Everett-Green Evelyn
The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot
Chapter 21: The Gipsy's Warning
"Thy task is done, and it is well done. But now get thee from the forest with all speed, for there is peril to thee here."
So said Joanna, standing before Cuthbert in the pixies' dell, her hand upon the low stone wall, her tall figure drawn up to its full height. She had been looking thoughtfully down into the sparkling water, which was now filling the well as of old, whilst Cuthbert told his tale with graphic power. An expression of calm triumph was on her face as she heard how the long-lost hoard was lying safely stored within the house of the Wyverns-a house sacred to the gipsies and safe from any raids of robbers, such was the esteem in which that name was held. She looked like one whose task is done, who feels a heavy load lifted from the mind; but the glance fixed upon Cuthbert's eager face was also one of gravity and meaning.
"The forest is no place for thee now," she said; "get thee hence as fast as thou canst."
"And wherefore so?" asked Cuthbert, surprised. "Methought the peril ceased with the death of-"
"Hush!" said the gipsy, almost sternly; "bethink thee that there may be listeners even now about us in these thick bushes, and guard thy words with caution. Remember the strange links that bind together those of the wild gipsy blood; and remember that Long Robin lies in his bloody grave not far from here."
She lowered her voice as she spoke, and Cuthbert instinctively followed her example.
"But no man knows that."
"How canst thou tell?"
"None saw the deed. It was done in the dead of night. Ere morning came he was laid below the earth. Thou thyself knew not what had befallen him till I spoke the word."
He looked at her as if in momentary distrust; but the calm gaze and the noble countenance of the gipsy seemed to reassure him. Joanna, who had read his thought, smiled slightly.
"Nay, boy, thou needst not fear treachery from Joanna, and the gipsy queen will give thee all protection in her power. Have I not told thee that upon me, when I received that title, was laid the charge of seeing the stolen treasure restored to the house of Trevlyn? To thy courage and resolve and perseverance and skill belongs it that this charge is now fulfilled. Thou needst not fear that any ill will or lack of caution on Joanna's part will cause evil to light upon thy head. But there are others with whom thou mayest have to reckon. There is Miriam, to whom Long Robin was as the apple of the eye."
"Yet he was not her husband (he is no aged man), and he can scarce have been her son."
"No matter. As I have told thee ere this, there be strange bonds betwixt us of the gipsy blood, binding closer and firmer than ever ties of kinship do. Miriam loved yon man with a love passing all others. She has missed him these many weeks. She is frantic with anxious grief. She is convinced that some ill has befallen him. She is rousing to anger and vengeance the whole tribe. They have vowed that they will find Robin, whether he be dead or alive, and that if dead they will avenge them on his murderer. Already suspicion has fallen upon thee. Dost think thy many journeys through the forest have passed unnoted by us?"
"I have never seen a soul; I had not known myself watched."
"Luckily for thee thou hast not been watched, else would little of the treasure have been placed in safe keeping. Thou hast reaped the benefit Robin hoped to reap himself alone when he surrounded this dell as with a barrier that no man might pass. Even the most daring spirits of our tribe dare not come here; and Miriam, who bids them scour the forest in all other directions, fears to tell them to come hither, albeit I well know she will shortly search the spot herself if Robin come not soon. Then she will find the grave; it will not escape her eyes. First she will think the lost treasure lies there, for I am convinced that Robin never told her the full secret. Then when she looks farther, she will find what that grave really contains; and thou hadst best be far away ere that day comes. Thou hast been seen. Thy journeyings in the forest have provoked wonder and curiosity. Let Miriam once learn that Robin lies there, and the whole truth will flash upon her; and then look thou to thyself!"
These words were spoken with such significance that Cuthbert experienced an involuntary qualm of fear.
"I thank thee for the warning," he said; "I will avail myself of thy kind counsel. I had thought of journeying to London ere this. There, it may be, I shall be hidden from their malice."
