But in the October following the death of her mother, a thunderbolt fell at Constance’s feet, which eventually drove her to Cardiff.
The Duke was from home, and, as everybody supposed, at Court. He was really in mischief; for mischief it proved, to himself and all his family. Late one evening a courier reached Langley, where in her bower Constance was disrobing for the night, and Maude was combing out her mistress’s long light hair. A sudden application for admission, in itself an unusual event at that hour, brought Maude to the door, where Dona Juana, pale and excited, besought immediate audience of her Señorita.
The Princess, without looking back, desired her to come forward.
“Señorita, my Lord’s courier, Rodrigo, is arrived hither from Brockenhurst, and he bringeth his Lord’s bidding that we make ready his Grace’s chamber for to-morrow.”
“From Brockenhurst! Well, what further?”
“And likewise her Grace’s chamber—whom Jesu pardon!—for the Lady newly-espoused that cometh with my Lord.”
“Mary Mother!” exclaimed Maude, dropping the silver comb in her sudden surprise.
Constance had sprung up from her seat with such quick abruptness that the chair, though no light one, fell to the ground behind her.
“Say that again!” she commanded, in a hard, steel-like voice; and, in a more excited tone than ever, Dona Juana repeated her unwelcome tidings.
“So I must needs have a mistress over me! Who is she?”