A MARCH HARE
Yonder is a man in sight—
Yonder is a house—but where?
No, she must not enter there.
To the caves, and to the brooks,
To the clouds of heaven she looks.
WORDSWORTH, _Feast of Brougham Castle_.
LONG, long did Grisell kneel in an agony of prayer and terror, as she
seemed already to feel savage hands putting her to the ordeal.
The castle had long been quiet and dark, so far as she knew, when there
was a faint sound and a low whistle. She sprang to the door and held
Ridley’s hand.
“Now is the time,” he said, under his breath; “the squire waits. That
treacherous little baggage is safe locked into the cellar, whither I
lured her to find some malvoisie for the rascaille crew. Come.”
He was without his boots, and silently led the way along the narrow
passage to the postern door, where stood young Hardcastle with the keys.
He let them out and crossed the court with them to the little door
leading to a steep descent of the cliffs by a narrow path. Not till the
sands were reached did any of the three dare to speak, and then Grisell
held out her hands in thanks and farewell.
“May I not guard you on your way, lady?” said Pierce.
“Best not, sir,” returned Ridley; “best not know whither she is gone. I
shall be back again before I am missed or your rogues are stirring.”
“When Sir Leonard knows of their devices, lady,” said Pierce, “then will
Ridley tell him where to find you and bring you back in all honour.”
Grisell could only sigh, and try to speak her thanks to the young man,
who kissed her hand, and stood watching her and Ridley as the waning moon
lighted them over the glistening sands, till they sought the friendly
shadows of the cliffs. And thus Grisell Dacre parted from the home of
her fathers.
“Cuthbert,” she said, “should you see Sir Leonard, let him know that
if—if he would be free from any bond to me I will aid in breaking it, and
ask only dowry enough to obtain entrance to a convent, while he weds the
lady he loves.”
Ridley interrupted her with imprecations on the knight, and exhortations
to her to hold her own, and not abandon her rights. “If he keep the
lands, he should keep the wife,” was his cry.
“His word and heart—” began Grisell.
“Folly, my wench. No question but she is bestowed on some one else. You
do not want to be quit of him and be mewed in a nunnery.”
“I only crave to hide my head and not be the bane of his life.”
“Pshaw! You have seen for yourself. Once get over the first glance and
you are worth the fairest dame that ever was jousted for in the lists.
Send him at least a message as though it were not your will to cast him
off.”
“If you will have it so, then,” said Grisell, “tell him that if it be his
desire, I will strive to make him a true, loyal, and loving wife.”
The last words came with a sob, and Ridley gave a little inward chuckle,
as of one who suspected that the duties of the good and loving wife would
not be unwillingly undertaken.
Castle-bred ladies were not much given to long walks, and though the
distance was only two miles, it was a good deal for Grisell, and she
plodded on wearily, to the sound of the lap of the sea and the cries of
the gulls. The caverns of the rock looked very black and gloomy, and she
clung to Ridley, almost expecting something to spring out on her; but all
was still, and the pale eastward light began to be seen over the sea
before they turned away from it to ascend to the scattered houses of the
little rising town.
The bells of the convent had begun to ring for lauds, but it was only
twilight when they reached the wall of Lambert’s garden of herbs, where
there was a little door that yielded to Ridley’s push. The house was
still closed, and hoar frost lay on the leaves, but Grisell proposed to
hide herself in the little shed which served the purpose of tool-house
and summer-house till she could make her entrance. She felt sure of a
welcome, and almost constrained Cuthbert to leave her, so as to return to
the Tower early enough to avert suspicion—an easier matter as the
men-at-arms were given to sleeping as late as they could. He would make
an errand to the Apothecary’s as soon as he could, so as to bring
intelligence.
There sat Grisell, looking out on the brightening sky, while the
blackbirds and thrushes were bursting into song, and sweet odours rising
from the spring buds of the aromatic plants around, and a morning bell
rang from the great monastery church. With that she saw the house door
open, and Master Lambert in a fur cap and gown turned up with lambs’-wool
come out into the garden, basket in hand, and chirp to the birds to come
down and be fed.
It was pretty to see how the mavis and the merle, the sparrow, chaffinch,
robin, and tit fluttered round, and Grisell waited a moment to watch them
before she stepped forth and said, “Ah! Master Groot, here is another
poor bird to implore your bounty.”
“Lady Grisell,” he cried, with a start.
“Ah! not that name,” she said; “not a word. O Master Lambert, I came by
night; none have seen me, none but good Cuthbert Ridley ken where I am.
There can be no peril to you or yours if you will give shelter for a
little while to a poor maid.”
“Dear lady, we will do all we can,” returned Lambert. “Fear not. How
pale you are. You have walked all night! Come and rest. None will
follow. You are sore spent! Clemence shall bring you a warm drink!
Condescend, dear lady,” and he made her lean on his arm, and brought her
into his large living room, and placed her in the comfortable
cross-legged chair with straps and cushions as a back, while he went into
some back settlement to inform his wife of her visitor; and presently
they brought her warm water, with some refreshing perfume, in a brass
basin, and he knelt on one knee to hold it to her, while she bathed her
face and hands with a sponge—a rare luxury. She started at every sound,
but Lambert assured her that she was safe, as no one ever came beyond the
booth. His Clemence had no gossips, and the garden could not be
overlooked. While some broth was heated for her she began to explain her
peril, but he exclaimed, “Methinks I know, lady, if it was thereanent
that a great strapping Hollander fellow from your Tower came to ask me
for a charm against gramarie, with hints that ’twas in high places.
