When she saw Grisell on finally departing for St. Albans, she was
carrying her head a good deal higher on the strength of "my Lord
Earl's grace to her." She hoped that her sweet Lady Grisell would
remain here, as the best hap she could have in the most noble,
excellent, and open-handed house in the world! Grisell's own wishes
were not the same, for the great household was very bewildering--a
strange change from her quietly-busy convent. The Countess was quiet
enough, but dull and sickly, and chiefly occupied by her ailments.
She seemed to be always thinking about leeches, wise friars,
wonderful nuns, or even wizards and cunning women, and was much
concerned that her husband absolutely forbade her consulting the
witch of Spitalfields.
"Nay, dame," said he, "an thou didst, the next thing we should hear
would be that thou hadst been sticking pins into King Harry's waxen
image and roasting him before the fire, and that nothing but roasting
thee in life and limb within a fire would bring him to life and
reason."
"They would never dare," cried the lady.
"Who can tell what the Queen would dare if she gets her will!"
demanded the Earl. "Wouldst like to do penance with sheet and
candle, like Gloucester's wife?"
Such a possibility was enough to silence the Lady of Warwick on the
score of witches, and the only time she spoke to Grisell was to ask
her about Sister Avice and her cures.
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