CHAPTER TWO.
SOMEBODY'S CHILD.
"`Now God, that is of mightes most, Grant him grace of the Holy Ghost His heritage to win: And Mary moder of mercy fre Save our King and his meynie Fro' sorrow and shame and sin.'"
The song was trilled in a pleasant voice by an old lady who sat spinningin an upper chamber of Langley Palace. She paused a moment in her work,and then took up again the latter half of the strain.
"`And Mary moder of mercy fre'--Called any yonder?"
"May I come in, Dame Agnes?" said a child's voice at the door.
The old lady rose hastily, laid down her distaff, and opening the door,courtesied low to the little girl of ten years old who stood outside.
"Enter freely, most gracious Lady! Wherefore abide without?"
It was a pretty vision which entered. Not that there was any specialbeauty in the child herself, for in that respect she was merely on thepretty side of ordinary. She was tall for her age--as tall as Maude,though she was two years younger. Her complexion was very fair, herhair light with a golden tinge, and her eyes of a peculiar shade ofblue, bright, yet deep--the shade known as blue eyes in Spain, butrarely seen in England. But her costume was a study for a painter.Little girls dressed like women in the fourteenth century; and thischild wore a blue silk tunic embroidered with silver harebells, over abrown velvet skirt spangled with rings of gold. Her hair was put up ina net of golden tissue, ornamented with pearls. The dress was cutsquare at the neck; she wore a pearl necklace, and a girdle of turquoiseand pearls. Two rows of pearls and turquoise finished the sleeves atthe wrist; they were of brown velvet, like the skirt. This finery wasevidently nothing new to the little wearer. She came into the room andflung herself carelessly down on a small stool, close to the chair whereDame Agnes had been sitting--to the unfeigned horror of that courtlyperson.
"Lady, Lady! Not on a stool, for love of the blessed Mary!"
And drawing forward an immense old arm-chair, Dame Agnes motioned thechild to take it.
"Remember, pray you, that you be a Prince's daughter!" [See Note 1.]
The child rose with some reluctance, and climbed into the enormouschair, in which she seemed almost lost.
"Prithee, Dame Agnes, is it because I be a Prince's daughter that I mustneeds be let from sitting whither I would?"
"There is meetness in all things," said the old lady, picking up herdistaff.
"And what meetness is in setting the like of me in a chair that wouldwell hold Charlemagne and his twelve Peers?" demanded the little girl,laughing.
"The twelve Peers of Charlemagne, such saved as were Princes, were notthe like of _you_, Lady Custance," said Dame Agnes, almost severely.
"Ah me!" and Constance gaped (or, as she would herself have said,"goxide.") "I would I were a woodman's daughter."
Dame Agnes de La Marche, [see Note 2], whose whole existence had beenspent in the scented atmosphere of Court life, stared at the child invoiceless amazement.
"I would so, Dame. I might sit then of the rushes, let be the stools,or in a fieldy nook amid the wild flowers. And Dona Juana would not beever laying siege to me--with `Dona Constanca, you will soil yourrobes!'--or, `Dona Constanca, you will rend your lace!'--or, `DonaConstanca, you will dirty your fingers!' Where is the good of beingrich and well-born, if I must needs sit under a cloth of estate [acanopy] all the days of my life, and dare not so much as to lift a pinfrom the floor, lest I dirty my puissant and royal fingers? I wouldliefer have a blacksmith to my grandsire than a King."
"Lady Custance! With which of her Grace's scullion maidens have youdemeaned yourself to talk?"
"I will tell thee, when thou wilt answer when I was suffered to say somuch as `Good morrow' to any maid under the degree of a knight'sdaughter."
"Holy Mary, be our aid!" interjected the horrified old lady.
"I am aweary, Dame Agnes," said the child, laying herself down in thechair, as nearly at full length as its size would allow. "I have playedthe damosel [person of rank--used of the younger nobility of both sexes]so long time, I would fain be a little maid a season. I looked forthfrom the lattice this morrow, and I saw far down in the base court alittle maid the bigness of me, washing of pans at a window. Now,prithee, have yon little maid up hither, and set her under the cloth ofestate in my velvets, and leave me run down to the base court and washthe pans. It were rare mirth for both of us."
Dame Agnes shook her head, as if words failed to express her feelings atso unparalleled a proposal.
"What sangst thou as I was a-coming in?" asked the child, dropping asubject on which she found no sympathy.
"'Twas but an old song, Lady, of your Grace's grandsire King Edward(whom God assoil! [pardon]) and his war of France."
