Part 31 (1/2)
Lady Ba.s.set fulfilled her promise of writing to her brother, and sent her own squire with the letter. It was uncertain where the Duke might be, and consequently how long the journey might take. The messenger was instructed to seek him first at Windsor, and to be guided in his further movements by what he might hear there. No time was lost, for the squire set out on his journey that very evening.
About the time of his departure, the Archbishop and Mr Altham held their little conference. Regina was at work in the window-seat, by her husband's contrivance. Theoretically, he took the popular view of the condign inferiority of the female intellect; while practically he held his Regina in the highest reverence, and never thought of committing himself on any important subject without first ascertaining her opinion.
And the goldsmith's daughter deserved his esteem; for she possessed a warm heart and a large reserve of quiet good sense. They were both highly delighted to see that the Archbishop seemed inclined to show kindness to the young cousin whose relations.h.i.+p he, at least, was not too proud to acknowledge.
”Nor should he not be,” said Regina, whose tiny bobbins were flying about on her lace-cus.h.i.+on, too fast for the eye to follow. ”Did we not come, all, from von man and von woman? I tink Adam was not too proud to speak to Abel: and if Cain would not talk, he was bad man, and we should not take de pattern after de bad mans. Ach! if dere was none but good mans and good womans, what better of a world it should be!”
Regina had too much tact and sense of propriety to thrust herself into the conversation between the Archbishop and her husband; she sat silently listening and working, and the sprigs of lace flowers grew rapidly under her skilful fingers.
”I would fain speak with you, Mr Altham,” said the Archbishop, ”touching the disposing of my cousin Amphillis. I cannot but feel that the maid hath been somewhat wronged by her father's kin; and though, thanks be to G.o.d, I never did her nor him any hurt, yet, being of his kindred, I would desire you to suffer me a little to repair this wrong.
She seemeth me a good maid and a worthy, and well bred in courtesy; wherefore, if my word might help her to secure a better settlement, I would not it were lacking. I pray you, therefore, to count me as your friend and hers, and tell me how you think to order her life. She hath, I take it, none other guardian than you?”
”My Lord, your Grace doth us great honour. 'Tis true, the maid hath none other guardian than I; and her mother was mine only sister, and I held her dear: and seeing she had none other to give an helping hand, I was in the mind to portion her with mine own daughters. I gave to the two, and shall give to the other, five pound apiece to their marriages, and likewise their wedding gear; and seeing she is a good, decent maid, and a credit to her kin, I would do the same by Amphillis.”
”Therein do you act full n.o.bly, Master Altham,” said the Archbishop; for the sum named was a very handsome one for a girl in Mr Altham's station of life at that time. Only a tradesman very well-to-do could have afforded to portion his daughter so highly, with an amount equivalent in the present day to about 80 pounds. ”Go to, then: will you suffer me that I endow my young kinswoman with the like sum, and likewise find her in an horse for her riding?”
In days when public conveyances of all kinds were totally unknown, a horse was almost a necessity, and only the very poor were without one at least. The price of such a horse as would be considered fit for Amphillis was about thirty s.h.i.+llings or two pounds. The offer of the Archbishop therefore struck Mr Altham as a most generous one, and his thanks were profuse accordingly.
”Have you taken any thought for her disposal?” inquired the prelate.
”No, in very deed,” replied the worthy patty-maker, with some hesitation. ”There be nigh me divers youths of good conditions, that I dare be bound should be fain to wed with a maid of good lineage and decent 'haviour, with a pretty penny in her pocket; but I never brake my mind to any, and--” here Mr Altham glanced at Regina, and received an optic telegram across the bobbins--”if your Grace were pleased to think of any that you had a favour for, I would not in no wise stand in the way thereto.”
”Methinks,” said the Archbishop, ”under your leave, worthy Master Altham, my cousin might look somewhat higher. Truly, I mean not to cast scorn on any good and honest man; we be all sons of Adam: but--in a word, to speak out straightway, I have one in my mind that I reckon should not make an ill husband for Amphillis, and this is Sir G.o.dfrey Foljambe his squire, Master Norman Hylton, that is of birth even with her, and I believe a full worthy young man, and well bred. If it may suit with your reckoning, what say you to breaking your mind to him thereupon, and seeing if he be inclined to entertain the same?”
