Loveday's history : $b A tale of many changesGuernsey, Lucy Ellen
History
Loveday's history : $b A tale of many changes
Guernsey, Lucy Ellen
Great Britain -- History -- Tudors, 1485-1603 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Reformation -- Fiction
Our quarters were wretched enough, especially as our hatches were
fastened down half the time. Mistress Curtis was sick in her berth
almost all the way, though she called herself a good sailor, and
old John Symonds was not much better, but my mistress was well and
cheerful, making nothing of all the inconveniences of our situation,
and waiting on herself when I had my hands full with poor Mistress
Curtis, who was sure she was going to die, and wept the next moment
because her lady's meal was served in a cracked yellow pudding basin,
without so much as a napkin. Never was a better woman, or one more
great in emergency; but she was lady in waiting to the backbone, and
ceremony and form had become as her life-blood. She felt a great deal
worse than the Duchess, who indeed did not care at all.
We reached Rotterdam at last, a dirty, weary, draggled set. I was glad
that, according to Master Batie's orders, we were to make no stay
there, but to push on at once to our destination. I dreaded seeing the
place where I had been so happy, and, above all, I could not endure
that any one should speak to me about Walter. 'Twas a morbid, unhealthy
state of mind, no doubt, and I got over it after a time.
We pushed on by boat as far as we could, and then by wagon and on
horseback, and sometimes on foot, till we reached the city of Cleves.
The very first person we saw in the twilight, as we came to the city
gate, was Master Batie himself. He had come that far to meet us, and
had provided lodgings for us in a decent little inn just without the
gate. No sooner did my mistress reach this place of rest and safety
than she broke down utterly, and went into a fit of the mother, which
frightened even Mistress Curtis. It was well I could speak Dutch, for
the mistress of the house was a Holland woman, and not a little scared
at the condition of her guest.
"Is your lady gone mad, think you?" she asked of me.
"Not so," I answered. "She is but tired and overwrought, and the joy
of seeing her husband unexpectedly was too much for her. You can see
yourself that she is in no fit state to travel. She will be better
directly."
"I hope so," said she, with a troubled face. "I fear lest she may
bring the priest down on us; they look so keenly after every case of
sickness—the vultures that they are. Alack, what have I said."
"The truth," said I, bitterly. "Vultures, and kites, and ravening
wolves, if you will."
The hostess looked relieved.
"One never knows to whom one is speaking in these days," said she; "but
I would the lady were quiet."
I made my way into the room, where Mistress Curtis was fussing over my
lady, and Master Batie was like one distracted, as men always are at
such times. I saw something was needed beside pity.
"Madam, listen to me," said I. "You are putting us all in peril by
giving way and crying out so. The hostess fears lest your screams
should bring us unwelcome visitors. Drink this."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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