A Forgotten Hero Part 4

Clarice fancied she had heard the name before, but she could not remember where.

"But why is it bad?" said she. "Then I reckon Mistress Underdone hath been twice wed?"

"She hath," said Heliet, answering the last question first, as people often do, "and my father was her first husband. Why is pride evil?

Surely thou knowest that."

"Oh, I know it is one of the seven deadly sins, of course," responded Clarice, quickly; "still it is very necessary and n.o.ble."

Heliet's smile expressed a mixture of feelings. Clarice was not the first person who has held one axiom theoretically, but has practically behaved according to another.

"The Lord saith that He hates pride," said the lame girl, softly. "How, then, can it be necessary, not to say n.o.ble?"

"Oh, but--" Clarice went no further.

"But He did not mean what He said?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" said Clarice. "But--"

"Better drop the _but_," said Heliet, quaintly. "And Father Bevis is about to say grace."

The Dominican friar rose and returned thanks for the repast, and the company broke up, the Earl and Countess, with their guests, leaving the hall by the upper door, while the household retired by the lower.

The preparations for sleep were almost as primitive as those for meals.

Exalted persons, such as the Earl and Countess, slept in handsome bedsteads, of the tent form, hung with silk curtains, and spread with coverlets of fur, silk, or tapestry. They washed in silver basins, with ewers of the same costly metal; and they sat, the highest rank in curule chairs, the lower upon velvet-cove red forms or stools. But ordinary people, of whom Clarice was one, were not provided for in this luxurious style. Bower-maidens slept in pallet-beds, which were made extremely low, so as to run easily under one of the larger bedsteads, and thus be put out of the way. All beds rejoiced in a quant.i.ty of pillows. Our ancestors made much more use of pillows and cus.h.i.+ons than we--a fact easily accounted for, considering that they had no softly-stuffed chairs, but only upright ones of hard carved wood. But Clarice's sheets were simple "cloth of Rennes," while those of her mistress were set with jewels. Her mattress was stuffed with hay instead of wool; she had neither curtains nor fly-nets, and her coverlet was of plain cloth, unwrought by the needle. In the matter of blankets they fared alike except as to quality. But in the bower-maidens' chamber, where all the girls slept together, there were no basins of any material. Early in the morning a strong-armed maid came in, bearing a tub of water, which she set down on one of the coffers of carved oak which stood at the foot of each bed and held all the personal treasures of the sleeper. Then, by means of a mop which she brought with her, she gently sprinkled every face with water, thus intimating that it was time to get up. The tub she left behind. It was to provide--on the principle of "first come, first served"--for the ablutions of all the five young ladies, though each had her personal towel. Virtue was thus its own reward, the laziest girl being obliged to content herself with the dirtiest water.

It must, however, be remembered that she was a fastidious damsel who washed more than face and hands.

They then dressed themselves, carefully tying their respective amulets round their necks, without which proceeding they would have antic.i.p.ated all manner of ill luck to befall them during the day. These articles were small boxes of the nature of a locket, containing either a little dust of one saint, a shred of the conventual habit of another, or a few verses from a gospel, written very minutely, and folded up extremely small. Then each girl, as she was ready, knelt in the window, and gabbled over in Latin, which she did not understand, a Paternoster, ten Aves, and the Angelical Salutation, not unfrequently breaking eagerly into the conversation almost before the last Amen had left her lips.

Prayers over, they pa.s.sed into the sitting-room next door, where they generally found a basket of manchet bread and biscuits, with a large jug of ale or wine. A gentleman usher called for Mistress Underdone and her charges, and conducted them to ma.s.s in the chapel. Here they usually found the Earl and Countess before them, who alone, except the priests, were accommodated with seats. Each girl courtesied first to the altar, then to the Countess, and lastly to the Earl, before she took her allotted place. The Earl always returned the salutation by a quiet inclination of his head. The Countess sat in stony dignity, and never took any notice of it. Needlework followed until dinner, after which the Countess gave audience for an hour to any person desiring to see her, and usually concluded it by a half-hour's nap. Further needlework, for such as were not summoned to active attendance on their mistress if she went out, lasted until vespers, after which supper was served.

