In Convent Walls. Emily Sarah Holt

to her cabinet: and I, as the dame in waiting then on duty, took the same to her. I found her sat of a chair of carven wood, beside the brasier, and two gentlemen of the other side of the hearth. Behind her chair Dame Elizabeth waited, and I gave the mantle to her to cast over the Queen’s shoulders. The gentlemen stood with their backs to the light, and I paid little note to them at first, save to see that one was a priest: but as I went about to go forth, the one that was not a priest turned his face, and I perceived to mine amaze that it was Sir Roger de Mortimer. Soothly, it needed all my courtly self-command that I should not cry out when I beheld him. Had I followed the prompting of mine own heart, I should have cried, “Get thee gone, thou banished traitor!” He, who had returned unlicenced from Scotland ere the war was over, in the time of old King Edward of Westminster; that had borne arms against his son, then King, under my Lord of Lancaster; that, having his life spared, and being but sent to the Tower, had there plotted to seize three of the chief fortresses of the Crown—namely, the said Tower, and the Castles of Windsor and Wallingford,—and had thereupon been cast for death, and only spared through the intercession of the Queen and the Bishop of Hereford: yet, after all this, had he broken prison, bribing one of his keepers and drugging the rest, and was now a banished felon, in refuge over seas: he to dare so much as to breathe the same air with the wife of his Sovereign, with her that had been his advocate, and that knew all his treacheries! Could any worser insult to the Queen have been devised? But all at once, as I passed along the gallery, another thought came in upon me. What of her? who, knowing all this and more, yet gave leave for this man—not to kneel at her feet and cry her mercy—that had been grace beyond any reasonable hope: but suffered him to stand in her presence, to appear in her privy cabinet—nay, to act as though he were a noble appointed of her Council! Had she forgot all the past?

      I travelled no further for that time. The time was to come when I should perceive that forgetfulness was all too little to account for her deeds.

      That night, Dame Tiffany being appointed to the pallet, it so fell out that Dame Elizabeth, Dame Joan, and I, lay in the antechamber. We had but began to doff ourselves, and Dame Elizabeth was stood afore the mirror, a-combing of her long hair—and rare long hair it was, and of a fine colour (but I must not pursue the same, or Jack shall find in the hair an hare)—when I said to her—

      “Dame Elizabeth, pray you tell me, were you in waiting when Sir Roger de Mortimer came to the Queen?”

      “Ay,” saith she, and combed away.

      “And,” said I, “with what excuse came he?”

      “Excuse?” quoth she. “Marry, I heard none at all.”

      “None!” I cried, tarrying in the doffing of my subtunic. “Were you not ill angered to behold such a traitor?”

      “Dame Cicely,” saith she, slowly pulling the loose hairs forth of the comb, “if you would take pattern by me, and leave troubling yourself touching your neighbours’ doings, you should have fewer griefs to mourn over.”

      Could the left sleeve of my subtunic, which I was then a-doffing, have spoke unto me, I am secure he should have ’plained that he met with full rough treatment at my hands.

      “Good for you, Dame, an’ you so can!” said I somewhat of a heat. “So long as my neighbours do well, I desire not to mell (meddle) nor make in their matters. But if they do ill—”

      “Why, then do I desire it even less,” saith she, “for I were more like to get me into a muddle. Mine own troubles be enough for me, and full too many.”

      “Dear heart! had you ever any?” quoth I.

      “In very deed, I do ensure you,” saith she, “for this comb hath one of his teeth split, and he doth not only tangle mine hair, but giveth me vile wrenches betimes, when I look not for them. And ’tis but a month gone, at Betesi (Béthizy), that I paid half-a-crown for him. The rogue cheated me, as my name is Bess. I could find in mine heart to give him a talking.”

      “Only a talking?” saith Dame Joan, and laughed. “You be happy woman, in good sooth, if your worsest trouble be a comb that hath his teeth split.”

      “Do but try him!” quoth Dame Elizabeth, and snorked (twisted, contorted) up her mouth, as the comb that instant moment came to a spot where her hair was louked (fastened) together. “Bless the comb!” saith she, and I guess she meant it but little. “Wala wa! Dame Joan, think you ’tis matter for laughter?”

      “More like than greeting,” (weeping), she made answer.

      “Verily,” said I, “but I see much worser matter for tears than your comb, Dame Elizabeth. Either the Queen is sore ill-usen of her brother, that such ill companions should be allowed near her, or else—”

      Well for me, my lace snapped at that moment, and I ended not the sentence. When I was laid down beside Dame Joan, it came to me like a flash of lightning—“Or else—what?” And at that minute Dame Joan turned her on the pillows, and set her lips to mine ear.

      “Dame Cicely,” quoth she, “mine heart misdoubts me it is the ‘or else.’ Pray you, govern your tongue, and use your eyes in time to come. Trust not her in the red bed too much, and her in the green-hung chamber not at all.”

      The first was Dame Elizabeth, and the last Dame Isabel de Lapyoun, that lay in a chamber hung with green, with Dame Tiffany. I was secure she meant not the other, but to make certain I whispered the name, and she saith, “She.”

      I reckoned it not ill counsel, for mine own thoughts assented thereto, in especial as touched Dame Isabel.

      After that day wherein Sir Roger de Mortimer was in the Queen’s cabinet, I trow I kept mine eyes open.

      For a few days he came and went: but scarce more than a sennight had passed ere I learned that he had come to dwell in Paris all out; and but little more time was spent when one even, Dame Isabel de Lapyoun came into our chamber as we were about to hie us abed, and saith she, speaking to none in especial, but to all—

      “Sir Roger de Mortimer is made of the Prince’s following, and shall as to-morrow take up his abode in the Queen’s hostel.”

      “Dear heart!” saith Dame Elizabeth, making pause with one hand all wet, and in the other the napkin whereon she went about to dry it. “Well, no business of mine, trow.”

      I could not help to cry, “Ha, chétife!”

      Dame Isabel made answer to neither the one nor the other, but marched forth of the door with her nose an inch higher than she came in. She was appointed to the pallet for that night, so we three lay all in our chamber.

      “This passeth!” saith Dame Elizabeth, drying of her fingers, calm enough, on the napkin.

      “Even as I looked for,” saith Dame Joan, but her voice was not so calm. There was in it a note of grief (a tone of indignation).

      “I ne’er trouble me to look for nought,” quoth Dame Elizabeth. “What good, trow? Better to leave folks come and go, as they list, so long as they let (hinder) you not to come and go likewise.”

      “I knew not you were one of Cain’s following, Dame Bess.”

      “Cain’s following!” saith she, drawing off her fillet. “Who was Cain, trow? Wala wa! but if my fillet be not all tarnished o’ this side. I would things would go right!”

      “So would I, and so did not Cain,” Dame Joan makes answer. “Who was he, quotha? Why, he that slew his brother Abel.”

      “Oh, some of those old Scripture matters? I wis nought o’ those folks. But what so? I have not slain my brother, nor my sister neither.”

      “It looks as though your brother and your sister too might go astray and be lost ere you should soil your fingers and strain your arms a-pulling them forth.”

      “Gramercy! Every man for himself!” saith Dame Elizabeth, a-pulling off her hood. “Now, here’s a string come off! Alway my