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

new Abbess’s Proctor would not consent to her remaining there any longer, not even long enough to send to her parents or to the Countess of Salisbury.

“Poor maiden!  Such are the ways of his Holiness where the King is not man enough to stand in his way,” said Warwick.  “So, fair maiden, if you will honour my house for a few days, as my lady’s guest, I will send you north in more fitting guise than with this white-smith dame.”

“She hath been very good to me,” Grisell ventured to add to her thanks.

“She shall have good entertainment here,” said the Earl smiling.  “No doubt she hath already, as Sarum born.  See that Goodwife Hall, the white smith’s wife, and her following have the best of harbouring,” he added to his silver-chained steward.

“You are a Dacre of Whitburn,” he added to Grisell.  “Your father has not taken sides with Dacre of Gilsland and the Percies.”  Then seeing that Grisell knew nothing of all this, he laughed and said, “Little convent birds, you know nought of our worldly strifes.”

In fact, Grisell had heard nothing from her home for the last five years, which was the less marvel as neither her father nor her mother could write if they had cared to do so.  Nor did the convent know much of the state of England, though prayers had been constantly said for the King’s recovery, and of late there had been thanksgivings for the birth of the Prince of Wales; but it was as much as she did know that just now the Duke of York was governing, for the poor King seemed as senseless as a stone, and the Earl of Salisbury was his Chancellor.  Nevertheless Salisbury was absent in the north, and there was a quarrel going on between the Nevils and the Percies which Warwick was going to compose, and thus would be able to take Grisell so far in his company.

The great household was larger than even what she remembered at the houses of the Countess of Salisbury before her accident, and, fresh from the stillness of the convent as she was, the noises were amazing to her when all sat down to supper.  Tables were laid all along the vast hall.  She was placed at the upper one to her relief, beside an old lady, Dame Gresford, whom she remembered to have seen at Montacute Castle in her childhood, as one of the attendants on the Countess.  She was forced to put back her veil, and she saw some of the young knights and squires staring at her, then nudging one another and laughing.

“Never mind them, sweetheart,” said Dame Gresford kindly; “they are but unmannerly lurdanes, and the Lord Earl would make them know what is befitting if his eye fell on them.”

The good lady must have had a hint from the authorities, for she kept Grisell under her wing in the huge household, which was like a city in itself.  There was a knight who acted as steward, with innumerable knights, squires, and pages under him, besides the six hundred red jacketed yoemen, and servants of all degrees, in the immense court of the buttery and kitchen, as indeed there had need to be, for six oxen were daily cooked, with sheep and other meats in proportion, and any friend or acquaintance of any one in this huge establishment might come in, and not only eat and drink his fill, but carry off as much meat as he could on the point of his dagger.

Goodwife Hall, as coming from Salisbury, stayed there in free quarters, while she made the round of all the shrines in London, and she was intensely gratified by the great Earl recollecting, or appearing to recollect, her and inquiring after her husband, that hearty burgess, whose pewter was so lasting, and he was sure was still in use among his black guard.

When she saw Grisell on finally departing for St. Albans, she was carrying her head a good deal higher on the strength of “my Lord Earl’s grace to her.”  She hoped that her sweet Lady Grisell would remain here, as the best hap she could have in the most noble, excellent, and open-handed house in the world!  Grisell’s own wishes were not the same, for the great household was very bewildering—a strange change from her quietly-busy convent.  The Countess was quiet enough, but dull and sickly, and chiefly occupied by her ailments.  She seemed to be always thinking about leeches, wise friars, wonderful nuns, or even wizards and cunning women, and was much concerned that her husband absolutely forbade her consulting the witch of Spitalfields.

“Nay, dame,” said he, “an thou didst, the next thing we should hear would be that thou hadst been sticking pins into King Harry’s waxen image and roasting him before the fire, and that nothing but roasting thee in life and limb within a fire would bring him to life and reason.”

“They would never dare,” cried the lady.

“Who can tell what the Queen would dare if she gets her will!” demanded the Earl.  “Wouldst like to do penance with sheet and candle, like Gloucester’s wife?”

Such a possibility was enough to silence the Lady of Warwick on the score of witches, and the only time she spoke to Grisell was to ask her about Sister Avice and her cures.  She set herself to persuade her husband to let her go down to one of his mother’s Wiltshire houses to consult the nun, but Warwick had business in the north, nor would he allow her to be separated from him, lest she might be detained as a hostage.

Dame Gresford continued to be Grisell’s protector, and let the girl sit and spin or embroider beside her, while the other ladies of the house played at ball in the court, or watched the exercises of the pages and squires.  The dame’s presence and authority prevented Grisell’s being beset with uncivil remarks, but she knew she was like a toad among the butterflies, as she overheard some saucy youth calling her, while a laugh answered him, and she longed for her convent.

p. 80CHAPTER VIII
OLD PLAYFELLOWS

      Alone thou goest forth,
   Thy face unto the north,
Moor and pleasance all around thee and beneath thee.

E. Barrett Browning, A Valediction.

One great pleasure fell to Grisell’s share, but only too brief.  The family of the Duke of York on their way to Baynard’s Castle halted at Warwick House, and the Duchess Cecily, tall, fair, and stately, sailed into the hall, followed by three fair daughters, while Warwick, her nephew, though nearly of the same age, advanced with his wife to meet and receive her.

