A Lodging on the Cold Ground.
“Christ is at hand to scorn or bless—
Christ suffers in our strife.”
Christian Year.
In the evening, as previously ordered, Margery quitted Marnell Place in her litter for her prison in the Tower. The jailer stared at her, as Abbot Bilson, who accompanied her, gave her into his charge, and whisperingly asked the reason for which she was to be incarcerated.
“Heresy, good friend.”
“Heresy!” said the jailer, staring more than ever. “What pity for one so marvellous young! Poor lady! it sorroweth me!”
When Margery was at length locked in, she had time to look round her prison. It was a small, square, whitewashed cell, completely unfurnished; all the furniture had to be brought from Marnell Place. Not much was allowed. A mattress and blanket by way of bed, a stool, and a crucifix, were the only articles permitted. The barred window was very small, and very high up. Here Margery was to remain until September. The days rolled wearily on. Lord Marnell occasionally visited her; but not often, and he was her sole visitor. The jailer, for a jailer, was rather kind to his prisoner, whom he evidently pitied; and one day he told her, as he brought her the prison allowance for supper, that “strange things” were taking place in the political world. There was a rumour in London that “my Lord of Hereford” had returned to England before his period of banishment was over, and had possessed himself of the person of King Richard at Flint Castle.
“What will he do?” asked Margery. “Soothly I wis not,” answered the jailer. “I trow he will make himself king. Any way, I trust it may hap for your Ladyship’s good, for it is the wont to release prisoners at the beginning of a new reign.”
Shortly after that, Henry of Bolingbroke fulfilled the jailer’s prediction, so far as regarded his kingship. He led Richard in triumph through London, with every dishonour and indignity which his own evil nature could devise; then consigned him to Pontefract to die and sat down on his throne. How Richard died, Henry best knew. Thus closed the life and reign of that most ill-treated and loving-hearted man, at the early age of thirty-three. The little Queen, a widow at eleven, was sent back to France—her matchless collection of jewels being retained by Henry. Few men have had more reason to describe themselves as Henry IV does in his will—“I, Henry, sinful wretch.” (See Note 1.)
The change of monarchs, however, brought no change for Lady Marnell. If anything, it was the worse for her; for Abbot Bilson was a personal friend of the new King, who was far more violently opposed to the Lollards than his predecessor had been.
On the 16th of September, 1400, Lord Marnell was just quitting Margery’s cell, when the jailer admitted Abbot Bilson, who courteously greeted Lord Marnell, and replied rather more coldly to the salutation of his prisoner.