The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages by Charles Reade

  CHAPTER LXXXI

  SHE who had wept for poor old Martin was not likely to bear this blow sostoically as the death of the old is apt to be borne. In vain Catherinetried to console her with commonplaces; in vain told her it was a happyrelease for him; and that, as he himself had said, the tree was ripe.But her worst failure was, when she urged that there were now but twomouths to feed: and one care the less.

  "Such cares are all the joys I have," said Margaret. "They fill mydesolate heart, which now seems void as well as waste. Oh, empty chair,my bosom it aches to see thee. Poor old man, how could I love him byhalves, I that did use to sit and look at him and think 'But for me thouwouldst die of hunger.' He, so wise, so learned erst, was got to behelpless as my own sweet babe, and I loved him as if he had been mychild instead of my father. Oh, empty chair! Oh, empty heart!Well-a-day! well-a-day!"

  And the pious tears would not be denied.

  Then Catherine held her peace: and hung her head. And one day she madethis confession, "I speak to thee out o' my head, and not out o' mybosom; thou dost well to be deaf to me. Were I in thy place I shouldmourn the old man all one as thou dost."

  Then Margaret embraced her, and this bit of true sympathy did her alittle good. The commonplaces did none.

  Then Catherine's bowels yearned over her, and she said, "My poor girl,you were not born to live alone. I have got to look on you as my owndaughter. Waste not thine youth upon my son Gerard. Either he is dead orhe is a traitor. It cuts my heart to say it; but who can help seeing it?Thy father is gone: and I cannot always be aside thee. And here is anhonest lad that loves thee well this many a day. I'd take him andComfort together. Heaven hath sent us these creatures to torment us andcomfort us and all; we are just nothing in the world without 'em." Thenseeing Margaret look utterly perplexed, she went on to say, "Why sureyou are not so blind as not to see it?"

  "What? Who?"

  "Who but this Luke Peterson."

  "What, our Luke? The boy that carries my basket?"

  "Nay, he is over nineteen, and a fine, healthy lad: and I have madeinquiries for you; and they all do say he is a capable workman and nevertouches a drop; and that is much in a Rotterdam lad, which they aremostly half man, half sponge."

  Margaret smiled for the first time this many days. "Luke loves driedpuddings dearly," said she: "and I made them to his mind. 'Tis them hecomes a-courting here." Then she suddenly turned red. "But if I thoughthe came after your son's wife that is, or ought to be, I'd soon put himto the door."

  "Nay, nay; for Heaven's sake let me not make mischief. Poor lad! Why,girl, Fancy will not be bridled. Bless you, I wormed it out of him neara twelvemonth agone."

  "Oh, mother, and you _let_ him!?"

  "Well, I thought of you. I said to myself, 'If he is fool enough to beher slave for nothing, all the better for her. A lone woman is lostwithout a man about her to fetch and carry her little matters.' But nowmy mind is changed, and I think the best use you can put him to is tomarry him."

  "So then his own mother is against him, and would wed me to the firstcomer. Ah, Gerard, thou hast but me; I will not believe thee dead till Isee thy tomb, nor false till I see thee with another lover in thinehand. Foolish boy, I shall ne'er be civil to him again."

  Afflicted with the busybody's protection, Luke Peterson met a coldreception in the house where he had hitherto found a gentle and kindone. And by-and-by, finding himself very little spoken to at all, andthen sharply and irritably, the great, soft, fellow fell to whimpering,and asked Margaret plump if he had done anything to offend her.

  "Nothing. I am to blame. I am curst. If you will take my counsel youwill keep out of my way awhile."

  "It is all along of me, Luke," said the busybody.

  "You, Mistress Catherine. Why what have I done for you to set heragainst me?"

  "Nay, I meant all for the best. I told her I saw you were lookingtowards her through a wedding-ring. But she won't hear of it."

  "There was no need to tell her that, wife, she knows I am courting herthis twelvemonth."

  "Not I," said Margaret, "or I should never have opened the street doorto you."

  "Why, I come here every Saturday night. And that is how the lads inRotterdam do court. If we sup with a lass o' Saturdays, that's wooing."

  "Oh, that is Rotterdam, is it? Then next time you come let it beThursday, or Friday. For my part I thought you came after my puddings,boy."

  "I like your puddings well enough. You make them better than motherdoes. But I like you still better than the puddings," said Luke,tenderly.

  "Then you have seen the last of them. How dare you talk so to anotherman's wife, and him far away?" She ended gently, but very firmly, "Youneed not trouble yourself to come here any more, Luke; I can carry mybasket myself."

  "Oh, very well," said Luke, and after sitting silent and stupid for alittle while, he rose, and said sadly to Catherine, "Dame, I dare say Ihave got the sack;" and went out.

  But the next Saturday Catherine found him seated on the door-stepblubbering. He told her he had got used to come there, and every otherplace seemed strange. She went in and told Margaret and Margaret sighedand said, "Poor Luke, he might come in for her, if he could know hisplace, and treat her like a married wife." On this being communicated toLuke, he hesitated. "Pshaw!" said Catherine, "promises are pie-crusts.Promise her all the world, sooner than sit outside like a fool, when aword will carry you inside. Now you humour her in everything, and then,if poor Gerard come not home and claim her, you will be sure to haveher--in time. A lone woman is aye to be tired out, thou foolish boy."