CHAPTER TWELVE.
WHEREIN SUNDRY PEOPLE ACT FOOLISHLY.
"Why for the dead, who are at rest? Pray for the living, in whose breast The struggle between right and wrong Is raging terrible and strong."
Longfellow.
Amphillis Neville was a most unsuspicious person. It never occurred toher to expect any one to do what, in his place, she would not have done;and all that she would have done was so simple and straightforward, thatscheming of every sort was an impossible idea, until suggested by someone else. She was consequently much surprised when Perrote said oneevening--
"Phyllis, I could find in mine heart to wish thy cousin had tarriedhence."
The discovery of Ricarda's deception was the only solution of thisremark which presented itself to Amphillis, but her natural cautionstood her in good stead, and she merely inquired her companion'smeaning.
"Hast not seen that she laboureth to catch Master Hylton into her net?"
Thoughts, which were not all pleasant, chased one another through themind of Amphillis. If Ricarda were trying to win Norman Hylton, wouldshe be so base as to leave him under the delusion that she was aNeville, possibly of the noble stock of the Lords of Raby? Mr Hylton'sfriends, if not himself, would regard with unutterable scorn the idea ofmarriage with a confectioner's daughter. He would be held to havedemeaned himself to the verge of social extinction. And somehow,somewhere, and for some reason--Amphillis pushed the question no furtherthan this--the thought of assisting, by her silence, in the ruin ofNorman Hylton, seemed much harder to bear than the prospect of beinghated by Ricarda Altham, even though it were for ever and ever. Whenthese meditations had burned within her for a few seconds, Amphillisspoke.
"Mistress Perrote, wit you how my cousin came hither?"
"Why, by reason my Lady Foljambe sent to thine uncle, to ask at him ifthou hadst any kin of the father's side, young maids of good birth andbreeding, and of discreet conditions, that he should be willing to putforth hither with thee."
Amphillis felt as if her mind were in a whirl. Surely it was notpossible that Mr Altham had known, far less shared, the dishonesty ofhis daughter? She could not have believed her uncle capable of suchmeanness.
"Sent to mine uncle?" seemed all that she could utter.
"Ay, but thine uncle, as I heard say, was away when the messenger came,and he saw certain women of his house only."
"Oh, then my uncle was not in the plot!" said Amphillis to herself withgreat satisfaction.
"Maybe I speak wrongly," added Perrote, reflectively; "I guess he sawbut one woman, a wedded cousin of thine, one Mistress Winkfield, whosaid she wist of a kinswoman of thine on the father's side that she wassecure her father would gladly prefer, and she would have her up fromHertfordshire to see him, if he would call again that day week."
How the conspiracy had been managed flashed on Amphillis at once. MrAltham was always from home on a Wednesday, when he attended a meetingof his professional guild in the city. That wicked Alexandra had donethe whole business, and presented her own sister to the messenger as thecousin of Amphillis, on that side of her parentage which came of gentleblood.
"Mistress, I pray you tell me, if man know of wrong done or lying, andutter it not, hath he then part in the wrong?"
"Very like, dear heart. Is there here some wrong-doing? I nigh guessedso much from thy ways. Speak out, Phyllis."
"Soothly, Mistress, I would not by my good will do my kinswoman an illturn; yet either must I do so, or else hold my peace at wrong done to myLady Foljambe, and peradventure to Master Hylton. My cousin Ricarda isnot of my father's kin. She is daughter unto mine uncle, thepatty-maker in the Strand. I know of no kin on my father's side."
"Holy Mary!" cried the scandalised Perrote. "Has thine uncle, then, hadpart in this wicked work?"
"I cry you mercy, Mistress, but I humbly guess not so. Mine uncle, as Ihave known him, hath been alway an honest and honourable man, thatshould think shame to do a mean deed. That he had holpen my cousinsthus to act could I not believe without it were proven."
"Then thy cousin, Mistress Winkfield?"
"Alexandra? I said not so much of her."
