Everett-Green Evelyn
The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot
Cherry had from the first been Cuthbert's confidante and friend. It was taken for granted by this time that this should be so. Nobody was surprised to see them often together, and Cherry had never found the house on the bridge so little dull as when Cuthbert came in night by night to give her the most charming and exciting accounts of his doings and adventures. Once, too, she had gone with him to see some sights. They had paraded Paul's Walk together, and Cuthbert had been half scandalized and wholly astonished to see a fine church desecrated to a mere fashionable promenade and lounging place and mart. They had watched some gallants at their tennis playing another day, and had even been present at the baiting of a bear, when they had come unawares upon the spectacle in their wanderings. But Cuthbert's ire had been excited through his humanity and love for dumb animals, and Cherry had been frightened and sickened by the brutality of the spectacle. And when Martin Holt had inveighed against the practice with all a Puritan's vehemence, Cuthbert had cordially agreed, and had thus drawn as it were one step nearer the side of the great coming controversy which his uncle had embraced.
These expeditions together had naturally drawn the cousins into closer bonds of intimacy. Cherry felt privileged to ask questions of Cuthbert almost at will, and he had no wish to hide anything from her.
"I will tell thee that adventure some day when we are alone," he answered. "I have often longed to share the tale with thee, but we have had so much else to speak of. I was taken prisoner by the robbers, and conveyed to a ruined mill, where some of their comrades and some wild gipsies dwell, as I take it, for the greater part of the inclement winter. I thought my end had surely come when first I saw the fierce faces round me; but there was one who called herself their queen, and who made them quit their evil purpose. She put me to sit beside her at the board, and when the morning came she fed me again and bid me ride forth without fear. She told me certain things to boot, which I must not forget: but those I will not speak of till you know the whole strange story. I may not tell it here. I would not that any should know it but thee, Cherry. But some day when we can get into some lonely place together I will tell thee all, and we will think together how the thing on which my mind is set may be accomplished."
Cherry's eyes were dilated with wonder and curiosity. Her cousin all at once took rank as a hero and knight of romance. He had already experienced a wonderful adventure, and there was plainly some mystery behind which was to be made known to her later.
What a proud thing it was to have such a cousin! How she despised honest Jacob now, with his large hands and heavy ways! She had laughed at him ever since she could remember, and had ordered him about much as though he were a faithful dog always ready to do her bidding; but she had never quite realized what a clumsy boor he was till their handsome, dark-faced Trevlyn cousin had come amongst them, with his earnest eyes, his graceful movements, and his slim, attractive person. Cuthbert's manners, that in fine society would have been called rustic and unformed, were a great advance on anything Cherry had seen in her own home, save in the person of Anthony Cole and his son. She admired him immensely, and he was rapidly becoming the sun and centre of her life; whilst Cuthbert, who had always been used to the companionship of a sister, and who found several fanciful resemblances as well as so many points of contrast between the lively Cherry and the pensive Petronella, was glad enough of her sisterly friendship and counsel, and did not lose in favour with his uncle that he succeeded in pleasing and brightening the life of his youngest born, who was in truth the idol of his heart, though he would sooner have cut off his right hand than have let her know as much too plainly.
As Cherry also was of opinion that Cuthbert ought to reclaim his money, he resolved to do so upon the morrow without any further loss of time. Cherry advised him not to speak openly of his visit to the tavern, for her father held all such places in abhorrence, and would likely speak in slighting terms of any person who could frequent them. He had better prosecute his errand secretly, and tell her the result at the end. Cherry dearly loved a little bit of mystery, and was very anxious that Cuthbert should continue to occupy his present position in her father's good graces.
The Cat and Fiddle was none too well looking a place when Cuthbert succeeded at last in finding it. It had one door in the thoroughfare of Holborn, but it ran back some way, and its other doors opened into a narrow alley turning off from the main street under a low archway. As Cuthbert pushed open the door of the public room, he saw several men with faces of decidedly unprepossessing type sitting together at a table engrossed in talk, and these all looked quickly up as he entered, and gazed at him with undisguised suspicion.
