Grisly Grisell; Or, The Laidly Lady of Whitburn: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses by - (best adventure books to read .TXT) 📖

Lancaster, and Hardcastle had heard that the question had been discussed whether the forced marriage had been valid, or could be dissolved; but since the bodies of Lord Whitburn and his son had been found on the ground at Wakefield, this had ceased, and it was believed that Queen Margaret had commanded Sir Leonard, on his allegiance, to go and take possession of Whitburn and its vassals in her cause.

But Pierce Hardcastle had come to Ridley’s opinion, that did his knight but shut his eyes, the Lady Grisell was as good a mate as man could wish both in word and deed.

“I would fain,” said he, “have the Lady Eleanor to look at, but this lady to dress my hurts, ay, and talk with me.  Never met I woman who was so good company!  She might almost be a scholar at Oxford for her wit.”

However much solace the lady might find in the courtesy of Master Hardcastle, she was not pleased to find that her hand-maiden Thora exchanged glances with the young men-at-arms; and in a few days Ridley spoke to Grisell, and assured her that mischief would ensue if the silly wench were not checked in her habit of loitering and chattering whenever she could escape from her lady’s presence in the solar, which Grisell used as her bower, only descending to the hall at meal-times.

Grisell accordingly rebuked her the next time she delayed unreasonably over a message, but the girl pouted and muttered something about young Ralph Hart helping her with the heavy pitcher up the stair.

“It is unseemly for a maiden to linger and get help from strange soldiers,” said Grisell.

“No more unseemly than for the dame to be ever holding converse with their captain,” retorted the North Country hand-maiden, free of speech and with a toss of the head.

“Whist, Thora! or you must take a buffet,” said Grisell, clenching a fist unused to striking, and trying to regard chastisement as a duty.  “You know full well that my only speech with Master Hardcastle is as his hostess.”

Thora laughed.  “Ay, lady; I ken well what the men say.  How that poor youth is spell-bound, and that you are casting your glamour over him as of old over my poor old lady and little Master Bernard.”

“For shame, Thora, to bring me such tales!” and Grisell’s hand actually descended on her maiden’s face, but so slight was the force that it only caused a contemptuous laugh, which so angered the young mistress as to give her energy to strike again with all her might.

“And you’d beat me,” observed her victim, roused to anger.  “You are so ill favoured yourself that you cannot bear a man to look on a fair maid!”

“What insolence is this?” cried Grisell, utterly amazed.  “Go into the turret room, spin out this hank, and stay there till I call you to supper.  Say your Ave, and recollect what beseems a modest maiden.”

She spoke with authority, which Thora durst not resist, and withdrew still pouting and grumbling.

Grisell was indeed young herself and inexperienced, and knew not that her wrath with the girl might be perilous to herself, while sympathy might have evoked wholesome confidence.

For the maiden, just developing into northern comeliness, was attractive enough to win the admiration of soldiers in garrison with nothing to do, and on her side their notice, their rough compliments, and even their jests, were delightful compared with the dulness of her mistress’s mourning chamber, and court enough was paid to her completely to turn her head.  If there were love and gratitude lurking in the bottom of her heart towards the lady who had made a fair and skilful maiden out of the wild fisher girl, all was smothered in the first strong impulse of love for this young Ralph Hart, the first to awaken the woman out of the child.

The obstacles which Grisell, like other prudent mistresses in all times, placed in the course of this true love, did but serve to alienate the girl and place her in opposition.  The creature had grown up as wild and untamed as one of the seals on the shore, and though she had had a little training and teaching of late years, it was entirely powerless when once the passion was evoked in her by the new intercourse and rough compliments of the young archer, and she was for the time at his beck and call, regarding her lady as her tyrant and enemy.  It was the old story of many a household.

p. 185CHAPTER XVIII
WITCHERY

The lady has gone to her secret bower,
The bower that was guarded by word and by spell.

Scott, The Lay of the Last Minstrel.

“Master Squire,” said the principal man-at-arms of the garrison to Pierce Hardcastle, “is it known to you what this laidly dame’s practices be?”

“I know her for a dame worthy of all honour and esteem,” returned the esquire, turning hastily round in wrath.  He much disliked this man, a regular mercenary of the free lance description, a fellow of French or Alsatian birth, of middle age, much strength, and on account of a great gash and sideways twist of his snub nose always known as Tordu, and strongly suspected that he had been sent as a sort of spy or check on Sir Leonard Copeland and on himself.  The man replied with a growl:

“Ah ha!  Sans doubt she makes her niggard fare seem dainty cakes to those under her art.”

In fact the evident pleasure young Hardcastle took in the Lady Castellane’s society, the great improvement in his wound under her treatment, and the manner in which the serfs around came to ask her aid in their maladies, had excited the suspicion of the men-at-arms.  They were older men, hardened and roughened, inclined to despise his youth, and to resent the orderly discipline of the household, which under Ridley went on as before, and the murmurs of Thora led to inquiries, answered after the exaggerated fashion of gossip.

There were outcries about provisions and wine or ale, and shouts demanding more, and when Pierce declared that he would not have the lady insulted, there was a hoarse loud laugh.  He was about to order Tordu as ringleader into custody, but Ridley said to him aside, “Best not, sir; his fellows will not lay a finger on him, and if we did so, there would be a brawl, and we might come by the worst.”

So Pierce could only say, with all the force he could, “Bear in mind that Sir Leonard Copeland is lord here, and all miscourtesy to his lady is an offence to himself, which will be visited with his wrath.”

