“You are a liar, Wyatt,” the old woman retorted, laughing; “that is why I love you. To know how to lie gracefully, and at the right moment, is one of the most charming accomplishments and one of the rarest, albeit lying is more frequent than dying. There is the substance of a couplet for one of the court singers; I was born a poet, but am like to die unknown for such. Well, William,” she added, turning again to Carew, “this wench is to be my charge, then?”
“Ay, if you will have her, madam,” he answered; “for a while, at least. They want her at court, and I can scarcely make her a charge of any one more fit to guard her than my Lady Crabtree.”
“I am a dragon then, William,” the old woman said, with her queer smile, which was not mirthful; “so be it. I will take care that no wolf shall chew up this lamb. She shall have good watching, though I think the wench is no fool.”
“Madam,” said Betty, coldly, “I come here only at my uncle’s will; I would rather, and it pleased him, stay at Mohun’s Ottery.”
“It would please me well enough, fair niece,” Carew answered gravely, “but there be others, and I would fain do my duty by you and them. Therefore you will stay with my good cousin, Lady Crabtree, until I see fit to take you home.”
Mistress Betty bit her lip. This settled the matter for her, but it wounded her pride to be a dependent on her uncle’s bounty and be tossed about at his will. Nor did her new guardian attract her. However, she could only submit to fate, and she was compelled to remain standing by Lady Crabtree while Sir William mingled with the company, where he found many acquaintances.
“Do not take it to heart, wench,” the old woman remarked, her shrewd eyes detecting Betty’s sensations; “you will love this place too well erelong to leave it. ’Tis no spot for any girl to mope in, and you are not of the moping kind, I think. Dost know any of the great people here to-day?”
“None but the king and queen,” Betty replied, turning her eyes upon the gay scene, which was almost bewildering to one who had lived the retired life that she had.
“Poor child! ’tis dull to know so little of the great folk here,” said Mrs. Wyatt, who still stood by Lady Crabtree; “yonder is my lord of Canterbury, and beside him, Master Latimer, whom the queen has made Bishop of Worcester. Ay, the queen,” she repeated, in reply to Betty’s questioning glance; “he was her grace’s chaplain, and she so wrought upon the king that he is a bishop; and because he spoke hard truth to her. And that goodly youth to the left there is his grace of Richmond.”
“Ay, and ’tis a pity that the king can get no other son so fair,” said Lady Crabtree, sharply; “’tis a punishment.”