Richard rejoiced that his sons, before going abroad, should witness the return to the old times which had been at an end before they could remember Sheffield distinctly. The whole family were drawn up as usual to receive them, when the Earl and Countess arrived first of all at the Manor-house.
The Countess looked smaller, thinner, older, perhaps a trifle more shrewish, but she had evidently suffered much, and was very glad to have recovered her husband and her home.
'So, Susan Talbot,' was her salutation, 'you have thriven, it seems. You have been playing the part of hostess, I hear.'
'Only so far as might serve his Lordship, madam.'
'And the wench, there, what call you her? Ay, Cicely. I hear the Scottish Queen hath been cockering her up and making her her bedfellow, till she hath spoilt her for a reasonable maiden. Is it so? She looks it.'
'I trust not, madam,' said Susan.
'She grows a strapping wench, and we must find her a good husband to curb her pride. I have a young man already in my eye for her.'
'So please your Ladyship, we do not think of marrying her as yet,' returned Susan, in consternation.
'Tilly vally, Susan Talbot, tell me not such folly as that. Why, the maid is over seventeen at the very least! Save for all the coil this Scottish woman and her crew have made, I should have seen her well mated a year ago.'
Here was a satisfactory prospect for Mistress Susan, bred as she had been to unquestioning submission to the Countess. There was no more to be said on that occasion, as the great lady passed on to bestow her notice on others of her little court.
Humfrey meantime had been warmly greeted by the younger men of the suite, and one of them handed him a letter which filled him with eagerness. It was from an old shipmate, who wrote, not without sanction, to inform him that Sir Francis Drake was fitting out an expedition, with the full consent of the Queen, to make a descent upon the Spaniards, and that there was no doubt that if he presented himself at Plymouth, he would obtain either the command, or at any rate the lieutenancy, of one of the numerous ships which were to be commissioned. Humfrey was before all else a sailor. He had made no engagement to Sir John Norreys, and many of the persons engaged on this expedition were already known to him. It was believed that the attack was to be upon Spain itself, and the notion filled him with ardour and excitement that almost drove Cicely out of his mind, as he laid the proposal before his father.
Richard was scarcely less excited. 'You young lads are in luck,' he said. 'I sailed for years and never had more than a chance brush with the Don; never the chance of bearding him on his own shores!'
'Come with us, then, father,' entreated Humfrey. 'Sir Francis would be overjoyed to see you. You would get the choicest ship to your share.'
'Nay, nay, my boy, tempt me not; I cannot leave your mother to meet all the coils that may fall in her way! No; I'm too old. I've lost my sea legs. I leave thee to win the fame, son Humfrey!'
The decision was thus made, and Humfrey and Diccon were to start together for London first, and then for Plymouth, the second day after a great festival for the wedding of the little Alethea, daughter of Gilbert, Lord Talbot-still of very tender age-to the young heir of Arundel. The Talbot family had been precluded from holding festival for full fourteen years, or indeed from entertaining any guests, save the Commissioners sent down to confer from time to time with the captive Queen, so that it was no wonder that they were in the highest possible spirits at their release, and determined to take the first opportunity of exercising the gorgeous hospitality of the Tudor times.
Posts went out, riding round all the neighbourhood with invitations. The halls were swept and adorned with the best suit of hangings. All the gentlemen, young and old, all the keepers and verdurers, were put in requisition to slaughter all the game, quadruped and biped, that fell in their way, the village women and children were turned loose on the blackberries, cranberries, and bilberries, and all the ladies and serving-women were called on to concoct pasties of many stories high, subtilties of wonderful curiosity, sweetmeats and comfits, cakes and marchpanes worthy of Camacho's wedding, or to deck the halls with green boughs, and weave garlands of heather and red berries.
