Читать книгу As Meat Loves Salt - Maria McCann, Maria McCann - Страница 11

The night before my wedding I was restless, jostling and kicking poor Izzy until at last he pinched me. There are few things so lonely as watching while others sleep; I lit a candle and stretched out on my back, staring round the room and thinking how odd it was that I should never again lie there. The ceiling in our chamber was unpainted, but its plainness was crazed and fissured into shapes like those seen in clouds or maps, the surface throwing up ridges and crevices as the yellow light lapped against them. A smudge in the far corner was a cobweb which had been spun in Patience’s absence, and over the bed there was the familiar three-branched crack which I had seen every morning and night since we left Mother’s cottage in the village.

Zeb had told me he could not remember our old house, with its pear trees and the lozenges, gules et noir, set in the window of the room where we slept as boys and where perhaps young brothers might be sleeping now while the Cullens, dispossessed, stewed in a fusty servants’ chamber at Beaurepair.

Zeb. I had spoken gently to him, and he to me. I judged my brother and myself to be natural opposites, blended of quite different humours, yet as I lay there something I had not thought on in years came back to my mind, and ruffled it. When first we moved to the big house, Zeb and I slept together in the bed I now shared with Izzy. My elder brother turned in with Stephen, a lad who was since dead of eating tainted meat, and it seemed to me that there had been kindness between Zeb and myself. On saints’ days (the Mistress still kept these, and though heathen they were not unwelcome to us servants) I had been fishing, and swimming, with him; I was sure it was Zeb, and not Izzy, who had once made me laugh so hard that beer came out of my nose and I was sent down from table. Was it when Stephen died, and Peter came, that my brothers had changed places in the chamber? It might be that Izzy had wanted the change, for Peter snored in tiny grunts like a dreaming dog; but Zeb and I were never the same again. He withdrew from me; I began to find him wilful and spoilt.

Our room was that night too hot, as it was most nights from April to October, and the grey of dawn showed that, though the casement was open, mist beaded the inner panes. The scent of hard-worked bodies hung in the air like the whiff of some disagreeable mushroom and I wondered how many pints of sweat I had breathed in over the years, along with essences of feet and farts and garlic. My Lady’s grand chamber smelt of rose otto and occasionally, when Sir John had paid his wife a visit, of wine, while the room set aside for myself and Caro had as yet no perfume but emptiness and dust. I turned over and sniffed the pillow, finding my own smell mingled with Izzy’s, and thought, Clean linen for us tomorrow, and for some reason the red glass came to mind.

When our young master, as we called him in the presence of Godfrey, might be fifteen and myself perhaps some two years older, a Venetian visitor brought him a birthday gift – a newfangled glass cup from an island where the people are expert in the crafting of such things. It was presented at the midday meal, first to Sir John that he might look at the workmanship. Standing behind the Master, I craned my neck, marvelling and longing to touch. The thing was like blood frozen and carved, all even, pure and crystalline, a scarlet flower with chains of bubbles intertwined in the stem.

‘Most cunningly made,’ said My Lady. ‘See, Mervyn.’

The visitor took it from Sir John and put it into the boy’s hand and he, being careless, straightway let it fall and it shattered on the flags. The visitor’s reaction I cannot now remember, for I was so shocked that I cried out in protest as if the cup had been my own. I was told to fetch a broom. Sweeping up the fragments, I cannot swear that I did not let a tear, while Mervyn sat sullen and stupid. I guessed they had given him a tongue-lashing while I was out of the room, but I would fain have seen him hanged for the destruction of the glass before my eyes could learn it.

For weeks I kept the shards of it in a leather pouch, taking them out frequently to admire the stem, which was still in one piece, or to look through the fragments of the bowl and see the world all drenched in blood. The garden viewed thus was a scene of nightmare, its trees and plants hot curls of stone beneath the fiery skies of Hell, the black and crimson maze a trap for souls. Or, it might be, this was how Beaurepair itself would look on the Last Day.

‘Your grim fancy,’ said Izzy when one day I showed him the Hell Garden. ‘The thing amuses, I suppose. But I would rather have the garden as it is.’ Zeb would also hold or look through the glass pieces from time to time, until the day when, called to some urgent task, I left them on the floor and out of the pouch. When I returned to my treasures they were gone.

I at once suspected my brother. But Zeb persuaded me that this was none of his teasing while Izzy, looking sick, suggested I enquire of Godfrey. The steward told me that he had trodden on the glass shards and one of them had pierced his shoe and gone into the sole of his foot. ‘And so,’ said this wise old fool, ‘I have thrown them down the jakes.’

