“Look you, Sir Barton,” she said in her hard tone of command; “I know you well and I will have no sword-thrusts with yonder boy.”
“That young rake—” began Henge, fiercely.
“And what are you, sir?” she exclaimed, and laughed so harshly that even he winced a little. “Listen to me, Henge; this beauty—this young Mistress Carew—is penniless, and will have none of my wealth either. You want no such lady love as this, and need make no wry faces about it. If you behave as becomes your birth and station, you may even come and go at pleasure in my house, where, I think, you would come if you could. But hark ye, Barton; if I catch you at any of your devil tricks, I’ll have your ears off. Nay, scowl not, man; an old woman like me has naught to fear from you, and I know too much for you to brave me. Ah, I thought I saw you wince. Farewell, sir; here comes his grace of Suffolk, and ’twould kill me if I could not ask him to weep with me for the princess dowager; ’tis evident his grief sets well upon his stomach;” and she turned to greet the nobleman with a grim smile of enjoyment in the prospect.
Meanwhile Sir Barton Henge stood discomfited, staring across the room at Betty and her cavalier with a face of fury. A man of violent temper, his first impulse was to engage in an open brawl, but his better judgment told him that an attempt to chastise Raby for his insolence would only end in his own arrest in the king’s presence. So he was forced to content himself with the reflection that when a better opportunity presented itself, he would make good use of it.
Across the room Master Raby had forgotten him in looking at the fair face of Mistress Betty, for ’tis love that makes the world go round.
CHAPTER XI
OLD MADAM AT HOME
Thus a great change came into Betty Carew’s life. After her introduction to the court at Greenwich, Sir William formally placed her in the charge of his eccentric relative and went back alone to Mohun’s Ottery. The young girl, left thus among strangers, endeavored to adapt herself to their ways as she had before taken up existence at her uncle’s house. Deep in her heart were hidden wounded pride and a feeling of desolation. She was poor and felt herself but a toy in the hands of her wealthier relations, and she was alone amidst a throng of strangers. She had not a nature which repines; the harder elements of resolution and reserve grew faster in her heart than impulses of love and happiness. She found her new life far more full of interest and event than any she had ever known. Her guardian was so strange and active an old woman that she alone furnished no little entertainment to an observer. My Lady Wildrick Crabtree, as she was called, was the daughter of Lord Wildrick of Wildrick Hall at Deptford; her Christian name was Zenobia, but she was rarely called by it. She married, late in life, Lord Crabtree, who promptly died, as the husbands of such women always do. He was poor, but from her father Lady Crabtree inherited a large property, as she was an only child. It had been said of her mother that, having borne Zenobia, she could do no more in this world or the next. Yet Lady Crabtree was a woman of strong intellect, keen wit, and an untiring energy, and was more sought after than any woman of her age in London. Every man’s business was her business; she knew all the gossip of the court; she knew all the miseries of the poor, and she was quick to right a wrong and to take up the cause of the oppressed. She could be in the saddle all day and show no fatigue, although she had passed seventy-five; a litter was ever scorned by her, and she walked miles through the muddy roads to aid the sick or destitute. Time she counted as of great value; no hour could be wasted; and so as to be out early in the morning, it was no uncommon thing for her to have her tirewoman arrange her white hair, of which she had a quantity, over night. At such seasons, her ladyship slept with her head propped up, that the great superstructure might not be injured. Her boots were all made heavy and clumsy, after the fashion of those worn by men, and her feet being large, she had the tread of a man. The strength of her wrist and fist had been rated high, since she knocked down the largest man upon the street in a group that laughed at her mannish stride. A valiant protector she was for any young woman, and as she came to know Mistress Betty, she took a fancy to her, so that this strangely assorted couple lived very peacefully together.
In the early part of February, when Queen Anne’s illness cast a gloom over the court, Lady Crabtree retired for a while to her house at Deptford, where she held a little court of her own. Wildrick Hall was a great house of stone, built by the Normans and prepared for defence, its battlements being heavy and its windows little more than arrow-headed slits in the thick walls. Within, the household was like that of Mohun’s Ottery, upon a smaller scale, and many people were daily fed under the hospitable roof. The old gentlewoman ruling with a rod of iron, and knowing well every detail of the house, from the kitchen to the banquet hall, was something of a terror to her servants and attendants. In her own domain she was judge and jury, and no man dared gainsay her will; while she drove the women like a flock of startled chickens cackling as they fled pell-mell before my lady’s tongue, a scourge which she was quick to supplement with a blow. She was full of great oaths as any man, and knew how to hurl them at the ears of an offender; yet she had, too, a large sympathy for the unfortunate and a keen judgment of men. In this household Mistress Carew, finding her place beside its mistress, was often diverted by her strange ways. Although there were always many guests, it often happened that these two ate together, while at the lower end of the large hall were long tables for the others.
One wintry day, early in February, Lady Crabtree and Betty sat at breakfast. It was seven in the morning, my lady’s hour for breaking her fast, and all the tables were set with tapers which flared in the gloom, only a little light creeping in through the narrow windows. Betty’s fresh face and brilliant coloring made a sharp contrast to the hook-nosed, strong countenance of the old woman, whose white hair, dressed over night, was nearly concealed by a great coif of yellow velvet. She wore a gown of gay brocade, the tight body, full sleeves, and huge farthingale being in the style first introduced by Queen Catherine. At her waist, on one side, hung a heavy bunch of keys, and on the other she wore a dagger. A fur-lined mantle was thrown over her shoulders, and was needed, for the sharp wind poured in at many crevices and swept through the hall in gusts. She was a marvellous figure, her spreading skirts, full sleeves, and huge headdress making her seem twice her natural size, which was above that of woman. She performed her trencher duties like a man, and a hungry one. On the table was set a chine of beef, and with this, for the two women, a quart of ale and a pint of wine with a square loaf of bread. It was well known that the salting tubs were numerous at Wildrick Hall at Michaelmas, and the stores of beef and mutton as great as any in the land; for my lady was one who lived well and drank well, as her father had before her, and ever quarrelled with the statute of the third Edward, which regulated the diet of both rich and poor. No man should be served “with more than two courses,” said the law, “and each mess of two sorts of victuals at the utmost, be it flesh or fish, with the common sorts of pottage, without sauce or any other sorts of victuals.”
My Lady Crabtree had received a letter from Mrs. Wyatt the previous day, and she read from it to Betty as she ate her breakfast, making her own comments upon it in her usual fashion.