"The keeper of Aldgate, and your friend Mr Newman, and George Ferris, and divers other. I gat not all from one man."

"Newman and Ferris! Then it is true," murmured Mr Underhill, very gravely.

It was true. Before night they knew all concerning this deed of treachery.

And--last and worst of all--no sooner did the Duke of Suffolk, within the Tower, hear that the Council had proclaimed Queen Mary without, than out he came upon the hill, and saying "he was but one man, and would not withstand all the Council," proclaimed Queen Mary on Tower Hill, to the ruin of his own daughter: and then went into London, leaving poor Lady Jane almost alone in the Tower,--for only Lord Guilford, and the d.u.c.h.ess of Northumberland, and Lady Throgmorton and her husband Sir Nicholas, and Sir John Bridges, were left with her. And when Lady Throgmorton returned from Saint Katherine's to the Tower, she found the cloth of estate already taken down, and all changed; and when she would have quitted the Tower again, she was not permitted to do so.

That evening, there was a gathering at the Lamb. Mr Underhill stayed to rejoice; Mr Rose came to mourn; Philippa Ba.s.set came to rail; and Mr Holland came to pacify them. And no very soft nor sweet words were bestowed on Lord Suss.e.x by Mr Holland (whose words were not all peace); nor on Lord Arundel by Mr Rose; nor on Lord Grey by Mr Underhill; nor on the Duke of Suffolk by any body; nor on any body by Philippa. Only to one no hard words were given by any; and that was the Lady Jane, whom all united to excuse and pity. But all agreed in calling Lord Arundel a traitor, and Suffolk a man too weak and pitiful to be blamed.

All hope of the Lady Jane's success was now gone. The Duke of Northumberland himself proclaimed Queen Mary when he discovered it; but notwithstanding this feeble attempt to curry favour, on the 22nd he was apprehended at Cambridge. Lord Grey de Wilton and others who submitted themselves early were pardoned. Lady Jane, Lord Guilford, and those with them, were kept prisoners in the Tower.

Towards the end of July, Isoult and Esther were coming along the riverside by the Tower, when they saw a great crowd shouting and running towards them. Neither John nor Robin being with them, Isoult was rather frightened, and turned aside into the porch of Saint Katherine's for safety. But when they came nearer, she saw that here were the prisoners borne under guard to the Tower. First rode the traitor Earl of Arundel, who had them in his guard; and had he received his deserts, he would have been among them. And after him, riding upon horses, their bridles tied to those of the guards, came the Duke of Northumberland, his sons, the Earl of Warwick, Lord Ambrose, and Lord Henry Dudley; Lord Huntingdon, Lord Hastings, Sir John Gates, and his brother Sir Henry, Sir Andrew Dudley (brother to the Duke), and Dr Sands, Chancellor of Cambridge. But when Isoult saw the face of the last prisoner, she was unspeakably startled. Esther asked if she were ill; "for (said she), you look ever so white and faint!" It was no wonder, when she looked up into the unforgotten face of Sir Thomas Palmer.

Thirteen years had pa.s.sed since she saw him; but Isoult knew him in a moment. All the old Calais memories came flashing back on her like an overwhelming flood, drowning the newer evil he had done, as she saw this man, who had persecuted the saints of G.o.d, who had done the Duke of Somerset to death, who had been one of the four destroyers of her beloved master--led to his prison and to his suffering in turn.

Sir Thomas looked at Isoult as he pa.s.sed, seeing her eyes fixed on him; but it was the look of a stranger to a stranger.

The storm broke now. Few days pa.s.sed unmarked by fresh arrests. The phrase "the Queen" had almost insensibly pa.s.sed from Jane to Mary. But for a little while yet the crisis was political, not religious. When the danger was over, and before Mary reached her metropolis, the scene was shifted, and the first Protestant arrest took place. And so sudden and unexpected was the blow, that it fell upon the Gospellers like a thunderbolt. Thirty hours had barely elapsed since her meeting with Sir Thomas Palmer, when Isoult, coming down into the parlour, heard her husband's voice say sorrowfully--"Ay, this is the beginning of sorrows."

"Is there any more news?" cried Isoult, fearfully; for fresh news then meant bad news.

"The worst we have had yet," he said; "the Bishop of London is committed to the Tower."

"And that all suddenly, with scantly a minute's warning," added Dr Thorpe.

"Woe worth the day!" she wailed. "Ay, thou mayest say so," answered he.

"G.o.d grant this be not the first step of a longer and dreader persecution than we have yet known."

On Friday the Duke of Suffolk was brought to the Tower, where his hapless daughter remained a prisoner. But on the Monday following, Suffolk was released.

"To ease the Tower dungeons, which must now be choke-full," suggested Dr Thorpe; "or it may be the Queen thought him a sely [harmless, simple]

fellow, not worth the turning of an axe edge."

The Queen's grand entry into London took place on the 3rd of August.