’Twas enough to make one laugh to see the big lubber try to whisper
hints, and shiver and shake, as he showed me a knot in his matted locks
and asked if it were not the enemy’s tying. I told him ’twas tied by the
enemy indeed, the deadly sin of sloth, and that a stout Dutchman ought to
be ashamed of himself for carrying such a head within or without. But I
scarce bethought me the impudent Schelm could have thought of you, lady.”
“Hush again. Forget the word! They are gone to Shields in search of the
witch-finder, to pinch me, and probe me, and drown me, or burn me,” cried
Grisell, clasping her hands. “Oh! take me somewhere if you cannot safely
hide me; I would not bring trouble on you!”
“You need not fear,” he answered. “None will enter here but by my
goodwill, and I will bar the garden door lest any idle lad should pry in;
but they come not here. The tortoise who crawls about in the summer
fills them with too much terror for them to venture, and is better than
any watch-dog. Now, let me touch your pulse. Ah! I would prescribe
lying down on the bed and resting for the day.”
She complied, and Clemence took her to the upper floor, where it was the
pride of the Flemish housewife to keep a guest-chamber, absolutely neat,
though very little furnished, and indeed seldom or never used; but she
solicitously stroked the big bed, and signed to Grisell to lie down in
the midst of pillows of down, above and below, taking off her hood,
mantle, and shoes, and smoothing her down with nods and sweet smiles, so
that she fell sound asleep.
When she awoke the sun was at the meridian, and she came down to the
noontide meal. Master Groot was looking much entertained.
Wearmouth, he said, was in a commotion. The great Dutch Whitburn
man-at-arms had come in full of the wonderful story. Not only had the
grisly lady vanished, but a cross-bow man had shot an enormous hare on
the moor, a creature with one ear torn off, and a seam on its face, and
Masters Hardcastle and Ridley altogether favoured the belief that it was
the sorceress herself without time to change her shape. Did Mynheer
Groot hold with them?
For though Dutch and Flemings were not wholly friendly at home, yet in a
strange country they held together, and remembered that they were both
Netherlanders, and Hannekin would fain know what thought the wise man.
“Depend on it, there was no time for a change,” gravely said Groot.
“Have not Nostradamus, Albertus Magnus, and Rogerus Bacon” (he was
heaping names together as he saw Hannekin’s big gray eyes grow rounder
and rounder) “all averred that the great Diabolus can give his minions
power to change themselves at will into hares, cats, or toads to
transport themselves to the Sabbath on Walpurgs’ night?”
“You deem it in sooth,” said the Dutchman, “for know you that the parish
priest swears, and so do the more part of the villein fisher folk, that
there’s no sorcery in the matter, but that she is a true and holy maid,
with no powers save what the Saints had given her, and that her cures
were by skill. Yet such was scarce like to a mere Jungvrow.”
It went sorely against Master Lambert’s feelings, as well as somewhat
against his conscience, to encourage the notion of the death of his guest
as a hare, though it ensured her safety and prevented a search. He
replied that her skill certainly was uncommon in a Jungvrow, beyond
nature, no doubt, and if they were unholy, it was well that the arblaster
had made a riddance of her.
“By the same token,” added Hannekin, “the elf lock came out of my hair
this very morn, I having, as you bade me, combed it each morn with the
horse’s currycomb.”
Proof positive, as Lambert was glad to allow him to believe. And the
next day all Sunderland and the two Wearmouths believed that the dead
hare had shrieked in a human voice on being thrown on a fire, and had
actually shown the hands and feet of a woman before it was consumed.
It was all the safer for Grisell as long as she was not recognised, and
of this there was little danger. She was scarcely known in Wearmouth,
and could go to mass at the Abbey Church in a deep black hood and veil.
Master Lambert sometimes received pilgrims from his own country on their
way to English shrines, and she could easily pass for one of these if her
presence were perceived, but except to mass in very early morning, she
never went beyond the garden, where the spring beauty was enjoyment to
her in the midst of her loneliness and entire doubt as to her future.
It was a grand old church, too, with low-browed arches, reminding her of
the dear old chapel of Wilton, and with a lofty though undecorated square
tower, entered by an archway adorned with curious twisted snakes with
long beaks, stretching over and under one another.
The low heavy columns, the round circles, and the small windows, casting
a very dim religious light, gave Grisell a sense of being in the
atmosphere of that best beloved place, Wilton Abbey. She longed after
Sister Avice’s wisdom and tenderness, and wondered whether her lands
would purchase from her knight, power to return thither with dower enough
to satisfy the demands of the Proctor. It was a hope that seemed like an
inlet of light in her loneliness, when no one was faithful save Cuthbert
Ridley, and she felt cut to the heart above all by Thora’s defection and
cruel accusations, not knowing that half was owning to the intoxication
of love, and the other half to a gossiping tongue.