the Castle chapel, rear-supper, a little general conversation, cups of
wine handed round, and the Countess retired to her oratory, and the Earl
to his closet. Last came the Countess's _coucher_, at which three of
the chamberers were expected to be present, one being told off to assist
the Lady Anne. The Duchess of Clarence had her separate household.
Frideswide found herself summoned to the Countess's chamber, where
Theobalda instructed her in her duties, which were simply those of a
lady's maid. The chamberera were then free to seek their own beds.
It was not until the next morning that Frideswide saw the Duke of
Clarence, who had been absent from the supper-table. He was the least
good-looking of the handsome royal brothers. "A great alms-giver and a
great builder" is the character given of him by the retainer of the
House of Warwick: but a more skilful hand than his, a hundred years
later, sketched a far truer portrait.
"False, fleeting, faithless Clarence!"
With the Duke came two other persons--the brothers of Warwick, John Lord
Montague and George Archbishop of York. They were about as much given
to tergiversation as their better-known brother, with the proviso that
in their innermost hearts they were a shade more determinately Yorkist
than he. Montague in particular was remarkable for his power of
versatility. His personal convictions were in favour of Edward, but the
least offence given to him by his chosen master was enough to make him
veer round like a weathercock to the opposite quarter. At the present
moment some such annoyance was rankling in his narrow mind, and he was
therefore just in a fit state to lend an ear to the persuasive
representations of his brother of Warwick. The marvel of the matter is
how these three crafty, changeable, unprincipled men contrived to trust
each other.
During two previous years, Warwick had been dexterously drawing his net
around his brothers. But now matters were almost ripe for action. For
the whole of the autumn he had kept quiet and matured his plans. His
reverend brother was quite as ready to his hand as the secular one. Any
thing which involved a plot or a tumult seems to have been to the taste
of this gentleman, who in seeking holy orders had certainly not taken
the course for which nature intended him.
The four chamberers of the Countess of Warwick slept in one room, into
which opened the smaller one of Mother Bonham. The furniture of the
chamber consisted of two beds, large square ones with a tester, or head,
the one having curtains of verder, or tapestry, and the other of dark
crimson say, which was a coarse silk chiefly used in upholstery. In the
first bed slept Eleanor and Theobalda, in the second Frideswide and
Avice. The remaining articles were a large chest at the bottom of each
bed, with a division across it, each young lady having a half to
herself; a chair, two stools, and a fire-fork. Wardrobes were then kept
in a separate chamber; while dressing-tables and washstands were
luxuries of the future. There was a mirror fixed to the wall, almost
too high to see--a position adopted for the discouragement of personal
vanity: while every morning a bowl of water and a towel (to serve all
four) was brought up by a slip-shod girl, one of half-a-dozen who did
the dirtiest work of the house.
One evening in November, after the lights were out, and Mother Bonham
and Theobalda were peacefully asleep, while Eleanor was perpetrating a
sound so nearly akin to snoring that her fastidious taste would have
been shocked had she known it, Frideswide, whose eyes were disinclined
to close, heard a soft whisper from Avice beside her.
"Are you waking?"
"Oh aye," she said in a similar tone, and turning round towards Avice to
hear the better what she wished to say.
"Your father, if I err not, is the Lord Marnell, that dwelleth at Lovell
Tower, on the wolds?"
"Aye so," said Frideswide.
"Were you loth I should know of what kin you be to the Lady Margery,
that died, an old man's life past, on Tower Hill?"
It was no wonder if Frideswide held her breath for a moment, and
listened whether all the rest were safely asleep. The reference to a
Lollard and a martyr, in the past of any family, had been safe enough
during the latter half of Henry VI.'s reign, but it had already been
pretty plainly shown not to be equally wise in that of Edward IV.
"Look you," she said, after that momentary pause, "it is my step-dame,
not my father, that is verily a Marnell. The lady whom you wot of was
her grandame--to wit, her father's mother."
"Of no kin to you, then?" asked Avice, in a tone in which Frideswide
fancied she heard a shade of disappointment.
"Nay, that can I not rightly say," was the reply: "for Dame Agnes
Lovell, the Lady's mother, which was by birth a Greenhalgh, was sister
unto Mistress Ladreyne Clitheroe, whose daughter Maud was my
grandmother. So you shall see we are near of kin."
A cousin thrice removed would not now be thought a very near relation;
but in past times much more was made of "kindly blood" than at present.
