Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland

So saying, Will Cavendish disappeared with the letters. He probably had had a caution administered to him, for when he returned he was evidently swelling with the consciousness of a State secret, which he would not on any account betray, yet of the existence of which he desired to make his old comrade aware.

Humfrey asked whether he had told Mr. Secretary of the man in Richmond Park.

"Never fear! he knows it," returned the budding statesman. "Why, look you, a man like Sir Francis has ten thousand means of intelligence that a simple mariner like you would never guess at. I thought it strange myself when I came first into business of State, but he hath eyes and ears everywhere, like the Queen's gown in her picture. Men of the Privy Council, you see, must despise none, for the lewdest and meanest rogues oft prove those who can do the best service, just as the bandy-legged cur will turn the spit, or unearth the fox when your gallant hound can do nought but bay outside."

"Is this Maude, or Langston, such a cur?"

Cavendish gave his head a shake that expressed unutterable things, saying: "Your kinsman, said you? I trust not on the Talbot side of the house?"

"No. On his mother's side. I wondered the more to see him here as he got that halt in the Rising of the North, and on the wrong side, and hath ever been reckoned a concealed Papist."

"Ay, ay. Dost not see, mine honest Humfrey, that's the very point that fits him for our purpose?"

"You mean that he is a double traitor and informer."

"We do not use such hard words in the Privy Council Board as you do on deck, my good friend," said Cavendish. "We have our secret intelligencers, you see, all in the Queen's service. Foul and dirty work, but you can't dig out a fox without soiling of fingers, and if there be those that take kindly to the work, why, e'en let them do it."

"Then there is a plot?"

"Content you, Humfrey! You'll hear enough of it anon. A most foul, bloody, and horrible plot, quite enough to hang every soul that has meddled in it, and yet safe to do no harm—like poor Hal's blunderbuss, which would never go off, except when it burst, and blew him to pieces."

Will felt that he had said quite enough to impress Humfrey with a sense of his statecraft and importance, and was not sorry for an interruption before he should have said anything dangerous. It was from Frank Pierrepoint, who had been Diccon's schoolmate, and was enchanted to see him. Humfrey was to stay one day longer in town in case Walsingham should wish to see him, and to show Diccon something of London, which they had missed on their way to Plymouth.

St. Paul's Cathedral was even then the sight that all Englishmen were expected to have seen, and the brothers took their way thither, accompanied by Frank Pierrepoint, who took their guidance on his hands. Had the lads seen the place at the opening of the century they would have thought it a piteous spectacle, for desecration and sacrilege had rioted there unchecked, the magnificent peal of bells had been gambled away at a single throw of the dice, the library had been utterly destroyed, the magnificent plate melted up, and what covetous fanaticism had spared had been further ravaged by a terrible fire. At this time Bishop Bancroft had done his utmost towards reparation, and the old spire had been replaced by a wooden one; but there was much of ruin and decay visible all around, where stood the famous octagon building called Paul's Cross, where outdoor sermons were preached to listeners of all ranks. This was of wood, and was kept in moderately good repair. Beyond, the nave of the Cathedral stretched its length, the greatest in England. Two sets of doors immediately opposite to one another on the north and south sides had rendered it a thoroughfare in very early times, in spite of the endeavours of the clergy; and at this time "Duke Humfrey's Walk," from the tomb of Duke Humfrey Stafford, as the twelve grand Norman bays of this unrivalled nave were called, was the prime place for the humours of London; and it may be feared that this, rather than the architecture, was the chief idea in the minds of the youths, as a babel of strange sounds fell on their ears, "a still roar like a humming of bees," as it was described by a contemporary, or, as Humfrey said, like the sea in a great hollow cave. A cluster of choir-boys were watching at the door to fall on any one entering with spurs on, to levy their spur money, and one gentleman, whom they had thus attacked, was endeavouring to save his purse by calling on the youngest boy to sing his gamut.

