Mr. Tynneslowe—for so the varlet was named—sat down in the chair, and awaited the tray and Amphillis.
Chapter Two.
The Goldsmith’s Daughter.
“I can live
A life that tells on other lives, and makes
This world less full of evil and of pain—
A life which, like a pebble dropped at sea,
Sends its wide circles to a hundred shores.”
Rev. Horatius Bonar, D.D.
The coming hypocras interested Mr. Tynneslowe more than its bearer. He was privately wondering, as he sat awaiting it, whether Mr. Altham would have any in his cellar that was worth drinking, especially after that of his royal master. His next remark, however, had reference to Amphillis.
“It makes little matter, good Master, that I see the maid,” said he. “The lady or her waiting-damsels shall judge best of her. You and I can talk over the money matters and such. I am ill-set to judge of maids: they be kittle gear.”
“Forsooth, they be so!” assented Mr. Altham, with a sigh: for his fair and wayward Alexandra had cost him no little care before that summer afternoon. “And to speak truth, Master Tynneslowe, I would not be sorry to put the maid forth, for she is somewhat a speckled bird in mine house, whereat the rest do peck. Come within!”
The door of the little chamber opened, and Amphillis appeared carrying a tray, whereon was set a leather bottle flanked by two silver cups, a silver plate containing cakes, and a little silver-gilt jar with preserved ginger. Glass and china were much too rare and costly articles for a tradesman to use, but he who had not at least two or three cups and plates of silver in his closet was a very poor man. Of course these, by people in Mr. Altham’s position, were kept for best, the articles commonly used being pewter or wooden plates, and horn cups.
Amphillis louted to the visitor—that is, she dropped what we call a charity school-girl’s “bob”—and the visitor rose and courtesied in reply, for the courtesy was then a gentleman’s reverence. She set down the tray, poured out wine for her uncle and his guest into the silver cups, handed the cakes and ginger, and then quietly took her departure.
“A sober maid and a seemly, in good sooth,” said Mr. Tynneslowe, when the door was shut. “Hath she her health reasonable good? She looks but white.”
“Ay, good enough,” said the patty-maker, who knew that Amphillis was sufficiently teased and worried by those lively young ladies, her cousins, to make any girl look pale.
“Good. Well, what wages should content you?”
Mr. Altham considered that question with pursed lips and hands in his pockets.
“Should you count a mark (13 shillings 4 pence) by the year too much?”
This would come to little over ten pounds a year at present value, and seems a very poor salary for a young lady; but it must be remembered that she was provided with clothing, as well as food and lodging, and that she was altogether free from many expenses which we should reckon necessaries—umbrellas and parasols, watches, desks, stamps, and stationery.
“Scarce enough, rather,” was the unexpected answer. “Mind you, Master Altham, I said a lady.”
Master Altham looked curious and interested. We call every woman a lady who has either money or education; but in 1372 ranks were more sharply defined. Only the wives and daughters of a prince, peer, or knight were termed ladies; the wives of squires and gentlemen were gentlewomen; while below that they were simply called wives or maids, according as they were married or single.
“This lady, then, shall be—Mercy on us! sure, Master Tynneslowe, you go not about to have the maid into the household of my Lady’s Grace of Cambridge, or the Queen’s Grace herself of Castile?”
The Duke of Lancaster having married the heiress of Castile, he and his wife were commonly styled King and Queen of Castile.
Mr. Tynneslowe laughed. “Nay, there you fly your hawk at somewhat too high game,” said he; “nathless (nevertheless), Master Altham, it is a lady whom she shall serve, and a lady likewise who shall judge if she be meet for the place. But first shall she be seen of a certain gentlewoman of my lady’s household, that shall say whether she promise fair enough to have her name sent up for judgment. I reckon three nobles (one pound; present value, 6 pounds) by the year shall pay her reckoning.”
“Truly, I would be glad she had so good place. And for plenishing, what must she have?”
“Store sufficient of raiment is all she need have, and such jewelling as it shall please you to bestow on her. All else shall be found. The gentlewoman shall give her note of all that lacketh, if she be preferred to the place.”
“And when shall she wait on the said gentlewoman?”
“Next Thursday in the even, at Master Goldsmith’s.”
“I will send her.”
Mr. Tynneslowe declined a second helping of hypocras, and took his leave. The patty-maker saw him to the door, and then went back into his shop.
“I have news for you, maids,” said he.
Ricarda, who was arranging the fresh patties, looked up and stopped her proceedings; Alexandra brought her head in from the window. Amphillis only, who sat sewing in the corner, went on with her work as if the news were not likely to concern her.
“Phyllis, how shouldst thou like to go forth to serve a lady?”
A bright colour flushed into the pale cheeks.
“I, Uncle?” she said.
“A lady!” cried Alexandra in a much shriller voice, the word which had struck her father’s ear so lightly being at once noted by her. “Said you a lady, Father? What lady, I pray you?”
“That cannot I say, daughter. Phyllis, thou art to wait on a certain gentlewoman, at Master Goldsmith’s, as next Thursday in the even, that shall judge if thou shouldst be meet for the place. Don thee in thy best raiment, and mind thy manners.”
“May I go withal, Father?” cried Alexandra.
“There was nought said about thee. Wouldst thou fain be put forth? I never thought of no such a thing. Maybe it had been better that I had spoken for you, my maids.”
“I would not go forth to serve a city wife, or such mean gear,” said Alexandra, contemptuously. “But in a lady’s household I am well assured I should become the place better than Phyllis. Why, she has not a word to say for herself—a poor weak creature that should never—”
“Hush, daughter! Taunt not thy cousin. If she be a good maid and discreet, she shall be better than fair and foolish.”
“Gramercy! cannot a maid be fair and discreet belike?”
“Soothly so. ’Tis pity she is not oftener.”
“But may we not go withal, Father?” said Ricarda.
“Belike ye may, my maid. Bear in mind the gentlewoman looks to see Amphillis, not you, and make sure that she wist which is she. Then I see not wherefore ye may not go.”
Any one who had lived in Mr. Altham’s house from that day till the Thursday following would certainly have thought that Alexandra, not Amphillis, was the girl chosen to go. The former made far more fuss about it, and she was at