"Dear child," said Mrs Dorothy, turning to her, "hast thou forgot that
the Good Shepherd goeth after that which was lost, until He find it? He
came back, my dear. But it was through the Great Plague and the Great
Fire."
It was evident for a few minutes that Mrs Dorothy was wrestling with
painful memories.
"Well, and what then?" said Rhoda, who wanted the story to go on, and
was afraid of what she called preaching.
"Well!" resumed the old lady, more lightly, "then, for three days in the
week I had a dancing-master come to teach me; and twice in the week a
music-master; and all manner of new gowns, and my hair dressed in a
multitude of curls; and my mother's maid to teach me French, and see
that I carried myself well. And when this had gone on a while, my
mother began to carry me a-visiting when she went to see her friends.
For above a year she used a hackney coach; but then my father was made
Doctor, and had a great church given him that was then all the mode; and
my Lady Jennings came up to Town, and finding he had parts, she began to
take note of him, and would carry him in her coach to the Court; and my
mother would then set up her own coach, the which she did. And at
length, the summer before I was one-and-twenty, my Lady Jennings,
without the privity of my father, offered my mother to have me a maid to
one of the Ladies in Waiting on the Queen. From this place, said she,
if I played my cards well, and was liked of them above me, I might come
in time to be a Maid of Honour."
"O rare!" exclaimed Rhoda. "And did you, Mrs Dolly?"
"Yes, child," slowly answered Mrs Dorothy. "I did so."
Rhoda's face was sparkling with interest and pleasure. Phoebe's was
shadowed with forebodings, of a sad end to come.
"The night ere I left home for the Court," pursued the old lady, "my
mother held long converse with me. `Thou art mightily improved, Dolly,'
saith she, `since thy coming to London; but there is yet a stiff
soberness about thee, that thou wilt do well to be rid of. Thou
shouldst have more ease, child. Do but look at thy cousin Jenny, that
is three years younger than thou, and yet how will she rattle to every
man that hath a word of compliment to pay her!' But after she had made
an end, my father called me into his closet. `Poor Dorothy!' he said.
`The bloom is not all off the peach yet. But 'tis going, child--'tis
fast going. I feared this. Poor Dorothy!'"
"Oh, dear!" said Rhoda. "You were not going to a funeral, Mrs Dolly!"
"Ah, child! maybe, if I had, it had been the better for me. The wise
man saith, `It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the
house of feasting.'"
"But pray, what harm came to you, Mrs Dorothy?"
"No outward bodily harm at all, my dear. Yet even that was no thanks to
me. It was `of the Lord's compassion,' seeing He had a purpose of mercy
toward me. But, ah me! what inward and spiritual harm! Mrs Rhoda, my
dear, I saw sights and heard sayings those two years I dwelt in the
Court which I would give the world, so to speak, only to forget them
now."
"What were they, Mrs Dorothy?" asked Rhoda, eagerly sitting up.
"Think you I am likely to tell you, child? No, indeed!"
"But what sort of harm did they to you, Mrs Dolly?"
"Child, I learned to think lightly of sin. People did not talk of sin
there at all; the words they used were crime and vice. Every wrong
doing was looked on as it affected other men: if it touched your
neighbour's purse or person, it was ill; if it only grieved his heart,
then 'twas a little matter. But how it touched God was never so much as
thought on. There might have been no God in Heaven, so little account
was taken of Him there."
"Now do tell us. Mrs Dolly, what the Queen was like, and the King,"
said Rhoda, yawning. "And how many Maids of Honour were there? Just
tell us all about it."
"There were six," replied the old lady, taking up her knitting, which
she had dropped in her earnestness a minute before. "And Mrs Sanderson
was their mother. I reckon you will scarce know that always a married
gentlewoman goeth about with these young damsels, called the Mother of
the Maids, whose work it is to see after them."
"And keep them from everything jolly!" exclaimed Rhoda. "Now, that's a
shame! Wouldn't it be fun to bamboozle that creature? I protest I
should enjoy it!"
"O Mrs Rhoda! Mrs Rhoda!"
