Part 23 (1/2)
Thoughts, which were not all pleasant, chased one another through the mind of Amphillis. If Ricarda were trying to win Norman Hylton, would she be so base as to leave him under the delusion that she was a Neville, possibly of the n.o.ble stock of the Lords of Raby? Mr Hylton's friends, if not himself, would regard with unutterable scorn the idea of marriage with a confectioner's daughter. He would be held to have demeaned himself to the verge of social extinction. And somehow, somewhere, and for some reason--Amphillis pushed the question no further than this--the thought of a.s.sisting, by her silence, in the ruin of Norman Hylton, seemed much harder to bear than the prospect of being hated by Ricarda Altham, even though it were for ever and ever. When these meditations had burned within her for a few seconds, Amphillis spoke.
”Mistress Perrote, wit you how my cousin came hither?”
”Why, by reason my Lady Foljambe sent to thine uncle, to ask at him if thou hadst any kin of the father's side, young maids of good birth and breeding, and of discreet conditions, that he should be willing to put forth hither with thee.”
Amphillis felt as if her mind were in a whirl. Surely it was not possible that Mr Altham had known, far less shared, the dishonesty of his daughter? She could not have believed her uncle capable of such meanness.
”Sent to mine uncle?” seemed all that she could utter.
”Ay, but thine uncle, as I heard say, was away when the messenger came, and he saw certain women of his house only.”
”Oh, then my uncle was not in the plot!” said Amphillis to herself with great satisfaction.
”Maybe I speak wrongly,” added Perrote, reflectively; ”I guess he saw but one woman, a wedded cousin of thine, one Mistress Winkfield, who said she wist of a kinswoman of thine on the father's side that she was secure her father would gladly prefer, and she would have her up from Hertfords.h.i.+re to see him, if he would call again that day week.”
How the conspiracy had been managed flashed on Amphillis at once. Mr Altham was always from home on a Wednesday, when he attended a meeting of his professional guild in the city. That wicked Alexandra had done the whole business, and presented her own sister to the messenger as the cousin of Amphillis, on that side of her parentage which came of gentle blood.
”Mistress, I pray you tell me, if man know of wrong done or lying, and utter it not, hath he then part in the wrong?”
”Very like, dear heart. Is there here some wrong-doing? I nigh guessed so much from thy ways. Speak out, Phyllis.”
”Soothly, Mistress, I would not by my good will do my kinswoman an ill turn; yet either must I do so, or else hold my peace at wrong done to my Lady Foljambe, and peradventure to Master Hylton. My cousin Ricarda is not of my father's kin. She is daughter unto mine uncle, the patty-maker in the Strand. I know of no kin on my father's side.”
”Holy Mary!” cried the scandalised Perrote. ”Has thine uncle, then, had part in this wicked work?”
”I cry you mercy, Mistress, but I humbly guess not so. Mine uncle, as I have known him, hath been alway an honest and honourable man, that should think shame to do a mean deed. That he had holpen my cousins thus to act could I not believe without it were proven.”
”Then thy cousin, Mistress Winkfield?”
”Alexandra? I said not so much of her.”
”Phyllis, my Lady Foljambe must know this.”
”I am afeard, Mistress, she must. Mistress, I must in mine honesty confess to you that these few days I have wist my cousin had called her by the name of Neville; but in good sooth, I wist not if I ought to speak or no, till your word this even seemed to show me that I must. My cousins have been somewhat unfriends to me, and I held me back lest I should be reckoned to revenge myself.” Perrote took in the situation at a glance. ”Poor child!” she said. ”It is well thou hast spoken. I dare guess, thou sawest not that mischief might come thereof.”
”In good sooth, Mistress, that did I not until this even. I never thought of no such a thing.”
”Verily, I can scarce marvel, for such a thing was hardly heard of afore. To deceive a n.o.ble lady! to 'present herself as of gentle blood, when she came but of a trading stock! 'Tis horrible! I can scarce think of worser deed, without she had striven to deceive the priest himself in confession.”
The act of Ricarda Altham was far more shocking in the eyes of a lady in the fourteenth century than in the nineteenth. The falsehood she had told was the same in both cases; or rather, it would weigh more heavily now than then. But the nature of the deception--that what they would have termed ”a beggarly tradesman's brat” should, by deceiving a lady of family, have forced herself on terms of comparative equality into the society of ladies--was horrible in the extreme to their eclectic souls.
Tradesmen, in those days, were barely supposed, by the upper cla.s.ses, to have either morals or manners, except an awe of superior people, which was expected to act as a wholesome barrier against cheating their aristocratic customers. In point of fact, the aristocratic customers were cheated much oftener than they supposed, on the one side, and some of the ”beggarly tradesfolk” were men of much higher intellect and principle than they imagined, on the other. Brains were held to be a prerogative of gentle blood, extra intelligence in the lower cla.s.ses being almost an impertinence. The only exception to this rule lay with the Church. She was allowed to develop a brain in whom she would. The sacredness of her tonsure protected the man who wore it, permitting him to exhibit as much (or as little) of manners, intellect, and morals, as he might think proper.
Perrote's undressing on that evening was attended with numerous shakes of the head, and sudden e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of mingled astonishment and horror.
”And that Agatha!” was one of the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns.
Amphillis looked for enlightenment.
”Why, she is full hand in glove with Ricarda. The one can do nought that the other knows not of. I dare be bound she is helping her to draw poor Master Norman into her net--for Agatha will have none of him; she's after Master Matthew.”
”Lack-a-day! I never thought n.o.body was after anybody!” said innocent Amphillis.