"That was ere I was born. Was it ere thou wert, Dame?"
"Truly no, Lady," said Agnes, smiling; "nor ere my Lord your father."
"What manner of lad was my Lord my father, when he was little?"
"Rare meek and gent, Lady,--for a lad, and his ire saved." [Except whenhe was angry.]
Dame Agnes saved her conscience by the last clause, for gentle as PrinceEdmund had generally been, he was as capable of going into a genuinePlantagenet passion as any of his more fiery brothers.
"But a maiden must be meeker and gentler?"
"Certes, Damosel," said Agnes, spinning away.
The child reclined in her chair for a time in silence. Perhaps it wasthe suddenness of the next question which made the old lady drop herdistaff.
"Dame, who is Sir John de Wycliffe?"
The distaff had to be recovered before the question could be considered.
"Ask at Dame Joan, Lady," was the discreet reply.
"So I did; and she bade me ask at thee."
"A priest, methinks," said Agnes vaguely.
"Why, I knew that," answered the child. "But what did he, or held he?--for 'tis somewhat naughty, folk say."
"If it be somewhat naughty, Lady Custance, you should not seek to knowit."
"But my Lady my mother wagged her head, though she spake not. So I wantto know."
"Then your best way, Damosel," suggested the troubled Agnes, "were toask at her Grace."
"I did ask at her."
"And what said she?"
"She said she would tell me another day. But I want to know now."
"Her Grace's answer might have served you, Lady."
"It did not serve Ned. He said he would know. And so will I."
"The Lord Edward is two years your elder, Lady."
"Truth," said the child shrewdly, "and you be sixty years mine elder, soyou should know more than he by thirty."
Agnes could not help smiling, but she was sadly perplexed how to dismissthe unwelcome topic.
"Let be. If thou wilt not tell me, I will blandish some that will.There be other beside thee in the university [world, universe].--What isyonder bruit?" [a noise.]
It was little Maude, flying in frantic terror, with Parnel in hotpursuit, both too much absorbed to note in what direction they wererunning. The cause was not far to seek.
After Maude had recovered from the effects of her exposure in theforest, she lighted unexpectedly on the little flat parcel which hermother had charged her to keep. It was carefully sewn up in linen, andthe sewing cost Maude some trouble to penetrate. She reached the coreat last. It was something thin and flat, with curious black and redpatterns all over it. This would have been the child's description. Itwas, in truth, a vellum leaf of a manuscript, elaborately written, butnot illuminated, unless capitals in red ink can be termed illumination.Remembering her mother's charge, to let "none beguile her of it," Maudehad striven to keep its possession a secret from every one, first fromthe nuns, and then from Ursula Drew. Strange to say, she had succeededuntil that morning. It was to her a priceless treasure--all the moreinestimable because she could not read a word of it. But on thatunlucky morning, Parnel had caught a glimpse of the precious parcel,always hidden in Maude's bosom, and h
ad immediately endeavoured tosnatch it from her. Contriving to elude her grasp, yet fearful of itsrepetition, Maude rushed out of the kitchen door, and finding that hertormentor followed, fled across the base court, took refuge in an openarchway, dashed up a flight of steps, and sped along a wide corridor,neither knowing nor caring that her flying feet were bearing herstraight in the direction of the royal apartments. Parnel was the firstto see where they were going, and at the last corner she stayed herpursuit, daring to proceed no further. But Maude did not know thatParnel was no longer on her track, and she fled wildly on, till her foottripped at an inequality in the stone passage, and she came down justopposite an open door.
For a minute the child was too much stunned by her fall to think of anything. Then, as her recollection returned, she cast a terrified glancebehind her, and saw that her pursuer had not yet appeared round thecorner. And then, before she could rise, she heard a voice in front ofher.
"What is this, my child?"
Maude looked up, past a gorgeous spread of blue and gold drapery, into ameek, quiet face--a face whose expression reassured and comforted her.A calm, pale, oval face, in which were set eyes of sapphire blue, framedby soft, light hair, and wearing a look of suffering, past or present.Maude answered the gentle voice which belonged to that face as she mighthave answered her mother.
"I pray you of pardon, Mistress! Parnel, my fellow, ran after me andaffrighted me."
"Wherefore ran she after thee?"
"Because she would needs see what I bare in my bosom, and I was loth sheso should, lest she should do it hurt."
"What is that? I will do it no hurt."
Maude looked up again, and felt as if she could trust that face with anything. So merely saying--"You will not give it Parnel, Mistress?" shedrew forth her treasure and put it into the lady's hand.
