A Forgotten Hero

  CHAPTER TEN.

  FORGIVENESS NOT TO BE FORGIVEN.

  "Ay, there's a blank at my right hand That ne'er can be made up to me."--_James Hogg_.

  Before leaving Bermondsey, the Earl had accomplished one of the hardestpieces of work which ever fell to his lot. This was the execution ofthe deed of separation which conveyed his legal assent to the departureof his wife, and assigned to her certain lands for her separatesustenance. Himself the richest man in England, he was determined thatshe should remain the wealthiest woman. He assigned to her all hislands in Norfolk and Suffolk, the manors of Kirketon in Lincolnshire,Malmesbury and Wyntreslawe in Wiltshire, and an annuity on Queenhithe,Middlesex--the whole sum amounting to 800 pounds per annum, which wasequivalent to at least 15,000 pounds a year. He reserved to himself theappointments to all priories and churches, and the military feofs andescheats. Moreover, the Countess was not to sell any of the lands, norhad she the right to build castles. So far, in all probability, any manwould have gone. But one other item was added, which came straight fromthe human heart of Earl Edmund, and was in the thirteenth century a verystrange item indeed. The Countess, it was expressly provided, shouldnot waste, exile, enslave, nor destroy "the serfs on these estates."[Note 1.]

  The soul of Haman the Agagite, which had descended upon Margaret deClare, fiercely resented this unusual clause. On the same roll whichcontains the Earl's grant, in ordinary legal language--which must havecost him something where he records her wish, and his assent, "freely_during her widowhood_ to dedicate herself to the service of God,"--there is another document, in very extraordinary language, wherein theLady Margaret recounts the wrongs which her lord is doing her in respectof this 800 pounds a year. A more spiteful production was hardly everpenned. From the opening address "to all who shall read or hear thisdocument" to the concluding assertion that she has hereto set her seal,the indenture is crammed full of envy, hatred, and malice, and alluncharitableness. She lets it plainly be seen that all the lands inNorfolk and Suffolk avail her nothing, so long as these restrainingclauses are added to the grant. Margaret probably thought that she wasmerely detailing her wrongs; she did not realise that she was exhibitingher character. But for these four documents, the two letters, and thetwo indentures, wherein Earl and Countess have respectively "pressedtheir souls on paper," we might never have known which was to blame inthe matter. Out of her own mouth is Margaret judged.

  With amazing effrontery, and in flat contradiction not only of herhusband's assertion, but of her own admission, the Countess commencedher tirade by bringing against her lord the charge of which she herselfwas guilty. As he was much the more worthy of credit, I prefer tobelieve him, confirmed as his statement is by her own letter to thePope. She went on to detail the terms of separation, making the most ofeverything against her husband, and wound up with a sentence which musthave pierced his heart like a poignard. She solemnly promised never toaggrieve him at any time by asking him to take her back, and never toseek absolution [Note 2] from that oath! In one sentence of cold,cruel, concentrated spite, she sarcastically swore never to demand fromhim the love for which during one and twenty years he had sued to her invain.

  So now all was over between them. The worst that could come had come.

  "All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching heart, the restless unsatisfied longing, All the dull deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!"

  There was no more left to fear, for there was nothing left to hope.

  The Countess, attended by Father Miles and Felicia, left Rochester inJune for Romsey Abbey, where she solemnly assumed the veil of a blacknun. She was now plain Sister Margaret, and in due course of time andpromotion, she would become Mother Margaret, and then, perhaps, Prioressand Abbess. And then--her soul would be required of her.

  Mother Margaret! What bitter mockery of a title for the woman who haddeliberately flung away from her as a worthless weed the white flower oflove which she might have cherished!

  Of course, the household was now scattered. Ada had been received intothe household of the Countess of Gloucester, the King's daughter Joan.Olympias was pining to return to Reginald, if she could form some ideain what part of the world he might be found; Clarice was awaiting herimperious lord's commands. The morning after the Countess had taken herlast farewell of them all, as they were still in this attitude of doubtand expectation, in walked Sir Lambert Aylmer. He was greeted withdelight. Roisia was well, he reported, and sent her lovingcommendations to all; but the object of his coming was not to talk aboutRoisia. The Earl, with Sir Reginald, was at Restormel, one of hisCornish castles; but in a letter received from the latter gentleman, SirLambert had been requested to inform Olympias that their master desiredthem all to repair to Berkhamsted, whither he meant to come shortly, andthey should then hear his intentions for the future.