Near at hand was a pillar, round which stood a set of men, some rough, some knavish-looking, with the blue coats, badges, short swords, and bucklers carried by serving-men. They were waiting to be hired, as if in a statute fair, and two or three loud-voiced bargains were going on. In the middle aisle, gentlemen in all the glory of plumed hats, jewelled ears, ruffed necks, Spanish cloaks, silken jerkins, velvet hose, and be-rosed shoes, were marching up and down, some attitudinising to show their graces, some discussing the news of the day, for "Paul's Walk" was the Bond Street, the Row, the Tattersall's, the Club of London. Twelve scriveners had their tables to act as letter-writers, and sometimes as legal advisers, and great amusement might be had by those who chose to stand listening to the blundering directions of their clients. In the side aisles, horse-dealing, merchants' exchanges, everything imaginable in the way of traffic was going on. Disreputable-looking men, who there were in sanctuary from their creditors, there lurked around Humfrey Stafford's tomb; and young Pierrepoint's warning to guard their purses was evidently not wasted, for a country fellow, who had just lost his, was loudly demanding justice, and getting jeered at for his simplicity in expecting to recover it.

"Seest thou this?" said a voice close to Humfrey, and he found a hand on his arm, and Babington, in the handsome equipment of one of the loungers, close to him.

"A sorry sight, that would grieve my good mother," returned Humfrey.

"My Mother, the Church, is grieved," responded Antony. "This is what you have brought us to, for your so-called religion," he added, ignorant or oblivious that these desecrations had been quite as shocking before the Reformation. "All will soon be changed, however," he added.

"Sir Thomas Gresham's New Exchange has cleared off some of the traffic, they say," returned Humfrey.

"Pshaw!" said Antony; "I meant no such folly. That were cleansing one stone while the whole house is foul with shame. No. There shall be a swift vengeance on these desecrators. The purifier shall come again, and the glory and the beauty of the true Faith shall be here as of old, when our fathers bowed before the Holy Rood, instead of tearing it down." His eye glanced with an enthusiasm which Humfrey thought somewhat wild, and he said, "Whist! these are not things to be thus spoken of."

"All is safe," said Babington, drawing him within shelter of the chantry of Sir John Beauchamp's tomb. "Never heed Diccon—Pierrepoint can guide him," and Humfrey saw their figures, apparently absorbed in listening to the bidding for a horse. "I have things of moment to say to thee, Humfrey Talbot. We have been old comrades, and had that childish emulation which turns to love in manhood in the face of perils."

Humfrey, recollecting how they had parted, held out his hand in recognition of the friendliness.

"I would fain save thee," said Babington. "Heretic and rival as thou art, I cannot but love thee, and I would have thee die, if die thou must, in honourable fight by sea or land, rather than be overtaken by the doom that will fall on all who are persecuting our true and lawful confessor and sovereign."

"Gramercy for thy good will, Tony," said Humfrey, looking anxiously to see whether his old companion was in his right mind, yet remembering what had been said of plots.

"Thou deem'st me raving," said Antony, smiling at the perplexed countenance before him, "but thou wilt see too late that I speak sooth, when the armies of the Church avenge the Name that has been profaned among you!"

"The Spaniards, I suppose you mean," said Humfrey coolly. "You must be far gone indeed to hope to see those fiends turned loose on this peaceful land, but by God's blessing we have kept them aloof before, I trust we may again."

"You talk of God's blessing. Look at His House," said Babington.

"He is more like to bless honest men who fight for their Queen, their homes and hearths, than traitors who would bring in slaughterers and butchers to work their will!"

"His glory is worked through judgment, and thus must it begin!" returned the young man. "But I would save thee, Humfrey," he added. "Go thou back to Plymouth, and be warned to hold aloof from that prison where the keepers will meet their fit doom! and the captive will be set free. Thou dost not believe," he added. "See here," and drawing into the most sheltered part of the chantry, he produced from his bosom a picture in the miniature style of the period, containing six heads, among which his own was plainly to be recognised, and likewise a face which Humfrey felt as if he should never forget, that which he had seen in Richmond Park, quailing beneath the Queen's eye. Round the picture was the motto—

"Hi mihi sunt comites quos ipsa pericula jungunt."

