Red and White: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses
*CHAPTER XII.*
*IDONIA UNDERSTANDS.*
"But hush! What is the utmost that I would? To give my life to God is all I could: And this may be the way He wills to take-- This daily death may be for God's own sake; He gave, and took. So let my soul be still." --ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO.
At Lovell Tower, things were going as merry as marriage-bells could makethem. About six weeks after her return home, Frideswide Marston becamethe wife of John Combe. They were to live, for the present, with LordMarnell, until it should be seen what would happen further. There was apretty little estate in Devonshire, named Combe Abbas, which belonged ofright to Queen Marguerite's henchman: but of course, so long as KingEdward lived, no deprived Lancastrian could expect to recover his lands.What might happen in the next reign, when men's minds might be supposedto have cooled down, and the throne to be assured to the House of York,was another matter.
Frideswide had delivered the Duke's message and token to her sister.They were so quietly received by Agnes, almost in silence, thatFrideswide was afraid that she felt disappointed at receiving so small agift.
"Thou seest, dear heart," said she, apologetically, "there is so littleleft to his Lordship that methought it were ill done to choose anychoice thing: and moreover I counted thou shouldst better love a matterwhereon was his badge than something greater that had it not. Thatspeaketh for himself, from whom he came."
"Thou hast done well, and I thank thee," was the reply, as Agnes liftedher eyes for a moment.
Could Frideswide have read the eyes, her impression would have beendifferent. The language of her sister's inmost heart was--"Do youunderstand me no better than that?" From that day, the silver ring withits ruby sparks was always to be seen on Agnes Marston's hand.
The year 1473 was drawing to a close, when Walter Marston came home fromLondon. His life had been an eventful one. From the household of QueenMarguerite he had passed to that of the Duke of Burgundy, shortly beforehis sister's arrival in France. Thence, returning to King Henry, he hadfought at Barnet and Tewkesbury, had remained long a prisoner, hadreceived pardon, and was now a knight in the household of the Earl ofOxford. Often very near Frideswide, he had never actually met her. Nowhe came home on a month's leave, and as it was six years since any ofhis relatives had seen him, the occasion was a festive one indeed.
"But how big thou art!--and what a beard hast thou!" exclaimed Dorathie.
"I am not by the half as much bigger as thou," laughed Walter. "Why, Ileft thee a little chick all over down, and here thou art a proper youngdamsel."
"And what news abroad, Wat?" said his father.
"No great matter, my Lord, to my knowledge. 'Tis said the Venetians havewon the Isle of Cyprus, that lieth off the coast of the Holy Land: andlikewise that, I know not well how, they of Genoa have lost a certainland[#] that lieth beyond the Grand Turk. Here at home, the King goethto build a new chapel to his Castle of Windsor. You shall have heard, Ireckon, of the young Lady of Clarence[#] that was born some weeks gone?I mind not aught else of any moment, without you would hear of a poorLollard of late brent upon Tower Hill."
[#] The Crimea.
[#] Margaret Countess of Salisbury.
"The Lord may reckon that of more moment than all the rest, Wat," saidthe Lady Idonia, gravely.
"Truly so, Madam."
"Was he of any note, lad?"
"In no wise, my Lord: a parchment-maker, as I heard, that dwelt withoutthe City."
"Of what name?" asked Frideswide, quickly.
"Why, 'twas a queer name," said her brother. "One John Goose, they toldme. A young man, I heard--scarce elder than I."
"Aye me! Had he it to do for himself?" murmured Frideswide in anunsteady voice.
"What sayest, sweeting?"
"Prithee, Wat, tell me all thou wist of the inwards[#] thereof."
[#] Details.
"Well, that is not much. He was delivered afore dinner to MasterSheriff, to put in execution the same afternoon; who had him home to hishouse, and gave him great exhortation that he should reny[#] his falseerrors, quoth he: but--as I heard from one that was by--all that Goosewould say was to desire that he might have meat, for he was sorehungered. Then Master Sheriff commanded him meat, whereof he ate asthough he had ailed nothing: and quo' he, 'I eat now a good andcompetent dinner, for I shall pass a little sharp shower ere I go tosupper.' Then, when he had dined, he required to be shortly led toexecution; and so, as I heard it, merrily and with good cheer took hisdeath."
