by June Francis
‘I had for a while,’ said Beth, sighing. ‘Why did you have to remind me when I was having such an amusing time?’
‘So you find this episode amusing!’ Gawain swore. ‘Phillip Hurst is immature and you could put his life in danger if you persisted with this foolishness. Have you forgotten so soon the danger you could be in? I cannot allow you to marry him, Beth.’
Beth was guilt-stricken. ‘Aye, I had, but frankly neither of us believed for a moment you would agree.’
Gawain groaned. ‘Then why did you bother continuing with this farce?’
She sighed. ‘I understood his frustration for not having had the opportunity to do what he so longs to do.’
‘We all have our frustrations, Beth,’ said Gawain, his dark blue eyes fastened on her mouth, ‘and must deal with them as best we can. Still, I wonder if Chris Hurst knows of Pip’s ambition to be an actor.’
‘No, he does not,’ said Beth, frowning. ‘Which I deem is a pity. If he did know, then perhaps he might allow his brother to live his dream for a short while? Even if it is simply in the hope that Phillip will see the perils and pitfalls that such a life would entail so that, when he returns home, he will be content to settle down again.’
‘Perhaps you have a good idea there,’ said Gawain, struck by her perception. ‘I will speak to him, but in the meantime you can read Nick’s journal.’
Beth nodded. ‘Pip seems to think it can be improved on.’
Gawain raised his eyebrows. ‘An expert, is he?’
‘He told me that he is a storyteller,’ said Beth. ‘If he is good, then he could earn himself a fair purse in the halls of noblemen.’
‘Perhaps, but that is not my concern,’ said Gawain. ‘Hopefully I will also be able to read the journal before we attend Bartholomew Fair.’
Beth felt a stir of pleasurable excitement. ‘I will need to arrange with Master Stanton and the bookbinder when the journal can be printed and bound. Hopefully it will be done in time for Nick Hurst’s birthday.’
Gawain nodded. ‘I can see no cause for delay. Now you may go whilst I speak to Pip. Don’t forget the journal. I am hoping it will guarantee that you will stay out of mischief,’ he added drily.
Beth smiled. ‘May I ask of you a boon?’
‘If it is in my power to grant and is within reason,’ he said cautiously.
‘I am in no mood to entertain Master Bigbury. Could you not send a message saying I am indisposed? You can cross him and Phillip off the list of suitors,’ she said, her eyes twinkling. ‘We shall have to conjure up some others.’
He shook his head at her, a smile hovering about his lips. ‘All right! But go now before I lose all patience with you.’
Without thinking, she blew him a kiss and went to collect Nick Hurst’s journal and took her farewell of Phillip before hurrying from the hall.
Gawain stared after her hungrily and wished they could have kissed in reality. She had such soft lips and he longed to explore the sweetness of her mouth. He groaned inwardly and knew he must soon remove her from his sphere before he gave in to temptation. If only he had thought to discuss his marriage with the Cardinal whilst he was there, he might have known where he stood in regard to his relationship with Mary, but it had been somewhat of a hasty meeting. Perhaps next time.
Beth had forgotten completely about Gawain’s plan to speak to Cardinal Wolsey. Instead her mind was occupied with deciphering Nick Hurst’s handwriting, but she had no real difficulty as it was clear and precise. She soon realised that his younger brother had hit the nail on the head in his opinion of his brother’s writing. Restrained was the word, thought Beth. There was much to interest and fascinate and it just needed some alteration here and there.
When Beth had finished reading the journal she handed it over to Gawain on his return from the Weald two days later.
‘So, what is your opinion of Nick Hurst from what you have read?’ he asked, gazing down at her.
‘He’s probably the right kind of man to have with you if you find yourself with your back against the wall,’ she replied.
‘Definitely one of your brave and daring heroes, then,’ said Gawain, his fingers brushing hers as he took the journal from her.
Their eyes caught and Beth found herself waiting expectantly as her heart raced at that brief contact with his skin, which had sent a tingle right through her.
Gawain cleared his throat. ‘You have nothing more to say about him?’
Beth recollected herself. ‘Disappointingly he also seems to be a man lacking in wit.’
‘Perhaps he thought it would be wasted if he was only writing for himself,’ said Gawain, knowing that he must keep his thoughts firmly focused on the subject in hand instead of ravishing her. ‘He does have a dry sense of humour.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Beth. ‘There are also some drawings that would make excellent woodcuts. Especially for those readers interested in shipbuilding.’
Gawain turned over the well-thumbed pages. ‘I see what you mean. The Portuguese ocean-going vessels are different in construction from the English ships that are used to sail along the coast and cross to Europe.’
‘Perhaps he is of a mind that one day Englishmen will decide that they, too, would like to see the New World for themselves,’ said Beth in a careful voice.
Gawain glanced at her swiftly. ‘Are you hinting that there is work for our shipyards if this were to happen?’
‘Aye, but perhaps Master Nick Hurst would rather not have those drawings included in any book of his travels that we might decide to print for the general reader,’ said Beth. ‘He might wish to keep them to himself.’
‘Clever, thoughtful Beth,’ said Gawain, respect in his eyes. ‘I will read this and we will discuss it when I have done so.’
