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“Hum!” muttered Catesby. “Confessions of as much consequence to the state have ere now been revealed, father.”
“A decree has been passed by his holiness, Clement VIII., forbidding all such revelations,” replied Oldcorne. “And the question has been recently propounded by a learned brother of our order, Father Antonio Delrio, who, in his Magical Disquisitions, putteth it thus: – 'Supposing a malefactor shall confess that he himself or some other has laid Gunpowder, or the like combustible matter, under a building – '"
“Ha!” exclaimed Catesby, starting.
“ – 'And, unless it be taken away,'" proceeded the priest, regarding him fixedly, “'the whole house will be burnt, the prince destroyed, and as many as go into or out of the city will come to great mischief or peril!'"[2 - Confitetur maleficus se vel alium posuisse pulverem vel quid aliud sub tali limine, et nisi tollantur domum comburendam, principem interiturum, quotquot urbem egredienturque in magnam perniciem aut periculum venturos. – Delrio Disq. Mag., lib. vi. cap. i. [Edit. 1600.]]
“Well!” exclaimed Catesby.
“The point then arises,” continued Oldcorne, “whether the priest may make use of the secret thus obtained for the good of the government, and the averting of such danger; and, after fully discussing it, Father Delrio decides in the negative.”
“Enough,” returned Catesby.
“By whom is the blow to be struck?” asked Viviana, who had listened to the foregoing discourse in silent wonder.
“By me,” answered Catesby. “It is for you to nerve my arm.”
“You speak in riddles,” she replied. “I understand you not.”
“Question Father Oldcorne, then, as to my meaning,” rejoined Catesby; “he will tell you that, allied to you, I could not fail in the enterprise on which I am engaged.”
“It is the truth, dear daughter,” Oldcorne asseverated.
“I will not inquire further into this mystery,” returned Viviana, “for such it is to me. But, believing what you both assert, I answer, that willingly as I would lay down my life for the welfare of our holy religion, persuading myself, as I do, that I have constancy enough to endure martyrdom for its sake, – I cannot consent to your proposal. Nay, if I must avouch the whole truth,” she continued, blushing deeply, “my affections are already engaged, though to one with whom I can never hope to be united.”
“You have your answer, my son,” observed the priest.
Catesby replied with a look of the deepest mortification and disappointment; and, bowing coldly to Viviana, said, “I now depart to obey your behests, Miss Radcliffe.”
“Commend me in all duty to my dear father,” replied Viviana, “and believe that I shall for ever feel bound to you for your zeal.”
“Neglect not all due caution, father,” observed Catesby, glancing significantly at Oldcorne. “Forewarned, forearmed.”
“Doubt me not, my son,” rejoined the Jesuit. “My prayers shall be for you.
Gentem auferte perfidam
Credentium de finibus,
Ut Christo laudes debitas
Persolvamus alacriter.”
After receiving a parting benediction from the priest, Catesby took his leave. His steed was speedily brought to the door by the old steward; and mounting it, he crossed the drawbridge, which was immediately raised behind him, and hastened on his journey.
CHAPTER IV.
THE SEARCH
Immediately after Catesby's departure, Heydocke was summoned to his mistress's presence. He found her with the priest, and was informed that in all probability the house would be visited that night by the messengers of the Privy Council. The old steward received the intelligence as he might have done his death-warrant, and looked so bewildered and affrighted, that Viviana half repented having acquainted him with it.
“Compose yourself, Master Heydocke,” she said, trying to reason him out of his fears; “the search may not take place. And if it does, there is nothing to be alarmed at. I am not afraid, you perceive.”
