LONDON 'PRENTICES. A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF BLUFF KING HAL. BY JOHN TILLOTSON, Author of "Stories of the War," "Crimson Pages," "Shot and Shell," "London Stone," etc., etc. IN CHAPTER XXIV. LIVING OR DEAD? Old Greenwich Palace. Na spacious chamber, high up in the house of Father Fitz Aldwine, lay the body of Ambrose Quartermain. The night was dark and cold, and the only light in that spot was afforded by a brazen lamp, which cast its flickering rays upon the furniture of the apartment. Yet, notwithstanding this, the room had once possessed the various beauties which distinguished the architecture of the period of its erection. It could boast of having a chimney-piece of IV. exquisite carvings, containing portraits of all sorts of things which the genius of the artist could invent. Such beasts, yet undiscovered, were there represented, in glowing colours-beasts that Buffon searched for in vain; beasts that even Sindbad could never discover. Then the tapestry, with Samson and the Gates of Gaza, Saul and the Witch of Endor, and Joseph's Dream. But the tapestry and the chimney-piece were nothing to the window, the recess to which formed a very chamber of itself, and overhung the street until it nearly reached its neighbour 14* opposite, creating thereby a great convenience to the passers by forming, in summer, a sort of public parasol and screen from the sun's heat, and in winter, serving in place of an umbrella from the snow and rain. This chamber had once been a noble place, but from disuse had fallen to decay; the dust lay thick on everything around, and spiders in all corners had erected dwellings and spread their nets, and did not appear to appreciate the new tenants, consisting of three persons-Ambrose Quartermain, Nick Sherrin, and a personage in sable garments who rejoiced in the name of Osborne. It was curious to observe the sort of pantomime in which this gentleman indulged whilst examining his patient, and the earnest, despairing look of Sherrin, who watched with eagerness his movement, and obeyed with alacrity every order he gave. The surgeon placed his hand upon the wrist of Quartermain, then on his breast, then he raised the eyelids, and last of all, from the pocket of his doublet, he produced a brightly-polished silver plate: this he held before the patient's mouth, all the time shaking his head with solemn gravity, and muttering certain words, which perhaps were cabalistic, yet generally consisted of Hum! Ah! oh! thought so, &c. At length he turned to Sherrin, saying: "Friend, spare thyself the trouble of more exertion-friction can now be of no avail; the spirit of this wretched youth hath fled." "It's false," cried Sherrin, who had been exerting all his strength in rubbing the feet and hands of Quartermain. "It's false it cannot be; he spoke while yet we bore him through the streets. Thou hast not exerted proper skill, else would he not have died." "The holy saints," returned the Leech, "will never make unholy deeds to prosper." Unholy deeds! what call you so?" cried Sherrin. 66 "Did you not drag me here against my will? Did you not bear me through the streets by force and violence? St. Benet! these are not unholy deeds I know not what they are." "And this is thy gratitude to him who raised thee up from poverty-who succoured thee when all thy goods had been seized by the harpies of the law, and thou, thyself, lay in the debtors' prison of Lud Gate." ""Twould be rank treason to aid a traitor who had been adjudged to death." "Ah! thou would'st betray him to his enemies-to those who even now are searching high and low? Get thee gone, thou Judas-thou vile traitor. Yet stay: living or dead, I'll never leave him here!" Osborne sprang to the window, and throwing open the casement, he cried for help. Shouts from below answered his cry, mingling with the clank of accoutrements and clatter of hoofs. raised The next instant Sherrin had the body of Quartermain, when, to the surprise of himself and terror of Osborne, it uttered a deep groan, together with a convulsive movement of the limbs. With the shout of joy and triumph Sherrin rushed from the chamber, bearing in his powerful grasp the body of Quartermain. Osborne, thinking to watch, followed at a short distance, but Sherrin perceiving his intention sent him reeling into the chamber. The next instant the door of the house was burst in, and with a terrible crash. The soldiers came rushing in-halberdiers and hackbutt men, with Nicholas Denis in the rear. Up they went, up the oaken staircase, with its thick banisters and ponderous beams. Every chamber in the house was searched, and at last the one which Sherrin had just quitted. Here they found Osborne stretched upon the ground, senseless. Denis, seeing that he had no power to resist, turned him disdainfully with his foot, and, gazing into his face, uttered an exclamation of surprise. "By my halidame," he cried, "this can be no other than Nathaniel Scrivener, whom Colner accused this morning of forgery and murder. No doubt he's a dangerous fellow: secure him well, and carry him to the Tun'; and for this Quartermain, he of a surety hath escaped; so fall in my masters, and let us on.' * Meanwhile, Sherrin made his way towards the river, the banks of which he soon gained by passing through a small garden which, at the rear of the dwelling, he had so recently quitted. The night was dark and cold. The wind, in heavy gusts, went bellowing along and revenging itself (for being forced to journey) on the signboards and chimneys. The water roared and gurgled, splashing, rolling onward. Yet all this was unheeded by Sherrin who, gazing around to see that no one watched, uttered a low, shrill whistle. This was answered by the immediate appearance of a small