The Maid of London Bridge. A story of the time of Kett's rebellion

Front matter

THE MAID OF LONDON BRIDGE. " Ah I thou art right, Lucy, it is changing, and growing stern and uigry." Paqe 43. C THE Maid of London Bridge A Story of the Time of Kett's Rebellion. BY SOMERVILLE GIBNEY, Author Os " The Hoteliers of Deal," " The New River," "fohn O'London," " Toney Byer," &rc. LONDON : JARROLD & SONS, 3, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E (All rights reserved.) CONTENTS Pa%e I. Two Discontented Friends ... ... 7 II. Gaston's Visit to the Bridge and what HE SAW ... ... ... ... 18 III. London Bridge ... ... ... 29 IV. Dame Alice's Picture ... ... ... 39 V. Percy Makes the Acquaintance of Cecily 49 VI. Gaston is Envious ... ... ... 60 VII. Changes ... ... ... ... 72 VIII. Percy's Fists Find Work ... ... 86 IX. Robert Kett and Mousehold Heath ... 98 X. At Death's Door ... ... ... 108 XI. Northampton's Expedition ... ... 119 XII.

Once More at Wymondham ... ... 132 XIII. Second Capture of the City ... ... 146 XIV. DUSSINSDALE ... ... ... ... 157 XV. A Royal Audience ... ... ... 171 XVI. 1553. An Important Conversation ... 185 XVII. Gaston Makes a Mistake ... ... 197 XVIII. Two of a Mtnd ... ... ... 209 XIX. Love and Revenge ... ... ... 220 XX. Percy's Eyes are Opened ... ... 232 XXI. A Deathbed Summons ... ... ... 241 XXII. In the Cellar ... ... ... 253 XXIII. Love's Young Dream ... ... ... 263 XXIV. The Spanish Fox ... ... 273 XXV. Lucy Bids Farewell to a Friend .. 283 XXVI. A Voice from the Dead ... ...

Chapter I

Two Discontented Friends. ?wfT was seven of the clock in the afternoon of a warm, felSS sunny June day, in tlie year 1548. Most of the work (?£^. in the busy City of London was over for the day, and the inhabitants were sitting at their open windows, or lounging round their doorways, enjoying the fresh air, and having a crack with their neighbours. Even those at the windows could do this, because the upper parts of the houses overhung, so that, though divided by the breadth of the street on the level of the ground, the second and third stories approached those of their opposite neighbours, and were quite within speaking distance, and then there was no rattle nor roar of conveyances over the stones ; carriages were unknown, and carts little used within the city walls. There was an air of peace and prosperity abroad.

As far as London was concerned, there were no disturbing influences at work. The young King, then only ten years old, had been crowned at Westminster the previous year, and was already giving evidence of his affable and humane disposition and his attachment to equity and justice, so that his subjects were looking forward with joyful expectation to a period of peace and tranquillity in which they might attend to their own affairs, and better their positions, after the turmoil, excitement, and anxiety of the previous reign. The King had already endeared himself to the hearts of his subjects. His extreme youth may have won him some com passion and pity, but his upright, straightforward conduct had commanded their love. Everything pointed to a time of prosperity and happiness, and the citizens of London were not slew to acknowledge this Bright and merry faces were now the rule, and laughter was heard more frequently than weeping.

The previous reign had been an anxious time to them. The late King's temper was uncertain and passionate, and no one felt really secure. None knew what might happen the next day, and this uncertainty had had anything but a beneficial effect on trade. Now the change had come, and the citizens were rejoicing at it. But we must leave the streets, and turning out of Fleet Street make our way to a range of buildings in the Inner Temple, at that time, as now, occupied by members of the law and their apprentices and clerks. In one of the chambers on the second floor, the window of which looked over the Thames, was seated Gaston Duckworth. The chamber was but roughly furnished, at least we of the present more luxurious age would have deemed it so. In one corner was a low tressel bed, and a small stand containing washing utensils.

By its side stood an oak locker, or chest, for clothes. In the centre of the room was a table, furnished with ink-horn, pens, some sheets of paper, and one or two books. A chair with arms stood against the table, two more chairs were in other parts of the room, and a shelf for books hung against the wall, but there were none in it ; no carpets, rugs, nor even rushes were on the floor. It was summer time, and the oak boards were quite bare. The view from the window was a glorious one. Almost at the foot of the building ran the Thames, sparkling in the yellow gleams of the setting sun. There were no houses on the opposite shore of the river just there. It was the break between Southwark and Lambeth. Open country, dotted here and there with clumps of trees, met the eye, until it merged in the distance in the foot of the range of Surrey hills.

