Two Penniless Princesses

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Two Penniless Princesses

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'Hers hath been the happy course, the blessed dedication,' said
Countess Alice.

'We have both been blessed too, thanks to the saints,' returned
Lilias.

'That is indeed sooth,' replied the other lady. 'My lord hath
ever been most good to me, and I have had joy of my sons. Yet
there is much that my mind forbodes and shrinks back from in
dread, as I watch my son Richard's overmastering spirit.'

'The Cardinal and the Duke of Gloucester have long been at
strife, as we heard,' said Lady Drummond, 'but sure that will be
appeased now that the Cardinal is an old man and your King come
to years of discretion.'

'The King is a sweet youth, a very saint already,' replied the
Countess, 'but I misdoubt whether he have the stout heart and
strong hand of his father, and he is set on peace.'

'Peace is to be followed,' said Lilias, amazed at the tone in
which her friend mentioned it.

'Peace at home! Ay, but peace at home is only to be had by war
abroad. Peace abroad without honour only leaves these fiery
spirits to fume, and fly at one another's throats, or at those
who wrought it. My mind misgives me, mine old friend, lest
wrangling lead to blows. I had rather see my Richard spurring
against the French than against his cousins of Somerset, and
while they advance themselves and claim to be nearer in blood to
the King than our good host of York, so long will there be cause
of bitterness.'

'Our kindly host seems to wish evil to no man.'

'Nay, he is content enough, but my sister his wife, and alas! my
son, cannot let him forget that after the Duke of Gloucester he
is highest in the direct male line to King Edward of Windsor,
and in the female line stands nearer than this present King.'

'In Scotland he would not forget that his father suffered for
that very cause.'

'Ah, Lilias, thou hast seen enow of what such blood-feuds work
in Scotland to know how much I dread and how I pray they may
never awaken here. The blessed King Harry of Monmouth kept them
down by the strong hand, while he won all hearts to himself. It
is my prayer that his young son may do the like, and that my
Lord of York be not fretted out of his peaceful loyalty by the
Somerset "outrecuidance", and above all that my own son be not
the make-bate; but Richard is proud and fiery, and I fear--I
greatly fear, what may be in store for us.'

Lilias thought of Eleanor's vision, but kept silence respecting
it.

Forerunners had been sent on by the Duke of York to announce his
coming, and who were in his company; and on the last stage these
returned, bringing with them a couple of knights and of clerks
on the part of the Cardinal of Winchester to welcome his great-
nieces, whom he claimed as his guests.

'I had hoped that the ladies of Scotland would honour my poor
house,' said the Duke.

'The Lord Cardinal deems it thus more fitting,' said the portly
priest who acted as Beaufort's secretary, and who spoke with an
authority that chafed the Duke.

Richard Nevil rode up to him and muttered--'He hath divined our
purpose, and means to cross it.'

The clerk, however, spoke with Sir Patrick, and in a manner took
possession of the young ladies. They were riding between walled
courts, substantially built, with intervals of fields and woods,
or sometimes indeed of morass; for London was still an island in
the middle of swamps, with the great causeways of the old Roman
times leading to it. The spire of St. Paul's and the square
keep of the Tower had been pointed out to them, and Jean
exclaimed--

'My certie, it is a braw toon!'

But Eleanor, on her side, exclaimed--

''Tis but a flat! Mine eye wearies for the sea; ay, and for
Arthur's Seat and the Castle! Oh, I wadna gie Embro' for forty
of sic toons!'

Perhaps Jean had guessed enough to make her look on London with
an eye of possession, for her answer was--

'Hear till her; and she was the first to cry out upon Embro' for
a place of reivers and land-loupers, and to want to leave it.'

There was so much that was new and wonderful that the sisters
pursued the question no further. They saw the masts of the
shipping in the Thames, and what seemed to them a throng of
church towers and spires; while, nearer, the road began to be
full of market-folk, the women in hoods and mantles and short
petticoats, the men in long frocks, such as their Saxon
forefathers had worn, driving the rough ponies or donkeys that
had brought in their produce. There were begging friars in cowl
and frock, and beggars, not friars, with crutch and bowl; there
were gleemen and tumbling women, solid tradesfolk going out to
the country farms they loved, troops of 'prentices on their way
to practice with the bow or cudgel, and parties of gaily-
coloured nobles, knights, squires, and burgesses, coming, like
their own party, to the meeting of Parliament.

