“Right, my son,” returned Garnet. “And let this teach us never to despair again.”
The next day, Percy having taken possession of the cellar, it was carefully examined, and proved, as Fawkes had stated, admirably adapted to their purpose. Their fears were now at an end, and they looked on the success of their project as certain. The mysterious bell no longer tolled, and their sole remaining task was to fill up the excavation so far as to prevent any damage from the wet.
This was soon done, and their next step was to transport the powder during the night to the cellar. Concealing the barrels as before with faggots and coals, they gave the place the appearance of a mere receptacle for lumber, by filling it with old hampers, boxes without lids, broken bottles, stone jars, and other rubbish.
They now began to think of separating, and Fawkes expressed his intention of returning that night to the house at Lambeth. No intelligence had reached them of Viviana’s captivity, and they supposed her still an inmate of the miserable dwelling with Father Oldcorne.
Fawkes had often thought of her, and with uneasiness, during his toilsome labours; but they had so much engrossed him that her image was banished almost as soon as it arose. Now that grand obstacle was surmounted, and nothing was wanting, however, except a favourable moment to strike the blow, he began to feel the greatest anxiety respecting her.
Still, he thought it prudent to postpone his return to a late hour, and it was not until near midnight that he and Catesby ventured to their boat. As he was about to descend the steps, he heard his name pronounced by some one at a little distance; and the next moment, a man, whom he immediately recognised as Humphrey Chetham, rushed up to him.
“You here again!” cried Fawkes, angrily, and not unsuspiciously. “Do you play the spy upon me?”
“I have watched for you for the last ten nights,” replied Chetham hastily. “I knew not where you were. But I found your boat here, and I hoped you would not cross the water in any other.”
“Why all this care?” demanded Fawkes. “Has aught happened? — Is Viviana safe? — Speak, man! do not keep me longer in suspense!”
“Alas!” rejoined Chetham, “she is a prisoner.”
Guy Fawkes laying the train
“A prisoner!” ejaculated Fawkes, in a hollow voice. “Then my forebodings were not without cause.”
“How has this happened?” cried Catesby, who had listened to what was said in silent wonder.
Chetham then hastily related all that had taken place.
“I know not what has become of her,” he said, in conclusion; “but I have heard that she was taken to the Star-Chamber by the Earl of Salisbury, — for he, it appears, was the companion of Topcliffe, — and, refusing to answer the interrogations of the Council, was conveyed to the Tower, and, I fear, subjected to the torture.”
“Tortured!” exclaimed Fawkes, horror-stricken; “Viviana tortured! And I have brought her to this! Oh, God! Oh, God!”
“It is indeed an agonizing reflection,” replied Humphrey Chetham, in a sombre tone, “and enough to drive you to despair. Her last wishes, expressed only in looks, for she did not dare to give utterance to them, were that I should warn you not to approach the house at Lambeth, your enemies being concealed within it. I have now fulfilled them. Farewell!”
And he turned to depart.
“Stay!” cried Catesby, arresting him. “Where is Father Oldcorne?”
“I know not,” replied Humphrey Chetham. “As I have told you, Viviana by some means contrived his escape. I have seen nothing of him.”
And, hurrying away, he was lost beneath the shadow of the wall.
“Is this a troubled dream, or dread reality?” cried Fawkes to Catesby.
“I fear it is too true,” returned the other, in a voice of much emotion. “Poor Viviana!”
“Something must be done to set her free,” cried Fawkes. “I will purchase her liberty by delivering up myself.”
“Your oath — remember your oath!” rejoined Catesby. “You may destroy yourself, but not your associates.”
“True — true,” replied Fawkes, distractedly,— “I do remember it. I am sold to perdition.”
“Anger not Heaven by these idle lamentations, — and at a time, too, when all is so prosperous,” rejoined Catesby.
“What!” cried Fawkes, fiercely, “would you have me calm, when she who called me father, and was dear to me as a child, is taken from me by these remorseless butchers, — subjected to their terrible examinations, — plunged in a dismal dungeon, — and stretched upon the rack, — and all for me — for me! I shall go mad if I think upon it!”
