"Verily men are ever whispering. It was the same cry when I was here a year agone, and no great thing has happened; wherefore this new fear?"

Jacob shook his head. His answer was spoken in a slow, ponderous fashion.

"Men will speak and whisper; yet the world wags on as before, and men well-nigh cease to listen or heed. But mark my word, Cuthbert, there be no smoke where there is not fire; and these Papists, who are for ever plotting, plotting, plotting, will one day spring some strange thing upon the world. There be so many cries of 'Wolf!' that folks begin to smile and say the real wolf will never come. But that follows not. I like not this ever-restless secret scheming and gathering together in dark corners. It is not for their religion that I hate and distrust the Papists. I know little about matters of controversy. I meddle not in things too high for me. But I hate them for their subtlety, their deceitful ways, their lying, and their fraud. Thou knowest how they schemed and plotted the death of good Queen Bess; we citizens of London find it hard to forgive them that! We love not the son of this same Mary Stuart, whom of old the Papists strove to give us for our Queen; yet he is our lawful King, accepted by the nation as our sovereign; and failing him I know not whom we might choose to reign over us. Wherefore say I, Down with these schemers and plotters! If men wish their grievances redressed, let them work in the light and not in the dark. We Protestants know that it is Bible law that evil must never be done that good may come; but the Papists hold that they may do never so many crimes and evil deeds if they may but win some point of theirs at last. Thou dost not hold such false doctrine, I trow, Cuthbert? thou art a soul above such false seeming."

Cuthbert drew his brows together in a thoughtful reverie.

"I trow thou hast the right of it, Jacob," he answered. "I love not dark scheming, nor love I these endless plots. Yet in these days of oppression it must be hard for men to act openly. If they be driven to secret methods, the fault is less theirs than that of their rulers."

"There be faults on both sides, I doubt not," answered Jacob, with calm toleration. "But two evils make not one good; and the Puritans who suffer in like fashion do not plot to overthrow their rulers."

"How knowest thou that the Papists do?" asked Cuthbert quickly.

"It has always been their way," answered Jacob; "and though I know but little of the meaning of the sinister whispers I hear, we have but to look back to former days to see how it has ever been. Think of the two plots of this very reign, the 'Bye' and the 'Main'! What was their object but the subversion of the present rulers? What they have tried before they will try again; and we who live beside this great river, and mingle with those who come from beyond the seas, do see and hear many things that others would not know. There have been comings and goings of late that I have not liked. It may be that mine eyes have played me false, but methought one dark night I saw a figure strangely like Father Urban land at the wharf, and he was incontinently joined by Walter Cole, who took him hastily and secretly away."

Cuthbert started slightly, and Jacob continued:

"And yet when I whispered a question to Walter a few days later concerning the priest, of whose welfare I have asked from time to time since I had a hand in his rescue, he told me that he was still beyond the seas, and that it was not like he would ever set foot on English soil again."

Cuthbert was silent. But he presently asked a question.

"But who is this Father Urban? and why should his appearance mean aught, or disturb thee?"

"Father Urban is a Jesuit, and one of those they call seminary priests, and all such are held in detestation and suspicion above all other Papists. When men lay hands on them they show them scant mercy. It is a saying in this land that when treason and murder and wickedness is abroad, a seminary priest is sure to be the leading spirit. When those two last plots were hatching, this Father Urban was in the country. He has returned now, and many men are looking abroad with fear, wondering how soon the calm will be interrupted. I like it not; I like it not; and I caution thee to keep away from yon house, and to have no dealings with the Papists. They be treacherous friends as well as wily foes. It were best and safest for thee to keep away from all such. Thou art not one of them; why shouldest thou consort with them?"

"I do not consort with them," answered Cuthbert; "but I have none of thy hatred for the name, and these men have been kind and friendly to me. I owe much to the lessons Anthony Cole has taught me. I have no knowledge of their secrets, but I cannot see why I may not speak a friendly word with them; even my uncle does that."

"Ay, but he goes not to their house--and his name is not Trevlyn."

"But what of that? the Trevlyns are now a stanch family, in favour with the King and his counsellors."

"Ay, but the name is not forgotten in many quarters as belonging to a race of persecuting Papists. It takes long for old memories to die out. Thou hadst better take heed, Cuthbert. A whisper against thee would soon spread and take root. I prithee meddle not in such matters, lest some ill befall thee!"

