The Star Chamber, Volume 2 by W. Harrison Ainsworth

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In the course of his progress, he was brought to the Three Cranes in the
Vintry, before which an immense concourse was assembled to witness the
spectacle. Though the exhibition made by the culprit, seated as he was
on a great ragged beast purposely selected for the occasion, was
sufficiently ludicrous and grotesque to excite the merriment of most of
the beholders, who greeted his arrival with shouts of derisive laughter;
still his woe-begone countenance, and miserable plight--for he was
covered with mud from head to foot--moved the compassion of the
good-natured Madame Bonaventure, as she gazed at him from one of the
upper windows of her hostel, and the feeling was increased as the
wretched old man threw a beseeching glance at her. She could stand the
sight no longer, and rushed from the window.

In the same room with her there were four persons, who had been
partaking of a plentiful repast, as was proved by the numerous dishes
and flasks of wine garnishing the table at which they had been seated,
and they, too, as well as the hostess, on hearing the noise outside the
tavern, had rushed to the windows to see what could cause so much
disturbance. As they were all well acquainted with the old usurer and
his mal-practices, the spectacle had a special interest to them as well
as to the hostess, and they were variously affected by it.

The party, we must state, consisted of Master Richard Taverner, as the
quondam apprentice was now styled, and his pretty wife, Gillian, who now
looked prettier than usual in her wedding attire--for the ceremony
uniting them in indissoluble bonds had only just been performed; old
Greenford, the grandsire of the bride; and Master John Wolfe, of the
Bible and Crown in Paul's Churchyard, bookseller, erstwhile Dick's
indulgent master, and now his partner, Master Taverner having very
prudently invested the contents of the silver coffer in the purchase of
a share in his employers business, with the laudable determination of
bestirring himself zealously in it ever after; and, as another
opportunity may not occur for mentioning the circumstance, we will add
that he kept to his resolution, and ultimately rose to high offices in
the city. Dick's appearance had already considerably improved. His
apparel was spruce and neat, but not showy, and well became him; while
his deportment, even under the blissful circumstances in which he was
placed, had a sobriety and decorum about it really surprising, and which
argued well for his future good conduct. He began as he meant to go on;
and it was plain that John Wolfe's advice had produced a salutary effect
upon him. Old Greenford looked the picture of happiness.

With Master Richard's predilections for the Three Cranes we are well
acquainted, and it will not, therefore, appear unnatural that he should
choose this, his favourite tavern, for his wedding-dinner. Madame
Bonaventure was delighted with the bride, and brought the blushes to her
fair cheeks by the warmth of her praises of her beauty; while she could
not sufficiently congratulate the bridegroom on his good luck in
obtaining such a treasure. The best in the house was set before
them--both viands and wine--and ample justice was done by all to the
good cheer. Cyprien, as usual, brought in the dishes, and filled the
flagons with the rare Bordeaux he had been directed by his mistress to
introduce; but Madame Bonaventure personally superintended the repast,
carving the meats, selecting the most delicate bits for Gillian's
especial consumption, and seasoning them yet more agreeably with her
lively sallies.

The dinner had come to a close, and they were just drinking the health
of the bonny and blushing bride, when the clamour on the quay proclaimed
the old usurer's arrival. As he was the furthest person from her
thoughts, and as she had not heard of the day appointed for his
punishment, Madame Bonaventure was totally unprepared for the spectacle
offered to her when she reached the window; and her retreat from it, as
we have related, was almost immediate.

To his shame be it spoken, Master Richard Taverner was greatly
entertained by the doleful appear of his old enemy, and could not help
exulting over his downfall and distress; but he was quickly checked by
his bride, who shared in the hostess's gentler and more compassionate
feelings. So much, indeed, was the gentle Gillian touched by the
delinquent's supplicating looks, that she yielded to the impulse that
prompted her to afford him some solace, and snatching up a flask of wine
and a flagon from the table, she rushed out of the room, followed by her
husband, who vainly endeavoured to stay her.

In a moment Gillian was out upon the quay; and the mounted guard
stationed round the prisoner, divining her purpose, kindly drew aside to
let her pass. Filling the goblet, she handed it to the old man, who
eagerly drained it, and breathed a blessing on her as he returned it.
Some of the bystanders said the blessing would turn to a curse--but it
was not so; and so well pleased was Dick with what his good wife had
done, that he clasped her to his heart before all the crowd.

