He looked east along Cheapside. That’s where Justine was, across the city at Uncle Richard’s fine house on Bishopsgate Street. He wished he’d been able to speak to his uncle in private at the palace to ask whether Justine had told him about their decision to marry, but as soon as the Queen authorized the inquiry his uncle had left. Not before voicing his agreement with the plan, though. “Cautiously pleased with the idea,” he had told Elizabeth. As he took his leave from her and Sir William he had murmured, in passing Will at his desk, “Well done, lad.”
From Cheapside, the V made by Milk Street and Wood Street ran north. Will took Wood Street, its traffic and commerce thinner, its noise more subdued. The light, too, was dimming, and birds were settling in to roost for the night in the eaves of the Bowyers’ Hall and the Brewers’ Hall. He was approaching the compact graveyard of St. Olave’s, where ancient yew trees stood sentinel. Their shaggy branches drooped over his father’s grave. Will never passed the spot without feeling a needle of the terror ten years ago when he had seen his father stagger and fall, bristling with Grenville arrows.
“Buy a posy, sir?”
“What?” He turned away from the tombstones. A scrawny woman was offering him a clutch of violets.
“For the grave, sir. Your loved one?”
“Ah. No, thank you.”
He strode on, glad to be near his destination. This neck of Wood Street was his mother’s neighborhood, Cripplegate Ward. He passed the Castle Inn where the smell of manure wafted from the expansive innyard. The inn offered bed and board and stabling for travelers, and its yard was a hub for porters riding with deliveries to and from the city. Among the people passing by outside it were a couple of faces Will knew. He nodded a greeting to Henry Pierson, his mother’s neighbor, a goldsmith and moneylender, who absently nodded back, in conversation with a fancifully dressed fellow, a tout that Pierson employed to wind in young gents in need of cash. Money, Will thought. Who isn’t in need of it? Two blocks ahead lay Cripplegate which led through the city wall out into Moorfields with its market gardens, public archery butts, hedgerows where laundresses spread out sheets, and tenting yards where apprentices stretched wool cloth on tenterhooks, while beyond them creaked the windmills of Finsbury Fields. All those folk would be heading for home now, Will reckoned. His own path did not lead through Cripplegate. Dusk was deepening as he turned west onto his mother’s street.
Silver Street was a quiet byway one block long. It lay in a pocket of houses tucked into the northwest angle of the city’s wall. In former times it had been home to silversmiths, but now its denizens included a catchpenny printer, a needlemaker, a pewterer, a jeweler, a scrivener, a porter, a clothworker, and a saddler, as well as the goldsmith Will had passed. Their shops took up the street level of their houses, the families living on the second floor, and servants and apprentices in the small rooms of the attics. The upper stories jutted out into the narrow street, cutting out what little twilight was left. Will passed a link boy with a glowing lantern heading for Wood Street to make a penny or two by lighting the way of gentlemen going out to sup. Otherwise, the street was deserted.
His mother’s house stood at the crooked intersection with Monkwell Street. Bits of chaff, disturbed by the faint breeze, scurried past the doorstep of the printer’s shop next door. Three hens pecked at spilled grain. Behind a shuttered window, a baby cried. In the lane between the houses, the Parkers’ cow in their back garden stood scratching its shoulder against a post.
Will found his mother in the parlor sitting in darkness before the cold hearth. She looked like a ghost, a shadowy silhouette in the twilight. Eyes closed, head up, her back as straight as an arrow, she wore a cloak over her gray dress. Was she preparing to go out?
“It’s dark as a tunnel in here, Mother,” he said pleasantly. “Light the candles, why don’t you?”
Startled, she twisted to look at him, peering through the gloom as though she didn’t recognize him. Then, in a heartbeat, a look of bittersweet surprise washed over her face. “Will! You remembered.”
“Remembered?” he asked, coming to her. It saddened him how the ghostly light deepened the lines around her sunken eyes and hollowed out her cheeks. She was much younger than her brother, Uncle Richard, but had none of his vigor.