"Thou wilt be safer there than here," answered the gipsy quietly; "I will not say thou wilt be truly safe in any spot if Miriam's ire be once roused against thee. She has a wondrous fierce spirit, and she has influence with our people second only to mine. And then there hung about Long Robin a mysterious charm. Men loved him not-they feared and distrusted him; and yet, were it to be known that he had met his death by violence, Miriam would have but small trouble in stirring up the hearts of a score of stout fellows vowed to vengeance. In the forest thou wilt have small chance of thy life."
"Perchance they will follow me to London," said Cuthbert; "if so, it will be small use to fly."
"In London our folks have fears for themselves," answered the gipsy queen. "Half of them are outlawed; the other half lie beneath the suspicion of sorcery, which in these days is almost worse. They may hover about the dens of the city, but they will fear to molest thee elsewhere. Thou must take heed how thou venturest beyond the city walls, for Tyrrel and his men may be lurking beyond on the watch."
"Methought Tyrrel and Miriam were no such friends," said Cuthbert, recollecting the night when he had been brought to the mill. "Will he take up her quarrel?"
"If she can make him believe that Robin had the secret of the lost treasure, and that thou didst force the secret from him ere thou laidest him in his grave, he will take up the quarrel in right good earnest, and rest not till he has learned where the treasure has been hid. We of the gipsy tribe have as little believed in that hid treasure as the house of Trevlyn, hence its safety all these years. But let Miriam once tell what she knows-which is something, I warrant-and there may be many who will then believe that the secret was in Robin's keeping. They will be certain sure that thou wouldst not have killed the man until thou hadst made sure of the treasure. It would be acting like the fabled yokel who killed the goose that laid the golden eggs. Wherefore be gone. Hide thyself in London town. In a few weeks or months the chase may be over; but for the time being beware of the forest!"
"I will," answered Cuthbert. "I thank thee for thy good counsel. I will be speedily gone."
Joanna stood looking reflectively at him.
"Thou wouldst he safest within the walls that shelter the treasure-with thy kinsfolk of the house of Wyvern."
"Nay, but I must first go to London," answered Cuthbert quickly; "I have been long absent. My kinsfolk there will be looking for news of me. And perchance my presence in the house of my kinswomen might imperil them. I would not be a cause of danger to them."
"Thou art a bold and true-hearted lad," answered Joanna; "and it may be well that for the nonce thou shouldest keep away from the Cross Way House. Thy presence there might awaken suspicion; though I scarce believe that any lust of gold would drive our people to attack that house. Go then to London, and lose thyself there awhile. Presently thou mayest return and see how thy sister fareth; but not too soon-not too soon!"
Cuthbert started.
"My sister!" he said; "how knowest thou that?"
Joanna smiled her lofty smile.
"Ask a gipsy how she knoweth what takes place within the limits of her domain! Tush, boy! thinkest thou that I do not know all that passes in the forest? Thy sister has done well to find a shelter there. She is safer at the Cross Way House than in this dell with thee."
"If she is safe I can well look to myself," answered Cuthbert, with the confidence of youth and strength. "To be warned where the peril lies is half the battle. I will be cautious-I will be wary; and having naught to keep me in the forest, I will start for London town this very day."
"Ay, do so, and without an hour's delay. Old Miriam is raging like a fury. Tyrrel may at any moment return, and I trow she will rouse him to bitter enmity towards thee. Fly, before any strive to stay thee. And when thou hast reached the city, go once again to Esther. Tell her that the deed is done, the treasure found, that it lies in the house of the Wyverns, and that the luck has come back to the house, as was always said, through the daughters' sons."
"I will," answered Cuthbert; and bidding a farewell to the gipsy, to whose protection and goodwill he owed so much, he left the dell and made his way rapidly through the forest, till he struck the road which would lead him to London.
He would not turn out of the direct way to go to the Cross Way House, though he would gladly have seen his sister and Kate and his aged kinswomen again. He did not wish them to know of the peril which might threaten his own path, nor did he desire to draw attention to that house by directing his steps thither in broad daylight. Plainly his presence in the forest had already excited remark. He had been seen far oftener than he had known. If he did not linger, but pursued his way to London without delay, he might reach it by nightfall, and that was no small inducement to him. Petronella knew that he was bound thither; she would not reckon on seeing him again. And there was Cherry at the other end. The thought of seeing her again that very day drew him onwards like a magnet. During these long weeks of search and hard toil, the thought of Cherry had been the best sweetener of his labour. He had talked of her with his sister, he had dreamed of her when he lay down to sleep at night, and now he was on his way to see her, to tell her all the tale, and ask her at her father's hand. The thought was sweet to intoxication, and his eager anticipation seemed to put wings to his feet.
