“Hath he so?” asked Bertram, with interest. “Poor hearts!”
“Be they small childre?” said Maude, compassionately.
“The Lady Anne, that is eldest, hath but nine years, I do hear.”
“Ay me, Master Calverley! Have they any mother?”
“Trust me, ay!” broke in Bertram. “Why, have you forgot that my Lady of March is sister unto the Duchess’ Grace of York?”
“And is she prisoned with the childre?”
“Holy Mary! the King’s Grace lacketh not her,” said Bertram.
“She was dancing at the Court a few weeks gone,” returned Hugh rather drily, “with her servant (lover), the Baron of Powys, a-waiting upon her; and so was likewise the Lady Elizabeth, my Lord of Exeter his widow, with the Lord Fanhope. Men say there shall be divers weddings at Court this next summer, and these, as I reckon, among them.”
“Ah! the Lady Elizabeth’s Grace danceth right well!” said Bertram sarcastically. “Marry, Robin Falconer, of my Lord’s Grace of York’s following, which bare hither certain letters this last month, told me they had dances at Court in Epiphany octave, when we rade for our lives from Oxford; and that very night my Lord’s Grace of Exeter was beheaden at Pleshy, his wife, the Lady Elizabeth, was at the cushion dance and singing to her lute in the Lady Blanche (the Princess Royal) her chamber, where all the Court was gathered.”
“Aid us, our Lady of Pity!” whispered Maude in a shocked voice.