After supper was the recreation time, when in most houses the bower-maidens enjoyed themselves with the gentlemen of the household in games or dancing in the hall; but the Lady Margaret strictly forbade any such frivolous doings in her maidens. They were still confined to their own sitting-room, except on some extraordinary occasion, and the only amus.e.m.e.nts allowed them were low-toned conversation, chess, draughts, or illumination. Music, dancing (even by the girls alone), noisy games of all kinds, and laughter, the Countess strictly forbade. The practical result was that the young ladies fell back upon gossip and ghost-stories, until there were few nights in the year when Roisia would have dared to go to bed by herself for a king's ransom. An hour before bed-time wine and cakes were served. After this Mistress Underdone recited the Rosary, the girls making the responses, and at eight o'clock--a late hour at that time--they trooped off to bed. All were expected to be in bed and all lights out by half-past eight. The unlucky maiden who loitered or was accidentally hindered had to finish her undressing in the dark.

Note 1. This strange habit of the Countess is a fact, and sorely distressed the Earl, as he has himself put on record, though with all his annoyance he shows himself quite conscious of the comicality of the proceeding.

Note 2. The _depenseur_, or family provider. Hence comes the name of Le Despenser, which, therefore, should not be spelt Despencer.

CHAPTER THREE.

ON THE THRESHOLD OF LIFE.

"I will not dream of him handsome and strong-- My ideal love may be weak and slight; It matters not to what cla.s.s he belong, He would be n.o.ble enough in my sight; But he must be courteous toward the lowly, To the weak and sorrowful, loving too; He must be courageous, refined, and holy, By nature exalted, and firm, and true."

By the time that Clarice had been six weeks at Oakham she had pretty well made up her mind as to the characters of her companions. The Countess did not belie the estimate formed on first seeing her. The gentle, mournful, loving woman of Clarice's dreams had vanished, never to be recalled. The girl came to count that a red-letter day on which she did not see her mistress. Towards the Earl her feeling was an odd mixture of reverential liking and compa.s.sion. He came far nearer the ideal picture than his wife. His manners were unusually gentle and considerate of others, and he was specially remarkable for one trait very rarely found in the Middle Ages--he was always thoughtful of those beneath him. Another peculiarity he had, not common in his time; he was decidedly a humourist. The comic side even of his own troubles was always patent to him. Yet he was a man of extremely sensitive feeling, as well as of shrewd and delicate perceptions. He lived a most uncomfortable life, and he was quite aware of it. The one person who should have been his truest friend deliberately nursed baseless enmity towards him. The only one whom he loved in all the world hated him with deadly hatred. And there was no cause for it but one--the strongest cause of all--the reason why Cain slew his brother. He was of G.o.d, and she was of the world. Yet nothing could have persuaded her that he was not on the high road to perdition, while she was a special favourite of Heaven.

Clarice found Mistress Underdone much what she had expected--a good-natured, sensible supervisor. Her position, too, was not an easy one. She had to submit her sense to the orders of folly, and to sink her good-nature in submission to harshness. But she did her best, steered as delicately as she could between her Scylla and Charybdis, and always gave her girls the benefit of a doubt.

The girls themselves were equally distinct as to character. Olympias was delicate, with a failing of delicate people--a disposition to complaining and fault-finding. Elaine was full of fun, ready to barter any advantage in the future for enjoyment in the present. Diana was caustic, proud of her high connections, which were a shade above those of her companions, and inclined to be scornful towards everything not immediately patent to her comprehension. Roisia, while the most amiable, was also the weakest in character of the four; she was easily led astray by Elaine, easily persuaded to deviate from the right through fear of Diana.

The two priests had also unfolded themselves. The Dominican, Father Bevis, awoke in Clarice a certain amount of liking, not unmixed with rather timorous respect. But he was a grave, silent, undemonstrative man, who gave no encouragement to anything like personal affection, though he was not harsh nor unkind. The Franciscan, Father Miles, was of a type common in his day. The man and the priest were two different characters. Father Miles in the confessional was a stern master; Father Miles at the supper-table was a jovial playfellow. In his eyes, religion was not the breath and salt of life, but something altogether separate from it, and only to be mentioned on a Sunday. It was a bundle of ceremonies, not a living principle. To Father Bevis, on the contrary, religion was everything or nothing. If it had anything to do with a man at all, it must pervade his thoughts and his life. It was the leaven which leavened the whole lump; the salt whose absence left all unsavoury and insipid; the breath, which virtually was identical with life. One mistake Father Bevis made, a very natural mistake to a man who had been repressed, misunderstood; and disliked, as he had been ever since he could remember--he did not realise sufficiently that warmth was a necessity of life, and that young creatures more especially required a certain brooding tenderness to develop their faculties. No one had ever given him love but G.o.d; and he was too apt to suppose that religion could be fostered only in that way which had cherished his own.

