One Snowy Night Part 11

"Shouldn't wonder if you'd a pot laid by somewhere," said the butcher with a knowing wink. He was an old acquaintance.

"Well, I haven't, then: and what's more, I've plenty to do with the few marks I have. Come now, I'll give you sixteen pence for that biggest fellow."

The butcher intimated, half in a shout and half by pantomime, that he could not think of such a thing.

"Well, eighteen, then."

The butcher shook his head.

"Nineteen! Now, that's as high as I'll go."

"Not that one," shouted the butcher; "I'll take nineteen for the other."

Isel had to execute a gymnastic feat before she could answer, to save herself from the horns of an inquisitive cow which was being driven up the row; while a fat pig on the other side was driving Flemild nearly out of the row altogether.

"Well! I'll agree to that," said Isel, when she had settled with the cow.

A similar process having been gone through for the half ox, for which Isel had to pay seventeen pence [Salted cow was much cheaper, being only 2 s.h.i.+llings each.]--a shameful price, as she a.s.sured her companions--the ladies next made their way to Drapers' Row. The draper, then and for some centuries later, was the manufacturer of cloth, not the retail dealer only: but he sold retail as well as wholesale. Isel found some cloth to her mind, but the price was not to her mind at all, being eighteen pence per ell.

"Gramercy, man! wouldst thou ruin me?" she demanded.

A second battle followed with the draper, from which Isel this time emerged victorious, having paid only 1 s.h.i.+lling 5 pence per ell. They then went to the clothier's, where she secured a cloak for a mark (13 s.h.i.+llings 4 pence) and capes for the girls at 6 s.h.i.+llings 8 pence each.

At the shoemaker's she laid in her slippers for 6 pence per pair, with three pairs of boots at a s.h.i.+lling. The cheeses were dear, being a halfpenny each; the load of flour cost 14 pence, and of meal 2 s.h.i.+llings; the beans were 1 s.h.i.+lling 8 pence, the cabbage 1 s.h.i.+lling 2 pence, the herrings 2 s.h.i.+llings. The coffer came to 5 s.h.i.+llings, the nails to 2 s.h.i.+llings 4 pence. [Note 2.] Isel looked ruefully at her purse.

"We must brew at home," she said, easily dismissing that item; "but how shall I do for the rugs?"

Rugs were costly articles. There was no woollen manufacture in England, nor was there to be such for another hundred years. A thick, serviceable coverlet, such as Isel desired, was not to be bought much under two pounds.

"We must do without them," she said, with a shake of her head. "Girls, you'll have to spread your cloaks on the bed. We must eat, but we needn't lie warm if we can't afford it."

"Isel, have you de one pound? Look, here is one," said Agnes timidly, holding out her hand.

"But you want that, my dear."

"No, I can do widout. I will de gown up-mend dat I have now. Take you de money; I have left for de shoes and flannel."

She did not add that the flannel would have to be cut down, as well as the new dress resigned.

"And I can do very well without a hood," added Ermine quickly. "We must help Mother Isel all we can."

"My dears, I don't half like taking it."

"We have taken more from you," said Ermine.

Thus urged, Isel somewhat reluctantly took the money, and bought one rug, for which she beat down the clothier to two marks and a half, and departed triumphant, this being her best bargain for the day. It was then in England, as it yet is in Eastern lands, an understood thing that all tradesmen asked extortionate prices, and must be offered less as a matter of course: a fact which helps to the comprehension of the Waldensian objection to trade as involving falsehood.

Isel returned to Agnes the change which remained out of her pound, which enabled her to get all the flannel she needed. Their baskets being now well filled, Isel and her party turned homewards, sauntering slowly through the fair, partly because the crowd prevented straightforward walking, but partly also because they wished to see as much as they could. Haimet was to bring a hand-cart for the meat and other heavy purchases at a later hour.

Derette, who for safety's sake was foremost of the girls, directly following her mother and Agnes, trudged along with her basket full of slippers, and her head full of profound meditation. Had Isel known the nature of those meditations, she certainly would never have lingered at the silversmiths' stalls in a comfortable frame of mind, pointing out to her companions various pretty things which took her fancy. But she had not the remotest idea of her youngest daughter's private thoughts, and she turned away from Gloucester Green at last, quite ignorant of the fas.h.i.+on wherein her feelings of all sorts were about to be outraged.

Derette was determined to obtain a dress for Agnes. She had silently watched the kindly manner in which the good-natured German gave up the thing she really needed: for poor Agnes had but the one dress she wore, and Derette well knew that no amount of mending would carry it through another winter. But how was a penniless child to procure another for her? If Derette had not been a young person of original ideas and very independent spirit, the audacious notion which she was now entertaining would never have visited her mind.

