The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot

Whilst he was doing this he knew that the man-at-arms asked Culverhouse a question, to which the latter gave ready reply, and he heard the name of Trevlyn pass his lips. At the moment he heeded this little, but the remembrance came back to him later.

As he passed out he noted that the man still continued to gaze after him, as though wishful to read his face by heart. He was standing beside a companion warder then, pointing out, as it seemed, the visitor to the other fellow. Was it only fancy, or did Cuthbert really hear the name of Father Urban pass in a whisper between them? Puzzled, and even a shade uneasy, he followed Culverhouse to the outer door, A flash of memory seemed then to recall to him the faces of these two men. Had he not seen them keeping watch at the wharf for Father Urban that day so long ago? He was almost certain it had been so. But what of that? How could they possibly connect him with the fugitive priest?

It would soon be dusk now, so the comrades said adieu to each other and went their several ways. Cuthbert had come as far as the Strand by boat, and had only to drop down and find it there; but somehow he felt more disposed to linger about these solemn old buildings, and try to piece together the things he had seen and heard.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, he wandered round the great pile till he came to the narrow entry he had once traversed, leading up from the river to the door of the house where he had seen Catesby and his companions at their mysterious toil. The house looked dark as night now. Not a single gleam penetrated the gloom. Already the last of the twilight had faded into night, but no ray of any kind shone from any of the casements.

Cuthbert stood looking thoughtfully up at the house, hardly knowing why he did so, his fancy running riot in his excited brain and conjuring up all manner of fantastic visions, when suddenly and silently the door opened. A gleam of light from behind showed in relief the figure of a tall man muffled in a cloak, a soft felt hat being drawn over the brow and effectually concealing the features; but one glance sufficed to convince Cuthbert that this cloaked and muffled individual was none other than the same tall dark man who had produced the holy water blessed by the Pope and had had it sprinkled around the spot where those mysterious men were at work in Percy's house. Filled with a burning curiosity that rendered him impervious to the thought of personal risk, Cuthbert first shrank into a dark recess, and then with hushed and noiseless footfall followed the tall figure in its walk.

The cloaked man walked quietly, but without any appearance of fear. He skirted round the great block of buildings of which the Houses of Parliament were composed, until he reached a door in the rear of that building, within a deep arch sunk a little way below the level of the ground, and this door he opened, but closed it after him, and locked it on the inside.

Unable to follow further, Cuthbert put his ear to the keyhole, and heard distinctly the sound of footsteps descending stone stairs till the sound changed to the unbarring of a lower door, and then all was silence.

Cuthbert looked keenly around him, and soon made out that these steps must certainly lead down to the cellar beneath the Parliament Houses of which he had recently heard. That other cellar he had visited so many months before was close at hand-close to these great buildings; and this tall dark man seemed to have some mysterious connection with both.

What could it all mean? what did it mean? Cuthbert felt as though he were on the eve of some strange discovery, but what that discovery could be he could not guess.

He was aroused from his reverie by the sound of approaching footfalls along the roadway, and he hastily stood upright and walked onwards to meet the advancing pedestrian. The man carried a light which he flashed in Cuthbert's face, and the youth saw that it was one of the men-at-arms on guard over these buildings.

"What are you doing here?" asked the man civilly, though in slightly peremptory fashion.

"I did not know that this road was anything but public," answered Cuthbert, with careless boldness. "I have walked in London streets before now, no man interfering with me."

"Have a care how and where you walk at night," returned the man, passing by without further comment. "There be many perils abroad in the streets-more than perchance you wot of."

Cuthbert thanked him for the hint, and went on his way. He would have liked well enough to linger till the tall man emerged again, but he saw that to do so would only excite suspicion.

Although it was quite dark by this time, it was not really late; for it was the last day of October save one, and masses of heavy cloud obscured the sky. Now and again a ray of moonlight glinted through these ragged masses, but for the rest it was profoundly dark in the narrow streets, and only a little lighter on the open river.

The tide was running in fast, with a strong cold easterly wind. Cuthbert saw that it would be hard work to row against it.

"Better wait for the ebb; it will not be long in coming now," he said to himself as he noted the height of the tide; and stepping into his boat, he pulled idly out into midstream, as being a safer place of waiting than the dark wharf, to find himself drifting up with the strong current, which he did not care to try to stem.