His light burned bright to G.o.dward, but it was not sufficiently visible to men.

Clarice La Theyn had by this time discovered that there were other people in the household beyond those already mentioned. The Earl had four squires of the body, and the Countess two pages in waiting, beside a meaner crowd of dressers, sewers, porters, messengers, and all kinds of officials. The squires and the pages were the only ones who came much in contact with the bower-maidens.

Both the pages were boys of about fifteen, of whom Osbert was quiet and sedate for a boy, while Jordan was _espiegle_ and full of mischievous tricks. The squires demand longer notice.

Reginald de Echingham was the first to attract Clarice's notice--a fact which, in Reginald's eyes, would only have been natural and proper. He was a handsome young man, and no one was better aware of it than himself. His princ.i.p.al virtue lay in a silky moustache, which he perpetually caressed. The Earl called him Narcissus, and he deserved it.

Next came Fulk de Chaucombe, who was about as careless of his personal appearance as Reginald was careful. He looked on his brother squire with ineffable disdain, as a man only fit to hunt out rhymes for sonnets, and hold skeins of silk for ladies. Call him a man! thought Master Fulk, with supreme contempt. Fulk's notion of manly occupations centred in war, with an occasional tournament by way of dessert.

Third on the list was Vivian Barkworth. To Clarice, at least, he was a perplexity. He was so chameleon-like that she could not make up her mind about him. He could be extremely attractive when he liked, and he could be just as repellent.

Least frequently of any were her thoughts given to Ademar de Gernet.

She considered him at first entirely colourless. He was not talkative; he was neither handsome nor ugly; he showed no special characteristic which would serve to label him. She merely put him on one side, and never thought of him unless she happened to see him.

Her fellow bower-maidens also had their ideas concerning these young gentlemen. Olympias was--or fancied herself--madly in love with the handsome Reginald, on whom Elaine cracked jokes and played tricks, and Diana exhausted all her satire. As to Reginald, he was too deeply in love with himself to be sensible of the attractions of any other person.

It struck Clarice as very odd when she found that the weak and gentle Roisia was a timid admirer of the bear-like De Chaucombe. As for Diana, her shafts were levelled impartially at all; but in her inmost heart Clarice fancied that she liked Vivian Barkeworth. Elaine was heart-whole, and plainly showed it.

The Countess had not improved on further acquaintance. She was not only a tyrant, but a capricious one. Not merely was penalty sure to follow on not pleasing her, but it was not easy to say what would please her at any given moment.

"We might as well be in a nunnery!" exclaimed Diana.

"Nay," said Elaine, "for then we could not get out."

"Don't flatter thyself on getting out, pray," returned Diana. "We shall never get out except by marrying, or really going into a nunnery."

"For which I am sure I have no vocation," laughed Elaine. "Oh, no! I shall marry; and won't I lead my baron a dance!"

"Who is it to be, Elaine?" asked Clarice.

"_Ha, chetife_! How do I know? The Lady will settle that. I only hope it won't be a man who puts oil on his hair and scents himself."

This remark was a side-thrust at Reginald, as Olympias well knew, and she looked reproachfully at Elaine.

"Well, I hope it won't be one who kills half-a-dozen men every morning before breakfast," said Diana, making a hit at Fulk.

It was Roisia's turn to look reproachful. Clarice could not help laughing.

"What dost thou think of our giddy speeches, Heliet?" said she.

Heliet looked up with her bright smile.

"Very like maidens' fancies," she said. "For me, I am never like to wed, so I can look on from the outside."

"But what manner of man shouldst thou fancy, Heliet?"

"Oh ay, do tell us!" cried more than one voice.