Thus perished a lovely thing, all broken and degraded, for that it was given into the wrong hands. I drifted off remembering, and it came back to me in my dream, where I was holding it for someone to see. But it was already broken, and a sadness blew through me like smoke.

When next I opened my eyes the room was light and the other three were standing over my bed.

‘It is time,’ said Izzy.

We were boys again. Half asleep, I protested as the cover was dragged off. Izzy put into my hand a cup of salep, a rare treat in that house where the servants drank mostly beer. I let its thick, pearly sweetness drop over my tongue like some great honeyed oyster.

Peter had fetched us up a special perfumed water from the stillroom. As bridegroom, I was first with this water, which had been infused with rosemary and lavender. There was also a washball to scrub my skin with, and cloths for drying. In the days when we still had old Doctor Barton for tutor, he showed me a print of a Turkish bath and I, being at once full of a child’s desire, begged of him that we might go to Turkey. He said that it was too far off, and the people not Christians, but the picture with its men naked or draped in sheets, the spacious stone halls, the fountains and the musician in strange pantaloons and pointed shoes, plucking at a shrunken harp, stayed with me. It was still before me even when I bent to hoe Sir John’s cornfield, miserably fulfilling the Word: In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread. Now I took a dampened cloth and ran it over my body. My delight in washing and aversion to every kind of dirt was a byword in our house. Though I was called fantastical, and was much teased, yet it made me a careful servant, and I thought Caro did not like me the less for it.

While I was drying myself and lifting out my best shirt from the press, the other three all washed together, splashing the water here and there, mostly over head and hands for none but me took off his shirt. There was much fooling, much spitting of foam; the chamber floor was soaked, as was Zebedee when Peter scooped up water in his hands and threw it.

‘Clodpate,’ said Zeb without venom. He pulled the wet shirt over his head and came to the press where the fresh ones were kept. Almost dressed by now, I watched him fling the linen this way and that, Peter wailing that everything would be crushed. It struck me how rarely I saw Zeb naked, for all that we shared a chamber. Stripped, he showed more muscular than I remembered, but well-knit and graceful – what some called a proper man, one who drew women to him and had already sired a child to prove it. As for my elder brother – poor Izzy, what woman would be charmed by him? His back would never be as straight or as strong as the one that was turned to me now as Zeb dropped a shirt over his head and pulled on his breeches.

‘Hold, Jacob,’ said Izzy. Peter and Zeb turned to watch as he handed me a pair of hose I had never seen before, of the finest wool and such a tender white you would say they came from the mildest, purest lambs.

‘These are not mine,’ I told him.

‘Yes they are, they’re a gift from us three.’

They smiled kindly on me and the hose were straightway more precious to my heart than anything the Mistress might give or lend. I hugged my brothers and Peter, gaining a little damp on my shirtsleeves, but that mattered nothing: the coat would go over it.

‘Soft as down,’ I said as I stood up, hose stretched clean and tight and my newest shoes on.

‘They look well on you,’ said Izzy.

‘My thanks, they are the best I ever saw.’ Again I suffered a pang for the sweet brother whose garments never looked well on him. Peter helped me do up the mother-of-pearl buttons on my coat, which, like Zeb, were handsome but difficult to lay hold of.

‘Like a prince. She’ll want to eat you,’ Peter said as he slid the last one into place.

Zeb laughed. ‘Be kind and let her.’

Izzy was giving a last brush to his coat. ‘I hope Mounseer finds the cooks to his liking. I heard shouting from the kitchen last night.’

‘Have you seen Caro’s robe?’ Zeb asked him. ‘It is magnificent.’

I stared. ‘You have, then?’

‘It’s only the husband that’s not allowed. You’ll take her for My Lady Somebody.’

‘When did she show you?’

Izzy stopped brushing. ‘Are we ready, lads?’

‘The favours!’ cried Zeb. With shaking fingers we pinned them on, so that the guests could pluck them off later – another curtsey to Dame Fortune, but one I had not dared to oppose.

‘Here, here!’ Peter shoved a glass of wine into my hand. ‘Down in one. Go to it.’

I was glad to obey.

‘Done like a man,’ said Izzy.

‘When did she show you the gown?’ I repeated, but Zeb and Peter bounded out of the door, eager as dogs to the hare.

‘This is no day for jealousy,’ Izzy said, laying his hand on my arm.

‘I’m not jealous.’