Cuthbert thanked honest Jacob for his goodwill and for his warning, but he could not see that it was needed. He was but an obscure youth, of no note in the world. He had no dealings with any of those plots of which men were whispering, and he could not see how any act of his could raise suspicion of any sort against him. He was growing intensely curious about the seething fire beneath the outer crust of quietness and security. If some great plot were hatching, if some great upheaval were at hand, why might not he scent out something beforehand? Why might not he discover what was baffling the sagacity of others? He had no wish to be a spy or an informer; he had too much generous sympathy with the oppressed for that. But he was intensely curious about it all, and he felt as though his youth and obscurity would be his best protection if he chose to make some investigations on his own account.

The old eager thirst for knowledge was coming upon him. The old love of adventure, which had run him into many perils already, had not been quenched by his recent experiences. Success had crowned his labours in the forest; why should that success desert him now? And then the thought came to him that he might by chance discover something which might be of use to his own kinsmen. He knew that Sir Richard Trevlyn and his son Philip--Petronella's lover--were in London. Might it not be possible that they had better be elsewhere at such a time? Jacob's words about the Trevlyns might perchance be true. He had heard his uncle say the same before. If any possible peril should be menacing them, how gladly would he find it out and warn them in time! It began to appear to the youth in the light of a duty to pursue his investigation, and it was just such a task as best appealed to his ardent and fiery temperament.

But he scarce knew what the first step had better be; so he gave up the day following to seeking out Lord Culverhouse, and learning from him what was the feeling in high quarters.

Culverhouse greeted him warmly, and at once begged him to ride out with him into the pleasant regions where the parks now stand, which were then much larger, and only just taking any semblance of park, being more like fields with rides running across them. Each succeeding king did something for the improvement of this region, though the open ground became considerably diminished as stately buildings grew up around it.

"Cuthbert," said the Viscount, when they had left the busy streets and were practically alone and out of earshot of any chance pa.s.sers by, "dost thou know that the matter of our secret wedding is now known?"

"I heard so from Mistress Kate, who has been sent away from home in disgrace, but is bearing her captivity cheerfully, with my sister for her companion."

Culverhouse was eager to hear everything Cuthbert could tell him, and was delighted that his lady love was happy in her honourable captivity. When he had asked every question he could think of, he went on with his own side of the story.

"There was a fine coil when Sir Richard brought the news, and I was rated more soundly than I have been since I was a little lad and lost my father's best falcon through letting it loose when the falconer was not by to whistle it back. There has been a mighty talking and arguing as to whether such wedlock as ours be lawful, and no man seems rightly to know. That we must be wed again in more orderly fashion all agree, if we are to live together as man and wife; but none will dare to say that we may break the pledge we gave each to the other that day. My father talked at first of moving some high court to set us free; but my mother shook her head and said that vows so solemnly spoken before G.o.d and in His name might never rightly be annulled by man. She was grieved and as angered as she knows how to be at our hot-headed rashness, and spoke to me words which hurt me more than my father's ratings. Yet she holds steadfastly to this--that we are betrothed too firmly to be parted; and what she holds she can generally make my father hold, for he thinks much of her piety and true discernment."

"So that thou art out of thy trouble for the nonce?"

Culverhouse laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I say not that, for they tell us it will be many years ere we can hope to be wed again in due form; and waiting is weary work."

"And why should you wait?"

Culverhouse laughed again.

"That is soon answered. My father has always told me that I must wed a lady of wealth if I am to wed young. Our estates are enc.u.mbered. We have more state to keep up than we well know how to manage. We have had troubles and losses even as the Trevlyns have. I have known this well. I cannot complain of my father. Nevertheless I chose my Kate without any dowry before all the world beside, and I am prepared to abide by my choice. But we shall have to wait; we shall have to possess our souls in patience. They all tell us that; and I gainsay them not. I am young. I have friends in high places. I will win a name for myself, and a fortune too, ere my head be gray. Alas for the old days of chivalry, when men might ride forth to fame and glory, and win both that and wealth in a few short years! Those bright days are gone for ever. Still methinks I will conquer fate yet!"

Culverhouse looked as though fitted indeed for some career of chivalrous daring. He and Cuthbert would gladly have ridden forth together upon some knightly quest; but the days for such things had gone by, as both recognized with a sigh. Still there was brightness in Cuthbert's eyes as he said:

"Mistress Kate will spend her Christmas at the Cross Way House, and I trow that others of the Trevlyns will do the like. If thou wilt be one of the party there upon that day, I doubt not that there will be a welcome for thee; and perchance thou wilt find then that thy nuptials need not be so long postponed. A golden key may be found which will unlock many doors."

