Grisly Grisell; Or, The Laidly Lady of Whitburn: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses by - (summer reads .TXT) 📕

the horrible prospect rose before her of being seized by these lawless men, tortured by the savage hands of the witch-finder, subjected to a cruel death, by fire, or at best by water.  She pressed her hands together, feeling utterly desolate, and prayed her prayer to the God of the fatherless to save her or brace her to endure.

Presently Cuthbert exclaimed, “Would Master Groats, the Poticary, shelter you till this is over-past?  His wife is deaf and must perforce keep counsel.”

“He would!  I verily believe he would,” exclaimed Grisell; “and no suspicion would light on him.  How soon can I go to him, and how?”

“If it may be, this very night,” said Ridley.  “I missed two of the rogues, and who knows whither they may have gone?”

“Will there be time?” said the poor girl, looking round in terror.

“Certes.  The nearest witch-finder is at Shields, and they cannot get there and back under two days.  Have you jewels, lady?  And hark you, trust not to Thora.  She is the worst traitor of all.  Ask me no more, but be ready to come down when you hear a whistle.”

That Thora could be a traitress and turn against her—the girl whom she had taught, trained, and civilised—was too much to believe.  She would almost, in spite of cautions, have asked her if it were possible, and tried to explain the true character of the services that were so cruelly misinterpreted; but as she descended the dark winding stair to supper, she heard the following colloquy:

“You will not deal hardly with her, good Ralph, dear Ralph?”

“That thou shalt see, maid!  On thy life, not a word to her.”

“Nay, but she is a white witch! she does no evil.”

“What!  Going back on what thou saidst of her brother and her mother.  Take thou heed, or they will take order with thee.”

“Thou wilt take care of me, good Ralph.  Oh!  I have done it for thee.”

“Never fear, little one; only shut thy pretty little mouth;” and there was a sound of kissing.

“What will they do to her?” in a lower voice.

“Thou wilt see!  Sink or swim thou knowst.  Ha! ha!  She will have enough of the draught that is so free to us.”

Grisell, trembling and horror-stricken, could only lean against the wall hoping that her beating heart did not sound loud enough to betray her, till a call from the hall put an end to the terrible whispers.

She hurried upwards lest Thora should come up and perceive how near she had been, then descended and took her seat at supper, trying to converse with Pierce as usual, but noting with terror the absence of the two soldiers.

How her evasion was to be effected she knew not.  The castle keys were never delivered to her, but always to Hardcastle, and she saw him take them; but she received from Ridley a look and sign which meant that she was to be ready, and when she left the hall she made up a bundle of needments, and in it her precious books and all the jewels she had inherited.  That Thora did not follow her was a boon.

p. 195CHAPTER XIX
A MARCH HARE

Yonder is a man in sight—
Yonder is a house—but where?
No, she must not enter there.
To the caves, and to the brooks,
To the clouds of heaven she looks.

Wordsworth, Feast of Brougham Castle.

Long, long did Grisell kneel in an agony of prayer and terror, as she seemed already to feel savage hands putting her to the ordeal.

The castle had long been quiet and dark, so far as she knew, when there was a faint sound and a low whistle.  She sprang to the door and held Ridley’s hand.

“Now is the time,” he said, under his breath; “the squire waits.  That treacherous little baggage is safe locked into the cellar, whither I lured her to find some malvoisie for the rascaille crew.  Come.”

He was without his boots, and silently led the way along the narrow passage to the postern door, where stood young Hardcastle with the keys.  He let them out and crossed the court with them to the little door leading to a steep descent of the cliffs by a narrow path.  Not till the sands were reached did any of the three dare to speak, and then Grisell held out her hands in thanks and farewell.

“May I not guard you on your way, lady?” said Pierce.

“Best not, sir,” returned Ridley; “best not know whither she is gone.  I shall be back again before I am missed or your rogues are stirring.”

“When Sir Leonard knows of their devices, lady,” said Pierce, “then will Ridley tell him where to find you and bring you back in all honour.”

Grisell could only sigh, and try to speak her thanks to the young man, who kissed her hand, and stood watching her and Ridley as the waning moon lighted them over the glistening sands, till they sought the friendly shadows of the cliffs.  And thus Grisell Dacre parted from the home of her fathers.

“Cuthbert,” she said, “should you see Sir Leonard, let him know that if—if he would be free from any bond to me I will aid in breaking it, and ask only dowry enough to obtain entrance to a convent, while he weds the lady he loves.”

Ridley interrupted her with imprecations on the knight, and exhortations to her to hold her own, and not abandon her rights.  “If he keep the lands, he should keep the wife,” was his cry.

“His word and heart—” began Grisell.

“Folly, my wench.  No question but she is bestowed on some one else.  You do not want to be quit of him and be mewed in a nunnery.”

“I only crave to hide my head and not be the bane of his life.”

“Pshaw!  You have seen for yourself.  Once get over the first glance and you are worth the fairest dame that ever was jousted for in the lists.  Send him at least a message as though it were not your will to cast him off.”

“If you will have it so, then,” said Grisell, “tell him that if it be his desire, I will strive to make him a true, loyal, and loving wife.”

The last words came with a sob, and Ridley gave a little inward chuckle, as of one who suspected that the duties of the good and loving wife would not be unwillingly undertaken.