[#] Recant.
"Then his Lord gave him the endurance,--laud be to His name!" saidFrideswide. "I knew him, Walter, though I talked with him but once. Hedid at that time lodge my gracious Lord of Exeter, and his house wasthat whereat I last spake with my Lord."
"Thou hast well said, good sister: for thou shalt speak with my Lord ofExeter no more."
"Walter!--Woe is me! is my Lord dead?"
It was from Frideswide the cry came. There was no sound from Agnes.Only the Lady Idonia, who happened to be looking at her, saw herneedlework stand suddenly still.
"'Tis a few weeks gone, Frid," said Walter, kindly. "Dear heart, I amsorry if I started thee. I thought he had been little more than a nameto either of you."
"How died he, and where? Do tell me all."
"Nay, good sister, for how he died must we remit to God. But for where,it was in the waves of the sea--the British Channel, betwixt Calais andDover. His body was washed up on the sands of Dover, and was therefound by the fishers, a dead corpse, stripped of all."
"But was he drowned, Wat? My poor master!"
"The Lord wot, dear heart. The matter had the look of a shipwreck, butno boat was found. If he so were wrecked, or fell from the cliff ofmisadventure, or--well, whatso it were--who shall tell thee? The seahath given up her dead, but blabbeth none of their secrets."
This is all that was ever known of the death of Henry Duke of Exeter.The days of his mourning were ended: but how they closed--whether byaccident, or shipwreck, or by the worse violence which Walter would notsuggest openly--only his God and Father knows.
A few tears stole from Frideswide's eyes. She had felt for her noblemaster very deep compassion.
"On whose soul God have mercy!" she said with an accent of tenderregret. "He hath his little Nan at the last.--Annis! art thou not sorryat all?"
The last words were spoken rather reproachfully.
"I am sorry," said Agnes. But she said it in tones that sounded evenand hard: and leaving her work on the settle where she had been sitting,she rose and quitted the room.
"Well!" said Frideswide, looking after her. "Verily, I am astonied. Ihad thought Annis should be well-nigh as sorry as I for our poormaster."
"Folks can be sorry, Frideswide, though they say it not," quietlyanswered the Lady Idonia.
But in her heart she was saying,--"O blind eyes, that can see no furtherthan that! Agnes is an hundred times more sorry than Frideswide--sosorry that she can speak of it to none but God."
In the early winter of this year, the baby Prince of Wales, just threeyears old, was placed under the care of governors spiritual andtemporal. His uncle Lord Rivers was the latter, and the Bishop ofRochester the former. King Edward's language, in the decrees whichrecord these appointments, is worth quoting, not only as a specimen ofthe English of his day, but on account of its inherent singularity. Theone entry commences thus:--
"How be it euery child in his yong age ought to be brought vp in vertueand cunnyng,[#] to then-tent that he might delite therin and contynue inthe same, and soo consequently deserue the merites of euerlastingblisse, and in this world to be therfore the more eureux[#] andfortunat, yit nathelesse such persoones as god hath called to thepre-eminent astate of princes, and to succede thair progenitours inthestate of Regalte ought more singulerly and more diligently to beenfourmed and instructed in cunnyng and vertu," etc.
[#] Knowledge.
 
; [#] Heureux=happy.
The second decree asserts that--
"We, considering the great bounte of our lord god, whom it hath pleasedto send unto us our first begoten son, hole[#] and furnysshed in nature,to succeed us in our Realmes of England and France, and lordship ofIreland, for the which we thank most humbly his infynyte magnificens,purpose by his grace so to purvey for his precieux sonde[#] and yefte[#]and our most desired tresour our seid first begoten son, that he shallbe so virtuously, cunningly, and knyghtly brought up, for to serueAlmighty God cristenly and deuoutly, as accordeth to his dute, and toleue and precede in the world honourably, after his estate anddignite."[#]
[#] Whole.