There were continual greetings, the Duke of York showing himself
most markedly courteous to all, his dark head being almost
continuously uncovered, and bending to his saddle-bow in
response to the salutations that met him; and friendly
inquiries and answers being often exchanged. The Earl of
Salisbury and his son were almost equally courteous; but in the
midst of all the interest of these greetings, soon after
entering the city at Bishopsgate, the clerk caused the two
Scottish sisters to draw up at an arched gateway in a solid-
looking wall, saying that it was here that my Lord Cardinal
wished his royal kinswomen to be received, at the Priory of St. Helen's. A hooded lay-sister looked out at a wicket, and on his
speaking to her, proceeded to unbar the great gates, while the
Duke of York took leave in a more than kindly manner, declaring
that they would meet again, and that he knew 'My Lady of St.
Helen's would make them good cheer.'

Indeed, he himself and the King of Wight rode into the outer
court, and lifted the two ladies down from horseback, at the
inner gate, beyond which they might not go. Jean, crossed now
for the first time since she had left home, was in tears of
vexation, and could hardly control her voice to respond to his
words, muttering--

'As if I looked for this. Beshrew the old priest!'

None but female attendants could be admitted. Sir Patrick, with
his sons and the rest of the train, was to be lodged at the
great palace of the Bishop of Winchester at Southwark, and as he
came up to take leave of Jean, she said, with a stamp of her
foot and a clench of her hand--

'Let my uncle know that I am no cloister-bird to be mewed up
here. I demand to be with the friends I have made, and who have
bidden me.'

Shrewd Sir Patrick smiled a little as he said--

'I will tell the Lord Cardinal what you say, lady; but methinks
you will find that submission to him with a good grace carries
you farther here than does ill-humour.'

He said something of the same kind to his wife as he took leave
of her, well knowing who were predominant with the King, and who
were in opposition, the only link being the King of Wight, or
rather Earl of Warwick, who, as the son of Henry's guardian, had
been bred up in the closest intimacy with the monarch, and,
indeed, had been invested with his fantastic sovereignty that
he might be treated as a brother and on an equality.

Jean, however, remained very angry and discontented. After her
neglected and oppressed younger days, the courtesy and
admiration she had received for the last ten days had the effect
of making her like a spoilt child; and when they entered the
inner cloistered court within, and were met by the Lady
Prioress, at the head of all her sisters in black dresses, she
hardly vouchsafed an inclination of the head in reply to the
graceful and courtly welcome with which the princesses, nieces
to the great Cardinal, were received. Eleanor, usually in the
background, was left in surprise and confusion to stammer out
thanks in broad Scotch, seconded by Lady Drummond, who could
make herself far more intelligible to these south-country ears.

There was a beautiful cloister, a double walk with clustered
columns running down the centre and a vaulted roof, and with a
fountain in the midst of the quadrangle. There was a chapel on
one side, the buildings of the Priory on the others. It was
only a Priory, for the parent Abbey was in the country; but the
Prioress was a noble lady of the house of Stafford, a small
personage as to stature, but thoroughly alert and business-like,
and, in fact, the moving spring, not only of the actual house,
but of the parent Abbey, manager of the property it possessed in
the city, and of all its monastic politics.

Without apparent offence, she observed that no doubt the ladies
were weary, and that Sister Mabel should conduct them to the
guest-chamber. Accordingly one of the black figures led the
way, and as soon as they were beyond ear-shot there were
observations that would not have gratified Jean.

'The ill-nurtured Scots!' cried one young nun. ''Tis ever the
way with them,' returned a much older one. 'I mind when one was
captive in my father's castle who was a mere clown, and drank up
the water that was meant to wash his fingers after meat. The
guest-chamber will need a cleaning after they are gone!'

'Methinks it was less lack of manners than lack of temper,'
said the Prioress. 'She hath the Beaufort face and the Beaufort
spirit.'

