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Unknown to History

C >> Charlotte M Yonge >> Unknown to History




"Surely they are Popish marks," added Mistress Susan.

"Look you here, Dame Sue, I know you for a discreet woman. Keep this
gear to yourself, both the letter and the marks. Who hath seen
them?"

"I doubt me whether even Colet has seen this mark."

"That is well. Keep all out of sight. Many a man has been brought
into trouble for a less matter swelled by prating tongues."

"Have you made it out?"

"Not I. It may be only the child's horoscope, or some old wife's
charm that is here sewn up, and these marks may be naught but some
sailor's freak; but, on the other hand, they may be concerned with
perilous matter, so the less said the better."

"Should they not be shown to my lord, or to her Grace's Council ?"

"I'm not going to run my head into trouble for making a coil about
what may be naught. That's what befell honest Mark Walton. He
thought he had seized matter of State, and went up to Master
Walsingham, swelling like an Indian turkey-cock, with his secret
letters, and behold they turned out to be a Dutch fishwife's charm to
bring the herrings. I can tell you he has rued the work he made
about it ever since. On the other hand, let it get abroad through
yonder prating fellow, Heatherthwayte, or any other, that Master
Richard Talbot had in his house a child with, I know not what Popish
tokens, and a scroll in an unknown tongue, and I should be had up in
gyves for suspicion of treason, or may be harbouring the Prince of
Scotland himself, when it is only some poor Scottish archer's babe."

"You would not have me part with the poor little one?"

"Am I a Turk or a Pagan? No. Only hold thy peace, as I shall hold
mine, until such time as I can meet some one whom I can trust to read
this riddle. Tell me--what like is the child? Wouldst guess it to
be of gentle, or of clownish blood, if women can tell such things ?"

"Of gentle blood, assuredly," cried the lady, so that he smiled and
said, "I might have known that so thou wouldst answer."

"Nay, but see her little hands and fingers, and the mould of her
dainty limbs. No Scottish fisher clown was her father, I dare be
sworn. Her skin is as fair and fine as my Humfrey's, and moreover
she has always been in hands that knew how a babe should be tended.
Any woman can tell you that!"

"And what like is she in your woman's eyes? What complexion doth she
promise?"

"Her hair, what she has of it, is dark; her eyes--bless them--are of
a deep blue, or purple, such as most babes have till they take their
true tint. There is no guessing. Humfrey's eyes were once like to
be brown, now are they as blue as thine own."

"I understand all that," said Captain Talbot, smiling. "If she have
kindred, they will know her better by the sign manual on her tender
flesh than by her face."

"And who are they?"

"Who are they?" echoed the captain, rolling up the scroll in despair.
"Here, take it, Susan, and keep it safe from all eyes. Whatever it
may be, it may serve thereafter to prove her true name. And above
all, not a word or breath to Heatherthwayte, or any of thy gossips,
wear they coif or bands."

"Ah, sir! that you will mistrust the good man."

"I said not I mistrust any one; only that I will have no word of all
this go forth! Not one! Thou heedest me, wife?"

"Verily I do, sir; I will be mute."




CHAPTER II. EVIL TIDINGS.



After giving orders for the repairs of the Mastiff, and the disposal
of her crew, Master Richard Talbot purveyed himself of a horse at the
hostel, and set forth for Spurn Head to make inquiries along the
coast respecting the wreck of the Bride of Dunbar, and he was joined
by Cuthbert Langston, who said his house had had dealings with her
owners, and that he must ascertain the fate of her wares. His good
lady remained in charge of the mysterious little waif, over whom her
tender heart yearned more and more, while her little boy hovered
about in serene contemplation of the treasure he thought he had
recovered. To him the babe seemed really his little sister; to his
mother, if she sometimes awakened pangs of keen regret, yet she
filled up much of the dreary void of the last few weeks.

Mrs. Talbot was a quiet, reserved woman, not prone to gadding abroad,
and she had made few acquaintances during her sojourn at Hull; but
every creature she knew, or might have known, seemed to her to drop
in that day, and bring at least two friends to inspect the orphan of
the wreck, and demand all particulars.