"Phyllis, my Lady Foljambe must know this."
"I am afeard, Mistress, she must. Mistress, I must in mine honestyconfess to you that these few days I have wist my cousin had called herby the name of Neville; but in good sooth, I wist not if I ought tospeak or no, till your word this even seemed to show me that I must. Mycousins have been somewhat unfriends to me, and I held me back lest Ishould be reckoned to revenge myself." Perrote took in the situation ata glance. "Poor child!" she said. "It is well thou hast spoken. Idare guess, thou sawest not that mischief might come thereof."
"In good sooth, Mistress, that did I not until this even. I neverthought of no such a thing."
"Verily, I can scarce marvel, for such a thing was hardly heard ofafore. To deceive a noble lady! to 'present herself as of gentle blood,when she came but of a trading stock! 'Tis horrible! I can scarcethink of worser deed, without she had striven to deceive the priesthimself in confession."
The act of Ricarda Altham was far more shocking in the eyes of a lady inthe fourteenth century than in the nineteenth. The falsehood she hadtold was the same in both cases; or rather, it would weigh more heavilynow than then. But the nature of the deception--that what they wouldhave termed "a beggarly tradesman's brat" should, by deceiving a lady offamily, have forced herself on terms of comparative equality into thesociety of ladies--was horrible in the extreme to their eclectic souls.Tradesmen, in those days, were barely supposed, by the upper classes, tohave either morals or manners, except an awe of superior people, whichwas expected to act as a wholesome barrier against cheating theiraristocratic customers. In point of fact, the aristocratic customerswere cheated much oftener than they supposed, on the one side, and someof the "beggarly tradesfolk" were men of much higher intellect andprinciple than they imagined, on the other. Brains were held to be aprerogative of gentle blood, extra intelligence in the lower classesbeing almost an impertinence. The only exception to this rule lay withthe Church. She was allowed to develop a brain in whom she would. Thesacredness of her tonsure protected the man who wore it, permitting himto exhibit as much (or as little) of manners, intellect, and morals, ashe might think proper.
Perrote's undressing on that evening was attended with numerous shakesof the head, and sudden ejaculations of mingled astonishment and horror.
"And that Agatha!" was one of the ejaculations.
Amphillis looked for enlightenment.
"Why, she is full hand in glove with Ricarda. The one can do noughtthat the other knows not of. I dare be bound she is helping her to drawpoor Master Norman into her net--for Agatha will have none of him; she'safter Master Matthew."
"Lack-a-day! I never thought nobody was after anybody!" said innocentAmphillis.
"Keep thy seliness [simplicity], child!" said Perrote, smiling on her."Nor, in truth, should I say `poor Master Norman,' for I think he islittle like to be tangled either in Ricarda's web or Agatha's meshes.If I know him, his eyes be in another quarter--wherein, I would say, heshould have better content. Ah me, the folly of men! and women belike--I leave not them out; they be oft the more foolish of the twain. Thegood God assoil [forgive] us all! Alack, my poor Lady! It doth seem asif the Lord shut all doors in my face. I thought I was about to win SirGodfrey over--and hard work it had been--and then cometh this Abbot ofDarley, and slams the door afore I may go through. Well, the Lord canopen others, an' He will. `He openeth, and none shutteth; He shutteth,and none openeth;' and blessed be His holy Name, He is easilier come ata deal than men. If I must tarry, it is to tarry His leisure; and Heknows both the hearts of men, and the coming future; and He is securenot to be too late. He loves our poor Lady better than I love her, andI love her well-nigh as mine own soul. Lord, help me to wait Thy time,and help mine unbelief!"
The ordeal of telling Lady Foljambe had to be go
ne through the nextmorning. She was even more angry than Perrote had anticipated, and muchmore than Amphillis expected. Ricarda was a good-for-nought, a hussy, awicked wretch, and a near relative of Satan, while Amphillis was only ashade lighter in the blackness of her guilt. In vain poor Amphillispleaded that she had never guessed Lady Foljambe's intention of sendingfor her cousin, and had never heard of it until she saw her. Then, saidLady Foljambe, unreasonable in her anger, she ought to have guessed it.But it was all nonsense! Of course she knew, and had plotted it allwith her cousins.
