Idonia: A Romance of Old London Part 18

"You are right," said I, "seeing you stole my money."

"I knew your answer before you spoke it," replied Skene, nodding; "but yet I am glad 'tis out, for all that. A hidden grievance is like a dagger worn without a scabbard, that often hurts him that carries it more than him he means to use it against. Nay, I am not angry," he said with a motion of his hand. "Your case seemed to you perfect; I do not blame you. Nor will you me neither, when you shall hear all that hath befallen me 'twixt that and this. As for your money, it is safe enough; and had it pa.s.sed your mind to inform me of where you lodged after you left Mr. Malt's in Fetter Lane, why, Mr. Cleeve, you could have had it any time for the asking." His tone had changed while he continued to speak, from a certain eagerness to slow reproach.

"But, sir," I began, when he stopped me peremptorily.

"It is ill bickering thus before a girl," he said, and going to the great press whence Idonia had before fetched forth her ledger-book he opened it, and without more ado restored to me my parcels of gold. I could have cried for very shame.

"Count them o'er," he said, with some contempt, but that was the word that sent my blood back into my head again. For I was a.s.sured the man was a villain and had meant to rob me, though by his cunning he had put a complexion of honesty upon his dealings, and forced me into the wrong.

"I will do so later," said I, coolly, "but now I would ask of you one further question. What name shall I call you by?" Meaning, should I name him my uncle Botolph or no, and so waited for the effect of that, being sure that by how little soever he should falter upon his reply, I should detect it. What measure of astonishment was mine, then, when he turned to Idonia with a smile.

"You shall reply for me," said he, "since you know me pretty well."

"When my father was killed," said Idonia, looking at me with her eyes all brimmed with tears, "in that affray under John Fox that I have already related to you, my mother dying soon after of grief, she left me a babe and quite friendless save for Mr. Skene, whom if you have anything against, I beseech you put it by for my sake, and because he had pity on me."

Then going a pace or two nearer to Skene she laid a hand on his arm and said--

"Sir, Mr. Cleeve has been kind to me, and protected me once from a man's insolence when you were absent. I had thought you had been friends before, but it seems you were enemies. We have enough of them, G.o.d wot! and a plenty of suspicions and hatreds to contend with. Then if it please you, sir, be friends now, you and he, else I know not what shall be done."

Whatever anger I still held, it died down (for that time) at her entreaties, and 'twas with no further thought than to have done with all strife that I offered my hand on the instant to Skene. And although later I did somewhat censure myself for such precipitancy of forgiveness in a case that more concerned my father than myself, yet I silenced my misgivings with the thought that I might take the occasion Skene had himself offered (when he said that I should learn what had befallen to prevent his meeting me on the day appointed in Serjeants Inn), and, if he should then fail to satisfy me, I would take up my quarrel anew.

The attorney took my hand with an apparent and equal openness.

"I thank you," he said, quietly, "and so enough. Much there may be to tell of that hath pa.s.sed; but 'twill not lose by the keeping."

A burst of ringing from All Hallow's Church, close at hand, seemed to greet our new compact, or truce rather, with a shower of music.

"Why, how merry the world goes!" exclaimed Idonia. "Is it the Queen's birthday, or some proclaimed holiday? For I remember not the like of it."

I told her it was for the victory of the _Primrose_ that had returned with the Governor of Biscay a prisoner.

"And would to G.o.d we had more captures in that kind to show," quoth I, "for they be a curse to the land, these Spaniards and black lurking Jesuits."

But no sooner were the words spoken, than I remembered the Jesuit Courcy that had been discovered here in hiding in this house, and so breaking short off I gazed full at Skene. He met my glance without winking.

"You speak very truly," he said, slowly, "and I swear by all I hold most sacred, that had I the ability, I would so deal with that tribe as the Israelites wrought with them beyond Jordan, and utterly destroy them." Now, whether in this sentence the man spoke his true mind, or d.a.m.nably forswore himself, it remained with the sequel to be made clear.

Idonia gave a little movement the while he was speaking, but whether by way of a.s.sent or of a natural shrinking I could not tell. For myself I said nought, but regarded Skene steadfastly, who soon added--

"I have business above, Idonia, which cannot be stayed. It is past dinner time, and if Mr. Cleeve will so honour our poor house, I would have him remain to dinner. I am engaged abroad, an hour hence, and will take my meal then." He smiled. "Mr. Denis I leave to your care, child, and believe you will use him well." He turned on his heel and went upstairs, leaving us alone together in the hall.

