Everett-Green Evelyn
The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot
Cuthbert answered, without the least hesitation:
"I will."
Chapter 11: The Lone House On The River
"Cuthbert, do not go-ah, do not go!"
"And wherefore not, my Cherry?"
"I am afraid. I had such dreams last night. And, Cuthbert, didst thou not heed? Notedst thou not how in handing the salt at supper thy hand shook, and it was spilled? I like not such auguries; they fill my heart with fear. Do not go-ah, do not!"
Cuthbert smiled as he caressed his little love, not averse to feeling her soft arms clinging round his neck, yet quite disposed to laugh at her youthful terrors.
"But what dost thou fear, sweetheart?"
"I fear everything," she replied, with inconsequent vehemence. "I remember the stories I have heard of the wiles of the priests, and how they tempt unwary men to their destruction. What is this Father Urban to thee, that thou shouldst risk aught for him? I will not let thee go-I will not!"
"Father Urban saved my life."
"And thou hast saved his. That debt is paid in full," was the prompt response. "He saved thee at no peril to himself; thou hast saved him when it might have cost thee thy life. Thou owest him nothing-nothing! Why should he ask this further service of thee?"
Cuthbert smiled. Cherry's petulance and vehemence amused him. Her little spoiled-child tempers and exactions were beginning to have a great charm. He scarcely knew how much of the deeper fears of dawning womanhood were beginning to intermingle with the "child's" eager love of her own way. Love was gradually transforming Cherry, but the transformation was as yet scarcely seen, and the added charm of her new softness and timidity had hardly begun to be observed by those about her.
"He is sorely sick, sweetheart, and he has asked this thing of me. I have passed my word. Thou wouldst not have me go back therefrom?"
"He should not have asked thee; he had no right," flashed out Cherry, in some despite. "Why did he not ask Walter Cole? he was a fitter person than thou."
"And wherefore so?"
"Why, everybody knows him for a pestilent Papist!" answered Cherry, with a flash of her big eyes. "Nothing he did would surprise anybody. He is suspected already; whilst thou-nay, Cuthbert, wherefore dost thou laugh?"
"Marry, at the logic of thy words, sweetheart! Father Urban desires a safe and secret messenger, and thou wouldst have him employ one already suspected and watched! That were a strange way of setting to work, Why, I may come and go unquestioned. No man has suspected me of aught, and I am one of those who willingly conform to the laws. With Walter things be far different: he might be stopped and searched by any suspicious knave who saw him pushing forth into the river."
"And a good riddance, too!" cried Cherry, who was in no humour to be tolerant of the Romanists, who were, as she thought, putting her lover in peril. "I hate those plotting, secret, cunning Papists! They are like men who are always mining in the dark, working and striving in deadly secret, no man knowing what will next be heard or seen. I like not such ways. I like not that thou shouldst meddle with them. Those be treasonable papers, I doubt not. Cuthbert, it is not meet that thou shouldst have dealings with traitors!"
Cuthbert smiled, but the earnestness with which Cherry spake impressed him in spite of himself. It had been one thing to make this promise to the sick priest who trusted him, but it was a different matter to be told that he was meddling in treason. Still, what did Cherry know about it? She was but a child.
"I know that there be treasons and treacherous plots enow in the world," answered Cherry, as he put the question to her. "I hear more than men think; and since thou hast been here, Cuthbert, I have listened and heeded as I was not wont to do. All men whisper of the treachery and malice of the Papists. All men know that had they their will the King would be sent to death or imprisonment, and some other person placed upon the throne."
"I know not how that may be," answered Cuthbert slowly, "and I have no concern in such matters. All I have to do is to give these papers to one whom I know, and who has befriended me; and that must I do at all cost, for my word is pledged, and thou wouldst not have me go back from that, wouldst thou, Cherry?"
"I would not have thee run into danger," answered Cherry, sticking persistently to her point with true feminine insistence, "and I know better than thou canst do what evil haps befall them who meddle in matters too hard for them, and that they reek not of.
"Cuthbert," drawing a little nearer and speaking in a breathless whisper, "dost call to mind what the wise woman said: how thou wast to beware of the dark river-the flowing river? And yet thou wilt venture forth upon it this eve! I like it not; I like it not! I would that I could make a prisoner of thee, that thou mightest not go."
