The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth
Page 192
“It is you, my son,” cried the latter, on beholding him; “I thought from the shouts you had fallen into the hands of the enemy.”
“No, Heaven be praised! I am as yet safe, and trust to deliver you out of their hands. Come with me to the battlements.”
“The battlements!” exclaimed Garnet. “A leap from such a height as that were certain destruction.”
“It were so,” replied Catesby, dragging him along. “But trust to me, and you shall yet reach the ground uninjured.”
Arrived at the battlements, Catesby leaned over them, and endeavoured to ascertain what was beneath. It was still so dark that he could scarcely discern any objects but those close to him, but as far as he could trust his vision, he thought he perceived a projecting building some twelve or fourteen feet below; and calling to mind the form of the church, which he had frequently seen and admired, he remembered its chantries, and had no doubt but it was the roof of one of them that he beheld. If he could reach it, the descent from thence would be easy, and he immediately communicated the idea to Garnet, who shrank aghast from it. Little time, however, was allowed for consideration. Their pursuers had already scaled the stairs, and were springing one after another upon the leads, uttering the most terrible threats against the destroyer of their comrade. Hastily divesting himself of his cloak, Catesby clambered over the battlements, and, impelled by fear, Garnet threw off his robe, and followed his example. Clinging to the grotesque stone waterspouts which projected below the battlements, and placing the points of his feet upon the arches of the clerestory windows, and thence upon the mullions and transom bars, Catesby descended in safety, and then turned to assist his companion, who was quickly by his side.
The most difficult and dangerous part of the descent had yet to be accomplished. They were now nearly thirty feet from the ground, and the same irregularities in the walls which had favoured them in the upper structure did not exist in the lower. But their present position, exposed as it was to their pursuers, who, having reached the point immediately overhead, were preparing to fire upon them, was too dangerous to allow of its occupation for a moment, and Garnet required no urging to make him clamber over the low embattled parapet. Descending a flying buttress that defended an angle of the building, Catesby, who was possessed of great strength and activity, was almost instantly upon the ground. Garnet was not so fortunate. Missing his footing, he fell from a considerable height, and his groans proclaimed that he had received some serious injury. Catesby instantly flew to him, and demanded, in a tone of the greatest anxiety, whether he was much hurt.
“My right arm is broken,” gasped the sufferer, raising himself with difficulty. “What other injuries I have sustained I know not; but every joint seems dislocated, and my face is covered with blood. Heaven have pity on me!”
As he spoke, a shout of exultation arose from the hostile party, who, having heard Garnet’s fall, and the groans that succeeded it, at once divined the cause, and made sure of a capture. A deep silence followed, proving that they had quitted the roof, and were hastening to secure their prey.
Aware that it would take them some little time to descend the winding staircase, and traverse the long aisle of the church, Catesby felt certain of distancing them. But he could not abandon Garnet, who had become insensible from the agony of his fractured limb, and, lifting him carefully in his arms, he placed him upon his shoulder, and started at a swift pace towards the further extremity of the churchyard.
At the period of this history, the western boundary of the Collegiate Church was formed by a precipitous sandstone rock of great height, the base of which was washed by the waters of the Irwell, while its summit was guarded by a low stone wall. In after years, a range of small habitations was built upon this spot, but they have been recently removed, and the rock having been lowered, a road now occupies their site. Nerved by desperation, Catesby, who was sufficiently well acquainted with the locality to know whither he was shaping his course, determined to hazard a descent, which, under calmer circumstances, he would have deemed wholly impracticable. His pursuers, who issued from the church porch a few seconds after he had passed it, saw him hurry towards the low wall edging the precipice, and, encumbered as he was with the priest, vault over it. Not deeming it possible he would dare to spring from such a height, they darted after him. But they were deceived, and could scarcely credit their senses when they found him gone. By the light of their torches they perceived him shooting down the almost perpendicular side of the rock, and the next moment a hollow plunge told that he had reached the water. They stared at each other in mute astonishment.
“Will you follow him, Dick Haughton?” observed one, as soon as he had recovered his speech.
“Not I,” replied the fellow addressed. “I have no fancy for a broken neck. Follow him thyself if thou hast a mind to try the soundness of thy pate. I warrant that rock will put it to the proof.”
“Yet the feat has just been done, and by one burthened with a wounded comrade into the bargain,” remarked the first speaker.
“He must be the devil, that’s certain,” rejoined Haughton; “and Doctor Dee himself is no match for him.”
“He has the Devil’s luck, that’s certain,” cried a third soldier. “But, hark! he is swimming across the river. We may yet catch him on the opposite bank. Come along, comrades.”
With this, they rushed out of the churchyard; made the best of their way to the bridge; and crossing it, flew to the bank of the river, where they dispersed in every direction, in search for the fugitive. But they could not discover a trace of him or his wounded companion.
* * *
CHAPTER XVII.
THE RENCOUNTER.