How different were his feelings as he drew near to the great city this second time! It was just about a year since he had entered it for the first time, a stranger, homeless, well-nigh penniless, and very uncertain of the reception he should receive from his kinsfolk on the bridge. Now he stepped towards the region of shining lights with all confidence and joy. He was rich past his wildest hopes, for the treasure had proved to be far greater than even his fondest dreams had credited; and he knew that when division was made, it would be no niggard portion that would fall to the share of the finder. He had won for himself such goodwill from his kinsfolk as would stand him in good stead in days to come. He had enlarged his scholarship, made for himself a number of friends of all degrees, and, above all, had won the love of his cousin Cherry, and a position which would enable him speedily to ask her at her father's hands. He would fulfil his boyish promise made last Yuletide, when he vowed her that the day should come when she should no longer pine for the innocent gaieties and luxuries of wealth, but should herself be a lady of some degree, and should have her house and her horses and servants, and a bright and happy future with the husband of her choice.
Now he had set foot upon the bridge, and was eagerly traversing the familiar roadway, as the short daylight faded and the lights from the houses shone out brighter and brighter in the gloom. His uncle's house was almost in sight. His heart was beating high with anticipation and delight, when a hand was laid suddenly upon his shoulder, and he turned to find himself face to face with Anthony Cole.
He was about to exclaim in words of pleasure and welcome, when his attention was arrested by the strange expression upon the thin, eager face-an expression so strange that it checked the commonplace words of greeting that sprang naturally to Cuthbert's lips, and he waited in silence for what Anthony should say.
"Thou hast come! it is well," said the latter, in tones that were little above a whisper. "Methought that thou wouldst not be absent at such a time. Well doth it behove every true son of the Church to rally round her at such a moment. I felt assured that thou wouldst be here. Others beside me have been watching for thee. It is well. Keep thine own counsel; be wary, be discreet. And now go. It boots not that we be seen talking together thus. When thou hast fitting opportunity, come secretly to my house; thou wilt be welcome there."
And half pushing Cuthbert from him before the bewildered youth had time to speak a single word, the printer disappeared within his own door, and Cuthbert was left to make his way to his uncle's house.
"Beshrew me if I know what Master Anthony means!" said Cuthbert to himself. "I trow there be matters stirring in London town of which we in the country know nothing. How strange it is that one can hardly set foot in this great seething city without hearing words of mystery-without feeling oneself enwrapped in its strange atmosphere of doubt and perplexity. Something is doubtless astir of which I know naught; but at my uncle's house I shall hear all."
The shutters were just being put up at Martin Holt's as Cuthbert stepped across the threshold. The servant uttered a cry of astonishment as he saw his master's nephew, and Martin himself came forward from the little room behind.
"Bless me, is it thou, Cuthbert?" he exclaimed in surprise. "Well, boy, thou art welcome since thou art come, though we had almost begun to think thou hadst forgot us and thy promise to return. Come upstairs and greet thy aunt and cousins. Hast thou seen aught of Cherry, as thou comest from the south?"
Cuthbert stepped back a pace, and some of the light went out of his face.
"Cherry!" he stammered, taken aback. "How should I have seen her? Is she not here?"
"Not for a matter of four days. She is helping her aunt, Prudence Dyson at the Cross Way House, to wait upon some guests the ladies are entertaining. Methought if you had come that way you might have chanced upon her."
A keen thrill of disappointment ran through Cuthbert's frame. To think how near he had been to Cherry and had never guessed it! If only he had called at the Cross Way House that day!
"I have not been there for the matter of a week. I was last at Trevlyn Chase; but mine uncle and his son have gone to London, as I heard. I had hoped to find Cherry here."
