Читать книгу Mistress to the Crown - Isolde Martyn - Страница 12

How easily Life can flick us. Like an idle boy’s fingernail against a tiny fly. We are so fragile, our destinies changed so easily by a marriage, a death, a quarrel or a smile. I have been waiting a long time for Life to edge his finger close again.

You see, I am twenty-five now and still tied to William Shore despite all my efforts to break free. At times I have considered murder and adultery, but I have resisted both, despite immense temptation to do the former and insufficient enticement to enjoy the latter.

My mind aches for challenge. When my father was sheriff of London, our family house was ever full of esteemed and knowledgeable men, and their talk at table was of kings and dukes, of battles and parliaments, of laws and verdicts, trade and strategy. I learned what went on at the Council of Aldermen, the quarrels between the guilds, the jostling for advancement, the give and take between the city fathers and the King. I miss that rich discourse. When Shore bids fellow liverymen to dine with us, such matters are only for the men; we wives are banished to the parlour. I mean no disrespect, but much of the women’s talk is about their children. And I am childless. Oh, you might look at me and notice no discontent. I am like some tree with ring upon ring of thick armour around my heart, waiting for the woodcutter.

But there is a rainbow promise in the sky. Shore has become impotent, and at last he has agreed that we should no longer share a bed. I also have a little money of my own coming in because he has grudgingly allowed me to set up a workshop of silkwomen, and I am going to save up until I can find an honest lawyer to present my case to his Holiness in Rome. Yes, there is hope.

That was my thinking as I climbed onto a set of steps behind the counter in Shore’s shop. So thankful to be alone, I was looking forward to making a display of the jewelled girdles that my silkwomen had finished the day before. Outside, a fierce April shower was cleansing the street so there would be no customers until the sun showed her countenance again, and I could take my time.

Behind the counter, I draped four falls of fabric from the uppermost shelf. The ruby velvet and the blue-black brocade, wefted with silver thread, were borrowed from my family’s shop in Silver Street. The other two were brunette and russet, the humdrum fabrics that my husband sold.

I had already arranged the most expensive girdle around the brocade in semblance of a noblewoman’s waist. It was so beautiful – a sliver of silver samite stitched with tiny seed pearls and completed with a trio of teardrop pearls set at either end. By contrast, the belt that I took up next was a plain, silk cord, but its shining blue would enhance the brown cloth behind it like the flash of azure on a mallard’s wings.

I was concentrating so diligently with the pinning that the sudden sound of someone’s cough nearly toppled me. On the other side of the counter stood a man in expensive apparel and he looked to be enjoying a view of my ankles. Can ankles blush?

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ I exclaimed with a gasp of surprise. ‘I did not hear the bell.’

‘I did not ring it.’ His voice was utterly beautiful. What’s more, he had a smile to make my toes curl. Not lascivious, but as though we shared a jest and the rest of the world could go and be hanged.

I descended as gracefully as I could and smoothed my tawny skirts, trying to glance up at him with modesty when I so longed to stare. I knew Shore supplied several noblemen with livery cloth for their households, but such men never came to the shop.

A brooch of pearls and peridot lit the black velvet of this stranger’s cap and he wore a fine murrey riding cloak loosely cordled at his throat. Raindrops showered to the floor as he shrugged the cloak off and laid it across the end of the counter against the wall. I was intrigued to notice that the velvet of his slate-blue cote was flattened across each shoulder. This was a man who usually wore a heavy collar of great office.

I curtsied low. ‘How may I help you, my lord?’

He did not correct my address of him. That smile again. ‘Sir Edward Brampton has recommended your silken belts,’ he murmured, looking up at the samite and pearls. ‘I desire to buy one for my stepdaughter. She is almost sixteen and soon to be married.’

Well, I wished her happiness in her marriage, but more than that, I wished myself in her shoes, able to feast in this man’s company.

‘May I show you some that may be more appealing to her youth, my lord?’ I fetched out half a dozen belts and laid them in a row for his consideration.