"Beware of the dark-flowing river!" spoke a voice within him; "beware of the black cellar!"

He started, for it almost seemed as though some one had spoken the words in his ear, and a little thrill of fear ran through him. But all was silent save for the wash of the current as it bore him rapidly onwards, and he knew that the voice was one in his own head.

Upwards and upwards he drifted; was it by his own will, or not? He did not himself know, he could not have said. He only knew that a spell seemed upon him, that an intense desire had seized him to look once again upon that lonely house beside the river bank. He had no wish to try to obtain entrance there. He felt that he was treading the dark mazes of some unhallowed plot. But this very suspicion only increased his burning curiosity; and surely there could no harm come of one look at that dark and lonely place.

No volition of his own was needed to carry him onwards; wind and tide did all that. He had merely to keep his place and steer his little bark up the wide river. He saw against the sky the great pile of Westminster. He had drifted almost across the river by that time. He was seated in the bow of the boat, just dipping an oar from time to time as it slipped along beneath the trees. And now the moon shone out for a few minutes clear and bright. It did not shine upon his own craft, gliding so stealthily beneath the bare trees that fringed the wall of the very house he had come to see; but it did gleam upon another wherry out in midstream, rowed by a strong man wrapped in a cloak, and directed straight for the same spot. Cuthbert started, and caught hold of a bough of a weeping willow, bringing his boat to a standstill in a place where the shadow was blackest. He had no wish to be found in this strange position. He would remain hidden until this other boat had landed at the steps. He would be hidden well where he was. He had better be perfectly silent, and so remain.

A sound of voices above his head warned him that he was not the only watcher, and for a moment he feared that, silent as had been his movements, his presence had been discovered. But some one spoke in anxious accents, and in that voice he recognized the clear and mellow tones of Robert Catesby. He was speaking in a low voice to some companion.

"If he comes not within a short while, I shall hold that all is lost. I fear me we did wrong to send him. That letter-that letter-that luckless letter! who can have been the writer?"

"Tresham, I fear me without doubt, albeit he denied it with such steadfast boldness. Would to heaven that fickle hound had never been admitted to our counsels! That was thy doing, Catesby."

"Ay, and terribly do I repent me of it, Winter. I upbraid myself as bitterly as any can upbraid me for the folly. But hark-listen! I hear the plash of oars. See, there is a boat! It is he-it is Fawkes! I know him by his height and his strong action. Heaven be praised! All cannot yet be lost! Move upwards yet a few paces, and we will speak to him here alone before we take him within doors to the others.

"Guido Fawkes! Good Guy, is that verily thou?"

"Verily and in truth, my masters. Has the time seemed long?"

"Terribly long. How foundest thou all?"

"All well-all as I left it weeks ago. There has been no soul within. Gunpowder, faggots, iron bars, and stones-all are as before; and above, the coal and faggots carefully concealing all. Why this anxiety and fear, Catesby? it was not wont to be so with thee."

"No; but I have something of terrible import to reveal to thee, good Guy. And first I must ask thy pardon for thus exposing thee to peril as this day I did. I sent thee on this mission of inspection; but I ought first to have told thee that we are in fear and trembling lest we have been betrayed!"

"Betrayed!" echoed Fawkes with a fierce oath, "and by whom?"

"That we know not. But some days since, my Lord Mounteagle received a mysterious warning bidding him absent himself from this meeting of Parliament, for that a blow should then be struck, no man seeing who dealt it. Wherefore we fear-"

"Mounteagle!" cried Fawkes, interrupting fiercely; "then the traitor is yon false hound Tresham!"

"So we all thought till we charged him with it, and had he blenched or shrunk our daggers should have been buried in his heart!" answered Winter in low, fierce accents; "but he swore he knew naught of it, and that with so bold a front and so open an air that for very doubt of his guilt we could not smite him. There may be other traitors in the camp. There was that lad thou, or thy fool of a servant, Catesby, once brought amongst us. I liked it not then. He should not have been let go without solemn oath taken on pain of death. Trevlyn, methinks, was the name. I hear he has been seen in London again of late. Why does he haunt us? what does he suspect?"