Cis absolutely insisted, so that the heads of the household gave way, on riding out with Richard and Humfrey when they had a buck to mark down in Rivelin Chase. And she set her heart on going out to gather cranberries in the park, flinging herself about with petulant irritation when Dame Susan showed herself unwilling to permit a proceeding which was thought scarcely becoming in any well-born damsel of the period. 'Ah, child, child! thou wilt have to bear worse restraints than these,' she said, 'if ever thou comest to thy greatness.'
Cis made no answer, but threw herself into a chair and pouted.
The next morning she did not present herself at the usual hour; but just as the good mother was about to go in quest of her to her chamber, a clear voice came singing up the valley-
'Berries to sell! berries to sell! Berries fresh from moorland fell!'
And there stood a girl in peasant dress, with short petticoats, stout shoes soaked in dew, a round face under black brows, and cheeks glowing in morning freshness; and a boy swung the other handle of the basket overflowing with purple berries.
It was but a shallow disguise betrayed by the two roguish faces, and the good mother was so pleased to see Cis smile merrily again, that she did not scold over the escapade.
Yet the inconsistent girl hotly refused to go up to the castle and help to make pastry for her mother's bitter and malicious foe, and Sir Richard shook his head and said she was in the right on't, and should not be compelled. So Susan found herself making lame excuses, which did not avert a sharp lecture from the Countess on the cockering of her daughter.
CHAPTER XIX. THE CLASH OF SWORDS.
Festivals in the middle ages were conducted by day rather than by night, and it was a bright noonday sun that shone upon the great hall at Sheffield, bedecked with rich tapestry around the dais, where the floor was further spread with Eastern carpets. Below, the garniture of the walls was of green boughs, interspersed between stag's antlers, and the floor was strewn, in ancient fashion, with the fragrant rush.
All the tables, however, were spread with pure white napery, the difference being only in texture, but the higher table rejoiced in the wonderful extravagance of silver plates, while the lower had only trenchers. As to knives, each guest brought his or her own, and forks were not yet, but bread, in long fingers of crust, was provided to a large amount to supply the want. Splendid salt-cellars, towering as landmarks to the various degrees of guests, tankards, gilt and parcel gilt or shining with silver, perfectly swarmed along the board, and the meanest of the guests present drank from silver-rimmed cups of horn, while for the very greatest were reserved the tall, slender, opal Venice glasses, recently purchased by the Countess in London.
The pies, the glory of Yorkshire, surpassed themselves. The young bride and bridegroom had the felicity of contemplating one whose crust was elevated into the altar of Hymen, with their own selves united thereat, attended by numerous Cupids, made chiefly in paste and sugar, and with little wings from the feathers of the many slaughtered fowl within. As to the jellies, the devices and the subtilties, the pen refuses to describe them! It will be enough to say that the wedding itself was the least part of the entertainment. It was gone through with very few spectators in the early morning, and the guests only assembled afterwards to this mighty dinner at a somewhat earlier hour than they would now to a wedding breakfast. The sewer marshalled all the guests in pairs according to their rank, having gone through the roll with his mistress, just as the lady of the house or her aide-de-camp pairs the guests and puts cards in their plates in modern times. Every one was there who had any connection with the Earl; and Cis, though flashes of recollection of her true claims would come across her now and then, was unable to keep from being eager about her first gaiety. Perhaps the strange life she had led at Buxton, as it receded in the distance, became more and more unreal and shadowy, and she was growing back into the simple Cicely she had always believed herself. It was with perfectly girlish natural pleasure that she donned the delicate sky-blue farthingale, embroidered with white lilies by the skilful hands of the captive Queen, and the daintily-fashioned little cap of Flanders lace, and practised the pretty dancing steps which the Queen had amused herself with teaching her long ere they knew they were mother and daughter.
As Talbots, the Bridgefield family were spectators of the wedding, after which, one by one, the seneschal paired them off. Richard was called away first, then a huge old Yorkshire knight came and bore away Mrs. Susan, and after an interval, during which the young people entertained hopes of keeping together in enviable obscurity,