  "The saints send he mean not to be a monk!" said Olympias, shrugging hershoulders.

  But nothing was further from Earl Edmund's purpose.

  They reached Berkhamsted in a day or two, and to Clarice's greatdelight, found there not only Mistress Underdone and the twobower-maidens, but Sir Ademar and Heliet. It was a new and pleasantdiscovery that Heliet could travel. It had been a sort of acceptedidea, never investigated, that her leaving Oakham was an impossibility;but Ademar had coaxed her to try, and Heliet was quite willing. Theresult was that she had reached Berkhamsted in safety, to her ownintense enjoyment; for she had never before been a mile from Oakham, andthe discovery that she was no longer a fixture, but could accompany herhusband wherever duty called him was to Heliet unspeakable delight.

  It was not till October that the Earl reached home; for he stayed atBristol for the wedding of the eldest princess, Alianora, with HenriDuke of Barre, which took place on the twentieth of September. Themorning after his arrival he desired to speak with the whole of hishousehold, who were to assemble in the hall for that purpose.

  Olympias was positive that her master was about to take the cowl. "Andit would be so nice, you see," she said; "just a match to the Lady."

  "Nice, indeed!" said Reginald, pulling a terrible face. "Thou hast notspent a fortnight at Ashridge."

  "Well, but he would not want to make a monk of thee," answered Olympias,rather blankly.

  "He would not manage it, if he tried," responded her lord and master.

  When the Earl's intentions were stated, it appeared that he had nofurther occasion for the services of Sir Reginald and Olympias, and hehad secured for them situations, if they chose to accept them, in thehousehold of the royal bride. Olympias was in ecstasies; to live inFrance was a most delicious fate in her eyes, nor did Reginald in theleast object to it. Filomena and Sabina were provided for with theCountess of Lincoln and the Princess Elizabeth, Mistress Underdone,Heliet, and Sir Ademar would remain at Berkhamsted. And then the Earl,turning to Vivian and Clarice, requested as a favour to himself thatthey would remain also. It was necessary to have a lady of rank--namely, a knight's wife--at the head of the establishment. The Earl hadno sister who could take that position; and his brother's widow, theLady Constance d'Almayne, had preferred to return to her own home inBearn rather than live in England. Heliet might have answered, but theEarl felt, with his usual considerate gentleness, that her lamenesswould make it a great charge and trouble to her. He wished Clarice totake it, if her husband would allow her, and was willing to continue inhis service.

  "And, truth to tell," said the Earl, with a sad smile at Rosie, who wasmaking frantic efforts to compass the fearful distance of three yardsbetween the Earl's chair and Clarice's outstretched hand, "you have herea jewel which I were very loth to lose from my empty casket. So, SirVivian, what say you?"

  What became of either Clarice or Rosie was a matter of very littleimportance to Vivian, for he considered them both in the light ofencumbrances--which was rather hard on Clarice at least, as she wouldthankfully have got out of his way if duty had allowed it. But, as hehad onc
e said, he knew when he was well off, and he had no wish to passinto the service either of a meaner nobleman or of a harder master.Vivian assented without a qualifying word.

  Thus, with Clarice, life sank back into its old groove, and time spedon, uneventful except for the two items that every day little Rosie grewin intelligence and attractiveness, and every month, as it seemed to hermother, the Earl grew a year older. Clarice doubted if Rosie were nothis sole tie to life. She became his chief companion, and on the littlechild who was no kin of his he poured out all the rich treasure of thatwarm great heart which his own held at so small a value. Rosie,however, was by no means irresponsive. Any one seeing her would havetaken the Earl to be her father, and Sir Vivian a stranger of whom shewas rather frightened.

  The year 1294 was signalised by a remarkable action on the part of KingEdward. In order to defray the vast expenses of his Welsh and Bretonwars, he took into his own hands all the priories in England, committingtheir lands and goods to the care of state officials, and allowingeighteenpence per week for the sustenance of each monk. The allowancewas handsome, but the proceeding was very like burglary.

  The exact religious position of Edward the First is not so easy todefine as that of some other monarchs. With respect to any personal andspiritual religion, it is, alas! only too easy. But it is difficult tosay how far his opposition to the Pope originated from a deliberatepolicy, well thought out beforehand, and how far from the momentaryirritation of a crossed will. He certainly was not the intelligentsupporter of the Boni-Homines from personal conviction, that was to befound in his son, Edward the Second, or in his cousin, Edmund, Earl ofCornwall. Yet he did support them to a certain extent, though more inthe earlier part of his life than in the later. Like many another manin his position, he was ready enough to assist a body of sensibleliterary reformers, but, when the doctrine which they held began topress personally on himself, he shrank from the touch of Ithuriel'sspear. That his subjects should be made better and more obedient bymeans of the Decalogue, or any other code, was a most excellent thing;but when the Decalogue came closer and said, "Thou shalt not," tohimself, then it was an intrusive nuisance.

