THE BAILIFF
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THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY
THE
BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY
BY
C. E. D. PHELPS AND LEIGH NORTH
Illustrated
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY
1893
COPYRIGHT,
BY A. C. MCCLURG & Co.
A. D. 1893.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER 1 5
" Come, shall we go and kill us venison?"
CHAPTER II 12
" Where should a father be so well
As in the bosom of his family? "
CHAPTER III . .17
" Drest in a little brief authority."
CHAPTER IV 23
" The fountains of my daily life
Are through thy friendship fair."
CHAPTER V 30
" The crooked stick and the grey goose wing,
Without them England were but a fling."
CHAPTER VI 36
" A man at arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms."
CHAPTER VII 41
" Thus shall it be clone unto the man
Whom the king delighteth to honor."
CHAPTER VIII 46
"The bitter arrow leaped forth, thirsting to drink blood."
l CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER IX 51
" The daily waiting on the fractious chair,
The nightly vigil by the feverish bed."
CHAPTER X 59
" Slightit love is sair to bide."
CHAPTER XI 64
" Where may she wander now, whither betake her."
CHAPTER XII 70
" Come, Sir, throw us that you have about you."
CHAPTER XIII. 79
" But still he bet and bounst upon the dore,
And at the portals thondred hideously,
That all the peece he shaked from the flore."
CHAPTER XIV 91
" Sound sleep be thine ! Sound cause to sleep hast thou."
CHAPTER XV 101
" In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground."
CHAPTER XVI no
"Then felt I like some watcher of the skies,
When a new planet swims into his ken."
CHAPTER XVII 118
" The deep, the low, the pleading tone
In which I told another's love
Interpreted my own."
CHAPTER XVIII 126
" And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain."
CONTENTS. Ill
Page.
CHAPTER XIX 133
" I'll buckler thee against a million."
CHAPTER XX * ' . . 143
" So long as thou doest well unto thyself,
Men will speak good of thee."
CHAPTER XXI 152
" The guests are met, the feast is set,
Mayst hear the merry din."
CHAPTER XXII 165
" He kepte his pacient a ful gret del
In houres by his magik naturel."
CHAPTER XXIII. . 175
" Death doth ride
Ever at the horseman's side."
CHAPTER XXIV 181
"The winter snow and hail did never come so thick
As on the houses' sides the bearded arrows stick."
CHAPTER XXV 191
" And when life's sweet fable ends,
Soul and body part like friends."
CHAPTER XXXVI 195
" Cras ingens iterabimus sequor."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
CHAPTER I.
" Come, shall we go and kill us venison?" SHAKESPEARE.
IT was about eight o'clock on a bright cool
October evening some three hundred years ago.
The moon, nearly at the full, was cleaving her way
upward through a shell of dappled clouds, and
throwing tree-shadows across the glades of a park
in mid- England. Two young men were seated on
the turf beside a recently felled log, not upon it,
but crouched in its shade, and still further screened
by the long fan-like limb of a young beech which
spread directly over their heads. As far as their
forms could be distinguished, they were both
youths of twenty or thereabouts : one, a stout
clownish fellow in leather jerkin, leggings and
heavy clouted shoes. Coiled round his arm were
two or three horse-hair nooses, and a newly-killed
hare lay at his side.
The other, of slighter build, wore the doublet,
hose, and boots of a gentleman, though daylight
would have shown them grievously soiled and
tattered. Over this array, either for the sake of
warmth or partial disguise, he had huddled a rough
frieze jacket. Apparently, he was less used to
weather than his companion, for he fidgeted
about, rubbing his hands, shrugging his shoulders,
and beating his feet on the ground. At length he
rose and began swinging his arms, whereat the
leatherclad youth broke silence.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Thee'd best keep close, Joe Tuff," said he, in
drawling dialect. " Keeper'll see thee, sure as
death."
"And what care I?" replied Tuff, angrily, after
a quick stealthy look around. " This pestilent
damp has crept into my very bones. And I'll tell
thee somewhat more, Hewlett," he went on.
"First, if the keeper should see
me, a word to Sir Thomas would
set all right ; and in the next place
I'll be called Master Turf, an' it
like ye. If I have come out for
a run with you and your company,
it makes me not of you. As the
Latin poet says, 'Odi profanum
vulgus.' "
"Thou mayst die at Farnum
village, for all I care," returned
the other : " 'Tis naught to me ;
and 'tis naught to me either how
easy thou canst get off the gaol or
the stocks if the keepers take thee ;
only, an' thou's so great wi' Sir
Tummas, I hope thee'll speak a
good word for us. But call thee
Measter ! Thee that ran ragged
wi' me about Shottery village, till
Sir Tummas took thee up, and
put thee to school, and made thee
his clerk ! Thee, that's wearing t' young squire's
cast cloathes at this minute, I'll lay a wager ! Noa,
noa, we'll ha' no meastering here."
Tuff scowled malignantly, clenching his fist ; but
as Hewlett sat quite unmoved, he broke into a
forced laugh. "'Twas all a jest, Bob," said he.
"Canst not take a jest? Come, what hour is 't?
And how long have we to bide here yet?"
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 7
Hewlett turned his face toward the sky. " Nigh
time for 'em," said he. " I bid them meet here
when the moon was three hour high. She's near
it now."
"And you're sure of them? "
"Sure of Will o' Stratford," replied Bob. "But
t' other lad has a good bit to cover. Tewkesbury's
five-an'-twenty mile away."
" D'ye mean that he comes from Tewkesbury to-
night? He must be a brave walker."
Hewlett nodded. " He is that," he answered.
" I mind when he were in Shottery ten year agone,
not a lad could race again him."
" Shottery ? But you said he came from Tewkes-
bury?"
"Ay, does he. His feyther's a mustard-man
there. But when t' sore fever were there ten year
agone, his mother died, and he were sent up to
's aunt at Shottery. He bided there a twel'-
month, an 's feyther wedded again. But t' owd
man holds a bit o' mead here, and Will's sent up
to sell t' ricks nigh Michaelmas every year. I took
to him wonderful then, though a little chap he's
five year older nor me and I ne'er miss to see
him. And this time, says I to him, ' Doant ye
want to ha' a bit o' fun wi' us again? ' ' I'm rare
and old for it,' says he, ' but I'll come for one last
bout.' So I set t' night, and spoke to you and
Will o' Stratford."
" He's named Will, too, then ?" said Tuff. " Two
Wills ; we'll see which is the stronger. What's his
other name?"
Hewlett looked puzzled. " I doant rightly
mind ; 'tis Kelp, or Sells, or summat like that. I
just call him Will. Here comes one or t' other."
A slight crackling sound was heard in the
8 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
distance, and Hewlett, taking up a dead stick,
snapped it twice ucross.
" That's t' sign," said he.
The branches parted, and a tall, lithe young
man stepped out of the shadows. He wore dark
green hose, a short tunic of the same color, with a
broad leather belt, a cap with a cock's feather on
one side, and a bow and case of arrows at his
back.
" Well met, Will," said Bob, taking his hand.
" This be Joe Tuff. Joe, here's my friend Will o'
Tewkesbury. What dost ail, Joe?" For Tuff drew
back, and affected a sudden fit of sneezing.
" Chevvks Chewks Chewkesbury mustard ! "
he jerked out, with violent contortions.
"I'll try a clap o' the pate to cure thee," said
the new comer ; and as Tuff doubled up in a fresh
paroxysm, he sent him heels over head with a sound
box on the ear.
" How now, lad ? does Tewkesbury mustard
sting?"
Tuff rose, and fell back into the shade, nibbing
his ear, and muttering something about not for-
getting.
" Here's Will o' Stratford," said Hewlett, and a
fourth young man in grey joined the party.
" How goes it, minions of moonlight? " he cried,
in a singularly musical and resonant voice. "Shall
we be merry? Shall we strike a deer extempore? "
" No such luck," said Tuff. " Bob, here, bears all
the game we're like to find. But how hast left
wife and child, Goodman Will ? ' Tis no safe
sport this for a married man."
" Nay," replied the youth, "Nan must take her
chance. An' I'm laid by the heels, I trust I shall
become the stocks as well as another. But to our
gear. Which way, Bob?"
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 9
" Over yon, where t' beck crosses path," replied
Hewlett. " Come and I'll set ye in place."
They rose and followed Bob along the border of
the woods, walking in single file, and keeping in
the shadow. The rippling sound of water was soon
heard, and after breaking their way through a
thicket of alders and willows, they halted where
the brook crossed a winding wood road.
"Here ye are," whispered Bob. " Keep close,
doant speak loud ; y're none so far from t' Hall
now. I know where t' deer feed ; I'll go about,
and drive 'em this way. Wind's in their back, and
they'll none see ye till they're right near. Then
shoot. Texvkesbury Will, you've bow and shafts
I see. Will o' Stratford eh? What? Naught
but a quarter-staff ? Well, one good shot's enow.
Ye've all knives for flaying he should fall i' t'
beck and I'll soon be here to help. Eh ! " as
the moon shone strongly on the young men's
faces, " how like you two \Vills are to each other !
Ye might be brothers. Well, look for t' herd or
many minutes." And splashing along the edges of
the stream, he was presently lost to view.
The three waited, conversing in low tones.
" He said you two might be brothers," said Tuff,
"and no doubt you'll agree like brothers."
" Dost think us like, then," asked he of Strat-
ford, "like as the two wise men of Syracuse?"
" I mind them well," said Tuff, " they fought in
the siege, methinks."
" Nay," said the other, " they faced it out well,
but fought not. And as we speak of fighting,
brother Will, canst draw a good bow? "
" The bow's good enow," said Tewkesbury Will,
" but I mistrust the bowman. I ne'er shot yet at
deer. Prithee, do thou take it, and prove thy
skill."
10 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
After a little demur, the Stratford youth took
the bow and shafts, giving his staff in their place.
And scarcely had the change been effected when
a low "Hist!" from Tuff warned them of the
deer's approach.
For a few seconds, all were still as stone. The
moon, now almost at the zenith, shone brightly
down on the mossy road, the gleaming brook, and
the three figures one leaning on his staff, one
with his hand on the bowstring, and one crouching
low in shadow, clutching at his knife. Then the
thud of light hoofs was heard on the turf, and a
noble buck dashed round the turn, and bore
straight down upon them. Drawing his arrow to
the head, Stratford Will let it fly fair at the deer's
breast. But at the very instant, checking his
speed, the buck lowered his head. The shaft,
striking a tine of his antlers, glanced upward into
the air, and the deer, snorting with fright, wheeled
short to the left, and was in cover ere the archer
could seize another arrow.
The baffled poachers looked at each other, but
no time was given them for words before two men
armed with musketoons sprang from behind a. huge
tree, and shouting " Stand, ye rogues ! Stand,
knaves ! " rushed in upon them. The foremost
discharged his piece at Tewkesbury Will, but
missed his aim. Throwing down the weapon he
drew a short sword, and aimed a blow at the
young man's head, which Will cleverly parried with
his staff, only receiving a slight wound on the arm,
and dealing the keeper, in turn, a blow on the skull
which staggered him. Improving his advantage,
Will was about to close, when Tuff caught him by
the ankle from behind, and threw him flat on his
face. The keeper was on him in an instant, and
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. II
holding him firmly down, had his hands bound in
a trice. The other keeper, meanwhile, with his
musket at Stratford Will's breast, held him at bay
till his comrade tied him also.
" A good haul," said the taller, most active, and
evidently superior keeper, taking off his hat, and
rubbing his smarting crown. " A good haul. But
where's t' other fellow, Dick? Methought I saw
three."
"So did I, Master Powdrell," replied the
underling, " but he's none here. He mun ha' run
for 't."
"Well, well," answered Powdrell, "belike 'twas
a stump. But we mun get em up to Hall or Sir
Tummas is abed. Gi' me thy musket, Dick. Take
up his bow and bolts. Move on afore, ye knaves,
and mind ye, no running, or I'll scatter the little
brains ye have."
They turned up the road, and were presently
joined by a third keeper, dragging with him the
luckless Hewlett. No words were exchanged by
the captives, and few by the keepers, until after
skirting a high wall for some distance, they
entered a gateway, and saw before them the long
brick front of Charlecote Hall.
CHAPTER II.
" Where should a father be so well
As in the bosom of his family? "
French Song.
SIR THOMAS LUCY sat at supper with his family.
The Squire of Charlecote was but recently re-
turned from a long day's hunting, as his huge be-
spattered boots, rusty spurs, and the riding cloak
hung on his chair back, testified. His doublet,
shaped and stiffened with buckram almost into the
similitude of armor, rose closely under his pointed
beard and long iron-grey hair, the ruff, then a
usual complement of male or female costume, hav-
ing been laid aside as unsuited to the exigencies of
the chase. Jovial by nature, he was now in ex-
tremely good humor, for a fresh fox's brush
against the chimney-piece showed that the gallant
knight had that day been first in at the death.
The remnants of a large pasty, a round of beef, and
a dish of eels, indicated the proverbial appetite of
the hunter, who was now applying himself to the
flagon, and between draughts relating the adven-
tures of the day to an audience of three.
Lady Joyce Lucy, a mature but still comely ma-
tron, sat at the board head, regarding her lord's
potations with some anxiety, and lending an atten-
tive but uninterested ear to his discourse. Her
ladyship wore a half-round farthingale and bodice
of dark satin over a petticoat of murrey-colored
cloth. Her coif, pinners and ruff were of finest
lace, but save a single ring, she wore no ornaments.
Sir Thomas' son and heir, a young man some-
what over twenty, who had, followed the chase
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 13
with him all day, sat on one side of the table.
The youth had changed his riding gear for a suit
of grey velvet, but, quite overpowered by the exer-
cise which had only invigorated his sturdy sire,
nodded and blinked behind a half-emptied cup,
wearily awaiting the sign of dismissal.
But Sir Thomas had at least one enthusiastic
hearer. Fronting the young squire, but with her
face turned towards his father, her eyes shining
like stars, her cheeks glowing, and the teeth just
seen through her parted lips, sat Mistress Dorothy
14 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
Lucy, a distant cousin of Sir Thomas, though com-
monly called his niece. She was a girl of about
fifteen, habited in a peach-colored gown, slashed
on neck and sleeves to show the white lining. A
knot of blue ribbon, just matching her eyes, held
back her short, brown curls, and two pearls set in
gold, her greatest treasures, dangled from her small
ears. She was now intent on the narrative of her
uncle, whom she firmly believed to be the greatest,
wisest, and bravest of men.
" So, as I said," went on Sir Thomas, " the first
fox gave us a quick run, but got to earth ere long.
We next beat Chelmsley Wood, and soon started
another. And which hound of them all, d'ye think,
first hit off the scent? Another cup of sack, An-
drew. Why, Ajax here. Thou knowest Ajax, my
lady?"
" The black dog, is 't not, Sir Thomas ? " an-
swered Lady Lucy, scanning the group of hounds
before the great fire.
" Nay, nay," replied Sir Thomas, testily. " I
had thought thou knewest some of them, Dame.
I'll be bound Dorothy could pick him out. Canst
tell us, Doll?"
" In sooth I can, Uncle," replied the girl. " The
spotted one with the torn ear is Ajax : and the
black one is Neptune, his brother the grooms
call them Jack and Nipper and the others are
Juno and Tray. Then, besides "
" Peace, child," interposed Lady Lucy. " Thy
uncle is answered."
" Well done ! well done, wench ! " cried Sir
Thomas. " We'll make a huntress of thee soon.
I've my eye on a palfrey for thee, and shall go
with me some fine day next month. And I war-
rant 'twill not be long ere every young fellow
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 15
round will risk his neck to be first to bring the
brush to Mistress Dorothy, and win a smile
" Truly, Sir Thomas," said his lady, " you do
great wrong to put such thoughts in Dorothy's
head. She is yet but a child."
Sir Thomas made a grimace, and took a long
draught. "Where was I?" said he. "Ay, ay.
The fox went straight away to the south, through
Hopton hills, and over the heads of Nen Water.
More than one lay wallowing in the ditches or we
got through. We killed at last near Guest Farm
a run of two hours good and thy old uncle was in
at the death next to the huntsman. Andrew,
another cup of sack."
"Niece Dorothy," said the lady of the house,
" 'tis time thou and I went to our oratory." And
she rose from her chair.
Andrew stepped to the door, and opened it for
his lady's passage ; but finding some one without,
parleyed with him a minute, and then returning
addressed Sir Thomas. " Please your Worship,
Powdrell and the other keepers are here wi' three
porchers they ha' just ta'en in the park ; and will
your Worship be pleased to see them now, or shall
they put them in ward till morn ? "
Sir Thomas turned himself impatiently. " Poach-
ers ? Plague on 't ! a man has no rest ! Bid Pow-
drell put them in the strong room over night ; I'll
have this evening to myself. Nay, stay. I had
forgot : I sit at assize to-morrow with Sir John
Dempster. Have them up to the hall ; mayhap I
can despatch the business now. Bring my furred
gown, Andrew ; and send Master Tuff down with all
speed."
The servant bowed and departed. Sir Thomas
took another draught, and rose reluctantly from
1 6 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
his chair. He was just leaving the room, when a
sudden whim seized his fancy, and he turned to
his niece and son, who, having risen, respectfully
awaited his departure.
" Niece Doll," said he, " thou hast never yet
seen me in the judgment seat : wilt go now, and
hear me give sentence upon these rogues? "
" Nay, Sir Thomas," remonstrated his lady,
" methinks it ill becomes a young damsel of her
breeding to be in presence with such rude fellows,
and at this hour."
The girl hung back, looking anxiously from one
to the other.
"What say'st, wench?" asked Sir Thomas.
"Wilt go, or no?"
" Prithee, good aunt if my uncle will have me,
I would fain go I will take my muffler, and stand
quiet as any mouse behind his chair," faltered
Dorothy.
" It were more seemly that she abode here with
me," urged her aunt, sternly.
" Tush, tush ! " replied Sir Thomas, " she shall
take no harm. Tom, fence thy cousin on t' other
side. Come with me, both." And taking his
niece's hand, he led her from the room, his son
bringing up the rear. Lady Lucy looked after
them for a moment with an expression of grave
displeasure, and then swept away to her own
apartment.
CHAPTER III.
" Brest in a little brief authority." SHAKESPEARE.
SIR THOMAS paused a few moments on the
threshold of the hall to adjust his gown, a delay
which gave Dorothy time to send a maid, who
stood near, for a muffler, wherewith she veiled her
face, after the manner of a modern oriental female.
The apartment they now entered was the largest
in the house. At one end was a dais, upon which
gave the inner door. Here stood the Justice's
chair, with a table before it, on which two wax
candles flared in the draughts which played through
the long and lofty room. In front were a desk
and stool. On one side a servant was replenish-
ing the fire in the great chimney; along the
opposite wall torches in iron branches alternated
with, and flashed upon stands of pikes and hal-
berds, corslets and helmets, some of which had
done service under Cceur-de-Lion. Near the
outer door stood the keepers with their prisoners,
and as the great man entered all louted low.
"Set yonder joint-stool for Mistress Dorothy,
lads," called Sir Thomas authoritatively, as one or
two men-servants came forward, "here at my
right hand. Son Thomas, stand close beside her
with thy sword. Where is Master Tuff? I bade
thee fetch him, Andrew."
" Please your Worship," replied the man, " I
sought in his closet, and then below stairs, and
none had seen him."
" Go look again, send more," commanded the
Justice, who felt himself at a loss without his
1 8 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
quick-witted clerk. " He is ever to seek when
needed. Powdrell, put these fellows forward, that
I may fetch their misdeeds to the light."
The three poachers were accordingly brought
nearer the dais, and Sir Thomas entered on an
exordium calculated to impress both them and
his niece.
" Fellows, ye stand before me as infringers of
more laws than one the lex sobrietatis, or law
of temperance, for I warrant ye had well drunken
ere ye set forth to rob the lex lasa majestatis,
for what saith the poet, ' Non equitem invideo,
miror magistratus,' which is, being translated, ' I
respect a knight, and still more a magistrate', and
both these dignities have ye dishonored in my
person lastly, the lex silvce, or forest law how,
ye know best. And what color of excuse have ye,
forsooth? Have not I, myself, rebuilt Charlecote
Manor, that 'tis an honor and a glory to the
country side ? Have I not enlarged and beautified
the park, planted it with goodly trees, and for-
bidden a right of way therein to none (by day at
least) save manifest and sturdy rogues? Nay,
have I not, even within the last few years, brought
in, at great charges to myself, a breed of deer,
which, if unharmed, cannot fail to increase and
multiply wondrously? All this I have done, like
a good landlord and master, who considers not
himself ; and yet iniquity doth so abound that a
sort of losels stick not to enter in, robbing me of
the fruit of my labors, bringing discredit on the
name of that is, on the county of Warwick
and "
Here the Squire, whose eloquence had begun
something to fail him, was interrupted by his
delinquent clerk, who burst into the room as
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 19
though pursued by witches. A very hasty toilet
had not obliterated the traces of his flight through
the park, and his soaked boots and briar-torn
hands might have told a tale to sharper eyes than
the knight's.
" What means this, sirrah ? " asked Sir Thomas,
turning a gloomy brow toward his subordinate.
" Is it fitting that justice, in her very seat, should
wait on the pleasure of a scrivener?"
" I humbly crave your Worship's pardon," re-
plied Tuff, bowing down to the ground. " I knew
not that your Worship was returned from the hunt ;
and I had leave from her ladyship to go see my
mother, who is grievously ill."
"Dost love thy mother? " asked his employer.
" She is most dear to me, your Worship," an-
swered Tuff, who even then could not refrain from
a sorry play upon words.
" Well go to " replied Sir Thomas, " get
thy ink-horn and make ready to take down the
testimony and names : and let neither slumber nor
sick-beds keep thee again from thy duty."
Tuff, once more bowing low, drew the stopper
from his ink-horn, took a pen from above his ear,
and kneeling at his desk, for want of the stool
which Dorothy occupied, prepared for his work.
Meanwhile a little by-play went on behind him.
" Sir," said the domestic, who had been sent for
Tuff, to the young squire, " my Lady would speak
with you."
In truth, the good lady had been so disturbed
in mind at the thought of her niece in such com-
pany, that she finally sent for her son, resolved
even to risk her lord's displeasure by recalling the
damsel, if she seemed in the way of harm.
"Have I your leave to depart, Sir Thomas?"
asked the youth.
20 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" How? speak with thy lady mother? Ay : she
still fears for Dorothy, I trow. Go thy ways ; tell
her the maiden is safe as in Warwick Castle.
Leave Andrew in thy stead, till thou come again."
The young man departed ; but, finding his
mother's fears not readily soothed, did not return
for some time.
Meanwhile the one keeper testified to taking
Hewlett with the hare in his possession, and the
others related how they had lain in ambush by the
brook. Sir Thomas listened composedly until he
heard of the shot at the deer, when he blazed up
into sudden anger.
"The buck, say'st thou? the five-tined buck?
The very one I had marked for my own coursing
next season ! Dick, go forth instantly, come not
back till thou find him. By my faith, it shall go
hard with these fellows if he be hurt to death.
And 'twas you lad in grey drew the bow, and ye
have it there? Nay, I must sort ye. What's thy
name, sirrah?" inquired the Squire (who, as will
be observed, had somewhat inverted the usual
order of proceedings), turning to the nearest cul-
prit.
" Bob Hewlett, your Worship."
" And thine ? " to the youth in green.
" Will Helpes."
" And thine, my brave bowman?"
" William Shakespeare."
That name, now heard with veneration through-
out the civilized world, produced very different
effects three centuries ago in the Warwick justice-
hall. The Squire started up, purple with fury.
" What's this?" he roared, with a hearty impre-
cation. " Shakespeare ? I marvel I knew thee
not sooner. Why, thou frontless rogue, thou hast
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURV. 2l
been here once, yea, twice, before, and I let thee
go with a warning, for the sake of thy father and
family. Ay, and I'll be bound 'twas thou writ yon
scurril ballad on me, and pinned it on my park
gates, where thou deservest to be hanged thyself.
Was't not so? Hast naught to say? Speak up,
knave, and look me in the face, if thou darest ! "
Slowly Shakespeare raised his head, and looked
full at his judge with those wondrous eyes the
brightest, deepest, wisest, that ever shone under
mortal brows. The effect was magical. Sir Thomas
sank into his chair, the torrent of invective stayed
on his lips, and the angry flush dying from his
cheeks, while Dorothy half rose, the muffler falling
back, and her face irradiated as with sunrise.
A few seconds passed. Then Shakespeare
dropped his eyes again, and Sir Thomas, with a
gasp like a spent diver's, drew himself up.
" Master Tuff," said he, in steady but guarded
tones, " make out an order for the committal of
William Shakespeare to Warwick gaol. Powdrell,
see that the gyves be ready, and a cart to take him
thither ; put him into the strong-room for the night.
Son Thomas, art there ? Lend me thy arm."
" Please your Worship," said Powdrell, as the
squire was about to leave the room, " shall we
lock 'em up all three ? "
" Let the others go let them go what care
I?" said Sir Thomas impatiently. "Here, ye
knaves ye see the example of your fellow be
warned I promise ye he shall suffer go your
way. Lock him up safe, Powdrell, give him no
meat to-night; his stomach must come down."
And the Justice departed with his niece and son,
while the offenders were led in the directions he
had indicated.
22 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" Alack ! " murmured Sir Thomas, as he laid
his head on his pillow that night, " I would I had
the trick of that Shakespeare's face. Could I but
look out of his eyes, I might be Lord Keeper ere
I die ! "
CHAPTER IV.
"The fountains of my daily life
Are through thy friendship fair."
EMERSON.
WHEN the heir of Charlecote left the hall at his
mother's summons, after traversing a passage or
two, and ascending the wide stairs, he stopped
before a door and scratched thereon with his nail,
a classic fashion then revived. At the answer, he
raised the latch and entered. Lady Lucy, her coif
removed, and her abundant hair, scarcely touched
by time, falling over her shoulders, was seated in
an elbow chair by the fireplace. One small square
of carpet, then a costly rarity, lay at the side of
the great canopied bedstead, but otherwise the
boards were bare.
"Son," asked his mother anxiously, "dost think
Dorothy is safe below? I seldom speak my word
against thy father's, but I like not to have her sit
there, with no woman near."
" Rest you easy, Madam," replied the young
man, " the princess is quite safe from the salvages."
There was a covert sneer in his voice.
" Nay, nay," said Lady Lucy, " speak not thus.
' Tis a dear sweet girl, and I would have thee love
her as a sister. We must never show them how
we care for them, but I feel moved at times to kiss
her, and call her some pet name which were a
sad weakness, and would be her ruin. Hark ! is
not that thy father's voice in anger? Go down,
Tom, thou may'st be needed. Heaven keep us
all from harm ! "
24 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
The youth left the room, but, by no means hasten-
ing his steps, only arrived just as the court broke up.
The hour was late, and Charlecote Manor was soon
wrapped in silence.
But silence means not always slumber, as one
inmate of the Hall was proving. Midnight had
passed, and still Dorothy Lucy leaned from her
casement, despite the chill autumn air, while
memories and fancies chased one another through
her brain.
"Who can he be?" she thought. "Is it some
knight in disguise ? Nay my uncle knew him,
and spoke his name. Sure, I have heard it before.
Shakespeare Shakespeare yes, they dwell in
Stratford. But how came he by such a look? He
is like Apollo, in the book my aunt chid me so for
reading. And he must go to one of those fearsome
gaols, perchance be hanged, and all for shooting
at a deer. It must not be ! " She started up and
walked to and fro. " But what to do ? Shall I
go down and seek for the strong-room key? But
my uncle would be angered, my aunt call me
unmaidenly "
She turned to the window, and again looked
forth. Suddenly she caught a murmur of voices
in the shrubbery, and, stretching further out,
presently saw a female figure come hurrying from
the shadows across the gravel path, and disappear
under one of the back entrances. Stepping from
her door, Dorothy passed into the large upper
hall, just as light feet came creeping up the back
stair, and by the moonlight which streamed through
the high western window she recognized one of the
housemaids.
" What dost thou here, Cicely? " said she. "" I
feared some one had broke in."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 25
"Is't thou, Mistress Dorothy? " replied the girl,
suppressing a scream. " I did but go down to
fetch a pitcher o' watter fro' t' kitchen."
" Cicely," said Dorothy, gravely, " tell me no
falsehoods. I saw thee on the path without but
now."
" Nay, Mistress," answered the maid rudely,
" happen thou did'st see one o' Nan laundress'
clouts flap o' the drying lines. There are o'er
many heads i' this hoose for one poor wench to
please 'em all." And adding under her breath some-
thing about "prying and spying," she was making
at the garret stair.
"Why dost flout me thus, Cicely?" said
Dorothy. " I never was aught but kind to thee.
An' thou wilt say no more, my Lady must hear of
this."
The girl fell on her knees, and burst into
smothered sobs.
"Oh, Mistress Dorothy," she choked out,
" forgi' me. I mind how thou broughtst me drink
last year, when 'twas thought I had t' plague, and
none would come nigh me. I'll tell thee all. I
did but goo down to moder's t' see poor broder
Robin, as has listed for a sodger, and goos away
by daylight; and as I fared back through park
but ye'll none believe me "
"Go on, Cicely," said Dorothy.
" I met wi' a tall strappan' lad, as I knew for
one o' th' porchers as his Worship let goo last night.
I saw 'em then, as they past the scullery hatch.
I were for showin un' a clean pair o' heels, but a'
spoke me fair and bid me stop. An' what think
ye he axed me for? Not a kiss, nor none such
folly, but if I could na' find strong-room key, an'
put him in place o' t' other lad, Chake what
did keeper say were his name? "
26 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Shakespeare."
" Ay, so."
"And what didst thou say?" queried Dorothy.
" Whoy, I bid un hold's prate, or I'd call Hugh
gardner, an' loose t' mastiff; so I coom'd away."
" Cicely, Cicely," said Dorothy, hurriedly, "lose
not a moment, come with me quickly ! "
And seizing the girl by the arm, she hastened
her down to the garden door. With some help
from the staring and astonished maid, she drew the
bar from its mortises, slid the bolts, and they stood
looking out from a small porch which had been
built into an angle of the structure.
" Now, Cicely," said Dorothy, " if thou lov'st
me, speed. Find the youth thou wast speaking
with I will stay here, and call help, should he
mean harm bring him hither show him the
little window of the strong-room get the ladder,
if thou canst let him save his friend."
