The House of Arden by E. Nesbit

Author:E. Nesbit [Nesbit, E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Brothers and sisters -- Juvenile fiction, Treasure troves -- Juvenile fiction, Magic -- Juvenile fiction, Time travel -- Juvenile fiction, Great Britain -- History -- Edward VII, 1901-1910 -- Juvenile fiction
Publisher: Standard Ebooks
Published: 2020-12-15T21:45:06+00:00

“ ’Tis not a merry song, cousin,” said Cousin Richard, “nor a safe one. ’Tis best not to sing of treason.”

“But it didn’t come off, you know, and he’s always burnt in the end,” said Elfrida.

“Are there more verses?” Cousin Dick asked.

“No.”

“I wonder what treason the ballad deals with?” said the boy.

“Don’t you know?” It was then that Elfrida made the mistake of showing off her historical knowledge. “I know. And I know some of the names of the conspirators, too, and who they wanted to kill, and everything.”

“Tell me,” said Cousin Richard idly.

“The King hadn’t been fair to the Catholics, you know,” said Elfrida, full of importance, “so a lot of them decided to kill him and the Houses of Parliament. They made a plot—there were a whole lot of them in it. They said Lord Arden was, but he wasn’t, and some of them were to pretend to be hunting, and to seize the Princess Elizabeth and proclaim her Queen, and the rest were to blow the Houses of Parliament up when the King went to open them.”

“I never heard this tale from my tutor,” said Cousin Richard laughing. “Proceed, cousin.”

“Well, Mr. Piercy took a house next the Parliament House, and they dug a secret passage to the vaults under the Parliament Houses; and they put three dozen casks of gunpowder there and covered them with faggots. And they would have been all blown up, only Mr. Tresham wrote to his relation, Lord Monteagle, that they were going to blow up the King and—”

“What King?” said Cousin Richard.

“King James the First,” said Elfrida. “Why—what—” for Cousin Richard had sprung to his feet, and old Parrot-nose had Elfrida by the wrist.

He sat down on the seat and drew her gently till she stood in front of him—gently, but it was like the hand of iron in the velvet glove (of which, no doubt, you have often read).

“Now, Mistress Arden,” he said softly, “tell me over again this romance that you tell your cousin.”

Elfrida told it.

“And where did you hear this pretty story?” he asked.

“Where are we now?” gasped Elfrida, who was beginning to understand.

“Here in the garden—where else?” said Cousin Richard, who seemed to understand nothing of the matter.

“Here—in my custody,” said the tutor, who thought he understood everything. “Now tell me all—every name, every particular—or it will be the worse for thee and thy father.”

“Come, sir,” said Cousin Richard, “you frighten my cousin. It is but a tale she told. She is always merry, and full of many inventions.”

“It is a tale she shall tell again before those of higher power than I,” said the tutor, in a thoroughly disagreeable way, and his hand tightened on Elfrida’s wrist.

“But—but—it’s history,” cried Elfrida, in despair. “It’s in all the books.”

“Which books?” he asked keenly.

“I don’t know—all of them,” she sullenly answered; sullenly, because she now really did understand just the sort of adventure in which her unusual knowledge of history, and, to do her justice, her almost equally unusual desire to show off, had landed her.

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