Grisly Grisell | Page 8

know sooner or later! My mother, she shrieked at sight
of me!"
"I would not have your mother," said the outspoken daughter of "proud
Cis." "My Lady Duchess mother is stern enough if we do not bridle our
heads, and if we make ourselves too friendly with the meine, but she
never frets nor rates us, and does not heed so long as we do not demean
ourselves unlike our royal blood. She is no termagant like yours."
It was not polite, but Grisell had not seen enough of her mother to be
very sensitive on her account. In fact, she was chiefly occupied with
what she had heard about her own appearance--a matter which had not
occurred to her before in all her suffering. She returned again to entreat
Margaret to tell her whether she was so foully ill- favoured that no one
could look at her, and the damsel of York, adhering to the letter rather

young than the spirit of the cautions which she had received, pursed up
her lips and reiterated that she had been commanded not to mention the
subject.
"Then," entreated Grisell, "do--do, dear Madge--only bring me the little
hand mirror out of my Lady Countess's chamber."
"I know not that I can or may."
"Only for the space of one Ave," reiterated Grisell.
"My lady aunt would never--"
"There--hark--there's the bell for mass. Thou canst run into her
chamber when she and the tirewomen are gone down."
"But I must be there."
"Thou canst catch them up after. They will only think thee a slug-a- bed.
Madge, dear Madge, prithee, I cannot rest without. Weeping will be
worse for me."
She was crying, and caressing Margaret so vehemently that she gained
her point. Indeed the other girl was afraid of her sobs being heard, and
inquired into, and therefore promised to make the attempt, keeping a
watch out of sight till she had seen the Lady of Salisbury in her padded
head-gear of gold net, and long purple train, sweep down the stair,
followed by her tirewomen and maidens of every degree. Then darting
into the chamber, she bore away from a stage where lay the articles of
the toilette, a little silver-backed and handled Venetian mirror, with
beautiful tracery in silvered glass diminishing the very small oval left
for personal reflection and inspection. That, however, was quite enough
and too much for poor Grisell when Lady Margaret had thrown it to her
on her bed, and rushed down the stair so as to come in the rear of the
household just in time.
A glance at the mirror disclosed, not the fair rosy face, set in light
yellow curls, that Grisell had now and then peeped at in a bucket of

water or a polished breast-plate, but a piteous sight. One half, as she
expected, was hidden by bandages, but the other was fiery red, except
that from the corner of the eye to the ear there was a purple scar; the
upper lip was distorted, the hair, eyebrows, and lashes were all gone!
The poor child was found in an agony of sobbing when, after the
service, the old woman who acted as her nurse came stumping up in her
wooden clogs to set the chamber and bed in order for Lady Whitburn's
visit.
The dame was in hot haste to get home. Rumours were rife as to
Scottish invasions, and her tower was not too far south not to need to
be on its guard. Her plan was to pack Grisell on a small litter slung to a
sumpter mule, and she snorted a kind of defiant contempt when the
Countess, backed by the household barber-surgeon, declared the
proceeding barbarous and impossible. Indeed she had probably
forgotten that Grisell was far too tall to be made up into the bundle she
intended; but she then declared that the wench might ride pillion behind
old Diccon, and she would not be convinced till she was taken up to the
sick chamber. There the first sound that greeted them was a choking
agony of sobs and moans, while the tirewoman stood over the bed,
exclaiming, "Aye, no wonder; it serves thee right, thou evil wench,
filching my Lady Countess's mirror from her very chamber, when it
might have been broken for all thanks to thee. The Venice glass that the
merchant gave her! Thou art not so fair a sight, I trow, as to be in haste
to see thyself. At the bottom of all the scathe in the Castle! We shall be
well rid of thee."
So loud was the objurgation of the tirewoman that she did not hear the
approach of her mistress, nor indeed the first words of the Countess,
"Hush, Maudlin, the poor child is not to be thus rated!