" But, Mistress," stammered the girl, overborne
by Dorothy's impetuosity, yet doubting the at-
tempt, and fearful of consequences, " why should
us try what be t' good ? Sir Tummas 'ull be
mortal angry."
" Fear nothing," said Dorothy, " do as I bid
thee. I will bear thee out with Sir Thomas, and
take the blame, if blame there be."
Cicely, with a bewildered air, hastened toward
the shrubbery, and was seen ere long returning
with a tall young man, to whom she was apparently
explaining her sudden change of purpose. Lead-
ing him round an angle of the house, they passed
under a wall so thickly overgrown with ivy that
only by close scrutiny was a small window to be
discovered some twelve feet from the ground
among the clustering leaves.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 2^
"That's t' hole," whispered Cicely, " but there
be two bars across. I'll look for ladder. Gardner
were pruning a tree here to-day." And she began
peering among the bushes.
" It shall not need," said the youth, whom we
have seen appear in the last chapter as Will of
Tewkesbury.
Taking the quarter-staff, which had been re-
turned to him on leaving the hall, he retreated a
few paces, made a short run forward, 'and setting
the pole in the ground, with a powerful spring
heaved himself high into the air, timing his leap so
well that the staff fell lightly against the wall, while
he remained clinging with both hands to the up-
right stanchion of the window. Breaking away,
with a few strong jerks, the transverse bar, which
was old and rusted, he forced himself through the
aperture. Cicely, returning to her mistress, re-
ported the success of the enterprise thus far, and
then went back to await its completion.
The young man, meanwhile, hanging from the
stanchion on the inside, as far as he could reach,
called in a low voice, " Have a care," and dropped
lightly to the floor beside the prisoner.
" How now? " asked Shakespeare, " com'st thou
from the clouds, on a moonbeam ladder?"
" Nay," answered the other, " I am he shall be
thy ladder. Mistress Dorothy, whom thou sawest
in the hall, got speech of me through her maid,
and showed me the way hither. Change jerkins
with me, get on my shoulders, and draw thyself
out of this hole."
" But there is no way to draw thee after."
" Nay, I will stay here to answer Sir Thomas."
" What, run away, and leave my friend to pay
all? Not so, I fear naught the Justice can do to
me."
28 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Will," said the .rescuer, taking his friend's
hand, "be ruled. I am here now, and but one
can get out. Thou hast wife and child, I have
none. I am the elder and should have kept thee
hence. The bow was mine, and I lent it thee, or
they had charged me with the shot. Sir Thomas
will ne'er know me from thee, and I will seek bail
from my father. Thou seest thus that my fault is
the heavier, and that my blame will be lighter.
And were it otherwise, I were no true friend if I
would not dare the worst for thy sake. Come,
time presses, up and away."
" Thou art well styled," said Shakespeare, " for
thy name is Helpes, and so is thy nature. But
methinks 'tis cowardly thus to steal off."
" Not a whit, not a whit ! " replied Helpes, re-
moving his coat, and urging his companion to do
the same. " 'Twill soon be over for me. Speed
thou to London I have oft heard thee say thou
wouldst be with the players there and I warrant
thou couldst write with the best of them. Go
be a great man but forget not thy old fellow."
"Thou art the best of friends," said Shake-
speare, "and I'll remember thee while memory
lives."
The youths embraced, and then Helpes, raising
his friend on his shoulders, lifted him' within reach
of the window, and still further facilitated his
egress by pushing under his feet. Next moment
Shakespeare dropped to the ground, and stood by
Cicely's side.
" Prithee, good maid," said he, " bring me to
thy lady. I would fain kiss her hand, and thank
her for her help."
" Thou kiss her hand ! " ejaculated Cicely,
" Dost mind she's a Lucy of Charlecote? "
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 29
" Faith, I know it," replied the youth, " and
bravely she becomes the name. But an' she were
the queen, worse than Will Shakespeare kiss her
hand each day^*
He stepped toward the porch, Cicely beside
him. Dorothy, greatly agitated, still stood in the
doorway.
" Gentle lady," said he, doffing his cap, " I would
pay my thanks for the debt of my safety."
" I hope, sir," said Dorothy, " I shall ne'er regret
what I have done."
" In truth thou shalt not," he replied, and drop-
ping on one knee, he pressed his lips to her hand.
"There, measter," exclaimed Cicely, "ne'er
forget thou'st kissed t' hand of a Lucy ! "
" It shall be well remembered," answered the
youth : and next moment he disappeared in the
shadows,
CHAPTER V.
" The crooked stick and the grey goose wing,
Without them England were but a fling."
Anon.
PERHAPS the soundest sleeper in the Hall for the
rest of the night was William Helpes. Wearied in
body by his long journey and the exciting vigil
which had followed,
relieved in mind by
the knowledge of his
friend's escape, he lay
coiled up on a heap of
straw, his knees drawn
up to his chin, his hands
clasped over the back
of his neck, wrapped in
such profound repose
that the unbarring and
opening of the door did
not rouse him, and it
was only when Powdrell
stirred him with his
foot, and roughly shout-
ed, "Come on, I tell
thee ! " that he arose.
The keeper bore in
one hand a bunch of
keys, and in the other
a rusty pair of fetters,
with chain attached, which he was about to fit on
the young man's ankles. But Will drew back.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 31
" Did Sir Thomas order thee to iron me ? "
he asked.
" Ay, marry, did he," replied Powdrell.
" I prithee, friend," said Helpes, " let me go
unbound. I promise thee not to flee."
" Promises are sooner broke than leg-bolts,"
returned the other, " but come before Sir Tummas
as thou art, and unless he says otherways, thou
shalt be shackled, willy-nilly." And, indicating
the way, he closely followed his prisoner into the
hall. Here the other keepers were in waiting, and
Sir Thomas presently appeared with his clerk.
" Hast found the buck? " was his first query.
" Ay, your Worship," replied Dick, " and he
is safe and sound as heart could wish."
" Tis well very well, though no thanks to
this Shakespeare. And hast the cart and mare
without ? "
"Ay, your Worship."
" Give me yon warrant, Master Tuff," said the
Justice. And taking a pen, he proceeded to affix
his sign-manual. Meantime, the culprit kept his
face turned toward the ground, in some fear of
detection.
" And now," commanded the knight, " let my
horse be ready saddled in half an hour. I'll break
my fast the while. Have the fellow away."
" Ben't we to iron him, your Worship ? " asked
Powdrell, approaching with the fetters.
" Surely," said Sir Thomas, " but stay," looking
more closely at the youth, " hath he much hurt? "
And indeed, the slight wound which he had re-
ceived from Powdrell's sword the evening before,
aggravated by his efforts at the window, had bled
not a little during the night, and conspicuously
stained his sleeve.
32 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" Tis naught naught, your Worship," said
Helpes, looking up involuntarily.
" Ha ! " exclaimed Sir Thomas, glancing more
keenly at him, " what was that ? Look at me, and
speak again."
" I said that my hurt was naught, your Worship,"
returned Helpes, feeling that evasion would do him
no good, and looking steadily but respectfully at
the Squire.
Slowly and falteringly Sir Thomas raised his eyes
to the prisoner's. But his air of apprehension al-
most instantly disappeared. The clear and honest
orbs which looked back into his were not those of
the mind-king.
" Thou art not Shakespeare ! " exclaimed the
Justice. " Where is he ? Powdrell, go bring him
in."
" If this be not Shakespeare, your Worship, I
know not where he is," replied the man. " There
was none else in the strong-room."
" Where is Shakespeare ? and who art thou ? and
how cam'st thou here?" demanded Sir Thomas,
turning on the prisoner.
" Your Worship," answered Helpes, " Shake-
speare is, I trust, well forward on the London road.
I am Will Helpes, of Tewkesbury, whom your Wor-
ship was pleased to let go last night, along with
Bob Hewlett ; and I came here by taking my
friend's place in the strong-room."
" How? Through the keyhole? "
" Nay, your Worship ; through the window,
which is something larger than a keyhole. I
clomb up by help of my staff, tore out one bar,
dropt in, and pushed him out."
" But wherefore?"
" I had been his friend for ten years, your Wor-
ship," replied Helpes.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 33
" And when earnest thou from Tewkesbury?"
" I left the town an hour ere sunset, yestreen."
" And wast here ere ten? Thou should'st go
for a running footman. But dost see what a load
of offences rest on thee? Beside the poaching
and theft, thou hast broken and entered a peace-
ful house, and hast compounded a felony by this
knave's escape."
" Sir, I am at your mercy," answered Helpes.
The magistrate remained silent for some min-
utes, gazing at the floor.
" Thou art a stout fellow," said he at last, " and
it were pity such limbs as thine should rot in gaol.
Go, get thee back to Tewkesbury. Mark this
is without prejudice to that rogue, Shakespeare,
who, if he come into our hands, shall be made the
example he deserves. We will keep the artillery,
lest thou should'st be drawn to the woods again ;
but for thyself, go free."
The youth bowed, muttering a few words of
acknowledgment, hesitated, turned toward the
door, and finally threw himself before Sir Thomas.
" Oh, sir," he exclaimed, " I pray you let me
have the bow !"
"By my faith, friend," said Sir Thomas, with
amazed displeasure, " thou dost not lack assurance !
I grant thee fair quarter, and thou must needs
march out with all the honors of war."
" Sir Thomas," replied Helpes, "I must seem
most thankless. But hear me speak. The bow
was lent me to use at the butts by an old man
in Tewkesbury almshouse, who saith his sire bore
it at the fight in the ' Bloody meadow ' there.
' Tis his only joy and pride. I think no day passes
that he doth not rub it with oil or wax, and his
greatest pleasure is to sit in the sun o' summer
34 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
evenings, twanging on the string, and telling his
tale of the battle to any who will listen. Sure I
am he would soon die without it. I promised to
bring it again by sunset to-night. It was ill done
of me 'to ask the loan or make the promise, as I
now see, but it pities me to think on his case. I
beg your Worship to send me to gaol, and let him
have his bow."
" Powdrell," said Sir Thomas, " bring me this
same bow."
Powdrell, stepping to a corner in the passage,
took out the bow, wrapped in a cloth, and laid it
before his master, who, unrolling the wrapper,
scrutinized the weapon closely.
The use of the long bow, though rapidly failing,
was not altogether discontinued, and the knight, a
keen sportsman, could well appreciate the worth of
the specimen in his hands. Shaped of the finest
yew, black as ebony, and smooth as glass from
constant polishing, yielding slightly at the merest
touch, yet strong and elastic as steel when fully
bent, it was a weapon to have delighted Ascham's
eye.
"A finer I never saw," said Sir Thomas at last.
" Didst say 'twas bent at Tewkesbury fight? "
"Ay, your Worship."
"And on the right side, I'll warrant," continued
the magistrate with increasing interest.
" 'Twas drawn for the house of Lancaster, your
Worship."
" I knew it. I knew it ! " cried the knight.
"A good cause, a good bow. Will Helpes, thou
hast thy weapon, thy liberty, and the pardon of
Thomas Lucy for all offences committed against
him. Thou mayst have a chance to draw this bow
for old England yet, for truly thy ancient beads-
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 35
man could not do better than leave it thee as a
legacy. Put by your committal, Master Tuff.
Have away the cart and horse to the harvest-field.
Give the lad somewhat to break his fast, Powdrell.
Fare thee well."
Powdrell would have detained the young man a
comfortable time (as he expressed it) to tell his
tale and drink down unkindness, but Helpes
would only stay for a cup of ale and slice of
bread, and was soon on his way down the valley
of the Avon.
CHAPTER VI.
" A man at arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms."
Anon.
THE sun of mid-afternoon shone warmly upon
a group of old men clustered around the door of
Tewkesbury almshouse. The building, one of the
earliest of its kind, was a long low structure of
coarse pale bricks not yet mellowed by time, with
a roof of red tiles and one huge chimney.
Such of the inmates as could stir out were now
gathered together, clad in rough blue gowns, then
worn in age by men almost as universally as by
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 37
women. That modern solace of enforced leisure,
tobacco, had not yet crossed the sea, but one or
two were chewing dried clover blossoms.
"Sir George be gone, I hear," said Treddles, a
blear-eyed old man, referring to the death of a
local dignitary.
"Ay, ay," replied Noorth, who had lost a fore-
tooth, and whistled at every 's,' " and I be main
glad on 't. Shant ha' to bow to 'n no more
commin' down t' street."
" Nay," remonstrated Treddles, " 'a were a good
gentleman, and gi'd us a groat by times."
"What o' that?" said Noorth, impatiently,
" 'twas na' half what he might ha' gi'n. But that
were allays thy way, Treddles, throw thee a copper,
and thou'd swear 'twere gold."
" Poor folk ha' hard lots, sure-ly, sure-ly," threw
in a third, leaning on a crutch, " but we'n summat
to thank Heavens for in a good wall at our back,
and tight roof o'er head by night."
" I tell thee, Batter, thou'rt clean deceived,"
declared the sibilant Noorth. " Ah, in the good old
times of our grandsires, 'twere different. Then a
poor man could bide in his own snug house, when
he were past work, and goo up to the good Fathers
every day for 's dole, and the blessing as went
wi' 't, and none to let him in 's way ; but now he be
Jbaled off to a place like this, as is no better nor
a prison. And prisoners we're all like to be soon,
sick or sound," he proceeded, hitting on a new
cause of complaint, " for I hears the Queen have
sent down a carter for town, as has done well
wi'out since ever 'twere built, and a Bailey to be
set up in town-hall, as I'd liever see hangman at
street end to clap us all in chains."
" VVhoy, whoy," said Batter, rather taken aback,
I'd thought as how 't would be a fine sight as
38 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
ever were : an' I mean'd to halt down to see 't, if
day were fair."
"Then ye doant think t' conduit '11 run wi'
wine, as I've heer'd on? " asked Treddles doubt-
fully.
" Wine ! " scoffed Noorth, " ay, ye were allays
a droothy body, Treddles, but doant think upon 't,
an' there be a cask or two o' bad ale broached, ye
may gi' thanks on your knees. Take my word for
't, there'll be naught else to wet a poor body's
whistle."
" T' cask's not broached as '11 wet thy whistle,
Noorth," remarked Treddles, nudging the cripple :
and both cackled hilariously.
" Come, Hinckley, tell us thy mind on the
morrow's doings," remarked Noorth hastily, turn-
ing to a fourth old man, who had not yet spoken,
and whose right hand twitched nervously to and
fro, as over the strings of some instrument.
" The morrow the morrow " murmured the
other, " ay, he said he'd fetch it back to-night.
An' then I'll go wi' sun, an' get place on a door-
stone I know in High street, and wait till t' Queen,
Lord bless her ! comes on her white palfrey, an'
then I'll howd it up and cry, ' Your Majesty, here's
t' bow was drawn for your feyther's house at
Tewkesbury fight ! ' Ah, I warrant she'll be rare
an' pleased ! "
" What's he prating on?" asked Noorth, with
disgust, turning to Batter.
" Doen't thou mind," said the lame man, " he's
allays telling the tale how 's sire fought in the
bloody mead over yon with the bow as he lent to
young Measter Helpes yestreen?"
" Ay, so. Well, he were a fool to loan 't, but I
hope as he'll ne'er get it back. 'Twill save me
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 39
that weary long tale as he's allays strivin' to ding
my ears wi'."
" Here cooms 's suster," said Treddles. " Hap-
pen she'll fetch un out o's maze."
A short, stout, brisk-looking woman drew near,
carrying a bunch of keys in one hand, and a small
parcel in the other.
" Save ye all," said she in general greeting.
"How dost thee, broder? See I've brought
'ee a pair o' warm hosen for 't winter." She held
out her parcel to Hinckley, who took it passively,
but made no reply.
" What ailed him ? " she asked. " Hath he had
a stroke?"
" Nay," replied Batter, " he be mournin' for 's
bow as he lent Measter Helpes."
" Measter Helpes?" answered the woman.
" Why, I seed 'n but now near t' gates, comin'"
this way."
" Had he bow wi' 'n? " demanded her brother,
sharply.
" I knaw n't," said she, " but here he comes.
Thee'll soon see."
All eyes were raised in the direction of a young
man who, turning the corner, came slowly up the
little street. His limping gait, bloody sleeve, and
clothes first soaked and then caked with dust, told
something of the toils and privations through which
he had passed ; but the bright eye and ruddy
cheek showed neither spirit nor strength had yet
failed him.
" Here's thy bow, gaffer," said he, reaching the
weapon to old Hinckley. " I thank thee for the
loan, and have brought it back in time. Sun's yet
two hours high."
The old man, undoing the case with trembling
40 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
fingers, examined his treasure closely ere he be-
stowed word or look on the bearer.
"It's main safe," said he at last, "main safe.
Maybe a bit scratched. But 't will wear off. But
wheer hast had it? Wert in a fray? "
" Nay," said Helpes, laughing, " I'll ne'er tell
thee where I've been, save that I've walked near
three-score miles in twenty-four hours, swam the
river twice, and have a wondrous longing to my
supper. Good-even to ye all." And turning
away, he soon was lost sight.
"Ah, Suster Annot, a bachelor like that's worth
any maid's having," said Hinckley, who regarded
his sister, some fifteen years his junior, as a young
and marriageable damsel. " I hope he's na' come
by much harm. Didst see his sleeve ? "
" Ay, did I," put in Batter, " and it's none the
same jerkin he set out wi' yesterday, more by
token."
" He'll ha' bin in some alehouse brawl, I trow,"
said Noorth.
" Nay," exclaimed Hinckley, grasping the bow,
which seemed to have restored his strength and
speech, " I'll warrant him none of your brawlers.
He'll ha' got the hurt in some good cause, such as
this bow were first bent in, when Queen Marget
an' her son '
" Nay, if thou's for that tune again, I'll dance
off," snarled Noorth, rising and entering the house,
whither a clanging bell soon summoned the others.
CHAPTER VII.
" Thus shall it be done unto the man whom the king de-
lighteth to honor." Book of Esther.
WITH the first peep of dawn next day, Tewkes-
bury discovered a scene of unusual animation, the
greater part of the humbler sort, both male and
female, being busy with hoes, brooms, buckets,
and barrows in cleaning Tewkesbury High Street,
from the gates to the town hall. As this task had
scarce been attempted, much less achieved, within
the memory of man, it well needed the scores of
laborers employed, who consoled themselves for
their unwonted toil, and the enforced silence
which would prevail later in the day, by a Babel
of gossip and clamor.
" Eh, goodwife Barm," cried a ferryman, hold-
ing up an enormous specimen of foot-gear on his
rake, "here's one o' thy owd clouted shoon, I've
digged out o' t' muck. Tis well seen why thou's
gone barefoot these three year."
" Thou liest, thou knave," returned the baker's
wife, flinging the remnant of water in her bucket
over him, " 'twould make two o' mine. 'Tis thy
wherry laid up here for want o' use."
A laugh at the expense of the ferryman, who
was well known to be fonder of the ale-can than
the oar, did not at all improve his temper, and
blows seemed imminent, when a cry was raised,
" Here they come ! " and two parochial officers
were seen at a distance, slowly marching down the (
42 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
street, apparently to examine into the progress of
the work.
Parting to right and left before these dignitaries,
and working with desperate energy, the men hurl-
ing the mud into alleys, yards, and even doorways,
and the women sluicing the stones with water, the
officials found the street before them in a fair state
of cleanliness, and having walked slowly to the
gates, returned^at the same pace to the Hall, be-
tween the ducking and grinning lines of laborers.
By nine o'clock all preparations were well for-
ward. The conduit, despite Noorth's prediction,
was really running wine slowly and intermittent-
ly indeed, and sending forth a much diluted fluid
which some of the bolder spirits did not scruple
to term " cask- rinsings," but still indubitably wine.
Our friend Noorth, however, was possessed of
another grievance. The sheriff's wisdom having
conceived that her Majesty's envoy could not but
be pleased with a sight of the paupers whom they
had among them, the six who could go on foot
were ordered out to form a part of the show,
instead of being allowed to roam whither they
would : and being set closely together on a bench
against a most disreputable breach in the church
porch, performed a double office. Noorth com-
plained as loudly as he dared, and did not fail to
point out to his fellows that this was the beginning
of their slavery under the new order of things.
By ten, the procession had formed in the
meadow without the city gates ; and shortly after-
ward a flourish of trumpets announced the ap-
proach of the Queen's envoy, Sir Henry Systen.
The sheriff and the other city officials awaited
him at the gates, and dutifully presented the keys.
Meanwhile the six old paupers sat in their places,
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
43
holding each man his bow, crutch, or staff, as the
case might be, and craning their necks to get the
first glimpse of the train.
" Ye mun tell Symes and me all goes by,
Noorth," said Paxon, " for our eyes be too failed
to trust."
" Well," grumbled Noorth, " here coom'th Sir
Henry Systen, as be Queen's envoy, wi' carter
in's hand "
" Where be t' Queen? " cried Hinckley, seizing
his bow, and starting fonvard.
" Sit down, ye fool ! Sit down !" said Noorth,
" hold thy peace, and doant put me out ; we'll
none see t' Queen to-day. Next is t' Bailey as is
to be, wi' two lads bearing t' gilt swan behind him,
44 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
as is whispering good words in 's ear. Next be
the gentry o' horse-back, wi' a band o' hackbut-
men. And here's a line o' townsmen in green.
Eh ! there's young Will Helpes among 'em, in a
deal better trim nor he were yestreen."
" What be that singing? " asked old Symes.
" 7 Tis the mustard-men," answered Noorth.
But Tewkesbury's chief industry demands a
more particular mention.
First came James Helpes, Will's father, bearing
the golden pot of mustard which was to be sent
to the Queen. He was followed by two youths
carrying vases containing plants of mustard which
had been reared under shelter for this occasion.
Next, drawn by three yellow horses, came a large
open cart, on which stood four journeymen, hard
at work. One was grinding the mustard seed,
another mixing and stirring it with oil, a third
making it up into balls, which the fourth now and
then flung among the crowd, while all roared lus-
tily the following stave :
" Here we stand together clustered,
Round our fiery English mustard;
French and Spaniard long have blustered,
But they fear our balls of mustard;
Beef and venison, pigeon, bustard,
All are better for our mustard;
'Sooth, we'll break his knavish costard,
Will not sing the praise of mustard ! "
" There," said Noorth, when the cart had pass-
ed, " t' halberd men and bowyers come next, and
we be to follow. A murrain o' those who thrust
out such poor bodies for their own pride ! "
The paupers accordingly rose, and tottered as
well as they could the short distance to the Town
Hall, which entering, they were provided with
seats near the door.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 45
The Charter having been read, and the Bailiff
installed, it remained for him to express his sense
of the honor thus conferred, which he did some-
what as follows :
" Right Honorable Sir, and Envoy of her Most
Gracious Majesty : though our town be small, yet
doubt not but it holdeth more true and loyal hearts
than another in England ; as a measure of mustard
seed containeth more hot and fiery particles than
a measure of any other corn, though twice as great ;
in some proof whereof, we offer her Majesty this
golden pot, with the fruit of our industry : and for
me, that am set as the first pilot of so goodly a
vessel, I trust so to discharge my duty as not to
disgrace the choice of the Queen, whom God
preserve ! "
The golden mustard pot was then placed before
Sir Henry, -who replied : " Most worshipful Bailiff:
Fear not but we think you shall acquit you well
in this your charge, as indeed you shall neither be
shamed by the glory, nor puffed up by the mis-
carriage, of those who have gone before you. The
welfare of this town lieth near her Majesty's heart,
which shall be cheered by^the report of your loyalty,
as her eyes and palate by your fair gift. Well do
we hope that Tewkesbury, from her small begin-
nings, may grow, in the light of her Majesty's
favor, as her own mustard plant, unto a mighty
stature. And so, God save the Queen ! "
Here followed great shouting and hurling up of
caps, and the audience dispersed to spend the rest
of the day in games, feasting, and mirth.
CHAPTER VIII.
" The bitter arrow leaped forth, thirsting to drink blood."
HOMER.
NEARLY two years had rolled away since the
events last related. It was a windy August even-
ing, with occasional dashes of rain and rumblings
of distant thunder, and again Powdrell strayed in
the woods of Charlecote park. But a change had
passed on his appearance, and a still greater on
his manner. His clothing and face showed the
marks of hardship and exposure, his shoulder bore
the Lucy badge no longer, and instead of the bold
and confident air of one who possesses at least
partial authority, he had the defiant but stealthy
demeanor of a .trespasser. He followed the wind-
ings of the little stream before named for some
distance, until he reached a spot where it widened
into a small marshy pool. Here a squat, heavy
fellow of most forbidding aspect awaited him.
" Well met, Master Powdrell ! " said he.
"I'm none so sure o' that," replied Powdrell.
" I like ill to turn traitor ; and I am half i' the
mind to throw the job up."
" Nay, nay, thee '11 ne'er do that," said the
other, soothingly. " Thou's promised us a score
o' birds th' night ; and all's ready for taking 'em
away. We'n none do wi' out thee, thou knows the
woods so well."
" I did know the woods well,' said the ex-
keeper, " but now I seem to see every tree o'
46
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 47
another side than I did afore. An' Sir Tummas
were a good master to me for twelve year."
" Nay, but to turn thee off at last for a bit o'
drinking," persisted the tempter, " sure a' de-
serves to lose."
" It were na' that alone," said Powdrell, " but
i' th' spring I overrid one o' th' horses as died.
'Twere o' Sir Tummas' errand, and a' could na'
say th' blame were mine ; but it gi'd him a handle.
Then a young fawn broke 's neck on a tree. 'T
were out o' season, the flesh were na' fit for gen-
try, and I deemed 'twere no harm to sell it to
some country folk, and pouch th' money. But
that mean-hearted rogue, Tuff, got th' tale by th'
end and dressed it out for his Worship. And
then, as ill luck would ha' it, when I were sent for
up to Hall about it, I had drunk more than I were
fit to carry. So wi't all, I were turned out o'
place."
As he ceased, there came a bright flash and roll
of thunder, nearer than before. Powdrell started
and winced. The other looked up in wonder.
"Thou ben't feared, sure, for a flash like that?"
" Nay," replied Powdrell, " a wise woman told
me, twenty years agone, that I'd die by a blow
from heaven ; an' I think on 't, whiles, when t' light-
ning comes."
" I'd best leave thee," said the stout man.
"What wi' pityin' Sir Tummus, an' fearin' for thy-
self, thee's fit for naught."
" I'll ne'er be called coward," said Powdrell,
fiercely. " Come on, ha' it over wi' soon as may
be ; an' no more o' that, or I'll fell thee."
The ill assorted companions accordingly pur-
sued their way some distance further, until Pow-
drell, stooping, drew a net closely bundled together
48 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESCURY.
from under a bush. " Here 't be ; little I thought
ever to come to this. Now follow on."
He wound about to left and right, pressing
swiftly forward as if desirous of shaking off his
confederate, who, however, stuck closely at his
heels, until they rounded a thick coppice, and saw
before them the pheasant-roost the forms of
the birds just discernible among the branches, at
something more than a man's height from the
ground.
" Be we to knock 'em down now? " asked the
stranger, looking about for a stick.
" Ay, ye fool ! " said Powdrell, " knock down
one, and ha' the rest take wing. I know a better
trick."
Striking a light, he took a roll of sulphur from
his pocket, which having ignited, he placed slightly
to windward of the sleeping birds, so that the
breeze, broken by the coppice, carried the fumes
among them.
" Now," said he, as the first bird began to waver
on its perch, "be handy wi' the net but what's
that? More o' thy fellows coming ?"
" Nay," stammered the other, " I bid none
come."
" It '11 be the new keepers," muttered Powdrell,
stamping the sulphur into the ground, "here this
way."
They retreated a short distance, but soon heard
the voices of a second party.
"We're right i' their track! Nay 'tis too
late to run. Set thy back agen a tree, move not a
finger, and happen they '11 pass us by."
This plan might have succeeded, had both been
equally steady of nerve ; but the stout man, after
holding his ground a few moments, finding the
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 49
suspense too much for him, slipped round his tree
just as three figures appeared, and took to his
heels with a frightful crackling of dry twigs. Pow-
drell, seeing concealment was useless, started for-
ward ; laying an arrow on his bow-string.
"Yield thee !" shouted the others, presenting
their pieces.
"Not wi'out a blow," shouted Powdrell ; and
launching the shaft at his adversaries, he snatched
another from his quiver. The arrow found its
mark in the breast of the youngest forester, who
fell to the ground.
" He's killed him ! He's killed t' young squire ! "
exclaimed the others, falling back into cover.
Powdrell, with a cry of horror, fled, he knew
not whither. When he recovered his senses, he
was stretched at the foot of an oak.
" I should na' be lying here asleep," he mut-
tered, unable at first to collect his thoughts. " T'
porchers may be busy. Eh ! What be I but a
porcher myself? an' I ha' shot Sir Tummas' son !"
A faint sound of voices was now heard, proceed-
ing apparently from both sides.
" They'll ha' brought help to carry him away,"
he murmured, " and now they've come for me."
Rising on his feet, he drew out another arrow,
and settling himself firmly, stood waiting, with an
occasional glance upward. The confused buzzing
of many tongues in consultation grew louder and
louder, until it was evident that he was completely
surrounded
" 'Tis an ill end," he sighed, " but might be
worse. Now, witch, let thy words come true ! "
Drawing his string to the utmost, he pointed his
shaft to the zenith, let it fly, and throwing down
his bow, stood with folded arms. Several rushed
50 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
forward to seize him, but even as they did so, the
whiz of the descending missile was heard, and the
arrow, striking fairly on his crown, stretched him
lifeless upon the earth.
CHAPTER IX.
"The daily waiting on the fractious chair,
The nightly vigil by the feverish bed. "
PRAED.
THE heir of Charlecote, however, was not
dead. Suffering from a severe wound in the
shoulder, he was conveyed to his father's house,
where he lay for many days in fevered agony.
He first recoveied consciousness on a fair
September evening. The light of sunset shone
through the window, close shut and curtained as
it was, and enabled him to distinguish the figure
of his cousin Dorothy, sitting by the table with
a bit of lacework in her hand, occasionally draw-
ing a long sigh of distress, as she breathed the
hot stifling air then considered necessary for an
invalid. Warm as the day was, a huge fire blazed
in the chimney, while screens fenced every cre-
vice.
For a few minutes the wounded youth gazed in
silence, and then faltered out, " Drink, Dorothy,
drink ! ""
" Oh, cousin ! " exclaimed the girl, springing
up "thou'rt surely better ! Oh, how glad "
"Drink, I tell thee !" repeated the sufferer, in
a tone as imperious as his feeble voice could
command ; and Dorothy, softly approaching the
bedside, poured out a spoonful of some liquid, and
held it to his lips.
