The Star-Chamber: An Historical Romance, Volume 1, William Harrison Ainsworth [top 5 books to read .TXT] 📗

When Jocelyn Mounchensey called for his reckoning, Madame Bonaventure took him aside, showing, by her looks, that she had something important to communicate to him, and began by telling him he was heartily welcome to all he had partaken of at her ordinary, adding that she considered herself very greatly his debtor for the gallantry and zeal he had displayed in her behalf.

"Not that I was in any real peril, my fair young Sir," she continued, "though I feigned to be so, for I have powerful protectors, as you perceive; and indeed this was all a preconcerted scheme between my Lord Roos and his noble friends to turn the tables on the two extortioners. But that does not lessen my gratitude to you; and I shall try to prove it. You are in more danger than, perchance, you wot of; and I feel quite sure Sir Giles means to carry his threat into execution, and to cause your arrest."

Seeing him smile disdainfully, as if he had no apprehensions, she added, somewhat quickly—"What will your bravery avail against so many, mon beau gentilhomme? Mon Dieu! nothing. No! no! I must get you assistance. Luckily I have some friends at hand, the 'prentices—grands et forts gaillards, avec des estocs;—Cyprien has told me they are here. Most certainly they will take your part. So, Sir Giles shall not carry you off, after all."

Jocelyn's lips again curled with the same disdainful smile as before.

"Ah I vous etes trop temeraire!" Madame Bonaventure cried, tapping his arm. "Sit down here for awhile. I will give you the signal when you may depart with safety. Do not attempt to stir till then. You understand?"

Jocelyn did not understand very clearly; but without making any observation to the contrary, he took the seat pointed out to him. The position was well-chosen, inasmuch as it enabled him to command the movements of the foe, and offered him a retreat through a side-door, close at hand; though he was naturally quite ignorant whither the outlet might conduct him.

While this was passing, Sir Giles was engaged in giving directions respecting his partner, whose inebriate condition greatly scandalized him; and it was in pursuance of his orders that Sir Francis was transported to the wharf where the misadventure before related befel him. Never for a moment did Sir Giles' watchful eye quit Jocelyn, upon whom he was ready to pounce like a tiger, if the young man made any movement to depart; and he only waited till the tavern should be clear of company to effect the seizure.

Meanwhile another person approached the young man. This was the friendly stranger in the furred gown and flat cap, who had sat next him at dinner, and who, it appeared, was not willing to abandon him in his difficulties. Addressing him with much kindness, the worthy personage informed him that he was a bookseller, named John Wolfe, and carried on business at the sign of the Bible and Crown in Paul's Churchyard, where he should be glad to see the young man, whenever he was free to call upon him.

"But I cannot disguise from you, Master Jocelyn Mounchensey—for your dispute with Sir Francis Mitchell has acquainted me with your name," John Wolfe said—"that your rashness has placed you in imminent peril; so that there is but little chance for the present of my showing you the hospitality and kindness I desire. Sir Giles seems to hover over you as a rapacious vulture might do before making his swoop. Heaven shield you from his talons! And now, my good young Sir, accept one piece of caution from me, which my years and kindly feelings towards you entitle me to make. An you 'scape this danger, as I trust you may, let it be a lesson to you to put a guard upon your tongue, and not suffer it to out-run your judgment. You are much too rash and impetuous, and by your folly (nay, do not quarrel with me, my young friend—I can give no milder appellation to your conduct) have placed yourself in the power of your enemies. Not only have you provoked Sir Francis Mitchell, whose malice is more easily aroused than appeased, but you have defied Sir Giles Mompesson, who is equally implacable in his enmities; and as if two such enemies were not enough, you must needs make a third, yet more dangerous than either."

"How so, good Master Wolfe?" Jocelyn cried. "To whom do you refer?"

"To whom should I refer, Master Jocelyn," Wolfe rejoined, "but to my lord of Buckingham, whom you wantonly insulted? For the latter indiscretion there can be no excuse, whatever there may be for the former; and it was simple madness to affront a nobleman of his exalted rank, second only in authority to the King himself."

"But how have I offended the Marquis?" demanded Jocelyn, surprised.

"Is it possible you can have spoken at random, and without knowledge of the force of your own words?" John Wolfe rejoined, looking hard at him. "It may be so, for you are plainly ignorant of the world. Well, then," he added, lowering his tone, "when you said that these two abominable extortioners were the creatures of some great man, who glozed over their villainous practices to the King, and gave a better account of them than they deserve, you were nearer the truth than you imagined; but it could hardly be agreeable to the Marquis to be told this to his face, since it is notorious to all (except to yourself) that he is the man."

"Heavens!" exclaimed Jocelyn, "I now see the error I have committed."

"A grave error indeed," rejoined Wolfe, shaking his head, "and most difficult to be repaired—for the plea of ignorance, though it may suffice with me, will scarcely avail you with the Marquis. Indeed, it can never be urged, since he disowns any connection with these men; and it is suspected that his half-brother, Sir Edward Villiers, goes between them in all their secret transactions. Of this, however, I know nothing personally, and only tell you what I have heard. But if it were not almost treasonable to say it, I might add, that his Majesty is far too careless of the means whereby his exchequer is enriched, and his favourites gratified; and, at all events, suffers himself to be too easily imposed upon. Hence all these patents and monopolies under which we groan. The favourites must have money; and as the King has little to give them, they raise as much as they please on the credit of his name. Thus everything is sold; places, posts, titles, all have their price—bribery and corruption reign everywhere. The lord-keeper pays a pension to the Marquis—so doth the attorney-general—and simony is openly practised; for