Culverhouse looked quickly and eagerly at his companion, but could ask no more even had he wished, as they were at that moment joined by two friends of his, young men about the Court, who at once began to talk of the approaching opening of Parliament and the grand show that would accompany the act.

The King's love for fine dress, fine pageants, and fine shows, of which he was the sun and centre (in his own opinion at least), was well known by this time. These young sprigs of the n.o.bility amused themselves by making game freely of his Majesty behind his back, ridiculing his vanity, mimicking his ungainly action, especially upon horseback (though he considered himself a most finished and accomplished rider), and describing to Culverhouse the fine new robes he had ordered for the occasion, and which were to surpa.s.s in grandeur anything he had ever worn before.

"Folks talked of the vanity of our good Queen Bess, and called her mighty extravagant; but beshrew me if she were half as vain or extravagant as our n.o.ble King Jamie! It is a marvel he cannot see how ten-fold uglier he makes his ugly person by trapping himself out in all such frippery and gorgeous apparel."

So the young men chatted on in lightsome fashion, and Cuthbert, who listened to every word, could not gather that the smallest uneasiness had penetrated the minds of those who moved in these high places. Culverhouse talked with equal gaiety and security. Certainly he had no suspicion of coming ill. The mutterings of discontent the seething of the troubled waters, the undefined apprehensions of many of the cla.s.ses of the people, were apparently unknown and unheeded here. All was sunshine and brightness in the region of palaces. But if these youths had entertained any secret misgivings, they would have discussed them freely together.

Culverhouse kept Cuthbert to dinner, and he was kindly received by the Earl's family. Lady Andover even remembered to ask after Cherry, and won Cuthbert's heart by so doing. She questioned him in private about the marriage in the church porch, of which he had been witness, and plainly all he told her only went to strengthen her conviction that the matter had gone too far to admit of any drawing back without some breach of faith that was akin to sacrilege.

After the meal, which seemed stately and long to Cuthbert, Culverhouse asked him would he like to see the Houses of Parliament, where the King would shortly meet his Lords and Commons. Cuthbert eagerly a.s.sented, and the two youths spent some time in wandering about the stately buildings, to which Culverhouse could obtain easy admittance; the Viscount explaining to his companion where the King sat and where his immediate counsellors, to all of which Cuthbert listened with marked attention.

There were several attendants and ushers within the building, and Culverhouse told him that orders had been given to keep strict watch over the building both by night and day.

"The King is not like our good Queen--Heaven rest her soul!" said the Viscount, laughing. "He does not trust his people. He is always in fear of some mischance either through accident or design. Well may the great Shakespeare have said: 'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown!' Albeit the King would do better to have a little more courage."

This was the first word Cuthbert had heard of any uneasiness in high quarters, and he asked with some eagerness:

"Meanest thou that the King fears some evil to himself at this time?"

"No; I have heard naught of that. The country seems unwontedly quiet. It is the fear which never leaves him--the fear that makes him wear a doublet so thickly quilted that it would suffice to turn the sharpest blade, even as a suit of chain mail. He is always dreading a.s.sa.s.sination. That is why he wills such close watch to be kept, lest haply any evil-disposed person might find hiding within the walls and spring upon him unawares. Methinks it is an unkingly fear, but there it be, and he carries it ever with him. The Queen had none such--nor had she need; and as thou knowest, when once an a.s.sa.s.sin did approach her when she was alone in her garden, the glance of her eye kept him cowed and at bay till her gentlemen could hasten to her side. She was a Queen in very truth! I would we had more of her like!"

Culverhouse spoke out aloud, careless of being overheard, for he was but speaking the thoughts of the whole nation. Cuthbert echoed his wish with all sincerity; and still looking round and about him with keen interest, went through a certain mental calculation which caused him at last to ask:

"And what buildings lie around or beneath this?"

"I know not exactly how that may be. There is a house close beside this where methinks I have heard that Master Thomas Percy dwells, the steward to my Lord of Northumberland. I know not what lies beneath; it may be some sort of cellar.

"Dost thou know, fellow, whether there be cellars beneath this place?"

Culverhouse spoke to a man-at-arms who appeared to be on duty there, and who had for some moments been regarding Cuthbert with close scrutiny, and had now drawn slowly near them. Cuthbert was vaguely aware that the man's face was in some way familiar to him, but he had no recollection where he had seen him before.

"Master Thomas Percy has rented the cellar beneath, where his coals be stored," answered the man carelessly; and Cuthbert, who had asked the question rather haphazard and without exactly knowing why, moved away to examine a piece of fine carving close at hand.