"More, more!" he gasped, swallowing it 1
eagerly.
61
52 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" Nay, cousin, I dare not. The leech forbade it.
I will call my aunt. I did but take her place for
an hour."
"What said the leech of me?" asked the
invalid.
" He said there was hope, but thou must be
still."
" Tis well," replied Thomas ; and closing his
eyes, remained perfectly quiet, while Dorothy
slipped away to her aunt.
The young man's improvement was steady,
though not rapid ; and before many days he was
pronounced out of danger. His convalescence was
slow, however, and his arm useless for some time ;
and every device that could amuse an exacting and
capricious temper was called into play. It soon
became evident that while no one perfectly suc-
ceeded in the task- of diverting him, Dorothy could
do so best and longest. With his father he had
very little in common, and Sir Thomas's loud
voice and heavy step jarred on his son's weakened
nerves. Lady Lucy had never been a good reader
or a quick observer, and her well-meant efforts to
improve the occasion were unwelcome. But
Dorothy was ever ready to read when her cousin
demanded it, in a clear soft voice, was never vexed
when he silenced her ; while the graphic manner
in which she would narrate the trivial events of
the day, or the news brought by an occasional
visitor, made her, whom hitherto he had noticed
but little, an object of considerable interest in his
eyes. Lady Lucy viewed this companionship with
mingled pleasure and alarm, and resolved to bring
it to an end as soon as settled health should make
her son a person to be either crossed or reasoned
with.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 53
" In faith, Dorothy," said Thomas one day, after
she had permitted him to win a game of spillikins,
in spite of his unfair play, and then read " Ogier
the Dane " to him for an hour, "a man might do
worse than have thee always near, to hearten him
up."
" Nay, cousin," replied Dorothy, " 'Tis but
little I can do, and I am well repaid if it can make
thee forget thy pain awhile."
"True, thou canst do little, but 'tis done
willingly. Go on with thy Ogier. I would I had
had his shield in the park, to fence me against yon
villain's arrow."
" Dorothy grows a fair maid," he observed to
his mother next day.
" True, son," she answered, " ' Twill soon be
time for her to wed. Thy father speaks of Master
Wardell's son."
" What, madam," cried Thomas starting, " hath
she a liking to him?"
" Nay, I trust not," replied Lady Lucy. " It
were not seemly she should. Perchance they may
have seen each other at the hunting last winter.
But the stripling is well spoken of, and thy father
will see that she goes not dowerless."
" Nay, if every maid of the Lucy name is to look
to Sir Thomas for a portion, he bids fair to go cold
himself," muttered the youth.
" Son, I like not this," said his mother gravely.
" ' Twill be but a few pounds, that Sir Thomas
can well spare. Sure, thou dost not grudge it
her?"
" I grudge naught but this valiant grief in mine
arm," answered the young man ; and his mother's
anxiety being thus aroused, the subject of matri-
mony was dropped for a while.
54 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
But Thomas had now a new theme for medita-
tion. Dorothy, whom he had long regarded as a
permanent fixture in the house, and whose use to
himself had lately become so apparent, was now,
it seemed, in a fair way to change her home ; and
not only this, but to carry some portion of the
Lucy wealth with her. Before he slept, he re-
solved to come to an understanding with her on
the morrow.
The next day was wet and gloomy, and the in-
valid's spirits correspondingly low ; but when
Dorothy, after a solitary game of battledore and
shuttlecock in the gallery, entered flushed and
sparkling, the clouds within doors were quite swept
away. Thomas looked up in astonishment, and
vowed silently he had never seen a lovelier girl.
" Prithee, Dorothy," said he, after the usual
inquiries as to his health, " fetch thy lute, and sing
to me a while ; I am not in humor for the book
to-day."
Dorothy's voice was one of those intended for
a single hearer : sweet and fresh, but untrained
and weak. Her cousin was in no critical mood,
and as she sang the few ballads she knew, some-
thing like affection stirred in his heart.
"'The willow-tree,' Dorothy," said heat length.
The maiden hesitated a moment, and then began
the song he desired. The plaintive ditty was too
much for her, however ; and in the middle of the
last verse her voice failed, and the tears began to
flow. Thomas was quickly at her side.
"Dorothy, sweet," said he, " what ails thee? I
sought not to make thee weep."
" 'Twas the song t'was the song ! " said
Dorothy, wiping away her tears. " I was foolish
heed it not."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 55
" Nay, I cannot but be moved when thou
grievest. Come, 'tis but a few silly jangling
words think on 't no more. I have weightier
matter in hand. Dost love me, Dorothy ? "
"Surely I love thee, cousin," the girl replied
wondering.
" Not ' I love thee, cousin? that last word spoils
all. Come, be not coy, but listen. Wilt wed me,
and be Lady of Charlecote? "
" I had not thought thou wouldst put such a
jest upon an orphan maid," said Dorothy, rising
proudly, and offering to leave the room.
" 'Tis no jest, Dorothy ; I speak sad tongue :
Come, give me thy answer."
" Nay, cousin if in sooth thou mean'st me the
honor nay, it can never be."
"Tut, tut,," said Thomas, smiling confidently,
" I was ready for this. I know what a maid's nay-
say means. Well I wot thy father, tho' our dis-
tant cousin, was a broken, landless man, and thy
mother but a yeoman's daughter that thou owest
all to Sir Thomas, and hast not a groat to thy
dowry. But what then? Never a Lucy yet was
niggard of soul, or aught but generous to those be-
neath him. Come, an end of this. Say thou wilt
have me to thy husband."
"Thy mother thy father " said the girl,
controlling her rising temper, " how would they
brook thy wedding one so mean and humble as
thou hast named me?"
"Ah, sits the wind there?" said Thomas, with
an embarrassed laugh. " Faith, I have thought on
't myself. ' Twill not be one word or two will
quiet them ; and I know they looked higher for
me. Sir Thomas was ne'er the man to give up all
for love, as I have done ; and he will stamp and
56 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
swear a while, no doubt. But when all's said and
done, he cannot get another son and heir ; and if
I talk a space of going to the Spanish wars, my
mother will droop her flag. We shall find a way,
Dorothy we shall find a way."
"Spare all this trouble," exclaimed Dorothy,
with a flame in her eyes. " Thomas Lucy, I will
never wed thee never never ! "
The youth stared contemptuously.
" Thou hast been at these new fashioned play-
books, I see," said he, " but methinks thou hast
chosen thy part rarely ill. Mayst try my patience
too far. A proffer of marriage is a tender babe
'twill abide nor storm nor heat."
" Let it die and be buried, then," retorted the
girl, " only so can I ever think well of thee again.
Speak no more to me of this. In time, I may for-
get thy words."
"Think well, Dorothy venture not too far.
Dost really mean to refuse the luck hath come in
thy way? "
" In truth I do ; nor shall I ever call it luck."
" 'Tis well very well, " uttered her cousin,
biting his nails and glowering at the floor. " A
Lucy of Charlecote waits cap in hand on no one.
Ay, this is to set a beggar on horseback. 'Twas
but yesterday my lady mother told me how a fair
match had been carved out for thee ay, and a
fair portion too, as perchance thou knew'st. And
thus loaded with favor, thou hast dared to to
" Not being able exactly to define Dorothy's
offence, he went off on another course. " I would
I knew who hath forestalled me. Is 't this same
Wardell? or some squire of dames at Warwick,
when my father carried thee to see the players
there? or one of the players themselves? Faith,
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
57
this parish is become their best recruiting ground.
Tis not long since that scurvy thieving rogue,
Shakespeare, fled away to join a band of the knaves
at London."
" Cousin, I have borne this too long," said
Dorothy, taking up her lute. " Thou mayst rail at
me, but I prithee hold thy peace on better men
than thyself."
" Better men ! what means she ? Dost speak of
this same Shakespeare ? I mind me now, thou wast
in the hall at his trial thou didst smile when Sir
58 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
Thomas told of his escape this is why thou art
ever poring on play books, and looking for
players. Why, thou silly fool, he hath wife and
babes " Dorothy covered her face with her
hands " and hath he dared to look to thee ? By
this light, I'll have his blood ! Ellis Ellis ! " he
shouted, raising his voice till the walls rang.
The deaf old woman, who waited near the door,
came tottering forward.
" Your honor's pleasure ? "
" Bid Dickon saddle the roan horse have my
boots ready below fetch me a cup of wine."
He turned a moment to the cabinet, and took out
some money, while the domestic hobbled away.
" Fare thee well, Dorothy, thou shalt soon hear
brave news from London ! " he exclaimed, and,
snatching his sword and cloak, rushed from the
room.
CHAPTER X.
"Slightit love is sair to bide."
BURNS.
LADY LUCY, who had been visiting some old and
infirm folk at the village, entered the Hall on one
side as her son left it on the other. Unaware of
his departure, she tranquilly proceeded to her own
room, her little dog trotting after, and the basket
on her arm, which had gone forth loaded with
cakes and pottage, now filled with dried herbs and
flowers by those who had nothing else to give.
Having laid aside her cloak and hood, she went
to her son's apartments. Even then, had she
looked from the south window, she might have
seen his rapidly diminishing figure, as his horse
bore' him down the London road; but she passed
on, and a grove soon hid the rider's form.
She entered the ante-room, and was surprised to
find it empty and disordered. An overthrown
chair the open cabinet one or two books
and papers lying on the floor seemed to indicate
a scene of some kind. She passed on into the
bed- room that also was vacant. Hastily sum-
moning a maid, she bade her go down to the
stables and offices, and see if her son were there,
while she herself looked through the upper floor.
Her search was vain, and the girl soon came hurry-
ing back.
" Hast found him ? " asked the mistress.
" Nay, my Lady but John groom, he do say,
as how Naunt Ellis came some half hour gone wi'
5 69
60 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
word for Dickon to saddle t' young red horse. An'
scarce were he at door, when t' young squire
came out booted and spurred, as he haven't put
foot over threshold sin' a' were brought in hurt a
month agone as ever were. An' then a' got to
horse, and drank t' cup as Naunt brought him,
an' away a' went down t' road fast as beast could
lay legs to ground."
" Left he no word? "
" Ay ; a' said, says John, 'Tell Sir Tummas I ha'
gear in hand may keep me three days or four.'
An" Mistress Dorothy leanin' fro' t' window, wi'
face as white as her kerchief
"Enough," said Lady Lucy. "Thou mayst go
now. Perchance he hath ridden to the races."
And waiting until the staring girl had left, she took
the way to Dorothy's room. Here her first sum-
mons met no response ; but at length her niece,
pale, tearful and terrified, opened the door.
"Dorothy," said the aunt, "come with me. I
must hold some converse with thee." And she led
the way to her own room, where she seated herself
in the great chair, while Dorothy leaned against
the wall.
" Dorothy," began Lady Lucy, after her lips had
moved silently a few moments, " said my son aught
to thee wherefore he left the Hall? "
Dorothy remained speechless.
" Speak," said her aunt. " Thou knowest I would
not ask thee of his comings or goings at a common
time, as 'twere a child ; but he hath lost blood, he
is still weak, he spake of pain in his wound but
yesterday. Hast been with him to-day?"
"Yea, my Lady."
"And did he speak wildly? Dost think the
fever had come on him again? "
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 6 1
" Yea nay, I think I think he had no
fever."
"Then why went he? Dost not know?"
" He he went to London. He wished to see
the players there," equivocated the girl.
" The players? He never loved stage plays, nor
in sooth do I. And to go at such a time, and in
such haste was he in spirits? or had aught
crossed him?"
Dorothy, fearing she had already said too much,
remained silent a moment, and then began to sob
convulsively.
" Niece," said Lady Lucy, " I know not what
thou mean'st ; this is too great a coil for me. Sir
Thomas will shortly return, and he must speak
with thee. Until then, go to thy room."
Dorothy crept away to her chamber, where she
spent an hour in painful musings. The moment
she had gazed on Shakespeare had fixed his face
indelibly on her memory. She had never for-
gotten the look of those wonderful eyes, and her
maiden fancy had created an ideal of his person-
ality upon which she had loved to dwell. Like
the first blush of the early dawn it had illumined
her soul, intangible, pure, innocent as the dreams
of childhood, and into this mystic region her
cousin's rough speech seemed to force itself like
some harsh and unwelcome intruder. No thought
of the stranger as a possible lover had entered her
mind, but she felt instinctively that none would
comprehend her, and disgrace might attach to
any mention of her feelings. As soon would she
see the sun darkened as sully the fair image of
her thought. Thus tossed in spirit she waited,
and had reached no determination when a knock
62 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
was heard without, and a voice summoned her to
her uncle's presence.
The Squire and his lady sat side by side, in the
north parlor, looking graver and sterner than
Dorothy had ever seen them both at once, and
her first thought was, " How did I ever dare to
laugh and jest in their presence, or call them Aunt
and Uncle?"
Bidding the serving man, who had brought her
down, place a chair and go, Sir Thomas began in
a cold unnatural voice, apparently assumed as
being equally removed from anger or kindness.
" Dorothy Lucy, old Ellis hath told us that my
son and thou met this morning ; that thou didst
sing to him ; that in a while she heard voices in
anger, tho' she caught not the words ; that at last
he bade fetch his boots, and a stirrup cup, and
saddle a horse ; and then rode away. What sayst
to this? Why did ye quarrel?"
Again Dorothy was silent.
" Speak ; didst thou bid him go? "
" Nay, truly."
"Then what took him? Thou hast said he
went to the players; but did he tell thee no
more? "
The girl could not reply.
" If thou hast driven him from his reason and
his home by any charm, or spell, or philter, be
sure thou shalt sorely repent. Dost remember the
witch was taken last year? "
Dorothy shuddered and trembled.
" Nay, Sir Thomas," said the lady, " fright her
not thus. She is yet young."
" I meant not to harm her. An she would
but speak, none would be kinder than I. Come,
niece," softening his tone, "tell us the truth.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 63
Mayhap the lad hath made thee some silly flattery,
and then ridden away, and thou weep'st for his
going. Is't so? "
" Sir Thomas," said Dorothy, feeling she must
answer, "thou hast ever been kind and good to
me ; I grieve to trouble thee. 'Twas not of my
will thy son went ; I pray he may come to no
harm ; but I wept not for his going, for I love him
not ; nor can I tell his errand."
Her judges looked at each other.
"She speaks riddles," said Sir Thomas, "but
must tell them ere long. 'Tis hard to lose son and
niece in one day, for I loved her well, and I
thought to give her a bridal would not have
shamed my daughter. But now, ungracious, flout-
ing wench ! she will not speak out fair, and she
loves him not, forsooth ! let her wait till she be
asked ! Get thee to thy chamber ! Thou shall
have four and twenty hours to think on't ; then, if
my son comes not back, thou must tell truth, or it
shall be worse for thee. Go, I say ! " And
Dorothy fled hastily from the parlor.
CHAPTER XI.
"Where may she wander now, whither betake her?"
MILTON.
DOROTHY spent her evening alone, and rested
ill ; but before she slept had arrived at a great de-
cision.
"I must leave Charlecote Hall," she said to
herself. " I cannot answer my uncle as he would
have me, nor abide his anger if I continue silent.
I will go to Tewkesbury and find Nurse Hinckley.
Surely she will take me in, and teach me some
way to live for a time ; perchance my cousin will
repent of his purpose and return. Then my uncle
will be good to me again. The country folk have
ever demeaned themselves well to me, and I have
oft heard say Tewkesbury was but a day's journey
hence." (In truth, Dorothy, after the death of
her parents in her infancy, had been nursed by
Dame Hinckley at Tewkesbury until her fifth year,
when Sir Thomas and his lady had taken her
thence, and reared her as their own.)
With the first peep of dawn Dorothy was awake,
rejoiced to find that the day promised to be fair.
After commending herself fervently to the care of
Heaven, she put on a plain dark gown and her
strongest foot-gear, made up her treasured pearl-
earrings and two pieces of gold Sir Thomas had
given her into a close parcel, which she placed in
her bosom. A few small coins, which she thought
would be sufficient for the day's expenses, were in
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 65
the pouch at her girdle. A muffler, and short
cloak with hood, completed her array.
Prepared for the journey, she paused with her
hand on the door and looked around the bower
she had inhabited for twelve happy years. There
hung her pretty gowns (she wondered if she
should ever wear them again), there lay her lute,
with one string broken, which she had struck
against the wall when hastening from her cousin's
room ; and there, an unfinished piece of embroid-
ery.
Turning away with a sigh, she stepped lightly
down the hall till she came to the chamber of her
uncle and aunt. Here she paused a moment, and
then kissed the panel of the door.
" They were ever kind to me," she whispered,
"and sure they will be again."
Softly descending the stairs, she let herself out
at a side door, and at sunrise was a mile from the
Hall. Concerning Tewkesbury she had many
indistinct memories, and but two correct ideas.
One of these was, that it lay upon the Avon ; the
other, that it was within a day's journey. But
what constituted a day's journey she had yet to
learn.
While in the neighborhood of Charlecote, where
her face was known, her progress was not unpleas-
ant. The few laborers whom she met going early
to their work touched their hats respectfully, and
a milkmaid, coming from the pasture with her
steaming pails, was but too happy to supply the
young lady with a draught, which, with a cake of
bread saved from supper, made a tolerable break-
fast.
It was a glorious autumn morning. A few high
clouds drifted across the heavens, the Avon flashed
66 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
and glittered in the sun among the willow copses,
and the thick foliage, not yet crisped by frost, and
fresh from yesterday's showers, rivalled the bravery
of May. Dorothy felt that her adventure would
prosper, and wondered she had entertained any
misgivings.
As she proceeded further from her uncle's do-
main, however, the demeanor of the peasants
began to alter. At that period it was for the
stranger to prove that he was not an enemy ; and
those who could not compel respect were likely to
want it. First with astonishment, and then with
alarm, Dorothy marked the increasing surliness of
the cottagers of whom she asked her way ; and
after one old beldam had driven her from the door
with coarse abuse, and another had threatened to
set the dogs on her, she felt that the river would
be her best guide, and determined not to lose
sight of it again. This, however, necessitated
various short cuts across the water meadows, in
one of which she almost lost her shoes, and was
sadly bemired.
It was near the end of harvest, and all the
villagers who could be afoot, and some who could
not, were out to shear the corn. Almost every
grainfield she passed was full of busy life. In
some the reapers were just beginning their task,
in others completing it : here the laborers were
setting and capping the shocks ; and there the
wains were already busy drawing them to the
stack-yard. Dorothy would have rejoiced in the
sight a few days before, but now, as she plodded
heavily along the miry lanes, she almost envied the
harvesters for being near their homes.
It was about ten in the morning, when, sorely
weary, she stopped under a great tree to watch
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 67
one such company. Some fifteen couples of men
and women were coming down the slope, laying
low the yellow corn before them ; the man in each
case bent to his work with a curious diving
motion, like an Indian swimming, gathering the
stalks together with his left arm, and then, quickly
ripping his sickle through the straw, flinging it
sideways to the woman, who snatched it together,
and bound it into sheaves. Behind them walked
the steward, watching that none lagged, and ex-
amining the sheaves for ill-made bands, while after
him a score of gleaners, old folk and children,
pounced on every scattered stem, and gradually
accumulated bundles of their own.
As Dorothy lingered, the overseer, pausing in
his march, and glancing up at the sun, cried
" Howd your hand ! " Instantly work was dropped,
and the peasants, clustering together, and bringing
forth their luncheon, began to eat with all the zest
of careless toil.
Dorothy squeezed through the hedgerow, and
gazed wistfully at the food the nearest group of
half-clad, half-savage women were devouring, but,
warned by recent experience, durst not ask.
Presently, however, one of them, after a look or
two in her direction, arose, and bringing her half
a loaf on a bunch of fresh leaves, together with a
wooden cup of ale, asked, " If she would be pleased
to taste their fare."
Dorothy thanked her, declined the ale, but ate
of the coarse gritty loaf with more relish than
might have been expected. The woman stood
waiting by. Dorothy looked at her form, scarcely
covered by the rags she wore, her shoulders and
arms burnt and tanned by the sun, her wrists and
hands rough and raw with binding the sheaves.
"Art not very weary?" asked the girl.
05 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Weary, Mis'ess?" said the woman, with a
bright smile. "What? wi' savin' the good corn?
Nay, nay ; 'tis like gold to huz. Ne'er a finer
har'st can I mind ; th' rood in our home croft be
all sheared ; an' what wi' that an' Gaffer's gleanin',
we'll ha' bread till Lady-day of our own hand.
Nor t' loaf will be none so dear for poor folk as
has to buy. Eh, but three year agone were a hard
time. Ye'll be fro' t' great house ? " Dorothy
nodded. "Then ye'll mind t' winter. I lost two
bairns, an' me an' my master were nigh clammed."
"Is thy husband here?"
" Ay, Mis'ess ; we be all here. There's feyther
an' my eldest lad wi' th' gleaners ; here's my two
little uns," pointing to two young children asleep
on a tattered cloak, " and yon's my goodman,"
nodding at a burly shock-headed fellow, who
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 69
grinned and tugged his forelock on catching the
lady's eye. " But time be up I mun go."
The steward cried " Strike in ! " and all sprang
to their work again. Dorothy bent over the
babies, tucked a silver penny into the hand of
each, and went on her way.
Gradually the grain fields became fewer, as her
road lay over a succession of low wooded hills,
each a little higher than the last. Here she met
with a hideous and importunate cripple, who could
make very good speed on his crutches, who pur-
sued her a long way, first with entreaties and then
with demands, and from whom she finally escaped
only by scattering most of her money on the
ground, and fleeing while he gathered it up.
Footsore and trembling, she gained the top of
another hill, and looked down on a scene of
matchless beauty. A broad fair vale lay before
her, with gardens and orchards smiling to the sun,
the Avon flowing gently in the midst, and on its
further bank a goodly town, which must surely be
Tewkesbury. True it was that the river seemed
less than she remembered it, nor did the tall
square tower which rose from tile and thatch recall
the Abbey : but she set this down to the imperfect
judgment of childhood, and felt wondrously
cheered to think she had accomplished her journey
a little after noonday.
CHAPTER XII.
" Come, Sir, throw us that you have about you."
SHAKESPEARE.
THE river was yet to be crossed, and two small
coins remained of her store, which she hoped
would content the ferryman. But between her
and the probable position of the ferry stood an
alehouse hight the "Monster"; and round its
door slouched a group of brutal -looking fellows,
whom she feared to pass. Hidden in a thicket
by the road side, she was debating whether to
make a circuit through the fields, or wait for the
loungers to disperse, when a horse was brought
round, and a gentleman, judging by his habit,
issued from the tavern. Hoping that this person's
presence would be a restraint on the others, she
set forward hastily. But the traveller, mounting
more quickly than she had expected, and throwing
a penny to the groom, came cantering up the hill
at the best pace he could muster. As he drew
near, it seemed to Dorothy that she recognized
him. She looked again. Yes ; in spite of his gay
striped doublet and plumed bonnet, it was her
uncle's clerk.
"Master Tuff!" she exclaimed, stepping for-
ward, too glad of a familiar face to remember how
little she liked it.
" Mistress Dorothy Lucy ! " he ejaculated, pull-
ing up, and tumbling down from his horse.
" How fare you ? Is Sir Thomas near ? " And
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 71
plucking out his feather, he clapped it into the
bonnet, and began to fumble at a roll behind his
saddle.
"Nay, Master Tuff," she replied, "I am here
alone and afoot."
Tuff's expression slowly changed. He replaced
his plume, looked Dorothy over, and finally in-
quired " wherein he could serve her."
" 'Tis no great charge," she answered. " If
thou wilt fetch me past yonder fellows, and point
out the ferry whereby I may pass over to Tewkes-
bury, I shall be much bounden to thee."
" Sure, Mistress Dorothy, here is some mistake.
This is Evesham town. Tewkesbury is a dozen
mile down the stream.""
" What shall I do? "cried Dorothy in dismay.
" I am so grievously wearied." And the tears be-
gan to start.
Tuff attempted to console her, first saying he
might misjudge the distance, next wondering if rest
would not restore her, and finally swearing that
rather than see a lady thus distressed, he would
himself bring her some miles on the way.
" Cheer up, Mistress Dorothy," said he. " I
had moneys to collect for Sir Thomas in Evesham,
but the business was soon dispatched, and he looks
not for me till the morrow. I can well spare some
hours. 'Tis a sorry jade this, but sure he will
carry double for a time, and I will pad his bones
for thee a bit." So saying he spread out the roll
behind his saddle (which strangely resembled his
every-day doublet) into a sort of cushion, helped
Dorothy up, mounted before her, and turned down
the hill again. They rode past the alehouse, Tuff
calling magnificently to the loungers to clear the
way, whereat the fellows, though they leered and
72 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY.
whispered, did draw somewhat apart, and refrained
from open insult.
" Tis an ill house that, Mistress Dorothy," said
Tuff, when they were beyond earshot, " filled with
brawlers and bullies ; but a quiet boldness soon
puts them down. Marry, when I entered the
room and called for my wine, there were two
rufflers looked on me as fierce as you please. At
that I smote off the bottle neck with my sword,
crying, ' I hope naught but wine may be spilt here
to-day,' and they sat mum as mice."
Dorothy, not knowing how much of this was
true, kept silence, and Tuff went on.
" Sir Thomas hath laid a great charge on me,
but I warrant ye, he knows whom to trust. Do
but heft this bag," he touched a heavy pouch at
his side. " I trow a good heart and a stout arm
are needed to carry this safe past the thieves that
beset the ways."
Dorothy answered civilly that " she well believed
Master Tuff would not fail in aught Sir Thomas
might trust him with."
The poor beast they rode now began to halt
and groan beneath his double burden, and Tuff at
length got down and walked alongside, holding the
bridle.
" I must needs say, Mistress Dorothy," he re-
marked, after hearing of her adventure with the
cripple, " it was ill thought on to go trudging thus
to Tewkesbury alone."
" Sir," said Dorothy, haughtily, " in this matter
I will be answerable only to mine uncle."
Tuff muttered some apology, and they passed
on a while in silence, when Dorothy, feeling that
she had perhaps been ungracious toward a man
who had gone out of his way to serve her, asked
if he knew the road well.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 73
" Surely," he answered, " many a time have I
taken it. The river cranks far to the north here,
but we shall strike it again."
Not many words were needed to put him at his
ease, and he was soon in the full tide of boasting
again, pouring forth his own brave deeds, past,
present and future. He had now considerably
shaken off his habitual respect for Dorothy, and
several times forgot to prefix her name with the
usual title of courtesy.
They stopped a moment at another hostelry to
water the horse, and Tuff emerged more pot-
valiant than ever, cocking his hat and threatening
to " cleave to the teeth " a stable lad who stood in
his way. His conversation thereafter turned upon
sea fights and pirates ; and he was avowing, with
meaning looks at Dorothy, that if any girl of spirit
would go with him ne would throw up Sir Thomas'
service and be off to the Spanish Main, when
some object ahead seemed to cool him suddenly.
" There, Dorothy," said he, "when we have got
through this wood thou mayst see Tewkesbury.
But who is this stops our way ? A marvellous ill-
favored fellow, as I live. By your leave, I'll mount
again. This sort are sooner overcrowed by a
cavalier than a footman."
The man, however, did not seem at all likely to
be overcrowed, for he kept his place until they
had nearly reached him, when, presenting a pistol,
he cried, " Stand and deliver ! "
A resolute and well-mounted man might have
ridden down the robber, but Tuff was neither the
one nor the other. He hesitated, swallowed several
times, clutched feebly at his sword, and then, as a
rustling in the bushes seemed to announce rein-
forcements for the enemy, wheeled his horse round
74 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
so suddenly that Dorothy was jostled from her
place. She grasped at his belt to save herself, but
the ill-mended girdle broke, and she came heavily
to the ground, while Tuff, driving home his spurs,
scoured away at top speed.
Stunned for the moment, she presently re-
covered to find three or four villainous-looking
fellows round her, one of whom was untying the
pouch attached to the broken belt, another exam-
ining her hands for rings, and all abusing their
comrade for allowing Tuff to escape.
" His horse was naught, and I see not that he
matters," the sentinel was replying, " when he
hath left purse and maid both behind. But soft !
here comes the Captain."
The quarrelsome voices were somewhat hushed
as a tall, powerful man about forty, of better
appearance than the others, stepped into the road.
Dorothy rose and approached him, trembling
inwardly, but addressing him with a composed
look.
" Sir, if I speak to a soldier, I doubt not I may
trust in his honor to do what yon coward groom
hath failed of, and see me safe into Tewkesbury."
The man, who had expected some very different
speech, hesitated, looked embarrassed, took off
his hat and scratched his head.
" I did bear pike in Holland a score of years
ago," said he, "but I had well nigh forgot it.
Come, lady," bowing to Dorothy, "'I prithee take
my arm to pur poor house 'tis hard by and
rest thee a while, and taste some food, while I find
a way to bring thee forward. What, lads, have ye
a prize there?" as the money-bag caught his eye.
" Cut the thong, Tom, turn it out on this broad
stump ye shall share alike, if it be not gold."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
75
Pulling out his knife, Tom obeyed, and poured
out the contents of the pouch. But in place of a
mass of silver, only four or five shillings lay on the
stump, while a heap of pebbles rolled to the
ground. Dorothy gazed with wonder at this new
proof of Tuffs duplicity, and the disappointed
thieves burst into threats and curses. Their
leader allowed them to rave for a few moments,
and then commanded silence.
" This is no talk for the lady's ears," said he.
" Take up the shillings there's twelve pence
each, and got with little labor. This way, Mis-
tress," and he led her up a narrow overgrown path.
Dorothy soon felt the spring and crackle of
gravel beneath her feet, and observed that the elm
trees on either side grew in so regular a succes-
sion as to indicate artificial planting, though now
76 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY.
crowded by a wilderness of saplings and briars.
Her companion held aside branches, pointed out
obstacles, and seemed every time he spoke to re-
call some phrase or accent of the gentleman.
"Didst say thou hadst served abroad, sir?"
Dorothy ventured, when the way became a little
clearer.
The robber stopped and gazed on the fair
childish face, so full of trouble, yet set to look
brave and cheerful.