This incident was so far of service to the prisoner, that it saved him
from further indignity at the moment. The mob ceased to jeer him, or to
hurl mud and missiles at him, and listened in silence to the public
crier as he read aloud his sentence. This done, the poor wretch and his
escort moved away to the Catherine Wheel, in the Steelyard, where a
less kindly reception awaited him.

In taking leave, as we must now do, of Master Richard Taverner and his
pretty wife, it gives us pleasure to say that they were as happy in
their wedded state as loving couples necessarily must be. We may add
that they lived long, and were blessed with numerous issue--so noumerous
indeed, that, as we have before intimated, Dick had to work hard all the
rest of his days.

In bidding adieu, also, to Madame Bonaventure, which we do with regret,
we have merely to state that she did not reign much longer over the
destinies of the Three Cranes, but resigned in favour of Cyprien, who,
as Monsieur Latour, was long and favourably known as the jovial and
liberal host of that renowned tavern. Various reasons were assigned for
Madame Bonaventure's retirement; but the truth was, that having made
money enough, she began to find the banks of the Thames too damp and
foggy for her, especially during the winter months; so the next time the
skipper entered the river, having previously made her arrangements, she
embarked on board his vessel, and returned to the sunny shores of the
Garonne.

Mompesson's sentence, though far more severe and opprobrious than that
of the elder extortioner, was thought too lenient, and most persons were
of opinion that, considering the enormity of his offences, his life
ought not to be spared. But they judged unadvisedly. Death by the axe,
or even by the rope, would have been infinitely preferred by the
criminal himself, to the lingering agonies he was destined to endure.
Moreover, there was retributive justice in the sentence, that doomed him
to undergo tortures similar to those he had so often inflicted on
others.

The pillory was erected at Charing Cross. A numerous escort was required
to protect him from the fury of the mob, who would otherwise have torn
him in pieces; but, though shielded in some degree from their active
vengeance, he could not shut his ears to their yells and execrations.
Infuriated thousands were collected in the open space around the
pillory, eager to glut their eyes upon the savage spectacle; and the
shout they set up on his appearance was so terrific, that even the
prisoner, undaunted as he had hitherto shown himself, was shaken by it,
and lost his firmness, though he recovered it in some degree as he
mounted the huge wooden machine, conspicuous at a distance above the
heads of the raging multitude. On the boards on which he had to stand,
there was another person besides the tormentor,--and the sight of him
evidently occasioned the criminal great disquietude. This person was
attired in black, with a broad-leaved hat pulled down over his brows.

"What doth this fellow here?" demanded Mompesson. "You do not need an
assistant."

"I know not that," replied the tormentor,--a big, brawny fellow,
habited in a leathern jerkin, with his arms bared to the
shoulder,--taking up his hammer and selecting a couple of sharp-pointed
nails; "but in any case he has an order from the Council of the
Star-Chamber to stand here. And now, prisoner," he continued roughly and
authoritatively,--"place your head in this hole, and your hands here."

Since resistance would have been vain, Mompesson did as he was bidden. A
heavy beam descended over his neck and wrists, and fastened him down
immovably; while, amid the exulting shouts of the spectators, his ears
were nailed to the wood. During one entire hour the ponderous machine
slowly revolved, so as to exhibit him to all the assemblage; and at the
end of that time the yet more barbarous part of the sentence, for which
the ferocious mob had been impatiently waiting, was carried out. The
keen knife and the branding-iron were called into play, and in the
bleeding and mutilated object before them, now stamped with indelible
infamy, none could have recognised the once haughty and handsome Sir
Giles Mompesson.

A third person, we have said, stood upon the pillory. He took no part in
aiding the tormentor in his task; but he watched all that was done with
atrocious satisfaction. Not a groan--not the quivering of a muscle
escaped him. He felt the edge of the knife to make sure it was sharp
enough for the purpose, and saw that the iron was sufficiently heated to
burn the characters of shame deeply in. When all was accomplished, he
seized Mompesson's arm, and, in a voice that seemed scarcely human,
cried,--"Now, I have paid thee back in part for the injuries thou hast
done me. Thou wilt never mock me more!"