"Nay, Dame," said Perrote; "I myself heard you to say, the even aforeRicarda came, that it should give Phyllis a surprise to see her."
If anything could have made Lady Foljambe more angry than she was, itwas having it shown to her that she was in the wrong. She now turnedher artillery upon Perrote, whom she scolded in the intervals of heapingunsavoury epithets upon Amphillis and Ricarda, until Amphillis thoughtthat everything poor Perrote had ever done in her life to LadyFoljambe's annoyance, rightly or wrongly, must have been dragged out ofan inexhaustible memory to lay before her. At last it came to an end.Ricarda was dismissed in dire disgrace; all that Lady Foljambe wouldgrant her was her expenses home, and the escort of one mounted servantto take her there. Even this was given only at the earnest pleading ofPerrote and Amphillis, who knew, as indeed did Lady Foljambe herself,that to turn a girl out of doors in this summary manner was to exposeher to frightful dangers in the fourteenth century. Poor Ricarda wasquite broken down, and so far forgot her threats as to come to Amphillisfor help and comfort. Amphillis gave her every farthing in her purse,and desired the servant who was to act as escort to convey aconciliatory message to her uncle, begging forgiveness for Ricarda forher sake. She sent also an affectionate and respectful message to hernew aunt, entreating her to intercede with her husband for his daughter.
"Indeed, Rica, I would not have told if I could have helped it andbidden true to my trust!" was the farewell of Amphillis.
"O Phyllis, I wish I'd been as true as you, and then I should never havefallen in this trouble!" sobbed the humbled Ricarda. "I shouldn't havethought of it but for Saundrina. But there, I've been bad enough! I'llnot lay blame to other folks. God be wi' thee! if I may take God's nameinto my lips; but, peradventure, He'll be as angry as my Lady."
"I suppose He is alway angered at sin," said Amphillis. "But, Rica, theworst sinner that ever lived may take God's name into his lips to say,`God, forgive me!' And we must all alike say that. And MistressPerrote saith, if we hide our stained souls behind the white robes ofour Lord Christ, God the Father is never angered with Him. All thatanger was spent, every drop of it, upon the cross on Calvary; so thereis none left now, never a whit, for any sinner that taketh refuge inHim. Yea, it was spent on Him for this cause, that all souls takingshelter under His wing unto all time might find there only love, andrest, and peace."
"O Phyllis, thou'rt a good maid. I would I were half as good as thou!"
"If I am good at all, dear Rica, Jesu Christ hath done it; and He willdo it for thee, for the asking."
So the cousins parted in more peace than either of them would once havethought possible.
For some hours Amphillis was in serious doubt whether she would notshare the fate of her cousin. Perrote pleaded for her, it seemed, invain; even Mrs Margaret added her gentle entreaties, and was sharplybidden to hold her tongue. But when, on the afternoon of that eventfulday, Amphillis went, as was now usual, to mount guard in the Countess'schamber, she was desired, in that lady's customary manner--
"Bid Avena Foljambe come and speak with me."
Amphillis hesitated an instant, and her mistress saw it.
"Well? Hast an access [a fit of the gout], that thou canst not walk?"
"Dame, I cry your Grace mercy. I am at this present ill in favour of myLady Foljambe, and I scarce know if she will come for my asking."
The Countess laughed the curt, bitter laugh which Amphillis had so oftenheard from her lips.
"Tell her she may please herself," she said; "but that if she be nothere ere the hour, I'll come to her. I am not yet so sick that I cannotcrawl to the further end of the house. She'll not tarry to hear thattwice, or I err."
