“O, if this tale be true, I have no escape from misery!” exclaimed Aveline. “And it wears the semblance of probability.”
“I take upon me to declare it to be false,” cried Anthony Rocke.
“Another such insolent speech shall cost thee thy life, sirrah!” cried Sir Giles, fiercely.
“Read over the paper again, my dear young lady,” said Dame Sherborne. “You may, perhaps, find something in it not yet discovered, which may help you to a better understanding of your father’s wishes.”
“Ay, read it! — read it!” cried the old usurer, giving her the paper. “You will perceive in what energetic terms your father enjoins compliance on your part with his commands; and what awful denunciations he attaches to your disobedience. Read it, I say, and fancy he is speaking to you from the grave in these terms— ‘Take this man for thy husband, O my daughter, and take my blessing with him. Reject him, and my curse shall alight upon thy head.’”
But Aveline was too much engrossed to heed him. Suddenly her eye caught something she had not previously noticed, and she exclaimed,— “I have detected the stratagem. I knew this authority could never be committed to you.”
“What mean you, fair mistress?” cried Sir Francis, surprised and alarmed. “My name may not appear upon the face of the document; but, nevertheless, I am the person referred to by it.”
“The document itself disproves your assertion,” cried Aveline, with exultation.
“How so?” demanded Sir Giles, uneasily.
“Why, see you not that he to whom my father designed to give my hand was named Osmond Mounchensey?”
“Osmond Mounchensey!” exclaimed Sir Giles, starting.
“This is pure invention!” cried Sir Francis. “There is no such name on the paper — no name at all, in short — nor could there be any, for reasons I will presently explain.”
“Let your own eyes convince you to the contrary,” she rejoined, extending the paper to him and revealing to his astounded gaze and to that of his partner, who looked petrified with surprise, the name plainly written as she had described it.
“How came it there?” cried Sir Giles, as soon as he could command himself.
“I cannot say,” replied Sir Francis. “I only know it was not there when I — that is, when I received it. It must be Clement Lanyere’s handiwork,” he added in a whisper.
“I see not how that can be,” replied the other, in a like low tone. “The alteration must have been made since it has been in your possession. It could not have escaped my observation.”
“Nor mine,” cried Sir Francis. “‘T is passing strange!”
“Your infamous project is defeated,” cried Aveline. “Let the rightful claimant appear, and it will be time enough to consider what I will do. — But I can hold no further discourse with you, and command your instant departure.”
“And think you we mean to return empty-handed, fair mistress?” said Sir Giles, resuming all his wonted audacity. “Be not deceived. By fair means or foul you shall be the bride of Sir Francis Mitchell. I have sworn it, and I will keep my oath!”
“As I am a true gentleman, it will infinitely distress me to resort to extremities, fair mistress,” said the old usurer, “and I still trust you will listen to reason. If I have put in practice a little harmless stratagem, what matters it? All is fair in love. And if you knew all, you would be aware that I have already paid so dearly for you that I cannot afford to lose you. Cost what it will, you must be mine.”
“Never!” exclaimed Aveline, resolutely.
“You will soon alter your tone, when you find how little power of refusal is left you, fair mistress,” said Sir Giles. “A litter is waiting for you without. Will it please you to enter it?”
“Not unless by force — and you dare to offer me violence,” she replied.
“I advise you not to put our forbearance to the test,” said Sir Giles.
“I should be grieved to impose any restraint upon you,” subjoined Sir Francis; “and I trust you will not compel me to act against my inclinations. Let me lead you to the litter.”
As he advanced towards her, Aveline drew quickly back, and Dame Sherborne uttered a loud scream; but her cries brought no other help than could be afforded by old Anthony Rocke, who, planting himself before his young mistress, menaced Sir Francis to retire.
But this state of things was only of brief duration. It speedily appeared that the two extortioners had abundant assistance at hand to carry out their infamous design. A whistle was sounded by Sir Giles; and at the call the cottage door was burst open by some half dozen of the myrmidons, headed by Captain Bludder.