“Nothing to be alarmed at, my dear young lady!” gasped the steward. “You have never witnessed a midnight search for a priest by these ruffianly catchpoles, as I have, or you would not say so. Father Oldcorne will comprehend my uneasiness, and excuse it. The miscreants break into the house like robbers, and treat its inmates worse than robbers would treat them. They have no regard for decency, – no consideration for sex, – no respect for persons. Not a chamber is sacred from them. If a door is bolted, they burst it open; a cabinet locked, they tarry not for the key. They pull down the hangings, thrust their rapier-points into the crevices of the wainscot, discharge their fire-arms against the wall, and sometimes threaten to pull down the house itself, if the object of their quest be not delivered to them. Their oaths, abominations, and menaces are horrible; and their treatment of females, even of your degree, honoured mistress, too barbarous to relate. Poor Lady Nevil died of the fright she got by such a visit at dead of night to her residence in Holborn. Mrs. Vavasour, of York, lost her senses; and many others whom I could mention have been equal sufferers. Nothing to be alarmed at! Heaven grant, my dear, dear young lady, that you may never be fatally convinced to the contrary!”
“Suppose my apprehensions are as great as your own, Master Heydocke," replied Viviana, who, though somewhat infected by his terrors, still maintained her firmness; “I do not see how the danger is to be averted by idle lamentations and misgivings. We must meet it boldly; and trust to Him who is our only safeguard in the hour of peril, for protection. Do not alarm the household, but let all retire to rest as usual.”
“Right, daughter,” observed the priest. “Preparations for resistance would only excite suspicion.”
“Can you depend on the servants, in case they are examined?” asked Viviana of the steward, who by this time had partially recovered his composure.
“I think so,” returned Heydocke; “but the threats of the officers are so dreadful, and their conduct so violent and outrageous, that I can scarcely answer for myself. I would not advise your reverence to remain in that hiding-place,” he added, pointing to the chimney-piece; “they are sure to discover it.”
“If not here, where shall I conceal myself?” rejoined Oldcorne, uneasily.
“There are many nooks in which your reverence might hide,” replied the steward; “but the knaves are so crafty, and so well experienced in their vocation, that I dare not recommend any of them as secure. I would advise you to remain on the watch, and, in case of alarm, I will conduct you to the oratory in the north gallery, adjoining Mistress Viviana's sleeping-chamber, where there is a panel in the wall, known only to myself and my master, opening upon a secret passage running many hundred yards underground, and communicating with a small outbuilding on the other side of the moat. There is a contrivance in this passage, which I will explain to your reverence if need be, which will cut off any possibility of pursuit in that quarter.”
“Be it so,” replied the priest. “I place myself in your hands, good Master Heydocke, well assured of your fidelity. I shall remain throughout the night in this chamber, occupied in my devotions.”
“You will suffer me to pray with you, father, I trust?” said Viviana.
“If you desire it, assuredly, dear daughter,” rejoined Oldcorne; “but I am unwilling you should sacrifice your rest.”
“It will be no sacrifice, father, for I should not slumber, even if I sought my couch,” she returned. “Go, good Heydocke. Keep vigilant watch: and, if you hear the slightest noise without, fail not to give us warning.”
The steward bowed, and departed.
Some hours elapsed, during which nothing occurred to alarm Viviana and her companion, who consumed the time in prayer and devout conversation; when, just at the stroke of two, – as the former was kneeling before her spiritual adviser, and receiving absolution for the slight offences of which a being so pure-minded could be supposed capable, – a noise like the falling of a bar of iron was heard beneath the window. The priest turned pale, and cast a look of uneasiness at the maiden, who said nothing, but snatching up the light, and motioning him to remain quiet, hurried out of the room in search of the steward. He was nowhere to be found. In vain, she examined all the lower rooms, – in vain, called to him by name. No answer was returned.
Greatly terrified, she was preparing to retrace her steps, when she heard the sound of muttered voices in the hall. Extinguishing her light, she advanced to the door, which was left ajar, and, taking care not to expose herself to observation, beheld several armed figures, some of whom bore dark lanterns, while others surrounded and menaced with their drawn swords the unfortunate steward. From their discourse she ascertained that, having thrown a plank across the moat, and concealed themselves within the garden until they had reconnoitred the premises, they had contrived to gain admittance unperceived through the window of a small back room, in which they had surprised Heydocke, who had fallen asleep on his post, and captured him. One amongst their number, who appeared to act as leader, and whom, from his garb, and the white wand he carried, Viviana knew must be a pursuivant, now proceeded to interrogate the prisoner. To every question proposed to him the steward shook his head; and, in spite of the threats of the examinant, and the blows of his followers, he persisted in maintaining silence.
