Our Little Lady Part 2

The Bishop did all he could to help them. He found them a tenant for the house, lent them money--all his money not spent on real necessaries was either lent or given to such as needed it more than he did; and at last he sent them southwards on his own horses, and in charge of three of his servants. From Lincoln to Windsor was a five days' journey of rather long stages; and when at last they reached the royal borough, simple--minded Agnes had begun to feel as if no further power of astonishment were left in her mind.

"Dear, I never thought the world was so big!" she had said before they left Grantham; and when they arrived at Aylesbury, her cry was--"Eh, what a power of folks be in this world!"

Old Muriel took her journey, as she did everything, calmly. She, like Bishop Grosteste himself, lived too much with G.o.d to be easily startled or overawed by the grandeur of man. Avice was in a state of excitement and delight through the whole time.

They slept at a small inn; and the next morning, one of the Bishop's servants, who had received his orders beforehand, took up to the Castle a letter from his master, and waited to hear when it would please the Queen to see them. He came back in an hour, with the news that the Queen would receive them that afternoon.

Agnes was in a condition of restless flutter till the time came. Then they dressed themselves in their very best, and Luke, the Bishop's servant, took them up to the Castle.

If Agnes had felt confused at the mere idea of her interview, she found the reality still more overwhelming than she expected. The first thing she realised was that she stood in an immense hall, surrounded by what seemed to her a crowd of very smart gentlemen. Then they were led through pa.s.sages and galleries, upstairs and downstairs, till Agnes felt as though she could never hope to find her way back; and at last, in a very handsome room, where the walls were covered with painting, and the furniture upholstered in silk, they came into the midst of a second crowd of very grand ladies. By this time poor Agnes had quite lost her head; and when one of the fine ladies asked her what she wanted, she could only drop a succession of courtesies and look totally bewildered.

Old Muriel managed better.

"Under your leave, Madam, we have been sent for by my Lady the Queen."

"Oh, are you the people who come about the nurses' place?" said the young lady, who looked good-natured enough. "Follow me, and I will lead you to the Queen's chamber."

How many more chambers can there be? was the wonder uppermost in the mind of Agnes. But they walked through several more, each to her eyes grander than the last, painted, with stained gla.s.s windows, and silk-covered furniture. At length the young lady desired them to wait a moment where they were, while she took in their names to the Queen. She drew back a crimson silk curtain, and disappeared behind it; and the three--for they had never thought of leaving Avice behind--stood looking round them in admiring astonishment. They were not left to wonder long.

The curtain was drawn back, and the voice of some unseen person bade them go forward.

They found themselves in a smaller room than the last, beautifully decorated. The walls were painted a very pale blue, and large frescoes ornamented each side of the chamber. Thick marble columns, highly polished, jutted out into the room, and in the recess between each pair was a marble bench, with cus.h.i.+ons of crimson samite. Two walnut-wood chairs, furnished with crimson samite cus.h.i.+ons, stood in the middle of the room. Small leaf-tables were fixed to the walls here and there.

The floor was of waxed wood, very slippery to tread upon. At the farther side of the room two doors stood open, side by side, the one leading to a little oratory in the turret, the other to a balcony which ran round the tower. In one corner a young lady sat at an embroidery frame, and in another a little girl of seven years old, who deeply interested Avice, was feeding her pet peac.o.c.k. In one of the chairs, with some fancy work in her hand, sat a lady whose age was about twenty-eight, and whose rich dress of gold-coloured samite, and the gold and pearl fillet which bound her hair, divided Avice's attention with the child and the peac.o.c.k. Agnes was dropping flurried courtesies to everybody at once. Muriel, who seemed to have a much better notion of what she ought to do, took a step forward, and knelt before the lady who sat in the chair.

"Lady," she said, "we are the Queen's servants."

Queen Eleanor, for it was she, looked up on them with a smile. She was a beautiful brunette, lively and animated when she spoke, but with an easy-going, lazy expression when she did not. It struck Avice, who had eyes for everything, and was making good use of them, that her Majesty might have brushed her rich dark hair a little smoother, and have fastened her diamond brooch less unevenly than she had done.

It was the pleasanter side of Queen Eleanor which was being shown to them. She could be very pleasant when she was pleased, and very kind and affable when she liked people. But she could be very harsh and tyrannical to those whom she did not like; and she was one of those many people with whom out of sight is out of mind. Let her see a suffering child, and she would be sorry and anxious to help; but a thousand suffering people whom she did not see, even if something which she did had made them suffer, were nothing at all to her.

The Queen liked her visitors. She thought old Muriel looked reliable; she was amused with the bewildered reverence of Agnes; and as to Avice, a child more or less in Windsor Castle mattered very little. She would do to feed the peac.o.c.k when Princess Margaret did not choose to attend to it. So the bargain was soon struck; and almost before she had discovered what was going to happen to her, Agnes found herself the day-nurse of the Lord Richard, the little Prince who was then in the cradle. Muriel was made mistress of the nurses; and even little Avice received a formal appointment as waiting-damsel on the Princess Margaret, the little girl who was feeding the peac.o.c.k. They were then dismissed from the royal presence.

"Thou hadst better go with them, Margaret Bysset," said the Queen, with a rather amused smile, to the young lady who had brought them in; "otherwise they may wander about all day."

Guided by Margaret Bysset, they retraced their steps through the suite of rooms, down winding stairs, and across the hall, to the great door which led into the courtyard of the Castle.

