Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 8

"The inward depths of that deceitful fount Where many a sin lies sleeping, but not dead."

(_In Milisent's handwriting_.)

SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE FIRST.

Things be alway going awry with me. Elsewise, this jolly book should ne'er have come into my hands first of a _Sunday_. I would love dearly to read o'er what my philosophical sister hath writ, and comment on the same: but I reckon I must tarry till to-morrow.

Now, _Mother_ said I was to write what I thought, and I mean to do the same. As to the pennies and the two-pences, they may count up themselves, for all I care. They'll not outrun half-a-crown, I reckon: and having paid the same at my month end, I shall just worry the life out of _Father_ till he give me an other. So here goes it!

Well, the first thing I think is,--Why must everything pleasant be set aside while _Monday_? _Father_ saith happiness and wickedness be not alike, though (quoth he) some folk think so much. Now, it seems me that happiness and holiness should be the same thing. Why should a matter not be right simply by reason that I like it? I want to know, and I will ask somebody, some of these days.

Howbeit, of one thing am I a.s.sured,--namely, that it cannot be wicked to write on _Sunday_ what it is not wicked to do. So I shall tell what we did.

Now, there some folk are so queer! They will take down a gown, and shake out the folds, and talk an half-hour o'er it,--how this gimp should be better to run that way, and next week the bottom must needs be fresh bound: all of a _Sunday_. But to stick a neeld in, and make the gimp run that way, and fresh bind the bottom,--good lack! they should count you a very heathen an' you asked them. Now, I want to know how the one is a bit better than the other. I cannot see a pin to choose betwixt them.

Well! we gat out of bed this morrow--I reckon that is the first thing, beyond opening one's eyes.

_Nell_ is alway the first up, and _Edith_ the last. She is rare hard to wake, is _Edith_; or rather, not to wake, but to make her rise up when she is woke. She takes a deal of shaking and talking to, some mornings specially. _Nell_ does the talking, and I do the shaking: and I warrant you, I give it her.

Howbeit, we were all up, at long last--and if one of us be late of a _Sunday_ morrow, _Father_ looks as if we had brake his heart. Our _Sunday_ gowns at this season be of green satin, of sixteen shillings the yard,--eh, good lack! should I have set that down of a _Sunday_?

Well, never mind; 'tis now done--and furred with pampilion [an unknown species of fur]. Our out-door hoods be black velvet: and in this gear went we to church, at _Keswick_. And I would with all mine heart we had a church nearer unto us than three weary miles, though every body saith 'tis mighty near. _Father_ rid on _Favelle_, with _Edith_ behind him; and _Mother_ on _Garnet_, behind Master _Stuyvesant_; and _Nell_ and I on _Cowslip_; and Aunt _Joyce_ of her own hackney, that is called _Hermit_, with old _Matthias_. Cousin _Bess_ come ambling after, on _Starlight_, with _Adam_ afore her: and behind trudged _Kate_ and _Kitling_. And by the same token, _Moses_ came a-mewing to the door to see us depart.

So came we to the church, and there found afore us my Lord _Dilston_ and his following, that had rowed over from _Lord's Island_, whereon of old time the Barons of _Dilston_ [the Radcliffes, subsequently created Earls of Derwent.w.a.ter] have had an house (I am mindful of strangers the which shall read our chronicle, which is more, I reckon, than _Nell_ shall have been), and in good sooth, but Mistress _Jane_ is fair of face, and I do love to look upon her. Well, of course, _Father_ being but a knight, we stood of one side to let pa.s.s a baron: and when all they were gone up, went up we, in due order, _Father_ handing _Mother_, and _Mynheer_ with Aunt _Joyce_, and then Cousin _Bess_ and we three maids.

And there was Dr _Meade_ with his white rag of _Popery_ (as Cousin _Bess_ will have it) a-flying behind him as he came from the vestry: and I might not forbear to give a little pinch to _Edith_ as I saw it fly.

