'So he even proffered on his way,' said the Baron. 'He is a fair and knightly youth. 'Tis pity of him that he holds with the Frenchwoman. Ha, Bernard, 'tis for thy good.'
For the boy was clinging tight to his sister, and declaring that his Grisly should never leave him again, not for twenty vile runaway husbands.
Grisell returned to all her old habits, and there was no difference in her position, excepting that she was scrupulously called Dame Grisell Copeland. Her father was soon called away by the summons to Parliament, sent forth in the name of King Henry, who was then in the hands of the Earl of Warwick in London. The Sheriff's messenger who brought him the summons plainly said that all the friends of York, Salisbury, and Warwick were needed for a great change that would dash the hopes of the Frenchwoman and her son.
He went with all his train, leaving the defence of the castle to Ridley and the ladies, and assuring Grisell that she need not be downhearted. He would yet bring her fine husband, Sir Leonard, to his marrow bones before her.
Grisell had not much time to think of Sir Leonard, for as the summer waned, both her mother and Bernard sickened with low fever. In the lady's case it was intermittent, and she spent only the third day in her bed, the others in crouching over the fire or hanging over the child's bed, where he lay constantly tossing and fevered all night, sometimes craving to be on his sister's lap, but too restless long to lie there. Both manifestly became weaker, in spite of all Grisell's simple treatment, and at last she wrung from the lady permission to send Ridley to Wearmouth to try if it was possible to bring out Master Lambert Groot to give his advice, or if not, to obtain medicaments and counsel from him.
The good little man actually came, riding a mule. 'Ay, ay,' quoth Ridley, 'I brought him, though he vowed at first it might never be, but when he heard it concerned you, mistress-I mean Dame Grisell-he was ready to come to your aid.'
Good little man, standing trim and neat in his burgher's dress and little frill-like ruff, he looked quite out of place in the dark old hall.
Lady Whitburn seemed to think him a sort of magician, though inferior enough to be under her orders. 'Ha! Is that your Poticary?' she demanded, when Grisell brought him up to the solar. 'Look at my bairn, Master Dutchman; see to healing him,' she continued imperiously.
Lambert was too well used to incivility from nobles to heed her manner, though in point of fact a Flemish noble was far more civilised than this North Country dame. He looked anxiously at Bernard, who moaned a little and turned his head away. 'Nay, now, Bernard,' entreated his sister; 'look up at the good man, he that sent you the sugar-balls. He is come to try to make you well.'
Bernard let her coax him to give his poor little wasted hand to the leech, and looked with wonder in his heavy eyes at the stranger, who felt his pulse, and asked to have him lifted up for better examination. There was at first a dismal little whine at being touched and moved, but when a pleasantly acid drop was put into his little parched mouth, he smiled with brief content. His mother evidently expected that both he and she herself would be relieved on the spot, but the Apothecary durst not be hopeful, though he gave the child a draught which he called a febrifuge, and which put him to sleep, and bade the lady take another of the like if she wished for a good night's rest.
He added, however, that the best remedy would be a pilgrimage to Lindisfarne, which, be it observed, really meant absence from the foul, close, feverish air of the castle, and all the evil odours of the court. To the lady he thought it would really be healing, but he doubted whether the poor little boy was not too far gone for such revival; indeed, he made no secret that he believed the child was stricken for death.
'Then what boots all your vaunted chirurgery!' cried the mother passionately. 'You outlandish cheat! you! What did you come here for? You have not even let him blood!'
'Let him blood! good madame,' exclaimed Master Lambert. 'In his state, to take away his blood would be to kill him outright!'
'False fool and pretender,' cried Lady Whitburn; 'as if all did not ken that the first duty of a leech is to take away the infected humours of the blood! Demented as I was to send for you. Had you been worth but a pinch of salt, you would have shown me how to lay hands on Nan the witch-wife, the cause of all the scathe to my poor bairn.'
Master Lambert could only protest that he laid no claim to the skill of a witch-finder, whereupon the lady stormed at him as having come on false pretences, and at her daughter for having brought him, and finally fell into a paroxysm of violent weeping, during which Grisell was thankful to convey her guest out of the chamber, and place him under the care of Ridley, who would take care he had food and rest, and safe convoy back to Wearmouth when his mule had been rested and baited.
'Oh, Master Lambert,' she said, 'it grieves me that you should have been thus treated.'
'Heed not that, sweet lady. It oft falls to our share to brook the like, and I fear me that yours is a weary lot.'
'But my brother! my little brother!' she asked. 'It is all out of my mother's love for him.'
'Alack, lady, what can I say? The child is sickly, and little enough is there of peace or joy in this world for such, be he high or low born. Were it not better that the Saints should take him to their keeping, while yet a sackless babe?'
Grisell wrung her hands together. 'Ah! he hath been all my joy or bliss through these years; but I will strive to say it is well, and yield my will.'
The crying of the poor little sufferer for his Grisly called her back before she could say or hear more. Her mother lay still utterly exhausted on her bed, and hardly noticed her; but all that evening, and all the ensuing night, Grisell held the boy, sometimes on her lap, sometimes on the bed, while all the time his moans grew more and more feeble, his words more indistinct. By and by, as she sat on the bed, holding him on her breast, he dropped asleep, and perhaps, outwearied as she was, she slept too. At any rate all was still, till she was roused by a cry from Thora, 'Holy St. Hilda! the bairn has passed!'
And indeed when Grisell started, the little head and hand that had been clasped to her fell utterly prone, and there was a strange cold at her breast.
Her mother woke with a loud wail. 'My bairn! My bairn!' snatching him to her arms. 'This is none other than your Dutchman's doings, girl. Have him to the dungeon! Where are the stocks? Oh, my pretty boy! He breathed, he is living. Give me the wine!' Then as there was no opening of the pale lips, she fell into another tempest of tears, during which Grisell rushed to the stair, where on the lowest step she met Lambert and Ridley.
'Have him away! Have him away, Cuthbert,' she cried. 'Out of the castle instantly. My mother is distraught with grief; I know not what she may do to him. O go! Not a word!'
They could but obey, riding away in the early morning, and leaving the castle to its sorrow.
So, tenderly and sadly was little Bernard carried to the vault in the church, while Grisell knelt as his chief mourner, for her mother, after her burst of passion subsided, lay still and listless, hardly noticing anything, as if there had fallen on her some stroke that affected her brain. Tidings of the Baron were slow to come, and though Grisell sent a letter by a wandering friar to York, with information of the child's death and the mother's illness, it was very doubtful when or whether they would ever reach him.
CHAPTER XV-WAKEFIELD BRIDGE
I come to tell you things since then befallen.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp.
SHAKESPEARE,
Christmas went by sadly in Whitburn Tower, but the succeeding weeks were to be sadder still. It was on a long dark evening that a commotion was heard at the gate, and Lady Whitburn, who had been sitting by the smouldering fire in her chamber, seemed suddenly startled into life.
'Tidings,' she cried. 'News of my lord and son. Bring them, Grisell, bring them up.'
Grisell obeyed, and hurried down to the hall. All the household, men and maids, were gathered round some one freshly come in, and the first sound she heard was, 'Alack! Alack, my lady!'
'How-what-how-' she asked breathlessly, just recognising Harry Featherstone, pale, dusty, blood-stained.
'It is evil news, dear lady,' said old Ridley, turning towards her with outstretched hands, and tears flowing down his cheeks. 'My knight. Oh! my knight! And I was not by!'
'Slain?' almost under her breath, asked Grisell.