"I should, of all things, Mrs Dolly! But now, what were the King and
Queen like? Was she very beautiful?"
[Note: Charles the Second and Catherine of Braganza.]
"No," said Mrs Dorothy, "she was not. She had pretty feet, fine eyes,
and very lovely hair. 'Twas rich brown on the top of her head, and
descending downward it grew into jet black. For the rest, she was but
tolerable. In truth, her teeth wronged her by sticking too far out of
her mouth; but for that she would have been lovelier by much."
"Horrid!" said Rhoda. "I forget where she came from, Mrs Dolly?"
"She came from Portingale, my dear, being daughter to the King of that
country, and her name was Catherine."
"And what was the King like?"
"When he was little, my dear, his mother, Queen Mary, used to say he was
so ugly a baby that she was quite ashamed of him. He was
better-favoured when he grew a man; he had good eyes, but a large
Mouth."
[Note: Queen Mary was Henrietta Maria, always termed Queen Mary during
her own reign.]
"He was a black man, was he not?"
By which term Rhoda meant what we now call a dark man.
"Yes, very black and swarthy."
"Where did he commonly live?"
"Mostly at Whitehall or Saint James's. At times he went to Hampton
Court, and often, for a change of sir, to Newmarket; now and then to
Tunbridge Wells. He was but little at Windsor."
"Did you like him, Mrs Dorothy?"
Phoebe looked up, when no answer came. The expression of Mrs Dorothy's
face was a curious mixture of fear, repulsion, and yet amusement.
"No!" she said at length.
"Why not?" demanded Rhoda.
"Well, there were some that did," was the reply, in a rather constrained
tone; "and the one that he behaved the worst to loved him the best of
all."
"How droll!" said Rhoda. "And who were your friends, then, Mrs
Dorothy?"
"That depends, my dear, on what you mean by friends. If you mean them
that flattered me, and joked with me, and the like,--why, I had very
many; or if you mean them that would take some trouble to push me in the
world,--well, there were several of those; but if you mean such as are
only true friends, that would have cast one thought to my real welfare,
whether I should go to Heaven or Hell,--I had but one of that sort."
"And who was your one friend, Mrs Dolly?" asked Rhoda, pursing up her
lips a little.
"The King's Scots cook, my dear," quietly replied Mrs Dorothy.
"The _what_?" shrieked Rhoda, going into convulsions of laughter.
"Ah, you may laugh, Mrs Rhoda. You know there's an old saying, `Let
them laugh that win.' If ever an old sinner like me enters the gates of
Heaven, so far as the human means are concerned, I shall owe it, first
of all, to old David Armstrong."
"Will you please to tell us about him, Madam?" rather timidly asked
Phoebe.
"With all my heart, my dear. Dear old Davie! Methinks I see him now.
Picture to yourselves, my dears, a short man, something stooping in the
shoulders, with sharp features and iron-grey hair; always dressed in his
white cooking garb, and a white cap over his frizzled locks. But before
I tell you what I knew of old Davie, methinks I had better tell you a
tale of him that will give you some diversion, without I mistake."
"Oh do, Mrs Dolly?" cried Rhoda, who feared nothing so much as too
great seriousness in her friend's stones.
"Well," said Mrs Dorothy, "then you must know, my dears, that once upon
a time the King and Queen were at dinner, and with them, amongst others,
my Lord Rochester, who was at that time a very wild gallant. He died,
indeed, very penitent, and, I trust, a saved man; but let that be. They
were sat after dinner, and my Lord Rochester passes the bottle about to
his next neighbour. `Come, man!' saith the King, in his rollicksome
way, `take a glass of that which cheereth God and man, as Scripture
saith.' My Lord Rochester at once bets the King forty pound that there
was no such saying in Scripture. The King referreth all to the Queen's
chaplain, that happened to be the only parson then present; but saith
again, that though he could not name the place, yet he was as certain to
have read it in Scripture as that his name was Charles, `What thinks
your Majesty?' quoth my Lord Rochester, turning to the Queen. She, very
modestly--"
"But, Mrs Dolly, was not the Queen a Papist? What would she know about
the Bible?"