Any resistance that the old serving-man could offer was speedily overcome. Knocked down by a pike, he was gagged and pinioned, and carried out of the house. The cries of Aveline and the elderly dame were stifled by scarves tied over their heads; and both being in a fainting condition from fright, they were borne to the litter which was standing at the door, and being shut up within it, were conveyed as quickly as might be to Sir Giles Mompesson’s mansion, near the Fleet. Thither, also, was old Anthony Rocke taken, closely guarded on the way by two of the myrmidons.
CHAPTER XXV.
The “Stone Coffin.”
A dreadful dungeon! the last and profoundest of the range of subterranean cells already described as built below the level of the river Fleet: a relict, in fact, of the ancient prison which had escaped the fury of Wat Tyler and his followers, when the rest of the structure was destroyed by them. Not inaptly was the dungeon styled the “Stone Coffin.” Those immured within it seldom lived long.
A chill like that of death smote Sir Jocelyn, as he halted before the door of this horrible place. Preceded by Grimbald the jailer, with a lamp in one hand and a bunch of large keys in the other, and closely followed by the deputy-warden and Sir Giles Mompesson, our young knight had traversed an underground corridor with cells on one side of it, and then, descending a flight of stone steps, had reached a still lower pit, in which the dismal receptacle was situated. Here he remained up to the ankles in mud and water, while Grimbald unlocked the ponderous door, and with a grin revealed the interior of the cavernous recess.
Nothing more dank and noisome could be imagined than the dungeon. Dripping stone-walls, a truckle-bed with a mouldy straw-mattrass, rotting litter scattered about, a floor glistening and slippery with ooze, and a deep pool of water, like that outside, at the further end, — these constituted the materials of the frightful picture presented to the gaze. No wonder Sir Jocelyn should recoil, and refuse to enter the cell.
“You don’t seem to like your lodgings, worshipful Sir,” said Grimbald, still grinning, as he held up the lamp; “but you will soon get used to the place, and you will not lack company — rats, I mean: they come from the Fleet in swarms. Look! a score of ’em are making off yonder — swimming to their holes. But they will come back again with some of their comrades, when you are left alone, and without a light. Unlike other vermin, the rats of the Fleet are extraordinarily sociable — ho! ho!”
And, chuckling at his own jest, Grimbald turned to Sir Giles Mompesson, who, with Joachim Tunstall, was standing at the summit of the steps, as if unwilling to venture into the damp region below, and observed— “The worshipful gentleman does not like the appearance of his quarters, it seems, Sir Giles; but we cannot give him better, — and, though the cell might be somewhat more comfortable if it were drier, and perhaps more wholesome, yet it is uncommonly quiet, and double the size of any other in the Fleet. I never could understand why it should be called the ‘Stone Coffin’ — but so it is. Some prisoners have imagined they would get their death with cold from a single night passed within it — but that’s a mistaken notion altogether.”
“You have proof to the contrary in Sir Ferdinando Mounchensey, father of the present prisoner,” said Sir Giles, in a derisive tone. “He occupied that cell for more than six months. Did he not, good Grimbald? You had charge of him, and ought to know?”
“O
ne hundred and sixty days exactly, counting from the date of his arrival to the hour of his death, was Sir Ferdinando an inmate of the ‘Stone Coffin,’” said the jailer, slowly and sententiously; “and he appeared to enjoy his health quite as well as could be expected — at all events, he did so at first. I do not think it was quite so damp in his days — but there couldn’t be much difference. In any case, the worthy knight made no complaints; perhaps because he thought there would be no use in making ‘em. Ah! worshipful Sir,” he added to Sir Jocelyn, in a tone of affected sympathy which only made his mockery more offensive, “your father was a goodly man, of quite as noble a presence as yourself, though rather stouter and broader in the shoulders, when he first came here; but he was sadly broken down at the last — quite a skeleton. You would hardly have known him.”
“He lost the use of his limbs, if I remember right, Grimbald?” remarked Sir Giles, willing to prolong the scene, which appeared to afford him infinite amusement.
