Guy Fawkes: or, The Gunpowder Treason: An Historical Romance. Ainsworth William Harrison

Ha! I hear the executioner pronounce his name. How are you called?”

      “Guy Fawkes,” replied the soldier.

      “It is the name I heard,” rejoined Elizabeth Orton.

      And, sinking backward, she expired.

      Guy Fawkes gazed at her for some time, till he felt assured that the last spark of life had fled. He then turned away, and placing his hand upon his chin, became lost in deep reflection.

      CHAPTER III.

      ORDSALL HALL

      Soon after sunset, on the evening of the events previously related, the inmates of Ordsall Hall were disturbed and alarmed (for in those times of trouble any casual disturbance at night was sufficient to occasion alarm to a Catholic family) by a loud clamour for admittance from some one stationed at the farther side of the moat, then, as now, surrounding that ancient manorial residence. The drawbridge being raised, no apprehension was entertained of an attempt at forcible entrance on the part of the intruder, who, so far as he could be discerned in the deepening twilight, rendered yet more obscure by the shade of the trees under which he stood, appeared to be a solitary horseman. Still, for fear of a surprise, it was judged prudent by those inside the hall to turn a deaf ear to the summons; nor was it until it had been more than once repeated in a peremptory tone, that any attention was paid to it. The outer gate was then cautiously opened by an old steward, and a couple of serving-men, armed with pikes and swords, who demanded the stranger's business, and were answered that he desired to speak with Sir William Radcliffe. The steward rejoined that his master was not at home, having set out the day before for Chester: but that even if he were, he would take upon himself to affirm that no audience would be given, on any pretence whatever, to a stranger at such an unseasonable hour. To this the other replied, in a haughty and commanding voice, that he was neither a stranger to Sir William Radcliffe, nor ignorant of the necessity of caution, though in this instance it was altogether superfluous; and as, notwithstanding the steward's assertion to the contrary, he was fully persuaded his master was at home, he insisted upon being conducted to him without further parley, as his business would not brook delay. In vain the steward declared he had spoken the truth. The stranger evidently disbelieved him; but, as he could obtain no more satisfactory answer to his interrogations, he suddenly shifted his ground, and inquired whether Sir William's daughter, Mistress Viviana, was likewise absent from home.

      “Before I reply to the question, I must know by whom and wherefore it is put?” returned the steward, evasively.

      “Trouble not yourself further, friend, but deliver this letter to her," rejoined the horseman, flinging a packet across the moat. “It is addressed to her father, but there is no reason why she should not be acquainted with its contents.”

      “Take it up, Olin Birtwissel,” cried the steward, eyeing the packet which had fallen at his feet suspiciously; “take it up, I say, and hold it to the light, that I may consider it well before I carry it to our young mistress. I have heard of strange treacheries practised by such means, and care not to meddle with it.”

      “Neither do I, good Master Heydocke,” replied Birtwissel. “I would not touch it for a twelvemonth's wages. It may burst, and spoil my good looks, and so ruin my fortunes with the damsels. But here is Jeff Gellibronde, who, having no beauty to lose, and being, moreover, afraid of nothing, will pick it up for you.”

      “Speak for yourself, Olin,” rejoined Gellibronde, in a surly tone. “I have no more fancy for a shattered limb, or a scorched face, than my neighbours.”

      “Dolts!” cried the stranger, who had listened to these observations with angry impatience, “if you will not convey my packet, which has nothing more dangerous about it than an ordinary letter, to your mistress, at least acquaint her that Mr. Robert Catesby, of Ashby St. Legers, is without, and craves an instant speech with her.”

      “Mr. Catesby!” exclaimed the steward, in astonishment. “If it be indeed your worship, why did you not declare yourself at once?”

      “I may have as good reason for caution as yourself, Master Heydocke," returned Catesby, laughing.

      “True,” rejoined the steward; “but, methinks it is somewhat strange to find your worship here, when I am aware that my master expected to meet you, and certain other honourable gentlemen that you wot of, at a place in a clean opposite direction, Holywell, in Flintshire.”

      “The cause of my presence, since you desire to be certified of the matter, is simply this,” replied Catesby, urging his steed towards the edge of the moat, while the steward advanced to meet him on the opposite bank, so that a few yards only lay between them; “I came round by Manchester,” he continued, in a lower tone, “to see if any assistance could be rendered to the unfortunate fathers Woodroofe and Forshawe; but found on my arrival this morning that I was too late, as they had just been executed.”

      “Heaven have mercy on their souls!” ejaculated Heydocke, shuddering, and crossing himself. “Yours was a pious mission, Mr. Catesby. Would it had been availing!”

      “I would so, too, with all my soul!” rejoined the other, fervently; “but fate ordained it otherwise. While I was in the town, I accidentally learnt from one, who informed me he had just parted with him, that your master was at home; and, fearing he might not be able to attend the meeting at Holywell, I resolved to proceed hither at nightfall, when my visit was not likely to be observed; having motives, which you may readily conjecture, for preserving the strictest secrecy on the occasion. The letter was prepared in case I should fail in meeting with him. And now that I have satisfied your scruples, good master steward, if Sir William be really within, I pray you lead me to him forthwith. If not, your young mistress may serve my turn, for I have that to say which it imports one or other of them to know.”

      “In regard to my master,” replied the steward, “he departed yesterday for Chester, on his way to join the pilgrimage to St. Winifred's Well, as I have already assured your worship. And whoever informed you to the contrary, spoke falsely. But I will convey your letter and message to my young mistress, and on learning her pleasure as to receiving you, will instantly return and report it. These are dangerous times, your worship; dangerous times. A good Catholic knows not whom to trust, there are so many spoilers abroad.”

      “How, sirrah!” cried Catesby, angrily, “do you apply that observation to me?”

      “Far be it from me,” answered Heydocke, respectfully, “to apply any observation that may sound offensive to your worship, whom I know to be a most worthy gentleman, and as free from heresy, as any in the kingdom. I was merely endeavouring to account for what may appear my over-caution in detaining you where you are, till I learn my lady's pleasure. It is a rule in this house not to lower the drawbridge without orders after sunset; and I dare not, for my place, disobey it. Young Mr. Humphrey Chetham, of Crumpsall, was detained in the like manner no later than last night; and he is a visitor,” he added, in a significant tone, “who is not altogether unwelcome to my mistress – ahem! But duty is no respecter of persons; and in my master's absence my duty is to protect his household. Your worship will pardon me.”

      “I will pardon anything but your loquacity and tediousness,” rejoined Catesby, impatiently. “About your errand quickly.”

      “I am gone, your worship,” returned the steward, disappearing with his companions.

      Throwing the bridle over his horse's neck, and allowing him to drink his fill from the water of the moat, and afterwards to pluck a few mouthfuls of the long grass that fringed its brink, Catesby abandoned himself to reflection. In a few moments, as the steward did not return, he raised his eyes, and fixed them upon the ancient habitation before him, – ancient, indeed, it was not at this time, having been in a great measure rebuilt by its possessor, Sir William Radcliffe, during the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth, in the rich and picturesque style of that period. Little could be distinguished of its projecting and retiring wings, its walls decorated with black and white chequer-work, the characteristic of the class of architecture to which it belonged, or of its magnificent embayed windows filled with stained glass; but the outline of its heavy roof, with its numerous gables, and groups of tall and elaborately-ornamented chimneys, might be distinctly traced in strong relief