A forgotten hero

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Title:AForgottenHero
NotforHim
Author:EmilySarahHolt
Illustrator:H.Petherick
ReleaseDate:October20,2007[EBook#23119]
Language:English

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ProducedbyNickHodsonofLondon,England


EmilySarahHolt


"AForgottenHero"
ChapterOne.
CastlesintheAir.
“Opale,paleface,sosweetandmeek,Oriana!”

Tennyson.
“Isthelinenallputaway,Clarice?”
“Ay,Dame.”
“Andtherosemarynotforgotten?”

“Ihavelaiditinthelinen,Dame.”
“Andthyday’staskofspinningisdone?”
“Alldone,Dame.”
“Good. Then fetch thy sewing and come hither, and I will tell thee
somewhattouchingtheladywhomthouarttoserve.”
“I humbly thank your Honour.” And dropping a low courtesy, the girl left
theroom,andreturnedinaminutewithherwork.
“Thoumayestsitdown,Clarice.”
Clarice,withanothercourtesyandamurmurofthanks,tookherseatin
the recess of the window, where her mother was already sitting. For
thesetwoweremotheranddaughter;amiddle-aged,comfortable-looking
mother, with a mixture of firmness and good-nature in her face; and a
daughterofsomesixteenyears,ratherpaleandslender,butactiveand
intelligent in her appearance. Clarice’s dark hair was smoothly brushed


andturnedupinacurlallroundherhead,beingcutsufficientlyshortfor
that purpose. Her dress was long and loose, made in what we call the
Princessstyle,withalongtrain,whichshetuckedunderonearmwhen
she walked. The upper sleeve was of a narrow bell shape, but under it
came down tight ones to the wrist, fastened by a row of large round
buttons quite up to the elbow. A large apron—which Clarice called a
barm-cloth—protected the dress from stain. A fillet of ribbon was bound
roundherhead,butshehadnoornamentsofanykind.Hermotherwore
asimilarcostume,exceptingthatinhercasethefilletroundtheheadwas
exchanged for a wimple, which was a close hood, covering head and
neck,andleavingnopartexposedbuttheface.Itwasaverycomfortable
articleincoldweather,butaneminentlyunbecomingone.
ThesetwoladieswerethewifeanddaughterofSirGilbertLeTheyn,a
knightofSurrey,whoheldhismanoroftheEarlofCornwall;andthedate

ofthedaywhentheythussatinthewindowwasthe26thofMarch1290.
It will strike modern readers as odd if I say that Clarice and her mother
knew very little of each other. She was her father’s heir, being an only
child; and it was, therefore, considered the more necessary that she
shouldnotliveathome.Itwasusualatthattimetosendallyounggirlsof
goodfamily,nottoschool—therewerenoschoolsinthosedays—butto
be brought up under some lady of rank, where they might receive a
suitable education, and, on reaching the proper age, have a husband
providedforthem,theonebeingjustasmuchamatterofcourseasthe
other.Theconsentoftheparentswasaskedtothematrimonialselection
of the mistress, but public opinion required some very strong reason to
justifytheminwithholdingit.Theonlyexceptiontothisarrangementwas
whengirlsweredestinedforthecloister,andinthatcasetheyreceived
their education in a convent. But there was one person who had
absolutely no voice in the matter, and that was the unfortunate girl in
question.Theveryideaofconsultingheronanypointofit,wouldhave
struckamediaevalmotherwithastonishmentanddismay.
Why ladies should have been considered competent in all instances to
educate anybody’s daughters but their own is a mystery of the Middle
Ages.DameLaTheynhadunderhercarethreegirls,whowerereceiving
their education at her hands, and she never thought of questioning her
own competency to impart it; yet, also without a question, she sent


Clariceawayfromher,firsttoaneighbouringknight’swife,andnowtoa
Princess,toreceivetheeducationwhichshemightjustaswellhavehad
at home. It was the command of Fashion; and who does not know that
Fashion, whether in the thirteenth century or the nineteenth, must be
obeyed?
Clarice was on the brink of high promotion. By means of a ladder of

several steps—a Dame requesting a Baroness, and the Baroness
entreating a Countess—the royal lady had been reached at last, whose
husband was the suzerain of Sir Gilbert. It made little difference to this
lady whether her bower-women were two or ten, provided that the
attendance given her was as much as she required; and she readily
granted the petition that Clarice La Theyn might be numbered among
thoseyoungladies.TheEarlofCornwallwastherichestmaninEngland,
notexceptingtheKing.Itmaybeaddedthat,atthisperiod,Earlwasthe
highest title known short of the Prince of Wales. The first Duke had not
yetbeencreated,whileMarquisisarankofmuchlaterdate.
DameLaTheyn,thoughshehadsomegoodpoints,hadalsoonegrand
failing. She was an inveterate gossip. And it made no difference to her
who was her listener, provided a listener could be had. A spicy dish of
scandalwasherhighestdelight.Shehadnottheleastwishnorintention
ofdoingharmtothepersonwhomshethusdiscussed.Shehadnoteven
the slightest notion that she did any. But her bower-maidens knew
perfectlywellthat,ifoneofthemwantedtoputthedameinhighgoodhumour before extracting a favour, the best way to do so was to inform
her that Mrs Sheppey had had words with her goodman, or that Dame
Rouse considered Joan Stick i’ th’ Lane (Note 1), no better than she
shouldbe.
AninnocentrequestfromClarice,thatshemightknowsomethingabout
herfuturemistress,hadbeentoDameLaTheynadelightfulopportunity
foragooddishofgossip.ReticencewasnotintheDame’snature;andin
the thirteenth century—and much later than that—facts which in the
nineteenth would be left in concealment, or, at most, only delicately
hinted at, were spoken out in the plainest English, even to young girls.
ThefancythattheCountessofCornwallmightnotlikeherwholelife,so
farasitwasknown,laidbaretohernewbower-womanwasonewhich
never troubled the mind of Dame La Theyn. Privacy, to any person of

