Chapter IV: Part 4

“My Lord Lodged in the _Haymarket_” said Mr. Hanson, “but the Chimney smoked so that he was fain to move”–and with that he opened a Door and the Polander followed him into the Count’s Chamber.

This was an ill habitation for a Gentleman, being mean and low and of a poor Furnishing. There was a fire on the hearth, very brightly burning, and near the window a Bed, on which my lord the Count Charles lay, wrapped in a Flowered Robe of taffeta stuff.

He was a very young Gentleman, fair and pale, with a look of fear in eyes of an unusual bright blue; at the entry of Mr. Hanson and the Polander he sprang to a sitting posture on the Bed.

“This is the fellow, my Lord,” said the Governor.

The Count gave the Polander a Look of a startling keenness.

“Are you trustworthy?” says he.

“I will do anything for Captain Vratz,” answers the Polander humbly Yet with obstinacy.

My Lord put his feet, which were in white Satin slippers, very soiled, to the ground. “You are in my service,” he says swiftly.

“To Look after Horses,” replied the Polander simply, “and to _dress_ them in the German Fashion, if it please your Honour.”

The Count glanced at the Governor and said:

“This is a fellow of a _great_ simplicity and _well suited_.”

Mr. Hanson answered with some uneasiness:

“Oh, I know not–Captain Vratz gave him a good Character for faithfulness.”

At this the Polander was very satisfied and his eyes held Gratitude.

The Count, leaning on one elbow against the Bed Post, addressed him:

“What is your Name?”

“George Borosky, my Lord.”

“Well,” said the Count of Conningsmarke, “it is true that I wish you to dress horses in the German fashion, for I believe you are a good Groom and I am here in _England incognito_ to raise a _Regiment_ of _Horse_ for the service of the _King of England_ Who is to enter into an Alliance with _Swedeland_ and _Holland_ against _France_–indeed there is talk of a _Surprise_ on _Strasburg_ and my Brother has bought one Horse already and is to buy more.”

Here he stopped abruptly and the Polander gave a salute after the Military Fashion, not knowing what to say and withdrew against the Wall at the far end of the Chamber. Then my Lord spoke to Mr. Hanson.

“Have you made those Enquiries?” he asked.

“My Lord, I did ask the _Swedish resident_ and his answer was–that if you should Meddle in any Way with Esquire Thynne you would have but a bad living in _England_–but as for the Law of it, he could not say.”

“And for the Other?” asked my Lord, in a low voice.

“He said, that if you should Duel Mr. Thynne, he could not instruct you as to what the Law might be regarding your Hopes of the Lady Ogle, Esquire Thynne’s Wife.”

“Monsieur Lienburgh knoweth nought!” cried my Lord impatiently; “What said he as to Riding Out in the Hyde Park on a Sunday?”

“He said it might certainly be done, before and after Sermon time.”

My Lord seemed Satisfied with that and looked again towards the Polander, who had heard all this Conversation as it was held in the High Dutch or German, but had made Nothing of it and was only thinking of Captain Vratz.

“You are very Ragged,” said the Count, “and have never a Sword—”

Then he questioned him–had he not been long in coming?

And the Polander answered Yes, and there had been fear of the Ship being cast away, owing to the High Storms, he having been twelve days from _Strasburg_ to _Hamburg_ and fourteen from _Hamburg_ to _London_, instead of eight.

“Yes,” said my Lord pleasantly, “and I feared you were lost and went to enquire of the Ship at the ’Change, and I would have been unwilling to lose you, for Captain Vratz tells me you are a mighty Able Groom.”

“I do love Horses,” said the Polander, “and have trusted them always.”

“No man of mine can go in such a coat,” says my Lord, “but I have none to send to purchase one nor can I go out Myself by reason of the physic _Dr. Harder_ gave me, for I must no wise be Chilled, he said.”

“Why, I will do this Service for your Lordship, very Heartily,” answered Mr. Hanson.

“And a Sword also,” said the Count.

“That also,” said the Governor, “and Boots.” He asked my Lord then how his _Illness_ went and the Answer was–better, though the Ague was by no Means gone.

“Now, fellow,” said Mr. Hanson, “come with me to make these Purchases.”

My Lord took some money from the pocket of his gown and gave it to the Polander.

“That is to discharge your Lodging at Monsieur Flaubert’s Academy,” he said; “to-night you shall lie here.” He spoke in a Languid Tone, but his eyes had an Extraordinary sparkle and brightness.

Mr. Hanson now asked my Lord–How Much he was willing to dispose of on a Sword?

And he answered ten Shillings, and as much for the Coat.

Mr. Hanson then carried the Polander to a shop near and bought a riding Coat and a Pair of Boots and there was some difficulty in getting either large enough for one of his Bulk and Bearing.

They then went down _St. Martin’s Lane_ but could find never a Sword worth a Groat; then on Mr. Hanson went as far as _Charing Cross_ and then into a Cutler’s and bestowed ten Shillings on a Sword for a Servant, which could not be ready till Evening, however.

Mr. Hanson said he would call for it when he came back from the Play that night and took the Polander back to M. Flaubert’s Academy, where the Younger Count, a very Gay and Beautiful Gentleman, was learning to ride the Great Horse.