The chapel bell began to ring, and the black veils and white
filed in long procession to the pointed doorway, while the two
Scottish damsels, with Lady Drummond, her daughter, and
Christie, were conducted to three chambers looking out on the
one side on the cloistered court, on the other over a choicely-
kept garden, walled in, but planted with trees shading the turf
walks. The rooms were, as Sister Mabel explained with some
complacency, reserved for the lodging of the noble ladies who
came to London as guests of my Lord Cardinal, or with petitions
to the King; and certainly there was nothing of asceticism about
them; but they were an advance even on those at Fotheringay.
St. Helena discovering the Cross was carved over the ample
chimney, and the hangings were of Spanish leather, with all the
wondrous history of Santiago's relics, including the miracle of
the cock and hen, embossed and gilt upon them. There was a
Venetian mirror, in which the ladies saw more of themselves than
they had ever done before, and with exquisite work around; there
were carved chests inlaid with ivory, and cushions, perfect
marvels of needlework, as were the curtains and coverlets of the
mighty bed, and the screens to be arranged for privacy. There
were toilette vessels of beautifully shaped and brightly
polished brass, and on a silver salver was a refection of
manchet bread, comfits, dried cherries, and wine.

Sister Mabel explained that a lay-sister would be at hand, in
case anything was needed by the noble ladies, and then hurried
away to vespers.

Jean threw herself upon the cross-legged chair that stood
nearest.

'A nunnery forsooth! Does our uncle trow that is what I came here for? We have had enow of nunneries at home.'

'Oh, fie for shame, Jeanie!' cried Eleanor.

''Twas thou that saidst it,' returned Jean. 'Thou saidst thou
hadst no call to the veil, and gin my Lord trows that we shall
thole to be shut up here, he will find himself in the wrong.'

'Lassie, lassie,' exclaimed Lady Drummond, 'what ails ye? This
is but a lodging, and sic a braw chamber as ye hae scarce seen
before. Would you have your uncle lodge ye among all his
priests and clerks? Scarce the place for douce maidens, I trow.'

'Leddy of Glenuskie, ye're not sae sib to the bluid royal of
Scotland as to speak thus! Lassie indeed!'

Again Eleanor remonstrated. 'Jeanie, to speak thus to our gude
kinswoman!'

'I would have all about me ken their place, and what fits them,'
said the haughty young lady, partly out of ill-temper and
disappointment, partly in imitation of the demeanour of Duchess
Cicely. 'As to the Cardinal, I would have him bear in mind that
we are a king's own daughters, and he is at best but the
grandson of a king! And if he deems that he has a right to shut
us up here out of sight of the King and his court, lest we
should cross his rule over his King and disturb his French
policy and craft, there are those that will gar him ken better!'

'Some one else will ken better,' quietly observed Dame Lilias.
'Gin ye be no clean daft, Leddy Joanna, since naething else will
serve ye, canna ye see that to strive with the Cardinal is the
worst gait to win his favour with the King, gin that be what ye
be set upon?'

'There be others that can deal with the King, forbye the
Cardinal,' said Jean, tossing her head.

Just then arrived a sister, sent by the Mother Prioress, to
invite the ladies to supper in her own apartments.

Her respectful manner so far pacified Jean's ill-humour that a
civil reply was returned; the young ladies bestirred themselves
to make preparations, though Jean grumbled at the trouble for
'a pack of womenfolk'--and supposed they were to make a meal of
dried peas and red herrings, like their last on Lammermuir.

It was a surprise to be conducted, not to the refectory, where
all the nuns took their meal together, but to a small room
opening into the cloister on one side, and with a window
embowered in vines on the other, looking into the garden. It
was by no means bare, like the typical cells of strict convents.
The Mother, Margaret Stafford, was a great lady, and the
Benedictines of the old foundation of St. Helen's in the midst
of the capital were indeed respectable and respected, but very
far from strict observers of their rule--and St. Helen's was so
much influenced by the wealth and display of the city that the
nuns, many of whom were these great merchants' daughters, would
have been surprised to be told that they had departed from
Benedictine simplicity. So the Prioress's chamber was
tapestried above with St. Helena's life, and below was enclosed
with drapery panels. It was strewed with sweet fresh rushes,
and had three cross-legged chairs, besides several stools; the
table, as usual upon trestles, was provided with delicate
napery, and there was a dainty perfume about the whole; a
beautiful crucifix of ivory and ebony, with images of Our Lady
and St. John on either side, and another figure of St. Helena,
cross in hand, presiding over the holy water stoup, were the
most ecclesiastical things in the garniture, except the
exquisitely illuminated breviary that lay open upon a desk.

Mother Margaret rose to receive her guests with as much dignity
as Jean herself could have shown, and made them welcome to her
poor house, hoping that they would there find things to their mind.

Something restrained Jean from bursting out with her petulant complaint, and it was Eleanor who replied with warm thanks. 'My
Lord Cardinal would come to visit them on the morn,' the
Prioress said; 'and in the meantime, she hoped,' looking at
Jean, 'they would condescend to the hospitality of the poor
daughters of St. Helen.'

