Chapter XVII: Town and Gown

THE Cardinal's commissioner stood for a moment and stared blankly at the elderly nun who had personated Cicely, and then broke into a storm of oaths and imprecations, cursing himself for a fool, and Miles for suffering himself to be cheated; and during this hurricane of passion the nun managed to make her escape and return to the convent to tell her story.

Miles, too, was dumbfounded; but it was with grief and dismay, as he thought of what Cicely's fate was likely to be, left defenceless in the hands of the hard woman who had unrestrained power over her.

As soon as he could recover from the fit of passion, Master Baldock exclaimed, "Now they will send her back to the Abbess at Greenwich, and we may not be able to release her from that convent, even with the Cardinal to help us."

"Then let us follow and overtake her at once," said Miles, springing up as he spoke, and calling to the ostler to saddle his horse without delay.

But Master Baldock countermanded the order. "We must go to work warily in this matter," he said, "and fortunately I left a man to watch the convent gates and inform us what took place in the night, for I mistrusted that she-wolf, though I did not think she would try to cheat us twice in the same way. By our Lady, she must think we are a pair of fools, Master Paton!" he exclaimed, angrily. And then he picked up the short sword he had thrown on the table, and said, "I will go in search of my messenger near the convent and see what he can tell us. It may be they have not started with Cicely yet. They would need horses and an escort for a journey to Greenwich, and they are but a household of women."

Miles was only too thankful to follow his friend; and the two were soon in the street, and hastening towards the other end of the town. But Miles was too impatient to wait for his companion; and the well-known cry of the students in a Town and Gown row, which was evidently being fought out close at hand, fired his blood, and he tucked up his cloak and ran much as he did in the old student days, his knowledge of the city enabling him to take several short cuts, so as to avoid the thronging streets, and bring him more quickly to the convent, which he was now anxious to reach before the nun who had gone with them to the hostelry should get back to tell her tale.

But presently his way was blocked, for he came face to face with the main body of the combatants, the students slowly driving the town lads and apprentices before them; and Miles saw to his chagrin that it would be the wisest course for him to turn and fly too, unless he would take part in the melee; and he was just about to do this, when a woman laid her hand upon his shoulder and panted, "Oh sir, for the love of our Blessed Lady, come and help me. A poor girl has fallen down, and will be trampled to death by the mob," and, as she spoke, the woman dragged him to the side of the road, and pointed to the prostrate figure of a girl which was almost unseen in the gathering gloom of evening; and, by the fact, that she was closely enveloped in the thick folds of a black cloak.

There was no time to ask questions. He could only snatch up the girl, swing her across his shoulders, and fly before the crowd that came surging down the street, and would have trampled the girl to death the next minute if he had not been at hand to rescue her.

"Come, sir, come, I live close by," said the woman, when Miles began to falter with his burden.

The next minute a stalwart, burly man appeared. "What ho, dame! who have we here? Come indoors, sir, and rest a minute," and he led the way down a gloomy entry, but into a comfortable cottage that seemed to have fastened itself on to the walls of some large building.

Miles deposited his burden on the earth-trodden floor, and then turned to look at the man who had greeted him, for something in the tone of his voice sounded familiar; and the next minute he held out both hands, exclaiming, "What, Rankin! is it you, my friend?"

"Master Miles! Master Miles! Bless the saints for giving me a sight of you once more. Molly! Molly! it is our Master Miles Paton, who made our fortune a year or two ago," said Rankin, shaking his wife by the shoulder in the exuberance of his joy, while she, breathless, and panting still from her run, could only curtsey and smile, and glance at the black bundle on the floor.

"What is it, dame?" her husband asked, a little anxiously, turning to look at the girl.

"One of your girls, isn't it, dame?" said Miles, but at the same time thinking that she must have grown very tall during the last year or two.

"No, no, it is no girl of mine, but a stranger, who ran to me for help from the crowd, and she fell down just as you came up."

While she had been speaking, Dame Rankin had knelt down beside the prostrate figure and loosened the hood of the cloak, so as to give the girl air, and in that moment Miles caught sight of the face, and recognised it.

"Cicely! my Cicely!" he exclaimed, pushing Dame Rankin aside, and taking the girl into his arms once more.

She slowly opened her eyes, and looked at him, and a smile of ineffable joy and peace passed over her as she whispered, "Miles, take care of me,—don't let them take me back."

"Never, my darling, never," he said; and then he pressed the first lover's kiss upon her lips, and silently thanked God for His help and guidance in bringing him to her in her hour of need.