The Polander Paid for his Lodging and waited in the Academy feeling sad for loneliness till Mr. Hanson came back from the Theatre and took him again to the Cutler’s; but the Sword was by no means Ready.

“’Tis strange,” cried the Governor, “that a Gentleman cannot get a Little Sword for himself in a whole Afternoon!”

“Well, sir,” said the Cutler, “pray do not be Impatient. I will send the Sword.”

They then left the shop and went towards _St. Martin’s Lane_; it was now Snowing and a Great Volume of Wind abroad.

When they reached my Lord’s Lodging they found him still in his Gown and Night Cap sitting over the fire and he looked like a sick man save for the great Light and Glitter in his Eyes.

He asked where his Brother was.

“At his Grace of Richmond’s,” said Mr. Hanson; “We were at the Play together and I have ordered the Broadsword which will come anon.”

They were talking without any Regard to the Polander who stood stiff in his New Coat, Longing to see Captain Vratz and to go to the horses he was to look after (and he wondered where the Stables might be as this was too Ill a House to have any). Now Mr. Hanson went up to my Lord in moved fashion.

“Think of the Consequences of this, Count Charles!” he said.

My Lord looked up in a kind of Passion.

“He puts Words on me that are no wise to be borne!”

“Is it for the words he Used or for the sake of the Red Haired Girl you saw at the Hague?” asked Mr. Hanson, biting the end Curls of his Peruke.

“He called me a Hector,” said my Lord, “and Laughed at my Horse–and, by God, you shall leave the Lady Ogle Out of this!”

“Your Lordship has not left her Out,” answered Mr. Hanson, “for you bid me discover if you would have any Hopes of her if you got rid of her Husband—”

At this Point the Count bid the Polander go down to the Kitchens of the house and dine, and he added that in this place he was known as Carlo Cuski, and not by his Real Name.

Thereupon the Polander went; there was a Man and a Maid and a Boy in the Kitchen who had no Language but _English_, so the Count’s man ate his meat in Silence and was presently going to the place appointed to him to sleep in when a young Gentleman, very finely Dressed in Blue, came down, and speaking _German_, bade him Come up to the Count, which he did and found to his vast Joy, Captain Vratz with his Lordship.

“Come here, Fellow,” said my Lord; he stood up in the Light of the Fire and his slight figure in the Limp Gown, the Night Cap pulled over his tumbled Hair, his pallid face with the feverish eyes was in a Contrast with the Men of Lesser Quality who were Splendid enough in cut Velvet and Lace and Tassels.

Christopher Vratz lifted his Face flushed with Fairness after the fashion of the Swedelander and looked at the Polander.

“You are my Servant now, Borosky,” said he.

“Yes,” added my Lord. “I have given you to Vratz,” and he Shivered a little closer to the Fire and Held out his hand to the Glow of it, Regarding the three with Eyes so unnaturally blazing that they conveyed a thrill of terror.

“Oh, dear sir,” said the Polander, “this is a Greater Joy than I looked for in coming to _England_.”

He bent with more Grace than might easily have been expected from his Bulk and kissed the Count’s thin hand in a humble Gratitude.

“This is a man,” said Captain Vratz, “who will do Anything for me–out of the Great Affection he hath for my Person—”

“Need you set him on a losing Game?” asked the young German, glancing at the pleased, simple face of the Polander. “There is many an _Italian_ walking about the Piazza of Covent Garden who would do the Trick for the Matter of Fifty Pounds.”

At that my Lord looked up Sharply and seemed Mightily out of Countenance and Captain Vratz answered:

“That is in the Count’s hands. I am his Man.”

Now the Polander made nothing of all this but only Wished to be away with his Master; and they made so little account of him that they never abated their Talk but treated him like a Dog that had just been bought by a new Master, and so he took it himself and truly his Attention was absorbed by a Broadsword he beheld on a Table near, and that he Surmised was that ordered by Mr. Hanson at the Cutler’s at _Charing Cross_ and a fine Weapon too, from the Look.

Near this Weapon was a Black Peruke, and the Polander wondered why a Gentleman of so fair a face as my Lord should have so Black a Wig and he surmised that it belonged to Mr. Hanson.

My Lord walked about the bare floor and seemed in some contained Passion of Excitement.

“It will be a Stain on my Blood,” said he, “but one good action at the Wars or one Fight on the Counterscarp will wipe that away—”

And he spoke like a Man exalted in his Courage and ready for a Tragic Turn.

Presently the three–Vratz, Stern the _German_ lieutenant, and the Polander–went away, it being then late at Night and Cold.

And before they went the Count gave the Polander the Sword that Mr. Hanson had bestowed Ten Shillings on, and the last that Fellow saw of my Lord was the sight of him in the glimmer of a dying Candle staring after the three of them with a Face very Young, very Ill, very Wild, beneath the tumbled Night Cap.

The three of them went to the Captain’s Lodgings; he lay at the _Black Bull_ in _Holborn_, in an ill Part of the Town.

Then the Captain called the Polander up to his room and gave him to Drink and after a little said:

“What will You do for Me, George Borosky?”

“Before God, Anything–for the great Gratitude I have to You.”

At this Vratz Laughed and cast off his Hat and Wig and his face was Fresh and Ruddy as a Rose under the Gold of his Hair.