"I will give it to none saving thine own self. Dost know what it is,little maid?"
"No, Mistress, in good sooth."
"How earnest by it? 'Tis a part of a book."
"My mother, that is dead, charged me to keep it; for it was all she hadfor to give me. I know not, in very deed, whether it be Charlemagne orArthur"--the only two books of which poor Maude had ever heard. "Butan' I could meet with one that wist to read, and that were my truefriend, I would fain cause her to tell me what I would know thereabout."
"And hast no true friend?" inquired the lady.
"Not one," said Maude sorrowfully.
"Well, little maid, I can read, and I would be thy true friend. What isit thou wouldst fain know?"
"Why," said Maude, in an interested tone, "whether the great knight, ofwhose mighty deeds this book doth tell, should win his 'trothed love atthe last, or no."
For the novel-reader of the fourteenth century was not very differentfrom the novel-reader of the nineteenth. The lady smiled, but grewgrave again directly. She sat down in one of the cushionedwindow-seats, keeping Maude's treasured leaf in her hand.
"List, little maid, and thou shalt hear--that the great Knight, of whosemighty prowess this book doth tell, shall win His 'trothed love atlast."
And she began to read--very different words from any Maude expected.The child listened, entranced.
"And I saigh [saw] newe heuene and newe erthe; for the firste heuene andthe firste erthe wenten awei; and the see is not now. And I ioon [John]saigh the hooli citee ierusalim newe comynge doun fro heuene maad rediof god as a wyf ourned to hir husbonde. And I herde a greet voice frothe trone seiynge [saying], lo a tabernacle of god is with men, and heschal dwelle with hem, and thei schulen be his peple, and he, god withhem, schal be her [their] god. And god schal wipe awei ech teer fro theighen [eyes] of hem, and deeth schal no more be, neithir mournyngneither criyng neither sorewe schal be ouer, whiche thing is firste[first things] wenten awei. And he seide that sat in the trone, lo Imake alle thingis newe. And he seide to me, write thou, for thesewordis ben [are] moost feithful and trewe. And he seide to me, it isdon, I am alpha and oo [omega] the bigynnyng and ende, I schal ghyue[give] freli of the welle of quyk [quick, living] water to him thatthirstith. He that schal ouercome schal welde [possess] these thingis,and I schal be god to him, and he schal be sone to me. But to ferdfulmen, and unbileueful, and cursid, and manquelleris, and fornicatours,and to witchis and worschiperis of ydols and to alle lyeris the part ofhem schal be in the pool brenynge with fyer and brymstoon, that is thesecounde deeth. And oon [one] cam of the seuene aungelis hauynge violisful of seuene the laste ueniauncis [vengeances, plagues], and he spakwith me and seide, come thou and I schal schewe to thee the spousesse[bride] the wyf of the lombe. And he took me up in spirit into a greethill and high, and he schewide to me the hooli cite ierusalem comyngedoun fro heuene of god, hauynge the cleerte [glory] of god; and thelight of it lyk a precious stoon as the stoon iaspis [jasper], ascristal. And it hadde a wall greet and high hauynge twelue ghatis[gates], and in the ghatis of it twelue aungelis and names writen ynthat ben the names of twelue lynagis [lineages, tribes] of the sones ofisrael. Fro the eest three ghatis, and fro the north three ghatis, andfro the south three ghatis, and fro the west three ghatis. And the wallof the citee hadde twelue foundamentis, and in hem the twelue names oftwelue apostlis and of the lombe. And he that spak with me hadde agoldun mesure of a rehed [reed] that he schulde mete the citee and theghatis of it and the wall. And the citee was sett in a square, and thelengthe of it is so mych as mych as is the brede [breadth], and he mat[meted, measured] the citee with the rehed bi furlongis tweluethousyndis, and the highthe and the lengthe and breede of it ben euene.And he maat [meted, measured] the wallis of it of an hundride and foureand fourti cubitis bi mesure of man, that is, of an aungel. And thebilding of the wall thereoff was of the stoon iaspis and the citee itsilff was cleen gold lyk cleen glas. And the foundamentis of the wal ofthe cite weren ourned [adorned] with al precious stoon, the firstefoundament iaspis, the secound saphirus, the thridde calsedonyus, thefourthe smaragdus [emerald], the fifthe sardony [sardonyx], the sixtesardyus [ruby], the seuenthe crisolitus, the eighthe berillus, thenynthe topasius, the tenthe crisopassus, the elleuenthe iacinctus[jacinth], the tweluethe amiatistus [amethyst]. And twelue ghatis bentwelue margaritis [pearls] bi ech [each], and ech ghate was of ech[each] margarite and the streetis of the citee weren cleen gold as ofglas ful schinynge. And I saigh no temple in it, for the lord godalmyghti and the lomb is temple of it, and the citee hath not nede ofsunne neither moone that thei schine in it, for the cleerite of godschal lightne it, and the lombe is the lanterne of it, and the kyngis oferthe schulen bringe her glorie and onour into it. And the ghatis of itschulen not be closid bi dai, and nyght schal not be there, and theischulen bringe the glorie and onour of folkis into it, neither ony mandefouled and doynge abomynacioun and leesyng [lying] schal entre intoit, but thei that ben writun in the book of lyf and of the lombe."
