Sir Ludar Part 41

Only two days since, he told us, had he been let out of Rochester gaol; when he had gone forthwith to Canterbury and heard from mine host at the "Oriflame" that a certain printer's 'prentice by name Dexter, if any one, could tell him what had befallen the nunnery maiden. Whereupon he had travelled all the way to London in a day, and had not been able to hear of me. But, spying us just now in a boat, as he stood near London Bridge, he had taken craft and followed us, and here he was, ready to take up his charge, and, whether we willed it or no, look after the maiden.

This was a great joy to us all, not least of all to the maiden herself, to whom it seemed like a message from an absent one.

So it came to pa.s.s, when on the morrow the travellers started westward, there were five of them. And methought if any harm came to those two fair women with such champions to guard them, it would indeed go hard with all.

They had not been gone three days, and the desolate house, occupied only by me and my master, seemed as void and dull as ever, when one afternoon who should step into the shop but a fine gentleman whom I had never seen before, but whom I guessed to be no friend, as soon as I saw him.

"I am told," said he, "that an honest 'prentice, one Dexter, dwelleth here."

"You be told very right," said I, affecting to be as simple as he wished me. "I am he."

"To be sure, honest fellow," said he, "we have met before."

"Where might that be?" asked I.

"No matter where," said he, "but I remember you for a fine honest fellow. And, indeed, 'tis for that reason I am come. I have but lately lost my servant, a drunken scoundrel whom I am well rid of. And hearing from more than one a likely report of you, and knowing you myself that you are the sort of fellow I need--honest, strong in the arm, and quick of wit--I resolved to offer you the service. And as for wage, if you will come, marry I value a good servant so well that there shall be no question betwixt us on that score. Here is a purse for thy first month's service; and if you be the man I take you for, you shall have the like each month you serve me."

"I am mightily beholden to you," said I, gaping at the money and smelling villainy in it all. "And by your leave, Sir Captain, what may be your service?"

"Easy enough for a lad of thy mettle. Indeed, whether you take my service or no, you shall keep that purse, provided you tell me where a certain maiden, ward to the Lady Cantire and daughter to the O'Neill, is now?"

Now I guessed whose messenger I talked with, and what his business might be with me.

It surprised me that he came to the point so quickly. But the greedy way I fingered his money deceived him, and he supposed me won already.

"And how should I know aught of her?" said I.

"Come now," said he, "'tis I am here to ask you questions, not you me.

If you want not the money you need not answer. There be others whose tongues it can loosen. So hand it back."

Hereupon I feigned to be in a monstrous panic and said--

"Nay, sir Captain, I said not that I did not know of her. But why do you ask? I desire not any harm to the maiden; for she hath been good to me."

"Harm?" said he. "What do you take me for? I am commanded to deliver her a jewel, bequeathed by her step-dame, and if you refuse to answer me, it is not I but you who do her harm."

"Your pardon," said I, "but there be so many evil-disposed persons in the world, and the maiden is so very fair."

"Come," said he, getting impatient, "where is she?"

"Alas!" said I, "she is not here. I heard of her indeed not long since in Kent."

"Yes, and where?" he asked, getting excited.

"'Twas in Canterbury, where she hid from a villain, one Captain Merriman."

He looked at me hard; but I looked so simple, and fingered the money so greedily, he suspected naught.

"Where is she now?" he asked again.

"Look you, Captain," said I, getting close with him, "if you truly mean well by this maiden, I shall tell you where to look for her. Only you must keep it secret, and, above all things, tell it not to this Captain Merriman, who is a very devil, and whom I would like to split with my sword, could I catch him."

"Yes, yes," said he, eagerly, "I know him not--where is she?"

"In faith," whispered I, "if you seek her, you must be quick, for a week hence she may be flown."

"Where is it?" he asked, impatiently.

"'Tis--but the name slips me. Yet, your patience, Captain, I have a paper I will fetch."

And I left him and wrote hurriedly on a paper.

"_Pont-Marie, at Calais in France_."

"Look you, Captain," said I, "you are to go to the place named here.

'Tis across seas, in France. I can tell you no better than this paper.

