Grisly Grisell

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Grisly Grisell

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

That night was Grisell's victory, though Bernard still held aloof
from her all the ensuing day, when he was really the better and
fresher for his long sleep, but at bed-time, when as usual the pain
came on, he wailed for her to rub him, and as it was still daylight,
and her father had gone out in one of the boats to fish, she ventured
on singing to him, as she rubbed, to his great delight and still
greater boon to her yearning heart. Even by day, as she sat at work,
the little fellow limped up to her, and said, "Grisly, sing that
again," staring hard in her face as she did so.

CHAPTER XI--BERNARD

I do remember an apothecary, -
And hereabouts he dwells.

SHAKESPEARE, Romeo and Juliet.

Bernard's affection was as strong as his aversion had been. Poor
little boy, no one had been accustomed enough to sickly children, or
indeed to children at all, to know how to make him happy or even
comfortable, and his life had been sad and suffering ever since the
blight that had fallen on him, through either the evil eye of Nan the
witch, or through his fall into a freezing stream. His brother, a
great strong lad, had teased and bullied him; his father, though not
actually unkind except when wearied by his fretfulness, held him as a
miserable failure, scarcely worth rearing; his mother, though her
pride was in her elder son, and the only softness in her heart for
the little one, had been so rugged and violent a woman all the years
of her life, and had so despised all gentler habits of civilisation,
that she really did not know how to be tender to the child who was
really her darling. Her infants had been nursed in the cottages, and
not returned to the castle till they were old enough to rough it--
indeed they were soon sent off to be bred up elsewhere. Some failure
in health, too, made it harder for her to be patient with an ailing
child, and her love was apt to take the form of anger with his
petulance or even with his suffering, or else of fierce battles with
her husband in his defence.

The comfort would have been in burning Crooked Nan, but that beldame
had disposed of herself out of reach, though Lady Whitburn still
cherished the hope of forcing the Gilsland Dacres or the Percies to
yield the woman up. Failing this, the boy had been shown to a
travelling friar, who had promised cure through the relics he carried
about; but Bernard had only screamed at him, and had been none the
better.

And now the little fellow had got over the first shock, he found that
"Grisly," as he still called her, but only as an affectionate
abbreviation, was the only person who could relieve his pain, or
amuse him, in the whole castle; and he was incessantly hanging on
her. She must put him to bed and sing lullabies to him, she must rub
his limbs when they ached with rheumatic pains; hers was the only
hand which might touch the sores that continually broke out, and he
would sit for long spaces on her lap, sometimes stroking down the
scar and pitying it with "Poor Grisly; when I am a man, I will throw
down my glove, and fight with that lad, and kill him."

"O nay, nay, Bernard; he never meant to do me evil. He is a fair,
brave, good boy."

"He scorned and ran away from you. He is mansworn and recreant,"
persisted Bernard. "Rob and I will make him say that you are the
fairest of ladies."

"O nay, nay. That he could not."

"But you are, you are--on this side--mine own Grisly," cried Bernard,
whose experiences of fair ladies had not been extensive, and who
curled himself on her lap, giving unspeakable rest and joy to her
weary, yearning spirit, as she pressed him to her breast. "Now, a
story, a story," he entreated, and she was rich in tales from
Scripture history and legends of the Saints, or she would sing her
sweet monastic hymns and chants, as he nestled in her lap.

The mother had fits of jealousy at the exclusive preference, and now
and then would rail at Grisell for cosseting the bairn and keeping
him a helpless baby; or at Bernard for leaving his mother for this
ill-favoured, useless sister, and would even snatch away the boy, and
declare that she wanted no one to deal with him save herself; but
Bernard had a will of his own, and screamed for his Grisly, throwing
himself about in such a manner that Lady Whitburn was forced to
submit, and quite to the alarm of her daughter, on one of these
occasions she actually burst into a flood of tears, sobbing loud and
without restraint. Indeed, though she hotly declared that she ailed
nothing, there was a lassitude about her that made it a relief to
have the care of Bernard taken off her hands; and the Baron's
grumbling at disturbed nights made the removal of Bernard's bed to
his sister's room generally acceptable.

Once, when Grisell was found to have taught both him and Thora the
English version of the Lord's Prayer and Creed, and moreover to be
telling him the story of the Gospel, there came, no one knew from
where, an accusation which made her father tramp up and say, "Mark
you, wench, I'll have no Lollards here."

"Lollards, sir; I never saw a Lollard!" said Grisell trembling.