'Tis to no good to pinch _Nell_, for she doth but kill me with a look.

And there, of either side (which I had nigh forgot), stood the common folk, the townsfolk, and the lead-miners from _Vicar's Island_ [anciently belonging to Fountains Abbey] and such like, all a-gaping and a-staring on us as we went by, to see the baron and the knight. And eh, but I do love to be gaped on! 'Tis the best bit of all the _Sunday_, for me.

(Now, _Mother_, you said I was to write what I thought.)

Then come matins, which one has to sit through, of course: the only good matter being the chants. I can sing out, and I do. Then come the sermon, which is unto me sore weariness, and I gape through it as I best may. Dear heart, what matter is it to me if _Peter_ were ever at _Rome_ or no, or if Saint _James_ and _Paul_ do both say the same thing touching faith and works? We have all faith--say we not the Creed every _Sunday_? and what would you have more? And as to works, I hate good works. Good works always means doing the very thing you would rather not. 'Tis good works to carry a pudding to old _Nanny Crewdson_ through a lane where I nigh lose my shoes in the mire, right at the time when I want to bide at home and play the virginals. Or 'tis sitting of a chair and reading of _Luther's_ Commentary on the _Galatians_ to one of my betters, when my very toes be tingling to be out in the sunshine. Good lack, but I do owe a pretty penny to Master Doctor _Luther_ for that commentary! I have had to sit and read it a good score of times when it should have done me marvellous ease to have boxed his ears with it. Had I been Mistress _Katherine_, it should have gone hard with me but I would have pulled Master Doctor out of his study, and made him lake with little _Jack_ and _Maudlin_, in the stead of toiling o'er yon old musty commentary. _Nell_ saith she loveth to read it. In good sooth, but I wish she may!

Well! matins o'er, come the communion, for which all tarried but _Edith_; she, not being yet confirmed, is alway packed off ere it begin.

And when that were o'er--and I do love the last _Amen_ of all--went all we to dinner with Mistress _Huthwaite_, at whose house we do ever dine of a _Sunday_: and mighty late it is of a communion _Sunday_; and I am well-nigh famished ere I break bread. And for dinner was corned beef and carrots, and for drink sherris-sack and muscadel. Then, at three o'

the clock, all we again to church: and by the same token, if Dr _Meade_ gave us not two full hours of a sermon, then will I sell my gold chain for two pence. And at after church, in the porch were my Lord _Dilston_ and fair Mistress _Jane_; and my Lord was pleased to take _Father_ by the hand, and _Mother_ and Aunt _Joyce_ likewise; but did but kiss us maids. [Note 1.] But Mistress _Jane_ took us all three by the hand, and did say unto me that she would fain be better acquainted. And in very deed, it should be a feather in my cap were I to come unto close friendship with my Lord _Dilston_ his daughter, as I do right heartily trust I may. Nor, after all, were it any such great preferment for me, that am daughter unto Sir _Aubrey Louvaine_ of _Selwick_ Hall, Knight, which is cousin unto my right honourable Lord the Earl of _Oxenford_, and not so far off neither. For my most honourable Lord, Sir _Aubrey de Vere_, sometime Earl of _Oxenford_, was great-great-great-grandfather unto my Lord that now is: and his sister, my Lady _Margaret_, wife to Sir _Nicholas Louvaine_, was great-great-grandmother unto _Father_: so they twain be cousins but four and an half times removed: and, good lack, what is this? Surely, I need not to plume me upon Mistress _Jane Radcliffe_ her notice and favour. If the _Radcliffes_ be an old house, as in very deed they be, so be the _Veres_ and the _Louvaines_ both: to say nought of the _Edens_, that have dwelt in _Kent-dale_ these thousand years at the least. But one thing will I never own, and that is of Mynheer _Stuyvesant_, which shall say, and hold to it like a leech, that our family be all _Dutch_ folk. He will have it that the _Louvaines_ must needs have sprung from _Louvain_ in the Low Countries; but of all things doth he make me mad [angry: a word still used in the north of England] when he saith the great House of _Vere_ is _Dutch_ of origin.

