“I fear Doctor Dee,” replied the young merchant; “but I know nothing certainly. My servant, Martin Heydocke, who is in the Doctor’s confidence, intimated as much to me, and I have reason to think that his journey to town, under the pretext of searching for you, is undertaken for the purpose of tracing out the conspirators, and delivering them to the Government.”
“Is he arrived in London?” inquired Viviana, eagerly.
“I should think not,” returned Chetham. “I passed him, four days ago, on this side Leicester, in company with Kelley and Topcliffe.”
“If the wretch Topcliffe was with him, your conjectures are too well founded,” she replied. “I must warn Guy Fawkes instantly of his danger.”
“Command my services in any way,” said Chetham.
“I know not what to do,” cried Viviana, after a pause, during which she betrayed the greatest agitation. “I dare not seek him out; — and yet, if I do not, he may fall into the hands of the enemy. I must see him at all hazards.”
“Suffer me to go with you,” implored Chetham. “You may rely upon my secrecy. And now I have a double motive for desiring to preserve Fawkes.”
“You are, indeed, truly noble-hearted and generous,” replied Viviana; “and I would fully confide in you. But, if you were to be seen by the others, you would be certainly put to death. Not even Fawkes could save you.”
“I will risk it, if you desire it, and it will save him,” replied the young merchant, devotedly. “Nay, I will go alone.”
“That were to insure your destruction,” she answered. “No — no — it must not be. I will consult with Father Oldcorne.”
With this, she hurried out of the room, and returned in a short time with the priest.
“Father Oldcorne is of opinion that our friends must be apprised of their danger,” she said. “And he thinks it needful we should both go to their retreat, that no hindrance may be offered to our flight, in case such a measure should be resolved upon.”
“You cannot accompany us, my son,” added Oldcorne; “for though I am as fully assured of your fidelity as Viviana, and would confide my life to you, there are those who will not so trust you, and who might rejoice in the opportunity of removing you.”
“Viviana!” exclaimed Chetham, looking entreatingly at her.
“For my sake, — if not for your own, — do not urge this further,” she returned. “There are already dangers and difficulties enow without adding to them. You would be safer amid a horde of robbers than amidst these men.”
“And it is to such persons you commit yourself?” cried Chetham, reproachfully. “Oh! be warned by me, ere it is too late! Abandon them!”
“It is too late, already,” replied Viviana. “The die is cast.”
“Then I can only lament it,” returned Chetham, sadly. “Suffer me, at least, to accompany you to some place near their retreat, that you may summon me in case of need.”
“There can be no objection to that, Viviana,” observed Oldcorne; “provided Humphrey Chetham will promise not to follow us.”
“Readily,” replied the young merchant.
“I am unwilling to expose him to further risk on my account,” said Viviana. “But be it as you will.”
It was then agreed, that they should not set out till nightfall, but proceed, as soon as it grew dark, to Lambeth, where Humphrey Chetham undertook to procure a boat for their conveyance across the river.
The hour of departure at length arrived. Viviana, who had withdrawn to her own room, appeared in her travelling habit, and was about to set forth with her companions, when they were all startled by a sudden and loud knocking at the door.
“We are discovered,” she cried. “Doctor Dee has found out our retreat.”
“Fear nothing,” rejoined Chetham, drawing his sword, while his example was imitated by Martin Heydocke; “they shall not capture you while I live.”
As he spoke, the knocking was repeated, and the door shaken so violently as to threaten to burst its fastenings.
“Extinguish the light,” whispered Chetham, “and let Father Oldcorne conceal himself. We have nothing to fear.”
“Where shall I fly?” cried Oldcorne despairingly. “It will be impossible to raise the flag, and seek refuge in the vault.”
“Fly to my room,” cried Viviana. And finding he stood irresolute, as if paralysed with terror, she took his arm, and dragged him away. The next moment the door was burst open with a loud crash, and several armed men, with their swords drawn, followed by Topcliffe, and another middle-aged man, of slight stature, and rather under-sized, but richly dressed, and bearing all the marks of exalted rank, rushed into the room.
“You are my prisoner!” cried Topcliffe, rushing up to Chetham, who had planted himself, with Martin Heydocke, at the foot of the stairs. “I arrest you in the King’s name!”
“You are mistaken in your man, sir,” cried Chetham, fiercely. “I have committed no offence. Lay a hand upon me, at your peril!”
“How is this?” cried Topcliffe. “Humphrey Chetham here!”
“Ay,” returned the young merchant; “you have fallen upon the wrong house.”
“Not so, sir,” replied Topcliffe. “I am satisfied from your presence that I am right. Where you are, Viviana Radcliffe is not far off. Throw down your arms. You can offer no resistance to my force, and your zeal will not benefit your friends, while it will place your own safety in jeopardy.”
But Chetham fiercely refused compliance, and after a few minutes’ further parley, the soldiers were about to attack him, when Viviana opened a door above, and slowly descended the stairs. At her appearance the young merchant, seeing that further resistance would be useless, sheathed his sword, and she passed between him and Heydocke, and advanced towards the leaders of the band.
“What means this intrusion?” she asked.