When the soft, quiet voice ceased, it was like the sudden cessation ofsweet music to the enchanted ears of little Maude. The child was veryimaginative, and in her mental eyes the City had grown as she listened,till it now lay spread before her--the streets of gold, and the gates ofpearl, and the foundations of precious stones. Of any thing typical orsupernatural she had not the faintest idea. In her mind it was at oncesettled that the City was London, and yet was in some dreamy wayJerusalem; for of any third city Maude knew nothing. The King, ofcourse, had his Palace there; and a strong desire sprang up in thechild's mind to know whether the royal mistress, who was to her a kindof far-off fairy queen, had a palace there also. If so--but no! it wastoo good to be true that Maude would ever go to wash the golden pans anddiamond dishes which must be used in that City.
"Mistress!" said Maude to her new friend, after a short silence, duringwhich both were thinking deeply.
The lady brought her eyes down to the child from the sky, where they hadbeen fixed, and smiled a reply to the appeal.
"Would you tell me, of your grace, whether our Lady mistresshood'sgraciousness hath in yonder city a dwelling?"
> Maude wondered exceedingly to see tears slowly gather in the sapphireeyes.
"God grant it, little maid!" was, to her, the incomprehensible answer.
"And if so were, Mistress, counteth your Madamship that our saidpuissant Lady should ever lack her pans cleansed yonder?"
"Wherefore, little maid?" asked the lady very gently.
"Because, an' I so might, I would fain dwell in yonder city," saidMaude, with glittering eyes.
"And thy work is to cleanse pans?"
Little Maude sighed heavily. "Ay, yonder is my work."
"Which thou little lovest, as methinks."
"Should you love it, Mistress, think you?" demanded Maude.
"Truly, little maid, that should I not," answered the lady. "Now tellme freely, what wouldst liefer do?"
"Aught that were clean and fair and honest!" [pretty] said Maudeconfidentially, her eyes kindling again. "An' they lack any 'prenticesin that City, I would fain be bound yonder. Verily, I would love totwine flowers, or to weave dovecotes [the golden nets which confinedladies' hair], or to guard brave gowns with lace, and the like of that,an' I could be learned. Save that, methinks, over there, I would beever and alway a-gazing from the lattice."
"Wherefore?"
"And yet I wis not," added Maude, thinking aloud. "Where the streets begold, and the gates margarites, what shall the gowns be?"
"Pure, bright stones [see Note 3], little maid," said the lady. "Butthere be no 'prentices yonder."
"What! be they all masters?" said the child.
"`A kingdom and priests,'" she said. "But there be no 'prentices,seeing there is no work, save the King's work."
Little Maude wondered privately whether that were to sew stars uponsunbeams.
"But there shall not enter any defouled thing into that City," pursuedthe lady seriously; "no leasing, neither no manner of wrongfulness."
Little Maude's face fell considerably.
"Then I could not go to cleanse the pans yonder!" she said sorrowfully."I did tell a lie once to Mistress Drew."
"Who is Mistress Drew?" enquired the lady.
The child looked up in astonishment, wondering how it came to pass thatany one living in Langley Palace should not know her who, to Maude'sapprehension, was monarch of all she surveyed--inside the kitchen.
"She is Mistress Ursula Drew, that is over me and Parnel."
"Doth she cleanse pans?" said the lady smilingly.
"Nay, verily! She biddeth us."
"I see--she is queen of the kitchen. And is there none over her?"
"Ay, Master Warine."
"And who is over Master Warine?"
A question beyond little Maude's power to answer.
"The King must be, of force," said she meditatively. "But who is else--saving his gracious mastership and our Lady her mistresshood--in goodsooth I wis not."
The lady looked at her for a minute with a smile on her lips. Then, alittle to Maude's surprise, she clapped her hands. A handsomely attiredwoman--to the child's eyes, the counterpart of the lady who had beentalking with her--appeared in the doorway.