There was no need for any in the Minories to go far to see her, for she came to them, riding down Sh.o.r.editch and in at Aldgate. She was preceded by a guard of seven hundred and forty "velvet coats;" then rode that "honourable man" my Lord of Arundel, bearing in his hand the sword of state; then (after reaching Aldgate) the Lord Mayor; then the Queen, royally arrayed, riding by herself on a richly-caparisoned barb, Sir Anthony Browne bearing up her train. What were the thoughts of that long-persecuted woman, now in her turn to become a persecutor? Then followed her sister, the Lady Elizabeth. What, too, were her thoughts?

After the royal sisters rode Elizabeth Stafford, wife of the imprisoned Duke of Norfolk, and Gertrude, Marchioness of Exeter, mother of the imprisoned Edward Courtenay. Ladies and gentlemen followed to the number of a hundred and eighty. Lastly came the guard, with a crowd of men from Northampton, Buckingham, and Oxford shires, all in armour, and the peers' servants. The number of hors.e.m.e.n, we are a.s.sured, was about ten thousand.

And when the Queen came to the Tower, there, beside the gate, kneeling upon the Tower green, were the old prisoners of her father and brother, the old Duke of Norfolk, and Dr Stephen Gardiner, and the d.u.c.h.ess of Somerset, and the young Lord Courtenay, who had scarcely ever been out of the Tower in his life. They, kneeling there, saluted her; and no sooner had the Queen alighted, than she went to them and kissed them, and said, "These are my prisoners."

The time-serving Earl of Pembroke had been ordered to wait upon the Queen, but was too terrified to obey. He felt himself too deeply compromised for pardon. One point, however, he was careful not to neglect. His son, Lord Herbert, was divorced in all haste and fear from Lady Katherine Grey, the hapless sister of the "nine days' Queen."

On Sat.u.r.day night, Mr Underhill walked into the Lamb, and tacitly asked himself to supper. He was in feverish delight.

"The good cause hath triumphed! and Queen Mary being known to be of merciful complexion, I cast no doubt all shall be spared that can be."

Deluded man! but he was quickly to be undeceived in a very personal manner.

"But meantime," responded John Avery, "some are being spared that should not be--all them that have troubled the realm in King Edward's time, or yet sooner. Bishop Day is delivered; and Bishop Bonner not only delivered, but restored to his see, and shall henceforth be Bishop of London in the stead of Dr Ridley. And what shall become of that our good Bishop no man knoweth. Moreover, Bishop Tunstal is delivered out of prison; and Dr Gardiner (woe worth the day!) was this morrow sworn of the Council. Howso merciful be the Queen, the Council shall be little that way inclined, if they have him amongst them."

It was not yet dinner-time on the following morning, when Barbara came up-stairs to tell her mistress that Mrs Helen Ive wished to see her.

Her first words were ominous.

"Mrs Avery, I come from the Lime Hurst, with rare ill tidings."

"Alack!" said Isoult. "Is Mistress Underhill worser? or the little babe sick?"

"Neither," said she; "but Mr Underhill is in Newgate."

"Mr Underhill!" cried Isoult. "For what cause?"

"G.o.d knoweth, and they that have him," said she; "for the rest, I wis not whether he know himself. But he was taken in the midst of the night, being ten of the clock, and after long trial by the Council, is now sent unto Newgate. The Sheriff of Middles.e.x come unto my father's house thus late, and brake the matter to my father, whom he desired to go with him, as being Mr Underhill's very friend; and my father did entreat him to leave him go and fetch his prisoner, for frightening of Mrs Underhill in her weakness. So my father, followed of the Sheriff and his men bearing bills and glaives, knocked on the door, and there came one to the door, unto whom he desired that he should ask Mr Underhill to come out. But upon this he heard Mr Underhill's voice, calling to him to go within. So he went within, and found Mr Underhill in his bed; who demanding of him in his merry fashion what he did breaking into a man's house at that hour of the night, my father answered him that the Sheriff, and with him a great company were come to fetch him. Upon which Mr Underhill rose, and made him ready; and willing not that Mistress Underhill should know anything of the matter, he would not go into her chamber for any other gear, but cast about him such as he had there, which was a brave satin gown that he had worn the even afore."

"Ay," said Isoult, "a tawny satin night-gown [evening costume] laced with green; he had it here at supper."

