Portly Master Dawson, steward for many years, heard the shout in his buttery, and made haste to come out into the sunlight. A couple of lackeys hurried at his heels, and Dame Margery, urgent to be the first to greet her nursling. She pushed past Master Dawson as he reached the door, dived under his arm without ceremony, a little wrinkled woman in a close white cap. “My cosset!” cried Dame Margery. “My lamb! Is it my babe indeed?”
“Indeed and indeed!” Sir Nicholas said, laughing, and opened his arms to her. He caught her up in a great hug while she fondled and scolded all in one breath. He was a good-for-naught, a rough, sudden fellow to snatch up an old woman thus! Eh, but he was brown! She dared swear he was grown; but his cheek was thin: she misgave her he was in poor health. Ah, he was a sad wastrel to be so long gone, and to come home but to laugh at his poor nurse! She must pat him, stroke his hands, feel the thickness of his short cloak. A fine cloth, by her faith! all tricked out with points and tassels of gold! Oh, spendthrift! Take heed, take heed! Could he not see my lord coming to greet him?
My lord came sedately out from the house in a gown of camlet trimmed with vair, with a close cap set upon his head, and a gold chain about his neck. My lord wore a cathedral beard like a churchman. He was fair where Nicholas was dark; his eyes were blue, but lacked the sparkle that was in his brother’s eyes. He was a tall man of imposing mien, had a grave countenance and a stately gait. “Well, Nick!” he said, with the glimmer of a smile. “My lady heard a shouting and commotion, and straightway saith Nick must be home. How is it with you, lad?”
The brothers embraced. “As you see me, Gerard. And you?”
“Well, enough. A tertian fever troubled me in February, but it is happily passed.”
“He must needs go into Cambridgeshire to that damp, unhealthy castle,” sighed a mournful voice. “I knew what would come of it. I foretold an ague from the start. Dear Nicholas, give you good den.”
Nicholas turned to greet my Lady Beauvallet, kissed her hand right dutifully, and so came to her lips. “Do I see you well, sister?”
“Nick!” She blushed faintly and shook her finger at him. “Ever the same swift way! Nay, the hard winter—harder than any I remember, was it not, my lord?—tried me sorely. At the New Year I had the sweating-sickness. Then, at Candlemas, an ague seized me, and was like to have carried me off, methought.”
“But the spring comes, and you grow strong with it,” suggested Nicholas.
She looked doubtful. “Indeed, Nicholas, I trust it may be found so, but I have the frailest health, as you know.”
Gerard broke in upon this lamentation. “I see you bring home that ruffler,” he said, and nodded to where Joshua stood in parley with the lackeys. “Have ye schooled him yet?”
“Devil a bit, brother. Joshua! Here, rogue, come pay your duty to my lord!” He put an arm round my lady’s waist and swept her into the house. “Have in with you, Kate. The snip of the wind is like to lay you low of a second ague.”
My lady went with him protesting. “Nick, Nick, so hardy still? Not a second ague, I assure you, but more like the seventh, for, indeed, no sooner am I raised from one than another comes to strike me down. Come into the hall, brother. There should be a fire there, and they will bring wine for you. Or there is some March beer of two years tunning. Dawson! Dawson, bring—oh, he is gone! Well, come in, Nicholas; you will be chilled from your ride.”
They went through the screens to the Great Hall. This was a noble apartment with the roof high over their heads crossed and re-crossed with oaken timbers. Tall windows were set all round the walls at a height above a man’s head. Between them the walls were covered with panels of linen-fold. A dais was set at one end, in the bay of the front windows, with a long table upon it and benches around. A great fireplace stood in one wall, with logs burning in it. Above the lofty mantelpiece, supported by pilasters, my lord’s quarterings hung. Rushes, with rosemary strewed amongst them, covered the floor; there was a settle on either side of the fireplace, and some carved and panel-backed chairs ranged neatly along the wall.
My lady sat down on one side of the fire, and since her monstrous farthingale seemed to occupy most of the settle, Sir Nicholas went to the other. “Yes, sit down, dear Nicholas,” she said. “Dawson will be here anon, and my lord too, I dare swear.”
Sir Nicholas loosed the cloak from about his shoulders and tossed it aside. It fell over one of the chairs against the wall, and Margery, peeping round a corner of the screens, frowned to see the fine thing so rudely used. My lady caught sight of that puckered face and smiled kindly. “Come you in, Margery. You will say it is a good day that sees Sir Nicholas come riding home.”
“Good indeed, my lady.” Margery dropped a curtsey. “But a feckless, heedless boy! Ah, is there never one to school him?” She picked up the cloak and folded it carefully. “Tut, the brave hat upon the floor! Two feathers in it, i’faith!” She looked a fond reproof at such extravagance. “Heed old Margery, my cosset, and get ye a wife!”
“What need?” Sir Nicholas asked, and disposed his graceful limbs at ease along the settle. “What need while I still have Margery to scold, and a fair sister to shake her head