rankmoreespecially,wasanunknownthingintheMiddleAges.
“Thou must know, Clarice,” began the Dame, “that of old time, before
thou wert born, I was bower-maiden unto my most dear-worthy Lady of
Lincoln—thatisbrother’swifetomygraciousLadyofGloucester,mother
untomyLadyofCornwall,thatshallbethymistress.TheLadyofLincoln,
thatwasmine,isadameofmosthighdegree,forherfatherwasmyLord
of Saluces, (Note 2), in Italy—very nigh a king—and she herself was
wont to be called ‘Queen of Lincoln,’ being of so high degree. Ah, she
gavememanyagoodgown,forIwastwelveyearsinherservice.Anda
good woman she is, but rarely proud—as it is but like such a princess
shouldbe.Imindonesuper-tunicshegaveme,buthalfworn,”—thiswas
said impressively, for a garment only halfworn was considered a fit gift
fromonepeeresstoanother—“ofbluedamask,allsetwithsilverbuttons,
andbroideredwithladies’headsalongtheborder.Igaveitforawedding
giftuntoDameRousewhenshewaswed,andshehathitnow,Iwarrant
thee. Well! her lord’s sister, our Lady Maud, was wed to my Lord of
Gloucester;butstay!—thereisataletotelltheethereabout.”
And Dame La Theyn bit off her thread with a complacent face. Nothing
suitedherbetterthanataletotell,unlessitwereonetohear.
“Well-a-day,therebequeerthingsinthisworld!”
TheDamepaused,asiftogivetimeforClaricetonotethatveryoriginal
sentiment.
“Our Lady Maud was wed to her lord, the good Earl of Gloucester, with
but little liking of her side, and yet less on his. Nathless, she made no
plaint,butsubmittedherself,asagoodmaidshoulddo—formarkthou,
Clarice,’tisthegreatestshamethatcancometoamaidentosetherwill
against those of her father and mother in wedlock. A good maid—as I
trustthouart—shouldhavenowillinsuchmattersbutthatofthosewhom
Godhathsetoverher.Andalllove-matchesendill,Clarice;takemyword

forit!Artnotingme?”
Clarice meekly responded that the moral lesson had reached her. She
didnotaddwhethershemeanttoprofitbyit.Probablyshehadherown
ideas on the question, and it is quite possible that they did not entirely


correspondwiththosewhichhermotherwasinstilling.
“Nowlookonme,Clarice,”pursuedDameLaTheyn,earnestly.“WhenI
was a young maid I had foolish fancies like other maidens. Had I been
left to order mine own life, I warrant thee I should have wed with one
MasterPride,thatwaspagetomygoodknightmyfather;andwhenIwist
that my said father had other thoughts for my disposal, I slept of a wet
pillowformanyanight—ay,thatdidI.ButnowthatIbecometoyearsof
discretion, I do ensure thee that I am right thankful my said father was
wiserthanI.ForthisMasterPridewasslainatEvesham,whenIwasof
the age of five-and-twenty years, and left behind him not so much as a
mark of silver that should have come to me, his widow. It was a good
twenty-fold better that I should have wedded with thy father, Sir Gilbert,
that hath this good house, and forty acres of land, and spendeth thirty
marksbytheyearandmore.Dostthounotseethesame?”
No.Clariceheard,butshedidnotsee.
“Well-a-day!Nowknow,thatwhenmygoodLordofGloucester,thatwed
with our Lady Maud, was a young lad, being then in wardship unto Sir
Hubert,sometimeEarlofKent(whomGodpardon!)hestrakeupalovematch with the Lady Margaret, that was my said Lord of Kent his
daughter. And in very deed a good match it should have been, had it
beenwelllikedofthemthatwereabovethem;buttheLordKingthatthen
was—thefatheruntoKingEdwardthatnowis—rarelymislikedthesame,
andgatthemdivorcedinallhate.Itwasnotmeet,asthoumayestwell
guess,thatsuchmattersshouldbesettledapartfromhisroyalpleasure.
Andforthwith,erefurthermischiefcouldensue,hecausedmysaidLord

of Gloucester to wed with our Lady Maud. But look thou, so obstinate
was he, and so set of having his own way, that he scarce ever said so
much as ‘Good morrow’ to the Lady Maud until he knew that the said
Lady Margaret was commanded to God. Never do thou be obstinate,
Clarice.’Tisillenoughforayoungman,butyetworseforamaid.”
“Howlongtimewasthat,Dame,an’itlikeyou?”
“Far too long,” answered Dame La Theyn, somewhat severely. “Three
yearsandmore.”