"Where, then, didst learn all this, making holy things common?"

"We all learnt it at Wilton, sir, from the reverend mothers and the
holy father."

The Baron was fairly satisfied, and muttered that if the bairn was
fit only for a shaveling, it might be all right.

Poor child, would he ever be fit for that or any occupation of
manhood? However, Grisell had won permission to compound broths,
cakes, and possets for him, over the hall fire, for the cook and his
wife would not endure her approach to their domain, and with great
reluctance allowed her the materials. Bernard watched her operations
with intense delight and amusement, and tasted with a sense of
triumph and appetite, calling on his mother to taste likewise; and
she, on whose palate semi-raw or over-roasted joints had begun to
pall, allowed that the nuns had taught Grisell something.

And thus as time went on Grisell led no unhappy life. Every one
around was used to her scars, and took no notice of them, and there
was nothing to bring the thought before her, except now and then when
a fishwife's baby, brought to her for cure, would scream at her. She
never went beyond the castle except to mass, now and then to visit a
sick person, and to seek some of the herbs of which she had learnt
the use, and then she was always attended by Thora and Ridley, who
made a great favour of going.

Bernard had given her the greater part of his heart, and she soothed
his pain, made his hours happy, and taught him the knowledge she
brought from the convent. Her affections were with him, and though
her mother could scarcely be said to love her, she tolerated and
depended more and more on the daughter who alone could give her more
help or solace.

That was Grisell's second victory, when she was actually asked to
compound a warm, relishing, hot bowl for her father when be was
caught in a storm and came in drenched and weary.

She wanted to try on her little brother the effect of one of Sister
Avice's ointments, which she thought more likely to be efficacious
than melted mutton fat, mixed with pounded worms, scrapings from the
church bells, and boiled seaweed, but some of her ingredients were
out of reach, unless they were attainable at Sunderland, and she
obtained permission to ride thither under the escort of Cuthbert
Ridley, and was provided with a small purse--the proceeds of the
Baron's dues out of the fishermen's sales of herrings.

She was also to purchase a warm gown and mantle for her mother, and
enough of cloth to afford winter garments for Bernard; and a steady
old pack-horse carried the bundles of yarn to be exchanged for these
commodities, since the Whitburn household possessed no member
dexterous with the old disused loom, and the itinerant weavers did
not come that way--it was whispered because they were afraid of the
fisher folk, and got but sorry cheer from the lady.

The commissions were important, and Grisell enjoyed the two miles'
ride along the cliffs of Roker Bay, looking up at the curious caverns
in the rock, and seeking for the very strangely-formed stones
supposed to have magic power, which fell from the rock. In the
distance beyond the river to the southward, Ridley pointed to the
tall square tower of Monks Wearmouth Church dominating the great
monastery around it, which had once held the venerable Bede, though
to both Ridley and Grisell he was only a name of a patron saint.

The harbour formed by the mouth of the river Wear was a marvel to
Grisell, crowded as it was with low, squarely-rigged and gaily-
coloured vessels of Holland, Friesland, and Flanders, very new sights
to one best acquainted with Noah's ark or St. Peter's ship in
illuminations.

"Sunderland is a noted place for shipbuilding," said Ridley.
"Moreover, these come for wool, salt-fish, and our earth coal, and
they bring us fine cloth, linen, and stout armour. I am glad to see
yonder Flemish ensign. If luck goes well with us, I shall get a
fresh pair of gauntlets for my lord, straight from Gaunt, the place
of gloves."

"GANT for glove," said Grisell.

"How? You speak French. Then you may aid me in chaffering, and I
will straight to the Fleming, with whom I may do better than with
Hodge of the Lamb. How now, here's a shower coming up fast!"

It was so indeed; a heavy cloud had risen quickly, and was already
bursting overhead. Ridley hurried on, along a thoroughfare across
salt marshes (nowdocks), but the speed was not enough to prevent
their being drenched by a torrent of rain and hail before they
reached the tall-timbered houses of Wearmouth.

"In good time!" cried Ridley; "here's the Poticary's sign! You had
best halt here at once."

In front of a high-roofed house with a projecting upper story, hung a
sign bearing a green serpent on a red ground, over a stall, open to
the street, which the owner was sheltering with a deep canvas awning.

"Hola, Master Lambert Groats," called Ridley. "Here's the young
demoiselle of Whitburn would have some dealings with you."