Amphillis locked the door behind her, as she was strictly ordered to dowhenever she left that room, unless Perrote were there, and finding LadyFoljambe in her private boudoir, tremblingly delivered the more civilhalf of her message. Lady Foljambe paid no heed to her.
"Dame," said poor Amphillis, "I pray you of mercy if I do ill; but herGrace bade me say also that, if you came not to her afore the clockshould point the hour, then would she seek you."
Lady Foljambe allowed a word to escape her which could only be termed amild form of swearing--a sin to which women no less than men, and of allclasses, were fearfully addicted in the Middle Ages--and, withoutanother look at Amphillis, stalked upstairs, and let herself with herown key into the Countess's chamber.
The Countess sat in her large chair of carved walnut, made easy by beinglined with large, soft cushions. There were no easy chairs of any otherkind. She was in her favourite place, near the window.
"Well, Avena, good morrow! Didst have half my message, or the whole?"
"I am here, Dame, to take your Grace's orders."
"I see, it wanted the whole. `To take my Grace's orders!' Soothly,thou art pleasant. Well, take them, then. My Grace would like a couchprepared on yonder lawn, and were I but well enough, a ride onhorseback; but I misdoubt rides be over for me. Go to: what is this Ihear touching the child Amphillis?--as though thou wentest about to berid of her."
"Dame, I have thought thereupon."
"What for? Now, Avena, I will know. Thou dost but lose thy pains tofence with me."
In answer, Lady Foljambe told the story, with a good deal of angrycomment. The Countess was much amused, a fact which did not help tocalm the narrator.
"_Ha, jolife_!" said she, "but I would fain have been in thy bower whenthe matter came forth! Howbeit, I lack further expounding thereanentis.Whereof is Phyllis guilty?"
Lady Foljambe, whose wrath was not up at the white heat which it hadtouched in the morning, found this question a little difficult toanswer. She could not reasonably find fault with Amphillis for beingRicarda's cousin, and this was the real cause of her annoyance. Theonly blame that could be laid to her was her silence for a few days asto the little she knew. Of this crime Lady Foljambe made the most.
"Now, Avena," said the Countess, as peremptorily as her languorpermitted, "hearken me, and be no more of a fool than thou canst help.If thou turn away a quiet, steady, decent maid, of good birth andconditions, for no more than a little lack of courage, or maybe ofjudgment--and thou art not a she-Solomon thyself, as I give thee to wit,but thou art a fearsome thing to a young maid when thou art angered; andunjust anger is alway harder, and sharper, and fierier than the just, asif it borrowed a bit of Satan, from whom it cometh--I say, if thou turnher away for this, thou shalt richly deserve what thou wilt very likeget in exchange--to wit, a giddy-pate that shall blurt forth all thyprivy matter (and I am a privy matter, as thou well wist), or one ofsome other ill conditions, that shall cost thee an heartbreak to rule.Now beware, and be wise. And if it need more, then mind thou"--and thetone grew regal--"that Amphillis Neville is my servant, not thine, andthat I choose not she be removed from me. I love the maid; she hathsense, and she is true to trust; and though that keeps me in prison, yetcan I esteem it when known. 'Tis a rare gift. Now go, and think onwhat I have said to thee."
Lady Foljambe found herself reluctantly constrained to do the Countess'sbidding, so far, at least, as the meditation was concerned. And thecalmer she grew, the more clearly she saw that the Countess was right.She did not, however, show that she felt she had been in the wrong.Amphillis was not informed that she was forgiven, nor that she was toretain her place, but matters were allowed to slide silently back intotheir old groove. So the winter came slowly on.
"The tim
e drew near the birth of Christ," that season of peace andgood-will to men which casts its soft sunshine even over the world,bringing absent relatives together, and suggesting general familyamnesties. Perrote determined to make one more effort with Sir Godfrey.About the middle of December, as that gentleman was mounting hisstaircase, he saw on the landing that "bothering old woman," standing,lamp in hand, evidently meaning to waylay some one who was going up tobed. Sir Godfrey had little doubt that he was the destined victim, andhe growled inwardly. However, it was of no use to turn back on somepretended errand; she was sure to wait till his return, as he knew. SirGodfrey growled again inaudibly, and went on to meet his fate in theform of Perrote.