A burly man, who had the look of a host, came forward, and asked his business rather roughly. Strangers did not appear to meet any warmth of welcome at this place. Cuthbert answered that he sought news of Master Robert Catesby, who had bidden him inquire at that place for him. As that name passed his lips he saw a change pass over the face of his questioner, and the answer was given with a decided access of friendliness.
"He is not here now, but he will be here anon. He comes to dine shortly after noon, and will spend some hours here today on business. If it please you, you can wait for him."
"I thank you, but I will come again later," answered Cuthbert, who was by no means enamoured of the place or the company.
He was surprised that his travelling companion, who appeared a man of refined speech and habits, should frequent such an evil-looking place as this. But the habits of the dwellers in cities were as yet strange to him, and it might be his ignorance, he thought, which made it appear suspicious to him.
"And if he asks who has inquired for him, what shall I say?" asked the host, whilst the men at the table continued to stare and listen with every appearance of interest.
"My name is Trevlyn," answered Cuthbert shortly, disliking, he hardly knew why, the aspect and ways of the place.
He fancied that a slight sensation followed this announcement. Certainly the landlord bowed lower than there was occasion for as he held open the door for his visitor to pass out. Cuthbert was puzzled, and a little annoyed. He was half inclined not to go there again; but curiosity got the better of his resolve as the afternoon hours drew on. After all, what did it matter what manner of man this was, since he need never see him again after today? It would be foolish not to reclaim his money, and might lead Master Robert Catesby to inquire for him at his uncle's house, and that he did not wish. The thing had better be done, and be done quickly. How foolish it would be to go back to Cherry and say he had not accomplished his errand because some odd-looking men had stared at him, and because the tavern was ill smelling and dirty!
It was three o'clock, however, before the youth again entered the unsavoury abode. As December had already come, the days were approaching their shortest limit; and as heavy clouds hung in the sky, the streets already began to look dark. Within the ill-lighted tavern the obscurity was still greater. Cuthbert pushed his way through the door, and found himself amongst the afternoon drinkers, who were making the room ring with ribald songs and loud laughter. But the host quickly singled him out, and approached with an air of deference.
"The gentleman you asked for is upstairs. He directed that you should be sent to him on your arrival. I am too busy to go up the stairs with you, but you cannot miss the way. He is in the room upon the first floor; the first door to the right hand will lead you to him. He has one or two gentlemen with him, but he will be glad to see you, too."
Cuthbert was glad to get out of the noisy room below, and, shutting the door behind him, mounted the dark stairs. He opened the first door to the right, after knocking once or twice in vain, and found himself in a very small apartment, very ill lighted by a tiny window, and altogether empty.
He looked round in surprise. Dim as was the twilight, he could not be mistaken in the emptiness of the room. He wondered if the man had misled him purposely, and a little vague uneasiness stole over him. The noises from below had hitherto drowned any other sound; but as for some cause unknown to himself these suddenly and entirely ceased for the space of some half minute, he became aware of voices close at hand; and almost before he realized his position, he had caught several quickly and eagerly spoken sentences.
"They show no mercy; let no mercy be shown to them!" said one voice, in low, menacing accents. "Six saintly priests have died in cruel agonies by the bloody hangman's hands but a few weeks past; and look ye, what has been the fate of that godly, courageous old man of Lancashire who has dared to raise his voice in reprobation of these barbarities? Fined, imprisoned, despoiled of all; and all but condemned to be nailed to the pillory, that his ears might be sliced off! Even that fate was all but inflicted by yon infamous Star Chamber, who respect neither virtue nor gray hairs, so they may fill the King's coffers and destroy all godliness in the land! It was but by two votes he escaped that last anguish and degradation. How say ye, friends? Can any scheme be too desperate if it rids us of such tyrants and rulers at one blow?"
An eager murmur arose at that-assent, indignation, wrath-and again the same voice spoke in the same low, eager tones:
"And the way is open; the house is ours. But a few feet of masonry to tunnel through, and the thing is done. Shall we shrink? shall we hesitate? I trow not. Strong arms, silent tongues, a high courage-that is all we want."
"And a few more strong arms to help us at the work, for it will be a labour of Hercules to get it done."
