'Then I know who has done it,' Lucy exclaimed. 'I know it was that dreadful man with the cruel eyes who scared me almost to death a month ago. He said he wanted to see Ambrose, and now he has stolen him.'
They were at the door of Lady Pembroke's room by this time, and Philip Sidney drew aside the over arras hanging on it to let Lucy pass in. To her disappointment he said,—
'I will leave you now to the Countess for comfort and counsel,' and then the arras fell, and Lucy was called by Lady Pembroke to the further end of the room, where she was sitting with parchment and pen before her.
'Is that you, Mistress Forrester?' she said. 'Come hither. Mr Sidney has brought tidings of Mistress Gifford, which are very grievous. Master Humphrey Ratcliffe has gone to Penshurst, and will use every effort to recover the boy, who—may God help her—has been stolen from his mother. She is, I fear, very sick in body as well as mind, and I am debating whether it would not be well for you to return to Penshurst under care of some of the servants, who will be sent thither on the morrow. It would be a comfort, surely, to your sister to have your presence.'
Poor Lucy! This unexpected end to her bright hopes was too much for her. Tears coursed each other down her cheeks, as much for her own disappointment as sorrow for her sister. She stood before Lady Pembroke, unable to utter a word.
'Sit down, poor child,' Lady Pembroke said kindly. 'Yes, Crawley, what is it?'
For Mistress Crawley now appeared with the letter in her hand, and, with a low curtsey, presented it to Lady Pembroke.
'An' it please you, Madam, I cannot put up with Mistress Lucy's impudence. There'll be no law and order amongst the young gentlewomen, over whom you are pleased to set me, if this young woman is to put me at defiance. Vanity and thinking of nought but gew-gaws and finery and looking out for admiration, don't go to make a bower-woman such as a noble lady like yourself might wish to have in her household. I would humbly say to you, my lady, that I am not the one to put up with sauce and impudence from a little country-bred maid you are pleased to take under your patronage.'
'Dear Crawley,' Lady Pembroke said, 'Mistress Forrester is ill at ease at this moment; the news from her home may well cause her dismay and grief; leave her to me, and I will let you hear later to what conclusion I have arrived.'
Mistress Crawley curtseyed again even more profoundly than before, and, as she left the room, murmured something about 'favourite,' which did not reach Lady Pembroke's ear, or, if it did, passed unheeded.