Mist Over Pendle Read Free

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.
     
     

Chapter 2: THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN
     
    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