“You must not think upon it,” returned Catesby,— “at least, not here. We shall be observed. Let us return to the house; and perhaps — though I scarcely dare indulge the hope — some plan may be devised for her liberation.”
With this, he dragged Fawkes, who was almost frenzied with anguish, forcibly along, and they returned to the house.
Nothing more was said that night. Catesby judged it prudent to let the first violence of his friend’s emotion expend itself before he attempted to soothe him; and when he communicated the sad event to Garnet, the latter strongly approved the plan. Garnet was greatly distressed at the intelligence, and his affliction was shared by the other conspirators. No fears were entertained by any of them that Viviana would reveal aught of the plot, but this circumstance only added to their regrets.
“I will stake my life for her constancy,” said Catesby.
“And so will I,” returned Garnet. “She will die a martyr for us.”
He then proposed that they should pray for her deliverance. And all instantly assenting, they knelt down, while Garnet poured forth the most earnest supplications to the Virgin in her behalf.
The next morning, Guy Fawkes set forth, and ascertained that Humphrey Chetham’s statement was correct, and that Viviana was indeed a prisoner in the Tower. He repaired thither, and tried to ascertain in what part of the fortress she was confined, in the hope of gaining admittance to her. But as he could obtain no information and his inquiries excited suspicion, he was compelled to return without accomplishing his object.
Crossing Tower Hill on his way back, he turned to glance at the stern pile he had just quitted, and which was fraught with the most fearful interest to him, when he perceived Chetham issue from the Bulwark Gate. He would have made up to him; but the young merchant, who had evidently seen him, though he looked sedulously another way, set off in the direction of the river, and was quickly lost to view. Filled with the gloomiest thoughts, Guy Fawkes proceeded to Westminster, where he arrived without further adventure of any kind.
In the latter part of the same day, as the conspirators were conferring together, they were alarmed by a knocking at the outer gate; and sending Bates to reconnoitre, he instantly returned with the intelligence that it was Lord Mounteagle. At the mention of this name, Tresham, who was one of the party, turned pale as death, and trembled so violently that he could scarcely support himself. Having been allowed to go forth on that day, the visit of Lord Mounteagle at this juncture, coupled with the agitation it occasioned him, seemed to proclaim him guilty of treachery for the second time.
“You have betrayed us, villain!” cried Catesby, drawing his dagger; “but you shall not escape. I will poniard you on the spot.”
“As you hope for mercy, do not strike!” cried Tresham. “On my soul, I have not seen Lord Mounteagle, and know not, any more than yourselves, what brings him hither. Put it to the proof. Let him come in. Conceal yourselves, and you will hear what passes between us.”
“Let it be so,” interposed Fawkes. “I will step within this closet, the door of which shall remain ajar. From it I can watch him without being observed, and if aught occurs to confirm our suspicions, he dies.”
“Bates shall station himself in the passage, and stab him if he attempts to fly,” added Catesby. “Your sword, sir.”
“It is here,” replied Tresham, delivering it to Catesby,
who handed it to Bates. “Are you satisfied?”
“Is Lord Mounteagle alone?” inquired Catesby, without noticing the question.
“He appears to be so,” replied Bates.
“Admit him, then,” rejoined Catesby.
Entering the closet with Keyes, he was followed by Fawkes, who drew his dagger, and kept the door slightly ajar, while Garnet and the rest retired to other hiding-places. A few moments afterwards, Bates returned with Lord Mounteagle, and, having ushered him into the room, took his station in the passage, as directed by Catesby. The room was very dark, the shutters being closed, and light only finding its way through the chinks in them; and it appeared totally so to Lord Mounteagle, who, groping his way, stumbled forward, and exclaimed in accents of some alarm,
“Where am I? Where is Mr. Tresham?”
“I am here,” replied Tresham, advancing towards him. “How did your lordship find me out?” he added, after the customary salutations were exchanged.