Avice did not answer, and Frideswide, having recovered her courage,
spoke up boldly. For a hundred years her ancestors had been of the
Lollard faith, and she was far more disposed to glory in the fact than
to be ashamed of it.
"Wherefore? Are you of that learning?"
"Hush, gramercy!" cried Avice under her breath.
"Wherefore?" asked Frideswide again.
"Dear heart, if any should o'erhear us!" explained Avice. "Know you not
that 'tis a dangerous matter to speak thereof?"
"It may be worse to let be," answered Frideswide thoughtfully. She was
thinking of a story of twenty years ago, which she had heard most
sorrowfully told by the lips of the Lady Idonia, how she had at one time
fallen away for fear, and had never forgotten her defection nor forgiven
herself.
"Ah, Frideswide," said Avice earnestly, "you speak like to her that had
dwelt in a sure place, and knew nought of the world on the outside.
Look you, matters be no more as they were these twenty-five years back.
So long as the King were in power and of good wit, never man were
ill-used for speaking Lollardy, for he never would have creature harmed
in his realm an' he wist it, by his good-will. Have you ne'er heard how
he bade remove down from the Micklegate at York the one quarter of a
traitor there set, saying he would ne'er see Christian thus cruelly used
for his sake? But the rebel is made of other metal. Heard you not of
one Will Balowe, that was burned on Tower Hill scarce three years gone,
for that he would not make confession to no priest, but only unto God,
and had (said they) no conscience in eating of flesh during Lent? Both
he and his wife had been afore abjured, so that he was a lapsed man.
There were no burnings whenso as King Henry were in power. Nor know you
not, about the same time, some pixes were stole for the silver, and one
of them that stale them was heard for to say that he had a dainty morsel
to his supper, for he had eaten nine gods--to wit, the hosts that were
in the boxes? There is more Lollardy about the realm than ever afore,
trust me: but 'tis not so safe to speak thereof as when you and I were
childre."
"Methinks," said Frideswide thoughtfully, "they were little credit unto
Lollardy that should steal a pix for the silver."
"There be men enough will make cloaks of new virtue to cover up old
sins," was the answer of Avice.
"You wot more hereof than I, as I may well see," said Frideswide.
"Aye, I have seen and heard, and I can reckon so much as twice two,"
replied Avice drily. "Look you, I have been with my Lady but half a
year, and I came to her from London town, where I served my Lady of
Exeter. So I saw and heard much, and I have not an ill memory."
"Pray you, tell me somewhat touching that my Lady of Exeter," said
Frideswide. "My sister is but now entered of her chamber, and I would
fain wit what manner of mistress she shall have."
"Pray for her!" was the reply.
"Against what?" demanded Frideswide with considerable uneasiness.
"'Shield us fro the foule thing,'" quoted Avice, under her breath.
"But, dear heart, what mean you?" returned Frideswide, rising on her
elbow in her eager desire to comprehend these mysterious hints. "Is it
my Lady of Exeter, or her Lord, or his squires, or where and what shall
it be that is thus foul and fearful?"
"Her Lord?--_No_," was the earnest answer.
"Herself?" repeated Frideswide.
"She and her Lord," said Avice, in a low, sad tone, "have not dwelt of
one house these seven years. He, as you must wot, is of the King's
side, and she (which is sister to the rebel) brake with him shortly
after the war began. There were sore discontents betwixt them, for two
years or more ere they parted for good: but now they never meet. His
lands be all confiscate and granted to her, and he is the man that shall
never win one penny of them at her hands. I think she alway hated
him--they were wed being childre--but certes she hates him now. In all
my life never saw I in one house so much of God, and so much of the
Devil. But the Lord campeth round about them that fear Him. There is an
angel in the house, as your sister will early find to her comfort.
There are devils too."
"And her Lady is of them?" asked Frideswide.
"She is not the angel," drily responded Avice.
"And her Lord?"--said Frideswide.
"Ah, he is sore to be pitied," answered Avice in a compassionate tone.
"May-be he is not wholly an angel neither: yet methinks there is much in
him that is good; and he might have been a better man--had she been a
better woman. The first sin is an easy matter, but it is hard most
times to see whither it will lead."
"Be any here well-affectioned toward Lollardy?" suddenly asked
Frideswide.
"Only one, to my knowing."
"And that is?"--
"Mother Bonham.
