Penshurst Castle Part 32

'I have had a letter of some length from Lucy concerning Sir Henry's death at Ludlow, and I look for another ere long with a fuller account than as yet I have received of the Lady Mary's departure.'

'Verily, there is only one staff to lean on as we pa.s.s through the valley of the shadow when all human help is vain. None need be lonely who can feel the presence of the Lord near in life and death. We must all seek to feel that presence with us.'

'Alas!' Humphrey said, 'this is a hard matter. It is many a year now since I have ventured to put the question. Do you still hold to the belief that your husband lives?'

'Yes,' Mary said firmly, 'till certain news reaches me that he is dead.'

They were at the door of Master Gifford's house now, and here they parted--Humphrey to the active service which would make him forget for the time the hopelessness of his quest for the boy Ambrose and his love for the mother.

Lucy Forrester had acquired, amongst other things in Lady Pembroke's service, the art of writing well, and she kept up communication with her sister by this means. These letters were often sent, by favour of the Earl of Pembroke, in the despatches to Sir Philip Sidney or the Earl of Leicester, and conveyed to Mary Gifford by his servants.

One of these letters awaited Mary this evening on her return, and it was lying on the table by Master Gifford's side, as he sat in the spotlessly clean parlour, with the Bible open before him, and a sheet of parchment, on which he was jotting down the heads of his sermon to be delivered next day in the plain unadorned room at the back of his house at Arnhem.

Master George Gifford was a fine and venerable-looking man, with abundance of grey hair curling low over the stiff, white collar, which contrasted with the sombre black of his long gown made of coa.r.s.e homespun.

He had escaped to Holland in the days of the persecution of Protestants in England, and, having a natural gift of eloquence, had become the centre and stay of a little band of faithful followers of the Reformed Faith.

But Master Gifford was no narrow-minded bigot, and he abhorred persecution on the plea of religion, as utterly at variance with the Gospel of the One Lord and Saviour of all men.

He was a dignified, courteous man, and treated Mary with the tender consideration which her forlorn condition seemed to demand. Amongst those who at intervals attended his ministry was Sir Philip Sidney, and, on this very day when Mary Gifford had been on her vain expedition to the little out-of-the-way village on the river bank, the young soldier had come to lay before him the scheme for attacking Axel, and had brought with him the letter which, on Mary's entrance, Master Gifford held towards her.

'Here is a welcome missive,' he said; 'but forsooth, my poor child, you look worn and tired. Sit you down and rest. Gretchen has spread the board for you; I supped an hour agone. No news, I take it, Mary?' Master Gifford said.

'No, no, dear uncle, and I can go on no more vain quests. Master Humphrey has the best intention, and who but a mother could recognise her own child?

I fear me you have needed my help with distributing the alms to the poor this afternoon, and I should have baked the pasty for the morrow's dinner.'

'Gretchen has done all that was needful. Is it not so, good Gretchen?' said Master Gifford, as a squarely-built, sandy-haired Dutch woman, in her short blue gown and large brown linen ap.r.o.n, and huge flapping cap came into the room.

Gretchen came forward to Mary with resolute steps, and said in her somewhat eccentric English,--

'And what must you tire yourself out like this for, Mistress Gifford? Tut, tut, you look like a ghost. Come and eat your supper like a Christian, I tell you.'

Gretchen was a rough diamond, but she had a good heart. She was absolutely devoted to her master, and with her husband, an Englishman, who had escaped with his master as a boy many years before, served him with zeal and loyalty.

Mary was led, whether she wished it or not, to the kitchen--that bright kitchen with its well-kept pots and pans, and its heavy delf-ware ranged on shelves, its great Dutch clock ticking loudly in the corner, and the clear fire burning merrily in the stove, which was flanked with blue and white tiles with a variety of quaint devices.

'Sit you down and eat this posset. I made it for you, knowing you would be more dead than alive. Come now, and sip this cup of mead, and don't open that letter till you have done. Take off your hood and cloak. There! now you are better already. Give up yawning like that, Jan, or you'll set me off,' Gretchen said to her husband, whose name she had changed, to suit the country of his adoption, from John to Jan, and who had been taking a comfortable nap on the settle by the stove, from which he had been rudely awakened by his wife.

Mary was obliged to do as Gretchen bid her, and was constrained to acknowledge that she felt the better for the food, of which she had been so unwilling to partake.

Master Gifford's house was frequented by many faithful Puritans in Arnhem, and amongst them was a lady named Gruithuissens, who was well-known for her benevolence and tender sympathy with all who were sorrowful and oppressed.

As was natural, therefore, she was attracted by Mary Gifford, and her friendship had been one of the compensations Mary felt G.o.d had granted her for the ever present loss of her boy.

Madam Gruithuissens' house faced the street on one side and overlooked the river on the other. The window of her long, s.p.a.cious parlour opened out upon a verandah, and had a typical view of the Low Countries stretched before them. A wide, far-reaching expanse of meadow-land and water--the flat country vanishing in the sky-line many miles distant.