“My servant saw you enter this house,” replied Mounteagle, “and, knowing I was anxious to see you, waited for some hours without, in the expectation of your coming forth. But as this did not occur, he mentioned the circumstance to me on his return, and I immediately came in quest of you. When I knocked at the gate, I scarcely knew what to think of the place, and began to fear you must have fallen into the hands of cut-throats; and, now that I have gained admittance, my wonder — and I may add my uneasiness — is not diminished. Why do you hide yourself in this wretched place?”
“Be seated,” replied Tresham, placing a chair for Lord Mounteagle, with his back to the closet, while he took one opposite him, and near a table, on which some papers were laid. “Your lordship may remember,” he continued, scarcely knowing what answer to make to the question, “that I wrote to you some time ago, to say that a conspiracy was hatching among certain of our party against the State.”
“I have reason to remember it,” replied Mounteagle. “The letter was laid before the Earl of Salisbury, and inquiries instituted in consequence. But, owing to your disappearance, nothing could be elicited. What plot had you discovered?”
At this moment, Tresham, who kept his eye fixed on the closet, perceived the door noiselessly open, and behind it the figure of Guy Fawkes, with the dagger in his hand.
“I was misinformed as to the nature of the plot,” he stammered.
“Was it against the King’s life?” demanded Mounteagle.
“No,” rejoined Tresham; “as far as I could learn, it was an insurrection.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Mounteagle, sceptically. “My information, then, differed from yours. Who were the parties you suspected?”
“As I wrongfully suspected them,” replied Tresham, evasively, “your lordship must excuse my naming them.”
“Was Catesby — or Winter — or Wright — or Rookwood — or Sir Everard Digby concerned in it?” demanded Mounteagle.
“Not one of them,” asseverated Tresham.
“They are the persons I suspect,” replied Mounteagle; “and they are suspected by the Earl of Salisbury. But you have not told me what you are doing in this strange habitation. Are you ferreting out a plot, or contriving one?”
“Both,” replied Tresham.
“How?” cried Mounteagle.
“I am plotting for myself, and counterplotting the designs of others,” replied Tresham, mysteriously.
“Is this place, then, the rendezvous of a band of conspirators?” asked Mounteagle, uneasily.
Tresham nodded in the affirmative.
“Who are they?” continued Mounteagle. “There is no need of concealment with me.”
As this was said, Tresham raised his eyes, and saw that Guy Fawkes had stepped silently forward, and placed himself behind Mounteagle’s chair. His hand grasped his dagger, and his gaze never moved from the object of his suspicion.
“Who are they?” repeated Mounteagle. “Is Guy Fawkes one of them?”
“Assuredly not,” replied Tresham. “Why should you name him? I never mentioned him to your lordship.”
“I think you did,” replied Mounteagle. “But I am certain you spoke of Catesby.”
And Tresham’s regards involuntarily wandered to the closet, when he beheld the stern glance of the person alluded to fixed upon him.
“You have heard of Viviana Radcliffe’s imprisonment, I suppose?” pursued Mounteagle, unconscious of what was passing.
Guy Fawkes keeping watch upon Tresham and Lord Mounteagle.
Viviana examined by the Earl of Salisbury, and the Privy Council in the Star Chamber
“I have,” replied Tresham.
“The Earl of Salisbury expected he would be able to wring all from her, but he has failed,” observed Mounteagle.
“I am glad of it,” observed Tresham.
“I thought you were disposed to serve him?” remarked Mounteagle.
“So I am,” replied Tresham. “But, if secrets are to be revealed, I had rather be the bearer of them than any one else. I am sorry for Viviana.”
“I could procure her liberation, if I chose,” observed Mounteagle.
“Say you so?” cried Fawkes, clapping him on the shoulder; “then you stir not hence till you have procured it!”
* * *
CHAPTER VII.
THE STAR-CHAMBER.