Three years and more! Clarice’s thoughts went off on a long journey.
Threeyearsofdisappointedhopeandpassionateregret,threeyearsof
weary waiting for death, on the part of the Lady Margaret! Naturally
enoughhersympathieswerewiththegirl.Andthreeyears,toClarice,at
sixteen,seemedasmalllifetime.
“Now, this lady whom thou shalt serve, Clarice,” pursued her mother—
and Clarice’s mind came back to the subject in hand—“she is first-born
daughteruntothesaidSirRicharddeClare,LordofGloucester,andour
Lady Maud, of whom I spake. Her name is Margaret, after the damsel
thatdied—apoorcompliment,asmethinks,tothesaidLadyMaud;and
hadIbeenshe,themaidshouldhavebeencalledaughtelseitlikedmy
baron,butnotthat.”
Ah,buthadIbeenhe,thoughtClarice,itshouldhavebeenjustthat!
“And I have heard,” said the Dame, biting off her thread, “that there
shouldofoldtimebesomemisliking—whatIknownot—betwixttheLady
Margaretandherbaron;butwhetheritweresomeoldenloveofhispart
or of hers, or what so, I cast no doubt that she hath long ere this
overlived the same, and is now a good and loving lady unto him, as is
meet.”
Clarice felt disposed to cast very much doubt on this suggestion. She

held the old-fashioned idea that a true heart could love but once, and
could not forget. Her vivid imagination instantly erected an exquisite
castleintheair,whereinthechiefpartwasplayedbytheLadyMargaret’s
youthfullover—ahighlyimaginaryindividual,ofthemostperfectmanners
and unparalleled beauty, whom the unfortunate maiden could never
forget, though she was forced by her cruel parents to marry the Earl of
Cornwall. He, of course, was a monster of ugliness in person, and of
everything disagreeable in character, as a man in such circumstances
wasboundtobe.
PoorClarice!shehadnotseenmuchoftheworld.Hermentalpictureof
the lady whom she was to serve depicted her as sweet and sorrowful,
withalowplaintivevoiceanddark,starry,patheticeyes,towardswhom
theonlyfeelingspossiblewouldbelovingreverenceandsympathy.


“Andnow,Clarice,Ihaveanotherthingtosay.”
“Atyourpleasure,Dame.”
“IthinkitbutmeettotelltheeathingIhaveheardfromthyfather—that
the Lord Edmund, Earl of Cornwall, thy lady’s baron, is one that hath
somequeerideasinhishead.Iknownotwellwhatkindtheyare;butfolk
saythatheisastrangemanandhathstrangetalk.Sodothoumindwhat
thoudost.Alwaybereverenttohim,asismeet;butsufferhimnottotalk
totheebutinpresenceofthylady.”
Clarice felt rather frightened—all the more so from the extreme
vaguenessofthewarning.
“Andnowlapupthysewing,child,forIseethyfathercomingin,andwe
willgodowntohall.”
A few weeks later three horses stood ready saddled at the door of Sir
Gilbert’s house. One was laden with luggage; the second was mounted
byamanservant;andthethird,providedwithsaddleandpillion,wasfor

Clariceandherfather.SirGilbert,fullyarmed,mountedhissteed,Clarice
washelpedupbehindhim,andwithafinalfarewelltoDameLaTheyn,
whostoodinthedoorway,theyrodeforthontheirwaytoOakhamCastle.
Three days’ journey brought them to their destination, and they were
witnessesofacuriousceremonyjustastheyreachedtheCastlegate.All
overthegatehorseshoeswerenailed.Atrainofvisitorswerearrivingat
theCastle,andthetrumpetersoundedhishornforentrance.
“Whogoesthere?”demandedthewarder.“Therightnobleandpuissant
Prince Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, Leicester, and Derby; and his most
noblelady,Blanche,QueenDowagerofNavarre,Countessofthesame,
cousinsuntomygraciousLordofCornwall.”
“Is this my said noble Lord’s first visit unto the lordship of Oakham?”
askedthewarder,withoutopeningthegate.“Itis.”
“ThenourgraciousLord,asLordofthesaidmanor,demandsofhimone
of the shoes of the horse whereon he rides as tribute due from every
peeroftherealmonhisfirstcomingtothislordship.”


“My right noble and puissant Lord,” returned the trumpeter, “denies the
said shoe of his horse; but offers in the stead one silver penny, for the
purchaseofashoeinlieuthereof.”
“My gracious Lord deigns to receive the said silver penny in lieu of the
shoe,andlovinglypraysyourLordandLadytoenterhissaidCastle.”
Thentheportculliswasdrawnup,andthelongtrainfilednoisilyintothe
courtyard.Thisceremonywasobservedonthefirstvisitofeverypeerto
Oakham Castle; but the visitor was allowed, if he chose, as in this
instance,toredeemthehorse-shoebythepaymentofmoneytobuyone.
Theshoescontributedbyeminentpersonswerenotunfrequentlygilded.
ThemodesttrainofSirGilbertandClaricecreptquietlyinattheendof
the royal suite. As he was only a knight, his horse-shoe was not in

