Grisly Grisell; Or, The Laidly Lady of Whitburn: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses

Goodwife Hall talked on, with anecdotes of every hamlet that they passed, and these were not very many.  At each church they dismounted and said their prayers, and if there were a hostel near, they let their animals feed the while, and obtained some refreshment themselves.  England was not a very safe place for travellers just then, but the cockle-shells sewn to the pilgrim’s hat of the dame, and to that of one of her attendants, and the tall staff and wallet each carried, were passports of security.  Nothing could be kinder than Mistress Hall was to her charge, of whom she was really proud, and when they halted for the night at the nunnery of Queen Elfrida at Wherwell, she took care to explain that this was no burgess’s daughter but the Lady Grisell Dacre of Whitburn, trusted to her convoy, and thus obtained for her quarters in the guest-chamber of the refectory instead of in the general hospitium; but on the whole Grisell had rather not have been exposed to the shock of being shown to strangers, even kindly ones, for even if they did not exclaim, some one was sure to start and whisper.

After another halt for the night the travellers reached London, and learned at the city gate that the Earl and Countess of Salisbury were absent, but that their eldest son, the Earl of Warwick, was keeping court at Warwick House.

Thither therefore Mistress Hall resolved to conduct Grisell.  The way lay through narrow streets with houses overhanging the roadway, but the house itself was like a separate castle, walled round, enclosing a huge space, and with a great arched porter’s lodge, where various men-at-arms lounged, all adorned on the arm of their red jackets with the bear and ragged staff.

They were courteous, however, for the Earl Richard of Warwick insisted on civility to all comers, and they respected the scallop-shell on the dame’s hat.  They greeted her good-humouredly.

“Ha, good-day, good pilgrim wife.  Art bound for St. Paul’s?  Here’s supper to the fore for all comers!”

“Thanks, sir porter, but this maid is of other mould; she is the Lady Grisell Dacre, and is company for my lord and my lady.”

“Nay, her hood and veil look like company for the Abbess.  Come this way, dame, and we will find the steward to marshal her.”

Grisell had rather have been left to the guardianship of her kind old friend, but she was obliged to follow.  They dismounted in a fine court with cloister-like buildings round it, and full of people of all kinds, for no less than six hundred stout yeomen wore red coats and the bear and ragged staff.  Grisell would fain have clung to her guide, but she was not allowed to do so.  She was marshalled up stone steps into a great hall, where tables were being laid, covered with white napery and glittering with silver and pewter.