There was no cloud of smoke, as now, to obscure the view, everything was clear and bright. Small excuse was needed for Gaston Duckworth leaving his books, and leaning his arms on the window-ledge to enjoy it. But was he enjoying it ? A glance at his face would have raised a doubt. His age was about eighteen, but he looked somewhat older. His face was long, thin, and sallow; his hair black and straight, his eyebrows well marked and heavy, and his lips thin and without much colour. His best features were his eyes ; they were very large, dark, and deeply set in his head, and in them might often be seen a dreamy, far-away look, as if the thoughts of their owner in no way rested on the matter he had in hand. Some of his acquaintances asserted that his eyes never properly belonged to his face. He had got them from somewhere, but they had never been intended for him, and this was not by any means a bad description, for they were not the kind of eyes you would have expected to have found in a face such as his.

A thin, straggling down fringed his lip and his chin, but there was no appearance of hair on his cheeks, and it was clear he would never have a thick moustache or beard. Taken as a whole, it was a clever face, if not an attractive one. His figure was tall and spare, but at the same time wiry, and there was more strength about it than a casual observer would have imagined. He was well, if plainly and quietly, dressed ; and there was no appearance of poverty about him. Gaston Duckworth was a Norfolk lad ; the only child of a country gentleman who had lived near Wymondham. His father was dead, and his mother, who was still living, had hoped that her boy would succeed to his father's position, and be content to remain in the old Manor House, and look after his property, tenants, and villeins. But in this she was disappointed.

The boy had always been of a studious turn of mind, and delighted more in books and study than the growing of crops and rearing of cattle and horses ; and after his father's death he announced his wish to enter one of the Inns of Court, and apply himself to the study of the law. At first Dame Duckworth combated this inclination by all means in her power. But the more she opposed it, the stronger appeared the lad's desire to go. And she at length came to the conclusion that it would be useless to throw further obstacles in his way, and so gave a reluctant consent ; and young Duckworth travelled to London, and became the pupil of Master Linklater, one of the members of the Inner Temple. At the time we make his acquaintance he had been at work a year, with what result we shall learn in due course.

As he leant on the window-ledge, gazing at the distant hills, his brows were knit, and there was that far-away, absent look in his wide, open, fixed eyes that told he was totally oblivious of the beauties of the landscape before him. As he stood thus there was a quick step on the stairs outside, and a merry voice, singing a snatch of a song, came rolling into the room. The door was flung open without any ceremony, and a visitor entered. The new comer was also a youth, of about the same age as Gaston Duckworth, but he formed a striking contrast to him. He was a true Saxon, every inch of him. Fair hair that curled close to his shapely head ; merry, laughing, blue eyes ; a some what large mouth, that was continually curling into a smile ; and a strong, sturdy, well-knit figure. Such was Percy Merton, the second son of a gentleman living at Eltham, in Kent.

His father had a large family, and was not over-burdened with riches ; so when his brother-in-law, Hugh Midmore, a dealer in spices on London Bridge, offered to take his nephew as an apprentice, the opportunity of providing a means of livelihood for one of his children was eagerly grasped, without much regard to the wishes of the person most immediately concerned. Percy's father was a stern man, and somewhat of a tyrant in his own house, so it was little use for the lad to make any objection, and to plead that he had no wish or inclination for an office life, and would have preferred one spent more in the open air. It was settled by his father that he was to become an inmate of Master Hugh Midmore's establishment, so go he must; and putting as good a face on the matter as possible, he went; and, to his credit be it said, he tried to do his duty to his uncle and master faithfully.

But there was not the making of a business man in him, and the consequence was he found small favour in his uncle's eyes. He could not understand the lad's longing to get away fiom the desk and account books. He had known no other life himself from his earliest days ; it was engrained in him, and he measured " everybody else's corn by his own bushel." Gaston and Percy had been firm friends for some years. The acquaintance sprang up when Gaston had come on a visit to some relations at Eltham, who were friends of Master Merton, and the boys had thus been brought into contact with each other. Percy had been some little time a dweller in his uncle's house when Gaston entered at the Inner Temple, and he consequently knew something of the life of London, and was able to be of service to his friend on his arrival.

