TOLD IN THE OLD HALL
“It was fifty years ago, my bairnie—fifty years ago. Earl Hardston ruled
at Enderby. Distant cousin he was to yon present Earl Francis——What was
that? Eh! nothing but the flap of the owl’s wing as it passed.
“Earl Hardston ruled at Enderby. A handsome devil he were. Tall,
broad-shouldered, straight-backed, strong-limbed. His hair was black and
glossy as the raven’s wing; his eyes were black and fiery as the hawk’s,
and sometimes soft as the dove’s. Ah, a taking rascal he were.
“His lady mother and his lady sisters lived at the castle, and were to
live there until my lord should marry, when they would all go to Kedge
Hall, the dower-house of the Widows of Enderby. Kedge Hall was no to be
compared to Enderby Castle, and so my lady and her daughters were no
minded that my lord should take a wife.
“Ah, but they were wicked!
“Handsome jades they were, every one. Black-a-vized, like me lord, but
not one of them to hold a candle to my lass, though she were the
hen-wife’s child, and her feyther the undergardener.
“Oh, but she were the beauty of the world!
“I ha’e seen the Venus in the castle gallery, but it was no to be
compared to my lass’ form. And her features were small and fine and
clean-cut, and her skin was like the wild rose leaf. Her eyes were blue
as violets, and her hair was yellow and soft and silky as the fringe of
the young maize corn.
“Oh, but she was the beauty of the world!
“Everybody was in love with her. Every servant in the castle, from the
old bachelor-butler down to the boy in buttons, which they called the
page, was half mad for the love of my lass. Every laborer in the
grounds, from the widowed gamekeeper down to the youngest stableboy, was
half dying for the love of my lass.
“No, bairnie, she did not scorn any of them—not the lowliest. She had a
smile and a gentle glance, and a kind word for every one—even for the
freckle-faced and red-haired young groom, who always had a cold in his
head and a swelled nose, and used to follow her about like a dog, until
he lost his place for neglecting his business. She was kind and good to
all.
“Oh, but she was the angel of the world, was my lassie. She were sweet
and tender to every one, but she would ha’e none o’ them i’ the way o’
marriage. That were too much to ask, she thought.
“So time went on, till my lass was twenty years old, and she had never
lo’ed a man. And my lord were thirty, and he had never married a wife.
“Ane autumn my lord had a company of friends staying at the
castle—gentlemen friends, the lot of them. Sorrow a lady was ever asked
to the castle barring it was some old lady without daughters, or nieces,
or any women at all. It was not my lady countess who would throw
temptation to matrimony in the way of her son, the earl.
“Oh, but she was the devil of the world. You shall hear, my bairn. You
shall hear. Among the company at the castle was ane painter lad, which
even the king made much of—so ’twas said—so fine was his paintings.
“My lady countess had noticed my lass, my Phebe. Ane day she sent a
lackey down to my cottage, with orders for me to bring my girl up to the
castle. So I obeyed my lady.
“We were showed to a room full of pictures, and images, and rubbish,
which I soon found out was the painter lad’s workshop. My lady was
there, sitting in the only easy-chair. And the painter lad was there,
standing before a queer prop, with a picture on it.
“As soon as the lackey said, ‘The young woman, my lady,’ and shut the
door, the countess looked at us without speaking, and then turned to the
painter, and said, ‘Here is your model, Mr. Fordyce,’ as if my Phebe had
been nothing but a bundle of lumber.
“The painter lad was an ugly little mug as ever was seen, but a great
painter he were, and a civil man. He looked at my Phebe, and I could see
the surprise and delight in his ill-favored little face, and he bowed to
her, and handed both of us to seats. My lady frowned, and he blushed,
and said something very softly, which I thought was asking pardon for
his civility to us.
“Aweel, bairnie, that were the beginning o’ the end. Fra that day my
lass went up to the castle every day, in obedience to my lady’s orders.
I do not know, I cannot tell when it was, or how it was, that my lord
first began to be present at the ‘sittings,’ as they called them. Maybe
he heard the painter lad praising the beauty of my lass, for, bairnie,
though she was born and brought up on his land, he had never seen her,
for he never showed his face down in such low places as his laborers’
huts. So, maybe, he heard the painter lad praising her beauty, and for
curiosity went in to take a look at her.
“But sometimes I think my lady countess planned it all—to amuse my lord,
and keep him at home. What did she care for a peasant girl’s heart, or
her soul, or her good name, either, if she could amuse my lord and keep
him from going off and getting married, and bringing a wife home to send
her and her lady daughter to Kedge Hall?
“Oh, but she was the devil of the world!
