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A Duke's Love for the Nursemaid
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

AMANDA SEABROOK
 Copyright © 2024 by Amanda Seabrook

All Rights Reserved.

This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

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format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written
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Table of Contents

Table of Contents

A Duke's Love for the Nursemaid

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21
 Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Α Scarred Marquess's Secret

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5
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A Duke's Love for the Nursemaid
Introduction

Evangeline Nightingale has always eschewed the notion of marriage, having witnessed its failures in her own family lineage.
Instead, she has devoted her life to the noble pursuit of healing, becoming renown for her miraculous abilities from a young
age. Yet, when she crosses paths with Lord Leonard Campbell, her courage is put to the ultimate test. Unveiling a sinister plot,
she must tread carefully to protect her blossoming affection for him…

Will she untangle the truth before danger consumes them both?

Lord Leonard Campbell, Duke of Somerset, is burdened by the recent loss of his brother-in-law. Duty compels him to return
his grieving sister and nephew to the family's ancestral home, where he retreats into solitude alongside his aunt. However,
when his sister's need for assistance compels her to hire a nursemaid, Leonard's carefully constructed walls begin to crumble
in the presence of the captivating Evangeline.

Will Leonard honor his prior commitment, or will Evangeline's presence dismantle his defenses?

Evangeline and Leonard are caught up in a web of deceit and rivalry as tensions rise within the household. With a jealous
friend, an inquisitive vicar, and a spurned woman complicating matters, their burgeoning connection faces numerous obstacles.
Will they untangle the intricacies of their intertwined fates, or will they remain isolated by the ghosts of their pasts?
Chapter 1

Though the parlor was filled with sunshine, the hearts of those partaking in tea within the room couldn't have been much darker.
Lord Leonard Campbell, The Duke of Somerset, felt as though the grief and tension in the room were suffocating him.

If it weren't for the fact that he sat in the company of his sister and favorite aunt, he might well have already excused himself.
Yet, he had been doing that far too often of late, and though he was grieving the loss of his oldest and dearest friend, The Earl
of Rutland, Lord Daniel Willoughby—lost at war some four months ago—he had no right to claim the worst of the grief.

That belonged to his little sister, Elizabeth, The Countess of Rutland whose stomach still bore the final swellings of child-
bearing some two months after birthing a healthy baby boy.

The child was a blessing, fair haired and strong, just like his father had been. He laid happily in his basket, bathing in the
sunshine to his mother's left, while the wet nurse stood off to one side awaiting her next signal that the tiny nobleman might
need something.

The Earl of Rutland, only two months old and he already has women fawning all over him. Leon, as his friends and family
called him, thought quite proudly of his nephew, though with great sadness at the loss of his closest friend, just like his father
and uncle.

The fact that Daniel would never meet his namesake made Leon sick to his stomach. If there was a God, he was a cruel and
vicious one indeed.

“You are looking well, Elizabeth,” his Aunt Violet was the one to break the silence that had stretched out for near on ten
minutes since they had all sat down to tea. It was something of a ritual they had come to share. All dressed in black mourning
clothes, all sitting in veritable silence, sharing in each other's company and each other's grief without really sharing in anything
at all.

And of them all, Violet appeared to be the one attempting to break them all out of that. After all, though she was forty-six—
eleven years Leon's senior—she was young at heart, quite naive at times and overly innocent. All reasons why Leon insisted
she remain with them at their ancestral home in Somerset.

With Wayford Village only a couple of miles down the road and many a farmer living off his land, they all had everything they
needed to live and grieve in peace.
Though of late it seemed all they had been doing was grieving. The living appeared to have been put on pause since Daniel's
death, even more so since little Daniel Junior’s arrival.

And though Violet was right, in that Elizabeth was sitting straighter, dressed more neatly and her hair was not flying out at odds
and ends, she still stared off at a fixed point behind Leon's head, and the dullness in her once joyful brown eyes disquieted her
brother's soul. The lively amber flecks that had once bounced about her irises seemed entirely gone and Leon prayed daily for
their return.

Yet his own grief weighed him down and he had no way of knowing how to heal her when he could not even heal his own
broken heart.

Violet did all she could for them both but there was very little that would help. Not even holding Daniel Junior seemed to ease
his sister's suffering. In fact, she seemed to hold him less and less of late, her eyes only growing duller, prone to outbursts of
rage that left the wet nurse clamoring to take the baby.

It was a painful thing to witness, and Leon's helplessness only grew stronger. His only saving grace was Violet who appeared
utterly determined to get things back to normal as quickly as possible.

“Elizabeth?” Violet said, laying a hand on her niece's where it rested with her teacup on her lap.

Leon flinched just watching the way his sister jumped at the touch.

“Please,” Elizabeth’s tone bordered on a whimper, “Don't touch me.”

“Of course, Sweet Girl,” Violet said, and Leon's heart clenched at the pet name she had always called Elizabeth. It felt wrong
now. Elizabeth was not a child anymore. She was a grown woman with a child of her own, a widow at only twenty-five when
she ought to have been reveling in the bliss of married life, with a brand-new baby brought into the world. “Whatever you wish
but do tell me, you are feeling slightly better, are you not?”

The woman's gentle coaxing seemed to fan something within his sister and Leon watched her turn her head on a stiff neck to
force a smile. “I am, Aunt, thank you.”
She took a sip of tea then, her gaze returning to the fixed point behind Leon’s head. She was not fine, not well at all, and though
he had called a number of doctors to the house each one said the same. She is simply grieving, and he must let her do so in
peace.

And though he had always had the utmost respect for doctors and all within the medical profession, the more time he spent with
his sister, the more concerned he grew that they might actually be wrong.

But how to fix the problem when he truly had no idea what the problem was? Yes, she was grieving the loss of her husband, but
this was far more than that. In a world such as theirs, grief was all around them. Every day some poor man might succumb from
a heart ailment, or a woman might die in childbirth.

Every day a mere fever might carry off a beloved child or some carriage accident snuff out the life of a person in their prime.
Grief was no stranger either with a war having just wrapped up, and yet what Leon saw in his sister's eyes, in the way she
refused to hold her newborn son, in her utter lack of talking, scared the living daylights out of him.

He would have done just about anything to fix all the wrong in their world, even bringing back Daniel if he were able, and yet,
he had never felt more helpless.

“You would have had a wonderful time at Lady Battersby's tea party yesterday,” Violet stated, taking a sip of her own tea
before she continued, “It was perhaps the event of the Season so far.”

Leon cringed. He had been there and yes, it had been an exceptional event, but all the while he had felt like an outsider. He had
been a fly on the wall, separated from the merriment of all the other guests by the thinnest panel of invisible glass which if he
just pressed lightly, he might have broken through or it might have splintered and rendered his pain all the worse. For he was
alive to enjoy himself if he so wished and his best friend was not.

Some days he wished it had been he who had died and not Daniel. Maybe then his sister would not be so dead inside. Half the
time Leon feared she wished she had gone with him, lost in childbirth, leaving him to care for his orphaned nephew. The mere
thought filled him with guilt, and he always shoved it away as quickly as it entered his mind.

“It would not have been appropriate,” Elizabeth reminded her aunt. As a widow of only four months, she was still deep in her
grieving, only able to attend church events and funerals, dressed all in black with a widow's veil.

It was no life for a woman in her twenties, no life at all, and Leon desperately wished there was something he could do.
“Yes, well, just because you are stuck in this stuffy, God-forsaken house does not mean that you should be entirely set apart
from society,” Violet stated, and she looked about to grip her niece's hand again before she seemed to think better of it. Leon
held his breath, wondering how his sister might react.

Wayford Castle, the home of The Duke of Somerset—his seat, his father's before him and his forefathers before that—had not
always been a stuffy, God-forsaken house as his aunt had so eloquently called it. Once it had been filled with life, with
merriment and with exceptional events, hosted by his own dear mother and grandmother before her.

The halls had once been filled with laughter, music, and people. Gossipers were all abuzz about the balls, dinners and tea
parties held at Wayford Castle. Now all they had to do was whisper of the poor, grieving family who had lost not only a young
man in the prime of life, but also the duke and duchess before him.

And with no wife and heir to speak of, Leon was certain they were all chomping at the bit to see what would become of the
estate with all of the bad luck that had befallen the Campbells over the last decade.

Elizabeth said nothing and as if taking that as her cue to continue, Violet explained, “Our cousins, the Lenningtons, were there,
as well as the Rottwells, and even the Shakespeares.”

At the final name, Violet’s voice hitched up a notch. Leon did not miss the blush that entered her cheeks or the way her lips
twitched at the corners.

“Mr. Andrew Shakespeare himself was in attendance. The poor man,” Violet said, a deep sigh whistling between her parted
lips. “To be so alone at his age with all of his children grown. That house must feel huge to him now.”

