"Well, what of that?"
"You know what is happening in London, do you not? It started before you left. The Popish Plot has now become the main concern of the country, it seems."
"But what could Father Greville—an old man—here in the heart of the country have to do with that?"
"It seems that innocent people are being arrested. It only needs suspicion."
"Arrested," repeated Christobel. "I cannot believe anyone would arrest Father Greville. Who has done this?"
"It is those two strangers at the inn. They were not what they seemed. They are agents of Titus Gates."
"Surely not. There must be a mistake."
"Father Greville is their prisoner now."
"Where?"
"He is in jail at Bridgwater. They say that he will be taken to London."
"It can only be a rumor. You know how these stories start. Doubtless he has been seen with those men ..."
"I wish it were so."
I said: "We saw those men from the inn. Do you remember, Christobel? They were talking to that new man of yours."
"Isaac?" said Kirkwell, and I saw a sudden fear in his eyes.
"They are spies, those men," said Christobel. "Spies for that man Titus Gates. Why should they talk to Isaac?"
"They will be finding out who were Father Greville's friends," said Kirkwell. "They will be asking questions of everyone."
"Do you think they were asking Isaac questions?"
Christobel and Kirkwell were looking at each other in the utmost apprehension.
"Oh, God help us," murmured Kirkwell.
"What will happen to Father Greville?" I asked.
They were both silent.
Gloom had fallen over the house. We were all very frightened. Titus Oates's spies were questioning people. They were going to take Father Greville to London. He was now waiting in the jail at Bridgwater until they were ready. I think we were expecting it when it came.
When we heard them knocking at the iron-studded door which opened into the great hall, it was like the toll of the funeral bell.
I lay on my sofa, my heart hammering.
I heard their voices, loud and hectoring, and Kirkwell's, protesting.
There was silence. Christobel and I stared at each other with wide frightened eyes.
Christobel whispered: "They are with my father. He will do nothing to save himself. I pray to God they do not take Kirkwell."
"How can they ... ?"
"These men do what they will. They twist people's words. But my father will do nothing to save himself."
We sat in silence, waiting. Then we heard them descending the stairs.
They put Sir Harold on a horse and took him away.
There was nothing we could do.
It was with immense relief that we saw that Kirkwell was still with us.
My father came riding over to Featherston Manor. He was clearly worried.
"Is it true?" he demanded. "I heard they have taken Sir Harold to London."
"He is now in the jail at Bridgwater awaiting removal to London," said Kirkwell.
"This is a monstrous thing."
"The Popish Plot is a monstrous plot."
"Surely people are not such fools as to think your father—"
"People do not think. Titus Gates has them on leading strings."
"But Father Greville is an old man. He would not harm a fly. There is no justice."
"None with such as Titus Gates. Nevertheless, I shall go to London. I must do what I can to save our father."
"There is nothing you can do," said my father.
"It is just possible that I may be able to do something."
"It is well to keep away."
"I could not do that."
Christobel said: "If you go, I shall go with you."
"I will come too," I said.
My father looked at me in amazement.
I looked steadily at him and said: "I must be with Christobel and Kirkwell at such a time."
I thought he was going to forbid me to go, but he did not. He seemed rather pleased in a way. He said: "It is a grievous thing that has come upon us. Why does this man do it? It is to call attention to himself, I'll swear. He is the most talked-of man in England. He is given money for his pains."
"Why does not the King see that he is exposed for what he is?" cried Christobel.
"The King is cautious. He never forgets that his father lost not only his kingdom but his head. Our King Charles is determined that shall not happen to him. He knows the people's feeling. It could take little to bring about division in the kingdom such as we knew before. We have rid ourselves of the Puritans. We have had the Restoration of the monarchy and right glad the people were to have it back after years of Puritan rule. But the King is wise. Many times I have heard him say he will not go wandering again. He knows the people listen to Titus Oates. What do you think would happen if the fellow were piit where he deserves to be? Riots, of a surety. It is the warring religions that are at the root of it. The majority of Englishmen and -women are determined never to have a Catholic monarch on the throne again, but the King has no legitimate heir. There is only the Duke of Monmouth, the firmest Protestant of all, and he is only the King's natural son. But the people are afraid of Catholic James, the heir to the throne. There is a protest against him at this very moment."
"And what of our father?" asked Kirk well.
There was silence.
Then Kirkwell went on: "I must be near him. There may be something I can do. There may be someone who could help. Someone in court circles ..."
He was looking at my father, who, after a moment's hesitation, said: "There is little I or anyone can do. I could speak to someone highly placed—Stafford, Arundel, Buckingham, perhaps even the King himself. But, as I say, this is not a matter of reason. The people at this time believe Titus Oates because they want to. They are afraid that when the King dies the Catholic Duke of York will be King. They want to keep the Catholics from the throne of England and they support this tale of Catholic plots."
"You make it sound as though there is little hope."
"Once a man is accused by Titus Oates there is little hope."
"Oh, our poor father. You see, he will do nothing to save himself. So I must do all I can."
"I will come to London with you," said my father. "If it is possible to do anything, that shall be done."
It was agreed that they would go to London, and as I desperately wanted to go with them, my father said that, if my ankle was well enough, I could go.
It was a somber journey.
We had seen Father Greville and Sir Harold leave Bridgwater as traitors, and we all knew that there was but the flimsiest hope of our being able to do anything to save them.
Christobel and I went to Maggie. It was certainly a pleasure to see her again, and for a moment I tried to forget the dismal reason for our coming. Maggie could not hide her pleasure in seeing me, but naturally she deplored the reason which had brought us. Kirkwell stayed at my father's lodgings and it seemed that it would not be long before the fate of Father Greville and Sir Harold would be decided.
Maggie wanted to hear how I was faring at Somerset, and I gave her an account of the Dower House and Mistress Longton; she nodded appreciatively, and talking of it made me stop brooding, if only briefly, on the fate of those poor old men who we now knew had been taken to the Tower and, like all the victims of Titus Oates, were being accused of treason.
Christobel and Kirkwell were seeing some friends they knew in London who they felt might have some influence, and I believed my father was doing all he could.
That left me with Maggie, and she talked to me just as she used to in the past. Alas, on this occasion the talk centered round Titus Oates, but that was because, as I quickly realized, that man seemed to have taken possession of the town and he was the most dominant figure in London.