"Well, thou wilt find all but her. Go up, go up! Thou wilt need refreshment after thy journey, and thou shalt hear the news as we sup. Thine old room shall be made ready for thee. I am glad to see thy face again, boy; and would hear thy story anon."
Cuthbert received a warmer welcome than he had looked for from the aunt and cousins upstairs. Perhaps they were all missing the brightness that had left them when Cherry went. Perhaps the vacant place at the board day by day was an offence to the conservative eye of Mistress Susan. But whatever was the cause, there was no denying the cordiality of the reception accorded to him; and after the lonely life of the forest, and all his wanderings there, his strange resting places, and many hours of watching, toil, and anxious fear, it seemed pleasant indeed to be sitting at this hospitable board, warmed by the friendly glow of the fire, and discussing the savoury viands that always adorned a table of Mistress Susan's spreading, and which did indeed taste well after the hardy and sometimes scanty fare he had known in the forest.
But his open-air life had done him good in many ways. His uncle smiled, and told him he had grown to be a very son of Anak, and that he was as brown as a gipsy; whilst his cousins looked at him with furtive admiration, and Keziah could almost have wept that Cherry was not there to welcome him.
Cuthbert, however, quickly got over his disappointment on this score, and after swallowing a few sighs, was content to think that it might indeed be best so. Cherry would learn where he was from Petronella, and would hear from her that his heart was still her own, and that success had crowned his search after the lost treasure. He could go to seek her shortly, when the gipsy tribe should have drawn away from that part of the forest into the quarters they preferred during the winter months. Were she to be here, he must surely betray himself, and should have to speak immediately to Martin Holt of his desire to make Cherry his wife. Somehow, when face to face with his uncle, he felt less confident of winning his sanction for this step than he had done when away from him in the forest. There it had seemed perfectly simple so long as he could show the father that he had the means to keep a wife in comfort. Now he began to wonder if this would be enough. Hints were dropped by both the Holts regarding Cherry's approaching marriage with Jacob Dyson. Mistress Susan openly regretted her absence from home as hindering that ceremony; and although Martin Holt spoke with more reticence, it was plain he was still cherishing the hope of the match when his wilful youngest should be a little older.
It might be that Cherry's absence at this time was fortunate rather than the reverse. Cuthbert, at any rate, was relieved from the necessity for immediate action; and when he had spoken a little of himself, his kinsfolk, and the visits he had paid during his wanderings in the forest (keeping the real object of those wanderings quite out of the talk), he turned his conversation to other matters, and asked what was passing in London, and what was chiefly stirring men's minds.
"Marry it is the opening of Parliament that is the chiefest thing," said Martin Holt. "It is said in the city that his Majesty loves not his good Parliament; and truly it looks like it, since he has put off its opening so many a time. First it was to have been last February, then not till the third of this present month. Now it is again prolongued till the fifth of November next; but I trow his Majesty will scarce dare to postpone again. His people like not those rulers who fear to meet those who are chosen by them to debate on matters of the state. It looks not well for the sovereign to fear to meet his people."
Cuthbert, who knew little about such matters, asked many questions about Parliament and its assemblies. His uncle answered him freely and fully, and explained to him exactly the site of the building where the great body assembled.
"Thou canst take the wherry thou used to love so well, and row thyself to Westminster one of these days, and look well at the Parliament Houses," said Martin Holt. "It is a grand spectacle to see the King come in state to open the assembly. Thou mayest see that sight, too, an thou purposest to stay with us so long."
"I would gladly do so," answered Cuthbert, who remembered that he was bidden not to return to the forest too quickly. He knew that, now he was safely away, Joanna would allow all search to be made after him there, and that it would soon be ascertained that he had fled. But whilst that search was going on, he was safest in London, and was glad enough of the opportunity of seeing any gay pageant.
As he lay in his narrow bed that night, enjoying the comfort of it after his chilly nook in the tree, which had been his best shelter of late, and somewhat disturbed by the noises that from time to time arose from the street below, he recalled to mind the strange greeting he had received from Anthony Cole, and wondered anew at his mysterious words.