Peter went directly to the garden, while we brothers had first to knock at Caro’s chamber. It should have been her father’s house, but there was nothing to be done about that. I tapped on the door and heard whispering and a stifled laugh within. Godfrey’s voice bade me enter.

She was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes glittering. A cloak had been thrown over the gown, and her hair hung down loosely as befitted a virgin bride. Mary and Anne, clutching branches of gilded rosemary, looked me over from head to toe. I took Caro by the hand as custom demanded, said the traditional ‘Mistress, I hope you are willing’, and allowed Godfrey, who was standing in for her father, to lead me out of the room. The bridesmaids, giggling, went on either side of me, their captive man, while Izzy and Zeb stayed behind to escort Caro.

We slowly descended the stairs. I was in a daze and my shoes, which were not well broken in, pinched. I heard Izzy and Zeb laughing along the corridor. The idea was that Caro should follow me out to the maze, where tables of food and drink would be laid out. There we would pause a while, admiring the delicacies and everybody’s finery, until the time was come when Caro and I should make our vows before those assembled. Then there would be well-wishing, much eating and drinking, presents and diversions (perhaps that kissing game with which she had enticed me all those months back) to the sound of sweet music, and afterwards back into the house to gorge ourselves further until the time came for us to be put to bed. I must get through everything, showing no impatience for that blessed moment when the chamber door would shut out their urgings and jests. Then I would turn to her, trembling, aching, while outside the pastimes went on and everyone pictured, with amusement or envy, our mutual entertainment.

‘God has sent you fair weather,’ said Anne. We passed through the door by the stillroom and a cry went up, ‘There he is!’ The company was assembled and waiting for me just outside the house. Dazzled by the sudden strong light, I with difficulty made out the Master and Mistress, and taking off my hat I bowed to them. Then I looked about me, greeting all the guests with a general bow and a smile. I remarked little Joan, who was lovesick for Mounseer, and another, older dairymaid standing further back in the group. There were also the ostler and his boys, and some of the farmworkers, both men and women, who had laboured by my side in the fields. I wondered did they remember those days, and resent my rise in fortunes.

‘Your mother awaits you in the maze,’ said My Lady, whose face was pink with pleasure. At your mother I started guiltily, for I had not missed her. We strolled in a leisurely fashion towards the maze entrance, and my vanity was tickled when I heard one woman tell another that I was a very proper man.

‘Wait till you see her wedding clothes. Beautiful as the day,’ said Godfrey, craning his head backwards to speak to me. I could not help but grin like a fool, though the fresh collar chafed my neck. I put my finger down it and pulled to loosen the stuff as we stepped between the rosemary hedges.

I am to be espoused. I am to be espoused. Bound to a woman who wondered, in her innocence, if I suspected another man of killing Walshe. The thought was enough to rob me of breath. We rounded the last corner and passed through a high dense arch. There I turned, and waited. Everyone watched me wait.

First came my brothers, pacing with branches of rosemary before them, Izzy’s slight lurch a foil to Zeb’s long supple stride. The sun glanced off their thick black hair, so exactly like my own, all three of us showing like gypsies among our fair-complexioned friends. Both bridesmaids turned towards Zeb as he approached, as daisies open themselves to the dawn.

Caro entered the maze in profile to us, so that I saw first her long neck and the sapphire drop depending from her right ear. Her hair hung down her back. It had been brushed and polished with silk so that it shone beneath the chaplet of wheat and roses. When she turned to face me I took the full force of her beauty, which seemed almost that of a lady, her gown cut low, her neck and shoulders of cream. This was Caro transformed indeed, wondrous tight-laced, in silk the colour of June sky – I could never have procured her such. Her brown eyes rested on me with a delight equal to my own. Drawing near, we bowed and curtseyed each to the other and a general aah of pleasure ran through the company. The bridal finery showed more of her breasts than I had ever seen before: I tried not to gape like a lumpkin at the delicately gleaming skin thus revealed.

‘Son.’ My mother’s voice cut through this delectable contemplation. I went at once to where she was standing in the little gateway cut in the left-hand hedge. We embraced and she wept, saying her Elias stood before her in the flesh. That did please me. Though others had remarked on it, Mother had never yet given me so much in the way of praise as to say I was the print of my father.

‘Do you not think her beautiful, Jacob?’ She indicated Caro. ‘The earrings show very brave against her neck, do they not?’ By which I understood that the two of them had made up their quarrel.