This was no less than a visit to the Castle, to beg one of the cast-off gowns of the women of the household. Dresses wore long in the Middle Ages, and ladies of rank were accustomed to make presents of half-worn ones to each other. Derette was not quite so presumptuous as to think of addressing the Countess--that, even in her eyes, seemed a preposterous impossibility; but surely one of her waiting-women might be reached. How was she to accomplish her purpose?

That she must slip away unseen was the first step to be taken. Her mother would never dream of allowing such an errand, as Derette well knew; but she comforted herself, as others have done beside her, with the reflection that the excellence of her motive quite compensated for the unsatisfactory details of her conduct. Wedged as she was in the midst of the family group, and enc.u.mbered with her basket, she could not hope to get away before they reached home; but she thought she saw her chance directly afterwards, when the baskets should have been discharged of their contents, and every body was busy inspecting, talking about, and putting away, the various purchases that had been made.

Young girls were never permitted to go out alone at that time. It was considered less dangerous in town than country, and a mere run into a neighbouring house might possibly have been allowed; but usually, when not accompanied by some responsible person, they were sent in groups of three or four at once. Derette's journey must be taken alone, and it involved a few yards of Milk Street, as far as Saint Ebbe's, then a run to Castle Street and up to the Castle. That was the best way, for it was both the shortest and comparatively the quietest. But Derette determined not to go in at the entrance gate, where she would meet Osbert and probably Anania, but to make for the Osney Gate to the left, where she hoped to fall into the kindlier hands of her cousin Stephen.

The danger underlying this item was that Stephen might have gone to the fair, in which case she would have to encounter either the rough joking of Orme, or the rough crustiness of Wandregisil, his fellow-watchmen.

That must be risked. The opportunity had to be bought, and Derette made up her mind to pay the necessary price.

The Walnut Tree was reached, the baskets laid down, and while Agnes was divesting herself of her cloak, and Isel reiterating her frequent a.s.sertion that she was "that tired," Derette s.n.a.t.c.hed her chance, and every body's back being turned for the moment, slipped out of the door, and sped up Kepeharme Lane with the speed of a fawn. Her heart beat wildly, and until she reached Milk Street, she expected every instant to be followed and taken back. If she could only get her work done, she told herself, the scolding and probable whipping to follow would be easily borne.

Owing to its peculiar munic.i.p.al laws, throughout the Middle Ages, Oxford had the proud distinction of being the cleanest city in England. That is to say, it was not quite so appallingly smothered in mire and filth as others were. Down the midst of every narrow street ran a gutter, which after rain was apt to become a brook, and into which dirt of every sort was emptied by every householder. There were no causeways; and there were frequent holes of uncertain depth, filled with thick mud.

Ownerless dogs, and owned but equally free-spoken pigs, roamed the streets at their own sweet will, and were not wont to make way for the human pa.s.sengers; while if a cart were met in the narrow street, it was necessary for the pedestrian to squeeze himself into the smallest compa.s.s possible against the wall, if he wished to preserve his limbs in good working order. Such were the delights of taking a walk in the good old times. It may reasonably be surmised that unnecessary walks were not frequently taken.

Kepeharme Lane left behind, where the topography of the holes was tolerably familiar, Derette had to walk more guardedly. After getting pretty well splashed, and dodging a too attentive pig which was intent on charging her for venturing on his beat, Derette at last found herself at the Osney Gate. She felt now that half her task was over.

"Who goes there?" demanded the welcome voice of Stephen, when Derette rapped at the gate.

"It's me, Stephen,--Derette: do let me in."

The gate stood open in a moment, and Stephen's pleasant face appeared behind it, with a look of something like consternation thereon.

"Derette!--alone!--whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing, Stephen; oh, nothing's the matter. I only came alone because I knew Mother wouldn't let me if I asked her."

"Hoity-toity!--that's a nice confession, young woman! And pray what are you after, now you have come?"

"Stephen--dear, good Stephen, will you do me a favour?"

"Hold off, you coaxing sinner!"

"Oh, but I want it so much! You see, she gave it up because Mother wanted a rug, and she let her have the money--and I know it won't mend up to wear any thing like through the winter--and I do want so to get her another--a nice soft one, that will be comfortable, and--You'll help me, won't you, Steenie?"

And Derette's small arms came coaxingly round her cousin's wrist.

"I'm a heathen Jew if I have the shadow of a notion what I'm wanted to help! 'A nice soft one!' Is it a kitten, or a bed-quilt, or a sack of meal, you're after?"

"O Stephen!--what queer things you guess! It's a gown--."

"I don't keep gowns, young woman."

"No, but, Steenie, you might help me to get at somebody that does. One of the Lady's women, you know. I'm sure you could, if you would."

Steenie whistled. "Well, upon my word! _You'll_ not lose cakes for want of asking for. Why don't you go to Anania?"

"You know she'd only be cross."