That first week Grisell had plenty of occupation in settling her room
and training her uncouth maid, who proved a much more apt scholar
than she had expected, and became devoted to her like a little
faithful dog.
No one else took much notice of either, except that at times Cuthbert
Ridley showed himself to be willing to stand up for her. Her father
was out a great deal, hunting or hawking or holding consultations
with neighbouring knights or the men of Sunderland. Her mother, with
the loudest and most peremptory of voices, ruled over the castle,
ordered the men on their guards and at the stables, and the cook,
scullions, and other servants, but without much good effect as
household affairs were concerned, for the meals were as far removed
from the delicate, dainty serving of the simplest fast-day meal at
Wilton as from the sumptuous plenty and variety of Warwick house, and
Bernard often cried and could not eat. She longed to make up for him
one of the many appetising possets well known at Wilton, but her
mother and Ralf the cook both scouted her first proposal. They
wanted no south-bred meddlers over their fire.
However, one evening when Bernard had been fretful and in pain, the
Baron had growled out that the child was cockered beyond all bearing,
and the mother had flown out at the unnatural father, and on his half
laughing at her doting ways, had actually rushed across with clenched
fist to box his ears; he had muttered that the pining brat and
shrewish dame made the house no place for him, and wandered out to
the society of his horses.
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