‘She is an angel,’ I said, as all bridegrooms do. I scented pomade on Caro’s hair and wanted to touch it, but feared to spoil the hairdresser’s work. Tears stood in my eyes, I could hardly have said why.

‘Pray come this way – this way, friends—’ That was Peter, whose job it was to shepherd the guests to their rightful places. I turned to see him leading them to some trestle tables disposed about the knot garden. There was one table longer than the rest and he waved laughingly to me, to show that was where we should sit when the thing was done. Half stunned, I listened to the shuffling and rustling, the chatter and laughs as Godfrey helped folk arrange themselves. The field workers were put in a separate group near the hedge. I remembered the day when Caro and I had sat on the knot garden bench and quarrelled over Zeb’s secret.

Holding hands, we stood in the midst of those assembled as if summoned before the officers. Before us on the cloths were light and creamy things, suitable for bride tables: chicken cullis, Devonshire whitepot, quaking pudding and (I thought of Mervyn) a row of syllabubs, each in a separate vessel with a cunning spout for drinking off the liquor. Music drifted from the far end of the knot garden, where a small group of hired players kept a respectful distance. The guests spread themselves and fluffed out their garments, the better to enjoy the warmth of the day.

‘Time we married, Izzy, if this be how it is,’ proclaimed Zeb from the end of the long table, and I wondered if, despite his fears, he still missed Patience.

‘Do you know your words?’ Caro whispered.

‘Yes, but no matter if I forget.’ I had insisted we should have the sponsalia (as the betrothal was called in Latin) de praesenti, for such a betrothal, even without witnesses, made us one just as if we had been joined by the priest. It needed only the swearing of vows. I had a horror of being married by My Lady’s ‘spiritual director’, who stank of Rome, or by Doctor Phelps, the pastor of the village church, who had once preached there that the poor, being God’s special care, should rather be envied than relieved, and that a poor man who complained of his lot did so at the instigation of Mammon, naked greed, ‘for sure he had not the breeding to make right use of riches if he had them’. On that occasion I had sat sizing up the man of God, allowing myself – in fancy – to beat him to his knees. No one had ever fought me and won, and I did not think the good doctor would be the first. Now, with Peter’s glass of wine warming me to a pleasant freedom, I felt more than ever that Phelps was best away. Wed to such a wife as Caro, I thought, ‘tis a poor return to break the parson’s teeth.

‘Why do you laugh?’ Caro pulled on my sleeve.

‘I’ll tell you later.’ Smiling to myself, I glanced up and saw Godfrey coming over to us.

‘It is now. O, I feel sick,’ murmured Caro.

My Lady looked tenderly at her across the dishes of food, calling, ‘Take heart, child. A few minutes and you are man and wife.’

Now I was the one suddenly sick, not for the stumbling words of a vow, or that I might speak foolishly before the company, but for the huge thing I had undertaken. There might come a time, and soon, when my wife repented of her bargain, but there was no breaking off after this, though we should prove scorpions to one another. I saw Zeb staring at me, wondering, it might be, what was become of Patience, or envious of what I had won for my own.

‘Here, wife.’ I put my arm under Caro’s to steady her trembling. Under our feet was the flagged square at the centre of the maze, and around us the knot garden, with other stone flags supporting the trestles. The young men gawped and grinned, while their lasses dug them in the ribs and devoured Caro’s gown with their eyes. Older people looked wistful, or dabbed at their cheeks. My mother sniffled. I heard speeches on my looks, and on hers, spoken out loud as if we were both of us deaf. Izzy nodded to me as if to say, it would come right. Most of all I remarked Zeb, whose features looked to be carved in stone. Though I fixed him, eye to eye, he appeared unaware; one would say he looked not at me, but through me.

‘Have you the ring? Give it here.’ Godfrey thrust a swollen square of lacy stuff towards us.

Caro glanced down at the lace and giggled. ‘My Lady’s pincushion.’

I put the scrap of gold on it. Godfrey snapped his fingers. A little boy in silks ran forward and was placed officiously to my left to hold the cushion. The steward, plainly happy in his work, stepped aside with a swirling movement and the guests grew quiet.

‘Friends, we are here to witness the solemn contract of two of our company,’ Godfrey announced. ‘Known to us all, and respected by all as honest folk and faithful servants. We pray that their union may be long, happy and fruitful.’

‘Amen,’ I answered along with the rest. The moment was come. Clearing my throat, I took a firm grip on Caro’s left hand. ‘I, Jacob, do take thee, Caroline, to my wife, from this day forth, and do call on these here present to witness.’ I then took the wedding band (the boy near bursting with importance all this while) and worked it over her finger. ‘In token of which, I do give thee this ring.’

