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Updated: April 30, 2025
To use the words of the great Norwegian chronicler, "Harold was always with the Court itself, and nearest to the King in all service." "The King loved him very much, and kept him as his own son, for he had no children." This attendance on Edward was naturally most close at the restoration to power of the Earl's family.
No communication had been permitted between the prisoners on their way to England; indeed, from Sir Christopher's wounded and exhausted state, he had travelled more leisurely in a litter, always in the rear of the earl's detachment, and occupied by her close attendance upon him, his wife had scarcely been aware of the young page ever in attendance on her brother, or deemed him, if she did observe him, a retainer of Hereford's own.
He did not care to expose Earl to the fury of a white mob by revealing the conspiracy. He preferred to heal the racial sore himself without calling a doctor, whose remedy might be worse than the disease. But if he kept Earl's illness secret and Earl died, he was himself liable to be arrested on the charge of murder. He concluded, however, to take the risk of handling the matter himself.
"I am obliged to admit that she can scarcely spell her own name," answered the lawyer. "She is absolutely uneducated and openly mercenary. She cares for nothing but the money. She is very handsome in a coarse way, but " The fastidious old lawyer ceased speaking and gave a sort of shudder. The veins on the old Earl's forehead stood out like purple cords.
Uncle Dave Hopkins used to always say, 'Turn me into John Calvin, and I want to know which place I'm going to; turn me into Mulberry Sellers and I don't care." The rightful earl's comment-to himself: "It's a beautiful name, beautiful. Pity I didn't think of it before I wrote the usurper. But I'll be ready for him when he answers." No answer to that telegram; no arriving daughter.
The chroniclers tell of the shameful mutilation of the earl's corpse, and how the limbs were distributed through the country, but the dismembered body was buried reverently by the monks in the most sacred part of their church, even before the High Altar. The severed hands were sent by a servant to the wife of Roger Mortimer, at Wigmore Castle in Shropshire.
The dead man had left instructions that his body should be buried in the Quaker graveyard, but Luke Claridge and the Elders prevented that he had no right to the privileges of a Friend; and, as the only son was afar, and no near relatives pressed the late Earl's wishes, the ancient family tomb in Ireland received all that was left of the owner of the Cloistered House, which, with the estates in Ireland and the title, passed to the wandering son.
The stupid sexton stuck his pick in amongst the old bricks, and so the great man's skull came tumbling out, and rolled beside the skull of Job Martin, the old cobbler; and the sexton laid them both on the edge of the grave, the earl's skull and the cobbler's skull, until he should fetch a mason to mend the vault, and what do you think? when the mason came, the sexton could not tell which was the earl's skull and which was the cobbler's!
Evening advanced, night began, night deepened. King Edward's feast was over, but still in his perfumed chamber the wine sparkled in the golden cup. It was announced to him that Sir Marmaduke Nevile, just arrived from the earl's house, craved an audience. The king, pre-occupied in deep revery, impatiently postponed it till the morrow.
She lived in an Earl's Court lodging, and these occasional expeditions with Marcia represented for her the gilt on her modest gingerbread. She was a small, refined woman, with a figure still slender, gray hair, and a quiet face. Her dresses were years old, but she had a wonderful knack of bringing them up-to-date, and she never did Marcia any discredit.
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