Chapter 20

AN ACT OF FAITH

Towards the end of August Beatrice Atherton was walking up the north bank of the river from Charing to Westminster to announce to Ralph her arrival in town on the previous night.

* * * * *

She had gone through horrors since the June day on which she had seen the two brothers together. With Margaret beside her she had watched Master More in court, in his frieze gown, leaning on his stick, bent and grey with imprisonment, had heard his clear answers, his searching questions, and his merry conclusion after sentence had been pronounced; she had stayed at home with the stricken family on the morning of the sixth of July, kneeling with them at her prayers in the chapel of the New Building, during the hours until Mr. Roper looked in grey-faced and trembling, and they knew that all was over. She went with them to the burial in St. Peter’s Chapel in the Tower; and last, which was the most dreadful ordeal of all, she had stood in the summer darkness by the wicket-gate, had heard the cautious stroke of oars, and the footsteps coming up the path, and had let Margaret in bearing her precious burden robbed from the spike on London Bridge.

Then for a while she had gone down to the country with Mrs. More and her daughters; and now she was back once more, in a kind of psychical convalescence, at her aunt’s new house on the river-bank at Charing.

* * * * *

Her face was a little paler than it used to be, but there was a quickening brightness in her eyes as she swept along in her blue mantle, with her maid beside her, in the rear of the liveried servant, who carried a silver-headed wand a few yards in front.

She was rehearsing to herself the scene in which Ralph had asked her to be his wife.

Where Chris had left the room the two had remained perfectly still until the street-door had closed; and then Ralph had turned to her with a question in his steady eyes.

She had told him then that she did not believe one word of what the monk had insinuated; but she had been conscious even at the time that she was making what theologians call an act of faith. It was not that there were not difficulties to her in Ralph’s position--there were plenty--but she had determined by a final and swift decision to disregard them and believe in him. It was a last step in a process that continued ever since she had become interested by this strong brusque man; and it had been precipitated by the fanatical attack to which she had just been a witness. The discord, as she thought it, of Ralph’s character and actions had not been resolved; yet she had decided in that moment that it need not be; that her data as concerned those actions were insufficient; and that if she could not explain, at least she could trust.

Ralph had been very honest, she told herself now. He had reminded her that he was a servant of Cromwell’s whom many believed to be an enemy of Church and State. She had nodded back to him steadily and silently, knowing what would follow from the paleness of his face, and his bright eyes beneath their wide lids. She had felt her own breast rise and fall and a pulse begin to hammer at the spring of her throat. Even now as she thought of it her heart quickened, and her hands clenched themselves.

And then in one swift moment it had come. She had found her hands caught fiercely, and her eyes imprisoned by his; and then all was over, and she had given him an answer in a word.

It had not been easy even after that. Cecily had questioned her more than once. Mrs. More had said a few indiscreet things that had been hard to bear; her own aunt had received the news in silence.

But that was over now. The necessary consent on both sides had been given; and here she was once more walking up the road to Westminster with Ralph’s image before her eyes, and Ralph himself a hundred yards away.

* * * * *

She turned the last corner from the alley, passed up the little street, and turned again across the little cobbled yard that lay before the house.

Mr. Morris was at the door as she came up, and he now stood aside. He seemed doubtful.

“Mr. Torridon has gentlemen with him, madam.”

“Then I will wait,” said Beatrice serenely, and made a motion to come in. The servant still half-hesitating opened the door wider; and Beatrice and her maid went through into the little parlour on the right.

As she passed in she heard voices from the other door. Mr. Morris’s footsteps went down the passage.

She had not very long to wait. There was the sound of a carriage driving up to the door presently, and her maid who sat in view of the window glanced out. Her face grew solemn.

“It is Master Cromwell’s carriage,” she said.

Beatrice was conscious of a vague discomfort; Master Cromwell, in spite of her efforts, was the shadowed side of Ralph’s life.

“Is he coming in?” she said.

The maid peeped again.

“No, madam.”

The door of the room they were in was not quite shut, and there was still a faint murmur of voices from across the hall; but almost immediately there was the sound of a lifted latch, and then Ralph’s voice clear and distinct.

“I will see to it, my lord.”

Beatrice stood up, feeling a little uneasy. She fancied that perhaps she ought not to be here; she remembered now the servant’s slight air of unwillingness to let her in. There was a footfall in the hall, and the sound of talking; and as Mr. Morris’s hasty step came up the passage, the door was pushed abruptly open, and Ralph was looking into the room, with one or two others beyond him.