It was BRLDGE. 12 curious how these boys had taken to each other, considering their natures were so diametrically opposite ; but such was the case, and as years went on, the friendship seemed to increase rather than diminish. When Percy escaped from his counting-house he generally made his way to his friend's chambers, and dragged him out for a walk, or to see some* of the sights of the town. When Percy Merton entered the room, Gaston did not even look round ; and it was not until he had flung his cap on the bed, and had given his friend a sounding clap on the shoulder, saying, " Well, my book-worm, and how wags the world with thee this eve?" that Gaston appeared to come back to the world he was living in. He started, and drawing himself up from the position in which he had been leaning, said — " It's you, is it, Percy?

I was just thinking " "Thinking? Marry! You're always thinking. What a head-piece you must have ! The works in mine are well-nigh worn-out already, and I think not a quarter as much as you do. Nunky wishes I would, I'll be sworn, but I can't; and that's the end on't. A plague on accounts and invoices and items and the like, say I. Why can't the customers put down their pennies when they take the stuff and have done with it, instead of giving me all the trouble of writing down what they've had, and casting up rows of figures that never will come right, try as I will ? I should make a merchant in time, if I only had to take the money in exchange for what I sold ; but when it comes to book-work I'm done, and they could cheat and filch from me to their heart's content, and I not be a whit the wiser."

" It's a curious world." " You're right, Gaston, my boy. It is a curious world, and a right pleasant one could we but follow our own pleasure in it. It's little London Bridge would see of me an I had my own way." " And what would you be ? " " A soldier, man. What else is there worth living for? Tell me that. There's a life for you worthy the name; and if I had my own choice, I'd be one to-morrow, and then hey for Scotland and hard knocks, for there'll be trouble there yet, mark me. Those bare-legged scoundrels won't forget that September day at Pinkenclugh last year, and there's many a sore heart, or ' sare hert ' as they say in their heathenish tongue, waiting for revenge. And I'd give them the chance of taking it on me an I had my will, though, i'fegs ! I'd give as much as I got, I warrant me.

But what's the good of talking? Small chance have I of being there, and I have to content myself with an occasional gossip with some soldier I may chance to light on as he crosses the Bridge to the Tower." " Yes, Percy, I doubt me thou art not in the position thou wouldst have chosen for thyself; but, then, remember, it was none of thy doing; thou didst but obey thy father. With me 'tis different. I followed mine own choice against the wish of those who were wiser than I was." " Good lack ! You mean not that you would wish a change? " " That would I." " Then the world must be coming to an end ; " and rising to his feet from the chair in which he had been sitting, Percy commenced addressing an imaginary audience. " Good Gentles all, I pray you hear him. Here is the musty book worm longing to become a butterfly, to cast off his sober coat, and burst out with wings.

No longer to batten on parchment and paper, but to taste the honey of life, and to fly from flower to flower as he listeth. 'Tis a miracle indeed." " Cease your folly, Percy, and be serious." " Nay, I know not that I can ; I have been so too long already to-day, for have I not but just now escaped from the counting-house, where a smile is a sin, and a laugh a deadly crime ? But proceed, my friend, and I'll hear thee." And Percy again sat down. "Percy, I hate the law, with its shirks and quibbles, its grinding of poor men down for the enjoyment of the rich. I hate it. I've given it a fair trial, and I'll have no more of it. Thanks be to Heaven, I need not look to it for my daily bread, and were it not so, I should fare but badly, for I could not bring myself to deal in the shuffles and shirks the brethren of the coif are so well versed in."

" Dost thou mean this?" said Percy, now reduced to serious ness by his friend's manner. "In good sooth, yes. My mind is made up. It hath been in the balance this long time past, but now I am decided. The law seems made for the rich, and the poor suffer, and this is not as it should be. The poor require champions to guard their rights : and, Holy Mary aiding me, they shall find such an one in me. Hitherto I have been a blind fool. My place lies at home among mine own people. There is work and plenty for me there, and to others I leave these Satan-begotten practices. I'll none of them." During this speech Percy had been staring at his friend with wide-open eyes, and now said — • " Thou art either going off thy head, Gaston, or else art smitten with the vapours, through too close study. I have oft felt them coming on myself after an hour or two in the counting-house, and have only escaped them by stealing out for a run in the open air.

And that same remedy will I apply to thy case now. So get thy cap, and we will away to the bull-ring in Paris Garden at Bankside. We shall be late, but we shall see the people as they come out, and we are going more for the sake of the walk and the fresh air than the sight of sport. Thou hast need of a good shaking up, and I'll give it thee. So come along." " Nay, Percy. I know not that I care to go out this evening." " Marry, come up ! I'll not listen to such prating. Where is thy cap?" And taking it from the nail on which it was hanging, Percy forced it on to his friend's head, and then catching hold of his arm, dragged him from the chamber before he had time to object, and hurried him down the stairs at no very sober pace. Gaston was forced to smile at his friend's energy, though he said — " Have a care, Percy.

