Grisly Grisell; Or, The Laidly Lady of Whitburn: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses

The selected garrison were called in.  Ridley would rather have seen them more of the North Country yeoman type than of the regular weather-beaten men-at-arms whom wars always bred up; but their officer was a slender, dainty-looking, pale young squire, with his arm in a sling, named Pierce Hardcastle, selected apparently because his wound rendered rest desirable.  Sir Leonard reiterated his charge that all honour and respect was to be paid to the Lady of Whitburn, and that she was free to come and go as she chose, and to be obeyed in every respect, save in what regarded the defence of the Tower.  He himself was going on to Monks Wearmouth, where he had a kinsman among the monks.

With an effort, just as he remounted his horse, he said to Ridley, “Commend me to the lady.  Tell her that I am grieved for her sorrow and to be compelled to trouble her at such a time; but ’tis for my Queen’s service, and when this troublous times be ended, she shall hear more from me.”  Turning to the priest he added, “I have no coin to spare, but let all be done that is needed for the souls of the departed lord and lady, and I will be answerable.”

Nothing could be more courteous, but as he rode off priest and squire looked at one another, and Ridley said, “He will untie your knot, Sir Lucas.”

“He takes kindly to castle and lands,” was the answer, with a smile; “they may make the lady to be swallowed.”

“I trow ’tis for his cause’s sake,” replied Ridley.  “Mark you, he never once said ‘My lady,’ nor ‘My wife.’”

“May the sweet lady come safely out of it any way,” sighed the priest.  “She would fain give herself and her lands to the Church.”

“May be ’tis the best that is like to befall her,” said Ridley; “but if that young featherpate only had the wit to guess it, he would find that he might seek Christendom over for a better wife.”

They were interrupted by a servant, who came hurrying down to say that my lady was even now departing, and to call Sir Lucas to the bedside.

All was over a few moments after he reached the apartment, and Grisell was left alone in her desolation.  The only real, deep, mutual love had been between her and poor little Bernard; her elder brother she had barely seen; her father had been indifferent, chiefly regarding her as a damaged piece of property, a burthen to the estate; her mother had been a hard, masculine, untender woman, only softened in her latter days by the dependence of ill health and her passion for her sickly youngest; but on her Grisell had experienced Sister Avice’s lesson that ministry to others begets and fosters love.

And now she was alone in her house, last of her household, her work for her mother over, a wife, but loathed and deserted except so far as that the tie had sanctioned the occupation of her home by a hostile garrison.  Her spirit sank within her, and she bitterly felt the impoverishment of the always scanty means, which deprived her of the power of laying out sums of money on those rites which were universally deemed needful for the repose of souls snatched away in battle.  It was a mercenary age among the clergy, and besides, it was the depth of a northern winter, and the funeral rites of the Lady of Whitburn would have been poor and maimed indeed if a whole band of black Benedictine monks had not arrived from Wearmouth, saying they had been despatched at special request and charge of Sir Leonard Copeland.

CHAPTER XVII

STRANGE GUESTS

The needle, having nought to do,Was pleased to let the magnet wheedle,Till closer still the tempter drew,And off at length eloped the needle.T. Moore.

The nine days of mourning were spent in entire seclusion by Grisell, who went through every round of devotions prescribed or recommended by the Church, and felt relief and rest in them.  She shrank when Ridley on the tenth day begged her no longer to seclude herself in the solar, but to come down to the hall and take her place as Lady of the Castle, otherwise he said he could not answer for the conduct of Copeland’s men.

“Master Hardcastle desires it too,” he said.  “He is a good lad enough, but I doubt me whether his hand is strong enough over those fellows!  You need not look for aught save courtesy from him!  Come down, lady, or you will never have your rights.”

“Ah, Cuthbert, what are my rights?”

“To be mistress of your own castle,” returned Ridley, “and that you will never be unless you take the upper hand.  Here are all our household eating with these rogues of Copeland’s, and who is to keep rule if the lady comes not?”

“Alack, and how am I to do so?”

However, the consideration brought her to appear at the very early dinner, the first meal of the day, which followed on the return from mass.  Pierce Hardcastle met her shyly.  He was a tall slender stripling, looking weak and ill, and he bowed very low as he said, “Greet you well, lady,” and looked up for a moment as if in fear of what he might encounter.  Grisell indeed was worn down with long watching and grief, and looked haggard and drawn so as to enhance all her scars and distortion of feature into more uncomeliness than her wont.  She saw him shudder a little, but his lame arm and wan looks interested her kind heart.  “I fear me you are still feeling your wound, sir,” she said, in the sweet voice which was evidently a surprise to him.

“It is my plea for having been a slug-a-bed this morning,” he answered.

They sat down at the table.  Grisell between Ridley and Hardcastle, the servants and men-at-arms beyond.  Porridge and broth and very small ale were the fare, and salted meat would be for supper, and as Grisell knew but too well already, her own retainers were grumbling at the voracious appetites of the men-at-arms as much as did their unwilling guests at the plainness and niggardliness of the supply.

Thora had begged for a further allowance of beer for them, or even to broach a cask of wine.  “For,” said she, “they are none such fiends as we thought, if one knows how to take them courteously.”

