Loveday's history

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"I have never taken any vows, Mrs. Philippa," I answered. "And the reverend mother bade me be guided by Mistress Davis in all things. I suppose she knows what is proper for young maids, as we are, better than we can ourselves."

"Oh, very well; I did not come to quarrel with you, but to call you to breakfast."

She turned round and I followed her, feeling discomposed and uncomfortable. Mistress Davis's motherly kiss and welcome, however, soon restored me.

"Why, this is well," said she, leading me to her husband, who entered the hall followed by a younger man, also in the grave, rich dress of a well-to-do merchant.

Master Davis greeted me with a kindly smile and blessing, and presented me to his son; who, it seemed, had come to take breakfast with his parents. I liked him as well as the other members of the family whom I had seen, and was particularly pleased with his deference to his mother. The older lads had already gone to school, but a little boy and two pretty little girls sat down with us, and I learned, accidentally, that the breakfast-hour had been deferred out of consideration for me, as I was supposed to be tired with my ride. But, indeed, breakfast, which is coming in many families to be as regular a meal as dinner and supper, was little thought of in those days. The children took a piece of bread and a draught of milk in their hands, and their elders were content with a manchet and a cup of small ale, or mead. I hear that people in London now have some trouble in getting good milk, but there was abundance of milk-kine kept in the city boundaries in my time.

When I had drunk my basin of milk and eaten, I know not what dainty cake wherewith Mistress Davis provided me, Master Davis called me into the parlor, saying he wished to have some talk with me.

"So, Mistress Loveday, I dare say you are impatient to hear somewhat of your uncle's family," said he kindly. "I have borrowed an hour or so from business to talk of your affairs. Please you, be seated."

I courtesied, and took the chair he set for me.

"You will naturally wish to hear first of my good friend, your uncle's affairs," said he, placing himself in the great chair where mine uncle used to sit. "I wish, from my heart, I could give you later and better news of him. The last letter I had from him was written, almost two years ago, from Antwerp. In it, after praying me to have a care of yourself and your fortunes, he gave me to wit, that having trusted too far a factor whom he employed, and having lost largely by him, he was about removing to some town in Holland, where he hath had correspondence, and where he hoped to retrieve his fortunes. He was somewhat undecided where to settle, but said he would write me when he had, as he said, pitched his tent once more. Since then, I have not heard from him."

Here was a fine downfall of all the airy castles I had been building ever since I read mine uncle's last letter. I bit my lip, and had much ado not to burst out weeping.