"Many a time have I thought," said he, "when
a young fellow in Holland, how sweet those words
would be from an English lady's lips, and 'tis thus
I hear them first ! " He paused a moment, then
went on vehemently : " A captain at one and
twenty ill luck at cards caught dipping into
the colonel's purse broke for a thief ye see
the rest ! "
They passed between two stone gate-posts,
scarcely visible amid brambles and weeds, and
emerged on an open space, once the lawn before
a large stone house, which, however, as well as its
surroundings, was in sad decay. The chimneys
were copeless and jagged, the roof fallen in here
and there, the upper casements hanging by one
hinge, or altogether gone, the walls stained with
leakage. Only the door and the few lower shutters
were strong and sound, amid general dilapidation,
reminding Dorothy of a hedger she had once seen
at work, hatless, ill shod, and tattered, but with
his hands and arms protected by thick, strong
leather gloves.
" 'Tis a fine old place," said the Captain, "but
gone to ruin. The family left long ago, and 'twill
not serve us many years. Nay, lady, look not
there," seeing Dorothy's eyes straying to the
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 77
right, " here is the fairer prospect, thou mayst see
the river through yon gap ; 'tis said they called it
the Lady's Loop."
But Dorothy had already caught sight of a spec-
tacle she well knew from hearsay, which made her
heart stand still. From a tall, withered tree
swung a network of chains enclosing a few tattered
rags and bleaching bones. Her courage gave way,
and almost swooning with terror, she was helped
indoors.
The Captain placed her in a chair, and some
colloquy ensued between him and various other
persons, which she marked but little. At length
a most evil-faced old woman came forward with a
glass of wine, and when she had tasted it offered
to take her to a room. Dorothy followed the hag
up the stone stairs and along the corridor to a
small room at the east end of the building. The
apartment was but a few feet square and had a
window scarce six inches wide, but seemed clean
and weather tight.
While her guide fumbled at the lock, Dorothy
extracted her two pieces of gold from the packet,
and giving them to the woman hoped she would
stand her friend.
The crone looked at them carelessly for a
moment, and then remarked "they should go to
the Captain."
"Will he harm me?" asked the girl.
" Nay, I known't," was the reply. " May be
not. The Captain's rarely taken wi' thee. Why,
he bid me not search thee, and I ne'er heard that
fro' him before. Perchance he'll wed thee, if thou
canst manage well."
"Speak not of it ! " said Dorothy shuddering.
" What, wench, "was the surprised answer, "not
78 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
wed t' Captain ? Thou mayst do worse, I can tell
thee. But an thee likst it not, I'm as well
pleased."
" Oh, save me ! save me ! " cried Dorothy.
" Are you a woman ? "
"I was one once," was the reply.
" Then help me ! Have you never a daughter ? "
"Nay, none. I had one lad they hanged
him. Then I joined t' band. I ha' naught more
to fear in t' world or to hope, s'ave it be to see the
pride o' they smirking gentles brought down."
She locked the door and departed, leaving
Dorothy a prey to the most fearful anticipations.
CHAPTER XIII.
" But still he bet and bounst upon the dore,
And at the portals thondred hideously,
That all the peece he shaked from the flore."
SPENSER.
IT was nearly sunset, and several young men
stood on the bowling green at Tewkesbury, pre-
paring for a game. Among them was William
Helpes, now a man approaching thirty. His tall
spare frame showed agility and endurance rather
than great muscular power, while his quick eye
and steady hand bespoke him an expert in the
sport. He was just stooping for the first cast,
when an exclamation from one of his companions
made him look around.
"What is't, lad?"
" Look yonder ! " cried the other, pointing to
the ferry, within sight of which they stood.
The ferryman was urging his craft to the further
bank, where stood a man trying to raise a fallen
horse. Failing in this after one or two efforts, he
ran to the boat, jumped in, and seizing a spare
pole, sped the passage with voice and arm.
"T lad's in haste," remarked one.
" Nay, 'tis fear," said William, as shouts of
" Help ! Murder ! Thieves ! " became audible
from the passenger. " Let us go and see what he
ails." And pulling on his jerkin he led the way.
The man in the boat redoubled his cries as he
drew near, and leaping to land, rushed into their
midst as if pursued.
8o THE BAILIFF* OF TEVVKESBURY.
"What's amiss?" inquired Helpes. "Who is
murdered and robbed? I see none slain, unless
it be thy horse yonder."
"I I am murdered and robbed!" shrieked
Tuff, for he it was.
"Thou seem'st in brave case for a murdered
man," said Will. " Quit thy halloaing. Is this
some jest thou wouldst put on us? "
" Nay, ye shall hear," answered Tuff, becoming
somewhat calmer. "I set forth from Evesham
this morning with a goodly sum of money and a
fair lady of noble family, who had been placed in
my charge to bring to Tewkesbury. I carried her
through more perils than one ye may see I'm
not he to be frighted by odds but some four
miles hence, as we passed through a most dismal
wood "
"Ay, ay; Gibbet Hill house."
" Full a score of villains set on us, and took
from me all but horse and life."
" So thou didst run away and leave the lady to
shift for herself? A most trusty squire ! "
" I did all man could," whined the craven. " I
struck down two, but they dazzled me with this
blow," he pointed to a cut along his temple,
made, in truth, by a branch in his hasty flight
" they snatched my pouch they bore off the
lady one had dragged me from the saddle, but
my belt burst in his hold I saw naught left but
ride for help. I struck into a by-way, made the
round of the ford, and came hither^ as the nearest
town."
"Thou say'st the lady was carried off? "
"Ay, truly. I heard her shriek, but was blinded
with the blow."
"And who is she?"
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 8 1
"Tis safest name no names," replied Tuff, who,
now he found himself in safety, was recovering his
wonted caution.
"Nay, tell me. We stir not hence for bubbles."
" Come hither, then." And as William stooped
close to him he whispered, " 'Tis Mistress Dorothy
Lucy, niece of Sir Thomas, of Charlecote."
"Mistress Dorothy?" said Will with quickened
interest, as he recollected the bright young face
beside Sir Thomas' chair. " And thou couldst
leave her and fly? but it skills not talking."
Turning to the rest he shouted, " Lads, here is a
noble lady mewed up in yonder nest of thieves.
\Vho will go save her?"
" I ! " " I ! " " I ! " said several voices, and -a
cheer was raised ; but one or two faint hearts be-
gan to suggest difficulties.
" 'Tis four mile hence "
"The night draws on "
"A crew of bold villains "
" A troop of horse were needed "
"As luck will have it," cried Helpes, "yonder
goes Master Sheriff, taking his evening walk along
the Ham. I will go speak to him." He hurried
off, dragging Tuff along, and hastened forth his
tale.
The Sheriff, an elderly, heavy man, listened and
stroked his beard.
" 'Tis a most grievous wrong indeed," said he,
" and shall have remedy. Rest ye here to-night,
come before me at the town hall to-morrow, let us
take thy testimony, a summons shall be issued,
and justice done."
Tuff began to slink off.
" Sir, sir," exclaimed Will, " this is no time for
delay ! What may be done should be done now.
$2 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
Let a few of us go forward, I pray, and at least
keep track of these rogues till thy constables come
up."
The Sheriff looked at him in reflecting sur-
prise.
" Thou speakest boldly," said he, " but I think
thou mayst be trusted. Here 'tis something
beyond rules but, William Helpes, I appoint
thee my deputy, with power to call a posse of any
and all, in the Queen's name, whom God pre-
serve ! "
William uttered the customary formula, and took
the Sheriff's staff.
"Here, friend," said he, overtaking the retreat-
ing Tuff, and grasping his arm, " we part not yet.
Lads, I have authority to lead ye now. Hal
Winn," he went over some eight or ten names,
"get ye muskets and powder, meet me here as
soon as may be. Hal, I prithee bring my sword,
it hangs at the door-post of my room."
In a few minutes the company was again as-
sembled.
"Now forward into the boat," said Helpes.
" Thrust ye over speedily, Jack, and then return if
perchance more may come after."
The ferry was soon crossed. Tuff wished to
take his horse, who had by this time risen and was
cropping the grass, his bridle among his feet ; but
this Helpes would by no means permit, and order-
ing a lad who stood near to stable him for the
night, they proceeded on their way as rapidly as
possible, only stopping now and then to make
requisition on the farms for help.
The peasants, however, who suffered little from
the robbers, but feared them much, were full of
excuses. One pleaded age and infirmities
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 83
another had just been taken with sore pains in his
joints another prayed to stay with his wife, who
lay at the last gasp, and another would certainly
follow Master Deputy as soon as his men came
from the field.
Thus it happened that when, on the verge of
twilight, they reached the highwaymen's retreat,
the force was only augumented by four or five
laborers with forks and axes, and an idiot known
as " Silly Tom."
The house was dark, silent, and apparently un-
inhabited.
" We must call a parley," said William. " Sim-
kin, thou hast the horn, I see, set a white clout on
yonder pole, and come forward with me. Nay,
Master Tuff, step in between us, an' it please ye.
The rest of ye keep your pieces charged, be ready
to reply if they fire."
The three advanced to the house, where Simkin
blew a blast on his horn, then another, and
another, while Helpes knocked loudly at the door.
The posse, meanwhile, watched and commented
from the shadow of the wood.
" Hast been here before, Dick? " asked one.
" Nay, not I," said the other. " 'Tis a gashly
place. Is that t' fellow was hanged in chains I
see yonder? "
" Ay, that's him."
" How came it about? "
"Tell us the tale, Riggs, you're the oldest
here."
" I'm none old enow to mind it," said the man
thus distinguished. " 'Twere fifty year agone. But
I've oft heard feyther tell on 't. Ye see, 'twere a
good old family lived there, an' there were one
son, an' naught would do but he must go see
84 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
furrin parts. So away he went, and were gone
seven year an' more, an' naught heard from him,
an' every one thought him dead. So's cousin
come in for 't place, when owd man died a
worthless young chap, as turned out 's aunt an'
cousins t' first day he could, ground down t' poor
folk, an' kept t' worst company. 'A had been here
scarst a year, when t' heir, him as all tho't dead, ye
mind, comes home from furrin parts wi' his
pockets full o' gold, an' looked well on by all. He
comes up to place here, an' meets his cousin on a
fine summer even. 'A goes up to him, holding
out 's hand, an' speaking him fair, an' t' young
rascal were that angered as he whips out sword,
an' runs him through the heart."
There was a long sigh of horror.
" 'A got to horse an' away, but 'a were soon
took, an' fetched back, an' tried an' hung on that
very tree, by where he kills his cousin. They say
as his ghost walks here now. T' family would none
come back none could live in t' house it went
to ruin, as ye see and a bit ago these cut-
purses took their quarters here."
" They do say," observed one of the rustics,
who had drawn in closely, " as t' band has a way
under ground five mile long, as comes out on t'
other side river."
"I'd none wonder. But look ! there's some one
at last."
And indeed, in answer to the repeated sum-
mons, an old woman thrust her head from an
upper window, and asked "what they wanted?"
" Open he're ! " shouted Helpes. "Open, in the
Queen's name ! "
"Whom should I open till?"
" To the deputy sheriff of Tewkesbury, and his
posse."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 85
" What do t' depity shreeve want wi' huz? "
"Here is a subject of the Queen's Majesty," re-
plied Helpes, " has been foully misused on the
highway hard by, and robbed of his purse ; and a
lady under his charge has been carried off here,
as we have reason to believe."
"There's no lady here," replied the hag, "an'
no robbers neither. Go yer ways, go yer ways ;
dunnts fright a poor owd woman an' her sick son
to death."
" Open here, I say," cried Will. " If the man
who hath had such wrong can find neither the lady
nor his property, or recognize the men who robbed
him, none shall be harmed : but keep us here no
longer. I have authority to enter and search "
he held up his staff, " and yonder band of good
men and true to help. Open, in Queen Elizabeth's
name, or we beat down the door ! "
"At your peril ! " shouted a rough voice, and a
half dozen shots were discharged from as many
windows. The muskets levelled against the
Deputy and his companions were charged with
bird-shot, so they suffered no great harm ; but
Tuff, stung by a stray pellet or two, broke from the
others with a howl of terror, and, taking to his
heels, was seen no more that night.
Helpes and Simkin fell back more slowly, and
joined the posse, whom they found in a very tur-
bulent and demoralized condition.
Having restored some degree of order, various
plans of attack were discussed. One suggestion,
that a number of them should raise a log upon
their shoulders, and charge at the door, was at-
tempted, but the wounding of the foremost caused
the downfall of all and showed the plan imprac-
ticable.
86 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
Skirmishers were then thrown out from right to
left, but found the underwood cleared away about
the house on every side, so that no cover could be
had for assault. A dropping fire was meanwhile
exchanged between besieged and besiegers, with
some slight damage to the latter, who however
were mostly covered by trees and stones.
Some two hours had worn away in this fruitless
manner, and proposals to retreat were becoming
numerous, when Silly Tom, who had disappeared
some time before, came up to Helpes with a face
of grinning importance.
" I'n done for 'n now, Measter ; I'n fired t'
thack," and a dark cloud of smoke tinged beneath
with ruddy light, which began to rise from the rear
of the building, showed he spoke true.
"Hurrah!" cried the bystanders. "Well
done, Tom ! The rats will soon be smoked out
now."
" Ay," said Helpes, " the rats will be smoked
out, no doubt : but how with the prize they have
taken? The lady will either be slain or carried
off. Wait ye here a moment, that I may get sight
of yon end window again. Methought I heard a
cry there."
He rushed off to reach the east end of the
building. Meantime, the harvest moon, rising
above the horizon, poured a flood of mellow light
across wood and field, illuminating the tree-tops
and the grass, and accentuating the deepest
shadows. Presently he came hastily back.
"I saw her !" he cried. "She is in the east
room. She looked from the window and put forth
her hand, the casement is too narrow for aught
else. We must break in ere the fire has got too
far, or the gang has carried her off."
"But how?"
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
8 7
" I'll show ye." He sprang out on the clear
ground, waved his arms and shouted. Several
muskets were discharged from the windows, but
none took effect.
" Now, now ! " he cried, snatching a crowbar
from one of the laborers. " Quick, ere they can
reload: one of ye
come with me the
rest stand ready to
charge in when the
door goes down ! "
He dashed across
the open, followed
by Henry Winn with
an axe, and in a min-
ute they were batter-
ing the door with
alternate blows, shel-
tered from the upper
windows by the over-
hanging porch roof,
while, owing to the
thickness of the wall,
no gun could be
brought to bear on
them from the narrow hall window, from which
the best aimed shots had hitherto come.
"Lay on, lay on!" shouted Helpes. i'Strike
an' 'twere an anvil nay, blunt not thy edge,
Hal leave the iron to me. Again, again we
have it now ! "
The upper hinge burst, and the door fell back ;
but as it did so a fiery jet sprang from the open-
ing, and Winn fell with a groan.
" Hast much hurt, lad ? " asked Will.
" 'Twill last my life, methinks," replied his
88 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY.
friend. " I'm shot thro' the neck, but heed me
not finish thy work."
He rose, and crawled aside, while the others
came rushing on after their leader, who, driving
in the door, found a barricade of chairs, tables and
benches piled in his way ; while in the back of the
hall, now fast filling with smoke from the increas-
ing fire, the robbers could be seen filing one by
one down an open cellar way.
With calls to " stand and surrender," the deputy
and his posse forced their way through and over
the barrier, but not till all had disappeared save
one fellow, who stood half way down the steps
with his hand on the door.
"Where is the lady?" cried Will, drawing his
sword, and springing forward.
" Seek her above," answered the ruffian.
" There's a barrel of powder, and match alight, to
help ye."
He fired a pistol at Helpes, slammed down the
flap, and vanished.
Breathless, giddy, and wounded in the forearm
by three slugs, Will dropped his sword, and leaned
a few seconds against the wall. His friends
crowded round with eager enquiries.
" 'Tis naught, a scratch," he replied, recovering
himself, "Come, up the stair!" and he placed
his foot on the lowest step.
"Nay," interposed Riggs, "did ye not hear what
he said o' powder? Hark ! Hark ! "
And in the silence which followed they could
hear that most fearful of sounds, in a confined
space the hissing sputter of a lighted fuse.
With the instinct of self-preservation, most
rushed at the door ; but one or two held William
back.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 89
" I'll lay my life there's none there ; ye'll ne'er
find her
"Thou'lt be riding the night breeze next
minute
" The nearer heaven ! " he answered ; and re-
leasing himself, rushed up the stair alone.
He reached the upper hall, now hot and thick
with smoke, calling aloud, "Mistress Dorothy
Mistress Lucy "Dorothy, where art thou? "
" Here, here ! " called a voice through the
darkness.
Groping his way, he reached a door, and threw
his weight against it. The lock yielded, and he
stood in Dorothy Lucy's presence.
A sharp report a roar like the bursting of a
volcano, followed by an outward rush of sulphur-
scented air and the floor heaved upward and
disappeared .from sight, the front wall falling in, and
the tiles pouring in a clattering avalanche from
the roof. The flames, which now had a strong hold
on the west end of the building, sank for an in-
stant, and then burst forth with redoubled fury.
" He's dead, for certain," said one of the posse,
who from a safe distance viewed the scene. " 'A
were a brave lad, but 'a wouldn't hear reason."
" Nay, nay, there 'a comes ! " cried another ;
and a hearty cheer was raised, as, clambering down
the heap of rubbish the explosion had left, William
appeared, with Dorothy in his arms.
Several horsemen had now come up, whose
steeds were made useful in conveying the wounded
men, of whom there were five, one dangerously
hurt. Will Helpes, declaring his injury a trifle,
walked to Tewkesbury at Dorothy's bridle rein, nor
relinquished his charge till she was safe in Dame
Hinckley's arms.
9 o
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
But long after their departure the flames, roar-
ing upward into the sky, lighted up the country for
miles around, and proclaimed Gibbet Hill house a
thing of the past.
CHAPTER XIV.
" Sound sleep be thine ! Sound cause to sleep hast thou ! "
TENNYSON.
DOROTHY'S waking next morning was gradual and
troubled. The thread of light which crept in
through Dame Hinckley's garret window, despite
the loving care with which it had been curtained,
recalled to her fevered mind the silver line of the
Avon, which yesterday she had so feared to lose
sight of, and on it seemed to float in succession
the various forms she had met : the woman bind-
ing sheaves, the cripple and the alehouse ruffians,
Tuff and the robber captain, all ending in a scene
of darkness, smoke, and tumult, through which the
face of Shakespeare came breaking like a star, and
from which she would rouse herself with an effort,
only to begin anew the weary round.
At length, resolutely disengaging herself from
these visions, she sat up, and looked about her.
She saw a garret but little larger than the great
four-post bedstead which she had occupied so
many years at Charlecote, and, small as it was,
almost bare of furniture. The pallet on which she
lay, a stool at her side, whereon a cup of milk had
been placed, and a spinning-wheel, were the only
articles she could perceive, except her own cloth-
ing and a little of the dame's. She rose and
dressed herself, feeling very weak, and lame from
head to foot, from the unwonted exertions of yes-
terday. Much in need of some sustenance, she
drank the milk, and then tried to compose her
92 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
thoughts sufficiently to appreciate her position.
Slowly the later events of the night came back to
her, and she could faintly recollect, after that
momentary vision of the face which had burst
through the thunder-cloud of assault, a long and
weary night ride through miry ways, ending with
the clatter of paved streets, and the clasp of wel-
coming arms.
She drew the cloak from the window, and
looked forth, but hastily replaced it again on find-
ing that she could almost have touched the gable
of the opposite house, and that a slatternly woman
was gazing with great interest from the aperture
fronting her own, both casement frames, covered
with thin oiled linen, having been swung back to
admit air. The neighbor directed a torrent, first
of inquiry, then of sarcasm, and finally of abuse,
against the veil between them, to which Dorothy
made no answer, but withdrew herself into the
furthest corner of the room. She had seen the
sun high in heaven during her brief glance with-
out, and it was evident that the morning must be
far advanced. But still there was no sign of
Dame Hinckley.
At last a step, which strove to be a light one,
was heard on the stair, and the worthy woman,
softly raising the latch, crept into the room,
starting with surprise as she saw Dorothy up and
dressed.
" My service to ye, Mistress Dorothy," said she,
curtseying formally ; and then, as the girl held
out her arms, she caught her in her own, crying,
and caressing her with the old names of baby-
hood. " Eh, poppet ! Eh, sweeting ! but 'tis good
to have ye here ! Never was a fairer sight in
these four walls. I thought not ever to see ye
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
93
again, but ye are welcome as flowers in May.
Tis a poor place for a Lucy, but "
" Nay, nurse," said Dorothy, who had thought
much upon this matter. " Call me not a Lucy
I will be Dorothy Markham." And she
added, under breath, " I have wedded poverty
now ; I must change my name."
Dame Hinckley looked amazed. " Markham ?
Sure, 'twas thy mother's name, and a truer, nor a
better woman never stepped ; but but well,
an' thou'lt have it so, 'tis not for me to say thee
nay. Thou knowest best, and wilt pardon a silly
owd woman if she forgets by times."
" I fear me," said Dorothy, " I have been but a
94 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
sluggard this day. On the morrow I will strive to
rise as soon as thou."
" Thou mayn't do that," said the dame. " Thou'll
ne'er blind thy pretty eyes wi' rising, as I do, wi'
sun all summer, and before him in winter. Tis
well enow for an owd maid like me, but not for a
young one."
" But why must get thee out so early, nurse? "
"To set open church-doors," replied Dame
Hinckley proudly. I ha' done it these ten year.
Gaffer Hedge, t' sexton, grows owd an' failed, and
a' were never fond on work at 's best. So I goes
down every morn, an opes t' doors, an' takes a
besom till 't' floor, an redds t' place : an' Sundays
an' High days I lays cushions for t' gentry, an' sees
Sir Richard's gown and bands ready, an' keeps
t' lads bashed. I does mostly all but ring t' bells
an' dig t' graves. I has a dole from Sir Richard,
an' summat from Gaffer Hedge, an' wi' Christmas-
box an' Whissun-vails, I nigh pay for roof an'
board. Then at even 'tis all to close again, mind
ye."
"Then thou goest twice i' th' day?"
" Ay do I : but I'm ne'er away at night, my
pretty : never fear, I'll not leave thee then."
" But does no one ever let thee in thy work? "
"Ay, ay," said the dame. "A host o' sturdy
beggars would fain come in for shelter o' dirty
days : but I never let 'em further than the porch,
as theer shoon 'ud mucky t' floor shameful : T'
lads are for hop-scotch an' marbles on t' flags at
door, an' away or I can clout 'em o' th' head ; an'
only last Friday, as ever were, an owd body slips
in when my back were turned, an' flumps down o'
her knees at chancel-steps; but I soon had her
out, I promise ye. ' 'Tis no place for praying this,"
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBL RY. 95
says I, an' marches her to door faster nor she
came."
" Nurse," said Dorothy, " my head aches sadly.
Dost think I might go down to the street awhile
for air?"
Dame Hinckley looked grave and considered a
minute.
"If thou canst bear it, dearie," said she, "me-
thinks 'twere best not stir out till even. Town
were all agog last night, when Depity an' poss
came in. Full a hundred bold fellows were reel-
ing about, and swearin' how 'twere a sad grief they
were too late to go along : and only Master Helpes
gave 'em the slip, an' brought thee round a back
way, while throng were running after wounded
men, I'm feared house would ha' been torn down
o'er our heads by morn. But when I win back
from church, ere curfew sounds, I'll take thee out
a bit : then if any ask after thee, I'll say 'tis my
niece come to bide wi' me awhile. I ha' told
truth these fifty year, an' got a name will carry
one tale through."
Dorothy looked up and was about to speak
hastily : but remembering how long Sir Thomas
had called her niece, kept silence.
"But here stand I!" cried Dame Hinckley,
" my hands hanging to my arms an' the light going
to waste. Lay thee down again, dear, rest if thee
cannot sleep ; I mun get to my wheel."
And taking a bunch of flax from a hutch in the
wall, she seated herself, and began to draw out the
fine smooth thread from the whirling wheel with a
dexterity born of long practice ; while Dorothy,
laying down her aching head on the sack of chaff
which served for a pillow, sank into deeper slum-
ber than before. She was wakened at noon for a
96 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
meal, but would only eat a little bread and water,
and then relapsed into oblivion ; while Dame
Hinckly, gladly devouring a double portion of
broad-beans, turned to her work again.
It was near sundown when the sleeper was
roused by a touch on the shoulder. Her nurse
stood beside her with a look of triumphant weari-
ness, holding up some yarn.
"There, dearie, I ha' done three hanks to-day,
for all; I could do four at my best; but three's
none so bad for a woman nigh threescore. Dost
feel well enow to get up an' snod thyself, while I
be gone to church? Then we'll take a turn, an'
ha' our bit o' supper after."
Dorothy, having arranged her hair and dress as
neatly as possible without mirror, pins or brushes,
seated herself by the window, and looked at the
receding corbelled house front opposite, and the
street below, so narrow and crooked that she could
only see a few yards in either direction. The
smell and sound of many frying suppers (each
savory, but as a whole malodorous) rose to her
point of espial, and for a moment she remembered
regretfully the breezy park at Charlecote. But
she saw her nurse approaching with love in her
face, and all else was for the time forgotten.
" I ha' borrowed a cloak of gossip Jenkins, as
thou'd best wear," said the dame entering.
Dorothy looked at the dingy garment presented
with great disfavor. " I have one of my own,"
said she.
" 'Twill none do," answered the other decidedly.
" Art too much t' lady in thy worst gear. Thou
knowst naught of life, heaven forbid ; but t' more
thou canst look, ay, an' talk, ay, an' feel like my
niece, while thou bidst here, the better. I've none
angered thee, sure?" bending forward anxiously.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 97
" No, no," replied Dorothy, swallowing her
feeling.
"Why that's well, dearling. Come wi' me.
" And the two descended the strait and creaking
stair. They passed along the tortuous alley to-
ward High Street, Dorothy drawing the hood
closely round her face, and Dame Hinckley, who
was a person of some consequence in her way,
elbowing aside all who obstructed her charge's
progress, and bestowing on one impudent youth a
buffet which sent him into the kennel.
"Dost mind t' lane, dear?" she inquired,
" Many a time thou's played on these stones
Keep t' wall, Kate, a murrain to thee ! Jan
Cobbler's dead, and 's son has new painted t' sign ;
thy first shoon were clouted there ; here's t'
baker's shop, where wouldst hold by t' bulk, an' cry
for sweet cakes Jem Plack, where art shoving
thyself? if I take a stick in hand, I'll send thee to
t' cooper wi' a noggin to mend. Here's t' High
Street, dearie; is 't not a fine sight?" And the
worthy soul, who in truth believed that Tewkesbury's
chief thoroughfare had no fellow, stood a few
moments, looking up and down with an air of
complacency good to behold.
Her face clouded presently, however, and she
began hurrying Dorothy back into the alley.
" Is it time to go yet? " asked the girl.
" Full time. Dost see yon power of gallants
coming? There's no breaking their heads; and
if they get sight o' thee, worse may follow."
She pushed Dorothy hastily along, but ere they
reached the door, one of the company had nearly
overtaken them. For an instant the maiden's
soul leaped into her eyes, as she sa\V a hint of the
face which had dwelt in her thoughts for two years.
98 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
A second glance, however, showed her mistake.
Dame Hinckley advanced, bristling up like a hen,
but soon dropped her guard.
"What, is 't thou, Master Helpes?" she ex-
claimed, drawing a long breath. " For sure, I
thought 'twas one of these young whipsters will
ne'er be stopped or spoken ; but come in come
in" she got them within the street door
" Master Helpes, thou must know Mistress Dorothy
Markham."
"I came," said the young man, doffing his cap,
" to pay my respect to Mistress Dorothy, and hope
she is none the worse for last night."
Dorothy murmured her thanks.
"And I have some trifle here," he continued,
tendering a brace of wild fowl, " I hope thou'lt
try, Dame, to change thy Sunday dinner withal."
" Eh," said Dame Hinckley, taking the game,
" 'tis long or I've seen the like. My properest
thanks to thee, Master Helpes. But how's this?"
observing that his arm and hand were bandaged.
" Did they peck thy fingers or thou couldst wring
their necks?"
" Nay, 'tis but a touch I got last night."
"What, sir?" said Dorothy, "wast hurt in
saving me? Is it a burn? Hath aught been
done to heal it ? "
"The barber hath picked out the slugs," re-
plied Helpes, " and it must needs be sore a few
days."
" Come up to my room," said Dame Hinckley,
" let me get the bottle of balm, and thou needst
not say that. I'll lay the fowls here, and Giles
Baker will roast me them for Sunday."
They ascended to the garret, the balsam
and some clean linen were produced, and the
THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 99
arm unbound. It proved to be badly lacerated
and inflamed.
" Go look from the window, child," said the
Dame, seeing that Dorothy had turned very white.
"This is no sight for thee."
"Nay," said the girl, "what another can bear,
I trust I can look on. If Master Helpes will
permit "
And taking the place of her good-hearted but
rough-handed nurse, she anointed and bound up
the wound with a gentleness and skill learned
from the mistress of Charlecote.
" I thank thee, lady," said Helpes when the
operation was completed, " thou dost me too
much honor."
" Nay," said Dorothy earnestly, " 'tis for me to
thank thee, who didst save me yesternight from a
fearful death. Thou must think me most ungrate-
ful, but in sooth my head is so wildered I scarce
know who or where I am."
" I shall ever esteem myself most happy in that
I was able to serve thee," he replied, moving
towards the door. Dorothy held out her hand.
Helpes bowed low over it, and with a " Good-
even, Mistress Dorcthy god-den, Dame," left
the room.
" There's true blood there," said Dame Hinckley.
"Didst mark how he said naught of 's hurt? A
clown may lay on like a thrasher, but if 's skin's
broke, ye hear on't. And when he came up to
this poor place, never a wink did he give to wall
or plenishing, but looked right on us. Ay, the
family may be burgess, but they come of gentles
I've heard they're kin to the Dacres."
While she spoke, she had heaped a few bits of
charcoal into a small brasier. Then running
100 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
hastily down stairs, she returned with a live coal
on a heap of ashes in her palm.
" T light goes fast," said she, "but mayhap
there's time."
A piece of cheese and half a loaf were now set
forth, and the dame began toasting the former at
the coals, after blowing them to a glow. The
bread was sliced, and the meal just ready, when a
few heavy strokes sounded from the church tower.
" I feared it," said she, " there's t' curfew, but
we're just i' time."
Throwing the coals on the hearth, she covered
them with ashes, and supper was eaten in darkness.
Dorothy was soon ready for slumber, but Dame
Hinckley firmly refused to share the pallet.
" I know my place better," said she. " I'm full
as well here, in my cloak, wi' my back to wall.
Feyther were full o' ashmy, an' I find it creep on
me."
