Chapter VIII Arrested
It was Patience who sought Mistress Newbolt in her chamber and told her in a few words what had happened. It was even with her as her children had thought it would be.
“It is the Lord’s justice,” she said. “His will be done.” She straightened herself, went down to her household, and rebuked Ann when she wept.
“Shall not the Lord chastise His children?” she said. “Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth. Indeed, I am well pleased that our God careth for us so well that He does chastise us; for, seeing we were so prosperous, I feared He held us to be of no account, but now I am exalted, and my spirit is glad within me, for the Lord has laid His hand on my house.”
This enthusiasm was wonderful; her face, which before had been sad, shone now with an inner light of satisfaction. She went about her duties with an energy and a briskness which had long failed her.
The maid-servants exclaimed, “The mistress is of cheerful countenance; is it seemly that she should rejoice over the master’s misfortune?”
If she divined their thoughts she paid no heed to them.
“Poor ignorant souls, they cannot understand,” she said to Patience, who, to tell the truth, herself did not understand why the wife should rejoice when her husband was sent to prison and was in danger of his life.
She remembered how sorely she had grieved over the misfortunes which had befallen the royal standard, and how she had mourned for those who were then laid low.
“It is not natural,” she said to Agnes; “we must accept the will of the Lord, but we are not bound to rejoice when He afflicts us.”
Reginald had left the house almost immediately after his father’s departure, to find out where he had been taken to and what could be done to further his release, so Agnes and Patience remained with Ann and cheered her as best they could. Mistress Newbolt needed no cheering; she busied herself arranging her husband’s clothes, packing them to send to his prison, wherever that might be, and she employed the maids in taking off the lace ruffles from his shirts, replacing them with plain linen ones.
“He shall not appear before his judges like a popinjay,” she said, “but like a sober, righteous man.”
“Mother, you are wrong,” said Ann. “He is a king’s man now, and is serving the king. Why will you try to show forth to the world that he was ever aught else?”
“Because it is my duty, my joy,” she answered, and she would not be gainsaid.
“Do not trouble,” said Patience to Ann. “Let her have her own way. You can easily supplement what is lacking.”
The day seemed long to them all except to Mistress Newbolt, whose pale face had a red spot on either cheek from the excitement of her heart. Her muslin kerchief was crumpled, a thing Ann had never seen before, and her hands trembled as she went about her work.
Once Agnes crept on tiptoe to the small closet which Mistress Newbolt called her own, where she was wont to read and pray. Opening the door gently she looked in. The window was wide open, and Mistress Newbolt stood before it grazing up into the sky, which was dark, threatening rain; but sunshine or rain, storm or clouds, were naught to her, her soul had soared beyond these earthly signs of fair weather or foul. Her hands were clasped, her face was turned upwards as if she saw a vision, and from her lips a quick flow of words poured forth so rapidly that Agnes had difficulty in following them.
It was more conversation than prayer, as if she were speaking to the Almighty as to a familiar friend, thanking Him for having thus cast His eye upon them, and chastening her husband for his sin. She prayed also for Reginald and Ann, that they might be reclaimed and brought back into the true fold. Then came an impassioned act of worship:
“Glory be to Thee, oh Lord Most High!” and so on.
Agnes stood transfixed. She had never heard the like before. It moved her as if a great wave had swept over her. She listened, drinking in the words with wonder and astonishment.
“It must be even as the prophets of old spoke,” she thought. “I wonder if she is right and we all wrong;” and even as she was thus thinking Mistress Newbolt turned round, saw her, came quickly, took her in her arms, and almost carried her to the open window, crying in exultation:
“Lord, behold this child! Make her Thine; teach her Thy ways; make her worship Thee, the only true God, in truth and equity.”
So tight were her arms wound round her that Agnes could not move. She held her as if she would have almost carried her up to heaven in her exultation. Looking into her face it struck Agnes as strangely beautiful; she had never seen it thus before. Her eyes were as coals of fire; the lips parted as the impassioned words dropped from them.
Suddenly the woman collapsed. She loosened her hold of Agnes, staggered, and would have fallen had not the girl upheld her; but she threw her off, and, casting herself on the ground, broke forth into fierce weeping. The bands of iron which had bound her soul gave way and she could only cry:
“Save me, oh God, save me, for Thy mercy’s sake!”
With that delicate instinct which is inherent in some souls, Agnes felt that this was no place for her, that she had no right to look upon the weakness of this strong woman, and quietly, with tears pouring down her face, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
She paused for a moment on the landing, then, descending the stairs, found her way into the little sitting-room, where Ann and Patience were waiting for her. The discomposure of her face revealed to them at once that something unusual had happened.
“Have you seen my mother?” asked Ann, coming forward.
“Oh, it is too terrible, too terrible!” said Agnes, her tears bursting forth again, and, letting herself fall on the settle beside Patience, she clung to her for protection.
“What has happened, dear? tell me,” said Patience softly.
