So, in the course of that evening, Father Bevis baptised little Rose Barkeworth in the chapel of the palace, the Earl standing sponsor for her, with the Lady de Chaucombe and the Lady de Echingham. The Countess had been asked, but to Clarice’s private satisfaction had declined, for she would much rather have had the Earl, and the canon law forbade husband and wife being sponsors to the same infant.
Something was the matter with the Countess. Every one agreed upon this, but nobody could guess what it was. She was quieter than her wont, and was given to long, silent reveries, which had not been usual with her.
Filomena, who was of a lively turn of mind, declared that life at Whitehall was becoming absolutely intolerable, and that she should be thankful to go to Oakham, for at least it would be something new.
“Thou wilt be thankful to come away again,” said Mistress Underdone, with a smile.
They reached Oakham about the middle of July, and found Heliet, leaning on her crutches, ready to welcome them with smiles in the hall. No news had reached her of their proceedings, and there was a great deal to tell her; but Heliet and the baby took to one another in an instant, as if by some unseen magical force.
The item of news which most concerned herself was not told to Heliet that night. The next morning, when all were seated at work, and baby Rose, in Heliet’s lap, was contentedly sucking her very small thumb, Mistress Underdone said rather suddenly, “We have not told thee all, Heliet.”
“I dare say not,” replied Heliet, brightly. “You must have all done a great deal more in these two years than you have told me.”
“Well, lass, ’tis somewhat I never looked I should have to tell thee. There’s somebody wants to wed thee.”
“Me!” cried Heliet, in large capitals.
“Ay, thee—crutches and all,” said her mother laughing. “He said he did not care for thy crutches so they carried thee safe to chapel; and he ran the risk of offending the Lady to get thee. So I reckon he sets some store by thee, lass.”