Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 17

"Dear heart, Lady _Lettice_, but I never looked for this!" she crieth, wiping of her eyes with her kerchief. "I wis we have been less stricter than you in breeding up our maids: but to think that one of them should bring this like of a misfortune on us! For _Blanche_ is gone to be undone, of that am I sure. Truth to tell, yonder Sir _Francis Everett_ so took me with his fine ways and goodly looks and comely apparel and well-chosen words,--ay, and my master too--that we never thought to caution the maids against him. Now, it turns out that _Alice_ had some glint of what were pa.s.sing: but she never betrayed _Blanche_, thinking it should not be to her honour; and me,--why, I ne'er so much as dreamed of any ill in store."

"What name said you?" quoth _Mother_, that was trying to comfort her.

"_Everett_," saith she; "Sir _Francis Everett_, he said his name were, of _Woodbridge_, in the county of _Suffolk_, where he hath a great estate, and spendeth a thousand pound by the year. And a well-looked man he was, not o'er young, belike, but rare goodly his hair fair and his eyen shining grey,--somewhat like to yours, my Lady."

_Helen_ and I looked on each other, and I saw the same thought was in both our minds. And looking then upon _Mother_, I reckoned it had come to her likewise. At _Milisent_ I dared not look, though I saw _Helen_ glance at her.

"And now," continueth Mistress _Lewthwaite_, "here do I hear that at _Grasmere_ Farm he gave out himself to be one Master _Tregarvon_, of _Devon_; and up in _Borrowdale_, he hath been playing the gallant to two or three maids by the name of Sir _Thomas Brooke_ of _Warwickshire_: and the saints know which is his right one. He's a bad one, Lady _Lettice_!

And after all, here is your Mistress _Bess_, she saith she is as sure as that her name is _Wolvercot_, that no one of all these names is his own. She reckons him to be some young gentleman that she once wist, down in the shires,--marry, what said she was his name, now? I cannot just call to mind. She should ne'er have guessed at him, quoth she, but she saw him do somewhat this young man were wont to do, and were something singular therein--I mind not what it were. Dear heart, but this fray touching our _Blanche_ hath drove aught else out of mine head!

But Mistress _Bess_ said _he_ were a bad one, and no mistake."

"Is _Blanche_ gone off with him, Mistress _Lewthwaite_?" saith _Helen_.

"That is right what she is, _Nell_, and ill luck go with her," quoth Mistress _Lewthwaite_: "for it will, that know I. G.o.d shall never bless no undutiful childre,--of that am I well a.s.sured."

"Nay, friend, curse not your own child!" saith _Mother_, with a little shudder.

"Eh, poor la.s.s, I never meant to curse her," quoth she: "she'll get curse enough from him she's gone withal. She has made her bed, and she must lie on it. And a jolly hard one it shall be, by my troth!"

Here come Cousin _Bess_ and Aunt _Joyce_ into the chamber, and a deal more talk was had of them all: but at the last Mistress _Lewthwaite_ rose up, and went away. But just ere she went, saith she to _Milisent_ and me, that were sat together of one side of the chamber--

"Eh, my maids, but you twain should thank G.o.d and your good father and mother! for if you had been bred up with less care, this companion, whatso his name be, should have essayed to beguile you as I am a _c.u.mberland_ woman. A pair of comely young la.s.ses like you should have been a great catch for him, I reckon."

"Ah, Mistress mine," saith Cousin _Bess_, "when la.s.ses take as much care of their own selves as their elders of them, we shall catch larks by the sky falling, _I_ reckon."

"You are right, Mistress _Bess_," saith she: and so away hied she.

No sooner was Mistress _Lewthwaite_ gone, than _Mother_ saith,--"_Bess_, who didst thou account this man to be? Mistress _Lewthwaite_ saith thou didst guess it to be one thou hadst known down in the shires, but she had forgat the name."

