Tales of the West Riding (4 page)

“A thousand ducats! What is a proctor?” wailed Dame Joanna.

“A kind of ecclesiastical lawyer, I suppose.”

“Nonsense. He would take two hundred in gold,” said Richard.

“Richard, am I worth all this to you? We are not betrothed,
you lie under no obligation to me. As far as I am concerned,” said Emmott, steadying her voice: “You are as free as air.”

“Emmott, we shall marry,” said Richard. He turned to his father. “Sir John says my application must go through the Archbishop of York. Sir John will help me to put it in the proper shape. Father, please tell me the exact kinship between Emmott's father and yourself. Was he your father's brother's son?”

“I reckon he was my father's
cousin's
son,” said Thomas thoughtfully. “A branch of our family lived in York. There was plague there, and this young man, Emmott's father, was sent to us to be out of the way of it. His folk all died of the plague, and he went soldiering in France. A restless lad, but I loved him, you remember, Joanna.”

He looked at Joanna, who was silent. She remembered all too well.

“Emmott and I are only of the fourth degree of consanguinity, then,” said Richard. “That is good. Well, now that I have your permission, I will ride to Sir John and put the matter in motion.”

“We have not given our permission, Richard,” began his father, but Richard was gone.

Emmott rose and asked permission to return to her embroidery. Dame Joanna gave it: with a sigh.

“Will he give it up, think you?” said Thomas when he was alone with his wife.

“No.”

“But why? The girl is a good girl, but there are others, and the difficulties are great.”

“He hath a stubborn disposition,” said Dame Joanna. “And the girl loves him.”

Richard rode to Hudley to ask the Askrodes' man of law to draw up his petition.

Richard rode to Hudley to ask Sir John to confer with the man of law.

Richard rode to Hudley to sign the petition.

Richard rode to York to hand the petition to the appropriate official at the Archbishop's palace.

Richard rode to York to pay the requisite fee.

Richard rode to York to ask for news of the petition.

Richard rode to York again for news of the petition.

By this time his errand had become well known in the West Riding. Folk who met him on the road to York said jestingly to him:

“Bound for York, Richard?”

“Aye, York,” said Richard.

Folk who met him on the road from York said soberly to him:

“Any answer yet?'

“Not yet,” said Richard.

“'Tis a long road from York to Rome, think on, Richard.”

“Aye, so 'tis,” said Richard. “And the same distance back again.”

“True.” Happen he's soft, happen he's hard, they thought. “Why not give it up, lad?”

“Why, I desire a full conclusion of the matter,” said Richard.

Some folk now laughed at Richard, others shook their heads and said 'twas pity—such a fine lad too. Such an ado over a woman, and no great beauty, either. 'Twas time Thomas Askrode had an heir.

Suddenly one day Sybille decided that Richard was a fool and she could wait no longer for him. There was an old, gouty, cross-patch merchant some few miles away who first came to Greenwode to ask William to weave some special cloth for him to send across the sea. He was much enamoured of Sybille's beauty and had pressed his suit for some time. Now suddenly she yielded and married him. (She soon became a wealthy childless widow of rather ill repute.) After her sister's departure Elfride improved so much in mind and body that she was able to marry one of her father's apprentices. (She presently produced a large number of sweet if rather silly children, a great happiness to their grandparents.)

Richard rode to York to ask for news of his petition.

He came back with a document in his pouch.

“Translate the Latin for me, Father John,” he said.

“After all my teaching can you not do that for yourself,” said Sir John reproachfully.

“Read it, father, I pray you,” said Richard. “I must be sure.”

The old priest began in a vexed tone, but soon, pleased to show his skill, read sonorously, with enjoyment.

“
The Dispensation of Richard Askrode and Emmott Greenwode, related in the 4th degree of consanguinity
.”

“It begins well,”' said Richard.

“
To all it may concern, greetings
.”

“Pray skip over all that, Father,” said Richard.

“Very well.
We have received the following letter from the venerable father and lord in Christ, the Lord Jordanus, by the grace of God, bishop of Sabina
”

“What has a bishop of Sabina to do with us here in Yorkshire?”

