The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages

by Charles Reade

  CHAPTER XLVII

  CATHERINE was a good housewife who seldom left home for a day, and thenone thing or another always went amiss. She was keenly conscious ofthis, and, watching for a slack tide in things domestic, put off hervisit to Sevenbergen from day to day, and one afternoon that it reallycould have been managed Peter Buyskens' mule was out of the way.

  At last, one day Eli asked her before all the family, whether it wastrue she had thought of visiting Margaret Brandt.

  "Ay, my man."

  "Then I do forbid you."

  "Oh, do you?"

  "I do."

  "Then there is no more to be said, I suppose," said she, colouring.

  "Not a word," replied Eli, sternly.

  When she was alone with her daughter she was very severe, not upon Eli,but upon herself.

  "Behoved me rather go thither like a cat at a robin. But this was me allover. I am like a silly hen that can lay no egg without cackling, andconvening all the house to rob her on't. Next time you and I are afteraught the least amiss, let's do't in Heaven's name then and there, andnot take time to think about it, far less talk; so then, if they take usto task we can say, alack we knew nought; we thought no ill; now, who'dever? and so forth. For two pins I'd go thither in all their teeth."

  Defiance so wild and picturesque staggered Kate. "Nay, mother; withpatience father will come round."

  "And so will Michaelmas; but when? and I was so bent on you seeing thegirl. Then we could have put our heads together about her. Say what theywill, there is no judging body or beast but by the eye. And were I tohave fifty more sons I'd ne'er thwart one of them's fancy, till suchtime as I had clapped my eyes upon her and seen Quicksands: say you, Ishould have thought of that before condemning Gerard his fancy: butthere, life is a school, and the lesson ne'er done; we put down onefault and take up t'other, and so go blundering here, and blunderingthere, till we blunder into our graves, and there's an end of us."

  "Mother," said Kate, timidly.

  "Well, what is a-coming now? no good news though, by the look of you.What on earth can make the poor wench so scared?"

  "An avowal she hath to make," faltered Kate, faintly.

  "Now, there is a noble word for ye," said Catherine, proudly. "OurGerard taught thee that, I'll go bail. Come then, out with thy vowel."

  "Well then, sooth to say, I have seen her."

  "Anan?"

  "And spoken with her to boot."

  "And never told me? After this marvels are dirt."

  "Mother, you were so hot against her. I waited till I could tell youwithout angering you worse."

  "Ay," said Catherine, half sadly, half bitterly, "like mother likedaughter: cowardice it is our bane. The others I whiles buffet; or howwould the house fare? but did you, Kate, ever have harsh word or lookfrom your poor mother, that you----. Nay, I will not have ye cry, girl;ten to one ye had your reason; so rise up, brave heart, and tell me all,better late than ne'er; and first and foremost when ever, and how ever,wond you to Sevenbergen wi' your poor crutches, and I not know?"

  "I never was there in my life; and, mammy dear, to say that I ne'erwished to see her that I will not, but I ne'er went, nor sought to seeher."

  "There, now," said Catherine, disputatively, "said I not 'twas allunlike my girl to seek her unbeknown to me. Come now, for I'm all agog."

  "Then thus 'twas. It came to my ears, no matter how, and prithee, goodmother, on my knees ne'er ask me how, that Gerard was a prisoner in theStadthouse tower."

  "Ah!"

  "By father's behest as 'twas pretended."

  Catherine uttered a sigh that was almost a moan. "Blacker than Ithought," she muttered, faintly.

  "Giles and I went out at night to bid him be of good cheer. And there atthe tower foot was a brave lass, quite strange to me I vow, on the sameerrand."

  "Lookee there now, Kate."

  "At first we did properly frighten one another, through the place hisbad name, and our poor heads being so full o' divels, and we whitened abit in moonshine. But next moment, quo' I 'You are Margaret:' 'And youare Kate,' quo' she. Think on't!"

  "Did one ever?--'Twas Gerard! He will have been talking backwards andforrards of thee to her, and her to thee."

  In return for this, Kate bestowed on Catherine one of the prettiestpresents in nature--the composite kiss: _i. e._, she imprinted on hercheek a single kiss, which said--

  1. Quite correct.

  2. Good, clever mother, for guessing so right and quick.

  3. How sweet for us twain to be of one mind again after never havingbeen otherwise.

  4. Etc.

  "Now then, speak thy mind, child, Gerard is not here. Alas, what am Isaying? would to Heaven he were."

  "Well then, mother, she is comely, and wrongs her picture but little."

  "Eh, dear; hark to young folk! I am for good acts, not good looks. Lovesshe my boy as he did ought to be loved?"

  "Sevenbergen is farther from the Stadthouse than we are," said Kate,thoughtfully; "yet she was there afore me."

  Catherine nodded intelligence.

  "Nay, more, she had got him out ere I came. Ay, down from the captives'tower."

  Catherine shook her head incredulously. "The highest tower for miles! Itis not feasible."

  "'Tis sooth though. She and an old man she brought found means and witto send him up a rope. There 'twas dangling from his prison, and ourGiles went up it. When first I saw it hang, I said, 'This is glamour.'But when the frank lass's arms came round me, and her bosom did beat onmine, and her cheeks wet, then said I, ''Tis not glamour: 'tis love.'For she is not like me, but lusty and able; and, dear heart, even I,poor frail creature, do feel sometimes as I could move the world forthem I love: I love _you_, mother. And she loves Gerard."

  "God bless her for't! God bless her!"

  "But."