“There is no need that you should have any dealings with them, Thora,” said her lady, with some displeasure; “Master Ridley sees to their provision.”

Thora tossed up her head a little and muttered something about not being mewed out of sight and speech of all men.  And when she attended her lady to the hall there certainly were glances between her and a slim young archer.

The lady’s presence was certainly a restraint on the rude men-at-arms, though two or three of them seemed to her rough, reckless-looking men.  After the meal all her kindly instincts were aroused to ask what she could do for the young squire, and he willingly put himself into her hands, for his hurt had become much more painful within the last day or two, as indeed it proved to be festering, and in great need of treatment.

Before the day was over the two had made friends, and Grisell had found him to be a gentle, scholarly youth, whom the defence of the Queen had snatched from his studies into the battlefield.  He told her a great deal about the good King, and his encouragement of his beloved scholars at Eton, and he spoke of Queen Margaret with an enthusiasm new to Grisell, who had only heard her reviled as the Frenchwoman.  Pierce could speak with the greatest admiration, too, of his own knight, Sir Leonard, whom he viewed as the pink of chivalry, assuring Lady Copeland, as he called her, that she need never doubt for a moment of his true honour and courtesy.  Grisell longed to know, but modest pride forbade her to ask, whether he knew how matters stood with her rival, Lady Eleanor Audley.  Ridley, however, had no such feeling, and he reported to Grisell what he had discovered.

Young Hardcastle had only once seen the lady, and had thought her very beautiful, as she looked from a balcony when King Henry was riding to his Parliament.  Leonard Copeland, then a squire, was standing beside her, and it had been currently reported that he was to be her bridegroom.

He had returned from his captivity after the battle of Northampton exceedingly downcast, but striving vehemently in the cause of 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.

CHAPTER 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 the horrible prospect rose before her of being seized by these lawless men, tortured by the savage hands of the witch-finder, subjected to a cruel death, by fire, or at best by water.  She pressed her hands together, feeling utterly desolate, and prayed her prayer to the God of the fatherless to save her or brace her to endure.

Presently Cuthbert exclaimed, “Would Master Groats, the Poticary, shelter you till this is over-past?  His wife is deaf and must perforce keep counsel.”

“He would!  I verily believe he would,” exclaimed Grisell; “and no suspicion would light on him.  How soon can I go to him, and how?”

“If it may be, this very night,” said Ridley.  “I missed two of the rogues, and who knows whither they may have gone?”

“Will there be time?” said the poor girl, looking round in terror.

“Certes.  The nearest witch-finder is at Shields, and they cannot get there and back under two days.  Have you jewels, lady?  And hark you, trust not to Thora.  She is the worst traitor of all.  Ask me no more, but be ready to come down when you hear a whistle.”

That Thora could be a traitress and turn against her—the girl whom she had taught, trained, and civilised—was too much to believe.  She would almost, in spite of cautions, have asked her if it were possible, and tried to explain the true character of the services that were so cruelly misinterpreted; but as she descended the dark winding stair to supper, she heard the following colloquy:

“You will not deal hardly with her, good Ralph, dear Ralph?”

“That thou shalt see, maid!  On thy life, not a word to her.”

“Nay, but she is a white witch! she does no evil.”

“What!  Going back on what thou saidst of her brother and her mother.  Take thou heed, or they will take order with thee.”

“Thou wilt take care of me, good Ralph.  Oh!  I have done it for thee.”

“Never fear, little one; only shut thy pretty little mouth;” and there was a sound of kissing.

“What will they do to her?” in a lower voice.

“Thou wilt see!  Sink or swim thou knowst.  Ha! ha!  She will have enough of the draught that is so free to us.”

Grisell, trembling and horror-stricken, could only lean against the wall hoping that her beating heart did not sound loud enough to betray her, till a call from the hall put an end to the terrible whispers.

She hurried upwards lest Thora should come up and perceive how near she had been, then descended and took her seat at supper, trying to converse with Pierce as usual, but noting with terror the absence of the two soldiers.

How her evasion was to be effected she knew not.  The castle keys were never delivered to her, but always to Hardcastle, and she saw him take them; but she received from Ridley a look and sign which meant that she was to be ready, and when she left the hall she made up a bundle of needments, and in it her precious books and all the jewels she had inherited.  That Thora did not follow her was a boon.

CHAPTER XIX

A MARCH HARE

Yonder is a man in sight—Yonder is a house—but where?No, she must not enter there.To the caves, and to the brooks,To the clouds of heaven she looks.Wordsworth, Feast of Brougham Castle.

Long, long did Grisell kneel in an agony of prayer and terror, as she seemed already to feel savage hands putting her to the ordeal.

The castle had long been quiet and dark, so far as she knew, when there was a faint sound and a low whistle.  She sprang to the door and held Ridley’s hand.

“Now is the time,” he said, under his breath; “the squire waits.  That treacherous little baggage is safe locked into the cellar, whither I lured her to find some malvoisie for the rascaille crew.  Come.”

He was without his boots, and silently led the way along the narrow passage to the postern door, where stood young Hardcastle with the keys.  He let them out and crossed the court with them to the little door leading to a steep descent of the cliffs by a narrow path.  Not till the sands were reached did any of the three dare to speak, and then Grisell held out her hands in thanks and farewell.