"Well," pursued Helen, "so out came he to the Sheriff, and demanded what he would. 'Sir,' said he, 'I have commandment from the Council to apprehend you, and forthwith to bring you unto them.'--'Why,' answers Mr Underhill, 'it is now ten of the clock in the night; you cannot now carry me unto them.'--'No, Sir,' said he; 'ye shall go with me to my house to London, where ye shall have a bed; and to-morrow I shall bring you unto them at the Tower.'--'In the Name of G.o.d!' [Note 4] quoth Mr Underhill; and so went with the Sheriff. 'Know you the cause?' saith he also; who [the Sheriff] answered that he knew of none. Then said Mr Underhill, 'This needed not; any one messenger might have fetched me unto them.' So away went they, and my father turned home. And this morning went my father early unto the Tower, where the Council were sitting, and took his place at the gate, where was a great throng of people, that he might hear what should befall. It was a mighty long time ere Mr Underhill came forth; but at long last out came he, led betwixt two of the guard, and my father (with a great throng) followed to Mr Garret's house, the Sheriff, in the Stock Market. There they took Mr Underhill in, and after a while, to my father's great eas.e.m.e.nt, came forth without him. Then, after some time, came forth Mr Underhill again, with two of the Sheriff's men; but they had no bills with them, nor they led him not, but followed a pretty way behind. So he coming into the street, my father, seeing him have such liberty, and such distance between him and the officers, he stepped before them, and so went talking with him through Cheapside. And Mr Underhill told him that my Lord of Suss.e.x would have ordered him to the Fleet, and Sir Richard Southwell cried out to have him to the Marshalsea: but neither should content Sir John Gage nor Secretary Bourne, and they made great ado that he were sent to Newgate, and prevailed. Arrived thither, Mr Underhill was delivered of the officers to Alisaunder the keeper [Note 5], who unlocked a door, and bade him go up-stairs into the hall. My father would not yet leave him, but went up with him, and there they sat down and had some talk one with the other. And Mr Underhill did require my father not to let Mrs Underhill know that he was sent to Newgate, but to the Counter, until such time as she were near her churching, and better to abide ill news; and that she should send him his night-gown, his Bible, and his lute. So my father took his leave; and meeting me at Aldgate on his way home, desired me to turn aside hither and tell you thereof; and to ask you that you would come and visit Mrs Underhill in her trouble, if it might stand with your conveniency."

"That will I, a.s.suredly," said Isoult; "and it shall be the very first thing I do on the morrow."

Isoult fulfilled her promise. She rode to the Lime Hurst, with Tom as escort; and found Mrs Underhill lying on the day-bed [the predecessor of the sofa], with Helen Ive sitting by her; while Anne, her eldest girl, was nursing her baby brother, and looked very much gratified to be trusted with him. Mrs Underhill burst into tears the moment her visitor approached. Taking the seat which Helen vacated for her, Isoult endeavoured to cheer her invalid friend. When she was able to speak, Mrs Underhill was found very resolute.

"So soon as ever my strength shall serve," she said, "I will hie me to the Lords of the Council, to entreat them for Ned's deliverance; and methinks my Lord of Bedford at the least shall hear me, for the good hap that we had to recover his son. And I will moreover get help of Jack Throgmorton, Master of the Quest, that is Ned's countryman and kinsman."

"But, dear heart," cried Isoult, "you are not strong enough to bear so weary a burden."

"I will be strong enough!" she answered, determinately. "And to that end I do mean to be churched this next Sunday. But to tell you the very truth, Mrs Avery, I do fear this shall not be all. Men do say Mr Rose shall be deprived ere many days; and it may be, set in ward likewise.

Ah, well-a-day I we have need to take heed to our ways. My way lieth toward the Counter; if I might be there with Ned, I would not much lay to heart for what cause. Methinks when they take a man, they should seize both halves of him."

Isoult smiled, but made no reply.

"And 'tis whispered about," she pursued, "that my Lord Archbishop should forsake the Gospel, and be again a Lutheran, if not a Papist; and that the ma.s.s shall be again set up; and that proclamation shall be made to put forth from their cures all married priests. Mrs Avery, have a care of your Robin, that he either receive not orders, or wed not. When looked you for his being a priest?"

"Why," said Isoult, "he had been ordained of Bishop Ridley this next Rogation-tide; but now I know not what shall fall, for no Popish Bishop will admit him, nor would we ask it if he would so do. May be, if Mr Rose would speak with him (Robin being Cornwall-born), Bishop Coverdale should grant him, an' he knew the case."

"Bishop Coverdale, and Mr Rose to boot," said she, "shall shortly have enough to do to see to themselves. Mrs Rose is sorely distressed touching the forbiddance of wedded priests, which 'tis thought shall shortly be had. And 'twill be no gain to be Mr Rose his son when the storm come. An' I were you and Mr Avery, I would put him off both his orders and his wedding."

"We have no right over him, Mrs Underhill," said Isoult.

"No right!" answered she. "Doth not every man that knoweth you and him know that you have but to whisper, and he shall run at your bidding?

Mrs Avery, if you asked that lad for his head, I do very nigh believe he should cut it off for you."

"I must talk with Jack of this matter," responded Isoult, thoughtfully.

So, when she left the Lime Hurst, she came home to dinner, and after dinner rode on to West Ham. In the parlour there she found Thekla at her spinning; but Mrs Rose (a most unwonted thing for her), sat by the cas.e.m.e.nt idle, with her hands lying before her.

"Hear you Mr Underhill is in prison?" were her first words.

"Ay," said Isoult; "and that you, dear friend, are sore disquieted, for the which cause I come."

"Disquieted!" she answered, the tears springing to her eyes. "Is it like I shall be quiet? How know I who shall be in prison to-morrow?