“Ten years, Will. Ten years to the day.”
It shook him as he realized. Father. June. The thunder of horses’ hooves that day. The swords, the arrows. The blood.
“I’ve just come from his resting place.” She sprang to her feet, agile in her fervor. “Would you like to go and talk to him? Come, we’ll go together.”
“You’ve just got back.”
“I don’t mind. It’s where I feel closest to him.”
“No. Let’s stay. It’s almost dark.” He hated reliving the horror. Unlike his mother. She visited the grave every day. She had made it her mission to never forget. “Come, take off your cloak and let’s have some light,” he said. “Where’s Susan?” He’d seen no sign of the maid.
She shrugged. “Getting supper.”
Will was eager to dispel her melancholy. “Here,” he said, presenting the burlap square. “For a sweet.”
She mustered a smile. “I can smell it. Gingerbread.” She kissed his cheek, her touch as dry as a winter leaf. “Such a good boy,” she murmured.
They looked at each other for a quiet moment, she gazing at him with that sad smile he knew so well. She would try to be merry for his sake. He was grateful. He felt too happy today to pretend otherwise.
“Off with this,” he said, whirling off her cloak. He took it to the passage and hung it up. The house smelled faintly of apples. A single stubby candle of tallow guttered on the table by the door to the kitchen. He carried it back to the parlor. “Let there be light,” he said, heading to the cold hearth. With the flame he lit the tall wax candles on either end of the mantel, then went about the room lighting every other candle, one on the desk, one on the windowsill, one on the small table with its scatter of books.
“Can you stay?” she asked.
“With pleasure. I could eat an ox.” He was lighting the lantern that hung over the desk. “What’s the fare?”
“Leg of mutton. Richard sent it.”
Will was glad, and not surprised. Uncle Richard was generous to his sister in actions large and small. He had offered to buy her a grander house across town, but she would not leave Will’s father, buried in St. Olave’s down the street.
“There, that’s better,” he said, his task of lighting the room done. He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Now, have you a bottle of claret? We’ll drink to the health of Sir William.”
“Oh, dear, I hope he is not ill.”
“Far from it. He is prodigiously delighted with the prodigious talents of your prodigious son.”
“As well he should be,” she said with a smile of pride in her voice. It did Will’s heart good to hear the smile.
“And he has made it known to same prodigious son that a sinecure will soon be his. Mine, that is. Indeed, the gentleman is so pleased with me, I daresay he would have given me the post of principal secretary to the Queen if he did not already fill it himself.”
She was astonished. “What?”
“Ah yes, vast riches await us, Mother.” He chuckled at his own nonsense. “Well, riches enough to buy your own leg of mutton and a bottle of claret whenever you fancy. Sir William has promised me a reward at court. I shall be the Royal Holder of the Royal Mop and gather in the gold that every man must pay me for a license to sell mop heads.” He saw her bewilderment and reined in his high spirits. “Jesting aside, Mother, he has given me a secretarial post that brings a modest income, and for his faith in me I am heartily grateful.”
Now she understood. “Oh, Will, this is good news.”
He couldn’t resist. “Only a beginning.” He winked at her. “I’ll be holder of some fat royal patent yet.”
She smiled. “Yes, yes, I am sure you shall. Now, sit you down and tell me more.
” She settled herself on the cushioned oak bench and patted the spot beside her. “How has this come about?”
He didn’t want to sit. He was too keyed up. “Indeed, I shall tell you more.” Though not about the meeting, of course; the Queen’s deliberations were confidential. “You know what this means? This income?”
“That it has made you brainsick?”
He laughed. “Besides that. It means I can take a wife.”
Her eyes widened. “Have you someone in mind?”
“I do.” He saw that he had surprised her. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I wanted Uncle Richard’s consent first.”