The dwellers on this staircase will find fault if we make such a turmoil." His friend's answer was to rush down quicker than ever, and tread more heavily on the wooden steps. When they gained the open air, he said — " Let them. 'Tis little I care if they do, nor should'st thou either ; for dost thou not see that this is an example of what thou hast been preaching about up yonder; the poor being ground down for the pleasure of the rich. We're the poor, those old lawyers are the rich ; and we are to be stayed from our merriment for their pleasure. Come now, is it not so? " " Well, it might be looked upon in that light." " Just so. Then you, as the champion of the poor man, must not grovel down and give way before them. You are every whit as good as they. They pay for their chambers, so do you.

You are their equal. Stand up for your rights, man. Beard them. Stamp and make a turmoil every time you ascend and descend. Shew them you will have none of their airs and nonsense. Prove yourself to be as good as they are, and think not for the future of bending before them. Come now, Gaston, am I not a fellow of the same kidney as thyself? Should I not make a rare champion of the poor man?" And Percy burst into a hearty fit of laughter. " It's well for you to joke, Percy," replied his friend, still preserving a serious countenance ; " but you do not feel in this matter the same as I do. You have not given it the same amount of consideration." " No, nor methinks I ever shall. 'Tis not much in my way. I'm poor enough, Heaven knows; but I manage to screw some enjoyments out of life without troubling my head about what the rich have deprived me of; and as long as I get enough to eat, a roof to cover me, and clothes to wear, I'll leave others to fight their betters for what they imagine they ought to have.

But a truce to all this ! I've had enough of it for this evening. I came out to enjoy myself, and not to hear lectures. Now, which way shall we go? Over London Bridge, or shall we take a boat at the stairs? I am for the boat, there will be more air on the river." " And I am with you. So come along." In a minute or two the lads were afloat, and going down with the tide towards the city. They had not proceeded very far before Percy exclaimed — " Look you there, Gaston, there's sport. Let us draw in and watch. I have not seen any quintain play for months." Gaston glanced in the direction indicated, and saw a pole sticking out from the water, on the top of which was a cross piece, bearing at one end a square piece of board, while from the other a bag of sand dangled. Just at that moment a boat, driven swiftly by four rowers, was approaching this structure.

In the bows stood a man with a lance couched, with which he struck the board fairly in the centre with considerable force. The cross piece worked on a pivot, and the force of the blow caused it to revolve, bringing the sand bag round with a circular sweep. Had not the boat been travelling very rapidly, the bag would have caught the striker in the back. As it was, he just escaped, amid the cheers of the lookers on. The lads rowed their boat towards the bank, out of the force ofthe current, and remained there some time enjoying the fun. Although fun to them, it very nearly proved far more serious to one of the performers. There were several boats engaged in the amusement, and one of these not being propelled swiftly enough, the tilter, after he had struck the shield, was not carried out of harm's way in time ; and the sand bag coming round, caught him in the back, and drove him right out of the boat.

The boat, with the impetus upon it, shot far past him, and he stood a goo I chance of being drowned (for he could not swim), had not Gaston and Percy rescued him. This accident brought the amusement to an end, and the lads found it was then too late to think of going to Paris Garden that evening. So, after rowing a little way down towards the bridge, they waited for the tide to turn, and then came back on it to the Temple. Here Percy bid " Good night" to his friend, telling him to cast his books aside for a week or two, and spend his time in the open air, assuring him that this would bring him back to a proper state of mind again, when he would see things in the right light once more, and have no further fancies about being a poor man's champion and such like. Gaston only smiled, and said — "Thou'rt wrong, lad.

These are no fancies, but solid, downright convictions, and I may not withstand them. But I'll not trouble thee with them. Good night, Percy, and let me see thee again soon, for we shall not have many more chances. I shall shortly be back again in Norfolk. Good night, lad." E

Chapter II

Gaston's Visit to the Bridge and what he saw. " S^P<-)<-)^) morrow, Cruikshank." IwiPw " Good morrow, Master " — and then, in an under cS?S§?te tone, " a murrain light upon you for the thief you are ! " — and the speaker's already ugly face was made ten times worse by the scowl that came over it. The speaker — Robert Cruikshank — was the keeper of the gate-house at the Southwark end of London Bridge, a description of which will be given hereafter. He was an extraordinary looking mortal. His body was long and some what stout, while his legs were short and very much bowed ; in addition to this, one of them was shorter than the other, and caused him to walk with a terrible limp. His arms were as long as those of a monkey, to which animal he was constantly being compared. His head was large, and crowned with a thick growth of dark, coarse hair, which was cut short, and stood straight on end.

