A brilliant spring morning greeted Frideswide's eyes when she opened her curtains in the little turret-room at Amboise where the chamberers were lodged. Avice was still asleep, but Frideswide, hearing sounds of life without, and fearing it might be late, roused her, and they dressed quickly, and hastened to the Countess's rooms. They found that lady refreshed by her night's rest, and in the highest spirits. From the sanguine tone of her conversation, it might have been supposed that the conquest of England was only a thing to ask and have. They would soon be back at Warwick or Middleham,—there could not be the least doubt of it: King Henry would be restored amid the acclamations of a delighted and loyal people, that rebel would have his head cut off, and all would be smooth as a looking-glass, and sweet as a bouquet of roses, for ever thenceforward.
It was not Frideswide's place to utter a word. But in her heart she thought that she had no wish to return to Middleham. Were it in her power to return to Lovell Tower, that would have been a different matter.
The process of dressing over, the ladies descended to Queen Marguerite's drawing-room, there to wait till the chapel bell rang for matins. The Queen herself appeared in a few minutes, and gave them a kindly greeting. She was accompanied by a youth of seventeen years, in whom it was easy to recognise the Prince of Wales.
Edward Prince of Wales was "only the child of his mother." Neither in person nor character did he bear any resemblance to the King. He was tall for his age, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and superlatively handsome. His beauty, nevertheless, was of rather too feminine a cast—though there was no shade of weakness in his character, unless too great a tendency to fiery rashness be considered in that light.
It may be said that the Prince did not enter the room unattended. A little allegorical person accompanied him, Cupid by name, who is said to take great delight in the making of mischief and the breaking of hearts. In this instance he certainly came for the latter pursuit. Well would it have been for Warwick's youngest and sweetest daughter if the electric spark had not been shot that day from heart to heart, which was to end in so soon making her a widow indeed, with a heart which could throb no more to any human love.
The King of France was now on his way to the chapel, as a loud ringing of bells and a trumpet-blast informed every body within hearing. Queen Marguerite marshalled her guests, giving her own hand to Clarence, the Prince conducting the Duchess. In pairs they slowly filed down the stairs of the tower, and crossed the court-yard to the chapel, where the English Queen and Prince sat in the royal traverse, the former on the right hand of King Louis, and the latter on the left of Queen Carlotta.
Frideswide felt quite ready to echo Christian's opinion that neither King nor Queen of France was much worth looking at. King Louis had strong and by no means beautiful features, and he stooped in the shoulders to an extent which approached an appearance of deformity. The Queen's features were more regular, but her face had a horse-like length, and every thing about her was on a large and rather coarse scale. From the constant glances of fear cast by the Queen upon her husband, Frideswide readily guessed that her married life was not a happy one. In truth, poor Carlotta's brains had been frightened out of her. She was not naturally at all deficient in intellectual power: but eighteen years spent under the influence of unceasing terror had so completely broken her spirit and crushed her capacities of all kinds, that Carlotta was now a simple nonentity—good to sit, clad in robes and jewels, at a pageant, but in all other respects, outside her children's nursery, good for nothing at all.
After matins, breakfast was served in the Queen's drawing-room. Breakfast was only now beginning to be considered a social meal. Hitherto it had been much what afternoon tea is now—a light repast, to which people came or not as they chose, and chiefly affected by women and invalids. It had, therefore, mainly consisted of bread or cakes. Now fish and meat made their appearance in addition, and also the acceptable novelty of butter—novel, that is to say, in its new form of bread and butter. It had long been used in cooking: but about this time it permanently took the place of dripping as a relish to bread. Wine, ale, and milk, were the beverages used.
Never, perhaps, to the same extent as at this time, did the staff of life appear under so many different forms. The more delicate kinds were termed simnel and pain de main: wassel was the best kind of common bread; cocket was a spongy loaf of cheaper flour; maslin was made of wheat mixed with oats and barley. Griddle-cakes were peculiar to Wales and the counties bordering thereon. Spice-bread was plum-cake in all varieties of richness. There was also brown bread, and Christmas bread, which last was made of fine flour, milk, and eggs. Manchet bread, which was of high class, seems to have borne its distinctive name rather in reference to shape than to material, and probably resembled a Yorkshire tea-cake.[#] There were beside all these, rolls, biscuits and cakes of all sorts, maccaroons, gingerbread, and marchpane—a sweet cake of the maccaroon type.
[#] This is the explanation usually given by antiquaries; but in Lancashire, within living memory, a manchet was a small square loaf of very white bread. Some writers make manchet (afterwards termed chet bread) the name of the simnel loaf; this is perhaps the true explanation.