The King's Daughters Part 28

"Good den, Master Style. I am James Felstede's wife of Thorpe, and I come with an order from their Worships the Commissioners to take Johnson's children to me; they be to dwell in my charge till the Black Sisters shall send for them."

"Want 'em to-night?" asked the porter rather gruffly.

"Well, what say you?--are they abed? I'm but a poor woman, and cannot afford another walk from Thorpe. I'd best take 'em with me now."

"You're never going back to Thorpe to-night?"

"Well, nay. I'm going to tarry the night at my brother's outside East Gate."

"Bless the woman! then call for the children in the morning, and harry not honest folk out o' their lives at bed-time."

And Style dashed the wicket to.

"Now, then, Kate! be those loaves ready? The rogues shall be clamouring for their suppers," cried he to his wife.

Katherine Style, who baked the prison bread, brought out in answer a large tray, on which three loaves of bread were cut in thick slices, with a piece of cheese and a bunch of radishes laid on each. These were for the supper of the prisoners. Style shouted for the gaoler, and he came up and carried the tray into the dungeon, followed by the porter, who was in rather a funny mood, and--as I am sorry to say is often the case--was not, in his fun, careful of other people's feelings.

"Now, Johnson, hast thou done with those children?" said he. "Thou'd best make thy last dying speech and confession to 'em, for they're going away to-morrow morning."

Johnson looked up with a grave, white face. Little Cissy, who was sitting by Rose Allen, at once ran to her father, and twined her arm in his, with an uneasy idea of being parted from him, though she did not clearly understand what was to happen.

"Where?" was all Johnson seemed able to say.

"Black Nuns of Hedingham," said the porter. He did not say anything about the temporary sojourn with Ursula Felstede.

Johnson groaned and drew Cissy closer to him.

"Don't be feared, Father," said Cissy bravely, though her lips quivered till she could hardly speak. "Don't be feared: we'll never do anything you've told us not."

"G.o.d bless thee, my darling, and G.o.d help thee!" said the poor father.

"Little Cissy, He must be thy Father now." And looking upwards, he said, "Lord, take the charge that I give into Thine hands this night!

Be Thou the Father to these fatherless little ones, and lead them forth by a smooth way or a rough, so it be the right way, whereby they shall come to Thy holy hill, and to Thy tabernacle. Keep them as the apple of Thine eye; hide them under the covert of Thy wings! I am no more in the world; but these are in the world: keep them through Thy Name. Give them back safe to my Helen and to me in the land that is very far-off, whereinto there shall enter nothing that defileth. Lord, I trust them to no man, but only unto Thee! Here me, O Lord my G.o.d, for I rest on Thee. Let no man prevail against Thee. I have no might against this company that cometh against me, neither know I what to do; but mine eyes are upon Thee."

CHAPTER THIRTY.

"THEY WON'T MAKE ME!"

"What! Agnes Bongeor taken to the Moot Hall? Humph! they'll be a-coming for me next. I must get on with my work. Let's do as much as we can for the Lord, ere we're called to suffer for Him. Thou tookest my message to Master Commissary, Doll?"

Dorothy Denny murmured something which did not reach the ear of Mrs Wade.

"Speak up, woman! I say, thou tookest my message?"

"Well, Mistress, I thought--"

"A fig for thy thought! Didst give my message touching Johnson's children?"

"N-o, Mistress, I,--"

"Beshrew thee for an unfaithful messenger. Dost know what the wise King saith thereof? He says it is like a foot out of joint. Hadst ever thy foot out o' joint? I have, and I tell thee, if thou hadst the one foot out of joint, thou wouldst not want t'other. I knew well thou wert an a.s.s, but I did not think thee unfaithful. Why didst not give my message?"

There were tears in Dorothy's eyes.

"Mistress," said she, "forgive me, but I will not help you to run into trouble, though you're sore set to do it. It shall serve no good purpose to keep your name for ever before the eyes of Master Commissary and his fellows. Do, pray, let them forget you. You'll ne'er be safe, an' you thrust yourself forward thus."

"Safe! Bless the woman! I leave the Lord to see to my safety. I've no care but to get His work done."

"Well, then He's the more like to have a care of you; but, Mistress, won't you let Dorothy Denny try to see to you a bit too?"

"Thou'rt a good maid, Doll, though I'm a bit sharp on thee at times; and thou knows thou art mortal slow. Howbeit, tell me, what is come of those children? If they be in good hands, I need not trouble."

"Ursula Felstede has them, Mistress, till the Black Nuns of Hedingham shall fetch them away."

"Ursula Felstede! 'Unstable as water.' That for Ursula Felstede.

Black Nuns shall not have 'em while Philippa Wade's above ground. I tell thee, Dorothy, wherever those little ones go, the Lord's blessing 'll go with them. Dost mind what David saith? 'I have been young, and now am old; and yet saw I never the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.' And I want them, maid,--part because I feel for the little ones, and part because I want the blessing. Why, that poor little Cicely 'll be crying her bits of eyes out to part with 'Father.'

Doll, I'll go down this even, if I may find leisure, to Ursula Felstede, and see if I cannot win her to give me the children. I shall tell her my mind first, as like as not: and much good may it do her! But I'll have a try for 'em--I will."

"Folks saith, Mistress, the prisoners be in as good case as may be: always reading and strengthening one another, and praising G.o.d."

"I'm fain to hear it, Dorothy. Ah, they be not the worst off in this town. If the Lord were to come to judge the earth this even, I'd a deal liefer be one of them in the Moot Hall than be of them that have them in charge. I marvel He comes not. If he had been a man and not G.o.d, He'd have been down many a time afore now."

About six o'clock on a hot July evening, Ursula Felstede heard a tap at her door.

"Come in! O Mistress Wade, how do you do? Will you sit? I'm sure you're very welcome," said Ursula, in some confusion.

"I'm not quite so sure of it, Ursula Felstede: but let be. You've Johnson's children here, haven't you?"

"Ay, I have so: and I tell you that Will's a handful! Seems to me he's worser to rule than he used. He's getting bigger, trow."

"And Cicely?"

"Oh, she's quiet enough, only a bit obstinate. Won't always do as she's told. I have to look after her sharp, or she'd be off, I do believe."

"I'd like to see her, an't please you."

"Well, to be sure! I sent 'em out to play them a bit. I don't just know where they are."

"Call that looking sharp after 'em?"

Ursula laughed a little uneasily.

"Well, one can't be just a slave to a pack of children, can one? I'll look out and see if they are in sight."

"Thank you, I'll do that, without troubling you. Now, Ursula Felstede, I've one thing to say to you, so I'll say it and get it over. Those children of Johnson's have the Lord's wings over them: they'll be taken care of, be sure: but if you treat them ill, or if you meddle with what their father learned them, you'll have to reckon with Him instead of the Queen's Commissioners. And I'd a deal sooner have the Commissioners against me than have the Lord. Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do but fear Him which after He hath killed, hath power to cast into h.e.l.l. Yea, I say unto thee, Fear Him!"

And Mrs Wade walked out of the door without saying another word. She was going to look for the children. The baby she had already seen asleep on Ursula's bed. Little Will she found in the midst of a group of boys down by the brook, one of whom, a lad twice his size, was just about to fight him when Mrs Wade came up.