The King's Daughters Part 14

"Mistress Amy, I do pray you never think of such a thing," cried Elizabeth, in horror. "You'll be killed!"

"Well, I'm not wishful to be killed," answered Amy lightly: "I only want some fun while we are shut up here. I marvel when Mother shall come to let us out. She'll have to light the fire herself if she does not; that's one good thing!"

Elizabeth thought it a very undutiful idea; but she was silent. If she had but had wings like a dove, how gladly would she have flown to warn her friends! She well knew that Mrs Clere was not likely to be in the mood to grant a favour and let her go, after what had happened the night before. To go without leave was a thing which Elizabeth never contemplated. That would be putting herself in the wrong. But her poor friends, would they escape? How if Robert Purcas had been stopped, as she had? I was strange, but her imagination did not dwell nearly so much upon her own friend, Rose, as on little Cissy. If Johnson were taken, if he were martyred, what would become of little Cissy? The child had crept into Elizabeth's heart, before she was aware. Suddenly Amy's voice broke in upon her thoughts.

"Come, Bess, art in a better mood this morrow? I'll forgive thee thy miss-words last night, if thou'lt tell me now."

All the cross words there had been the night before had come from Amy herself; but Elizabeth let that pa.s.s.

"Mistress Amy," said she, "this matter is not one whereof I may speak to you or any other. I was charged with a secret, and bidden not to disclose the same. Think you I can break my word?"

"Dear heart! I break mine many a time in the week," cried Amy, with a laugh. "I'm not _nigh_ so peevish as thou."

"But, Mistress Amy, it is not right," returned Elizabeth earnestly.

Before Amy could answer, Mrs Clere's heavy step was heard approaching the door, and the key turned in the lock. Amy, who sat on the side of the bed swinging her feet to and fro for amus.e.m.e.nt, jumped down.

"Mother, you'll get nought from her. I've essayed both last night and this morrow, and I might as well have held my tongue."

"Go and light the fire," said Mrs Clere sternly to Elizabeth. "I'll have some talk with thee at after."

Elizabeth obeyed in silence. She lighted the fire and b.u.t.tered the eggs, and swept the house, and baked the bread, and washed the clothes, and churned the b.u.t.ter--all with a pa.s.sionate longing to be free, hidden in her heart, and constant ejaculatory prayers--silent ones, of course-- for the safely of her poor friends. Mrs Clere seemed to expect Elizabeth to run away if she could, and she did not let her go out of her sight the whole day. The promised scolding, however, did not come.

Supper was over, and the short winter day was drawing to its close, when Nicholas Clere came into the kitchen.

"Here's brave news, Wife!" said he, "What thinkest? Here be an half-dozen in the town arrest of heresy--and some without, too."

"Mercy on us! Who?" demanded Mrs Clere.

"Why, Master Benold, chandler, and Master Bongeor, glazier, and old Mistress Silverside, and Mistress Ewring at the mill--these did I hear.

I know not who else." And suddenly turning to Elizabeth, he said, "Hussy, was this thine errand, or had it ought to do therewith?"

All the pa.s.sionate pain and the earnest longing died out of the heart of Elizabeth Foulkes. She stood looking as calm as a marble statue, and almost as white.

"Master," she said, quietly enough, "mine errand was to warn these my friends. G.o.d may yet save them, if it be His will. And may He not lay to your charge the blood that will otherwise be shed!"

"Mercy on us!" cried Mrs Clere again, dropping her duster. "Why, the jade's never a bit better than these precious friends of hers!"

"I'm sore afeared we have been nourishing a serpent in our bosoms," said Nicholas, in his sternest manner. "I had best see to this."

"Well, I wouldn't hurt the maid," said his wife, in an uneasy tone; "but, dear heart! we must see to ourselves a bit. We shall get into trouble if such things be tracked to our house."

"So we shall," answered her husband. "I shall go, speak with the priest, and see what he saith. Without"--and he turned to Elizabeth--"thou wilt be penitent, and go to ma.s.s, and do penance for thy fault."