“If we cannot make this contumacious rascal speak, we will find others more tractable,” observed the pursuivant. “I will not leave any corner of the house unvisited; nor a soul within it unquestioned. Ah! here they come!”
As he spoke, several of the serving-men, with some of the female domestics, who had been alarmed by the noise, rushed into the hall, and on seeing it filled with armed men, were about to retreat, when they were instantly seized and detained. A scene of great confusion now ensued. The women screamed and cried for mercy, while the men struggled and fought with their captors. Commanding silence at length, the pursuivant proclaimed in the King's name that whoever would guide him to the hiding-place of Father Oldcorne, a Jesuit priest, whom it was known, and could be proved, was harboured within the mansion, should receive a free pardon and reward; while those who screened him, or connived at his concealment, were liable to fine, imprisonment, and even more severe punishment. Each servant was then questioned separately. But, though all were more or less rudely dealt with, no information could be elicited.
Meanwhile, Viviana was a prey to the most intolerable anxiety. Unable to reach Father Oldcorne without crossing the hall, which she did not dare to attempt, she gave him up for lost; her sole hope being that, on hearing the cries of the domestics, he would provide for his own safety. Her anxiety was still farther increased when the pursuivant, having exhausted his patience by fruitless interrogatories, and satisfied his malice by frightening two of the females into fits, departed with a portion of his band to search the house, leaving the rest as a guard over the prisoners.
Viviana then felt that, if she would save Father Oldcorne, the attempt must be made without a moment's delay, and at any hazard. Watching her opportunity, when the troopers were occupied, – some in helping themselves to such viands and liquors as they could lay hands upon, – some in searching the persons of the prisoners for amulets and relics, – while others, more humane, were trying to revive the swooning women, she contrived to steal unperceived across the lower end of the hall. Having gained the passage, she found to her horror that the pursuivant and his band were already within the star-chamber. They were sounding the walls with hammers and mallets, and from their exclamations, she learnt that they had discovered the retreat behind the fire-place, and were about to break it open.
“We have him,” roared the pursuivant, in a voice of triumph. “The old owl's roost is here!”
Viviana, who stood at the door, drew in her breath, expecting that the next moment would inform her that the priest was made captive. Instead of this, she was delighted to find, from the oaths of rage and disappointment uttered by the troopers, that he had eluded them.
“He must be in the house, at all events,” growled the pursuivant; “nor is it long since he quitted his hiding-place, as this cushion proves. We will not go away without him. And now, let us proceed to the upper chambers.”
Hearing their footsteps approach, Viviana darted off, and quickly ascending the principal staircase, entered a long corridor. Uncertain what to do, she was about to proceed to her own chamber, and bar the door, when she felt her arm grasped by a man. With difficulty repressing a shriek, she strove to disengage herself, when a whisper told her it was the priest.
“Heaven be praised!” cried Viviana, “you are safe. How – how did you escape?”
“I flew upstairs on hearing the voices,” replied Oldcorne. “But what has happened to the steward?”
“He is a prisoner,” replied Viviana.
“All then is lost, unless you are acquainted with the secret panel he spoke of in the oratory,” rejoined Oldcorne.
“Alas! father, I am wholly ignorant of it,” she answered. “But, come with me into my chamber; they will not dare to invade it.”
“I know not that,” returned the priest, despairingly. “These sacrilegious villains would not respect the sanctity of the altar itself.”
“They come!” cried Viviana, as lights were seen at the foot of the stairs. “Take my hand – this way, father.”
They had scarcely gained the room, and fastened the door, when the pursuivant and his attendants appeared in the corridor. The officer, it would seem, had been well instructed where to search, or was sufficiently practised in his duty, for he proceeded at once to several hiding-places in the different chambers which he visited. In one room he detected a secret staircase in the wall, which he mounted, and discovered a small chapel built in the roof. Stripping it of its altar, its statue of the Virgin, its crucifix, pix, chalice, and other consecrated vessels, he descended, and continued his search. Viviana's chamber was now the only one unvisited. Trying the door, and finding it locked, he tapped against it with his wand.
