Lord Grey died at Cheston, near Waltham, December 25, 1562.

Note 3. The Minories was then to all intents in the country. A single street, Whitechapel Bars, lay between it and the Spital Field on the north; in front (west) was the city wall, with its gardens; on the east lay Goodman's Fields, and an open s.p.a.ce to the south, bounded by the Tower enclosure and the Thames. It must have been a very pleasant suburb.

Note 4. Most historians say that the removal was against Edward's will.

The account given by himself shows no trace of any such feeling.

Note 5. At this era, peers did not use their t.i.tles only in signature, but added at least the initial of the Christian name.

CHAPTER FOUR.

BENEATH BLUE SKY.

"Ere suns and moons could wax and wane Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled The heavens, G.o.d thought on me His child, Ordained a life for me, arrayed Its circ.u.mstances every one To the minutest; ay, G.o.d said This head this hand should rest upon Thus, ere He fashioned star or sun."

Robert Browning.

The 24th of October brought the expected letter from Simon Pendexter to the master of Bradmond, and another from Marian to the mistress.

Simon's epistle was read first; but it proved to require both an English dictionary and a Latin lexicon. Simon wrote of "circ.u.mstances," [then a new and affected word], of the "culpable dexterity" of the rebels who had visited Bradmond, of their "inflammatory promulgation," of the "celerity" of his own actions in reply, and of his "debarring from dilation the aforesaid _ignis_." He left them in a cloud of words, of which Dr Thorpe understood about half, and Isoult much less. John, being a little wiser, was called upon for a translation. "Hang me if I know what the fellow is a-writing about!" testily cried Dr Thorpe.

"Jack, do thou put this foolery into decent English!"

"The enclosure men burnt your house, old friend," said John. "Have there the English."

"Plain enough at last, by my troth!" cried he.

A little more progress was made with Mr Pendexter's missive, when Isoult interrupted it by exclaiming--

"Do tell me what he meaneth, Jack!"

"They set our house afire, dear heart, but he soon put it out,"

translated John.

"It was likely afeard of his big ruffling words!" said Dr Thorpe.

The letter concluded thus:--"With the which considerations, I do commit your Honour to the tuition of G.o.d. Inscribed at Bodmin, _die Veneris_, the fourth in the month of October. By the hand of your Honour's most undemeritous and obeisant _paedagogus_, Simon Pendexter."

"This companion is clean out of his wits!" exclaimed Dr Thorpe.

"Isoult, read thy little letter," said John. "Metrusteth it shall be more clear than Simon's, and, at all charges, 'tis shorter."

"Unto Mistress Avery, At the Minories in London."

"Mistress,--This shall be to advertise you (my lowly duties first remembered), that the fourteenth of July come unto Bradmond the ill men you wot of, and after casting mine husband and me forth of the house with little gentleness, did spread themselves thereabout, drinking up the wine in the cellar, and otherwise making great bruit and disorder.

And in the end they set fire thereto, and departed. G.o.d helping us, we shortly had the fire under, for it began to rain; but the whole house is ruinated, and a deal of mischief done. Mistress, all the hangings be burned or torn, and the furniture is but splinters; and the very walls so knocked about, and the garden all trampled and desolated, that I am well a.s.sured, were you this minute on the ground you should not find conveniency to enter and abide for many a long day yet. And in good sooth, 'twill lack a mint of money spent thereon ere the house be meet for any, let be a gentleman and gentlewoman of your honourableness.

Mistress, they tare away all the shutters, and tare up the planks of some of the floors: and they left not a latch nor an andiron whole in all the house. Mine husband hath writ to Mr Avery. From Bodmin, this fourth day of October. Mistress, I do beseech you of your gentleness to give my poor sister to know that I do fare well, and trust so doth she likewise.

"By the rude hand of her that is your servant, Marian Pendexter."