At that moment the noise from below burst out anew, and Cuthbert heard no more of this mysterious colloquy. He had not time to think over the meaning of the words he had heard, or indeed to attach any particular significance to them. He was always hearing fierce threats bandied about between ardent partisans of Romanist and Puritan, and was beginning to pay small heed to such matters. He did not realize now that he had surprised any conspirators at their work. He knocked boldly at the door of the room, to which the place where he stood was plainly the antechamber, and a loud voice bid him enter.
There was no light in the apartment, save that which filtered in through the dirty window, and it was plain that the meeting, whatever its nature, was breaking up. Several men were standing about in their cloaks and hats, the latter slouched down upon their brows, so that their faces could not be distinguished in the gloom. Two or three passed Cuthbert hastily as he entered, before he had time even to see if one of them was the companion of his journey; but though he found some trouble in distinguishing features, his own were visible enough as he stood facing the window, and out of the shadows stepped a tall man, who greeted him with extended hand.
"Good e'en to you, Cuthbert Trevlyn, and a fair welcome to London town! I trust you have not been in dangers and difficulties, and that you but now come to claim your own again? How fared it with you on the heath that night? Were you in any wise maltreated or rough handled by the gentlemen of the road?"
"Nay; I was rather treated to a good supper and a night's lodging, and not so much as deprived of my steed. I trow had he shown something more of mettle I might not have so preserved him; but one or two of them who mounted him pronounced him of no use even as a pack horse."
Catesby laughed pleasantly, and putting his hand into his doublet drew forth the purse intrusted to him, and placed it in Cuthbert's hands.
"They would not have been so obliging, I fear, had you chanced to have this upon your person. Take it, boy, and look within and see that all is safe. I have not parted with it since the night of our journey. I trow you will find your treasure as it left your hand."
"I am sure of it," answered Cuthbert gratefully; "and I return you many thanks for your goodwill and sound counsel in the matter. But for your good offices I should have lost all. I trust you yourself escaped without misadventure?"
Cuthbert was now anxious to be gone. His errand was accomplished. The atmosphere of this place was offensive to him, and he was uneasy without well knowing why. His companion seemed to divine this; and the room being now cleared of all other guests, he put his hat on his head and said, "We will go out into the fresh air. The Cat and Fiddle is better as a resort by day than by night. I would fain know something of your whereabouts and fortunes, boy. I have taken a liking for you, and the name of Trevlyn sounds pleasantly in mine ears."
The old sense of fascination began to fall upon Cuthbert, as Catesby, taking him familiarly by the arm, led him out into the street, and walked along with him in the direction of his home, drawing him out by questions, and throwing in bits of anecdote, jest, and apt remark, that made his conversation a pleasure and an education. Cuthbert forgot his anxieties and vague suspicions in his enjoyment of the conversation of an accomplished man of the world; and there was a subtle flattery in the sense that this man, scholar and gentleman as he was, had condescended to a liking for and an interest in his insignificant self, and was of his own accord inviting confidence and friendship.
"I once had a young brother; thou something favourest him," was the only explanation he gave of the sudden fancy formed when Cuthbert spoke gratefully of his kindness. "I am growing out of youth myself, but I like the companionship of youth when I can get it. I would fain see more of thee, boy, an thou art thine own master, and can come and visit me at the place I may appoint."
Cuthbert was pleased and flattered, and said he should be proud to come, but hoped it would not be at the tavern, as his uncle misliked such places of entertainment.
"It is an ill-smelling spot; I mislike it myself," answered Catesby. "Nay, we can do better than that now. There is a house at Lambeth where I often frequent with my friends. It is something lonely; but thou art a brave lad, and wilt not fear that."
He turned and looked Cuthbert keenly over as he spoke, and heaved a short sigh.
"Thou art marvellous like the brother I lost," he said. "I would that I might have thee for my servant; but thou art too gently born for that, I trow."
Cuthbert had well-nigh promised lifelong service on the spot, so peculiar was the influence and fascination exercised upon him by this man; but he remembered his uncle and his duty to him, and pulled himself up as he replied soberly:
"I am poor enow-poorer than many a servant-having naught but what is given me by others. But I have mine uncle's will to do. I may take no step without asking counsel of him."