Leon raised a brow. His aunt had always been one for gossip though in a much more kind and caring manner than many of the
ton’s ladies, wishing to offer sympathy to all of society’s poor unfortunate souls. And yet, there was something different about
the way she spoke of the fifty-eight-year-old widowed businessman, a brother to one of her closest friends, Lady Battersby.

As the second son of the late viscount Shakespeare and now the brother to the current viscount Shakespeare, he was a well-
connected gentleman and a renowned businessman with a successful lineage in three grown children all with families of their
own. And Leon could see why his aunt should admire such a man yet there was a certain amount of adoration in Violet's gaze
that disheartened him. He made a mental note to get to know the man better than society already did.

As the head of the household, it was his job and his right to ensure the safety of the ladies beneath his roof, even if his
wonderful aunt was eleven years his senior. Over the years, having lived with them all of his life, Violet had become somewhat
of an older sister rather than an aunt. And with her naivety, Leon’s protective instinct would be forever present.

“I suspect it might be rather nice to have one's house all to yourself,” Elizabeth stated in a manner that made Leon's chest
tighten. “Nobody to be responsible for, nobody to question your every mood and move, nobody to be constantly urging you to
do this and act this way or that way.”

Leon understood his sister more than he cared to admit but it was her tone that frightened him, her utter lack of emotion. Her
eyes were so dull that they were devoid of life. She barely seemed to flinch when Daniel Junior began to whimper.

“Shall I see to him, my lady?”

The wet nurse hurried forth and Elizabeth offered a barely perceptible nod. Leon watched his sister continue to stare ahead, not
even glancing in her son’s direction to ensure the wet nurse picked him up appropriately.

The next words out of his sister’s mouth made him sick to his core. “I have hired a nursemaid.”

Leon almost dropped the teacup he had seen fit to pick up at that very moment. “I beg your pardon?”

He reached up and brushed back his black hair to look at his sister more closely. She barely blinked and did not even deem him
worthy of a glance.

So he looked instead to Violet who appeared just as shocked as he.

“She comes highly recommended,” Elizabeth continued, her tone flat.

“What could you possibly need a nursemaid for?” Leon demanded, the heat draining from his face. The idea of a stranger, even
another professional, entering their home, unnerved him greatly.

Son, it is best to keep matters private within the family unless absolutely necessary, the words repeated over and over in his
mind daily, spoken by his father on a hundred different occasions during his childhood and early adolescence.
And it was a rule he had come to live by himself, only ever inviting the doctors who his father had invited before him, never
allowing anyone new into their family problems without first receiving references and detailed accounts from exceptionally
trusted sources. He didn't so much as buy a horse without first double and triple checking the legitimacy of the breeder.

“I am not coping, Leonard!” Elizabeth snapped, her head whipping to face him. It was the most emotion he had seen upon his
sister's face in months, and it turned his veins to ice. “I need help with my son.”

Leon gulped. She never called him Leonard. In fact, she had never even been one for raising her voice or even appearing angry
at all. She hadn't even appeared angry at Daniel's death, only terribly, terribly grief-stricken. Leon had felt it all, denial, anger,
sorrow, but his sister had only been devastated into sheer, tearless silence. Just looking at her caused Leon to feel a numbness
as if he had been plunged into an icy lake.

The few angry bursts she had had since his death had been at the slightest things, the spilling of milk or the crying of the babe.
Never at him or at anyone in particular.

And for the first time in month's Leon saw something other than numb grief in his sister's eyes.

“You have me, Violet, all of the servants,” Leon pointed out in the hopes of easing whatever suffering his sister was going
through. “You have Mrs. Weston here.”

He gestured to the wet nurse who had already hurried off into a corner with her back turned to feed the babe. Though it made
Leon slightly uncomfortable, Violet had insisted that Elizabeth must remain close while her son was fed. It would help the
bond, she said, yet it appeared to have done nothing so far.

“I need help, Leon!” Elizabeth said again, her tone more pleading and he was relieved she did not call him by his full name this
time.

“You have Lady Sarah,” Leon reminded her. He thought fondly of the lady who devoted almost half her time to helping her
friend with his nephew, the lady he had begun to think of as more than just his sister's friend. One day soon, he would be forced
by responsibility and necessity to marry, and he could think of far worse choices than the kind, caring Lady Sarah Dalrymple.

“Sarah does not…Sarah is not…” Elizabeth stammered as if she couldn't find the words. Frustration reddened her face and
Leon's teeth set on edge. “Sarah is not family either and you have invited her into our situations long enough. Sarah is…”
“Sarah is what?” he asked. “Has something happened?”

When last Lady Sarah had visited only the day before, all had seemed well.

“She is not a professional!” Elizabeth blurted. “I need professional help Leon. I am struggling and you and Violet and Sarah, all
of you cannot help me!”

“And this nursemaid? Who is she to help you?” Leon demanded, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He didn't like the idea
one bit. “This is my home. I should like to know who you have invited into it.”

“Oh, Leonard! You sound just like father,” Elizabeth snapped at him and though this was the most animated his sister had been
in months, Leon did not like it one bit.

“Perhaps because he was right to be so cautious!”

“Leon,” Violet hissed under her breath and the warning note in her tone made Leon shrink back a little. He ought to remember
his sister's sensitivity, especially at a time like this.

“She comes highly recommended by multiple nobles and their wives,” Elizabeth stated. “I have done my research, brother. I am
not a fool.”

Elizabeth rose to her feet then, as if the conversation were well and truly over.

Leon rose with her and said, “I should like to check these sources for myself before you do anything rash.”

Elizabeth eyed him with such a burning gaze that it stung his heart. Then she crossed her arms and said, “It is too late. She
arrives this afternoon.”

Bile rose in Leon's throat as his sister turned and stormed from the room. His heart didn't hurt merely because she had failed to
include him in such important decisions or fail to follow their most important family rule, but because she utterly failed to even
glance back at her son still cradled in his wet nurse's arms.

Mrs. Weston and Violet looked just as concerned as he felt when he glanced at the both of them.

Sitting back down heavily upon his seat, he wondered, is there nothing at all I can do?

He had hoped that growing closer to Lady Sarah might help his sister, that the woman's companionship and her slow entrance
into their family with the possibility of his one day making her his bride might help to ease his sister's suffering. It appeared he
had been wrong.

Every fiber of his body told him it was dangerous to let a stranger enter their midst at such a sensitive time. But as his sister
had just intimated, it was too late.

***

“Angel? Angel?”

Evangeline’s eyes fluttered open at the touch of a hand upon her lap. Yawning, she smiled back at her female companion and
asked, “Are we there? Why didn't you wake me sooner?”

With a glance out of the carriage window she saw that they were indeed there. The grand house of The Duke of Somerset
couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Though she had never personally been there, she had heard of the place and its grandeur,
of the parties, balls and bashes held within its walls, of the late duke and duchess whose children and grandchild now resided
within.

Evangeline never took any job without first learning all that she could of the people she would be working for and the situation
she would be handling. In truth, this case was the most mysterious she had received in a long time. Ordinarily, she might not
have accepted such a request for her help. The lady who had written to her several times had not given much away save for the
fact she was struggling after the loss of her husband and a complicated childbirth. She had been able to glean very little else
though she had heard from the rumor mill that the family had all but gone to ground.

Very little had been seen of them of late and that was to be expected when they were grieving. She had heard that previous to
the loss, the family had been highly respectable, the duke handsome, intelligent, and noteworthy.
Save for knowing that the lady in question was the duke's sister and that she had the help of an older aunt, she knew very little.
Though she always came prepared for any situation.

“I wonder whether my things have arrived yet,” Evangeline thought aloud and Mary shook her head.

“We shan’t know until I can find the housekeeper, I suspect,” Mary said. Evangeline smiled gratefully. She and Mary had been
together since she was ten years old. She was not a lady or even of noble birth. In fact, her parents hadn't even been gentlefolk.
But what she did have was an excellent education in apothecary medicine, all thanks to her grandmother. And with that
knowledge she had saved the life of a noble woman whose gratitude had shown no bounds.

From such events she had received a gracious benefactor who had paid for her education, fed, clothed, and housed her when
necessary and ensured that she was given all of the best recommendations to become one of the best nursemaid's England had
ever seen. Those were the words of the duchess of Cambridge herself, of course, Evangeline was much too humble for such
notions.

She did not care to be the best… all she cared to do was her best for her patients whether that be animal, babe, commoner, or
nobleman. She was good at what she did and a healthy smile upon the face of a grateful patient was all the thanks she needed.
Though having money to send back to her mother and grandmother was always a huge bonus, since the death of her father when
she was only a babe.

Raised by women, educated in herbalism by her grandmother, she might well have been ostracized if not for rescuing the
duchess from an untimely death.

