Chapter XV: Coombe Ashton

THE vicarage of Coombe Ashton is just beside the gray old church, so that its garden and orchard, and the churchyard run together without any divisions, save a bank overrun with sweetbrier and ivy. 'Tis a stone house of two floors and three or four gables, convenient and roomy enough, but plain and unornamented as any farmhouse. I shall never forget how forlorn and wretched it looked to my eyes the first time I entered its doors.

My husband had left his cure in the hands of Sir David Dean, a good and religious priest, but one as absentminded and indifferent to his own comfort as any man I ever saw. He had lived alone in the vicarage all these years without a housekeeper, save that an old woman, living in one of the alms-cottages by the church-gate, now and then came in and scratched about a bit like a hen in a straw-yard. Any one who knows what men are when left to themselves, may guess what condition matters were in after seven or eight years of such housekeeping. The rushes on the floor must have been at least three months old, and showed such a state of things when we swept them out, that Mary Thornton sat down on the doorstep and cried.

"Come, come, Mary; this will never do," said I, though I could have cried myself, easily enough. "Think if Madame Bogardus should come in and find us in all this mess."

Mary Thornton laughed and then cried again, and having so relieved her mind, went to work like a heroine. How we two women slaved that day, sweeping and scouring, and shaking out, while the village maid, whom Walter had sent in, did little more than stare in amazement, and stand about in the way. Thanks to my uncle and Garrett, we had enough ready money, so Walter rode over to Biddeford and brought back a piece of moreen and another of green baize.

When we had the house decently clean and sweet, Mary and I set ourselves down to the making of some hangings and curtains, and while we were thus busy, one of our parishioners, a farmer's wife, Dame Yeo, came in, bringing a pot of cream and a basket of new laid eggs. I must say our people were very good to us from the first, save two or three families, who, holding to the old ways, looked upon Walter and myself as altogether profane and sacrilegious persons.

"Dear me!" exclaimed the good woman, in surprise. "Well, you do look as neat as any daisy. But, my dear soul, what be you a-doin' now. Making of hangings, I declare. Why thou'lt never get through all that by thyself, madam."

"Oh, you don't know how much I can do," I answered.

"I see well, madam, that you are a good housewife," answered Dame Yeo, "but yet you should have more help. There is a very decent body living alone in a cottage down to our place who has skill with the needle. May be you saw her in church—a tall woman in black, a-sitting on one of the stone benches. Folks say she has been a nun, and some hint that she knows more than she should, but I believe she is a good woman for all that."

"I noticed her, and wondered who and what she was," said I. "Do you think, dame, she would come and help us?"

"I dare say she would, and I will ask her when I go home. But, madam, there is good news for you. Our young squire and his lady have returned to the manor house, and 'tis said they mean to live there, or at least, to abide some time."

"Who are they?" I asked. "You know I am a stranger here."

"Oh, they are great folks," answered Dame Yeo. "Sir Robert is heir to my Lord Stanton of Stanton, unless he should marry again and have children, and my lady is daughter to old Sir Stephen Corbet. They lived here once before a little while, but the lady was carried off by pirates and hardly rescued, and after that they took a dislike to the place. Some say," and here her voice sunk to a whisper, "that it was not pirates who carried her off, but that a priest was mixed up in it. I don't know. Any how, she is a most gracious lady, and I am right glad she hath come back. Well, Madam Corbet, I will send Dame Anne to you, an' you will."

"Do so," I answered. "And, dame, will you carry this little book to your daughter. 'Tis a copy of the Psalms in English, and will be easy for her to hold and read."

For poor Amy Yeo was held fast in bed by a broken joint which had never knit kindly and gave her great pain.

"Tell her my husband will come to see her as soon as he can."

The good woman departed well pleased, and it was not long before the woman she called Dame Anne, made her appearance. I saw at once that she was a lady, and made haste to set her an easy chair. She put on no airs, however, but seeing on what we were engaged, she went at once to work and showed that she knew what she was about.

"The lady sews like a Dutch woman!" said Mary Thornton.

"Nevertheless I have never been out of England," answered Dame Anne, smiling, "but I was convent-bred, and there we learned to handle our needles at least."

"Ay, and many another good thing beside," I answered. "I wonder sometimes what young ladies will do for education now the convents are put down?"

"Perhaps their mothers will keep them at home and teach them, which is the natural way, methinks," answered Dame Anne. "An' I had a daughter, I would never put her into any hands but my own."

I may as well say here, that we found Dame Anne one of our greatest helps in the parish. The woman who had kept a little school in the hamlet down by the shore—a very superior person by all accounts—had died about six months before, and the children were running wild. After making himself well acquainted with her, and having duly consulted with our lady of the manor, Dame Anne was installed by my husband in the office of school-mistress, and filled it to admiration as long as she lived.