"Ay, verily; and this secret of our friendship thou must hide from him. Thou knowest that I am of the forbidden faith, and my presence in London must be hid. I may trust thee thus far with my secret? Thou wilt not reveal my name to others?"
"Never, since thou hast told me not."
"Good lad; I knew thou mightest be trusted. And thou wilt come to see me as I shall ask?"
"If I can make shift to do so I will very willingly."
"I shall remind thee of thy promise. And now, farewell. I have business in another quarter. We shall meet again anon."
Chapter 8: Cuthbert And Cherry Go Visiting
All this while Kate's letter to her cousin Lord Culverhouse had lain stowed away in the safe leathern pocket of Cuthbert's riding dress, into which her deft white hands had sewed it for safety, and he had made no attempt to deliver it to its owner, nor to see whether the young Viscount would have will or power to further his own success in life.
The reason for this delay was no lack of goodwill on the part of the youth, but was simply due to the fact that Lord Andover and his family were not in London at this season, but were in their family place in Hampshire, and not expected to reach London much before the Christmas season.
This much Cuthbert had discovered early on in his stay in town; for Kate had described to him the situation of her uncle's house in the Strand, and he had made inquiry at the porter's lodge the very first time he had passed by. But hearing this, and not wishing to entrust the letter into any hands but those of Lord Culverhouse himself, he had gone away again, and the excitements of the new life had speedily driven the thought of Kate's commission out of his mind.
But now the merry Christmas season was close at hand. Mistress Susan was thrice as busy and as sharp tongued as usual, getting forward her preparations for that time of jollity and good cheer, and making the bridge house fairly reek with the mixed flavours of her numerous concoctions and savoury dishes.
Martin Holt's Puritanism, which would prevent his countenancing anything like drunkenness, revelling, or the gross sports and amusements which still held full sway over the people at festive seasons, did not withhold him from keeping a well-spread table at which to ask his friends to sit, still less from sending out to his poorer neighbours portions of the good cheer which has always seemed appropriate to the Christmas season. So he raised no protest against the lavish expenditure in meats and spices, rose water, ambergris, sugar and herbs, nor complained that his sister and daughters seemed transformed for the nonce into scullions, and had scarce time to sit down to take a meal in peace, for fear that some mishap occurred to one of the many stew pans crowding each other upon the stove.
He was used to it, and it appeared the inevitable preliminary to Yuletide; though Cuthbert looked on in amaze, and marvelled how any household could consume the quantities of victuals under preparation, be their hospitality and generosity what it might.
As he walked abroad in the streets he saw much the same sort of thing everywhere going on. Cooks and scullions were scouring the streets and markets for all manner of dainties. Farmers were driving through the streets flocks of young porkers, squealing lustily and jostling the passers by; and cooks and housewives would come rushing out from the houses to secure a pig and carry it off in triumph; whilst here and there a servant in livery might be seen with a basket from which a peacock's tail floated, carrying off this costly prize to adorn the table of some nobleman or wealthy merchant.
Passing by Lord Andover's house in the Strand on the day before the eve of Christmas, Cuthbert saw, by the stir and bustle and liveliness of the courtyard, that the family had plainly returned. On making inquiry he discovered that his surmise was correct, and he walked home resolving to lose no more time in delivering his letter, and wondering if he could contrive to take Cherry with him when he paid the visit, to secure for her a sight of the gay streets and a peep into Lord Andover's big house. The poor child had been regularly mewed up at home the whole of the past week helping her sharp-tongued aunt. It was nothing but fair that she should taste a little enjoyment now; and he determined to try to get his uncle's consent before speaking a word to Cherry herself. Susan Holt never opposed her brother, though she often disapproved of his lenience towards his youngest child, whose love of pleasure she looked upon as a peril and a snare.
When Cuthbert made his modest request to take Cherry out on the morrow to see the sights of the streets, and the houses all decked with holly, the father smiled an indulgent smile and gave a ready assent. If Cuthbert would be careful where he took her, and not let her be witness of any of the vile pastimes of cock fighting, bull or bear baiting, or the hearer of scurrilous or blasphemous language, he might have her companionship and welcome; and it would doubtless amuse her to go into Lord Andover's kitchen, where messengers generally waited who had brought notes or messages for members of the family, being treated to cups of sack and other hospitality; and as he was a good man, his household would be well ordered, and the maid would be treated with due civility and respect.
