In Convent Walls Part 22

"They have easier lives, methinks, that are but one. You look on me, Dame Hilda, as who should say, What nonsense doth this maid talk! But if you knew what it was to have two natures within you, pulling you diverse ways, sometimes the one uppermost, and at times the other; and which of the twain be _you_, that cannot you tell--I will tell you, I have noted this many times"--Isabel's voice sank as if she feared to be overheard--"in them whose father and mother have been of divers dispositions. Some of the children may take after the one, and some after the other; but there will be one, at least, who partaketh both, and then they pull him divers ways, that he knoweth no peace." Isabel's audience had been larger than she supposed. As she ended, with a weary sigh, a soft hand fell upon her head, and I who, sat upon her knees, could better see than she, looked up into my Lady's face.

"Sit still, daughter," said she, as Isabel strove to rise. "Nay, sweet heart, I am not angered at thy fantasy, though truly I, being but one like Dame Hilda, conceive not thy meaning. It may be so. I have not all the wit upon earth, that I should scorn or set down the words of them that speak out of other knowledge than mine. But, my Isabel, there is another way than this wherein thou mayest have two natures."

"How so, Dame, an' it like you?"

"The nature of sinful man, and the nature of G.o.d Almighty."

"They must be marvellous saints that so have," said Dame Hilda, crossing herself.

"Some of them," said my Lady gently, "were once marvellous sinners."

"Why, you should have to strive a very lifetime for that," quoth Dame Hilda. "I should think no man could rise thereto that dwelt not in anchorite's cell, and scourged him on the bare back every morrow, and ate but of black rye-bread, and drank of ditch-water. Deary me, but I would not like that! I'd put up with a bit less saintliness, _I_ would!"

"You are all out there, Dame," my Lady made answer. "This fashion of saintliness may be along with such matters, but it cometh not by their help."

"How comes it then, Dame, an't like you?"

"By asking for it," saith our mother, quietly.

"Good lack! but which of the saints must I ask for it?" quoth she.

"I'll give him all the wax candles in Ludlow, a week afore I die. I'd rather not have it sooner."

"When go you about to die, Dame?"

"Our Lady love us! That cannot I say."

"Then you shall scarce know the week before, I think."

"Oh, no! but the saint shall know. Look you, Dame, to be too much of a saint should stand sore in man's way. I could not sing, nor dance, nor lake me a bit, if I were a saint; and that fashion of saintliness you speak of must needs be sorest of all. If I do but just get it to go to Heaven with, that shall serve me the best."

"I thought they sang in Heaven," saith Isabel.

"Bless you, Damsel!--nought but Church music."

"Dame Hilda, I marvel if you would be happy in Heaven."

"Oh, I should be like, when I got there."

My Lady shook her head.

"For that," quoth she, "you must be partaker of the Divine nature.

Which means not, doing good works contrary to your liking, but having the nature which delights in doing them."

"Oh, ay, that will come when we be there."

"On the contrary part, they that have it not here on earth shall not win there. They only that be partakers of Christ may look to enter Heaven.

And no man that partaketh Christ's merits can miss to partake Christ's nature."

"Marry, then but few shall win there."

"So do I fear," saith my Lady.

"Dame, under your good pleasure," saith Dame Hilda, looking her earnestly in the face, "where gat you such notions? They be something new. At the least, never heard I your Ladyship so to speak aforetime."

My Lady's cheek faintly flushed.

"May G.o.d forgive me," saith she, "all these years to have locked up his Word, which was burning in mine own heart! Yet in good sooth, Dame, you are partly right. Ere I went to Skipton, I was like one that seeth a veiled face, or that gazeth through smoked gla.s.s. But now mine eyes have beheld the face of Him that was veiled, and I have spoken with Him, as man speaketh with his friend. And if you would know who helped me thereto, it was an holy hermit, by name Richard Rolle, that did divers times visit me in my prison at Skipton. And he knows Him full well."

"Dame!" saith Dame Hilda, looking somewhat anxiously on my mother, "I do trust you go not about to die, nor to hie in cloister and leave all these poor babes! Do bethink you, I pray, ere you do either."

My Lady smiled. "Nay, good my Dame!" saith she. "How can I go in cloister, that am wedded wife?"

"Eh, but you might get your lord's consent thereto--some wedded women doth."