Jumping off his horse, he helped Grisell to dismount just as a small,
keen-faced, elderly man in dark gown came forward, doffing his green
velvet cap, and hoping the young lady would take shelter in his poor
house.

Grisell, glancing round the little booth, was aware of sundry
marvellous curiosities hanging round, such as a dried crocodile, the
shells of tortoises, of sea-urchins and crabs, all to her eyes most
strange and weird; but Master Lambert was begging her to hasten in at
once to his dwelling-room beyond, and let his wife dry her clothes,
and at once there came forward a plump, smooth, pleasant-looking
personage, greatly his junior, dressed in a tight gold-edged cap over
her fair hair, a dark skirt, black bodice, bright apron, and white
sleeves, curtseying low, but making signs to invite the newcomers to
the fire on the hearth. "My housewife is stone deaf," explained
their host, "and she knows no tongue save her own, and the unspoken
language of courtesy, but she is rejoiced to welcome the demoiselle.
Ah, she is drenched! Ah, if she will honour my poor house!"

The wife curtsied low, and by hospitable signs prayed the demoiselle
to come to the fire, and take off her wet mantle. It was a very
comfortable room, with a wide chimney, and deep windows glazed with
thick circles of glass, the spaces between leaded around in diamond
panes, through which vine branches could dimly be seen flapping and
beating in the storm. A table stood under one with various glasses
and vessels of curious shapes, and a big book, and at the other was a
distaff, a work-basket, and other feminine gear. Shelves with pewter
dishes, and red, yellow, and striped crocks, surrounded the walls;
there was a savoury cauldron on the open fire. It was evidently
sitting-room and kitchen in one, with offices beyond, and Grisell was
at once installed in a fine carved chair by the fire--a more
comfortable seat than had ever fallen to her share.

"Look you here, mistress," said Ridley; "you are in safe quarters
here, and I will leave you awhile, take the horses to the hostel, and
do mine errands across the river--'tis not fit for you--and come back
to you when the shower is over, and you can come and chaffer for your
woman's gear."

From the two good hosts the welcome was decided, and Grisell was glad
to have time for consultation. An Apothecary of those days did not
rise to the dignity of a leech, but was more like the present owner
of a chemist's shop, though a chemist then meant something much more
abstruse, who studied occult sciences, such as alchemy and astrology.

In fact, Lambert Groot, which was his real name, though English lips
had made it Groats, belonged to one of the prosperous guilds of the
great merchant city of Bruges, but he had offended his family by his
determination to marry the deaf, and almost dumb, portionless orphan
daughter of an old friend and contemporary, and to save her from the
scorn and slights of his relatives--though she was quite as well-born
as themselves--he had migrated to England, where Wearmouth and
Sunderland had a brisk trade with the Low Countries. These cities
enjoyed the cultivation of the period, and this room, daintily clean
and fresh, seemed to Grisell more luxurious than any she had seen
since the Countess of Warwick's. A silver bowl of warm soup,
extracted from the pot au feu, was served to her by the Hausfrau, on
a little table, spread with a fine white cloth edged with embroidery,
with an earnest gesture begging her to partake, and a slender Venice
glass of wine was brought to her with a cake of wheaten bread. Much
did Grisell wish she could have transferred such refreshing fare to
Bernard. She ventured to ask "Master Poticary" whether he sold
"Balsam of Egypt." He was interested at once, and asked whether it
were for her own use.

"Nay, good master, you are thinking of my face; but that was a burn
long ago healed. It is for my poor little brother."

Therewith Grisell and Master Groats entered on a discussions of
symptoms, drugs, ointments, and ingredients, in which she learnt a
good deal and perhaps disclosed more of Sister Avice's methods than
Wilton might have approved. In the midst the sun broke out gaily
after the shower, and disclosed, beyond the window, a garden where
every leaf and spray were glittering and glorious with their own
diamond drops in the sunshine. A garden of herbs was a needful part
of an apothecary's business, as he manufactured for himself all of
the medicaments which he did not import from foreign parts, but this
had been laid out between its high walls with all the care, taste,
and precision of the Netherlander, and Grisell exclaimed in perfect
ecstasy: "Oh, the garden, the garden! I have seen nothing so fair
and sweet since I left Wilton."

