The Path of the King [78]
fawk of London are a-fevered. Then the haarrid discovery, and such a Praatestant uprising as will shake the maightiest from his pairch. Wonderful are Goad's ways and surprising His jaidgements! Every step must be weighed, since it is the Laard's business. Five days we must give this city to grow uneasy, and then . . . The boady will be safe here?"
"I alone have the keys," said Prance.
The doctor counted on his thick fingers. "Monday--Tuesday--Waidnesday--aye, Waidneday's the day. Captain Bedloe, ye have chairge of the removal. Before dawn by the water-gate, and then a chair and a trusty man to cairry it to the plaace of discovery. Ye have appainted the spoat?"
"Any ditch in the Marylebone fields," said Bedloe.
"And before ye remove it--on the Tuesday naight haply--ye will run the boady through with his swaard--Sir Edmund's swaard."
"So you tell me," said Bedloe gruffly, "but I see no reason in it. The foolishest apothecary will be able tell how the man met his death."
Oates grinned and laid his finger to his nose. "Ye laack subtelty, fraiend. The priests of Baal must be met with their own waipons. Look ye. This poor man is found with his swaard in his braist. He has killed himself, says the fool. Not so, say the apothecaries. Then why the swaard" asks the coroner. Because of the daivilish cunning of his murderers, says Doctor Taitus Oates. A clear proof that the Jaisuits are in it, says every honest Praatistant. D'ye take me?"
Bedloe declared with oaths his admiration of the Doctor's wit, and good humour filled the hovel; All but Lovel, who once again was wrestling with something elemental in him that threatened to ruin every thing. He remembered the bowed stumbling figure that had gone before him in the Marylebone meadows. Then he had been its enemy; now by a queer contortion of the mind he thought of himself as the only protector of that cold clay under the bed--honoured in life, but in death a poor pawn in a rogue's cause. He stood a little apart from the others near the door, and his eyes sought it furtively. He was not in the plot, and yet the plotters did not trouble about him. They assumed his complaisance. Doubtless they knew his shabby past.
He was roused by Oates' voice. The Doctor was arranging his plan of campaign with gusto. Bedloe was to disappear to the West Country till the time came for him to offer his evidence. Prance was to go about his peaceful trade till Bedloe gave him the cue. It was a masterly stratagem--Bedloe to start the ball, Prance to be accused as accomplice and then on his own account to give the other scoundrel corroboration.
"Attend, you sir," the doctor shouted to Lovel. "Ye will be called to swear to the murderers whom this haanest man will name. If ye be a true Praatestant ye will repeat the laisson I taich you. If not, ye will be set down as one of the villains and the good fawk of this city will tear the limbs from ye at my nod. Be well advaised, my friend, for I hold ye in my haand." And Oates raised a great paw and opened and shut it.
Lovel mumbled assent. Fear had again descended on him. He heard dimly the Doctor going over the names of those to be accused.
"Ye must bring in one of the sairvants of this place," he said. "Some common paarter, who has no friends."
"Trust me," said Prance. "I will find a likely fellow among the Queen's household. I have several in my mind for the honour."
"Truly the plaace is a nest of Paapists," said Oates. "And not such as you, Mr. Prance, who putt England before the Paape. Ye are worth a score of Praatestants to the good caause, and it will be remaimbered. Be assured it will be remaimbered. . . . Ye are clear about the main villains? Walsh, you say, and Pritchard and the man called Le Fevre?"
"The last most of all. But they are sharp-nosed as hounds, and unless we go wiarily they will give us the slip, and we must fall back on lesser game."
"Le Fevre." Oates mouthed the name. "The Queen's confessor. I was spit upon by him at St. Omer, and would waipe out the affront. A dog of a Frainch priest! A man I
"I alone have the keys," said Prance.
The doctor counted on his thick fingers. "Monday--Tuesday--Waidnesday--aye, Waidneday's the day. Captain Bedloe, ye have chairge of the removal. Before dawn by the water-gate, and then a chair and a trusty man to cairry it to the plaace of discovery. Ye have appainted the spoat?"
"Any ditch in the Marylebone fields," said Bedloe.
"And before ye remove it--on the Tuesday naight haply--ye will run the boady through with his swaard--Sir Edmund's swaard."
"So you tell me," said Bedloe gruffly, "but I see no reason in it. The foolishest apothecary will be able tell how the man met his death."
Oates grinned and laid his finger to his nose. "Ye laack subtelty, fraiend. The priests of Baal must be met with their own waipons. Look ye. This poor man is found with his swaard in his braist. He has killed himself, says the fool. Not so, say the apothecaries. Then why the swaard" asks the coroner. Because of the daivilish cunning of his murderers, says Doctor Taitus Oates. A clear proof that the Jaisuits are in it, says every honest Praatistant. D'ye take me?"
Bedloe declared with oaths his admiration of the Doctor's wit, and good humour filled the hovel; All but Lovel, who once again was wrestling with something elemental in him that threatened to ruin every thing. He remembered the bowed stumbling figure that had gone before him in the Marylebone meadows. Then he had been its enemy; now by a queer contortion of the mind he thought of himself as the only protector of that cold clay under the bed--honoured in life, but in death a poor pawn in a rogue's cause. He stood a little apart from the others near the door, and his eyes sought it furtively. He was not in the plot, and yet the plotters did not trouble about him. They assumed his complaisance. Doubtless they knew his shabby past.
He was roused by Oates' voice. The Doctor was arranging his plan of campaign with gusto. Bedloe was to disappear to the West Country till the time came for him to offer his evidence. Prance was to go about his peaceful trade till Bedloe gave him the cue. It was a masterly stratagem--Bedloe to start the ball, Prance to be accused as accomplice and then on his own account to give the other scoundrel corroboration.
"Attend, you sir," the doctor shouted to Lovel. "Ye will be called to swear to the murderers whom this haanest man will name. If ye be a true Praatestant ye will repeat the laisson I taich you. If not, ye will be set down as one of the villains and the good fawk of this city will tear the limbs from ye at my nod. Be well advaised, my friend, for I hold ye in my haand." And Oates raised a great paw and opened and shut it.
Lovel mumbled assent. Fear had again descended on him. He heard dimly the Doctor going over the names of those to be accused.
"Ye must bring in one of the sairvants of this place," he said. "Some common paarter, who has no friends."
"Trust me," said Prance. "I will find a likely fellow among the Queen's household. I have several in my mind for the honour."
"Truly the plaace is a nest of Paapists," said Oates. "And not such as you, Mr. Prance, who putt England before the Paape. Ye are worth a score of Praatestants to the good caause, and it will be remaimbered. Be assured it will be remaimbered. . . . Ye are clear about the main villains? Walsh, you say, and Pritchard and the man called Le Fevre?"
"The last most of all. But they are sharp-nosed as hounds, and unless we go wiarily they will give us the slip, and we must fall back on lesser game."
"Le Fevre." Oates mouthed the name. "The Queen's confessor. I was spit upon by him at St. Omer, and would waipe out the affront. A dog of a Frainch priest! A man I