She tried not to think too hard on that, though she always seemed to think on it whenever she was about to meet a new patient. It
was, after all, the deciding event that had led her to half the doors in England over the last seventeen years.

The carriage they had ridden all the way from Cambridge in over the last several days, stopping at inns along the way to wash,
rest and change the horses, finally drew to a halt in the forecourt of Wayford Castle. The door was opened, and a hand offered.

Taking a long, deep breath as she always did before entering a new situation, Evangeline placed her gloved hand in that of the
footman and allowed him to help her from the carriage.

Mary followed after, always a loyal shadow behind her mistress as she had been for most of Evangeline's life.
At the bottom of the steps stood a man who was most definitely a butler, dressed all in black save for a crisp white starched
shirt, a woman dressed similarly who had to have been the housekeeper. They were the same in every household, dressed in
black with severe expressions, so straight-backed it was as if they had a rod strapped to their backs.

And yet, beneath the surface, Evangeline had found many of them pleasant and well-meaning, only determined to keep up
appearances for the sake of their employer.

She only hoped this household would be the same. “Well, Mary, here we go,” she whispered as she and Mary stepped forth to
be greeted.

“You must be Miss Evangeline. I am Mrs. Trent, the housekeeper at Wayford Castle and this is Mr. Benson,” the housekeeper
greeted with a gentle smile, gesturing to the butler, “Lady Rutland has told me all about you.”

“All good, I hope,” Evangeline smiled. “And please, call me Angel. All of my friends do.”

Evangeline was used to the severe brow raise that always received and she knew it would take some time, but eventually,
everybody called her Angel. It was simply a matter of time.

“If you would like to follow me, Miss Evangeline,” Mrs. Trent said, holding firm to formalities as was expected of a good
housekeeper. “Mr. Benson shall take your coats and I shall show you to the drawing room where Lady Rutland and Lady Violet
await.”

Evangeline followed the housekeeper, Mary close behind her. Soon their coats had been taken by a silent, stoic Mr. Benson
who dipped his head respectfully and removed himself to store their garments.

Then, finally, they were shown through the ostentatious home into a high-ceilinged drawing room. As expected, Evangeline had
felt the dark cloud hanging over the house the moment she stepped inside. The black armbands worn by the staff were one
simple reminder of the grief that plagued the family though Evangeline thought it was not needed.

Though the house was sparkling clean, everything appeared dull and lifeless, from the grim faces of all the staff to the paintings
hanging upon the wall that appeared much duller than Evangeline thought they ought to be.
And the moment she saw the faces of the two ladies waiting to greet her in the drawing room, she sensed why.

The older of the two ladies looked tired, dull in the face, and filled with concern but the younger lady beside her looked
entirely lost.

Dull brown eyes stared blankly rimmed by puffy redness. And beneath were the thick, black circles of ageless exhaustion she
had seen on the faces of so many widows. Her skin was so pale it had turned gray, and sagging off her bones. She wore a gown
that looked as if it had once fit, but now hung loosely everywhere save for her stomach, still plagued by the bloat of
childbearing.

She is still producing but likely not breastfeeding, she thought when she carefully noticed the dark patches upon Lady
Rutland's bodice. It would take some time, but she suspected she could fix that, one way or another, hopefully for the better of
both the mother and child.

Yet, the child in question was nowhere to be seen. All the more reason to fix the breastfeeding situation, she thought. Though it
was not uncommon for noble ladies to have wetnurses—in fact, it was more uncommon for them not to—it was not, in
Evangeline's opinion, healthy for either concerned and by the looks of Lady Rutland, it was one of the many problems she was
suffering.

The mere sight of both ladies pained Evangeline's heart and within an instant she was determined to do some good at Wayford
Castle.

Though they both rose to greet Evangeline, there was a lackluster effort, and she could see just from the way they moved how
bone weary they both were.

“Please, Lady Rutland, Lady Violet, do not get up on my account,” she insisted, gesturing them both back down into their seats.
“I am no guest here. I am here to do my job and take care of you both and the babe. May I ask, is he currently napping?”

There were many such questions she intended to ask, all of which she would go about carefully, tiptoeing on eggshells until she
had gotten her answers without asking a single one too directly. She had long ago learned just how sensitive postpartum
mothers could be; a fact many of her male counterparts failed to notice.

“He…he is out for some fresh air with his wetnurse,” Lady Rutland said, and Evangeline found one of her later questions
already answered and her suspicions on Lady Rutland also.
“Ahh good,” Evangeline smiled warmly. “Fresh air is always good for the soul.”

The two ladies merely nodded half-heartedly. What these two needed was a good long sleep. Anyone with eyes could see that.

“Mrs. Trent, might you be so kind as to fetch a pot of hot water?” Evangeline asked the housekeeper.

“Miss? Do you mean, tea?” The housekeeper looked quite confused.

Evangeline shook her head and stated, “Just hot water in a teapot. I have my own blend.”

That was an understatement. Evangeline had about a hundred different concoctions of tea and many other medicines besides.
But it was best not to mention such things on first meeting, or she might be branded something awful.

When the housekeeper looked about to speak again, she was interrupted by Lady Violet. “Do as she says, Trent.”

“Of course, my lady.”

The housekeeper hurried off, followed by Mary who was already well aware of what her mistress needed from her things.
Evangeline could only hope she had enough in the single travel trunk that had fit on their carriage to keep her busy until the rest
of her things arrived.

Evangeline sat at the request of Lady Violet and kept a gentle smile upon her face.

“You have such a lovely home,” she stated, looking around the beautifully decorated room with its wood paneled walls and
ornate fireplace.

“We have my nephew to thank for that,” Lady Violet said, a small yet proud smile lighting her face. “Leon has been very good
to us all.”
“You mean, The Duke of Somerset?” Evangeline asked, eyebrow raised. She had heard least of him save for the fact he had
allowed his family to live within his house ever since the terrible ordeal of the earl's death.

“Yes, of course, His Grace has been most wonderful these past months,” Lady Violet said. Lady Rutland remained quiet and so
Evangeline turned her attention to her usual careful questions.

“Does the little earl always take a walk at this time?”

Lady Violet glanced at the grandfather clock across the room. “Most days, I think.”

“And does he nap before or after?”

“That depends upon the day.”

Evangeline mused carefully for a moment, thinking on how to phrase her next question. “May I ask of the boy's waking and
sleeping schedule? My assistant and I like to have our meals early so as not to interfere with our work, you see.”

Lady Violet glanced at Lady Rutland as if hoping for help in answering. She got none. And so the lady shrugged her shoulders.
“He does not necessarily have a schedule.”

Evangeline nodded, carefully noting the answers, sure she had her work cut out for her.

“And, you say he has a wet nurse? Perhaps she might better tell me of his feeding schedule?”

Lady Violet merely nodded as if she had no energy left for talking.

“I suspect the little earl is eating far better than the adults in the household?” Evangeline said, allowing a little good humor into
her tone. Though Lady Rutland appeared quite gaunt, Lady Violet did not appear much better.

“Our appetites have not been the best since my nephew-in-law's departure,” Lady Violet said, and Lady Rutland offered a
whimper at the mention of her late husband.

Evangeline was to have her work cut out for her indeed.

She was saved from asking anymore questions by the return of the housekeeper, followed by her assistant. And when she saw
the herb bag hanging from Mary's hand, she stood and took it from her with a grateful smile. No words were needed. They had
lived together long enough to communicate without words.

Mary could read her like a book just as she could Mary. That came from her assistant's impeccable job of becoming her
shadow, always at her side no matter what the situation, only silently disappearing whenever Evangeline needed something.

Preparing the tea in the teapot Mrs. Trent had provided, she allowed it to steep a moment while she asked, “Is there anything
particular the two of you hope to gain from my presence here?”

It was a question she asked of all her patients. Without the right answer, there was very little she could do. She could not help
those who did not wish to help themselves.

“We all want what is best for little Daniel,” Lady Violet announced, and Evangeline smiled warmly. It was a start, though she
suspected the real patient here was not at all the babe but in fact all those around him. After all, a two-month-old child had no
idea his father was gone from the world.

“Then we must do that,” Evangeline stated, picking up the teapot to pour four cups. She and Mary would not drink much of it. It
was merely for show. She had always found on first meeting, patients were much less willing to consume medicines without a
show of good faith. And this particular tea would leave her and Mary entirely unable to do their jobs if they took more than a
sip or two. “First things first, I believe the two of you are in need of a good deal of sleep.”

The only response was a nod from Lady Violet and a yawn from Lady Rutland.

“Here,” Evangeline said, placing the teacups in their hands. She took her own only to sip at it while the ladies drank just as she
had hoped. “It will help you relax and get some rest.”