"So she was, my dear. But they have a Bible of their own, that they
allow the reading of to certain persons. And I dare say she was one.
However, my Lord Rochester asked her, for I heard him; and she said,
very womanly, that she was unfit to decide such matters, but she could
not think there to be any such passage in the Bible."
"Why, there isn't!" rashly interpolated Rhoda.
Mrs Dorothy smiled, but did not contradict her.
"Then up spoke the Queen's chaplain, and gave his voice like his
mistress, that there was no such passage; and several others of them at
the table said they thought the like. So the King, swearing his wonted
oath, cried out for some to bring a Bible, that he might search and
see."
"O Mrs Dolly! what was his favourite oath?"
"I do not see, my dear, that it would do you any good to know it. Well,
the Bible, as matters went, was not to be had. King, Queen, chaplain,
and courtiers, there was not a man nor woman at the table that owned to
possessing a Bible."
"How shocking!" said Phoebe, under her breath.
"Very shocking, my dear," assented Mrs Dorothy. "But all at once my
Lord Rochester cries out, `Please your Majesty, I'll lay you forty
shillings there's one man in this palace that has a Bible! He cut me
short for swearing in the yard a month since. That's old David, your
Majesty's Scots cook. If you'll send for him--' `Done!' says the King.
`Killigrew, root out old Davie, and tell him to come here, and bring his
Bible with him.' So away went Mr Killigrew, the King's favourite page;
and ere long back he comes, and old Davie with him, and under Davie's
arm a great brown book. `Here he is, Sire, Bible and all!' says Mr
Killigrew. `Come forward, Davie, and be hanged!' says the King. `I'll
come forward, Sire, at your Majesty's bidding,' says Davie, `and gin ye
order it, and I ha'e deservit it, I can be hangit,' saith he, mighty
dry; 'but under your Majesty's pleasure I'll just tak' the liberty to
ask, Sire, what are ye wantin' wi' the Buik?"
"Oh, how queer you talk, Mrs Dolly!"
"As David talked, my dear. He was a Scot, you know. Well, the King
gave a hearty laugh; and says he, `Oh, come forward, Davie, and fear
nothing. We'll not hang you, and we want no hurt to your darling book.'
`Atweel, Sire,' says Davie, `and I'd ha'e been gey sorry gin ye had
meant to hurt my buik, seein' it was my mither's, and I set store by it
for her sake; but trust me, Sire, I'd ha'e been a hantle sorrier gin ye
had meant onie disrespect to the Lord's Buik. I'll no stand by, wi' a'
honour to your Majesty, an' see I lichtlied.'"
"What does that mean, Mrs Dolly?"
"Set light by, my dear. Well, the King laughed again, but I think
Davie's words a little sobered him, for he spoke kindly enough, that no
harm should be done, nor was any disrespect intended; `but,' saith he,
`my Lord Rochester and I fell a-disputing if certain words were in the
Bible or no; and as you are the only man here like to have one, I sent
for you.' Davie looks, quiet enough, round all the table; and he says,
under his breath, `The only man here like to have a Bible! Ay, your
Majesty, I ken weel eneuch that I ha'e my habitation among the tents o'
Kedar. Atweel, Sire, an' I'll be pleasit to answer onie sic question,
gin ye please to tell me the words.' My Lord Rochester saith, `"Wine,
which cheereth God and man." Are such words as those in the Bible,
David?' Neither yea nor nay said old Davie: but he turned over the
leaves of his Bible for a moment, and then, clearing his voice, and
first doffing his cook's cap (which he had but lifted a minute for the
King), he read from the Book of Judges, Jotham's parable of the trees.
'Twas a little while ere any spoke: then said the Queen's chaplain,
swearing a great oath, that he could not but be infinitely surprised to
find there to be such words in the Bible."
"O Mrs Dolly! a parson to swear!"
