BEFORE Mistress Marvin went home, she arranged to come and spend the following day with her sister, to help her to plan out, with the aid of Lady Guildford's sewing-maid, the alterations in her own and the children's dresses. For Sir Miles commended the neat and sensible alteration that had been effected in the fashion of ladies' clothes; and as it was taken as a sort of badge that the wearer had embraced the reformed opinions and teachings, why, there was every reason that his wife should follow this new fashion, he said.
To have Cicely thus fully occupied at home would also fit in with his own plans, for he was anxious now to remove his servants from the hostelry at Westminster with as little delay as possible, for fear their talk of his affairs should bring them all into trouble at some future time. "There is no telling what the witless knaves may say with this London ale and mead in their pates, and so the sooner I have them here under mine own eye the safer it will be for all of us," said the gentleman, when talking the matter over with Sir Harry Guildford.
"Yes; bring them all down here, certainly," said his father-in-law. "You must make a long stay with us now you are here, and it will be better in every way to have the knaves where they can be controlled."
"We will stay over May-day," said Sir Miles. "Cicely stipulated that she should see the old games once more before we left home."
"Well, she shall see all the fun and frolic there is, but there is some change in this fashion too. Those of us who favour the new opinions, think there was too much licence in these games, and so a few things have been lopped off, to the great disgust of the poorer folk, who can only enjoy the rougher and coarser play."
"Ah, and there is something to be said for them," answered Sir Miles. "I have learned many lessons since I have lived among my people, and not apart from them. These games, which we have outgrown since we have learned to exercise our brains on the problems of the Church and the rule of the Pope, are still a necessary part of a man's life, if he lives by the work of his hands, and his brain has but a small share in the exercise. So now, I am trying both exercises for my varlets, encouraging the old races and wrestlings for the strengthening of the body, while giving them some relief to exercise their minds upon. No, no; it will not do for the poor varlets to be deprived of their May-day and holiday games; and so, prithee, let it be known, that I will give a prize for wrestling and racing, among the serving men and maids, and we will all be present to see the sport."
Sir Harry Guildford laughed. "I see you are as independent as ever. I am afraid your kindness will not be appreciated by some of our reformed friends, but Walter Marvin will be greatly pleased when he hears of what you are going to do."
"Why? How is that?" asked Sir Miles.
"Oh! just another sign of the change that seems to be working in men and all that concerns them. Those who hold to the Church in all things, and see no need for reform, are in favour of the old pastimes and holidays; while the Queen, and many of the reformers who gather round her, do all that in them lies to discourage these, and I expect to hear soon that the old saint days and holidays are to be lessened in number, for many are now saying it takes a man too much from his work to have so much time to play."
Sir Miles shook his head. "There is not too much playtime if it is used wisely, and men give their whole heart to their work when it is working-time. This has been a hard lesson to teach my knaves, but they have begun to see the worth of it, and winter and summer we work in working-time, and play when the holidays come, and we are all the better for it."
"Ah! but you live in a little Utopia, while we in Greenwich have to live as the great world will let us," said Sir Harry.
"That may be; but you Greenwich folk are making laws and rules by which the great world is governed; while few will ever hear of our little world of Paton beyond Woodstock and Oxford. Some of my old University friends are interested to know how we fare in our little kingdom of 'nowhere,' but I am afraid the kingdom of England is too much disturbed; and the fate of my dear friend, Sir Thomas More, has chilled many hearts."
"Ah! he was a just man, and a learned," remarked Sir Harry; "but he was no friend to the reformers."
"Nay, but he desired to see the Church reformed," said Sir Miles, quickly. "Why, it is to his help and encouragement of Erasmus that we got our Greek New Testament. Tyndale could never have given us the New Testament in English if it had not been for Erasmus; and who but Sir Thomas More and a few like-minded men, who desired to see the Church reformed and purified, helped with their wealth and sympathy the learned Dutchman in his work."
"And yet, he tortured and sentenced to death several of our reformers, for reading and expounding the English New Testament."
"Yes, yes; I have heard of it," said Sir Miles, with a sigh. "It is a mystery no man can understand. That he acted according to his conscience, and believed he was doing God's service, is proved by the way he withstood the king's assumption of supremacy; for he gave his life for the vindication of the Pope's right to rule in the Church."
"Ah! and he condemned Master Tewkesbury to death for his faith in the New Testament," retorted Sir Harry. "What say you to that, my son?" Sir Miles could only shake his head sadly. It was a mystery—part of the tangle, in the meshes of which everybody seemed to be struggling in this great world just now—and thinking thus, Sir Miles was not sorry that his father-in-law did not seem disposed to carry the talk any farther, and the withdrawing-room was locked up, and the gentlemen went to their chambers without further discussion of the thorny subject.
The next morning Sir Miles went early to Westminster, and despatched all his servants and horses, with their baggage, by road to Greenwich, warning the men to say little to any stranger they might meet on the way.
The little party were not sorry to leave the hostelry, for the idle loafers who hung about the stables of the inn had turned the speech and manners of the country folk into jest, and more than one fight had already taken place; and although the Paton servants had succeeded in giving their opponents a good drubbing, after the approved Oxfordshire manner, still they were looking sulky and out of humour, for they were no match in the use of their tongues, and the flouts, and jeers, and sneers of the Londoners left them smarting inwardly. So they were thankful enough when their master appeared, and ordered them off to Greenwich without delay.
Having seen them safely on the road, Sir Miles bent his steps once more to "The Sign of the Golden Fleece," for he was anxious to know how his friend Monmouth fared, and also to hear the latest news concerning Master Tyndale, for no tidings had reached him concerning this old friend for the last year or two. It was part of the price he had to pay for devoting himself to the improvement of his own tenantry, that news of those whom he had known in the great world outside rarely reached him; and now it seemed that the caution necessary in sending letters, would make his position still more isolated, and so he was the more anxious to get what news he could concerning old friends, while he was in a position to do so.
If other changes had taken place, in men and things, since he last trod the streets of London, the apprentices and serving lads of the shops were just as he had seen them last. "What do you lack! what do you lack!" they screamed one against the other, and they were just as ready to push him into the mire of the central gutter, that flowed down the middle of the street, as they were in the old days when he came to visit Master Tyndale, splashing him from head to foot, so that Mistress Monmouth would have to remove some of the filth from his garments, before he could go up to the little room in the turret.
The memory of it all came back to him, and he thought of the lonely life the merchant had lived, since his wife and family had all been carried off by the plague some years ago.
Thinking of these sad events, and wondering how he should find his old friend, he was a little startled to see the merchant come out of his shop almost the next moment, looking as comfortable and energetic as he did ten years before.
"Is it—is it Sir Miles Paton at last?" exclaimed Master Monmouth when he saw his visitor.
"It is, Master Monmouth! And I am right glad to see you looking so well," replied Miles, following Monmouth into his dim little shop.