Soon Lady Rutland's head was lolling to one side and Mary quietly rose from her seat to place a pillow beneath her head on
the arm of the couch.
“Oh, heavens, Miss Evangeline, you must forgive me,” Lady Violet exclaimed, yawning behind her hand as she rose to her feet.
“I fear I must depart for my bedchamber. I am exceptionally more tired than I realized.”

“Please, do not apologize,” Evangeline insisted, gesturing to the door. “Go and rest. We are here to take care of you now. I am
sure Mrs. Trent can show us to the rooms we requested.”

“Yes, yes, they are prepared,” Lady Violet said already on her way to the door, “Adjoining rooms. Large, large rooms…”

Evangeline watched Lady Violet go with a heavy heart. It was clear there was a lot to do.

It wasn't until the lady, followed by the housekeeper, had gone that Evangeline turned to Mary with a deep sigh and said, “This
is going to take some time.”

Mary nodded, her deep brown eyes sympathetic as she looked to Lady Rutland. “The poor woman looks as if she is close to
death's door.”

Evangeline's stomach tightened as she followed Mary's gaze. She wasn't entirely wrong. If not for the rising and falling of the
woman's chest, she might well believe she was already there.

“Let us hope that the little earl and his uncle, the duke, are healthier,” Evangeline said, exhaling deeply. In her experience of
such matters, the men were far better on the surface. When it finally came to getting to know a family, however, it often became
apparent that the males were just as deeply devastated as their female counterparts. They were simply tougher nuts to crack.

With this in mind, Evangeline mentally prepared herself for whatever was to be thrown at her next. Her only relief was that
what little she had heard of the duke was pleasant, filled with respect and mild. She only hoped her sources were correct.

After all, how awful could a man be when he had taken in several members of his family when they had fallen upon hard times?
Chapter 2

Once Evangeline was certain Lady Rutland would not wake, she rose from her seat and moved to reposition her on the couch,
so she’d be more comfortable. Lifting her legs, she removed her shoes and laid her down with just a little help from Mary.

She had just laid a blanket over her, brushing a soft strand of hair from her face as a mother might a sick child, when someone
cleared their throat in the doorway.

“Miss Evangeline, I have been instructed to see you to your chambers so that I may be certain they are to your liking,” Mrs.
Trent announced, as Evangeline and her maid turned with welcoming smiles.

“Of course. We would be most grateful to you, Mrs. Trent,” Evangeline said, still smiling though she saw the way the
housekeeper looked around her to Lady Rutland, a half-suspicious, half-concerned expression upon her stern face.

Evangeline did not bother to explain or even to justify the fact that she had encouraged the two ladies to sleep. Instead, she
awaited a question from the housekeeper. She had learned long ago not to encourage others’ suspicions and only to explain
when asked to do so.

It was better that way. Otherwise, she might frighten people with how quite intelligent she was. Though she had never believed
herself overly so, Lady Cambridge had often informed her in her early years that her knowledge of medicine and healing far
surpassed the intelligence of the general female population, and so she had always been careful, especially upon first meeting.

If the two ladies had not been quite so exhausted or sickly, she might have waited a little while longer to begin introducing her
home remedies, but sometimes extreme measures were necessary.

And it appeared the housekeeper was unwilling to ask anything directly as she gestured for Evangeline and Mary to follow
without so much as a sniff.

It was only as they walked down the hall and through to a stone stairwell, much like the servants stairs of any grand house, that
Mrs. Trent said, “I have heard a great deal of your talents, Miss Evangeline.”

“As I said earlier on,” Evangeline responded, her hands clasped calmly before her as she followed the housekeeper down the
steps. “All good things, I hope.”
“Some would say so, yes,” Mrs. Trent said, and Evangeline could feel the suspicion coming off her in waves. “Others may not.
You would do well to be wary while with us. I shall not have any harm befalling the duke or his family during your stay.”

Evangeline gritted her teeth. She was used to such things. In fact, Mrs. Trent was rather polite about her warning. Other
housekeepers, butlers and even maids had shown her sheer disdain and downright rudeness during some of her cases.

“I strive to do my utmost for every family I have worked for, Mrs. Trent,” Evangeline assured the woman, and she sensed Mary
nodding behind her. “You have my word that no harm shall come to anyone under this roof at my hand or the hand of my
assistant.”

Mrs. Trent paused at a doorway then and turned back to look at them both, a slightly less suspicious expression upon her face.

“See that it doesn't,” she said in one final warning before she reached for the huge ring of keys at her belt and unlocked the
door beside her. When she swung it open, the smell of fresh lavender wafted into Evangeline's nostrils.

As one of her favorite plants, she paused to take in a deep breath of the scent before following the housekeeper into the room.
Her shadow followed silent as ever.

Inside the room was a small, plain sitting room and through one adjoining door she could just see twin beds set against a stone
wall, neatly dressed in pale brown and yellow bedding. A sprig of lavender was set upon the pillow of each.

As if she saw Evangeline looking, Mrs. Trent said, “I had your beds placed in the same room as per your instructions. Is it not
to your liking?”

Evangeline turned to the housekeeper, shook her head, and assured her, “It is perfect.”

Though in truth, all would not be perfect until she had seen the room on the other side of the second door leading off the
antechamber sitting room.

“Might I ask as to the other requirements I mentioned in my letter?” Evangeline asked carefully.
The housekeeper glanced around the moderately decorated servants quarters with a somewhat judgmental expression.
Evangeline couldn't really blame her. She had seen many a servants quarters in her time and none quite so fine as these. She
suspected that Mrs. Trent's own rooms weren't so finely furnished either. Yet, her status as a healer and the ward of a duchess
had afforded her certain luxuries over the years.

Evangeline could easily imagine what the housekeeper must think of her but as always, she was determined to prove otherwise.

She made no demands and simply stood awaiting Mrs. Trent's next move. She felt Mary fidget a little behind her as if she too
was excited to see what lay beyond the next door. The maid had become somewhat of Evangeline’s own apprentice over the
years.

“Please, follow me this way,” Mrs. Trent instructed, and she led the way directly to the other door. She paused only to say, “We
have tried our best to follow your instructions though I suspect things may have been lost in correspondence.”

Evangeline merely smiled. She had heard similar such things at previous employments.

“I am sure all will be fine,” Evangeline smiled to the housekeeper. Whatever might need an adjustment here or there, she was
certain could be fixed over time. So long as they had the basics for her work, she would get along well. She always did, no
matter the tools she was given. She had yet to face a case that she couldn't eventually solve.

The duchess of Cambridge was her prime example. Stumbling upon a stopped carriage, the servants and driver looking quite
frantic, she had offered to help when told of their mistress’ predicament.

At only ten, the staff of the duchess had laughed at her, then tried to shoo her away until she had explained who she was. Had
the driver of the duchess not recognized her grandmother’s name and seen fit to encourage the others to let her through, the
duchess of Cambridge would be no more.

That had been a race against time from the moment she had seen the duchess, her skin ashen gray as she laid upon the carriage
floor, foamy spittle at the edges of her blue tinged mouth, ribcage rising and falling in a haphazard, breathless manner. It had
become quite apparent that it was poisoning from almost the second she laid eyes on the woman.

Luckily for the noblewoman, her grandmother’s apothecary had been within running distance and Evangeline had run like her
life depended on it. With no real surety of what had poisoned the woman, she'd thrown together a terrible concoction of
charcoal and herbs mixed with water in the hopes the duchess would throw up whatever she had consumed in time to avoid
fatal consequences.

Her standing before Mrs. Trent now was all the reminder she needed that she could save lives with very little in the way of
supplies.

And seeing as nobody at Wayford Castle appeared to have been poisoned, she was certain they would be able to take a few
days to make any corrections required.

“Please, after you,” Evangeline said when Mrs. Trent opened the door and gestured her inside. The housekeeper, her
expression not quite so suspicious but still stern, made her way into the room. Even before Evangeline followed, the scent of
herbs, spices and all other manner of wonderful things hit her nostrils.

Her keen nose picked out many of them singularly. Rosemary, lavender, thyme, and cinnamon were all present in the room and
those she could not smell, she could see in little glass bottles and jars on shelves and tables. There were pots, pans, and glass
jars everywhere, though stacked neatly as possible.

With the small fire set in the far wall for boiling water and brewing her tonics and the dried plants hanging from the ceiling
above, Evangeline could almost imagine she had walked right back into grandmother's apothecary.

All that was missing was some careful organization and a small, gray, hunch-backed woman standing over the fireplace,
stirring her pot of wonders.

“Will this do?” Mrs. Trent asked when Evangeline failed to say a word, having done a quick lap of the entire room.