"It were sweet imprisonment to be held in such thrall," answered Cuthbert, smiling, as he loosed the clasp of the warm arms from about his neck; "but this time, sweetheart, I must needs go. I will be cautious and careful. I are too much upon the river in the wherry for any to question my coming or going. None knew aught of our rescue of the hunted priest; none but thyself knows of him nor where he lies. It is impossible that any can suspect me yet; and for the future, for thy sweet sake, I will be cautious how I adventure myself into any like peril, if peril there be."
With that Cherry had to be content, for Cuthbert was immovable where his word was pledged, and she had perforce to let him go, since he would not be stayed.
"Tell thy father that I sup tonight with Abraham Dyson," said Cuthbert, as he kissed her for the last time before he left. "It may be I shall not be home in time for the supper, and I would not be too close questioned on my return. I will go thither when I have landed once more. Good Jacob will wish for news of Father Urban."
Cuthbert was gone, Cherry looking wistfully after him. She had already begun to know something of the pain as well as of the joy of love. She felt that there was in Cuthbert's nature a strain of self devotion and heroism which frightened her whilst it enthralled her fancy. She had an instinct that he would never turn back in any quest he had undertaken for the peril he might have to face. She felt that in him she was realizing her vague ideals of knightly prowess and dauntless courage; but all the same, unless she might be at his side to share the peril, she would almost have felt happier had this fearless bravery been somewhat less.
Cuthbert meantime pursued his way with a light heart, his packet of papers securely buttoned in the breast of his doublet. The keen air of the February afternoon fanned his face. His heart was full of tender thoughts of Cherry and her sweet affection for him. How soon would it be possible, he wondered, to claim her as his own; and what would Martin Holt say to the frustration of one of his favourite schemes?
Of his present mission, and of any peril likely to accrue to him therefrom, Cuthbert thought little or nothing. He did not see how he could possibly come under suspicion simply from fulfilling the priest's request. It would have been brutal to refuse; and what harm could he do to himself or others by simply delivering a packet of papers?
He had almost promised Master Robert Catesby before this to visit him in his river-side house. Doubtless this was the very place for which he was now bound. Anything like an adventure was agreeable to one of Cuthbert's imaginative nature, and a spice of possible danger did not detract from the sense of fascination, even though he might not see wherein the danger lay.
The wherry he was wont to use lay moored near to the Three Cranes, and no one heeded or questioned him as he stepped in and pushed off into the river. A couple of soldiers were lounging upon the little wharf and watching the small craft as they came and went. They appeared to take some note of Cuthbert, as of others who passed by, but they did not speak to him, and he wondered what their business was there.
A fragment of talk between two watermen reached him as he began rowing out in the direction of the Cherry Blossom; for he did not wish to take the upstream direction till twilight should have fallen and his movements would escape unheeded, and the voices of these men as they passed him reached him clearly over the water.
"On the lookout for the runaway priest, I take it. Thou surely didst hear how he gave them the slip in the fog, just when they thought they had him safe. He had been well bruised and battered. It was a marvel how he got free. But he knew the narrow lanes well, and doubled like a hare. Doubtless he had his friends in waiting, for he slipped into some craft and eluded pursuit. But for the fog they would have made sure of him that time. They say he-"
But the rest of the sentence was lost in the distance, and Cuthbert laughed silently as he plied his oars.
"Beshrew me, but they make a mighty coil anent this good Father Urban. One would have thought they could have made shift to lay hands on him before were he so notable a miscreant. He was not in hiding when I saw him first; he appeared to go about the city fearlessly. Doubtless it is but some new panic on the part of the King. God help us all now that we be ruled over by such a poor poltroon!"
Cuthbert had caught the prevailing contempt for the foolish and feeble James that was shared by the nation in general, and London in particular.