boat, containing Stephen Studeley, who, without a word of inquiry, aided Sherrin in placing his burthen in the skiff: then, seizing an oar, he put the boat's head away from the shore. Sherrin sprang in; the plash of the oars was heard, and then all was still. CHAPTER XXV. MICHAEL DE LA POLE. URGING his horse to its utmost speed, Michael de la Pole pursued his way down Ald Gate. His goaded beast reared and plunged amidst the crowd, who, thinking him a messenger, fell back on either side to give him way, and dashing on with furious speed he passed the Gate, and entered Houndsditch. The country now lay before, and few, if any, passengers were there. Keeping along by the City walls in a northerly direction, he crossed Moor Fields, and again entered the City by Moor Gate, and passing through the smaller streets and lanes, at length emerged at the old prison of Fleet, and making his way down the Shoe-lane, he entered the White tened on, it is likely he would have left the place with an empty purse and broken pate. At length, however, he issued forth about the spot where the bridge now commences, and where at that period a ferry was placed, Profiting by this, he crossed the river to Southwarke, and pursuing his way by the Bear Garden, plunged into that labyrintlı of crooked lanes and alleys which formed the notorious Mint-the Alsatia of Southwarke-yet a much more dangerous road for travellers. There, burglars, highwaymen, coiners, murderers, and thieves of all sorts, met and lodged the bravoes of the City.. There, many a riot and brawl occurred. There, many an officer of justice received his death; for the cry of "The Watch” would raise the neighbourhood, like “Clubs and 'Prentices" within the City walls. Oh, a place of wretchedness and misery was the Mint of Southwarke: the dwellings crazy and dilapidated, the inhabitants the dregs of the population, where nothing prospered save iniquity and hostelries. Yet the place was nearly deserted when the people had hastened to the City to gaze Michael de la Pole passed through, for upon the executions of the rioters. Keeping along, therefore, by the Clink and the Marshalsea, and leaving Winchester House to the north, he dashed into the open country beyond, making towards Greenwich. Wher he arrived within a short distance of Placentia he changed his course, and, after a ride of twelve miles, arrived before the lofty yet gloomy pile of building bearing the name of Wansted Hall. "Are the prisoners still secure ?" he demanded, springing from his exhausted steed, and addressing a serving man (who had once been verger of the Abbey of West of Michael, after the murder on the Thames), and then, without waiting for a reply, he continued Friars—a den of wretchedness and misery-minster, and who had aided at the escape "Alsatia," the sanctuary for all debtors and criminals who chose to claim its privileges. Using his best speed to pass the various intricate windings of the place, Michael de la Pole became the subject of curiosity and interest to the inhabitants an abandoned and dissolute race, who congregated at the doors and windows of the hostelries, and scanned the visitor with no favourable expression; and, if he had has "Hath Scrivener returned yet is the vessel in readiness-and are all things prepared ??? "Scrivener hath not returned," replied the man; "for the rest, all goes well." "At what time will they await us on board the vessel ?" "One hour past midnight a boat will be ready at the little creek below Greenwich, with a crew of choice seamen, whom a rosenoble for each eye will render totally blind to everything but the management of the boat-men whom a rose-noble for each ear will render deaf to all commands save yours -men whom a rose-noble for their tongue will render dumb concerning all they see and hear, and men whom a pottle of sack will make pull at their oars with right good will." rangue : "Now listen, Master Verger," said Michael, when the other had finished his ha"That fellow called Cordwell Colner hath this day presumed to accuse me of certain black and heinous crimes, from which it would be impossible for me to exculpate myself (to the satisfaction of those harpies of the law called Judges), and clear my character from taint or stain. From this country I must, therefore, fly earlier than I at first intended; and though in a short time I might establish my innocence, yet, ere that time could arrive, my doom would be irrevocably sealed. For the present I must, then, become an exile, and all through the duplicity of that arch-traitor, Colner, on whom I placed the utmost reliance, and loved tenderly as a brother." "Colner!" said the Verger, musing: "Colner! I thought it not of him. Marry! Satthanus is, indeed, abroad." "Do thou," continued Michael, "hasten to the vessel, and tell them to let the boat await me at the place thou wottest of, and do use thy best speed and bring me thy tidings back." And with these words Michael passed into the hall, and ascended the wide oaken staircase which led to the upper apart ments. "So ho!" said the good Verger, when the other was gone; "C so ho! and thou must fly, good knight. Strange, marvellous, that Master Colner could accuse thee for crimes which thou wottest not of! strange that a right rich and puissant gentleman should have anything to dread from so sorry a knave as Cordwell Colner! Yet, as it is so, I must be cast adrift from his service, and find some new lord. Now, if that Colner can accuse him of crimes long past, cannot I accuse him of crimes present and lately committed? I will hie me to the King, and tell him of all I know of this new crime-how he hath attacked and holdeth in captivity the royal messenger, Father Fitz Aldwine, and Alice Keble: but I must away." And, turning to a table where some