"Margaret! What means this?" demanded the Duchess severely.
"It is my Grisell Dacre, fair mother, my dear companion at my aunt of
Salisbury's manor," said Margaret, trying to lead forward her
shrinking friend. "She who was so cruelly scathed."
Grisell curtsied low, but still hung back, and Lord Warwick briefly
explained. "Daughter to Will Dacre of Whitburn, a staunch baron of
the north. My mother bestowed her at Wilton, whence the creature of
the Pope's intruding Abbess has taken upon him to expel her. So I am
about to take her to Middleham, where my mother may see to her
further bestowal."
"We have even now come from Middleham," said the Duchess. "My Lord
Duke sent for me, but he looks to you, my lord, to compose the strife
between your father and the insolent Percies."
The Duke was at Windsor with the poor insane King, and the Earl and
the Duchess plunged into a discussion of the latest news of the
northern counties and of the Court. The elder daughters were
languidly entertained by the Countess, but no one disturbed the
interview of Margaret and Grisell, who, hand in hand, had withdrawn
into the embrasure of a window, and there fondled each other, and
exchanged tidings of their young lives, and Margaret told of friends
in the Nevil household.
All too soon the interview came to an end. The Duchess, after
partaking of a manchet, was ready to proceed to Baynard's Castle, and
the Lady Margaret was called for.
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