The little girl was clad in the swaddling garments of Mrs. Talbot's
own children, and the mysterious marks were suspected by no one, far
less the letter which Susan, for security's sake, had locked up in
her nearly empty, steel-bound, money casket. The opinions of the
gossips varied, some thinking the babe might belong to some of the
Queen of Scotland's party fleeing to France, others fathering her on
the refugees from the persecutions in Flanders, a third party
believing her a mere fisherman's child, and one lean, lantern-jawed
old crone, Mistress Rotherford, observing, "Take my word, Mrs.
Talbot, and keep her not with you. They that are cast up by the sea
never bring good with them."

The court of female inquiry was still sitting when a heavy tread was
heard, and Colet announced "a serving-man from Bridgefield had ridden
post haste to speak with madam," and the messenger, booted and
spurred, with the mastiff badge on his sleeve, and the hat he held in
his hand, followed closely.

"What news, Nathanael?" she asked, as she responded to his greeting.

"Ill enough news, mistress," was the answer. "Master Richard's ship
be in, they tell me."

"Yes, but he is rid out to make inquiry for a wreck," said the lady.
"Is all well with my good father-in-law?"

"He ails less in body than in mind, so please you. Being that Master
Humfrey was thrown by Blackfoot, the beast being scared by a flash of
lightning, and never spoke again."

"Master Humfrey!"

"Ay, mistress. Pitched on his head against the south gate-post. I
saw how it was with him when we took him up, and he never so much as
lifted an eyelid, but died at the turn of the night. Heaven rest his
soul!'

"Heaven rest his soul!" echoed Susan, and the ladies around chimed
in. They had come for one excitement, and here was another.

"There! See but what I said!" quoth Mrs. Rotherford, uplifting a
skinny finger to emphasise that the poor little flotsome had already
brought evil.

"Nay," said the portly wife of a merchant, "begging your pardon, this
may be a fat instead of a lean sorrow. Leaves the poor gentleman
heirs, Mrs. Talbot?"

"Oh no!" said Susan, with tears in her eyes. "His wife died two
years back, and her chrisom babe with her. He loved her too well to
turn his mind to wed again, and now he is with her for aye." And she
covered her face and sobbed, regardless of the congratulations of the
merchant's wife, and exclaiming, "Oh! the poor old lady!"

"In sooth, mistress," said Nathanael, who had stood all this time as
if he had by no means emptied his budget of ill news, "poor old madam
fell down all of a heap on the floor, and when the wenches lifted
her, they found she was stricken with the dead palsy, and she has not
spoken, and there's no one knows what to do, for the poor old squire
is like one distraught, sitting by her bed like an image on a
monument, with the tears flowing down his old cheeks. 'But,' says he
to me, 'get you to Hull, Nat, and take madam's palfrey and a couple
of sumpter beasts, and bring my good daughter Talbot back with you as
fast as she and the babes may brook.' I made bold to say, 'And
Master Richard, your worship?' then he groaned somewhat, and said,
'If my son's ship be come in, he must do as her Grace's service
permits, but meantime he must spare us his wife, for she is sorely
needed here.' And he looked at the bed so as it would break your
heart to see, for since old Nurse Took hath been doited, there's not
been a wench about the house that can do a hand's turn for a sick
body."

Susan knew this was true, for her mother-in-law had been one of those
bustling, managing housewives, who prefer doing everything themselves
to training others, and she was appalled at the idea of the probable
desolation and helplessness of the bereaved household.

It was far too late to start that day, even had her husband been at
home, for the horses sent for her had to rest. The visitors would
fain have extracted some more particulars about the old squire's age,
his kindred to the great Earl, and the amount of estate to which her
husband had become heir. There were those among them who could not
understand Susan's genuine grief, and there were others whose
consolations were no less distressing to one of her reserved
character. She made brief answer that the squire was threescore and
fifteen years old, his wife nigh about his age; that her husband was
now their only child; that he was descended from a son of the great
Earl John, killed at the Bridge of Chatillon, that he held the estate
of Bridgefield in fief on tenure of military service to the head of
his family. She did not know how much it was worth by the year, but
she must pray the good ladies to excuse her, as she had many
preparations to make. Volunteers to assist her in packing her mails
were made, but she declined them all, and rejoiced when left alone
with Colet to arrange for what would be probably her final departure
from Hull.

It was a blow to find that she must part from her servant-woman, who,
as well as her husband Gervas, was a native of Hull. Not only were
they both unwilling to leave, but the inland country was to their
imagination a wild unexplored desert. Indeed, Colet had only entered
Mrs. Talbot's service to supply the place of a maid who bad sickened
with fever and ague, and had to be sent back to her native
Hallamshire.