In the midst of the exchange of affectionate but formal greetings a cry of joy was heard, “My Grisell! yes, it is my Grisell!” and springing from the midst of her mother’s suite, Margaret Plantagenet, a tall, lovely, dark-haired girl, threw her arms round the thin slight maiden with the scarred face, which excited the scorn and surprise of her two sisters.

“Margaret!  What means this?” demanded the Duchess severely.

“It is my Grisell Dacre, fair mother, my dear companion at my aunt of Salisbury’s manor,” said Margaret, trying to lead forward her shrinking friend.  “She who was so cruelly scathed.”

Grisell curtsied low, but still hung back, and Lord Warwick briefly explained.  “Daughter to Will Dacre of Whitburn, a staunch baron of the north.  My mother bestowed her at Wilton, whence the creature of the Pope’s intruding Abbess has taken upon him to expel her.  So I am about to take her to Middleham, where my mother may see to her further bestowal.”

“We have even now come from Middleham,” said the Duchess.  “My Lord Duke sent for me, but he looks to you, my lord, to compose the strife between your father and the insolent Percies.”

The Duke was at Windsor with the poor insane King, and the Earl and the Duchess plunged into a discussion of the latest news of the northern counties and of the Court.  The elder daughters were languidly entertained by the Countess, but no one disturbed the interview of Margaret and Grisell, who, hand in hand, had withdrawn into the embrasure of a window, and there fondled each other, and exchanged tidings of their young lives, and Margaret told of friends in the Nevil household.

All too soon the interview came to an end.  The Duchess, after partaking of a manchet, was ready to proceed to Baynard’s Castle, and the Lady Margaret was called for.  Again, in spite of surprised, not to say displeased looks, she embraced her dear old playfellow.  “Don’t go into a convent, Grisell,” she entreated.  “When I am wedded to some great earl, you must come and be my lady, mine own, own dear friend.  Promise me!  Your pledge, Grisell.”

There was no time for the pledge.  Margaret was peremptorily summoned.  They would not meet again.  The Duchess’s intelligence had quickened Warwick’s departure, and the next day the first start northwards was to be made.

It was a mighty cavalcade.  The black guard, namely, the kitchen ménage, with all their pots and pans, kettles and spits, were sent on a day’s march beforehand, then came the yeomen, the knights and squires, followed by the more immediate attendants of the Earl and Countess and their court.  She travelled in a whirlicote, and there were others provided for her elder ladies, the rest riding singly or on pillions according to age or taste.  Grisell did not like to part with her pony, and Dame Gresford preferred a pillion to the bumps and jolts of the waggon-like conveyances called chariots, so Grisell rode by her side, the fresh spring breezes bringing back the sense of being really a northern maid, and she threw back her veil whenever she was alone with the attendants, who were used to her, though she drew it closely round when she encountered town or village.  There were resting-places on the way.  In great monasteries all were accommodated, being used to close quarters; in castles there was room for the “Gentles,” who, if they fared well, heeded little how they slept, and their attendants found lairs in the kitchens or stables.  In towns there was generally harbour for the noble portion; indeed in some, Warwick had dwellings of his own, or his father’s, but these, at first, were at long distances apart, such as would be ridden by horsemen alone, not encumbered with ladies, and there were intermediate stages, where some of the party had to be dispersed in hostels.

It was in one of these, at Dunstable, that Dame Gresford had taken Grisell, and there were also sundry of the gentlemen of the escort.  A minstrel was esconced under the wide spread of the chimney, and began to sound his harp and sing long ballads in recitative to the company.  Whether he did it in all innocence and ignorance, or one of the young squires had mischievously prompted him, there was no knowing; Dame Gresford suspected the latter, when he began the ballad of “Sir Gawaine’s Wedding.”  She would have silenced it, but feared to draw more attention on her charge, who had never heard the song, and did not know what was coming, but listened with increasing eagerness as she heard of King Arthur, and of the giant, and the secret that the King could not guess, till as he rode—

He came to the green forest,
   Underneath a green hollen tree,
There sat that lady in red scarlet
   That unseemly was to see.

Some eyes were discourteously turned on the maiden, but she hardly saw them, and at any rate her nose was not crooked, nor had her eyes and mouth changed places, as in the case of the “Loathly Lady.”  She heard of the condition on which the lady revealed the secret, and how King Arthur bound himself to bring a fair young knight to wed the hideous being.  Then when he revealed to his assembled knights—

Then some took up their hawks,
   And some took up their hounds,
And some sware they would not marry her
   For cities nor for towns.

Glances again went towards the scarred visage, but Grisell was heedless of them, only listening how Sir Gawaine, Arthur’s nephew, felt that his uncle’s oath must be kept, and offered himself as the bridegroom.

Then after the marriage, when he looked on the lady, instead of the loathly hag he beheld a fair damsel!  And he was told by her that he might choose whether she should be foul at night and fair by day, or fair each evening and frightful in the daylight hours.  His choice at first was that her beauty should be for him alone, in his home, but when she objected that this would be hard on her, since she could thus never show her face when other dames ride with their lords—

Then buke him gentle Gawayne,
   Said, “Lady, that’s but a shill;
Because thou art mine own lady
   Thou shalt have all thy will.”

And his courtesy broke the spell of the stepdame, as the lady related—

“She witched me, being a fair young lady,