requestSirGilberttoldthewarderinafewwordshisnameanderrand,
whereuponthatfunctionarysummonedaboy,anddesiredhimtoconduct
theknightandmaidentoMistressUnderdone.Havingalightedfromthe
horse, Clarice shook down her riding-gown, and humbly followed Sir
Gilbert and the guide into the great hall, which was built like a church,
with centre and aisles, up a spiral staircase at one end of it, and into a
smallroomhungwithgreensay(Note3).Heretheyhadtowaitawhile,
for every one was too busily employed in the reception of the royal
guests to pay attention to such comparatively mean people. At last—
when Sir Gilbert had yawned a dozen times, and strummed upon the
tableaboutasmany,adooratthebackoftheroomwasopened,anda
portly,comfortable-lookingwomancameforwardtomeetthem.Wasthis
theCountess?thoughtClarice,withherheartfluttering.Itwasextremely
unlikeheridealpicture.
“Your servant, Sir Gilbert Le Theyn,” said the newcomer, in a cheerful,
kindly voice. “I am Agatha Underdone, Mistress of the Maids unto my
graciousLadyofCornwall.Ibidtheewelcome,Clarice—Ithinkthatisthy
name?”
Clariceacknowledgedhername,withaprivatecomfortingconvictionthat
MistressUnderdone,atleast,wouldbepleasantenoughtolivewith.
“Youwillwish,withoutdoubt,togodowntohall,whereisgoodcompany


atthispresent,”pursuedthelatter,addressingSirGilbert.“So,ifitplease
youtotakeleaveofthemaiden—”
Sir Gilbert put two fingers on Clarice’s head, as she immediately knelt
beforehim.Forafathertokissadaughterwasararethingatthattime,
and for the daughter to offer it would have been thought quite
disrespectful,andmuchtoofamiliar.
“Farewell, Clarice,” said he. “Be a good maid, be obedient and meek;

pleasethylady;andmayGodkeepthee,andsendtheeanhusbandin
goodtime.”
TherewasnothingmorenecessaryinSirGilbert’seyes.Obediencewas
theonevirtueforClaricetocultivate,andahusband(qualityimmaterial)
wassufficientrewardforanyamountofvirtue.
Claricesawherfatherdepartwithoutanyfeelingofregret.Hewaseven
a greater stranger to her than her mother. She was a self-contained,
lonely-hearted girl, capable of intense love and hero-worship, but never
havingcomeacrossonehumanbeingwhohadattractedthosequalities
fromtheirnestinherheart.
“Nowfollowme,Clarice,”saidMistressUnderdone,“andIwillintroduce
thee to the maidens, thy fellows, of whom there are four beside thee at
thistime.”
Clarice followed, silently, up a further spiral staircase, and into a larger
chamber,wherefourgirlsweresittingatwork.
“Maidens,”saidMistressUnderdone,“thisisyournewfellow,ClariceLa
Theyn,daughterofSirGilbertLeTheynandDameMaisentaLaHeron.
Stand,eachinturn,whileItellheryournames.”
Thenearestofthefour,aslight,delicate-looking,fair-hairedgirl,roseat
once,gatheringherworkonherarm.
“Olympias Trusbut, youngest daughter of Sir Robert Trusbut, of the
county of Lincoln, and Dame Joan Twentymark,” announced Mistress
Underdone.


Sheturnedtothenext,ashort,dark,merry-lookingdamsel.
“Elaine Criketot, daughter of Sir William Criketot and Dame Alice La
Gerunell,ofthecountyofChester.”
Thethirdwastall,stately,andsedate.
“DianaQuappelad,daughterofSirWalterQuappeladandDameBeatrice

Cotele,ofthecountyofRutland.”
Lastlyroseaquiet,gentle-lookinggirl.
“RoisiadeLevinton,daughterofSirHubertdeLevintonandDameMaud
Ingham,ofthecountyofSurrey.”
Clarice’s heart went faintly out to the girl from her own county, but she
wasmuchtooshytoutteraword.
Havingintroducedthegirlstoeachother,MistressUnderdoneleftthem
togetacquaintedattheirleisure.
“Artthouonlyjustcome?”askedElaine,whowasthefirsttospeak.
“Onlyjustcome,”repeatedClarice,timidly.
“HastthouseenmyLady?”
“Notyet:Ishouldliketoseeher.”
Elaine’s answer was a little half-suppressed laugh, which seemed the
concentrationofamusement.
“Maids,hearyouthis?OurnewfellowhasnotseentheLady.Shewould
liketoseeher.”
A smile was reflected on all four faces. Clarice thought Diana’s was
slightlysatirical;thoseoftheothertwowereratherpitying.
“Now,whatdostthouexpecthertobelike?”pursuedElaine.
“Imaybequitewrong,”answeredClarice,intheshywaywhichshewas


notonetolosequickly.“Ifanciedshewouldbetall—”
“Rightthere,”saidOlympias.
“Anddark—”
“Oh,no,sheisfair.”
“Andverybeautiful,withsorrowfuleyes,andalow,mournfulvoice.”
Allthegirlslaughed,RoisiaandOlympiasgently,Dianascornfully,Elaine
withshrillhilarity.
“Ha,jolife!” cried the last-named young lady. “Heard one ever the like?

Onlywaittillsupper.Thenthoushaltseethislovelylady,withthesweet,
sorrowfuleyesandthesoft,lowvoice.Purefoy!Ishalldiewithlaughing,
Clarice,ifthousayestanythingmore.”
“Hush!” said Diana, sharply and suddenly; but Elaine’s amusement had
toomuchimpetusonittobestoppedallatonce.Shewassittingwithher
backtothedoor,hermirthfullaughterringingthroughtheroom,whenthe
door was suddenly flung open, and two ladies appeared behind it. The
startled,terrifiedexpressiononthefacesofOlympiasandRoisiawarned
Clarice that something unpleasant was going to happen. Had Mistress
Underdone a superior, between her and the Countess, whom to offend
was a very grave affair? Clarice looked round with much interest and
sometrepidationatthenewcomers.
Note 1. Stykelane and Bakepuce—both most unpleasantly suggestive
names—occurontheFinesRollfor1254.
Note2.Saluzzo.
Note3.Acommoncoarsesilk,usedbothfordressandupholstery.