"The child is kept something strait by her good aunt," said Martin, a smile hovering round the corner of his lips. "We are not all cut to the same pattern, and Cherry takes not as kindly to the gravity of life as did her sisters. A little change will do her no harm. It boots not too far to resist the promptings of nature."
How Cherry's eyes laughed and sparkled, and how her pretty face flushed and dimpled when Cuthbert whispered to her of the pleasure in store for her. She had been looking a little harassed and weary after her long seclusion from the fresh air, striving to please Aunt Susan, who never would be pleased; but this made amends for all. Worthy Susan sniffed and snorted when Martin told her to give the child a holiday on the morrow; but as all her preparations were well-nigh complete, she did not really want the girl, and contented herself with hoping that her indulgent father would not live to rue the day when he thought fit to indulge her wanton love for unhallowed sights and amusements.
Martin did not reply. Perhaps he felt that his sister was more consistent and stanch to the Puritan principles than he was himself in this matter; but he did not rescind his decision. And after a surreptitious meal behind the pantry door together on the morrow, whilst Mistress Susan was engaged upstairs over the weighty matter of the linen to adorn the festal board that evening and on Christmas Day itself, the pair stole quietly off about eleven o'clock, leaving word with Martin in passing out that they would be back before dark.
Cherry danced along as though she had wings to her feet, as they quitted the bridge and plunged into the narrow but bustling and busy streets. She had always been kept rigorously at home on all occasions of public rejoicing and merriment, and it was a perfect delight to her to see the holiday look about the passers by, and exchange friendly good wishes with such acquaintances as she met by the way. She had put on her best gown, and a little ruff round her neck: her aunt would not let her wear such "gewgaws" in a general way, but the girl loved to fabricate them out of odds and ends, in imitation of the ladies she saw passing in the street. She wore the gray cloak and hood she had had on when first Cuthbert had come to her assistance by the river, and her rosy laughing face peeped roguishly out from the warm and becoming head gear. But suddenly, as they were passing a house in East Cheape, she paused and glanced up at Cuthbert with a bewitching little look of pleading.
"Wait but here for me a little five minutes," she said; "I have an errand to my cousin Rachel."
She was gone in a moment, slipping through the open door and leaving Cuthbert outside in the street. He knew the house for her uncle Dyson's, and was in no way alarmed about her. Nor was she long in rejoining him again. But when she came out, laughing, blushing, and dimpling, he scarce knew her for the moment, so transformed was she; and he stood perfectly mute before the radiant young vision his eyes encountered.
The sober black under-petticoat had been replaced by one of vivid scarlet taffeta, quilted with elaboration, and further adorned with embroidery in white silk. The gray upper robe was the same as before, the soft stuff and quiet tone harmonizing and contrasting well with the bright hue of the petticoat. The little feet were encased in the daintiest of strong buckled shoes, and in scarlet hose to match the quilted skirt; whilst the cloak and hood were now of soft white lamb's-wool cloth, such as Abraham Dyson made a specialty of in his business; and the vivid delicate colour upon the girl's laughing face as it peeped out of the snowy hood was set off to the greatest possible advantage by the pure white frame, so suited to the child's infantile style of beauty.
"Why, Cherry, I scarce know thee!" cried Cuthbert, amazed.
"I scarce know myself," answered the laughing girl, blushing and dimpling with mischievous pleasure; "and I trust none else will know me neither if we meet more friends by the way. I will pull my hood well over my face, for I would not have this frolic reach Aunt Susan's ears. She would make a mighty coil anent it. But oh, I have so longed for pretty things such as Rachel wears Why is it wrong to love bright colours and soft fabrics? I will not believe it is. When I am grown to woman's estate, and have a home of my own to regulate, I will wear what I choose and what becomes me best. It is folly to think God loves not beauty and brightness. Has He not made the sky blue, the trees green, the flowers of every hue of the rainbow? Does He not paint the sky with brilliant hues? Why is man alone of his creatures to be dull and sad?"