Not all Dorothy could say moved her, and ere
long nurse and nursling were deep in repose.
CHAPTER XV.
" In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground."
WORDSWORTH.
DAME HIXCKLEY was away at her church duties
early next morning, but Dorothy rose before her
return and began to meditate what she could do
to increase the family income. Of the Dame's
two sources of revenue, one was out of the ques-
tion, but surely she could spin. She said as much
on her nurse's return, but was met with a dubious
look.
" So many women spin," urged Dorothy, " it
cannot be hard to learn."
" None so hard, take it early," replied the
Dame. " But young as thee is, my pretty, I'm
feared thee's too owd for that. Or best say,
hoped; for a sin and shame it were that Lucy
fingers should twirl a distaff."
" Remember, nurse," said Dorothy, laughing,
"they are Markham fingers. Come, let me try."
And despite remonstrance, she sat down at the
wheel, where she met with the usual fate of begin-
ners pinched her foot, cut her fingers with the
thread, and so forth ; still she persevered, and at
the end of an hour had produced three or four
yards of very slack and uneven twist.
" How much would that be worth, nurse? " she
asked in the pride of first achievement.
" Let's see," said the Dame. " Happen 'twould
ay, thee's been at work an hour it might be
a hank a day." 101
IO2 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" And what is a hank worth ? "
" A penny," was the crushing reply. " As I
towd thee, at my best I could spin four hanks a
day and earn a groat."
"Then I can only earn a penny a day," said
Dorothy, appalled. " Oh, nurse, I have but come
to be a burden on you ! I wish but stay
she drew from her bosom the little packet con-
taining her ear-rings.
" Here, nurse, take these to the goldsmith and
sell them. Sure they will keep me a year."
" Nay, sweet, none o' that. A burden ! Is 't
not the grandest honor to me to have a Lu I
mean, a lady, biding wi' me in these poor walls,
gien I did na love her? And doant I love thee
wi' all my heart? and doesn't thou do me more
good wi' thy pretty face, an' pretty speech, nor
thou wast the bravest spinster in 't shire ? Sell thy
fair ear-rings, quotha ! Wouldst ha' t' owd woman
be ta'en for a thief ? Put 'em by, dear, put 'em
by ; they must hang in thy ears when thy wedding
day comes."
"There will be no wedding day for me," said
Dorothy.
" So they all say to owd nurses, but never one
to right young gentleman. Thou'lt be a fair bride
yet, an' I only hope I may live to busk thee."
" I wish," said the girl, " I had those gold pieces
I gave the woman at what call they the
robbers'?"
" Gibbet Hill house, dost mean?"
Dorothy shivered at the ugly name.
" Nay, don't be feared. None will see 't more.
Tis burnt clean wi' t' ground, they tell me. But
how came thee gi-ing any money there ? that sort
mostly take; an' how? but I crave thy pardon,
here be I axing for what 's no matter o' mine."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKKSBURY. 103
" I'll tell thee all the tale, nurse," said Dorothy,
" except why I left my uncle's house : that must
not be spoken of."
Dame Hinckley nodded. " By thy leave, dear,
I'll get to my spinning the while : t' day runs on."
And seating herself at the wheel, in which position
Dorothy regarded her with a considerable accession
of respect, she prepared ear and mind for her
nursling's story.
Dorothy began with her early walk in the Charle-
cote fields, and then down the Avon. The good
dame listened with the deepest interest. Many
were her expressions of commiseration for Dor-
othy, great the scorn she heaped on Tuff; and
after twice breaking her thread, a thing which, as
she remarked, did not happen once a week, she
was compelled to cease her work.
Only the conclusion of the story need be given
in the narrator's own words.
" I heard them call without, ' Open, in the
Queen's name,' and then the guns firing. After a
time, just as the moon was rising, I saw some one
near my window. I called, and put out my arm.
More I could not, it was so strait. Soon after, the
Captain I knew his voice came to my door,
the which I had fastened as well as I might, told
me the house was fired, and none should harm me
if I would come forth, and away with them by the
underground passage. I made him no answer, and
methinks he must have been shot, for just as he
began to speak again, he cried out, and fell against
the door. Some came stamping up, and carried
him off Then the smoke gathered thick, and I
knew little more till one broke the door with a
great noise, and bore me out. There was a weary
ride, which seemed like a dream, and then thou
didst take me in."
IO4 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" Ay, dear," replied the dame, embracing her,
"and I trust ever to keep thee safe from such
another fearsome night. There's no doubt some
o' t' gang were killed," s'he went on, repeating the
rumors of the town, "an' o' our side, poor Hal
Winn is like to die."
She had now resumed her wheel and was plying
it briskly; as if to make up for lost time.
" Oh, this is dreadful ! " cried Dorothy. " How
many lives have been lost through me ! "
" 'Twould ha' been none t' better, gif thine had
been lost too. Gi' thanks for that."
"I do, I have," returned the girl. "But all
this has come of my leaving home Charlecote, I
mean and yet I could not stay."
She remained musing the rest of the morning,
and at dinner could not eat her share of bean-
porridge. Her nurse was much distressed.
" 'Tis coming from country air to this close
alley," said she. " I be wonted to 't. No reek
ne'er turns my stomach ; but in course 'tis differ-
ent wi' a lady. But to-morrow's Sunday, and we'll
ha' t' brace o' fowl Master Helpes brought, an' I
hope thou canst pick some o' them. Lay thee
down now, and we'll take t' air again at even."
Dorothy rested and dozed most of the after-
noon, until Dame Hinckley came hurrying in.
"I ha' got back a bit sooner than common,"
she panted, " an' as good luck will ha' 't, there's a
bull-fight on the Ham, an' every rudesby in town
gone to 't. So we may find t' way clear."
The faded old cloak was again brought forth.
"I hate to wrap thee up in this, but 'tis safest.
By-and-by I'll say, ' My niece has gotten a new
cloak,' an' thou canst put on thy own. Eh ! how
th' gossips ha' pestered me about thee this day !
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
105
An' I durst na' gi' one o' them a clout, for fear
'twould make all worse. I ha' held my hand so
oft, I hope to be forgi'n for the lies I'n told."
They descended to the alley, which they found
deserted by all the boys, nearly all the men, and
most of the younger women ; and consequently
reached the High street much sooner and more
easily than on the previous day.
" Bull-fight's yonder," said Dame Hinckley
laconically, pointing westward. " Dost hear 'em
shout? "
And indeed, the roars of alternate applause and
terror, mingled with the hoarse bellowing of the
baited animal, were distinctly audible from some
half-mile's distance.
"Thou'd none care to go look on from t' wall?"
she added, inquiringly.
106 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY.
" Oh, no, no ! " said Dorothy, shrinking away.
" Thou 's right, no doubt," replied her nurse, in
a slightly disappointed tone. " It might na' be
safe I ha' been to many a one in my time
but surely thou is right 'tis no place for owd
women or young ladies."
She turned away and led Dorothy down the
street, pointing out the objects of interest.
" Yen's t' Abbey, an' Town-Hall at street end
thou'll mind them an' here's Sir Richard's
house, an' t' Bailey's, as is last made an' here's
where t' king supped, after t' fight in Bloody
Meadow my broder '11 be proud to tell thee o'
that an' down this way lives Master Helpes and
his sire."
She was turning down the indicated way, but
Dorothy stopped her.
" Not there," she objected.
"Nay, why not?" said the Dame. "They're
all at bull-bait, for sure. I'd ha' thee see t'
windows. No gentle in town has fairer, an' just
put in, as t' feyther must roll in money to do it."
They advanced along the street, and soon came
to a commodious grey stone house standing back
from the roadway, a spacious garden at one side,
and every window fitted with glass casements, the
bright lead of whose lattices announced their very
recent introduction.
" Are they not fine ? " said the Dame. " Eh, I
forgot. Thou's well used to the like at Charle-
cote. But there's few such here."
Her voice aroused no less a person than William
Helpes himself, who sprang up from a bench under
one of the great apple-trees, and came forward to
the wall, thrusting some papers into his doublet
front.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 1 07
" Will it please you enter, Mistress Dorothy?"
said he, bowing and holding open the gate.
" Nay, gramercy," said Dorothy, blushing.
"We did but come abroad to take the air. I
wonder much to fmd thee from the brave sport
yonder."
" I was never o'er fond on 't," he answered,
"still I have gone or now, and might again, if I
durst trust my arm in such a throng."
" I crave thy pardon, Master Helpes ! " exclaimed
the girl, "that I asked not for it sooner. Hast
thou much pain? "
" Nay, 'tis not worth naming," replied Helpes,
reddening in his turn. " I meant not to complain.
Thy care hath done wonders, the grief is gone,
and I hope to use it by the Monday."
" It glads me to hear this. And poor Master
Winn, Nurse Hinckley tells me of. Is there any
hope?"
" Great hope," said Will, emphatically. " He
lost much blood, but is now stouter, and they say
he shall do well."
Both professed their joy at this news. There
was a short pause, and again Helpes pressed them
to enter.
" Not so, sir," said Dorothy. "We have already
detained thee from thy studies too long."
" My studies? I did but while away tho time."
" Think not to carry it off thus, sir. I saw thee
put thy author carefully away, and I see now that
thou art longing to return co him."
" In sooth, 'twas no such weighty matter of
Tully or Plutarch as thou mayst think. I was
reading of sonnets."
"Sonnets? Master Petrarch's, I suppose. I
have seen a dozen of them Englished."
108 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" Nay, these be not Petrarch's, and they need
no putting into English, for they were writ in' t."
" An Englishman write sonnets ? Hath he done
it well?"
" By thy leave, lady, I'll show' thee one, and thou
shalt say if Petrarch hath done better."
And taking out one of the manuscripts in his
bosom, he read aloud :
" When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
1 all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee; and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth), sings hymns at heaven's gate.
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings."
He read well, not without expression, and in a
deep melodious voice quite different from his
ordinary conversational tone ; while the absence
of the hesitation so common in reading manu-
script showed how often he must have perused the
poem.
Dorothy stood motionless, the old cloak falling
to the ground, while recollection and admiration
mingled in her features. As William glanced at
her, it flashed across him that two years before, in
the hall at Charlecote, her look and attitude had
been much the same.
" 'Tis fairly writ, indeed," she said at length,
much more coldly than she felt. " 'Twould pass
with some of Petrarch's, I doubt not. And who
is the poet? And what fair lady doth he praise
thus?"
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 109
" The poet hath no name as yet," said Helpes,
" but he cannot want it long. And I conceive "
slightly coloring " the sonnet is writ to a
friend."
"Oh, sure a friend could not inspire him thus?
But hast thou more of these sonnets, Master
Helpes? I would fain see if he giveth such good
measure to every comer."
" Nay, lady, an thou'lt turn inspector, I'll be
proud to lead thee through the market. But"
Here Dame Hinckley, who had sauntered to a
little distance, came bustling up. " Come away ! "
she cried to Dorothy. " Baiting's over ; didst not
hear the clapping just now ? 'Tis near night, an'
every knave will soon be back. Hood thyself, an'
hasten. God-den, Master Helpes : nay, come not
wi' us ; come the morrow if thou lik'st, an' ha' thy
arm swaddled again." And seizing the girl by the
hand, she dragged her off, with but scant time for
leave-takings.
" A stout young man, an' a good-hearted, an' a'
will be rich some day," she panted out, as they
sped through the darkening streets. " But I like
not to see him wi's papers an' books ; what ha' any
but priests an' lawers to do wi' them ? That's the
next way to spoil t' eyes an' t' stomach. He'd do
rarely, were 't not for that. But I trust thou mayst
help to keep him fro' them, as I'm felly mistook if
he looks in a book soon again when thou art
near."
CHAPTER XVI.
"Then felt I like some watcher of the skies,
When a new planet swims into his ken."
KEATS.
DOROTHY woke next morning at her nurse's call
to find the good woman standing at her bedside,
dressed in her best array.
. " I'n opened church doors as I'm wont," said
she, " now put thee on, while I get t' Sunday ale
an' white loaf, an' then we mun haste away ; I've
half town to seat."
The girl was soon ready for her breakfast, and
did justice to the wheaten loaf, though she could
only be prevailed on to sip of the ale.
" I like ill to ha' thee wear yon grimy clout to
church," said the Dame, "but well I wot thy gay
hood will draw more than wise men's eyes. Stay !
I ha 't. Turn 't outside in 'tis a sad-colored
lining now 'twill do."
They set forth accordingly, Dorothy's costume,
from hood to shoes, undergoing the closest scru-
tiny from the women, and what could be seen of
her features being as narrowly scanned by the
men. Several youths, whose pasty faces, gnarled
hands, or awkward gait, told their occupations
more plainly than ruffles or swords could deny
them, showed signs of making up to her, but were
in every case repulsed by the truculent mien of
her guardian.
" I fear none o' these half-sirs," said Dame
Hinckley, as she repelled the advances of one
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. Ill
smirking lad. " I ha' made better stand back ;
yet I hope 'twill not be long or there's a stronger
arm than t' owd woman's for thee to lean on."
Arrived at the church, Dorothy was placed in a
dark corner, whence, almost unseen, she could
view the exertions of her nurse properly to mar-
shal the congregation. No court master of cere-
monies could have a better idea of the grades of
rank than had Dame Hinckley, in her way, and
nothing was left untried by her, from an entreating
look to a heavy thump, that might help on the end
she sought.
The long sermon was at last over, and the pair
reached home again, the dame fetching a sigh of
relief as she shot the bolt.
" That's well done," said she, " but 'tis a heavy
charge, a fair young lady. If I can but keep thee
fro' t' gentry ! But here comes baker's lad, wi'
t' roast fowl."
Dinner was scarcely over when William Helpes
made his appearance, clad in a suit of rich
material, but sober color, with no attempt to shine
above his rank by the use of silk or plumes ; while
instead of the long rapier then worn by fashion-
ables, a short straight back sword, with a small
buckler hanging on its hilt, swung by his side.
The first inquiries were after his arm ; and, much
against his will, he was obliged to submit to
another examination and dressing of the wound,
which however appeared so much improved that
it was not likely to need further attention.
" I came," said he, when this business was over,
" to ask Mistress Dorothy if she would not take
the air upon the Ham this fine even."
"What thinkst thou, nurse?" said Dorothy
aside. " Were' t well I went? Is 't safe?"
112 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Thou canst not be safer than with Master
Helpes."
" But thou must come too."
" Surely. I'll be proud to follow ye to meadow,
town, market or church.'
Dorothy bit her lip, and turning to Helpes said
that she would be glad of the walk. He accord-
ingly went down to the street to wait until they
should be ready.
" Nurse," said Dorothy, as she donned her gear,
" thou hast twice or thrice broke jests on Master
Helpes and myself, which may not pass. I go
with him now, for I would not be disgracious to
one who hath served me so nearly, and suffered
therefor ; but I think not ever to marry ; and even
were 't not so with me, thou knowest a Lucy may
not wed out of her rank."
"Thy father thought a Markham might," was
the answer.
Dorothy flushed angrily, and was only pacified
by Dame Hinckley's begging pardon, and promis-
ing not to repeat the offence.
The three were soon on their way to the Ham,
Dorothy leaning on Helpes' arm, and her nurse
walking a little behind.
" 'Tis a fair town this," she began.
"Ay, in sooth," replied Helpes. "Hast seen
the Abbey and the Town Hall?" Dorothy
nodded. " And the ' Bloody Meadow ' ? and the
river? 'Tis said there's no fairer river in Britain
than the Severn. Thou shouldst take boat on it
some day and row down. And at the spring tides,
if thou'lt walk by it i' the spate, thou mayst see
the eger come up, foaming like a boar 'Tis a
sight worth seeing."
They had now entered the Ham. The great
THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY.
meadow was scattered over with detached couples
and small companies of the townsfolk, some stroll-
ing and resting, some engaged in games of various
kinds, or watching the performances of mounte-
banks and jugglers.
Turning to the least
frequented part, they
were soon in toler-
able quiet.
" Master Helpes,"
said Dorothy pres-
ently, "hath thy poet
writ but one sonnet, ^
and that to a friend ? <>. ,
I would hear how he _^
doth address a lady."
" He hath many <
such," said William, '"\
"but I fear one only
is in my memory.
Wilt thou choose to
hear it?"
Dorothy signified
her pleasure, and the
young man began :
" When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now,
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring,
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing.
So we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise."
114 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURV.
Dorothy listened with close attention, scarcely
drawing breath.
" Tis beautiful," said she when he had finished,
" most beautiful ; but how dost know that he ad-
dresses a lady here, Master Helpes? He says not
even ' she ' ; much less mentions a name."
"Thou art ill to please," answered her com-
panion, " last time we spoke on this, thou wouldst
have it friendship could not inspire ; and now
thou askest for proof that this is not to a friend."
"I think indeed proof is needed," said Dorothy.
" But see, he speaks of her beauty ; sure, a man
would not praise another man's beauty."
" Why not, when he hath just spoke of ' lovely
knights ' ? "
" But likewise of ' ladies dead.' "
"Well, an' 't be to a lady dead, we shall not
quarrel. But I would fain see one to a living lady.
Hath he any such? "
" In sooth, I think so. I have some half score
at home. I will look thee one out."
" Half score ? Have a care thou abuse not my
belief, Master Helpes. I shall begin to think thou
hast writ these same sonnets to thyself."
" I trust I am no such false coxcomb " be-
gan Helpes, very hotly ; then, collecting himself,
" I prithee pardon my warmth, lady ; Tewkesbury
temper is soon up. But I tell thee naught but
truth. I know that these sonnets, which I shall
ever uphold for the best, were writ to diverse
persons ; some to a friend, some to a lady."
As Dorothy did not immediately answer, he
added, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, " I
must seem the rudest clown in Britain ; but I
should sorely grieve to offend thee."
"Nay," said the girl smiling, "Tewkesbury
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 115
temper hath served me so well of late, I must not
quarrel with it ; in truth, I am not angry."
She held out her hand, which he took and
closely pressed.
"Then thou knowest this poet?" she resumed.
"Some grave and weighty ancient, I trow, with a
bald pate, and a great beard."
" Not so ; he is some four years younger than
myself."
"Thou art most exact," laughed Dorothy. " It
should seem, then, that he stands between us."
"Ay," said William, "but as a bridge, I trust,
not as a wall."
"I have heard that sore battles have been
fought on bridges ; but I hope we shall not fall at
strife over him."
" I should count it a sad mischance to fall at
strife with thee, Mistress ; tho' thou mayest think
I have given but an indifferent sample of my
peaceful humor."
"Thou wouldst fight for thy friend, no doubt, as
well as thou didst for thy for a stranger : yet I
can conceive of thee as most peaceful by times :
but to take up the tale again, sir, where dwells this
poet? and what is his name?"
" He dwells in London, now ; that is, for the
time," said Helpes, halting and stammering as he
began to reflect whether it were wise to tell Sir
Thomas' niece too much of Shakespeare.
"Was he of this town?" pursued Dorothy.
" Nay, from Stratford."
"And his name? "
" William, like mine own," replied Helpes, curtly.
Dorothy durst ask no more. Conviction was
almost certainty, and though drawn on by a sort
of fascination in her last inquiries, she felt that
Il6 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURV.
the name of Shakespeare would be more than
she could bear. Alternately flushing and pal-
ing, she walked on for some distance in perfect
silence.
Helpes, who had feared at one time that he
should be driven either to rudeness or falsehood,
was at first relieved, but presently, looking at his
charge, felt more concern for her than comfort
for himself.
" Thou art not well, Mistress Dorothy," he cried,
" sure, this walk hath been too much for thee."
" Nay, I am well enow," she answered. " But
let us stand awhile. See how far Dame Hinckley
lags behind."
They stood a few moments, and then Dorothy
attempted a new subject. " Thy father is well, I
trust, Master Helpes?"
" Ay, hale and hearty," said Will. " He spends
his life between his house and the works. He
hath prospered in the business, and bred me up
to it; but I love the fields better. I go next
Thursday to see to some land of his near Charle-
cote."
" If it charge thee not too heavily," said Dorothy,
as carelessly as she could, " I would ask thee to
bring me back word how my uncle and his family
do."
" I shall be sure to tell thee."
" But speak not of me there," said she, trying
to remember exactly how much Helpes knew of
her position, and whether she had said aught at
the time of her rescue beyond asking to be con-
veyed to her nurse's home. " I may abide here
some while."
Her companion bowed silently.
" And, Master Helpes, if thou canst find space
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 117
to bring me another of thy friend's sonnets ere
thou goest, I shall like well."
" I will certainly do so."
Dame Hinckley now came up, and the three
took their way into the town.
CHAPTER XVII.
"The deep, the low, the pleading tone
In which I told another's love
Interpreted mine own."
COLERIDGE.
DOROTHY saw no more of William Helpes until
Wednesday evening, and had abundant oppor-
tunity for reflecting on her discovery of the per-
sonality of his poet friend. At his name all the
remembrances connected with him had rushed
over her like a flood, and she began to wonder if
her fate were not in some way connected with
his.
" I must be wary," she thought. " One care-
less speech of praise from me hath been enough
to drive me from my uncle's house, and send my
poor- cousin, perchance, to his death. I must
take heed that this brave and honest townsman
be not estranged from his friend through me."
In the meantime she had the satisfaction of
some employment, as Dame Hinckley had pro-
cured her the materials for a piece of embroidery,
and assured her of its ready sale to one of the great
ladies of the town.
She was sitting at her frame during the Dame's
usual evening absence, when she heard a rap at
the door below, and on looking out, perceived
Helpes standing expectantly anear the house front.
Not liking either to go out or to admit him while
alone, she went down, and opened a small case-
ment window beside the doorway.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. IIQ
" Good-even, Mistress Dorothy," said he, smil-
ing before he bowed. " I go up the river early on
the morrow, and shall be pleased to serve thee in
any way."
" I thank thee, sir," said Dorothy, acknowledg-
ing his greeting, and surmising that he spoke thus
vaguely with respect to listeners. " I trust thou
wilt have fair angling. The luces on the heads of
Avon should be in good case. Pray fetch me
what thou canst of them."
" I know them well," replied William. " 'Tis
a brave fish, and thou shalt have all I can bring of
them. But here is another of the sonnets we
spoke upon, which I have copied out for thee. I
trust thou wilt like it well. And though he speak
of his years and weariness, thou knowest that is
how the youngest write."
Dorothy took the roll, and was about to open it.
" Nay, nay," said Helpes, laughing and coloring,
" I prithee read it not till I am gone."
But she had already begun the lines :
" That time of year thou dost in me behold
When yellow leaves, or few, or none, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceivest which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long."
" He writes indeed like a youth of a great age,"
she said.
" Well spoken, lady ! " exclaimed Helpes. " He
I2O THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
is truly a youth of a great age. When he was
but sixteen, methought he knew more than the
oldest man in the land ; yet high-mettled as any
barb. Seest thou here, how smoothly and how
fairly he speaks of these dismal sights, and makes
a sweet melody of them all? Few things there
are his limbeck cannot still ; naught ever came
amiss to him or from him."
Dorothy listened in some surprise to this
eulogy.
" 'Twere sad pity, Master Helpes," said she,
" that I had read this alone, as thou didst desire.
I had not then heard how well thou canst speak
for a friend."
" He needs not my well speaking," answered Will,
" but 'tis right I should show I can value him."
" Hast known him long?"
" Great part of our lives ; and did I wish for
fame, I would choose none better than to be
spoken on as his friend."
" Well, sir," said Dorothy, " I wish thee all suc-
cess. But wilt not enter? I see my good nurse
come up the way."
" Nay, nay, I cannot stay. I did but come to
say I should be three days gone. Look thou for
a fair budget of luces."
He bowed and departed, while Dorothy, hasten-
ing up stairs, was at work again ere Dame Hinck-
ley's entrance.
At the first moment of leisure and solitude, she
examined the roll William had left with her. It
contained the sonnet, fairly enough copied out,
though with one or two small erasures and altera-
tions ; and at the foot, among some ornamental
flourishes, stood the cramped title " Willra
Shaksper."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 121
The confirmation of her belief was at first al-
most grateful, as she felt that she need no longer
struggle against so many proofs, and that her ad-
miration for Shakespeare was becoming justified.
No longer need she think of him as the com-
panion, ill assorted it might be, but still the com-
panion, of poachers and vagabonds. The jewel had
now found its proper setting : and she would
scarcely have felt surprise at hearing that the ris-
ing poet would soon become the greatest man in
England. Again and again the face which had
quelled an angry judge, and inspired a careless
child, rose before her mental vision, till she was in
a frame little short of worship.
Helpes, who had proved himself capable of win-
ning and appreciating such a friend, was also
raised not a little in' her opinion, which his courage
and kindness had already made favorable.
While such musings as these occupied her mind,
the greater part of each day was spent at her
frame, the embroidery growing rapidly under her
skilful fingers, to the great admiration of her worthy
nurse.
On Saturday evening, just as Dame Hinckley
was setting out on her wonted journey to the
church, Dorothy heard some parley below, and
presently the good woman came posting up.
" Master Helpes seeks thee, dear," said she.
" Eh ! but thou's made him forget his manners.
'A ne'er bade me god-den, but says forthright, ' Is
Mistress Dorothy within?' staring past me, an' I
were t' doorpost. ' She's within,' says I, ' an'
within she stays, if thou casnt speak an owd friend
fair.' Then 'a came down, I trow."
Dorothy made no answer, nor even turned her
head.
122 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" Come, come ! " said the dame, " dunnot sit
there no longer. T' light goes. Come, he has
much to tell thee. Ye may walk to church wi' me,
an hear t' news, while I redd up. Come, thou 's
not tasted fresh air these two days."
Suffering herself to be persuaded, the girl took
her cloak and followed her nurse down stairs.
Helpes, with a face impatient for happiness, stood
at the threshold ; and a vainer damsel might have
been enlightened by the eager gladness of his
greeting. Quietly returning his salutation, she
took his arm, and the pair followed Dame Hinck-
ley along the street.
" I walks behind ye when ye go a pleasuring,
as reason is," the good woman had said, " but
now I be in church service."
"And what news from Charlecote, Master
Helpes?" inquired Dorothy. "Are my uncle and
aunt and and my cousin well ? " In spite of her
determination to speak firmly, she could not keep
a little tremor from her voice, as she named the
cause of her wanderings.
" Sir Thomas and his lady were in good health,
as I was told," replied Will. "Thy cousin was just
returned from London, and 'tis said he shall soon
wed Master Arnold's daughter."
As he uttered the last words he looked askance
at Dorothy, to satisfy a suspicion of jealousy.
But the joyful relief she showed dispelled his
doubts.
" I am glad indeed to hear this," said she.
" I know naught of Mistress Arnold, but no doubt
she is well chosen, and 'twill bring his mother
great content."
They walked on for some time in silence, Helpes
considering if he should tell Dorothy more of what
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 123
he had learned, which was, that she was commonly
supposed to have fled to London by concert with
her cousin : that Sir Thomas, in this belief, had
made various fruitless efforts to trace her in that
direction, until his son's return had partly per-
suaded him of his mistake : and that now, fearful
of some other escapade on the young man's part,
he was hastening on his marriage. Joe Tuff, who
could have thrown much light on these matters,
had judged it best to keep the tale of Dorothy's
adventures to himself.
While he thus pondered his companion ad-
dressed him.
" I have to thank thee for the sonnet, Master
Helpes, 'twas fairly writ, indeed : notably the
name of the author."
"Was 't so? " exclaimed Helpes. "Did I copy
that with the rest? I meant it not. But no
matter. Many will know the name or long, me-
thinks."
"Through thee?"
"Nay, through himself."
" Thou believest him capable of much, then ? "
"Of all save unfaith or cowardice."
Dorothy perhaps had never felt more kindly to-
wards Helpes than when he thus spoke the praises
of the friend who was destined to be in some sort
his rival : and the smiles which lighted her face
drove from William's mind all thought of prudence
or delay. They were now waiting without the
church for the Dame's reappearance, and ere he
knew what he did Will had taken Dorothy's hand
and begun his speech.
"Mistress Lucy," said he, "a poor townsman,
such as I, may scarce dare to ask aught of a lady
if it be not to give up all for his sake. Wilt
124
THE BAILIFF OF TF.WKF.SBURY.
have me to thy husband? I love thee truly, and
that's more than e'er I said to any woman since
my mother died. If thou canst wed a burgess'
son, he will never give thee room to repent."
Before he had finished Dorothy had drawn away
her hand and the color began mounting in her
face.
" Master Helpes, thou hast done so much for
me of late that I would fain say nay as softly as I
can : but nay it must be."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 125
" I have frighted thee perchance," said he,
" I spoke too soon : but give me leave to wait
awhile. What?" as Dorothy determinedly shook
her head, "is 't vain? Then I'll trouble thee no
more : only tell me, prithee, am I too late ? hath
some luckier man stept in before?" as his
thoughts again reverted to her cousin.
" Nay, not so," said Dorothy. "There is no
other that is ," her ideal ever in mind,
"no other whom I love or would wed."
Helpes turned his face away for a few moments,
and when he next spoke it was in an altered voice.
" May I see thee still by times, Mistress Dor-
othy ? I should grieve to lose thee wholly ; and
some day I may serve thee again."
" I shall ever be glad to see Master Helpes, as
at first," replied the girl.
Dame Hinckley now appeared, and the three
took their way homeward, much more silently than
they had come. Helpes made some excuse to
depart at the alley corner, to the great discontent
of the Dame.
CHAPTER XVIII.
" And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain."
COLERIDGE.
IT was a glorious day late in April, a year and a
half after the events of the last chapter. A soft
southerly wind drove great masses of cloud across
the sky. Now and then a brief shower would come
leaping down, followed by a radiant sunburst and
a fleeting rainbow, while from every side sounded
the joyous cries of beast and bird, exulting in
another lease of life.
Two young men walked the Ham in close con-
versation : William Helpes, and his friend Shakes-
peare. The former was little changed, save that
he wore deep mourning ; the latter may best be
described by saying that his countenance, fulfilling
the promise of early youth, bore the look of one
coming into his kingdom.
"And when didst say thy father sickened?"
asked the poet of Helpes, who had been explain-
ing some of his affairs.
" Near Yule-tide."
"And his' death followed hard upon?"
Helpes nodded.
" Well, thou hast done all proper rites and decked
his tomb ; and see, thou stand'st alone. Why
dost not wed, as I have bid thee so oft? "
" Truly, thou hast spared neither precept nor
example," replied William, smiling, " but thou
knowest two words go to that bargain."