ChapterTwo.


Themistsclearaway.
“Nectecumpossumvivere,necsinete.”

Martial.
OneatleastoftheladieswhohaddisturbedElaine’shilaritydidnotlook
a person of whom it was necessary to be afraid. She was a matronly
womanofmiddleage,bearingtheremainsofextremebeauty.Shehada
good-natured expression, and she rather shrank back, as if she were
thereonsufferanceonly.Buttheother,whocameforwardintotheroom,
wastall,spare,upright,andangular,withafacewhichstruckClariceas

lookingverylikeverjuice.
“Agatha!” called the latter, sharply; and, laying her hand, not gently, on
Elaine’s shoulder, she gave her a shake which rapidly reduced her to
gravity.
“Yeweary,wretchedgiglots,whatdoyethuslaughingandtittering,when
Ihavedistinctlyforbiddenthesame?—Agatha!—Knowyenotthatallye
bemiserablesinners,andthislowerworldavaleoftears?—Agatha!”
“Truly, Cousin Meg,” observed the other lady, now coming forward,
“methinksyougofartomakeitsuch.”
“Agatha might have more sense,” returned her acetous companion. “I
have bidden her forty times o’er to have these maids well ordered, and
minehouseasliketoanholyconventasmightbecompassed;andhere
is she none knows whither—taking her pleasure, I reckon—and these
caitiff hildings making the very walls for to ring with their wicked foolish
laughter!—Agatha!bringmehithertherod.Iwillseeifagoodwhipping
bringnotdownyourill-beseenspirits,mistress!”
Elaineturnedpale,andcastabeseechingglanceatthepleasanterofthe
ladies.
“Nay,now,CousinMeg,”interposedshe,“Iprayyou,letnotthismyfirst
visit to Oakham be linked with trouble to these young maids. I am well
assuredyouknowgreyheadscannotbewellsetongreenshoulders.”


“Lady,Iamrightunwillingtodenyanybiddingofyours.ButIdodesireof
youtotellmeifitbenotenoughtoprovokeasainttoswear?”
“What! to hear a young maid laugh, cousin? Nay, soothly, I would not
thinkso.”
Mistress Underdone had entered the room, and, after dropping a
courtesytoeachoftheladies,stoodwaitingthepleasureofhermistress.
Clarice was slowly coming to the conclusion, with dire dismay, that the

sharp-featured,sharp-tonguedwomanbeforeherwasnootherthanthe
LadyMargaretofCornwall,herlovelyladywiththepatheticeyes.
“Givemetherod,Agatha,”saidtheCountess,sternly.
“Nay,CousinMeg,Iprayyou,letAgathagiveittome.”
“You’llnotlayon!”saidtheCountess,withacontortionofherlipswhich
appearedtododutyforasmile.
“Trustme,Iwilldotherightthing,”repliedQueenBlanche,takingtherod
which Mistress Underdone presented to her on the knee. “Now. Elaine,
standouthere.”
Elaine,verypaleandpreternaturallygrave,placedherselfintherequired
position.
“Say after me. ‘I entreat pardon of my Lady for being so unhappy as to
offendher.’”
Elainefalteredoutthedictatedwords.
“Kisstherod,”saidtheQueen.
Shewasimmediatelyobeyed.
“Now,CousinMeg,formysake,Iprayyou,letthatsuffice.”
“Well, Lady, for your sake,” responded the Countess, with apparent
reluctance, looking rather like a kite from whose talons the Queen had
extractedasparrowintendedforitsdinner.


“Sityouinthischamber,CousinMeg?”askedtheQueen,takingacurule
chairasshespoke—theonlyoneintheroom.
“Nay, Lady. ’Tis mine hour for repeating the seven penitential psalms. I
havenotimetowastewiththesegiglots.”
“Then,Iprayyou,givemeleavetoabideheremyselfforaseason.”
“You will do your pleasure, Lady. I only pray of you to keep them from
laughingandsuchlikewickedness.”
“Nay, for I will not promise that for myself,” said Queen Blanche, with a

good-temperedsmile.“Goyourways,Meg;wewillworknoevil.”
TheCountessturnedandstalkedoutofthedooragain.AndClarice’sfirst
castleintheairfellintopiecesbehindher.
“Now,Agatha,Ipraytheeshutthedoor,”saidtheQueen,“thatweoffend
notmyCousinMargaret’searsinherpsalms.Fareyeallwell,mymaids?
Thyfaceisstrangetome,child.”
Clarice courtesied very low. “If it please the Lady Queen, I am but just
comehither.”
Shehadtotellhernameandsundrybiographicalparticulars,andthen,
suddenlylookinground,theQueensaid,“AndwhereisHeliet?”
“PleaseittheLadyQueen,inmychamber,”saidMistressUnderdone.
“Bidherhither,goodAgatha—ifshecancome.”
“Thatcanshe,Lady.”
MistressUnderdonelefttheroom,andinanotherminutetheregulartap
ofapproachingcrutcheswasaudible.Clariceimaginedtheirwearertobe
some old woman—perhaps the mother of Mistress Underdone. But as
soonasthedoorwasopenedagain,shewassurprisedandtouchedto
perceive that the sufferer who used them was a girl little older than
herself.ShecameuptoQueenBlanche,whowelcomedherwithasmile,
andheldherhandtothegirl’slipstobekissed.Thiswasheronlywayof


