The King's Daughters Part 4

CHAPTER FIVE.

IN DIFFICULTIES.

Cissy Johnson was not old enough to understand all the reasons why her father distrusted the priest; but she knew well that "Father didn't like him," and like the dutiful little girl she was, she was resolved not to make a friend of any one whom her father disliked, for she knew that he might have good reasons which she could not understand. But Cissy had been taught to be civil to everybody, and respectful to her betters-- lessons of which a little more would not hurt some folks in the present day. People make a great mistake who think that you cannot both be respectful to others and independent for yourself. The Bible teaches us to do both. Being in this state of mind, Cissy was decidedly pleased to see her father coming up from the other end of the lane.

"Oh, here's Father!" she said to Rose; and little Will ran on joyfully to meet him.

"Well, my lad!" was Johnson's greeting to his boy. "So thou and Cissy have got back? It's a right long way for such as thou."

Little Will suddenly remembered that he was exceedingly tired, and said so.

"Thou'd better go to bed," said her father, as they came up with the girls. "Well, Cis, who hast thou picked up?--I'm right thankful to you," he added, looking at Rose, "for giving my little maid a helping hand. It's a long way for such little ones, all the way from the Heath, and a heavy load for little arms, and I'm main thankful. Will you come in a bit and rest you?" he said to Rose.

But Rose declined, for she knew her mother would expect her to come back at once. She kissed Cissy, and told her, whenever she had a load to carry either way, to be sure she looked in at the Blue Bell, when Rose would help her if she possibly could: and giving the jar to Johnson, she bade him good-night, and turned back up the lane. Sir Thomas had walked on, as Rose supposed: at any rate, he was not to be seen. She went nearly a mile without seeing any one, until Margaret Thurston's cottage came in sight. As Rose began to go a little more slowly, she heard footsteps behind her, and the next minute she was joined--to her surprise--by the priest.

"My daughter," he said, in a soft, kind voice, "I think thou art Rose Allen?"

Rose dropped a courtesy, and said she was.

"I have been wishful to speak with some of thy father's household," said Sir Thomas, in the same gentle way: "so that I am fain to meet thee forth this even. Tell me, my child, is there illness in the house or no?"

Rose breathed quickly: she guessed pretty well what was coming.

"No, Father," she answered; "we are all in good health, G.o.d be thanked for that same."

"Truly. I am glad to hear thee so speak, my daughter, and in especial that thou rememberest to thank G.o.d. But wherefore, then, being in good health, have ye not come to give thanks to G.o.d in His own house, these eight Sundays past? Ye have been regular aforetime, since ye were back from the Bishop's Court. Surely it is not true--I do hope and trust it is not true, that ye be slipping yet again into your past evil ways of ill opinions and presumptuous sin?"

The reason why the Mounts had not been to church was because the services were such as they could no longer join in. Queen Mary had brought back the Popish ma.s.s, and all the images which King Edward had done away with; so that to go to church was not to worship G.o.d but to worship idols. And so terrible was the persecution Mary had allowed to be set up, that the penalty for refusing to do this was to be burnt to death for what she called heresy.

It was a terrible position for a young girl in which Rose Allen stood that night. This man not only held her life in his hands, but also those of her mother and her step-father. If he chose to inform against them, the end of it might be death by fire. For one moment Rose was silent, during which she cried silently but most earnestly to G.o.d for wisdom and courage--wisdom to keep her from saying what might bring them into needless danger, and courage to stand true and firm to G.o.d and His truth.

"Might I be so bold as to pray you, Father," she said at last, "to ask at my mother the cause of such absence from ma.s.s? You wot I am but a young maid, and under direction of mine elders."

Sir Thomas Tye smiled to himself. He thought Rose a very cautious, prudent girl, who did not want to bring herself into trouble.

"So be it, my daughter," said he in the same gentle way. "Doubtless it was by direction of thine elders that then wert absent aforetime, ere ye were had up to the Bishop."

He meant it as a question, by which he hoped to entangle poor Rose. She was wise enough not to answer, but to let it pa.s.s as if he were merely giving his own opinion, about which she did not wish to say anything.

"Crafty girl!" thought Sir Thomas. Then he said aloud,--"The festival of our Lady cometh on apace: ye will surely have some little present for our blessed Lady?"

The Virgin Mary was then called "Our Lady."