“Look you, Borosky,” he made answer, “there is a Man in _London_ who has put an insult on me–and I did put a Challenge on him by the post having no Gentleman to send, and he returned answer by his Servant that I was not of a Sufficient Quality for a man of his Breeding to fight–and this is a thing difficult to Avenge.”

The Polander waited eagerly for his Part in this.

“It is Esquire Thynne of Longleat Hall,” continued the Captain, “a Great Jolly _English_ Gentleman and a Notable Rake at Court–a man very Rich and splendid–he will be riding along the _Mall_ to-morrow on his way to Church and it is we three who must stop him.”

With that he took a Blunderbuss from the wall and laid it in the great Hands of the Polander.

“As you love me,” he said earnestly, “you will put some bullet into this Tom Thynne.”

The Polander stared at the weapon and at his Master, then went on his knees, very Pale in his Countenance.

“This is plain Murder,” he answered, very troubled, “and I have Lived an Innocent Life, even at the war, twenty crowns would pay for all I took in Plunder and I have been Compassionate, nor given to Treachery or Swearing—”

“I ask you to do no Wrong,” said Vratz, “only to Obey your Master–If a man will not Duel how can one Come at him but this Way?”

“It is a Just thing,” added Stern, “to obey those we have an Obligation to–and I am Pledged to you, yet I am willing to be Instructed in the Laws of _England_ to discover what Penalty one must Pay for this—”

“Why, None,” replied the Captain, “for we will leave the Country by the first pair of oars going to _Gravesend_, and should we be taken–first we have a friend in that Noble Prince, the Count of Conningsmarke, and secondly, all will fall on me as the Principal and none on you as the Agents or mere Engines of my Will–And Afterwards,” he added, “you shall be Rich Men.”

“Not for Money,” said the Polander sadly. “I would rather spend my Days with Horses than the Rich. I would sooner die Old and Comfortable than in Prison in a Strange Country–but I have promised to serve you and if God does not directly tell me it is a Sin I will do this for you.”

“You may trust me when I tell you it is no Sin but an Act Necessary to Wipe out Dishonour,” returned the Captain.

“I do trust you!” replied the Polander “yet I will also ask God about this matter.”

Then the Captain laughed and dismissed him, bidding him be Ready on the Morrow, and the Polander went to a Bed set for him in a Garret of the _Black Bull_. He was Much Troubled in his Mind that the first Service asked of him by the Captain should be a Murder and that on the second night of his stay in a Strange Country he should have such a Task put on him as to Shoot a Gentleman coming from _Church_, for it seemed an unmanly Action.

What Penalties might follow he did not know, for he was Ignorant of the Laws of _England_; to this he gave Little Heed for, however: he had faith in the Captain and that Great Gentleman who was his friend, Charles, Count of Conningsmarke. As he sat in the Dark wondering where the right lay in this Case he decided to make Proof of it and to that end went on his Knees and Recited the _Lord’s Prayer_ very Gravely and Earnestly. And when he had finished he rose up again and Searched in his Heart to see if he was Strengthened against this Action; but he found no change in his Feelings: so he thought that if it had been anything Wrong God would have this Way told him; so was Comforted and Decided to Help the Captain.

Having come to this Resolve he lay down on his bed, dressed as he was, and Chanced to Dream of Poland which Country he had not seen this Great While–but he saw it in the Dream very Clear with the sparkle of Snow in Winter and the bright-coloured dresses in the Streets.

He thought he saw a Church too and dreamt he stood on the threshold and was thinking with much pleasure of Entering when he was awakened by the voice of Christopher Vratz.

The Polander got to his Feet, Remembering everything and the Captain put in his hand a Blunderbuss and bade him be Silent; the two went down to the stables of the _Black Bull_ where was Ernest Stern and three Horses and it was then about Seven of the Clock.

And the Polander, on seeing he was to be Mounted was greatly Encouraged, for he believed no evil could come to him when he was on the back of a Horse, so took this for a Good Omen.

“I wish we had Another Man,” said Captain Vratz, “for Esquire Thynne is one to go with a great Medley of Servants about him.”

They mounted then and as they Rode out of the Yard the _German_ asked what this Mr. Thynne was?

And the Captain made answer that he was a Man Well Known in _London_ for his marriage to Elizabeth, my Lady Ogle, last of the Percies, who was heiress to Five Baronies and one of the richest Women in the World; she had been married before, yet was but a child of fifteen and still under Governance at _The Hague_ and Mr. Thynne was looked upon as a lucky Man to have all this Wealth without the trouble of a Wife.

“The death of such a One will make a Stir in _England_,” said the lieutenant with an air of Misgiving; but Vratz bid him take Courage. “For,” he declared, “if there be any Penalties, I will pay them all.”

And the Polander Rode behind them patiently, much Remarked by the passers-by for his foreign air and Great Stature, and so they came to the _Mall_ where there was a goodly number of People.

And one of Them, who was a Young Man with a Mirror in his hat, Pranking on a Sizeable Horse, the Captain stopped and, Saying he was new come to _London_ and Desirous of seeing the Notables, asked if Esquire Thynne had yet passed?

The Englishman, making out this request with some difficulty from the Swedelander’s strange accent, answered at length Courteously that Mr. Thynne was Driving Out with His Grace of Monmouth, and would be coming from _Northumberland House_, where they had made a visit, anon, _Northumberland House_ being nearly at the End of the _Mall_, on the river at _Charing Cross_.

