The White Rose of Langley | Page 7

demeritous party, it should be Parnel. I saw all that
chanced, by the lattice, but the maids saw not me."
Parnel was not whipped, for her quickness made her a favourite; but
neither was Maude, for Bertram's intercession rescued her.
"The saints bless you, Master Bertram!" said Maude, at the next
opportunity. "And the saints help me, for verily I have an hard life. I
am all of a bire [hurry, confusion], and sore strangled [tired], from
morn to night."
"Poor little Maude!" answered Bertram pityingly. "Would I might
shape thy matters better-good. Do the saints help, thinkest? Hugh
Calverley saith no."
"Talk you with such like evil fawtors, [factor, doer], Master Bertram?"
asked Maude in a shocked voice.
"Evil fawtors, forsooth! Hugh is no evil fawtor. How can I help but
rede [attend to] his sayings? He is one of my fellows. And 'tis but what
he hath from his father. Master Calverley is a squire of the Queen's
Grace, and one of Sir John de Wycliffe's following."
"Who is Sir John de Wycliffe?" said Maude.
"One of the Lord Pope his Cardinals," laughed Bertram. "Get thee to
thine herbs and pans, little Maude; and burden not thy head with Sir
John de Wycliffe nor John de Northampton neither. Fare thee well, my
maid. I must after my master for the hawking."

But before Bertram turned away, Maude seized the opportunity to ask a
question which had been troubling her for many a month.
"If you be not in heavy bire, Master Bertram--"
"Go to! What maketh a minute more nor less?"
"Would it like you of your goodness to tell me, an' you wit, who
dwelleth in the Castle of Pleshy?"
"`An' I wit'! Well wis I. 'Tis my gracious Lord of Buckingham, brother
unto our Lord of Cambridge."
"Were you ever at Pleshy, Master Bertram?"
"Truly, but a year gone, for the christening of the young Lord
Humphrey."
"And liked it you to tell me if you wot at all of one Hawise Gerard
among the Lady's maidens?"
Maude awaited the answer in no little suppressed eagerness. She had
loved Cousin Hawise; and if she yet lived, though apart, she would not
feel herself so utterly alone. Perhaps they might even meet again, some
day. But Bertram shook his head.
"I heard never the name," he said. "The Lady of Buckingham her
maidens be Mistress Polegna and Mistress Sarah [fictitious persons]:
their further names I wis not. But no Mistress Hawise saw I never."
"I thank you much, Master Bertram, and will not stay you longer."
But another shadow fell upon Maude's life. Poor, pretty, gentle, timid
Cousin Hawise! What had become of her? The next opportunity she
had, Maude inquired from Bertram, "What like dame were my Lady of
Buckingham's greathood?"
Bertram shrugged his shoulders, as if the question took him out of his
depth.

"Marry, she is a woman!" said he; "and all women be alike. There is
not one but will screech an' she see a spider."
"Mistress Drew and Mother be not alike," answered Maude, falling
back on her own small experience. "Neither were Hawise and I alike.
She would alway stay at holy Mary her image, to see if the lamp were
alight; but I--the saints forgive me!--I never cared thereabout. So good
was Cousin Hawise."
"Maude," suggested Bertram in a low voice, as if he felt half afraid of
his own idea, "Countest that blessed Mary looketh ever her own self to
wit if the lamp be alight?"
Maude was properly shocked.
"Save you All Hallows, Master Bertram! How come you by such
fantasies?"
Bertram laughed and went away, chanting a stave of the "Ploughman's
Complaint"--[See Note 4.]
"Christ hath twelve apostles here; Now, say they, there may be but one,
That may not erre in no manere-- Who 'leveth [believeth] not this ben
lost echone. [each one] Peter erred--so did not Jhon; Why is he cleped
the principal? [See note 5.] Christ cleped him Peter, but Himself the
Stone-- All false faitours [doers] foule hem fall!" [Evil befall them.]
Late that evening a mounted messenger crossed the drawbridge, and
stayed his weary horse in the snows-prinkled base court. He was
quickly recognised by the household as a royal letter-bearer from
London.
"And what news abroad, Master Matthew?"
"Why, the King's Highness keepeth his Christmas at Eltham; and
certain of the Council would fain have the Queen's Bohemians sent
forth, but I misdoubt if it shall be done. And Sir Nicholas Brembre is
the new mayor. There is no news else. Oh, ay! The parson of

Lutterworth, Sir John de Wycliffe--"
"The lither heretic!" muttered Warine, for he was the questioner. "What
misturnment [perversion] would he now?"
"He will never turn ne misturn more," said the messenger. "The
morrow after Holy Innocents a second