"I tell thee, Humfrey, thou wilt hear—if thou dost live to hear—of these six as having wrought the greatest deed of our times!"

"May it only be a deed an honest man need not be ashamed of," said Humfrey, not at all convinced of his friend's sanity.

"Ashamed of!" exclaimed Babington. "It is blest, I tell thee, blest by holy men, blest by the noble and suffering woman who will thus be delivered from her martyrdom."

"Babington, if thou talkest thus, it will be my duty to have thee put in ward," said Humfrey.

Antony laughed, and there was a triumphant ring very like insanity in his laughter. Humfrey, with a moment's idea that to hint that the conspiracy was known would blast it at once, if it were real, said, "I see not Cuthbert Langston among your six. Know you, I saw him only yestereven going into Secretary Walsingham's privy chamber."

"Was he so?" answered Babington. "Ha! ha! he holds them all in play till the great stroke be struck! Why! am not I myself in Walsingham's confidence? He thinketh that he is about to send me to France to watch the League. Ha! ha!"

Here Humfrey's other companions turned back in search of him; Babington vanished in the crowd, he hardly knew how, and he was left in perplexity and extreme difficulty as to what was his duty as friend or as subject. If Babington were sane, there must be a conspiracy for killing the Queen, bringing in the Spaniards and liberating Mary, and he had expressly spoken of having had the latter lady's sanction, while the sight of the fellow in Richmond Park gave a colour of probability to the guess. Yet the imprudence and absurdity of having portraits taken of six assassins before the blow was struck seemed to contradict all the rest. On the other hand, Cavendish had spoken of having all the meshes of the web in the hands of the Council; and Langston or Maude seemed to be trusted by both parties.

Humfrey decided to feel his way with Will Cavendish, and that evening spoke of having met Babington and having serious doubts whether he were in his right mind. Cavendish laughed, "Poor wretch! I could pity him," he said, "though his plans be wicked enough to merit no compassion. Nay, never fear, Humfrey. All were overthrown, did I speak openly. Nay, to utter one word would ruin me for ever. 'Tis quite sufficient to say that he and his fellows are only at large till Mr. Secretary sees fit, that so his grip may be the more sure."

Humfrey saw he was to be treated with no confidence, and this made him the more free to act. There were many recusant gentlemen in the neighbourhood of Chartley, and an assault and fight there were not improbable, if, as Cavendish hinted, there was a purpose of letting the traitors implicate themselves in the largest numbers and as fatally as possible. On the other hand, Babington's hot head might only fancy he had authority from the Queen for his projects. If, through Cicely, he could convey the information to Mary, it might save her from even appearing to be cognisant of these wild schemes, whatever they might be, and to hint that they were known was the surest way to prevent their taking effect. Any way, Humfrey's heart was at Chartley, and every warning he had received made him doubly anxious to be there in person, to be Cicely's guardian in case of whatever danger might threaten her. He blessed the fiction which still represented him as her brother, and which must open a way for him to see her, but he resolved not to take Diccon thither, and parted with him when the roads diverged towards Lichfield, sending to his father a letter which Diccon was to deliver only into his own hand, with full details of all he had seen and heard, and his motives for repairing to Chartley.

"Shall I see my little Cis?" thought he. "And even if she play the princess to me, how will she meet me? She scorned me even when she was at home. How will it be now when she has been for well-nigh a year in this Queen's training? Ah! she will be taught to despise me! Heigh ho! At least she may be in need of a true heart and strong arm to guard her, and they shall not fail her."

Will Cavendish, in the plenitude of the official importance with which he liked to dazzle his old playfellow, had offered him a pass to facilitate his entrance, and he found reason to be glad that he had accepted it, for there was a guard at the gate of Chartley Park, and he was detained there while his letter was sent up for inspection to Sir Amias Paulett, who had for the last few months acted as warder to the Queen.