“It is most wonderful, thank you, Mrs. Trent,” Evangeline assured the housekeeper. She offered Mary a glance and saw her own
thoughts mirrored carefully in the woman’s eyes. It would need careful reorganization. There were several herbs and others
best kept separate from the ones whose shelves they currently inhabited but a person uneducated in herbology was not to know
and it was best not to waste time trying to educate all the world.

“Good. Then I shall leave the two of you to rest and get acquainted with your lodgings,” Mrs. Trent said, stepping past Mary to
the door, “And I shall have one of the maids bring some warm water for—”

The housekeeper never got to finish her sentence for the crying of a small babe permeated the air. It grew louder and louder as
if the child were being brought down the corridor.
In a flash, Evangeline was past Mrs. Trent and making her way back to the main door of their new quarters.

She was just in time to see two women hurrying down the stone hallway, one with a baby in her arms and the other cooing
gently.

Neither was Lady Rutland or Lady Violet, and both wore the well-pressed, moderately priced garb of a servant used to
spending a great deal of time close to the noble members of the household.

Evangeline immediately suspected wet nurse and nanny as she hurried down the hall after the two women who had hurried into
a room where the scent of baking bread wafted through the door.

With Mary ever present behind her and Mrs. Trent hot on both of their heels, Evangeline entered the large kitchen to find that
she was barely noticed.

Now the two women with the babe had been joined by another two. Based upon her clothes and apron, Evangeline suspected
that the one was a cook, while the second appeared to be a house or kitchen maid. All were crowded about the baby in the
arms of the woman whose breast was now exposed, as if she were attempting to feed him.

“Oh, please, little one!” the woman cried. “You must feed.”

Evangeline felt terrible heartache to look upon the scene. The woman's breast appeared red and swollen, and Evangeline could
see even from a distance that there was a hard lump close to her under arm. Chronic underfeeding could do that to a woman.
Evangeline had seen it far too often in noble ladies but very few times in wet nurses.

“Come now, little earl, you must be quiet,” the second woman, the one Evangeline suspected was the nanny, said, stroking the
back of the babe's head as she tried to encourage him onto the other woman's breast. “The duke shall hear you.”

“Excuse me but I was hoping I might be of service?” Evangeline said, stepping around the large center table where they were
sitting. At first, they appeared not to hear and so she continued on to a bucket of fresh water with a soap bowl beside it and
quickly washed her hands. “Mary, find me a clean cup or bowl.”
The maid silently did as asked. Evangeline stepped forth between the frantic women and spoke again. “May I?”

Before anyone could stop her, she gently wrestled the screeching babe from the wet nurse's arms. His crying only grew louder.
The redness in his entire body grew darker and he appeared quite unable to breathe through all of his screeching.

Evangeline remained calm even while the women fretted.

“Be calm, girls,” Mrs. Trent instructed them all. “Miss Evangeline is here to help.”

It was clear the housekeeper had put her suspicions of her aside, for the good of the babe.

“If he does not calm soon the duke shall hear him and you all know how awful that shall be!” the nanny insisted, looking quite
mortified. Evangeline merely scoffed and went about her work, laying the baby's blanket upon the table so she could place him
in the center and swaddle him tightly, wrapping his arms and legs in so he could barely move.

For one so small and scrawny, he put up a decent fight but soon his fighting eased. Whether it was the sudden realization of
comfort or exhaustion, Evangeline did not know, but what she did know was that she did not like the state of this child. He was
far too thin, far too red-faced, far too hungry.

“I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced yet.” Evangeline looked to the wet nurse when Mary appeared with a clean cup.

“Mrs. Johnson,” the woman offered up.

“Mrs. Johnson, please would you mind expressing a little milk into the cup?” Evangeline said, picking up the babe and rocking
him gently. She was well prepared for the horrified look in the woman’s eyes and so she added, “Mary will help you if need
be. She is quite gentle. It shall help you and the baby greatly. I assure you.”

Though the baby still cried, the volume had gone down greatly, and it appeared enough to convince the woman that her advice
was good.

Though she winced a little at first, soon Mrs. Johnson and Mary had expressed enough breastmilk to satisfy Evangeline, who
had already been preparing the little earl with a gentle rub of the first knuckle of her index finger upon his pink lips.
“Thank you,” Evangeline said as Mary placed the milk before her on the table. Cooing gently she dipped her knuckle into the
cup and again placed it at the babe's lips.

The milk dripped and spread on his face, but Evangeline knew some had made it past his lips when the babe opened his mouth
to take more.

She continued to dip and rub several times until she was satisfied that the baby's latch on her knuckle was strong enough.

Then, gently, she passed him back to the wet nurse and said, “Here, let me help you.”

“I know how to breastfeed,” Mrs. Johnson scolded, “I've had six of my own.”

“I am quite certain you do but sometimes both parties need a little help. It seems this little one does right now, so please, if you
will allow me?” Evangeline said gently, offering a half-smile. When the woman finally nodded, Evangeline repositioned the
baby in the woman's arms and said, “He is so small you must be sure to keep him stomach to stomach and tuck him in nice and
close. Support his head but do not force him on or he may fight you. Here, squeeze the nipple gently to allow the milk to flow
onto his lips….”

Evangelina instructed gently, coaxing the two together until, finally, the little earl opened his jaws wide and practically
consumed the woman's nipple in one great toothless chomp.

“Ahh!” The woman cried though it was not a cry of pain but of relief.

Evangeline watched closely as the little earl's cheeks puffed up and his little throat moved with his swallowing. She listened
closely for several moments for the sounds of milk swilling about his mouth.

And she too breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the situation calm and unfold before her.

When she looked around, everyone else in the room—save for Mary—was staring at her with open shock and astonishment.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Tanta licet pronus pro tempore det tibi thronus;
100 Sit nisi fine bonus, non honor est set onus.
Rex igitur videat cum curru quomodo vadat,
Et sibi prouideat, ne rota versa cadat.
Celorum Regi pateant que scripta peregi,
Namque sue legi res nequit vlla tegi.

FOOTNOTES:
809 ‘O deus immense’ &c. Text of S, collated with CH
810 Title Carmen quod Iohannes Gower tempore regis Ricardi,
dum vixit, vltimo composuit CHG
811 28 comune S
 LAST POEMS

Hic in fine notandum est qualiter ab illa

Cronica que Vox clamantis dicitur vsque in
finem istius Cronice que tripertita est, Ego inter
alios scribentes super hiis que medio tempore
in Anglia contingebant, secundum varias rerum
accidencias varia carmina, prout patet, que ad
legendum necessaria sunt, notabiliter
conscripsi. Sed nunc, quia vlterius scribere non
sufficio, excusacionis mee causam scriptis
subsequentibus plenius declarabo.

Quicquid homo scribat, finem natura ministrat,

Que velut vmbra fugit, nec fugiendo redit;
Illa michi finem posuit, quo scribere quicquam
Vlterius nequio, sum quia cecus ego.
Posse meum transit, quamuis michi velle remansit;
Amplius vt scribat hoc michi posse negat.
Carmina, dum potui, studiosus plurima scripsi;
Pars tenet hec mundum, pars tenet illa deum:
Vana tamen mundi mundo scribenda reliqui,
10 Scriboque mentali carmine verba dei.
Quamuis ad exterius scribendi deficit actus,
Mens tamen interius scribit et ornat opus:
Sic quia de manibus nichil amodo scribo valoris,
Scribam de precibus que nequit illa manus.
Hoc ego, vir cecus, presentibus oro diebus,
Prospera quod statuas regna futura, deus,
Daque michi sanctum lumen habere tuum. Amen.
S as above: in CHG as follows:

Nota hic in fine qualiter a principio illius

Cronice que Vox clamantis dicitur, vna cum
sequenti Cronica que tripertita est, tam de
tempore Regis Ricardi secundi vsque in ipsius
deposicionem, quam de coronacione
Illustrissimi domini Regis Henrici quarti vsque
in annum Regni sui secundum, Ego licet
indignus inter alios scribentes scriptor a diu
solicitus, precipue super hiis que medio
tempore in Anglia contingebant, secundum
varias rerum accidencias varia carmina, que ad
legendum necessaria sunt, sub compendio
breuiter conscripsi. Et nunc, quia tam grauitate
senectutis quam aliarum infirmitatum
multipliciter depressus vlterius de cronicis
scribere discrete non sufficio, excusacionem
meam necessariam, prout patet, consequenter
declarare intendo.