“I did not know,” he began, and flushed a little, smiling and making as if to close the door. But Cromwell’s face, with its long upper lip and close-set grey eyes, appeared over his shoulder, and Ralph turned round, almost deprecatingly.

“I beg your pardon, sir; this is Mistress Atherton, and her woman.”

Cromwell came forward into the room, with a kind of keen smile, in his rich dress and chain.

“Mistress Beatrice Atherton?” he said with a questioning deference; and Ralph introduced them to one another. Beatrice was conscious of a good deal of awkwardness. It was uncomfortable to be caught here, as if she had come to spy out something. She felt herself flushing as she explained that she had had no idea who was there.

Cromwell looked at her very pleasantly.

“There is nothing to ask pardon for, Mistress,” he said. “I knew you were a friend of Mr. Torridon. He has told me everything.”

Ralph seemed strangely ill-at-ease, Beatrice thought, as Cromwell congratulated them both with a very kindly air, and then turned towards the hall again.

“My lord,” he called, “my lord--”

Then Beatrice saw a tall ecclesiastic, clean-shaven, with a strangely insignificant but kindly face, with square drooping lip and narrow hazel eyes, come forward in his prelate’s dress; and at the sight of him her eyes grew hard and her lips tight.

“My lord,” said Cromwell, “this is Mistress Beatrice Torridon.”

The prelate put out his hand, smiling faintly, with the ring uppermost to be kissed. Beatrice stood perfectly still. She could see Ralph at an angle looking at her imploringly.

“You know my Lord of Canterbury,” said Cromwell, in an explanatory voice.

“I know my Lord of Canterbury,” said Beatrice.

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then a faint whimper from the maid.

Cranmer dropped his hand, but still smiled, turning to Ralph.

“We must be gone, Mr. Torridon. Master Cromwell has very kindly--”

Cromwell, who had stood amazed for a moment, turned round at his name.

“Yes,” he said to Ralph, “my lord is to come with me. And you will be at my house to-morrow.”

He said good-day to the girl, looking at her with an amused interest that made her flush; and as Dr. Cranmer passed out of the street-door to the carriage with Ralph bare-headed beside him, he spoke very softly.

“You are like the others, mistress,” he said; and shook his heavy head at her like an indulgent father. Then he too turned and went out.

* * * * *

Beatrice went across at once to the other room, leaving her maid behind, and stood by the hearth as Ralph came in. She heard the door close and his footstep come across the floor beside her.

“Beatrice,” said Ralph.

She turned round and looked at him.

“You must not scold me,” she said with great serenity. “You must leave me my conscience.” Ralph’s face cleared instantly.

“No, no,” he said. “I feared it would be the other way.”

“A married priest, they say!” remarked the girl, but without bitterness.

“I daresay, my darling,--but--but I have more tenderness for marriage than I had.”

Beatrice’s black eyes just flickered with amusement.

“Yes; but priests!” she said.

“Yes--even priests--” said Ralph, smiling back.

Beatrice turned to a chair and sat down.

“I suppose I must not ask any questions,” she said, glancing up for a moment at Ralph’s steady eyes. She thought he looked a little uneasy still.

“Oh! I scarcely know,” said Ralph; and he took a turn across the room and came back. She waited, knowing that she had already put her question, and secretly pleased that he knew it, and was perplexed by it.

“I scarcely know,” he said again, standing opposite her. “Well,--yes--all will know it soon.”

“Oh! I can wait till then,” said Beatrice quickly, not sure whether she were annoyed or not by being told a secret of such a common nature. Ralph glanced at her, not sure either.

“I am afraid--” he began.

“No--no,” she said, ashamed of her doubt. “I do not wish to know; I can wait.”

“I will tell you,” said Ralph. He went and sat down in the chair opposite, crossing his legs.

“It is about the Visitation of the Religious Houses. I am to go with the Visitors in September.”

Beatrice felt a sudden and rather distressed interest; but she showed no sign of it.

“Ah, yes!” she said softly, “and what will be your work?”

Ralph was reassured by her tone.

“We are to go to the southern province. I am with Dr. Layton’s party. We shall make enquiries of the state of Religion, how it is observed and so forth; and report to Master Cromwell.”

Beatrice looked down in a slightly side-long way.

“I know what you are thinking,” said Ralph, his tone a mixture of amusement and pride. She looked up silently.

“Yes I knew it was so,” he went on, smiling straight at her. “You are wondering what in the world I know about Religious Houses. But I have a brother--”

A shadow went over her face; Ralph saw she did not like the allusion.

“Besides,” he went on again, “they need intelligent men, not ecclesiastics, for this business.”

“But Dr. Layton?” questioned Beatrice.