paying homage, for to her courtesying and kneeling were alike
impossible.
Claricefeltintuitively,asshelookedintoHeliet’sface,thatherewasagirl
entirelydifferentfromtherest.SheseemedasifNaturehadintendedher
to be tall, but had stopped and stunted her when only half grown. Her
shoulders were unnaturally high, and one leg was considerably shorter
than the other. Her face was not in any way beautiful, yet there was a
certainmysteriousattractionaboutit.Somethinglookedoutofhereyes

which Clarice studied without being able to define, but which disposed
her to keep on looking. They were dark, pathetic eyes, of the kind with
which Clarice had gifted her very imaginary Countess; but there was
somethingbeyondthepathos.
“Itlooks,”thoughtClarice,“asifshehadgonethroughthepathosandthe
suffering, and had come out on the other side—on the shore of the
GoldenLand,wheretheyseewhateverythingmeant,andaresatisfied.”
There was very little time for conversation before the supper-bell rang.
Queen Blanche made kind inquiries concerning Heliet’s lameness and
generalhealth,buthadnotreachedanyothersubjectwhenthesoundof
the bell thrilled through the room. The four girls rapidly folded up their
work,asthoughthesummonswerewelcome.QueenBlancheroseand
departed,withakindlynodtoall,andHeliet,turningtoClarice,said,“Wilt
thoucomedownwithme?Icannotgofast,asthoumayestsee;butthou
wiltsitnexttome,andIcantelltheeanythingthoumayestwishtoknow.”
Clarice thankfully assented, and they went down the spiral staircase
together into the great hall, where three tables were spread. At the
highest and smallest, on the dais, were already seated the Queen and
theCountess,twogentlemen,andtwopriests.Attheheadofthesecond
stood Mistress Underdone, next to whom was Diana, and Heliet led up
Clarice to her side. They faced the dais, so that Clarice could watch its
distinguished occupants at her pleasure. Tables for meals, at that date,
were simply boards placed on trestles, and removed when the repast
was over. On the table at the daïs was silver plate, then a rare luxury,
restrictedtothehighestclasses,thearticlesbeingspoons,knives,plates,
andgoblets.Therewerenoforks,foronlyoneforkhadeverthenbeen
heardofasathingtoeatwith,andthishadbeentheinventionofthewife


ofaDogeofVenice,abouttwohundredyearsprevious,forwhichpiece

of refinement the public rewarded the lady by considering her as proud
as Lucifer. Forks existed, both in the form of spice-forks and fire-forks,
but no one ever thought of eating with them in England until they were
introduced from Italy in the reign of James the First, and for some time
after that the use of them marked either a traveller, or a luxurious,
effeminateman.Moreover,therewerenoknivesnorspoonsprovidedfor
helping one’s self from the dishes. Each person had a knife and spoon
forhimself,withwhichhehelpedhimselfathisconvenience.Peoplewho
wereverydelicateandparticularwipedtheirknivesonapieceofbread
before doing so, and licked their spoons all over. When these were the
practices of fastidious people, the proceedings of those who were not
suchmaybediscreetlylefttoimagination.Thesecondtablewasserved
inamuchmoreordinarymanner.Inthisinstancetheknifewasironand
thespoonpewter,theplateawoodentrencher(neverchanged),andthe
drinking-cupofhorn.Inthemidstofthetablestoodapewtersalt-cellar,
formedlikeacastle,andverymuchlargerthanweusethemnow.
Thissalt-cellaractedasabarometer,notforweather,butforrank.Every
oneofnobleblood,orfillingcertainoffices,satabovethesalt.
With respect to cooking our fathers had some peculiarities. They ate
many things that we never touch, such as porpoises and herons, and
they used all manner of green things as vegetables. They liked their
bread hot from the oven (to give cold bread, even for dinner, was a
shabby proceeding), and their meat much underdone, for they thought
that overdone meat stirred up anger. They mixed most incongruous
things together; they loved very strong tastes, delighting in garlic and
verjuice; they never appear to have paid the slightest regard to their
digestion,andtheywere,inthemostemphaticsense,notteetotallers.
The dining-hall, but not the table, was decorated with flowers, and
singers, often placed in a gallery at one end, were employed the whole
time. A gentleman usher acted as butler, and a yeoman was always at

handtokeepoutstrangedogs,snuffcandles,andlighttobedtheguests,
whowerenotalwaysinaconditiontofindtheirwayupstairswithouthis
help.Thehoursatthistimewerenineorteno’clockfordinner(excepton
fast-days,whenitwasatnoon),andthreeorfourforsupper.Twomeals
adaywerethoughtsufficientforallmenwhowerenotinvalids.Thesick


