Grisly Grisell

Grisly Grisell

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Grisly Grisell, by Charlotte M. Yonge
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Title: Grisly Grisell
Author: Charlotte M. Yonge
Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7387] [This file was first posted
on April 24, 2003]
Edition: 10

Language: English
Character set encoding: US-ASCII
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, GRISLY
GRISELL ***

Transcribed from the 1906 edition by David Price, email
[email protected]

GRISLY GRISELL, or THE LAIDLY LADY OF WHITBURN: A
TALE OF THE WARS OF THE ROSES
CHAPTER I
--AN EXPLOSION

It was a great pity, so it was, this villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
out of the bowels of the harmless earth.
SHAKESPEARE King Henry IV.,
Part I.
A terrible shriek rang through the great Manor-house of Amesbury. It
was preceded by a loud explosion, and there was agony as well as
terror in the cry. Then followed more shrieks and screams, some of
pain, some of fright, others of anger and recrimination. Every one in the
house ran together to the spot whence the cries proceeded, namely, the
lower court, where the armourer and blacksmith had their workshops.
There was a group of children, the young people who were confided to
the great Earl Richard and Countess Alice of Salisbury for education

and training. Boys and girls were alike there, some of the latter crying
and sobbing, others mingling with the lads in the hot dispute as to "who
did it."
By the time the gentle but stately Countess had reached the place, all
the grown-up persons of the establishment--knights, squires, grooms,
scullions, and females of every degree--had thronged round them, but
parted at her approach, though one of the knights said, "Nay, Lady
Countess, 'tis no sight for you. The poor little maid is dead, or nigh
upon it."
"But who is it? What is it?" asked the Countess, still advancing.
A confused medley of voices replied, "The Lord of Whitburn's little
wench--Leonard Copeland--gunpowder."
"And no marvel," said a sturdy, begrimed figure, "if the malapert young
gentles be let to run all over the courts, and handle that with which they
have no concern, lads and wenches alike."
"Nay, how can I stop it when my lady will not have the maidens kept
ever at their distaffs and needles in seemly fashion," cried a small but
stout and self-assertive dame, known as "Mother of the Maidens," then
starting, "Oh! my lady, I crave your pardon, I knew not you were in this
coil! And if the men-at-arms be let to have their perilous goods strewn
all over the place, no wonder at any mishap."
"Do not wrangle about the cause," said the Countess. "Who is hurt?
How much?"
The crowd parted enough for her to make way to where a girl of about
ten was lying prostrate and bleeding with her head on a woman's lap.
"Poor maid," was the cry, "poor maid! 'Tis all over with her. It will go
ill with young Leonard Copeland."
"Worse with Hodge Smith for letting him touch his irons."

"Nay, what call had Dick Jenner to lay his foul, burning gunpowder--a
device of Satan--in this yard? A mercy we are not all blown to the
winds."
The Countess, again ordering peace, reached the girl, whose moans
showed that she was still alive, and between the barber-surgeon and the
porter's wife she was lifted up, and carried to a bed, the Countess Alice
keeping close to her, though the "Mother of the Maidens," who was a
somewhat helpless personage, hung back, declaring that the sight of the
wounds made her swoon. There were terrible wounds upon the face and
neck, which seemed to be almost bared of skin. The lady, who had been
bred to some knowledge of surgical skill, together with the
barber-surgeon, did their best to allay the agony with applications of
sweet oil. Perhaps if they had had more of what was then considered
skill, it might have been worse for her.