Ere long Mr. Heatherthwayte came down to offer his consolation, and
still more his advice, that the little foundling should be at once
baptized--conditionally, if the lady preferred it.

The Reformed of imperfect theological training, and as such Joseph
Heatherthwayte must be classed, were apt to view the ceremonial of
the old baptismal form, symbolical and beautiful as it was, as almost
destroying the efficacy of the rite. Moreover, there was a further
impression that the Church by which the child was baptized, had a
right to bring it up, and thus the clergyman was urgent with the lady
that she should seize this opportunity for the little one's baptism.

"Not without my husband's consent and knowledge," she said
resolutely.

"Master Talbot is a good man, but somewhat careless of sound
doctrine, as be the most of seafaring men."

Susan had been a little nettled by her husband's implied belief that
she was influenced by the minister, so there was double resolution,
as well as some offence in her reply, that she knew her duty as a
wife too well to consent to such a thing without him. As to his
being careless, he was a true and God-fearing man, and Mr,
Heatherthwayte should know better than to speak thus of him to his
wife.

Mr. Heatherthwayte's real piety and goodness had made him a great
comfort to Susan in her lonely grief, but he had not the delicate
tact of gentle blood, and had not known where to stop, and as he
stood half apologising and half exhorting, she felt that her Richard
was quite right, and that he could be both meddling and presuming.
He was exceedingly in the way of her packing too, and she was at her
wit's end to get rid of him, when suddenly Humfrey managed to pinch
his fingers in a box, and set up such a yell, as, seconded by the
frightened baby, was more than any masculine ears could endure, and
drove Master Heatherthwayte to beat a retreat.

Mistress Susan was well on in her work when her husband returned, and
as she expected, was greatly overcome by the tidings of his brother's
death. He closely questioned Nathanael on every detail, and could
think of nothing but the happy days he had shared with his brother,
and of the grief of his parents. He approved of all that his wife
had done; and as the damage sustained by the Mastiff could not be
repaired under a month, he had no doubt about leaving his crew in the
charge of his lieutenant while he took his family home.

So busy were both, and so full of needful cares, the one in giving up
her lodging, the other in leaving his men, that it was impossible to
inquire into the result of his researches, for the captain was in
that mood of suppressed grief and vehement haste in which irrelevant
inquiry is perfectly unbearable.

It was not till late in the evening that Richard told his wife of his
want of success in his investigations. He had found witnesses of the
destruction of the ship, but he did not give them full credit. "The
fellows say the ship drove on the rock, and that they saw her boats
go down with every soul on board, and that they would not lie to an
officer of her Grace. Heaven pardon me if I do them injustice in
believing they would lie to him sooner than to any one else. They
are rogues enough to take good care that no poor wretch should
survive even if he did chance to come to land."

"Then if there be no one to claim her, we may bring up as our own the
sweet babe whom Heaven hath sent us."

"Not so fast, dame. Thou wert wont to be more discreet. I said not
so, but for the nonce, till I can come by the rights of that scroll,
there's no need to make a coil. Let no one know of it, or of the
trinket--Thou hast them safe?"

"Laid up with the Indian gold chain, thy wedding gift, dear sir."

"'Tis well. My mother!--ah me," he added, catching himself up;
"little like is she to ask questions, poor soul."

Then Susan diffidently told of Master Heatherthwayte's earnest wish
to christen the child, and, what certainly biased her a good deal,
the suggestion that this would secure her to their own religion.

"There is something in that," said Richard, "specially after what
Cuthbert said as to the golden toy yonder. If times changed again--
which Heaven forfend--that fellow might give us trouble about the
matter."

"You doubt him then, sir!" she asked.

"I relished not his ways on our ride to-day," said Richard. "Sure
I am that he had some secret cause for being so curious about the
wreck. I suspect him of some secret commerce with the Queen of
Scots' folk."

"Yet you were on his side against Mr. Heatherthwayte," said Susan.

"I would not have my kinsman browbeaten at mine own table by the
self-conceited son of a dalesman, even if he have got a round hat and
Geneva band! Ah, well! one good thing is we shall leave both of them
well behind us, though I would it were for another cause."

Something in the remonstrance had, however, so worked on Richard
Talbot, that before morning be declared that, hap what hap, if he and
his wife were to bring up the child, she should be made a good
Protestant Christian before they left the house, and there should be
no more ado about it.