“The Cardinal Bishop of Sabina is head of the appropriate department of the Vatican,” Sir John rebuked him.

“I beg his pardon.”

“
The ever-watchful providence of the Apostolic See is always mindful to temper with mercy the rigour of the law, and to allow, out of the grace of her kindness, that which is forbidden by the sacred canons, in so far as she recognizes that this may be truly salutary, taking into account, as she does, both personal circumstances and the conditions of the times. Now the petition presented to us from Richard de Askrode, layman, and Emmott de Greenwode, a woman of your diocese, indicated that for certain reasonable causes they desire to be joined in lawful wedlock, but that being related in the fourth degree of consanguinity, they are unable to fulfil their desire, unless an Apostolic dispensation from the impediment is obtained. Wherefore, they made humble supplication
—”

“Father, have mercy on me,” said Richard.

The old priest, raising his eyes, saw that sweat stood thick on Richard's forehead. He continued hurriedly:

“
We have perused, received and understood this letter, and have ascertained, through our strict enquiry into the matter, that each and every fact contained in this same letter is true, and that the said Emmott was not purposefully abducted by any person. We therefore grant and permit, by the above-mentioned authority, the aforesaid Richard and Emmott to be freely joined in wedlock—their impediment of consanguinity notwithstanding—and, once joined, to remain together lawfully; we decree too that any offspring of this marriage is to be recognised as legitimate.
”

“Thank God,” said Richard.

“Aye, thank Him indeed. Down on your knees and thank him.”

“But, Father! ‘Certain reasonable causes'. ‘Not purposefully abducted.' It sounds as though they thought Emmott and I had been living together as man and wife, and that is not so, Father!”

“Be content, my son,” said the priest.

“I am content, Father,” said Richard.

Within a month Richard and Emmott were joined in holy matrimony.

They produced two sons and several daughters, and lived together for many years in great happiness and prosperity. In her old, widowed, ailing days, Dame Joanna often said to Emmott that it had been a good thing for Askrode when Emmott was born. For after the day when Emmott told Richard she made no claim upon him, there was never any disagreement between Dame Joanna and Emmott.

At times, of course, a slight storm would arise between Dame Joanna and her son, especially after his father's death, when Richard became master of Askrode. On these occasions Richard always won the fight, and his mother would then say excusingly to Emmott:

“Richard had always a stubborn disposition.”

To this Emmott never failed to reply staunchly:

“Richard is a man faithful and true.”

“He is as obstinate as a stone wall, like all West Riding men, if that's what you mean,” agreed Dame Joanna comfortably, chuckling.

I should like to offer my apologies and express my indebtedness to Dr. C. Veronica Wedgwood, whose most admirable biography of Strafford stimulated me into writing “Episode in the Tower” by giving me many examples of this noted Yorkshireman's speech. My purpose in writing this story was not to attempt any additional study of Lord Strafford, but to attack, through a presentation in fiction of his behaviour and its results, a trait which to my regret I still find existing all too strongly today in Yorkshire people—including, of course, myself.

P.B.

“Sir William Balfour,” said Guilford Slingsby, bowing formally, nervous but determined: “The Earl of Strafford has done great service to the King in Yorkshire and in Ireland, so I am in hope that his stay here will be made comfortable and suitable to his estate.”

“What is more to the point, my dear Slingsby,” said the Lord Lieutenant in his pleasant Scottish tones, “his trial is not yet come on, much less is it past. Until he is condemned we had all best mind our manners.”

“Yes, indeed, Sir William. For he is as innocent of treason as a babe unborn.”

“Whether he is innocent I will not presume to pronounce. I leave that to the Lords. But he may be acquitted and rise back to favour. Then it were best he had no unpleasant memories of the Tower.”

“Yes,” agreed Slingsby doubtfully. “But he is not a man to cherish personal grievances, Sir William.”

Sir William snorted. “Many men of quality have felt the weight of his hand,” he said.

“But only in the King's service, not for his own.”

