Note 1. Sad, at this time, did not mean sorrowful, but serious.

Note 2. These are the duties of a bower-woman, laid down in the Books of Courtesy at that time.

Note 3. Then a very expressive word, including both morals and manners.

Note 4. A private sitting-room for ladies.

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE WHITE LADY.

"The future is all dark, And the past a troubled sea, And Memory sits in the heart, Wailing where Hope should be."

Supper was ready in the hall at four o'clock, and Amphillis found herself seated next below Agatha, the younger of Lady Foljambe's damsels. It was a feast-day, so that meat was served--a boar's head, stewed beef, minced mutton, squirrel, and hedgehog. The last dainty is now restricted to gypsies, and no one eats our little russet friend of the bushy tail; but our forefathers indulged in both. There were also roast capons, a heron, and chickens dressed in various ways. Near Amphillis stood a dish of beef jelly, a chowet or liver-pie, a flampoynt or pork-pie, and a dish of sops in fennel. The sweets were Barlee and Mon Amy, of which the first was rice cream, and the second a preparation of curds and cream.

Amphillis looked with considerable interest along the table, and at her opposite neighbours. Lady Foljambe she recognised at once; and beside her sat a younger lady whom she had not seen before. She applied to her neighbour for information.

"She?" said Agatha. "Oh, she's Mistress Margaret, my Lady's daughter-in-law; wife to Master G.o.dfrey, that sits o' t' other side of his mother; and that's Master Matthew, o' this side. The priest's Father Jordan--a fat old noodle as ever droned a psalm through his nose.

Love you mirth and jollity?"

"I scarce know," said Amphillis, hesitatingly. "I have had so little."

Agatha's face was a sight to see.

"Good lack, but I never reckoned you should be a spoil-sport!" said she, licking her spoon as in duty bound before she plunged it in the jelly--a piece of etiquette in which young ladies at that date were carefully instructed. The idea of setting a separate spoon to help a dish had not dawned upon the mediaeval mind.

"I shall hate you, I can tell you, if you so are. Things here be like going to a funeral all day long--never a bit of music nor dancing, nor aught that is jolly. Mistress Margaret might be eighty, so sad and sober is she; and as for my Lady and Mistress Perrote, they are just a pair of old jog-trots fit to run together in a quirle [the open car then used by ladies, something like a waggonette]. Master G.o.dfrey's all for arms and fighting, so he's no better. Master Matthew's best of the lot, but bad's the best when you've a-done. And he hasn't much chance neither, for if he's seen laughing a bit with one of us, my Lady's a-down on him as if he'd broke all the Ten Commandments, and whisks him off ere you can say Jack Robinson; and if she whip you not, you may thank the saints or your stars, which you have a mind. Oh, 'tis a jolly house you've come to, that I can tell you! I hoped you'd a bit more fun in you than Clarice--she wasn't a sc.r.a.p of good. But I'm afraid you're no better."

"I don't know, really," said Amphillis, feeling rather bewildered by Agatha's reckless rattle, and remembering the injunction not to make a friend of her. "I suppose I have come here to do my duty; but I know not yet what it shall be."

"I detest doing my duty!" said Agatha, energetically.

"That's a pity, isn't it?" was the reply.

Agatha laughed.

"Come, you can give a quip-word," said she. "Clarice was just a lump of wood, that you could batter nought into,--might as well sit next a post.

Marabel has some brains, but they're so far in, there's no fetching 'em forth. I declare I shall do somewhat one o' these days that shall shock all the neighbourhood, only to make a diversion."

"I don't think I would," responded Amphillis. "You might find it ran the wrong way."

"You'll do," said Agatha, laughing. "You are not jolly, but you're next best to it."

"Whose is that empty place on the form?" asked Amphillis, looking across.

"Oh, that's Master Norman's--Sir G.o.dfrey's squire--he's away with him."

And Agatha, without any apparent reason, became suddenly silent.

When supper was over, the girls were called to spin, which they did in the large hall, sitting round the fire with the two ladies and Perrote.

Amphillis, as a newcomer, was excused for that evening; and she sat studying her neighbours and surroundings till Mistress Perrote p.r.o.nounced it bed-time. Then each girl rose and put by her spindle; courtesied to the ladies, and wished them each "Good-even," receiving a similar greeting; and the three filed out of the inner door after Perrote, each possessing herself of a lighted candle as she pa.s.sed a window where they stood. At the solar landing they parted, Perrote and Amphillis turning aside to their own tower, Marabel and Agatha going on to the upper floor. [The solar was an intermediate storey, resembling the French _entresol_.] Amphillis found, as she expected, that she was to share the large blue bed and the yellow griffins with Perrote. The latter proved a very silent bedfellow. Beyond showing Amphillis where she was to place her various possessions, she said nothing at all; and as soon as she had done this, she left the room, and did not reappear for an hour or more. As Amphillis lay on her pillow, she heard an indistinct sound of voices in an adjoining room, and once or twice, as she fancied, a key turned in the lock. At length the voices grew fainter, the hoot of the white owl as he flew past the turret window scarcely roused her, and Amphillis was asleep--so sound asleep, that when Perrote lay down by her side, she never made the discovery.

