George was only too willing to remain, and presently Lucy grew calmer, and they walked slowly across the heath together.
George was too happy for many words, and scarcely heeding even Lucy"s account of her adventure, in the bliss of having her clinging to his arm, and the memory of that moment when she threw herself upon him for protection and safety.
"What can he want with Ambrose, Mary"s child? He tried to make me promise to bring him to that spot, that he might see him. What can it mean? It will frighten Mary when I tell her, for she is ever dismayed if the child is long-out of her sight. What can it mean?"
"I cannot say," George replied, dreamily. "Thank G.o.d you are safe. That man is some agent of the devil, but I will put Humphrey on the scent, and we will track him out. I have heard there is a nest of Papists hiding in Tunbridge. Doubtless he is one. Forget him now, Lucy; forget him, and be happy."
"He gripped my wrist so hard," Lucy said, holding up her little hand like a child for pity.
It is small wonder that George treated her as a child, and, taking the little hand in his, pressed a fervent kiss upon it.
This seemed to recall Lucy from her clinging, softened mood. She sprang away from George with heightened colour, and said, with all her old brightness,--
"I have news for you. I am going to London to see the tourney, and I am to be one of my Lady of Pembroke"s waiting-women. Isn"t that grand news?"
Poor George! his dream of bliss was over now.
"Going away!--for how long a s.p.a.ce?" he exclaimed.
"Ah! that I cannot tell you, for more weeks or months than I can count, may be."
George, who had with Humphrey done his utmost to persuade their mother to consent to take Lucy with her, in the event of her going to London, without success, or, rather, without a distinct promise that she would do so, was fairly bewildered.
"How did it come about?" he asked.
"Oh! that is a question, indeed, Master Ratcliffe. There is someone you know of who can bring about what he wishes. It is he who has commended me to my Lady Pembroke, hearing, it may be, from your brother, that I wished to see the tourney, and the Queen, and all the fine doings. Mr Sidney came himself to offer the place of waiting-woman to me."
"Came himself!" George exclaimed.
"And, prithee, why not; am I beneath his notice as I am beneath your mother"s? It seems not."
George had not time to reply, for, on the square of turf before the house, Mistress Ratcliffe and her niece, Dorothy Ratcliffe, were apparently awaiting their arrival.
"You are late, George, as is your wont," his mother said. "Doll must make you more mindful of the fixed time for meals. Is this young woman Mistress Forrester"s daughter? I bid you kindly welcome."
"I thank you, madam," Lucy said. "I have seen you many a time, and, methinks, you must have seen me; but, doubtless, I was not like to be remembered by such as you and Mistress Dorothy."
This little thrust pa.s.sed unnoticed. Mistress Ratcliffe merely said,--
"George, lead your cousin Doll to the hall, for supper is served. Mistress Lucy, will you permit me to take your hand?"
Lucy made another curtsey, as George, with a rueful face, obeyed his mother and handed his cousin up the stone steps to the porch, his mother and Lucy following.
Mistress Ratcliffe was attired in her best gown, with a long-pointed waist and tight sleeves slashed with purple. Her ruff rivalled the Queen"s in thickness and height; and the heavy folds of her lute-string skirt were held out by a wide hoop, which occupied the somewhat narrow doorway as they entered the hall.
Lucy was more than usually hungry, and did full justice to the pasties and conserves of apples which graced the board. As she looked at Dorothy Ratcliffe her heart swelled with triumph, for she was not slow to notice that the household below the salt cast admiring glances at her, and that Dorothy attracted no attention.
George"s spirits had sunk below their accustomed level, and his mother sharply reproved him for inattention to his cousin.
"You are ill performing the duties of a host, George. See, Doll"s trencher is empty, and the grace-cup is standing by your elbow unheeded. Are you dreaming, George, or half-asleep?"
"I crave pardon, mother," George said, with a great effort rousing himself.