"Tush! thou art dreaming. Trevlyn! why, that is a good name, and the lad knows nothing, and is, moreover, stanch.

"Guido, thou hast not said that thou dost pardon us for sending thee on so perilous an errand this day."

"Thou needst not repent, Catesby. I should have adventured myself the same had I known all. I have sworn myself to this task, and I go not back to mine own country till all be accomplished."

Chapter 23: Peril For Trevlyn

Cuthbert stood at the door of the narrow house in Budge Row, seeking speech of the wise woman.

It was a blustering night-the first night in November. The wind howled and shrieked round the corners of the streets; the rain pattered down and splashed the garments of the few pedestrians who had braved the storm. It was but seven of the clock, yet Budge Row was dark and quiet as though midnight had settled down upon the city. Scarce any gleams of light filtered through the cracks in the shutters, and only the sound of a distant watchman's cry broke the silence of the night.

Cuthbert had once before sought this house, but had knocked in vain for admittance. Either the wise woman was from home, or else she had no intention of receiving visitors. Since then his mind had been engrossed by other matters, and he had not thought again of Joanna's charge concerning Esther. But recent mysterious occurrences had made him desirous not only of telling her his own tale, but of seeking information from her; and here he stood in the wind and rain making request for admittance.

Softly and silently the door swung open at last, and he saw before him the dark passage he had traversed a year before with Cherry, the dim light from above just guiding his steps as he moved. The same juggleries were repeated as on that occasion. The outer door swung back and bolted itself behind him. The invisible light wavered and flickered and showed him his way. The black cat appeared ready to dispute his entrance into the room till he had dropped his coin into the box; and when he entered the dim place where the wise woman ensconced herself, he saw her as before, seated behind the lamp which shed its light upon him, but left her face in deep shadow. All was precisely as it had been upon a former occasion-all but his reception by the wise woman herself.

That, however, was altogether different; for the moment she saw who her visitor was, she rose suddenly from her chair and exclaimed in excited tones:

"Cuthbert Trevlyn, why hast thou not come hither sooner?"

"I did, but could not find thee."

She made an impatient exclamation.

"And thou wert content not to find me, and came not again and yet again! Foolish boy! Did not Joanna warn thee to seek me out and tell me all? I know well that she did. She is loyal and true. And so, boy, the lost treasure is found, and is safe beneath the roof of that house which shelters the honoured heads of the Wyverns?"

"Yes, it is all there."

The old woman flung up her arms with a gesture of triumph.

"I knew it: I knew it I knew that the prophecy would fulfil itself, for all Miriam's spite and Long Robin's greed. Boy, thou hast done well, thou hast done very well. But thou hast been more bold than secret. Thou art suspected. Miriam has been here. She is raging like a lioness robbed of her whelps. She loved yon fierce man who called himself Long Robin, yet was neither husband of hers, still less her son, with a love more wild and fierce than thou wilt ever understand. She vows that she will be revenged. She vows that the Trevlyns shall yet smart. She suspects not thee alone, but all who bear the name. Boy, boy, why didst thou not seek me earlier?"

Cuthbert made no response. He was looking in amaze at this old woman, who had now come forth from her nook behind the table, and was speaking to him without any assumption of prophetic power, but as one anxious human creature to another. He saw in her a strange likeness to old Miriam, and to the dark gipsy queen; but he marvelled at the excitement she evinced, and the eager intensity of her gaze. It was so different from her aspect when last he had seen her, so much more natural and full of human concern and anxiety.

"I have looked for thee day by day. I said in my heart, surely thou wouldst come quickly. And now, in lieu of seeking safety and counsel, thou hast been running blindly into those very perils of which I warned thee long ago. As if it were not enough to have Tyrrel and all his crew, with old Miriam at their back, resolved to hunt thee down and wrest the treasure from thee!"

Cuthbert started and looked intently at her.

"Miriam! Tyrrel! what can they know?"

