“I know you now, Master Calverley,” she said, a smile breaking over her lips. “But you ware not that beard the last time I did see you.”
She took the letter to Constance, and when she returned, she found Hugh and his old friend Bertram in close conversation.
“Verily, sweet Hugh,”—Bertram was saying—“there is one thing in this world I can in no wise fathom! How thy Lord—”
“There be full many things in this world that I cannot,” interposed Hugh.
“How thy Lord ordereth his dealings is beyond me,” ended Bertram.
“In good sooth, I have enough ado to look to mine own dealings, though I should let other men’s be,” answered Hugh.
“Lo’ you now, Mistress Maude! Here is my Lord of Aumerle—you wis somewhat of his deeds—high in favour with the King, and prevailing upon his Grace to grant all manner of delicates (good things) unto our Lady. He hath soothly-stirred (persuaded) him unto the bestowal of every manor that was our late Lord’s father’s (whom God assoil!) and of all his jewels, and of the custody of the young Lord. And ’tis not four months gone since he sold our Lord to his death! What signifieth he by this whileness?” (Whirling, turning round.)
Maude shook her head, as if to say that she could not tell. She had resumed her work, the hemming of what she (not very elegantly) called a sudary, and we, euphemistically but tautologically, a pocket-handkerchief.
“Ah! ’tis a blessed thing to have a brother!” observed Bertram with irony. “Well!—and what news, sweet Hugh, of olden friends?”
“None overmuch,” responded Hugh, “unless it be of the death of Father Wilfred, of the Priory at Langley.”