They put up with him to avoid the horrors and confusion of a disputed succession and a possible repetition of the bloody strife of the Roses; but there was not one section of the community with whom he was popular: even the ecclesiastics of the Episcopal party despised whilst they flattered and upheld him. Cuthbert felt an access of zeal in his present mission in the thought that it would be displeasing to the unkingly mind of the King. He had seen the ungainly monarch riding through Westminster one day not long since, and the sight of his slovenly and undignified figure, trapped out in all the extravagance of an extravagant age, his clumsy seat on horseback (of which, nevertheless, he was not a little proud), and his goggle eyes and protruding tongue, filled the young man with disgust and dislike. But for the noble bearing and boyish beauty of the Prince of Wales, who rode beside his father, his disgust would have been greater; and all men were somewhat more patient with the defects of the father in prognosticating better and happier times when young Henry should succeed to the throne.
Nevertheless treasonable plottings at this juncture did not appear as fearful and horrible as they had done in the days of "good Queen Bess," who, with all her faults and follies, contrived to keep her people's affection in a marvellous fashion, as her sire had done before her. Men who would have recoiled with horror at a whisper against the Queen's Majesty, shrugged their shoulders with comparative indifference when they heard vague whispers of Popish or Puritan plots directed more or less against the person of King James. Any warm personal love and loyalty was altogether lacking to the nation, and with it was lacking the element which has always been the strongest bulwark of the sovereign's safety.
James appears to have been dimly conscious of this, always insisting on wearing heavy and cumbersome garments, quilted so strongly as to defy the thrust of a dagger. A monarch who goes about in habitual fear of assassination betrays his knowledge that he has failed to win the love or veneration of his subjects.
Cuthbert mused idly of these things as he pushed out into the middle of the river, and then eased up and looked about him to see if his movements were observed. It was beginning to grow dusk now. The sun had dipped behind the trees and buildings. The two sentries on the wharf had turned their backs upon the river, and were entering a tavern. The other wherries were all making for the shore, and the tide was running in strongly and carrying Cuthbert's boat upstream for him in the direction whither he would go.
Letting himself drift with the tide, and contenting himself with keeping the prow in the right direction, Cuthbert drifted on his way quite as fast as he cared to. He had not often been as far up the stream as this, since business always took him down towards the shipping in the mouth of the river. He had never before gone higher up than the Temple Stairs, and now as he drifted past these and saw the fine pile of Westminster rising before his eyes, he felt a thrill of admiration and awe, and turned in his seat the better to observe and admire.
Westminster was almost like another town in those days, divided from the busy walled city of London by fields and gardens and fine mansions standing in their own grounds. On the south side of the river the houses were few and far between, and save at Southwark, hardly any attempt at regular building had been made. Past the great Palace of Whitehall and Westminster, with its Parliament Houses rising majestic against the darkening sky, drifted the lonely little boat. And then Cuthbert took his oars and pulled for the southern bank; for he knew that Lambeth was not very much farther away, and he recalled to mind the directions of the priest, how to find it and know it.
Trees fringed the southern bank here, leafless at this season, but still imparting a certain dark dreariness to the scene. The hoot of an owl occasionally broke the silence, and sent light shivers through Cuthbert's frame. He was not free from superstition, and the evil-omened bird was no friend of his. He would rather not have heard its harsh note just at this time; and he could have wished that the river did not look so inky black, or that the trees did not cast such weird shadows.
But the tide ran strong beneath the overhanging bank, and Cuthbert was carried onwards without any effort of his own. There was something just a little uncanny in this swift force. It reminded Cuthbert of relentless destiny sweeping him onward whether or not he would go.
But it was too late to consider or turn back even if such had been his desire. Already he began to see white gleams as of stone work along the water's edge. The willow trees came to an end; a wall bounded the river for fifty yards or more, and then there arose before his eyes the structure of the lonely old house, guarded by its giant elms-a house seeming to be actually built upon the water itself, one door, as Cuthbert had been told, opening upon the flight of steps which at high water were almost covered.
It was well nigh high water now, and Cuthbert could bring the prow of his boat to within a foot of the door. There were rings all along the topmost step for the mooring of small craft, and he quickly made fast his wherry and stood at the iron-clamped portal.
How dark and silent and lonely the house looked, rising gaunt and dim in the uncertain light! Who would choose such a spot for a home? Surely only those whose deeds would not bear the light of day. And why that deadly silence and torpor in a house inhabited by human beings? It seemed unnatural and uncanny, and as a great white owl swept by on silent wing with a hollow note of challenge, Cuthbert felt a chill sense of coming ill creep through his veins and run down his spine; and fearful lest his resolution should desert him at the last, he raised his hand and gave the thrice-repeated knock he had been taught by Father Urban.
