Grisly Grisell; Or, The Laidly Lady of Whitburn: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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СКАЧАТЬ poor dog love the master who beats him, so it is with us, only with the higher Christian love.  Service and prayer open the heart to love, hoping for nothing again, and full oft that which was not hoped for is vouchsafed.”

      That was the comfort with which Grisell had to start from her home of peace, conducted by the Chaplain, and even the Prioress, who would herself give her into the hands of the good Mistress Hall.

      Very early they heard mass in the convent, and then rode along the bank of the river, with the downs sloping down on the other side, and the grand spire ever seeming as it were taller as they came nearer; while the sound of the bells grew upon them, for there was then a second tower beyond to hold the bells, whose reverberation would have been dangerous to the spire, and most sweet was their chime, the sound of which had indeed often reached Wilton in favourable winds; but it sounded like a sad farewell to Grisell.

      The Prioress thought she ought to begin her journey by kneeling in the Cathedral, so they crossed the shaded close and entered by the west door with the long vista of clustered columns and pointed arches before them.

      Low sounds of mass being said at different altars met their ears, for it was still early in the day.  The Prioress passed the length of nave, and went beyond the choir to the lady chapel, with its slender supporting columns and exquisite arches, and there she, with Grisell by her side, joined in earnest supplications for the child.

      The Chaplain touched her as she rose, and made her aware that the dame arrayed in a scarlet mantle and hood and dark riding-dress was Mistress Hall.

      Silence was not observed in cathedrals or churches, especially in the naves, except when any sacred rite was going on, and no sooner was the mass finished and “Ite missa est” pronounced than the scarlet cloak rose, and hastened into the south transept, where she waited for the Chaplain, Prioress, and Grisell.  No introduction seemed needed.  “The Holy Mother Prioress,” she began, bending her knee and kissing the lady’s hand.  “Much honoured am I by the charge of this noble little lady.”  Grisell by the by was far taller than the plump little goodwoman Hall, but that was no matter, and the Prioress had barely space to get in a word of thanks before she went on: “I will keep her and tend her as the apple of mine eye.  She shall pray with me at all the holy shrines for the good of her soul and mine.  She shall be my bedfellow wherever we halt, and sit next me, and be cherished as though she were mine own daughter—ladybird as she is—till I can give her into the hands of the good Lady Countess.  Oh yes—you may trust Joan Hall, dame reverend mother.  She is no new traveller.  I have been in my time to all our shrines—to St. Thomas of Canterbury, to St. Winifred’s Well, aye, and, moreover, to St. James of Compostella, and St. Martha of Provence, not to speak of lesser chantries and Saints.  Aye, and I crossed the sea to see the holy coat of Trèves, and St. Ursula’s eleven thousand skulls—and a gruesome sight they were.  Nay, if the Lady Countess be not in London it would cost me little to go on to the north with her.  There’s St. Andrew of Ely, Hugh, great St. Hugh and little St. Hugh, both of them at Lincoln, and there’s St. Wilfred of York, and St. John of Beverly, not to speak of St. Cuthbert of Durham and of St. Hilda of Whitby, who might take it ill if I pray at none of their altars, when I have been to so many of their brethren.  Oh, you may trust me, reverend mother; I’ll never have the young lady, bless her sweet face, out of my sight till I have safe bestowed her with my Lady Countess, our good customer for all manner of hardware, or else with her own kin.”

      The good woman’s stream of conversation lasted almost without drawing breath all the way down the nave.  It was a most good-humoured hearty voice, and her plump figure and rosy face beamed with good nature, while her bright black eyes had a lively glance.

      The Chaplain had inquired about her, and found that she was one of the good women to whom pilgrimage was an annual dissipation, consecrated and meritorious as they fondly believed, and gratifying their desire for change and variety.  She was a kindly person of good reputation, trustworthy, and kind to the poor, and stout John Hall, her husband, could manage the business alone, and was thought not to regret a little reprieve from her continual tongue.

      She wanted the Prioress to do her the honour of breaking her fast with her, but the good nun was in haste to return, after having once seen her charge in safe hands, and excused herself, while Grisell, blessed by the Chaplain, and hiding her tears under her veil, was led away to the substantial smith’s abode, where she was to take a first meal before starting on her journey on the strong forest pony which the Chaplain’s care had provided for her.

      CHAPTER VII

      THE PILGRIM OF SALISBURY

      She hadde passed many a strange shrine,

      At Rome she had been and at Boleine,

      At Galice, at St. James, and at Coleine,

      She could moche of wandering by the way.

Chaucer, Canterbury Pilgrims.

      Grisell found herself brought into a hall where a stout oak table occupied the centre, covered with home-spun napery, on which stood trenchers, wooden bowls, pewter and a few silver cups, and several large pitchers of ale, small beer, or milk.  A pie and a large piece of bacon, also a loaf of barley bread and a smaller wheaten one, were there.

      Shelves all round the walls shone with pewter and copper dishes, cups, kettles, and vessels and implements of all household varieties, and ranged round the floor lay ploughshares, axes, and mattocks, all polished up.  The ring of hammers on the anvil was heard in the court in the rear.  The front of the hall was open for the most part, without windows, but it could be closed at night.

      Breakfast was never a regular meal, and the household had partaken of it, so that there was no one in the hall excepting Master Hall, a stout, brawny, grizzled man, with a good-humoured face, and his son, more slim, but growing into his likeness, also a young notable-looking daughter-in-law with a swaddled baby tucked under her arm.

      They seated Grisell at the table, and implored her to eat.  The wheaten bread and the fowl were, it seemed, provided in her honour, and she could not but take her little knife from the sheath in her girdle, turn back her nun-like veil, and prepare to try to drive back her sobs, and swallow the milk of almonds pressed on her.

      “Eh!” cried the daughter-in-law in amaze.  “She’s only scarred after all.”

      “Well, what else should she be, bless her poor heart?” said Mrs. Hall the elder.

      “Why, wasn’t it thou thyself, good mother, that brought home word that they had the pig-faced lady at Wilton there?”

      “Bless thee, Agnes, thou should’st know better than to lend an ear to all the idle tales thy poor old mother may hear at market or fair.”

      “Then should we have enough to do,” muttered her husband.

      “And as thou seest, ’tis a sweet little face, only cruelly marred by the evil hap.”

      Poor Grisell was crimson at finding all eyes on her, an ordeal she had never undergone in the convent, and she hastily pulled forward her veil.

      “Nay now, my sweet young lady, take not the idle words in ill part,” pleaded the good hostess.  “We all know how to love thee, and what is a smooth skin to a true heart?  Take a bit more of the pasty, ladybird; we’ll have far to ride ere we get to Wherwell, where the good sisters will give us a meal for young St. Edward’s sake and thy Prioress’s.  Aye—I turn out of my way for that; I never yet paid my devotion to poor young King Edward, and he might take it in dudgeon, being a king, and his shrine so near at hand.”

      “Ha, ha!” laughed the smith; “trust my dame for being on the right side of the account with the Saints.  СКАЧАТЬ