"In part!" groaned Mompesson. "Is not thy vengeance fully satiated? What
more wouldst thou have?"

"What more?" echoed the other, with the laugh of a demon,--"for every
day of anguish thou gavest my brother in his dungeon in the Fleet I
would have a month--a year, I would not have thee perish too soon, and
therefore thou shalt be better cared for than he was. But thou shalt
never escape--never! and at the last I will be by thy side."

It would almost seem as if that moment were come, for, as the words were
uttered, Mompesson fainted from loss of blood and intensity of pain, and
in this state he was placed upon a hurdle tied to a horse's heels, and
conveyed back to the Fleet.

As threatened, he was doomed to long and solitary imprisonment, and the
only person, beside the jailer, admitted to his cell, was his
unrelenting foe. A steel mirror was hung up in his dungeon, so that he
might see to what extent his features had been disfigured.

In this way three years rolled by--years of uninterrupted happiness to
Sir Jocelyn and Lady Mounchensey, as well as to Master Richard Taverner
and his dame; but of increasing gloom to the captive in his solitary
cell in the Fleet. Of late, he had become so fierce and unmanageable
that he had to be chained to the wall. He sprang at his jailer and tried
to strangle him, and gnashed his teeth, and shook his fists in impotent
rage at Osmond Mounchensey. But again his mood changed, and he would
supplicate for mercy, crawling on the floor, and trying to kiss the feet
of his enemy, who spurned him from him. Then he fell sick, and refused
his food; and, as the sole means of preserving his life, he was removed
to an airier chamber. But as it speedily appeared, this was only a
device to enable him to escape from prison,--and it proved successful.
He was thought to be so ill that the jailer, fancying him incapable of
moving, became negligent, and when Osmond Mounchensey next appeared, the
prisoner had flown. How he had effected his escape no one could at first
explain; but it appeared, on inquiry, that he had been assisted by two
of his old myrmidons, Captain Bludder and Staring Hugh, both of whom
were prisoners at the time in the Fleet.

Osmond's rage knew no bounds. He vowed never to rest till he had traced
out the fugitive, and brought him back.

But he experienced more difficulty in the quest than he anticipated. No
one was better acquainted with the obscure quarters and hiding-places of
London than he; but in none of these retreats could he discover the
object of his search. The potentates of Whitefriars and the Mint would
not have dared to harbour such an offender as Mompesson, and would have
given him up at once if he had sought refuge in their territories. But
Osmond satisfied himself, by a perquisition of every house in those
sanctuaries, that he was not there. Nor had any one been seen like him.
The asylum for "masterless men," near Smart's Quay, and all the other
dens for thieves and criminals hiding from justice, in and about the
metropolis, were searched, but with the like ill result. Hitherto,
Mompesson had contrived entirely to baffle the vigilance of his foe.

At last, Osmond applied to Luke Hatton, thinking it possible his cunning
might suggest some plan for the capture of the fugitive. After listening
with the greatest attention to all related to him, the apothecary
pondered for awhile, and then said--"It is plain he has trusted no one
with his retreat, but I think I can find him. Come to me on the third
night from this, and you shall hear further. Meantime, you need not
relax your own search, though, if it be as I suspect, failure is sure to
attend you."

Obliged to be satisfied with this promise, Osmond departed. On the
third night, at a late hour, he returned. He did not, however, find Luke
Hatton. The apothecary, it appeared, had been absent from home during
the last three days, and the old woman who attended upon him was full of
uneasiness on his account. Her master, she said, had left a letter on
his table, and on investigation it proved to be for Osmond. In it the
writer directed him, in the event of his non-return before the time
appointed, to repair without delay, well armed, to the vaults beneath
Mompesson's old habitation near the Fleet, and to make strict search for
him throughout them. He also acquainted him with a secret entrance into
the house, contrived in the walls beneath the lofty north-eastern
turret. On reading this letter, Osmond at once understood his ally's
plan, together with its danger, and felt that, as he had not returned,
he had, in all probability, fallen a victim to his rashness. Telling the
old woman whither he was going, and that inquiries might be made there
for him on the morrow, if he did not re-appear with her master, he set
out at once for the place indicated.