To relate all that ensued I think not necessary to the understanding of this history, and also I should find it difficult to set down in writing or by any understood rule of grammar the things that were said, or elliptically expressed, between us. For Syntax helpeth no man at such seasons, nor Accidence any maid; 'tis an ineffable intercourse they use, from which slip away both mood and tense and reason, and the world too ... all which apparatus and tophamper overboard I found it surprisingly easy to convey my meaning; to which Idonia replied very modestly that 'twas her meaning no less, and with that I withdrew my arm and blessed High Heaven for my fortune.

Idonia was a radiant spirit that day. Her hitherto coldness and the backwardness with which she had been constrained to receive me I perceived had been due to no other cause than a fear how her guardian would regard my visits to the house; for despite his kindness to her (which she acknowledged) I saw she stood in awe of the man, and hardly ventured to cross him in the lightest matter.

"Neither doth the company he maintains about him like me overmuch,"

said she. "But now I care less than a little for such things, who shall soon leave this place for ever; ah! dear heart, but I shall be glad of such leaving, and no man shall ever have had so faithful and loving a wife, nor one," she added swiftly, "so apt at the book-keeping."

I was thinking of her hair, and said so.

"And I was thinking of a long-limbed boy with but three hairs to his beard," quoth Idonia, "and for wits to his skull, not so much as would varnish the back of a beetle. Why, how much doth your wors.h.i.+p earn by the week?"

I told her, seven s.h.i.+llings, besides a new suit twice in the year.

"It must be bettered, master," said Idonia, grave at once.

"It shall be better spent," said I.

"But 'tis not enough by the half," quoth she.

"Well, we will eke out the rest by other ways, of which I have a store in my head, that, being happily vacant of wits, hath the more room to accommodate them."

Idonia's answer to this, I, having considered the matter, pa.s.s over as foreign to the argument.

'Twas a little after, that starting up, she cried: "Why, bless my dull appet.i.te, we have not dined! And I with a fat hen upon the spit, fresh from the Cheape this morning."

"'Tis not enough by the half," said I, mocking her; but she would not stay longer, saying I must eat, for I had a big body to fill; though for my head, that was another song and a sad one; and ere I could let her, she was gone from me into the great kitchen beyond the stair.

I sat awhile where I was, marvellous happy and free from cares; and saw my love of this maid, like a new Creation arising from the waters, to make a whole world for me where before was nothing; for all seemed to me as nothing in comparison with her, so that I forgot my troubles and losses, my wounds and sickness, my father, my home, my uncle...

"What was that?" said I, sitting up straight, for I had, I think, fallen into a sort of trance, and imagined some noise had disturbed me.

"Hist!" came a whisper from aloft, and I leapt to my feet.

"Who is it speaks?" cried I, searching every corner of the dark hall with narrowed eyes.

"Hist!" said the voice again. "There is danger threatening to the folk of this house."

"What danger is there?" said I, who had now discovered who it was spoke; for there, lurking in the aperture of the wall to which the ladder reached up, I saw Andrew Plat, the lyrick poet, his tawny hair wild about his pale face, and his neck craned forward like a heron's.

Yet for all the comick figure that he made I could not neglect the apparent seriousness of his warning, and especially when he added in a hoa.r.s.e voice--

"Where is Mistress Avenon? O, fair Idonia, hasten hither, if you be within this fated mansion!"

"She is in the kitchen cooking a fowl," said I, pretty short, for this adjuration of his mightily displeased me.

"Cooking!--she!" returned the poet, with a despairing gesture. "Her lily hands! O monstrous indignity, and cruel office of a cook!"

I had thought he would fall headlong down the ladder, so distractedly did he behave himself, and called upon him sharply to tell me wherein lay this danger to Idonia he affected to fear.

"I stand alone against a host," said he with a flourish, "but Love maketh a man sufficient, and will fortify these arms."

"Enough," I shouted, "or I will a.s.suredly call in question the authors.h.i.+p of a certain rascal poem you wot of."

"It is mine own," he screamed, and danced upon the sill for very rage.

"There is no resemblance betwixt my verses and that preposterous fellow's--whose name even I know not. I vow there hath been nought, since Catullus, writ with so infinite and original an invention as my Hymn to the Spring," and off he went with his "Fresh Spring, the lovely herald of Great Love," with so great an eagerness of delight in the poor cuckoo-chick words, as I could not but pity him.

By this time our loud and contrary arguments had been overheard, and ere he had done Idonia came running forth from the kitchen, her sleeves above the elbow, and her dress all tucked up; while a little after, Skene called over the stair-rail to inquire out the cause of this disturbance.