Well, the end of the month found us fairly settled in our new home, and very comfortable therein. When Sir David came home from Exeter—whither he had gone to meet us, though we had never told him we meant to go thither—he held his hands up in amazement at the change wrought in the parsonage. But he would by no means have his abode with us, saying that he should only be in our way, and that he was too old to change his habits, so he took up his lodging with an old couple who had more room than they wanted, and lived with them to the day of his death, which happened about three years after. He had a modest competence, which he bequeathed to the poor of the parish; and my husband, with Sir Richard's approbation, built and endowed therewith two more almshouses, specially for disabled fishermen, or their widows. But I am running before my story.

If Sir David had been a bad housekeeper, he had not been an unfaithful priest, as the state of the parish showed plainly enough. The church had been stripped of its images, but not defaced and half ruined, as was the case with too many. The great painted window was quite untouched, the chancels decent and clean, and the seats whole. It was but a little place at best, and a good deal of space was taken up by two or three great altar tombs, but it was large enough to hold all the inhabitants of the two hamlets which made up the parish.

Sir David had provided at his own expense a great Bible, which was chained to a desk in the choir, where any one was at liberty to read it, and so soon as King Edward's new prayer book and primer were published, Sir Richard Stanton sent for a number of copies from Exeter, and had them placed in the seats or given to heads of families. My husband explained the book from the chancel, and I must say the most of the people fell in with it very quickly, so that we had as well-ordered and devout a congregation, I dare say, as could be found in Britain.

I am proud to say that in the changes which followed the king's early death, not one apostate was found in my husband's flock, and had we but been at home when the storm broke, I believe we should have escaped in safety.

I soon formed a warm friendship with our lady of the manor—my Lady Rosamond, she was always called, though being a simple knight's daughter, she had, I suppose, no right to the title. She had been convent-bred as well as myself, and had a narrow escape of being convent-buried, for—there is no harm in writing it now—they were no pirates which carried her off, but a certain priest called Father Barnaby, who had great power at that time. They had her immured in some of their prisons, and threatened to bury her alive, but she was saved in quite a wonderful way, by her own courage and the intervention of that same Magdalen Jewell who had been school-mistress here so long. She had known Sister Anne well in those days, and was glad to see her again. They had been together in the convent which was now suppressed like all the rest. Sister Anne inquired for the Mother Superior.

"She is now visiting a friend, but she will, I believe, make her home with me for the rest of her days," answered the lady, "whether I remain here or return to Stanton Court. She is well, but a good deal shaken by all that hath happened."

We used to have great comparing of notes as to our convent experiences, and we agreed that though the way of their suppression was harsh and cruel in many instances, yet on the whole the church was better without these so-called religious houses. I have never seen reason to change my mind. I regretted it greatly when Sir Richard, coming to the title by the death of my Lord Stanton, removed to Stanton Court. This excellent pair never forgot the parish of Coombe Ashton, however, but always held up my husband's hands in his parish work.

Walter preached, and prayed, and studied, and visited the sick and dying, and was, I dare be sworn, as faithful a parish priest as could be found in England.

Meantime, I, on my part, kept his house and overlooked the parish school, and another which we had set up down at the Cove for the little children who would not come so far in bad weather. I tried, too, to teach the gospel of cleanliness as I had learned it in Holland, but here I had indifferent success. 'Twas so much easier to cover the floors with rushes than to sweep them every day and scrub them twice a week; and as to the ill smells and the vermin, why they were used to them. However, I did make some progress with the young ones, and I soon came to the conclusion that it was not worth while to push my zeal too far. The good women liked their maids to learn sewing and knitting, mending and shaping, and they were well pleased when I taught some of them, as a reward, to make a serviceable kind of lace with the needle. The maids learned to read, and some of them to write, and to reckon in their heads.

By and by we had a boy's school taught by a young man sent us by my lord. It was not so well attended as the other, for the farmers and fishers were not willing to spare their lads after they were old enough to be useful, but yet we turned out some good scholars. My husband was a musician like all the Corbets, and the school master was also a singer. So we had some good music in the church.

On the whole, it was a happy time. I will not deny that I was now and then homesick, especially when three or four times a year I had a packet from Holland. Avice was usually the writer, and a capital correspondent she was, telling me all the news of our old neighbors, and every thing that happened in the family. Garrett Van Alstine wrote to my husband and told him what was going on in church and State, and 'twas plain to see that he was by no means easy in his mind.