[#] The lost noun of the verb to send.
[#] Gift.
[#] Patent Roll. 13 Edw. IV.
The child thus belauded with a flourish of court trumpets was of utterlydifferent character to both parents. He had neither his father'sease-loving selfishness, nor his mother's sly cajolery. The shadow ofthe sanctuary wherein his eyes first saw the light seemed to lie uponhis soul for ever. Grave and shrewd far beyond his years, yet at thesame time of child-like transparency, his character was one that mighthave become a rare blessing to England. He lived in the constant, calmexpectation of early death. When his little brother, who was "joyousand witty, nimble, and ever ready for dances and games"--true son ofEdward IV.--besought the elder to learn to dance, the young Prince'sgrave reply was, "It would be better for us to learn to die." It seemsas though in him, perhaps alone of all his family, there was some goodthing found towards the Lord God of Israel. "His soul pleased the Lord:therefore He hasted to take him away from among the wicked."
The King was still supremely blind concerning the matrimonial intentionsof his sister of Exeter, and continued to lavish favours on St. Leger.He and the Queen were at this time interested in the approaching secondmarriage of Thomas Grey, with Cicely Bonvile, which took placeimmediately on the expiration of the year of mourning for his dead wife.In the same month, on a summer evening, and in the private chapel atColdharbour, with only two or three witnesses, the Princess Anne,Duchess of Exeter, bestowed her hand upon Mr. St. Leger, and--the deedirrevocably done--sent information of it to her royal brother. It wascharacteristically received. Edward did not see the slightest occasionto put himself out. Anne could do as she liked, he said, as he loungedon his sofa. She liked to please herself, and so did he. After all,Sellenger was not a bad fellow, nor an ill-looking one. "What ho! Bidthe minstrels strike up there!" And settling himself comfortably amonghis cushions, His Majesty prepared to listen to the music.
But there was one person at Coldharbour who received the informationvery differently.
The news that her suitor was married to her mistress came upon JaneGrisacres like a thunderbolt. Her love had been so blind that the barepossibility of such a thing had never occurred to her for an instant.She heard the terrible tidings suddenly, with nothing to soften theblow: and with a sharp cry of astounded anguish, she fell into MarionRothwell's arms in a dead swoon. The Duchess, who was herself present,merely glanced at the white face, and in a tone which was calmlycontemptuous, commanded that somebody should carry yon poor dolt to herbed. Tamzine, silent for once, came forward and helped Marion to liftthe dead weight of poor Jane, and to bear her away from the sight of themistress to whom her stricken face was a reproach. But the reproach wasfelt by the Duchess only as she might have regarded a dead fly in herpot of scented ointment. Pick out the intrusive nuisance, throw itaway, and then all would be well again. What did a smothered fly, or abroken heart, signify to the royal bride who had obtained her ownwishes?
Not long after that event, Master Rotherham, who had been thefellow-traveller of Agnes on her journey home, paid a visit at LovellTower, and at his own request was closeted with Lord Marnell for sometime. For so much time, indeed, that Lady Margery became ratherimpatient, and expressed it as she sat and span.
"Dear heart! what would yonder man with my Lord? I had so much to askhim! I want to know when he will have the calf killed, and how muchlime we shall take in for the meadow. Will he ne'er have done? Whatcan the companion be after, trow?"
"Thou alway wert a bat, Madge," said her mother, calmly. "He is afterAnnis."
"Eh, good lack!" returned the daughter. "I marvel where he dwelleth,and if it be far away."
"Shall my Lord covenant with him, I marvel?" said Frideswide, looking upfrom her embroidery-frame.
Agnes was not in the room.
"Not ere he ask our counsel, methinks," replied Lady Idonia. "At theleast I hope not."
"I will read him a lecture an' he do!" said Lady Margery, laughing.