The merchant led the way upstairs at once. "We may not say a word before those long-eared 'prentice lads, and I have much to tell you since you have come," said the merchant in explanation. Sir Miles could not help smiling now. He was getting used to this warning to be cautious, uttered by each in turn according to their varied experience, but all alike enforcing the terrible lesson, that free speech in England, even in one's own home, had become a danger.
As soon as the sitting-room had been reached, which Sir Miles remembered so well, the merchant bade him sit down, and then called: "Mistress Bainham, here is an old friend who would fain taste of your confections," and almost as he was speaking a young widow came into the room, bearing on her face the traces of sorrow; but it was a pleasant, peaceful face, and the merchant spoke as though she might have been his own daughter, as he asked her to set the wenches to prepare a meal with all speed.
"Have I seen this lady before?" asked Sir Miles.
"If you have, it was when she was a merry lass, and came to see my daughter. Now she is a widow, bereaved by that wicked man Sir Thomas More, who sent her husband to his reward, through the fires of Smithfield, a year or two ago. Ah, Bainham was one of our truest friends, and ever ready to expound the New Testament, and therefore he was marked down for destruction by those who would fain keep us in the darkness of ignorance."
"And this lady is his widow?" asked Sir Miles.
"Yes. She was left with her two young children helpless in the world. Bainham was a lawyer, but he had little of this world's wealth, and what he had was exhausted while he was in prison; and so, when the end came, and the martyr went in his fiery chariots to the Kingdom not made with hands, I brought Mistress Bainham and her children here to stay for a time, and look after the serving-wenches. And now we should both be grieved to part, for she hath made my home more cheerful and homelike than I ever thought it could be, while she has something to live for, besides sorrowing for him who has gone. She loves the things Master William Tyndale taught us all to love, and keeps his room in order as he left it, in the hope that he may some day come again to dwell among us."
"Do you think that is likely?" asked Sir Miles, eagerly.
"I am afraid not. And yet methinks he might do so now; and I know for certain that Master Cromwell would fain have him come. And now that the Reformers are in favour at Court, and the King rules in the Church, as well as the kingdom, I would fain have him journey hither, for a season at least," added the merchant.
"And you could not persuade him to come? I should greatly like to see him, and would bear the charges of his journey if he would come hither," said Sir Miles.
The merchant rose and closed the door, and looked round the room. "He does not trust the King," he whispered, "or Master Cromwell either, for that matter."
"Ah!" uttered Sir Miles, in a significant tone; but Master Monmouth was too eager to tell his news, to notice this slight interruption.
"Mind you, our friend hath good cause to be wary, for our enemies, having discovered who translated this English Testament, and had it printed, have sent out agents to try and get Tyndale to come over here, where he would be in their power, and they could make a quick end of him. But so soon as he knew one agent was in quest of him, he would gather up his few belongings and depart to another town, where other printing presses would do his work."
"Ah, it has been a stirring life for him, while I—well, I wonder—" and there Sir Miles paused again, and the merchant went on with his story.
"Our enemies, not being able to catch Master Tyndale in any of their traps, did show their spite and anger by destroying all his books they could lay their hands upon. My Lord Bishop of London hath more than once bought up all the New Testaments there were to be had in London, and a rare burning of the books was witnessed at Paul's Cross. And the money thus collected from the Bishop and his agents hath forthwith been sent to Master Tyndale, that he might prepare another and more perfect edition, for each fresh one has been carefully revised; and though for my own part I am well content with the book that you and I helped to carry ashore that winter's night, still there are those who say that the last sent over, and that is the fourth edition, is a marvel. I am no scholar myself, I can just read in the English tongue, and that is why I can prize, more than many, this English Testament. But I tell you, Sir Miles, these new doctrines are attracting the notice of learned and thoughtful men, though as yet the poorer folk do not seem to care which shall succeed,—the Reformers, who would fain see a New Testament in every house, or the priests, who fill their pockets from the scanty earnings of the poor, under the pretence of offering Masses for the dead, whereby the souls of departed friends shall the sooner be released from the pains of Purgatory."
"Ah! the poor witless knaves have little time to think of anything but the earning of a rye loaf, and the buying of meat for Sunday. We must think tenderly of the poor, for they are hardly dealt with on all hands," said Sir Miles, pityingly.
"Well, we must try to grasp the prize now it is within our reach, that they may share it with us by-and-bye. To have got rid of the Pope and all his pretensions, we owe to what some of our forefathers did two hundred years ago. Wycliffe, and a few like him, tried to shake off his power then, and the Parliament passed what is called the 'Statutes of Prœmunire and Provisors,' and this gave the King and Parliament the right to prohibit the admission or execution of any bulls or briefs within the realm of England; and also denied the Papal claim to dispose of any benefices. Well, the Reformers of that day were not able to do much with this new law when they had got it, but it has never been repealed, and somebody must have told Master Cromwell of this old Statute of Prœmunire; and so, when the Pope threatened to put the kingdom under an interdict, and absolve every man from obeying the King, my Lord Cromwell went and asked the King why he should bow his neck to the Pope, when Pope and clergy had all alike broken the English law concerning the paying of taxes to a foreign power, and the publishing of bulls and briefs, that were no longer lawful in this kingdom.
"Ah! the King would have a keen nose for the taxes," remarked Sir Miles, recalling the time when his old master, Wolsey, often found himself on the horns of a dilemma over this very question of taxation, and he wondered whether Wolsey knew of the existence of this old statute, that had probably been forgotten in the lapse of time, or surely it would have been expunged from the roll of English laws long since.
But it surprised him that a plain, simple cloth-merchant like Monmouth had so clear a grip of the situation, as his explanation of this old statute proved. Truly the plain man and simple citizen, as well as those of the university, were awakening, and it was not likely that they would allow themselves to be fitted with grave-clothes again, and so the priests and monks must also arise out of the torpor that held them, or they must go under in the struggle that was fast approaching.
Sir Miles stayed talking at "The Golden Fleece" until all the shops in the neighbourhood had securely fastened their one-flat shutter for the night; and then Monmouth told him that he was expecting a few friends to come in almost immediately, and begged him to stay the night and take part in their Scripture reading, and the devotions which would follow.
This Sir Miles readily consented to do, although he declined to take any other part than that of a listener in the reading and expounding which was to follow.
In the discourse that followed the reading, he noted the same independence of thought that testified to the general awakening that was taking place in men's minds, and how the Mass, and the Papal pretensions arising out of it, were the main points of attack. The bread and wine, which the priests claimed they had the power to change into the very body, bones, and blood of Christ by the prayer of consecration, these Reformers declared was unchanged, and still remained bread and wine; and that it was only in a spiritual sense that the Lord Jesus said, "Take, eat; this is my body." This would be the battle-cry. Round this would the tumult rage; and all at once Sir Miles felt he should like to take his part as a man in the struggle and strife. No, the battle was not won yet, he felt sure, although Master Monmouth and most of his friends thought that there would be little more persecution, now that the Pope's power was broken. But he reflected that they did not know King Henry the Eighth as he did; and, though Queen Anne might foster the new opinions, and give her protection to the Reformers, who could tell how long her power might last. The King had loved his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, quite as much as he loved Queen Anne; and thinking thus, Sir Miles wondered whether it would be possible for him to spend at least part of every year in London. He was still thinking thus when the meeting broke up, and then his host showed him how some curious hiding-places had been contrived in one or two parts of the house.