andwomensometimeshada“rear-supper”atsixo’clockorlater.Asto
breakfast,itwasamealtakenonlybysomepersons,andthenservedin
the bedchamber or private boudoir at convenience. Wine, with bread
sopped in it, was a favourite breakfast, especially for the old. Very
delicate or exceptionally temperate people took milk for breakfast; but
though the Middle Ages present us with examples of both vegetarians
and total abstainers, yet of both there were very few indeed, and they
weremainlytobefoundamongthereligiousorders.
InwatchingtheillustriouspersonsonthedaisonethingstruckClariceas
extremely odd, which would never be thought strange in the nineteenth
century.Itwasthecustominherdayforhusbandandwifetosittogether
atameal,and,thehighestranksexcepted,toeatfromthesameplate.
But the Earl and Countess of Cornwall were on opposite sides of the
table, with one of the priests between them. Clarice thought they must
havequarrelled,andsoftlydemandedofHelietifthatwerethecase.
“No, indeed,” was Heliet’s rather sorrowful answer. “At least, not more
thanusual.TheLadyofCornwallwillneversitbesideherbaron,and,as
thoushaltshortlysee,shewillnotevenspeaktohim.”
“Notspeaktohim!”exclaimedClarice.
“Ineverheardherdosoyet,”saidHeliet.
“Doesheentreatherveryharshly?”
“Therearefewgentlemenmorekindlyorgeneroustowardsawife.Nay,
theharshtreatmentisallonherside.”

“Whatamiserablelifetolive!”commentedClarice.
“Ifearhefindsitso,”saidHeliet.
The dillegrout, or white soup, was now brought in, and Clarice, being
hungry,attendedmoretohersupperthantohermistressforatime.But
duringthenextintervalbetweenthecoursesshestudiedhermaster.
Hewasatallandratherfine-lookingman,withahandsomefaceanda
gentle,pleasantexpression.


There certainly was not in his exterior any cause for repulsion. His hair
waslight,hiseyesbluish-grey.Heseemed—orClaricethoughtsoatfirst
—a silent man, who left conversation very much to others; but the
decidedlyintelligentglancesofthegreyeyes,andanoccasionaltwinkle
offuninthemwhenanyamusingremarkwasmade,showedthathewas
notintheleastdevoidofbrains.
Clarice thought that the priest who sat between the Earl and Countess
was a far more unprepossessing individual than his master. He was a
Franciscan friar, in the robe of his order; while the friar who sat on the
othersideoftheCountesswasaDominican,andmuchmoreagreeable
tolookat.
AtthisjuncturetheEarlofLancaster,whoboreastrongfamilylikenessto
hiscousin,theEarlofCornwall—alikenesswhichextendedtocharacter
no less than person—inquired of the latter if any news had been heard
latelyfromFrance.
“I have had no letters lately,” replied his host; and, turning to the
Countess,heasked,“Haveyou,Lady?”
Now,thoughtClarice,shemustspeaktohim.Muchtohersurprise,the
Countess, imagining, apparently, that the Franciscan friar was her
questioner,answered,(Note1),“None,holyFather.”
The friar gravely turned his head and repeated the words to the Earl,

thoughhemusthaveheardthem.AndClaricebecameawareallatonce
thatherownpuzzledfacewasasourceofexcessiveamusementtoher
vis-à-vis,Elaine.Hereyesinquiredthereason.
“Oh,Iknow!”saidElaine,inaloudwhisperacrossthetable.“Iknowwhat
perplexesthee.Theyarealllikethatwhentheyfirstcome.Itissuchfun
towatchthem!”
And she did not succeed in repressing a convulsion behind her
handkerchief,evenwiththeaidofDiana’s“Elaine!dobesensible.”
“Hush,mymaid,”saidMistressUnderdone,gently.“IftheLadyseethee
laugh—”


“Ishallbesentawaywithoutmoresupper,Iknow,”saidElaine,shrugging
hershoulders.“ItisClaricewhooughttobepunished,notI.Icannothelp
laughingwhenshelookssofunny.”
Elaine having succeeded in recovering her gravity without attracting the
notice of the Countess, Clarice devoured her helping of salt beef along
with much cogitation concerning her mistress’s singular ways. Still, she
could not restrain a supposition that the latter must have supposed the
priesttospeaktoher,whensheheardtheEarlsay,“IhearfromGeoffrey
Spenser,(Note2),thatourstockofsaltlingisbeyondwhatisliketobe
wanted.Methinksthevilleinsmighthaveacadeortwothereof,myLady.”
And again, turning to the friar, the Countess made answer, “It shall be
seento,holyFather;”whilethefriar,withequalcomposure,asthoughit
werequiteamatterofcourse,repeatedtotheEarl,“TheLadywillseeto
it,myLord.”
“Does she always answer him so?” demanded Clarice of Heliet, in an
astonished whisper. “Always,” replied Heliet, with a sad smile. “But
surely,”saidClarice,heramazementgettingthebetterofhershyness,“it
mustbeverywantinginreverencefromadametoherbaron!”