“Who knocks?” asked the maiden.
“A state-messenger,” was the reply. “I demand entrance in the King's name.”
“You cannot have it,” she replied. “It is my sleeping-chamber.”
“My duty allows me no alternative,” rejoined the pursuivant, harshly. “If you will not admit me quietly, I must use force.”
“Do you know to whom you offer this rudeness?” returned Viviana. “I am the daughter of Sir William Radcliffe.”
“I know it,” replied the pursuivant; “but I am not exceeding my authority. I hold a warrant for your father's arrest. And, if he had not been from home, I should have carried him to prison along with the Jesuit priest whom, I suspect, is concealed within your chamber. Open the door, I command you; and do not hinder me in the execution of my duty.”
As no answer was returned to the application, the pursuivant commanded his men to burst open the door; and the order was promptly obeyed.
The chamber was empty.
On searching it, however, the pursuivant found a door concealed by the hangings of the bed. It was bolted on the other side, but speedily yielded to his efforts. Passing through it, he entered upon a narrow gallery, at the extremity of which his progress was stopped by another door, likewise fastened on the further side. On bursting it open, he entered a small oratory, wainscoted with oak, and lighted by an oriel window filled with stained glass, through which the newly-risen moon was pouring its full radiance, and discovered the object of his search.
“Father Oldcorne, I arrest you as a Jesuit and a traitor,” shouted the pursuivant, in a voice of exultation. “Seize him!” he added, calling to his men.
“You shall not take him,” cried Viviana, clinging despairingly to the priest, who offered no resistance, but clasped a crucifix to his breast.
“Leave go your hold, young mistress,” rejoined the pursuivant, grasping Oldcorne by the collar of his vestment, and dragging him along; “and rest thankful that I make you not, also, my prisoner.”
“Take me; but spare him! – in mercy spare him!” shrieked Viviana.
“You solicit mercy from one who knows it not, daughter,” observed the priest. “Lead on, sir. I am ready to attend you.”
“Your destination is the New Fleet, father,” retorted the pursuivant, in a tone of bitter raillery; “unless you prefer the cell in Radcliffe Hall lately vacated by your saintly predecessor, Father Woodroofe.”
“Help! help!” shrieked Viviana.
“You may spare your voice, fair lady,” sneered the pursuivant. “No help is at hand. Your servants are all prisoners.”
The words were scarcely uttered, when a sliding panel in the wall flew open, and Guy Fawkes, followed by Humphrey Chetham, and another personage, sprang through the aperture, and presented a petronel at the head of the pursuivant.
CHAPTER V.
CHAT MOSS
The pursuivant was taken so completely unawares by the sudden appearance of Guy Fawkes and his companions, that he made no attempt at resistance. Nor were his attendants less confounded. Before they recovered from their surprise, Humphrey Chetham seized Viviana in his arms, and darting through the panel, called to the priest to follow him. Father Oldcorne was about to comply, when one of the soldiers, grasping the surcingle at his waist, dragged him forcibly backwards. The next moment, however, he was set free by Guy Fawkes, who, felling the man to the ground, and interposing himself between the priest and the other soldier, enabled the former to make good his retreat. This done, he planted himself in front of the panel, and with a petronel in each hand, menaced his opponents.
“Fly for your lives!” he shouted in a loud voice to the others. “Not a moment is to be lost. I have taken greater odds, and in a worse cause, and have not been worsted. Heed me not, I say. I will defend the passage till you are beyond reach of danger. Fly! – fly!”
“After them!” vociferated the pursuivant, stamping with rage and vexation; “after them instantly! Hew down that bold traitor. Show him no quarter. His life is forfeit to the king. Slay him as you would a dog!”
But the men, having no fire-arms, were so much intimidated by the fierce looks of Guy Fawkes, and the deadly weapons he pointed at their heads, that they hesitated to obey their leader's injunctions.
“Do you hear what I say to you, cravens?” roared the pursuivant. “Cut him down without mercy.”
“They dare not move a footstep,” rejoined Guy Fawkes, in a decisive tone.