It never would submit to a parting, and on the rare occasions when one had been attempted, it had disappeared as soon as the comb had been removed. Deep lines and furrows marked his face in all directions, at least so much of it as could be seen, for his whiskers grew high and forward on the cheek bones, almost up to the eyes, which were fierce and bright, and flashed beneath over-hanging bristling eyebrows. The whiskers and beard were clipped in the spade fashion of the day, and were short enough to show an enormous mouth. The very sight of Robert Cruikshank was sufficient to frighten children who saw him for the first time, and on many occasions they had fled from him, yelling with terror to their mothers, declaring they had been waylaid by Satan. As is often the case with men who are deformed or have some natural infirmity, his temper was as crooked as his body.

He was surly and sulky, and a pleasant greeting was never looked for from Robert Cruikshank. Most of his acquaintances regarded him with a species of awe. There was a mystery about him which none had ever fathomed. Not that several had not tried, but the attempts had been met with such roughness and curt civility that they had not been repeated. All that was known of him was that he was not a Londoner, and that he had been placed in his present position by one of the Bridge-masters some years previously, in whose service he had been down at his country house at Reading. He per formed his duties faithfully and well, and had never been called to account by the two Bridge-masters, who, as their name implied, were responsible for the maintenance, repair, and good government of the bridge. It was but rarely he was to be found in any of the neighbouring taverns.

He was a home bird ; and as his home was contained in the gate house, he was always to be found at his post. The person who had bidden him " Good day," and against whom he had uttered the unhallowed wish we have heard, was Master Alwyn Vynor, likewise a dweller on the bridge, and a Glover, of whom more anon. Robert Cruikshank had from the first moment he came into possession of his situation apparently conceived a violent hatred and dislike towards this gentleman. None knew the cause of it, and if there was a cause, he kept it carefully locked up in his own bosom and never revealed it. On rare occasions when the name of Master Alwyn Vynor had been mentioned in his presence, he had so far forgotten himself as to throw out hints about his honesty, calling him a thief and a robber, and at the same time his eyes would flash and blaze with a fury and hatred that astonished and appalled those who saw them.

To all other men Master Alwyn Vynor appeared the model of upright honesty, and there was not another person in all London who could be found to breathe a word against his fair fame. This made Cruikshank's conduct the more extraordinary and unaccountable. As soon as he had seen Master Vynor cross the drawbridge and pass beneath the second gate-house, he turned with an imprecation muttered between his teeth, and entered his own dwelling. "Is dinner ready, wife?" said he to a comely woman, who was busy at the fire-place ; for Cruikshank was married, and to a woman who in her girlhood must have been a beauty, for in her middle age she still retained many traces of good looks. Here was another mystery which puzzled the gossips. What could have induced Dame Cruikshank to have taken such a little deformity for her husband, when it was only fair to suppose that she might have had her choice of many other and better-favoured men ?

Dame Cruikshank was no chatterer, and kept her own concerns to herself, and so the inquisitive had to fall back upon the suggestion of money, for love it never could have been. Report asserted that Cruikshank had a nice little sum laid by somewhere, ready for his old age when he would no longer be able to work ; but report had no very tangible grounds to go upon. One thing the gossips could assert with truth, that Dame Cruikshank and her husband got on well together, and that there was no discord nor unpleasantness between them. Cruikshank was, in fact, a good husband, and the dame on her part made him a good wife. " Ay, Robert," replied the woman, turning her head at her husband's enquiry, "'tis ready any minute; but Lucy has not returned yet, and methinks thou wilt not care to sit down before she comes."

" Not likely, Dame, where hath the wench gone this morn ? " " Into the city as far as Leadenhall Street. I sent her on an errand, but she should be home by now. Ah ! here she is ! " — as a fine-grown, rosy-cheeked maiden, of some seventeen summers, entered the chamber with a parcel in her arms. " There thou art, mother," said she, laying down her burden, " and now am I quite ready for my victuals, for my walk hath gotten me an appetite." "And what hath made thee so long, wench?" said her father, standing on tiptoe, and taking her cheeks in his hands and kissing her. She had to bend down for the salute, for she far o'er-topped her father in stature. " Coming along Cornhill I stopped to look at the shops, and then a company of soldiers passed on their way to the Tower, and I had to stay to gaze at them.