He doubted if the signal would be heard. He could scarcely believe that the house boasted any inhabitants, but soon he heard a heavy yet cautious tread approach the door from the other side. Some heavy bolts were drawn back, and the door was opened a little way.
"Who is there?" asked a muffled voice.
"One wishful to see Master Robert Catesby."
"Why come to this back door, then? Why not approach the house by the front way, like an honest man?"
Cuthbert was rather taken aback by this question. He answered with a touch of sharpness:
"I came the way I was bidden to come. If I am in fault, the blame lies with him who sent me."
"And who is that?"
"Father Urban."
At the sound of that name the door was cautiously opened a little further, and Cuthbert felt himself confronted by a man whose face still remained in deep shadow.
"You come from Father Urban, and with a message to Robert Catesby?"
"Not a message; a packet which methinks contains papers. I was bidden to deliver them into no hand but his, and to destroy both them and myself sooner than let them fall into alien hands."
At that the door opened wider yet, and Cuthbert could look along a dark stone passage, at the end of which glowed a light. His companion's first suspicions now appeared laid to rest.
"Come in, come in. Speak not thus aloud without, even at this dead hour of dim loneliness. Men like ourselves stand in sore need of every caution. Come in, and let me lock the door behind us. There may be spies lurking even round these walls."
"Spies!" echoed Cuthbert, as he strode along the passage towards the light. "I fear no spies; I have naught to conceal!"
But the other man was drawing the heavy bolts, and did not hear this remark. He followed Cuthbert into the great vaulted kitchen, which was illumined by a noble fire, the warmth of which was very welcome to the youth after his chilly voyage on the river. There was some cooking going on at the stove, and an appetizing odour filled the air.
Cuthbert turned his curious glance upon the custodian of this strange place, and saw a man who was evidently a gentleman, though very plainly and simply dressed, and employed at this moment in menial toil. He had a thin, worn face, and his eyes gleamed brightly under their heavy brows. He looked like one who had seen both trouble and suffering, and had grown somewhat reckless under successive miseries,
He on his side was attentively regarding Cuthbert.
"Thy name, good youth?" he asked abruptly.
"Cuthbert Trevlyn," was the unhesitating rejoinder.
The lad had not yet learned the prudence of reticence in dealing with strangers. He was neither ashamed of his errand nor of his name.
"Trevlyn-Trevlyn. It is a good name, and I have heard it before. I have heard Catesby speak of thee. So thou hast come with papers for him? Art thou indeed to be one of us?"
The question was asked almost in a whisper, accompanied by a very keen and searching glance. Cuthbert did not exactly know what to make of it.
He shook his head as he replied:
"Nay, I know naught of that. I am but a messenger from Father Urban, who was in sore straits but two days back, and well-nigh fell into the hands of his foes with these papers upon him. I had the good hap to help him to escape the peril; and as he was sore hurt, he begged of me to carry them to Master Catesby and deliver them with mine own hand. This have I come to do. He bid me seek this house, for that I should likely find him here. If he be not so, I pray you direct me where he may be found; for I have no mind to return with my task unfulfilled, nor yet to carry about with me these same papers an hour longer than need be."
"Heaven forfend!" ejaculated the custodian of the place with unfeigned anxiety. "Father Urban in peril! Father Urban sore hurt! We must know more of this business, and that without delay. Art sure he is safe for the present? Art sure he hath not fallen into the hands of the King's hirelings?"
"He is safe enow for the nonce."
"And where-where is he hidden?"
Cuthbert gave the man a keen look as he answered:
"That will I tell to none save Master Robert Catesby himself, whom I know. You, good sir, are a stranger to me, albeit, I doubt not, a very worthy gentleman."
The man's thin face lighted up with a gleam of approval.
"You are i' the right, young sir; you are i' the right of it," he said. "In these days of peril and trouble men cannot walk too warily. My name is Robert Kay, and the fate which has been your father's has been mine, too. I have been ruined and beggared for my devotion to my faith; and but for Master Robert Catesby and others who have given me assistance and employment, I might well have starved in some garret ere now. Yet I was gently born and nurtured, and mine only cause of offence was the religion which but a generation back all men in this realm honoured and loved. Well-a-day! alack-a-day! we have fallen on evil times. Yet there is still a God in the heavens above us, and our turn may come-yea, our turn may come!"