"Avice Hilton!" came at this moment in clear tones from the closet.
"I cry you mercy, Mother!" was the natural reply.
"Days for talk, nights for sleep," said the old lady sententiously.
With simply a "Good night, Frideswide," Avice turned on her pillow, and
no more was said.
This revelation by no means conduced to Frideswide's happiness. She was
uneasy about Agnes, whom she knew to be a girl who would say little, but
suffer keenly. Yet what could she do?--beyond taking Avice's counsel,
and praying for her.
The idea of writing, either to her father or sister, did not occur to
Frideswide. Letters were serious affairs in those days, more especially
to women: and though Frideswide had learned to write, which was not too
common an accomplishment in ladies, yet it was to her a very laborious
and tedious business, requiring some decided reason to induce so great
an effort. While there were at that time a sufficient number of women
who could write, yet not to have acquired the art was considered no
disgrace to a woman of any rank. In that interesting contemporaneous
poem, "The Song of the Lady Bessy," we find the daughter of Edward IV.
assuring Lord Stanley that there is no need to send for a scribe to
write his important private letters, for she could write as well as any
scrivener.
"You shall not need none such to call,
Good Father Stanley--hearken to me,
What my father, King Edward, that King royal,
Did for my sister, my Lady Welles,[#] and me:
He sent for a scrivener to lusty London,
He was the best in that citie;
He taught us both to write and read full soon--
If it please you, full soon you shall see--
Lauded be God, I had such speed
That I can write as well as he,
Both English and also French,
And also Spanish, if you had need."[#]
[#] The Princess Cicely.
[#] Humphrey Brereton, Lord Stanley's squire, and the writer of the
poem, was present at the conference, and we may therefore take him to
record the exact statements made by the Princess Elizabeth.
Certainly, the black-letter hand was one requiring far more effort and
pains than the modern running or Italian hand. The caligraphy of the
Lady Bessy (afterwards Queen Elizabeth of York) which has descended to
posterity, would lead to the melancholy conclusion that if she wrote as
well as the best scriveners in London, the productions of inferior
penmen must have been illegible indeed. It really is the case; for of
all periods in English history (alas, excepting the present century!)
the worst writing is found in that which runs from the close of the Wars
of the Roses to the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth. A document
dating from the reign of King John is like copper-plate in comparison
with the atrocious scrawls of some writers of the Reformation period.
Before that year was ended, Pope Paul thought proper to confer upon
Louis XI. of France the title of "Most Christian King." It was no
sooner heard of than it was gleefully seized by Edward IV., under his
character of _soi-disant_ King of France. We may also conclude that
Proud Cis snatched at it with considerable self-gratulation, since a
charter of hers, dated in this very year, adds it to her titles. She
styles herself "the excellent Princess, mother of the Most Christian
Prince, our Lord and son, Edward, and lately wife of the most excellent
Prince Richard, by right King of England and of France, and Lord of
Ireland."[#] Further than this, even Cicely's ambition dared not to
venture; yet it seems almost surprising that she did not step across the
very little gulf which lay between all these high-sounding epithets and
the one which would have involved them all--the coveted name of Queen.
[#] Close Roll, 9 Edw. IV.
During this year, another daughter was born to Edward and Elizabeth.
They had three now--Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely--but no son. The eldest
daughter, however, was treated as Princess of Wales in her own right.
She is always styled "the Lady Princess"--a title which, until the
accession of the Stuarts, appertained alone to the Princess of Wales,
whether she were daughter or daughter-in-law of the monarch. The King's
daughters, apart from this, were simply addressed as "Lady." The
Princess had her own separate household, and judging from the amount of
money spent upon her, was rather better provided for than the Queen.