“Ah me! ah me! ah me! I did not know what was going on. You see, I
didn’t go with my lass to the castle after that first time. My lady’s
maid, an aul wife, always came and fetched her. No, I did not know what
was going on. And why should I tell you of wickedness that is not for
you to hear?
“No, no, I will pack the whole peck into a pint cup, and make an end of
it.
“Oh, such an old tale. Oh, such a common tale. It is heard in every
hamlet, on every hillside. Oh, but it comes home to one when it’s one’s
ain child. Ah me! ah me!
“Late in the autumn the pictures were finished and the sittings were
over, and the painter lad went his way back to London. And my lass
stayed hame with me and only went out sometimes in the gloaming. I never
thought ill. I used to go to look after the poultry yard by the castle
stables every day, and sometimes, with the gathering and sorting of
eggs, and other matters, I would be kept at work all day long.
“One day I got on wi’ my work so weel that I cam’ hame airlier than
common. And there, i’ the hut, was my lord, wi’ Phebe on his knee and
his arm around her waist. Before I could weel tak’ in the whole, my lord
had risen, and, with a ‘Good-e’en, dame,’ he passed me, and went out.
And I sat down on the floor and covered my head wi’ my apun. I could
speak no word of blame to my lass; my heart, it was broken.
“Presently she came to me and put her sweet arms around my neck, and
said to me, in her ain sweet voice, ‘Minnie, minnie, I canna see you
grieve and not tell you the truth, though I must break my word to do it.
Minnie, yon great earl is my husband and your son, and I love him as I
love my life!
“Bairnie, ye may think I were surprised at what I heard, but, indeed, I
were not. I were very pleased, and that’s the truth, but not surprised.
I thought my lass the beauty of the whole world. And the angel of the
whole world, and our folk-lore were full of tales of how noble lords,
and even royal princes, did love and marry peasant girls for their
beauty and for their goodness. And who so beautiful and who so good as
my ain lass?
“No. I was not surprised, but I was proud and pleased. I only asked her
the how and the when, and the where, and when she had told me I believed
in her, as I had a right to believe in her, but I also believed in him,
as I had no right to believe in any man.
“And then she begged me to keep the secret, because she had broken her
promise to keep it from everybody, and had told me, from love of me.
“I swore that I would keep her secret, and I kissed her, and petted her,
and loved her. And she said, ‘Now I am completely happy, dear minnie, as
I never was when I kept a secret from mine ain minnie.’ Ah me! ah me!
But, there. She is still happy. I only am miserable. She is alive! I
only am dead! But some time or other I shall come to life and be happy
with her. Where was I, bairnie? What was I telling you last?”
“Of your dear daughter’s secret marriage with the earl, and of your
promise to keep the secret,” said Wynnette.
“Ay, ay! And we were happy that night. Phebe and I. And I hugged her to
my heart as we slept together, and I called her ‘My little countess! My
little countess!’ Ah, I was drunk with pride and vanity. Not for myself,
but for my beauty and angel of the world. I could not sleep for thinking
of her and of her grandeur. Only I did think that mayhap if the king had
chanced to come by our way and see her the king himself might ha’
married her and made her a queen. And I did not care for the earl so
much but that I was sorry it was not the king who had seen her.
“Next morning Phebe went back to her spinning and I went to the
henhouse. I quieted down and began to go over the tales in our
folk-lore—and I thought, with uneasiness, how King Cœphutas, who married
the beggar girl, and the other king that married the nut-brown maid, and
all other kings and princes and nobles who had married good and
beautiful peasant maids, had wedded them in open day before all the
world, with a great flourish of trumpets and blowing of horns, and
flaunting of flags, in honor of the wedding, and all the neighboring
kings, and princes, and lords, and nobles invited to the feast. And here
was this earl, who was neither king nor prince and nobody but an earl
had married the beauty and the angel of the world, in the dark behind
the door, as it were, and keeping his marriage a secret as if he was
ashamed of it. I wondered what he meant. I thought if it had been the
king who had married my lass he would not have done so.
“When I came hame that night I asked my girl how it was. And she told me
it was from fear of his mother, who had set her heart on his marrying
the daughter of a duke. The daughter of a duke, indeed. What was the
daughter of a duke compared to the beauty and the angel of the whole
world, as kings and princes would ha’ fought for, if they had only seen
her? But it was all a lie, for my lady countess, she had set her heart
on his never marrying anybody so long as she should live.
“I thought the earl was unworthy to be compared with the kings and
princes of our folk-lore. And I feared my lass had thrown herself away
on an ungrateful earl—a mere common earl—when she might have married a
king or an emperor if she had only waited until one passed by and saw
her.
“But it was done, and he was her husband, so I would not say anything to
set her against him.”