“Recreants!” cried the pursuivant, foaming with rage, “is my prey to be snatched from me at the very moment I have secured it, through your cowardice? Obey me instantly, or, as Heaven shall judge me, I will denounce you to my Lord Derby and the Commissioners as aiders and abettors in Father Oldcorne's escape! – and you well know what your punishment will be if I do so. What! – are you afraid of one man?”
“Our pikes are no match for his petronels,” observed the foremost soldier, sullenly.
“They are not,” rejoined Guy Fawkes; “and you will do well not to compel me to prove the truth of your assertion. As to you, Master Pursuivant," he continued, with a look so stern that the other quailed before it, “unwilling as I am to shed blood, I shall hold your life, if I am compelled to take it, but just retribution for the fate you have brought upon the unfortunate Elizabeth Orton.
“Ha!” exclaimed the pursuivant, starting. “I thought I recognised you. You are the soldier in the Spanish garb who saved that false prophetess from drowning.”
“I saved her only for a more lingering death,” rejoined Guy Fawkes.
“I know it,” retorted the pursuivant. “I found her dead body when I visited her cell on my way hither, and gave orders to have it interred without coffin or shroud in that part of the burial-ground of the Collegiate Church in Manchester reserved for common felons.”
“I know not what stays my hand,” rejoined Guy Fawkes, fiercely. “But I am strongly tempted to give you a grave beside her.”
“I will put your daring to the proof!” cried the pursuivant, snatching a pike from one of his followers, and brandishing it over his head. “Throw down your arms, or you die!”
“Back!” exclaimed Guy Fawkes, presenting a petronel at him, “or I lodge a bullet in your brain.”
“Be advised by me, and rush not on certain destruction, good Master Pursuivant,” said the foremost soldier, plucking his mantle. “I see by his bloodthirsty looks that the villain is in earnest.”
“I hear footsteps,” cried the other soldier; “our comrades are at hand.”
“Then it is time for me to depart,” cried Guy Fawkes, springing through the secret door, and closing it after him.
“Confusion!” exclaimed the pursuivant; “but he shall not escape. Break open the panel.”
The order was promptly obeyed. The men battered the stout oak board, which was of great thickness, with their pikes, but it resisted every effort, nor was it until the arrival of a fresh band of soldiers with lights, mallets, chisels, and other implements suitable to the purpose, that it could be forced open. This accomplished, the pursuivant, commanding his attendants to follow him, dashed through the aperture. As they proceeded singly along the narrow passage, the roof became so low that they were compelled to adopt a stooping posture. In this manner they hurried on until their further progress was stopped by a massive stone door, which appeared to descend from above by some hidden contrivance, no trace of bolt or other fastening being discernible. The flag fitted closely in channels in the walls, and had all the appearance of solid masonry. After examining this obstacle for a moment, the pursuivant was convinced that any attempt to move it would be impracticable, and muttering a deep execration, he gave the word to return.
“From the course it appears to take,” he observed, “this passage must communicate with the garden, – perhaps with the further side of the moat. We may yet secure them, if we use despatch.”
To return to the fugitives. On arriving at the point where the stone door was situated, which he discovered by the channels in the wall above-mentioned, Guy Fawkes searched for an iron ring, and, having found it, drew it towards him, and the ponderous flag slowly dropped into its place. He then groped his way cautiously along in the dark, until his foot encountered the top of a ladder, down which he crept, and landed on the floor of a damp deep vault. Having taken the precaution to remove the ladder, he hastened onwards for about fifty yards, when he came to a steep flight of stone steps, distinguishable by a feeble glimmer of light from above, and mounting them, emerged through an open trap-door into a small building situated at the western side of the moat, where, to his surprise and disappointment, he found the other fugitives.
“How comes it you are here?” he exclaimed, in a reproachful tone. “I kept the wolves at bay thus long, to enable you to make good your retreat.”
“Miss Radcliffe is too weak to move,” replied Humphrey Chetham; “and I could not persuade Father Oldcorne to leave her.”
“I care not what becomes of me,” said the priest. “The sooner my painful race is run the better. But I cannot – will not abandon my dear charge thus.”