“Entirely lost the use of ‘em,” replied the jailer. “But what of that? He didn’t require to take exercise. A friend was permitted to visit him, and that was more grace than the Council usually allows to such offenders.”
“It was far more than an offender like Sir Ferdinando deserved,” said Sir Giles; “and, if I had known it, he should have had no such indulgence. Star-Chamber delinquents cannot expect to be treated like ordinary prisoners. If they do, they will be undeceived when brought here — eh, Master Tunstall?”
“Most true, Sir Giles, most true!” replied the deputy-warden. “Star-Chamber prisoners will get little indulgence from me, I warrant them.”
“Unless they bribe you well — eh, Master Joachim?” whispered Sir Giles, merrily.
“Rest easy on that score, Sir Giles. I am incorruptible, unless you allow it,” rejoined the other, obsequiously.
“My poor father!” ejaculated Sir Jocelyn. “And thou wert condemned without a crime to a death of lingering agony within this horrible cell! The bare idea of it is madness. But Heaven, though its judgments be slow, will yet avenge thee upon thy murderers!”
“Take heed what you say, prisoner,” observed Grimbald, changing his manner, and speaking with great harshness. “Every word you utter against the decrees of the Star-Chamber, will be reported to the Council, and will be brought up against you; so you had best be cautious. Tour father was not murdered. He was immured in this cell in pursuance of a sentence of the High Court, and he died before his term of captivity had expired, that is all.”
“O, the days and nights of anguish and despair he must have endured during that long captivity!” exclaimed Sir Jocelyn, before whose gaze a vision of his dying father seemed to pass, filling him with unutterable horror.
“Days and nights which will henceforth be your own,” roared Sir Giles; “and you will then comprehend the nature of your father’s feelings. But he escaped what you will not escape — exposure on the pillory, branding on the cheek, loss of ears, slitting of the nose, and it may be, scourging. The goodly appearance you have inherited from your sire will not be long left when the tormentor takes you in hand. Ha! ha!”
“One censured by the Star-Chamber must wear a paper on his breast at the pillory. You must not forget that mark of infamy, Sir Giles,” said the deputy-warden, chuckling.
“No, no; I forget it not,” laughed the extortioner. “How ingeniously devised are our Star-Chamber punishments, Master Joachim, and how well they meet the offences. Infamous libellers and slanderers of the State, like Sir Jocelyn, are ever punished in one way; but new crimes require new manner of punishment. You recollect the case of Traske, who practised Judaism, and forbade the use of swine’s flesh, and who was sentenced to be fed upon nothing but pork during his confinement.”
“I recollect it perfectly,” cried Tunstall, “a just judgment. The wretch abhorred the food, and would have starved himself rather than take it; but we forced the greasy morsels down his throat. Ha! ha! You are merry, Sir Giles, very merry; I have not seen you so gleesome this many a day — scarcely since the time when Clement Lanyere underwent his sentence.”
“Ah! the accursed traitor!” exclaimed Sir Giles, with an explosion of rage. “Would he had to go through it again! If I catch him, he shall — and I am sure to lay hands upon him soon. But to our present prisoner. You will treat him in all respects as his father was treated, Master Joachim — but no one must come nigh him.”
“No one shall approach him save with an order from the Council, Sir Giles,” replied the other.
“Not even then,” said the extortioner decisively. “My orders alone must be attended to!”
“Hum!” ejaculated the deputy-warden, somewhat perplexed. “Well, I will follow out your instructions as strictly as I can, Sir Giles. I suppose you have nothing more to say to the prisoner, and Grimbald may as well lock him up.”
And, receiving a nod of assent from the other, he called to the jailer to finish his task.
But Sir Jocelyn resolutely refused to enter the cell, and demanded a room in one of the upper wards.
“You shall have no other chamber than this,” said Sir Giles, in a peremptory tone.