"We thought we might need them a year or two back; but, thank God, that danger is over, and we can come and go now with nothing more to fear than that the vagabonds of the streets may molest us."
"May it always be so," said Sir Miles, as he bade his host good-night, and retired to his chamber.
SIR MILES spent several days in London and Westminster. There were purchases to be made for his wife and household, for the cloth and linen made at home was neither so fine or so perfect, as yet, that it was suitable for all their requirements. Then there were old friends to look up; and although many of these had left the neighbourhood of London when the Cardinal fell from power, still a few remained, and he was glad to renew his acquaintance with some of them to hear their opinions as to the changes now in progress.
Of course these could scarcely be expected to hold the same view as citizens, like Master Monmouth; but they agreed in one point, and that was that the King and Cromwell had shown themselves so masterful in defying the Pope, and claiming the supremacy of the Church as the right of the Crown, that they feared it would never again revert to Rome; that for good or evil the Church of England would remain independent of Papal control, except in so far as the people chose to hold themselves bound to obey as a matter of conscience.
It was evidently a matter of sorrow to some of these friends that the Pope had driven the King to take this step; but then, as one of them argued, what could the Pope himself do between the King of England and the Emperor of Germany? He was the nephew of Queen Catherine, and had been known to threaten the Pope with all sorts of punishments if he dared to pronounce the divorce of his aunt; and so the supreme Pontiff must have felt himself like a shuttlecock between these two masterful monarchs, until Henry cut the Gordian knot, by declaring himself head of the Church, and he and his kingdom free of Papal control.
"It would have been better if our Master Wolsey had succeeded in his aims, and been made Pope. He would have found some way out of the difficulty without this severance," said one friend, who was ready to follow Sir Thomas More to the block rather than acknowledge the right of the King to be head of the Church.
Sir Miles shook his head. "Whatever the outcome of this struggle may be in the present," he said, "it must in the end enlarge the liberties of England. Her people are waking here in the towns, as we in Oxford some years ago, and among her citizens—"
"What!" interrupted his friend. "You know little of what is going on to suppose that we have more liberty now than we had under the Cardinal. He hated Parliaments, I know; but this upstart, Cromwell, has learned how to make them do his bidding, and it is through the Parliament that an Englishman scarce dare breathe what he thinks, even in his own home. Why, I may be taking myself to the block for talking to you as I have done; and you say the King and Cromwell will enlarge our liberty."
"They have granted the people the right to read the New Testament," retorted Sir Miles; "and I tell you that, in doing this, they are putting a weapon into the people's hands they will not fail to grasp, and to use with all the tenacity and power that make an Englishman what he is. This is the seed that shall presently grow into such a tree as neither King nor priest shall be able to uproot; and I hear that, to make its truths more widely known, a copy of this book is to be set up on a desk in every church, that those who cannot read for themselves may repair thither and listen to some who can read it to them."
"Well, Sir Miles, if you are like to prove a true prophet in this matter, the Church has been wise to forbid any but the clergy reading this pestilent book. For my part, I shall forbid it in mine own household, and any knave or wench bringing a Testament under my roof shall be cast out instantly."
"Nay, be not so hard on the poor knaves," said Sir Miles, for he knew it would be a hard matter for the serving men and maids to get other work in these days, when employment was so scarce.
It was men like this friend who would make the coming struggle so hard and bitter. And yet the man would do it, believing he was doing his duty to God and man by this means.
Sir Miles went back to Greenwich at last, feeling that he had learned a good deal during his absence. And yet affairs in general were in such a tangle, and so many cross interests were involved, that it was impossible to get a clear view, and the most that any man could hope for was to know what his individual duty was, and to do it regardless of consequences.
It may seem that it was an easy matter for Sir Miles to come to this conclusion, but in reality he had had a hard struggle with himself before he could resolve to keep on with the prosy, monotonous every-day work of his farm and tenantry, instead of throwing in his lot with those who would share actively in the struggle that was going on in the outer world. The lad who joined so eagerly in the fight at Oxford Fair was a fighter still, and it was not easy for him to think complacently of going back to his little domain near Woodstock, and only the thought of wife and children, and what he owed to them, reconciled him to the prospect of being shut away from all share in the great world-strife that was going on here.
But he went home to Greenwich full of plans for making the May-day sports a real holiday for the poorer folk of the town. The ladies and gentlemen of the Court might be trusted to provide ample amusement for the more fashionable crowd, who would go to see the morris-dancers and mummers, who were to have their fun in a more subdued fashion now than formerly.
This resolve to encourage all sorts of manly sports and exercise, brought him into contact with his brother-in-law, Master Walter Marvin, and he found him much more sociable than he expected; and, except upon the thorny subject of the King's supremacy, they were much alike in their opinions of men and things in general. He even consented to meet Lady Paton, although he could not quite forget that Cicely was a woman who had been unfaithful to her vows and her vocation, as he chose to consider it; still, as Lady Paton was his wife's sister, he could not keep entirely aloof at such a time, especially when her husband was ready to help in all his plans for keeping up the old sports among the men, and lads, and serving maids.
And so the last days of April passed pleasantly enough, except for one or two whispers which Sir Miles and Cicely heard concerning the Queen. She would have brought the King his much desired son shortly, but in the previous February she had been greatly upset by the King himself, which made her very ill; and her boy baby came, but was born dead, which so enraged Henry that it was said he would never forgive the Queen for disappointing him, quite ignoring the fact that he himself had brought about the mishap. The Queen had seemed weak and delicate ever since, but it was also noticed that the King, instead of trying to console her, paid marked attention to one of her ladies—the Lady Jane Seymour—and he was not expected to be present at the Palace of Placentia for the May-day sports. He had gone to Westminster, leaving the Queen to console herself with the little Lady Elizabeth, who was now nearly three years old.
Of course, the members of Sir Harry Guildford's family attended the Court festivities, which were held on one of the lawns facing the river. Here a gigantic Maypole was raised, garlanded with green boughs and wreaths of flowers, and round which various dances took place. The Queen came out for a short time, leading her little daughter, who skipped and jumped, and would have joined in the dances round the gaily decorated Maypole if her mother would have allowed it.
"That little lady is a true daughter of our King," remarked one of the town folk—for the gardens and lawns of Placentia were always thrown open at such festivals as this. "See now, how she pulls at her mother's hand," said the gossip.
Many noticed that day how pensive and sad the Queen was looking, and yet her gaiety would break through her sadness now and again, and she would smile and nod when one of her ladies spoke to her, and for a minute or two appeared to be interested in the games.