"Can you find your way now?" asked the young lady.

"Nay, we can but try!" said Agnes. "Pray you, my mistress, how many chambers be there in this Castle?"

"Truly, I have not counted them," was the laughing answer.

"Eh, dear, but I marvel if I can ever find mine own when we come to dwell here!"

"That will you soon enough. Look, here cometh your serving-man. Give you good morrow!"

A few days saw them safely housed in the Castle, where two of them were to dwell for ten years before they returned to their own home at Lincoln. But old Muriel was never to return. She lived through half that time, just long enough to hear of the death of Bishop Grosteste, who pa.s.sed away on the ninth of October 1253. He literally died weeping for the sins of his age.

"Christ came into the world to save souls," were the words uttered with his last breath. "He who takes pains to ruin them, shall he not be called Antichrist? G.o.d built the universe in six days; but it took Him thirty years to redeem fallen man. The Church can never be delivered but by the sword from the Egyptian bondage in which the Popes hold her."

The good old Bishop could say no more. His voice broke down in tears; and with one great sob for England he yielded up his soul.

CHAPTER THREE.

AT UNCLE DAN'S SMITHY.

The royal baby for whose benefit Muriel and Agnes had been engaged did not live long; but he was succeeded by his brother Prince William, and before he was old enough to do without nurses, a little Princess came upon the scene. She was the last of the family, and she lived three years and a half. After her death, the services of the nurses were no longer needed. Queen Eleanor dismissed them with liberal wages and handsome presents, and the two who were left--Agnes and Avice-- determined to go back to Lincoln. Avice was now a young woman of twenty.

But when they reached their old home, they found many changes. The good Bishop Grosteste was gone, but his chaplain, Father Thomas, had looked after their interests, and Agnes found no difficulty in recovering her little property. Happily for them, their tenants were anxious to leave the house, and before many days were over, they had slipped quietly back into the old place.

There were no banks in those days. A man's savings bank was an old stocking or a tin mug. Agnes disposed of the money she had left from the Queen's payment, partly in the purchase of a cow, and partly in a stocking, which was carefully locked up in the oak chest. They could live very comfortably on the produce of the cow and the garden, aided by what small sums they might earn in one way and another. And so the years went on, until Avice in her turn married and was left a widow; but she had no child, and when her mother died Avice was left alone.

"I can never do to live alone," she said to herself; "I must have somebody to love and work for."

And she began to think whom she could find to live with her. As she sat and span in the twilight, one name after another occurred to her mind, but only to be all declined with thanks.

There was her neighbour next door, Annora Goldhue: she had three daughters. No, none of them would do. Joan was idle, and Amy was conceited, and Frethesancia had a temper. Little Roese might have done, who lived with old Serena at the mill end; but old Serena could not spare her. At last, as Avice broke her thread for the fourth time, she pushed back the stool on which she was sitting, and rose with her determination taken, and spoke it out--

"I will go and see Aunt Filomena."

Aunt Filomena lived about a mile from Lincoln, on the Newport road. Her husband was a greensmith: that is to say, he worked in copper, and hawked his goods in the town when made. Avice lost no time in going, but set out at once.

As she rounded the last turn in the lane, she heard the ring of Daniel Greensmith's hammer on the anvil, and a few minutes' more walking brought her in sight of the smith himself, who laid down his hammer and shaded his eyes to see who was coming.

"Why, Uncle Dan, don't you know me?" said Avice.

"Nay, who is to know thee, when thou comes so seldom?" said old Dan, wiping his hot face with his ap.r.o.n. "Art thou come to see me or my dame?"

"I want to see Aunt Filomena. Is she in, Uncle Dan?"

"She's in, unless she's out," said Dan unanswerably. "And her tongue's in, too. It's at home, _that_ is. Was this morning, anyhow. What dost thou want of her?"

"Well," said Avice, hesitating, "I want her advice--"

"Then thou wants what thou'lt get plenty of," said Dan, with a comical twist of his mouth, as he turned over some long nails to find a suitable one. "I'll be fain if thou'lt cart away a middling lot, for there's more coming my way than I've occasion for at this present."

Avice laughed. "I daresay Aunt is overworked a bit," she said.

"Perhaps I can help her, Uncle Dan. Folks are apt to lose their tempers when they are tired."

"Some folks are apt to lose 'em whether they are tired or not," said the smith, with a shake of his grizzled head. "I've got six la.s.ses, and four on 'em takes after her. I could manage one, and maybe I might tackle two; but when five on 'em gets a-top of a chap, why, he's down afore he knows it. I'm a peaceable man enough if they'd take me peaceable. But them five rattling tongues, that gallops faster than Sir Otho's charger up to the Manor--eh, I tell thee what, Avice, they do wear a man out!"

"Poor Uncle Dan! I should think they do. But are all the girls at home? I thought Mildred and Emma were to be bound apprentices in Lincoln."

"Fell through wi' Mildred," said the smith. "Didn't offer good enough; and She"--by which p.r.o.noun he usually designated his vixenish wife--"wouldn't hear on it. Emma's bound, worse luck! I could ha' done wi' Emma. She and Bertha's the only ones as can be peaceable, like me."

"Mildred's still at home, then?"

"Mildred's at home yet. And so's El'nor, and so's Susanna, and so's Ankaret; and every one on 'em's tongue's worse nor t'other. And"--a very heavy sigh--"so's She!"