The White Lady of Hazelwood Part 28

"Verily, no, Lady; and my Lord Archbishop's Grace doth most earnestly desire your Ladys.h.i.+p to pay her visit, she being now near death, and your Lord and brother the Duke denying to come unto her."

The glow deepened in the dark eyes.

"My Lord my brother refused to go to my mother?"

"He did so, Dame."

"And she is near death?"

"Very near, I am told, Lady."

"And he wist it?"

"He wist it."

Lady Ba.s.set seemed for a moment to have forgotten everything but the one.

"Lead on," she said. "I will go to her--poor Mother! I can scarce remember her; I was so young when taken from her. But I think she loved me once. I will go, though no other soul on earth keep me company."

"Lady," said G.o.dfrey, saying the exact reverse of truth, "I do right heartily trust your Lord shall not let you therein."

"What matter?" she said. "If the Devil and all his angels stood in the way, I would go to my dying mother."

She left the room for a minute, and to G.o.dfrey's dismay came back attired for her journey, as if she meant to set out there and then.

"But, Lady!" he expostulated.

"You need not tarry for me," she said, calmly. "I can find the way, and I have sent word to bid mine horses."

This was unendurable. G.o.dfrey, in his dismay, left the room with only a courtesy, and sought Lord Ba.s.set in the hall.

"Ah! she's taken the bit betwixt her teeth," said he. "I warrant you'd best leave her be; she'll go now, if it be on a witch's broom. I'll forbid it, an' you will, but I do you to wit I might as well entreat yon tree not to wave in the wind. When she doth take the bit thus, she's--"

An emphatic shake of Lord Ba.s.set's head finished the sentence. He rose as if it were more trouble than it was reasonable to impose, walked into his wife's room, and asked her where she was going that winter day.

"You are scarce wont to inquire into my comings and goings," she said, coldly. "But if it do your Lords.h.i.+p ease to wit the same, I am going to Hazelwood Manor, whence yonder young gentleman is now come."

"How if I forbid it?"

"My Lord, I am sent for to my dying mother. Your Lords.h.i.+p is a gentleman, I believe, and therefore not like to forbid me. But if you so did, yea, twenty times twice told, I should answer you as now I do.

Seven years have I done your bidding, and when I return I will do it yet again. But not now. Neither you, nor Satan himself, should stay me this one time."

"Your Ladys.h.i.+p losengeth," [flatters] was the careless answer. "Fare you well. I'll not hinder you. As for Satan, though it pleaseth you to count me in with him, I'll be no surety for his doings. Master Foljambe, go you after this crack-brained dame of mine, or tarry you here with me and drink a cup of Malvoisie wine?"

G.o.dfrey would very much have preferred to remain with Lord Ba.s.set; but a wholesome fear of his father and the Archbishop together restrained him from doing so. He was exceedingly vexed to be made to continue his journey thus without intermission; but Lady Ba.s.set was already on a pillion behind her squire, and Emeriarde on another behind the groom, a few garments having been hastily squeezed into a saddle-bag carried by the latter. This summary way of doing things was almost unheard of in the fourteenth century; and G.o.dfrey entertained a private opinion that "crack-brained" was a truthful epithet.

"Needs must," said he; "wherefore I pray your Lords.h.i.+p mercy. Her Ladys.h.i.+p shall scantly make good road to Hazelwood without I go withal.

But--_ha, chetife_!"

Lord Ba.s.set slightly laughed, kissed his hand to his wife, lifted his hat to G.o.dfrey with a shrug of his shoulders, and walked back into Drayton Manor House.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

TOO LITTLE.

"G.o.d's very kindest answers to our prayers Come often in denials or delays."

S.W. Partridge.

Lord Ba.s.set turned back into his house with a sensation akin to relief.