Her flesh was cold and damp: I pressed it between my warmer, drier palms to infuse her with strength. The music had ceased, and as I thus soothed her I heard jackdaws bickering somewhere on the house roof. Caro now turned to me and said in a high breathless voice, ‘I, Caroline, do take thee, Jacob, to my husband, from this day forth, and do call on these here present to witness.’

I smiled at her. She immediately coughed, was seized by a spasm, and beat her hand against her lace with a frightened movement. A kindly laugh rose from the company, at which her cough cleared. She touched her finger, turning on me a joyous smile: ‘In token of which I do accept this ring.’

And with those few words and that paltry circlet of metal Caro and I were made one flesh. We stood facing the company as if about to perform a dance: I was tempted to bow, and wondered if they would applaud. At last I was bidden kiss her, and a very sweet kiss it was. The Master and Mistress now stepped up to kiss her also, followed by Godfrey, my brothers and Peter’s sisters, and then the folk nearest to us rose up to follow suit, so that she was mobbed on all sides as every person there present sought to give and receive good fortune. They scrambled for the favours on her gown, and on those of Mistress Mary and Mistress Anne. I felt hands pluck at my own coat and saw the ribbons snatched from my brothers also. Young men waved the favours triumphantly in the air and pinned them to their hats.

When the kissing and the snatching of favours were done, the guests made for their seats, but not until grains of wheat had been cast over my wife’s head, for fruitfulness. As we walked to our seats, a young girl cried, ‘Jacob!’ and something struck me on the face before falling to the path. I saw she had thrown me a candied almond. Laughing, protesting, we held up our hands as more sweetmeats, mostly raisins, pelted onto us. Some landed in Caro’s hair and bosom; one or two managed to slip down my tight collar. Caro brushed off comfits as we seated ourselves at the board with our employers and attendants.

The Master and Mistress wished us a long and happy life together, at least the Mistress did, for none could be quite sure what Sir John was trying to say. The company was in high good spirits. We were brought two great silver mazers, full of sops in wine, which we drank down to the cheers of the company. They were filled to the brim again, and we were made to interlink our arms before drinking them, which was easy enough; but then they set us to hold the cups to one another’s mouths. I was afraid I might spoil her dress, but then I saw the Mistress signing to me that it mattered not a jot, so I went ahead with a will and spilt only a few drops and those from my own mouth. It seemed a good game, but one best played in private. It came to me that I had not yet eaten a morsel to mop up so much drink.

‘Let’s to bed directly,’ I whispered to her.

Caro laughed at me, a laugh full of love, and I stored up that laugh for when we were old, when I might say to her, Thus do I remember you on the day we were betrothed.

In the usual way of things I would have waited on my guests, but this was neither my house nor Caro’s, and simple hospitality would not fit the Mistress’s notions. Little boys dressed as cupids handed the dishes round to those who could not reach them, and were much kissed and fondled by the women; I disliked this heathen play-acting, but gathering that the idea had been My Lady’s and was generally considered a most happy one, I complimented her on her delicate fancy. Sir John, seated opposite us, proposed a toast to our health and happiness, in a kingdom going on in the good old way, every man true to his King. My mother fluttered and said I was foolish at times but not a bad lad; I smiled at Sir John and when the toast was over, silently drank off my own, to Black Tom Fairfax. They called the sweet wine white, but it was rather a pale gold, frilled with bubbles at the glass’s edge. I had not finished the toast before another was proposed, and I was handed more wine, this time red.

Caro caught me viewing her through the glass of red wine, and again she laughed.

Sir John was in his element – the liquid one – and those around him only too willing to keep pace. This time the company was invited to wish us fine children for, said the Master, at twenty-five I was of an age when I should have issue, and he hoped he might live to see my son a loyal servant to his own, a speech that made Caro dig her nails in my hand under the table. She need not have feared. I smirked my thanks and stood to toast those who had done us so much good (the red again), after which someone toasted the House of Roche for its unfailing affability and true noblesse (another white). A cupid, his wings bedraggled, ran about with bottles and casks. Then by common consent we turned back to the food, and a quiet hum arose, punctuated by the occasional clink. There was cheesecake and spicecake, along with a most extraordinary dish, exactly like collops of bacon only sweet to the taste, cut from red and white marchpane, and at a separate table, a great heap of bridecakes. I wondered who would cleanse the foul dishes.