“I did not address myself to you, Sir, but to the deputy-warden,” rejoined Sir Jocelyn. “Master Joachim Tunstall, you well know I am not sentenced by the Star-Chamber, or any other court, to confinement within this cell. I will not enter it; and I order you, at your peril, to provide me with a better chamber. This is wholly unfit for occupation.”
“Do not argue the point, Grimbald, but force him into the cell,” roared the extortioner.
“Fair and softly, Sir Giles, fair and softly,” replied the jailer. “Now, prisoner, you hear what is said — are you prepared to obey?”
And he was about to lay hands rudely upon Sir Jocelyn, when the latter, pushing him aside, ran nimbly up the steps, and seizing Sir Giles by the throat, dragged him downward.
Notwithstanding the resistance of the extortioner, whose efforts at liberation were seconded by Grimbald, our young knight succeeded in forcing his enemy into the dungeon, and hurled him to the further end of it. During the struggle, Sir Jocelyn had managed to possess himself of the other’s sword, and he now pointed it at his breast.
“You have constituted yourself my jailer,” he cried, “and by the soul of him who perished in this loathsome cell, by your instrumentality, I will send you instantly to account for your crimes on High, unless you promise to assign me a different chamber!”
“I promise it,” replied Sir Giles. “You shall have the best in the Fleet. Let me go forth, and you shall choose one for yourself.”
“I will not trust you, false villain,” cried Sir Jocelyn. “Give orders to the deputy-warden, and if he pledges his word they shall be obeyed, I will take it. Otherwise you die.”
“Bid Master Tunstall come to me, Grimbald,” gasped the extortioner.
“I am here, Sir Giles, I am here,” replied the deputy-warden, cautiously entering the cell. “What would you have me do?”
“Free me from this restraint,” cried Sir Giles, struggling to regain his feet.
Sir Jocelyn shortened his sword in order to give him a mortal thrust, but his purpose was prevented by Grimbald. With his heavy bunch of keys the jailer struck the young knight upon the head, and stretched him insensible upon the ground.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A Secret Friend.
When Sir Jocelyn again became conscious, he found he had been transported to a different cell, which, in comparison with the “Stone Coffin,” was clean and comfortable. The walls were of stone, and the pallet on which he was laid was of straw, but the place was dry, and free from the noisome effluvium pervading the lower dungeon. The consideration shown him originated in the conviction on the part of the deputy-warden, that the young man must die if left in his wounded state in that unwholesome vault, and so the removal took place, in spite of the objections raised to it by Sir Giles Mompesson, who would have willingly let him perish. But Master Tunstall dreaded an i
nquiry, as the prisoner had not yet been sentenced by the Council.
After glancing round his cell, and endeavouring recal the events that had conducted him to it, Sir Jocelyn tried to raise himself, but found his limbs so stiff that he could not accomplish his object, and he sank back with a groan. At this moment the door opened, and Grimbald, accompanied by a repulsive-looking personage, with a face like a grinning mask, advanced towards the pallet.
“This is the wounded man, Master Luke Hatton,” said the jailer; “you will exert your best skill to cure him; and you must use dispatch, in case he should be summoned before the Council.”
“The Council must come to him if they desire to interrogate him now,” replied Luke Hatton; adding, after he had examined the injuries received by the young knight, “He is badly hurt, but not so severely as I expected. I will undertake to set him upon his legs in three days. I did as much for Sir Giles Mompesson, and he was wounded in the same manner.”
“Why, this is the young knight who struck down Sir Giles at the jousts,” said Grimbald. “Strange! you should have two mortal enemies to deal with.”
“Is this Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey?” inquired Luke Hatton, with apparent curiosity. “You did not tell me so before.”
“Perhaps I ought not to have told you so now,” returned the other. “But do you take any interest in him?”
“Not much,” replied the apothecary; “but I have heard his name often mentioned of late. You need not be uneasy about this young man being summoned before the Star-Chamber. The great case of the Countess of Exeter against Lady Lake comes on before the King and the Lords of the Council to-morrow or next day, and it will occupy all their attention. They will have no time for aught else.”
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