Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century

trouble.

  "But his grace," I answered, "is, I hope, in safety at present, and inhis own house?"

  "In this house, indeed," she did reply, "but a strait prisoner in SirHenry Neville's custody, and not suffered to see his friends withouther majesty's especial permission. He did send for his son and me lastevening, having obtained leave for to see us, which he had not donesince the day my lord and I were married again, by his order,from the Tower, out of fear lest our first marriage, being made beforePhil was quite twelve years old, it should have been annulled by orderof the queen, or by some other means. It grieved me much to notice howgray his hair had grown, and that his eyes lacked their wonted fire.When we entered he was sitting in a chair, leaning backward, with hishead almost over the back of it, looking at a candle which burntbefore him, and a letter in his hand. He smiled when he saw us, andsaid the greatest comfort he had in the world was that we were now sojoined together that nothing could ever part us. You see, MistressConstance," she said, with a pretty blush and smile, "I now do wear mywedding-ring below the middle joint."

  "And do you live alone with my lord now in these grand chambers?" Isaid, looking round at the walls, which were hung with rare tapestryand fine pictures.

  "Bess is with me," she answered, "and so will remain I hope until sheis fourteen, when she will be married to my Lord William, my lord'sbrother. Our Moll is likewise here, and was to have wedded my LordThomas when she did grow up; but she is not like to live, thephysicians do say."

  The sweet lady's eyes filled with tears, but, as if unwilling toentertain me with her griefs, she quickly changed discourse, and spokeof my coming unto London, and inquired if my aunt's house were apleasant one, and if she was like to prove a good kinswoman to me. Itold her how comfortable had been the manner of my reception, and ofmy cousins' goodness to me; at the which she did express greatcontentment, and would not be satisfied until I had described each ofthem in turn, and what good looks or what good qualities they had;which I could the more easily do that the first could be discernedeven at first sight, and touching the last, I had warrant from Mrs.Ward's commendations, which had more weight than my own speerings,even if I had been a year and not solely a day in their company. Shewas vastly taken with what I related to her of Muriel, and that shedid visit and relieve poor persons and prisoners, and wished she hadliberty to do the like; and with a lovely blush and a modestconfusion, as of one who doth not willingly disclose her good deeds,she told me all the time she could spare she did employ in makingclothes for such as she could hear of, and also salves and cordials(such as she had learnt to compound from her dear grandmother), andprivately sent them by her waiting-maid, who was a young gentlewomanof good family, who had lost her parents, and was most excellentlyendowed with virtue and piety.

  "Come to my closet, Miss Constance," she said, "and I doubt not but weshall find Milicent at work, if so be she has not gone abroad to-dayon some such errand of charity." Upon which she led the way through asecond chamber, still more richly fitted up than the first, into asmaller one, wherein, when she opened the door, I saw a pretty livingpicture of two girls at a table, busily engaged with a store ofbottles and herbs and ointments, which were strewn upon it in greatabundance. One of them was a young maid, who was measuring drops intoa phial, with a look so attentive upon it as if that little bottle hadbeen the circle of her thoughts. She was very fair and slim, and had adelicate appearance, which minded me of a snow-drop; and indeed, bywhat my lady said, she was a floweret which had blossomed amidst thefrosts and cold winds of adversity. By her side was the most gleesomewench, of not more than eight years, I ever did set eyes on; of afatness that at her age was comely, and a face so full of waggery andsaucy mirth, that but to look upon it drove away melancholy. She wascompounding in a cup a store of various liquids, which she said didcure shrewishness, and said she would pour some into her nurse'snight-draught, to mend her of that disorder.

  "Ah, Nan," she cried, as we entered, "I'll help thee to a taste ofthis rare medicine, for methinks thou art somewhat shrewish also andnot so conformable to thy husband's will, my lady, as a good wifeshould be. By that same token that my lord willed to take me behindhim on his horse a gay ride round the square, and, forsooth, because Ihad not learnt my lesson, thou didst shut me up to die of melancholy.Ah, me! My mother had a maid called Barbara--

  'Sing willow, willow, willow.'

