Penshurst Castle Part 21

The porter was snoring loudly, but Humphrey felt uncertain whether he was feigning sleep, or had really resumed his broken slumber. He therefore bid the boy follow him upstairs, first replacing bolt and bar, to make all secure till the morning.

When he reached his room, which was up more than one flight of the winding stone stairs, Ned stumbling after him, he struck a light with a flint and kindled a small lamp, which hung from an iron hook in the roof.

'Throw yourself on that settle, my good fellow; but give me the letter first. When I have read it, you shall tell me all you know.'

The letter was written on thin parchment, and was scarcely legible, blotted, as it was, with tears, and the penmanship irregular and feeble.

'To Master Humphrey Ratcliffe--My Good Friend,--This comes from one nearly distraught with grief of mind and sickness of body. My boy, my boy! They have stolen him from me. Can you find him for me? He is in the hands of Jesuits--it may be at Douay--I dare say no more. I cannot say more. Good Ned, Heaven bless him, will find you out, and give you this. Pray to G.o.d for me. He alone can bind the broken heart of one who is yours, in sore need.

'M. G.

'I lost him this day se'nnight; it is as a hundred years to me. Tears are my meat. G.o.d's hand is heavy upon me.'

Humphrey read and re-read the letter, and again and again pressed it pa.s.sionately to his lips.

'Find him! Find her boy; yes, G.o.d helping me, I will track him out, alive or dead.'

Then he turned to Ned,--

'Now, tell me all you know of this calamity.'

Ned told the story in a few simple words. The black man had been skulking about Penshurst for some time. He had scared Mistress Lucy, and the boy had seen him near the house. Mistress Gifford had gone out early to look after the shepherd, who was seeking a lost lamb, and the black man had come out of a hollow. Then Mistress Gifford had run with all her might, and, worse luck, she stumbled and fell in a swoon, and when Jenkyns found her she had come out of it, but was moaning with pain, and grieving for the boy.

'And no wonder,' Ned said; 'there's not a soul at the farm that didn't think a mighty deal of that child. He was a plague sometimes, I'll warrant, but--' and Ned drew his sleeve across his eyes, and his low guttural voice faltered, as he said,--'Folks must be made of stone if they don't feel fit to thrash that popish devil for kidnapping him, and going near to break Madam Gifford's heart, who is a saint on earth.'

'You are a good fellow,' Humphrey said fervently. 'Now, take off those heavy boots and rest, while I tax my brains, till I decide what is best to do.'

With a mighty kick Ned sent his rough boots flying, one after the other, across the room, and then, without more ado, curled up his ungainly figure on the settle, and before Humphrey could have believed it possible, he was snoring loudly, his arm thrown under his head, and his tawny red locks in a tangled ma.s.s, spread upon the softest cushion on which the cowboy had ever rested.

Humphrey Ratcliffe paced the chamber at intervals till daybreak, and was only longing for action, to be able to do something to relieve Mary's distress--to scour the country till he found a trace of the villain, and rescue the boy from his clutches.

This must be his immediate aim; but to do this he must gain leave from his chief.

The tournament was over, but the Queen would most certainly require Mr Sidney's attendance at Hampton Court Palace, whither it was rumoured she was shortly to go in state, in the royal barge, with the French Amba.s.sador.

Humphrey grew feverishly anxious for the time when he could see Mr Sidney, and hailed the noises in the courtyard and the voices of the grooms, who were rubbing down the tired horses after the conflicts of the previous day, and examining their hurts received in the fray, which were in some cases very severe.

Mr Sidney's rooms were reached by another staircase, and as the big clock of the palace struck five, Humphrey went down into the porter's hall and inquired of one of the attendants if Mr Sidney was stirring.

'He isn't stirring, for he hasn't been a-bed,' was the answer.

'Then I shall gain admittance?'

'Most like,' was the reply, with a prolonged yawn.

'Those are lucky who can slumber undisturbed, whether a-bed or up.

Yesterday's show fell hard on those who had to work at it.'

'I hear you let in a vagrant last night, Master Ratcliffe. The porter saith if harm comes of it he won't take the blame. Most like a rascally Jesuit come to spy out some ways to brew mischief.'