The hospitality, as brought in by two plump, well-fed lay-
sisters, consisted of 'chickens in cretyne,' stewed in milk,
seasoned with sugar, coloured with saffron, of potage of
oysters, butter of almond-milk, and other delicate meats, such
as had certainly never been tasted at Stirling or Dunbar. Lady
Drummond's birth entitled her and Annis to sit at table with
the Princesses and the Prioress, and she ventured to inquire
after Esclairmonde de Luxembourg, or, as she was now called,
Sister Clare of St. Katharine's.

'I see her at times. She is the head of the sisters,' said the
Prioress; 'but we have few dealings with uncloistered sisters.'

'They do a holy work,' observed Lady Lilias.

'None ever blamed the Benedictines for lack of alms-deeds,'
returned the Prioress haughtily, scarcely attending to the
guest's disclaimer. 'Nor do I deem it befitting that instead
of the poor coming to us our sisters should run about to all
the foulest hovels of the Docks, encountering men continually,
and those of the rudest sort.'

'Yet there are calls and vocations for all,' ventured Lady
Drummond. 'And the sick are brethren in need.'

'Let them send to us for succour then,' answered Mother
Margaret. 'I grant that it is well that some one should tend
them in their huts, but such tasks are for sisters of low birth
and breeding. Mine are ladies of noble rank, though I do admit
daughters of Lord Mayors and Aldermen.'

'Our Saint Margaret was a queen, Reverend Mother,' put in
Eleanor.

'She was no nun, saving your Grace,' said the Prioress. 'What
I speak of is that which beseems a daughter of St. Bennet, of an
ancient and royal foundation! The saving of the soul is so much
harder to the worldly life, specially to a queen, that it is no
marvel if she has to abase herself more--even to the washing of
lepers--than is needful to a vowed and cloistered sister.'

It was an odd theory, that this Benedictine seclusion saved
trouble, as being actually the strait course; but the young
maidens were not scholars enough to question it, and Dame
Lilias, though she had learnt more from her brother and her
friend, would have deemed it presumptuous to dispute with a
Reverend Mother. So only Eleanor murmured, 'The holy Margaret
no saint'--and Jean, 'Weel, I had liefer take my chance.'

'All have not a vocation,' piously said the Mother. 'Taste this
Rose Dalmoyne, Madame; our lay-sister Mold is famed for making
it. An alderman of the Fishmongers' Company sent to beg that
his cook might know the secret, but that was not to be lightly
parted with, so we only send them a dish for their banquets.'

Rose Dalmoyne was chiefly of peas, flavoured with almonds and
milk, but the guests grew weary of the varieties of delicacies,
and were very glad when the tables were removed, and Eleanor
asked permission to look at the illuminations in the breviary
on the desk.

And exquisite they were. The book had been brought from Italy
and presented to the Prioress by a merchant who wished to place
his daughter in St. Helen's, and the beauty was unspeakable.
There were natural flowers painted so perfectly that the
scattered violets seemed to invite the hand to lift them up from
their gold-besprinkled bed, and flies and beetles that Eleanor
actually attempted to drive away; and at all the greater holy
days, the type and the antitype covering the two whole opposite
pages were represented in the admirable art and pure colouring
of the early Cinquecento.

Eleanor and Annis were entranced, and the Prioress, seeing that
books had an attraction for her younger guest, promised her on
the morrow a sight of some of the metrical lives of the saints,
especially of St. Katharine and of St. Cecilia. It must be
owned that Jean was not fretted as she expected by chapel bells
in the middle of the night, nor was even Lady Drummond summoned
by them as she intended, but there was a conglomeration of the
night services in the morning, with beautiful singing, that
delighted Eleanor, and the festival mass ensuing was also more
ornate than anything to be seen in Scotland. And that the
extensive almsgiving had not been a vain boast was evident from
the swarms of poor of all kinds who congregated in the outer
court for the attention of the Sisters Almoner and Infirmarer,
attended by two or three novices and some lay-sisters.

There were genuine poor, ragged forlorn women, and barefooted,
almost naked children, and also sturdy beggars, pilgrims and
palmers on their way to various shrines, north or south, and
many more for whom a dole of broth or bread sufficed; but there
were also others with heads or limbs tied up, sometimes injured
in the many street fights, but oftener with the terrible sores
only too common from the squalid habits and want of vegetable
diet of the poor. These were all attended to with a tenderness
and patience that spoke well for the charity of Sister Anne and
her assistants, and indeed before long Dame Lilias perceived
that, however slack and easy-going the general habits might be,
there were truly meek and saintly women among the sisterhood.

