Grisly Grisell | Page 3

sound of wains coming into the court, the boys had
rushed off, and the younger girls had followed them, whether with or
without warning was not made clear. Poor little Grisell's condition
might have been considered a sufficient warning, nevertheless the two
companions in her misdemeanour were condemned to a whipping, to
enforce on them a lesson of maidenliness; and though the Mother of the
Maids could not partake of the flagellation, she remained under her
lord's and lady's grave displeasure, and probably would have to submit
to a severe penance from the priest for her carelessness. Yet, as she

observed, Mistress Grisell was a North Country maid, never couthly or
conformable, but like a boy, who would moreover always be after
Leonard Copeland, whether he would or no.
It was the more unfortunate, as Lord Salisbury lamented to his wife,
because the Copelands were devoted to the Somerset faction; and the
King had been labouring to reconcile them to the Dacres, and to bring
about a contract of marriage between these two unfortunate children,
but he feared that whatever he could do, there would only be additional
feud and bitterness, though it was clear that the mishap was accidental.
The Lord of Whitburn himself was in Ireland with the Duke of York,
while his lady was in attendance on the young Queen, and it was
judged right and seemly to despatch to her a courier with the tidings of
her daughter's disaster, although in point of fact, where a house could
number sons, damsels were not thought of great value, except as the
means of being allied with other houses. A message was also sent to Sir
William Copeland that his son had been the death of the daughter of
Whitburn; for poor little Grisell lay moaning in a state of much fever
and great suffering, so that the Lady Salisbury could not look at her,
nor hear her sighs and sobs without tears, and the barber-surgeon,
unaccustomed to the effects of gunpowder, had little or no hope of her
life.
Leonard Copeland's mood was sullen, not to say surly. He submitted to
the chastisement without a word or cry, for blows were the lot of boys
of all ranks, and were dealt out without much respect to justice; and he
also had to endure a sort of captivity, in a dismal little circular room in
a turret of the manorial house, with merely a narrow loophole to look
out from, and this was only accessible by climbing up a steep broken
slope of brick-work in the thickness of the wall.
Here, however, he was visited by his chief friend and comrade,
Edmund Plantagenet of York, who found him lying on the floor,
building up fragments of stone and mortar into the plan of a castle.
"How dost thou, Leonard?" he asked. "Did old Hal strike very hard?"
"I reck not," growled Leonard.

"How long will my uncle keep thee here?" asked Edmund
sympathisingly.
"Till my father comes, unless the foolish wench should go and die. She
brought it on me, the peevish girl. She is always after me when I want
her least."
"Yea, is not she contracted to thee?"
"So they say; but at least this puts a stop to my being plagued with
her--do what they may to me. There's an end to it, if I hang for it."
"They would never hang thee."
"None knows what you traitor folk of Nevil would do to a loyal house,"
growled Leonard.
"Traitor, saidst thou," cried Edmund, clenching his fists. "'Tis thy base
Somerset crew that be the traitors."
"I'll brook no such word from thee," burst forth Leonard, flying at him.
"Ha! ha!" laughed Edmund even as they grappled. "Who is the traitor
forsooth? Why, 'tis my father who should be King. 'Tis white-faced
Harry and his Beauforts--"
The words were cut short by a blow from Leonard, and the warder
presently found the two boys rolling on the floor together in hot
contest.
And meanwhile poor Grisell was trying to frame with her torn and
flayed cheeks and lips, "O lady, lady, visit it not on him! Let not
Leonard be punished. It was my fault for getting into his way when I
should have been in the garden. Dear Madge, canst thou speak for
him?"
Madge was Edmund's sister, Margaret of York, who stood trembling
and crying by Grisell's bed.

CHAPTER II
--THE BROKEN MATCH

The Earl of Salisbury, called Prudence.
Contemporary Poem.
Little Grisell Dacre did not die, though day after day she lay in a
suffering condition, tenderly watched over by the Countess Alice. Her
mother had been summoned from attendance on the Queen, but at first
there only was returned a message that if the maid was dead she should
be embalmed and sent