There was a little truckle-bed in one corner of the room, and he carried her to that; and then told Rankin something of the day's doings, and how he had sent for his sister to meet this lady when she should leave the convent, and how another had been imposed upon them instead of Mistress Cicely Guildford.

"How she came to be in the streets in this part of the town, I do not know, but, doubtless, she will tell us when she has somewhat recovered." And then Miles devoted himself to comforting and reassuring the frightened girl, who could not be persuaded that she was safe here from her persecutors; for it seemed that she had been made to suffer a great deal of unkind treatment, since she had told the abbess at Greenwich that she did not wish to become a nun, through having been able to read some portions of God's Word for herself.

These, of course, were from the translation of Miles, which he had copied, and given to her, and which she had taken with her to the convent, and lent to some of the other novices secretly, when she learned that such reading was not approved by her superiors.

She managed to tell Miles this as he sat by her side, while Dame Rankin busied herself about her household affairs, a little doubtful and uneasy as to whether she had done right in fetching Miles to the rescue of a nun, since it seemed likely, as they had found each other, that she would not go back to a monastic life.

After about an hour Cicely had so far recovered that she said to Miles, "I am so hungry; we had to keep a special fast to-day. But I may have something to eat now."

"Of course, you may, my darling. What a stupid fellow I am! I can scarcely think of anything else because I have found you." And then he went to enquire what the cottage larder would afford, for he had at last realised that he was hungry too.

But Rankin, although he had risen to the position of a leading workman, and had had this cottage built for him close to the walls of Cardinal College, did not presume to keep white bread in his house, or anything else that was fit to set before the gentry; but he readily agreed to go to the hostelry, and fetch Master Baldock if he could be found there, and also to order a meal to be sent by one of the turnspits to Miles and Cicely.

It was arranged that she should stay here for the night in the care of Dame Rankin; for no inconvenience was too great if the man could do anything for the son of his old master, who had saved him from ruin, and made him a man again, as he said.

A month later, and this might have been impossible; for, by that time, the poor fellow would probably have been caught begging, and lashed at the cart-tail through the neighbourhood of Woodstock. And after that, the man could no longer have held up his head among his fellow-men, but would have descended from a man to a savage brute only too easily; so that Rankin was not far wrong when he said that Miles had saved him soul and body, and he would serve him with both till death if he needed such service.

So the simple service of fetching supplies from the hostelry was quickly accomplished, and he was only too eager to give up the best his cottage afforded for the accommodation of Cicely.

When she had eaten a hearty meal, and seemed disposed to go to sleep, Miles left her in charge of his friends; and, as Master Baldock had not returned to the hostelry, he went in search of him, but did not find him until the city gates closed, and then he came galloping in from the London road, his horse covered with foam, and himself almost exhausted from want of food and the exertion and discomfort of the day. At the sight of Miles, however, he sprang from his horse, exclaiming, "Thank God you are safe at least; but I began to think that she-wolf had somehow spirited you away. She has gone, I am sorry to say, and is half way to London by this time I fear."

"Who is?" asked Miles, fearing his friend's wits had wandered a little.

"My niece, Mistress Cicely Guildford. My watchman saw them leave the convent soon after we went to the hostelry, but, as I had bidden him abide at his post until I saw him, he could not leave to give me notice of what had happened."

"But I found Cicely here in the streets of Oxford," said Miles.

"Found—Cicely—in—the—street," slowly uttered Master Baldock, who thought Miles must have sought to drown his sorrow in too much Canary, and said as much to the young man.

But Miles could afford to be good-tempered, and he laughed at the insinuation, as he said, "It is true enough, Master Baldock. It seems that they sent her in charge of two sisters to another convent in the city, but the Town and Gown riot frightened the women, and they ran away from the mob, and bade Cicely follow them. But she had caught sight of a poor woman coming out of a shop, and ran towards her, not knowing I was close at hand, for the woman ran screaming to me to rescue a girl who had fallen down almost at the feet of the mob. I picked her up and carried her to the woman's home, thinking it was her daughter, until her face was uncovered, and I recognised my Cicely. I have left her there, for I know the people well, and the man would lay down his life to defend her."

This story astonished Master Baldock. "The she-wolf has outwitted herself for once, then," he said, in a tone of satisfaction.

The two hastened back to the hostelry, for now that the city gates were closed and the shops shut up, it was scarcely safe to be abroad without an armed guard being in attendance. They had left the hostelry in such hot haste that there had been no time to summon those who had attended them from London, and it was certainly unsafe for strangers to be out so late unattended.

