his table. “And we must pray that the
King will listen . . . otherwise there will be a scourge and judgment come upon us from these evil times, a heavy dreadful scourge.”
“But what should, we do then?” she asked, a little frightened, for John’s voice had risen to its full resonance as it did when he read them a psalm.
He did not answer at once, and when he did it was as though he were speaking from afar off to himself. “It may be that if the Lord seeth fit, he will provide a shelter and a hiding place for us, as God sent Lot to refuge in the place called Zoar.” He shut his eyes and sank back on the pillows.
She looked at him in dismay, He cannot mean that we should go to Holland like those dreadful Separatists from Nottinghamshire, she thought - he could not mean that For he had often said that he loved Groton above all earthly places, and that the Lord would sustain them so that they might live on the Manor till death, and then Jack and his children after them. No, she thought, this talk is nothing but speech born of fever. No more than that.
As the days went by till his complete recovery, and he made no further dark allusions, all uneasy wonder slipped from her mind.
CHAPTER THREE
On February 14 Elizabeth awoke to hear a thrush carolling in the garden while warm air seeped through the heavy green brocade curtains which enclosed her with Martha in the girls’ carved, four-posted bed. Through every nerve she felt the thrill of coming spring and with it an excited sense of release for which there was no other basis at all. Except that Hilary Term had ended in the courts and John Winthrop had yesterday quit London and returned to his home at Groton. Her hurt fury at his speech on Christmas Day had gradually subsided into the usual dullness of impotent rebellion. He had been pleasant enough the few times she had seen him, and had even offered her a brief apology for the words she had overheard. This apology she knew came partly from Margaret’s suggestion, and partly from his own formal sense of justice. He had however indicated to Thomas Fones that he saw no reason whatever to postpone Elizabeth’s wedding beyond late April, when he would again come up to London for the Easter Term, and be pleased to attend the marriage ceremony. Thomas had at once agreed.
But I’ve still weeks and weeks, Elizabeth thought, I’ll not fret today. She pushed the curtains aside and saw pale streaks of dawn through the diamond panes of the garden window. She swung her bare legs over the edge of the bed, and as the thrush trilled again she sang too:
“Good morrow! ‘Tis St. Valentine’s Day,
All in the morning betime
And the very first lad that I shall see
In spite of fortune will my true-love be!”
Martha, whose face had been buried in the down pillow, jerked her head up and gave a little moan. “Bess - Hush I pray thee! You know very well your valentine must be Edward, and anyway don’t sing!”
At this unusual peevishness, Elizabeth examined her sister, saw the right cheek swollen, the pain-dark hollows beneath the eyes and said, “Is it the toothache again, Matt?”
The younger girl nodded, putting her hand to her jaw. “ ‘Tis getting worse, throbs so I scarce can stand it.”
“Best have it out, dear,” said Elizabeth gently. “I’ll send Dickon for a tooth-puller, I hear there’s a good one lives near St. Bart’s Hospital.”
“No, I can’t! I can’t I I’d rather die!” Martha covered her face with her hands and burst into terrified sobs. Elizabeth was silent. She had once herself been through the agony of tooth-pulling; the gagging from the clumsy iron forceps as they fastened on the tortured molar, the grinding splintering shocks of pain as the tooth-puller sweated and jerked with one hand, while forcing his patient’s head back with the other. But she had set herself to stand it without screaming, and she had stood it, until the ecstasy of relief, when the tooth-puller waved the bloody
King will listen . . . otherwise there will be a scourge and judgment come upon us from these evil times, a heavy dreadful scourge.”
“But what should, we do then?” she asked, a little frightened, for John’s voice had risen to its full resonance as it did when he read them a psalm.
He did not answer at once, and when he did it was as though he were speaking from afar off to himself. “It may be that if the Lord seeth fit, he will provide a shelter and a hiding place for us, as God sent Lot to refuge in the place called Zoar.” He shut his eyes and sank back on the pillows.
She looked at him in dismay, He cannot mean that we should go to Holland like those dreadful Separatists from Nottinghamshire, she thought - he could not mean that For he had often said that he loved Groton above all earthly places, and that the Lord would sustain them so that they might live on the Manor till death, and then Jack and his children after them. No, she thought, this talk is nothing but speech born of fever. No more than that.
As the days went by till his complete recovery, and he made no further dark allusions, all uneasy wonder slipped from her mind.
CHAPTER THREE
On February 14 Elizabeth awoke to hear a thrush carolling in the garden while warm air seeped through the heavy green brocade curtains which enclosed her with Martha in the girls’ carved, four-posted bed. Through every nerve she felt the thrill of coming spring and with it an excited sense of release for which there was no other basis at all. Except that Hilary Term had ended in the courts and John Winthrop had yesterday quit London and returned to his home at Groton. Her hurt fury at his speech on Christmas Day had gradually subsided into the usual dullness of impotent rebellion. He had been pleasant enough the few times she had seen him, and had even offered her a brief apology for the words she had overheard. This apology she knew came partly from Margaret’s suggestion, and partly from his own formal sense of justice. He had however indicated to Thomas Fones that he saw no reason whatever to postpone Elizabeth’s wedding beyond late April, when he would again come up to London for the Easter Term, and be pleased to attend the marriage ceremony. Thomas had at once agreed.
But I’ve still weeks and weeks, Elizabeth thought, I’ll not fret today. She pushed the curtains aside and saw pale streaks of dawn through the diamond panes of the garden window. She swung her bare legs over the edge of the bed, and as the thrush trilled again she sang too:
“Good morrow! ‘Tis St. Valentine’s Day,
All in the morning betime
And the very first lad that I shall see
In spite of fortune will my true-love be!”
Martha, whose face had been buried in the down pillow, jerked her head up and gave a little moan. “Bess - Hush I pray thee! You know very well your valentine must be Edward, and anyway don’t sing!”
At this unusual peevishness, Elizabeth examined her sister, saw the right cheek swollen, the pain-dark hollows beneath the eyes and said, “Is it the toothache again, Matt?”
The younger girl nodded, putting her hand to her jaw. “ ‘Tis getting worse, throbs so I scarce can stand it.”
“Best have it out, dear,” said Elizabeth gently. “I’ll send Dickon for a tooth-puller, I hear there’s a good one lives near St. Bart’s Hospital.”
“No, I can’t! I can’t I I’d rather die!” Martha covered her face with her hands and burst into terrified sobs. Elizabeth was silent. She had once herself been through the agony of tooth-pulling; the gagging from the clumsy iron forceps as they fastened on the tortured molar, the grinding splintering shocks of pain as the tooth-puller sweated and jerked with one hand, while forcing his patient’s head back with the other. But she had set herself to stand it without screaming, and she had stood it, until the ecstasy of relief, when the tooth-puller waved the bloody
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