"Hush!" was her mother's quick check. "Hold your peace afore the maid."
For Agnes was just entering, and she came and sat down to her sewing.Another half-hour passed almost in silence. At its close, Lord Marnellcame to the door and called out John Combe, who was seated with a bookin the recess of the window. With a few low-toned words he sent him offsomewhere, and came forward into the hall himself.
"Well, my Lady," said he, rubbing his hands with the air of a man verywell satisfied with his morning's work, "and what think you is MasterRotherham come about?"
"You were best tell us, my Lord," answered his wife, prudently decliningto commit herself.
"Of a truth I am well pleased," returned he. "I have heard much good ofthe young gentleman: and he hath a fair estate, and spendeth well-nightwo hundred pound by the year; and true to the Red is he, and a goodfellow belike, as I do believe. He would make his wife jointure of sixtypound by the year, and an house--not so ill, eh?"
"Has he a wife?" demanded Lady Margery rather slily.
"Nay, for that he came hither," said her husband, laughing complacently.
"Dear heart, but Doll is o'er young to be wed yet--think you not so, myLord?" responded she, with an affectation of innocent simplicity.
"Doll!" cried Lord Marnell. "Gramercy, what would the woman be at?Doll! she is but a babe in the cradle. 'Tis Annis he would have--wherebe thine eyes, Madge?"
Lady Margery's laugh revealed her joke.
"Oh! good heart, thou wert but a-mocking, I see.--Well, my maid, howlikest the matter?" And he turned to Agnes.
He expected to see a blush, a smile, and to hear a few faltered words ofsatisfaction with his arrangement. But no one of them answered him.Instead of these, what he did hear was perhaps the last speech he everexpected from the lips of Agnes Marston.
"Good my Lord, I thank you for your care. But if it may stand with yourpleasure, pray you, give me leave to be a nun."
"A what!" came in accents of astonished dismay from her father, and theexpression of satisfaction died out of his face in an instant.
"Annis!" exclaimed her stepmother.
"Gramercy!" said Frideswide.
Lady Idonia said nothing. She sat and watched the quiet, pale face,with its set lips, and the far-away look in the eyes which were gazingfrom the window.
"If you please, my Lord," repeated Agnes calmly. "That is my desire."
"And what in all this world hath moved thee to desire the same?"
"I have so done of some time," was the reply, in the same quiet tone.
"Lack-a-day, maid! How long time?"
A faint flush rose to the white brow, and dying away, left it whiterthan ever. But she was spared an answer.
"Give the maid her way, Jack," said a voice hitherto silent. "She hathwell spoken."
"Truly, fair Mother, but I thought it ill spoken," said Lord Marnell, ina puzzled tone, turning to face the Lady Idonia. "I never looked to seeone of my little maids in cloister--not by my good-will."
"Then thou hadst best bring thy good-will thereto, Jack.--Frideswide andAnnis, give us leave, dear hearts."
The young ladies retired obediently. No sooner had the door closed onthem than Lady Margery said, with a mixture of perplexity andeagerness,--
"Pray you, sweet Madam, give us to wit your meaning. It seems
me yousee further into this matter than either my Lord or I."
"'Tis little enough I see," added her husband. "Verily, I counted itrare good fortune for the lass. Here is a good man, that loveth her,and offers her jointure of sixty pound by the year--"
"For thee, Madge," resumed her mother calmly, "thou always wert a bat,as I have aforetime told thee. As to Jack here, men be rarely aughtelse where women be concerned. Let the maid be, dear hearts. I tellyou, she has well said."
"But what doth it all mean?" asked Lord Marnell, impatiently.
"I go not about to tell Annis' secrets--more in especial when she hathnot confided them to me," replied the Lady Idonia drily. "Only this Isay to you both--withered hearts make the best nuns, and the worstwives. God, not you, hath made a nun of Annis. Let her obey Hisvoice."
"Dear heart, I would ne'er think to hinder it!" returned her father, ina voice of much regret. "But what means your Ladyship? How gat she herheart withered, poor wretch?"