We shall, however, precede him.

Ever since Mompesson had been taken to the Fleet, his habitation had
been deserted. The place was cursed. So much odium attached to it,--so
many fearful tales were told of it,--that no one would dwell there. At
the time of its owner's committal, it was stripped of all its contents,
and nothing was left but bare walls and uncovered floors. Even these,
from neglect and desertion, had become dilapidated, and a drearier and
more desolate place could not be imagined. Strict search had been made
by the officers of the Star-Chamber for concealed treasure, but little
was found, the bulk having been carried off, as before related, by the
myrmidons. Nevertheless, it was supposed there were other secret hoards,
if a clue to them could only be found. Mompesson had been interrogated
on the subject; but he only made answers calculated to excite the
cupidity of his hearers without satisfying them, and they fancied he was
deceiving them.

On the night in question, to all outward appearance, the house was
sombre and deserted as usual, and the city watch who passed it at
midnight, and paused before its rusty gates and its nailed-up door,
fancied all was secure. The moon was at the full, shining brightly on
the sombre stone walls of the mansion,--on its windows, and on the lofty
corner turret, whence Mompesson used so often to reconnoitre the
captives in the opposite prison; and, as certain of the guard looked up
at the turret, they laughed at its present emptiness. Yet they little
dreamed who was there at the time, regarding them from the narrow
loop-hole. After the pause of a few minutes they moved on, and the gleam
of their halberts was presently seen, as they crossed Fleet Bridge, and
marched towards Ludgate.

About two hours afterwards the watch re-appeared, and, while again
passing the house, the attention of their leader was attracted by an
unusual appearance in the masonry near the north-east angle, above which
the tall turret was situated. On closer examination, the irregularity in
the walls was found to be produced by a small secret door, which was
left partially open, as if it had been recently used. The suspicions of
the party being aroused by this singular circumstance (none of them
having been aware of the existence of such a door), they at once entered
the house, resolved to make strict search throughout it. In the first
instance, they scaled the turret, with which the secret outlet
communicated by a narrow winding staircase; and then, proceeding to the
interior of the habitation, pursued their investigations for some time
without success. Indeed, they were just about to depart, when a sound
resembling a deep groan seemed to arise from the cellars which they had
not visited. Hearing this, they immediately rushed down, and made an
extraordinary discovery.

To explain this, however, we must go back to the time when they first
passed the house. We then mentioned that there was a person in the
turret watching their movements. As they disappeared in the direction of
Ludgate, this individual quitted his post of observation, and,
descending the spiral staircase, threaded a long passage in the
darkness, like one familiar with the place, until he arrived at a
particular chamber, which he entered; and, without pausing, proceeded to
a little cabinet beyond it. The moonlight streaming through a grated
window, showed that this cabinet had been completely dismantled; stones
had been removed from the walls; and several of the boards composing the
floor, had been torn up and never replaced. The intruder did not pass
beyond the door, but, after gazing for a few minutes at the scene of
ruin, uttered an ejaculation of rage, and retired.

His steps might have been next heard descending the great stone
staircase. He paused not a moment within the entrance-hall, but made his
way along a side passage on the left, and down another flight of steps,
till he reached a subterranean chamber. Here all would have been
profound obscurity, had it not been for a lamp set on the ground, which
imperfectly illumined the place.

As the man took up the lamp and trimmed it, the light fell strongly upon
his features, and revealed all their hideousness. No visage, except that
of Osmond Mounchensey, could be more appalling than this person's, and
the mutilation was in both cases the same. It is needless to say it was
Mompesson. His habiliments were sordid; and his beard and hair, grizzled
by suffering rather than age, were wild and disordered. But he was armed
both with sword and dagger; and his limbs looked muscular and active as
ever.

Casting a glance towards the entrance of the vault as if to make quite
sure he was not observed--though he entertained little anxiety on that
score--Mompesson stepped towards a particular part of the wall, and
touching a spring, a secret door (not to be detected within the masonry
except on minute examination) flew open, and disclosed another and
smaller vault.