It was altogether illogical and untheological; but Master
Heatherthwayte was delighted when in the very early morning his
devotions were interrupted, and he was summoned by the captain
himself to christen the child.

Richard and his wife were sponsors, but the question of name had
never occurred to any one. However, in the pause of perplexity, when
the response lagged to "Name this child," little Humfrey, a delighted
spectator, broke out again with "Little Sis."

And forthwith, "Cicely, if thou art not already baptized," was
uttered over the child, and Cicely became her name. It cost Susan a
pang, as it had been that of her own little daughter, but it was too
late to object, and she uttered no regret, but took the child to her
heart, as sent instead of her who had been taken from her.

Master Heatherthwayte bade them good speed, and Master Langston stood
at the door of his office and waved them a farewell, both alike
unconscious of the rejoicing with which they were left behind.
Mistress Talbot rode on the palfrey sent for her use, with the little
stranger slung to her neck for security's sake. Her boy rode "a
cock-horse" before his father, but a resting-place was provided for
him on a sort of pannier on one of the sumpter beasts. What these
animals could not carry of the household stuff was left in Colet's
charge to be despatched by carriers; and the travellers jogged slowly
on through deep Yorkshire lanes, often halting to refresh the horses
and supply the wants of the little children at homely wayside inns,
their entrance usually garnished with an archway formed of the
jawbones of whales, which often served for gate-posts in that eastern
part of Yorkshire. And thus they journeyed, with frequent halts,
until they came to the Derbyshire borders.

Bridgefield House stood on the top of a steep slope leading to the
river Dun, with a high arched bridge and a mill below it. From the
bridge proceeded one of the magnificent avenues of oak-trees which
led up to the lordly lodge, full four miles off, right across
Sheffield Park.

The Bridgefield estate had been a younger son's portion, and its
owners had always been regarded as gentlemen retainers of the head of
their name, the Earl of Shrewsbury. Tudor jealousy had forbidden the
marshalling of such a meine as the old feudal lords had loved to
assemble, and each generation of the Bridgefield Talbots had become
more independent than the former one. The father had spent his
younger days as esquire to the late Earl, but had since become a
justice of the peace, and took rank with the substantial landowners
of the country. Humfrey, his eldest son, had been a gentleman
pensioner of the Queen till his marriage, and Richard, though
beginning his career as page to the present Earl's first wife, had
likewise entered the service of her Majesty, though still it was
understood that the head of their name had a claim to their immediate
service, and had he been called to take up arms, they would have been
the first to follow his banner. Indeed, a pair of spurs was all the
annual rent they paid for their estate, which they held on this
tenure, as well as on paying the heriard horse on the death of the
head of the family, and other contributions to their lord's splendour
when he knighted his son or married his daughter. In fact, they
stood on the borderland of that feudal retainership which was being
rapidly extinguished. The estate, carved out of the great Sheffield
property, was sufficient to maintain the owner in the dignities of an
English gentleman, and to portion off the daughters, provided that
the superfluous sons shifted for themselves, as Richard had hitherto
done. The house had been ruined in the time of the Wars of the
Roses, and rebuilt in the later fashion, with a friendly-looking
front, containing two large windows, and a porch projecting between
them. The hall reached to the top of the house, and had a waggon
ceiling, with mastiffs alternating with roses on portcullises at the
intersections of the timbers. This was the family sitting and dining
room, and had a huge chimney never devoid of a wood fire. One end
had a buttery-hatch communicating with the kitchen and offices; at
the other was a small room, sacred to the master of the house, niched
under the broad staircase that led to the upper rooms, which opened
on a gallery running round three sides of the hall.

Outside, on the southern side of the house, was a garden of potherbs,
with the green walks edged by a few bright flowers for beau-pots and
posies. This had stone walls separating it from the paddock, which
sloped down to the river, and was a good deal broken by ivy-covered
rocks. Adjoining the stables were farm buildings and barns, for
there were several fields for tillage along the river-side, and the
mill and two more farms were the property of the Bridgefield squire,
so that the inheritance was a very fair one, wedged in, as it were,
between the river and the great Chase of Sheffield, up whose stately
avenue the riding party looked as they crossed the bridge, Richard
having become more silent than ever as he came among the familiar
rocks and trees of his boyhood, and knew he should not meet that
hearty welcome from his brother which had never hitherto failed to
greet his return. The house had that strange air of forlornness
which seems to proclaim sorrow within. The great court doors stood
open, and a big, rough deer-hound, at the sound of the approaching
hoofs, rose slowly up, and began a series of long, deep-mouthed
barks, with pauses between, sounding like a knell. One or two men
and maids ran out at the sound, and as the travellers rode up to the
horse-block, an old gray-bearded serving-man came stumbling forth
with "Oh! Master Diccon, woe worth the day!"