Another occurrence was taking place this year, of no moment to any but
the parties immediately concerned, yet which might have had very
considerable influence on the future history of England. William
Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, had a boy of thirteen as his ward, the nephew
of Henry VI., whom at that time it was desirable for his own sake to
keep as much in obscurity as possible. This was Henry Tudor, the young
Earl of Richmond, whose mother was next heir to the Crown after the
descendants of Henry IV. The Earl, who liked his young ward, lent a
kindly ear to his pleading when a love-story came before him. He was
not altogether sorry to find that he could provide for the eldest of his
very numerous family by betrothing her to the young Earl. Very young
they both were; but boys and girls came early to the front, and
blossomed rapidly into men and women in the time of the rival Roses. So
the Earl of Richmond was formally affianced to the Lady Maud Herbert, in
anticipation of a marriage which was never to be. Would it have been
better if it had been? Humanly speaking, the course of English history
would assuredly have been different. For Maud Herbert was a woman of
strong character, and did not faint in the weary march, as Elizabeth
Lucy had done. But one thing is certain: that the change for the worse
which came over the character of Henry of Richmond dates from the time
of his parting from Maud Herbert. He went into exile; and she wedded
the Earl of Northumberland, years before his triumphant return to wear
the crown of England. Which of the two was to blame must be left an
open question. Perhaps it was not either: for Maud's marriage was not
improbably forced upon her, and Henry could not have returned to claim
her without the most reckless risk of life. His marriage with "the Lady
Princess" gave peace to England, but he died a lonely, unloved man,
grown miserly and callous,--no longer the graceful and gallant Richmond
of those early years when he and Maud had lived and loved at Pembroke
Castle.
*CHAPTER III.*
*FLIGHT.*
"My barque is wafted to the strand
By breath Divine:
And on the helm there rests a hand
Other than mine."
--DEAN ALFORD.
The Lady Idonia sat writing at a small table in the hall of Lovell
Tower. She was the best writer in the family--which does not by any
means imply extraordinary fluency of diction or rapidity of penmanship.
The letters grew slowly under her hand, and she frequently paused to
look out of the window and think. What lay on the desk before her was
the following unfinished letter.
"Jh'u.[#]
"MY NOWEN[#] DERE CHYLDE,
Thys shal be to give you to wyt, wt[#] all louyng comendac'ons from all
us, that wee well fare, and do hope in God that you be the same. And we
have not yett herde so much as one word from yr sistar. Matters here
bee reasonable quyett at this present, onlie that Doratie has broke y'
powdre box of siluer, in good sooth a misaduenture and noe malice, wch
shall be wel amended ere yow com home. The dun cowe hath a calfe of hir
veraye coloure. And Lyard Carlile[#] and all the dogges fare wel.
Maistres Henley hir littel lad lyethe sicke of a fevare, but the leech
reckoneth he shal doe well. Dorathie ys merrie, and gode withal. Yr
father thynkes to buy som pigges ayenst Xmas.[#] We shal bee fayn to
here of yr newes, the rather if you can give us any tydynges of such as
you wot of,[#] how they be now in men's reckonings, and if thei be lyke
to fare wel or noe. The gode Lorde of his mercie kepe us all, and make
vs to bee hys trew seruantes. Annis, I wold haue you, when conueniencie
serue, to sende mee from London towne viij ells gode clothe of skarlette
for a goune for yr moder, and so moche of greene kersay as shall be a
goun for Doratie: and dowlas to lyne the same, and silke frenge to guard
the skarlett goun, and fur of rabetts to guard ye grene: alsoe siluer
botons iij dozen, and black botons vj dosen and halfe. And sende ye
same well packed vp to the Goldene Lyon by Powles,[#] to ye name of
Maister Anthanie Milborne, yt is a frend of mye broder Will, and cometh
into Yorksh: thys nexte monethe. And let him that berethe ye same aske
of ye sayd Maister Anthanie for a token[#] yt he hath of mee for yow.
Annis, wee trust in God yt yow shal be a discrete mayd and gode, and
obedyent to yowr maistres, and kyndlie wt yr fellowes.[#] And above al,
my dere harte, kepe yow ye fayth yt ve have ben learned, nor let not
anie man beguile you therof."
[#] A contraction of Jesus, commonly used at the head of a letter by
pious persons.
[#] Mine own.
[#] With.
[#] The name of a horse.
[#] Against Christmas.
[#] The Lollards.
[#] St Paul's Cathedral.
[#] Present.
[#] Fellow-chamberers.
The pen had been laid down at this point, and left so long that the ink
was dry. The Lady Idonia was speaking now to Another than Agnes,
"O Lord, keep the child!" went up from her inmost heart. "Suffer the
unfaithful handmaid to plead with Thee, that the faithful one may be
preserved in the faith. I may give her wrong cautions--I may fancy
dangers that will not assault her, and be blind to those that will.
Thou, who seest the end from the beginning, hold the child up, and
suffer her not, for any pains nor fears, to fall from Thee!"
She roused herself at last, and finished her letter.
"And so, with all louyng comendac'ons from al vs, I commend yow to God.