”My Lord,” replied Master Altham, after exchanging another telegram with his Mentor, ”in good sooth, both Phyllis and I are much beholden unto you, and I will full gladly so do.”
”Yet, Master Altham, I would desire you to be satisfied touching this young man's conditions, ere you do fix your mind upon him. I hear well of him from all that do know him--indeed, I am myself acquaint with some of his near kin--with twain of his uncles and a brother--yet I would fain have you satisfied therewith no less than myself.”
Optic telegrams would not answer this time, for Regina's eyes were not lifted from the lace-cus.h.i.+on. Mr Altham hesitated a moment, murmured a few words of thanks, and at last came out openly with--”What sayest, sweetheart?”
”He will do,” was Regina's answer. ”He is good man. He have clear eyes, he look you in de face; he pray in de chapel, and not run his eyes all round; he laugh and chatter-patter not wid other damsels; he is sad, courteous, and gent. He will do, husband.”
Little idea had Amphillis that her future was being thus settled for her downstairs, as she sat in the Countess's chamber, tending her sick lady.
The Countess was slowly sinking. Father Jordan thought she might live perhaps for another month; it was only a question of time. Perrote said that the soul was keeping the body alive. The old fiery flashes of pa.s.sion were never seen now; she showed a little occasional irritability and petulance, but usually her mood was one of listless, languid weariness, from which nothing aroused her, and in which nothing interested her. The one burning, crying desire of her heart was to see her son. She did not know of the fruitless application which had been already made to him; still less of the renewed appeal, to which no answer could be returned for some days at least. Her belief was that Sir G.o.dfrey would not permit any message to be sent, and that if he did, King Edward would not allow the Duke, who was his va.s.sal, to obey it.
To the least hint that the Duke might or could himself decline, she refused to listen so decidedly that no one had the heart to repeat it.
More plaintive, day by day, grew the dying mother's yearning moans for her best-loved child. In vain Perrote tried to a.s.sure her that human love was inadequate to satisfy the cravings of her immortal soul; that G.o.d had made her for Himself, and that only when it reached and touched Him could the spirit which He had given find rest.
”I cannot hearken to thee, old woman,” said the dying prisoner. ”My whole soul is set on my lad, and is bent to see him before I die. Let G.o.d grant me that, and I will listen to Him after--I will love the good G.o.d then. I cannot rest, I cannot rest without my lad!”
The days wore on, and the snows of February pa.s.sed into the winds of March. Lady Ba.s.set remained at Hazelwood, but her squire had not returned. The Countess was very weak now.
The Archbishop of York had delayed his departure too. He would answer for it, he said, both to his superior of Canterbury and to the King. In his own heart he was not satisfied with the ministrations of kindly, ignorant Father Jordan, who was very desirous to soothe the perturbed soul of the Countess, and had not the least idea how to do it. He thought he might yet be of service to the dying Princess.
Very cautiously Mr Altham ventured with some trepidation to sound Norman Hylton as to his feelings towards Amphillis. Notwithstanding the Archbishop's countenance and solid help, he was sorely afraid of being snubbed and sat upon for his presumption. He was therefore proportionately relieved when Norman a.s.sured him he wished no better fate to overtake him, but that he was unable to see how he could possibly afford to marry.
”Verily, Master Altham, I do you to wit, I have but five possessions-- myself, my raiment, mine harness [armour was termed harness up to the seventeenth century], mine horse, and my book. Not a yard of land have I, nor look to have: nor one penny in my plack, further than what I earn. How then can I look to keep a wife? Well I wot that Mistress Amphillis were fortune in herself to him that is so lucky as to win her; but in good sooth, no such thing is there as luck, and I should say, that hath so much favour of. G.o.d, seeing the wise man saith that 'a prudent wife is given properly of the Lord.' Yet I reckon that the wisest in the world can scarce keep him warm of a winter day by lapping him in his wisdom; and the fairest and sweetest lady shall lack somewhat to eat beside her own sweetness. Could I see my way thereto, trust me, I would not say you nay; but--”
”But how, Master Hylton, if she carried her pocket full of n.o.bles?”
”Ah, then it were other matter. I would stand to it gladly if so were.”