Not that he allowed the thought of his wife's unhappiness to deter him from any course on which he had set his heart, but that he felt the pressure of her atmosphere, and could not enjoy his transgressions with the full _abandon_ which he would have liked. Her stately, cold, unbending reserve was like a constant chill and blight. How much more happy they might have been if they had chosen! The world held many a worse man than Lord Ba.s.set; he was rather idle and careless than wicked, though idleness and carelessness are very often the seed of wickedness, when left to go to flower. If she would only have dropped that haughty coldness, he thought, he could have felt interest in her, and have taken some pleasure in her society; while her conviction was that if he would only have shown some interest, she could have loved him and returned it.

Would both have done it together, the result might have been attained.

Mr G.o.dfrey Foljambe was meditating, not on this, but on his own personal wrongs, as he led the little cavalcade in an easterly direction. First, he had been deprived of that gla.s.s of Malvoisie-- which would probably have been plural rather than singular--and of a conversation with Lord Ba.s.set, which might have resulted in something of interest: and life was exceedingly devoid of interest, thought Mr G.o.dfrey, in a pessimistic spirit. He had not discovered that, to a great extent, life is to every man what he chooses to make it; that he who keeps his eyes fixed on street mud need not expect to discover pearls, while he who attentively scans the heavens is not at all unlikely to see stars. Let a man set himself diligently to hunt for either his misfortunes or his mercies, and he will find plenty of the article in request. Misfortunes were the present object of Mr G.o.dfrey's search, and he had no difficulty in discovering them. He was disgusted with the folly of Lady Ba.s.set in thus setting off at once, and making him set off, without so much as an hour's rest. It was just like a woman! Women never had a sc.r.a.p of patience. This pleasing illusion that all patience was masculine was kept up in popular literature just so long as men were the exclusive authors; when women began to write, otherwise than on kingly sufferance of the n.o.bler half of creation, it was seen that the feminine view of that and similar subjects was not quite so restricted. Last and worst to young G.o.dfrey was the expectation of his father's displeasure. Sir G.o.dfrey's anger was no pa.s.sing cloud, as his son well knew. To be thought to have failed in his mission--as a.s.suredly he would be--by his own fault, would result in considerable immediate discomfort, and might even damage his worldly prospects in future. He would gladly have prolonged the journey; for his instinct always led him to put off the evil day rather than to face it and put it behind him--which last is usually the wiser course; but Lady Ba.s.set would brook no delay, and on the afternoon of the second day after leaving Drayton they rode up to Hazelwood Manor.

G.o.dfrey hastily despatched the porter's lad to inform his mother of Lady Ba.s.set's arrival; and Lady Foljambe met her on the steps of the hall.

The latter was scandalised to find that the former saw no need for secrecy, or at any rate had no intention of preserving it.

"Dame," said Lady Foljambe, "I am honoured by your Ladys.h.i.+p's visit.

Pray you, suffer me to serve you with hypocras and spice in your privy chamber."

This was intended as a gentle hint to the visitor that secrets were not to be talked in the hall; but the hint was not accepted.

"How fares my Lady and mother?" was the response.

"Dame, much worse than when my son departed," said Lady Foljambe, in a fluttered manner.

"Then I pray you to break my coming, and lead me to her forthwith," said Lady Ba.s.set, in her style of stately calm.

A curtain was drawn aside, and Perrote came forward.

"Damoiselle Jeanne!" she said, greeting Lady Ba.s.set by the old youthful t.i.tle unheard for years. "My darling, mine own dear child!"

A smile, not at all usual there, quivered for a moment on the calm fixed lips.

"Is this mine ancient nurse, Perrote de Carhaix?" she said. "I think I know her face."

The smile was gone in a moment, as she repeated her wish to be taken immediately to the Countess.

Lady Foljambe felt she had no choice. She led the way to the chamber of the royal prisoner, requesting Lady Ba.s.set to wait for a moment at the door.

The Countess sat no longer in her cus.h.i.+oned chair by the window. She was now confined to her bed, where she lay restlessly, moaning at intervals, but always on one theme. "My children! my lost children!

Will not G.o.d give me back _one_?"

Lady Foljambe signed to Perrote--she scarcely knew why--to break the news to the suffering mother.