  "But what, lamb?"

  "Her love, is it for very certain honest? 'Tis most strange; but thatvery thing, which hath warmed your heart, hath somewhat cooled minetowards her; poor soul. She is no wife, you know mother when all isdone."

  "Humph! They have stood at th' altar together."

  "Ay, but they went as they came, maid and bachelor."

  "The parson, saith he so?"

  "Nay, for that I know not."

  "Then I'll take no man's word but his in such a tangled skein." Aftersome reflection she added, "Natheless art right, girl; I'll toSevenbergen alone. A wife I am but not a slave. We are all in the darkhere. And she holds the clue. I must question her, and no one by; leastof all you. I'll not take my lily to a house wi' a spot, no, not to apalace o' gold and silver."

  The more Catherine pondered this conversation, the more she felt drawntowards Margaret, and moreover "she was all agog" with curiosity, apotent passion with us all, and nearly omnipotent with those, who, likeCatherine, do not slake it with reading. At last, one fine day, afterdinner, she whispered to Kate, "Keep the house from going to pieces, anye can;" and donned her best kirtle and hood, and her scarlet clockedhose and her new shoes, and trudged briskly off to Sevenbergen,troubling no man's mule.

  When she got there she inquired where Margaret Brandt lived. The firstperson she asked shook his head, and said, "The name is strange to me."She went a little farther and asked a girl of about fifteen who wasstanding at a door: "Father," said the girl, speaking into the house,"here is another after that magician's daughter." The man came out andtold Catherine Peter Brandt's cottage was just outside the town on theeast side. "You may see the chimney hence:" and he pointed it out toher. "But you will not find them there, nother father nor daughter; theyhave left the town this week, bless you."

  "Say not so, good man, and me walken all the way from Tergou."

  "From Tergou? then you must ha' met the soldier."

  "What soldier? ay, I did meet a soldier."

  "Well, then, yon soldier was here seeking that selfsame Margaret."

  "Ay, and warn't a mad with us because she was gone?" put in the girl."His long beard and her cheek are no s
trangers, I warrant."

  "Say no more than ye know," said Catherine, sharply. "You are young totake to slandering your elders. Stay! tell me more about this soldier,good man."

  "Nay, I know no more than that he came hither seeking Margaret Brandt,and I told him she and her father had made a moonlight flit on't thisday sennight, and that some thought the devil had flown away with them,being magicians. 'And,' says he, 'the devil fly away with thee for thyill news:' that was my thanks. 'But I doubt 'tis a lie,' said he. 'Anyou think so,' said I, 'go and see.' 'I will,' said he, and burst outwi' a hantle o' gibberish: my wife thinks 'twas curses: and hied him tothe cottage. Presently back a comes, and sings t'other tune. 'You wereright and I was wrong,' says he, and shoves a silver coin in my hand.Show it the wife, some of ye; then she'll believe me; I have been calleda liar once to-day."

  "It needs not," said Catherine, inspecting the coin all the same.

  "And he seemed quiet and sad-like, didn't he now, wench?"

  "That a did," said the young woman warmly; "and, dame, he was just aspretty a man as ever I clapped eyes on. Cheeks like a rose, and shiningbeard, and eyes in his head like sloes."

  "I saw he was well bearded," said Catherine; "but, for the rest, at myage I scan them not as when I was young and foolish. But he seemed rightcivil: doffed his bonnet to me as I had been a queen, and I did drop himmy best reverence, for manners beget manners. But little I wist he hadbeen her light o' love, and most likely the----Who bakes for this town?"

  The man, not being acquainted with her, opened his eyes at thistransition, swift and smooth.

  "Well, dame, there be two; John Bush and Eric Donaldson, they both bidein this street."

  "Then, God be with you, good people" said she, and proceeded: but hersprightly foot came flat on the ground now, and no longer struck it withlittle jerks and cocking heel. She asked the bakers whether Peter Brandthad gone away in their debt. Bush said they were not customers.Donaldson said "not a stiver: his daughter had come round and paid himthe very night they went. Didn't believe they owed a copper in thetown." So Catherine got all the information of that kind she wanted withvery little trouble.

  "Can you tell me what sort this Margaret was?" said she, as she turnedto go.

  "Well, somewhat too reserved for my taste. I like a chattycustomer--when I'm not too busy. But she bore a high character for beinga good daughter."

  "'Tis no small praise. A well-looking lass I am told?"

  "Why, whence come you, wyfe?"

  "From Tergou."

  "Oh, ay. Well you shall judge: the lads clept her 'the beauty ofSevenbergen;' the lasses did scout it merrily, and terribly pulled herto pieces, and found so many faults no two could agree where the faultlay."

  "That is enough," said Catherine. "I see, the bakers are no fools inSevenbergen, and the young women no shallower than in other burghs."

  She bought a manchet of bread, partly out of sympathy and justice (shekept a shop), partly to show her household how much better bread shegave them daily; and returned to Tergou dejected.

  Kate met her outside the town with beaming eyes.

  "Well, Kate lass; it is a happy thing I went; I am heart-broken. Gerardhas been sore abused. The child is none of ourn, nor the mother fromthis hour."

  "Alas, mother, I fathom not your meaning."

  "Ask me no more, girl, but never mention her name to me again. That isall."

  Kate acquiesced with a humble sigh, and they went home together.

  They found a soldier seated tranquilly by their fire. The moment theyentered the door, he rose, and saluted them civilly. They stood andlooked at him, Kate with some little surprise, but Catherine with agreat deal, and with rising indignation.