Sir Ludar | Page 9

so disturbed. But on
going nearer I perceived the reason. For there, usually hidden to view,
was now exposed a cunning trap-door, opened by a hinge and sunken

ring in the boards.
Now, having found so much, it would have been out of all nature had I
gone back to my work and thought no more of the matter; besides, the
strange noise still continued. I lifted the door cautiously about an inch
and peeped below.
The cellar--for cellar it was--was bright with the light of a lamp, by
which I could plainly discern my master (or, as I believed for a moment,
my master's ghost), with coat off, and sweating with the heat of the
place, working like any journeyman at a printing-press, on which lay a
forme of type, which he inked with his balls and struck off in print with
the noises which had perplexed me above.
Then I pulled up the trap and called out:
"Master Walgrave, spare yourself so much toil, I pray you, and let me
help you."
He turned round, with a face the colour of dough, like a man who had
just received an arrow in his vitals; then he rushed as if to put out the
lamp. But his presence of mind returned before he got that length, and
he demanded of me angrily enough how I dared to play the spy on him
and come where I was not bidden.
I replied I was no spy, and, as for coming where I was not bidden, had I
known who it was down there I would have stayed where I was. But,
being there, might I help him, I asked, at the work? He answered
angrily, "No," and bade me begone. Whereupon I returned to my case,
and waited till he should come up to the earth's surface.
Meanwhile I recalled not a few rumours I had heard about Master
Walgrave. One was, that, though he was only licenced to have one
press, and seemed to have no more, yet (it was whispered of some), he
had another in hiding, which now I found to be true. Moreover, as I was
in Stationers' Hall one day, a month or more ago, to pay the fee for a
register, I overheard Timothy Ryder the beadle and another talking
about my master.

"He prints more than he registers," said one.
"And he should have his ears cropped for his pains," said Timothy, "did
I but know where to have him."
Then seeing that I waited (for they had forgot to give me my
acquittance), they dropped talking suddenly.
By all this I guessed that my master was no favourite with them of
Stationers' Hall, and, moreover, that he was addicted to disorderly
practices contrary to the Acts binding printers. But so well did he keep
his own secret, and so busy was I with my own affairs, that it all passed
from my mind, and now only returned when I saw that what had been
said of him was true.
He came up from below presently, and I was ready for him. "Master,"
said I, "I have displeased you against my will, and I have seen what you
would fain have kept a secret. You shall find it remains safe with me,
for I am your 'prentice and bound to you. Therefore cheer up."
He brightened at this.
"You are a good lad," said he. "It concerns no one what I do below. 'Tis
an amusement of my own, no more."
As he stood there, pale and anxious, with weary eyes, it seemed to me
an amusement which yielded him but little sport. However, I did not
dispute the matter, and we said no more about it.
But after that day I observed that my master, although he seemed to
like me less, was more sparing of his bitter words than heretofore.
Whereby I guessed plainly enough that the amusement he spoke of,
were it to come to the ears of the Master and Wardens of the Company,
would get him into no little trouble.
Mistress Walgrave, his wife, as I said, was ever my good friend. She
was no common woman, and how those two made a match of it always
puzzled me. Before she came to England (so she had told me often),

she lived at Rochelle, in France, where her first husband was a
merchant in lace. Then, when he died of the plague ten years ago, she
came with her two young children (the elder being but five years), to
her mother's home in Kent, where Robert Walgrave, being on a visit to
Canterbury, met her, and offered her marriage. And in truth she had
been the brightness of his house ever since, and her two French
children, Jeannette and Prosper, now