He did not inquire the prices like most would. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested in the craft and beauty. Drawing off his gloves, he set them at the end of the counter beside his cloak. I was curious to observe his hands.

Look behind the outward show, my father always advises every new apprentice. Observe a man’s fingernails when he takes off his gloves to feel the quality of the cloth you are selling. See if his nails be clean beneath and filed smooth. A rogue may dress like a lord but his hands will show the truth.

This man’s nails were clean, buffed crescents, and his hands would have thrilled a sculptor for they were robust yet slender, unblemished by the sun. A flat diamond adorned his third finger. It was one of the largest gemstones I had ever glimpsed.

Together we peered over the merchandise, our foreheads almost touching. I could smell the imber-gres and chypre essence this man was wearing and, oh, it stirred my senses, and I prayed that no other customers would venture in.

‘You do not sell expensive cloth, mistress,’ he observed, glancing round at the bales leaning against the walls. ‘Who supplies the jewels, then, for these belts?’

‘The goldsmith, Alderman Edmund Shaa. He has also given my silkwomen a workroom so they may be together.’ Then lest my business relationship be misconstrued, I added swiftly, ‘He is the father of a good friend of mine, my lord, and this is a new venture on my part. I am praying it will succeed.’

‘I am sure it will,’ he replied courteously. ‘I am well acquainted with Master Shaa. He must think very highly of you.’

I blushed, honestly delighted by his remark. I so longed to ask him who he was but courtesy bridled my tongue.

By now we had reduced his choice to three. He was taking his time in reaching a decision.

‘Forgive my impertinence, mistress,’ he said, observing the tiny wisps of blonde hair that had escaped from my cap. ‘Your hair and colouring are similar to my stepdaughter’s and she often wears that same blue there.’ He half-crossed himself, his third finger drawing a line from his heart. I glanced down at the bright blue modesty inset within my collar, and grew hot within my gown. He took up one of the belts and held it out to me. ‘If you please, it would help me if you could hold each of these in turn.’

So I obeyed, lifting each pretty girdle to gleam against the square of bluebell velvet that crossed my cleavage.

Thinking much about this encounter later, I realised it gave him plentiful opportunity to stare at my bosom, and yet at the time it did not strike me as sinful. If he was interested in more than the ornate belts, he was subtle.

‘That one!’ he declared finally. It was expensive – honey silk shot with gold, lined with taffeta and embroidered with tiny scallop shells, each with a pearl nestling in its heart. A row of little tinkling shells weighted the ends, promising that it would hang gracefully. A lively girl would find it delightfully frivolous.

‘A good choice. I think your stepdaughter will be very pleased,’ I answered honestly as I fetched out a shiny drawstring bag to match his purchase. He watched me wind the belt into a coil and nestle it safe in a little nest of rabbit fur before I slid it inside. ‘Actually, my lord, Lambard’s shop in Silver Street has some Toulouse silk shipped in only this week that may please your stepdaughter if her marriage chest is not yet full. A bright blue embroidered with white milles fleurs. Toulouse dyes are fast and the quality is excellent.’

‘Lambard’s, you say?’ There was flicker of amusement.

‘Yes, my lord.’ I did not tell him John Lambard was my father. ‘And if you do visit, pray say you came from here.’

‘Thank you.’ He looked genuinely grateful, but then he teased me. ‘Now before you recommend some other delightful ways of emptying my purse, we must negotiate for this.’

Curse it, I’d forgotten to bargain. ‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, touching my left-hand fingertips to my lips in innocent confusion. The girdle had only been finished last night and I had not put a price on it. Yes, that sounds as though I was poor at selling, but in truth this man had me dazed, so delicious was his company. As if he sensed my dilemma, my handsome customer came to my rescue.

‘I see you stock murrey broadcloth here. My steward can visit tomorrow to bargain with your master.’ His words caught me on the raw.

‘There is no master.’ I flared swiftly with a lift of chin and then thought myself an utter fool for behaving so. ‘Your pardon, my lord, my husband owns this shop but the girdles are my enterprise. You may have the belt for six shillings.’

He took the coins from his leather pouch. ‘And you are Mistress …?’

