His Grace of Osmonde | Page 2

said she, "which
doth not beat for her to-day--and for his Grace and the heir or heiress
that will come of these hours of hers. God bless all three!"
"Lord, how the tiny thing hath been loved and waited for!" said Dame
Watt. "'Tis somewhat to be born a great Duke's child! And how its
mother hath been cherished and kept like a young saint in a shrine!"
"If 'tis not a great child and a beauteous one 'twill be a wondrous thing,
its parents being both beautiful and happy, and both deep in love,"
quoth motherly Bush.
"Ay, it beginneth well; it beginneth well," said Dame Watt--"a being
born to wealth and state. What with chaplains and governors of virtue
and learning, there seemeth no way for it to go astray in life or grow to
aught but holy greatness. It should be the finest duke or duchess in all
England some day, surely."
"Heaven ordains a fair life for some new-born things, 'twould seem,"
said Bush, "and a black one for others; and the good can no more be
escaped than the bad. There goes my Matthew in his ploughboy's
smock across the fields. 'Tis a good lad and a handsome. Why was he
not a great lord's son?"
Neighbour Watt laughed.
"Because thou wert an honest woman and not a beauty," quoth she.
The small black eyes set deep in Bush's broad red face twinkled
somewhat at the rough jest, but not in hearty mirth. She rubbed her
hand across her mouth with an awkward gesture.
"Ay," answered she, "but 'twas not that I meant. I thought of all this
child is born to--love and wealth and learning--and that others are born
to naught but ill."
"Lawk! let us not even speak of ill on such a day," said her neighbour.
"Look at the sky's blueness and the spring bursting forth in every
branch and clod--and the very skylarks singing hard as if for joy."

"Ay," said Joan Bush, "and look up village street to the Plough Horse,
and see thy Gregory and my Will and their mates pouring down ale to
drink a health to it--and to her Grace and to my lord Duke, and to the
fine Court doctors, and to the nurses, and to the Chaplain, and to old
Rowe who waits about to be ready to ring a peal on the church bells.
They'll find toasts enough, I warrant."
"That will they," said Dame Watt, but she chuckled good-naturedly, as
if she held no grudge against ale drinking for this one day at least.
'Twas true the men found toasts enough and were willing to drink them
as they would have been to drink even such as were less popular. These,
in sooth, were near their hearts; and there was reason they should be, no
nobleman being more just and kindly to his tenants than his Grace of
Osmonde, and no lady more deservedly beloved and looked up to with
admiring awe than his young Duchess, now being tenderly watched
over at Camylott Tower by one of Queen Catherine's own physicians
and a score of assistants, nurses, and underlings.
Even at this moment, William Bush was holding forth to the company
gathered about the door of the Plough Horse, he having risen from the
oaken bench at its threshold to have his pewter tankard filled again.
"'Tis not alone Duke he will be," quoth he, "but with titles and estates
enough to make a man feel like King Charles himself. 'Tis thus he will
be writ down in history, as his Grace his father hath been before him:
Duke of Osmonde--Marquess of Roxholm--Earl of Osmonde--Earl of
Marlowell--Baron Dorlocke of Paulyn, and Baron Mertoun of
Charleroy."
"Can a man then be six men at once?" said Gregory Watt.
"Ay, and each of him be master of a great house and rich estate. 'Tis so
with this one. 'Tis said the Court itself waits to hear the news."
Stout Tom Comfort broke forth into a laugh.
"'Tis not often the Court waits," says he, "to hear news so honest. At
Camylott Tower lies one Duchess whom King Charles did not make,
thank God, but was made one by her husband."
Will Bush set down his tankard with a smack upon the table before the
sitting-bench.
"She had but once appeared at Whitehall when his Grace met her and
fell deep in love that hour," he said.
"Was't not rumoured," said Tom Comfort, somewhat lowering his voice,

"that He cast glances her way as he casts them on every young beauty
brought before him, and that his Grace could scarce hold his
tongue--King or no King?"
"Ay," said Will Bush, sharply, "his royal glance fell on her, and he
made a jest on what a man's joy would