“Of course. Richard is the head of our family.” She didn’t look displeased, just keen to know. “Is it the Hargrave girl? I saw you speaking to her at church.”
He shook his head, amused. Mary Hargrave was a timid little mouse, nothing like his quicksilver Justine. “No. Someone else.” He sat down beside her after all and took her hand. She looked all interest, waiting. “I’m going to marry Uncle Richard’s ward. Justine Thornleigh.”
Her eyes did not leave his. There was an odd stillness about her.
She gave a small, strange laugh. “I am not sure marriage is right for you just now.”
“Oh,” he said heartily, “I’m quite sure it is.”
“Come, come, Will, it really is too soon. You’re too young.”
“I’m not, actually.”
“You’re not thinking clearly. A pretty face will do that to a man. Truly, son, you have not thought this through. You have your way to make in the world.”
“I am. It’s happening.” He got to his feet. “I told you, Sir William—”
“Promises are not gold pieces. Let’s wait and see what comes of it. Besides, your law term resumes at Michaelmas.”
“Great heaven, I won’t wait for September. Anyway, I’m done with all that. I’m leaving Gray’s Inn. My future is at court.”
She looked so flustered he realized he really should have prepared her for this change. “All right, at court,” she said. “Then you need to concentrate on that, don’t you. You can’t be tied down by . . . a wife . . . children.”
He almost laughed. “Children? We haven’t even posted the banns yet.”
She flashed angry eyes at him. “Marriage is serious. It can take a bitter turn. Look at Adam. He had to escape.”
Her anger took him aback. He didn’t follow. His cousin Adam was away on a trade voyage. In any case, what did Adam’s sour marriage have to do with him? She seemed to be getting things mixed up. He said to her clearly, distinctly, to get her back on track, “Mother, I am going to marry Justine Thornleigh. I wish you’d give me your blessing.”
Abruptly, she stood. “You don’t know who she is. Where she comes from.”
Was that her objection? Only that Justine had been left orphaned by some distant Thornleigh relation? “My uncle knows. Ask him for the family tree specifics if it means that much to you. I assure you, it doesn’t to me. I love her and she loves me and we want to marry.”
She gaped at him. She seemed to be trembling. It astonished Will. Was she frightened at the prospect of him leaving her? “Mother, I’ll still be in London,” he assured her. “You can live with me and Justine, if you like. We’d be happy to—”
“Never! I won’t allow this. Richard won’t allow it. You, entrapped by that . . . devil’s spawn!”
5
A Mission for the Queen
“I visited my mother last night,” Will said. “And what she told me . . .” He didn’t finish.
At his hesitation Justine felt a chill. She had noticed his worried face the moment she saw him. Meet me at St. Paul’s, his note had said. It reached her at breakfast and she had hurried to the rendezvous spot, the outdoor bookstalls tucked between the cathedral’s buttresses. People milled around them, browsing, chattering, haggling with booksellers. Justine suddenly felt too hot, the sun so strong. All she could think was, His mother is Lord Thornleigh’s sister. If she knows who I really am . . . did she tell him?
Will plowed a hand through his hair. He looked more troubled than Justine had ever seen him. “I told her we wanted to marry. What she told me was . . . well, it was so extreme I still can’t believe it.”
Her heart kicked in her chest. She told him I’m a Grenville. The feud between the families . . . It’s how his father died. Now he hates me!
He said, his voice tight, “She was quite distraught.”
She looked away, feeling close to panic. Her thoughts tripped over themselves as she tried to think what to say to bring him back to her. I was a child when it happened, Will. It has nothing to do with us!
“Justine, it was rash of me, I know. I sprang the news on her with no preparation. Pure selfishness. I wanted her blessing because I don’t want to wait. I want us to be together, forever.” He grabbed her hand. “Forgive me?”
She blinked at him, stunned. It didn’t matter to him, after all, that she was born a Grenville? She dared to hope. “Forgive . . . ?”
