Mist Over Pendle (2 page)

He was vicious over it, and Margery flushed as she heard it. She felt her clasped fingers grow moist, but she held her poise and told herself she must make no answer. There was indeed no answer she could have made which would not have been accounted insolence, and Alexander had a short way with insolence. Since their mother’s death, authority resided with Alexander, and he had already let Margery know it. He had been in the house only two days, but she had already fallen foul of him by an incautious answer to one of his heavy rebukes. He had mended her manners with a supple hazel stick, and she was not disposed to take any more risks. So she held her peace and stood in silence while Richard remarked that since she could not be married to a divine she must needs be married to a fellow of lesser sort.

But Alexander snorted again. Such a fellow, he said, would set little store by the family’s worth, and would certainly require a proper portion to go with the girl. And who would find her such a portion? Assuredly
he
would not. Nor, it seemed, would the Whitakers of Holme, who had let it be understood that they had done as much as they cared to do. The suggestion was idle, and Richard should have known better than to make it.

Richard glared and relapsed into silence. It was Prudence, of the practical mind, who made answer instead. Somehow, she declared, a portion must be found. Without one there would be no husband, and they would have the girl on their hands for ever. With one there might even be a goodly husband, since even a divine might well look past a fault or two for a portion that would furnish out his parsonage; and when Alexander reared his head at this slur on his cloth, Prudence swept that aside with a sniff. What, she demanded, did he mean to do about it?

It was at this moment that Richard had his inspiration. It set him bubbling with excited speech till Prudence asked him acidly if he thought this was Pentecost. Then he sobered and began to explain himself. Their grandmother, he reminded them, had been Elizabeth Nowell of Read, who had married Thomas Whitaker of Holme. Her younger brother had been Alexander Nowell, the Dean; and Roger Nowell, her eldest brother, had inherited his father’s estate in Lancashire--at Read, where the Calder river touches the Forest of Pendle.

Richard paused impressively, pleased to have them mystified. Then, ponderously, he went on. This Roger’s grandson, another Roger Nowell, now owned and ruled at Read--and surely there was kinship there?

Kinship? They looked at one another doubtfully, and Richard, more pleased than ever, said it all over again. He had another word to say before he would let them speak. Richard, as even Prudence agreed, was an excellent bookseller, and he had used his Lancashire connections to extend his trade. More than one Lancashire gentleman ordered books from Richard, and only last month, he told them, he had sent to this Roger Nowell a copy of the King’s great work, the
Demonology
--though why a country gentleman should want that erudite and expensive tome Richard could not tell. But that was no matter. What concerned them was that Richard’s account, which included some generous charges for carriage, had been paid promptly and without quibbling; they might suppose, therefore, that Roger Nowell was not short of money. He was, said Richard, a man of fifty, with his wife dead these many years and his children now grown and gone into the world; in these days he dwelt alone at Read, and Richard had been told that he stood in no fair repute with neighbours, who found him an arrogant fellow of bitter tongue and peremptory manners. But that again was no matter; what concerned them was the kinship.

Richard ended, and Prudence was heard to say that kinship there certainly was; it might not be too much to say that Margery was this Roger’s cousin.

“Cousin?” Alexander stroked his nose and brooded on that. “Our grandmother being his grandfather’s sister, she should be....“

“Cousin,” said Richard firmly. “Any kinsman may be called cousin among gentlefolk.”

“It could be.” Alexander stroked his nose again, and Margery, still standing in front of him, stirred slightly as her quick wits perceived that a marriage-portion, even if it could be had, might be a doubtful blessing. It would attract a husband, no doubt--and Alexander would choose the husband. Margery’s nose wrinkled at the thought.

“Cousin or no cousin,” said Alexander suddenly, “why suppose he’ll find a portion for Margery? Why should he? He’s never seen the girl.”

“That’s the core of it,” said Richard.

“Do you speak in riddles?”

“Not so. He’d be even less likely to find for her if he
had
seen her.”

“That at least is true.” Alexander snorted again.