"Nay, I know not; I am unlearned in these questions. But how got you these fine clothes? Did Mistress Rachel lend them?"
"Rachel has always longed to give this petticoat to me. She is weary of it, and it is something too short for her; but I knew I might never wear it, and that Aunt Susan would chide me roundly for bringing such a thing home. So Rachel said she would lay it by for me when her new robe came home at Christmastide. Then she whispered to me last week that her father had a present for me-a cloak and hood that he thought my father would let me wear, albeit Aunt Susan might ill like it. So passing the house today, methought I might slip in and ask Rachel if I might wear the new cloak and hood to Lord Andover's; and forthwith she had me up to her room and into this scarlet petticoat in a twinkling, and mine uncle brought the white cloak and hood himself and fastened it on me, and Jacob came with the shoes and said he had had them made strong for the muddy streets, but smart with the buckles on the top. And here I be the happiest girl in all London town! Nay, Cuthbert, but I feel as if my feet could dance of themselves all the way!"
Her happiness was infectious. Cuthbert felt more like a light-hearted boy than ever he had done in his life before. His lively little companion, clinging to his arm and chattering like a magpie, effectually drove away all grave thoughts. The sun shone brightly in the steely-blue sky; the frost had made the streets absolutely clean and dry. Walking, even in the most trodden places, was easy and pleasant, and everybody seemed in excellent good humour.
Many admiring glances were levelled at the pair as they passed along-the charming blushing damsel in the white hood, and the distinguished-looking youth with the grave dark face. Cuthbert gratified the little girl's curiosity by taking her up and down Paul's Walk as they passed through St. Paul's Churchyard, and by the time they gained Fleet Street and Temple Bar she had reached the limit of her farthest walk westward.
They spent several minutes before the clock of St. Dunstan's in the West, and watched the bronze figures striking on their bells as the hour of midday sounded forth from many steeples. Then Cherry must needs go down to the river banks between the gentlemen's gardens and see how the river looked from here. She was a little awed by the grandeur of the houses all along the Strand, and wondered mightily what it could feel like to be one of the fine Court dames who drove in and out of the great gates in gilded coaches, or ambled forth upon snow-white palfreys, attended by lackeys afoot and on horseback.
Another hour had passed in delighted watching of the street sights and the fine folks who dwelt in these parts, before Cuthbert led her under the archway of the great courtyard, and told her that this was Lord Andover's house. It was one of the finest in the Strand, and it was plain that some gay festivity was in foot or in preparation; for there was such a to-ing and fro-ing of serving men, lackeys and scullions, such a clatter of voices, such an air of hurry and jollity on every face, that Cherry could have looked and listened for ever, but that Cuthbert hurried her through the crowd towards a big door opening into the courtyard, and whispered in her ear:
"They all be too busy to heed me here. Come to the house, and see what hap we have there. I may deliver this letter to none other save Lord Culverhouse himself."
The great door which stood wide open proved to be that of the kitchen-a vast hall in itself, along the farther side of which were no less than six huge fireplaces. Cooks and scullions stood at each of these, shouting out orders and moving to and fro; while a perfect crowd of menials and servants, messengers and idlers, stood or sat about, chatting, laughing, and even gaming in corners. Huge tankards of ale, hot and strongly spiced, stood upon the table, and every one who passed by appeared permitted to help himself at will.
Busy and noisy as this place was, an air of good fellowship and good humour pervaded it which was reassuring and pleasant; and before the cousins had stood many minutes in their corner, a serving man came up and asked them civilly enough of their business. Cuthbert replied that he had a letter which he had been charged to give into Lord Culverhouse's own hands; and hearing that, the servant gave a keen look at the pair, and apparently satisfied with his inspection, bid them follow him.
He took them up a wide staircase, and brought them out into another large hall, where servants of a different class were gathered together-the liveried footmen and pages and lackeys, and some waiting women, very grandly attired, who speedily beckoned Cherry amongst them, and began making much of her, rather as though she were a little child, feeding her with comfits and cakes and spiced wine, examining her soft white cloak, and asking a host of questions as to where she got it, who was the maker, and if her uncle sold his wares to the public.
