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Updated: June 2, 2025
"I should feel at home if I could but hear an honest carter shout 'Woa' to his horses." "Did you have any speech with the ladies?" asked Grisell. "I? No! What reck they of a poor knight adventurer?" "Methought all the chivalry were peers, and that a belted knight was a comrade for a king," said Grisell. Did this mean that the fair Eleanor had scorned him?
"Full of years, and of good works," as her somewhat pompous epitaph has it, Lady Grisell Baillie died in December 1746, and was buried at Mellerstain on the day upon which she should have celebrated her eighty-second birthday.
The women of the castle and others requisitioned from the village toiled under the superintendence of the lady and Grisell at preparing such provision and equipments as were portable, such as dried fish, salted meat, and barley cakes, as well as linen, and there was a good deal of tailoring of a rough sort at jerkins, buff coats, and sword belts, not by any means the gentle work of embroidering pennons or scarves notable in romance.
So time went on, and the rule of the House of York in England seemed established, while the exiles had settled down in Burgundy, Grisell to her lace pillow, Leonard to the suite of the Count de Charolais. Indeed there was reason to think that he had come to acquiesce in the change of dynasty, or at any rate to think it unwise and cruel to bring on another desperate civil war.
"A murrain on the hag! she does not even struggle!" said, at last, the hump-backed tinker. "No, no! she cares not for water. Try fire! Out with her! out!" cried Red Grisell. "Aroint her! she is sullen!" said the tinker, as his lean fingers clutched up the dead body, and let it fall upon the margin. "Dead!" said the baker, shuddering; "we have done wrong, I told ye so!
As she passed the retainers she heard, "Here comes our Grisly Grisell," and a smothered laugh, and in fact "Grisly Grisell" continued to be her name among the free-spoken people of the north.
Grisell accordingly rebuked her the next time she delayed unreasonably over a message, but the girl pouted and muttered something about young Ralph Hart helping her with the heavy pitcher up the stair. "It is unseemly for a maiden to linger and get help from strange soldiers," said Grisell.
"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."
THE Lady Grisell Baillie, as she was called after her marriage, was the daughter of a very eminent Covenanter, Sir Patrick Hume of Polwarth. Grisell was born in 1665, and during all the years of her girlhood her father was seldom able to come home to his house of Polwarth, for fear of the officers of the Government seizing him.
There, in early morning, before the revels began, Grisell ventured to ask for an audience, and was permitted to follow the Duchess when she returned from mass to her own apartments. "Ah! my lace weaver. Have you had your share in the revels and pageantries?" "I saw the procession, so please your Grace." "And your old playmate in her glory?" "Yea, madame.
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