Caro looked hot. Having watched her eat a collop of marchpane, nibbling inwards from the edge and turning the thing about in her hand to make a circular scrap which she at last took on her tongue, I offered her another for the sake of such a pretty sight.

Joan came up and spoke quietly into Izzy’s ear. Izzy’s eyes widened, and as she moved away from our table he turned to me and whispered, ‘It seems Mervyn is sick, and accuses Mounseer of poisoning him.’

I thought of the syllabub. ‘And how would Joan know?’

‘She took cream up to the house for cheesecakes, and while she was there—’

Godfrey was at my side again. Izzy waved his hand to say I should hear the rest when he could give it me. I glanced at the Mistress, who had not the look of a woman whose cook has poisoned her son, and concluded that she, like me, fancied the poison was rather come in a winecup.

‘Jacob, the bridecakes,’ Godfrey said.

Folk began banging on the tables, calling, ‘Bridecakes, bridecakes!’ and Caro, no longer shy, dragged me up from my seat. Godfrey led us to the table with the bridecakes upon it, Caro on one side and myself on the other, bidding us kiss over it. The pile was just low enough for Caro to lift her lips above the highest one. I bent forward and kissed her to the sound of cheers and shouts; there was clapping of hands. Then there was a gasp, the clapping broke off, and I looked down to see that the hem of my coat had swept a cake off the table to the ground. The cheers resumed, but they were not so loud as they had been, and my wife’s smile when we sat down again was shot through with worry.

‘That is nothing, pure superstition,’ I told her. ‘Do but think, my love! Is it likely a cake, a piece of dough and spice that we make ourselves, should govern our lives?’

‘No,’ she answered; but her voice was uncertain.

‘Jacob is right,’ put in Izzy, who had overheard this. ‘Besides, he is big enough to protect you, is he not! And you have now two brothers to boot.’

Caro kissed his lean cheek. ‘You have always stood brother to me, Izzy.’

I wondered how he liked her saying that.

The music grew louder. Some of the young folks were for dancing, and a set was made up. They continued to dance for the sun shone bright but mild, and were ready next for snap-dragon and other nonsense. During the ceremony I had felt almost nothing, but now sat brimming with happiness. All I could see was my wife, with her trusting eyes, her cheeks made rosy by wine and the O of her lips as she watched the game. A raisin clung to the skin of her neck. Bending forward, I took it between my lips. The men near me cried, ‘Hey-hey!’

‘Jacob is mad passionate in love,’ called Zeb. ‘Pray keep him in order.’

‘In order yourself,’ I retorted. My collar was seized from behind and a shower of raisins fell down my back; whirling round I clapped hold of the trickster and found I had caught Izzy, crept out of his place. I jumped up and caught him in my arms. Caro rose to embrace him also.

‘A very comfortable lass,’ he panted. ‘She doesn’t squeeze like you,’ whereupon Caro did squeeze him, and he her, until they collapsed in laughter.

With the day scarce begun, we had all of us drunk too deep. Sir John was singing, in a voice like boiling jam, about a wencb who had two – his wife here put her hand over his mouth. Something dropping down my shirt, I felt inside and found a tiny heart of scarlet marchpane entangled in my chest hair.

‘They get everywhere,’ said Peter, giving me a lewd wink from across the table.

O could I but run away with her! I had now the right to take her openly to my bed, yet I must go instead through all the merriments of the day, which rightly seen were nothing more than tortures. That was fine sport, I guessed, baiting the eager bridegroom with dances and toasts until he was near crazy. I had never before tasted the cruelty of it. The winks, the looks, the jests all assuming me to be on fire – which I was – the constant fanning of my heat by dangling before me the delights I should come to soon, soon, soon, but not yet—

Caro frowned. ‘Look here, my love.’ She held out a finger: a pretty scarlet globe of liquid swelled from the pad, ran over and trickled down her palm. Exasperated, she put the finger to her mouth.

‘What’s amiss?’

‘The rose chaplet,’ she mumbled. ‘The gardener left some thorns in.’

‘Hold your hand up,’ suggested My Lady.

Caro did so, but the stream of red continued. ‘Fingers are nasty for bleeding,’ she lamented, and put it back in her mouth before it could stain the gown.

‘We will tie it up,’ I said. ‘Are there fresh bandages in the stillroom?’

Caro stopped sucking just long enough to say, ‘Aye.’

‘Come on then.’ I rose. There was a general catcalling and cries of, ‘Hot!’ and ‘Caro, beware!’