Viviana, as has already been intimated, after her capture at the house at Lambeth, was conveyed to the Star-Chamber. Here she was detained until a late hour on the following day, when she underwent a long and rigorous examination by certain members of the Privy Council, who were summoned for that purpose by the Earl of Salisbury. Throughout this arduous trial she maintained the utmost composure, and never for a single moment lost her firmness. On all occasions, her matchless beauty and dignity produced the strongest impression on the beholders; but on no occasion had they ever produced so strong an effect as the present. Her features were totally destitute of bloom, but their very paleness, contrasted as it was with her large dark eyes, which blazed with unwonted brilliancy, as well as with her jet-black hair, so far from detracting from her loveliness, appeared to add to it.
As she was brought before the Council, who were seated round a table, and remained standing at a short distance from them, guarded by Topcliffe and two halberdiers, a murmur of admiration pervaded the group, — nor was this feeling lessened as the examination proceeded. Once, when the Earl of Salisbury adverted to the unworthy position in which she, the daughter of the proud and loyal Sir William Radcliffe, had placed herself, a shade passed over her brow, and a slight convulsion agitated her frame. But the next moment she recovered herself, and said,
“However circumstances may appear against me, and whatever opinion your lordships may entertain of my conduct, the King has not a more loyal subject than myself, nor have any of you made greater efforts to avert the danger by which he is threatened.”
“Then you admit that his Majesty is in danger?” cried the Earl of Salisbury, eagerly.
“I admit nothing,” replied Viviana. “But I affirm that I am his true and loyal subject.”
“You cannot expect us to believe your assertion,” replied the Earl; “unless you approve it by declaring all you know touching this conspiracy.”
“I have already told you, my lord,” she returned, “that my lips are sealed on that subject.”
“You disclaim, then, all knowledge of a plot against the King’s life, and against his government?” pursued Salisbury.
Viviana shook her head.
“You refuse to give up the names of your companions, or to reveal their intentions?” continued the Earl.
“I do,” she answered, firmly.
“Your obstinacy will not save them,” rejoined the Earl, in a severe tone, and after a brief pause. “Their names and their atrocious designs are known to us.”
“If such be the case,” replied Viviana, “why interrogate me on the subject?”
“Because — but it is needless to give a reason for the course
which justice requires me to pursue,” returned the Earl. “You are implicated in this plot, and nothing can save you from condign punishment but a frank and full confession.
“Nothing can save me then, my lord,” replied Viviana; “but Heaven knows I shall perish unjustly.”
A consultation was then held by the lords of the council, who whispered together for a few minutes. Viviana regarded them anxiously, but suffered no expression of uneasiness to escape her. As they again turned towards her, she saw from their looks, some of which exhibited great commiseration for her, that they had come to a decision (she could not doubt what) respecting her fate. Her heart stopped beating, and she could scarcely support herself. Such, however, was the control she exercised over herself that, though filled with terror, her demeanour remained unaltered. She was not long kept in suspense. Fixing his searching gaze upon her, the Earl of Salisbury observed in a severe tone,
“Viviana Radcliffe, I ask you for the last time whether you will avow the truth?”
No answer was returned.
“I will not disguise from you,” continued the Earl, “that your youth, your beauty, your constancy, and, above all, your apparent innocence, have deeply interested me, as well as the other noble persons here assembled to interrogate you, and who would willingly save you from the sufferings you will necessarily undergo, from a mistaken fidelity to the heinous traitors with whom you are so unhappily leagued. I would give you time to reflect did I think the delay would answer any good purpose. I would remind you that no oath of secresy, however solemn, can be binding in an unrighteous cause. I would tell you that your first duty is to your prince and governor, and that it is as great a crime, as unpardonable in the eyes of God as of man, to withhold the revelation of a conspiracy against the State, should it come to your knowledge, as to conspire against it yourself. I would lay all this before you. I would show you the magnitude of your offence, the danger in which you stand, and the utter impossibility of screening your companions, who, ere long, will be confronted with you, — did I think it would avail. But, as you continue obstinate, justice must take its course.”
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