The fierce wild gesture that accompanied these words recalled to Cuthbert's mind the same sort of prediction and menace uttered by Catesby on the night of their journey together over Hammerton Heath. He felt at once a lively curiosity and a sense of awe and repulsion; but he made no remark, and Kay quickly recovered himself.
"It boots not to linger. We must to Catesby without delay. He must hear your news, young man, and must learn of you the fate of Father Urban. You will come with me to find him?"
"Very gladly, an you know where he is to be found."
A curious expression flitted across the man's face.
"Ay, that do I know well; nor is he far from here. We shall soon reach him in that wherry of yours. He is but across the river at Westminster, in the house of Thomas Percy, who has a lodging there in right of his office and stewardship to my Lord of Northumberland."
Kay glanced rather keenly into Cuthbert's face as he spoke these words, but they evoked no answering spark of intelligence, and again the mask fell, leaving the face expressionless and weary as before.
"I can take you across in my boat right well," answered Cuthbert; "and the sooner we start the better I shall be pleased, for I have a dark journey back tonight, and there be sentries on the watch along the banks who may perchance ask somewhat too curiously of my movements an I be detained late."
"Nay, then let us hurry," said Kay restlessly; "for Catesby will not be back for many hours, and we must needs find him. I will but tarry to get my cloak, and then we will to the boat."
He vanished as he spoke through an open door, and Cuthbert stood looking inquisitively about him. There were several deep recesses in this vault-like place, and in one of these were piled a large number of small barrels, the contents of which Cuthbert guessed to be wine or spirits. He was rather amused at the store thus got together, and thought that Master Kay and his companions knew how to enjoy themselves, even though they did lead lonely and troubled lives. His eyes were still fixed upon the barrels when Kay returned, and a smile hovered round the corners of his lips. The man seemed to note the glance, and looked sharply at him.
"Thou knowest the meaning of those?" he said suddenly; and Cuthbert smiled again as he answered readily:
"Ay, verily that do I."
That was all which then passed. Kay took up a lantern and led the way. Cuthbert followed, and soon the door was unbarred and barred again behind them, the wherry was pushed out into deep water, and Cuthbert's strong arms were soon propelling it across the river, Kay steering carefully, and with the air of a man well used to the transit.
He cautioned quietness as they neared the shore, but in the little creek where the boat was pushed up not a living thing was seen. Another boat somewhat larger in build was already in the creek, and there was a post to which craft could he made fast whilst the owners landed. Kay dexterously performed this office, and taking Cuthbert by the arm, bid him muffle his face in the collar of his cloak, and walk cautiously and with circumspection. They quickly reached the great block of buildings of which the Houses of Parliament formed the most conspicuous feature; and diving down a narrow entry, Kay paused suddenly before a low-browed door, and gave the peculiar knock Cuthbert had learned from the priest.
The door was quickly opened, and a rough head thrust forth.
"Who goes there?"
"It is I, good Bates-I and a gentleman-one of us-come on business that brooks no delay with Master Robert Catesby. Go summon thy master, good knave, without delay. It is needful this gentleman speak with him at once."
Kay had been leading Cuthbert along a passage with the familiarity of a friend of the house, whilst the serving man barred the door, and answered somewhat gruffly, as though disturbed by the interruption:
"Nay, if he is one of us, let him seek the master below. He is there, and hard at work, and will not be best pleased at being called away. I have but just come up myself. I am weary as a hunted hare and thirsty as a fish in a desert. Find my master thyself, Master Kay; I am no servant of thine."
Kay appeared in no way astonished at this rough answer. He went on before without any remark, and Cuthbert, not knowing what else to do, followed. Presently they reached the head of a long flight of stairs that seemed to descend into the very heart of the earth, and from below there arose strange hollow sounds-the sound of blows steadily struck upon some hard substance; it seemed as though they were struck upon the very rock itself.
