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Nothing could be kinder than Mistress Hall was to her charge, of whom she was really proud, and when they halted for the night at the nunnery of Queen Elfrida at Wherwell, she took care to explain that this was no burgess's daughter but the Lady Grisell Dacre of Whitburn, trusted to HER convoy, and thus obtained for her quarters in the guest-chamber of the refectory instead of in the general hospitium; but on the whole Grisell had rather not have been exposed to the shock of being shown to strangers, even kindly ones, for even if they did not exclaim, some one was sure to start and whisper.
"It is evil news, dear lady," said old Ridley, turning towards her with outstretched hands, and tears flowing down his cheeks. "My knight. Oh! my knight! And I was not by!" "Slain?" almost under her breath, asked Grisell. "Even so! At Wakefield Bridge," began Featherstone, but at that instant, walking stiff, upright, and rigid, like a figure moved by mechanism, Lady Whitburn was among them.
"See, my lady, what she has done to your ladyship's Venice glass, which she never should have touched. She must have run to your chamber while you were at mass. All false her feigning to be so sick and feeble." "Ay," replied Lady Whitburn, "she must up don her clothes, and away with me." "Hush, I pray you, madam. How, how, Grisell, my poor child. Call Master Miles, Maudlin! Give me that water."
"Aye, we know that the Frenchwoman can make the poor fool of a King believe and avouch anything she choose! This is not the point. No more words, young man. Here stands my daughter; there is the rope. Choose wed or hang." Leonard stood one moment with a look of agonised perplexity over his face. Then he said, "If I consent, am I at liberty, free at once to depart?" "Aye," said Whitburn.
It was plain that Grisell was in no state to be taken on a journey, and her mother went grumbling down the stair at the unchancy bairn always doing scathe. Lord Salisbury, beside whom she sat, courteously, though perhaps hardly willingly, invited her to remain till her daughter was ready to move. "Nay, my Lord, I am beholden to you, but I may scarce do that. I be sorely needed at Whitburn Tower.
Lady Whitburn was overheard saying that those who had mauled the maid might mend her, if they could; and accordingly she acquiesced, not too graciously, when the Countess promised to tend the child like her own, and send her by and by to Whitburn under a safe escort; and as Middleham Castle lay on the way to Whitburn, it was likely that means would be found of bringing or sending her.
What means this?" demanded the Duchess severely. "It is my Grisell Dacre, fair mother, my dear companion at my aunt of Salisbury's manor," said Margaret, trying to lead forward her shrinking friend. "She who was so cruelly scathed." Grisell curtsied low, but still hung back, and Lord Warwick briefly explained. "Daughter to Will Dacre of Whitburn, a staunch baron of the north.
Those who are under his roof must respect it by fitting demeanour towards one another." The Lady of Whitburn was quenched for the time, and the Countess asked whether she did not wish to see her daughter, leading the way to a chamber hung with tapestry, and with a great curtained bed nearly filling it up, for the patient had been installed in one of the best guest-chambers of the Castle.
The Lord of Whitburn himself was in Ireland with the Duke of York, while his lady was in attendance on the young Queen, and it was judged right and seemly to despatch to her a courier with the tidings of her daughter's disaster, although in point of fact, where a house could number sons, damsels were not thought of great value, except as the means of being allied with other houses.
Whitburn was too far off to send to in the time allowed by the Proctor, and Grisell had heard nothing from her home all the time she had been at Wilton.
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