Beth almost burst with pleasure due to the compliment he had paid her. As she went upstairs to her bedchamber to change for supper she thought how good it was to converse with him on matters that interested them both. She was glad that he had made no more mention of selling the business or buying shares in it, but had found work for the presses instead.
It was several days before Gawain was ready to talk to Beth about the journal.
‘So, what is your opinion of it?’ asked Beth eagerly. ‘Do we print a hundred copies?’
‘Not so fast, Beth,’ said Gawain, grinning. ‘Certainly print a single copy of the actual journal as it is for Nick, but then I would split it into two separate slim volumes, one to be a tale of his adventures. You might wish to involve young Pip in any improvements to make it more exciting than it is at the moment.’
She was disappointed, although she knew what he said made sense. ‘And the other volume?’
‘A shipwright’s handbook with drawings, but it might require more information. We would need to speak to Chris Hurst about that in Nick’s absence.’
‘Having read it, are you not tempted to build one of these ocean-going vessels in your shipyard?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps, but I am no shipwright and have no love of the sea or travel,’ he said. ‘My heart is in the land.’
Beth could understand how he felt. She had grown fond of this corner of England despite her eagerness to visit the print room again. ‘Can a messenger be sent to the Hurst household to inform the brothers of our plans?’
Gawain nodded. ‘I am glad that you are able to accept that it is best that we work together, you and I, so that your business continues to be a success.’
Had she accepted that they work together? thought Beth. ‘Are you still of a mind that I should sell shares in the business?’ she asked in a careful voice.
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Shall we make a decision about that after our visit to London to attend Bartholomew Fair?’ he suggested. ‘What I do suggest is that, if Chris Hurst agrees, we start by printing the hundred copies of Nick’s adventures I put to you earlier.’
She agreed, believing that they would sell and knowing she was looking forward to spend
ing time in the city with Gawain, hoping to enjoy all the fun of the fair despite that which still gave her cause for concern on occasions: finding her father and Jonathan’s murderer.
Chapter Eight
Beth unfastened her cloak and hung the garment on the back of the door of her bedchamber at her London home. She had experienced a deep sadness entering the building, knowing that she was the last of the family who had once spent happy hours here. As she had passed through various rooms, she could almost hear her mother’s warm voice welcoming her. In a way it was good to be home because there were so many memories tied up with this house. Yet at the same time she questioned whether she’d ever be able to become accustomed again to the noise and the bustle, as well as the stench of the narrow city streets in high summer. Already she was missing the fresh Kentish air of Gawain’s manor, but at least he was here with her. An overwhelming happiness shot through her at the thought of spending the next few days in his company. Up until recently, Catherine was supposed to be accompanying them to London, but then suddenly she had changed her mind, saying that she could not cope with the hustle and bustle of the city. Beth did attempt to try to persuade her to come, but Gawain’s aunt would not budge.
Beth hummed a country tune as she unpacked and thought how it would be good to lose themselves in the crowds. For a moment she thought of Gawain’s wife and then she tilted her chin and told herself that she was not going to feel guilty. If Mary bore him any love at all, then she should be spending time with him herself. Beth was beginning to have her doubts about Mary’s reasons for staying away so long. Even if the old aunt was ill unto death, surely she had servants enough to take care of her so as to allow her niece to go home every now and again with her children to visit her husband?
The song died on Beth’s lips and she sighed, wishing Gawain could be honest with her. If he had made an unhappy marriage himself, she wished he could swallow his pride and tell her. If it were so did that bode well or ill for any advice he might give about her entering the matrimonial state?
She changed out of her travelling garments and washed her hands and face and tidied her hair before taking Nick Hurst’s journal and two handwritten revised copies of it from the top of the chest where she had placed them. As she left her bedchamber and went downstairs there was no sound or sight of Gawain. Neither could she see Jane anywhere, so she must be doing what she would said she would do and was hiring a cook and a couple of maids for their sojourn in London.
Beth went into the yard to the rear of the house and passed through a door in a dividing wall, so entering her other premises. She walked up the yard and into the printing workshop to discover that Gawain had arrived ahead of her and was talking to Master Stanton, the master printer. She stood watching them, feeling slightly put out that her guardian had not waited for her so they could enter the building together. She breathed in the familiar, comforting odours of ink and glue and leather and watched the compositor locking lines of lead type together in preparation of inking them with a leather pad ready for the printing press that was not in use.
The bookbinder and his apprentice sat at another bench, sewing pages together and appeared completely absorbed in their task. She noticed printed pages hanging on a line for the ink to dry and thought of her father and the pride he had taken in producing tidy copy. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
Suddenly Gawain turned his head. ‘So there you are,’ he said, smiling.
‘Aye, I’m here,’ she said lightly. ‘And little seems to have changed, except for—’ She did not finish because there was no need.
A pause and then her master printer said, ‘It’s good to see you back, Mistress Llewellyn. I don’t think I need to say what is in my heart about the master as you know how fond we all were of him.’
‘Of course I do,’ said Beth, walking slowly over to Master Stanton. She shook his hand and then asked what work it was that was on the press that was in operation.