"How does my mother?" asked Richard, as he sprang off and set his boy
on his feet.

"No worse, sir, but she hath not yet spoken a word--back, Thunder--
ah! sir, the poor dog knows you."

For the great hound had sprung up to Richard in eager greeting, but
then, as soon as he heard his voice, the creature drooped his ears
and tail, and instead of continuing his demonstrations of joy, stood
quietly by, only now and then poking his long, rough nose into
Richard's hand, knowing as well as possible that though not his dear
lost master, he was the next thing!

Mistress Susan and the infant were lifted down--a hurried question
and answer assured them that the funeral was over yesterday. My Lady
Countess had come down and would have it so; my lord was at Court,
and Sir Gilbert and his brothers had been present, but the old
servants thought it hard that none nearer in blood should be there to
lay their young squire in his grave, nor to support his father, who,
poor old man, had tottered, and been so like to swoon as he passed
the hall door, that Sir Gilbert and old Diggory could but, help him
back again, fearing lest he, too, might have a stroke.

It was a great grief to Richard, who had longed to look on his
brother's face again, but he could say nothing, only he gave one hand
to his wife and the other to his son, and led them into the hall,
which was in an indescribable state of confusion. The trestles which
had supported the coffin were still at one end of the room, the long
tables were still covered with cloths, trenchers, knives, cups, and
the remains of the funeral baked meats, and there were overthrown
tankards and stains of wine on the cloth, as though, whatever else
were lacking, the Talbot retainers had not missed their revel.

One of the dishevelled rough-looking maidens began some hurried
muttering about being so distraught, and not looking for madam so
early, but Susan could not listen to her, and merely putting the babe
into her arms, came with her husband up the stairs, leaving little
Humfrey with Nathanael.

Richard knocked at the bedroom door, and, receiving no answer, opened
it. There in the tapestry-hung chamber was the huge old bedstead
with its solid posts. In it lay something motionless, but the first
thing the husband and wife saw was the bent head which was lifted up
by the burly but broken figure in the chair beside it.

The two knotted old hands clasped the arms of the chair, and the
squire prepared to rise, his lip trembling under his white beard, and
emotion working in his dejected features. They were beforehand with
him. Ere he could rise both were on their knees before him, while
Richard in a broken voice cried, "Father, O father!"

"Thank God that thou art come, my son," said the old man, laying his
hands on his shoulders, with a gleam of joy, for as they afterwards
knew, he had sorely feared for Richard's ship in the storm that had
caused Humfrey's death. "I looked for thee, my daughter," he added,
stretching out one hand to Susan, who kissed it. "Now it may go
better with her! Speak to thy mother, Richard, she may know thy
voice."

Alas! no; the recently active, ready old lady was utterly stricken,
and as yet held in the deadly grasp of paralysis, unconscious of all
that passed around her.

Susan found herself obliged at once to take up the reins, and become
head nurse and housekeeper. The old squire trusted implicitly to
her, and helplessly put the keys into her hands, and the serving-men
and maids, in some shame at the condition in which the hall had been
found, bestirred themselves to set it in order, so that there was a
chance of the ordinary appearance of things being restored by supper-
time, when Richard hoped to persuade his father to come down to his
usual place.

Long before this, however, a trampling had been heard in the court,
and a shrill voice, well known to Richard and Susan, was heard
demanding, "Come home, is she--Master Diccon too? More shame for
you, you sluttish queans and lazy lubbers, never to have let me know;
but none of you have any respect--"

A visit from my Lady Countess was a greater favour to such a
household as that of Bridgefield than it would be to a cottage of the
present day; Richard was hurrying downstairs, and Susan only tarried
to throw off the housewifely apron in which she had been compounding
a cooling drink for the poor old lady, and to wash her hands, while
Humfrey, rushing up to her, exclaimed "Mother, mother, is it the
Queen?"

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