Lady Rosamond's book

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"So you are up yet, child! You should be asleep, after your journey!" said my father, stooping to kiss my forehead. "Be thankful that you have home and friends, my maid, and are no king's ward, to be sold like a cow to the highest bidder!"

"Surely a cruel and hard law!" said my mother. "My heart aches for this poor maid!" and she told my father what we had heard.

"Sir John is very earnest for me to take the girl off his hands in lieu of his debt, or a part thereof," says my father. "'Twould be a great charge on your hands, I fear?"

"Nay, never hesitate for that!" answered my mother, cheerily. "Sure it would be a blessed task: but can you afford the loss and charge?"

"Nay, for that matter, I suppose the rental of the Copplestone lands is worth something, and in a family like ours, the keeping and education of such a child would make little difference. I am not like to see either principal nor interest, as matters now stand, for the landed estate is entailed, and there is, as far as I can learn, no ready money. But we will talk farther of the matter. Rosamond, my child, get you to bed, and God bless you!"

I did most earnestly give thanks that night for my home and my kind parents! I could not but think, as I lay down, what if my father had wedded such a woman as my Lady Carey! My room was a little turret within my parents' apartment, and I fell asleep at the last to the sound of their talking.

The next morning, when we met at breakfast, Joyce was not to be seen; and my Lady was clearly in a very bad humor. She had arrayed herself in much antiquated finery, to do honor to us or herself, I know not which. It was evident there had been a storm between her Lord and herself, from her red eyes, raised color, and the snappish remarks she directed toward him.

The house looked a more doleful place by daylight than it had done in the evening. The hangings were tattered and moth-eaten; the windows, filled with horn or oiled paper, with here and there a bit of stained glass left to tell of old magnificence, were dark with dirt, and let in the wind everywhere; the rushes on the floor looked to be three months old, and everything seemed forlorn and wretched.

Poor Mistress Warner told me privately that her bed had been so musty and so full of vermin that she could not sleep; and that some one had come into the next chamber and had there so cruelly beaten and miscalled a young child or maid, as it seemed, that she had much ado not to interfere. Hearing this news, I was not surprised not to see poor Joyce.

My mother, seeing the state of the case, set herself to work to pacify the offended lady with all that courtly skill and grace whereof she is so completely mistress; telling her of this and that lady of quality (I doubt the good dame did not know half of them, but that made no difference), giving accounts of entertainments at Court and at the cardinal's, and detailing the news of the cardinal's probable disgrace and the King's divorce, and suit to Mistress Anne. My Lady held out for a while, but presently smoothed her ruffled plumage, grew gracious, and began to talk herself of the days she spent at Court. Clearly those says had been the glory of her life. We sat a long time, but at last she excused herself, saying that she must look into the kitchen and see what the maids were about, and so went away in a very good humor.