The White Lady of Hazelwood: A Tale of the Fourteenth Century. Emily Sarah Holt

accepted the silver box with the entire conviction that she had gained a treasure of no small value. Simple, good-natured Clement lifted his cap, and turned back down Aldersgate Street, while Amphillis and her escort went on towards Saint Albans.

      A few miles they rode in silence, broken now and then by a passing remark from the man in linen, chiefly on the deep subject of the hot weather, and by the sumpterman’s frequent requests that his mule would “gee-up,” which the perverse quadruped in question showed little inclination to do. At length, as the horse checked its speed to walk up a hill, the man in front of Amphillis said—

      “Know you where you be journeying, my mistress?”

      “Into Derbyshire,” she answered. “Have there all I know.”

      “But you wot, surely, whom you go to serve?”

      “Truly, I wot nothing,” she replied, “only that I go to be bower-woman to some lady. The lady that saw me, and bound me thereto, said that I might look to learn on the road.”

      “Dear heart! and is that all they told you?”

      “All, my master.”

      “Words must be costly in those parts,” said the man in linen.

      “Well,” answered the other, drawing out the word in a tone which might mean a good deal. “Words do cost much at times, Master Saint Oly. They have cost men their lives ere now.”

      “Ay, better men than you or me,” replied the other. “Howbeit, my mistress, there is no harm you should know—is there, Master Dugan?—that you be bounden for the manor of Hazelwood, some six miles to the north of Derby, where dwell Sir Godfrey Foljambe and his dame.”

      “No harm; so you tarry there at this present,” said Master Dugan.

      “Ay, I’ve reached my hostel,” was the response.

      “Then my Lady Foljambe is she that I must serve?”

      The man in linen exchanged a smile with the man in livery.

      “You shall see her the first, I cast no doubt, and she shall tell you your duties,” answered Dugan.

      Amphillis sat on the pillion, and meditated on her information as they journeyed on. There was evidently something more to tell, which she was not to be told at present. After wondering for a little while what it might be, and deciding that her imagination was not equal to the task laid upon it, she gave it up, and allowed herself to enjoy the sweet country scents and sounds without apprehension for the future.

      For six days they travelled on in this fashion, about twenty miles each day, staying every night but one at a wayside inn, where Amphillis was always delivered into the care of the landlady, and slept with her daughter or niece; once at a private house, the owners of which were apparently friends of Mr. Dugan. They baited for the last time at Derby, and about two o’clock in the afternoon rode into the village of Hazelwood.

      It was only natural that Amphillis should feel a little nervous and uneasy, in view of her introduction to her new abode and unknown companions. She was not less so on account of the mystery which appeared to surround the nameless mistress. Why did everybody who seemed to know anything make such a secret of the affair?

      The Manor house of Hazelwood was a pretty and comfortable place enough. It stood in a large garden, gay with autumn flowers, and a high embattled wall protected it from possible enemies. The trio rode in under an old archway, through a second gate, and then drew up beneath the entrance arch, the door being—as is yet sometimes seen in old inns—at the side of the arch running beneath the house. A man in livery came forward to take the horses.

      “Well, Master Saint Oly,” said he; “here you be!”

      “I could have told thee that, Sim,” was the amused reply. “Is all well? Sir Godfrey at home?”

      “Ay to the first question, and No to the second.”

      “My Lady is in her bower?”

      “My Lady’s in the privy garden, whither you were best take the damsel to her.”

      Sim led the horses away to the stable, and Saint Oly turned to Amphillis.

      “Then, if it please you, follow me, my mistress; we were best to go to my Lady at once.”

      Amphillis followed, silent, curious, and a little fluttered.

      They passed under the entrance arch inwards, and found themselves in a smaller garden than the outer, enclosed on three sides by the house and its adjacent outbuildings. In the midst was a spreading tree, with a form underneath it; and in its shade sat a lady and a girl about the age of Amphillis. Another girl was gathering flowers, and an elderly woman was coming towards the tree from behind. Saint Oly conducted Amphillis to the lady who sat under the tree.

      “Dame,” said he, “here, under your good leave, is Mistress Amphillis Neville, that is come to you from London town, to serve her you wot of.”

      This, then, was Lady Foljambe. Amphillis looked up, and saw a tall, handsome, fair-complexioned woman, with a rather grave, not to say stern, expression of face. “Good,” said Lady Foljambe. “You are welcome, Mistress Neville. I trust you can do your duty, and not giggle and chatter?”

      The girl who sat by certainly giggled on hearing this question, and Lady Foljambe extinguished her by a look.

      “I will do my best, Dame,” replied Amphillis, nervously.

      “None can do more,” said her Ladyship more graciously. “Are you aweary with your journey?”

      “But a little, Dame, I thank you. Our stage to-day was but short.”

      “You left your friends well?” was the next condescending query.

      “Yes, Dame, I thank you.”

      Lady Foljambe turned her head. “Perrote!” she said.

      “Dame!” answered the elderly woman.

      “Take the damsel up to your Lady’s chambers, and tell her what her duties will be.—Mistress Neville, one matter above all other must I press upon you. Whatever you see or hear in your Lady’s chamber is never to come beyond. You will company with my damsels, Agatha—” with a slight move of her head towards the girl at her side—“and Marabel,”—indicating by another gesture the one who was gathering flowers. “Remember, in your leisure times, when you are talking together, no mention of your Lady must ever be made. If you hear it, rebuke it. If you make it, you may not like that which shall follow. Be wise and discreet, and you shall find it for your good. Chatter and be giddy, and you shall find it far otherwise. Now, follow Mistress Perrote.”

      Amphillis louted silently, and as silently followed.

      The elderly woman, who was tall, slim, and precise-looking, led her into the house, and up the stairs.

      When two-thirds of them were mounted, she turned to the left along a passage, lifted a heavy curtain which concealed its end, and let it drop again behind them. They stood in a small square tower, on a little landing which gave access to three doors. The door on the right hand stood ajar; the middle one was closed; but the left was not only closed, but locked and barred heavily. Mistress Perrote led the way into the room on the right, a pleasant chamber, which looked out into the larger garden.

      At the further end of the room stood a large bed of blue camlet, with a canopy, worked with fighting griffins in yellow. A large chest of carved oak stood at the foot. Along the wall ran a settle, or long bench, furnished with blue cushions; and over the back was thrown a dorsor of black worsted, worked with the figures of David and Goliath, in strict fourteenth-century costume. The fireplace was supplied with andirons, a shovel, and a fire-fork, which served the place of a poker. A small leaf table hung down by the wall at one end of the settle, and over it was fixed a round mirror, so high up as to give little encouragement to vanity. On hooks round the walls were hangings of blue tapestry, presenting