So they waited and the Sun mounted the Snow Clouds pleasantly but it was yet scarcely light, and the Bells of the Big Churches near by sounded in their first Ringing.

And after a few minutes a Coach and four Horses came swinging on its Leathers with Six Servants Riding at the Sides and Vratz knew the colours.

Before came a Fellow with a Flambeau; the Captain rode Past him and Caught the Reins of the Foremost horses, stopping the coach, and Stern cried out to the Polander: “Shoot!” at the same time Threatening the Coachman. Like one in a Stupour the Polander rode round to the Side of the Coach, and saw the Handsome Face of an _Englishman_ with Brown Eyes looking out of the window.

“Shoot!” cried Captain Vratz.

And the Polander raised his Blunderbuss and Fired into the lace-covered Bosom of Esquire Thynne.

“_Damn_ your _Foreign_ tricks, I’m murdered!” cried the _Englishman_; he fell back on the Seat of the Coach and the Polander Turned and Galloped away up _St. James Street_ and _Alban Street_ with the Captain and Stern after him; and the Servant with the Flambeau put a Pursuit on them as far as the _Haymarket_, then could go no Further; but the Polander had Cast away his Blunderbuss and that the Servant Caught up and carried back to the _Mall_, where was a Great Press and Mr. Thynne Dying with three bullets in him and the People saying how his Grace of Monmouth had but just left the coach and what a stroke that was, for he might have been Murdered else.

And the three rode to my Lord’s Lodgings in _St. Martin’s Lane_ and asked for him.

“For it may be Well,” said the Captain, “that we ask my Lord to let us Lie at the _Swedish Resident’s_—”

But when they answered his knock he was told that the Count had gone early that Morning to Windsor wearing a Black Periwig and in a Coat he had borrowed of a Servant. At hearing this news the Captain came back with a Look of Death in his face.

“If he hath Fled to Gravesend—” he said, and They All went Back to the _Black Bull_ and Mounted to the Captain’s Chamber and sat Still and Silly, looking at each other.

“We have trusted _You_,” said Stern, “and there is your Word to it that we are Safe.”

“I had the Count of Conningsmarke’s Word,” answered the Captain, “but he hath failed me—”

“Will you Fail us?” asked Stern.

The Polander said nothing but watched the Captain in a Troubled Way.

The German got to his feet and laid his hand on Vratz’s Shoulder.

“If my Lord hath gone to _Gravesend_ in a Black Periwig–should not we go after him and slip down _the Thames_ to _Margate_ where we may likely enough get a Ship for Home?”

The Captain looked up like one Undecided, then in a moment was on his Feet, for there had come a Great Knocking on the Door; nor did those without Long stay at _Knocking_ but burst open the door and _Entered_.

They were Constables and the People of the Inn and in front of them a Man in Squire Thynne’s Liveries carrying a Musquetoon, and on seeing the three he gave a Cry and called out:

“That is the man did shoot my Master!”

And the Polander saw that it was the Blunderbuss he had Dropt in the _Haymarket_.

“Why do you put this on _Us_?” asked Captain Vratz in his ill English.

A Constable spoke to him and answered:

“We took this Musquetoon to the Maker whose name is thereon, and he told us he had sold it yesterday to one Captain Vratz who lodged at the _Black Bull_.”

“I do admit,” answered the Captain, “that I was at the shooting of Mr. Thynne, but I went with the design to Challenge him, he having Refused me Satisfaction, and I took these Two with me as Protection, Mr. Thynne being a Gentleman who has commonly a great Press of Servants about him which he might have set on me. And in the _Melée_ my Servant fired and that I know nothing of.”

At this they were all three disarmed and arrested, at which the Polander Wept mightily.

And when they had a Lodgement in Prison it came to them that my Lord of Conningsmarke had been arrested at _Deptford_ by an Agent of the Duke of Monmouth when he had been taking a Pair of Sculls for _Gravesend_.

In the Prison they were separated and the Polander sat alone till his trial and when they Pressed him he said that he had Acted only as His Master Directed and that was the Law he had been brought up in–to obey his Master; and he added that not having been Strengthened against the deed after the Recital of the Lord’s Prayer he Concluded that God had meant him to do this thing.

Stern also Confessed to the Fact and accused the Captain of drawing him into a Snare, but Vratz maintained his first Story and would not bring my Lord into the Business.

And the Count of Conningsmarke denied all of them.

Now this Trial was held before the Lord Chief Justice and the other Great Judges with manifest and open Fairness, according to the _English_ Law, even to have the Jury part Foreign and giving all rights to the Prisoners, such as having an Interpreter, one _Vandore_, who interpreted to them all the _English_ Spoken, putting it into _High Dutch_ or _French_.

Yet there was Little Doubt as to the End of this Trial, as all three Confessed to the Design on Esquire Thynne and the Polander to the actual shooting; but Captain Vratz would by no means bring the Count of Conningsmarke in, but took the Whole Matter on his own shoulders; but the other two, Stern from Anger and the Polander from Simplicity, told what they knew of my Lord’s part in This.

Yet at the End it was the Count who was Acquitted and the three Humble Ones who were Condemned, and my Lord left Them to the Law; yet even Then Captain Vratz Persisted that he was alone Guilty.