  In the following year, 1295, the King laid the foundation of boroughrepresentation, by directing the sheriffs of the various counties tosend to Parliament, along with the knights of the shire, two deputiesfrom each borough, who were to be elected by the townsmen, and empoweredto consent, in the name of their constituents, to the decrees of theKing and his Council. "It is a most equitable rule," added the Monarch,"that what concerns all should be judged of by all." Concerning thepossibility of these members dissenting from his decrees, however, HisMajesty was not quite so eloquent. That contingency was one which asovereign in the thirteenth century could scarcely be expected to takeinto his august consideration.

  But King Edward wanted more money, and apparently preferred to grind itout of his monks rather than his peasants. He now instituted a searchof all the monasteries in England, and commanded the confiscation of allcash. The monasteries resisting the excessive taxation laid upon them,the King seized their lay fees.

  In the December of this year, Earl Edmund left Berkhamsted for Cornwall,taking with him Vivian, and leaving Ademar behind as the only gentlemanin the party. He was going on an errand unpleasant to himself, for theKing had committed to his charge a portion of the Gascon army. War andcontention were altogether out of his line, yet he had no choice but toobey. He joined his cousin, the Earl of Lancaster, and the Earl ofLincoln, in Cornwall, and together they sailed on the fifteenth ofJanuary 1296, from a Cornish port termed Plumhupe in the "Chronicle ofWorcester," but not easy to identify now, unless it be taken as ablunder for Plymouth, and the chronicler be supposed ignorant of itscounty. With them were twenty-five barons and a thousand knights.

  During the absence of the Earl, it struck his cousin, the King--for noother reason can be guessed--that the Earl's treasury being much betterfilled than his own, he might reasonably pay his debts out of hiscousin's overflowing coffers. Accordingly he sent to Berkhamsted, muchto the dismay of the household, and coolly annexed his cousin'svaluables to the Crown. But Earl Edmund was a man in whose eyes goldwas of comparatively small value, partly because he set other thingsmuch higher, and partly because he had always had so much of it, thatpoverty was a trouble which he was scarcely able to realise.

  A sad year was 1296 to the royal family of England. The Gasconexpedition proved so disastrous, that Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, died ofgrief and disappointment at Bayonne on the fifth of June; and theScottish one, though brilliantly successful in a political light, costno less, for an arrow shot at a venture, at the siege of Berwick,quenched the young life of Richard Plantagenet, the only brother andlast near relation of Edmund, Earl of Cornwall. The triumphant captureof the coronation chair and the Stone of Destiny and their removal fromDunstaffnage to England, was contrasted with a terrible famine, which soaffected the vines in particular, that there was hardly wine enough leftfor mass.

  In the midst of these sharp contrasts of triumph and sorrow, Earl Edmundreturned to England, escorting his widowed cousin Queen Blanche, andfollowing the coffin of the Earl of Lancaster. They found the Kingearnestly engaged in effecting a contract of marriage between the youngPrince Edward and a daughter of Guy, Count of Flanders, and bindinghimself to march to Guy's assistance against the King of France.

  Ah, had it been God's will that the wife destined for Edward the Secondshould have been the pure, high-minded, heroic Philippine of Flanders,instead of the she-wolf of France, what a different history he wouldhave had!

  For among all the princesses of the thirteenth century one of thefairest souls is this Flemish maiden, who literally laid down her lifein ransom for her father. It was not Prince Edward's fault thatPhilippine was not Queen of England. It was the fault of the ambitiouspolicy alike of King Edward and the King of France, and perhaps stillmore of his Navarrese Queen. They did not know that they weresacrificing not only Philippine, but Edward. Would they have cared muchabout it if they had done?

  The regalia of Scotland were solemnly offered at the shrine of SaintEdward on the 17th of June. Earl Edmund was present at the ceremony,and after it, "weary with the storms of earth," he went home to courtrepose at Berkhamsted.