The rougher sports for the lads and lasses took place in the Park, and here Sir Miles and his brother-in-law found scope for all their energies, in keeping order among the crowd, and preventing the whole affair from developing into a wild orgie.
When at last the games came to an end, and everybody who had taken part in them had gone home thoroughly tired out, Sir Miles and Master Marvin were at liberty to cast up the cost of the day's frolic, which they found to be rather heavier than they expected. They were bruised, and stiff, and sore from their exertions, and the kicks they had received in their efforts to keep the lads within bounds.
"There is something to be said for your reformers and their dislike of these holiday games," remarked Sir Miles when he had limped home, and given some account of the day's doings. "By my troth, we English people are a masterful race, as my master, the Cardinal, used to remark. At least it, must be so, if the way these lads of Greenwich play their games may be taken as indicating how they will act in graver matters," added the gentleman.
Sir Harry Guildford laughed. "Ah! we need taming," he said.
"Nay, leading," retorted Miles. "But who is to do it, unless we gain the mastery over ourselves, for ourselves, and for love's dear sake? I trove those who essay the mastery of this nation will receive many kicks and cuffs in the doing of it, and then achieve but a poor success."
"Miles, are you hurt," said Lady Paton, in a serious tone; but her husband would not own to it, saying he had spent a most joyous day, and learned more than one useful lesson in the course of it.
Everybody seemed to have enjoyed themselves; and it was hoped that the one shadow that had marred the sports at the Palace would soon pass away, for the King had sent for the Queen to Westminster, and so it was hoped that a reconciliation between the royal pair would now take place.
Sir Harry Guildford brought this little bit of gossip home from the Palace shortly after the Queen had started in the royal barge on her journey to Westminster the next morning. The little lady, Elizabeth, had not accompanied her mother, and one of her ladies had told a friend that the Queen seemed full of sadness when she went away. But no one paid much attention to this, for the Queen had been out of health and out of spirits ever since the disaster of February; but now all would be well, and there would be a renewal of the merry May games when the King and Queen came back together.
Alas! before sunset, the news came that the Queen had been arrested. "Arrested!" repeated one and another in blank astonishment, for the news fell like a thunder-clap upon the town. The people only knew their King as a pleasure-loving, merry-hearted monarch, and he liked them to think of him thus; and the other side of his character that was now coming into action was only known to a few of his council, or to those who had dared to cross him in any of his projects and pleasures. To the townsfolk, therefore, it was almost unbelievable that their light-hearted monarch could have ordered the Queen's arrest. "What has the poor lady done but mope a little since her illness," they asked one of the other; while some were disposed to think it was simply an idle tale of the servants who had attended her and brought back the news.
But it soon came to be known that it was too true, and that the Queen was a prisoner in the Tower on the charge of being unfaithful to the King. "They will say you have been unfaithful to me, good dame," said Sir Harry to his wife, when he brought home this news from the palace.
"Then you do not believe the charge?" said Sir Miles, after a lengthened pause.
Sir Harry Guildford shook his head. "I should know, if anybody did," he said, sadly.
"Oh, father I hope you will not be drawn into this coil," said Lady Paton, with sudden apprehension, lest her father should be called upon to give evidence in the trial that was sure to follow.
"If I am called upon to speak, I can only say what I know,—that the Queen hath ever been discreet in word and deed, neither light in her behaviour to the gentlemen of the Court, or unduly sour, but treating all as a Queen should, with dignity and courtesy to all."
"And even this may bring ruin upon us, if the King would fain have her found guilty," said Lady Guildford, wringing her hands.
"I cannot help what may follow. I shall let it be known that I am ready to bear witness that I have never seen aught amiss in her behaviour with man or maid, and for the rest we must trust in God, though I doubt not that, if the Queen is found guilty, it will be a sore blow to the Reformation."
"Oh! how can it be? Why does not God prevent such things happening!" exclaimed one of the younger girls; and though no one spoke, she did but express what was in the mind of several besides herself. Perhaps, too, there was the thought, that as the Lady Jane Seymour was now supplanting her royal mistress in the favour of the King, so Queen Anne had not come to the throne with wholly clean hands.
But no one spoke of this just now, and there was silence for some minutes, until Lady Guildford said, "The Archbishop will be sorely grieved over this day's doings."
"Aye, that will he; for Master Cranmer was the first to advise the King that his marriage with his brother's widow was unlawful, according to the Bible, and that this should rule the king's life and faith."
"He hath always had a favourable opinion of the Queen, too," added Sir Miles.
"Could not he intercede for her with the King?" asked Cicely.
"We are judging hastily, my children," said Sir Harry, cautiously. "Who can tell that there will be need of intercession. It may be that some idle gossip hath reached the King, and he will but clear the Queen's fame in the sight of all men. We talk as though the Queen was sure to be condemned. I would fain hope that things have not gone so far as that."
But as the days went on, and reports of the trial that was being held at the Tower came to be known, it grew plain that it was the ruin of the Queen that was intended, and not the clearing of her fair fame from idle gossip; and men began to understand better what their beloved monarch was becoming, now that he held irresponsible power over the lives and consciences of his subjects.
Sir Harry Guildford was not called upon to take any part in the infamous trial of Queen Anne, but other witnesses had been obtained, who were willing to swear away the life of this innocent woman.
Perhaps her sentence was just, in the face of what had taken place in the matter of Catherine, but of the charge made against her now she was wholly innocent, and none knew this better than Henry himself.
It struck the nation dumb when they came to understand this, for Henry himself made it clear why the unfortunate Queen was found guilty of the charges brought against her. Before the month of May came to an end, Queen Anne had been condemned and beheaded. She never left the Tower again in life; and when the firing of a gun gave notice that the Queen was dead, Henry at once had the ceremony of marriage performed between himself and the Lady Jane Seymour.
But Greenwich folk declined to have anything to do with merry-making over this marriage, and the nation was struck with affright, that their King, who held such power as no other monarch had ever possessed in England before, could thus trample under foot the laws of God and man alike. From that day Henry was dethroned from the hearts of his people, where he had reigned without question until now.
LADY PATON was playing on the virginal in the pleasant summer parlour, where she and Sir Miles had so often met before she went to the convent, and where he had given her the little bit of the New Testament he himself had translated into English. Cicely was alone, thinking of all that had happened since that day, and how eventful her life had been, and how unlikely it seemed at one time that she should ever see the old home again. And yet, here she was, playing on the virginal, and likely to be here for a month or two longer at least, for she and her husband both desired to prolong their visit that they might hear the wonderful sermons that were preached in the Parish Church—both by the Archbishop, Cranmer, and also by his more uncompromising friend, Latimer. He did not hesitate to preach the truth, even to the King himself; and Cicely was hoping that Henry might yet be brought to repentance for the murder of the Queen, when the door opening into the garden was hastily pushed back, and her husband appeared looking greatly disturbed.
"Cicely, Jack Bunce has come, bringing a letter from Margery, and most portentous news from home."
"Oh, Miles! is our Harry ill?" asked Lady Paton with a gasp.
