LOVEDAY'S HISTORY

A TALE OF MANY CHANGES

BY

LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY

Author of "The Foster-Sisters," "Lady Betty's Governess," "Winifred," Etc., Etc.

NEW EDITION

LONDON:

JOHN F. SHAW & CO.

48 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. THE BEGINNING.

II. MORE REMEMBRANCES.

III. ANOTHER CHANGE.

IV. A NEW LIFE.

V. THE THUNDER STRIKES.

VI. THE LIGHTNING STRIKES AGAIN.

VII. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW.

VIII. HER GRACE'S GENTLEWOMAN.

IX. HER GRACE.

X. AT THE GREAT HOUSE.

XI. THE DUKE'S RING.

XII. THE OLD HALL.

XIII. "EXILED, AND YET AT HOME."

XIV. ANOTHER HOME.

XV. COOMBE ASHTON.

XVI. THE GREAT STORM.

XVII. THE WANDERERS.

XVIII. THE LAST.

LOVEDAY'S HISTORY.

CHAPTER I.

THE BEGINNING.

I SHALL never forget that beginning. It was like the lightning flash, which always comes suddenly, albeit one may have seen the clouds gathering for hours, and even have heard distant growls and mutterings of thunder. Of such growls and mutterings there had indeed been a plenty when I was quite a little maid, living with my kinswoman, Lady Peckham, in Somersetshire. I remember well my lady's wrath and consternation at hearing that my Lord Cardinal had put down some thirty or more of the small religious houses, especially convents of nuns, and had confiscated their revenues to the endowment of his grand college foundation at Oxford. There was no talk of pensions and sustenance for old or young. The poor souls were turned adrift to shift as best they might. If my Lord Cardinal were alive to see the havoc that hath been made since, he might bethink himself (if he ever happened to hear it) of a certain pithy proverb about showing the cat the way to the cream. The cat hath lapped the cream pretty clean in these days.

I had a personal interest in that same measure of my Lord Cardinal, seeing I was myself destined for one of those very convents, a small, but reputable house of Gray Nuns, not far from Bridgewater. I was the daughter of a kinsman of my Lady Peckham's first husband, and being left an orphan of tender years and wholly without provision, my lady charitably took me into her protection and care, and gave me a home, intending to bring me up till such age as I should be fit to make a profession. But the convent was suppressed, as I have said, and so that cake was dough. The sisters—there were not more than eighteen or twenty in all—found places where they could. Some went to their friends, some to other houses of the same order. One went to live in the family of a master baker in Bridgewater, where she afterward married. I saw her not long since, a fine stately old dame, and a great blessing to her own family as well as to the poor of the town. One—Sister Benedict—came to stay with my lady till she could find suitable convoy to another house of Bernardines not far from London.

I don't think that in her secret heart my lady was very sorry to have an excuse for keeping me with her a while longer. I had grown a handy little maid, tall of my age, and having no daughters of her own, it was but natural she should take to me, especially as I was very fond of her. I liked nothing better than to follow her around like a little dog, carrying her basket or her keys, and running with good will to do her errands about the house and garden. I believe I might have done the same as long as I lived, only for Sister Benedict, who came to stay with us, as I said, and who must needs put her finger in the pie.

My lady had a son by her first marriage—Walter Corbet by name—who was destined by his mother for holy orders. He was several years older than I, and we were great friends, as was but natural. He helped me in my lessons, specially in my Latin, which I learned with him of Sir John Watson, our kind old parish priest and domestic chaplain, and fought my battles and those of my pet cats against Randall Peckham who, though not a bad lad in the main, was rather too fond of teasing.

Poor Randall was sent to Oxford, where he went altogether to the bad, ran away leaving more than a hundred pounds of debt behind him, and (so we heard) was cast away on a ship going to Holland. He was his mother's pride and darling, and her heart was almost broken. I have always believed, ever since I was old enough to think about the matter, that Sister Benedict persuaded my lady that her holding back Walter and myself from that service to which we had been promised had brought this judgment upon her.