“We are come in search of two Jesuit priests, whom we have obtained information are hidden here,” replied Topcliffe;— “as well as of certain other Papists, disaffected against the State, for whose apprehension I hold a warrant.”
“You are welcome to search the house,” replied Viviana. “But there is no one within it except those you see.”
As she said this, Chetham, who gazed earnestly at her, caught her eye, and from a scarcely-perceptible glance, felt certain that the priest, through her agency, had effected his escape. But the soldiers had not waited for her permission to make the search. Rushing up-stairs they examined the different chambers, — there were two small rooms besides that occupied by Viviana, — and found several of the priests’ habiliments; but though they examined every corner with the minutest attention, sounded the walls, peered up the chimneys, underneath the bed, and into every place, likely and unlikely, they could find no other traces of those they sought, and were compelled to return to their leader with tidings of their ill success. Topcliffe, with another party, continued his scrutiny below, and discovering the moveable flag in the hearth, descended into the vault, where he made certain of discovering his prey. But no one was there; and, the powder and arms having been removed, he gained nothing by his investigations.
Meanwhile, his companion, — and evidently from his garb, and the deference paid him, though he was addressed by no title which could lead to the absolute knowledge of his rank, his superior, — seated himself, and put many questions in a courteous but authoritative tone to Viviana respecting her residence in this solitary abode, — the names of her companions, — where they were, — and upon what scheme they were engaged. To none of these questions would she return an answer, and her interrogator, at last, losing patience, said,
“I hold it my duty, to inform you that you will be carried before the Council, and if you continue thus obstinate, means will be taken — and those none of the gentlest — to extort the truth from you.”
“You may apply the torture to me,” replied Viviana, firmly; “but it will wrest nothing from me.”
“That remains to be seen,” replied the other; “I only trust you will
not compel me to put my threat into execution.”
At this moment Topcliffe emerged from the vault, and the soldiers returned from their unsuccessful search above.
“They have escaped us now,” remarked Topcliffe to his superior. “But I will conceal a party of men on the premises, who will be certain to capture them on their return.”
Viviana uttered an exclamation of irrepressible uneasiness, which did not escape her auditors.
“I am right, you see,” observed Topcliffe, significantly, to his companion.
“You are so,” replied the other.
As this was said, Viviana hazarded a look at Humphrey Chetham, the meaning of which he was not slow to comprehend. He saw that she wished him to make an effort to escape, that he might warn her companions, and regardless of the consequence, be prepared to obey her. While those around were engaged in a last fruitless search, he whispered his intentions to Martin Heydocke, and only awaited a favourable opportunity to put them in execution. It occurred sooner than he expected. Before quitting the premises, Topcliffe determined to visit the upper rooms himself, and he took several of the men with him.
Chetham would have made an attempt to liberate Viviana, but, feeling certain it would be unsuccessful, he preferred obeying her wishes to his own inclinations. Topcliffe gone, he suddenly drew his sword, — for neither he nor Heydocke had been disarmed, — and rushing towards the door, struck down the man next it, and followed by his servant, passed through it before he could be intercepted. They both then flew at a swift pace towards the marshy fields, and, owing to the darkness and unstable nature of the ground, speedily distanced their pursuers.
Hearing the disturbance below, and guessing its cause, Topcliffe immediately descended. But he was too late; and though he joined in the pursuit, he was baffled like his attendants. Half an hour afterwards, he returned to the house with an angry and disappointed look.
“He has given us the slip,” he observed to his superior, who appeared exceedingly provoked by the young merchant’s flight; “But we will soon have him again.”
After giving directions to his men how to conceal themselves, Topcliffe informed his companions that he was ready to attend him. Viviana, who had remained motionless and silent during the foregoing scene, was taken out of the house, and conducted towards the creek, in which lay a large wherry manned by four rowers. She was placed within it, and as soon as his superior was seated, Topcliffe inquired —
“Where will your lordship go first?”
“To the Star-Chamber,” was the answer.
At this reply, in spite of herself, Viviana could not repress a shudder.
“All is lost!” she mentally ejaculated.
* * *
CHAPTER VI.
THE CELLAR.
It was long before the conspirators gained sufficient courage to recommence digging the mine. Whenever holy water was thrown upon the stones, the mysterious bell ceased tolling, but it presently began anew, and such was the appalling effect of the sound that it completely paralysed the listeners. Prayers were said by Garnet; hymns sung by the others; but all was of no avail. It continued to toll on with increased solemnity, unless checked by the same potent application as before.
The effect became speedily manifest in the altered looks and demeanour of the conspirators, and it was evident that if something was not done to arouse them, the enterprise would be abandoned. Catesby, equally superstitious with his confederates, but having nerves more firmly strung, was the first to conquer his terror. Crossing himself, he muttered a secret prayer, and, snatching up a pick-axe, entered the cavity, and resumed his labour.
The noise of the heavy blows dealt by him against the wall drowned the tolling of the bell. The charm was broken. And stimulated by his conduct, the others followed his example, and though the awful tolling continued at intervals during the whole of their operations, it offered no further interruption to them.