Catesby himself could scarcely tell how he accomplished his hair-breadth escape. Reckless almost of the result, he slided down the rock, catching at occasional irregularities as he descended. The river was of great depth at this point, and broke the force of his fall. On rising, he struck out a few yards, and suffered himself to be carried down the stream. He had never for one moment relinquished his hold of Garnet, and being an admirable swimmer, found little difficulty in sustaining him with one arm, while with the other he guided his course in the water. In this way he reached the shore in safety, about a hundred yards below the bridge, by which means he avoided his pursuers, who, as has just been stated, searched for him above it.
After debating with himself for a short time as to what course he should pursue, he decided upon conveying Garnet to the Hall, where he could procure restoratives and assistance; and though he was fully sensible of the danger of this plan, not doubting the mansion would be visited and searched by his pursuers before morning, yet the necessity of warning Guy Fawkes outweighed every other consideration. Accordingly, again shouldering the priest, who, though he had regained his sensibility, was utterly unable to move, he commenced his toilsome march; and being frequently obliged to pause and rest himself, more than an hour elapsed before he reached his destination.
It was just growing light as he crossed the drawbridge, and seeing a horse tied to a tree, and the gate open, he began to fear the enemy had preceded him. Full of misgiving, he laid Garnet upon a heap of straw in an outbuilding, and entered the house. He found no one below, though he glanced into each room. He then noiselessly ascended the stairs, with the intention of proceeding to Guy Fawkes’s chamber.
As he traversed the gallery, he heard voices in one of the chambers, the door of which was ajar, and pausing to listen, distinguished the tones of Viviana. Filled with astonishment, he was about to enter the room to inquire by what means she had reached the Hall, when he was arrested by the voice of her companion. It was that of Humphrey Chetham. Maddened by jealousy, Catesby’s first impulse was to rush into the room, and stab his rival in the presence of his mistress. But he restrained his passion by a powerful effort.
After listening for a few minutes intently to their conversation, he found that Chetham was taking leave, and creeping softly down-stairs, stationed himself in
the hall, through which he knew his rival must necessarily pass. Chetham presently appeared. His manner was dejected; his looks downcast; and he would have passed Catesby without observing him, if the latter had not laid his hand upon his shoulder.
“Mr. Catesby!” exclaimed the young merchant, starting as he beheld the stern glance fixed upon him “I thought — —”
“You thought I was a prisoner, no doubt,” interrupted Catesby, bitterly. “But you are mistaken. I am here to confound you and your juggling and treacherous associate.”
“I do not understand you,” replied Chetham.
“I will soon make myself intelligible,” retorted Catesby. “Follow me to the garden.”
“I perceive your purpose, Mr. Catesby,” replied Chetham, calmly; “but it is no part of my principles to expose my life to ruffianly violence. If you choose to lay aside this insolent demeanour, which is more befitting an Alsatian bully than a gentleman, I will readily give you such explanation of my conduct as will fully content you, and satisfy you that any suspicions you may entertain of me are unfounded.”
“Coward!” exclaimed Catesby, striking him. “I want no explanation. Defend yourself, or I will treat you with still greater indignity.”
“Lead on, then,” cried Chetham: “I would have avoided the quarrel if I could. But this outrage shall not pass unpunished.”
As they quitted the hall, Viviana entered it; and, though she was greatly surprised by the appearance of Catesby, his furious gestures left her in no doubt as to his purpose. She called to him to stop. But no attention was paid by either party to her cries.
Guy Fawkes protecting Humphrey Chetham from Catesby.
On gaining a retired spot beneath the trees, Catesby, without giving his antagonist time to divest himself of the heavy horseman’s cloak with which he was encumbered, and scarcely to draw his sword, assaulted him. The combat was furious on both sides, but it was evident that the young merchant was no match for his adversary. He maintained his ground, however, for some time with great resolution; but, being hotly pressed, in retreating to avoid a thrust, his foot caught in the long grass, and he fell. Catesby would have passed his sword through his body, if it had not been turned aside by another weapon. It was that of Guy Fawkes, who, followed by Martin Heydocke, had staggered towards the scene of strife, reaching it just in time to save the life of Humphrey Chetham.
“Heaven be praised! I am not too late!” he exclaimed. “Put up your blade, Catesby; or, turn it against me.”
* * *
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE EXPLANATION.
Uttering an exclamation of rage, Catesby turned fiercely upon Fawkes, and for a moment appeared disposed to accept his invitation to continue the combat with him. But as he regarded the other’s haggard features, and perceived in them the traces of his recent struggle with death — as he saw he was scarcely able to wield the blade he opposed against him — his wrath changed to compassion, and he sheathed his sword. By this time, Humphrey Chetham had sprung to his feet, and picking up his fallen weapon, stood on his defence. But finding that Catesby meditated no further hostilities, he returned it to the scabbard.
“I owe my life to you,” he said to Guy Fawkes, in a tone of deep gratitude.