I was looking on my Lady, and I saw a terrible change in her face when Dame Hilda spoke those words. I felt, too, Isabel's sudden nervous shiver. And I guessed what they both thought--that a.s.sent would be easy enough to win. For in all those months since Queen Isabel came over, he had never come near us. He was ever at the Court, waiting upon her.

And though his duties--if he had them, but what they were we knew not-- might keep him at the Court in general, yet surely, had he been very desirous to see us, he might have won leave to run over when the Queen was at Hereford, were it only for an hour or twain.

Our mother did not answer for a moment. When she did, it was to say--"Nay, vows may not be thus lightly done away. 'Till death' scarce means, till one have opportunity to undo."

"Then, pray you, go not and die, Dame!"

"I am immortal till G.o.d bids me die," she made answer. "But why should man die because he loveth Jesu Christ better than he was wont?"

"Oh, folks always do when they get marvellous good."

"It were ill for the world an' they so did," saith my Lady. "That is bad enough to lack good folks."

"It is bad enough to lack _you_," saith Dame Hilda.

My Lady gave a little laugh, and so the converse ended.

The next thing that I can remember, after that, was the visit of our father. He only came that once, and tarried scarce ten days; but he took Nym and Geoffrey back with him. I heard Dame Hilda whisper somewhat to Tamzine, as though he had desired to have also one or two of the elder damsels, and that my Lady had so earnestly begged and prayed to the contrary that for once he gave way to her. It was not often, I think, that he did that. It was four years good ere we saw either of our brothers again--not till all was over--and then Geoff told us a sorry tale indeed of all that had happed.

It was at the time when our father paid us this visit that my marriage and that of Beatrice were covenanted. King Edward of Caernarvon had contracted my lord that now is to the Lady Alianora La Despenser, daughter of my sometime Lord of Gloucester [Hugh Le Despenser the Younger], who was put to death at Hereford by Queen Isabel. But she--I mean the Queen--who hated him and all his, sent the Lady Alianora to Sempringham, with command to veil her instantly, and gave the marriage of my Lord to my Lord Prince, the King that now is [Edward the Third].

So my father, being then at top of the tree, begged the marriage for one of his daughters, and it was settled that should be me. I liked it well enough, to feel myself the most important person in the pageant, and to be beautifully donned, and all that; and as I was not to leave home for some years to come, it was but a show, and cost me nothing. I dare say it cost somebody a pretty penny. Beatrice was higher mated, with my Lord of Norfolk's son, who was the King's cousin, but he died a lad, poor soul! so her grandeur came to nought, and she wedded at last a much lesser n.o.ble.

Thus dwelt we maids with our mother in the Castle of Ludlow, seeing nought of the fine doings that were at Court, save just for the time of our marriages, which were at Wynchecombe on the day of Saint Lazarus, that is the morrow of O Sapientia [Note 4]. The King was present himself, and the young Lady Philippa, who the next month became our Queen, and his sisters the Ladies Alianora and Joan, and more Earls and Countesses than I can count, all donned their finest. Well-a-day, but there must have been many a yard of velvet in that chapel, and an whole army of beasts ermines must have laid their lives down to purfile [trim with fur] the same! I was donned myself of blue velvet guarded of miniver, and wore all my Lady's jewels on mine head and corsage; and marry, but I queened it! Who but I for that morrow, in very sooth!

Ay, and somebody else [Queen Isabelle, the young King's mother] was there, whom I have not named. Somebody robed in snow-white velvet, with close hood and wimple, so that all that showed of her face was from the eyebrows to the lips,--all pure, unstained mourning white. Little I knew of the horrible stains on that black heart beneath! And I thought her so sweet, so fair! Come, I have spoken too plainly to add a name.

So all pa.s.sed away like a dream, and we won back to Ludlow, and matters fell back to the old ways, as if nought had ever happened--the only real difference being that instead of "Damsel Agnes" I was "my Lady of Pembroke," and our baby Beatrice, instead of "Damsel Beattie," was "my Lady Beatrice of Norfolk." And about a year after that came letters from Nym, addressed to "my Lady Countess of March," in which he writ that the King had made divers earls, and our father amongst them. Dame Hilda told us the news in the nursery, and Jack turned a somersault, and stood on his hands, with his heels up in the air.

"Call me Jack any more, if you dare!" cries he. "I am my Lord John of March, and I shall expect to be addressed so, properly. Do you hear, children?"

"I hear one of the children, in good sooth," said Meg, comically. And Maud saith--

"Prithee, Jack, take no airs, for they beseem thee but very ill."