And when the Prisoners were asked what they had to say for Themselves, the Captain Vratz Said that he had not been rightly Examined, Stern that he had gone into the Affair as Second to the Captain and in that Capacity would end it, and the Polander asked God for Mercy.

When in Prison these Three were seen by Dr. Burnet and Dr. Horneck who knew Foreign Languages and to both of these Priests Stern and the Polander Confessed, but Vratz would write nor say Nothing, but to their solicitations Replied with great Composure that the Matter was between him and God and that he Perceived that they wished to draw him to Implicate the Count, which he would by no Means do.

Dr. Horneck was Much Impressed by the Innocent Lives these Men had led and by their Devotion to the Captain and the nice sense of Honour Stern showed and the Humble Ingenuousness of the Polander, and he brought all three together and exhorted Vratz to a Confession.

And Stern added his Words, saying:

“I Forgive you for having Drawn me into this Business, for the Count of Conningsmarke deluded you, but Repent now, for we are very near the Judgment of God.”

Thereupon Vratz fell into a passion, and gave him Reproachful Words, saying he Lied.

“Put no Blame on my Lord,” he said, “for he is Guiltless.”

And with that he was Going, when the Polander Spoke.

“Give me a Word,” he said, “for soon I must Die.”

But Vratz looked at him with quick Kindled Wrath.

“You too defamed my Lord,” he said, “and I thought you were a Faithful Servant.” Then he left them.

And the Polander Wept mightily.

“The Two things I have most trusted In have Betrayed me,” he said, “first the Captain who sadly Deceived me in this matter–then I had a great Love for Horses and thought to spend my Life in the care of them, but when this Late Misfortune happened, I was on the back of One.”

Stern asked if he might be Buried, not Gibbeted, if he made a Written Confession, and they told him, Yes, maybe, so he wrote what he knew of it all.

Now the Night before their Execution there came a Message from the Captain, Confessing that he had drawn them into this Snare and asking their Forgiveness.

Upon which they Both Returned him a Message of Great Affection and the Polander felt indeed Happy and Almost Satisfied to die if he might be on these Terms with the Captain.

So they came to be Hanged, on the Tenth of _March_, in _Pall Mall_ on the Spot where Esquire Thynne had been Murdered; and Vratz was Buried but the other two Hung in Chains, and the Great Frame of the Polander hung near Camden Town long after his crime had been Forgotten by the General.

There was a Fine Marble put up in the Abbey Church of _Westminster_ to the Memory of Mr. Thynne, and next year his Widow, the Lady Ogle, married the Duke of Somerset, who was the Proudest Man in _England_.

As for Charles Count of Conningsmarke, he went to the Wars and became Famous for his Achievements, but it was Believed that he was a Haunted Man, and it has been Rumoured that he Confessed to being Troubled, not by Mr. Thynne, or either of the two Soldiers, but by the figure of the Polander in the New Coat and carrying the new Broadsword Mr. Hanson had Bought, smiling, very humble and Grateful.

This Figure Followed him so Persistently that his Death at the Siege of Argos in 1685 was a Release from a Life that had become _Unbearable_.

THE EXTRAORDINARY STORY OF GRACE ENDICOTT

Grace Endicott hath had as remarkable history as any woman of her times, and slander, calumny and malice, as well as curiosity and wonder, having noised and mouthed her story until it hath been used as a scorn against the Nonconformists and the town of Bedford, one who was well acquainted with her here putteth forth the facts as they were known to him, of the which he can solemnly attest and sware the truth, by his faith in Christianity. After this preamble he now giveth the case, leaving the judgment thereof to the charity of the human heart and the Eye of God Almighty, only adding for himself that never was there a stranger instance of the dealings of Heaven and Hell with man and woman.

Mrs. Endicott was born at Edworth, in the county of Bedford, in the year 1652, being the period of the high glory of our late the Lord Protector.

Her family was of the yeomanry and of considerable substance; she early lost her mother and had but one sister, younger than herself.

Her father being a pious man, she was brought up to walk in the ways of righteousness, and was well educated beside in the accomplishments of her sex; and she became a hopeful sprightly maiden, full of winning graces, so that she drew unto her many likely swains, yet would have none of them, being contented enough in her present situation.

In the year 1672, Mrs. Endicott being then twenty years of age and her sister married into a house of her own rank, her father left his farm in charge of a steward and bought a residence in Bedford, where he came to live with this remaining daughter.

Here Mrs. Endicott, by reason of her personal endowment and handsome fortune promised, found herself in the midst of much courtship and flush of friendship from the better sort and received many a treat and compliment; in fine she began to lead a life of uselessness and vanity and to lose pleasure in everything but the gauds of the world.

Full often have I seen her setting forth in a little chariot with pearls on her head and a marvel of silk and braid about her person and a coat on her back of sable fur that would have brought a copyhold.

And many of those who watched this maiden thought the Father of Darkness had set some springe to catch her soul, so different was she from the meekness of her tender years, and this was a curious thing withal, for her people had ever leant to Puritan doctrine, and during the civil war had stood for the Godly side. And those who thus made talk of the lightness of Mrs. Endicott’s behaviour soon found a cause for it in the person of Gilbert Farry, who was an attorney of the place.

