The business was over at length, and the child, a noble boy, born intothe world. Had not the Flounder produced it in triumph laid upon alittle basket covered with a lamb-skin, and had not Emlyn and MotherMatilda and all the nuns kissed and blessed it? Had it not also, forfear of accident (such was the fatherly forethought of the Abbot), beenbaptized at once by a priest who was waiting, under the names of JohnChristopher Foterell, John after its grandfather and Christopher afterits father, with Foterell for a surname, since the Abbot would not allowthat it should be called Harflete, being, as he averred, base-born?
So this child was born, and Mother Megges swore that of all the twohundred and three that she had issued into the world it was the finest,nine and a half pounds in weight at the very least. Also, as its voiceand movements testified, it was lusty and like to live, for did not theFlounder, in sight of all the wondering nuns, hold it up hanging by itshands to her two fat forefingers, and afterwards drink a whole quart ofspiced ale to its health and long life?
But if the babe was like to live, Cicely was like to die. Indeed, shewas very, very ill, and perhaps would have passed away had it not beenfor a device of Emlyn's. For when she was at her worst and the Flounder,shaking her head and saying that she could do no more, had departed toher eternal ale and a nap, Emlyn crept up and took her mistress's coldhand.
"Darling," she said, "hear me," but Cicely did not stir. "Darling," sherepeated, "hear me, I have news for you of your husband."
Cicely's white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyesopened.
"Of my husband?" she whispered. "Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be.What news of him?"
"That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though heretoforeI have hid it from you."
The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her withwondering joy.
"Do you trick me, Nurse? Nay, you would never do that. Give me the milk,I want it now. I'll listen. I promise you I'll not die till you havetold me. If Christopher lives why should I die who only hoped to findhim?"
So Emlyn whispered all she knew. It was not much, only that Christopherhad not been buried in the grave where he was said to be buried, andthat he had been taken wounded aboard the ship _Great Yarmouth_, of thefate of which ship fortunately she had heard nothing. Still, slight asthey might be, to Cicely these tidings were a magic medicine, for didthey not mean the rebirth of hope, hope that for nine long months hadbeen dead and buried with Christopher? From that moment she began tomend.
When the Flounder, having slept off her drink, returned to the sick-bed,she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft, shewho had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many women didwho fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly disappointed,knowing that this death was desired by her employer, who now after allmight let the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child was no waster,but one who was set for life. Well, that at least she could mend, and ifit were done quickly the shock might kill the mother. Yet the thingwas not so easy as it looked, for there were many loving eyes upon thatbabe.
When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade herfiercely, and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew thecreature's drunken habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the Smithinfant and others, gave orders that it was not to be. So, since themother was too weak to have it with her, the boy was laid in a littlecot at her side. And always day and night one or more of the sweet-facednuns stood at the head of that cot watching as might a guardian angel.Also it took only Nature's food since from the first Cicely would nurseit, so that she could not mix any drug with its milk that would cause itto sleep itself away.
So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the heartof Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she sought. Onefine evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but as it happenednot in the chapel, because since the tale of the hauntings they shunnedthe place after high noon, Cicely, whose strength was returning to her,asked Emlyn to change her garments and remake her bed. Meanwhile, thebabe was given to Sister Bridget, who doted on it, with instructions totake it to walk in the garden for a time, since the rain had passed offand the afternoon was now very soft and pleasant. So she went, and therepresently was met by the Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, buthad followed her, a person of whom the half-witted Bridget was muchafraid.
"What are you doing with my babe, old fool?" she screeched at her,thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun's. "You'll let itfall and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your nosefor you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone."
In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then,recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned,hid herself in a clump of lilac bushes and watched.
Presently she saw the Flounder, after glancing about to make sure thatshe was alone, enter the chapel, carrying the child, and heard herbolt the door after her. Now Bridget, as she said afterwards, grew veryfrightened, she knew not why, and, acting on impulse, ran to the chancelwindow and, climbing on to a wheelbarrow that stood there, lookedthrough it. This is what she saw.
Mother Megges was kneeling in the chancel, as she thought at first,to say her prayers, till she perceived, for a ray from the setting sunshowed it all, that on the paving before her lay the infant and thatthis she-devil was thrusting her thick forefinger down its throat, foralready it grew black in the face, and as she thrust muttering savagely.So horror-struck was Bridget that she could neither move nor cry.
Then, while she stood petrified, suddenly there appeared the figure ofa man in rusty armour. The Flounder looked up, saw him and, withdrawingher finger from the mouth of the child, let out yell after yell. Theman, who said nothing, drew a sword and lifted it, whereon the murderessscreamed--
"The ghost! The ghost! Spare me, Sir John, I am poor and he paid me.Spare me for Christ's sake!" and so saying, she rolled on to the floorin a fit, and there turned and twisted until she lay still.
Then the man, or the ghost of a man, having looked at her, sheathedhis sword and lifting up the babe, which now drew its breath again andcried, marched with it down the aisle. The next thing of which Bridgetbecame aware was that he stood before her, the infant in his arms,holding it out to her. His face she could not see, for the vizor wasdown, but he spoke in a hollow voice, saying--
"This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete. Bid her fear nothing, forone devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping."
Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at thatmoment the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the sidedoor, headed by Mother Matilda. They too saw the figure, and knew theFoterell cognizance upon its helm and shield. But it waited not to speakto them, only passed behind some trees and vanished.
Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man wasstealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt,they questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all shedid was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the chancelwindow. At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on to thebarrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done. She looked, shesaw, and fell back fainting.
The Lady of Blossholme Page 18