120
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESP.URY. 127
" Nay, fear not the woman-word. Twill not be
wanting. Where is she would disdain thee?"
" Thou hast ever spoke well for me, Will," said
the other, " but let any man troubled with vanity
go courting, and I'll warrant him a cure."
"That speech had ill-luck to its sire," said
Shakespeare. " Who is the fair Touch-me-not, I
prithee?"
" That I must not say. Let us speak of more
likely matters. How come on the plays?"
" As a tired horse comes on," said the young
dramatist. " 'Tis ill vamping other men's shoon.
But I have somewhat of mine own in hand prom-
ises better, methinks."
"Ay, let's hear it soon. Now thou hast seen
the court ladies, thou canst fashion forth as fair
dames as any, I'll be bound."
"Thou might'st think so. But she who hath
been my chiefest model saw never court or camp.
Thou rememberest the eve I lay in Charlecote
keep, till thou, good fellow, cam'st to take me out?
Her face was before me then, as in a midsummer-
night's dream, and 'tis in the tables of my memory
still."
" Mayhap," said Helpes, with sparkling eye, but
strained voice, " 'tis one with the lady of thy
sonnets?"
" I care not if I say it is."
"And hast ever seen her since then? "
" Nay, not I. She has married some clod-pate,
'tis most like, and I would not choose to hear that
any had brought her down to a nurse and chroni-
cler of ale."
" I prithee, Will, tell me her name," urged
Helpes, in a voice of such distress that the other
stopped and looked at him in puzzled wonder.
128 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Nay, 'tis a bargain," said he at length, "if
them' It tell me what I asked but now - the name
of thy snow-cold love."
" 'Tis better we name no names, mayhap," said
Helpes after a minute's reflection. " Let us go
down to the river and write on the sand."
A few steps brought them to the Avon's bank,
and each, turning from the other, traced with his
stick on the smooth beach ; then, changing places,
read what had been written.
Shakespeare, with little delay, effaced both
names, and walked rapidly away. Helpes, looking
about him in bewilderment for some moments,
followed more slowly.
"Thou art not angry, Will, I trust?" said he,
when at length he overtook him.
"We have wasted time," said Shakespeare,
curtly ; " one writing had served us both."
" Wilt come down to the bowling green, and
have a game?" asked Helpes.
" Nay, not now," said the other. " I must get
back to mine easy inn. I'll write thee from there,
should I leave as speedily as the time demands.
Fare thee well, Will : we part not unkindly, but
he grasped the townsman's hand and walked
swiftly, tho' with slightly halting gait, toward the
walls.
Helpes knew better than to press him further in
his present mood, and turned homeward to spend
a lonely evening, wavering between grief, indigna-
tion and pride.
By the morning, however, solicitude had con-
quered, and he went down early to the tavern, de-
termined to leave no means untried towards a
reconciliation.
But the gaping lad who admitted him informed
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
129
him that " Measter Shakespeare had gone with t'
first peep o' dawn."
"And left he no word for me?" asked Helpes,
execrating his own tardiness.
" Ay," said the youth scratching his head, " He
bid me gi' thee this." And he drew from his
pocket a crumpled scrap of paper and held it out
to Helpes, who, taking it, quitted the house.
On reaching a quiet place his first care was to
smooth out the paper, and peruse the sonnets
written thereon, which ran as follows :
" Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flattering the mountain tops with sovran eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding the streams with heavenly alchemy,
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
130 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendor on thy brow,
But out? alack ! he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath masked him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth."
" Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace,
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss;
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that. bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah, but those tears are pearls which thy love sheds,
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds."
With a groan he crushed the paper in his hands,
and turned homeward. As he plodded along
with hanging head, he nearly ran against some one
coming in the opposite direction, and, looking up,
recognized Dorothy Lucy.
"Good morrow, lady," said he. "Thou art
early afoot."
" I came to bring the lotion from the leech for
my nurse," replied Dorothy. "'Twas forgot last
night, and she will go to the church each day, as
is her wont, though the palsy cramps her sadly."
" 'Tis an ill complaint," answered Helpes. " But
thou art happy to have some one to care for, and
not hie to an empty house, as I."
" Nay, but thy mother
" My step-mother, thou meanst. Didst not
hear ? She hath taken all her portion, and gone to
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 131
her folk at Gloucester, and left none but serving
men and maids, who call me master to my face,
and tell each other behind my back th^t I'll ne'er
fill my father's shoon."
" A good servant minds a good master long,"
answered Dorothy, quoting one of her nurse's
sayings.
" True, he was a good master, and a good sire ;
the more lonely house. An if I might hope that
some one would yet take pity on me, and "
" Thou must not speak thus, Master Helpes,"
interposed Dorothy, seeing whither he tended.
"Thou hast neighbors and friends "
" Friends ! " said he bitterly. " Ay, I'm bravely
off for friends, who have just fallen out with the
best of them."
" Thy best friend would sure not fall out with
thee so readily, if at any wise," said Dorothy,
vaguely, uncertain whether he spoke of her or
no.
" I said not the blame was his," replied Will.
" The sun's a fair sight on the fields ; but when he
shines into the chimney corner, and puts out the
bit of firing a poor man has laid by for his need,
'tis none so well."
To this oracular remark the girl made no
response, but saying she must despatch her busi-
ness, moved onward.
" May I not do thine errand for thee, or with
thee, Mistress Dorothy? "
" Nay, not so."
" Is there naught I can do to pleasure thee ? "
" Ay, surely, bring me another of those sonnets
thou hadst once in such good store. Or hath thy
poet dropt the pen, perchance ? "
" He'll ne'er do that. I feared to weary thee,
13 2 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
but shalt see one ere long," hesitated Helpes,
conscious of the paper in his doublet front.
" Tis a bargain, then," said Dorothy, passing on
her way.
She found Dame Hinckley groaning on the floor,
her temper no way improved by a sharp attack
of rheumatism.
"Thou's been long enow," she said querulously.
" The leech kept thee without, I wot, while he
mended his last nap. An he knew whom he
served, he'd stir 's bones. Plague on 's worthless
stuff, a drop o' mother's herb drink 'ud pass it
all."
"Lie down again, nurse," said Dorothy, gently
applying the lotion. " The sexton's daughter said
she would do thy part to-day, if need were."
" Ay, ay, she'd be rarely glad to step into my
shoon, but I'm none dead yet. When t' summer
comes, and I'm less gnawn wi' cramp, I'll gi' her
a leaf o' palm for her head, an she likes. But 'tis
vain strivin' wi' her, poor doited body, as I heard
her say t'other day Master Helpes should wed a lady
fro' t' south. 'Twere grief to howd my tongue ; but
I could ha' towd her he looked no further than 's
own river-head. Ay, ay, dearie, thou's comin'
round never tell me"- as Dorothy turned her
head away " thou's comin' round. Didna I see
thee go about last week, rathan walk aneath Rob
Mason's ladder? We all know that should mean no
wedding for thee this year. Ay, thou'lt be a fair
bride or winter comes again ; an' after that, 'tis
little matter how soon t' owd woman is aneath the
mouls."
CHAPTER XIX.
" I'll buckler thee against a million."
SHAKESPEARE.
DOROTHY, who could only obtain privacy when
left alone in the garret by Dame Hinckley, sat
down at her embroidery frame, and plied the
needle diligently.
" I grow old fast," she thought, with one of
those exaggerated fits of self pity not uncommon
at nineteen. " My hands are seamed and scarred
like those of two-score with this rough work,"-
this indeed was the truest part of her indictment
" my cheek, sure, is falling away, and I found a grey
hair yestreen. Nurse, yonder, cannot live but few
more seasons ; and since the stay I gave him this
morn, methinks Master Helpes will come no more.
I would not see him as a lover, but 'tis sad to
have no friend left." And more than one tear fell
among the seed pearls of her pattern.
That week and another passed but gloomily
away. Dame Hinckley, though, as she expressed
it, "holding like a rope" to her church duties,
was now too lame for spinning, and faint but ter-
rific mutterings from the Spanish war-cloud gath-
ering on the southern coast penetrated even to
secluded Tewkesbury. William Helpes had not vis-
ited the house for a fortnight, and both the Dame
and Dorothy began to surmise that his constancy
had been tried too far. Their resultant feelings
differed, yet not so widely as might have been sup-
posed. The Dame mingled praises of true-hearted
188
134 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
gentlemen, and denunciations of double-faced
loons, in the most inconsistent manner, while Doro-
thy, though avowing frequently to herself that the
end she sought that of making Master Helpes
forget her was at last attained, always found a
small grain either of contempt, irritation, or it
could not possibly be grief mingling with her
deep content at the consummation of her wishes.
The Sunday afternoon came round, and Dorothy,
who had remained at home, sat by the open case-
ment of the garret, striving for a breath of fresh
air, and suffering from the heat of an unusually
warm spring evening. " Alas, these changes,"
she thought. " 'Tis scarce two months ago one
shook with cold in this same room, and now, one
scantly breathes."
As she meditated thus she was aware pf a well-
dressed man coming slowly up the street, scan-
ning the windows and doors on either side as
intently as his care to avoid the pools and rubbish
heaps in his way would permit.
For one moment her heart leaped more lightly
than her judgment or reason approved the next,
when she saw it was not he on whose absence she
had made so many efforts at complacency.
Realizing suddenly that she, was leaning further
out and gazing more earnestly than became a
modest maiden, she drew back, but not before
she had been recognized by the stranger, who,
halting and flourishing his plumed hat, called in
a low but penetrating voice, " Mistress Dorothy, as
I think ! " She was silent, and he spoke again
more loudly.
" Doth Mistress Lu that is Dorothy, dwell here,
or at the Hall?"
Fearing lest more should be said then it were
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 135
well for the neighbors to hear, Dorothy looked
forth.
"What are your commands, sir?" she asked, in
as vulgar and servile a tone as she could assume.
" Dost not remember me?" inquired the man.
"I am an old friend, who hast much to say to
thee ; prithee come down."
"I will come to the little wicket," said Dorothy,
as faces began to appear at the nearest casements.
"Thou must not stand halloaing thus in the way."
And hoping that she had well combined civility
and reproof, she hastened down the stair. The
stranger awaited her with his face pressed close to
the grate beside the door.
" Dost not know me ? " he asked again.
"Not I, sir."
"Well, let me in, and thou shalt know that,
and many more weighty matters, which I have
come post to tell thee."
"Thy pardon, sir," said Dorothy firmly, "This
is the home of my aunt, Mistress Annot Hinckley,
and none may enter here while she is hence."
"Thy aunt? Dame Hinckley!" ejaculated the
other. " I" faith, I'm rarely sorry for thee.
Didst not hear she .was taken for a witch but
now?"
" O, Heaven help us ! " cried Dorothy, her heart
sinking and fluttering at these words, in those
days both dreadful and frequent. " Where is
she? Take me to her, sir. Sure thou canst do
somewhat to help. My poor nurse, that never
harmed any ! And Sir Richard, too, can say he
hath known her many a year "
By this time she had unbarred the door and
was about to sally forth ; but the visitor, stretching
his arm across, stopped her way.
136 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"There is no such haste," said he. "Thou hast
done enow. I did but try a master key on this
same door, and it hath served me well."
"But my nurse " stammered the girl.
"She's safe and well. Mark what I said. I
asked if thou hadst not heard she was taken."
" From none but thee."
"Neither had I."
"Then then 'twas a cruel speech," faltered
Dorothy.
" Nay, nay, pretty one, an old friend's jest
be not angry. Sure thou knowest me now.
This same beard," stroking the appendage as he
spoke, " may have altered me somewhat ; but
dost not mind the day I squired thee from
Evesham?" And Joe Tuff, for he it was, smirked
and beamed as if recalling some valiant exploit.
" I remember thee now, sir," said Dorothy, her
indignation gathering as her strength returned,
" and I can truly say thy nature has not altered
with thy face. The words thou hast just spoke
are of a piece with that day's gallant deeds."
"Tush," said Tuff, whose brazen assurance was
not readily overthrown, " I did the best I could
for thee : many a man had sought his own safety,
nor ridden to bring thee help. But let it pass,
and tell me how thou dost. Faith, thou looks but
sadly," not waiting a reply. " Beauty endures
not long : but thou mayest pass yet a while.
'Twill joy thee to hear I have left Sir Thomas
my blood could brook a servitor's place no longer
and set up for mine own hand as law scrivener
in Evesham, where I doubt not to do well."
" I trust there is no doubt on that matter,"
replied the girl, " and to my poor thinking thou
wert best to return to Evesham as soon as may
be, nor come hither again."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
137
"What ails the wench?" said Tuff. "Why, I
came here o' purpose to seek thee, Dorothy
think on that. I'm a rising man, and thou art
none so fair as thou wert, or I remembered : but
I. seek a wife, and care not if I take thee."
" Sir," said Dorothy trembling and flushing,
" didst make hither to insult an orphan ? Leave
me, and come no, more." And she endeavored
to close the door. But her unwelcome guest, jam-
ming himself between the posts, blocked the attempt.
" In vain ! " he laughed at Dorothy's efforts.
" Thou dost not shuffle me off so readily. Hast
138 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
never a manchet or cup of ale to offer for old
times' sake? Why this is but a -churlish treat-
ment, but if naught else offers, I'll have a kiss."
And passing his arm around her waist, he sought
to make his words good. Dorothy, calling for
help and turning her face away, thrust him off
with all her strength. The half dozen persons
who had gathered around the door looked on in
huge delight.
" To her, lad ! To her ! " cried a cobbler rub-
bing his hands.
"There's no harm in a kiss," wheezed an old
crone, " an Madam did na' like him, she should
ha' kept t' door." And she burst into coarse
laughter, wherein a couple of laundry-girls most
heartily joined.
"What means this, knave?" cried a stern voice,
and William Helpes' hand clutched Tuff by the
collar. " Barest thou treat a lady thus ? " And
with a powerful fling he hurled the scrivener
through the row of bystanders (two of whom
measured their length upon the stones) and
against the wall of the opposite house, where he
fell in a collapsed heap.
"Hath he hurt thee, dearest?" asked Helpes,
turning to Dorothy.
" Nay, not yet," sobbed the girl, " but never
came help in better time."
" I'll be revenged, yet," snarled Tuff, gathering
himself up.
"Revenged, thou cur!" said the other con-
temptuously. " And you," turning to the throng,
" Call ye yourself good townsmen or neighbors,
that could stand and look on thus? "
" Blame me not, Master Helpes," said the cob-
bler, fawningly, " he took me off guard, but now
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 13.9
what say ye, gossips, to take him down and
duck him in the river? "
With a shout of approval, all rushed on Tuff,
who, dropping his cloak and staff, and springing
away, flew down the lane at a pace that left little
hope for his pursuers, who however followed at
their best speed out of sight and hearing.
Helpes and Dorothy remained standing alone
together in the doorway until the cries of pack
and quarry had died away.
" I must go now," said Will curtly.
Dorothy looked up surprised.
" Nay, think me not rude. It glads me to have
done thee some service, but the need is past
and and " gazing at the fair and well loved
face before him " I must needs speak if I stay,
and speak of matters which please thee not, as I
know too well. Of a hand that would fight and
fend for thee at need a heart that lies at thy feet
a life which thou only canst light or darken.
Tell me, Dorothy, shall I stay or go? "
There was a minute's pause. Then Dorothy,
looking up with a smile, tho' the tears ran down
her face, whispered " Stay," and Will caught her
in his arms.
The shouts and wrangling of the returning
troop roused the pair from their new Eden. " We
must not stand here," said Dorothy sliding from
her lover's embrace. " I cannot bid thee enter,
and I would not drive thee forth."
"We will both go forth," said Will. "Come
with me to the church, as oft aforetime ; we shall
meet thy nurse there, and I trust she will not ban
us."
Dorothy reached her hood, and the two set out,
passing by the bowing and panting throng.
140 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"We've gi'en un a good run, Measter." "He
were well winded ere we lost un." " Stout legs,
weak spirit." Such were the ejaculations.
" Thank ye thank ye, friends," said Helpes.
" I knew your hearts were right. Here's some-
what to slake your throats, after the chase."
And distributing three or four shillings, he
strode away, holding his head high, and drawing
Dorothy's arm close under his with a new air of
ownership.
" 'Twill be a match, for sure," said the old
woman who had so recently led in laughter. " Bless
her bonny face, and his broad shouthers, there
be no finer couple i' the town."
" A sturdy blade as need be," acquiesced the
cobbler. " Look at 's iron fists, an' long cham-
pion arms. Didst see how he trowled yon fellow
o'er the way, as 'twere a biass bowl."
" Thou shouldst know, friend," said the tailor,
" for thou didst sprawl i' th' mire from a touch of
that same bowl."
"Enow o' that, Snip enow o' that," growled
the cobbler, and both adjourned to the ale-can.
" Is't possible thou canst love me, dearest?"
Will was saying. " A gentle lady like thee to wed
such a rough burgess ? "
"Miscall not thyself," said the girl, with play-
ful authority. "Any lady in the land might prize
such a true and loyal heart."
"A doubting heart, I fear me, sweetest," he
answered. " Hadst thou given me a third refusal,
I had never dared speak again,'
" But how didst chance to come at my very
time of need? "
"Thy own bidding. 'Twas but now I came
by the sonnet thou didst ask for, and I sped to
bring it. May I read it thee now?"
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 141
They were by this time entering the church.
" Dost think 'tis right to read it here ? " she
asked.
" Thou wilt say so when hast heard."
They found a seat, and Will took out the paper.
"Nay, 'tis not this," he said frowning. "I have
it now." He thrust back the first manuscript,
and produced another.
The spring wind and sunlight poured through
open door and lofty window, rustling and wav-
ing the ancient banners, and touching brass and
marble till they shone through the shadow ; while
far away sounded the faint chant of a final an-
them. In a low, deep voice Helpes read aloud
the immortal sonnet :
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediment; love is not love,
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
no ! it is an ever fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
1 never writ, nor no man ever loved."
" Could such words have better time or place ? "
said William. "Here we plight our troth."
They kissed each other, bowed in prayer a
minute, and then left the church. Dame Hinckley
awaited them at the porch, and her joy can
scarcely be imagined. She went from laughter to
congratulations, and thence to tears, which ex-
hausted her so much that Will and Dorothy were
"obliged to lead her home.
142 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
It was not till Helpes was well toward his own
house, after a promise to return early on the mor-
row, that he again drew out the first manuscript
he had produced in the church.
" 'Twas meant for her," he murmured, "but she
reads it not yet. Some day, perchance. She
might like ill I were led by it, but sure 'tis no
shame to be moved by such as he."
He perused the lines again, and we may look
over his shoulder.
" Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou knowest thy estimate;
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing,
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee, but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter
In sleep a king; but waking no such matter."
CHAPTER XX.
" So long as thou doest well unto thyself, men will speak
good of thee." Psalms.
IT may easily be supposed that the discussions
of ways and means were many and long. When
they concerned the wedding of a damsel of Doro-
thy's high birth and breeding, but present lowly
condition, such must naturally be the case. Wil-
liam Helpes, whose possessions, for one in his
station, were more than ample, wished her to
move into a better lodging, which he would pro-
vide. But here Dorothy was firm.
"This roof sheltered me first," said she, "and
here I will abide until I go to my husband's
house."
" Well," said Helpes, " if you will not leave it
sooner ye both must do so later. Dame Hinckley,
thou comest to us for life the day we wed."
The good woman's cup of joy was now full.
She had grieved a little, secretly, over a solitary
old age, and to be thus transported to a great
house, presided over by her darling, was the best
earth could have given.
"I thank ye, Master Helpes," said she. " 'Tis
what few men would offer. I have lived here many
a year and here I tho't to die ; but I'll be proud
and glad to go wi' ye, an' I trust to be of use yet
awhile."
William's wishes, and Dorothy's unprotected
situation, would both have bespoke an early day
for the wedding, but his father's recent death ne-
144 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
cessitated some delay, and the date was finally set
for September i2th.
Thus much having been settled on the first even-
ing of conclave, the groom-expectant took his
leave, and the two women went into the question
of funds for the wedding outfit.
"I ha' store enow o' linen laid by," said the
elder, " but 'tis coarse, mean stuff, fit for a peddler's
wench. An' the gown thou wearest, the same as
ever thou cam'st fro' t' Hall in, has been darned
so oft 'tis well if it howds together till thy wedding
day, wi' all savenapes can do : gentles' coats are
fair to look on, but they dunnot last."
" I shall be but too glad of the linen, nurse,"
said Dorothy, " and perhaps," thoughtfully, " I
may steal time enow to broider me a gown."
"That's well thought on," cried the Dame.
" 'Twill set thee far better than working for t' town
madams here. But where be we to get t' veil, an'
shoon for hand an' foot, an' a score o' things a
lady should wear? Lackaday ! had I t' fi' pounds
now that feyther left me, as I put into Dame
Hickup's chop, an' ne'er saw again ! "
"Wouldst give me thy all?" said the girl, with
affectionate reproof ; " but we must go to rest
now, or the palsy will pinch thee again."
"Never fear me," replied the Dame sturdily.
" This good news hath helped me more than all the
leech's oil."
Three or four weeks passed away in preparation
on both sides. Dorothy still kept up her patrons'
embroidery, despite all protests, and the spare time
of herself and nurse was spent on her simple out-
fit. Every week they walked to the house soon to
be hers, where such alterations as she would sug-
gest or Helpes could devise, were swiftly carried
through.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 145
During May William was called away on one of
his business trips to Stratford. He was absent but
a few days, and had only to say on his return that
he heard the Lucy family were as usual, and that
his affairs had prospered well.
One day about the first of June, as Dorothy sat
singing at her work, she was surprised to hear the
trampling of horses on the pavement below a
most unusual sound in narrow, tortuous Keech
Alley. Remembering, however, her late experi-
ence with Tuff, she kept to her seat and occupa-
tion until a knock at the door below drew her to
look forth.
A young groom, in familiar livery, holding a dun
hack by the bridle, stood on the step ; while be-
hind him, on a stout bay, sat a dignified, grey-
haired gentleman her uncle, Sir Thomas Lucy.
Hastening down stairs, she unbarred the door
and threw it open, trembling so violently that she
could scarcely recover from the deep reverence
which the occasion demanded, or utter the words,
" My respectful duty waits on thee, Sir Thomas."
Her uncle dismounted and came up to the
door.
" It is long since we have met, niece," said he
austerely, extending his hand, which she took and
kissed. " Dickon, bait the horses at the next
stabling, come again at noon." The man bowed
and departed.
"And now, Dorothy," continued her uncle more
kindly, " tell me how thou dost, and why didst flee
away from thy home, with never a word?"
"I I feared to stay longer," she brought out
with a great effort.
" Ah, I must have frighted thee sadly," said Sir
Thomas, " but I meant the best I meant the
best."
146 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
Dorothy invited her uncle to enter, and he
stepped within the door, where she brought him a
stool ; then, taking courage, inquired formally after
Lady Lucy and her cousin.
"Thy aunt's but weak weak and wan. I fear
me she fails, or I had brought her behind me on
the pillion. And thy cousin, too, is but sadly in
health. Didst hear he had wedded?" The girl
assented. " His wife's name is the same as thine,
but she's not my Dorothy that can never be."
He paused a moment, and laid his hand caress-
ingly on his niece's head. " But 'tis a comely
young woman, and a notable, and she hath brought
him a fair daughter of late."
Dorothy expressed her pleasure at this news.
"Ah, Dorothy," continued her uncle, his fea-
tures relaxing into their customary cheerfulness,
" I have hunted thee like a partridge, as the Scrip-
ture saith. Many a long hour and many a broad
piece have I spent searching in the south, when
thou, little weathercock, hadst whirled to the west.
But 'twas in my mind thou hadst fled to London
with well, it matters not with whom. And I
hear brave news of thee now. Thou must wed a
bold archer, forsooth, and never a ' An' it please
ye, Sir Thomas,' or ' By thy leave, uncle.' "
The girl stood .silent, the rebellious thought
passing through her mind that one who had caused
and neglected her sorrow had small right to
abridge her happiness.
"How how didst hear it, Sir Thomas?" she
asked at length.
" From one who should know, the lad himself.
I met him last week, as I rode near Stratford :
we fell into discourse, and I drew all the tale
from him, an it had been a gold wire ; I
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 147
should be a judge of a man by this, as well as a
judge of men, and I find he ne'er thought to strike
my deer. Tis a true, brave heart, and he has the
good word of all, and gold and lands, and a vein
of gentle blood to the boot. Tush, Doll," his joyous
nature breaking down all the restraints which pride
and misconception had slowly built up, " fear me
not I'll never say thee nay. My consent thou
hast I'll stand by to give thy hand away we'll
have the merriest wedding e'er was seen, and the
good old times shall come back again for ever and
a day ! "
And in the exuberance of his happiness the good
knight uttered a view halloa, which echoed with
startling effect in the low and narrow passage where
they stood. Dorothy looked around in some ap-
prehension, but it chanced that all the tenement's
inmates were abroad, and no one appeared. Her
uncle, looking slightly ashamed, wiped his heated
brow.
"Thy aunt sent her love," he began in a lower
voice, " her dearest love, and she hoped to see
thee soon sure, the summer will set her up
again. And and thou'lt come and be married
from Charlecote?"
This question was asked with some embarrass-
ment ; and Dorothy, forseeing many difficulties
attending this arrangement, declared her steady
purpose of remaining where she was.
"Well, well, it may be best. A bride must have
her way. Thy cousin Tom," went on the worthy
justice, " he is poorly, as I said, or he had ridden
with me but thou hast his best wishes and
could he do aught to serve thee "
Sir Thomas halted and stammered so much that
his niece, rightly supposing him to be the composer
148 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
rather than the bearer of these felicitations, broke
in with thanks and disavowals.
"And now, Dorothy," said her uncle, turning to
the stair, " let us see the nook where thou hast
nestled all these months."
" 'Tis a poor place not fit for thee, Sir
Thomas."
"Call me uncle," said he resolutely, "and let
* me see thy home."
Very unwillingly Dorothy showed him to Dame
Hinckley's garret. Her uncle was evidently pre-
pared for a small lodging, but apparently the reality
exceeded his ideas, for he looked about, hummed
a tune, and finally exclaiming, " Any port in a
storm," turned down the stairs again.
" I see Dickon yonder," said he, after a few
minutes' reflection. " I must go. We will come
soon again here's a small portion for thee, Doll ;
nay, no thanks my own niece must not go
dowerless, bless thee ; fare thee well ! " He kissed
her and departed.
Dame Hinckley returned a few minutes later to
find her charge weeping violently over a large
purse.
" How now, dearie ? What hath chanced to bring
thy tears? Aught of ill?"
Dorothy, wiping away her tears and explaining
the situation, set the good woman almost beside
herself with rapture.
" 'Tis well my work is i' th' church," said she,
" or I could ne'er do another hand's turn. I be
fain mazed. And Sir Thomas ha' stood in this
same spot? Eh, 'tis just t' way o' t' world: all
forgi' a bride. And now thou mayst be set forth
as becomes thee wi' store o' silk and taffety, an'
hosen an' lace "
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 149
" And a pair of virginals, and an ambling pal-
frey, and a blackamoor slave, perchance," said
Dorothy, smiling. " My uncle hath been most
kind and generous ; and I grant his gift sets me
much at ease ; but we must not be over hasty, or
forget that I am to be a citizen's wife."
On examination the purse was found to contain
a hundred pieces of gold, amply sufficing for all
Dorothy's occasions.
It was a week or two later that the bride-expect-
ant and her guardian set forth on their first expe-
dition to the chief mercer in Tewkesbury.
The shopman received them with the readiness
of a business man who wishes neither to affront a
customer, nor lavish too much deference.
"What d'ye lack, gentlewomen?" he cried,
taking up the burden which the prentice sang
without. " Dame Hinckley, I wot and thy
niece will wed ay, rosy country cheeks ! Shall
I cut one of our Tewkesbury woolens? or here's
grogram, will make a brave gown piece for a stout
yeoman's wife."
" Country cheeks ! Yeoman's wife ! " ejaculated
the Dame. " I'll have thee know, Master Simon,
this is kinswoman to Sir
" Nay, nay, nurse peace, I prithee," entreated
Dorothy.
" 'Tis a dull morning, Mistress," said the clerk,
in oblique apology, removing his cap. " Robin,
set the stool for the lady help me down with yon
bale of sammets."
" But I am minded to see the woolens first,"
said the girl. " Here is a fair piece of murray
cloth pleases me well. Dost like it, nurse?"
" Ay, truly, ; and 'tis Master Helpes' chosen
color," replied the Dame, more loudly than was
needful.
I5O THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"As good as Leicester sheep e'er bore! Tis
a pleasure, Madam, by your leave, to serve a
lady who can judge of such things. May I cut
off a score or so of ells? And another piece of
this blue ? 'Tis a well fancied color, and will ne'er
change. And now wilt look on some silks? I
would Master Sherer were here to show them, but
he hath gone up to London. Here is a right
India, Madam, was brought overland to Venice by
caravan in the good old way, as I can assure thee
these long sea-voy'ges are ill for the gloss."
Dorothy purchased a portion of the lauded silk,
saw it put up with the woolens, and then, taking
out her money, asked for the reckoning.
"Is there naught else, Madam?" inquired the
dealer. " I humbly trust thou'lt honor our poor
shop again ; none in the town can serve thee
better. Nay, there is no haste thy name on our
books were worth more than thy gold in our till
but as thou wilt. Robin, knave, art loitering
there ? Take up the parcel, bear it after the lady
nay, good Dame Hinckley, put no hand to it
we know what becomes a customer of quality.
And, Madam," pursuing Dorothy from the shop,
" I hope thou wilt remember us against the winter
comes we have store of miniver and sable would
please the Queen herself my service to your
ladyship."
Robin carried the parcel to Keech Alley corner,
where he was dismissed with a small gratuity, and
the Dame took the goods.
"Thou seest, nurse," said Dorothy, when they
had ascended the stair, "we must buy but few more
braveries, else this room will scantly hold them."
"True enow," said the other, "without thou
takest the next garret?"
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 151
But this Dorothy decidedly negatived. "And
further, nurse," she continued, " thou must not
boast thus. I honor and love my uncle, and for
Master Helpes, 'tis enow to say I am to wed him ;
but be not so free of their names to strangers."
Dame Hinckley promised, and to do her justice,
endeavored to keep her promise : yet could not
refrain from winks and nods and hints, which,
together with Sir Thomas' frequent visits, caused
a marvellous change in the neighbors' conduct.