"Senora!" she said, with a reverence.
The two ladies thereupon began a conversation, in a language totallyincomprehensible to little Maude. They were both Spanish by birth, andthey were speaking their own tongue. They said:--
"Dona Juana, is there any vacancy among my maids?"
"Senora, we live to fulfil your august pleasure."
"Do you think this child could be taught fine needlework?"
"The Infanta has only to command."
"I wish it tried, Dona Juana."
"I lie at the Infanta's feet."
The lady turned back to Maude.
"Thy name, little maid?" she gently asked.
"Maude, and your servant, Mistress," responded the child.
"Then, little Maude, have here thy treasure"--and she held forth theleaf to her--"and thy wish. Follow this dame, and she will see if thoucanst guard gowns. If so be, and thou canst be willing and gent,another may cleanse the pans, for thou shalt turn again to the kitchenno more."
Little Maude clasped her hands in ecstasy.
"Our Lady Mary, and Peter and Paul, bless your Ladyship's mistresshood!Be you good enough for to ensure me of the same?"
"Thou shalt not win back, an' thou do well," repeated the lady, smiling."Now follow this dame."
Dona Juana was not at all astonished. Similar sudden transformationswere comparatively of frequent occurrence at that time; and to call inquestion any act of the King of Castilla's daughter would have been inher eyes the most impossible impropriety. She merely noted mentally theextremely dirty state of Maude's frock, calculated how long it wouldtake to make her three new ones, wondered if she would be verytroublesome to teach, and finally asked her if she had any better dress.Maude owned that she possessed a serge one for holidays, upon whichDona Juana, after a minute's hesitation, looked back into the room shehad left, and said, "Alvena!" A lively-looking woman, past girlhood inage, but retaining much of the character, answered the call.
"Hie unto Mistress Ursula Drew, that is over the kitchen, and do her towit that her Grace's pleasure is to advance Maude, the scullion, untoroom [situation] of tire-woman; bid her to give thee all that 'longethunto the maid, and bear it hither."
Alvena departed on her errand, and Maude followed Dona Juana into fairyland. Gorgeous hangings covered the walls; here and there a soft mossycarpet was spread over the stone floor--for it was not the time of yearfor rushes. The guide's own dress--crimson velvet, heavilyembroidered--was a marvel of art, and the pretty articles strewn on thetables were wonders of the world. They had passed through four roomsere Maude found her tongue.
"Might it like your Madamship," she asked timidly, her curiosity at lastovercoming her reserve, though she felt less at home with Dona Juanathan with the other lady, "to tell me the name of the fair mistress thatdid give me into your charge?"
"That is our Lady's Grace, maiden," said Juana rather stiffly, "the LadyInfanta Dona Isabel, Countess of Cambridge."
"What, she that doth bear rule over us all?" said Maude amazedly.
"She," replied Juana.
"Had I wist the same, as wot the saints, I had been sore afeard,"responded Maude. "And what call men your Grace's Ladyship, an' I mayknow?"
Dona Juana condescended to smile at the child's simplicity.
"My name is Juana Fernandez," she said. "Thou canst call me Dame Joan."
At this point the hangings were suddenly lifted, and something whichseemed to Maude the very Queen of the Fairies crept out and stood beforethem. Juana stopped and courtesied, an act which Maude was toofascinated to imitate.
"Whither go you, Dona Juana?" asked the vision. "In good sooth, this isthe very little maid I saw a-washing the pans. Art come to sit underthe cloth of estate in my stead?"
Little Maude gazed on her Fairy Queen, and was silent.
"What means your Grace, Dona Constanca?" asked Juana.
"What is thy name, and wherefore earnest hither?" resumed Constance,still addressing herself to Maude.
"Maude," said the child shyly.
"Maude! That is a pretty name," pronounced the little Princess.
"The Senora Infanta, your Grace's mother, will have me essay to learnthe maid needlework," added Juana in explanation.
"Leave me learn her!" said Constance eagerly. "I can learn her all Iknow; and I am well assured I can be as patient as you, Dona Juana."
"At your Ladyship's feet," responded Juana quietly, using her customaryformula. She felt the suggestion highly improper and exceedinglyabsurd, but she was far too great a courtier to say so.
"Come hither!" said Constance gleefully, beckoning to Maude. "Sue[follow] thou me unto Dame Agnes de La Marche her chamber. I would faintalk with thee."
Maude glanced at Juana for permission.