'A harmless country lout is not likely to brew mischief,' Humphrey said sharply. 'The man came on urgent business, in which none here but myself have concern,' and then he crossed to the door leading to the apartments occupied by Mr Sydney and Sir Fulke Greville.

Humphrey Ratcliffe had not to wait for admittance to Philip Sidney's room.

He answered the tap at the door with a ready 'Enter,' and Humphrey found him seated before a table covered with papers, the morning light upon his gold-coloured hair, and on his beautiful face.

Humphrey Ratcliffe stopped short on the threshold of the door before closing it behind him, and how often, in the years that were to come, did Philip Sidney's figure, as he saw it then, return to him as a vivid reality from which time had no power to steal its charm.

Philip looked up with a smile, saying,--

'Well, my good Humphrey, you are astir early.'

'And you, sir, have been astir all night!'

'Sleep would not come at my bidding, Humphrey, and it is in vain to court her. She is a coy mistress, who will not be caught by any wiles till she comes of her own sweet will. But is aught amiss, Humphrey, that you seek me so soon? Hero, my good horse, came out of the fray untouched. I a.s.sured myself of that ere I came hither last night.'

'There is nothing wrong with Hero, sir, that I know of. I dare to seek you for counsel in a matter which causes me great distress.'

Philip Sidney had many great gifts, but perhaps none bound his friends and dependants more closely to him, nor won their allegiance more fully, than the sympathy with which he entered into all their cares and joys, their sorrows or their pleasures.

Immediately, as Humphrey told his story, he was listening with profound attention, and Humphrey's burden seemed to grow lighter as he felt it shared with his chief.

'You know her, sir! You can believe how sore my heart is for her. In all the sorrows which have well nigh crushed her, this boy has been her one consolation and joy, and he is stolen from her.'

'Yes,' Philip Sidney said, 'I do know Mistress Gifford, and have always pleased myself with the thought that she would put aside the weeds of widowhood and make you happy some day, good Humphrey.'

'Nay, sir; she has given me too plainly to understand this is impossible.

She is as a saint in Heaven to me. I love her with my whole heart, and yet--yet--I feel she is too far above me, and that I shall never call her mine.'

'Well, well, let us hope you may yet attain unto your heart's desire, nor have it ever denied, as is G.o.d's will for me. But now, as to the boy--it puzzles me why any man should kidnap a child of these tender years. What can be the motive?'

'I know not, sir, unless it be the greedy desire of the Papists to gain over, and educate in their false doctrines and evil practices, children likely to serve their ends. Mistress Gifford's husband was, so it is said, a Papist from the first moment that he married her, but hid it from her, and played his part well.'

'I do not doubt it. While in the service of my Uncle Leicester, it was his policy to profess the Reformed Faith. Failing to obtain what he wanted, he threw off disguise, and, as I understand, after an intrigue with another man's wife, had a fierce fight with the injured husband, so deadly that both lost their lives in the fray.'

'Some said this Gifford, fearing disgrace, had left the country, others that he died. Mistress Gifford must believe the last to be true or she would not, methinks, have clothed herself in the weeds of widowhood.'

'But now, my good Humphrey, you would fain have leave to prosecute your inquiries. G.o.d speed you in them, and may they be successful. Mistress Gifford's reference to Douay makes me think she may have some notion, to connect this centre of the Papists with the disappearance of her boy. At any rate, see her, and, if it is advisable for you to repair to Douay, go, but beware you are not entrapped by any of those Jesuits' snares.'

'I am loth to leave you, sir,' Humphrey said, 'yet I feel bound to do what in me lies to rescue this boy. A goodly child he is, full of spirit, and, though wild at times as a young colt, obedient to his mother. Alack!'

Humphrey continued, 'his poor bereft mother. Would to G.o.d I knew how to comfort her.'

It was then arranged that Humphrey should set off, without loss of time, for Penshurst, stopping at Tunbridge on the road to inst.i.tute inquiries there.

George Ratcliffe was also returning home with several horses which had been over-strained in the tourney of the day before, and both brothers left London together, with Ned on the baggage horse with the serving-man, before noon, George scarcely less heavy-hearted than Humphrey, and too much absorbed in his own troubles to be alive to his brother's. What was the loss of little Ambrose when compared with the utter hopelessness he felt about Lucy.