‘You will excuse us a few minutes, Madam,’ I said.

The Mistress nodded. Caro followed me out of the maze with her hand poised above her head as if to give a signal.

The stillroom smelt sweet. I put my mouth in hers and we kissed very slow and deep, my love holding the injured hand away from our finery. Profiting by her lack of defences, I held her close to me and crushed the gown.

Caro drew back her head. ‘Wait. Here’s the stuff,’ and she pulled away from my embrace to open a drawer full of torn linen. I recognised an old shirt of Sir Bastard’s. Taking one of the finer strips, I tore it in two and bound up the finger, pausing frequently to kiss.

‘The blood’s almost stopped,’ she remarked in a brisk voice which did not fool me, for I had felt her breathe hard against my mouth.

‘Stopped? Mine is rising,’ I murmured. ‘Let us go upstairs and look at the chamber. Say yes, Caro,’ and I bit her ear.

She closed her eyes. ‘We are not to see it yet.’

‘None will know. We can seek out the traps,’ I coaxed, knowing she had a horror of spiders in the bed and was mightily afraid the menservants would put some in.

Caro frowned. ‘Well – if we do not stay long—’

The scent of dust and emptiness was gone, the room now fragrant with roses and pot-pourri. Anne had looped ropes of flowers over the bed and walls, and doubtless managed it better than Patience could ever have done. The floor was strewn thick with rosemary. There was a nonsuch chest for our clothes – that had not been there before – and on it a great bunch of lavender. I dearly loved the perfume of this herb and went up to the chest to smell it.

‘Izzy,’ said Caro. ‘He knows you like lavender.’

She was gazing at the tester bed. New hangings of saye had been fitted, and tied back to show the linen all clean and fair over three good mattresses. The hangings were flesh colour and yellow, signifying desire and joy.

‘Did you choose the colours?’ I asked.

Caro smiled and shook her head. ‘I was told it would be blue.’

I stroked the bolsters with my hand and looked beneath them. On top of the cover lay an embroidered nightgown for Caro and a plainer, but still beautifully worked, one for me. Mine was very large and I knew my wife had made it specially, as a wedding gift.

‘No spiders or hedgehogs,’ I said, passing my hand between the sheets. I took hold of her again, and we pressed close. Her mouth was sweet as crushed strawberries.

‘Enough.’ Caro ducked out of my arms. I thought of grappling her to me directly, and the guests be damned. She went on, ‘For every minute we stay, there will be a jest at us. It might be they are in the stillroom already.’

Reluctantly, I straightened my garments.

‘Giving of gifts comes next.’ Caro examined the bandaged finger. ‘See, the blood is—O, what’s that?’

She was staring out of the window. I went to it and saw a dustcloud moving towards Beaurepair, along the hill road which led to the village and further on, to Champains.

‘Jacob, what is it?’ Her voice trembled. ‘You look—’

I punched the windowsill, making her jump. ‘It is Patience. And Biggin. And Tom Cornish.’

‘Patience!’ Caro’s smile flared an instant and died. ‘With Cornish? That man who – spies?’

I nodded, trying to make out the faces of their companions.

Caro tugged at my sleeve. ‘What should she do with him?’

‘Quiet.’ I watched the distant woman’s skirts rise and fall with the horse. Zeb had been right, then, and it struck me that they were hoping to catch all of us at a swoop. This was why they had lain so quiet: Patience had told them of my betrothal day and they had waited, knowing that on this day, of all others, we would not be away from home.

I turned to Caro. ‘Listen, wife. There is not time to explain. These people mean us harm. We must leave.’

‘What – what harm?’ she stuttered. ‘How can we leave – the gifts—’

‘Run away.’

Caro gaped, then laughed. ‘You’ll not make a fool of me. You can’t see them from here.’

I took her by the shoulders and spoke into her face. ‘It may be that you cannot, but I can. Go get all the money and jewels there are, put them under your gown.’

‘I have none but—’

‘Hers, get hers,’ I cried. ‘These men are come for me. Then go the long way round to the stable, and wait.’

‘But they are not – how are they come for you?’

‘Come to hang me. Shape yourself! Stand here losing time, and you’ll see me kicking my heels.’

‘That can’t be. A man can’t just come—’

‘And then it will be you. Don’t you see? She has told them of our reading!’

Caro stared at me stupidly. ‘To be hanged? For that? Nay, they—’

‘Must I spell it out? They’ll put the boy’s death on us now.’

She flinched away in terror.