"Rude hand!" said John. "Commend me to Marian Pendexter for the writing of a letter. 'Tis one-half so long as Simon's, and tells us twice so much as he; and her round letters be as clear as print, while his be all quips and flourishes. Well, I account we shall needs abide hither for some time, Isoult; but methinks I must ride home, and see how matters stand; and if the garden be truly desolated as for roses and the like, well, the ground may as well be set with carrots and cabbages, that can be sold. And on my return hither, I must set me, as fast as I may, unto the making of _pecunia_, as Simon hath it, in my calling. Metrusteth the house shall not need to be pulled down and built up again; for that should take, methinks, some years to raise. Howbeit, 'tis no good looking forward too far."

Dr Thorpe said, when he had sat for a time in silence, "Ah, well! the will of the Lord be done! I trow they shall scantly burn mine other house, in that city which hath foundations."

"Mr Edward Underhill, the Hot Gospeller."

Isoult Avery looked up and rose when John made this announcement, to the evident amus.e.m.e.nt of the person introduced.

The Hot Gospeller's age was thirty-seven; of his personal appearance we have no trustworthy account. It may safely be a.s.serted that his feelings were strong, his affections warm, his partisanship fervent, and his organ of humour decidedly developed. I picture him lithe and quick, with ready tongue and brilliant eyes; but perhaps I am as much mistaken as Isoult was concerning Alice Wikes. If the mania "_de faire son portrait_" which was so much the fashion in France in the reign of Louis the Fourteenth had pervaded England in the sixteenth century, we might have obtained much curious information which is now lost to us.

When all the members of our little group were gathered round the dinner-table,--which was not until eleven a.m., for the Averys dined unusually late that day--Dr Thorpe laid the subject which had been discussed before Mr Underhill, and requested his opinion on the matter.

Could he find a man for the time?

Isoult shook her head dubiously.

"With whom take you part?" said Dr Thorpe.

"With both of you," answered Mr Underhill. "I lean to Mistress Avery's thought that there is no man for the time; but I do partly share your opinion, in that methinks there may be a woman."

"A woman, Mr Underhill?" cried Isoult, in amazement.

"What woman?" said Dr Thorpe. "My Lady d.u.c.h.ess of Suffolk, I ween.

Nay, Master; she is good enough as may be, but her money-bags are a sight scantier than when my Lord Duke was in life."

"My Lady of Suffolk! not she, forsooth," replied he. "Nay, good Doctor; mine hopes are anch.o.r.ed (under G.o.d) on none other than the King's 'sweet sister Temperance'--my young Lady Elizabeth's Grace."

"The Lady Elizabeth!" repeated Dr Thorpe, in a voice which intimated his meaning. "A child at her book and needle, Master Underhill!"

"She will not alway be so," answered he. "Nor shall she be such long."

"And afore her standeth another," continued the doctor.

"Afore her standeth another," repeated Mr Underhill. "Nor shall any man alive ever see me to do evil that good may come. But I scantly signified all you would make me to say. I did but point to my Lady Elizabeth's power with the King, not to her being one to stand in her own power, which G.o.d long defend!"

Dr Thorpe shook his head in turn, but did not further explain himself.

"You have friends at Court," said John to Mr Underhill. "Which of these ladies is commonly thought to stand best with the King her brother?"

"The Lady Elizabeth, by many a mile," answered he. "And to go by what I hear from her tutor Mr Ascham, a fair and ready wit enough she hath.

The Lady Frances [Note 1] her daughters, likewise, be great with the King, and are young damsels of right sweet nature and good learning, so far as their young age may show the same."

"What say men of the King's wedding?" quoth Dr Thorpe. "Is it yet the Queen of Scots?"

"The friends of my Lord Protector say 'tis a Princess of France; and his foes will have it that had he not fallen too soon, it should have been-- the Lady Jane Seymour."

"What, my Lord Protector his daughter?" inquired Isoult.

"She," said Mr Underhill.

"That hath an ill look, an' it were so," remarked John, thoughtfully.