Master Lambert was delighted, and led her out. There is no
describing how refreshing was the sight to eyes after the bare, dry
walls of the castle, and the tossing sea which the maiden had not yet
learnt to love. Nor was the garden dull, though meant for use.
There was a well in the centre with roses trained over it, roses of
the dark old damask kind and the dainty musk, used to be distilled
for the eyes, some flowers lingering still; there was the brown
dittany or fraxinella, whose dried blossoms are phosphoric at night;
delicate pink centaury, good for ague; purple mallows, good for
wounds; leopard's bane with yellow blossoms; many and many more old
and dear friends of Grisell, redolent of Wilton cloister and Sister
Avice; and she ran from one to the other quite transported, and
forgetful of all the dignities of the young Lady of Whitburn, while
Lambert was delighted, and hoped she would come again when his lilies
were in bloom.

So went the time till Ridley returned, and when the price was asked
of the packet of medicaments prepared for her, Lambert answered that
the value was fully balanced by what he had learnt from the lady.
This, however, did not suit the honour of the Dacres, and Grisell, as
well as her squire, who looked offended, insisted on leaving two gold
crowns in payment. The Vrow kissed her hand, putting into it the
last sprays of roses, which Grisell cherished in her bosom.

She was then conducted to a booth kept by a Dutchman, where she
obtained the warm winter garments that she needed for her mother and
brother, and likewise some linen, for the Lady of Whitburn had never
been housewife enough to keep up a sufficient supply for Bernard, and
Grisell was convinced that the cleanliness which the nuns had taught
her would mitigate his troubles. With Thora to wash for her she
hoped to institute a new order of things.

Much pleased with her achievements she rode home. She was met there
by more grumbling than satisfaction. Her father had expected more
coin to send to Robert, who, like other absent youths, called for
supplies.

The yeoman who had gone with him returned, bearing a scrap of paper
with the words:-

"MINE HONOURED LORD AND FATHER--I pray you to send me Black Lightning
and xvj crowns by the hand of Ralf, and so the Saints have you in
their keeping.--Your dutiful sonne,

"ROBERT DACRE."

xvj crowns were a heavy sum in those days, and Lord Whitburn vowed
that he had never so called on his father except when he was
knighted, but those were the good old days when spoil was to be won
in France. What could Rob want of such a sum?

"Well-a-day, sir, the house of the Duke of York is no place to stint
in. The two young Earls of March and of Rutland, as they call them,
walk in red and blue and gold bravery, and chains of jewels, even
like king's sons, and none of the squires and pages can be behind
them."

"Black Lightning too, my best colt, when I deemed the lad fitted out
for years to come. I never sent home the like message to my father
under the last good King Henry, but purveyed myself of a horse on the
battlefield more than once. But those good old days are over, and
lads think more of velvet and broidery than of lances and swords.
Forsooth, their coats-of-arms are good to wear on silk robes instead
of helm and shield; and as to our maids, give them their rein, and
they spend more than all the rest on women's tawdry gear!"

Poor Grisell! when she had bought nothing ornamental, and nothing for
herself except a few needles.

However, in spite of murmurs, the xvj crowns were raised and sent
away with Black Lightning; and as time went on Grisell became more
and more a needful person. Bernard was stronger, and even rode out
on a pony, and the fame of his improvement brought other patients to
the Lady Grisell from the vassals, with whom she dealt as best she
might, successfully or the reverse, while her mother, as her health
failed, let fall more and more the reins of household rule.

CHAPTER XII--WORD FROM THE WARS

Above, below, the Rose of Snow,
Twined with her blushing face we spread.

GRAY'S Bard.

News did not travel very fast to Whitburn, but one summer's day a
tall, gallant, fair-faced esquire, in full armour of the cumbrous
plate fashion, rode up to the gate, and blew the family note on his
bugle.

"My son! my son Rob," cried the lady, starting up from the cushions
with which Grisell had furnished her settle.

Robert it was, who came clanking in, met by his father at the gate,
by his mother at the door, and by Bernard on his crutch in the rear,
while Grisell, who had never seen this brother, hung back.

The youth bent his knee, but his outward courtesy did not conceal a
good deal of contempt for the rude northern habits. "How small and
dark the hall is! My lady, how old you have grown! What, Bernard,
still fit only for a shaven friar! Not shorn yet, eh? Ha! is that
Grisell? St. Cuthbert to wit! Copeland has made a hag of her!"

"'Tis a good maid none the less," replied her father; the first
direct praise that she had ever had from him, and which made her
heart glow.

"She will ne'er get a husband, with such a visage as that," observed
Robert, who did not seem to have learnt courtesy or forbearance yet
on his travels; but he was soon telling his father what concerned
them far more than the maiden's fate.