“You owe it to Viviana Radcliffe, not to me,” returned Fawkes feebly, and leaning upon his sword for support. “Had it not been for her cries, I should have known nothing of this quarrel. And I would now gladly learn what has occasioned it.”
“So would I,” added Chetham; “for I am as ignorant as yourself how I have offended Mr. Catesby.”
“I will tell you, then,” returned Catesby, sternly. “You were a party to the snare set for us by Dr. Dee, from which I narrowly escaped with life, and Father Garnet at the expense of a broken limb.”
“Is Garnet hurt?” demanded Fawkes, anxiously.
“Grievously,” replied Catesby; “but he is out of the reach of his enemies, of whom,” he added, pointing to Chetham, “one of the most malignant and treacherous now stands before you.”
“I am quite in the dark as to what has happened,” observed Fawkes, “having only a few minutes ago been roused from my slumbers by the shrieks of Viviana, who entreated me to come and separate you. But I cannot believe Humphrey Chetham so treacherous as you represent him.”
“So far from having any enmity towards Father Garnet,” observed Chetham, “my anxious desire was to preserve him; and with that view, I was repairing to Dr. Dee, when I encountered Mr. Catesby in the hall, and before I could offer any explanation, I was forced by his violence and insults into this combat.”
“Is this the truth, Catesby?” asked Fawkes,
“Something near it,” rejoined the latter; “but perhaps Mr. Chetham will likewise inform you by whose agency Viviana was transported hither from the Collegiate Church?”
“That inquiry ought rather to be made of the lady herself, sir,” rejoined Chetham, coldly. “But, as I am assured she would have no objection to my answering it, I shall not hesitate to do so. She was conveyed hither by Kelley and an assistant, who departed as soon as their task was completed.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Catesby between his ground teeth. “But how chanced it, sir, that you arrived here so opportunely?”
“I might well refuse to answer a question thus insolently put,” rejoined Chetham. “But to prevent further misunderstanding, I will tell you, that I came by Viviana’s invitation at midnight; and, ascertaining from my servant, Martin Heydocke, whom I found watching by the couch of Guy Fawkes, the melancholy business on which she was engaged, I determined to await her return, which occurred about an hour afterwards, in the manner I have just related.”
“I was in the court-yard when Mistress Viviana was brought back,” interposed Martin Heydocke, who was standing at a respectful distance from the group; “and, after Kelley had delivered her to my charge, I heard him observe in an under tone to his companion, ‘Let us ride back as fast as we can, and see what they have done with the prisoners.’”
“They made sure of their prey before it was captured,” observed Catesby, bitterly. “But we have disappointed them. Dee and his associate may yet have reason to repent their perfidy.”
“You will do well not to put yourself again in their power,” observed Humphrey Chetham. “If you will be counselled by me, you and Guy Fawkes will seek safety in instant flight.”
“And leave you with Viviana?” rejoined Catesby, sarcastically.
“She is in no present danger,” replied Chetham. “But, if it is thought fitting or desirable, I will remain with her.”
“I do not doubt it,” returned Catesby, with a sneer; “but it is neither fitting nor desirable. And, hark ye, young sir, if you have indulged any expectations with regard to Viviana Radcliffe, it is time you were undeceived. She will never wed one of your degree, nor of your faith.”
“I have her own assurance she will never wed at all,” replied Chetham, in an offended tone. “But had she not crushed my hopes by declaring she was vowed to a convent, no menaces of yours, who have neither right nor title thus to interfere, should induce me to desist from my suit.”
“Either resign all pretensions to her hand, or prepare to renew the combat,” cried Catesby, fiercely.
“No more of this,” interposed Guy Fawkes. “Let us return to the house, and adjust our differences there.”
“I have no further business here,” observed Humphrey Chetham. “Having taken leave of Viviana,” he added, with much emotion, “I do not desire to meet her again.”
“It is well, sir,” rejoined Catesby: “yet, stay! — you mean us no treachery?”
“If you suspect me, I will remain,” replied Humphrey Chetham.
“On no account,” interposed Guy Fawkes. “I will answer for him with my life.”
“Perhaps, when I tell you I have procured the liberation of Father Oldcorne,” returned Chetham, “and have placed him in security in Ordsall cave, you will admit that you have done me wrong.”
* * *
CHAPTER XIX.
THE DISCOVERY.
Tendering his arm to Fawkes, who was almost too feeble to walk unsupported, Catesby led him slowly to the Hall. On reaching it, they met Viviana, in a state bordering upon distraction, but her distress was speedily relieved by their assurances that the young merchant had departed unhurt, — a statement immediately afterwards confirmed by the entrance of Martin Heydocke, charged with a message from his master to her. Without communicating his design to the others, and, indeed, almost shunning Viviana, Catesby proceeded to the outbuilding where he had deposited Garnet. He found him in great pain, and praying fervently to be released from his suffering.