"Yr louyng grandame to my litel powar,
"IDONIA MARNELL.
"Writyn at Louell Towre, this Wensday."
The letter was delivered by Mr. William Carew to a retainer of the Earl
of Warwick, who was also one of his friends, and from whom he had
understood that the Earl meant to go southwards before the week was
over.
The plot was ripe at last. Warwick left Middleham with the first dawn
of 1470, and arrived in London without any suspicion of his proceedings
being excited at Court. He left his brothers behind him in the north,
with strict injunctions to George to keep John out of mischief. They
were very necessary. Unfortunately (from Warwick's point of view) just
at that juncture King Edward took it into his head to create Lord
Montague's little son George a Duke--a title then shared by very few who
were not Princes of the Blood--with the object of marrying him to the
Princess Elizabeth, and thus making him, in case Edward himself left no
son, virtually the future King. This high advancement for his boy
sorely tried Montague's new-born Lancastrian proclivities. He swung
like a pendulum between the royal rivals: and all the efforts of his
brother George were needed to prevent him from going off to Edward, and
of course, revealing the plot in which Warwick was now engaged. One
thing which had annoyed Warwick was the discovery, real or fancied, that
his influence with Edward was less powerful than of old. But he went to
work darkly, as was his wont. He was greatly assisted in his
proceedings by the fact that he held Edward's commission to raise troops
for his service in the north, and no suspicion would therefore be
excited by his gathering an army around him.[#] When he arrived in
London, he reported himself at the Palace, and a long interview followed
in Westminster Hall between Edward, Clarence, and Warwick. They parted
"worse friends than they met,"[#] but Edward still does not appear to
have suspected that Warwick was actually plotting against him, or he
would hardly have let him go so calmly. Edward had left for Canterbury,
and Warwick and Clarence prepared to return northwards and continue
their amusement. Before leaving London, Clarence dispatched Sir John
Clare to Lord Welles and his son Sir Robert, desiring them to "be ready
with all the fellowship they could, whenever he should send word; but to
tarry and not stir till my Lord of Warwick were come again from London,
for fear of his destruction."[#] In the mean time they assiduously
spread a report that "the King was coming down with great power to
Lincolnshire, and his judges should sit, and hang and draw great numbers
of the commons."[#] Of course this disposed the commons to rally round
Warwick, who represented himself in the light of a protector from the
impending terrors. He sent messenger after messenger to bid Sir Robert
Welles be of good comfort, and go forward, promising to meet him at
Leicester on the twelfth of February with nineteen thousand men.[#]
[#] A very varied tale is told of Warwick's capturing Edward in his bed
at Wolvey in 1469, and sending him prisoner to Middleham, whence he
effected his escape in a romantic manner. The accounts given are
contradictory, the story of the escape is disbelieved by Carte, and
intimations on the Rolls seem to show that the King had never left
Westminster; I therefore have thought it wiser to ignore this episode
entirely beyond the present mention of it.
[#] Sandford.
[#] Confession of Sir Robert Welles, Harl. Ms. 283, fol. 2.
[#] Confession of Sir Robert Welles, Harl. Ms. 283, fol. 2.
Clarence, meanwhile, was playing his own little game, independently of
his father-in-law. His messengers had private orders to "move the host,
that at such time as the matter should come near the point of battle,
they should call upon my Lord of Clarence to be King, and destroy the
King that so was about to destroy them and all the realm."[#]
[#] Confession of Sir Robert Welles, Harl. Ms. 283, fol. 2.
Meanwhile, Edward continued his favours to Montague--not because he
trusted, but really because he suspected him, and was anxious to ensure
his fidelity. A few days only after the meeting of Warwick and Welles,
he granted to John, Earl of Northumberland and Baron Montague, the
manors of Tiverton, Plympton, Okehampton, and many others in
Devonshire,[#] being a portion of the confiscated lands of the
Courtenays, Earls of Devon. Perhaps this timely gift prevented Montague
from openly siding with Warwick until a later date: but he was not
particularly grateful for it, since he contemptuously termed it "a
'pie's nest," and plainly intimated that it was not so much as might
have been expected. However, for the present, he held aloof from the
actual struggle.
[#] Rot. Pat., 9 Edw. IV, Part 2. The earldom of Morthumberland was not
immediately restored to the Percys on their submission in the previous
October. A writer in the Paston Letters dates their restoration Mar.
25, 1470.