"Sir, I have come on the part of the Duke of York to summon you.
What, you have not heard? He needs, as speedily as may be, the arms
of every honest man. How many can you get together?"

"But what is it? How is it? Your Duke ruled the roast last time I
heard of him."

"You know as little as my horse here in the north!" cried Rob.

"This I did hear last time there was a boat come in, that the Queen,
that mother of mischief, had tried to lay hands on our Lord of
Salisbury, and that he and your Duke of York had soundly beaten her
and the men of Cheshire."

"Yea, at Blore Heath; and I thought to win my spurs on the Copeland
banner, but even as I was making my way to it and the recreant that
bore it, I was stricken across my steel cap and dazed."

"I'll warrant it," muttered his father.

"When I could look up again all was changed, the banner nowhere in
sight, but I kept my saddle, and cut down half a dozen rascaille
after that."

"Ha!" half incredulously, for it was a mere boy who boasted. "That's
my brave lad! And what then? More hopes of the spurs, eh?"

"Then what does the Queen do, but seeing that no one would willingly
stir a lance against an old witless saint like King Harry, she gets a
host together, dragging the poor man hither and thither with her, at
Ludlow. Nay, we even heard the King was dead, and a mass was said
for the repose of his soul, but with the morning what should we see
on the other side of the river Teme but the royal standard, and who
should be under it but King Harry himself with his meek face and fair
locks, twirling his fingers after his wont. So the men would have it
that they had been gulled, and they fell away one after another, till
there was nothing for it but for the Duke and his sons, and my Lords
of Salisbury and Warwick and a few score more of us, to ride off as
best we might, with Sir Andrew Trollope and his men after us, as hard
as might be, so that we had to break up, and keep few together. I
went with the Duke of York and young Lord Edmund into Wales, and
thence in a bit of a fishing-boat across to Ireland. Ask me to fight
in full field with twice the numbers, but never ask me to put to sea
again! There's nothing like it for taking heart and soul out of a
man!"

"I have crossed the sea often enow in the good old days, and known
nothing worse than a qualm or two."

"That was to France," said his son. "This Irish Sea is far wider and
far more tossing, I know for my own part. I'd have given a knight's
fee to any one who would have thrown me overboard. I felt like an
empty bag! But once there, they could not make enough of us. The
Duke had got their hearts before, and odd sort of hearts they are. I
was deaf with the wild kernes shouting round about in their
gibberish--such figures, too, as they are, with their blue cloaks,
streaming hair, and long glibbes (moustaches), and the Lords of the
Pale, as they call the English sort, are nigh about as wild and
savage as the mere Irish. It was as much as my Lord Duke could do to
hinder two of them from coming to blows in his presence; and you
should have heard them howl at one another. However, they are all
with him, and a mighty force of them mean to go back with him to
England. My Lord of Warwick came from Calais to hold counsel with
him, and they have sworn to one another to meet with all their
forces, and require the removal of the King's evil councillors; and
my Lord Duke, with his own mouth, bade me go and summon his trusty
Will Dacre of Whitburn--so he spake, sir--to be with him with all the
spears and bowmen you can raise or call for among the neighbours.
And it is my belief, sir, that he means not to stop at the
councillors, but to put forth his rights. Hurrah for King Richard of
the White Rose!" ended Robert, throwing up his cap.

"Nay, now," said his father. "I'd be loth to put down our gallant
King Harry's only son."

"No one breathes a word against King Harry," returned Robert, "no
more than against a carven saint in a church, and he is about as much
of a king as old stone King Edmund, or King Oswald, or whoever he is,
over the porch. He is welcome to reign as long as he likes or lives,
provided he lets our Duke govern for him, and rids the country of the
foreign woman and her brat, who is no more hers than I am, but a mere
babe of Westminster town carried into the palace when the poor King
Harry was beside himself."

"Nay, now, Rob!" cried his mother.

"So 'tis said!" sturdily persisted Rob. "'Tis well known that the
King never looked at him the first time he was shown the little imp,
and next time, when he was not so distraught, he lifted up his hands
and said he wotted nought of the matter. Hap what hap, King Harry
may roam from Church to shrine, from Abbey to chantry, so long as he
lists, but none of us will brook to be ruled or misruled by the
foreign woman and the Beauforts in his name, nor reigned over by the
French dame or the beggar's brat, and the traitor coward Beaufort,
but be under our own noble Duke and the White Rose, the only badge
that makes the Frenchman flee."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14