Walter declared that, though he might consent to be a parish priest, he would never be a monk, and he was one not easy to be moved when once his mind was made up, though he never stuck out about trifles—not like poor Randall, who could be coaxed or flattered out of any principles he ever had, while he would be obstinate even to folly about the trimming of a glove, or the management of a hawk. So my lady was fain to compromise the matter, and Walter was sent to Bridgewater to study with Sir Richard Lambert, a very learned priest with a great reputation for sanctity. (Of course I did not know all this at the time, being but a child.)

I was sent away with Sister Benedict, to go to my father's brother, a rich merchant in London, trading to the Low Countries. That was the story. Sir Edward had all along been opposed to bestowing me in a convent, and after the suppression of the Gray Nuns' house, he had spoken his mind freely to my lady, saying that he would not have me disposed of in that way without my own consent, and that no more should be said about the matter till I was of age to judge for myself. My lady seemed to acquiesce, as indeed she always did on the rare occasions when Sir Edward asserted his will, and I suppose she might really be glad of the excuse to keep me at home, for, as I have said, she liked to have me about her.

But Sir Edward went away, being sent to Scotland on public business by the King, and Sister Benedict came, and the upshot of the matter was, that I was sent to London to see my uncle and little cousins. As soon as Sister Benedict could make proper arrangements, I was to be transferred to the convent of Bernardines at Dartford, a very rich and reputable house. I don't think it was meant that I should know this, but my lady's woman let the cat out of the bag, and my lady, finding I knew so much, told me the rest herself—so I knew what to look for.

The journey to London was longer and harder then than now, and very dangerous withal. But my Lord Abbot of Glastonbury, who was Sister Benedict's uncle, was going up to town with a great following, and we traveled in his train; so we escaped the dangers of the road, and met with far more consideration than we should otherwise have done. Nevertheless, I remember that Sister Benedict was highly indignant at certain instances of disrespect shown to her uncle by the gentry and others whom we met, and mourned over the degeneracy of the times. The truth was, the thunder-cloud was even then lying low in the sky, and men felt its influence as dumb creatures do that of a natural storm before it comes.

Well, we reached London at last, and glad was I when our journey was done, though sorry to part with Sister Benedict, who, her point once gained, was very kind to me. However, I had so much to engage my attention that I did not feel the parting so deeply as might perhaps have been expected.

Mine uncle lived in Portsoken ward, in a very fine house built by his grandfather, but greatly enlarged and embellished by his father and himself. It had a large courtyard, and a garden at the back, wherein were some huge apple trees and a great standard pear tree, besides others for shade and beauty. All the Corbets are fond of gardening, and my Uncle Gabriel was no exception to the rule. At that time (and I suppose the same is true now) the great merchants of London lived very handsomely, and enjoyed many luxuries which had not been so much as heard of in our remote corner of the world. I was met at the door by a most lovely old lady, who kissed me on both cheeks, and informed me that she was my great-aunt, my Grandfather Corbet's sister.

"And so you are poor Richard's child! I remember him well, a little lad no bigger than you, if as big. You don't favor him greatly, and yet there is a Corbet look about you, too. What was your mother's name?"

I managed to say that it was Loveday Carey.

"Yes, yes, I remember. And how old are you? But never mind now. You must need refreshment after your long journey, but I suppose you have not come very far to-day."

She led me by the hand toward the foot of a grand staircase, far finer than that at Peckham Hall; but as we reached it, I started back in utter dismay from what I conceived to be no less than the devil himself—namely, the figure of a man black as ebony, and rather fantastically dressed, who stood bowing and showing his white teeth in a manner which seemed to me to warrant the conclusion that I was instantly to be devoured. I clung to my aunt's arm, and uttered, I suppose, some exclamation of dismay. My terror seemed greatly to amuse the creature, which now giggled outright.

"What is it?" said my aunt, as I let go of her hand and retreated behind her.

"The black man!" I faltered.

"Oh, poor Sambo? I suppose you never saw a blackamoor before. But don't be frightened, child. He is a human creature like ourselves, and hath kind heart, and is a good Christian, too; are you not, Sambo?"

Thereupon the negro made the sign of the cross, and showed me a crucifix which hung about his neck.

"You will soon learn to like him as well as our children do," said my aunt. "Go, Sambo, and bring up the young lady's mails."

Sambo grinned again wider than ever, and betook himself to the side door, where an attendant of my Lord Abbot's was waiting with my baggage.