The emperor had, indeed, not abdicated in favor of his son, but he was always talking of it, and, as he grew older, and more feeble in mind and body, he came more and more under the influence of the priests. There were restrictions placed upon the printing and sale of Protestant books, and threatening rumors as to the breaking up of Protestant congregations. Avice wrote that their neighbors of the old church, with whom they had over lived in friendship and harmony, began to look coldly on them and to withdraw from their intimacy, and that Margaret Hall's school at Amsterdam had been almost broken up. On the whole, we wore not sorry that we had returned to England, where, though matters of state were somewhat unsettled, we had no fear of persecution for the truth's sake.

It was in the year 1551, that I had a great and agreeable surprise. I remember I was busy making cakes and comfits, for we were to have a school treat the next day, and I had been concerting some famous Christmas cakes after our old Dutch receipt, and fashioning them in the shape of animals and birds, as the manner is over there, for a surprise to the young ones. I had just taken the last batch from the oven when a man-servant in my Lord Stanton's livery rode to the door, and delivered a note for my husband. Presently Walter came into the kitchen, when I was putting the last touches to my cakes.

"Here is news, dear heart," said he. "My lord and lady are at the Manor House, and would have us repair thither at once. He says that, being in Biddeford, he found there a package of great value, consigned to us from Holland, and which he must deliver into our own hands."

"Dear me!" said I, rather vexed, for I had enough to do. "Why can not you go by yourself? No wonder Dame Duncan says you are a woman-led priest, when you can not so much as go to the Hall without me at your elbow!"

Walter only stood smiling at me. He knew it was only a spirt of temper, such as all cooks have a right to. I made him burn his mouth with a hot cake, and then I got ready and went with him to the Hall, leaving Mary Thornton to finish the work.

We found my lady with her two young babes, she having brought them over by the advice of Master Ellenwood, who thought they would be better for the more bracing air, as they had trouble with their teeth. (Master Ellenwood was bred a doctor in Amsterdam, and had established himself in a good practice at Biddeford. He was not seldom our guest, and always a welcome one.)

"So you have come for your packet!" said my lady. "But, dear Mistress Corbet, I know not about delivering it. Truth to tell, I am enamored of it, and know not how to let it go out of my hands."

I saw my lady was jesting with us; but sober Walter, who could understand every thing but a joke, answered gravely that he was sure I would be glad to proffer to her ladyship any thing worthy of her acceptance.

"I am not so sure of that!" answered the lady, merrily. "Suppose now it were a parrot, or marmoset, or a fine cat from the Indies, such as you once told me of!"

"You are welcome to all my share in parrot and marmoset, and as to the cat, I am not so sure, but, at least, I will promise you a kitten!" said I. "Cats are my weak point, as you know, my lady."

"Ah, well! So I must even give my pet into your hands. But remember you have promised me a kitten."

There was a little cabinet in the withdrawing-room, having a curtain hung over the door, and as I sat, I had seen this curtain shake more than once. Now, as my lady blew her little silver whistle, it parted, and in the opening appeared a child's head, with flaxen hair and large serious blue eyes.

"Katherine! 'Tis our own little Katherine!" I exclaimed, while Walter stared in amazement. I had her in my arms in a moment, while my lady looked on smiling.

"Did I not tell you 'twas a precious treasure," she asked when our rapture had a little subsided. "And have I not played the honest merchant with you?"

"Precious, indeed!" said I. "But I am all amazed! How did it happen?"

"Nay I do not understand the matter well enough to tell you," answered my lady. "But no doubt our marmoset can give a good account of herself, so I will leave you together till dinner, for you must dine with us."

I began to say something about preparing for the school feast, but my lady cut me short.

"Never mind the feast. I have brought over comfits and gilt gingerbread enough to satisfy every child in Coombe Ashton, not to mention ribbons and scissors and all sorts of prizes. Do you stay and dine here, and to-morrow we will all attend the school feast."

So we were fain to sit down, and taking the darling between us, to hear all she had to say. She was grown a little, but not changed in her looks, which were her mother's over again, and she had the same sweet serious way with her.

The story, disentangled from all our questions and remarks, was this:

Arthur and Katherine had begun to find their position in Middleburg both uneasy and insecure. Their congregation, always small, had been almost broken up by deaths and removals, and they were doubting which way to turn next, when Arthur received a call from an English colony in Wesel, one of the German towns belonging to the famous Hanse League. They had gathered together a congregation, but had not yet found a pastor, when some one from Amsterdam who knew Arthur told them of him.

The call was too clearly Providential not to be heeded. Katherine's oldest boy had already been placed with Garrett Van Alstine to be made a merchant of, and an opportunity occurring to send Katherine directly to Biddeford in the care of a merchant well-known to my uncle and cousin, they had taken advantage thereof, wishing, as Arthur wrote, to know that at least one of their children was in security. Little did they or we know of the storm that was about to burst upon England.