Robin Tremayne Part 21

"Served the King well in Cornwall," answered John; "I know of nothing worse."

"'Tis that idiot, knave, dolt, and dizard [fool] of a Northumberland,"

cried Dr Thorpe in great indignation. "I would the whole Dudley race had never been born! Knavery runs in their blood--'twill not out of them!"

"There are a few honest men in England--but a few," said John, mournfully, "and two of the foremost shall lie this night in the Tower of London. And for what? Is it because my Lord Grey hath many times shed his blood for England (the royal blood of England herself which runneth in his veins [Note 3]), that now England herself shall shed it on Tower Hill? Is it because my Lord of Somerset hath given her the best laws she had for many a day, that now she will needs strain her laws to condemn him? Shame upon England if it be so! She shall not be held guiltless for it either before G.o.d or men."

"And yestereven," continued Dr Thorpe, "was my Lady of Somerset sent also to the Tower, for the great crime, I take it, of being wife unto her husband. And with her a fair throng of gentlemen--what they have done I wis not. Maybe one of them sent the Duke a peac.o.c.k, and another doffed his bonnet to the Lord Grey."

"The d.u.c.h.ess, too!" exclaimed John, turning to him. "I heard not of her committal. What can they lay to her charge?"

"Marry, she must have trade on the tail [train] of my Lady of Northumberland last Garter day," scornfully answered Dr Thorpe. "Were not this a crime well deserving of death?"

"Surely," said Isoult, "my Lady of Warwick [Note 4] will plead for her own father and mother with her father of Northumberland?"

"Plead with the clouds that they rain not!" said he, "or with a falling rock that it crush you not. Their bosoms were easier to move than John Dudley's heart of stone."

"And what saith the King to it all, mewondereth?" said Isoult.

"Poor child!" answered Jack, "I am sorry for him. Either he pleadeth in vain, or else they have poured poison into his ears, persuading him that his uncle is his dire foe, and they his only friends [the last was the truth]. G.o.d have pity on his gentle, childly heart, howsoever it be."

"More news, Isoult!" said Dr Thorpe, coming home on the following Thursday. "'Tis my Lord Paget this time that hath had the great misfortune to turn his back upon King Northumberland, while the knave was looking his way. We shall have all the n.o.bles of the realm accommodated in the Tower afore long."

"Ah me!" said Isoult, with a shiver, "are those dreadful 'headings to begin again?"

"Most likely so," answered he, sitting down. "And the King's Grace hath given his manor of Ashridge unto his most dear sister the Lady Elizabeth. I marvel, by the way, which of those royal ladies shall ride the first unto Tower Hill. We are getting on, child! How the Devil must be a-rubbing his hands just now!"

In the midst of these troubles came the Queen Dowager of Scotland, Marie of Guise, to visit the King; upon which rumours instantly arose that the King should even yet marry the young Queen of Scots. But Mary Stuart was never to be the wife of Edward Tudor: and there came days when, looking back on this day, Isoult Avery marvelled that she could ever have thought such events troubles at all. The clouds were returning after the rain.

In came Dr Thorpe from evensong on the Sunday night.

"One bit more of tidings, Isoult!" said he in his caustic style. "'Tis only my Lord of Arundel--nothing but an Earl--let him be. Who shall be the next, trow?"

"Mean you," said she, "that my Lord of Arundel is had to the Tower?"

"To the Tower," replied he, "ay; the general meeting-place now o' days."

"I wonder how it is with my Lady of Arundel," said Isoult.

"Why," answered he, "if she would get in likewise after her lord, she hath but to tell my Lord of Northumberland to his face that he may well be 'shamed of himself (a truer word was never spoke!) and she shall find her there under an hour."

During the following month came an invitation to dine at West Ham.

There, beside the party from the Lamb, were Mr and Mrs Underhill and Mr Holland. The conversation turned on politics. It was the usual topic of that eventful decade of years.

Mr Rose said,--"I know one Master Ascham, now tutor unto my Lady Elizabeth's Grace, which hath also learned the Lady Jane Grey, and hath told me how learned and studious a damsel is she; and can speak and read with all readiness not only French, and Spanish, and Italian, but also Latin and Greek: and yet is she only of the age of fourteen years. And so gentle and lovely a maid to boot, as is scantly to be found in the three kingdoms of the King's Majesty."

