by Ann Swinfen
Several of the huntsmen turned pale at this, and the armed horsemen shifted uneasily in their saddles. I doubted whether Walden would need to use force to persuade them to admit the truth. The suggestion alone would probably be enough.
‘Moreover,’ I said, ‘the day before yesterday, as you know, I paid a visit to the lady’s grandfather, Sir Anthony Thorgold.’
I heard Emma catch her breath behind me. Malaliver suddenly looked taken aback, less sure of himself.
‘Sir Anthony told me that Malaliver lied to him, reporting that Mistress Thorgold had chosen to enter a nunnery of her own desire, whereas it is quite clear that she has always protested against it. He has signed a document asserting that he supports her wish to leave the monastic life. He has also expressed a wish that she should return to live with him and resume her proper station in life.’
I am sure that I managed to banish my own feelings from my voice, but even so I felt the soft touch of Emma’s hand on my back.
‘Lies!’ Malaliver blustered. ‘All lies! Let the fellow produce the document if this is true.’
‘There is no difficulty in that,’ I said. ‘The document is currently lodged with the lady’s man of law.’
Malaliver gaped at me. It seemed I had silenced him, at least for the moment.
Emma moved closer to me, until her body brushed mine. I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. Unless, of course, it was Jocosa.
Events moved swiftly after that. Sheriff Walden ordered Malaliver and his company to be held in the castle for questioning, thanked the candle-makers and sent them on their way, and finally turned to me.
‘Well, Master Elyot,’ he said, ‘it seems you have succeeded in finding the lady and at the same time exposed what may have been an attempt at murder.’
He was speaking softly, to avoid being overheard by Emma, but if he thought she was unaware of the danger she had been in, then he was much mistaken.
‘The most urgent matter now,’ I said, ‘is to take Mistress Thorgold to her aunt’s house, so that her leg may be dressed. A bite from one of those vicious brutes might well become infected.’
We both glanced over at Emma, who was leaning wearily against Rufus’s side, with her eyes shut. She had gone very white. Jocosa was curled up at her feet, seeming none the worse for her own ordeal.
‘Certainly,’ Walden said, ‘do you wish to borrow a mount for the lady?’
‘Nay. But if you have a pillion saddle to fit behind mine . . .?’
He smiled. ‘We do not often need to accommodate ladies, but I believe there is one sometimes used by the sheriff’s wife.’
The pillion saddle was found after a brief search in the stables and strapped on to Rufus’s rump, who seemed resigned to anything I might demand of him today. I remembered with some pleasure how he had kicked the alaunt which had tried to savage Emma.
Once I had mounted, Walden himself helped Emma on to the pillion and passed up Jocosa, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to him, and would have washed his entire face had he not handed her over quickly to her mistress. I looked back as we passed through the gate and saw that he was wiping his face on his sleeve.
Emma wrapped her arms tightly around my waist, cradling the dog between us, and laid her cheek against my back.
‘Is it far?’ she said.
‘Not far,’ I answered, but thought, Not far enough. ‘Do you know Oxford?’
‘I rode through when I was brought to Godstow, but that is all I have seen of the town.’
‘This is Great Bailey we are riding up,’ I said. ‘At Carfax – that is the main crossroads – we enter the High Street, then the first street on the left, just after the Mitre Inn, is St Mildred Street. Your aunt’s house lies a little way along it.’
‘My aunt will be most astonished to see me.’
‘Perhaps. She knows we have been hunting for you.’
‘I am sorry to have given you so much trouble,’ she said formally.
‘I did not find it a trouble,’ I said. I shifted the reins into my left hand and laid my right hand over both of hers, where they were clasped at my waist.
She tightened her grip on me. ‘There is no need to rush.’
‘Your leg . . .’
I felt her face move against the back of my neck. I thought she was smiling.
‘It will wait.’
Yet however slowly I rode, it did not take long to reach Mistress Farringdon’s house.
‘Wait there,’ I said, swinging my right leg over the horse’s head so as not to dislodge her and sliding to the ground. ‘I will break the news first.’
I knocked on the door, but received no reply. When I tried to open it, I found it locked.
‘She is not here.’ I was a little dismayed. I had looked forward to bringing them together. ‘I will take you to my own house, if you do not think . . . that is, if you . . . my sister Margaret should be there. She will be able to see to your leg. And lend you a gown.’
Secretly, I liked Emma dressed in her hose and cotte, with John’s overlarge cap on her head. The clothes made her look very young and somewhat vulnerable. In her novice’s habit she had been slightly intimidating.
‘How will you mount again?’ she said, looking down at me from Rufus’s back. ‘I do not think you can reverse that very original way in which you dismounted.’
She was right. In the end, she slid down from the pillion, I mounted in the normal way, took Jocosa from her, and then she hoisted herself on to the pillion saddle without assistance.
‘This is proving quite a performance,’ I said. ‘We seem to have been getting on and off this horse all day.’
