Chapter XXII: April 23

OUR people have come home, with a fine budget of news, to be sure. First the Pope hath sent a Cardinal named Campeggio, or some such name, to join with Cardinal Wolsey, in a commission to try the lawfulness of the King's marriage with the Queen, and there is to be a court held for that purpose. Then the Cardinal's favor with the court is said to be decidedly waning, while that of Mrs. Anne Bullen is constantly growing. She is now made Marchioness of Pembroke, forsooth, and her levees are attended by the nobles of the court, as if she were already queen; and nobody has any doubt that she will be made queen if the marriage with her Grace can be dissolved. The viper! I remember well the mocking tone in which she besought her Grace not to betray her to the King! My poor, dear mistress! No wonder she brought her troubles to the shrine of St. Ethelburga, where I fear, however, she found little comfort.

I will never believe that was the true book of the Gospel which Mistress Anne gave Amice. It was some work of the devil, meant to deceive and destroy souls. And yet, when I recall that last night with my friend, can I think all that courage, and peace, and assurance, and triumphant joy was the work of the devil? And if so, who is safe? And where is Amice now? I dare not think of it! Whichever way I turn all is confusion, doubt and dread!

The last piece of news is, that my Lord is coming home next week, and of course Richard with him. It seems a long, and weary journey for my Lady, with her young son, and the roads are terribly unsafe. They must be well on their way now. I must say an additional Hail Mary every day for their safe arrival. It would be such a terrible misfortune if any harm should happen to my Lady and her boy.

I don't exactly know what I am to do about meeting Dick. Doubtless he will be in and out with Harry as usual, and of course I must meet him. I have no excuse now for keeping my chamber, and if I try to seclude myself, as Mother Superior desired, I shall annoy my father and mother, cause a break in the family, and make everybody uncomfortable. I don't quite like to speak to my mother about it. It might give her a false notion that there have been really some love passages between me and Dick, and make her think it a serious matter, which it is not.

Besides, I know just what she would say. She does not like to think or speak of my being a nun, and indeed I think my father is coming to mislike the notion. I believe I will let matters take their course. Perhaps if Dick has grown the fine court Squire that Mistress Bullen said, he will not care to pay me any attention. I do not believe it any the more for her saying so.

The poor Queen! My heart aches to think of her sitting alone and forlorn, while her husband goes junketting about with Mistress Anne. His conscience, forsooth! Methinks a retreat—say among the monks of La Trappe for him, and the Poor Clares, or the silent Carmelites for her, would be good for both of them. If I had the ordering of their haircloth and parched pease, methinks both would be of the hardest. Father says it is so with every one in London. The women are all for the Queen, and the men take the part of the King, or Mistress Bullen.

This morning the men went to Biddeford with the wagons, to bring up some goods of my father's and mother's, which have been sent round by sea, from London. My father and Harry went with them, to see all safe, and hearing that there was a great chest of books among the things, Master Ellenwood must needs go too. I was standing at the door watching to see the last of them, when my stepmother came to me.

"Rosamond!" said she, after she had asked after my health, and found that I was feeling as well as usual. "There is a certain thing, which needs to be done, and this day of your father's absence is a good time to undertake it; but I do not wish to move in the matter, unless you feel able to help me. I mean the opening, airing, and ordering of your mother's room and clothes. They must needs be attended to, or the moths and damp will ruin them. Moreover, Alice thinks that she should have her share of the clothes and jewels, and maybe she is right."

(I forgot to say, in the right place, that my step-dame had refused to occupy my mother's private apartment, but had chosen one on the other side of the house, where she had her dressing room, and her private closet, in which she spent an hour every morning.)

I was moved at first, which my step-dame saw.

"I know it will be hard for you, my child," said she, "but think what your mother would wish in the matter."

"It must be done, of course," said I, recovering myself, "and I will help you. Dear Madam, how kind you are to me."

"And why should I not be kind, sweetheart?" she asked me, smiling. "You are my dear home daughter, and it would sure be an unnatural mother who did not love her child."

"And you are my dear mother," I whispered, kissing her hand, whereat she embraced me tenderly, and we went together to open my mother's room.

All was just as it was left the day of her funeral; even the flowers I had gathered, lay dried, and cobwebbed on her toilet-table.

"And where does this door lead?" asked my lady, after we had unbarred the shutters, and opened the windows.

"That was my mother's closet," I answered, "where she used to spend many hours, specially when my father was away. I suppose we had better open and air that also."

And I found the key where I knew she kept it, in a box on the chimney. We opened the door of the little turret room, not without difficulty, for the lock was rusted and moved stiffly, but open it we did at last. It was but a small place. There was an altar and crucifix, of course, and before them on the floor lay a rough hard mat, rough enough of itself, and strewed with sharp flints to make it the harder. On the step lay a discipline of knotted cords, mingled with wire, and stained here and there, as if by blood. I had never thought of my dear mother as using such penances, and my blood ran cold at the sight of these things. I glanced at my step-dame, and saw her face full of indignation and pity.