However, a friendly message came back, inviting him to ride up. The house—though called a castle—had been rebuilt in hospitable domestic style, and looked much less like a prison than Sheffield Lodge, but at every enclosure stood yeomen who challenged the passers-by, as though this were a time of alarm. However, at the hall-door itself stood Sir Amias Paulett, a thin, narrow-browed, anxious-looking man, with the stiffest of ruffs, over which hung a scanty yellow beard.

"Welcome, sir," he said, with a nervous anxious distressed manner. "Welcome, most welcome. You will pardon any discourtesy, sir, but these are evil times. The son, I think, of good Master Richard Talbot of Bridgefield? Ay, I would not for worlds have shown any lack of hospitality to one of his family. It is no want of respect, sir. No; nor of my Lord's house; but these are ill days, and with my charge, sir—if Heaven itself keep not the house—who knows what may chance or what may be laid on me?"

"I understand," said Humfrey, smiling. "I was bred close to Sheffield, and hardly knew what 'twas to live beyond watch and ward."

"Yea!" said Paulett, shaking his head. "You come of a loyal house, sir; but even the good Earl was less exercised than I am in the charge of this same lady. But I am glad, glad to see you, sir. And you would see your sister, sir? A modest young lady, and not indevout, though I have sometimes seen her sleep at sermon. It is well that the poor maiden should see some one well affected, for she sitteth in the very gate of Babylon; and with respect, sir, I marvel that a woman, so godly as Mistress Talbot of Bridgefield is reported to be, should suffer it. However, I do my poor best, under Heaven, to hinder the faithful of the household from being tainted. I have removed Preaux, who is well known to be a Popish priest in disguise, and thus he can spread no more of his errors. Moreover, my chaplain, Master Blunden, with other godly men, preaches three times a week against Romish errors, and all are enforced to attend. May their ears be opened to the truth! I am about to attend this lady on a ride in the Park, sir. It might—if she be willing—be arranged that your sister, Mistress Talbot, should spend the time in your company, and methinks the lady will thereto agree, for she is ever ready to show a certain carnal and worldly complaisance to the wishes of her attendants, and I have observed that she greatly affects the damsel, more, I fear, than may be for the eternal welfare of the maiden's soul."

CHAPTER XXVI

IN THE WEB

It was a beautiful bright summer day, and Queen Mary and some of her train were preparing for their ride. The Queen was in high spirits, and that wonderful and changeful countenance of hers was beaming with anticipation and hope, while her demeanour was altogether delightful to every one who approached her. She was adding some last instructions to Nau, who was writing a letter for her to the French ambassador, and Cicely stood by her, holding her little dog in a leash, and looking somewhat anxious and wistful. There was more going on round the girl than she was allowed to understand, and it made her anxious and uneasy. She knew that the correspondence through the brewer was actively carried on, but she was not informed of what passed. Only she was aware that some crisis must be expected, for her mother was ceaselessly restless and full of expectation. She had put all her jewels and valuables into as small a compass as possible, and talked more than ever of her plans for giving her daughter either to the Archduke Matthias, or to some great noble, as if the English crown were already within her grasp. Anxious, curious, and feeling injured by the want of confidence, yet not daring to complain, Cicely felt almost fretful at her mother's buoyancy, but she had been taught a good many lessons in the past year, and one of them was that she might indeed be caressed, but that she must show neither humour nor will of her own, and the least presumption in inquiry or criticism was promptly quashed.

There was a knock at the door, and the usher announced that Sir Amias Paulett prayed to speak with her Grace. Her eye glanced round with the rapid emotion of one doubtful whether it were for weal or woe, yet with undaunted spirit to meet either, and as she granted her permission, Cis heard her whisper to Nau, "A rider came up even now! 'Tis the tidings! Are the Catholics of Derby in the saddle? Are the ships on the coast?"

In came the tall old man with a stiff reverence: "Madam, your Grace's horses attend you, and I have tidings"—(Mary started forward)—"tidings for this young lady, Mistress Cicely Talbot. Her brother is arrived from the Spanish Main, and requests permission to see and speak with her."

Radiance flashed out on Cicely's countenance as excitement faded on that of her mother: "Humfrey! O madam! let me go to him!" she entreated, with a spring of joy and clasped hands.