenance fell the next moment on recollecting that he was unarmed. Bitterly reproaching himself for his want of caution, he searched his clothes. He had not even a knife about him. He then besought the halberdiers who came for him to lend him a cloak and a sword, or even a partisan, to make a decent appearance before the Queen. But laughing at the request, they struck him with the poles of their weapons, and commanded him to follow them without delay.
Brought into the royal presence, he with difficulty controlled himself. And nothing but the conviction that such a step would effectually defeat his design, prevented him from pouring forth the most violent threats against the Queen. As it was, he loudly lamented her adherence to the faith of Rome, entreating her to abjure it, and embrace the new and wholesome doctrines — a course which he predicted would insure her a long and prosperous reign, whereas a continuance in her present idolatrous creed would plunge her kingdom in discord, endanger her crown, and perhaps end in her own destruction.
Regarding him as a half-crazed, but harmless enthusiast, Mary paid little attention to his address, which was sufficiently wild and incoherent to warrant the conclusion that his intellects were disordered. Pitying his miserable appearance, and inqui
ring into his mode of life, she ordered him better apparel, and directed that he should be lodged within the palace.
Underhill would have refused her bounty, but, at a gesture from Mary, he was removed from her presence.
This interview troubled him exceedingly. He could not reconcile the Queen’s destruction to his conscience so easily as he had heretofore done. Despite all his reasoning to the contrary, her generosity affected him powerfully. He could not divest himself of the idea that she might yet be converted; and persuading himself that the glorious task was reserved for him, he resolved to make the attempt, before resorting to a darker mode of redress. Managing to throw himself one day in her way, as she was proceeding along the grand gallery, he immediately commenced a furious exhortation. But his discourse was speedily interrupted by the Queen, who ordered her attendants to remove him into the courtyard, and cudgel him soundly; directing that any repetition of the offence should be followed by severer chastisement. This sentence was immediately carried into effect. The Hot-Gospeller bore it without a murmur. But he internally resolved to defer no longer his meditated design.
His next consideration was how to execute it. He could not effect his purpose by poison; and any attempt at open violence would, in all probability (as the Queen was constantly guarded), be attended by failure. He therefore determined, as the surest means, to have recourse to firearms. And being an unerring marksman, he felt certain of success in this way.
Having secretly procured an arquebuse and ammunition, he now only awaited a favorable moment for the enterprise. This soon occurred. It being rumored one night in the Tower that the Queen was about to proceed by water to Whitehall on the following morning, he determined to station himself at some point on the line of road, whence he could take deliberate aim at her. On inquiring further, he ascertained that the royal train would cross the drawbridge leading from the south of the By-ward Tower to the wharf, and embark at the stairs. Being personally known to several officers of the guard, he thought he should have no difficulty in obtaining admittance to St. Thomas’s Tower, which, while it commanded the drawbridge, and was within shot, was yet sufficiently distant not to excite suspicion. Accordingly, at an early hour on the next day, he repaired thither, wrapped in a cloak, beneath which he carried the implement of his treasonable intent.
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