"Well, madam, save when the rheumatic pains take her," said Cicely.
"And still of good courage?"
"That, madam, nothing can daunt."
Seats, though only joint stools, were given to the ladies, but Susan found herself no longer trembling at the effects of the Countess's insolence upon Cicely, who seemed to accept it all as a matter of course, and almost of indifference, though replying readily and with a gentle grace, most unlike her childish petulance.
Many close inquiries from the Earl and Countess were answered by Richard and the young lady, until they had a tolerably clear idea of the situation. The Countess wept bitterly, and to Cicely's great amazement began bemoaning herself that she was not still the poor lady's keeper. It was a shame to put her where there were no women to feel for her. Lady Shrewsbury had apparently forgotten that no one had been so virulent against the Queen as herself.
And when it was impossible to deny that things looked extremely ill, and that Burghley and Walsingham seemed resolved not to let slip this opportunity of ridding themselves of the prisoner, my Lady burst out with, "Ah! there it is! She will die, and my promise is broken, and she will haunt me to my dying day, all along of that venomous toad and spiteful viper, Mary Talbot."
A passionate fit of weeping succeeded, mingled with vituperations of her daughter Mary, far more than of herself, and amid it all, during Susan's endeavours at soothing, Cicely gathered that the cause of the Countess's despair was that in the time of her friendship and amity, she had uttered an assurance that the Queen need not fear death, as she would contrive means of safety. And on her own ground, in her own Castle or Lodge, there could be little doubt that she would have been able to have done so. The Earl, indeed, shook his head, but repented, for she laughed at him half angrily, half hysterically, for thinking he could have prevented anything that she was set upon.
And now she said and fully believed that the misunderstanding which had resulted in the removal of the prisoner had been entirely due to the slanders and deceits of her own daughter Mary, and her husband Gilbert, with whom she was at this time on the worst of terms. And thus she laid on them the blame of the Queen's death (if that was really decreed), but though she outwardly blamed every creature save herself, such agony of mind, and even terror, proved that in very truth there must have been the conviction at the bottom of her heart that it was her own fault.
The Earl had beckoned away Master Richard, both glad to escape; but Cicely had to remain, and filled with compassion for one whom she had always regarded previously as an enemy, she could not help saying, "Dear madam, take comfort; I am going to bear a petition to the Queen's Majesty from the captive lady, and if she will hear me all will yet be well."
"How! What? How! Thou little moppet! Knows she what she says, Susan Talbot?"