"Woe unto them, for they have made sorrowful the souls of the righteous, whom God hath not made sorrowful!" she murmured, as if she had forgotten my presence. "Woe to the false shepherds who oppress the sheep! 'Lord, how long, how long shall the ungodly triumph?'" Then seeming to remember me—"Rosamond, we will leave these things as they are, for the present, at least. Let the moles and bats prey on them, if they will. The day may come, when we will clear them away."

I saw she was greatly moved, as was I myself, but I could hardly understand her expression. It seemed to be anger, not at my mother, but for her sake. She recovered herself presently, locked the door and gave me the key, bidding me keep it carefully. Then we summoned Prudence and one of the maids, and my Lady had all the hangings taken down and brushed, the floors scrubbed and polished anew, all the linen and garments taken from the drawers and chests, shaken and refolded, with plenty of rose leaves and lavender, and sweet woodroofe, and all put in the nicest order.

"I suppose my new Madam means to take all my dear sainted lady's clothes to herself, as she has taken all the rest," grumbled Prue, as my Lady left us to seek some essence of roses, which she said some one had brought her from Turkey. "I have ever looked for such a move, but I did not expect to see you, Mistress Rosamond, abetting her in doing dishonor to your dear dead mother's memory."

Before I had time to answer, my Lady returned with two little chrystal and gilded glasses, which, though tightly closed with glass and vellum, exhaled a most delicious perfume, as if they held the very soul of the summer roses.

"You say your mother loved roses?" she said, after I had admired them. "We will lay one of these in her drawers, and you shall have the other. And now tell me, Rosamond, would you like to have this room for your own? I have spoken on the matter to your father, and he says you may, if you choose."

I could not help casting a glance of triumph at Prue. To my surprise and vexation she answered sharply, before I had time to speak:

"Mistress Rosamond is going to be a nun, and pray for her mother's soul in the convent, instead of flaunting in the world. She will want no room in this house, since she is to live in the house of God."

My Lady gazed steadily at Prudence for a moment, till the woman's sharp eyes fell before hers. Then she said very gravely, and even gently, as she might have checked a wayward child:

"Methinks you forget yourself, strangely."

"I beg your pardon, Madam," answered Prue, sullenly, and as if the words had been as it were forced from her.

"Pardon is granted for this time," answered Lady Corbet, with quiet dignity: "but beware that such a thing does not happen again. I have borne much from you for the sake of your former mistress; but the time may come when I shall forbear no longer."

Prue choked and swallowed, but remained silent, and my step-dame repeated her question to me, adding: "you see, my child, the house is not large, and with Alice and her babe coming home as often as we hope she may, and the need of entertaining your father's friends in the country, we can scarce afford to keep this room closed up. Still we will make shift to do so, if the using thereof will grieve you."

I saw there was reason in what she said, and though in truth I would rather have kept my mother's room closed, I told my Lady with thanks that I would take it for my own, and give up mine to be a guest chamber instead. No sooner had my Lady left the room, than Prudence burst forth:

"So this is my reward for my long years of faithful service—yea, of slavery in this house—to be kicked out like a dog—to be insulted in my sainted Lady's own room—the very room you were born in, Mistress Rosamond; and more's the pity, I say, if you are to disobey your mother's commands and bring the guilt of sacrilege on this house a second time! Alack, alack! That ever I should have lived to see a step-dame set over this house, to tyrannize over my Lady's children and faithful servants, and turn the house upside down without any reason than her own will, forsooth!"

"How can you say that, Prue?" I asked, as she stopped for lack of breath. "Did not my Lady give her reasons for the change, and were they not wise enough? I am sure I thought so."

"Yes—she and her reasons;" returned Prue. "I think I see my old Lady condescending to reason, as you call it, with a child or servant. These are new times indeed, when a young lady is to be reasoned with, forsooth. In my day they were taught to obey."

I could not help laughing. "O Prue, Prue! What think you my mother would have said, if you had taken up her words as you did my Lady's this morning? And how easily you eat your own words. First you rail at my Lady for turning the house upside down, at her own will, and then for condescending to render a reason for her doings. Which is right?"

"And you, Mistress Rosamond, that was as good as a veiled nun," pursued the old woman, paying no heed to my words. "She must needs drag you from your convent into the world again, and give you cordials and wind, and what not, while you were ill, as if every one did not know that a fever ought to be starved. Doubtless the next thing you will be fitted with a bridegroom, and flaunting in silks and satins—in the court itself maybe, to catch the eye of the King."

"And then you will wish to go and keep house for me, as you did for Alice," said I; "but I don't think I shall want you, unless you learn to be better natured, any more than she did."

Whereat Prudence began noisily to weep, and to exclaim, "that ever she had lived to see the day," and so on, till my Lady coming back, she rushed away to her own dominions.

"Was that woman a favorite with your mother, Rosamond?" asked my Lady, after we had settled that I should remove immediately to my new quarters.

"She was so, though I could never understand why," I answered; "but I think she blinded my mother to her faults by affecting an excessive devotion."

