This was unendurable. Godfrey, in his dismay, left the room with only a courtesy, and sought Lord Basset in the hall.
“Ah! she’s taken the bit betwixt her teeth,” said he. “I warrant you’d best leave her be; she’ll go now, if it be on a witch’s broom. I’ll forbid it, an’ you will, but I do you to wit I might as well entreat yon tree not to wave in the wind. When she doth take the bit thus, she’s—”
An emphatic shake of Lord Basset’s head finished the sentence. He rose as if it were more trouble than it was reasonable to impose, walked into his wife’s room, and asked her where she was going that winter day.
“You are scarce wont to inquire into my comings and goings,” she said, coldly. “But if it do your Lordship ease to wit the same, I am going to Hazelwood Manor, whence yonder young gentleman is now come.”
“How if I forbid it?”
“My Lord, I am sent for to my dying mother. Your Lordship is a gentleman, I believe, and therefore not like to forbid me. But if you so did, yea, twenty times twice told, I should answer you as now I do. Seven years have I done your bidding, and when I return I will do it yet again. But not now. Neither you, nor Satan himself, should stay me this one time.”
“Your Ladyship losengeth,” (flatters) was the careless answer. “Fare you well. I’ll not hinder you. As for Satan, though it pleaseth you to count me in with him, I’ll be no surety for his doings. Master Foljambe, go you after this crack-brained dame of mine, or tarry you here with me and drink a cup of Malvoisie wine?”
Godfrey would very much have preferred to remain with Lord Basset; but a wholesome fear of his father and the Archbishop together restrained him from doing so. He was exceedingly vexed to be made to continue his journey thus without intermission; but Lady Basset was already on a pillion behind her squire, and Emeriarde on another behind the groom, a few garments having been hastily squeezed into a saddle-bag carried by the latter. This summary way of doing things was almost unheard of in the fourteenth century; and Godfrey entertained a private opinion that “crack-brained” was a truthful epithet.
“Needs must,” said he; “wherefore I pray your Lordship mercy. Her Ladyship shall scantly make good road to Hazelwood without I go withal. But—ha, chétife!”
Lord Basset slightly laughed, kissed his hand to his wife, lifted his hat to Godfrey with a shrug of his shoulders, and walked back into Drayton Manor House.