"Sir, I would speak with you."
Sir Godfrey gave an irritable grunt.
"Sir, the day of our Lord's birth is very nigh, when men be wont to makeup old quarrels in peace. Will you not yet once entreat of my LordDuke, being in England, to pay one visit to his dying mother?"
"I wis not that she is dying. Folks commonly take less time over theirdying than thus."
Perrote, as it were, waved away the manner of the answer, and repliedonly to the matter.
"Sir, she is dying, albeit very slowly. My Lady may linger divers weeksyet. Will you not send to my Lord?"
"I did send to him," snapped Sir Godfrey.
"And he cometh?" said Perrote, eagerly for her.
"No." Sir Godfrey tried to pass her with that monosyllable, but Perrotewas not to be thus baffled. She laid a detaining hand upon his arm.
"Sir, I pray you, for our Lord's love, to tell me what word came backfrom my Lord Duke?"
Our Lord's love was not a potent factor in Sir Godfrey's soul. Morepowerful were those pleading human eyes--and yet more, the sentimentwhich swayed the unjust judge--"Because this widow troubleth me, I willavenge her." He turned back.
"Must you needs wit? Then take it: it shall do you little pleasure. MyLord writ that he was busily concerned touching the troubles inBrittany, and ill at ease anentis my Lady Duchess, that is besieged inthe Castle of Auray, and he could not spare time to go a visiting;beside which, it might be taken ill of King Edward, whose favour at thispresent is of high import unto him, sith without his help he is like tolose his duchy. So there ends the matter. No man can look for a princeto risk the loss of his dominions but to pleasure an old dame."
"One only, Sir, it may be, is like to look for it; and were I my LordDuke, I should be a little concerned touching another matter--theaccount that he shall give in to that One at the last day. In thegolden balances of Heaven I count a dying mother's yearning may weighheavy, and the risk of loss of worldly dominion may be very light. Ithank you, Sir. Good-night. May God not say one day to my Lord Duke,`Thou fool!'"
Perrote disappeared, but Sir Godfrey Foljambe stood where she had lefthim. Over his pleasure-chilled, gold-hardened conscience a breath fromHeaven was sweeping, such a breath as he had often felt in earlieryears, but which very rarely came to him now. Like the soft toll of apassing bell, the terrible words rang in his ears with their accent ofhopeless pity--"Thou fool! Thou fool!" Would God, some day, in thatupper world, say that to _him_?
The sound was so vivid and close that he actually glanced round to seeif any one was there to hear but himself. But he was alone. Only Godhad heard them, and God forgets nothing--a thought as dreadful to Hisenemies as it is warmly comforting to His children. Alas, for those towhom the knowledge that God has His eye upon them is only one of terror!
Yet there is one thing that God does forget. He tells us that Heforgets the forgiven sin. "As far as the sun-rising is from thesun-setting [Note 1], so far hath He removed our transgressions fromus"--"Thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea." But asit has been well said, "When God pardons sin, He drops it out of Hismemory into that of the pardoned sinner." We cannot forget it, becauseHe has done so.
For Sir Godfrey Foljambe the thought of an omniscient eye and ear wasfull of horror. He turned round, went downstairs, and going to aprivate closet in his own study, where medicines were kept, drank offone of the largest doses of brandy which he had ever taken at once. Itwas not a usual thing to do, for brandy was not then looked on as abeverage, but a medicine. But Sir Godfrey wanted something potent, tostill those soft chimes which kept saying, "Thou fool!" Anything to getaway from God!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. This is really the Hebrew of Psalm 103, verse 12. The infidelobjection, therefore, that since "east" and "west" meet, the verse hasno meaning, is untenable as concerns the inspired original. It is onlyvalid as a criticism on the English translation.