“For bringing on my mother’s antagonism. I have no idea what spurred it. Maybe just because I bungled the news so badly, or maybe it’s some irrational fear she has of losing me. Whatever the cause, she was so upset she refused to explain or even to speak about it further. I wanted to stay with her in the hope of winning her over, but a message came from Sir William calling me back to court. I couldn’t even stay to sup with her. I worked late at the palace and spent the night there.” He shook his head with a look of exasperation at his own failure. “I’m afraid I left her in an awful state.”
“I’m . . . so sorry,” Justine managed to say, squeezing his hand, quickly collecting herself. So his mother had not told him! It sent a surge of relief through her that left her almost dizzy. He doesn’t know.
“I have just one question,” he said.
She held her breath. Did he suspect? “Oh?”
“Have you spoken to my uncle? Did you get his blessing?”
She quickly said, “Yes.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Both Lord and Lady Thornleigh had been warm in their approval of Will. She kept to herself the fact that they had also made her promise to tell him the truth.
He was clearly relieved. “Good. Because I’m afraid my mother may urge him to forbid our marriage.”
Justine flinched. “Would she do that?”
“It doesn’t matter. My uncle is the head of our house. Don’t mistake me, I love and honor my mother, but if she takes such an action against us . . . well, I would no longer feel constrained by filial duty. Because nothing has changed, Justine. With or without my mother’s blessing, as long as you are steadfast of heart, mine is yours forever. We shall be wed.” He still held her hand, and now he pressed it to his chest. “I wish it could be today. But I have no living yet. I hope to very soon—Sir William has all but promised it to me. But for now . . .” He looked almost as agitated as before, but this time excitement shone in his eyes. “For now, my darling Justine, will you seal my happiness by betrothal?”
Her heart leapt. Betrothal! It was almost like being married. “Oh, Will. Yes! When?”
“Right now.” He grinned. “Right here.” He beckoned to a stocky young man who was watching them surreptitiously across a table laden with books. He wore the black garb of a vicar. “A friend of mine in holy orders,” Will told Justine, then winked at her. “I hoped, you see.”
She laughed in delight. “I do, indeed.”
The young churchman joined them, a shy smile on his round face. Will introduced him . “The Reverend John Stubbs. We studied together at Gray’s Inn.”
Stubbs corrected him. “I studied, mistress. Will did nothing but talk of you.”
She laughed and told him she was very pleased to make his acquaintance, and indeed she felt so happy she could have hugged the fellow. “Oh,” she said in sudden dismay, turning to Will, “but I have no ring to give you.” The one she always used to wear, a favorite of lapis lazuli, she had given to Alice on the ni
ght of the fireworks.
“No matter,” Will said, digging in his doublet pocket, “I have brought two.”
She grinned. “You are thorough, Will Croft.”
“The lawyer’s mind,” he said, tapping his temple. He displayed the rings on his palm—two identical, thin, unadorned silver bands. Plain though they were, Justine knew the cost would have eaten into Will’s slight stock of cash. She loved the rings. Loved him.
“And now,” he said, “we must make haste before Sir William realizes I have not yet returned from the palace library with the documents he requested.”
“Then why are we still talking?” she said gaily and plucked up one of the rings. “This will be mine to you.”
“Shall we begin, then?” the vicar asked. He and Will ushered Justine into the bay formed by a huge buttress jutting from the cathedral. Here they were out of the throng and in shade from the bright sun. The grass, untrammeled by passersby, was springy underfoot. The cool, high stone buttress rose around them like a protective arm.
A soberness fell over them as the vicar began the ceremony. He took his office seriously. The ritual was brief, but every word of it thrilled Justine. She and Will both, in turn, affirmed and declared that they were free to marry. They both, in turn, pledged their troth and slid a ring onto the finger of the other. It constituted a solemn vow that they would marry one another sometime in the future, a vow that the church and everyone in Christendom accepted as a legal and binding contract.
Barbara Kyle - [Thornleigh 05] Page 7