Then, for the first time, Laurence spoke. He was younger than the other two, a quiet scholarly man whose thoughts stayed in his study with the
Disputatio de Sacra Scripture, contra hujus temporis Haereticos
which he was writing as a counterblast to the deplorable Arminius. It is to be suspected that he found this talk of marriage-portions tedious.

“Whether this Roger Nowell will call Margery cousin and find her a portion, or whether he won’t,” said Laurence, “is best ascertained by asking him. There’s nothing lost by that. At worst he can but say no.”

“It’s worth trying.” said Prudence firmly, and even Alexander could hardly deny that. But he would by no means consent to Richard’s writing the letter. That, he said, belonged to him as the eldest. He would write directly. And since these were days of vacation, when he need not be in Cambridge, he would continue as Richard’s guest until an answer should be received.

Prudence sighed wearily.

So promptly did Alexander write his letter, and so speedy were the carriers, that an answer came back from Roger Nowell in no more than a month; and it was not a happy month for Margery.

She did indeed get some walks abroad, and once she got as far as Whitehall, where there were some very fine gentlemen sauntering in the sunshine and dallying with their ladies. But for the most part she was kept fast to the house and made to work. Prudence declared that her young sister was in much need of discipline. Already, said Prudence, the girl’s head was stuffed with dreams; dreams of airs and graces, of clothes and horses and fine young gentlemen; dreams, in short, of every vapid vanity. What the girl needed was work, and now was the time to see she got it. So Margery was haled into the kitchen and set to seethe and bake; when that was done she was set to iron the linen or scrub the floor; and if she had an idle hour she was sent to the parlour and set to needlework. Prudence was ruthless about it, and Margery submitted because she had to; she knew well enough where authority lay. But under it she was mutinous, for this was by no means her notion of a proper life. She knew all about that crinkling smile and the glint of red in her hair; she knew she had quicker wits and a cooler head than most; and the thought was steady in her that if she were once set among proper men she might put those talents to a proper use. And here she was, grunting in a kitchen that she might learn to cook more succulently for some podgy brother-chosen brute! She was almost in tears when she thought about it. Nor was she much happier in her cooler moments, for then she brooded anxiously on the letter that had been sent to Roger Nowell. If he refused her a portion, it seemed that she must stay here and sport with apprentices--when she could evade Prudence. If he found her a portion she might expect to be quickly married, and she had no illusions about the sort of husband she would have to take and the sort of life she would have to lead. There would be no place then for high hopes and a crinkling smile.

Then came the answer from Roger Nowell, and it was not the answer that Alexander had expected. His voice was swelling with indignation as he read it to them:

“Send the girl straightway to me that I may view her and use her by her deserts. If her blood be red of Nowell she may stay by me and have fair provision. If it be whey she shall return whence she came, and at my charges. These for her journey.

Roger Nowell.”

And ‘these’ were silver crowns, twenty of them, done in a silken bag; it was tied and sealed, and the seal had the arms of Nowell, three cups sable on a field of argent.

It was a letter that pleased them not at all. Alexander grew heated at its brevity, Richard grumbled at its arrogance, and Prudence declared that it would puff the girl’s vanity even further, but if it was short it was also plain, and its very shortness suggested that Roger Nowell was not a man to be argued with, not a man from whom anything might be had unless he were given his own way. They talked it round through the heat of a July afternoon, and their talk ended as might have been foreseen. Margery was summoned before Alexander and curtly bidden to prepare herself for a journey to the North Parts.

It did not occur to Alexander to ask what Margery’s thoughts might be on this, and Margery, as usual, kept them to herself. She stayed impassive and inscrutable, but behind it she was excited; and if she was a little frightened she was at least not displeased. Nor was she indignant; if Roger Nowell wanted to look at her, Margery could see nothing against that; she had a growing belief that she was worth looking at, and she was disposed to think well of a man who wanted to look at her. Her quick mind had already seen the possibilities. At the best, ‘stay by me and have fair provision’ might mean a dream come true. At the worst there would be some exciting travels, and also, if Roger Nowell’s crowns were well expended, some new clothes; and of these Margery thought she stood in much need. So she stayed grave and placid, and she even assented dutifully when she was told that Prudence would take her shopping the next week.