"We be but poor folks," said Rose. "Truly, I know ye be poor folks,"

was the priest's reply. "Yet even poor folks do oft contrive to pleasure their friends by some little present. And if ye might bring no more than an handful of daisies from the field, yet is our Lady so gracious that she will deign to accept even so small an offering. Ye need not be empty-handed."

"I trust we shall do our duty," said poor Rose, in great perplexity.

"Father, I cry you mercy if I stay me here, for I would fain speak with the woman of this cot."

"So do, my daughter," was the soft reply, "and I will call here belike, for I do desire to speak with Thurston." Poor Rose was at her wit's end. Her little manoeuvre had not succeeded as she hoped. She wanted to be rid of the unwelcome company of the priest; and now it seemed as if, by calling on Margaret Thurston instead of going straight home, she would only get more of it. However, she must do it now. She had nothing particular to say to Margaret, whom she had already seen that day, though her mother had said after Margaret was gone, that she wished she had told her something, and Rose meant to use this remark as furnishing an excuse.

She tapped, lifted the latch, and went in, the priest following.

John Thurston sat by the fire cutting clothes-pegs; Margaret was ironing clothes. Thurston rose when he saw the priest, and both received him reverently.

Feeling that her best chance of escaping the priest was to proceed immediately, Rose drew Margaret aside, and told her what her mother had said; but Margaret, who was rather fond of talking, had something to say too, and the precious minutes slid by. Meanwhile the priest and Thurston went on with their conversation: and at last Rose, saying she really could not stay any longer, bade them good-bye, and went out. But just as Margaret was opening the door to let her out, Sir Thomas said a few words in reply to Thurston, which Rose could not but overhear.

"Oh, Master Clere is a worthy man enough. If he hath gone somewhat astray in times past, that shall now be amended. Mistress Cicely, too, is an honest woman that wist how to do her duty. All shall be well there. I trust, John Thurston, that thou shalt show thyself as wise and well ruled as he."

Rose heard no more. She pa.s.sed out into the night, and ran nearly all the way home.

"Why, Rose, how breathless art thou, maid!" said the other when she came in.

"Well I may, Mother!" cried Rose. "There is evil ahead for us, and that not a little. Father Tye overtook me as I came back, and would know of me why we had not been to ma.s.s these eight Sundays; and I staved him off, and prayed him to ask of you. And, Mother, he saith Master Clere the draper, though he have gone somewhat astray, is now returned to his duty, and you wot what that meaneth. And I am feared for us, and Bessy too."

"The good Lord have mercy on us!" said Alice Mount.

"Amen!" responded William Mount gravely. "But it had best be such mercy as He will, Alice, not such as we would. On one matter I am resolved--I will sign no more submissions. I fear we have done it once too often."

"O Father, I'm so fain to hear you say it!" cried Rose.

"Art thou so, daughter?" he answered a little sadly. "Have a care thy quick tongue bring thee not into more trouble than need be. Child, to refuse that submission may mean a fiery death. And we may not--we must not--shrink from facing death for Him who pa.s.sed through death for us.

Lord, grant us Thy grace to stand true!"

And William Mount stood up with uncovered head, and looked up, as we all do instinctively when we speak to Him who dwelleth in the heavens.

"Who hath abolished death!" was the soft response of Alice.

CHAPTER SIX.

ROSE ASKS A FAVOUR.

"You'll not find no better, search all Colchester through!" said Mrs Clere, to a fat woman who did not look particularly amiable, holding up some worsted florence, drab with a red stripe.

"Well, I'm not so sure," replied the cross-looking customer. "Tomkins, now, in Wye Street, they showed me some Kendal frieze thicker nor that, and a halfpenny less by the yard."

"Tomkins!" said Mrs Clere, in a tone not at all flattering to the despised Tomkins. "Why, if that man knows a Kendal frieze from a piece of black satin, it's all you can look for. Never bred up to the business, _he_ wasn't. And his wife's a poor good-for-nought that wouldn't know which end of the broom to sweep with, and his daughters idle, gossiping hussies that'll drive their husbands wild one o' these days. Don't talk to me about Tomkins!"

And Mrs Clere turned over the piece of florence as roughly as if it had been Tomkins instead of itself.

"It was right good frieze," said the customer doubtfully.

"Then you'd better go and buy it," snapped Mrs Clere, whom something seemed to have put out that morning, for she was generally better-tempered than that.

"Well, but I'm not so sure," repeated the customer. "It's a good step to Wye Street, and I've lost a bit o' time already. If you'll take tenpence the ell, you may cut me off twelve."