"The babe that shall cry for the moon is commonly disappointed, Jack. Ido but tell thee, Agnes Marston will never wed with any--and it were tohis hurt an' she so did. Aye, and to her own belike. Enough said."
Nor was another word on that subject to be extracted from the Dowager.But Master Rotherham received a kindly dismissal, and it was generallyunderstood from that hour that Agnes was to be a nun. Should thisstrike the reader as a strange thing, it must be remembered that theLollard views on the subject of monasticism were scarcely at all inadvance of the Roman, and that the time had not come when any woman whodid not wish to be a wife could be otherwise than a nun. There didexist the rare phenomenon of an old bachelor; but an old maid, out ofthe cloister, was unknown before the Reformation.
The same evening, when she came up to her chamber, which Agnes sharedwith her, Lady Idonia sat down by the window, and remained there for atime, looking out upon the summer night. Agnes, who usually helped herto undress, was bidden to "hie her abed, and tarry not." She obeyed;but the old lady sat still, long after Agnes was asleep, or at any rateseemed to be so. Each of the two was under the impression that she knewthe other's train of thought, and had kept her own a profound secret.In truth, the thoughts of Agnes were much better understood by theDowager than the reverse. Quarter after quarter of an hour drippedheavily from the water-clock in the corner, yet the Lady Idonia satstill in the carved oaken chair. And,
"Her great heart through all the faultful past Went sorrowing."
At last she turned her head towards the sleeper. Agnes lay with hercheek pillowed on one hand, and from that hand, close by the cheek, theruby cresset of the Duke's ring sparkled in the lamp-light.
"Poor child!" said the heart of the Lady Idonia, though her lips weresilent. "I can guess what that ruby cresset is to thee. To him, ofcourse, it was nothing, beyond a kindly wish to give pleasure to aninferior who had shown a kindly feeling towards him. But out of thylife all possibility of wedlock died upon Dover sands, fifteen monthsago. Not that _that_ was ever possible--poor child! Didst thou fancy,babe, that thou wert about to touch the stars? God grant, for thy sake,that it was not so!"
It was not so. Never, for one moment, had Agnes Marston dreamed of thatimpossible thing. Her love had never calculated on a return. It hadonly grown out of the necessity of love to give itself; and her hearthad passed out of her keeping before she had known that it was gone.
Idonia was right, also, in guessing that the Duke had never entertainedthe faintest suspicion of the deep wealth of self-sacrificing lovehidden under that quiet manner and silent face. His one venture in thematrimonial lottery had been so utter a blank that the very idea oftrying another had never occurred to him, and, had it been suggested,would probably have been dismissed with a shudder.
"And so--" the thoughts of the watcher went on--"'so He leadeth themunto the haven of their desire.' _So_! Ah, how many devious, windingpaths there are, which lead up to the door of life! One He leadsthrough pain, another through sorrow: one by loneliness and absence ofhuman love, another by the happiness of a satisfied heart, a thirdthrough the shards of broken idols. Not often the second of thosethree: much oftener the first or the last. But through all the paths Hebrings us to the one Gate--through all the wilderness journeying, to theone City. He who has paid for us the price of His own life cannotafford to lose us. And then, 'when we have forded the Jordan, with theark of the Lord borne before us, we eat of the fruit of the Land ofCanaan that year.'"
Far back into the past years ran the "inner eye,"--back to a statelywoman in robes of white, with long black hair flowing behind her. Theyears seemed obliterated, and Idonia Marnell stood in a turret-chamberof the Palace of Holyrood, with the mournful music of Marjory Douglas'voice sounding in her ears.
"It cannot be much longer for me now," she said to herself inconclusion. "She has been comforted these thirty years; and I am nighfourscore. But for thee, poor little Agnes!--the wilderness may be longyet: and unless I mistake, for thee also it will be 'the wilderness allthe way.' So the ark of the Lord go before thee, it is well. He willlead thee no whither but into the Holy Land."