Clarice’s ideas of wifely duty were of a very primitive kind. Unbounded
reverence, unreasoning obedience, and diligent care for the husband’s
comfort and pleasure were the main items. As for love, in the sense in
whichitisusuallyunderstoodnow,thatwasanitemwhichsimplymight
comeintothequestion,butitwasnotnecessarybyanymeans.Parents,
atthattime,keptitoutofthematterasmuchaspossible,andregardedit
asmoreofanencumbrancethananythingelse.
“Itisaverysadtale,Clarice,”answeredHeliet,inalowtone.“Heloves
her, and would cherish her dearly if she would let him. But there is not
anyloveinher.Whenshewasayoungmaid,almostachild,shesether
heart on being a nun, and I think she has never forgiven her baron for
being the innocent means of preventing her. I scarcely know which of
themisthemoretobepitied.”
“Oh,he,surely!”exclaimedClarice.
“Nay,Iamnotsosure.Godhelpthosewhoareunloved!but,farmore,


God help those who cannot love! I think she deserves the more
compassionofthetwo.”
“May be,” answered Clarice, slowly—her thoughts were running so fast
thatherwordscamewithhesitation.“Butwhatshouldstthousaytoone
that had outlived a sorrowful love, and now thought it a happy chance
thatithadturnedoutcontrarythereto?”
“It would depend upon how she had outlived it,” responded Heliet,
gravely.
“Iheardonesay,notmanydaysgone,”remarkedClarice—notmeaning
to let Heliet know from whom she had heard it—“that when she was
young she loved a squire of her father, which did let her from wedding
withhim;andthatnowshewasrightthankfulitsowere,forhewaskilled
onthefield,andleftneveraplackbehindhim,andshewasfarbetteroff,

being now wed unto a gentleman of wealth and substance. What
shouldstthousaytothat?”
“If it were one of any kin to thee I would as lief say nothing to it,” was
Heliet’sratherdryrejoinder.
“Nay,heednotthat;Iwouldfainknow.”
“ThenIthinkthesquiremayhavelovedher,butsodidsheneverhim.”
“In good sooth,” said Clarice, “she told me she slept many a night on a
wetpillow.”
“SohaveIseenachildthathadbrokenhistoy,”repliedHeliet,smiling.
Clarice saw pretty plainly that Heliet thought such a state of things was
notloveatall.
“Buthowelsecanlovebeoutlived?”shesaid.
“Lovecannot.Butsorrowmaybe.”
“Somefolkssayloveandsorrowbenighthesame.”


“Nay,’tissinandsorrowthatbenighthesame.Allselfishnessissin,and
verymuchofwhatmendocommonlycallloveisbutpureselfishness.”
“Well,Ineverlovednoneyet,”remarkedClarice.
“Godhavemercyonthee!”answeredHeliet.
“Wherefore?”demandedClarice,insurprise.
“Because,” said Heliet, softly, “‘he that loveth not knoweth not God, for
Godischarity.’”
“Artthoudestinedforthecloister?”askedClarice.
Only priests, monks, and nuns, in her eyes, had any business to talk
religiously,ormightreasonablybeexpectedtodoso.
“IamdestinedtofulfilthatwhichisGod’swillforme,”wasHeliet’ssimple
reply.“WhetherthatwillbethecloisterornoIhavenotyetlearned.”
Claricecogitateduponthisreplywhilesheatestewedapples.
“Thouhastanoddname,”shesaid,afterapause.

“What,Heliet?”askeditsbearer,withasmile.“Itistakenfromthename
oftheholyprophetElye,(Elijah)ofoldtime.”
“Isit?ButImeantheother.”
“Ah,Iloveitnot,”saidHeliet.
“No,itisveryqueer,”repliedClarice,withanapologeticblush,“veryodd
—Underdone!”
“Oh,butthatisnotmyname,”answeredHeliet,quickly,withalittlelaugh;
“butitisquiteasbad.ItisPride.”
Clarice fancied she had heard the name before, but she could not
rememberwhere.
“But why is it bad?” said she. “Then I reckon Mistress Underdone hath


beentwicewed?”
“Shehath,”saidHeliet,answeringthelastquestionfirst,aspeopleoften
do,“andmyfatherwasherfirsthusband.Whyisprideevil?Surelythou
knowestthat.”
“Oh, I know it is one of the seven deadly sins, of course,” responded
Clarice,quickly;“stillitisverynecessaryandnoble.”
Heliet’s smile expressed a mixture of feelings. Clarice was not the first
personwhohasheldoneaxiomtheoretically,buthaspracticallybehaved
accordingtoanother.
“TheLordsaiththatHehatespride,”saidthelamegirl,softly.“How,then,
canitbenecessary,nottosaynoble?”
“Oh,but—”Claricewentnofurther.
“ButHedidnotmeanwhatHesaid?”
“Oh,yes,ofcourse!”saidClarice.“But—”
“Betterdropthebut,”saidHeliet,quaintly.“AndFatherBevisisaboutto
saygrace.”
The Dominican friar rose and returned thanks for the repast, and the

companybrokeup,theEarlandCountess,withtheirguests,leavingthe
hallbytheupperdoor,whilethehouseholdretiredbythelower.
Thepreparationsforsleepwerealmostasprimitiveasthoseformeals.
Exalted persons, such as the Earl and Countess, slept in handsome
bedsteads, of the tent form, hung with silk curtains, and spread with
coverletsoffur,silk,ortapestry.Theywashedinsilverbasins,withewers
ofthesamecostlymetal;andtheysat,thehighestrankincurulechairs,
the lower upon velvet-cove red forms or stools. But ordinary people, of
whom Clarice was one, were not provided for in this luxurious style.
Bower-maidenssleptinpallet-beds,whichweremadeextremelylow,so
astoruneasilyunderoneofthelargerbedsteads,andthusbeputoutof
the way. All beds rejoiced in a quantity of pillows. Our ancestors made
muchmoreuseofpillowsandcushionsthanwe—afacteasilyaccounted