I saw Cousin _Bess_ look toward Aunt _Joyce_ with a question in her eyes: and if ever I read _English_ in eyes, what _Aunt's_ said was,--"Have a care!" Then Cousin _Bess_ saith, very quiet--

"It was a gentleman in _Oxford_ town, Cousin _Lettice_, that I was wont to hear of from our _Nell_ when she dwelt yonder."

"Oh, so?" saith _Mother_: and thus the matter ended.

But at after, in the even, when _Father_ and Aunt _Joyce_ and I were by ourselves a little season in the hall, I heard Aunt _Joyce_ say, very soft--

"_Aubrey_, didst thou give her the name?"

Methought _Father_ shook his head.

"I dared not, _Joyce_," saith he. "She was so sore troubled touching-- the other matter."

"I thought so," quoth _Aunt_. "Then I will beware that I utter it not."

"But _Edith_ knows," answereth _Father_ in a low voice.

"The maids all know," saith she. "I did not reckon thou wouldest keep it from her."

"I should not, but,"--and _Father_ paused. "Thou wist, _Joyce_, how she setteth her heart on all things."

"I am afeared, _Aubrey_, she shall have to know sooner or later.

Mistress _Lewthwaite_ did all but utter it to her this morning, only I thank G.o.d her memory failed her just at the right minute."

"We were better to tell her than that," saith _Father_, and leaned his head upon his hand as though he took thought.

Then _Mother_ and _Helen_ came in, and no more was said.

SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER THE FOURTH.

I had no time to write yestereven, for we were late abed, it being nigh nine o' the clock ere we came up; and all the day too busy. My Lady _Stafford_ and Sir _Robert_ and Mistress _Martin_ did return with _Father_--the which I set not down in his right place at my last writing,--and yesterday we gat acquaint and showed them the vicinage and such like. As to-morrow, _Mother_ shall carry them to wait on my Lord _Dilston_.

Sir _Robert Stafford_ is a personable gentleman, much of _Father's_ years; his nose something high, yet not greatly so, and his hair and beard now turning grey, but have been dark. Mistress _Martin_ his sister (that when _Mother_ wist her was Mistress _Grissel Stafford_) is much like to him in her face, but some years the younger of the twain, though her hair be the greyer. My Lady _Stafford_, howbeit, hath not a grey hair of her head, and hath more ruddiness of her face than Mistress _Martin_, being to my thought the comelier dame of the twain. _Mother_, nathless, saith that Mistress _Grissel_ was wont to be the fairer when all were maids, and that she hath wist much trouble, the which hath thus consumed her early lovesomeness. For her husband, Captain _Martin_, that was an officer of _Calais_, coming home after that town was lost in Queen _Mary's_ time, was attaint of heresy and taken of Bishop _Bonner_, he lying long in prison, and should have been brent at the stake had not Queen _Mary's_ dying (under G.o.d's gracious ordering) saved him therefrom. And all these months was Mistress _Martin_ in dread disease, never knowing from one week to another what should be the end thereof.

And indeed he lived not long after, but two or three years. Sir _Robert Stafford_, on the other part, was a wiser man; for no sooner was it right apparent, on Queen _Mary's_ incoming, how matters should turn, than he and his dame and their two daughters gat them over seas and dwelt in foreign parts all the days that Queen _Mary_ reigned. And in _Dutchland_ [Germany] were both their daughters wedded, the one unto a n.o.ble of that country, by name the Count of _Rothenthal_, and the other unto a priest, an Englishman that took refuge also in those parts, by name Master _Francis Digby_, that now hath a living in _Somerset_.

Medoubteth if _Mother_ be told who Sir _Edwin Tregarvon_ were.

_Milly_ 'bideth yet in the sulks, and when she shall come thereout will I not venture to guess. _Alice Lewthwaite_ come over this afternoon but for a moment, on her way to her aunt's, Mistress _Rigg_, and saith no word is yet heard of their _Blanche_, whom her father saith he will leather while he can lay on if she do return, while her mother is all for killing the fatted calf and receiving her back with welcome.

SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER THE V.

This morrow we set forth for _Lord's Island_, a goodly company--to wit, _Father_, and _Mother_, and Sir _Robert_ and my Lady _Stafford_, and Mistress _Martin_, and _Milisent_, and me. Too many were we for _Adam_ to row, and thought to take old _Matthias_, had not _Robin Lewthwaite_ chanced on us the last minute, and craved leave to take an oar, saying it should be a jolly pleasance for him to spend the day on _Lord's Island_. So _Father_ took the second oar, and _Adam_ steered, and all we got well across, thanks to G.o.d. We landed, _Father_ gave his hand to my Lady _Stafford_, and Sir _Robert_ to _Mother_, and _Robin_, pulling a face at _Milly_ and me (for I wis well he had liever have been with us), his to Mistress _Martin_.

"Well, _Edith_," saith _Milly_, the pleasantest she hath spoken of late, "I reckon I must be thy _cavaliero_."

"Will you have my cap, _Milisent_?" saith _Robin_, o'er his shoulder.

"Thanks, I reckon I shall manage without," quoth she.

"Well, have a care you demean yourself as a _cavaliero_ should," saith he. "Tell her she is the fairest maid in all the realm, and you shall die o' despair an' you get not a glance from her sweet eyes."

"Nay, I'll leave that for you," saith _Milly_.

"Good. I will do mine utmost to mind it the next opportunity," quoth _Robin_.

So, with mirth, come we up to _Dilston_ Hall.

My Lord was within, said the old serving-man, and so likewise were Mistress _Jane_ and Mistress _Cicely_: so he led us across the hall, that is set with divers coloured stones, of a fashion they have in _Italy_, and into a pleasant chamber, where Mistress _Cicely_ was sat at her frame a-work, and rose up right lovingly to welcome us. Mistress _Jane_, said she, was in the garden: but my Lord come in the next minute, and was right pleasant unto us after his sad and bashful fashion, for never saw I a man like him, as bashful as any maid. Then Mistress _Jane_ come anon, and bare us--to wit, _Milisent_ and me--away to her own chamber, where she gave us sweet cakes and muscadel; and Mistress _Cicely_ came too. And a jolly time should we have had, had it not come into Mistress _Cicely's_ head to ask at us if it were true that _Blanche Lewthwaite_ was gone away with some gallant. I had need to say Ay, for _Milisent_ kept her mouth close shut.

"And who were he?" quoth Mistress _Jane_. I answered that so far as we heard he had pa.s.sed by divers names, all about this vicinage: but the name whereby he had called himself at _Mere Lea_ (which is Master _Lewthwaite's_) was _Everett_.

"I warrant you, _Jane_," saith Mistress _Cicely_, "'tis the same _Everett_ Farmer _Benson_ was so wroth with, for making up to his _Margaret_. He said if ever he came nigh his house again, he should go thence with a bullet more than he brought. A man past his youth, was he, _Edith_, with fair shining hair--no grey in it--and mighty sweet spoken?"

"Ay, that is he," said I, "or I mistake, Madam."

"Dear heart, but what an ill one must he be!" quoth Mistress _Jane_.

"Why he made old _Nanny's_ grand-daughter _Doll_ reckon he meant to wed her, and promised to give her a silver chain for her neck this next _Sunday_!"

All this while sat _Milisent_ still and spake never a word. I gat discourse turned so soon as ever I might. Then after a little while went we down to hall, and good mirth was had of the young gentlewomen with _Robin_ and me: but all the while _Milisent_ very still, so that at last Mistress _Cicely_ noted it, and asked her if her head ached. She said ay: and she looked like it. So, soon after came we thence, and crossed the lake again, and so home. _Milly_ yet very silent all the even: not as though she sulked, as of late, but rather as though she meditated right sadly.

SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER YE VII.

This morrow, I being in Aunt _Joyce's_ chamber, helping her to lay by the new-washed linen, come _Milisent_ in very softly.