“Well, we shall see. I think I hear them coming now.”

Indeed a murmur which had been in their ears now suddenly
swelled to a great angry roar, and the captain of the guard came in quickly to summon Sir William. Taking up his staff of office, he led the way to the Tower gate, accompanied by the captain. Slingsby, though not invited to do so, followed; as the Earl of Strafford's principal secretary, he thought himself entitled to witness this act of imprisonment. It went to his heart to see how a company of Tower yeomen fell in briskly behind the Lord Lieutenant; they had received their orders earlier, he perceived; Strafford's committal to the Tower had been expected, planned.

Quite a large crowd was assembled outside the Tower gate; men and women both were shouting, booing, jeering, as the closed coach came up the hill. Some of the bolder and younger spirits, apprentices and the like, danced in front of the horses and even ventured to lay their dirty hands on the coach windows and call insults through the glass. Lord Strafford appeared unmoved, but the Usher of the Black Rod, in whose charge he was, looked pale and shrank into the corner. Luckily the coachman seemed a solid sort of fellow; he looked straight ahead and drove on at a slow but steady pace, contriving to avoid knocking anyone down without appearing to yield any ground. The guards opened one gate and let down the steps of the coach. Lord Strafford, tucking his cloak about him, stepped down briskly. Black Rod seemed to have some difficulty in sliding across the seat of the coach, and did not promptly appear; Lord Strafford reached back and hauled him out, feet first.

“Come on, man,” he said. “We must get in, out of the way of these daft-heads.”

Those nearest in the crowd, hearing this epithet, roared angrily and passed it back to those more distant, who roared too and surged forward. It was an awkward and even dangerous moment, but the guards, no doubt accustomed to this sort of scene, drew the gate closed quickly, with the Earl and Black Rod safe within. Slingsby looked at his master anxiously; but the square sallow face, with its big nose and heavy jaw, the thick black eyebrows, those large piercing dark eyes, showed no discomposure, and even as he looked Lord Strafford laughed.

“Nay, what cheer, man!” he cried, smiting Black Rod heartily on the shoulder so that the thin elderly man staggered under the blow. “We're not dead yet.” With a vigorous hand he adjusted
Black Rod's cloak of office, ruffled by his unceremonious exit from the coach. “I never saw anyone look so much like a dying duck in a thunderstorm as you do.”

Black Rod, huffed, drew himself up and uttered the formal words committing the prisoner to the Lord Lieutenant's charge.

“Prisoner,” muttered Lord Strafford. “Prisoner, indeed. We shall see about that presently, I promise you. Well, where are you housing me, Sir William, eh? I shall want room for my people about me, and my secretaries, you know. There will be great work to do, preparing the answers to all these daft charges.”

With a cool deference which trod exactly the narrow line between friendship and hostility, so that you could not say that either had been shown, Sir William ushered the Earl of Strafford into the suite of rooms prepared for his use. The staircase was narrow, cold and twisting, but the rooms themselves were well enough; dark, of course, but giving through the narrow windows welcome vistas of the Thames. Not that the river had a sunny look this dreary November afternoon; the water was grey, the mist hung low and all the passengers in the skiffs were cloaked to the ears, so that it was a relief to turn back to the glowing fire which had been lighted in each room. Slingsby was pleased to see this mark of attention, and thinking a word of thanks would be agreeable to the Lord Lieutenant, called Lord Strafford's attention by stretching out a hand to the blaze in the main chamber. He knew his master never missed a gesture of this kind, nor was he mistaken.

“A lot of clinker in your coal, I see, Balfour,” said Lord Strafford, turning his shrewd eye to the fire. “You should buy your fuel in Yorkshire. That's the best.”

“We use wood chiefly,” said Sir William stiffly, vexed.

“A mistake. Never denude land of its trees. Yon hinge wants mending,” continued the Earl, striding over and feeling the nails in the top hinge of the heavy door. “Aye, your door will be swinging awry one of these days if you don't take care. And that would never do. I might slip out through an unhinged door and be off to France, eh, Balfour?”