Henrici Regis annus fuit ille secundus,

Scribere dum cesso, sum quia cecus ego,
Vltra posse nichil, quamuis michi velle ministrat,
Amplius vt scribam non meus actus habet.
Scribere dum potui, studiosus plurima scripsi;
Pars tenet hec mundum, pars tenet illa deum:
Vana tamen mundi mundo scribenda reliqui,
Scriboque finali carmine vado mori.
Scribat qui veniet post me discrecior alter,
10* Ammodo namque manus et mea penna silent.
Sic quia nil manibus potero conferre valoris,
Est michi de precibus ferre laboris onus.
Deprecor ergo meis lacrimis, viuens ego cecus,
Prospera quod statuas regna futura, deus,
Daque michi sanctum lumen habere tuum. Amen.
In the Trentham MS. as follows (without heading),

Henrici quarti primus Regni fuit annus,

Quo michi defecit visus ad acta mea.
Omnia tempus habent, finem natura ministrat,
Quem virtute sua frangere nemo potest.
Vltra posse nichil, quamuis michi velle remansit,
Amplius vt scribam non michi posse manet.
Dum potui scripsi, set nunc quia curua senectus
Turbauit sensus, scripta relinquo scolis.
Scribat qui veniet post me discrecior alter,
10** Ammodo namque manus et mea penna silent.
Hoc tamen in fine verborum queso meorum,
Prospera quod statuat Regna futura deus. Amen.
 Orate pro anima Iohannis Gower.
Quicumque enim pro anima ipsius Iohannis
deuote orauerit, tociens quociens Mille
quingentos dies indulgencie ab ecclesia rite
concessos misericorditer in domino possidebit.

CH as above: G as follows:

Orantibus pro anima Iohannis Gower mille

quingenti dies indulgencie misericorditer in
domino conceduntur.
(Shield of arms borne by two angels.)

Armigeri scutum nichil ammodo fert sibi tutum,

Reddidit immo lutum morti generale tributum.
Spiritus exutum se gaudeat esse solutum,
Est vbi virtutum regnum sine labe statutum.

(A bier, with candle at head and foot.)

 812Vnanimes esse qui secula duxit ad esse
Nos iubet expresse, quia debet amor superesse;
Lex cum iure datur, pax gaudet, plebs gratulatur,
Regnum firmatur, vbi verus amor dominatur:
Sicut yemps florem, diuisio quassat amorem,813
Nutrit et errorem quasi pestis agitque dolorem.
Quod precessit heri docet ista pericla timeri,
Vt discant veri sapientes secla mederi.
Filius ipse dei, manet in quo spes requiei,814
10 Ex meritis fidei dirigat acta rei.

Diligamus invicem.

815Presul, ouile regis, vbi morbus adest

macularum,
Lumina dumque tegis, tenebrescit Nota de
pestis earum. primordiis
Mune pericla gregis, patuit quia Stelle Comate
in Anglia.
stella minarum,
Vnde viam Regis turbat genus insidiarum.
Velle loco legis mundum nunc ducit auarum,
Sic vbicumque legis, nichil est nisi cordis amarum,
Quod maneat clarum, stat modo dulce parum.

Cultor in ecclesia qui deficiente sophia

Semina vana serit, Messor inanis erit.
Hii set cultores, sunt quorum semina mores
Ad messem Cristi, plura lucrantur ibi.816
Qui cupit ergo bonus celorum lucra colonus,
Vnde lucrum querat, semina sancta serat.
Qui pastor Cristi iusto cupit ordine sisti,
 Non sit cum Cristo Symon mediator in isto:
Querat pasturam Pastor sine crimine puram,
10 Nam nimis est vile, pascat si Symon ouile.
Per loca deserta, quo nulla patet via certa,
Symon oues ducit, quas Cristo raro reducit.

Dicunt scripture memorare nouissima vite;

Pauper ab hoc mundo transiet Nota contra
omnis homo. mortuorum
Dat fortuna status varios, natura executores.817
set omnes
Fine suo claudit, cunctaque morte rapit.
Post mortem pauci, qui nunc reputantur amici,
Sunt memores anime, sis memor ergo tue:
Da, dum tempus habes, tibi propria sit manus
heres;818
Auferet hoc nemo, quod dabis ipse deo.

FOOTNOTES:
812 ‘Vnanimes esse’ &c. This and the three remaining pieces are
found in CHG, and, except the second, also in E
813 5 margin Nota pro amore E
814 9 ipse] ille E Diligamus invicem om. E
815 ‘Presul’ &c. 1 Regis MSS.
816 ‘Cultor in ecclesia’ &c. 4 ff. margin Nota quid pastores
ecclesie debent esse et quomodo debent intrare &c. E
817 ‘Dicunt scripture’ &c. 2 ff. margin Nota—executores] Nota
quod bonum est vnicuique esse executor sui ipsius E
818 7 Dum tua tempus habes EH
 NOTES
EPISTOLA.
This Epistle, written apparently on the occasion of sending a copy
of the book to the archbishop, is found only in the All Souls MS., and
it is reasonable to suppose that this was the copy in question. The
statement of Mr. Coxe in the Roxburghe edition, that ‘the preface to
archbishop Arundel ... is also in the original hand’ of the book
(Introduction, p. lix) is a surprising one, and must have been due to
some deception of memory. The hand here is quite a different one
from that of the text which follows, and has a distinctly later
character. The piece is full of erasures, which are indicated in this
edition by spaced type, but the corrections are in the same hand as
the rest. Having no other copy of it, we cannot tell what the original
form of the erased passages may have been, but it is noticeable that
the most important of them (ll. 26-34) has reference almost entirely
to the blindness of the author, and nearly every one contains
something which may be regarded as alluding to this, either some
mention of light and darkness, or some allusion to the fact that his
only perceptions now are those of the mind. We may perhaps
conclude that the Epistle was inscribed here before the author quite
lost his eyesight, and that the book then remained by him for some
time before it was presented. The illuminated capital S with which
this composition begins is combined with a miniature painting of the
archbishop.
2. tibi scribo, ‘I dedicate to thee.’
3. Quod ... scriptum: written over erasure; perhaps originally
‘Quem ... librum,’ altered to avoid the repetition of ‘librum’ from the
preceding line.
4. contempletur: apparently in a passive impersonal sense.
 17. Cecus ego mere. The word ‘mere’ alone is over erasure here,
but if we suppose that the original word was ‘fere,’ we may regard
this as referring originally to a gradual failure of the eyesight, not to
complete blindness.
19. Corpore defectus, ‘the failure in my body,’ as subject of ‘sinit.’
23. dumque: equivalent to ‘dum’ in our author’s language; cp. i.
165, 2007, &c.
33. morosa: this word has a good meaning in Gower’s language;
cp. ‘O deus immense,’ l. 2, where ‘morosi’ is opposed to ‘viciosi.’

VOX CLAMANTIS
CAPITULA.
Lib. I. Cap. iii. quandam vulgi turmam. It may be noted that these
headings do not always exactly correspond with those placed at the
head of the chapters afterwards. For example here the actual
heading of the chapter has ‘secundam vulgi turmam,’ and for the
succeeding chapters ‘terciam,’ ‘quartam,’ ‘quintam,’ &c. Usually the
differences are very trifling, as ‘illius terre’ for ‘terre illius’ above, but
sometimes they proceed from the fact that alterations have been
made in the chapter headings, which the corrector has neglected to
make in this Table of Chapters. This is the case for example as
regards Lib. VI. Capp. xviii. and xix. Slight variations of the kind first
mentioned will be found in Lib. III. Capp. i, v, viii, xii, xvi, xix, xx.
Lib. III. Cap. iiii. The form which we have here in D corresponds
to the heading of the chapter given by LTH₂ (but not by D itself) in
the text later. G has the text here after ‘loquitur’ written over an
erasure.
Lib. VII. Cap. xix. Here S has lost two leaves (the sixth and
seventh of the first full quire) to Lib. I. Cap. i. l. 18. The verso of the
former of these leaves had no doubt the four lines ‘Ad mundum
mitto’ &c. with picture, as in the Cotton MS.
 LIB. I. Prologus.
3 f. Cp. Conf. Amantis, iv. 2921 f.,

‘Al be it so, that som men sein

That swevenes ben of no credence.’

‘propositum credulitatis’ seems to mean ‘true ground of belief.’

12. interius mentis: cp. i. 1361.
15. That is, ‘hinc puto quod sompnia que vidi,’ &c.
21 ff. We are here told to add to ‘John’ the first letters of
‘Godfrey,’ the beginning of ‘Wales,’ and the word ‘Ter’ without its
head: that is, ‘John Gower.’
23. que tali. The use of ‘que’ in this manner, standing
independently at the beginning of the clause, is very common in
Gower.
33 f. Taken from Ovid, Tristia, v. 1. 5 f.
36. Cp. Tristia, i. 1. 14, ‘De lacrimis factas sentiet esse meis,’
which, so far as it goes, is in favour of the reading ‘senciat’ here.
37 f. This couplet was originally Tristia, iv. 1. 95 f.,

‘Saepe etiam lacrimae me sunt scribente profusae,

Humidaque est fletu litera facta meo.’