"How had she served for the King?" inquired John.

"Right well, I would say," answered Mr Rose. "But men say she is destined otherwhere."

"Whither, I pray you?" said Mr Holland.

"Unto a son of my Lord of Northumberland, as 'tis thought," he answered.

Whereupon, hearing the name of his enemy, as though touched by a match, Dr Thorpe exploded.

"A son of my Lord of Northumberland, forsooth!" cried he. "Doth earth bear no men but such as be sons of my Lord of Northumberland? Would the rascal gather all the coronets of England on his head, and those of his sons and daughters? 'Tis my Lord of Northumberland here, and there, and everywhere--"

"Up-stairs and down-stairs, and in my Lady's chamber," sang Mr Underhill, in a fine ba.s.s voice; for even in that musical age, he was renowned for his proficiency in the art.

"In the King's chamber, certes," said Dr Thorpe. "I would with all mine heart he could be thence profligated." [Driven out.]

"Methinks I can see one in the far distance that may do that," said Mr Rose in his grave manner. "At the furthest, my Lord of Northumberland will not live for ever."

"But how many sons hath he?" groaned Dr Thorpe. "'Such apple-tree, such fruit' If the leopard leave ten or a dozen cubs, we be little better for shooting him."

"My Lord Henry, allgates, is no leopard cub," said Mr Underhill. "I know the boy; and a brave, gallant lad he is."

"Go on," said Dr Thorpe. "The rest?"

"My Lord of Warwick," pursued he, "is scarce the equal of his brother, yet is he undeserving of the name of a leopard cub; and my Lord Ambrose, as meseemeth, shall make a worthy honourable man. For what toucheth my Lord Guilford, I think he is not unkindly, but he hath not wit equal to his father; and as for Robin [the famous Earl of Leicester]--well, you shall call him a leopard cub an' you will. He hath all his father's wit and craft, and more than his father's grace and favour; and he looketh to serve as a courtier."

"He shall carry on, then, in his father's place," said Dr Thorpe, with a groan.

"Methinks he shall either make a right good man, or a right bad one,"

answered Mr Underhill. "He hath wit for aught."

"And who," said Dr Thorpe, "ever heard of a Dudley a good man?"

"Is that the very gentleman," asked Mrs Rose, "that did marry with the great heir, Mistress Robsart?"

"Ay,--Mrs Amie," answered Mr Underhill; "and a gentle one she is. A deal too good for Robin Dudley."

"Must we then look to my Lord Robert as the Cerberus of the future?"

said Mr Rose, smiling.

"The Devil is not like to run short of servants," answered Dr Thorpe, grimly. "If it be not he, it will be an other."

The clouds returned after the rain; but they gathered softly.

Unheralded by any suspicion on the part of England as to the fate which it bore, came that fatal first of December which was the beginning of the end.

Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, was arraigned that day in Westminster Hall. And round the doors England pressed, yet in more hope than fear.

A mere farce, she thought: he must be acquitted, of course. She prepared to welcome him home in triumph.

With such feelings in her heart--for was she not a part of England?-- Isoult Avery stood at her door about six o'clock that evening, waiting for John's return from the trial which was the one occurrence of the day. Robin had gone with him; but Dr Thorpe remained at home. For a time there was nothing but silence. The usual hum of the City was stilled: everybody was at Westminster. From Goodman's Fields the cows came lowing home; now and then a single person, intent on business with which nothing might interfere, pa.s.sed quickly up the Minories; the soft chime of the bells of Saint Katherine floated past the Tower wall, for the ringers were practising after evensong; and one great gun rang out sharply from the Tower, to inform the world that it was six o'clock.

Five minutes afterwards, a low sound, like the roll of distant thunder, came from the City side of Aldgate. It grew louder every moment. It became first a noise, then a roar. At last the sound was articulate and distinguishable.

"A Somerset! a Somerset!" [Note 5.]

But what had happened? Were they voices of Papists, or of Gospellers?