Greatly amazed, and wondering not a little what it could mean, Cuthbert paused at the head of this long flight, and saw his companion prepare to descend; but just at that moment the sound of blows ceased. A cry and confusion of voices arose, as if the speakers were somewhere in the heart of the earth; and almost immediately there dashed up the stairs a man with stained garments, bloodshot eyes, and a white, scared face, crying out in fearful terror:
"The bell! the bell! the tolling bell! God and the Holy Saints protect us! It is our death knell-our death knell!"
Kay seized the man by the arm.
"What ails you, man? what is it?" he asked, quickly and sternly; but at that moment the pale face of Robert Catesby appeared, and he was followed by a tall bearded man of very soldierly bearing, who said, in calm, authoritative accents:
"I have here some holy water, blessed by the Pope himself. If we do but sprinkle the walls with that and bid the daring fiend cease, all will be well. It is no work of God; it is a work of the devil, striving to turn us aside from our laudable and righteous purpose. Prove me if it be not so. If yon booming bell sounds again after this holy water has been sprinkled, then will I own that it is God fighting against us; but if it cease after this has been sprinkled, then shall we know that heaven is on our side and only the powers of darkness against us."
"So be it," answered Catesby, quickly and decisively; "thou shalt make trial of it, good Guido. I trow we shall learn by that token that God is on our side."
All this Cuthbert saw and heard, as he stood in the shadow at the top of the stairs consumed by a burning curiosity. Something had occurred of such overwhelming interest as to obliterate even from Kay's mind for the moment the errand on which he had come, and his presence in the house at this moment awoke no question amongst the men assembled there, who were plainly otherwise engrossed. All vanished again down the stairs, and Cuthbert stole after them with cautious footfalls, too eager to discover what could be so moving them to consider what he was doing.
It was easy to track, by their voices and the light they carried, the men who had preceded him. The long flight of stairs terminated in a long stone passage, deadly cold; and this led in turn to a great cellar, at the far end of which a group of seven men was assembled. They appeared to be standing round the entrance to a small tunnel, and this tunnel they had plainly been making themselves; for a number of tools for boring and picking lay about, and the faces, hands, and clothes of the assembled party plainly indicated the nature of their toil, albeit from their speech and bearing it was plain that all were gentlemen.
Robert Catesby was sprinkling the walls of this tunnel with some water, using words of supplication and exorcism, and his companions stood bare headed around him. A great hush fell upon all as this ceremony ceased, and all seemed to listen intently.
"There is no sound; the devil hath taken flight. I knew how it would be!" spoke the tall dark man exultantly. "And now, comrades, to work again, for we have heard the last of our knell tonight. No powers of darkness can stand before the charm of His Holiness's power."
With an air of relief and alacrity the gentlemen seized their tools, and again the hollow or ringing sounds commenced to sound in that dim place; but Kay had plucked Robert Catesby by the sleeve, and was whispering some words in his ear.
Catesby turned quickly round, made a few strides towards the staircase, and then catching sight of Cuthbert, stopped short, and seized Kay by the arm.
"Fool!" he cried, in a low, hissing tone, "what possessed you to bring him here? We are undone!"
"Nay, but he knows; he is one of us."
"He is not; it is a lie! If he said so, he is a foul spy!"
And then striding up to Cuthbert with eyes that gleamed murderously, he looked into the youth's face, and suddenly the fury died out of his own.
"Why, it is Cuthbert Trevlyn! Good luck to you, good youth! I had feared I know not what. But thou art stanch and true; thou art a chip of the old block. If it had to be some one, better thee than any other. Boy, thou hast seen a sight tonight that must have awakened thy curiosity. Swear to secrecy-swear to reveal nothing-and I will tell thee all."
"Nay, tell me nothing," answered Cuthbert firmly; "I love not mysteries. I would fain forget all I have heard and seen. Let me tell thee of Father Urban-let me give thee his letters; but tell me naught in return. I will not know-I will not."
Cuthbert spoke with sudden vehemence. He and Catesby were mounting the stairs together. As they reached the dim vestibule above, Catesby took him by the arm and looked him searchingly in the face, as he said:
"Maybe thou art in the right. It may be better so. But thou must swear one thing ere thou goest hence, and that is-to reveal to no living soul what thou hast seen this night. Know, boy, that if thou wilt not swear this-"