‘We have.’ This time I was sure that she muffled her laughter in the back of my cotte.
‘Pass me Jocosa,’ she said. ‘Is it far to your house?’
‘Not far enough,’ I said.
I took Rufus back down St Mildred Street and along the High as slowly as I could, my whole body conscious of Emma’s arms embracing me. I kept my hand laid over hers at my waist. I had not been so close to a woman since Elizabeth died, and at the memory of Elizabeth I felt suddenly ashamed. What was I thinking of, to take pleasure in the warmth of the girl’s body against mine? She was hardly more than a child, and an heiress as well. And I was a widower, a man who still loved his lost wife, the father of two children.
I started to draw my hand away from hers, but she seized it and pressed it hard between both of hers, so that I could not withdraw it without hurting her. In this unresolved situation, we reached my shop. Emma did not at once release her grip on my hand or my body.
‘Tell me about your sister. Will she frown upon me, dressed – as Malaliver said – in these villein’s rags? No respectable woman will want to have to meet me.’
‘Margaret knows that you fled from enforced confinement in the nunnery,’ I said. ‘She knows that we had been searching for you for days, while you lived rough in the countryside. She will not expect you to be dressed primly in your novice’s habit.’
I paused. How could I explain about Margaret?
‘My sister is five years older than I, and was married off at the age of fourteen to an older man, who seemed prosperous and respectable, but he beat her, made her life wretched. The only joy that arose from that marriage was the birth of her two sons. Then the Pestilence came. It freed her from a cruel husband, but it also robbed her of her sons. Since the death of my wife, she has kept house for me and helped me look after my children.’
It was but a bare sketch of my sister’s life, but Emma tightened her arms around me. ‘Poor Margaret,’ she said. ‘Poor Nicholas.’
There was no answer to that.
I noticed that both Roger and Walter had caught sight of us through the shop window, open to the street, with the wide shutter lowered. It is a fine, big shop, one of the best in the High Street, the width of two normal town messuages, but what a humble place it appeared, now that I had seen Sir Anthony’s manor, with its ancient keep and its modern com
fortable house, set in wide acres of fertile farmland. I was suddenly ashamed that I had brought her here.
‘Are those your scriveners?’ Her tone was interested. Of course she would be interested. Had she not deplored the fact that her sex debarred her from becoming one?
‘They are,’ I said abruptly, ‘and they have had quite long enough staring at us.’
Walter has risen and was coming to the door, clearly intending to help Emma down so that I could dismount in the normal way. Jealousy prompted me to make my awkward scrambled descent, and I reached up for Jocosa, set her down, then took Emma about the waist. She laid her hands lightly on my shoulders and slid to the ground.
She smiled uncertainly. ‘You have met my family, what is left of them. Now I must meet yours.’
I had not seen matters in the same way, but I nodded. ‘Just Margaret and my children. Alysoun is six and somewhat pert. Rafe is four and shy.’
I hitched Rufus beside the door and opened it for her. Jocosa ran ahead of us into the shop, then stopped and looked about her with interest.
‘My scriveners,’ I said, ‘Walter Blunt and Roger Pigot. You see that we have found Mistress Thorgold.’
They both bowed, and Walter said eagerly, ‘It was you made Master Elyot’s book of hours! It is a fine piece of work.’
Emma looked surprised and pleased, and her hand went to that odd bundle which still dangled from her waist.
‘I thank you,’ she said, and I noticed that she seemed less tense, though I had feared that Walter’s familiarity might offend her..
‘Is Margaret here?’ I asked. ‘Mistress Thorgold has been hurt and needs help.’
‘Aye,’ Walter said, ‘she’s through in the kitchen.’ He hesitated. ‘And–’
I did not wait to hear any more. The injury to Emma’s leg had been left too long already. I ushered her through to the kitchen, all the while conscious and embarrassed that I was leading a landed heiress into a shopkeeper’s humble kitchen.
At first I stopped on the threshold in astonishment. The room was full of people. Margaret and the children were there of course, but also Mistress Farringdon with Juliana and little Maysant. Jordain was lifting a cookpot from its hook over the fire and Philip was seated at the table with a cup of ale in his hand. Emma had shrunk back at the sight of so many people, but could not retreat, since Roger and Walter had followed us through from the shop. It occurred to me that for a year, apart from the last few days, she had lived in the quiet and familiar surroundings of Godstow Abbey, and had mixed little with strangers.
‘A welcome party indeed,’ I said, quite taken aback.
Seeing Jocosa, Rowan trotted forward and the two dogs began to size each other up. Although Rowan was larger, she was younger, and seemed to sense that she should defer to the older dog. She sat down, her tongue hanging out, and allowed herself to be examined.
‘Where have you been?’ Margaret asked briskly. ‘The messenger from the castle was here near half an hour ago.’
I stared at her blankly. ‘Messenger? I suppose . . . we went first to St Mildred Street. He must have passed while we were there. A messenger from sheriff Walden?’