The morning was not far advanced before a lay-sister came
hurrying in from the portress's wicket to announce that my Lord
Cardinal was on his way to visit the ladies of Scotland. There
was great commotion. Mother Margaret summoned all her nuns and
drew them up in state, and Sister Mabel, who carried the tidings
to the guests, asked whether they would not join in receiving
him.

'We are king's daughters,' said Jean haughtily.

'But he is a Prince of the Church and an aged man,' said Lady
Drummond, who had already risen, and was adjusting that headgear
of Eleanor's that never would stay in its place. And her
matronly voice acted upon Jean, so as to conquer the petulant
pride, enough to make her remember that the Lady of Glenuskie
was herself a Stewart and king's grandchild, and moreover knew
more of courts and their habits than herself.

So down they went together, in time to join the Prioress on the
steps, as the attendants of the great stately, princely Cardinal
Bishop began to appear. He did not come in state, so that he had
only half a dozen clerks and as many gentlemen in attendance,
together with Sir Patrick and his two sons.

Few of the Plantagenet family had been long-lived, and Cardinal
Beaufort was almost a marvel in the family at seventy. Much
evil has been said and written of him, and there is no doubt
that he was one of those mediaeval prelates who ought to have
been warriors or statesmen, and that he had been no model for
the Episcopacy in his youth. But though far from having been a
saint, it would seem that his unpopularity in his old age was
chiefly incurred by his desire to put an end to the long and
miserable war with France, and by his opposition to a much worse
man, the Duke of Gloucester, whose plausible murmurs and amiable
manners made him a general favourite. At this period of his
life the old man had lived past his political ambitions, and his
chief desire was to leave the gentle young king freed from the
wasting war by a permanent peace, to be secured by a marriage
with a near connection of the French monarch, and daughter to
the most honourable and accomplished Prince in Europe. That his
measures turned out wretchedly has been charged upon his memory,
and he has been supposed guilty of a murder, of which he was
certainly innocent, and which probably was no murder at all.

He had become a very grand and venerable old man, when old men
were scarce, and his white hair and beard (a survival of the
customs of the days of Edward III) contrasted well with his
scarlet hat and cape, as he came slowly into the cloistered
court on his large sober-paced Spanish mule; a knight and the
chaplain of the convent assisted him from it, and the whole
troop of the convent knelt as he lifted his fingers to bestow
his blessing, Jean casting a quick glance around to satisfy her
proud spirit. The Prioress then kissed his hand, but he raised
and kissed the cheeks of his two grand-nieces, after which he
moved on to the Prioress's chamber, and there, after being
installed in her large chair, and waving to the four favoured
inmates to be also seated, he looked critically at the two
sisters, and observed, 'So, maidens! one favours the mother,
the other the father! Poor Joan, it is two-and-twenty years
since we bade her good-speed, she and her young king--who
behoved to be a minstrel--on her way to her kingdom, as if it
were the land of Cockayne, for picking up gold and silver.
Little of that she found, I trow, poor wench. Alack! it was
a sore life we sent her to. And you are mourning her freshly,
my maidens! I trust she died at peace with God and man.'

'That reiver, Patrick Hepburn, let the priest from Haddington
come to assoilzie and housel her,' responded Jean.

'Ah! Masses shall be said for her by my bedesmen at St. Cross,
and at all my churches,' said the Cardinal, crossing himself.
'And you are on your way to your sister, the Dolfine, as your
knight tells me. It is well. You may be worthily wedded in
France, and I will take order for your safe going. Meantime,
this is a house where you may well serve your poor mother's
soul by prayers and masses, and likewise perfect yourselves in
French.'

This was not at all what Jean had intended, and she pouted a little, while the Cardinal asked, changing his language, 'Ces donzelles, ont elles appris le Francais?'

Jean, who had tried to let Father Romuald teach her a little in conversation during the first part of the journey, but who had
dropped the notion since other ideas had been inspired at
Fotheringay, could not understand, and pouted the more; but
Eleanor, who had been interested, and tried more in earnest, for
Margaret's sake, answered diffidently and blushing deeply, 'Un
petit peu, beau Sire Oncle.'

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