Thus reassured, I ventured to pass him, and followed my aunt up the stairs into the very finest room I had ever seen. My uncle's house is built with the upper stories projecting over the lower. I always had a fancy that it was leaning over to look down the street. There was a great oriel window, with many panes of stained glass, which formed a deep recess. On the floor of this recess lay a beautiful carpet, such an one as I had never seen before. I could not conceive how such a beautiful fabric chanced to be in such a situation, for the two or three Turkey rugs we possessed at Peckham house were used as coverings for tables and beds. A great East country cabinet stood in this recess, and before it a carved arm-chair. The walls of the room were hung with Spanish leather most curiously wrought with gold and silver figures; the furniture was partly of damask and partly of Cordovan leather. At the other end of the apartment was a second large window looking upon the street, as the first did upon the garden. Here stood a low chair, and a basket piled up with homely household work.

"This is my place!" said Aunt Joyce—so she bade me call her. "And now I will call your cousins to take you to your own room, where you will find your mails, and they will help you to change your traveling dress, that you may be neat when my nephew comes home to dinner at eleven. We all dine together, though I doubt such late hours are not very good for the health of the young ones. When I was young, I never dined later than nine o'clock, nor thought of sitting at table with my parents. But times are changed—times are changed—and my nephew hath a right to command in his own house."

I began to wonder when she was going to stop talking long enough to call my cousins, but at last she blew her silver whistle, which hung with her keys at her girdle, and presently two pretty little girls, some years older than myself, made their appearance, and were introduced to me as my cousins, Avice and Katherine. They were twins, and more alike than any two people I ever saw. They were wonderfully fair, with thick, soft, curling hair of the color of new flax, or a thought yellower; clear, transparent gray eyes, and a lovely bloom on their cheeks. I fell in love with them on the instant. They only courtesied when presented to me, and, giving me each a hand, led me away.

As we passed a great Venice glass, I remember being struck with the difference in our looks, for I was ever a true Corbet, with the great dark eyes, level black brows, and crisp hair of my race—a regular black Corby, as poor Randall used to call me.

The twins led me up the staircase and into a room furnished with blue, where were two little beds and a truckle for a servant. Out of this opened a large light closet, where I found my mails. As soon as we were alone, the girls found their tongues.

"We are glad you have come to live with us!" said Avice, who was always the first speaker, and indeed took the lead in every thing, as I found out afterward.

"Yes, we are very glad, because it will be like having our sister again!" said Katherine.

"A little like it!" said Avice. And then, seeming to feel she had hurt my feelings, she added—

"You know nobody can be quite like one's own sister, but I am sure we shall love you, Cousin Loveday!"

"And I am sure I shall love you!" I returned warmly. And then I ventured to ask: "Did you have another sister, and is she dead?"

"Yes!" said Avice, with a quivering lip. "She was a beautiful little girl, and she looked a little like you, for she had dark hair and eyes. But she fell into the chincough, and then into a long waste, and died in spite of all that could be done."

"But she has gone to paradise—I am sure she has, and we shall see her again some day," added Katherine, her eyes shining with a kind of steadfast light. "I could not bear it, only for thinking of that."

There was a little silence, and then Avice asked me how old I was.

"I shall be nine years old come Michaelmas—and you?"

"We shall be twelve on Midsummer day. Can you read, cousin?"

"Oh yes!" I answered, not without a little feeling of vain-glory, I dare say. "I can read and write, and I have begun Latin."

"We can read and write a little, but not well;" and then followed a comparison of accomplishments.

And soon I found I had nothing whereof to boast, since my cousins could play on the lute and the virginals, embroider in all sorts of stitches, and even knit—an art which I had only heard of at that time, as practiced in that same convent of Gray Nuns whose dissolution had sent me to London. We grew excellent friends over all these inquiries and answers, and when we were called down to dinner we descended the stairs, not hand in hand, but with our arms round each other's waists.

We went down to the ground floor this time, and I was led into a great dining-room where was a table splendidly set out—or so it seemed to my unaccustomed eyes—with snowy napery, silver and fine colored ware, such as I had never seen. They were, in fact, china dishes, then only beginning to be used by the wealthy merchants of London and the Low Countries. Sambo and one or two 'prentice lads were just placing the dinner on the table, and my uncle was standing by the window, looking out upon the garden, now all ablaze with flowers, many of which were new to me.