The next day letters were sent by different messengers to the parents of the novices who wished to return home. These friends were informed that for the better ruling and guidance of the Church the monastic system was to be gradually restricted, and for the next few years no more novices of either sex would be allowed to take the vows of the monastic life. The great abuses which had crept into the abbeys and convents had forced the heads of the Church to exercise this discipline, and therefore the daughter or niece had been sent back to the care of her friends, and the business of her dowry would be settled later.

Having settled this matter, Master Baldock began to look round for a temporary home for these novices, for he scarcely liked to trust them to the tender mercies of the woman who had deceived him so grossly. But no one cared to shelter girls who would practically break their vows by leaving the convent, even under the protection of the Cardinal's commissioner; and as there were no married clergy in the city, no one of importance, who could protect the girls from scandal, was willing to run the risk of offending the higher clergy by receiving a disgraced nun; and so, for want of protectors, they were obliged to remain in the convent, and Cicely was securely hidden in the little homely cottage that had first received her.

The business upon which Miles and his friend had been sent was pressed forward with all diligence, and the two commissioners found little difficulty, after sending the novices home, in finding accommodation for the nuns of two convents, and even three where the sisterhood was very small, in one only.

By this means the revenue of the houses that were suppressed could be taken for the further development of colleges, schools, and learning generally, while the buildings themselves could either be pulled down and their stones used in the completion of the Cardinal College, or they might be used for grammar schools or hostelries for students, who, at present, often had to beg from door to door like the monks, to maintain themselves while mastering the Greek and Latin tongues, or preparing themselves to take their degrees as Doctors of Law or Philosophy; and this daily hunt for food often sorely hindered them in their studies, the Cardinal knew.

Miles knew it, too, by bitter experience, so that he was willing enough to press forward the work for the work's own sake, to say nothing of the plan he had formed in his mind of taking Cicely to Woodstock until she should become his wife.

But the best laid plans are often upset, and just before the close of the commission a messenger brought a letter from Paton Hall, bidding him ride home with all speed if he wished to see his father before he died. It was not the first letter he had received from home since he had been in Oxford. He had hoped that his sister could join him there, but his father had forbidden it, and had sent to tell him that he was in failing health, and could not spare his daughter Margery to go junketing about the country. Miles had only half-believed it, although a letter from his sister herself confirmed the old man's report of his health.

The fact was Miles did not want to believe it, because it would be very inconvenient just now. But the inconvenient had happened, it seemed, and now he was in a dilemma as to what he should do with Cicely. He rather shrank from taking her home to Paton Hall at such a time as this, especially when he remembered his father's anger at Greenwich. But resection taught him that this anger was unreasonable on his father's part, and he owed a duty to Cicely now which must stand before all considerations of what people would say; and he made up his mind how to act before speaking to his friend, Master Baldock, who, as Cicely's uncle, might think he had a right to interfere if he did not make up his mind at first.

So, after pondering over the messenger's news for a little while, he went to Master Baldock, and told him what had happened. "Now, I must have a strong escort to protect Cicely, and set off at daybreak to-morrow, for I would fain see my father once again before he dies."

Contrary to his expectations, Master Baldock did not object to this plan. "It would be better thus, I think," he said, slowly, "for, from all I can hear, the nuns think she was killed the night of the riot, and have sent to tell the abbess at Greenwich the story of how it happened. Of course it will all be hushed up, as such things are, but I have taken care to send a letter to my brother, informing him of the true state of the case; and before she leaves Oxford she had better lay aside the dress of a novice, and no one at Woodstock need know that she ever contemplated entering the monastic life. You can understand how inconvenient it would be for her to go home to Greenwich just now."

"I would not let her go. Until she is my wife she shall not go near the Court or Queen," said Miles, hotly.

Master Baldock shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. Perhaps he thought it would be just as well if Miles did not have to continue much longer in the service of the Cardinal, for the affair had already caused more talk than was pleasant, and Wolsey was apt to think that someone had blundered if a matter was not settled with the silence and despatch with which he liked to characterise all his business transactions.

So a secular dress was provided for Cicely, and an escort engaged to take them to Woodstock, so that they should not be waylaid either by beggars or miscreants hired by the Mother-Superior to kidnap Cicely and murder Miles. For, he thought, either fate might befall them if they were not sufficiently guarded.

So, with his beloved Cicely beside him, and a well-armed guard, Miles once more passed through the gate of Oxford city, along the Northern Road, delighted to point out to his companion this and that along the road, and trying to keep up her spirits, but all the time feeling gravely anxious as to what reception he should get at the end of his journey, and wondering whether the Lady Audrey still lived at Paton Hall.