Chapter Twenty Three.
Cat and mouse.
It was Mr Roberts’s custom to go down to the cloth-works every Tuesday—saints’ days excepted—and in pursuance of this habit he made his appearance in the counting-house on the morning after the departure of the two ladies. Roger Hall was at his post as usual, waited on his master, gave in his accounts, and received his orders. When the other business was over, Roger said, in the same tone and manner as before—
“Those two parcels of rare goods, master, sent forth yester-even, that you wot of, I saw myself so far as Lamberhurst, and they be in safe hands for the further journey.”
Mr Roberts did not at once, as might now be done, ask Roger what he was talking about. The days of Romish ascendency in England were days when everybody knew that if a man’s meaning were not simple and apparent, there was probably some reason why he dared not speak too plainly, and it was perilous to ask for an explanation. Mr Roberts looked up into his manager’s face, and at once guessed his meaning. He was seriously alarmed to see it. How had Roger Hall become possessed of that dangerous secret, which might bring him to prison if it were known? For the penalty for merely “aiding and abetting” a heretic was “perpetual prison.” Those who gave a cup of cold water to one of Christ’s little ones did it at the peril of their own liberty.
Let us pause for a moment and try to imagine what that would be to ourselves. Could we run such risks for Christ’s sake—knowing that on every hand were spies and enemies who would be only too glad to bring us to ruin, not to speak of those idle gossiping people who do much of the world’s mischief, without intending harm? It would be hard work to follow the Master when He took the road to Gethsemane. Only love could do it. Would our love stand that sharp test?
All this passed in a moment. What Mr Roberts said was only—“Good. Well done.” Then he bent his head over the accounts again; raising it to say shortly—“Hall, prithee shut yon door; the wind bloweth in cold this morrow.” Roger Hall obeyed silently: but a change came over Mr Roberts as soon as the door was shut on possible listening ears. He beckoned Roger to come close to him.
“How wist you?” he whispered.
“Guessed it, Master.” It was desirable to cut words as short as possible. “Saw him go up to your house. Thought what should follow.”
“You followed them?”
“No; came too late. Searched, and found them in a field near Goudhurst.”
A shudder came over Pandora’s father at the thought of what might have been, if the priest had been the searcher.
“Any one else know?”
“Tom Hartley—true as steel, Master. Two were needful for my plan. Mistress bade me commend him to you, as he that had done her right good service.”
“He shall fare the better for it. And you likewise.”
Roger smiled. “I did but my duty, Master.”
“How many folks do so much?” asked Mr Roberts, with a sigh. He could not have said that. After a moment’s thought he added—“Raise Hartley twopence by the week; and take you twenty pounds by the year instead of sixteen as now.”
“I thank you, Master,” said Roger warmly: “but it was not for that.”
“I know—I know!” answered the master, as he held out his hand to clasp that of his manager—a rare and high favour at that time. And then, suddenly, came one of those unexpected, overpowering heart-pourings, which have been said to be scarcely more under the control of the giver than of the recipient. “Hall, I could not have done this thing. How come you to have such strength and courage? Would I had them!”
“Master, I have neither, save as I fetch them from Him that hath. ‘I can do all things through Christ that strengtheneth me.’”
“He doth not strengthen me!” moaned the weak man.
“Have you asked Him, Master?” quietly replied the strong one.
Mr Roberts made no answer, and Roger knew that meant a negative. In his heart the master was conscious that he had not asked. He had said multitudinous “paters” and “aves,” had repeated “Hail Marys” by the score—all the while half thinking of something else; but never once in his inmost soul had he said to the Lord—“Saviour, I am weak; make me strong.” A few minutes’ silence, and Mr Roberts turned back to the accounts, half-ashamed that he had allowed that glimpse of his true self to be seen. And Roger Hall said no more, except to God.
The master went home to supper at four o’clock. Ten was then the hour for dinner, four for supper; people who kept late hours made it eleven and five. As Mr Roberts came in sight of his own door, his heart sank down into his shoes. On the door-step stood a black-robed figure which he knew only too well, and which he would gladly have given a handful of gold to know he might have no chance of seeing for a month to come. A faint idea of hiding himself in the shrubs crossed his mind for a moment; but he could not stay there for an indefinite time, and the priest would in all probability wait for him, if it were he whom he meant to see. No, it would be better to go forward and get it over; but it was with a fervid wish that it were over that Mr Roberts went on and deferentially saluted his Rector.