For he will have it a weir to catch fish, when all the world doth know that _Veritas_ is _Latin_ for truth, and _Vere_ cometh of that, or else of _vir_, as though it should say, one that is verily a man, and no base coward loon. And 'tis all foolishness for to say, as doth _Mynheer_, that the old _Romans_ had no surnames like ours, but only the name of the family, such like as _Cornelius_ or _Julius_, which ran more akin unto our _Christian_ names. I believe it not, and I won't. Why, was there not an Emperor, or a Prince at the least, that was called _Lucius Verus_? and what is that but _Vere_? 'Tis as plain as the barber's pole, for all _Mynheer_, and that will I say.

Howbeit, I am forgetting my business, and well-nigh that it is _Sunday_.

So have back. Church over, all we come home, in the very order as we went: and in the hall come _Moses_ a-purring to us, and a-rubbing of her head against _Nell_; and there was _Dan_ a-turning round and round after his tail, and _Nan_, that had a ball of paper, on her back a-laking therewith. _So_ we to doff our hoods, and then down into the hall, where was supper served: for it was over late for four-hours [Note 2], and of a communion _Sunday_ we never get none. Then _Nell_ to read a chapter from Master Doctor _Luther_ his magnifical commentary: and by the ma.s.s, I was glad it was not me. Then--(Eh, happy woman be my dole!

but if _Father_ shall see that last line, it shall be a broad shilling out of my pocket at the least. He is most mighty nice, is _Father_, touching that make of talk. I believe I catched it up of old _Matthias_. I must in very deed essay to leave it off; and I do own, 'tis not over seemly to swear of a _Sunday_, for I suppose it is swearing, though 'tis not profane talk. Come, _Father_, you must o'erlook it this once: and I will never do so no more--at the least, not till the next time.)

Well then, had we a chapter of _Luke_, and a long prayer of _Father_: and I am sore afeared I missed a good ten minutes thereof, for I wis not well what happed, nor how I gat there, but a.s.suredly I was a-dancing with my Lord of _Oxenford_, and the Queen's Majesty and my Lord _Dilston_ a-looking on, and Mistress _Jane_ as black as thunder, because I danced better than she. I reckon _Father's_ stopping woke me, and I said _Amen_ as well as any body. Then the Hundredth Psalm, _Nell_ a-playing on the virginals: and then (best of all) the blessing, and then with good-night all round, to bed. I reckon my nap at prayers had made me something wakeful, for I heard both _Nell_ and _Edith_ asleep afore me.

SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE III.

Now have I read o'er every line my philosophical sister hath writ: and very nigh smothered me o' laughing at divers parts. The long discourses she putteth in, touching all manner of dreary matters! I warrant, you shall not see me to deal with the Queen's Majesty's injunctions touching the apparel of parsons, nor with the _Dutch Mennonites_, nor with philosophical questions touching folks' thoughts and characters, nor no such rubbish. I like sunlight, I do. Catch me a-setting down Master _Stuyvesant_ his dreary speeches! (I go not further, for then should it cost me sixpence: but Master _Stuyvesant_ hath no authority over me, so I may say what I will of him for two pence.) But it seemeth me, for all her soberness and her killing looks, that Mistress _Helena_ is something diverted with my speeches, else had she not put so many in. But I ought not to have said what I did, quotha, touching _Father's_ nose! Ought I not, forsooth? Mistress _Helena_, that shall cost you two pence, and I shall be fain to see the fine paid.

(Eh, lack-a-day! but that shall cost me two pence! Dear heart, whatever was _Father_ a-thinking of? I shall be as clean ruined as the velvet doublet that _Ned_ dropped in the fish-pond!)

It seemeth me _Father_ must have desired to make a good box for the poor. I would it had not been at my cost.

