Chapter [26]: Jacob's Devotion.
"If thou wouldst save thy friend from a terrible fate, come hither to me without delay."
Jacob stood gazing at this scrap of parchment as one in a dream, his slow wits only taking in by degrees the meaning of the mysterious words.
"Thy friend," he repeated slowly, "thy friend! What friend? I have many. Terrible fate! Saints preserve us, what means that? Can it be Cuthbert who is in peril--that rash Cuthbert, for ever diving into matters he had far, far better let alone, and burning his fingers for naught? Can it be of him it speaks? Belike it may. There have been ugly whispers abroad of late. Mine uncle told me only this day that some constables came to his door asking some trivial questions anent his household, and speaking of Cuthbert by name. It would be like his folly at such a moment to run his head into a noose.
"But he shall not be hurt if I can help it. Who is this wise woman who sends the message? Methinks I have heard Rachel speak of her ere now. Well, I can but go visit her and hear what she would have to say. I know the house in Budge Row; I took Rachel to the door once. For myself, I love not such hocus pocus; but if it be a matter of Cuthbert's safety, I will e'en go and listen to her tale. If she wants to filch money from me for foul purposes, she will find she has come to the wrong man. I will pay for nothing till I have got my money's worth."
It was already dark. Jacob had been partaking of one of Martin Holt's hospitable suppers. Cuthbert had been absent, and Mistress Susan had remarked with some acrimony that the young man was growing a deal too fine in his ways for them. He came and went just at pleasure; and she did not think it well to encourage him in his idleness and irregularities. Martin opined that he had been amusing himself by watching the preparations for the grand doings on the morrow. The King was in London, and would open his Parliament the next day. Little was being talked of but that event all over London that night.
And now, on reaching his home, Jacob found this brief missive awaiting him, and started forth again, wondering not a little whither it would lead him. The streets were almost empty. Budge Row was dark and silent as the grave. Yet as he looked up at the tall narrow house, a window from above was softly opened, and a low voice over his head spoke in soft, urgent accents:
"Hist! make no sound. Wait but a moment. I will open to you."
Jacob waited, and almost immediately the door was cautiously opened, and a head looked round, a pair of dark eyes peering up into his face.
"It is well, Jacob Dyson, thou hast come," said the same voice, in the lowest of low whispers. "But I may not speak with thee here. Thou must come with me elsewhere. Tyrrel's men are in this house, carousing in their cups. But they have ears like the wild things of the forest. I may not bring thee within the door. They think that I be gone to my chamber to sleep. They will seek me no more tonight. And before the morrow dawns our task must be accomplished."