And then his fancy somehow strayed to the great Parliament Houses of which his uncle had spoken. He remembered that strange dark journey across the river from Lambeth and the lonely house there to Westminster and its lofty palaces. He recalled the locality of the house he had entered, where Catesby and his friends were assembled at some strange toil, and the terrified aspect these men all wore when some unexpected sound had smitten upon their ears. He recalled the sudden fierce grip of Catesby's hand upon his arm before he recognized the face of the stranger within their midst. He recollected the threats he had striven to speak binding him to the silence he was so willing to promise.
What did it all mean? what could it mean? Lying in the dark, and turning the matter over and over in his mind, Cuthbert began to feel some fearful and sinister suspicions.
The month when all this had happened had been early in the year; was it January, or early February? He could scarce remember, but he knew it was one or the other. And had not his uncle said that Parliament was to have met in February? Now that it was about to meet soon again, had not Anthony spoken words implying that some muster of friends was looked for in London; and had not Anthony and his son always regarded him in the light of a friend and ally?
Cuthbert was by this time aware that he had but little love left for the creed in which he had been reared. It seemed to him that all, or at any rate far the greater part, of what was precious in that creed was equally open to him in the Church established in the land, together with the liberty to read the Scriptures for himself, and to exercise his own freedom of conscience as no priest of the Romish Church would ever let him exercise it. With him there had been no wild revulsion of feeling, no sense of tearing and rending away from one faith to join himself to another. His own convictions had been of gradual growth, and he still felt and would always feel a certain loving loyalty towards the Church of his childhood. Still, he was increasingly convinced of the fact that it was not within that fold that he himself could ever find true peace and conviction of soul; and though no ardent theologian, and by no means given over to controversy and dogmatism, he had reached a steady conclusion as to his own faith, and one that was little likely to be shaken.
At the same time he was kindly disposed to those of his countrymen who were still beneath the Papal yoke, and were suffering for their old allegiance. He honoured their constancy, and felt even a boyish sense of shame in having, as it were, deserted the weaker side when it was in trouble and undergoing persecution. He felt a qualm of uneasiness when he thought of this, and would gladly have shared the perils if he could have shared the convictions of those who had striven to make him their friend. Cuthbert was a little in advance of his times in the facility with which he set aside matters of opinion in the choosing of his friends. Those were days in which men were seldom able to do this. They still divided themselves into opposing camps, and hated not only the opinions embraced by their rivals, but the rivals themselves, without any discrimination at all. To be intimate and friendly with those of hostile opinions was far more rare then than it has since become; and Cuthbert, who possessed that faculty, was liable to be greatly misunderstood, and to run into perils of which he little dreamed.
Thinking of those things he had seen that strange night led him to wonder more and more what it could all mean; and, accordingly, upon the morrow the first visit he paid was to Anthony Cole on the bridge, hoping that through him this curiosity might be in some way satisfied.
Cuthbert took the privilege accorded him in old times, and walked through the house and up the narrow staircase without pausing in the shop below. It was still early, and business had not yet begun. The house was very silent; but he heard low-toned voices above, and pursued his way towards them. As he did so a door, the existence of which had never been discovered by him before, though he thought the house was well known by him from attic to basement, suddenly opened from the staircase, and a head appeared for a single instant, and was as suddenly withdrawn. The door closed sharply, and he heard the click as of a spring falling back to its place. He passed his hand across his eyes as he exclaimed beneath his breath:
"Sure that was Father Urban-"
But he began to feel doubtful as to his right to come and go in this house at will, and was about to descend the stairs quietly again, when a door opened from above, and some one came hastily down the stairs. Cuthbert fancied he saw the gleam of some weapon in the hand of the advancing figure, and felt that he had better be upon his guard.
"Cuthbert Trevlyn!" exclaimed a familiar voice, and a hand was slipped beneath the doublet, and there was no further gleam of cold steel. "I am right glad to welcome thee. It is well for friends to muster at such a time. Comest thou with news?"
Walter Cole was the speaker. His face too wore something of the look which Cuthbert had observed on the father's the previous evening-an expression of strained expectancy, as if with long waiting mind and spirit had alike grown worn and over anxious. The bright eyes scanned his face eagerly. Cuthbert felt half ashamed of his ignorance of and indifference to the burning questions of the day.