"I am willing enough to do penance for my faults, Master," said Elizabeth, "but not for the warning that I would have given; for no fault is in it."

"Then must we need save ourselves," replied Nicholas: "for the innocent must not suffer for the guilty. Wife, thou wert best lock up this hussy in some safe place; and, daughter, go thou not nigh her. This manner of heresy is infectious, and I would not have thee defiled therewith."

"Nay, I'll have nought to do with what might get me into trouble," said Amy, flippantly. "Bessy may swallow the Bible if she likes; I shan't."

Elizabeth was silent, quietly standing to hear her doom p.r.o.nounced. She knew it was equivalent to a sentence of death. No priest, consulted on such a subject would dare to leave the heretic undenounced. And she had no friends save that widowed mother at Stoke Nayland--a poor woman, without money or influence; and that other Friend who would be sure to stand by her,--who, that He might save others, had not saved Himself.

Nicholas took up his hat and marched out, and Mrs Clere ordered Elizabeth off to a little room over the porch, generally used as a lumber room, where she locked her up.

"Now then, think on thy ways!" said she. "It'll mayhap do thee good.

Bread and water's all thou'lt get, I promise thee, and better than thy demerits. Dear heart! to turn a tidy house upside-down like this, and all for a silly maid's fancies, forsooth! I hope thou feels ashamed of thyself; for I do for thee."

"Mistress, I can never be ashamed of G.o.d's truth. To that will I stand, if He grant me grace."

"Have done with thy cant! I've no patience with it."

And Mistress Clere banged the door behind her, locked it, and left Elizabeth alone till dinner-time, when she carried up a slice of bread-- only one, and that the coa.r.s.est rye-bread--and a mug of water.

"There!" said she. "Thou shouldst be thankful, when I've every bit of work on my hands in all this house, owing to thy perversity!"

"I do thank you, Mistress," said Elizabeth, meekly. "Would you suffer me to ask you one favour? I have served you well hitherto, and I never disobeyed you till now."

It was true, and Mrs Clere knew it.

"Well, the brazen-facedness of some hussies!" cried she. "Prithee, what's your pleasure, mistress? Would you a new satin gown for your trial, and a pearl-necklace? or do you desire an hundred pounds given to the judges to set you free? or would you a pet.i.tion to the Queen's Majesty, headed by Mr Mayor and my Lord of Oxenford?"

Elizabeth let the taunts go by her like a summer breeze. She felt them keenly enough. n.o.body enjoys being laughed at; but he is hardly worth calling a man who allows a laugh to turn him out of the path of duty.

"Mistress," she said, quietly, "should you hear of any being arrested for heresy, would you do me so much grace as to let me know the name?

and the like if you hear of any that have escaped?"

Mrs Clere looked down into the eyes that were lifted to her, as Elizabeth stood before her. Quiet, meek, tranquil eyes, without a look of reproach in them, with no anxiety save that aroused for the fate of her friends. She was touched in spite of herself.

"Thou foolish maid!" said she. "Why couldst thou not have done as other folks, and run no risks? I vow I'm well-nigh sorry for thee, for all thy perversity. Well, we'll see. Mayhap I will, if I think on't."

"Thank you, Mistress!" said Elizabeth gratefully, as Mistress Clere took the mug from her, and left the little porch-chamber as before, locking her prisoner in the prison.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

ROSE HEARS THE NEWS.

While Elizabeth Foulkes was pa.s.sing through these experiences, the Mounts, Rose Allen, and the children, had gone back to Much Bentley as soon as morning broke. Rose took the little ones home to Thorpe, and they met Johnson just at the door of his own cottage.

"Truly, friend, I am much beholden to you," said he to Rose, "for your kindly care of my little ones. But, I pray you, is it true what I heard, that Mistress Silverside is arrest for heresy?"

Rose looked up in horrified astonishment.

"Why, we left them right well," she said, "but five hours gone. I brought the children o'er to you so soon as they had had their dinner.

Is it true, think you?"

"Nay, that would I fain know of you, that were in town twelve hours later than I," answered Johnson.