"Nay, nay, sweetheart! both our darlings are well. Margery says they have grown an inch she thinks; and they are good and obedient little knaves."
"Then, wherefore should Margery send to you in such hot haste?" asked his wife, with a sigh of relief.
"Well, we heard here, almost as soon as we came, that the Vicar-General, Master Cromwell, was determined to carry out what our master the Cardinal began—the suppression of the monasteries. We did not think that this commission would affect us, and we paid little heed to it, although I heard of what was afoot before I left home. Now, Master Cromwell is not one to let any matter sleep, and so our monastery at home has been seized by order of the King and Vicar-General; and all the monks have been turned out, and have gone to claim a shelter and a home from Margery."
"Oh, poor Margery! what would she do?" exclaimed Cicely.
Sir Miles smiled as he took his sister's letter out to read a piece of it to Cicely. "This is what she says: 'I am a witless woman, as you know, Miles; and so, when the brethren came to demand that I should give them food and shelter, I told them that ours was a house of work, and none could eat within its doors who did not perform such work as they were able to accomplish; that we ruled our house by the Word of God, which said, "If a man will not work, neither shall he eat."' One of the brethren told her this command was for common people, but not for monks and holy men; and she told him our house was not for monks, but for common men, who earned their bread before they ate it." And Sir Miles laughed again as Sir Harry came in and the story was repeated to him.
But Sir Harry looked grave as he read the letter. "I see she speaks of the Prior being placed in the best chamber," he remarked.
"Yes, the poor old Prior hath but a short time to live, and my Lord Privy Seal might have let him end his days in his old home. Margery hath done as I would myself, in giving him the best chamber."
"But what of these lusty knaves, the monks?" asked his father.
"Ah! they may not be left loose like wolves among sheep. I must depart with all speed in answer to this summons," said Sir Miles; and he glanced at his wife to see what she would say to this sudden termination of their visit.
Lady Paton looked perplexed. Like her husband she had found this return to her old home and the great world very pleasant; and she was charmed and helped by the new order of preaching introduced by the Reformers. She said something about hoping to learn more from Master Latimer before she went home.
"Well, sweetheart, shall I leave you here for awhile?" said Sir Miles, with a wistful look at his wife.
"She will be right welcome," said her father; "though, I doubt not, Master Latimer will say, as he hears aught of this coil, that it is not the amount of God's truth that we know, but what we do, that makes us true Reformers, and true Christians. But this is a matter you must decide for yourselves," he added. "You must bid your messenger rest, Miles, and his beast, too, if you think of starting on your journey to-morrow."
As Sir Harry Guildford said this, he left the room to go and tell his wife of the sudden change in affairs, for he had little doubt what Cicely's decision would be when she had time to think calmly over the matter.
He had thought a good deal about this projected suppression of the monasteries; and he knew that, unless the revenues of these poor and smaller houses were devoted to the providing pensions for those who should be expelled, the want and misery of the kingdom would be increased tenfold, for another army of beggars would be let loose upon the world. Under these circumstances, travelling would become more difficult and dangerous than ever; and so, it was not a question of Lady Paton staying a few days or weeks longer at Greenwich, for it might be many months before an opportunity occurred for the journey to Woodstock to be undertaken.
Sir Miles said something of this as Sir Harry Guildford left the room. "Miles, we have never been parted since you took me to your home," murmured the lady, dropping her eyes to the floor for a minute. Then she lifted them and turned to her husband. "I cannot let you go without me," she whispered, as she rose and threw herself into his arms. But, having made her decision, she burst into tears of regret that this pleasant visit had been so summarily ended. "I did so want to stay a little longer with mother and Maud. Poor Maud! she has no children, and does not even want them, because she would not be allowed to teach them the truths she has learned to love, and her life would be more bitter than it is."
"Poor Maud!" said Sir Miles pityingly, as he caressed his wife. "It is well she lives here close at hand, that she may have the comfort of coming home very often. She needs the old home more than you do, my Cicely."
"Yes, she does, and I can see that God is good to both of us."
"Yes, and I am not without hope that Walter may yet learn that there is something more than new opinions to be learned from God's Word, and that it is something better than mere perversity, that sets men's hearts upon studying it at all costs."
"Oh, Miles! what would our lives be without this sure hope to rest upon?" said Lady Paton, and then her mother came in and Cicely turned to meet her, the tears shining in her eyes as she looked up into her mother's face. "I could not help it, mother," she said, half-pleadingly.
"You have decided, then, my child," said Lady Guildford, and then she and Cicely sat down together in the pleasant summer parlour, and Sir Miles crept away to begin his preparations for the journey. He was very glad, very thankful that his wife had decided to go back with him; although he was very sorry to take her from her parents and the dear home nest so soon. Still, in these uncertain, unsettled days, it was best that they should be together, especially in the unforeseen circumstances that had so suddenly arisen.
So the next day they went the first stage of the journey by water, sleeping the night at the Westminster hostelry, and setting out at daybreak on horseback as they came towards Woodstock.
It soon became apparent to the travellers, that the monastery near their own home, was not the only one from which the monks had recently been driven, for every mile or two they would meet little groups of monks looking weary and footsore already from the unwonted exertion of walking so far. These were not mendicant friars, who journeyed up and down the country picking up a living as they could, but men who had lived an idle life, many of them old and unfit for labour of any kind now.
Sir Miles and Lady Paton spoke to one or two as they passed, asking where they were going; all told the same tale,—they were bound for London, where they hoped some provision would be made for them out of the revenues of their monasteries.
"Good may eventually come of this," remarked the gentleman; "but it should have been done with less haste and less harshness."
But the sight of these unwonted travellers made them push on towards home with more haste, for although Margery and Rankin between them might be trusted to devise ways and means for the proper control of the household, there was no telling what might happen when the monks were quartered among the tenantry.
It was late at night when Paton Hall was at length reached, but Margery and the steward were on the watch, in the hope of seeing the travellers return. Their coming was a great relief to Margery and the steward, for the poor old Prior was not expected to live many days; and the responsibility of having a sick man in the house, and only a young priest to attend upon him, was rather trying in the absence of the master.
"The poor old fellow will not have anybody else near him but Father John, who is a doctor and a priest, too, it seems, and has to be nurse as well now," said Margery, when she explained the situation of affairs to her brother.
Lady Paton was too weary to think of anything, and went to bed as soon as possible; but when Sir Miles had had some supper, and removed the dust of travel, he sent a servant to announce his arrival to Father John, and ask whether he would like to see him at once, or would prefer to wait until the morning.
The old man lying on the bed roused up at the sound of voices, and feebly called to the young priest. "I want Miles Paton," he whispered, when the young priest leaned over him; "and give me the casket we brought with us," he added.
"It is justice, my son; justice that must be done before there can be peace again for our holy house," he said, when Sir Miles came to him.
Sir Miles looked at the young priest, and touched his forehead, to indicate that the old man was wandering in his mind.