"I have heard naught, I know naught. I have been living the life of the forests these past months," he answered, following Walter into a small room where they had often worked together. "I have heard no word of what was passing in the world; I come to learn that here."
The eagerness faded from Walter's face. He spoke much more quietly.
"Belike thou wert right to hide and live thus obscure; many of our leaders have done the like. It is ofttimes the best and the safest plan. But the time is at hand, and we must rally around them now. When the hour has struck and when the deed is done, then will it be for us to work-then will our hour of toil come. East and west, north and south, must we spur forth with the tidings. The whole nation must hear it and be roused. The blow must be struck whilst the iron is hot. Thus and only thus can we be secure of the promised victory."
Walter spoke quietly, yet with an undercurrent of deep enthusiasm that struck an answering chord in Cuthbert's heart. All true and deep feeling moved him to sympathy. His friend was talking in riddles to him; but he felt the earnestness and devotion of the man, and his sympathy was at once aroused.
"What hour? what blow? what deed?" he asked wonderingly. "I know not of what thou speakest."
Walter drew his brows together and regarded him with an expression of intense and wondering scrutiny. When he spoke it was in a different tone, as though he were carefully weighing his every word, as though he were a little uncertain of the ground on which he stood. There was something of evasive vagueness in his tone, whilst his eyes were fixed on Cuthbert's face as though he would read his very soul.
"Methought thou knewest how cruelly we suffered, and that we trust some stroke of kind fortune's wheel may ere long make life something better for us. The King meets his Parliament soon. Then is the time when men's grievances may be discussed, and when there is hope for all that wiser and more merciful laws may be passed. We have gathered together at this time to see what may be done. We are resolved, as thou must surely know, not to suffer like this for ever. Half the people of the realm be with us. It were strange if nothing could be accomplished. Cuthbert Trevlyn, answer me this: thou dost wish us well; thou art not a false friend-one who would deceive and betray?"
"Never, never, never!" answered Cuthbert, with all the heat of youth and generous feeling. "I would never betray those who have trusted me, not though they were my foes. And I too hate and abominate these iniquitous laws that persecute men's bodies for what they hold with their minds and souls. I have suffered persecution myself. I know how bitter a thing it is. I would have every man free to believe that which his conscience approves. I would join with any who would implore the King to show mercy and clemency to his persecuted subjects."
Walter's face relaxed; he looked relieved and pleased.
"Methought that we could trust thee, Cuthbert. Thou art a Trevlyn; it must needs be thou art stanch. I am right glad that thou art here. There may be work yet for thee to do. Thou wilt abide in thine uncle's house until-"
"Until Parliament opens at least," answered Cuthbert quickly. "I have said as much to him, I would fain be there then and see it all. And my presence in the forest is known by foes; it is no place for me longer."
Then breaking off, for he had not meant to say so much, and had no wish to be further questioned on the subject, he asked in a low tone:
"Sure it was Father Urban whose face I saw on the stairs but now?"
"Hist! silence!" whispered Walter, with a glance enforcing caution; "do not breathe that name even within these walls. He is here at risk of his life; but at such a moment he will not be away. A warrant is out against him. He may not venture abroad by night or day. But he can be useful in a thousand ways, for he knows more than any other man of some matters appertaining to the state. And if our hopes be realized, then he will emerge from his prison and rove the country from end to end. He has friends in every place. To him we shall look for guidance in a hundred ways."
Walter's eyes glowed. He looked like one to whom triumph is a certainty-one who anticipates success and already tastes the sweets thereof. Cuthbert was growing uncomfortable. He felt as though he were hearing more than he ought to do. True, the Coles had talked in very much this fashion all through the dark days of the previous winter when he had been so much with them. They were always looking for a day of release, always dwelling on the bright prospects of the future. But some instinct told Cuthbert that there was a difference now in the fashion of their talk, and he was made uncomfortable by it though he scarce knew why.
He rose to go.
"I have but just returned. I have many visits to pay. I will come again anon," he said.