The sneering laugh came again, and Tordu made answer, “Ay, ay, sir; she has bewitched you, and we’ll soon have him and you free.”

Pierce was angered into flying at the man with his sword, but the other men came between, and Ridley held him back.

“You are still a maimed man, sir.  To be foiled would be worse than to let it pass.”

“There, fellow, I’ll spare you, so you ask pardon of me and the lady.”

Perhaps they thought they had gone too far, for there was a sulky growl that might pass for an apology, and Ridley’s counsel was decided that Pierce had better not pursue the matter.

What had been said, however, alarmed him, and set him on the watch, and the next evening, when Hardcastle was walking along the cliffs beyond the castle, the lad who acted as his page came to him, with round, wondering eyes, “Sir,” said he, after a little hesitation, “is it sooth that the lady spake a spell over your arm?”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Pierce smiling.

“It might be without your knowledge,” said the boy.  “They say it healed as no chirurgeon could have healed it, and by magic arts.”

“Ha! the lubbard oafs.  You know better than to believe them, Dick.”

“Nay, sir, but ’tis her bower-woman and Madge, the cook’s wife.  Both aver that the lady hath bewitched whoever comes in her way ever since she crossed the door.  She hath wrought strange things with her father, mother, and brothers.  They say she bound them to her; that the little one could not brook to have her out of sight; yet she worked on him so that he was crooked and shrivelled.  Yet he wept and cried to have her ever with him, while he peaked and pined and dwindled away.  And her mother, who was once a fine, stately, masterful dame, pined to mere skin and bone, and lay in lethargy; and now she is winding her charms on you, sir!”

Pierce made an exclamation of loathing and contempt.  Dick lowered his voice to a whisper of awe.

“Nay, sir, but Le Tordu and Ned of the Bludgeon purpose to ride over to Shields to the wise, and they will deal with her when he has found the witch’s mark.”

“The lady!” cried Hardcastle in horror.  “You see her what she is!  A holy woman if ever there was one!  At mass each morning.”

“Ay, but the wench Thora told Ralph that ’tis prayers backward she says there.  Thora has oft heard her at night, and ’twas no Ave nor Credo as they say them here.”

Pierce burst out laughing.  “I should think not.  They speak gibberish, and she, for I have heard her in Church, speaks words with a meaning, as her priest and nuns taught her.”

“But her face, sir.  There’s the Evil One’s mark.  One side says nay to the other.”

“The Evil One!  Nay, Dick, he is none other than Sir Leonard himself.  ’Twas he that all unwittingly, when a boy, fired a barrel of powder close to her and marred her countenance.  You are not fool and ass enough to give credence to these tales.”

“I said not that I did, sir,” replied the page; “but it is what the men-at-arms swear to, having drawn it from the serving-maid.”

“The adder,” muttered Pierce.

“Moreover,” continued the boy, “they have found out that there is a wise man witch-finder at Shields.  They mean to be revenged for the scanty fare and mean providings; and they deem it will be a merry jest in this weary hold, and that Sir Leonard will be too glad to be quit of his gruesome dame to call them to account.”

It was fearful news, for Pierce well knew his own incompetence to restrain these strong and violent men.  He did not know where his knight was to be found, and, if he had known, it was only too likely that these terrible intentions might be carried out before any messenger could reach him.  Indeed, the belief in sorcery was universal, and no rank was exempt from the danger of the accusation.  Thora’s treachery was specially perilous.  All that the young man could do was to seek counsel with Cuthbert Ridley, and even this he was obliged to do in the stable, bidding Dick keep watch outside.  Ridley too had heard a spiteful whisper or two, but it had seemed too preposterous for him to attend to it.  “You are young, Hardcastle,” he said, with a smile, “or you would know that there is nothing a grumbler will not say, nor how far men’s tongues lie from their hands.”

“Nay, but if their hands did begin to act, how should we save the lady?  There’s nothing Tordu would not do.  Could we get her away to some nunnery?”

“There is no nunnery nearer at hand than Gateshead, and there the Prioress is a Musgrove, no friend to my lord.  She might give her up, on such a charge, for holy Church is no guardian in them.  My poor bairn!  That ingrate Thora too!  I would fain wring her neck!  Yet here are our fisher folk, who love her for her bounty.”

“Would they hide her?” asked Pierce.

“That serving-wench—would I had drowned her ere bringing her here—might turn them, and, were she tracked, I ken not who might not be scared or tortured into giving her up!”

Here Dick looked in.  “Tordu is crossing the yard,” he said.

They both became immediately absorbed in studying the condition of Featherstone’s horse, which had never wholly recovered the flight from Wakefield.

After a time Ridley was able to steal away, and visit Grisell in her apartment.  She came to meet him, and he read alarm, incredulous alarm, in her face.  She put her hands in his.  “Is it sooth?” she said, in a strange, awe-stricken voice.

“You have heard, then, my wench?”

“Thora speaks in a strange tone, as though evil were brewing against me.  But you, and Master Hardcastle, and Sir Lucas, and the rest would never let them touch me?”

“They should only do so through my heart’s blood, dear child; but mine would be soon shed, and Hardcastle is a weakly lad, whom those fellows believe to be bewitched.  We must find some other way!”

“Sir Leonard would save me if he knew.  Alas! the good Earl of Salisbury is dead.”

“’Tis true.  If we could hide you till we be rid of these men.  But where?” and he made a despairing gesture.

Grisell stood stunned and dazed as