He turned round as I entered, and showed me one of the handsomest and kindest faces I ever beheld in my life. He was a man in middle life, tall and somewhat stout, though not unbecomingly so, with curling brown hair, a little touched with gray at the temples, large gray eyes with very long lashes, and a chestnut beard trimmed in the fashion of the day. He was richly but soberly dressed, and I noticed even then the whiteness and fineness of his linen. Sea-coal was not used in London then as much as now, and it was easier to keep clean.

"So this is my little niece, is it?" said he, kindly raising me and bending down to kiss my forehead as I kneeled to ask his blessing. "You are welcome, my dear child. May the God of thy fathers bless thee."

Even then there was something in my uncle's tone which struck me—a peculiar solemnity and earnestness, quite different from the business-like, rapid fashion in which Father Barnaby and our own Sir John used to go through the same form. It seemed as if he were really speaking to some one. He caused me to sit at his right hand, and helped me bountifully from the dish of roast fowls which stood before him. The dinner was elegantly served, and Sambo showed such skill in waiting on his master, and such alacrity in helping me to sweetmeats that I found my dislike to him sensibly diminishing.

Of course we children did not speak at the table, and indeed I was too busy making my remarks on all I saw to care even for eating. I admired the china dishes, so hard and light and so beautifully painted; the clear glass and finely wrought silver; and I once or twice really forgot to eat in gazing through the great glass window at the flower garden.

"You are looking at the flowers!" said my uncle. "After dinner we will go and see them nearer."

At that moment something made an odd scratching noise on the glass door which led into the garden. Sambo looked at his master, who smiled and nodded. He opened the door and in walked a stately creature, which I should hardly have guessed to be a mere cat, only for his loud musical purr. He was immensely large, and had fur that almost dragged on the ground, a bushy tail, and a mane or collar of much longer fur round his neck, and as he was of a yellowish color, he looked not unlike a little lion. He marched up to my uncle's side, where Sambo had already set a joint-stool for his accommodation, but seeing a stranger at table, he turned and greeted me with great politeness, rubbing his head on my arm as if to invite my caresses.

"Do not be afraid," said my uncle, seeing me shrink a little, for indeed the creature's great size and strength made him somewhat formidable to a stranger. "He is the best-tempered fellow in the world, and a famous playmate, as you will soon find out."

Hearing this, and seeing the cat was evidently a favorite of my uncle's, I ventured—having finished my dinner—to stroke him, an attention which he received with condescending kindness. My aunt poured some cream into a saucer, and Turk drank it as calmly as if it were a matter of course—as indeed it was for him—to sit at table and eat cream.

"Loveday opens her eyes!" said my aunt. "I dare say she never saw a cat sit at table and be served like a Christian before. Do you like pets, Niece Loveday?"

"Yes, madam!" I answered, and indeed I had a kind of passion for them, which I had heretofore gratified almost on the sly, for my Lady Peckham did not like pet animals of any kind.

"That is well, for we have plenty of them," said my aunt. "Sambo must show you his popinjay."

Sambo bowed, and grinned till his face seemed all white teeth.

"There, run away, children, and play in the garden if you like!" said my uncle. "Take Loveday to see the flowers."

We went out into the garden, and the girls showed me many lovely flowers, such as I had never seen before.

"My father trades with the Dutch merchants, who bring all sorts of curious plants from the Indies," said Katherine. "That is the way we got our cat and Sambo."

"Father bought Sambo from a man who treated him cruelly," added Avice. "When he first came here he was a heathen, but my aunt has taught him better, and now he can say his paternoster and creed in English. We all like him because he is so droll and so kind. My Lord Cardinal wanted him for a fool, but my father would not give him up."

"I never saw a black man before," said I. "I did not know there were such things, and when I first saw him I thought it was the evil one himself."

"Some of our neighbors believe he is not quite right," observed Katherine, "but he is as good a Christian as any one."

"Better than some, because he is grateful!" said Avice. "Come, now, and we will show you the last new tree our father got from foreign parts. There is not another in the country, and we are in a great hurry to have it bloom, that we may see what the flowers are like."