But Father John shook his head. "He has told me all about the casket, and what it contains, since he has been lying here. One or two of the other brethren also know of its existence, and that is why he begged me to stay by him to the end, that I might deliver it into your hands if he should not live to do it himself."
"I can go in peace now," feebly uttered the dying man; and as he spoke he took the casket from Father John, and with his last remaining strength he placed it in Sir Miles' hand. "Receive the blessing of an old man with it," he gasped, and then he closed his eyes as though his work on earth was done.
Sir Miles sat and shared the watch of the young priest, for they could see the end was very near now, and in less than an hour the old Prior had crossed the river we call death, a placid smile resting on his face, as though he had died with the comfort of the thought that justice had been done at last.
"What did he mean by giving me this?" said Sir Miles, when the last breath had been drawn.
"I have written a statement at my master's dictation. I may tell you this, that nearly all the monastery land belongs of right to the Patons. By force or fraud this has been taken from your ancestors, and this casket contains the old deeds, and a statement of how they were obtained, and my master bade me tell you to claim your own again."
Sir Miles rose and shook his head. "That will be of little use," he said, as he left the room, but he took the casket with him, and sending a servant to the priest for orders, he retired to his chamber. Sir Miles saw some of the younger monks the next day, and told them that if they remained there they must accommodate themselves to the rule of the household, which was,—work for everybody who was able to work. But if they liked to try their fortune elsewhere, their wallets should be well-filled for a three days' journey; and he advised that those who had friends should go to them, and see whether they could render them any help; or, they could go to London, and try, as others were doing, to obtain a pension or employment from the Vicar-General, who was directing all these matters.
For the older monks, some of whom were past work and quite friendless, well, Sir Miles would provide for these for the present, although he warned them that he could only give them plain, homely fare, and that he should expect them to keep their own quarters clean, and not make mischief with either the tenants or the servants.
It was the best he could do, and all he could do at present; and having settled this matter, temporarily at least, he took the casket to Margery's room, that he might examine its contents in peace.
The documents it contained were much more clear and explicit than he expected to find them; and some of the so-called leases that granted lands to the Prior and brethren of the holy house of Saint Margaret were signed by his own father. Indeed, it seemed that each ancestor in turn had been mulcted of some portion of their estate—the Paton lands thus growing smaller with each generation, while the property of the Saint increased in proportion. Masses and absolutions seemed to have been the price paid for these so-called leases.
But in reading them; and noting the dates, Sir Miles found that in no single case was there an absolute gift of the land, and that most of these leases had fallen in, although the land had in no instance been given up to its original owners; so that, as the old Prior said, it was just that all but a very small portion of this monastery land should revert to the Paton family, and not become the property of the King, or Master Cromwell, his Vicar-General.
Now, the question was, would the Vicar-General and the Commission be disposed to do him justice in this matter? Sir Miles scarcely thought this was likely, still, it was worth trying; and he resolved to ask Father John to make a fair copy of these documents, and also of the statement made at the Prior's dictation; and these, with a letter from himself, he resolved to get placed before Cromwell with as little delay as possible.
He found that the young priest was more than willing to do his part in this matter, for he was very grateful for the asylum given to himself and his old master, and that Sir Miles would order that his funeral should be conducted with the same ceremony as if he had still been at the head of the community. For all the monks had been requested to stay and take part in the ceremony, whatever their future movements might be.
But before the old Prior was buried, a messenger was despatched to Greenwich with a letter to Sir Harry Guildford, placing in his hands the documents copied by the young priest, and asking him to seek a favourable opportunity of laying them before the Vicar-General, who was also my Lord Privy Seal, and held other offices under the King, so that he was now almost as powerful a statesman as Wolsey had been in the height of his power.
Having despatched his letter, and assured Margery and Cicely that he did not expect anything would come of it, he took up the task of ordering his enlarged household. He found, to his great astonishment, that the young priest had found a New Testament in the library of the monastery. It was a translation by Erasmus into Latin, and there was no doubt that the words of life had taken root in the heart of the young man, so that to him the expulsion from the monastery had come as a release from bondage. Miles wondered how many secret disciples there were scattered up and down the country in these hot-beds of ignorance, superstition, and corruption.
But many or few, there were many who had been brought up under the conditions that ruled in these so-called religious houses, and for these some provision ought to be made. And so he resolved that, if his petition was granted, and the old Paton lands again came into his possession, he would portion them out as farms among the monks who were willing to work, and would settle upon them as tenants. They should be let at a small rental, that might be paid in kind for the first year at least; but nothing was to be given. Sir Miles set his face like a flint against the old system of beggary in any shape or form; and one of the first things he asked the young priest to do, was to write, in clear, bold English letters, the injunction: "If a man will not work, neither shall he eat," and this was securely fastened up over the entrance-hall, that all who came to his door might know the rule of his household; and the servants were always ready to assure the new comers that Sir Miles enforced this rule, as well as having it written that all might read it.
A few of the monks, who had done the greater part of the farm work at the monastery, were not at all averse to taking service under Sir Miles and his steward, while others, who thought it was beneath the dignity of a monk to earn his own living, did not stay long after the funeral of the Prior. They were bent upon going to London, to see if something in the way of a pension could not be obtained from the King, that they might end their days in the idleness in which they had lived for so many years.
Sir Miles was not sorry to see these depart; and having taken care that plenty of bread and bacon were put into their wallets, he saw them set out with something like a sigh of relief, though he could not help wondering how long it would be before some of them were back again.
For Father John there was plenty to do; he could gather the children of the tenants into one of the barns, and teach them to read. He could also carry on the service in the church, which stood on the edge of the monastery grounds. It had been built for the village by one of his ancestors, so that Sir Miles considered that he had a perfect right to use this still, without waiting for the decree of the commissioners concerning the rest of the land.
However, he did not have to wait very long for this, and it was altogether more favourable than he expected. The Vicar-General would send an agent to examine the documents upon which Sir Miles Paton based his claim; and if he found them to be as they were represented, the land would be handed over to Sir Miles, upon such terms as the commissioners should deem equitable. Nor did he have to wait very long for the arrival of this agent, for in the course of the following week he came from Oxford, to test the validity and genuineness of the original parchments contained in the casket.
To his great astonishment, Sir Miles found that this man knew all about his past life, and what was going on at Paton Hall,—how he had received and treated the monks when they were expelled.
It simply amazed Sir Miles to hear how all his movements were known, until he reflected that this of espionage that was doubtless part of the system was now carried to such lengths, that no man and no home was safe from its inquisition. Fortunately for him, the Reformation, which he had helped to bring about through his help to Master Tyndale, was no longer a barrier to the favour of the King and his council; and the Vicar-General so far approved of his system of making men work wherever it was possible, that, by the advice of the council, he was ready to hand over all the land belonging to the monastery, providing he was willing to undertake that those who could work he would employ in some way or other, and that the aged, who were no longer capable of working, he would feed and nourish so long as they should live. He was also to provide a stipend for the priest of the parish, and that the said priest should also teach the children of the village the Lord's Prayer and the Ten Commandments in English, and also to teach the reading of the English tongue where it was possible.