"Miriam can piece together facts as well as I," answered Esther in rapid tones; "and thou oughtest by this to know what power that gives to those who possess the gift. In brief, I will tell thee what I myself have learned from her and others. She missed Long Robin, waited for his return till despair took the place of expectation. She knew that one of two things had happened-either that he had made off with the treasure, or that he had been done to death in the forest by some secret foe. Burning with fear and fury, she caused search to be made. The grave was found where the body lay. Rage filled the hearts of all the tribe, for the strange old man was venerated and feared, albeit he was not greatly beloved; and as thou knowest, amongst our people an injury done to one is avenged by all. Thou hadst been seen in the forest, seen moving to and fro in mysterious fashion. Many had wondered what thy business was, but none had interfered; for thou wast known to be under the protection of Joanna, and the word of the queen is sacred. But now that may serve no longer to protect thee. Miriam has declared aloud that Robin was the keeper of the long-lost treasure, that he was hoarding it up in some secret spot, ready to divide it amongst the whole tribe when the moment should have come. In fervid words she described the golden hoard-the hoard which I know well that evil man meant to make all his own when the time came that he might escape from the jealous watch kept upon him by Miriam. He was but waiting for her death, which may not be far distant, since she is subject to strange seizures of the heart which defy all our skill in curing. Then would he have fled, and taken all the treasure with him. He would have shared the spoil with none, as Miriam well knows. But she is using her power and her half knowledge of the secret for her own ends, and one of those ends is-"

The old woman paused, looking straight at Cuthbert, who regarded her fixedly, and now asked in a low voice:

"Is what?"

"The destruction of the house of Trevlyn, root and branch."

A gleam of angry defiance shone in his eyes.

"Still that mad hatred? But why should we fear her? Let her do her worst!"

Esther raised a warning hand.

"Peace, boy!" she said; "be not so full of recklessness and scorn. Miriam is an adversary not to be despised. Miriam is sworn to the task of vengeance upon thy house. She will not let this fresh deed of thine pass without striving might and main to fulfil that vengeance which thou hast now made void."

"Made void?"

"Ay, by the finding of the treasure. She is assured that this is what thou hast done. She has persuaded Tyrrel and his band of it, and all are resolved to find it for themselves. She is acting with the craftiness of her nature. She has persuaded them that all the Trevlyns are in the golden secret. Wherefore vengeance is not directed against thee alone, but against all who bear thy name-Sir Richard and his son, who are in this city now."

Cuthbert drew his brows together in a frown.

"They know naught of it," he said hastily.

"That may be; but they are Trevlyns, and that is enough for Miriam. It is not the gold she covets; it is vengeance upon all who bear that name. She stirs the avarice and cupidity of others, that they may do the work she wishes done. And she works in other dark ways, too. She has tools which few suspect, and she uses them for her own ends without scruple. And thou, foolish boy, blind and self willed as thou art, unheeding my warnings, hast played into her hands; and now others as well as thyself may be brought into sore peril through thine own foolhardy recklessness."

The old woman's eyes were gleaming brightly. They were fixed upon Cuthbert with keen intensity. He felt himself change colour beneath their glance, and he answered with some uneasiness:

"What hast thou to chide me with? Wherein have I been guilty of recklessness that may be hurtful to others?"

"Did I not charge thee to beware the dark-flowing river; to avoid the black cellar; to have no dealings with strange men; to have the courage to say nay to what was asked of thee? Hast. thou avoided these perils? No! thou hast been led on by thy reckless hardihood and insensate curiosity. Hast thou said no to what has been asked of thee! No! thou hast ever done the things required of thee, making excuse to forget warnings and disobey those who have counselled thee for thy good. And what has come of it? Verily, that the name of Trevlyn has been whispered amongst the names of traitors suspected of foul crimes, and that thine own kindred now stand in dire peril from thine own defiant hardihood."

Cuthbert started and made a step forward.

"Woman, what meanest thou?" he asked with breathless eagerness. "I understand not the meaning of thy words."

Esther continued to gaze at him with her bright keen eyes.

"Understandest thou not that there be on foot at this very moment a vile plot for the destruction at one blow of the King, the nobles, and the whole house of his Peers-a plot to blow them all into the air at the moment of their assembly upon the fifth day of this month?"

Cuthbert recoiled in horror. A sudden illumination came upon him. He put together chance words dropped, expressions used, things he had seen as well as what he had heard, and his face grew pale with conflicting emotions and his extreme bewilderment.