‘Shore, my lord.’

‘Then I give you good morrow, Mistress Shore.’

I knew my duty and hastened to open the door for him. Outside, huddled beneath the lintel, were two men in livery. They arranged their lord’s cloak about him and stepped back. His groom straight away led up a fine chestnut stallion, but my noble customer was in no hurry. He stared out into the rain pensively and then turned his head to me.

‘I think perhaps I should discuss the livery cloth myself, Mistress Shore. What time may I come to speak with your husband?’

‘My lord,’ I gasped. ‘I pray you tell me which hour is convenient to you and he will oblige.’

‘Shall we say one o’clock tomorrow, then?’

‘So please you.’ I curtsied, my hand in deference across my heart. ‘And pray you, my lord, may I tell my husband your name?’

‘Hastings.’

My jaw slackened. The King’s Chamberlain, Lord Lieutenant of Calais and Master of the Royal Mint! I could not answer for shock, but I managed to make a deeper obeisance. After he had stepped forth, I closed the door, gave a squeal of delight, grabbed up my skirts and, humming, spun around our showing room as though I had found the crock of gold at the foot of the rainbow.

Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;

I would my true love did so chance

To see the legend of my play,

To call my true love to my dance.

‘Ahem.’

Jesu save me! He stood within the shop again. What was worse, he had glimpsed me prancing like a merry five-year-old. My face must have looked mighty sheepish because he burst out laughing.

‘I-I like d-dancing,’ I explained, smoothing my skirts.

‘And does Master Shore dance with you?’

I shook my head.

He looked downwards, smoothing the fingers of his right hand glove to make a better fit; even that was done with a languid grace. ‘Pardon my curiosity, but is it that Master Shore will not or cannot dance?’ He raised his gaze slowly. There was nothing improper in his expression and yet …

‘My husband cannot, my lord.’

‘That’s a pity. But I forget my purpose. I have other business to transact after noon tomorrow so tell your husband I shall come at ten o’ the clock. It was pleasant talking to you, Mistress Shore.’

O Heaven! I should not sleep that night. Lord Hastings’ presence lingered with me like a fragrance upon my wrist. Every phrase he had spoken I lifted gently from my memory and examined over and over again with a collector’s care.

I was humming to myself when Shore returned to the shop an hour later. Even he could sense that something had changed. I must have looked more alive.

‘I have good news for you,’ I said triumphantly. ‘You missed an important customer, no less than the King’s Chamberlain.’

‘Lord Hastings?’ Shore nearly had an apoplexy on the spot. Disappointment to have missed the noble lord shone from every pore.

‘Ah trust Howe treated him well?’ His Derbyshire dialect was always stronger when he was upset.

‘No, I served him,’ I replied proudly. ‘He purchased a lady’s belt and he is returning to see you at ten tomorrow to bargain over the broadcl—’

‘You?’ He cut in with such disgust that I recoiled. ‘By the Saints! You fool of a woman, why did you not summon Howe?’

Howe was our oldest apprentice but I was just as capable.

‘Because he was gone to Blackfriars to negotiate the dagswain order, remember? What was I supposed to do, sirrah? Close the door in Lord Hastings’s face?’

‘No need for that kind of tongue,’ Shore admonished. ‘It’s just that ah’ve a large order from Lord Rivers’ steward an’ if word gets around that ah’m dealing with Lord Hastings as well, they may cancel it. Happened to one of the Drapers’ Guild.’

‘I wish you had told me,’ I said wearily. Not that it would have made any difference.

‘Lord Rivers, the Queen’s brother, and Lord Hastings have fallen out over who should be governing Calais, see, and if you look to be dealing wi’ one of them, the other will ha’ none of you.’

‘That’s ludicrous,’ I declared. ‘King Edward must find it hard to deal with their quarrels.’

‘Very likely. That’s probably one of the reasons the King sent Lord Rivers to ha’ charge of the Prince of Wales at Ludlow. Anyroad, like ah said, you should have sent for me straightway.’

‘But you won’t turn down Lord Hastings’ business, surely?’