‘Get her jewels,’ I repeated, feeling myself in a nightmare wherein I was running for my life and everything conspired to hold me back.

‘But she has been—’

‘Obey your husband,’ I shouted. Caro whirled about and ran through the door. I heard her high-heeled shoes thud along the corridor in the direction of the Mistress’s chamber.

One of the cupids was taking off his wings by the fountain. I hurried to the lad, bade him find the groomsmen, that was Mister Isaiah Cullen and Mister Zebedee, and say they should come at once, on a matter of great importance. ‘And don’t shout it out,’ I urged, showing him a penny. ‘Whisper in their ears, and fetch them back here.’

He ran off and I paced the grass, moaning with impatience. I had not told Caro the entire truth. The three persons I had named were indeed making towards us, but so were a larger group of men from Champains. It seemed my eyes were very much better than hers, for I had also seen muskets, and, hanging from one saddle, a chain.

My brothers arrived together, hot and breathless.

‘Is Caro hurt?’ Izzy panted as I handed the boy his penny. ‘Or is this some jest?’

I waited until the lad was out of earshot before saying, ‘There is an armed party coming along the Champains road: Patience, Walshe and Comish. With reinforcements.’

Never had I seen Zeb look so terrified. His warm colour drained at once. ‘Coming for me?’ he faltered.

‘Why you?’ Izzy’s voice was sharp.

‘Patience – the boy – but that’s none of my doing! You will bear witness, I gave of my tobacco—’

‘Friends do fall out,’ I said. ‘Can you prove you were not with him when he went under?’

Zeb grew paler still. ‘I was asleep in the chamber. But we can none of us stand witness for our brothers! Who will believe us?’

‘Patience? You are sure?’ Izzy urged me.

‘Yes! Yes! And we have no proof against her accusations.’

‘Nor has she any,’ he said.

‘She has her belly to prove some knowledge of us,’ I retorted. ‘And to come thus, they must believe the rest. Let’s be gone.’

Izzy said, ‘We all of us went to bed that night—’

‘They have joined together, and we sink or swim together,’ I cried.

‘Caro is gone to the stable with money and jewels. Will you seize the time?’

They stared at me, Izzy’s eyes screwed up in bewilderment, Zeb’s slowly clearing into decision.

‘You mean run away?’ Izzy asked at last. ‘Now, as we are?’ He looked from Zeb to me as if trying which of us would laugh first and spoil the jest.

Zeb caught hold of him. ‘I see it, Izz. Come with us, for the love of God,’ and he pulled Izzy along in the direction of the stable.

‘Indeed I will not!’ my elder brother cried, flinging about him. He knocked Zeb’s hand away. ‘I’ve done no wrong.’

‘Tisn’t what you’ve done, but what folk think,’ Zeb pleaded.

‘And if we cut away like a gang of thieves? What will they think then?’

‘Do what you will, I am going now,’ I said.

Izzy said, ‘You have doubtless your reasons.’ His eyes were suddenly grown cold. ‘But take Caro? To what purpose?’

‘She is my wife.’

‘Consider the danger you put her to.’

‘She is my wife,’ I repeated, feeling an obscure shame in the words as I turned and strode towards the stable. Zeb ran after me, then turned back and embraced Izzy. When he at last caught me up his cheeks were wet.

‘We lose time,’ I snapped.

Caro waited, bejewelled and trembling, at the stable door. I coughed at the scent of piss and straw, setting myself to obey Zeb’s orders for he was the only one who knew what he did.

‘Courage, child,’ he called to Caro as he ran about clutching spurs and whips. He was quick in saddling up.

‘Get up behind me,’ I called to Caro as I was about to mount.

‘Behind me, fool,’ Zeb hissed. ‘You’re too big and she needs to be with one who can ride. Give her a hand.’

‘The saddle’s wrong for a woman,’ Caro wailed. Shaking, clawing at Zeb’s coat, she put one leg across the horse, her gown bunching out fantastically on either side. The animal started forward.

‘Don’t squeeze him,’ Zeb rapped out. ‘Put your arms round me.’

‘I can’t do this.’ She was in tears.

‘O, but you will,’ he replied.

‘Jacob,’ she quavered, ‘let us stay. The Mistress loves me, she will not permit—’

‘Can she turn back musket balls? There are armed men.’ I urged my horse forward through the door and we were out in the stable yard. Despite having Caro behind him, Zeb soon passed me. I saw his hair whip back into her face. The cobbles shone in the sun; there was a flash, and one of the sapphire earrings dropped into the straw and muck of the yard.