The first line however was altered so as to lose its grammatical

construction, and the couplet was subsequently emended.
43 f. Cp. Ovid, Tristia, i. 5. 53 f.
47 f. Cp. Pont. iv. 2. 19, where the comparison to a spring choked
with mud is more clearly brought out.
49. The original reading here was ‘confracto,’ but it has been
altered to ‘contracto’ in C and G, while E gives ‘contracto’ from the
first hand. The general meaning seems to be that as the long
pilgrimage to Rome is to one with crippled knee, so is this work to
the author, with his limited powers of intellect.
 56. The reading ‘conturbant’ in all the best MSS. seems to be a
mistake.
57 f. The author is about to denounce the evils of the world and
proclaim the woes which are to follow, like the writer of the
Apocalypse, whose name he bears. Perhaps he may also have
some thought of the formula ‘seint John to borwe’ by which travellers
committed themselves to the protection of the saint on their setting
forth: cp. Conf. Amantis, v. 3416.

LIB. I.
1. The fourth year of Richard II is from June 22, 1380 to the same
date of 1381. The writer here speaks of the last month of that regnal
year, during which the Peasants’ rising occurred.
4. Cp. Ovid, Her. xvii. 112, ‘Praevius Aurorae Lucifer ortus erat.’
7 f. Godfrey of Viterbo, Pantheon, p. 24 (ed. 1584), has

‘Luce diem reparat, mirandaque lumina praestat,

Sic fuga dat noctem, luxque reversa diem.’

He is speaking of the Sun generally, and the second line means

‘Thus his departure produces the night and his returning light the
day.’ As introduced here this line is meaningless.
9. Adapted from Ovid, Metam. ii. 110.
11. Cp. Metam. vii. 703, but here ‘mane’ is made into the object
of the verb instead of an adverb.
13. Cp. Metam. ii. 113.
15. Cp. Metam. ii. 24.
17 f. From Godfrey of Viterbo, Pantheon, p. 24 (ed. 1584).
21 ff. Cp. Metam. ii. 107 ff.,

‘Aureus axis erat, temo aureus, aurea summae

Curvatura rotae, radiorum argenteus ordo.
 Per iuga chrysolithi positaeque ex ordine gemmae
Clara repercusso reddebant lumina Phoebo.’

‘alter ab auro’ seems to mean ‘different from gold.’

27. Cp. Metam. ii. 23.
33-60. This passage is largely from Ovid: see especially Fasti, i.
151 ff. and iii. 235-242, iv. 429 f., v. 213 f., Metam. ii. 30, Tristia, iii.
12. 5-8.
40. In Ovid (Fasti, iii. 240) it is ‘Fertilis occultas invenit herba
vias.’ The metrical fault produced by reading ‘occultam ... viam’
seems to have been corrected by the author, and in G the alteration
has been made by erasure, apparently in the first hand.
44. redditus: apparently a substantive and practically equivalent
to ‘reditus.’
59. Ovid, Fasti, v. 213 f., where however we have ‘Saepeque
digestos.’ It is difficult to say exactly what our author meant by ‘O
quia.’
67. Cp. Metam. xiii. 395.
79 f. Speculum Stultorum, p. 47, ll. 9 f. (ed. Wright, Rolls Series,
59, vol. i.).
81. irriguis. Perhaps rather ‘Fontibus irriguus, fecundus,’ as given
by most of the MSS.
131. ad ymum, ‘to that low place,’ i.e. his bed.
135. Non ita ... Quin magis: cp. ll. 264 ff., 351 ff., 442 ff., 499 ff,
&c. This form of sentence is a very common one with our author and
appears also in his French and English: cp. Mirour, 18589, Balades,
vii. 4, xviii. 2, xxx. 2, Conf. Amantis, i. 718, 1259, 1319, &c.
For example, Bal. xviii. 2,

‘Tiel esperver crieis unqes ne fu,

Qe jeo ne crie plus en ma maniere.’

Conf. Amantis, i. 718 ff.,

 ‘So lowe cowthe I nevere bowe
To feigne humilite withoute,
That me ne leste betre loute
With alle the thoghtes of myn herte.’

It is most frequent in Latin, however, and the French and English

forms seem to be translations of this idiom with ‘quin.’
152. ‘Dreams cast the soul into wanderings’: ‘ruunt’ is transitive,
as very commonly, and apparently we must take ‘vaga nonnulla’
together.
155. grauis et palpebra, &c., ‘and my heavy eyelid unclosed
pondered over troubles, but no help came.’ This is the best
translation I can give, but the explanation of ‘ex oculis’ as ‘away from
the eyes’ must be regarded as doubtful.
168. That is, on a Tuesday. It would be apparently Tuesday, June
11, 1381. The festival of Corpus Christi referred to afterwards (see l.
919), when the insurgents entered London, fell on June 13.
201. Burnellus: a reference to the Speculum Stultorum, p. 13
(Rolls Series, 59, vol. i).
205 ff. Cp. Speculum Stultorum, p. 13, whence several of these
lines are taken.
211 f. ‘They care not for the tail which He who gave them their
ears implanted in them, but think it a vile thing.’ The former line of
the couplet is from Speculum Stultorum, p. 15, l. 17.
213 f. Speculum Stultorum, p. 15, ll. 23 f.
255. caudas similesque draconum, ‘and tails like those of
dragons.’
267. Minos taurus, ‘the bull of Minos,’ sent from the sea in
answer to his prayer.
271. There is some confusion here in the author’s mind between
different stories, and it is difficult to say exactly what he was thinking
of.
 277 f. Cp. Ovid, Metam. xi. 34 ff.
280. crapulus. I do not know what this is, unless it is equivalent to
‘capulus,’ which is rather doubtfully given by D. That would mean the
‘handle’ of the plough, but we have ‘ansa’ in l. 282.
289 f. Cp. Pont. i. 3. 55 f.
291. Metam. viii. 293.
325 ff. For this passage compare Metam. viii. 284 ff.
335. Metam. viii. 285. The Digby MS. has a rubricator’s note here
in the margin, ‘sete. a bristell.’
341. quod: consecutive, ‘so that’; cp. ‘sic ... quod,’ ll. 223, 311,
&c. In the next line ‘pascua’ seems to be singular.
351 ff. See note on l. 135.
381. Fasti, ii. 767.
395. Cutte que Curre, ‘Cut and Cur,’ names for mongrel dogs.
396. As a note on ‘casas’ the Digby MS. has ‘i.e. kenell’ in the
margin.
402. ‘Neither does he of the mill remain at home.’
405. The rubricator of the Digby MS. has written in the margin,
‘i.e. threefoted dog commyng after halting.’
407. Digby MS. rubric, ‘i.e. Rig þe Teydog.’ Note the position of
‘que,’ which should properly be attached to the first word of the line:
cp. l. 847.
455. As a note on ‘thalia’ here (for ‘talia’) the Digby MS. has
‘Thelea i.e. dea belli’ written by the rubricator. It is difficult to
conjecture what he was thinking of.
457. The Digby MS. rubricator, as a note on ‘Cephali canis’ has in
the margin, ‘i.e. stella in firmamento.’
465. ‘super est’ is the reading of the Glasgow MS. also.
474. artes. This seems to be the reading of all the MSS., though
in S the word might possibly be ‘arces.’ I take it to mean ‘devices,’ in
the way of traps, or ingenious hiding-places.
479. ‘The grey foxes determine to leave the caverns of the wood’:
‘vulpes’ (or rather ‘vulpis’) is masculine in Gower.
483. ‘Henceforth neither the sheep nor the poor sheepfold are
anything to them.’ For this use of ‘quid’ with a negative cp. l. 184.
492. solet. The present of this verb seems often to be used by
our author as equivalent to the imperfect: cp. l. 541, iii. 705, 740, &c.
Also ‘solebat,’ i. 699, iii. 1485; cp. v. 333, where ‘solebant’ seems to
stand for ‘solent.’ In other cases also the present is sometimes used
for the imperfect, e.g. l. 585 ‘quas nuper abhorret Egiptus.’
499 ff. See 1 Sam. v. The plague of mice is distinctly mentioned
in the Vulgate version, while in our translation from the Hebrew it is
implied in ch. vi. 5. ‘Accharon’ is Ekron.
541. solent: see note on l. 492.
545. Coppa: used as a familiar name for a hen in the Speculum
Stultorum, pp. 55, 58, and evidently connected with ‘Coppen’ or
‘Coppe,’ which is the name of one of Chantecleer’s daughters in the
Low-German and English Reynard.
557 f. ‘They determine that days are lawful for those things for
which the dark form of night had often given furtive ways.’
568. quod: equivalent to ‘vt’; cp. ll. 600, 1610.
576. G reads ‘perstimulant’ with CED.
579 f. See Ovid, Metam. vi. 366 ff. Apparently ‘colonum’ is for
‘colonorum.’
603. Toruus oester: cp. Speculum Stultorum, p. 25.
615 f. Cp. Speculum Stultorum, p. 24, l. 21 f.
635. Cp. Speculum Stultorum, p. 25, l. 15.
637 f. Speculum Stultorum, p. 26,

