“In no wise,” answered he. “Mostly lords and noble gentlemen, of whom thou mayest perchance have heard. The Earl of Surrey is he in the green coat, with a red plume. The Earl of Northumberland hath a blue coat, broidered with gold, and a footcloth of the same. Yon dark, proud-looking man in scarlet, on the roan horse, is the Duke of Exeter (Sir John Holland), brother to the King’s Grace by my Lady Princess his mother, who was wed afore she wedded the Prince, whose soul God rest! Ah! and here cometh my Lord of Hereford, Harry of Bolingbroke (afterwards Henry IV), the Duke of Lancaster’s only son and heir—and a son and heir who were worse than none, if report tell truth,” added Lord Marnell, in a lower tone. “Seest thou, Madge, yon passing tall man, with black hair, arrayed in pink cloth of silver?” (See note 1).
“I see him well, I thank your good Lordship,” was Margery’s answer; but she suddenly shivered as she spoke.
“Art thou cold, Madge, by the casement? Shall I close the lattice?”
“I am not cold, good my Lord, I thank you,” said Margery, in a different tone; “but I like not to look upon that man.”
“Why so?” asked Lord Marnell, looking down from his altitude upon the slight frail figure at his side. “Is he not a noble man and a goodly?”
“I know not,” answered Margery, still in a troubled voice. “There is a thing in his face for which I find not words, but it troubleth me.”
“Look not on him, then,” said he, drawing her away. She thanked him for his kindness in showing and explaining the glittering scene to her, and returned to her supervision of Alice.
A few days after this, the Prioress of Kennington, Lord Marnell’s sister, came in her litter to see her young sister-in-law. Margery was surprised to find in her a lady so little resembling her country-formed idea of a nun. She wore, indeed, the costume of her order; but her dress, instead of being common serge or camlet, was black velvet; her frontlet and barb (see Note 2) were elaborately embroidered; her long gloves (see Note 3) were of white Spanish leather, delicately perfumed, and adorned with needlework in coloured silks; she wore nearly as many rings as would have stocked a small jeweller’s shop, and from her girdle, set with the finest gems, were suspended a pomander richly worked in gold and enamel, a large silver seal, and a rosary, made of amethyst beads, holding a crucifix, the materials of which were alabaster and gold.
In those palmy days of Romanism in England, nuns were by no means so strictly secluded as now. They were present at all manner of festivities; the higher class travelled about the country very much as they chose, and all of them, while retaining the peculiar shape and colour of the prescribed monastic costume, contrived to spend a fortune on the accessories and details of their dress. The Prioress of Kennington, as I have just described her, is a specimen of nearly all the prioresses and other conventual authorities of her day.
This handsomely-dressed lady was stiff and stately in her manner, and uttered, with the proudest mien, words expressive only of the most abject humility. “If her fair sister would come and see her at her poor house at Kennington, she would be right glad of so great honour.” Margery replied courteously, but she had no desire to see much of the Prioress.