Castle-bred ladies were not much given to long walks, and though the distance was only two miles, it was a good deal for Grisell, and she plodded on wearily, to the sound of the lap of the sea and the cries of the gulls.  The caverns of the rock looked very black and gloomy, and she clung to Ridley, almost expecting something to spring out on her; but all was still, and the pale eastward light began to be seen over the sea before they turned away from it to ascend to the scattered houses of the little rising town.

The bells of the convent had begun to ring for lauds, but it was only twilight when they reached the wall of Lambert’s garden of herbs, where there was a little door that yielded to Ridley’s push.  The house was still closed, and hoar frost lay on the leaves, but Grisell proposed to hide herself in the little shed which served the purpose of tool-house and summer-house till she could make her entrance.  She felt sure of a welcome, and almost constrained Cuthbert to leave her, so as to return to the Tower early enough to avert suspicion—an easier matter as the men-at-arms were given to sleeping as late as they could.  He would make an errand to the Apothecary’s as soon as he could, so as to bring intelligence.

There sat Grisell, looking out on the brightening sky, while the blackbirds and thrushes were bursting into song, and sweet odours rising from the spring buds of the aromatic plants around, and a morning bell rang from the great monastery church.  With that she saw the house door open, and Master Lambert in a fur cap and gown turned up with lambs’-wool come out into the garden, basket in hand, and chirp to the birds to come down and be fed.

It was pretty to see how the mavis and the merle, the sparrow, chaffinch, robin, and tit fluttered round, and Grisell waited a moment to watch them before she stepped forth and said, “Ah!  Master Groot, here is another poor bird to implore your bounty.”

“Lady Grisell,” he cried, with a start.

“Ah! not that name,” she said; “not a word.  O Master Lambert, I came by night; none have seen me, none but good Cuthbert Ridley ken where I am.  There can be no peril to you or yours if you will give shelter for a little while to a poor maid.”

“Dear lady, we will do all we can,” returned Lambert.  “Fear not.  How pale you are.  You have walked all night!  Come and rest.  None will follow.  You are sore spent!  Clemence shall bring you a warm drink!  Condescend, dear lady,” and he made her lean on his arm, and brought her into his large living room, and placed her in the comfortable cross-legged chair with straps and cushions as a back, while he went into some back settlement to inform his wife of her visitor; and presently they brought her warm water, with some refreshing perfume, in a brass basin, and he knelt on one knee to hold it to her, while she bathed her face and hands with a sponge—a rare luxury.  She started at every sound, but Lambert assured her that she was safe, as no one ever came beyond the booth.  His Clemence had no gossips, and the garden could not be overlooked.  While some broth was heated for her she began to explain her peril, but he exclaimed, “Methinks I know, lady, if it was thereanent that a great strapping Hollander fellow from your Tower came to ask me for a charm against gramarie, with hints that ’twas in high places.  ’Twas enough to make one laugh to see the big lubber try to whisper hints, and shiver and shake, as he showed me a knot in his matted locks and asked if it were not the enemy’s tying.  I told him ’twas tied by the enemy indeed, the deadly sin of sloth, and that a stout Dutchman ought to be ashamed of himself for carrying such a head within or without.  But I scarce bethought me the impudent Schelm could have thought of you, lady.”

“Hush again.  Forget the word!  They are gone to Shields in search of the witch-finder, to pinch me, and probe me, and drown me, or burn me,” cried Grisell, clasping her hands.  “Oh! take me somewhere if you cannot safely hide me; I would not bring trouble on you!”

“You need not fear,” he answered.  “None will enter here but by my goodwill, and I will bar the garden door lest any idle lad should pry in; but they come not here.  The tortoise who crawls about in the summer fills them with too much terror for them to venture, and is better than any watch-dog.  Now, let me touch your pulse.  Ah!  I would prescribe lying down on the bed and resting for the day.”

She complied, and Clemence took her to the upper floor, where it was the pride of the Flemish housewife to keep a guest-chamber, absolutely neat, though very little furnished, and indeed seldom or never used; but she solicitously stroked the big bed, and signed to Grisell to lie down in the midst of pillows of down, above and below, taking off her hood, mantle, and shoes, and smoothing her down with nods and sweet smiles, so that she fell sound asleep.

When she awoke the sun was at the meridian, and she came down to the noontide meal.  Master Groot was looking much entertained.

Wearmouth, he said, was in a commotion.  The great Dutch Whitburn man-at-arms had come in full of the wonderful story.  Not only had the grisly lady vanished, but a cross-bow man had shot an enormous hare on the moor, a creature with one ear torn off, and a seam on its face, and Masters Hardcastle and Ridley altogether favoured the belief that it was the sorceress herself without time to change her shape.  Did Mynheer Groot hold with them?

For though Dutch and Flemings were not wholly friendly at home, yet in a strange country they held together, and remembered that they were both Netherlanders, and Hannekin would fain know what thought the wise man.

“Depend on it, there was no time for a change,” gravely said Groot.  “Have not Nostradamus, Albertus Magnus, and Rogerus Bacon” (he was heaping names together as he saw Hannekin’s big gray eyes grow rounder and rounder) “all averred that the great Diabolus can give his minions power to change themselves at will into hares, cats, or toads to transport themselves to the Sabbath on Walpurgs’ night?”

“You deem it in sooth,” said the Dutchman, “for know you that the