‘It’s a reprint of Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales,’ he replied. ‘It was Sir Gawain who suggested it when he was last here. With all the folk in town for the fair, he thought that we could sell quite a number of copies if we had them in the shop in time.’
Beth considered it an excellent idea, but why had Gawain not mentioned it to her? Surely they should have discussed it before his giving the order to go ahead with the print run. She tried to conceal how she felt as she did not wish to spoil this time together, so said, ‘What an excellent notion of yours, Sir Gawain! The very best of books for those who have travelled in any kind of company to get here.’
Gawain’s eyes rested on her face. ‘I am glad you feel like that. I should perhaps have consulted you, but there was not much time. And talking of travellers—do we not have a different kind of traveller’s tale for the presses, Beth?’
‘Oh!’ said Beth, taking the journal and manuscripts from beneath her arm. ‘You have mentioned it already?’
‘Only briefly. Your part in preparing it for the presses has been much greater than mine and you know much more about the whole process of printing, so I thought you’d enjoy explaining exactly what you want done to Master Stanton yourself.’
She thought his words went some way to lessen her concern that he might ease her out from too much involvement in the business. ‘That is generous of you, but if you were to stay here long enough, then I’m certain you will soon know as much as I do about the whole process.’
‘Another time,’ he said, touching her cheek lightly. ‘There are people I must see before tomorrow.’
She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. ‘Will you be back in time for supper?’
‘Hopefully. In the meantime, see what you think of the suggestion I have made to your master printer.’ He took her hand raised it to his lips and kissed it before taking his farewell.
Beth brushed her lips with her hand where he had touched it and sighed. Then she became aware that the men were watching her and she flushed before turning to Master Stanton. ‘I would like some woodcuts made of the drawings that you will find within the board-bound pages here, but they are also to be included in the pages I have tied with a blue ribbon. I want just two copies of the original journal and a hundred of the thicker of the other two manuscripts. Hopefully we will need to print more of that one if the first hundred sells well. See the original journal is taken to the woodcutter today. You will store it until then in the metal box. Also make certain the other two manuscripts are placed with your other copies waiting to be printed in the iron chest here and locked away.’
‘Certainly, Mistress Llewellyn. When do you want us to make a start?’ he asked.
‘As soon as you have finished the work you have on the presses at the moment.’ She smiled. ‘So what did Sir Gawain suggest to you?’
‘That the wood from his forest on the Weald be used for the woodcuts,’ said the master printer. ‘He will supply it free of charge.’
‘That is thoughtful of him.’ Beth hesitated before asking her next question. ‘Have there been any unsavoury characters snooping around here after the news of my father’s murder was made known?’
‘None that I noticed, Mistress Llewellyn.’
‘And our regular customers—they have not fallen away because of what happened?’
He shrugged. ‘One or two, but most appeared as shocked as we were by your father’s murder and want to continue to give you their support. Don’t you worry, Mistress Llewellyn, I’m sure the filth who perpetrated this terrible crime will be caught before he can do any more harm.’
Beth could only hope that was true and left him to get on with his work, whilst she checked the accounts. She thought again of her father and wished he could see her now and be pleased. She spoke to the other men and the apprentice, helping to carry in some of the books that were ready to be sold; one she took home with her, loving the feel and smell of the small volume, straight off the press.
Several neighbours had got wind of her return and had co
me not only to express their condolences in person, but were also curious about Sir Gawain, wanting to know if her return was permanent or whether she would be returning to his country house. She decided it was best to provide them with no definite answer. It was a relief when Jane arrived with the women she had hired and her neighbours left her alone. She approved Jane’s choice of temporary servants and then, after deciding what to have for supper, she retired to her parlour to read about Chaucer’s pilgrims until her guardian returned.
Beth glanced up with a welcome in her eyes as the door opened. Gawain entered the parlour, but he looked none too happy and the light in her face died.
‘Dare I ask what is wrong?’ she asked.
He did not immediately answer, but slumped on the settle across from her and gazed into the fire. She waited several moments before saying, ‘You’re late, so I thought if you had not eaten you could have supper in here.’
He nodded. ‘That’s fine.’
‘Good.’ Beth closed her book and, getting up, placed it on her seat. ‘Have I done something to vex you?’ she asked.
Gawain lifted his head and looked across at her. ‘Not you, Beth.’
‘Then who?’
He washed his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes. ‘God’s blood, I’m tired.’
‘It’s been a long day,’ she said softly.
‘Aye, but it is not that which is the problem. I went to see Wolsey, but he is away on the king’s business. Tom was outside York Place. He’d been keeping an eye on Cedric and had followed him to his uncle’s house in Berkshire, but on the departure of the king and his entourage, he left with them. Tom decided he wouldn’t have any difficulty following their progress, so he decided to have a rest as he hadn’t had much sleep. When he eventually traced the king and his train to the next noble house on his itinerary, he had no sighting of Cedric. When the king moved on again, Cedric was not amongst his followers, so Tom decided to head back to London, knowing I was coming here for the fair.’
‘So he has lost him.’ Beth counted silently to ten before saying, ‘I will make no further comment at this point, but fetch your supper and a jug of ale.’