The next morning dawned on a beautiful summer day. Perrote roused her young companion about four o'clock, with a reminder that if she were late it would produce a bad impression upon Lady Foljambe. When they were dressed, Perrote repeated the Rosary, Amphillis making the responses, and they went down to the hall.

Breakfast was at this time a luxury not indulged in by every one, and it was not served before seven o'clock. Lady Foljambe patronised it. At that hour it was accordingly spread in the hall, and consisted of powdered beef, boiled beef, brawn, a jug of ale, another of wine, and a third of milk. The milk was a condescension to a personal weakness of Perrote; everybody else drank wine or ale.

Amphillis was wondering very much, in the private recesses of her mind, how it was that no lady appeared whom she could suppose to be her own particular mistress; and had she not received such strict charges on the subject, she would certainly have asked the question. As it was, she kept silence; but she was gratified when, after breakfast, having been bidden to follow Perrote, that worthy woman paused to say, as they followed the pa.s.sage which led to their own turret--

"Now, Amphillis Neville, you shall see your Lady."

She stopped before the locked and barred door opposite to their own, unfastened it, and led Amphillis into the carefully-guarded chamber.

The barred room proved to be an exceedingly pleasant one, except that it was darker than the other, for it looked into the inner garden, and therefore much less sun ever entered it. A heavy curtain of black worsted, whereon were depicted golden vines and rec.u.mbent lions, stretched across the room, shutting off that end which formed the bedchamber. Within its shelter stood a bed of green silk wrought with golden serpents and roses; a small walnut-wood cabinet against the wall; two large chests; a chair of carved walnut-wood, upholstered in yellow satin; a mirror set in silver; and two very unusual pieces of furniture, which in those days they termed folding-chairs, but which we should call a shut-up washstand and dressing-table. The former held an ewer and basin of silver-gilt, much grander articles than Amphillis had ever seen, except in the goldsmith's shop. In front of the curtain was a bench with green silk cushions, and two small tables, on one of which lay some needlework; and by it, in another yellow satin chair, sat the solitary inhabitant of the chamber, a lady who appeared to be about sixty years of age. She was dressed in widow's mourning, and in 1372 that meant pure snowy white, with chin and forehead so covered by barb and wimple that only the eyes, nose, and mouth were left visible. This lady's face was almost as white as her robes. Even her lips seemed colourless; and the fixed, weary, hopeless expression was only broken by two dark, brilliant, sunken eyes, in which lay a whole volume of unread history--eyes that looked as if they could flash with fury, or moisten with pity, or grow soft and tender with love; eyes that had done all these, long, long ago! so long ago, that they had forgotten how to do it. Sad, tired, sorrowful eyes--eyes out of which all expectation had departed; which had nothing left to fear, only because they had nothing left to hope. They were turned now upon Amphillis.

"Your Grace's new chamber-dame," said Mistress Perrote, "in the room of Clarice. Her name is Amphillis Neville."

The faintest shadow of interest pa.s.sed over the sorrowful eyes.

"Go near," said Perrote to Amphillis, "and kiss her Grace's hand."

Amphillis did as she was told. The lady, after offering her hand for the kiss, turned it and gently lifted the girl's face.

"Dost thou serve G.o.d?" she said, in a voice which matched her eyes.

"I hope so, Dame," replied Amphillis.

"I hope nothing," said the mysterious lady. "It is eight years since I knew what hope was. I have hoped in my time as much as ever woman did.

But G.o.d took away from me one boon after another, till now He hath left me desolate. Be thankful, maid, that thou canst yet hope."

She dropped her hand, and went back to her work with a weary sigh.

"Dame," said Perrote, "your Grace wot that her Ladyship desires not that you talk in such strain to the damsels."

The white face changed as Amphillis had thought it could not change, and the sunken eyes shot forth fire.

"Her Ladyship!" said the widow. "Who is Avena Foljambe, that she looketh to queen it over Marguerite of Flanders? They took my lord, and I lived through it. They took my daughter, and I bare it. They took my son, my firstborn, and I was silent, though it brake my heart. But by my troth and faith, they shall not still my soul, nor lay bonds upon my tongue when I choose to speak. Avena Foljambe! the kinswoman of a wretched traitor, that met the fate he deserved--why, hath she ten drops of good blood in her veins? And she looks to lord it over a daughter of Charlemagne, that hath borne sceptre ere she carried spindle!"

Mistress Perrote's calm even voice checked the flow of angry words.

"Dame, your Grace speaks very sooth [truth]. Yet I beseech you remember that my Lady doth present [represent] an higher than herself--the King's Grace and no lesser."

The lady in white rose to her feet.

"What mean you, woman? King Edward of Windsor may be your master and hers, but he is not mine! I owe him no allegiance, nor I never sware any."

"Your son hath sworn it, Dame."