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

beer, or milk.  A pie and a large piece of bacon, also a loaf of barley bread and a smaller wheaten one, were there.

      Shelves all round the walls shone with pewter and copper dishes, cups, kettles, and vessels and implements of all household varieties, and ranged round the floor lay ploughshares, axes, and mattocks, all polished up.  The ring of hammers on the anvil was heard in the court in the rear.  The front of the hall was open for the most part, without windows, but it could be closed at night.

      Breakfast was never a regular meal, and the household had partaken of it, so that there was no one in the hall excepting Master Hall, a stout, brawny, grizzled man, with a good-humoured face, and his son, more slim, but growing into his likeness, also a young notable-looking daughter-in-law with a swaddled baby tucked under her arm.

      They seated Grisell at the table, and implored her to eat.  The wheaten bread and the fowl were, it seemed, provided in her honour, and she could not but take her little knife from the sheath in her girdle, turn back her nun-like veil, and prepare to try to drive back her sobs, and swallow the milk of almonds pressed on her.

      “Eh!” cried the daughter-in-law in amaze.  “She’s only scarred after all.”

      “Well, what else should she be, bless her poor heart?” said Mrs. Hall the elder.

      “Why, wasn’t it thou thyself, good mother, that brought home word that they had the pig-faced lady at Wilton there?”

      “Bless thee, Agnes, thou should’st know better than to lend an ear to all the idle tales thy poor old mother may hear at market or fair.”

      “Then should we have enough to do,” muttered her husband.

      “And as thou seest, ’tis a sweet little face, only cruelly marred by the evil hap.”

      Poor Grisell was crimson at finding all eyes on her, an ordeal she had never undergone in the convent, and she hastily pulled forward her veil.

      “Nay now, my sweet young lady, take not the idle words in ill part,” pleaded the good hostess.  “We all know how to love thee, and what is a smooth skin to a true heart?  Take a bit more of the pasty, ladybird; we’ll have far to ride ere we get to Wherwell, where the good sisters will give us a meal for young St. Edward’s sake and thy Prioress’s.  Aye—I turn out of my way for that; I never yet paid my devotion to poor young King Edward, and he might take it in dudgeon, being a king, and his shrine so near at hand.”

      “Ha, ha!” laughed the smith; “trust my dame for being on the right side of the account with the Saints.  Well for me and Jack that we have little Agnes here to mind the things on earth meanwhile.  Nay, nay, dame, I say nought to hinder thee; I know too well what it means when spring comes, and thou beginn’st to moan and tell up the tale of the shrines where thou hast not told thy beads.”

      It was all in good humour, and Master Hall walked out to the city gate to speed his gad-about or pious wife, whichever he might call her, on her way, apparently quite content to let her go on her pilgrimages for the summer quarter.

      She rode a stout mule, and was attended by two sturdy varlets—quite sufficient guards for pilgrims, who were not supposed to carry any valuables.  Grisell sadly rode her pony, keeping her veil well over her face, yearning over the last view of the beloved spire, thinking of Sister Avice ministering to her poor, and with a very definite fear of her own reception in the world and dread of her welcome at home.  Yet there was a joy in being on horseback once more, for her who had ridden moorland ponies as soon as she could walk.

      Goodwife Hall talked on, with anecdotes of every hamlet that they passed, and these were not very many.  At each church they dismounted and said their prayers, and if there were a hostel near, they let their animals feed the while, and obtained some refreshment themselves.  England was not a very safe place for travellers just then, but the cockle-shells sewn to the pilgrim’s hat of the dame, and to that of one of her attendants, and the tall staff and wallet each carried, were passports of security.  Nothing could be kinder than Mistress Hall was to her charge, of whom she was really proud, and when they halted for the night at the nunnery of Queen Elfrida at Wherwell, she took care to explain that this was no burgess’s daughter but the Lady Grisell Dacre of Whitburn, trusted to her convoy, and thus obtained for her quarters in the guest-chamber of the refectory instead of in the general hospitium; but on the whole Grisell had rather not have been exposed to the shock of being shown to strangers, even kindly ones, for even if they did not exclaim, some one was sure to start and whisper.

      After another halt for the night the travellers reached London, and learned at the city gate that the Earl and Countess of Salisbury were absent, but that their eldest son, the Earl of Warwick, was keeping court at Warwick House.

      Thither therefore Mistress Hall resolved to conduct Grisell.  The way lay through narrow streets with houses overhanging the roadway, but the house itself was like a separate castle, walled round, enclosing a huge space, and with a great arched porter’s lodge, where various men-at-arms lounged, all adorned on the arm of their red jackets with the bear and ragged staff.

      They were courteous, however, for the Earl Richard of Warwick insisted on civility to all comers, and they respected the scallop-shell on the dame’s hat.  They greeted her good-humouredly.

      “Ha, good-day, good pilgrim wife.  Art bound for St. Paul’s?  Here’s supper to the fore for all comers!”

      “Thanks, sir porter, but this maid is of other mould; she is the Lady Grisell Dacre, and is company for my lord and my lady.”

      “Nay, her hood and veil look like company for the Abbess.  Come this way, dame, and we will find the steward to marshal her.”

      Grisell had rather have been left to the guardianship of her kind old friend, but she was obliged to follow.  They dismounted in a fine court with cloister-like buildings round it, and full of people of all kinds, for no less than six hundred stout yeomen wore red coats and the bear and ragged staff.  Grisell would fain have clung to her guide, but she was not allowed to do so.  She was marshalled up stone steps into a great hall, where tables were being laid, covered with white napery and glittering with silver and pewter.