“Nothing has happened,” was the quiet answer, “but her grief is terrible to see.”
“I will go to her,” said Ann, rising.
“It is of no use,” said Agnes, standing before her; “let her be. Her soul is wrestling with the Lord; she wants no human help; we do not understand her.”
“I know what you mean,” said Ann, “I have seen her in that state before. When my father declared that he would welcome King Charles and join himself to the royal cause, she was three days and nights shut up in her own room and would see no one; she would eat nothing but bread and water, and we heard her pacing up and down, talking to herself, apostrophizing the Almighty, praying aloud. Sometimes she would sing psalms or hymns. As I tell you, she remained three days in this state, and then she came forth haggard and thin, but quite calm. ‘I have left it in God’s hands,’ she said; ‘what He doeth will be well done.’ Go home, dear friend,” Ann continued. “You can give us no help, we must await events. I do not think my father’s life is in danger, but how long he will be deprived of liberty, what his punishment will be, we cannot tell until his trial, and that may be retarded for many months. We were going to Newbolt Manor for a few weeks. Now, of course, we must remain here. I am sorry, because my mother’s health suffers from the confinement in London, but I know nothing will move her hence so long as my father is in prison.”
“Of course not,” said Patience. “We shall also remain in town for the present. The king has gone with his court to Hampton, and I do not care to be there when that is the case, for there is no peace—the gardens are full of gallants and fine ladies—so we will remain at Somerset House until the king returns to town.”
“I am glad of it,” said Ann; “it is a comfort to feel that you are near me. We have many acquaintances, but few friends.”
“You must count us as friends,” said Patience.
“I will gladly do so,” answered Ann. “I feel as if I have known you all my life.”
“Therefore, if you have any fear, send for us,” said Patience. “Now we will bid you farewell.”
The distance between the Newbolts’ house in Drury Lane and Somerset House could be traversed in a few minutes, but nevertheless the streets were by no means pleasant for women to walk through alone, therefore Patience and Agnes had come in sedan-chairs, which were waiting in the courtyard. These were now brought forward into the house, as was the custom, and, taking a tender adieu of Ann, they got in and were carried out. Agnes drew the curtain on one side, waved a last adieu, and then Ann turned away and went up to the first story, where was her mother’s apartment.
She was sad at heart, and felt at a loss as to how she should comfort her, for she knew full well that there was no disguising the fact that her father had been a prominent man under Cromwell, also that he had commanded a body of horse at the late king’s execution. One thing alone was in his favour: his name was not on the list of those who had voted for the king’s death.
It was late at night when Reginald returned. He had no good news. His father, he had ascertained, was in Newgate, but he had not been able to gain access to him.
“I fear much,” he said, “that there is a traitor somewhere, for why have we been thus suddenly attacked? The king was quite aware from the first that my father was a Parliamentarian; the only thing he did not know was that he was present at the late king’s death. It is upon this charge that my father has been arrested. We cannot clear him; it is quite hopeless; we can only trust to the king’s clemency, and that,” he continued, “is of no great account. I am much afraid that I shall be obliged to resign my commission, and thus, though I am blameless, I must suffer, and the king will lose a good servant.”
“Do you think he will be arraigned for treason?” asked Ann.
“No, that he cannot be,” was the answer, “seeing that he was only captain at that time of a body of horse. He obeyed orders, and he kept the street clear in the precincts of Whitehall, but he was not actually on the spot.”
“And though he has never allowed that it was so,” said Ann, “in his heart I believe he grieved that the execution was carried out.”
“His refraining from giving his vote was a proof of it,” said Reginald. “Where is our mother?”
“In her own apartment,” said Ann. “It is no use your trying to go to her; she will see no one. Agnes was with her, and I think she frightened the child; she has been very much excited all day. Martha tells me she has gone to bed, which is proof that she has worn herself out. She may be more composed to-morrow. You see, she considers our father’s arrest a retribution.”
“And she may not be quite wrong,” said Reginald. “If he had only voted against instead of keeping silent, he would have been not only safe from molestation, but honourably revered.”
“That he could not do,” said Ann. “I have heard him say that though he disapproved of the king’s execution, he did not see how otherwise order and justice were to be restored, or the Civil War ended.”
“The whole thing is ineffably sad,” said Reginald; “it is too late in the day now to discuss the pros and cons. Go to bed, Ann, and sleep; you will need all your strength and courage to face the next few months.” And so they bade each other good-night and parted.
So worn out was Ann that her head was no sooner on the pillow than she slept; but Reginald sat till an unusually late hour in the house-parlour thinking matters over and trying to find out who could have betrayed his father.
He rose at last, and stretched himself, muttering, “It is folly and to no purpose my seeking to find the man; there are so many witnesses of my father’s presence at Whitehall. We must abide by the results; but I will see Sir Nicholas Crisp to-morrow, he has always been kindly disposed towards me, and stands high in the king’s esteem. He may perchance speak a word in my father’s favour.” With this he also retired to his chamber to await the events of the morrow.