“That is his prayer; that is the prayer of every one on his side,” Philip replied. “Beseech the Lord, Henrietta, that the wicked may be confounded, and that the kingdom may have peace.”
“But how shall we learn from day to day,” asked Henrietta, “how the trial proceeds? You say it may be many days. Cannot a messenger bring us tidings? And how often?”
Philip smiled and told her that there would be no part of the country,—no village, however remote, to which the news of each day’s proceedings would not spread as fast as man and horse could carry the tidings. He reminded her of the great number of poor men who were in prison for the same cause, besides the richer citizens whose estates were threatened for their opposition to the ship-money. Among others, the owners of the new properties in the Fens were almost to a man against the King’s demands: and they had swift messengers ready to pass to and fro day and night.
Dame Cromwell, overhearing this, said that the swiftest messengers of all were engaged. Pigeons abounded among the granaries all along the Ouse; and numbers of them had been carried to London, after having been trained for weeks past. She added that no household was more sure of daily tidings than Sir Oliver’s. If Henrietta did not know why, she would surely and speedily learn.
Henrietta so well knew why, that she was glad, when left alone with the old lady, to find the discourse turn on other subjects.
The old lady stood hearkening till her son, and the crowd which followed him, had left the street. Then she said:
“My son will not permit himself to be called Lord of the Fens; but it is not for him to choose how men shall consider him, any more than what the Lord shall appoint him to do.”
“Is this recovery of the Fens his work then?” Henrietta asked.
“Not more than it is Sir Oliver’s, and many another man’s. The adventurers as a body, with the Earl of Bedford at their head, have, and deserve to have, the credit of reclaiming the land. My son has his share of that honour; but it is for a more perilous work that the country—his own eastern country—gives him that title. Have you not heard of it, my dear?”
“I heard of some trouble, as one hears of trouble on every hand,” said Henrietta, sighing.
“Trouble everywhere from wickedness in high places,” the dame observed. “The adventurers have spent out of their fortunes more money than you would believe;—more money than some of them could have raised but for the prospect of profitable estates which should pay for everything. Among them they were to possess, according to their Charter, ninety-five thousand acres of the new land; and, now that their money is spent, and they should be entering into possession, the King . . . .”
Henrietta turned away her head impatiently, and her hostess stopped short.
“Pardon me!” said Henrietta. “I was dismayed for the moment,—dismayed that, whatever happens, men’s minds take hold of it, to turn it to complaint against the King.”
“Let the King keep his royal word, my young cousin, and men’s complaints would be as the idle wind. But with the adventurers in the Levels he has broken faith by so heavily taxing their estates that, if he carries his measures against them, many of them will be ruined men. While the dispute lasts, due care of the new works is neglected; and if it be not speedily settled, the waters will encroach again; and the fair fields which you will see to-morrow will be mere swamp, more muddy and unwholesome than before.”
“It will be only like the rest of the country,” sighed Henrietta. “The whole kingdom seems to be in the way to become—”
“To become what?” the dame inquired, with evident curiosity.
“No place for dutiful men to live in,” Henrietta replied.
“Too true!” the dame agreed. “Dutiful men and women are making up their minds to suffer and die, because of the wickedness in high places: but good citizens will struggle manfully for the right. My son has the whole eastern country with him in this matter of the Levels; and the cause is so clear, and the people are so resolved that a handful of courtiers shall not ruin such a work, that they will sustain my son against all trespassers, even if the King himself be one. It would be well that the King should hear whom they call the Lord of the Fens.”
Henrietta trusted that the King would hear at the same time that Cousin Oliver refused the title.
The old lady perceived that the subject was in some way unwelcome, and from a sense of hospitality she dropped it. In the course of the evening, however, it became clear that no topic could interest her long which did not lead round to her son Oliver. When Henrietta spoke of her father’s belief that his cousin Oliver would be a great man in the country, as he already was in the eyes of the family, the Puritan mother’s godly jealousy was aroused by the awakening of old associations. Her mind was carried back to the days when the cousins were boys and under her rule. She observed, with some sternness—
“I do not know why Oliver’s friends beset him with flatteries. I am sure he required the rod as much as any of his six sisters. There was no end to my trouble with him.”
“And now see your reward!” Henrietta observed. “I have heard my father say how noble and brave a nature was always struggling under—”
“Under what?” sharply asked the dame.
“Under what appeared to require the rod. Nay, aunt Cromwell, I refer only to what you yourself have just said. No one honours his standing now more than my father.”
“Of course; all the world honours it,” replied the dame; “all whose respect is true honour. As for the King and the Court, how should they know how to honour a God-fearing man and a soldier of liberty! Ah! if such a man as Oliver could be king—”
“Such as Cousin Oliver be king!” exclaimed Henrietta, amused.
“Yes, my young cousin. If worldlings and perjured Papists could give place, but for five