"Why, it is just what I should desire to do!" exclaimed Sir Miles, when his visitor read over the conditions, which he understood had been drawn up by Cromwell himself. "You may assure the Vicar-General that the monastery lands shall be let out at a low rental among the monks themselves, and that they shall have all the help needful to establish themselves as yeomen among the other tenants."
"My lord knows that his will in that particular will be carried out," said his visitor; "and if we can only dispose of the other monasteries in a like fashion, it will be good for all who are concerned in the matter." He stayed for a day to see how Sir Miles had disposed of the land that had descended to him at his father's death; and the look of the thriving little homesteads, and the village itself, was an assurance to the agent that this monastery land would be well used under Sir Miles Paton.
IF the disposal of the monastery lands in general had only been conducted with the fairness and consideration observed at St. Margaret's, the social condition of England in those days would not have sunk to the depth of misery it did, nor would there have been the bitter opposition to the new faith, which was aroused by the scandalous way in which the lands and revenues were either seized by the King himself, or portioned out among his favourites and courtiers.
It must be borne in mind, too, that it was all done in the name of the Reformation, whereas true reformers, like Cranmer and Latimer, advocated that when the disinherited monks and nuns had been provided for, the wealth remaining should be used in the founding of schools, and the promotion of learning at the different universities.
Henry professed to follow this advice, but a very small portion of the property was ever devoted to the uses of the nation or the disinherited brethren, and so the numbers of beggars were daily increasing, trebling the trouble and anxiety of men like Sir Miles Paton, who were steadily trying to stem the torrent of poverty that drove men into insurrection and the wildest excesses. But the most he could do was to guard this one little corner of the land from being swept into disorder and disruption.
And yet, amid all that was discouraging, there were signs that England as a nation was on the upward path of progress. Tyndale was so far encouraged by the reception given to the various editions of the New Testament that, with the help of another translator, Miles Coverdale, he completed the translation of the whole Bible about 1535. His enemies, however, did not suffer him to live to see this given to the English people with the authority of the King, as head of the Church, for this was not printed and published until 1537, and it was some months previous to this that Tyndale was strangled at Antwerp by order of the Emperor.
He had the satisfaction of knowing that his work was done, and well done, and that able hands were ready to pass on the lamp of life he had lighted, and never again could England slip back into the darkness of ignorance in which she had been held so long.
Sir Miles Paton did not hear of the death of his old friend until the following year, for friends were chary of writing letters still, and so it was not until he took another journey to Greenwich that the story of Master Tyndale's martyrdom reached him.
Greenwich was all astir then with the news that the King had a son born to him at last. But there was a speedy end put to the rejoicings over this, for a fortnight later Queen Jane died at Wolsey's palace of Hampton Court.
But Sir Miles heard other news that, to him, was far more interesting, although the novelty had worn off for most of his friends. Now might be seen the whole Bible, printed in English, and fastened to a convenient desk in the parish church, and anyone might go and read it, or listen to it being read. The king was compelled to adopt this course as a justification of his own actions in claiming the supremacy of the Church.
He had publicly set up the authority of the Bible against that of the Pope, and he could no longer deny to his people the right to read it. And this had so quickened the desire in many to master this art of reading, that many grown men had begun to learn it, that they might read the Word of God for themselves, and their families. Now the difficulty was to obtain readers who could make the sense of this book plain to the crowd of people who daily gathered in the church to listen to the reading of God's Word.
Sir Miles could not forbear going each day to the church to read, for a short time at least, to the little throng who were always waiting round the desk for some reader to appear.
Speaking one day to his brother-in-law, of this eagerness of the crowd to hear the words of life, Master Marvin interrupted with, "Aye, they want to be amused."
"Well, if it is that, you might, with all the time you have to spare, amuse the goodies and gaffers for an hour every day."
"I have a mind to do this," said Marvin. "I have no objection to people reading the Bible if they do not rail upon the Church, so if it is to read it straight on, without any sort of explanation, I shall be willing to take my turn at the desk once a day, and Maud might go into the church sometimes; she is never very busy."
Sir Miles was simply amazed that his brother-in-law so readily consented to his proposal; and Walter Marvin detecting this, said,—"Why should you marvel at this? The Church of Rome and the Pope, as well as you Reformers, claim a right to the Scriptures; and surely we may try the claim of both?"
"Why, that is exactly my argument, Walter. Let the people have the Bible to read, and judge for themselves. If, after reading it fairly and thoughtfully they say, 'I like the old way best,' very well, let them hold to the Pope and priests. But if new light dawn upon them through the reading of God's Word, then let it shine on, that the man may be led as God wills, without hindrance from any man."
"That is fair enough," said Master Marvin; "and since the Parliament, as well as the King, hath authorised the reading of this Bible of Coverdale's—well, I shall not oppose it."
Sir Miles noted that everybody spoke of it as "Coverdale's Bible"—quite ignoring the fact that his old friend Tyndale had a large share in the translation of the Old Testament, as well as the New. Perhaps Archbishop Cranmer thought that in bringing forward the name of Coverdale as its translator, it would arouse less hostility than if the name of Tyndale were made prominent. But Sir Miles was not disposed to quarrel over this. After all, it was the Word of God; and if it made the way easier for men to obtain it, he would not grumble, especially if men like his brother-in-law would read it, which they would possibly refuse to do, with the name of Tyndale brought prominently before them. It was well-known now that Master William Tyndale had been executed as a heretic by the orthodox Emperor, Charles the Fifth; but against the name of "Coverdale" there was no such stigma.
A few days after this Maud came home with the news that her husband was going by water to London Bridge to buy one of Coverdale's Bibles, that he might read it at home for himself. He had twice been to church to read to the poor folks that were gathered round the reading desk, but he wanted a Bible of his own now, that he might read the portion over to himself before reading it aloud.
Of course Maud was very pleased to be able to bring this news home, and her friends were equally glad, especially Sir Miles.
"Now do not try to hurry in this thing; do not argue with Walter over disputed opinions, but if you both wish to talk of what you read, try to find points upon which you can agree. Walter is an honest-minded man, who was shocked, like many others, over the divorce and treatment of Queen Catherine. So were many of the Reformers as well as the Catholics; and that part of his character which makes him desirous of helping the poor, whenever and however he can, made him take up the Queen's quarrel so passionately. Now be content with God's leading Walter, and I believe happier days will dawn for you, Maud. Remember this, he has never tried to hinder you from following the new opinions, although he has small respect for them himself," Sir Miles added.
"I believe your advice is good, Miles," said his sister-in-law through her tears. They were tears of hope and joy, and not of sorrow; and though she would probably find it hard, when she had heard one of Latimer's sermons, not to ask her husband to go with her to church the next time the Bishop preached, she resolved to follow the advice just given; for no one seemed to find out the good points in her husband's character as Sir Miles did, and there was no one whom her husband respected more than his heretic brother-in-law. Marvin always spoke of him as a heretic, but immediately added, "He is a good knave, though, for all that, and I only wish he could live a little nearer to us, that I might see more of him."