She did her best to be dutiful when they came to it, though this she found difficult. She and Prudence had markedly different ideas as to what was to be done. To Prudence it was obvious that Margery must be equipped with such grave and sober clothing as would befit a daughter of their house, whereas Margery’s tastes did not run at all to the grave and sober. They came to argument at once. Margery said that since she was going into the country she must have a riding-habit, and she pressed for it earnestly. But Prudence would have none of such fripperies, and since she had the authority, Margery had to submit; yet Prudence, within the limits of her tastes, was both shrewd and determined, and even Margery had to admit that she did the work well. She took the twenty crowns that had been sent, she extracted another twenty from her brothers, and she saw to it that Margery was soundly and decently furnished. There was a fine new kirtle of twilled woollen saye, all in black except for a white lace collar that spread widely about the shoulders; and there was a little ruff of starched linen that could be worn instead of the collar on a great occasion. There were two gowns, a day-gown of flowered sarcenet, loose in the sleeves and open at the front for wearing over the kirtle; and a night-gown of puke, dyed in the wool to dark mulberry and made warm and full for wear by the fireside of an evening. There were the three petticoats that would give fullness to the kirtle, two of saye and the third of silk sarcenet because it was meant to be displayed when the kirtle was lifted in walking. There were smocks of white Holland, to be worn under the kirtle by day and as sleeping-wear in bed. There were two pairs of pumps to wear in the house, one of fine leather and one of tufted taffeta; and a pair of cork-soled pantofles to wear over the pumps when out of doors. And as a grudging concession to a new fashion there were some little squares of white cambric meant to be carried in the hand to give an air of daintiness; these were called hand kerchiefs.

They all but quarrelled when they came to the buying of hats and it was the unseen Roger Nowell who rescued Margery from that Prudence had a taste in hats that made Margery shudder, she took it for granted that any woman indoors would wear the small laced hood called a coif, and out of doors the small black rimless cap that every merchant’s wife wore. Margery, who had no wish at all to look like a merchant’s wife, wanted a copintank, the tall round-brimmed hat with the steeple-crown that every gentleman wore; it was, she said, now the fashion for ladies to wear them too, and she wanted one. Prudence sniffed audibly, and Margery had to submit to the buying of coifs she did not intend to wear and hats which she contemptuously called porringers--which, since Prudence was at that moment wearing one, did not put them on happier terms. They were both red and angry as they walked home in the afternoon heat, Margery sullen to the point of mutiny and Prudence saying bitter things about ungrateful girls. Margery thought nervously about her brother’s hazel stick and went cautiously with tight-pressed lips. And then, suddenly everything changed. For on the doorstep they met an apprentice bearing a small canvas packet which his master, a goldsmith had just received from the merchant who was his agent in Preston - it was directed to Mistress Margery Whitaker, and the seal had the arms of Nowell.

Margery had it in her hand before Prudence could so much as speak, and then she took the stair at a ran. Once in her bedchamber she ripped it open and found a single sheet of paper and a silken bag tied and sealed as before; it dropped to the table and chinked. Then, with her fingers trembling with excitement, she opened the paper and read the bold and level script:

Being come to Preston, take a lodging at the
Angel
in the Friar-gate, telling the host thereof you seek me, your kinsman. I will take order for all else. These for your own self, to do with as you will none overseeing you.

Roger Nowell.

And the contents of the silken bag were silver crowns, twenty of them as before.

That was enough for Margery. She went for supper with a bright cheek and a sparkling eye, and all thoughts of quarrels were forgotten. She had only one thing in her thoughts now, and that was the riding-habit she had been pining for since her journey had first been mooted. It was within her grasp now, and she could have hugged Roger Nowell. True, she would have to be careful; twenty crowns made only a hundred shillings, and she would have to spread them thinly; it would have to be mockado instead of velvet, and the hat would have to be felt instead of beaver fur, but the thing was within her grasp and she would seek it as she had been told to do--none overseeing her.