‘Haec est illa dies qua nil nisi cauda iuvabit,

Vel loca quae musca tangere nulla potest.’
 652. stramine: probably an allusion to the name of Jack Strawe,
as ‘tegula’ in the next couplet to Wat Tyler.
Cap. ix. Heading, l. 3. It seems to be implied that the jay, which
must often have been kept as a cage-bird and taught to talk, was
commonly called ‘Wat,’ as the daw was called ‘Jack,’ and this name
together with the bird’s faculty of speech has suggested the
transformation adopted for Wat Tyler.
716. There is no punctuation in S, but those MSS. which have
stops, as CD, punctuate after ‘nephas’ and ‘soluit.’ The line is
suggested by Ovid, Fasti, ii. 44, ‘Solve nefas, dixit; solvit et ille
nefas.’ There it is quite intelligible, but here it is without any clear
meaning.
It may be observed here that the passage of Ovid in which this
line occurs, Fasti, ii. 35-46, is evidently one of the sources of
Confessio Amantis, v. 2547 ff.
749. Sicut arena maris: cp. Rev. xx. 8, to which reference is
made below, ll. 765 ff.
762. ‘All that they lay upon us, they equally bear themselves.’
Apparently this is the meaning, referring to the universal ruin which is
likely to ensue.
765-776. These twelve lines are taken with some alterations of
wording and order from Godfrey of Viterbo, Pantheon, p. 228 (ed.
1584). In l. 765 the reference to the Apocalypse is to Rev. xx.
774. forum: apparently ‘law.’
783 ff: This well-known chapter was very incorrectly printed in the
Roxburghe edition, owing to the fact that a leaf has here been cut
out of S, and the editor followed D. Fuller, whose translation of the
opening lines has often been quoted, had a better text before him,
probably that of the Cotton MS.
810. It is difficult to see how this line is to be translated, unless
we suppose that ‘fossa’ is a grammatical oversight.
821. Cp. Ovid, Metam. i. 211, ‘Contigerat nostras infamia
temporis aures.’
 849 f. Adapted from Amores, iii. 9. 7 f., but not very happily.
855 ff. With this passage we may compare the description in
Walsingham, vol. i. p. 454, ‘quorum quidam tantum baculos, quidam
rubigine obductos gladios, quidam bipennes solummodo, nonnulli
arcus prae vetustate factos a fumo rubicundiores ebore antiquo, cum
singulis sagittis, quorum plures contentae erant una pluma, ad
regnum conquaerendum convenere.’
868. The reading ‘de leuitate’ is given also by G.
869. limpidiores. The epithet is evidently derived from 1 Sam.
xvii. 40, where the Vulgate has ‘et elegit sibi quinque limpidissimos
lapides de torrente.’
876. ‘These fools boast that the earth has been wetted,’ &c.
871 ff. Cp. Metam. xi. 29 f.
879 f. Cp. Conf. Amantis, Prol. 37*. One of the charges against
Sir Nicholas Brembre in 1388 was that he had designed to change
the name of London to ‘New Troy.’
891. siluis que palustribus, ‘from the woods and marshes.’
904. Cp. Ovid, Ars Amat. iii. 577 f.
909. Cp. Metam. viii. 421.
919. Corpus Christi day, that is Thursday, June 13.
929 f. via salua: apparently meaning ‘Savoye,’ the palace of the
duke of Lancaster in the Strand. In the next line ‘longum castrum’
looks like ‘Lancaster,’ but it is difficult to say exactly what the
meaning is.
931. Baptisteque domus. This is the Priory of St. John of
Jerusalem at Clerkenwell, which was burnt by the insurgents
because of their hostility to Robert Hales, the Master of the Hospital,
then Treasurer of the kingdom. Walsingham says that the fire
continued here for seven days.
933-936. Ovid, Fasti, vi. 439 ff., where the reference is to the
burning of the temple of Vesta. Hence the mention of sacred fires,
which is not appropriate here.
937. Metam. ii. 61.
939 f. Metam. i. 288 f.
941 ff. This accusation, which Gower brings apparently without
thinking it necessary to examine into its truth (‘Est nichil vt queram,’
&c.), is in direct contradiction to the statements of the chroniclers,
e.g. Walsingham, i. 456 f., Knighton, ii. 135; but it is certain that
dishonest persons must have taken advantage of the disorder to
some extent for their own private ends, however strict the commands
of the leaders may have been, and it is probable that the control
which was exercised at first did not long continue. The chroniclers
agree with Gower as to the drunkenness.
943 f. Ovid, Trist. v. 6. 39 f.
951. Ovid, Fasti, vi. 673.
953. Metam. xv. 665.
955 f. That is, the deeds of Friday (dies Veneris) were more
atrocious than those of Thursday.
961 f. The construction of accusative with infinitive is here used
after ‘Ecce,’ as if it were a verb, and ‘Calcas’ is evidently meant for
an accusative case. It is probable that the names here given,
Calchas, Antenor, Thersites, Diomede, Ulysses, as well as those
which follow in ll. 985 ff., are meant to stand for general types, rather
than for particular persons connected with the government. In any
case we could hardly identify them.
997. Vix Hecube thalami, &c. This looks like an allusion to the
princess of Wales, the king’s mother, whose apartments in the Tower
were in fact invaded by the mob. Similarly in the lines that follow
‘Helenus’ stands for the archbishop of Canterbury.
1019 ff. The text of these five lines, as we find it in DTH₂, that is
in its earlier form, was taken for the most part from the Aurora of
Petrus (de) Riga, (MS. Bodley 822) f. 88 vo,
 ‘Non rannus pungens, set oliua uirens, set odora
Ficus, set blanda uitis abhorret eos.
Anticristus enim regit hos, nam spiritus almus,
Nam lex, nam Cristus, non dominatur eis.’

He is speaking of the parable of Jotham in the Book of Judges.

1046. Fasti, ii. 228.
1073. medioque: written apparently for ‘mediaque.’
1076. posse caret, ‘is without effect.’
1081. Cp. Tristia, iv. 2. 5 f.
1094. Cp. Fasti, i. 122.
1141. Metam. vi. 559.
1143. Cp. Metam. vii. 603.
1161. Metam. vii. 602. Considering that the line is borrowed from
Ovid, we cannot attach much importance to it as indicating what was
done with the body of the archbishop.
1173. ostia iuris: cp. Walsingham, i. 457, ‘locum qui vocatur
“Temple Barre,” in quo apprenticii iuris morabantur nobiliores,
diruerunt.’
1188. Cp. Ovid, Her. iii. 4.
1189. Metam. v. 41.
1193 f. Cp. Ars Amat. ii. 373 f., where, however, we have ‘cum
rotat,’ not ‘conrotat.’
1206. Quam periturus erat, ‘rather than that he should perish,’
apparently.
1209. Cp. Metam. v. 40.
1211. Metam. xiv. 408.
1215 f. A reference probably to the massacre of the Flemings.
1219 f. Fasti, iii. 509 f.
 1221 f. Ovid, Amores, iii. 9. 11 f.
1224. Cp. Her. v. 68.
1253. Cp. Metam. vii. 599, ‘Exiguo tinxit subiectos sanguine
cultros.’
1271. Perhaps ‘cessit’ is right, as in l. 1265, but the reading of C
is the result of a correction, and the corrections of this manuscript
are usually sound.
1279 f. If there is any construction here, it must be ‘Erumpunt
lacrimae luminibus, que lumina,’ &c. For this kind of ellipse cp. l.
1501.
1283. Cp. Her. viii. 77.
1289. Metam. ix. 775.
Cap. xvi. Heading, l. 1. quasi in propria persona: cf. Conf.
Amantis, i. 60, margin, ‘Hic quasi in persona aliorum quos amor
alligat, fingens se auctor esse Amantem,’ &c. The author takes care
to guard his readers against a too personal application of his
descriptions.
1359. Cp. Ovid, Metam. xiv. 198. In the lines that follow our
author has rather ingeniously appropriated several other expressions
from the same story of Ulysses and Polyphemus.
1363 f. Ars Amat. iii. 723 f.
1365. Metam. xiv. 206.
1369. Metam. xiv. 200.
1379 f. Cp. Tristia, v. 4. 33 f.
1385 f. Her. xx. 91 f.
1387. Cp. Metam. xiv. 120.
1395. Cp. Metam. iv. 723.
1397 f. Cp. Tristia, i. 3. 53 f.
1401 f. Cp. Fasti, v. 315 f.