Part 10 (1/2)

Maude looked, and saw a young girlish figure, splendidly attired,--a rich red and white complexion, beautiful blue eyes, and a sunny halo of s.h.i.+ning fair hair. But she saw as well, a cold, hard curve of the delicate lips, a proud cynical expression in the handsome eyes, a bold, forward manner. Yes, Maude admitted, the Lady de Narbonne was beautiful; yet she did not care to look at her. Bertram was disappointed. And so was Maude, for all hope of finding Hawise had disappeared.

When supper was over, the tables were lifted. The festive board was at this time literally a board or boards, which were simply set upon trestles to form a table. At the close of a meal, the tables were reduced to their primitive elements, and boards and trestles were either carried away, or heaped in one corner of the hall. The dining-room was thus virtually trans.m.u.ted into the drawing-room, ceremony and precedence being discarded for the rest of the evening--state occasions of course excepted, and the royal persons present not being addressed unless they chose to commence a conversation.

Maude kept pretty strictly to her corner all that evening. She was generally shy of strangers, and none of these were sufficiently attractive to make her break through her usual habits. Least attractive of all, to her, was the lovely Lady de Narbonne. Her light, airy ways, which seemed to enchant the Earl's knights and squires, simply disgusted Maude. She was the perpetual centre of a group of frivolous idlers, who dangled round her in the hope of leading her to a seat, or picking up a dropped glove. She laughed and chatted freely with them all, distributing her smiles and frowns with entire impartiality--except in one instance. One member of the Earl's household never came within her circle, and he was the only one whom she seemed at all desirous to attract. This was Hugh Calverley. He held aloof from the bright lamp around which all the other moths were fluttering, and Maude fancied that he admired the queen of the evening as little as she did herself.

All at once, by no means to Maude's gratification, the lady chose to rise and walk across the room to her corner.

”And what name hast thou, little maid?” she asked, with a light swing of her golden pomander--the vinaigrette of the Middle Ages.

Maude had become very tired of being asked her name, the more so since it was the manner in which strangers usually opened negotiations with her. She found it the less agreeable because she was conscious of no right to any surname, her mother's being the only one she knew. So she answered ”Maude” rather shortly.

”Maude--only Maude?”

”Only Maude. Madam, might it like your Ladys.h.i.+p to tell me if you wit of one Hawise Gerard anything?”

If the Lady de Narbonne would talk to her, Maude resolved to utilise the occasion; though she felt there could be little indeed in common between her gentle, modest cousin, and this far from retiring young widow. That they could not have been intimate friends Maude was sure; but acquaintances they might be--and must be, unless the Lady de Narbonne had been too short a time at Pleshy to know Hawise. As Maude in speaking lifted her eyes to the lady's face, she saw the smiling lips grow suddenly grave, and the cold bright light die out of the beaming eyes.

”Child,” said the Lady de Narbonne seriously, ”Hawise Gerard is dead.”

”Woe is me! I feared so much,” answered Maude sorrowfully. ”And might it please you, Madam, to arede [tell] me fully when she died, and how, and where?”

”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 Ladys.h.i.+p knew her, trow?”

”Once,” said the lady, with a slight quiver of her lower lip,--”long, long ago!” And she suddenly turned her head, which had been for a moment averted from Maude, round towards her. ”'When, and how, and where?'” she repeated. ”Little maid, some dying is slower than men may tell the hour, and there be graves that are not dug in earth. Thy cousin Hawise is dead and gone. Forget her.”

”That can I never!” replied Maude tenderly, as the memory of her dead came fresh and warm upon her.

The Lady de Narbonne rose abruptly, and walked away, without another word, to the further end of the room. Half an hour later, Maude saw her in the midst of a gay group, laughing and jesting in the cheeriest manner. Of what sort of stuff could the woman be made?

The Countess of Buckingham did not leave Langley until after dinner the next day--that is to say, about eleven a.m. A little before dinner, as Maude, not being wanted at the moment, stood alone at the window of the hall, leaning her arms on the wide window-ledge, a voice asked behind her,--”Art yet thinking of Hawise Gerard?”

”I was so but this moment, Madam,” replied Maude, turning round to meet the eyes of the Lady de Narbonne, now quiet and grave enough. ”'Tis little marvel, for I loved her dear.”

”And love lasteth with thee--how long time?”

”Till death, a.s.suredly,” said Maude. ”What may lie beyond death I wis nothing.”

”Till what manner of death? The resurrection, men say, shall give back the dead. But what shall give back a dead heart or a lost soul? Can thy love pa.s.s such death as this, Maude Gerard?”

”Madam, I said never unto your Ladys.h.i.+p that Hawise Gerard was kinswoman of mine. How wit you the same?”

A faint, soft smile, very unlike her usual one, so bright and cold, flickered for a moment on the lips of the Lady de Narbonne.

”Not too far gone for that, Cousin Maude,” she said.

”'Cousin'--Madam! You are--”

”I am Avice de Narbonne, waiting-dame unto my Lady of Buckingham's Grace. I was Hawise Gerard, David Gerard's daughter.”