One thing is plain,--that Mistress _Nell_ keeps a conscience. I scarce think I do. There is a cushion full of pins somewhere down near my stomach, and now and then I get a p.r.i.c.k: but I do but cry pish and turn the pin end into the cushion. _Nell_, on the contrary, pulleth forth the pin and looketh on it, holding it in all lights. But there was one time, I mind, that I did not cry pish, and methinks every pin in the cushion had set a-work to p.r.i.c.k me hard. 'Twas ever so long gone, when _Wat_ and I dressed up the mop in a white sheet, and set it on the stairs for to make _Anstace_ and _Nell_ scream forth, a-taking it for a ghost: but as ill luck would have it, the first came by was _Mother_, with _Edith_ in her arms, that was then but a babe, and it so frighted her she went white as the very sheet, and dropped down of a dead faint, and what should have come of _Edith_ I wis not, had not _Anstace_, that came after, been quick to catch at her. Eh, but in all my life never saw I _Father_ as he then were! It was long time ere _Mother_ come to, and until after said he never a word, for he was all busied with her: but when she was come to herself and well at ease,--my word! but he did serve out _Wat_ and me! _Wat_ gat the worst, by reason he was the elder, and had (said _Father_) played the serpent to mine _Eva_: but I warrant you I forgat not that birch rod for a week or twain. Good lack!

we never frighted n.o.body again.

And after all, I do think _Father's_ talk was worser than the fustigation [whipping]. How he did insense it into us, that we might have been the death of our mother and sister both, and how it was rare wicked and cruel to seek to fright any, and had been known to turn folks' heads ere this! You see, _Father_, I have not forgot it, and I reckon I never shall.

But one thing _Father_ alway doth, and so belike do all in this house, which I hear not other folks' elders for to do. When _Alice Lewthwaite_ gets chidden, Mistress _Lewthwaite_ saith such matters be unseemly, or undutiful, and such like. But _Father_, he must needs pull forth his Bible, and give you chapter and verse for every word he saith. And it makes things look so much worser, some how. 'Tis like being judged of G.o.d instead of men. And where Mistress _Lewthwaite_ talks of faults, _Father_ and _Mother_ say sins. And it makes ever so much difference, to my thinking, whether a matter be but a fault you need be told of, or a sin that you must repent. Then, Mistress _Lewthwaite_ (and I have noted it in other) always takes things as they touch her, whereas _Father_ and _Mother_ do look on them rather as they touch G.o.d. And it doth seem ever so much more awfuller thus. Methinks it should be a sight comfortabler world if men had no consciences, and could do as it listed them at all times without those pin-p.r.i.c.ks. I am well a.s.sured folks should mostly do right. I should, at any rate. 'Tis but exceeding seldom I do aught wrong, and then mostly because I am teased with forbiddance of the same. I should never have touched the fire-fork, when I was a little maid, and nigh got the house a-fire, had not old Dame _Conyers_, that was my G.o.dmother, bidden me not do the same. Had she but held her peace, I should ne'er have thought thereon.

Folks do not well to put matters into childre's heads, and then if aught go wrong the childre get the blame. And in this world things be ever a-going wrong. But wherefore must I be blamed for that, forsooth? 'Tis the things go wrong, not me. I should be a very angel for goodness if only folks gave o'er a putting of me out, and gainsaying of me, and forbidding things to be done. In good sooth, 'tis hard on a poor maid that cannot be suffered to be as good as she should, were she but let a-be.

SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE VI.