"Now then, cousin Doll, let me carve you a second portion of the pasty; or, mayhap, the wing of this roast pullet will suit your dainty appet.i.te better."
Dorothy pouted.
"I have not such vulgar appet.i.tes as some folk. Nay, I thank you, cousin, I will but taste a little whipped cream with a sweet biscuit."
George piled up a mountain of frothy cream on one of the silver plates, which were the pride and glory of his mother. The wooden trenchers were used for the heavier viands; but these silver plates were brought out in honour of guests, for the sweets or fruit which always came at the conclusion of the repast.
These silver plates were kept brightly burnished, and Lucy, as she saw herself reflected in hers, said, laughing,--
"It is pleasant to eat off mirrors--that is to say when what we see there is pleasant."
Madam Ratcliffe, although full of satisfaction to have her "household G.o.ds"
admired, concealed it, and said, with an inclination of her head towards Dorothy,--
"It is no novel thing for you to eat off silver, but I dare to say it is the first time Mistress Lucy has done so."
"That may be true, madam," Lucy said--she was never at a loss for a rejoinder--"but, methinks, I shall soon eat off silver every day an" I choose to do it."
"How so?" asked Mistress Ratcliffe; but the moment the question was asked, she repented showing any curiosity about it, and made a diversion to prevent a reply by suddenly breaking into admiration of the lace which trimmed Dorothy Ratcliffe"s bodice.
"It is Flemish point, sure; and did it not descend to you, Doll, from your grandmother? I have a pa.s.sion for old lace; and these sapphires of your brooch are of fine water. Now, shall we repair to the parlour, and you, Dorothy, will discourse some sweet music on your mandoline."
The parlour was a dark room, with oak panels, and a heavy beam across the ceiling. The floor was polished oak, which was slippery to unwary feet. The open fireplace was filled by a large beau-pot filled with a posy of flowing shrubs and long gra.s.s and rushes.
Rushes were strewn on the raised floor of the square bay window. A spinning-wheel stood there, and the stool of carved oak, where Mistress Ratcliffe sat when at her work, that she might have an eye to any who came in at the gate, and perhaps catch one of the serving-maids gossiping with a pa.s.ser-by.
There was a settle in one corner of the parlour, and a cupboard with shelves in a recess in the thick wall. Here the silver was kept, and some curious old figures which had been, like the plate, handed down from the ancestors of whom Mistress Ratcliffe was so proud.
In another recess were a few books, in heavy vellum bindings--Tyndale"s translation of the Bible, with silver clasps; and some dull sermons, roughly bound, with an early edition of the Boke of Chess; the prayer-book of Edward the Sixth, and some smaller and insignificant volumes, completed Mistress Ratcliffe"s library.
Mistress Ratcliffe did not concern herself with the awakening life of these remarkable times in literature and culture.
It was nothing to her that numerous poets and authors, from Edmund Spenser to many humbler craftsmen of the pen, were busy translating from the Italian the tales of Boccaccio, or the Latin of Virgil.
The horizon had not yet widened to the small landed proprietors of these days, and education, as we understand the word, was confined to the few, and had not reached the people to whom the concerns of everyday life were all-important. Women like Mistress Ratcliffe could often scarcely write their own names, and read slowly and with difficulty the psalms in their prayer-book, or the lessons of the Church in their Bible.
Spelling was eccentric, even in the highest circles, as many letters still preserved in family archives prove, and was made to suit the ear and eye of the writer, without reference to rule or form.
The evening pa.s.sed somewhat slowly. There was an evident restraint upon every one present.
Dorothy"s performance on the mandoline did not elicit much praise, except from Mistress Ratcliffe, who was annoyed that George should seat himself on the settle, by Lucy"s side, and encourage her to talk, instead of listening while his cousin sang a melancholy ditty, in anything but a musical voice.
When Dorothy had finished, she laid down the mandoline in a pet, and yawning, said,--
"I am weary after my long ride from Tunbridge, Aunt Ratcliffe. I pray you forgive me if I retire early to bed."