Now this Farry, for divers reasons, was neither loved nor liked; the main argument against him being that he and his family were unknown in the neighbourhood where he had lived but a few years, and therefore he was, in a manner, a foreigner; nay, some held it that he was foreign indeed, and had false French or Italian blood in him, for his complexion was unnaturally dark and his temper sudden and gusty.

Though he had money enough, and indeed lived above his station, yet he never honestly proclaimed how he came by it nor openly spoke of his parents or former residence, and this closeness caused people to take up a dislike to him and predict no good of his end.

There was something strange in his dress, for he greatly affected outlandish colours of a brightness ill-befitting a Christian, and often when he went abroad there would be a set of boys of the baser sort calling after him, for he had the affliction of a limp that caused his garments to be the more noticeable; yet methinks it true that he overtopped the Bedford gallants in presence and speech, and the old wives said there would have been many a wench glad enough to take him, for there was nought definite against him and he never missed his church-going, though the malicious said it was but fear of the fine that sent him there.

Now it seemed that from the moment of their first meeting this Farry took no manner of heed of any woman but Mrs. Endicott, and she gave him no discouragements, and her father was friendly enough and clearly looked upon the young man as a suitor, and when wise folks shook their heads he would laugh and bid them wait till affairs were riper. Inasmuch as the whole town took notice of this courtship which went on in open freedom a wonderment began to grow that Farry, having screwed himself into the favour of the father, did not demand the hand of Mrs. Endicott.

And there was much pursing of lips and many a round declaration that Mr. Endicott would have done a wiser thing in lending his countenance to one of his own knowledge and county.

Now about this time, it being near Christmas, Mr. Endicott gave a ball, and the expectants said that his daughter’s betrothal would follow this feast, and using curiosity as a cloak for carnal inclinations many worthy folk went who would have served the Lord better by remaining by their own hearth.

The dance was continued till late, indeed when every one became much animated, for Mr. Endicott was open-handed with his meat and drink, and there was music of fiddles and a harp.

At midnight Mr. Farry led out Mrs. Endicott for some new fangled step from the court (and there were many wanted to hear how he came to know it and how he had found occasion to teach her), and they came down the room hand in hand, she in a pink taffeta with trimmings of silvered silks which had been bought in London and her hair trimmed and dressed like a city Madam at least.

So they came down the room, and all eyes were on them; they looked only at each other, and it was commonly averred afterwards that the look on the face of Mrs. Endicott was that of one whom earthly passion hurrieth forward to inevitable actions, maybe of folly or wickedness.

Still gazing at him, she changed hands in the centre of the room, and moving round for the first figure gave him her left.

Then of a sudden her radiant face withered; she cast an affrighted glance at her feet, recoiled like one who has stepped on a springe and with a shriek fell on the ground, passing into fit after fit with many frantic gestures and maniac words.

This thing did completely put an end to that festival, and was blazing matter for talk, for Mrs. Endicott lay ill for many weeks and gave for reason for her sudden disorder that she had had a vision of Hell.

Yea, she declared with floods of tears to all who came about her that Hell itself had opened at her feet, and she gave such details and spoke with such earnestness of the horrid spectacle of smoke and flame and the faces grinning up at her and the hands endeavouring to pull her down that there was none who dare entirely slight or discredit her tale lest they should be casting scorn on one of the Judgments of God; so all made agree to tell her that it was a forewarning brought on her by her careless life and she used all haste to make amends.

She sold all her gauds and fine things and gave the money to the needy; she came often to the prayers and devoted herself to household stuff as was beseeming one in her situation. No longer did she go prinking like an idle wanton lady, but went in a humble habit without adornment and took up thrifty ways and a sober conversation.

Nor would she have any manner of intercourse with Gilbert nor even speak of him; nay, he was of all others the creature she most hated to hear tell of, and though she could give no reason for the aversion she discovered yet she maintained it against her opposition.

Her father argued this matter with her with some heat, declaring that the young man deserved some kindness from her who had so lately encouraged him in a way that had made public comment; in short, being still close in friendship with Mr. Farry, Mr. Endicott made every endeavour to bring him again into his daughter’s favour, yet without success, for she was resolved in this and was by no means to be moved.

She gave as her reasons the horror she felt at the sneering irreverent way Mr. Farry had of talking of holy things and the general looseness and idleness of his life.

To such a height was her hatred against him now raised that when one day in springtide he did send her a wattle basket full of the first rose blooms she cast them from her with a shudder, and let them lie in the garden, where the sun sucked the life from them; yet was she commonly fond of flowers.

Yet did she have to suffer him about the house, for her father every day drew nearer with him in friendship, and even drew up a will leaving most of his goods to Mrs. Grace on condition of her marriage to this Farry.

At this time a wonderful man preached at the Baptist Chapel in Bedford; he had been a soldier in the Parliamentary Army, and of great profanity and wickedness, but having been marvellously converted he had taken to preach the pure Word of God, and there were a many went to listen to him, some to scoff, for he was unlettered to be talking of learned things, but many to pray, moved by the truth that was in him.

Now to hear this preacher, who began to be well known in these parts, went Grace Endicott, and ofttimes took her father and her sister and brother-in-law, for, as hath been told, the family leant to the Noncomformist views. After but a little while Mrs. Endicott became wrapt up in the spiritual life and an ardent convert to the preachings of this poor preacher, Mr. John Bunyan, whose doctrines filled her life with gladness and rejoicings.

