Part 24 (1/2)
Some of the gentlemen about the throne smiled, for James loved a jest; but Effingston turned away and pressed his father's hand.
”Come!” cried the King, impatiently; ”wilt not find thy tongue? 'tis not my custom to speak a second time. What didst thou in the cellar?”
Fawkes raised his eyes and the King saw in them a look of such utter hopelessness that some chord of pity in his heart was touched.
”My good Lord Cecil,” said he, turning to Salisbury, ”methinks terror, or something worse, hath driven away his wits; we but waste words upon him. See to it, pray, that he be closely guarded, for certain questions must be put to him. The Warden of the Tower hath a way to loosen stubborn tongues.”
So saying, he arose with much dignity and left the hall, followed by many of his gentlemen. Fawkes they took out by another way--the road which led to the Tower. He gave no sign, but let his gaze dwell in one last farewell upon the body of his daughter. Then his eyes met those of Effingston, and in the other's look he read that the dead would rest in peace and honor.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BANQUET.
On the evening of that memorable Fifth of November, there were gathered in a s.p.a.cious residence at Ashbery, Saint Ledger, a small company evidently bent upon pleasure.
During the day they had pa.s.sed their time in the many ways gentlemen were wont to choose when seeking forgetfulness of the din and distractions incident to a great city. But it was not difficult to discern that the hearts of the men were far from interested in the various sports undertaken by them.
The hours from morning until dark had been spent in a variety of ways, but none evinced any enjoyment in their pastime. A few had beguiled a small part of the day in hunting, but they failed to find even in that excitement relief for the anxiety which so oppressed them. At last twilight came, lingered, and glided into night. But with the darkness the uneasiness of all increased.
Nor would this fact have caused wonder had it been known what thoughts lay in the mind of each; that they were momentarily expecting tidings upon which depended not only their hopes and happiness but, perchance their lives as well. Indeed, the company had been bidden thither by none other than Lord Catesby, who deemed it expedient that those not actually engaged in carrying out the plot for the a.s.sa.s.sination of James and his Parliament, should tarry at his country residence until news of the accomplished deed should be brought them. Acting upon the suggestion, he, together with Sir Everard Digsby, Rookwood, Robert Morgan, Grant and the brother of Sir Thomas Winter, had ridden forth from the city the day before; and now, with apprehension which their sanguine hopes could not fully thrust aside, they awaited the news which was to tell them how the fearful plot had prospered.
After a day, the length of which was measured not by the standard of moments but by that of slow-moving years, all had a.s.sembled to partake of the evening repast. Surrounding the glittering table were anxious and thoughtful faces. The host was silent and distraught, but not more so than his guests. The terrible strain under which they labored forbade much conversation; and if a laugh, perchance, mounted to the lips of any, it sounded hollow and mirthless.
”What now, good gentlemen,” cried Catesby, with an attempt at gayety, when silence had again fallen upon the group; ”ye are in truth but sorry companions. It would appear that something besides good vintage lay in the cellar beneath us. Come, fill your cups and let wine bring to our lips the jest, since wit seemeth utterly barren.”
”Nay, my lord,” exclaimed Rookwood, as he thrust his gla.s.s aside; ”I for one am done with pretensions; 'tis time some news did reach us.”
The man drew forth his watch, and glancing at it, said with a frown: ”By Our Blessed Lady, 'tis past nine and we have had no tidings!”
The anxiety in the speaker's tone seemed to find a silent response in the heart of each. Before them all the wine stood untasted. A barking cur upon the highway caused them to start to their feet and listen, thinking the sound might be the herald of an approaching horseman.
”'Twas nothing,” said the host wearily, when once more seated.
”Patience, patience, gentlemen; I think this delay doth not bode ill to us, for as ye are aware, bad news is ever atop of the swiftest steed.”
”Ah, good Catesby,” exclaimed Digsby, ”it is to thee we look for consolation in this terrible hour. But I do most devoutly wish some intelligence, be it good or evil, would arrive; for naught can be worse than this awful waiting.”
”Talk not of evil tidings,” broke in Grant, nervously; ”our minds are full enough of fears without thy----”
”Nay, good Robert,” interrupted Sir Everard, ”'twas but a figure of speech I used. Nothing is further from my mind than to play the croaking prophet.”
”Art sure, my lord,” queried Rookwood, ”that Sir Winter did comprehend in what manner the intelligence was to be brought?”
”Quite certain of it,” answered the host; ”for 'twas the last topic upon which we spoke before I left the city. Have no fear; he understood full well that Master Keyes was to ride post haste the moment all was accomplished.”
”How long would it take a horseman, riding at his best speed, to travel the distance?” enquired Rookwood, again drawing forth his watch.
”If nothing occurred to hinder on the way, and his mount was fresh at start, methinks the journey should be made in eight hours.”
”Then,” exclaimed the other, thrusting back his time-piece, ”if all be well we would have heard ere now. I fear me--nay--I know not what I fear.”