  It was the day after he came home, a soft, warm June day. Clarice andHeliet were playing with Rosie, now a bright, lively little child offive years old. In rushing away from Heliet, who was pretending tocatch her, Rosie, to the dismay of all parties, ran straight against herfather, who had just reached the top of the spiral staircase which ledto their own rooms. Vivian, never very amiable when his course wasimpeded, either by a physical or a moral hindrance, impatiently pushedthe child on one side. It was the wrong side. Rosie struggled torecover her balance for one moment, during which her father's hand_might_ have grasped her, had he been quick to do it; her mother had nottime to reach her. Then, with an inarticulate cry for help, she wentdown the well of the staircase.

  Past Heliet's exclamation of horror came a sharp ringing shriek--"OVivian! Rosie!" and darting by her astounded husband, down the stairsfled Clarice, with a celerity that she would have thought impossible anhour before.

  Vivian's state of mind was a mixture of selfishness and horror. He hadnot intended to hurt the child, merely to get her out of his way; butwhen selfishness and remorse struggle together, the worse of the twousually comes to the front. Vivian's first articulate answer was agrowl at his wife.

  "Why did you not keep her out of my way? Gramercy, what a fuss about agirl!"

  Then he read his guilt in Heliet's eyes, and began faltering out excusesand asseverations that he had not meant anything.

  Clarice reached the foot of the stairs without heeding a word he said.But other hands, as tender as her own, were there before her.

  "Little Rosie! my poor little child!" came from Earl Edmund's gentlelips, as he lifted the bruised child in his arms. Tenderly as it wasdone, Rosie could not repress a moan
of pain which went to the twohearts that loved her.

  She was not killed, but she was dying.

  "A few hours," said the Earl's physician, instantly summoned, "a fewhours. There was nothing to be done. She would very likely not suffermuch--would hardly be conscious of pain until the end came."

  The Earl bore her into his own chamber, and laid her on his bed. Withspeechless agony Clarice watched beside her.

  Just once Rosie spoke.

  "Mother, Mother, don't cry!"

  Clarice was shedding no tears; they would not come yet; but in Rosie'seyes her strained white face was an equivalent.

  "Mother, don't cry," said Rosie. "You said--I asked you--why peopledied. You said our Lord called them. Must go--when our Lord calls."

  Clarice was not able to answer; but Rosie's words struck cold to herheart.

  "Must go when our Lord calls!"

  She could hardly pray. What went up was not prayer, but rather a wild,passionate cry that this thing could not be--should not be.

  There were those few hours of half-consciousness, and then, just at theturn of the night, the Lord came and called, and Rosie heard His voice,and went to Him.

  Sir Vivian Barkeworth, during that day and night, was not pursuing theeven tenor of his way in that state of complacent self-approval whichwas the usual attitude of his mind. It was not that he mourned thechild; his affections were at all times of a microscopic character, andthe only spark of regard which he entertained for Rosie was not as hislittle child, but as his future heiress. Nor was he at all troubled bythe sufferings of Clarice. Women were always crying about something;they were decided hindrances and vexations in a man's way; in fact, theexistence of women at all, except to see to a man's comforts, and amusehis leisure, was, in Sir Vivian's eyes, an unfortunate mistake in thearrangements of Providence. He mourned first the good opinion whichpeople had of him, and which, by the way, was a much smaller packagethan Sir Vivian thought it; and secondly, the far more importantdisturbance of the excellent opinion which he had of himself. He couldnot rid himself of the unpleasant conviction that a little more patienceand amiability on his part would have prevented all this disagreeableaffair, though he would not for the world have acknowledged thisconviction to Clarice. That was what he thought it--a disagreeableaffair. It was the purest accident, he said to himself, and might havehappened to any one. At the same time, something, which did not oftentrouble Vivian, deep down in his inner man, distinctly told him thatsuch an accident would never have happened to the Earl or Sir Ademar.Vivian only growled at his conscience when it gave him that faint prick.He was so accustomed to bid it be quiet, that it had almost ceased togive him any hints, and the pricking was very slight.

  "A disagreeable business!" he said, inwardly; "a most disagreeablebusiness. Why did not Clarice attend to her duties better? It was herduty to keep that child from bothering me. What are women good for butto keep their children out of mischief, and to see that their husbands'paths through life are free from every thorn and pebble?"