That reverend gentleman thoroughly understood his man. Had it been possible to gauge the human soul with a thermometer, he could have guessed with accuracy how it would read. He met him, not with severity, but with a deep gravity which conveyed the idea that something serious required discussion, and that he earnestly hoped the culprit would be able to clear himself of the charge.
In the hall they were met by Mistress Grena and Gertrude, who had seen them coming, and who came forward, as in duty bound, to show extra respect to their spiritual pastor. The genuine spirituality was more than dubious: but that did not matter. He was a “spiritual person”—though the person was exceedingly unspiritual!
The priest gave a blessing to the ladies with two fingers extended in a style which must require some practice, and at Mistress Grena’s request sat down with them to supper. During the meal the conversation was general, though the priest retained his serious aspect of something unpleasant to come. The heavy part of the supper was over, and cheese, with late apples, Malaga raisins, and Jordan almonds, had made their appearance; the ladies prepared to withdraw.
“Mistress Holland,” said the Rector, “I beseech you to tarry yet a little season”—adding to Gertrude, “I need not detain you, my daughter.”
Gertrude escaped with great satisfaction. “Those two are going to catch it!” she said to herself; “I am glad I am out of it!” Mr Roberts knew sorrowfully that the surmise was woefully true, but he was rather relieved to find that his sister-in-law was “going to catch it” with him. Her presence was a sort of stick for him to lean on.
“My son,” said the Rector to Mr Roberts, with an air of sorrowful reluctance to begin a distasteful piece of work, “it troubleth me sorely to do that I must needs do, but necessity hath no law. Remember, I pray you, that as yesterday I called here, desiring to have speech of your youngest daughter, and was told by Osmund your butler that she was visiting a friend.”
“That was fully truth, Father,” said Mistress Grena, as if she supposed that the Rector was about to complain of some duplicity on the part of Osmund.
Mr Bastian waved aside the assurance.
“I left word,” he continued, repeating the words with emphasis, “I left word that I would call to see her this morrow. Here am I; and what have I now learned? That she left this house yester-even, without so much as a word of excuse, not to say a beseechment of pardon, when she knew that I purposed having speech of her.” His voice became more stern. “Is this the manner wherein ye deal with the ministers of holy Church? Truly, had I just cause to suspect your fidelity to her, this were enough to proceed on. But trusting ye may yet have ability to plead your excuse”—a slightly more suave tone was allowed to soften the voice—“I wait to hear it, ere I take steps that were molestous to you, and truly unwelcome unto me. What say ye in extenuation thereof?”
“We are verily sorry, Father,” came quietly from Mistress Grena, “that no meet apology hath been offered unto you for this discourtesy, and we pray you of your grace and goodness right gentilly to accept the same even now. Truly the matter stands thus: Our sister, Mistress Collenwood, had in purpose to tarry with us divers days longer; but yester-even tidings came unto her the which caused her to hasten her departure, not tarrying so much as one night more; and as she had desired to take Pandora withal, it was needful that her departure should be hastened likewise. You wot well, good Father, I am assured, the bustle and business caused by such sudden resolve, and the little time left for thought therein: but for any consequent lack of respect unto yourself and your holy office, we are full sorry, and do right humbly entreat you of pardon.”
Mr Roberts breathed more freely. He thought the woman’s wit was about to prevail, and to salve over the offence.
The priest, on his part, perceived with regret that he had made a mistake in retaining Mistress Grena. Her representations were very plausible, and she was not so easily cowed as her brother-in-law. He considered a moment how to proceed.
“In truth, my daughter,” he said, addressing her, “you have fully made your excuse, and I allow it right gladly. I may well conceive that in the haste and labour of making ready on so sudden summons, both you and your niece may easily have forgat the matter. I need not keep you longer from your household duties. God grant you a good even!”
Mistress Grena had no resource but to withdraw in answer to this dismissal, her heart filled with sore forebodings. She had hoped the excuse might be held to cover the whole family; but it was evident the priest had no intention of accepting it as including the male portion thereof. As she passed Mr Roberts, with her back to the priest, she gave him a warning look; but her hope that he would take the warning was as small as it could well be.
“And now, my son,” said the Rector softly, turning to his remaining victim, “how say you? Were you likewise busied in preparing the gentlewomen for their journey?”