"Maybe so," said my Lady. "For myself I like her not. She seems to me both false and cruel—two faults I cannot abide. But she is an old servant of the house, and we will have patience with her. And now, sweetheart, I have another matter to mention to you, by your father's desire. But you are standing too long, and we shall have the ague coming back upon us, if we let you get over busy. Come you to my room and rest."

My Lady would have me sit down in the great cushioned chair, and sent her own maid for some cream and bread for me. Then she opened her matter, which was this, that my father desired I would leave off the plain black stuff robe and thick coif, veil and pinners I had worn ever since I came home, and dress like other young ladies of my degree. I never was more surprised in my life, for when I have been at home before, my father has seemed to wish to keep the veil always before mine eyes, as it were.

"Your father does not lay his commands on you, in this matter," said my step-dame. "He does not wish to force your inclination, but he says you would do him a pleasure if you would attire yourself according to your rank. Take time and think about it. Your father will not be at home till to-morrow evening."

That afternoon the change was accomplished, and I lay down to sleep in my dear mother's room and bed. Just as I was undressing, who should look in upon me, but Prudence herself.

"So you are here!" said she, with an ominously solemn face. "You are not wanting in courage, that must needs be said of you. I have not slighted my dead Lady's commands, nor done despite to her memory, nor broken my convent vows, and yet I would not pass a night here for all my Lady's jewels. I hope all may be well with you in the morning, that's all."

"And so do I!" I answered. "Why not?"

"And suppose you are waked in the night by the touch of a cold hand, and should see your mother's ghost, surrounded by the flames of purgatory or worse, and should hear her voice reproaching you for your breach of your vows! Or suppose you should see the demon which haunts yon woods—which carried off the Lady Elgitha from her lover, and—"

"Or suppose you should shut the door and mind your own business!" said I, all the more vexed because I was a little scared. "In the first place, I have broken no vows, because I have made none. If my dear mother should come to visit me, it would be to bless, or at worst to reprove, and not to curse; and she would come surrounded, not by flames of purgatory, but by airs from Paradise, and I should rejoice to see her. And as for the demon out yonder, he has no power save over those who venture into his domains after nightfall, nor then, unless they go on a bad errand. Methinks you were best to depart before my Lady comes to see me in bed," (as she has always done since my illness.)

Prue took the hint, and was departing, when she nearly ran over my Lady.

"What are you doing here?" says my Lady, not without some sharpness.

"If it please you, Madam, I meant no offence!" said Prudence, demurely. "I came but to see that Mistress Rosamond had a night light, in case anything should happen before morning;" and casting a parting glance full of anger at us both, she courtesied and departed.

"Was that really her errand?" asked my Lady.

"Hardly, I think," said I. "I believe she only came to scare me, if she could;" and then I recounted what she had said. My Lady seemed much moved.

"Aye, that is always the way—flames, and devils, and all kinds of things, to scare the little ones whom He bade come to himself," she murmured, as if to herself; then to me, "Dear child, be not you scared by these fables. Think not of your mother as tormented in flames of purgatory, or worse, because she married a worthy man and lived and died a faithful Christian wife and mother. Believe as I do, that they who put their trust in the Lord shall never taste the bitterness of death, but that being absent from the body they are at home with the Lord. 'They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb shall lead them to fountains of living water, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.'"

I had heard these words before, from one who found comfort in them when she was void of all human consolation, and they came to me like an echo of her voice.

"I do not fear, dear Madam!" I answered her, and then I told her how I had before been comforted concerning my mother in my night watch. After she had bade me good-night, with a kiss and a blessing, I said my prayers once more, repeated the ninety-first Psalm, and lay down to rest. I wont deny that I felt a little shiver of fear when I woke once in the night and saw the waning moon shining in at the casement, and heard the mournful calling of the sea, and the sighing of the wind in the trees, while an owl whooped dismally in the wood; but I remembered my Psalm, said my prayers, and falling asleep, did not wake till dawn.

Touching this change of dress—I have been considering the matter, and it does seem to me as if I ought to pleasure my father therein. I can honestly say the change will be no pleasure to me. I was never fond of dress. I care not the trouble of it, and am quite content with my stuff gown and linen pinners, which cost me but little time and thought. Moreover, it was the dress in which my dear mother liked best to see me. I know Mother Superior would say 'twas my duty to cast aside all considerations of earthly affection, like that woman she told me of who left her children to go to the convent. But my mother herself was wont to please my father in all things, and she taught us children to do so. I am quite sure Father John would say the same, but I can't ask him, because he is in Exeter, and will not be at home till night. My Lady has had my dress made all ready for me—a gown of fine brown woolen stuff, such as she wears herself, with large sleeves and linen undersleeves, garnished with French lace, a petticoat of blue damask and a hood of the new fashion, made of blue silk and garnished with lace like the sleeves; also a long tasseled girdle and wide-falling band of lace or lawn, but no mufflers or pinners, and no veil. It lies on my bed at this moment, and I must decide, because my Lady would have me put it on to meet my father.