  That is one of Phil's favorite songs. Milicent, methinks I will callthee Barbara, and thou shalt sing with me--

  'The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,-- Sing all a green willow; Her hand on her bosom,'--

  There, put thy hand in that fashion--

  'her head on her knee,'--

  Nay, prithee, thou must bend thy head lower--

  'Sing willow, willow, willow.'"

  "My lady," said the gentlewoman, smiling, "I promise you I dare nottake upon me to fulfil my tasks with credit to myself or yourladyship, if Mistress Bess hath the run of this room, and doth preparecordials after her fashion from your ladyship's stores."

  "Ah, Bess!" quoth my lady, shaking her finger at the saucy one; "I'lldeliver thee up to Mrs. Fawcett, who will give thee a taste of theplace of correction; and Phil is not here to-day to beg thee off. Andnow, good Milicent, prithee make a bundle of such clothes as we havein hand, and such comforts as be suitable to such as are sick and inprison, for this sweet young lady hath need of them for some who be inthat sad plight."

  "And, my lady," quoth the gentlewoman, "I would fain learn how todress wounds when the flesh is galled; for I do sometimes meet withpoor men who do suffer in that way, and would relieve them if Icould."

  "I know," I cried, "of a rare ointment my mother used to make for thatsort of hurt; and if my Lady Surrey gives me license, I will rememberyou, mistress, with the receipt of it."

  My lady, with a kindly smile and expressed thanks, assented; and whenwe left the closet, I greatly commending the young gentlewoman'sbeauty, she said that beauty in her was the worst half of her merit.

  "But, Mistress Constance," she said, when we had returned to thesaloon, "I may not send her to such poor men, and above all, priests,who be in prison for their faith, as I hear, to my great sorrow, therebe so many at this time, and who suffer great hardships, more than canbe easily believed, for she is Protestant, and not through conformingto the times, but so settled in her way of thinking, and earnesttherein, having been brought up to it, that she would not so much asopen a Catholic book or listen to a word in defence of papists."

  "But how, then, doth she serve a Catholic lady?" I asked, with abeating heart; and oh, with what a sad one did hear her answer, for itwas as follows:

  "Dear Constance, I must needs obey those who have a right to commandme, such as his grace my good father and my husband; and they are bothvery urgent and resolved that by all means I shall conform to thetimes. So I do go to Protestant service; but I use at home my prayers,as my grandmother did teach me; and Phil says them too, when I can gethim to say any."

  "Then you do not hear mass," I said, sorrowfully, "or confess yoursins to a priest?"

  "No," she answered, in a sad manner; "I once asked my Lady Lumley, whois a good Catholic, if she could procure I should see a priest withthat intent at Arundel House; but she turned pale as a sheet, and saidthat to get any one to be reconciled who had once conformed tothe Protestant religion, was to run danger of death; and albeit forher own part she would not refuse to die for so good a cause, shedared not bring her father's gray hairs to the block."

  As we were holding this discourse--and she so intent in speaking, andI in listening, that we had not heard the door open--Lord Surreysuddenly stood before us. His height made him more than a boy, and hisface would not allow him a man; for the rest, he waswell-proportioned, and did all things with so notable a grace, thatnature had stamped him with the mark of true nobility. He made aslight obeisance to me, and I noticed that his cheek was flushed, andthat he grasped the handle of his sword with an anger which took notaway the sweetness of
his countenance, but gave it an amiable sort offierceness. Then, as if unable to restrain himself, he burst forth,

  "Nan, an order is come for his grace to be forthwith removed to theTower, and I'll warrant that was the cause he was suffered to see usyesterday. God send it prove not a final parting!"

  "Is his grace gone?" cried the countess, starting to her feet, andclasping her hands with a sorrowful gesture.

  "He goes even now," answered the earl; and both went to the window,whence they could see the coach in which the duke was for the thirdtime carried from his home to the last lodging he was to have on thisearth. Oh, what a sorrowful sight it was for those young eyes