Those who had hitherto treated Dorothy with the
scantest civility, now made her the recipient of so
many ducks and bobs whenever she went forth as
quite bewildered her. Though wonted to a
measure of such homage at Charlecote, the
amount now lavished on her reminded her of her
aunt's bottle of hartshorn waters pleasant and
refreshing at a distance, but overpowering when
brought too near.
During the hot weather Sir Thomas rode over
once a week, and rapidly fell back into his old
playful ways with his niece. Dorothy wondered
somewhat that, coming so frequently as he did, he
should not fetch some of her own belongings from
Charlecote, and once hinted as much : but as he
only produced a small parcel of handkerchiefs and
ribbons at his next visit, saying hastily " it was all
he could lay hands on," she did not refer to the
subject again.
CHAPTER XXI.
" The guests are met, the feast is set,
Mayst hear the merry din.' 1
COLERIDGE.
THE Invincible Armada, though not threatening
an inland town like Tewkesbury as immediately as
the southern and eastern coast, was nevertheless a
menace to all England, and many were the mili-
tary preparations throughout the summer of 1588.
William Helpes was continually out with the train
bands, and much of Sir Thomas' time was spent
in organizing and drilling his dependents. By the
middle of August, however, the scattered remnants
of the Spanish fleet were scudding over the
German ocean, and Lady Lucy's health having
somewhat improved, she was brought over to
Tewkesbury near the end of the month.
Sir Thomas, having seen her safely at rest in the
lodgings he had taken of Master Huggeson, on
High Street, in which they proposed to remain
until the wedding, came round to acquaint Dorothy
that her aunt had borne the journey but ill, and
could not see her until the morrow.
On the morrow therefore, guided by her uncle,
Dorothy went to Master Huggeson's house, Sir
Thomas beguiling the way with many jokes and
witticisms on coming events, and only lowering his
voice and endeavoring to walk softly when fairly
over the threshold.
He led Dorothy up to her aunt's room, opened
the door and turned away. Lady Lucy looked
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 153
much older and paler. She sat in a cushioned
chair, and Dorothy scarcely knew her until she
smiled and uttered a low greeting.
Then the girl, catching her aunt's hand, fell
weeping on her knees.
" Rise up, Dorothy," said the invalid. Her
niece obeyed, and Lady Lucy looked anxiously but
silently at her. Dorothy divined her wishes, and
said humbly, " I crave thy pardon, aunt, for leav-
ing thy house as I did."
" 'Tis well. I do not deny thou hadst some ex-
cuse : but a fault must not be o'erslidden. And
now tell me of thyself and thy husband that is to
be."
Dorothy uttered a glowing eulogy on William
Helpes and her own great happiness.
" Ah, a young heart goes far," sighed the aunt.
" I might hear thee laugh and jest with thy uncle
beneath the window, as all this had never been :
but he is a wise good man, and it ill becometh me
to cavil at his words or deeds."
Dorothy remained a few minutes longer, and
then, fearing to weary her aunt, departed. Sir
Thomas waited without.
"What dost think of her?" was his eager query.
"She hath fallen away, and seems but frail."
"Thou knowest naught i' the world o 't, wench,"
was the brusque reply. " I tell thee she's far
stronger than last May. An she hath gained so
much in three months, she'll double it in six.
And had she a good word for thy Will ? Ah, his
poaching sticks in her throat. I ha' told her it did
him no shame to stand at the bar for once, but
but"
" He stood not there alone neither, uncle,"
added the girl.
154
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Speak not of them," said Sir Thomas, testily.
" I name no names- they may come and go
they may get gold and land it may not skill to
rake up aught against them but there's a vast
betterment betwixt Will Helpes and them, the
rogues ! Canst not see it, Doll? Ah, well, there
be things past women's minds."
Dorothy was with her aunt each day, deep in
the mysteries of textile fabrics, and poor Dame
Hinckley was made to feel some of the drawbacks
v.v
of greatness. Lady Lucy had brought down her
own tiring maid to assist in the toilette, and this
eminent personage was as a thorn in the flesh to
the worthy Dame.
" I cannot abide her," she said one day, in a
petulant outburst. " If I do but speak a word, she
looks on the hair o' my head, and says ' Tis done
otherways wi' us,' or 'That's all gone by, good
woman,' and I, that ne'er feared woman yet, stand
staring, an' no word to say but what an owd
fool I be, mumping an' grumblin' for a straw, when
my dear is so happy."
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 155
The wedding presents were few but valuable.
A large silver bowl from Sir Thomas, some fine old
lace from his lady a beautiful fan from the
younger Lucy and his wife these nearly com-
pleted the list. But the one which gave Will
Helpes most pleasure came from his old comrade
of the greenwood.
" Look on this, Dorothy," said he one evening,
taking out a small parcel. " See what Will hath
sent thee."
It was a little scent-bottle of crystal and gold,
shaped like a swan, and filled with attar of roses.
" 'Twill sweeten our house, dear, long as we
live," said he.
About this time Dorothy received an invitation
from William Helpes' aunt (his only relative in
Tewkesbury) to dine with her on the eleventh of
September the eve of the wedding day. Both
from the inconvenience of the date, and also from
the fact that Dame Wotton had never taken the
smallest notice of her hitherto, Dorothy had no
mind to accept ; but finding that William was de-
sirous she should go, and Sir Thomas, to whom she
mentioned the invitation, seeming strangely eager
it should be fallen in with, she concluded to do so.
" Tis just as well," said Dame Hinckley. " T
garret must be scarped and swept, an' I'll ha' in a
wench to do 't, an' all will be fair when thou com-
est home again."
Accordingly Dorothy set forth early in the
morning for the church with Dame Hinckley, and
having waited there until the usual round of duties
was performed, bent her steps toward the house of
Wotton.
Her nurse was anxious they should not go
through their own alley, but as she could not prove
156 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESDURY.
another course to be shorter or better, Dorothy
kept on her way. A gaping crowd about the
vicinity was nothing remarkable of late ; but a
dray load of deals stood before the door, and from
the open windows came not only the clash of
broom and mop, and the shrilling of female voices,
but the sound of 'hammer and saw, and the deeper
notes of men.
"What means this, nurse?" exclaimed Dorothy
to her companion, whose countenance expressed
neither surprise nor curiosity. " Is the house to
be torn down? "
" Sir Thomas doubted as t' stair were na' strong
enow for all might tread it to-morrow," answered
the Dame, pushing briskly on. " And he hath had
in Jem Joiner to underprop it." And she would
say no more.
Dame Wotton was a well-to-do widow of about
sixty, really attached to her nephew, but neither
liberal nor large-hearted by nature. She had
pleased herself with the idea of kindly patronizing
William's bride, but during the last few days had
heard so much of the greatness and glory of the
Lucys, that, quite turned from her original plan of
campaign, she now only thought of surrender.
She received Dorothy with the deepest cour-
tesies, ushered her into a really very good and well
furnished room, to which she referred as a " hole,"
and introduced an elderly friend, who greeted the
young lady in great perturbation, and scarce
opened her lips again during the day but to beg
pardon.
Cowslip and currant wine were immediately pro-
duced, and Dorothy was compelled to partake of
both, and then sit so near a huge fire that she was
almost smothfred. Dame Hinckjey, who had es-
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 157
sayed to make her way to the kitchen, was not
allowed to do so, both the hostess and her guest
treating her as fully their equal, and Dorothy
greatly the superior of all.
Dame Wotton had begun some interesting
tales of William's boyhood, when a substantial
lunch was brought in ; and of this the last traces
had scarcely disappeared, when all were summoned
to a dinner sufficient not for four but forty. The
feast was greatly prolonged, and it was almost twi-
light when they were prepared to go. As they
were muffling, the hostess, excusing herself, bustled
from the room, and inadvertently leaving the door
open, the following colloquy was heard :
' Roger ! Sim ! be ye there? "
' Ay, Missus."
' Hast thy halberd, Hodge ? "
' For sure."
' Thou too, Sim ? "
' Nay, Missus ; un hath been mislaid."
' What to do ? Ay, I ha 't ; bind cook's cleaver
on a staff ; she'll ne'er know t' differ."
Dame Wotton shortly returned, and announced
" her men would arm, and see t' young lady safe
home." And by these valiant guards Dorothy
and her nurse were accordingly followed to their
dwelling.
Darkness had fallen by the time they reached it,
and Dame Hinckley, lamenting that she had brought
no light, was at what seemed the wholly unneces-
sary pains of guiding Dorothy up the stairs and to
her bed-side. Entreating the girl to "get to bed
soon, she'd ha' enow to do o' the morrow," her
nurse groped out a tallow dip, and hacked long and
stoutly at flint and steel ere she struck a light.
And scarcely wag this accomplished, when, drop-
158 THE BAILIFF OF 1EVVKESBURY.
ping the candle, she stumbled, and crushed it with
her foot.
" Bungler that I be ! " she cried. " But ne'er
mind dear ; lay thee down i' the dark ; 'twill bring
good luck."
"But where is the bed the pillow?" asked
the girl, who was by this time undressed, groping
about. " Naught seems the same."
"Must I couch thee then, poppet?" asked the
sturdy old woman ; and taking Dorothy up in her
arms like a baby, she laid her in bed, and tucked
the clothes around her. " They maukins ha' left
all here huggermugger ; but they know no better.
Good night, dear, an' bless thee," and with a kiss
she moved to her own corner.
The day had been overcast and cloudy, with
drifts of rain ; and both sleepers were lulled to rest
by the sound of a heavy shower on the roof. The
dawn, however, was bright and beautiful ; and as
the shadows slowly dissipated, it seemed to
Dorothy that she was waking from a long and
troubled dream, again a child at Charlecote.
There she lay in her own carved bedstead, an
angel's head on each post : it was the same low-
browed but spacious room there stood her
painted and gilded chest, the lid just open her
lute leaning against it the walls tapestried with
the siege of Troy, studied by her a thousand
times the very gowns she thought she had left
forever, hanging on their pegs.
She started up in bed. A door was opened, and
Dame Hinckley, wearing a fine new gown and
kerchief, came smiling in.
" Good-morrow, Mistress Lucy. Is 't not a
brave surprise ? "
"Where am I?" cried Dorothy. "Who hath
taken me back? "
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 159
" None none, dear," soothingly. " But haste
and busk thyself. There are some without fain to
see thee."
A well-known jolly voice was now heard below
singing " The hunt is up."
Dorothy hurried on some clothes, and then
opened the casement. In the lane beneath stood
her uncle, as much at home as in his own hall-
yard.
"How fares it, niece?" he cried. "Thou
wouldst not come to Charlecote to be' wedded, so
we have brought Charlecote to thee."
And the good knight, delighted with his own
conceit, shouted with laughter, stamping up and
down.
Dorothy now perceived that two barriers had
been erected across the alley, enclosing a space
before their door some fifty feet long, which was
strewn with fresh rushes. Greeting her uncle
kindly, and saying she would soon be down, she
proceeded with her array, glancing around the
transformed room meanwhile.
As Dame Hinckley explained, Sir Thomas had
hired the two adjoining garrets from their occu-
pants, had thrown all three into one by the removal
of the board partitions (lath and plaster not being
then in use for interior walls) , and all defects be-
ing covered by the tapestry, the furniture was set
in place.
Hastening down to her uncle, Dorothy received
his blessing, and proceeded to thank him for his
thought of her, saying, however, that it was a great
toil to bring so many things over but for one day.
" Not a thread goes back, Doll," was his answer.
" All shall be thine. The room hath stood ever
since as thou didst leave it, but this spring our
i6o
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
dames Tom's and mine were fain to make it
a nursery, and spoke of new furnishing, and where
the old should go. ' By your leave, my ladies
Lucy,' quoth I, ' plenish it anew as ye will, but my
niece shall have all her own.' And so it stands.
Look now, here comes
thy aunt : I doubt if she
wins to the church this
day."
Lady Lucy now ap-
peared, supported on
either side by the tiring-
maid and a damsel
bearing a basket of mil-
linery. She was still
feeble, but declared she
would go in with her
niece and see her
dressed, whether or no
she could see her mar-
ried.
"I have often thought
on thy wedding, Doro-
thy," said she. " Tis
not wholly what I had
in mind, but I trust all
will be well. Thy uncle
hath told me of his fan-
cy touching the room
he is merry as a child
upon it thou knowest
he loves a jest. And think not but thou art wel-
come to all stands there we both love thee well
thou wast as our daughter many a year."
The bride-elect, her aunt, and the maids, now
took their way to the renovated garret, where,
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. l6l
joined by Dame Hinckley, they entered on the
mysteries of the toilette, whither we shall not pre-
sume to follow. Suffice it to say, by ten of the
clock Dorothy Lucy issued from her chamber, as
fair and well-apparelled a bride as Tewkesbury had
ever seen.
Sir Thomas awaited them below, conversing with
one of the gentlemen of the neighborhood whom
he had known slightly for many years, and whose
acquaintance he had much improved recently.
This personage gave his arm to Lady Lucy,
Dorothy took her uncle's, and, preceded and
followed by a dozen stout serving-men, they took
their way to the church ; the maids and Dame
Hinckley brought up the rear, the latter accom-
panied by her chosen friends,, a society which had
marvellously thriven and increased of late.
William Helpes met them at the church door,
where the first part of the service was read by the
curate. The banns had been duly published,
during the last three weeks, and no man stood
forth to state cause of impediment. The company
then proceeded to the altar, where Sir Thomas
gave the bride away, and the nuptials were con-
cluded.
The registry book was then had down, and the
parties prepared to sign their names. Writing was
then such a rare accomplishment among females,
even of the better class, that the bride's doing so
was looked on with some admiration. She had
almost finished tracing he/ signature, when an ex-
clamation from her uncle stopped her.
"How's this, Doll?" he cried. "I prided my-
self on thy fair writing, and canst only make thy
mark ? "
And indeed the unfinished signature stood
1 62 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" Dorothy Mark ." It was plain that in that
moment of excitement she had begun her mother's
name of Markham, by which she had been so long
known in Tewkesbury. Ashamed of her error,
she hastily erased the unfinished word, and wrote
above it " Lucy," thereby leaving such a blotted
sign-manual that those of her descendants who
have scanned the register for that year have great
difficulty in coming at her real title.
The wedding party now issued from the door
amid the pealing of bells, the music and song of
minstrels, the cheers of friends, and the laughter
and whooping of the rabble. Palfreys were in
waiting at the door, and each cavalier taking his
lady on a pillion behind him, they rode toward
William Helpes' home.
The day was exquisitely beautiful, bright and
clear, the sky glittering from recent storm, and the
air tempered to that rare perfection when it is im-
possible to feel either heat or chill.
As Dorothy sat behind her stalwart and devoted
husband, loved, honored and envied by all who
saw her, she thought of the last time she had
ridden a horse, when two years before, a poor,
half-dead fugitive, she had been carried through
Tewkesbury streets.
The procession, gathering like a snowball at
every corner it turned, at length reached the
house, and the wedded pair rode up to the door,
between a double row of Helpes' servants and
business dependents, each clad in a smart new
coat or cloak, and all bowing, ducking and utter-
ing their good wishes.
William Helpes dismounted, lifted his wife from
the pillion and over the threshold, ere her foot
touched the ground ; and the housekeeper, who
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 163
stood just within the door, handed over her keys
with a deep courtesy.
The table (or rather three tables, placed end to
end) stood ready, covered by fair linen cloths,
with long, knotted fringes, and bearing every kind
of solid and liquid refreshment then known in a
substantial citizen's household. A fine voice sang
from an inner room an epithalamium as follows,
while various musical instruments sent forth their
notes at intervals :
" Here ends all art, all artificers end,
Come ye, look through our little golden loop;
Here is the best which heaven to earth did send,
Here is the bond of love, and joy, and hope.
The soldier's laurel, poet's bay, down fling,
Take up this tiny wreath the marriage ring.
The double bow, which heralds sunny weather,
The shining halo of the rising day,
Th' equator smooth, which binds the world together,
The chaplet fair, which rounds the brow of May.
A diadem by meanest mortals owned,
Who rightly wears thee sits a king enthroned.
Let but a slender finger swift pass thro' thee,
And all delight shall follow in its train:
Hold fast by this, and woe may not undo thee,
That brave ring-armor blunts the edge of pain.
Gentles, but hearken to the minstrel's voice,
And ye shall ne'er repent, but aye rejoice."
The bride and groom sat in a large double chair
at the board head, Sir Thomas and Lady Lucy on
either side, and the other guests downward in order
of rank. The good justice was in his element,
laughing, jesting, matching tales, and calling
healths, and only Lady Lucy's pale and weary
looks at length ended the feast. The wedded pair
stood in the center of the room while the huge
bride cake was broken above their heads by two
164 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
friends, and soon after the company began to
disperse.
As Sir Thomas got to horse in the evening
light, he saw several men approaching with ladders
large and small.
"What be these, friend?" he asked of a by-
stander.
" Tis the custom here, your honor," replied the
man, touching his cap. " We do allays prop up
t' doors an' windows of a new married man wi'
ladders on 's wedding night."
CHAPTER XXII.
" He kepte his pacient a ful gret del
In houres by his magik nature!.
Of his diete mesurable was he,
For it was of no superfluite,
But of gret norisching and digestible.
His studie was but litel on the Bible."
CHAUCER.
ELEVEN years had passed since the events of our
last chapter. The sixteenth century was near its
close. Queen Elizabeth still sat on the throne,
but her light grew dim, and her courtiers expected
the Northern sunrise. The solid men of London
were planning the East India Company, next year
to receive its charter, and the first successful
American colonist was as yet a slave in the wilds
of the Caucasus.
Few changes had passed upon Tewkesbury. A
long, cold winter was just relaxing its hold, the
festal season between Christmas and Shrove-Tues-
day was over, and all the town kept Lent. The
March winds roared and swept through the
streets, threatening thatch and tiles, rapidly coin-
ing the country's ransom, and driving all prudent
citizens early to their homes.
A glance into the household of William Helpes
showed a great fire burning on the hearth of the
principal room. On one side sat Dorothy smiling
at Dame Hinckley, who, grey and bent, held in her
arms a seven-month-old infant William Helpes'
first-born son. The mother looked with joy on the
child for whom she had almost ceased to hope, but
1 66 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
her face clouded whenever she turned to the op-
posite side of the room, where her husband lay
sick upon the couch. A iveed^ or heavy feverish
cold, taken some weeks before, had not passed off
as rapidly as usual, and at length, much against
Helpes' wishes, medical assistance had been in-
voked. Since that time, however, the patient had
grown steadily worse, and Dorothy was beginning
to fear that he might not recover. She had not
yet induced him to "be a bedral by day" as he
expressed it, but, his doublet and shoes removed,
to lie on the cushioned settle, wrapped in a
cloak.
"How dost feel now, husband ?" asked Dor-
othy, repeating the hourly question. " Hast any
pain?"
" Nay, none only this pestilent weakness,"
was the impatient answer. " I was sorely racked
yestreen, but now I want naught but strength.
Meseems I have my ailing under now. I'll not
give in to 't I will fling it off ! "
Springing up, he walked to and fro in the room,
and seizing the heavy poker, bent it against his
knee : but was presently obliged to lie down again,
weak and gasping.
" Nay, thou'lt kill thyself," remonstrated his
wife. " Lie still until thy dinner, that may hearten
thee."
" An I could eat a bit of good flesh meat, it
might be so," he answered. "But this same
watery fish goes fair again me."
" Sir Richard has seen thee, and knows how ill
thou art," said Dorothy thoughtfully. " Surely he
would grant thee a dispensation."
"Tush, Doll, think not o' 't : I trust to keep
the church's rules : and I should pass, that have a
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 167
dish of carp to my own share each day, while the
rest of ye feed on stock-fish and parsnips."
" But thou sayest the pain is worst of after-
noons? "
" Sooth, 'tis so ; but Master leech tells me that
hath naught to do wi' 't."
" I would our own good Doctor Hill were well
enow to come ; I like not this helper he hath
gotten."
" But thou knowest Master Hill hath seen me
once, and said his assistant had great skill. And
here he comes, ever the same, an hour ere noon."
Stepping to the door, Dorothy admitted a slight,
lean, stooping man, clad in black, with a cloak and
hood of the same, this last an article of costume
not altogether discarded by men at that time, and
which left little of the head visible but eyes, nose
and mouth.
"And how is ze patients?" he asked with a
foreign accent. " Surely an improvements is now
pass upon him?"
" Alas, no," said Dorothy. " Yesternight was
the worst he hath yet seen."
"Zat is bad very bad. But Rome was not
built in a day we must give ze curatives time to
work." And after feeling the sick man's pulse, he
launched into a long medical disquisition, plenti-
fully garnished with French and Latin words,
which much more learned persons than his hearers
might have found difficulty in understanding. At
length, concluding his harangue, he administered
a bolus, and then asked if the patient's dinner were
ready.
" Presently, Sir," answered Dame Helpes, " the
fish are in the pan."
" I must see it myself ze seasonings must be
1 68 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
aright, or, look you, ze whole balancings is
destroy."
A serving maid soon brought the smoking dish
of carp to the door. The leech smelt and tasted
the mess, and then, pronouncing it not sufficiently
seasoned, asked for the salt cellar, and scattered a
little more over the dish.
" It shall do now," said he, " all shall be as we
would have it." And he took his leave.
Helpes, declaring he had no stomach to the fish,
but the leech's bidding must, he supposed, be done,
partook of a share, and was soon after attacked by
severer pain than ever, attended by feverish delir-
ium. A wretched restless night kept his wife in
constant attendance upon him, and it was almost
daybreak when he finally fell asleep.
Dorothy's resolution was now taken. She
snatched a few minutes' rest, and then donning her
cloak and muffler, came forth from the chamber,
bearing with her the little William a quiet and
patient child, who required but a small amount of
attention. Dame Hinckley waited without the
door.
" Eh ! " said she taking the baby, " but t'
master's bad. I might hear him groan whene'r I
past. He cannot bear many such nights."
" He shall not," said Dorothy, firmly. " I have
that in mind shall cure him. Keep the child till
I return, let none disturb Master Helpes."
And taking a basket, and calling one of the
serving lads to follow, she left the house. In
about two hours she reentered, and sending the
boy down to the kitchen, crept into her husband's
room, where she sat watching his slumber until he
was roused by the physician's knock.
" How dost thou, William?" said she, lovingly
bending over him.
THE BAILII'F OF TEWKESBURY. 169
" As ever," he answered feebly. " The pain is
gone, but I am weaker still. Is that the leech? "
" Ay. He must come up to thee, methinks."
Helpes grimaced but said nothing. The physi-
cian entered the room.
"So he has gone to heesbed? Ah! it is ze
act of ze wise man. Now all shall soon be well."
" He was far worse, last night, sir," said Do-
rothy, looking steadily at the leech. " Art sure
thy treatment is for the best?"
"Ze best fitted to ze end, Matam," in some
heat. " We must have patience, as I did say.
Yet a little time, and according to Hippocrat
And he went off into another discourse, chiefly in
dog Latin. This ended, he administered his
bolus, again examined and seasoned the dish of
carp, and departed.
"And yonder is my dinner?" said Helpes, sit-
ting up in bed, and looking on the victual with no
eager eye. " I care not if I never see carp again."
" Thou needst not," said his wife, withdrawing
her gaze from the leech's retreating form, and ris-
ing from the window. " Set the fish by, Nan, and
mind ye, cover it with care. I will serve Master
Helpes myself." And going down to the kitchen,
she returned with a fine joint of roast beef.
"How's this, Dame?" said Helpes sternly,
averting his face from the too attractive sight.
" Hast forgotten the season?"
"Not so ; here is thy grace before meat."
Her husband took the paper she offered, and
unfolding it read as follows :
"Lent, 1599. I this day graunted a license
unto William Helpes, he being verie sicke, to eat
fleshe, the said license to endure no longer than
during the tyme of his sickenes.
" Ri : Curteis, Curate of Tewkesburie."
170 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY.
" I was afoot early to see Sir Richard," explained
Dorothy. " He gave me the dispensation with few
words, and he hath copied it into the register
book. Fish thou shalt eat no more. I know not
why, but am well convinced 'tis little better than
poison to thee. Now mayst fall to with a clear
conscience."
William made an excellent dinner for a sick
man, and afterward took some repose, while
Dorothy nursed her child, who, as she observed,
had reason to be jealous of his father. She then
attended carefully to the disposal of the dish of
carp. Helpes insisted on coming down for a short
time before dark, saying " he had ne'er lain by the
whole day since he could mind," but was soon
persuaded by his helpmeet to return. There was
no recurrence of pain, however, and he passed an
excellent night. The next morning he declared
himself much improved in body, but something
troubled in mind.
" I had clean forgot, Doll, when thou gavest me
the curate's license, I should have one from the
leech as well. Sure, he will take it amiss, and
small blame to him."
" Leave that to me. Methinks I can set
matters so before him that thou shalt hear no
word of complaint."
Promptly at eleven the medico appeared.
"How shall ze patient be, Matam? " he asked of
Dame Helpes, who having opened the upper half
of the door, leaned over it, with no apparent in-
tention of doing more.
"He is better, sir; far better," answered Dor-
othy, in a strangely high and sharp voice.
"Zatismost well," replied the man, real sur-
prise and feigned satisfaction blending in his
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 171
tones. " Pray you, Dame, let me in ; I must
judge if ze amendment be real."
" Thy pardon, sir," said she, budging not an
inch. " Since thy haste is so great, stand no
longer at our poor door. My husband is so far
improved he needs no more of thy care."
"But, Matam "
" Furthermore, sir," she went on, " being avised
that fish suiteth not with Master Helpes' com-
plaint, I have a license from the curate for him to
eat flesh till he be recovered ; whereof he took a
full meal yesterday, and shall again to-noon."
"This is an insult ! " shouted the leech, his ac-
cent failing as his anger grew, " an insult to
myself and my profession. Wilt try experiments
on thy husband thus? 'Tis no better than
murther !"
" Have a care, sir," said Dorothy, frowning till
her eyebrows met. " Murther is a hot and heavy
word, may harm the user. As thou speak'st of
experiments, it may please thee to know I gave
most part of the last dish of carp to a dog, which
now lieth dead in his kennel : a small portion hath
been saved for our good Doctor Hill to look into
when he next cometh ; and until he cometh, no
other physician shall cross this threshold." She
drew back and closed the door.
The leech stood a moment scowling at the
panels, and then, with a savage imprecation,
turned away.
It was two or three days later that Dr. Hill
made his appearance ; a stout, much muffled
figure, sitting sideways on a fat pony, at whose
bridle walked a serving lad : the position explained
by the Doctor's swathed and gouty foot, which
would enter no stirrup ever made. He painfully
12
172 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
dismounted, and hobbled forward to meet Helpes
and his wife, who stood together at the door.
" How doth our invalid? " he asked cheerfully.
" Hale and hearty again ? I might not come
sooner I was bound and fettered with business
ye see," lifting his gouty member, "I have
the world at my foot."
He took a seat, and made some professional
inquiries.
" Faith, man, thou hast been hard bested," said
he, " but I see not that much remains for me to
do. The dispensation was well thought upon.
And that Master Jean Dufay, that English rascal
in a French skin, I would he stood here to spell
out his knaveries."
"What said he of the matter, Doctor?"
"Gone two days since o'er the water, I trow.
He came home betimes, and I might hear him
rummage in the surgery a space, and then go
forth, telling the lad he should be late. None
have seen him sithence ; and when I was holpen
to the stair-foot in the morn, I found all in great
disarray, and a goodly purse gone, whose nest, me-
thonght, none knew on but myself. What will ye ?
poor rogues must live the empty sack may not
stand."
"Hath he been long with thee, sir?"
" Most part of a year. He came bearing a
letter from one of my craft in France, and said he
had been bred there, though of English birth. He
understood his work, I'll say that for him ; a
quicker, cleverer fellow ne'er handled pestle. But
ye know the old saw, ' He who burnishes the bit
o' Twelfth-Night, lets the horse go hungry by
Lady-Day ' ; as we went on I liked not his ways
I found the French knot in 's tongue came loose
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
173
by times and but for the gout laying me by the
heels, that I might not make shift without him, my
house had seen his back a month ago."
Dorothy now produced the remnant of the dish
of carp, and told of its effect on the dog. The
doctor examined it carefully, sent for his appara-
tus, applied one or two
simple tests, and shook
his head.
" Husband," said Dor-
othy in a low voice,
during this process, " dost
know who this Master
John Dufay, as the Doc-
tor calleth him, was?
None other than Joseph
Tuff, my uncle's scribe."
" Art sure, goodwife ? "
"Verily; I am. I
knew him not until, as
Master Hill saith, he
dropt his French. Then
I was sure on 't ; but I
would not fray thee with
't, being yet so weak."
The doctor looked up
with a puzzled face.
" There is much amiss
here," said he, " much
amiss, but it passes my
skill to say what forthright. Will Helpes, thou
hast a marvellous strong habit, or hadst lain beside
thy talbot. I will take this home, an' ye wish, and
look into it more closely."
" Nay, Doctor," said Helpes, "let it pass. An'
he meant me ill, he hath failed, thank heaven and
174 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
my good wife ; if he sought not to harm me, 'twere
a hard charge to bring."
" Well said, Will," assented the old physician,
leaving ; " if thou pursuest not after thy heath, I
shall not after my gold."
Helpes continued steadily to improve, and by
Easter day was himself again.
CHAPTER XXIII.
" Death doth ride
Ever at the horseman's side."
Anon.
WE must now take another stride forward of
some seven years, and find a Stuart ruling Great
Britain, and the present authorized version of the
Scriptures just issuing from the press. This last
subject provided discourse for two respectable
citizens who passed through the streets of Tewkes-
bury on a fair autumn morning. Their flat bon-
nets and collarless shirts, with drawing-string at
the neck their sad-colored garments, gold rings,
and portly forms, marked them as well-to-do mer-
chants. Behind them skulked a lean, ragged, evil-
looking man, apparently waiting an opportunity to
slide in a petition for alms.
" It may be well to have Holy Writ done into
English," said Sherer the mercer, "but once
should serve. Betwixt Wyclif, Tyndale, the rev-
erend bishops, and now the king's majesty, how
shall a plain man do?"
" Sure, the King knoweth best," said Tanghaft,
the cutler. " Thou mind'st he is bespoke the
' British Solomon ' ; and with such aid as he hath,
none may doubt."
" I yield to no man in duty to the King; but
see, if his Bible differ from the rest, and his be
right, theirs must needs be wrong."
" Not so, neighbor ; look ye, it may be but a
differ of words." .