"There are different sorts of parsons, my dear. But old David thought
it shocking, for he turns round to the chaplain, and saith he, `Your
pardon, Mr Howard, but gin ye'd give me leave, I'd be pleasit to swear
the neist oath for ye. It would sound rather better, ye ken, for a cook
than a chaplain.' `Hurrah!' says the King, swearing himself, `the
sprightliest humour I heard of a long time! Pray you, silence, and hear
old Davie swear!' `I see nothing to swear anent the now, an' it please
your Majesty,' says Davie, mighty dry again: `when I do, your Majesty'll
be sure to hear it.' The King laughed heartily, for he took Davie right
enough, though I saw some look puzzled. Of course he never would see
reason to do a sinful thing. But a new thought had come into the King's
head, and he turns quick to Mr Howard, and desires that he would give
exposition of the words that Davie had read. `You ought to know what
they mean, if we don't, poor sinners,' saith the King. `I protest,
Sire,' saith the chaplain, `that I cannot so much as guess what they
mean.' `Now then, David the divine,' cries my Lord Rochester, `your
exposition, if you please.' And some of the courtiers, that by this
time were not too sober, drummed on the table with glasses, and shouted
for David's sermon."
"I think, Mrs Dolly, that was scarce proper, in the King's and Queen's
presence."
"So I think, my dear. But King Charles's Court was Liberty Hall, and
every man did that which was right in his own eyes. But Davie stood
very quiet, with the Bible yet open in his hands. He waited his
master's bidding, if they did not. `Oh ay, go on, Davie,' saith the
King, leaning back in his chair and laughing. `Silence for Mr David
Armstrong's sermon!' cries my Lord Rochester, in a voice of a master of
ceremonies. But Davie took no note of any voice but the King's, though
'twas to my Lord Rochester he addressed him when he spoke. `That wine
cheereth man, your Lordship very well knows,' quoth Davie, in his dry
way: and seeing his Lordship had drank a bottle and a half since he sat
down, I should think he did, my dears. `But this, that wine cheereth
God, is referable to the drink-offering commanded by God of the Jews,
wherein the wine doth seem to typify the precious blood of Christ, and
the thankfulness of him that hath his iniquity thereby purged away. For
in the fifteenth chapter of the Book of Numbers you shall find this
drink-offering termed "a sweet savour unto the Lord." And since nothing
but Christ is a sweet savour unto God, therefore we judge that the wine
of the drink-offering, like to that of the Sacrament, did denote the
blood of Christ whereby we are redeemed; the one prefiguring that
whereto it looked forward, as the other doth likewise figure that
whereunto it looketh back. This, therefore, that wine cheereth God, is
to be understood by an emblem, of the blood of Christ, our Mediator; for
through this means God is well pleased in the way of salvation that He
hath appointed, whereby His justice is satisfied. His law fulfilled,
His mercy reigneth, His grace doth triumph, all His perfections do agree
together, the sinner is saved, and God in Christ glorified. Now, Sire,
I have done your bidding, and I humbly ask your Majesty's leave to
withdraw.' The King said naught, but cast him a nod of consent. My
dears, you never saw such a change as had come over that table. Every
man seemed sobered and awed. The Queen was weeping, the King silent and
thoughtful. My Lord Rochester, whom at that time nothing could sober
long, was the only one to speak, and rising with make-believe gravity,
as though in his place in the House of Lords, he offered a motion that
the King should please to send Mr Howard into the kitchen to make kail,
and raise the Reverend Mr David Armstrong to the place of chaplain."
"What is kail, Mrs Dolly?" asked Rhoda, laughing.
"'Tis Scots broth, my dear, whereof King Charles was very fond, and old
David had been fetched from Scotland on purpose to make it for him."
"What a droll old man!" exclaimed Rhoda.
"Ah, he was one of the best men ever I knew," said Mrs Dorothy. "But,
my dear, look at the clock!"
"I declare!" cried Rhoda. "Phoebe, we have but just time to run home
ere supper, if so much as that. Good evening, Mrs Dolly, and thank
you. What will Madam say?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: David Armstrong is a historical person, and this anecdote is true.
The surname given to him only is fictitious, as history does not record
any name but "David."