“Where,” pursued Mrs Rose, “people are bred up in their common life to speak four tongues; which shall say, Flemish—that is the language of Flanders; and Spanish—the Spaniards do rule over us; and Low Dutch (German),—because we have much to do with the Low Dutch; and the better bred women also French. And I teach my Thekla all these tongues, saving the Flemish; for they speak not Flemish only in Flanders; it should do her not much good. But in all these four tongues have I kinsfolk; for my father was a true-born Fleming, and to him I alway spake Flemish; and my mother was a Spanish woman, and I spake Spanish with her; and my father’s brother was wedded unto a dame of Low Dutchland (for whom my daughter is named Thekla, which is a Low Dutch name); and his sister did marry a Frenchman. So you shall see I am akin to all this world!”
Mistress Rose entreated her guests to stay for four-hours, when she hoped Mr Rose would be at home; but Isoult was somewhat afraid of losing her way in the dark, and declined. So she called her maid, and bade her bring cakes and ale, and take Bayard to the shed where their nag was stabled, and give him a mess of oats; begging them at least to stay an hour or two. Then Robin came in, and talked to Thekla and Kate, while Isoult was occupied with Mrs Rose. Mr Rose they did not see; his wife said he was in his parish, visiting the people. So at two o’clock they departed, and reached home just as the dusk fell.
The next day Isoult rode to the Lime Hurst, to see Mrs Underhill. She found her a pleasant motherly woman, full of kindness and cordiality. As they sat and talked Mr Underhill came in, and joined the conversation; telling Isoult, among other matters, how he had once saved Lord Russell from drowning, the heir of the House of Bedford. The boy had been thrown into the Thames opposite his house, in a bitterly cold winter; and Underhill, springing in after him, rescued him, carried him to his own house, and nursed him back to life. Since that time the Earl of Bedford had been the attached friend of his child’s preserver. (Underhill’s Narrative, Harl. Ms. 425, folio 87, b.)
When Isoult returned home, she found a letter from Annis Holland awaiting her. It contained an urgent invitation from the Duchess of Suffolk to visit her at her little villa at Kingston-on-Thames. Isoult hesitated to accept the invitation, but Dr Thorpe, who thought she looked pale and tired, over-ruled her, chiefly by saying that he was sure John would prefer her going; so she wrote to accept the offer, and started with Robin on the following Monday.
Skirting the City wall, they passed through Smithfield and Holborn, and turned away from Saint Giles into the Reading road, the precursor of Piccadilly. The roads were good for the time of year, and they reached Kingston before dark. The next morning Robin returned home, with strict charges to fetch Isoult in a week, and sooner should either of the children fall ill.
After Robin’s departure, Isoult waited on the Duchess, whom she found sitting in a cedar chamber, the casement looking on the river and the terrace above it. As the friends sat and talked in came a small white dog, wagging its tail, but with very dirty paws.
“Get out, Doctor Gardiner!” cried her Grace, rising hastily, as the soiled paws endeavoured to jump upon her velvet dress. “I cannot abide such unclean paws. Go get you washed ere you come into my chamber!—Bertie!”
Mr Bertie came in from the antechamber at her Grace’s call; and smiling when he saw what she wanted, he lifted the dog and set it outside.
“Have Dr Gardiner washed, prithee!” said the Duchess. “I love a clean dog, but I cannot abide a foul one.”
Isoult could not help laughing when she heard her Grace call her dog by Bishop Gardiner’s name.