ITS
176 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" I tell thee, there be just so many words in
every tongue that is spoken under heaven ; and
one should fit to another like hand to glove. Else
how might it ever be done at all ? "
" 'Tis said our new Bailiff is a great book-man,"
remarked Tanghaft, shifting the subject.
" Ay, ay. I have seen him walk abroad, poring
on scrolls, when 'a should have been at's business.
But he's a rare good fellow for all that, is Will
Helpes."
"Thou sayst well. I think he hath the good
word of every man of weight i' t' town to back
him."
" Ay ; and none more deserving but how's
this, knave ? " cried Sherer, turning sharp round
on the mendicant, who had closed in on them
with eager looks. " Why dost dog us thus by the
heels ? Off with thee ! Or shalt try the fit of oaken
shoes."
Grumbling something unintelligible, the fellow
slunk down an alley.
"Dost know him?" asked the mercer of his
friend.
" Soothly, nay. 'Tis an ill-looking rogue : some-
thing of a French. But town's full o' strangers,
drawn in to see the day's doing. Canst say who
be these ?" indicating two men on the opposite
side of the way.
" Nay, I know 'em not ; but they be Welsh.
Dost mark their speech? 'Tis like the cloop of
liquor from a bottle-neck."
" Canst understand them then ? " asked Tanghaft.
" I mind but one word of Welsh, and that's
'cooroo,' which is beer. But let us make on, or
we shall miss our seats for the show." And the
worthy burgesses proceeded up the High Street.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 177
The two Welshmen who had caught their atten-
tion belonged to a people who were by no means
unfamiliar objects in Tewkesbury, lying as it did
on the borders of Cambria ; but these men were
apparently from the wilder part of their country,
then as little known or travelled as the Scotch
Highlands a century later. The taller and elder
of the two, a man about thirty-five, was dressed in
a short yellow tunic, his feet and legs protected by
sandals and loose cross-gartered hose, a large blue
cloak wrapped round his arm, and a gold-handled
dagger in his belt. The other's costume was much
the same, save that he was bare-foot, and his
weapon had a plain wooden hilt. The heads of
both were uncovered, but the elder man's long
hair was carefully combed, and dressed, while his
companion's was the traditional " \Velsh furze-
bush." The young man's bearing, however, was
marked by the humblest deference toward his
superior, whose every thought he seemed solicitous
to anticipate.
The British strangers continued their course
through the town, more and more slowly as the
crowd grew thicker, till at length they came to a
stand just below a long overhanging balcony, or
bay, in the High Street ; the very same, as it
chanced, where William Helpes' wife and sons
had taken places to view the pageant of which he
was to them the greatest part.
He was indeed, as his neighbors had said, a
general favorite, and the most popular man who
had ever attained the chief magistracy of his
native town. Moreover the exploits of his youth
had now receded far enough into the past to have
something of the fabulous about them, while yet
there remained good store of living witnesses who
178 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY.
by no means allowed them to lose in the telling.
It was confidently asserted by many that he had
walked an hundred miles in a day that he had
flung a man over a ten-foot wall that he had
burst in a heavy iron door with his shoulder and
that he had, single handed, slain five ruffians, in
rescuing from their stronghold the noble lady who
was now his wife. His reputation, long silently
growing, and now thus bruited abroad, seemed
likely soon to equal that of his mythical country-
man, the great Guy of Warwick.
Thus buzzing, humming, and clustering together
like bees when their hive is touched by the morn-
ing sun, the citizens gathered along the route of
the procession, which led from the gate by which
the Queen's envoy had formerly entered to the
town hall. And when at length the train came in
sight, pushing its way onward like a long dried
torrent occupying its bed, and yet more when the
hero of the day took his place in the line, the
murmurs of praise swelled into a roar of acclama-
tion which might have terrified one not aware
of its cause.
Gallantly did the object of their admiration
justify it. Clad in splendid apparel, the insignia
of office borne before him, carrying his forty-eight
years lightly as half their number, his strong ath-
letic figure and well managed horse forming a
sharp contrast to those of the poor equestrians who
had preceded him in office, the plaudits of the
multitude, sweeter than the praises of the judicious
few in that they bring no sense of obligation,
ringing in his ears, and hundreds of shining faces
converging toward him like sun-sparkles on the
heaving ocean, he might well feel lifted above his
ordinary frame. As he caught sight of the window
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 179
where Dorothy, in the full prime of matronly
beauty, sat with her three fair-haired boys, and
heard the joy of his family mingling with that of
his friends and neighbors, his cup of happiness
seemed full. But Nemesis was on his track.
Passing beneath the balcony, he rose in his
stirrups, waving his hand to Dorothy ; and as he
did so, a gaunt, fierce-eyed figure 'darted through
the throng, and flashing out a dagger, struck with
all his force at the Bailiff's exposed side.
The blow was well aimed, and William Helpes'
triumph had ended then and there but for the
elder Welshman, who, as we have said, occupied a
position just beneath Dame Helpes' window.
Springing forward, he caught the assassin's wrist,
so far parrying the thrust that it only left a slash
in the Bailiff's gown, and in another moment had
wrenched the knife from his hand. The assailant,
finding himself overpowered and disarmed, writhed
like a serpent through his captor's hold, dived
under the horse's belly, and was gone in an in-
stant.
Dorothy, rising from her place with a shriek,
was about to rush down.
" No harm no harm, dame!" cried Helpes,
waving her back. Turning to his rescuer he
spoke quickly :
" I thank thee, good fellow : thou hast done me
the best service man can. I may not tarry now
come see me to-night here's an earnest for
thee."
" Hur takes no gifts from the Saxon," said the
Welsh man, proudly, rejecting the proffered money :
and, drawing his cloak round him, he turned away.
"'Fellow'! did hur say?" exploded the atten-
dant, who, hemmed in by the crowd, had not at
180 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY.
first been able to reach his master. " Py faith,
Owen ap Gnaut is goot gentlemans as stand here,
ay, an 'twere ta Baily hurself, an "
"Chut, tut, Tavy no more worts," said the
superior, adding something in their own tongue
which reduced his follower to instant silence.
All this had passed so quickly that few were
aware of what had happened. The slight gap in the
procession was speedily closed up, and the Town
Hall soon attained, where Helpes went through the
ceremonies of installation with a coolness which
bespoke the strength of his nerves.
By the time he came forth, however, the news
of the attempt on his life was pretty generally
blown abroad, and the people's solicitude would
not be pacified until he had ascended the market-
cross, and, in the sight of all, declared himself
sound and whole.
The tearful anxiety of his family was next to be
soothed, and yielding to Dorothy's entreaties, he
at length acquiesced in a proposition made by the
captain of the city guard namely, that sentinels
should be stationed around his house during the
night. Half a dozen pikemen were accordingly
told off for this purpose ; and they were soon
reinforced by a host of volunteers armed with
clubs, who were but too happy in the opportu-
nity of signalizing their devotion.
Torches were set at each door, and renewed
every hour or two ; and all night long their dim
shifting radiance flashed and gleamed upon the
soldiers' armor, and faintly illuminated the outer
circle of townsfolk who kept watch and ward about
the new made Bailiff of Tewkesbury.
CHAPTER XXIV.
" The winter snow and hail did never come so thick
As on the houses' sides the bearded arrows stick."
DRAYTON.
IT was the day after William Helpes' inaugura-
tion, and he walked with his old friend and name-
sake in that part of the common land of Tewkes-
bury known as the " Bloody Meadow " the
scene of that battle which gave what once seemed
the final blow to the tottering house of Lancaster.
Shakespeare had intended to be present at the
ceremonies of installation, but his purpose had been
frustrated by delay upon the road.
"These be thy times of reverence," said he,
" thy chair-days will come anon."
"Ay, ay," assented Helpes, "We have both
gray in our beards, Will my hair is grizzled,
thine is gone. What then? We shall all grow
old, but we have all been young."
"A good heart's worth gold," said the poet;
" but thou art happier than I hast sons to bear
on thy name."
" And thou hast a name shall bear itself, without
an help."
"Mayhap but who comes here? Thy wife
and eldest son, is "tnot?"
"Thou'rt right," said Helpes with affectionate
annoyance. " The foolish heart will scarce let me
out of her sight since yesterday."
Dorothy came up, greeted Shakespeare, bidding
1 82 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURV.
her boy pay his respects, and then clung upon her
husband's arm.
" How dost thou, old Master William ? " said
Shakespeare, using the epithet the boy's early
gravity had won from him, and taking his hand.
" Wilt be a Bailiff, like thy father?"
" Nay," said the child, positively. " I will be a
sailor or a farmer."
" I trust," said the mother, her eyes filling with
tears, " he will never be aught that will place him
in such peril as his father hath just passed through.
Dost know, Master Shakespeare, the knife point
broke his skin? I had been a wretched widow
now, but for yon good Welshman, whom none can
find, though William hath sent notice through the
town, and sought him far and near."
"And the stabber, . canst not find him
neither?"
" Nay," said Helpes. " Some chased him near
the water side, and there they lost him ; but the
warrant's out for his arrest. He hath crossed me
once or twice before I doubt he's partly
crazed. Tush, 'tis nothing; the poor knave
thought my doublet ill-fancied, and sought to slash
it after the newest fashion."
"Thou shouldst not jesi thus, William," said
Dorothy, with a half sob.
" Come, come, sweet," said her husband, look-
ing on her with eyes where she still saw the lover,
" take it not so to heart sure, thou hast wept
enough for two. But whom see I yonder? "
A white-haired, tottering old man was slowly
approaching them. Everything about him showed
that he had arrived at the extremes! verge of
human life. With a stick in either hand, he
travelled like some heavy-footed quadruped, mov-
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 183
ing each member but a few inches at a time,
looking fixedly on the ground, and seeming
momentarily on the point of falling to rise no more,
while the bow and arrows on his back but mocked
his feeble form.
" One of the bedesmen," said Dorothy, as the
blue gown caught her eye. " Yes if I see aright,
'tis old Hinckley."
" What, doth he live still? He was old when I
was a lad."
" Ay, he is near five-score. He can still see and
hear, but his mind plays him false full oft. I hear
he strays out on sunny days like this."
The ancient had now drawn quite near them.
"Your servant, gentles," said he, trying to indi-
cate a bow. " Many good morrows to ye, Master
Master "
" Helpes," said William, depositing rather than
interjecting the word.
" Ay, Master Helpes ; or I crave pardon, my
lord : they tell me thou'rt lord o' th' town now.
I bid ye joy, if an owd man may make bold. An'
th' same to my lady here ; I mind her bonnie face
when she would win to t' bedehouse wi' my poor
young suster Annot, as died unwedded : but she
comes no more there's none to think on t' owd
man now "
" I was there but a sennight since," said Dor-
othy.
" But for sure, lords and ladies ha' much else to
mind an' t' other noble gentleman, an' little
master here my duty to ye all."
" Thanks, old friend," said Helpes, giving him
some money. " Here's for thy good wishes. I
trust they make thee easy where thou art? "
" Weil enow, my lord thank ye, my lord
184 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
poor folk mun be thankful ; but to be sure, t'
house was set for owd failed bodies like me ; an'
nowadays, th' way they let in stout lads o' three-
score an' less, 'tis a shame to be seen."
"And how old art thou, friend? "
"I'll speak ye true, my lord I'm none o'
these owd knaves that mounch on lies when their
teeth be gone I'm ninety-six last Whissuntide,
as ever were."
" Tis a great age."
" Ay, an' my feyther were aughteen the time o'
th' gret battle, in this very mead. Your honors be
scholars, can say how long time ago? "
Bearing the Tewkesbury Chronicle in mind,-
rather than these very imperfect data, Helpes re-
plied, " An hundred and thirty-six years."
"Ay, an' 'twere nigh thretty year arter that when
feyther wedded ; 'twere long or he found a maid
could bear th' sight o' th' gash on 's face. Will
your honors be pleased to hear th' tale o' th' fight,
as he towd it me many a time ? "
" If thou hast a few minutes, spend them on
him, Will," whispered Dorothy. " 'Twill do him
more good than money they will scarce let him
ope his lips at the bedehouse."
Looking at Shakespeare, and receiving his
assent, Helpes replied, " We shall be glad to hear
thee, friend."
A slight flush of pleasure came to the old man's
face. Quickly stringing his bow, and handling it
as he spoke, he began his tale, both his voice and
demeanor gradually growing firmer as he proceeded.
" An 't please your honors, my feyther were Sir
Folk Bury's man, nigh hand here th' family's
all gone down now, but gret lords then. An' one
eve near May-day, as feyther came fro' th' plow,
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 185
an' were thinking on naught, as he unyoked his
team, but o' dancing round th' May-pole wi' the
maid he loved best, up steps th' captain o' th'
men-at-arms fro' th' gret house, and says he,
'Jenkin, be ready to follow us at sunrise to-morrow,
wi' thy harness, weapons and provender.' Feyther
were clear mazed ; but he made ready, as reason
were, an' he an' th' other yeomen marched up an'
down wi' Sir Folk for a week or more, an' th'
Queen an' th' young prince joined their force. At
last the camp were set by this mead, an' all said
there would be a sore strife on th' morrow.
" I' th' morn th' false king's troops came up, an'
th' trumpets sounded, an' soon th' arrows 'gan to
fly. Feyther said he ne'er saw sleet i' winte-r
thicker than th' shafts stuck on one cottage wall.
A troop o' horse tried twice to ride down th' band
o' yeomen where he stood, an' twice they failed.
The arrows struck through shield an' mail, an' yon
hollow lane were filled wi' th' riders, like a rut wi'
stones. At last their shafts were spent, an' then
th' fag o' th' horsemen broke in on them, fiery-
fierce. Their leader, as had his thigh skewered
wi' one o' feyther's arrows, cut him down wi's axe,
an' left him for dead.
" When he came to, some one were rolling him
aside. They were clearing away th' bodies, that
lay thick as swaths o' grass e'er did, to pitch th'
false king's tent. Feyther might not rise, an' he
thought 'twere better to hold his peace than have
a dagger sheathed in him. They set up th' tent,
an' as it chanced, he lay just within th' edge, an'
might see all. Th' crook-backed duke an 's
brother came in, an' bade raise a throne. Some
empty arrow chests were piled together, an' then
a cry were made, ' Here's his majesty ! ' an' they
1 86 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
lacked a step to th' throne. So they haled in a
corpse, an' laid it in place, threw broidered cloths
o'er all, an' th' false king came an' took his seat.
" ' Bring in the prisoner ! ' says he.
" An' they brought him in that were the true
prince, ye mind wi' 's hands bound, but as bold
as a lion. There he stood among those that
dought to take his life, an 1 eyed 'em all as they
were grooms set to do his bidding.
" ' How durst ye come here ? What do ye here ? '
says th' false king at last; but his words came
thick, an' he looked aside.
" ' I came to gain my father's crown, and mine
own heritage,' says the prince.
"He ne'er said word more. Th' other flung his
glove at him, an* th' crook-back duke an' his
brother struck their daggers in his side. Down
he fell, just by where my sire lay : here, gentles
this is feyther's very bow see ye this ruddy spot
near th' tip? 'Tis a gout o' th' brave young
prince's blood."
All drew round and gazed with interest. Old
Hinckley caught his breath and went on.
" When th' night fell, feyther crept away fro'
th' tent, an' hapt on a house where they cared for
him, though much as their lives were worth.
'Twas many a day or he drove th' plough again :
but at last he got back to th' land, and there I
were born. When a' died, a' left me his bow,
an' bid me be always ready to draw it for th' right.
An' I ha' drawn it for owd King Hal agen th'
rebels' an' for th' Queen ay th' Red Rose
shall ne'er fade "
Flushed with his tale, and borne up by the
brief strength of excitement, the old man had
thrown his sticks aside, and was now marching up
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY 187
and down, pausing occasionally and making futile
efforts to draw his bow-string home. He had
rolled up his sleeves and torn open his collar,
disclosing his yellow, veiny neck and arms.
"Come, Gaffer," said Dorothy coaxingly, "'tis
time thou went home to thy supper."
But he gave no heed.
" Hinckley," said Helpes, in the sharp tone of
command, " thou must not stay here -march on."
" Ay, my lord, ay ! " cried the bedesman, " I
know my duty I'll stand guard here none can
say I e'er slept on my post " And he burst
into a fit of excited raving.
"What to do?" said Dorothy. "Sure, he will
kill himself."
"Dame," said the Bailiff, " Master Shakespeare
will abide with us to-night. Take him home and
give him some victual he hath ridden far. And
hark ye," in a lower tone, " send up two of the lads
from the house, as soon as may be, to carry this
old babbler home."
Dorothy turned away with Shakespeare and her
little boy, her mind confused between pity, appre-
hension, and hospitality.
" Master Shakespeare," said she presently, with
an effort to select some new topic, " those sonnets
whereof William showed me so many in our court-
ship didst thou indeed write them all upon
him?"
" They were writ for their only begetter, Mr. W.
H.," replied the poet, gravely smiling; nor would
he say more.
Meanwhile William Helpes remained watching
over Hinckley as he rambled up and down, en-
deavoring to soothe him into a more amenable
frame.
1 88
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Yonder were where feyther's troop were set,"
cried the old man, " there came th' horsemen, an'
here ay, here, my lord, stood th' false king's
tent."
. As William looked down on the deepest dyed
spot of the Bloody Meadow, he was aware of a
slight movement and rustle in a clump of bushes
some forty yards away. Old Hinckley faced
suddenly round. " For t' prince ! " he cried, and
laying an arrow in place, drew it to the head.
The thin hard sinews flashed out like harp strings
over his withered arms and chest, as he glanced
along the shaft, and then let it fly. He stood for
a moment gazing after the missile, as if to be sure
whether it had found the mark, then dropped on
his knees, wavered like a severed stem, and with
a long gasp fell forward on his face. The two
'prentices now appeared, running at full speed.
" Hither ! This way ! " cried Jielpes, raising the
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 189
bid man's head. The lads came up, and relieved
their master : but life was evidently extinct.
"Take him to the next house, call a leech
somewhat may yet be done," said Helpes. " But
soft : I must look yonder a moment."
He walked towards the tuft of bushes where the
arrow had struck, followed by two or three strollers
whom the bustle had attracted. Half concealed
among sallows lay the body of a man, pierced from
breast to back by Hinckley's bolt.
" Why, sure," cried one of the company, " 'tis
the same drew a knife on your Honor in the street
yesterday ! "
"Ay, I know him now," murmured Helpes,
gazing down on the corpse.
It was indeed the wretched Tuff his features
set in despairing rage, and the loaded pistol and
smoking match which lay beside him proving that
the old archer's arrow had just anticipated a last
effort at vengeance.
Other citizens now came up, and a gate being
procured, both bodies were laid thereon, and
borne towards the town.
The Bailiff, with Hinckley's bow in his hand,
walked hastily on to assure Dorothy of his safety :
but as usual, the news had flown before, and she
came rushing in terror to meet him.
" I shall never rest again ! never ! " she wailed.
" Sooth, sweetheart," said her husband, " I think
thou mayst be easy now. Mine only enemy is gone
I have 'scaped him once more, thanks to the
bedesman, or rather," raising his hat and looking
upward, " where they are more justly due. Both
these bodies shall have decent burial, and I will
be at charge for a headstone for old Hinckley
he died in harness, Methinks I may keep his
I QO THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
bow he had no heir living, and many have heard
him say I should have it when he was gone. Now,
Doll, let us sup."
Danger and violence, once past, left no long
impression on the rninds of that day : and alter
the feast Helpes and his guest were merry over
their wine, and "old Master William" heard for
the first time some tales of his sire's exploits in
Charlecote Park.
CHAPTER XXV.
" And when life's sweet fable ends,
Soul and body part like friends."
RICHARD CRASHAW.
NEARLY a score of years had elapsed since
Hinckley and Tuff had been laid in their graves,
the smooth and easy reign of James was over, and
King Charles sat firm in his place.
It was late spring, and the Avon had been up in
spate ; many a fair field was buried deep in mud,
drowned cattle and sheep lay against the hedge-
rows, and more homesteads than one were in
ruins. The stream was now slowly contracting
into its accustomed channel, but its usually clear
waters were turbid and brown, while thousands of
little affluents seemed bearing to it the very life
blood of the land.
On the bank stood two farmers, comparing notes
as to their losses.
" 'Tis a sorry sight, Higg," said the younger.
191
IQ2 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
"Look on t' meads an' hedges, coated with mud,
as a brown snow had fell."
" T' grass will grow all t' better, Trinlay, soon
or late. Thou knowest t' owd say :
' When Severn seeks Avon,
There's hay for the havin',
When Avon seeks Severn,
The corn grows to heaven.' "
"Ay, hay enow, I'll go bail," grumbled Trinlay ;
" an' few mouths to put it in. I ha' lost nine shar-
rags, three lambs most o' them were folded on
hill an' a fine calf. A worser flood I ne'er saw.
Feyther would tell as how it came to yon stone in
his time, a foot higher than this ; but I n'ot to see
't."
"They do say," observed Higg, sinking his
voice to a whisper, "as there've been a ban on
Avon flow ever sin" good Master Wyclif's ashes were
sent down 't ; an' yon barn fallen, were my share
o' loss."
" Were 't in that Master Helpes got 's hurt ? "
" Nay at neebor Jackson's. He were up to 's
belt in water, tryin' to free some o' th' beasts,
when a bulk o' timber struck him o' th' spole an'
bore him under. He were up in a breath, but
they say as he were done for then. He's sinkin'
fast, same as th' stream. I ha' sent my little lad up
this morn, to see what the word may be, an' that's
what I'd do for few townsmen."
"Ay, there's many without Tewkesbury 'ud
grieve for him. But I mun take a shovel in hand,
an fy out some o' th' ditches."
As Higg had said, William Helpes, in his efforts
to aid the sufferers, had received some injuries
which, little noticed at first, were tending to a fatal
termination.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 193
Round his door stood messengers from all parts
of the town, waiting in ever lessening hope : and
when at length the doctor came forth, saying he
could do no more, a burst of lamentation rose
from the women, while more than one sturdy
fellow, who had not wept since he could see across
a table, followed their example.
Within the sick man lay among his pillows, the
minister at the bed foot, and his younger sons,
George and Richard, on either side.
" Hath not Will come yet?" he asked feebly.
" Nay, father ; he hath been sent for with all
haste ; but thou knowest his farm is far hence."
" He must come soon an' he would see me.
Look ye, Dick, yesterday I flattened yon pewter
cup in one hand now I can scarce lift it."
Another hour wore slowly away. Then the
tramp of a horse was heard without, and the eldest
son entered, splashed and stained with clay from
head to heel.
The first greetings over, the father motioned
all to stand before him, and then looked around
as if in search of someone else.
"Where is he?"
"Whom, father?" .
" Mine old fellow Will Shakespeare. Tush,
I forget ; he hath lain in Stratford church this ten
year."
A little cordial was given him, and he went on
with clearer voice and thought.
" I reckoned to live many a year yet, lads
but 'tis as well the salt has gone from life since
your mother passed ; I trust I am ready. For worldly
gear Will, ihou hast the land, and George the
business, and Dick, a portion may keep him well.
Thou shalt have yon bow, Will; remember,
194 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
Shakespeare bent it once, and it hath saved thy
father's life. And further, here be three nots, one
apiece. Seek not too eagerly for gold it leaveth
all its rust in the heart of man. Spare not, in a
good cause, nor purse, nor strength, nor pain, nor
life. And lastly, fear not. This is no place for
boasting, yet few there be have seen my back in
strife. But none knoweth how oft a man hath
failed, save he himself : and truly I may say, never
did I turn from peril, but I rued it sorely. A
faint heart undoes all. In the front of yonder
Book ye may read how Adam's first word after he
fell was a dastard speech ; and at its end, foremost
among those who may not enter heaven are named
the cowards. Fear is not meant for man give
all ye have on 't to God keep none back."
He paused, joined the minister awhile in prayer,
then lay back exhausted, and sank gradually into
stupor.
Minute after minute passed away, while the
white shadow grew upon his face. At last he be-
gan groping feebly upon the blankets.
"Dorothy," he murmured, "Dorothy gift of
God where art thou ? Thy hand bring me
to the light."
All present fell on their knees, as the pastor
began the commendatory prayer.
Soon a sobbing messenger sped away toward
the church, and ere long three score and six strokes
of the bell told Tewkesbury that the stout burgess'
soul had passed.
CHAPTER XXVI.
" Cras ingens iterabimus sequor."
HORACE.
IT was a cold, blustering morning. The long
black bar of cloud which lay on the eastern
horizon turned no golden edge toward the world,
nor gave a hint of the light it concealed, until the
sun pushed slowly upward, and announced the
twentieth of March, 1630.
The good ship " Mary and John," Captain John
Squeb, master, lay at anchor in Plymouth harbor,
pointing her bow to the northerly breeze, and
gently rocking on the waves ; while far away to
the south a spot of foam marked the reefs which,
seventy years later, were to bear up the Eddystone
lighthouse.
The pilot, temporary master of the vessel, stood
in solitary greatness near the helm, and Cap-
tain Squeb, for the nonce a mere supercargo,
chatted affably with the passengers and visitors.
" Ay, ay ; 'tis a fair wind at last ; we sail this
day without doubt, Master Davon. Thou'lt be
glad to know we have two worshipful ministers
aboard, goodwife Fullafere. Master Clap, I hear
'tis thy purpose to write a story of the voyage;
fail not to speak a good word for the tight craft."
" An 't please you, Master Squeb, when set w
forth ? " asked one of the men.
" 'Tis flood an hour ere noon ; then we weigh
anchor."
" And, by your leave, are all on board ? "
195
196 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
" Nay, one company is yet to come. But if
they wait four hours more they shall find an empty
berth. Stay, methinks I see them now."
A small boat so crowded with passengers that
tha rowers could scarce use their oars, pushed off
from shore, and slowly approached the " Mary
and John."
" Help's good in time of need," jested the
Captain, " and here be seven, what think ye o'
that?"
The wherry pulled up to the ship's side, made
fast, and three children were handed up one
after the other.
"Poor little maids," said a compassionate
woman, "I pity them, thus thrust into the wilder-
ness."
Dame Helpes was next assisted up the ladder,
and was followed by her husband William the
same whom we saw in Tewkesbury mead as a child
of eight. He was now nearly thirty-five, but his
thinning hair, hollow cheeks, and grave demeanor
gave him the appearance of being much older;
while, though of a tough and wiry build, he evi-
dently had not inherited all his sire's strength.
The two unmarried brothers, George and
Richard Helpes, reached over a collection of small
articles (conspicuous among which were an ancient
long-bow and a brass warming-pan) and then as-
cended themselves.
"The settlers," said Captain Squeb, speaking
apart, but quite loudly enough to be heard, " bid
me bring them o'er a cargo of hoes and spades,
and instead I fetch the vessel loaded with Helpeses
as deep as she can swim."
William's wife and children soon went below,
but the three brothers remained conversing on deck.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 197
" Truly our course seems set for the West at
last," said the eldest. " I hear there remaineth
yet very much land to be possessed, and I would
fain have a share therein. Thou knowest, George,
my taste is for the fields, as thine for trade ; but I
like not to be cap in hand to lord and duke, for
lease and feu I seek to sit upon mine own ground,
as well as under mine own vine and fig-tree."
" Ay, ay," said George, " thy foot on the land,
and a book in thy hand 'tis ever thy way, Will.
For me, I had never stirred, were the business
now as in our father's time ; but I see 'tis drift-
ing away from poor Tewkesbury, and a wise man
will sell out while he may. I have scraped to-
gether some few score pounds, which I trust to
turn over at profit in the Colonies : I hear they
have many saints there, but few angels."
" Thy jest, George," said William gravely,
" savors of certain superstitions, which I hope we
have escaped for ever but let it pass. An we
believed in omens, doth not all seem to favor us?
The season is prosperous, the sky is clear, and we
shall be speedily borne down the Channel by this
gallant breeze."
"'Tis something of the keenest," remarked
Richard, the youngest brother, pulling up his
collar, and gazing apprehensively out to sea. " I'
faith, I like not all this salty drink ; a good pot
of ale by a snug fireside is liquor enow for me. I
heard marvellous tales of the salvages' cruelly in
the tavern last night we shall do well to overlive
ten years. Marry, I had thriven better to abide
by my English luck ; but I was over-persuaded,
like many another, and must now suffer for "t."
" Brother Richard," said William, turning to him
in some heat, "this discourse profiteth not at all.
198
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY.
Over-persuaded ? Did I not lay all before thee,
and tell thee to count the cost, and that if thou
wert minded to stay behind I would make over the
leases thou wot'st of, and put thee in a fair way of
life ? And didst thou not thump stoutly on thy
breast, and avouch that all thy hopes lay in Amer-
ica, and that thou wouldst swim thither, if it might
not otherwise be reached? This is no valley of
Moreh, Richard, from the which thou mayest turn
back like one of Gideon's ten thousand ; neither,
Richard, I must needs say, is an infirm purpose
made stronger by backing it with ' marry ' and
<i' faith.'"
Richard thrust both hands deeply into his
pockets, and humming a tune, went under hatches.
THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 199
William, looking somewhat ashamed of his easy
victory, began walking up and down the small,
clear space he could find on deck. Soon the
mournful chant of the sailors was heard, as they
swung the anchor loose from English soil. The
foresail was spread, and the bark, veering slowly
round, ploughed her way toward the harbor mouth,
both waves and prospects widening as she went.
" If thou'lt be guided, Master Helpes," said the
Captain as he passed them, in a tone already more
authoritative, "go below, and stow thy stuff we
are rarely cumbered vvi' 't, and two hours hence
thou mayest have small heart for heaving of chests."
Obeying this injunction, the brothers went be-
low, where they were long occupied in prepara-
tions for their ten weeks' voyage.
It was nearly sunset when William Helpes came
again on deck. Despite the Captain's presage,
though now at sea for the first time, he experienced
none of the ills which assail most novices in that
position, and verified the boast of his youth, that
he would be sailor if not farmer.
The vessel, a fair wind on her quarter, was
speeding down the Channel, and the pilot-boat
was already a dim speck in the distance ; while
the British coast, faint and blue across the tumbling
water, seemed like a shapeless, impenetrable cloud,
which knew not port, or river, or home of man.
A few distant toiling sails were the only bright
spots within the emigrant's vision.
Behind him lay the graves of his parents, be-
fore him the land which was to be the birthplace
of his son. Balanced betwixt hope and memory,
he stood gazing eastward until the last gleam of
daylight had died away, and Shakespeare's Eng-
land faded forever from his sight.
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