rich pieces of jewellery and golden cups were placed, taking the most portable of these, and concealing them in his dress, he entered the courtyard, and passing around to the stables, he selected a fine Arabian steed, and mounting in great haste, he dashed the spurs into the beast's flanks and rode furiously away. Meanwhile, Michael de la Pole ascended the broad staircase, and passing along the gallery from which the various chambers branched, entered a small apartment, and closing the door after him, secured it by bolts and locks. Then, and not till then, did he give his feelings vent. The mingled feelings which had so long oppressed him-rage, grief, love-contended for the mastery. Whilst a spell, a seeming knowledge of some coming ill, cast its shadow upon him, calling up recollections of past events that he would fain have lost for ever; whilst the tidings which he had that morning heard-tidings which all appeared to know save him—on all these things he pondered, and paced the room with hasty steps, a heated brain, and a distempered imagination. The quaint old figures on the carvings seemed to mock and jeer at him, as the sun went down and night drew on apace, casting deep shadows in the chamber, and making the satyrs and wild huntsmen on the tapestry apparently assume unwonted shapes. And the wind arose, howling and bellowing around the old dwelling, and seeking everywhere to enter: now up and whistling among the twisted chimneys; now through any open window; now at this side, now at that. Rustling among the trees, too, which seemed so gay and cheerful in the daytime, when the sun put forth his jolly face; so warm and glowing, or even peaceful, in the calm still moonlight. But now, when the wind was up, Books on they assumed fantastic shapes, and looked, | hung with rich tapestry or arras. as the whirling blast went by (threatening | theology were there—not many, though. Six to tear them from their parent earth), like funereal plumes, bowing and wailing, as though they mourned for something that was gone. Still Michael paced the chamber, now with hurried, now with slower steps. At times, a short ejaculation would break from him, or half-completed sentence, but his mind was busy, and full of thought. Thought, to him the greatest torture thought, to him, brought no balm. If he looked back upon the road he had passed, he saw the crimes and sins which he had done come forth, leaping out from every side. The thoughts which hurried through his brain (leaving deep furrows on his face, turning his hair to grey), were to him more terrible than rack or wheel; yet to fly from them was impossible; they followed close upon his heels throughout the day, and watched his sleep at night—they never left him, but shouted forth his crimes to him wherever he went. To him, who knew them well, every murmur of the wind whispered to him-"Murder;" on everything the word was written on the gay and smiling face of nature, on deep blue waters, on the face of every one he met—the word, in crimson stains, glared forth upon him. The brand of Cain was on him. He thought of all that had passed that day, and pondered on what might be the next thing. At length, however, when full two hours had passed, the sound of a female voice fell upon his ear, and appeared to call him back to things that passed around; and opening the door of his chamber, he passed out into the corridor, where a sconce containing many lights was placed. CHAPTER XXVI. IN THE ORATORY. THE chamber immediately adjoining the one which Michael de la Pole had so lately occupied, had been designed, at the erection of the dwelling, for a place of private prayer, or oratory, customary at the period. It was small, and built of heavy, blackened oak, carved in fantastic shapes, or eight missals on parchment, written in the Latin tongue, with portraits of saints departed, in gorgeous habits which seemed as though the good old saints delighted in the pomps and vanities of the world-blue, red, and green robes were there, turned up with gold and silver. Martyrologies were there, with psalters too, and books of miracles and saintly compositions; and, greater than them all, were stored up holy relics, valued at an immense sum. In this chamber, whilst the storm bellowed with fury around the dwelling, sat three persons; the first, a female, young and beautiful to look upon, clothed in a hood and kirtle. The second, a priest of venerable aspect, wearing the habit of some religious house; the third, a man of stalwart frame, habited in the tabard of a royal trumpeter. Large tears-tears of bitterness-fell from the old man's eyes, as, bending over the fair girl, he strove to comfort her, marking the flight of time, gazing ever and anon upon the trumpeter, who, with gestures and words of anger and defiance, continued his search around, hoping to find some means of egress and escape. Yet all proved unavailing-no outlet could be found, and so he at length desisted, pouring forth a torrent of maledictions on the head of Michael de la Pole, and inventing, with the greatest facility, novel names that were wonderful to hear; in the midst of which the tapestry of the chamber was drawn aside, and Michael himself strode in. "I crave your forgiveness, fair Mistress Keble," said he, advancing, "for entering on thy presence unannounced, and by so unusual and strange a mode; yet, when all shall be explained, this strange conduct will appear less extraordinary: therefore, before my condemnation shall be sealed, I crave a patient hearing, and trust for absolution." "How is this?" said the priest. "Know you not, sir, that we against our wills are here detained, and ever since the hour of noon have been so ?" "Nay," returned Michael: "believe me, on my knightly word, I wotted not of it |