"Sue thou the Senorita Dona Constanca," was the reply. "Be thou warenot to gainsay her in any thing."
There was little need of the warning, for Maude was completelyenthralled. She followed her Fairy Queen in silence into the room whereDame Agnes still sat spinning.
"Sit thou down on yonder stool," said Constance. "My gracious Ladyshipwill take this giant's chair. (I have learned my lesson, Dame Agnes.)Now--where is thy mother?"
"A fathom underground."
"Poor Maude! hast no mother?--And thy father?"
"Never had I."
"And thy brethren and sustren?" [Sisters.]
"Ne had I never none."
"Maiden!" interjected Dame Agnes, "wist not how to speak unto a damoselof high degree? Thou shalt say `Lady' or `Madam.'"
"`Lady' or `Madam,'" repeated Maude obediently.
"How long hast washed yonder pans?" asked Constance, leaning her head onthe arm of the chair.
"`Lady' or `Madam,'" answered Maude, remembering her lesson, "by thespace of ten months."
"The sely hilding!" [sely=simple, hilding=young person of either sex]exclaimed Agnes; while Constance flung herself into another attitude,and laughed with great enjoyment.
"Flyte [scold] her not, Dame Agnes. I do foresee she and I shall begreat friends."
"Lady Custance! The dirt under your feet is no meet friend ne fellow[companion] for the like of you."
"Truly, no, saving to make pies thereof," laughed the little Princess."Nathless, take my word for it, Maude and I shall be good friends."
Was there a recording angel hovering near to note the words? For thetwo lives, which had that day come in contact, were to run thenceforthside by side so long as both should last in this world.
But the little Princess was soon tired of questioning her newacquaintance. She sauntered away ere long in search of some more novelamusement, and Dame Agnes desired Maude to change her dress, and then toreturn to the ante-chamber, there to await the orders of Dame Joan, asDona Juana was termed by all but the Royal Family. Maude obeyed, and inthe ante-chamber she found, not Juana, but Alvena [a fictitious person],and another younger woman, whom she subsequently heard addressed asMistress Sybil [a fictitious person].
"So thou shalt be learned?" [you have to be taught] said Alvena, as herwelcome to Maude. "Come, look hither on this gown. What is it?"
"'Tis somewhat marvellous shene!" [bright] said Maude, timidly strokingthe glossy material.
Alvena only laughed, apparently enjoying the child's ignorance; butSybil said gently, "'Tis satin, little maid."
"Is it for our Lady's Grace?" asked Maude.
"Ay, when 'tis purfiled," replied Alvena.
"Pray you, Mistress Alvena, what is `purfiled?'"
"Why, maid! Where hast dwelt all thy life? `Purfiled' signifiethguarded with peltry."
"But under your good allowance, Mistress Alvena, what is `peltry'?"
"By my Lady Saint Mary! heard one ever the like?"
"Peltry," quietly explained Sybil, "is the skin of beast with thedressed fur thereon--such like as minever, and gris [marten], and thelike."
"Thurstan," said Alvena suddenly, turning to a little errand boy [afictitious person] who sat on a stool in the window, and whose especialbusiness it was to do the bidding of the Countess's waiting-women, "Hiethee down to Adam [a fictitious person] the peltier [furrier. Ladies ofhigh rank kept a private furrier in the household], and do him to witthat the Lady would have four ells of peltry of beasts ermines for thebordure of her gown of blue satin that is in making. The peltry shallbe of the breadth of thine hand, and no lesser; and say unto him that itshall be of the best sort, and none other. An' he send me up such evilgear as he did of gris for the cloak of velvet, he may look to see itback with a fardel [parcel] of flyting lapped [wrapped] therein. Haste,lad! and be back ere my scissors meet."
Thurstan disappeared, and Alvena threw herself down on the settle whileshe waited for her messenger.
"Ay me! I am sore aweary of all this gear--snipping, and sewing, andfitting. If I would not as lief as forty shillings have done withbroidery and peltry, then the moon is made of green cheese. Is thatstrange unto thee, child?"
"Verily, Mistress Alvena, methinks you be aweary of Fairy Land," saidlittle Maude in surprise.
"Callest this Fairy Land?" laughed Alvena. "If so be, child, I werefain to dwell a season on middle earth."
"In good sooth, so count I it," answered Maude, allowing her eyes torove delightedly among all the marvels of the ante-chamber, "and theLady Custance the very Queen of Faery."
"The Lady Custance is made of flesh and blood, trust me. An' thou hadsthad need to bear her to her bed, kicking and striving all the way, whenshe was somewhat lesser than now, thou shouldst be little tempted tocount her immortal."