"You must come again next year, Miles, if only for Walter's sake," said Maud, when she bade her brother-in-law farewell, and Sir Miles promised to do so if he could leave home.
He made but a short stay at Greenwich this time, and was relieved when he got back to learn that everything had gone smoothly while he was away. Most of the monks, who had left the neighbourhood at the time of the suppression of the monastery, had strayed back to their old haunts during the previous winter, and had by degrees been forced into the ranks of the workers, in one capacity or the other; and it was how these grumblers might act during his absence that made Sir Miles anxious to return with as little delay as possible. He was relieved, therefore, to hear that his care and anxiety was quite needless, that the monks were beginning to learn that they were better off after all than many from other monasteries, who came begging; for here they were sure of employment by which they could earn sufficient to live upon, and Sir Miles considerately made their tasks as light as he could at first, that they might gradually learn, as his other tenants had done, that work was a blessing and not a curse.
There was, perhaps, another inducement for these idlers to apply themselves to the mastery of this work problem. Sir Miles had decided that the monastery lands should be devoted to the benefit of the brethren, as far as possible; and so, when a monk had proved himself a good servant and workman, he might rent a piece of the old farm land, and set up as a small farmer on his own account. Sir Miles did all he could to develop this ambition, and in several cases with marked success, but there were others who could not shake off the sloth that seemed to have crept into their very bones and brains, so that they would not try to do anything beyond their allotted tasks, and when they were accomplished they would lie down in any sheltered corner to sleep for the rest of the day.
Of course these, and the old and sick among the community, had to be kept near to Paton Hall itself, for some of the tenants, having learned the worth of work, were by no means disposed to be as merciful as their master. They would have forced these unwilling workers to do as much as the man who had learned to take a joy and delight in accomplishing a good, creditable piece of work, whether on the farm, or on the building of cottage or barn. For during the summer, work of both kinds went on with unabated energy; and now that the old monastery and its lands had come into Sir Miles' possession, there were more cottages and homesteads to be built, and the materials of which the old monastery had been constructed, or at least a good portion of them, were given by the Commissioners to build these scattered homesteads for the new farmers and yeomen.
Sir Miles quite intended to pay his promised visit to Greenwich the following year, but the only time he could conveniently leave home the following summer Lady Paton was very ill, and her illness continued so long that all thought of such a journey had to be abandoned. So messengers were sent to and fro with letters, by which means some home news reached Paton Hall, but—lest mischief should befall—nothing of great interest, either in public or private concerns, was entrusted to these letters and messengers.
Early in the summer of 1539 a messenger arrived from Greenwich, announcing that Master Marvin, with his wife and infant daughter, were on their way to Paton Hall, and would probably arrive a day after the letter reached them.
It caused quite a commotion in the household to hear such news as this, and Lady Paton did not know whether to be glad or sorry that her brother-in-law was coming. For her sister there would be an unstinted welcome, and Lady Paton was pleased to hear that a baby had come at last. But Walter Marvin—she could only shake her head and wonder.
Sir Miles laughed, and reminded his wife that it was possible that Walter Marvin had changed since he had taken up the study of God's Word. But the lady shook her head again. "He was such a bigoted Catholic," she added. "You said yourself he would only read 'Coverdale's Bible.'"
"Well, well, we shall see when the travellers arrive. You and Margery must have their chambers made ready, for I would not have them think we do not gladly welcome them. So give them of the best, dear dame, and I will order fresh rushes to be cut, that all may be in readiness when they arrive."
But it was not until two days had passed that the travellers were seen slowly wending their way through the village, with a cavalcade of horses and mules that quite startled Sir Miles when he went out to meet them.
"We have come to settle among you," said Master Marvin, when he had greeted Sir Miles, and led him to where Maud was sitting on as comfortable a pillion as her husband could contrive for her. She smiled and looked so happy, as she held up her baby, that Sir Miles wondered what it could all mean.
"Ah! it is the little one who has brought us hither. We could stand trouble for ourselves—Maud and I—but when baby came, and the Parliament passed this Act of Six Articles—'Gardiner's Creed,' as some call it—well, it was time we got away from Greenwich before there was any stir, or any talk."
This was whispered to Sir Miles as they stood in the village street, and did but increase the mystery, as it seemed to Sir Miles. "You shall tell me all the news when we get to Paton Hall," he replied. "We have been anxiously awaiting you the last two days; your messenger said you were close behind."
"Aye, but I had to take care of Maud and my little lady; I led their mule most of the way myself."
Just then Lady Paton was seen coming towards the park-gate to greet her sister, and console her for whatever trouble had brought them thither. But one look at the happy face was enough to convince Lady Paton that, whatever had happened, it had not touched her sister's happiness; and, to her amazement, Walter Marvin claimed a greeting that he would have scorned when she was with them at Greenwich.
"What do you think of our little lady?" asked the proud and happy father; and then he took the baby from his wife and handed her to Lady Paton, that she might have the honour of carrying her to the door of Paton Hall.
"I am going to walk with Cicely," said Mistress Marvin, when her sister took the baby. "You and Miles can see after the servants and baggage, while I have a word with Cicely."
"What does it mean, dear sister?" asked Lady Paton when they were left to themselves.
"Ah, you may well ask; we owe it all to Miles. When I made up my mind that Walter must be saved from going to the stake, why, it seemed the most natural thing for us to come to you."
"But you speak in riddles," said Lady Paton. "Why should Walter be sent to the stake? That is the punishment for heretics."
"If you had only lived in Greenwich, you would have heard that Master Walter Marvin went further than most of the reformers or heretics. I followed the advice Miles gave me when he came to pay his last visit, and let the Bible do its own work, without arguing about anything. But in a very little while, that dreadful word 'transubstantiation' came up, and then I found that Walter had actually been telling some priests in the Church that he did not believe in it now. It would not have mattered much, perhaps, if the King could be depended upon, but now he has to decide what we shall, or shall not, believe, and as Gardiner and he are very close friends just now, they have drawn up between them what my husband calls 'Gardiner's Creed,' and which is now made the law of the land. It is called 'The Act of Six Articles.' And the first of these decrees, that for writing or speaking against transubstantiation, the person found guilty shall be burned at the stake. The other five are all in support of Romish doctrine, which we do not believe now. As soon as I heard about this, I went to father, and he quite agreed with me, that it would be best to get Walter out of the way as soon as possible, because of this dreadful law; and we knew he would take every opportunity of saying what he thought about the priestly pretensions involved in this doctrine. Baby was only a month old, and Walter was so fond of her, and I think it must have been God Himself that made me say one day,"
"'Walter, it would be dreadful for baby to be left without a mother and father!'"
"'What do you mean, wife?' he asked, turning pale."
"'Why, this dreadful Act of Six Articles may take us both away from her, unless we take her away from Greenwich very soon.'"