Another and more serious cause of anxiety, however, arose. As the work advanced, without being aware of it, they approached the bank of the river, and the water began to ooze through the sides of the excavation, — at first, slightly, but by degrees to such an extent as to convince them that their labour would be entirely thrown away. Large portions of the clay, loosened by the damp, fell in upon them, nearly burying those nearest the tumbling mass; and the floor was now in some places more than a foot deep in water, clearly proving it would be utterly impossible to keep the powder fit for use in such a spot.
Catesby bore these untoward circumstances with ill-concealed mortification. For a time, he struggled against them; and though he felt that it was hopeless, worked on like a desperate military leader conducting a forlorn hope to certain destruction. At length, however, the water began to make such incursions that he could no longer disguise from himself or his companions that they were contending against insurmountable difficulties, and that to proceed further would be madness. He, therefore, with a heavy heart, desisted, and throwing down his pick-axe, said it was clear that Heaven did not approve their design, and that it must be relinquished.
“We ought to have been warned by that doleful bell,” he observed in conclusion. “I now perceive its meaning. And as I was the first to act in direct opposition to the declared will of the Supreme Being, so now I am the first to admit my error.”
“I cannot account for that dread and mysterious sound, my son,” replied Garnet, “and can only attribute it, as you do, to Divine interference. But whether it was intended as a warning or a guidance, I confess I am unable to say.”
“Can you longer doubt, father,” returned Catesby, bitterly, “when you look at yon excavation? It took us more than a week’s incessant labour to get through the first wall; and our toil was no sooner lightened than these fatal consequences ensued. If we proceed, we shall drown ourselves, instead of blowing up our foes. And even if we should escape, were the powder stowed for one day in that damp place, it would never explode. We have failed, and must take measures accordingly.”
“I entirely concur with you, my son,” replied Garnet; “we must abandon our present plan. But do not let us be disheartened. Perhaps at this very moment Heaven is preparing for us a victory by some unlooked-for means.”
“It may be so,” replied Catesby, with a look of incredulity.
As he spoke, an extraordinary noise, like a shower of falling stones, was heard overhead. And coupling the sound with their fears of the encroachment of the damp, the conspirators glanced at each other in dismay, thinking the building was falling in upon them.
“All blessed saints protect us!” cried Garnet, as the sound ceased. “What was that?”
But no one was able to account for it, and each regarded his neighbour with apprehension. After a short interval of silence, the sound was heard again. There was then another pause — and again the same rushing and inexplicable noise.
“What can it be?” cried Catesby. “I am so enfeebled by this underground life, that trifles alarm me. Are our enemies pulling down the structure over our heads? — or are they earthing us up like vermin?” he added to Fawkes. “What is it?”
“I will go and see,” replied the other.
“Do not expose yourself, my son,” cried Garnet. “Let us abide the result here.”
“No, father,” replied Fawkes. “Having failed in our scheme, what befals me is of little consequence. I will go. If I return not, you will understand what has happened.”
Pausing for a moment to receive Garnet’s benediction, he then strode away.
Half an hour elapsed before Fawkes returned, and the interval appeared thrice its duration in the eyes of the conspirators. When he re-appeared, a smile sat upon his countenance, and his looks instantly dispelled the alarm that had been previously felt.
“You bring us good news, my son?” cried Garnet.
“Excellent, father,” replied Fawkes: “and you were right in saying that at the very moment we were indulging in misgiving, Heaven was preparing for us a victory by
unforeseen and mysterious means.”
Garnet raised his hands gratefully and reverentially upwards. And the other conspirators crowded round Fawkes to listen to his relation.
“The noise we heard,” he said, “arose from a very simple circumstance, — and when you hear it, you will smile at your fears. But you will not smile at the result to which it has led. Exactly overhead, it appears, a cellar is situated, belonging to a person named Bright, and the sound was occasioned by the removal of his coals, which he had been selling off.”
“Is that all?” cried Catesby. “We are indeed grown childish, to be alarmed by such a cause.”
“It appears slight now it is explained,” observed Keyes, gravely; “but how were we to know whence it arose?”
“True,” returned Fawkes; “and I will now show you how the hand of Heaven has been manifested in the matter. The noise which led me to this investigation, and which I regard as a signal from on high, brought me to a cellar I had never seen before, and knew not existed. That cellar lies immediately beneath the House of Lords.”
“Ah! I see!” exclaimed Catesby. “You think it would form a good depository for the powder.”
“If it had been built for the express purpose, it could not be better,” returned Fawkes. “It is commodious and dry, and in an out-of-the-way place, as you may judge, when we ourselves have never hitherto noticed it.”
“But what is all this to us, if we cannot use it?” returned Catesby.
“We can use it,” replied Fawkes. “It is ours.”
There was a general exclamation of surprise.
“Finding, on inquiry, that Bright was about to quit the neighbourhood,” continued Fawkes, “and did not require the place longer, I instantly proposed to take it from him, and to create no suspicion, engaged it in Percy’s name, stating that he wanted it for his own fuel.”
“You have done admirably,” cried Catesby, in a tone of exultation. “The success of the enterprise will now be entirely owing to you.”
“Not to me, but to the Providence that directed me,” replied Fawkes, solemnly.
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