A Forgotten Hero Part 16

Felicia looked flattered and conscious.

"Well, I reckon so," answered Mistress Underdone. "Howbeit, the Lady hath sent for him hither, to know of him in thy presence what he would be at."

"_Ha, chetife_!" exclaimed Roisia. "I wish it had been somewhere else."

"Well, I cannot quite--. Hush! here she comes."

And for the second time that day in stalked the Countess, and sat down on the curule chair which Mistress Underdone set for her, looking like a judge, and a very stern one, too. In another minute the culprit made his appearance, in charge of Sir Lambert Aylmer.

"Now, De Gernet, what means this?" irascibly demanded his mistress.

"Lady, it means not disobedience to you, nor any displeasance done to this young damsel"--and De Gernet turned and bowed to Roisia. "This it means, that I dearly love another of your Ladyship's damsels, and I do most humbly and heartily crave your permission to wed with her."

"What, Felicia de Fay?" said the Countess.

"Under your Ladyship's pleasure and her pardon, no."

Felicia's face changed evilly.

"But who, then? There is none other."

"Let my Lady be pleased to pardon me. There is one other--Heliet Pride."

The faces in the bower just then might have furnished a study for an artist. Those of Clarice and Olympias expressed surprise mixed with some pleasure; so did Mistress Underdone's, but the degree of both was intense. The Countess looked half vexed and wholly astonished, with a little contempt superadded. Felicia's face foreboded nothing but ill to either Ademar or Heliet.

"Heliet Pride!" cried the Countess sharply. "Why, man, she goes on crutches!"

"They will carry her to the chapel, with my Lady's leave," answered De Gernet, coolly.

"Gramercy, but thou wilt have a lovely wife! There'll be no pride in her outside her name," said the Countess, with a grim smile at her own joke. Indeed, she was so much amused that she forgot to be angry.

"I will see about that, if my Lady will grant me her grace," responded De Gernet, in the same tone.

"Eh, thou shalt have her," said the Countess. "I shall get Roisia disposed of a sight easier than Heliet. So be it. Roisia, thou canst still prepare for thy bridal; I will find somebody by Monday morning."

The Countess was rising from her chair, when Sir Lambert, after a glance at Roisia, observed that if her Ladyship found any difficulty in that selection, he had no particular objection to be chosen.

"You!" said the Countess. "Oh, very good; it will save trouble. Let it be so."

Roisia appeared to be, if anything, rather gratified by the exchange.

But Clarice, looking into the dark, pa.s.sionate eyes of Felicia, felt troubled for the happiness of Heliet.

Olympias, like Clarice, was promoted to a vacancy among the ladies of the bedchamber. But Sir Lambert and Roisia pa.s.sed away from the life at Whitehall. The new Maids of Honour were speedily appointed. Their names proved to be Sabina Babingell, Ada Gresley, and Filomena Bray.

The Countess declared her intention of keeping four only in the future.

The summer of 1292 saw the King on the Scottish border, and in his train the Earl and Countess of Cornwall, with their household, moved north as far as Oakham. The household had been increased by one more, for in the April previous Clarice Barkeworth became the mother of a little girl.

This was the first event which helped to reconcile her to her lot. She had been honestly trying hard to do her duty by Vivian, who scarcely seemed to think that he had any duty towards her, beyond the obvious one of civility in public. All thought of Piers Ingham had been resolutely crushed down, except when it came--as it sometimes did--in the form of a dream of bliss from which she awoke to desolation. A miserable day was sure to follow one of those dreams. The only other moment when she allowed herself to think of him was in her evening prayer.

It was a relief to Clarice that she had never heard a word of Piers since he left Whitehall. Her work would have been harder if his name had remained a household word. And yet in another sense it was hard never to know what had become of him, whether he were as sad as herself, or had been comforted elsewhere.

Vivian's manners in public were perfect to every one, and Clarice shared with the rest. In private she was terribly snubbed whenever he was in a bad temper, and carelessly ignored when he was in a good one. The baby daughter, who was such a comfort to Clarice, was a source of bitter vexation to Vivian. In his eyes, while a son would have been an undoubted blessing, a daughter was something actively worse than a disappointment. When Clarice timidly inquired what name he wished the child to bear, Vivian distinctly intimated that the child and all her belongings were totally beneath his notice. She could call the nuisance what she liked.

Clarice silently folded her insulted darling to her breast, and tacitly promised it that its mother at least should never think it a nuisance.

"What shall I call her?" she said to Mistress Underdone and Olympias, both of whom were inclined to pet the baby exceedingly.

"Oh, something pretty!" said Olympias. "Don't have a plain, common name. Don't call her Joan, or Parnel, or Beatrice, or Margery, or Maud, or Isabel. You meet those at every turn. I am quite glad I was not called anything of that sort."

"I wouldn't have it too long," was Mistress Underdone's recommendation.

"I'd never call her Frethesancia, or Florianora, or Aniflesia, or Sauncelina. Let her have a good, honest name, Dame, one syllable, or at most two. You'll have to clip it otherwise."

"I thought of Rose," said Clarice, meditatively.

"Well, it is not common," allowed Olympias. "Still, it is very short.

Couldn't you have had it a _little_ longer?"

"That'll do," p.r.o.nounced Mistress Underdone. "It is short, and it means a pretty, sweet, pleasant thing. I don't know but I should have called my girl Rose, if I'd chosen her name; but her father fancied Heliet, and so it had to be so."

"Well, we can call her Rosamond," comfortingly suggested Olympias.

So, in the course of that evening, Father Bevis baptised little Rose Barkeworth in the chapel of the palace, the Earl standing sponsor for her, with the Lady de Chaucombe and the Lady de Echingham. The Countess had been asked, but to Clarice's private satisfaction had declined, for she would much rather have had the Earl, and the canon law forbade husband and wife being sponsors to the same infant.

Something was the matter with the Countess. Every one agreed upon this, but n.o.body could guess what it was. She was quieter than her wont, and was given to long, silent reveries, which had not been usual with her.

Filomena, who was of a lively turn of mind, declared that life at Whitehall was becoming absolutely intolerable, and that she should be thankful to go to Oakham, for at least it would be something new.

"Thou wilt be thankful to come away again," said Mistress Underdone, with a smile.

They reached Oakham about the middle of July, and found Heliet, leaning on her crutches, ready to welcome them with smiles in the hall. No news had reached her of their proceedings, and there was a great deal to tell her; but Heliet and the baby took to one another in an instant, as if by some unseen magical force.

The item of news which most concerned herself was not told to Heliet that night. The next morning, when all were seated at work, and baby Rose, in Heliet's lap, was contentedly sucking her very small thumb, Mistress Underdone said rather suddenly, "We have not told thee all, Heliet."

"I dare say not," replied Heliet, brightly. "You must have all done a great deal more in these two years than you have told me."

"Well, la.s.s, 'tis somewhat I never looked I should have to tell thee.

There's somebody wants to wed thee."

"Me!" cried Heliet, in large capitals.

"Ay, thee--crutches and all," said her mother laughing. "He said he did not care for thy crutches so they carried thee safe to chapel; and he ran the risk of offending the Lady to get thee. So I reckon he sets some store by thee, la.s.s."

"Who is it?" said Heliet, in a low voice, while a bright red spot burned in each cheek.

"Ademar de Gernet." Two or three voices told her. The bright spots burned deeper.

"Is it to be?" was the next question.

"Ay, the Lady said so much; and I reckon she shall give thee thy gear."