  Sir Vivian had reached this point when one of the Earl's pages broughthim a message. His master wished his attendance in his privatesitting-room. Vivian inwardly anathematised the Earl, the page, Heliet(as a witness), Rosie (as the offender), but above all, as the head andfront of all his misery, Clarice. He was not the less disposed toanathemas when he found Sir Ademar, Heliet, Clarice, and Master Franco,the physician, assembled to receive him with the Earl. It rasped himfurther to perceive that they were all exceedingly grave, though how hecould have expected any of them to look hilarious it would be difficultto say. Especially he resented the look of desolate despair inClarice's eyes, and the physical exhaustion and mental agony written inevery line of her white face. He would not have liked to admit that hefelt them all as so many trumpet-tongued accusers against him.

  "I desired you all to assemble," said the Earl, in tones as gentle asusual, but with an under-current of pain, "because I wish to inquire inwhat manner our poor little darling met her death. How came she to falldown the staircase?"

  He looked at Heliet, and she was the one to reply.

  "It was an accident, my Lord, I think," she said.

  "`You think?' Is there some doubt, then?"

  No one answered him but Ademar. "Pardon me, my Lord; I was notpresent."

  "Then I ask one who was present. Dame Heliet?"

  "I hope there is no doubt, my Lord," answered Heliet. "I should besorry to think so."

  The bushy eyebrows, which were the only blemish to the handsomePlantagenet face of the Earl, were lowered at this reply.

  "What am I to understand by that?" he asked. "Did the child throwherself down of her own will?"

  "Oh, no, my Lord, no!"

  "Did any one push her down?"

  Dead silence.

  "Sir Ademar was not present. Were you, Sir Vivian?"

  Vivian, whose face was far more eloquent in this instance than histongue, muttered an affirmative.

  "Then you can answer me. Did any one push her down?"

  Vivian's reply was unintelligible, being hardly articulate.

  "Will you have the goodness to repeat that, if you please?" said hismaster.

  In Clarice's heart a terrible tempest had been raging. Ought she not tospeak, and declare the fact of which she felt sure, that Vivian had notbeen intentionally the murderer of his child? that whatever he mighthave done, he had meant no more than simply to push her aside?Conscientiousness strove hard with bitterness and revenge. Why shouldshe go out of her way to shield the man who had been the misery of herlife from the just penalty which he deserved for having made that lifemore desolate than ever? She knew that her voice would be the mostpotent there--that her vote would outweigh twenty others. The pleadingof the bereaved mother in favour of the father of the dead child wasjust what would make its way straight to the heart of his judge.Clarice's own heart said passionately, No! Rosie's dead face must standbetween him and her for ever. But then upon her spirit's fever fellcalming words--words which she repeated every day of her life--wordswhich she had taught Rosie.

  "Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors."

  If God were to forgive her as she forgave Vivian, what would become ofher? Would she ever see Rosie again? And then a cry for help andstrength to do it went up beyond the stars.

  The Earl was quietly waiting for the repetition of Vivian's answer. Itcame at last--the answer--not a repetition.

  "Saint Mary love us, my Lord! I never meant any harm."

  "You never meant!" replied a stern voice, not at all like Earl Edmund'sgentle tones. "Did you _do_ it?"

  Before Vivian could reply, to every one's astonishment, and most of allto his, Clarice threw herself down on her knees, and deprecatinglykissed the hand which rested on the arm of her master's chair.

  "Mercy, my good Lord, I entreat you! It was a pure accident, andnothing more. I know Sir Vivian meant no more than to push the childgently out of his way. He did not calculate on the force he used. Itwas only an accident--he never thought of hurting her. For the sake ofmy dead darling, whom I know you loved, my gracious Lord, grant me mercyfor her father!"

  The silence was broken for a moment only by Heliet's sobs. The Earl hadcovered his face with his hands. Then he looked into Clarice's pleadingeyes, with eyes in which unshed tears were glistening.

  "Dame Clarice," said Earl Edmund in his softest tone, "_you_ wish me togrant Sir Vivian mercy?"

  "I implore it of your Lordship, for His sake to whom my child is gone,and hers."

  The Earl's eyes went to Vivian, who stood looking the picture of guiltand misery.

  "You hear, Sir Vivian? You are pardoned, but not for your sake. Be ityours to repay this generous heart."

  The party dispersed in a few minutes. But when Ademar and Heliet foundthemselves alone, the former said--"Will he love her after this?"

  "Love her!" returned Heliet. "My dear husband, thou dost not know thatman. He owes his life to he
r generosity, and he will never forgive herfor it."

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  Note 1. Rot. Pat., 22 Edward the First.

  Note 2. The language of this sentence is remarkable:--"Jeo ou nul autreen moun noun purchace absolucion _ou de Apostoile ou de autresouerein_." (Rot. Pat., 22 Edward the First.)