A contrast, indeed, to the wood-covered heights and undulating pastures of the fair country of Kent, where the home of the Sidneys stands in all its stately time-honoured pride.

Mary Gifford's thoughts were there at this moment. A summer evening came back to her when she sat at the cas.e.m.e.nt of Ford Manor with Ambrose clasped close to her side. The years that lay between that time and the present seemed so short, and yet how they had probably changed the child whom she had loved so dearly.

Humphrey Ratcliffe was right. She had not realised what that change would be. And then came the ever-haunting fear that Ambrose, if he were alive, would fail to recognise his mother--might have been taught to forget her, or, perhaps, to think lightly of her, and to look upon her as a heretic, by the Jesuits who had brought him up in their creed.

She was roused from her meditations by Mistress Gruithuissens' abrupt entrance.

'Great news!' she said, 'Great news! Axel is taken, and Sir Philip Sidney has done wonders. A messenger has just arrived with the news at the Earl of Leicester's quarters, and Master Humphrey Ratcliffe has been sent by barge with others of the wounded. There has been great slaughter, and terrible it is to think of the aching hearts all around us. Women widows, children fatherless. Yet it is a righteous war, for Spain would ma.s.sacre tenfold the number did she gain the ascendant--hearken! I hear footsteps.'

In another moment the door was partly thrown open, and a young soldier, evidently fresh from the scene of action, came in.

'I am seeking Mistress Gifford,' he said. 'I am esquire to Master Humphrey Ratcliffe, and he has dispatched me with a message.'

'I am Mistress Gifford,' Mary said. 'What is your news?'

'My master is wounded, and he lies in Sir Philip Sidney's quarters in the garrison. He bids me say he would fain see you, for he has to tell you somewhat that could be entrusted to no one but yourself.'

'How can I go to him?' Mary said helplessly.

'How? With me, and my servants to guard us. But do not look so terror-struck, Mistress Gifford,' Madam Gruithuissens said, 'it may, perchance, be good news. I will order the servants to make ready--or will we wait till the morrow? Nay, I see that would tax your patience too far; we will start at once.'

As Mary Gifford and her new protectress pa.s.sed through the streets of Arnhem to the garrison where Humphrey lay wounded, they saw knots of people collected, all talking of the great event of the taking of Axel. Some women were weeping and unable to gain any exact information, most of them with a look of stolid misery on their faces, with no pa.s.sionate expression of grief, as would have been seen in a like case amongst Italian and French women, or even amongst English sufferers in the same circ.u.mstances.

Mary Gifford's ear had become accustomed to the Dutch language, and she spoke it with comparative ease, having, in her visits of charity amongst the poor of Master Gifford's followers and disciples, no other means of communicating with them.

Madam Gruithuissens spoke English, for, like so many of those who sought safety in the Low Countries from the persecution of the Papists in England, she had been brought thither by her father as a child, and had, till her marriage, spoken her native tongue, and had read much of the literature which was brought over from England.

Humphrey Ratcliffe was lying in a small chamber apart from other sufferers, by Sir Philip's order. He was wounded in the shoulder, and faint from the loss of blood.

Mary Gifford did not lose her self-control in an emergency. Like many gentle, quiet women, her strength and courage were always ready when she needed them.

'I am grieved to see you thus,' Mary said, as she went up to the low pallet where Humphrey lay.

'It is nought but a scratch,' he said, 'and it has been well worth the gaining in a n.o.ble cause and a grand victory. I have certain news of your boy. He was in a Jesuit school. It was burnt to the ground, but the boy was saved. In the confusion and uproar, with the flames scorching hot on us, I felt pity for the young creatures who were seen struggling in the burning ma.s.s. With the help of my brave companions I rescued three of the boys. I was bearing off one to a place of safety when I felt a blow from behind.

This stab in my shoulder, and the pain, made me relax my hold of the boy.

'Instantly one of the Jesuit brothers had seized him, saying,--

"You are safe, Ambrose, with me."

'I knew no more. I swooned from pain and loss of blood, and, when I came to, I found I was in a barge being brought hither with other of the wounded.'

'But my son!' Mary exclaimed. 'Are you sure it was my son?'

'As sure as I can be of aught that my eyes have ever looked upon. I saw the large eyes you speak of dilated with fear, as the flames leaped up in the surrounding darkness. And I verily believe the man who tore him from me was him who gave me this wound, and is the crafty wretch whom you know to be your husband.'

'Ah me!' Mary exclaimed, 'it is but poor comfort after all. My boy may be near, but I can never see him; he who has him in his power will take care he eludes our grasp. But I am selfish and ungrateful to you, my good friend. Pardon me if I seem to forget you got that sore wound in my service.'

'Ah! Mary,' Humphrey said, 'I would suffer ten such wounds gladly if I might but win my guerdon. Well for me, it may be, that I swooned, or, by Heaven, I should have run that wily Jesuit through the body.'

'Thank G.o.d,' Mary said fervently, 'that his blood lies not on your head.'