Surely she was like a woman transformed, and took no delight save in the meetings at the Baptist Chapel, which were often enough broken by Mr. Bunyan being in Bedford Gaol, for the King had lately issued strong laws against the Nonconformists and had no mind to suffer them to worship in peace.

At first Mr. Endicott was much uplifted by these meetings, and inclined to turn from worldly things and to uphold his daughter in her devotions, but after a while Gilbert Farry worked on him again, and he went but seldom and his fervour died.

Yet truly he in no way interfered with his daughter, but allowed her her will in the matter, and though Farry screwed more and more into his confidence, yet Mrs. Endicott was unmolested in her devotions. About the year 1678 Mr. Endicott sold his house in Bedford and returned to his farm at Edworth, which was at some distance from the chapel where Mr. Bunyan preached.

Yet Mrs. Endicott was nothing daunted by difficulties of road or weather, and attended the meetings as regularly as any grave elder of them all.

Now this persistency of hers gave occasion for Gilbert Farry to influence her father’s mind in an evil fashion; it was not in nature, he said, for a woman young and excessively comely (and who had been addicted to gay things) to be so blinded, addicted and possessed by religious zeal as was Grace Endicott. He hinted that John Bunyan was a personable man and one who had not so long been reformed from the most carnal ways of the Devil; he related how the preacher and the maiden held long conversations, going to and from the chapel, and he spread these scandals until they were known to all Bedford. It happened that while things were in this pass, in the winter of this year ’78, Mr. Bunyan was appointed to preach and administer the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper at Gamlingay, which is some distance from Edworth.

Mrs. Endicott made her preparations to go, but when it came to asking the consent of her father it was angrily withheld.

Whereupon she fell into a great travail of mind and besought him with utter earnestness and piteous entreaties to permit her to attend this meeting, until he weakened before her importunities and gave his consent on the two conditions–that she did her household before she went and that she returned the same night at a godly hour.

On the Friday, therefore, Mrs. Endicott, having well looked to all her duties, left her home and went to her brother-in-law’s house, where she was to wait for a Baptist minister who was to escort her to Gamlingay.

Here she waited, but the hour became late and the minister did not come; then did Mrs. Endicott implore her relative to lend her a horse, but he had not one which was not at work, save only that on which he and his wife were riding to the meeting themselves.

Hearing this, Mrs. Endicott broke into a passion of despair and paced about the apartment in an extremity of anguish, and made such a plaint that even her own sister thought she showed an excess of sorrow. In the midst of this scene Mr. Bunyan himself came riding past, and Mrs. Endicott had him stopped and bid her brother-in law ask if the preacher would take her upon his pillion.

And down she came and stood on the doorstep to second this request.

“Will you take me, Mr. Bunyan,” she asked, “for my soul’s sake?”

And he was mute, for he was both loath and unwilling, for he knew the hard things said of him and her in Bedford town.

“It is for my soul,” says Mrs. Endicott again; and so he must be persuaded, and take her up behind him through the darkling lanes to Gamlingay.

And the chance was that they had not gone a mile before they passed the man Farry standing by the cross roads, who closely looked at them.

Mr. Bunyan did not salute him, not being of his acquaintance, and Mrs. Endicott stared at him with eyes that might have been of glass, so blank they were; thereupon Gilbert Farry went softly to Edworth and spoke to George Endicott, and said–

“I have seen your daughter riding pillion with John Bunyan to Gamlingay as if they were man and wife.”

Now whether or no she pictured Mr. Farry poisoning her father, Mrs. Endicott stayed to the end of the meeting and seemed wrapt in the ecstasy of worship and the joy of the moment.

Yet when the meeting was over her sorrows began again; Mr. Bunyan was riding another way, and there was no manner of means for her to get home. There was much delay and argument, and then she found a woman who had a cart and who would take her as far as her sister-in-law’s house, but from there was no convenience, yet mindful of her promise to her father Mrs. Endicott set out on the dark, miry and rough roads and so came to her home, spent with walking and affrighted with loneliness. Still it was not more than eleven of the clock, and it caused her amaze to see the windows dark and the door locked.

With trembling hands she knocked at the door, and her father came to an upper window with a candle in his hand and demanded who was there.

“It is I, father, come home wet and dirty,” replied Mrs. Endicott. “I pray you let me in.”

“Nay,” he answered. “Where you have been all the evening you may go all the night–and never do you cross my threshold until I have your promise not to see John Bunyan again.”

“That is to give up my soul’s life,” she said; “and I cannot.”

Thereupon he shut the window and took away the light.

Mrs. Endicott did plead desperately and tearfully but to no avail, for the bitter night winds took her words away and her father heard not.

Then, the storm coming up apace, she was fain to go into the barn, and there to lay her down on the straw till the morning.

When her father made his round he saw her there, with her clothes frozen on her and her eyes wet and wild.

“Good morrow, father,” she said. “I have had a dreary night, but it had been worse had not God sustained me.”

“No matter for that,” he answered; “here you stay until you promise never to frequent meetings again and never to speak to John Bunyan.”

Thereupon she hung upon him with vain tears and entreaties, but he would have none of it without her promise, and that she would in no wise give; so at length he flung her from him roughly, and she lay along a byre and wept for comfortlessness.

