"Methinks that becomes me better. What sayest thou, Bess?"
Two girls were standing in an upper room of Nicholas Clere's house, and
the younger asked this question of the elder. The elder girl was tall,
of stately carriage and graceful mien, with a very beautiful face: but
her whole aspect showed that she thought nothing about herself, and
never troubled her head to think whether she was pretty or ugly. The
younger, who was about seventeen, was not nearly so handsome; but she
would have been pleasant enough to look at if it had not been for a
silly simper and a look of intensely satisfied vanity, which quite
spoiled any prettiness that she might have had. She had just fastened a
pair of ear-rings into her ears, and she was turning her head from one
side to the other before the mirror, as she asked her companion's
opinion of the ornaments.
There are some savages--in Polynesia, I think--who decorate themselves
by thrusting a wooden stick through their lips. To our European taste
they look hideous, honestly, I cannot see that they who make holes in
their lips in order to ornament themselves are any worse at all than
they who make holes in their ears for the same purpose. The one is just
as thorough barbarism as the other.
When Amy Clere thus appealed to her to express an opinion, Elizabeth
Foulkes looked up from her sewing and gave it.
"No, Mistress Amy; I do scarce think it."
"Why, wouldst thou better love these yellow ones?"
"To speak truth, Mistress Amy, I think you look best without either."
"Dear heart, to hear the maid! Wouldst not thou fain have a pair,
Bess?"
"Nay, Mistress Amy, that would I not."
"Wherefore?"
"Because, as methinks, such tawdry gewgaws be unworthy a Christian
profession. If you desire my thought thereon, Mistress Amy, you have it
now."
"Forsooth, and thou mightest have kept it, for all I want of it.
`Tawdry gewgaws,' indeed! I tell thee, Bess; these be three shillings
the pair."
"They may be. I would not pay three half-pence for them."
"Bess, 'tis ten thousand pities thou art not a nun."
"I would rather be what I am, Mistress."
"I rather not be neither," said Amy flippantly. In those days, they
always put two nots together when they meant to speak strongly. They
did not see, as we do now, that the one contradicts the other.
"Well, Mistress Amy, you have no need," said Elizabeth quietly.
"And as to Christian profession--why, Bess, every lady in the land wears
ear-rings, yea, up to the Queen's Grace herself. Prithee who art thou,
to set thee up for better than all the ladies in England, talking of
Christian profession as though thou wert a priest?"
"I am Mistress Clere's servant-maid; but I set not myself up to be
better than any, so far as I know."
"Thee hold thy peace! Whether goeth this lace or the wide one best with
my blue kirtle?"
"The narrower, I would say. Mistress Amy, shall you have need of me
this next Wednesday afternoon?"
"Why? What's like to happen Wednesday afternoon?"
"Saint Chrysostom's like to happen, an't please you; and Mistress
granted me free leave to visit a friend, if so be you lacked me not."
"What fashion of a friend, trow? A jolly one?" Elizabeth looked a
little amused.
"Scarce after your fashion, Mistress Amy."
"What, as sad and sober as thyself?"
"Well-nigh."
"Then I'll not go with thee. I mean to spend Saint Chrysostom with Mary
Boswell and Lucy Cheyne, and their friends: and I promise thee we shall
not have no sadness nor sedateness in the company."
"That's very like," answered Elizabeth.
"As merry as crickets, _we_ shall be. Dost not long to come withal?"
"I were liefer to visit Rose, if it liked you."
"What a shame to call a sad maid by so fair a name! Oh, thou canst go
for all me. Thy company's never so jolly I need shed tears to lose it."
And with this rather uncomplimentary remark, Amy left the room, with the
blue ear-rings in her ears and the yellow ones in her hand. Elizabeth
waited till her piece of work was finished. Then folding it up and
putting it away in a drawer, she ran down to prepare supper,--a task
wherein Amy did not offer to help her, though it was usual then for the
mistress of the house and her daughters to assist in the cooking.
About two o'clock on the afternoon of the following Wednesday, a tap on
the door of the Blue Bell called Rose to open it, and she greeted her
friend Elizabeth with much pleasure. Rose had finished her share of the
household work (until supper), and she took her lace pillow and sat down
in the window. Elizabeth drew from her pocket a couple of nightcaps,
and both girls set to work. Mrs Mount was sewing also in the
chimney-corner.
"And how be matters in Colchester, Bess, at this present?"
"The clouds be gathering for rain, or I mistake," said Elizabeth
gravely. "You know the thing I mean?"
Alice Mount had put down her work, and she looked grave too.
"Bess! you never mean we shall have last August's doings o'er again?"
"That do I, Alice, and more. I was last night at the King's Head, where
you know they of our doctrine be wont to meet, and Master Pulleyne was
there, that good man that was sometime chaplain to my Lady's Grace of
Suffolk: he mostly puts up at the King's Head when he cometh to town.
And quoth he, `There shall shortly be another search made for Gospel
books,--ay, and Gospellers belike: and they be not like to 'scape so
well as they did last year.' And John Love saith--he was there, John
Love of the Heath; you know him?--well, he saith he heard Master Simnel
the bailiff to swear that the great Doctors of Colchester should find it
warm work ere long. There's an ill time coming, friends. Take you
heed."
"The good Lord be our aid, if so be!" said Alice.
"But what shall Master Clere do, Bessy?" asked Rose. "He hath ever been
a Gospeller."
"He hath borne the name of one, Rose. God knoweth if he be true. I'm
'feared--"
Elizabeth stopped suddenly.
"That he'll not be staunch?" said Alice.
"He is my master, and I will say no more, Alice. But this may I say--
there's many in Colchester shall bear faggots ere they burn. Ay, and
all over England belike."
Those who recanted had to carry a faggot, as if owning themselves worthy
to be burned.
"Thou'rt right there, Bess. The Lord deliver us!"
"Some thinketh we have been too bold of late. You see, John Love coming
home again, and nothing done to him, made folks think the worst was
over."
"Isn't it then?" said Rose.
"Master Benold says he misdoubts if 'tis well begun."
"Master Benold the chandler?"
"Of East Hill--ay. He was at the King's Head last night. So was old
Mistress Silverside, and Mistress Ewring the miller's wife, and
Johnson--they call him Alegar--down at Thorpe."
"Call him Alegar! what on earth for?" asked Rose indignantly.
Elizabeth laughed. "Well, they say he's so sour. He'll not dance, nor
sing idle songs, nor play quoits and bowls, but loveth better to sit at
home and read; so they call him Alegar."
Alegar is malt vinegar; the word vinegar was then used only of white
wine vinegar.
"He's not a bit sour!" cried Rose. "I've seen him with his little lad
and lass; and right good to them he was. It's a shame to call folks
names that don't fit them!"
"Nay, I don't call him no names, but other folks do. Did you know his
wife, that died six months gone?"
"No, but I've heard her well spoken of."
"Then you've heard truth. Those children lost a deal when they lost
her, and so did poor Johnson. Well, he'll never see her burn: that's
one good thing!"
"Ay," said Alice, "and that's what he said himself when she died. Well,
God help us to stand firm! Have you been asked any questions, Bess?"
"Not yet," said Elizabeth quietly, "but I look for it every day. Have
you?"
"Not I; but our Rose here foregathered with the priest one even of late,
and he was set to know why we came not to church these eight weeks past.
She parried his darts right well; but I look to hear more thereabout."