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The other was a comfortable-looking girl of eighteen, rosy-cheeked, with dark eyes and hair. "Christ save you, holy sisters!" said Constance as they approached her. "Ye be of these parts, trow?" "Nay," answered the younger nun, "we be of the House of Minoresses beyond Aldgate; and though thine eyes have not told thee so much, Custance, I am Isabel of Pleshy." "Lady Isabel of Pleshy!
"`An' I wit'! Well wis I. 'Tis my gracious Lord of Buckingham, brother unto our Lord of Cambridge." "Were you ever at Pleshy, Master Bertram?" "Truly, but a year gone, for the christening of the young Lord Humphrey." "And liked it you to tell me if you wot at all of one Hawise Gerard among the Lady's maidens?" Maude awaited the answer in no little suppressed eagerness.
Then, suddenly lifting his head, he spoke quickly, as if he wished to come at once to the end of his miserable task. "Noble ladies, my Lord of Salisbury is beheaden of the rabble at Cirencester, and my Lord of Exeter at Pleshy; and men say that Lord Richard the King lieth dead at Pomfret, and that God wot how." Constance spoke at last, but in a voice not like her own.
"Sister Christian, that was a nun at Pleshy," she observed, dreamily, "was wont to say, long time agone, unto Mother and me, that holy Mary's Son did love us and die for us; but I never wist nought beyond that. Would your Grace, of your goodness, tell me wherefore it were?" "Wherefore He died?
Maude knew, though for some reason with which she herself was best acquainted, she had been much more chary of her information to my Lady the Prioress than she now chose to be. "At Pleshy, in Essex." "And what work did thy father?" Maude looked up with a troubled air, as if the idea of that relative's possible existence had never suggested itself to her.
His troops fancied that Henry had come up, and was burning Cirencester; and, panic-stricken, they dispersed in all directions. The five parted into three divisions, and fled themselves. They fled to death. Exeter set out alone. His destination was Pleshy, whence he meant to escape to France.
May-be the hearts there had been as frosty as at Pleshy. Well! it will be warm in the grave, and we shall soon win yonder." "Be there fires yonder, Mother?" asked the child innocently. The woman laughed a bitter, harsh laugh, in which there was no mirth. "The devil keepeth," she said. "At least so say the priests. But what wit they? They never went thither to see. They will, belike, some day."
"Child," said the Lady de Narbonne seriously, "Hawise Gerard is dead." "Woe is me! I feared so much," answered Maude sorrowfully. "She died to thee, little maid, when she went to the Castle of Pleshy," was the unsatisfactory answer. "May I wit no more, Madam? Your Ladyship knew her, trow?" "Once," said the lady, with a slight quiver of her lower lip, "long, long ago!"
London was a very grand place, only a little less than the world: but it could not fill quite all the world, because there was room left for Pleshy and one or two other places.
I must after my master for the hawking." But before Bertram turned away, Maude seized the opportunity to ask a question which had been troubling her for many a month. "If you be not in heavy bire, Master Bertram " "Go to! What maketh a minute more nor less?" "Would it like you of your goodness to tell me, an' you wit, who dwelleth in the Castle of Pleshy?"
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