‘Tha’s summat for tomorrow.’ Shore was looking at me strangely. ‘Why didn’t you send to find me, Elizabeth?’

‘I did not know rightly where you were, sir,’ I answered, although I was certain he had been trying to raise himself with a gap-toothed seamstress, who lived two streets away. ‘But I’ll obey in future. Next time her grace the Queen knocks and you are out, I’ll hide beneath the counter and pretend we are closed.’

‘Aye,’ he grunted. ‘Do that.’

During supper that evening, he said not a word until we had finished eating. ‘Lord Hastings is a great lord, wife. You should ha’ said ah would attend him at t’Palace.’

‘But he offered to come back tomorrow. Anyway, being such a “great lord”, I daresay he may take his leisure where it pleases him, and it pleases him to return tomorrow morning. Are you decided? Shall you accept his business?’

He set his alejack down and made a face. ‘Depends whether he makes an offer. Ah hope you asked a good price for the girdle?’

‘I think so. It was for his stepdaughter.’

‘Aye, that would be the Bonville girl. Worth a fortune, she is.’

‘Well, he took much trouble in choosing it for her and he was pleasant and not high-saddled at all. You should have seen the clothes he was wearing.’ I shook my head, still marvelling. ‘I advised him go to Father’s and see the new delivery.’

His face creased in disapproval. ‘Jesu! You presumed to direct a great lord like him?’

‘But he didn’t mind at all.’

Shore’s eyes narrowed. ‘Mayhap it was not just the girdles that interested him.’

This conversation was travelling onto hazardous ground. Shore had not agreed easily to me employing some silkwomen and making a little money of my own.

My hands fisted in my lap. ‘What are you saying?’

He snorted and clambered from the trestle. ‘Have you not noticed that when you are in t’shop, we have more men come to buy?’

Foolish logic! How could I notice the difference when I was not there?

‘I do not like your implication, sir,’ I said, swivelling round to face him. ‘Nor do you make any sense. Just tell me how would men know whether I am in the shop or not before they come in?’

He was looking down at me as if my dress was immodest. ‘Because ah’ve seen them staring though the doorway as they pass, or else they traipse in, feign interest in summat and then leave if you are not around. God’s truth, when you are there, they dawdle like sniffin’ dogs. Ah’ve observed it’s only the men, not the women.’

‘And ah observe that you have a great imagination,’ I muttered, gathering up the platters for our maidservant to remove.

He grabbed my shoulder and growled, ‘Are you calling me a liar, wife? Why do you think ah’ve always been reluctant all these years to have you in the showing room?’

I shook his hand away as I stood up. I knew very well but I said, ‘Well, I always thought it was in case people believed you too poor to employ sufficient apprentices. If I am good for business because my manners please people, sir, then you should be content. I am not like my friend, Alys Rawson, using my looks to turn men into fawning lapdogs.’

He looked so peevish that I could not resist tormenting him further.

‘Oh Heavens, Shore, you surely do not fear I shall cuckold you? What would Lord Hastings want with a lowly creature like me?’ There is such a thing as a husbandly grunt and Shore’s was perfected. ‘Anyway,’ I added, pouring some more ale into his cup, ‘let us not quarrel but celebrate our good fortune. If you can be cunning and sell to both lords, you shall have much profit.’

But Shore’s jealousy was pricked. Next morning, the sly knave sent out an invitation to his friends’ wives to come at a quarter to ten and take refreshment so that when Lord Hastings arrived, I should be making petty talk upstairs and unable to come down. Oh, how his distrust made me seethe.

No bargain was made with Lord Hastings that morning, but I noticed later that he had left his gloves behind, not on the open counter by the measuring rule, but tucked at the end between a shallow basket of remnants and the wall.

What should I do? Send an apprentice to Westminster or my lord’s house? Tell Shore? Take the gloves myself? Was this forgetfulness deliberate? Ha, vain fantasy on my part to suppose such a thing. This great lord would no doubt send some menial to retrieve the gloves, yet I stood there holding them and dared to dream.