"An' it like you, Mistress Alvena--"
"Marry, Master Thurstan, it liketh me right well to see thee backwithout the peltry wherefor I sent thee! Where hast loitered, thouknave?"
"Master Adam saith he is unfurnished at this time of the peltry youwould have, Mistress, and without fox will serve your turn--"
"Fox me no fox, as thou set store by thy golden locks!" said Alvena,advancing towards the luckless Thurstan in a threatening attitude, withthe scissors open in her hand. "I'll fox him, and thee likewise. Goand bring me the four ells of peltry of beasts ermines, and that of thebest, or thou shalt wake up to-morrow to find thy poll as clean as theend of thine ugsome [ugly] nose."
Poor Thurstan, who was only a child of about ten years old, mistookAlvena's jesting for earnest, and began to sob.
"But what can I, Mistress?" urged the terrified urchin. "Master Adamsaith he hath never a nail thereof, never name an ell."
"Alvena, trouble not the child," interposed Sybil.
But Sybil's gentle intercession would have availed little if it had notbeen seconded by the unexpected appearance of the only person whomAlvena feared.
"What is this?" inquired Dona Juana, in a tone of authority.
Thurstan, with a relieved air, subsided into his recess, and Alvena,with a rather abashed one, began to explain that no ermine could be hadfor the trimming of the blue satin dress.
"Then let it wait," decided the Mistress--for this was Juana's officialtitle. "Alvena, set the child a-work, and watch that she goeth rightlythereabout. Sybil, sue thou me."
The departure of Juana and Sybil, for which Maude was privately rathersorry, set Alvena's tongue again at liberty. She set Maude at work, ona long hem, which was not particularly interesting; and herself began topin some trimming on a tunic of scarlet cloth.
"Pray you, Mistress Alvena," asked Maude at length--wedging her questionin among a quantity of small-talk--"hath the Lady Custance brethren orsustren?"
"Sustren, not one; and trust me, child, an' thou knewest her as I do,thou shouldst say one of her were enough. But she hath brethren twain--the Lord Edward, which is her elder, and the Lord Richard, her younger.The little Lord Richard is a sweet child as may lightly be seen; anddearly the Lady Custance loveth him. But as for the Lord Edward--an' hecan do an ill turn, trust him for it."
"And what like is my Lord our master?" asked Maude.
Alvena laughed. "Sawest ever Ursula Drew bake bread, child?"
"Oh ay!" sighed the ex-scullery-maid.
"And hast marked how the dough, ere he be set in the oven, should takeany pattern thou list to set him on?"
"Ay."
"Then thou hast seen what the Lord Earl is like."
"But who setteth pattern on the Lord Earl?" inquired Maude, looking upin some surprise.
"All the world, saving my Lady his wife, and likewise in his wrath.Hast ever seen one of our Princes in a passion of ire?"
"Never had I luck yet to see one of their Graces," said Maudereverently.
"Then thou wist not what a man _can_ be like when he is angered."
"But not, I ensure me, the Lady Custance!" objected Maude, loth tosurrender her Fairy Queen.
"Wait awhile and see!" was the ominous answer.
"Methought she were sweet and fair as my Lady her mothe
r," said Maude ina disappointed tone.
"`Sweet and fair'!--and soft, is my Lady Countess. Why, child, sheshould hardly say this kirtle were red, an' Dame Joan told her it weregreen. Thou mayest do aught with her, an' thou wist how to take her."
"How take you her?" demanded Maude gravely.
"By 'r Lady! have yonder fond [foolish] books of the Lutterworth parsonat thy tongue's end, and make up a sad face, and talk of faith and graceand forgiving of sins and the like, and mine head to yon shred of tinselan' she give thee not a gown within the se'nnight."
"But, Mistress Alvena! that were to be an hypocrite, an' you felt itnot."
"Hu-te-tu! We be all hypocrites. Some of us feign for one matter, andsome for other. I wis somewhat thereabout, child; for ere I came hitherwas I maid unto the Lady Julian [a fictitious person], recluse ofTamworth Priory. By our dear Lady her girdle! saw I nothing ofhypocrisy there!"
"You never signify, Mistress, that the blessed recluse was anhypocrite?"