I pray you breathe not to the maiden, if you see her, that 'twas I told you where to look for her; for she would be vexed, as would others I know of. And to prove I am honest, here, take thy purse; for I will never touch it till you tell me you have found her and given her the jewel. As for thy service, I will think of that betwixt now and the day I see you again. Therefore, I pray you, appoint no servant meanwhile.

And remember, not a word to the maiden how you came to find her."

He took me for a simple fool, and went off very content with the paper in his pocket, and leaving the purse with me. So I knew I was rid of him and his fellow dog, Merriman, for well-nigh two weeks; and by that time the maiden and her party would be beyond all reach. As to what would happen when they returned from their trip,--well, I had two hands and a sword as well as others.

But whether they came back or not, I know not; for weeks went by, and I forgot all about them, when one night, as my master and I worked secretly, with closed door, at the press, I feeling very desolate to know that the whole house was empty, and that were I to open the parlour door, there would meet me no merry note of singing from a sweet voice within--while we worked thus, I say, there came a rustling at the threshold, and presently a piece of paper was thrust under the door. By the dim rush light we took and read it. It said simply this--

_Have a care, Walgrave! The Wolfe prowleth o' nights_.

"What make you of that?" asked I of my master.

"It comes from a friend," said he, "with evil news. For ever since this greedy John Wolfe was appointed beadle of the Company in room of Timothy Ryder, he hath had a jealous eye on me; and being an old offender himself, he is like to have no terms with others who do as he once did.

Humphrey, our hands are too far gone in this business to pull back now; therefore, Wolfe or no Wolfe, we must end it."

"And how?" said I; "since he will be here to-morrow, and find two presses where there should be but one; and the libels hanging here yet damp from the printing?"

"He must find neither," said my master. "We have time yet to give him the slip."

Then he told me how it was arranged, should this mischance befall, which he had expected long since, that the secret press and stuff pertaining to it, should be removed to Mistress Crane's house near the Dowgate (where Mistress Walgrave now lodged), and thence taken secretly to her country house at Moulsey. And since there was no time to lose, we set- to then and there to take the press to pieces and bestow it and the printed sheets in barrels, which, when all was done, my master bade me trundle to the river's edge and place on a wherry, and so convey to Dowgate.

The which, with much sweat and labour, I accomplished, and about eight of the clock next morning delivered them at Mistress Crane's house, who asked no question, but gave me a sixpence for my pains, and bade me return at once the way I came.

Now, you must know, so soon as I was back in my boat, I pitched that sixpence into the Thames. For although, to please Jeannette's step- father, and because I wished well to my Church, I had lent myself to this business, I liked it not, and remembered it each day in my prayers as a thing to be forgiven. So that I could not take Mistress Crane's sixpence, and hoped the throwing of it away would stand somewhat to my favour when all was reckoned up.

I had not been an hour at work that morning, when in comes John Wolfe with hungry maw, and demands to search the house. Which my master craftily tried to put him off; thereby making John the more sure that he was on a right scent. At last Master Walgrave yielded and bade him take his will. So after overlooking the usual room, and finding naught there disorderly, he walks me with a smack of his lips to where the reams stood piled on the secret door. And with great labour and puffing he and his men set-to to move them, with no help from us. And the door being thus uncovered, he calls for a light and goes below.

Now, my master, whether of purpose or by chance, so soon as the cellar had been cleared the night before, had let run some water over the floor, which, by standing there, had made a pretty slough in the place.

And Master Wolfe, not knowing as well as we did that the bottom step of the ladder was a-wanting, and being enc.u.mbered with his candle, fell flat on his face into the mire, and lay there spitting and kicking a round five minutes before we above had the good fortune to hear him.

I went below to help him up--and it was sad to see so great a man in so brave a livery so befouled! Instead of thanking me for my pains he vowed this was a trick put on him, and that some he knew of should smart for it. But for all that he found neither press, nor forme, nor printed sheet contrary to regulation, no, not by searching the whole house over, even to my sweet Jeannette's deserted chamber.

When he inquired where Mistress Walgrave and the children were gone, my master bade him go packing, and concern himself with his own business and not hinder honest men in theirs. So John Wolfe and we parted not too good friends; he threatening to be even with us yet; and we bidding him go wash his face and get a change of raiment.