"What?" he gasped; "is that what it means? Is that the hideous deed to be done? Great Heavens protect us from such men, if it has come to that!

"How knowest thou this thing?" he added, turning almost fiercely upon the old woman, who was still regarding him steadily. "If it be as thou sayest, sure such a fearful secret would be held sacred from all."

Esther smiled her strange smile.

"Secrets known to many have a wondrous fashion of leaking out. And, moreover, the wise woman has means thou knowest naught of for learning the things concealed from the world. Cuthbert Trevlyn, look back, search thy memory, and thou wilt surely know that I have spoken naught but the truth. If thou art not one of them, thou knowest their dark secrets; thou canst not deny it!"

Again he recoiled from her.

"I know their secrets! I one of them! Woman, dost thou believe this vile thing of me?

"No, I believe it not. I know that thou hast but let thyself be led into dire peril through that foolish, generous weakness of youth and thy Trevlyn blood, against which I have warned thee-and warned thee in vain. But dost thou think thou canst despise the warnings of the wise woman and escape deadly peril? Cuthbert Trevlyn, listen to me and heed me well. This thing is known-is known in high places. The King and his counsellors have had intelligence thereof. The deed of darkness will be frustrated, and heads will fall beneath the axe of the executioner. Already whispers are going abroad-already the guilty ones are watched and spied upon; and with the guilty there are those suspected who know naught of this vile deed. Shall I say more, or can thine own quick wits supply the rest?"

Cuthbert had turned a little pale. His eyes were fixed upon this woman's face.

"Tell me all," he said hoarsely. "What dost thou mean by these dark sayings?"

"I mean," she answered, in clear low tones, "that there is peril for Trevlyn in this thing. Thine own rashness, Miriam's spite and quickness of wit to avail herself of every trifling matter that passes, the presence in London of Sir Richard and his son at this time, the old tradition surrounding the name of Trevlyn-all are helping on the work; all are pointing in one direction. Rash boy, thou hast been seen with Father Urban in the streets-a Jesuit, a seminary priest, a man suspected of many plots and many daring acts of courage and cunning. Thou art suspected to have been concerned in his escape one dark and foggy night, when thou wert on the river in thy wherry; and he must have been taken on board some such craft. Thou hast been seen with others who are suspected of being mixed up in this business. Thou hast appeared within the city walls when they appeared; when they were absent thou wast absent likewise. Thou wouldst not heed warnings when yet there was time; thou must now take double heed to thy steps-"

"Thou spokest of Sir Richard and his son but now," cried Cuthbert, interrupting hastily. "For myself, I must take the consequences of my rashness. The fault is mine, and if harm comes to me I can bear it; but if others have been imperilled through me, I should never forgive myself. Tell me plainly if this has been so; keep me not in suspense! How can one word be breathed against the loyalty of a man faithful and true as Sir Richard, and a stanch Protestant to boot?"

The old woman shook her head meaningly.

"A man's character and reputation and life may too easily be whispered away in these evil times. But listen to me, Cuthbert Trevlyn, and all may yet be well. Thou hast been noted, spied upon, observed. There be those who have seen thee in strange places and strange company, and it behoves thee to look well to thyself. But for thy kinsmen, methinks that no whisper regarding them has as yet reached high quarters. As thou sayest, Sir Richard's loyalty is known, and men will not easily believe such ill of him. Yet he were best to be gone. Miriam is at work. Miriam has tools that even I wot not of, and she hates the head of Trevlyn's house with a bitter and undying hatred. Let but this thing be known-as known it will be to all the world in a few more days-and she will leave no stone unturned to overwhelm him in the ruin that must then fall upon so many. Vengeance such as that would be dear to her heart. She would weave her web right skilfully to entrap his unsuspecting steps. Wherefore let him begone-let all who bear the name of Trevlyn begone, and that right speedily. Flight will not be thought flight now; for this thing is as yet a profound secret, and thou must not breathe a word that I have spoken to thee abroad, else thou mayest do harm of which thou little reckest. Let him go speedily; and go thou likewise, and do not tarry. If thou wouldst undo the harm thy rashness has well-nigh brought to thy kinsfolk, carry them this warning, and make them listen."