At noontide up came her brother-in-law, and made the endeavour to conclude a peace, but this was beyond his powers, for George Endicott was obdurate and his daughter would not give her promise; neither would she leave her father’s house, but dwelt without it for several days, living on such food as the pity of the servants gave her and sleeping on the ground or in the stalls of the horses.

And day by day came Gilbert Farry and tempted her with promises of love and comfort, but she would have none of it, but remained a beggar before her father’s door.

On the tenth day her father came to her and again demanded of her her promise; and if she gave it not, he added, she should no longer have even the shelter of his barns, but be cast out upon the high-road among the knaves and gipsies. Grace Endicott rose up from the straw and stood erect in her torn, soiled garments, with her hair unbound and her cheeks stained with weeping.

“Sir,” she made answer, “I stand between Good and Evil, and you would have me choose Evil. This is my immortal soul you ask for. For certainly I was in the power of the Devil from whom I was rescued by Mr. Bunyan, and if you deny me his converse, then I am no better than lost.”

But her father was in no way moved, and asked if she would promise or go upon the roads.

“Well and well again,” she said with much wildness, “I promise, but it is a lost soul you take into your house.”

Thereupon her father took her by the hand and led her in, and as she crossed the threshold she said again–

“It is a damned soul you bring home, my father.”

In the parlour was a feast spread and wine laid out and Gilbert Farry waiting, and he took her to him with no excuse and kissed her.

“So you have won,” she murmured, and made no resistance.

So for a month she lived quietly in her father’s house, until one day near on Christmas she met Mr. Bunyan in the market-place of Bedford town, and he was being taken to prison for his preaching, and there were many of his following going with him with words of encouragement and love. But Grace Endicott denied him, and looked as if she did not know his face, even asking one who stood by, “Who is that fellow?”

At this John Bunyan looked through the press and spoke to her, quoting scripture–

“Whosoever shall deny Me before men, him will I also deny before My Father which is in Heaven,” he said.

“I obey _my_ father,” answered Mrs. Endicott.

“He that loveth father or mother before Me is not worthy of Me,” spake Mr. Bunyan, and went on his way to gaol.

Now all the rest of that day, being Tuesday, Mrs. Endicott was very silent; those among whom she moved marked it with concern. The next night she came running through the darkness to her sister’s house, all wild and beside herself, and implored them all to come home with her, which they did in a great fright.

Upon the way she told them that her father had fallen ill, and was now dying.

This they found true enough; George Endicott was crouching over a hastily lit fire and bemoaning his sins, and in little while without further speech he died. Mrs. Endicott was taken to her sister’s home on the way, it being then dawn, and they met Gilbert Farry, and told him Mr. Endicott was sudden dead.

“It is no more than I looked for,” said he; whereupon Mrs. Endicott shocked those with her in the cart by laughing, and his remark and her manner of taking it were remembered afterwards.

The end of this business was that the doctors made discovery that George Endicott had been poisoned by a drug given him in his ale; and a drug of this nature had been bought by Mrs. Endicott in Bedford a few hours after John Bunyan had spoken to her; this, together with the circumstances of her late dispute with her father, her being alone with him in the house, the suddenness of his illness and some broken words he had let drop in his last moments, was evidence enough, and Mrs. Endicott was arrested on the awful charge of murdering her father and lodged in Bedford Gaol, to the great scandal and confusion of all Nonconformists and damage to the cause of John Bunyan.

The trial is within the memory of all, and no account of it is here required. Mrs. Endicott defended herself with prudence and spirit and strove to cast the guilt on the man Farry, who was the principal witness against her; and, indeed, his known spite towards her, the fact that Mr. Endicott’s will was in his favour and the misty kind of character he bore gave her some handle, but since she could no wise explain the drug she had bought save lamely saying it was for cleaning tiles and that she knew not its deadly properties, the case looked ill against the woman. Nevertheless, her youth, her comeliness, her known piety and long sweet behaviour, the influence of her relatives and the feeling of the people pleaded for her, and there was no one who doubted that she would be acquitted when on the last day of her trial she startled the court by rising up and declaring herself guilty and a helpmate of the Devil from the moment she abjured John Bunyan in her father’s barn.

In fine she vowed herself a witch, and baring her arm showed them a purple hoof-print on the flesh that was known for the particular mark and sign of Hell. After this she refused to speak again either to her relatives or to the clergyman, and came forth to be hanged next day in a green tabinet gown with red ribbons. Not a word spoke she while being led through Bedford town, but was composed and seemed in a meditation.

With her own hands she tied down her skirts and put up her hair, and so without a prayer or any plea for mercy was hanged in full sight of all Bedford.

There was afterwards found in her gown a paper which was taken possession of by me, being one of the clergy present, and here published by me that all the facts be known to all who care to read. As for Gilbert Farry, he came to the execution and stood close to the gallows, and when she was dead went westward, leaving his properties in his lodgings, nor was he ever seen or heard of again in Bedford.

And his belongings were principally books in pagan languages and gaudy clothes, which were burnt before the Town Hall, for there was a great distrust of this man, it being thought that he had brought to ruin the soul of Grace Endicott.

Here followeth the paper written by Mrs. Endicott the day before she died:–

“Bedford Gaol, Wednesday, March 25th, 1679.