"The blessed recluse was mighty fond of sweetbreads," said Alvena,taking a pin out of her mouth, "and many an one smuggled I in to herunder my cloak, when Father Luke thought she was a-fasting on bread andwater. And one clereful [glorious] night had we, she and I, when onethat I knew had shot me a brace of curlews, and coming over moorland bythe church, he dropped them--all by chance, thou wist!--by the door ofthe cell. And I, oping the door--to see if it rained, trow!--foundthese birds a-lying there. Had we no supper that night!--and 'twas avigil even. The blessed martyr or apostle (for I mind me not what dayit were) forgive us!"
"But how dressed you them?" said Maude.
Alvena stopped in her fitting and pinning to laugh.
"Thou sely maid! The sacristan was my mother's brother."
Maude looked up as if she did not see the inference.
"I roasted them in the sacristy, child. The priests were all gone hometo bed; and so soon as the ground were clear, mine uncle rapped of thedoor; and the Lady Julian came after me to the sacristy, close lapped inmy cloak--"
How long Alvena might have proceeded to shock Maude's susceptibilitiesand outrage her preconceived opinions, it is impossible to say; for atthis moment Thurstan opened the door and announced in a ratherconsequential manner--
"The Lord Le Despenser, to visit the Lady Custance, and Dame Margarethis sister."
Maude lifted her eyes to the height of Alvena, and found that she had tolower them to her own. A young lady of about sixteen entered, dressedin a rose-coloured silk striped with gold, and a gold-coloured mantlelined with the palest blue. She led by the hand a very pretty littleboy of ten or eleven years of age, attired in a velvet tunic of thatlight, bright shade of apple-green which our forefathers largely used.It was edged at the neck by a little white frill. He carried in hishand a black velvet cap, from which depended a long and very full redplume of ostrich feathers. His stockings were white silk, his boots redleather, fastened with white buttons. The brother and sister werealike, but the small, delicately-cut features of both were the moredelicate in the boy, and on his dark brown hair was a golden gloss whichwas not visible on that of his sister.
"Give you good morrow, Mistress Alvena," said Dame Margaret pleasantly."The Lady Custance--may one have speech of her?"
Before Alvena could reply, the curtain which shrouded the door leadingto the Countess's rooms was drawn aside, and Constance came forwardherself.
"Good morrow, Meg," said she, kissing the young lady. "Thou hastmistaken thy road, Tom."
"Wherefore so?" asked Dame Margaret; for her little brother was silent,except that he offered a kiss in his turn, and looked ratherdisconcerted when no notice was taken of it.
"Why, Ned is playing quoits below, and Tom should have bidden with him.Come hither, Meg; I have a pretty thing to show thee."
"But Tom came to see your Ladyship."
"Well, he has seen me!" said the little Princess impatiently. "I lovenot lads. They are fit for nought better than playing quoits. Let themgo and do it."
"What, Dickon?" said Margaret, smiling.
"Oh, Dickon!" returned Constance in a changed tone. "But Tom is notDickon. Neither is he an angel, I wis, for I heard him gainsay once hispreceptor."
Tom looked very unhappy at this raking up of bygone misdeeds.
"Methinks your Ladyship is in ill humour this morrow," said Margaret."Be not so hard on the lad, for he loveth you."
"When I love him, I will do him to wit," said Constance cuttingly."Come, Meg."
Dame Margaret obeyed the command, but she kept hold of the hand of herlittle brother. When they were gone, Alvena laid down her work andlaughed.
"Thy Queen of Faery is passing gracious, Maude."
"She scarce seemed to matter the lad," was Maude's reply.
"Yet she hath sworn to do his bidding all the days of her life," saidAlvena.
"Why," said Maude, looking up in surprise, "would you say the LadyCustance is troth-plight unto this imp?" [Little boy.]
"Nay, she is wedded wife. 'Tis five years or more sithence they werewed. My Lady Custance had years four, and my Lord Le Despenser five.They could but just syllable their vows. And I mind me, the LadyCustance stuck at `obey,' and she had to be threatened with afustigation [beating, whipping] ere she would go on."
"But who dared threaten her?" inquired Maude.
"Marry, my Lord her father, which fell into a fit of ire to see herperversity.--There goeth the dinner bell; lap thy work, child. For me,I am well fain to hear it."
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Note 1. The child was Constance, only daughter of Edmund Duke of York(seventh son of Edward the Third) and Isabel of Castilla.
Note 2. Agnes de La Marche had been the nurse of two of Edward theThird's sons, Lionel and Edmund. She lived to old age, and was long inreceipt of a pension from the Crown for her former service.
Note 3. Wycliffe's rendering of Revelations sixteen 6. In variousplaces he follows what are now determined to be the best and mostancient authorities.
The White Rose of Langley Page 2