“Well, you might call him an ecclesiastic; but you would scarcely guess it from himself. And no man could call him a partisan on that side.”

“He would do better in one of his rectories, I should think,” said Beatrice.

“Well, that is not my business,” observed Ralph.

“And what is your business?”

“Well, to ride round the country; examine the Religious, and make enquiries of the country folk.”

Beatrice began to tap her foot very softly. Ralph glanced down at the bright buckle and smiled in spite of himself.

The girl went on.

“And by whose authority?”

“By his Grace’s authority.”

“And Dr. Cranmer’s?”

“Well, yes; so far as he has any.”

“I see,” said Beatrice; and cast her eyes down again.

There was silence for a moment or two.

“You see too that I cannot withdraw,” explained Ralph, a little distressed at her air. “It is part of my duty.”

“Oh! I understand that,” said Beatrice.

“And so long as I act justly, there is no harm done.”

The girl was silent.

“You understand that?” he asked.

“I suppose I do,” said Beatrice slowly.

Ralph made a slight impatient movement.

“No--wait,” said the girl, “I do understand. If I cannot trust you, I had better never have known you. I do understand that I can trust you; though I cannot understand how you can do such work.”

She raised her eyes slowly to his; and Ralph as he looked into them saw that she was perfectly sincere, and speaking without bitterness.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “I could not have taken that from any but you; but I know that you are true, and mean no more nor less than your words. You do trust me?”

“Why, yes,” said the girl; and smiled at him as he took her in his arms.

* * * * *

When she had gone again Ralph had a difficult quarter of an hour.

He knew that she trusted him, but was it not simply because she did not know? He sat and pondered the talk he had had with Cromwell and the Archbishop. Neither had expressly said that what was wanted was adverse testimony against the Religious Houses; but that, Ralph knew very well, was what was asked of him. They had talked a great deal about the corruptions that the Visitors would no doubt find, and Cranmer had told a story or two, with an appearance of great distress, of scandalous cases that had come under his own notice. Cromwell too had pointed out that such corruptions did incalculable evil; and that an immoral monk did far more harm in a countryside than his holy brethren could do of good. Both had said a word too about the luxury and riches to be found in the houses of those who professed poverty, and of the injury done to Christ’s holy religion by such insincere pretences.

Ralph knew too, from previous meetings with the other Visitors, the kind of work for which such men would be likely to be selected.

There was Dr. Richard Layton first, whom Ralph was to join in Sussex at the end of September, a priest who had two or three preferments and notoriously neglected them; Ralph had taken a serious dislike to him. He was a coarse man who knew how to cringe effectively; and Ralph had listened to him talking to Cromwell, with some dismay. But he would be to a large extent independent of him, and only in his company at some of the larger houses that needed more than one Visitor. Thomas Legh, too, a young doctor of civil law, was scarcely more attractive. He was a man of an extraordinary arrogance, carrying his head high, and looking about him with insolently drooping eyes. Ralph had been at once amused and angry to see him go out into the street after his interview with Cromwell, where his horse and half-a-dozen footmen awaited him, and to watch him ride off with the airs of a vulgar prince. The Welshman Ap Rice too, and the red-faced bully, Dr. London, were hardly persons whom he desired as associates, and the others were not much better; and Ralph found himself feeling a little thankful that none of these men had been in his house just now, when Cromwell and the Archbishop had called in the former’s carriage, and when Beatrice had met them there.

* * * * *

Ralph had a moment, ten minutes after Beatrice had left, when he was inclined to snatch up his hat and go after Cromwell to tell him to do his own dirty work; but his training had told, and he had laughed at the folly of the thought. Why, of course, the work had to be done! England was rotten with dreams and superstition. Ecclesiasticism had corrupted genuine human life, and national sanity could not be restored except by a violent process. Innocent persons would no doubt suffer--innocent according to conscience, but guilty against the commonwealth. Every great movement towards good was bound to be attended by individual catastrophes; but it was the part of a strong man to carry out principles and despise details.

The work had to be done; it was better then that there should be at least one respectable workman. Of course such a work needed coarse men to carry it out; it was bound to be accompanied by some brutality; and his own presence there might do something to keep the brutality within limits.

* * * * *

And as for Beatrice--well, Beatrice did not yet understand. If she understood all as he did, she would sympathise, for she was strong too. Besides--he had held her in his arms just now, and he knew that love was king.

But he sat for ten minutes more in silence, staring with unseeing eyes at the huddled roofs opposite and the clear sky over them; and the point of the quill in his fingers was split and cracked when Mr. Morris looked in to see if his master wanted anything.