Here, it was at once evident, was concealed the treasure that had
escaped the clutches of the myrmidons and the officers of the
Star-Chamber. There was a large open chest at the further end, full of
corpulent money-bags, any one of which would have gladdened the heart of
a miser. On this chest Mompesson's gaze was so greedily fixed that he
did not notice the body of a man lying directly in his path, and
well-nigh stumbled over it. Uttering a bitter imprecation, he held down
the lamp, and beheld the countenance of Luke Hatton, now rigid in death,
but with the sardonic grin it had worn throughout life still impressed
upon it. There was a deep gash in the breast of the dead man, and blood
upon the floor.

"Accursed spy and traitor," cried Mompesson, as he took hold of the body
by the heels and dragged it to one corner--"thou wilt never betray me
more. What brought thee here I know not, unless it were to meet the
death thou hast merited at my hands. Would a like chance might bring
Osmond Mounchensey here--and alone--I would desire nothing more."

"Be thy wish gratified then!" cried a voice, which Mompesson could not
mistake.

Looking up, he beheld his enemy.

In an instant his hand was upon his sword, and the blade gleamed in the
lamp-light. Osmond had likewise plucked forth his rapier, and held a
poignard in his left hand. For a few moments they gazed at each other
with terrible looks, their breasts animated with an intensity of hatred
which only mortal foes, met under such circumstances, can feel. So
fiercely bloodthirsty were their looks that their disfigured features
seemed to have lost all traces of humanity.

"Yield thee, murtherous villain," cried Osmond at length. "I will drag
thee to the hangman."

"Call in thy fellows, and thou shalt see whether I will yield," rejoined
Mompesson, with a laugh of defiance.

"I have none at my back," rejoined Osmond; "I will force thee to follow
me alone!"

"Thou _art_ alone then!" roared Mompesson; "that is all I desired!"

And, without a word more, he commenced the attack. During the brief
colloquy just detailed, he had noticed that his enemy was doubly armed,
and before beginning the conflict he drew his own dagger, so that there
was no greater advantage on one side than the other.

Both were admirable swordsmen, and in strength they were nearly
matched; but the combat was conducted with a ferocity that almost set
skill at defiance.

After the exchange of a few desperate passes, they closed; and in the
terrific struggle that ensued the lamp was extinguished.

The profound darkness prevented them from seeing the frightful wounds
they inflicted on each other; but both knew they were severely hurt,
though each hoped he was not so much injured as his adversary.

Exhausted, at length, by loss of blood, and ready to drop, they released
each other by mutual consent; and, after making a few more feeble and
ineffectual thrusts, leaned upon their swords for support.

"Wilt thou yield now, villain?" demanded Osmond, in a hoarse voice. "Or
must I finish thee outright?"

"Finish me!" echoed Mompesson, in tones equally hoarse. "Strike another
blow against me if thou canst. But I well know thou art sped. When I
have recovered breath, I will make short work with thee."

"About it quickly, then," rejoined Osmond: "I am ready for thee. But thy
boast was idle. Thou art bleeding to death. Twice has my poignard
pierced thy breast."

"Thou wilt never use thy poignard again. Thy left arm is disabled,"
rejoined Mompesson--"besides, my sword passed through thee almost to the
hilt."

"It glanced from my doublet: I scarcely felt the scratch."

"'Twas a scratch deep enough to let thy life-blood out. But since thou
hast more to be spilt, have at thee again!"

"Where art thou?" cried Osmond, staggering towards him.

"Here!" rejoined Mompesson, avoiding the thrust made at him, and dealing
one in return that stretched his adversary lifeless at his feet.

In the exultation of the moment, he forgot his own desperate condition,
and, with a fierce, triumphant laugh, set his foot upon the body of his
prostrate foe.

But a mortal faintness seized him. He essayed to quit the vault--but it
was too late. His strength was utterly gone. With an irrepressible
groan, he fell to the ground, close beside his enemy.

There they lay, the dying and the dead, for more than an hour. At the
end of that time, they were discovered by the watch.

Mompesson yet breathed; and as the torch-light fell upon the scene of
horror, he slightly raised his head, and pointing to his slaughtered
adversary, with a ghastly smile, expired.

THE END.

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