Yesterday, the afternoon was so fair and sunshine, that _Edith_ and I (_Mother_ giving us leave) rowed o'er to Saint _Hubert's_ Isle, where _Edith_ sat her down of a great stone, and said she would draw the lake's picture in little. So I, having no list to stand behind and look on, went off to see if I could find aught, such as a squirrel or a pie, to divert me withal. As for _Adam_, which had rowed us o'er, he gathered up his nose and his heels all of a lump on the gra.s.s, and in five minutes he was snoring like an owl. For me, I wandered on a while, and went all over the ruins of the hermitage, and could find nought to look at save one robin, that sat on a bough and stared at me. After a while I sat me down, and I reckon I should have been a-snoring like _Adam_ afore long, but I heard a little bruit [noise] that caused me turn mine head, and all suddenly I was aware of a right goodly gentleman, and well clad, that leaned against a tree, and gazed upon me, yet with mighty respect and courtesy. He was something past his youth, yet right comely to look to; of a fair hair and beard, and soft eyes, grey [blue] as the sky. Truly, I was something fluttered, for he ware a brave velvet jerkin, and a gold chain as thick as Master _Mayor's_. And while I meditated if I should speak unto him or no, he spake first. "I pray you, fair my Mistress, or Madam [then restricted to n.o.ble ladies and knights' wives] if so be, of your good pleasure, to do a stranger to wit of the name of this charming isle?"

"Saint _Hubert's_ Isle, Sir," quoth I. "Of old time, as 'tis said, Saint _Hubert_ had an hermitage hereon: the ruins whereof you may see down yonder."

"Truly, the isle is better accommodated at this present," saith he, and smiled one of the comeliest smiles ever saw I on a man's face. "And who was Saint _Hubert_, if it please my fair damosel?"

"In good sooth, Sir, that know I not," said I; "save that he were one of the old saints, now done away."

"If the old saints be done away," saith he, "thank goodness, the new at least be left."

Good lack! but I wist not what to answer to so courtly compliments, and the better liked I my neighbour every minute. Methought I had never seen a gentleman so grand and amiable, not to say of so good words.

"And, I pray you, sweet Mistress," saith he, yet a-leaning against the tree, which was an oak, and I could find it again this minute: "is it lawful for the snared bird to request the name of the fowler?"

"Sir, I pray you of pardon," I made answer, and I could not help to laugh a little, "but I am all unused to so courtly and flattering words.

May it please you to put what you would say into something plainer _English_?"

"Surely," saith he, "the rose is not unaccustomed to the delightsome inhalation of her fragrance. Well, fairest Mistress, may I know your name? Is that _English_ plain enough to do you a pleasure?"

"Sir," quoth I, "my name is _Milisent Louvaine_, to serve you."

"Truly," saith he, "and it shall serve me right well to know so mellifluous a name. [Note 3.] And what dwelling is honoured by being your fair home, my honey-sweet damsel?"

"Sir," said I, "I dwell at _Selwick_ Hall, o'er the lake in yonder quarter."

"It must be a delightsome dwelling," he made answer. "And--elders have you, fairest Mistress?"

"I thank the Lord, ay, Sir. Sir _Aubrey Louvaine_ is my father, and Dame _Lettice_, sometime named _Eden_, my mother."

"_Lettice Eden_!" saith he, and methought something sorrowfully, as though _Mother's_ old name should have waked some regrets within him.

"I do mind me, long time gone, of a fair maiden of that name, that was with my sometime Lady of _Surrey_, and might now and then be seen at the Court with her lady, or with the fair Lady of _Richmond_, her lord's sister. Could it have been the same, I marvel?"

"Sir," said I, "I cast no doubt thereon. My mother was bower-maiden unto my Lady of _Surrey_, afore she were wed."

"Ah!" saith he, and fetched a great sigh. "She was the fairest maiden that ever mine eyes beheld. At the least--I thought so yesterday."

"My sister is more like her than I," I did observe. "She is round by yonder, a-playing the painter."

"Ah," quoth he, something carelessly, "I did see a young damsel, sitting of a stone o'er yonder. Very fair, in good sooth: yet I have seen fairer,--even within the compa.s.s of Saint _Hubert's_ Isle. And I do marvel that she should be regarded as favouring my good Lady your mother more than you, sweet Mistress _Milisent_."

I was astonished, for I know _Edith_ is reckoned best-favoured of all us, and most like to _Mother_. But well as it liked me to sit and listen, methought, somehow, I had better get me up and return to _Edith_.