‘Aye,’ Jordain said. ‘He was to tell you that Malaliver’s men have confirmed your story, whatever that purports. And he wishes Mistress Thorgold’s man of law to call on him without delay with the document signed by Sir Anthony, so that he can set matters in motion. I had already come to ask Margaret whether there was any word from you, so I sent Roger to fetch Philip.’
Without speaking, Philip lifted the rolled document which lay beside him on the table. Emma took a few steps forward, then halted. She also was silent, but I saw that her eyes were fixed on the parchment.
‘Forgive me, Mistress Thorgold,’ I said formally. ‘May I present my sister, Mistress Margaret Makepeace? The gentleman by the fireplace is Master Jordain Brinkylsworth, Warden of Hart Hall, and the gentleman seated at the table is Master Philip Olney, Fellow of Merton College and now your man of law, if you are agreeable.’
Margaret dropped a curtsey. Philip rose from his seat and both men bowed. Emma curtsied in her turn, which looked strange in cotte and hose instead of a gown. Alysoun had wriggled past Jordain and was studying Emma with frank interest. I beckoned her forward and took her by the hand.
‘This is my daughter Alysoun. Make your reverence to Mistress Thorgold, Alysoun.’
She did so, although she wobbled a little, and continued to stare at Emma as though fascinated. I suppose she found the clothes disconcerting.
‘Over by the door is my son Rafe,’ I said. Rafe had his thumb in his mouth again. I must stop that habit. He threw a swift look at Emma, then began to back away through the open door into the garden.
‘Your own family of course you know,’ I concluded.
As if released by my words, Juliana flew across the room and threw her arms around her cousin, closely followed by her mother. Both were tearful.
‘Are you truly come back to us?’ Juliana cried. ‘Will you come to live with us in St Mildred Street? It is not very large, the house, but it is very comfortable. Master Elyot and Master Brinkylsworth got it for us, and painted it, and fetched our furniture. And Mama is become a cheese maker at a dairy in the High Street, so we eat cheese very nearly every day, but it is very good cheese. You can share my bed, it is big enough, or you can have it all to yourself and I shall share the truckle with Maysant.’
‘Hush, child,’ her mother said. ‘Give Emma room to breathe and time to think. She shall come to us at first, of course, but her grandfather wants her to return to him.’
Already I felt that Emma was slipping away from me, toward all these other people who had a better claim on her than I had.
‘Before anything else,’ I broke in, ‘Mistress Thorgold has been injured. She was bitten by one of Falke Malaliver’s alaunts. It was a savage bite and it needs dressing.’
I turned to my sister. ‘Meg, can you take Mistress Thorgold to your bedchamber and see to her injury? And perhaps you have a gown she might borrow?’
‘Of course,’ Margaret said. ‘Come with me, my dear.’ She turned to Mistress Farringdon. ‘Maud, will you fetch cleansing tincture and wound salve from my stillroom? And bandage? Juliana, could you take the children and dogs into the garden? I think Mistress Thorgold is somewhat tired.’
I was thankful to hand matters over to my capable sister. Emma was indeed looking pale again, as she had at the castle. I hoped the bite was not more serious than I feared.
‘You may return to your work,’ I said quietly to Walter, as the women headed for the stairs. ‘I think Margaret was preparing dinner. You may join us when it is ready.’
The two scriveners withdrew to the shop. It seemed extraordinary that it was barely past time for the midday meal. I seemed to have lived through a lifetime since I had left the house.
Then suddenly there were only the three of us left in the kitchen. Jordain and I joined Philip at the table and he poured us ale.
‘So what is this tale of sheriffs and killing dogs?’ Jordain said.
‘And candle-makers,’ Philip prompted. ‘The messenger from the castle made some mention of evidence from candle-makers.’
As briefly as I could, I recounted the events of the morning, up to the time we had left the castle. The ride back with Emma I was keeping to myself.
We were on our second cup of ale when we heard the women’s voices from the stairs, Margaret and Maud Farringdon came down first, and they were smiling.
‘The injury?’ I said ‘How bad is it?’
‘Fortunately not too deep,’ Margaret said. ‘I have cleaned and salved it, but I have left it open to the air. I think that way it will heal more quickly.’
Maud Farringdon nodded her agreement.
‘And have you found something for her to wear?’ I was conscious that while Margaret had been slim as a girl, two pregnancies had filled out her figure. Her gowns would hang loose on Emma.
‘I found one o
f my old gowns I was keeping for Alysoun to wear later,’ she said. ‘It will do well enough for now.’
The two women smiled at each other, and glanced at the stairs.
She had taken off her clumsy sandals and walked barefoot, so I had not heard her coming. I had seen her heavily swathed in a novice’s black habit, and lithe as a boy in rough cotte and hose. Now she descended the stairs transformed.
The gown was a deep blue, like her eyes, clinging tightly from shoulder to hips, then flaring out to a gold embroidered hem. The neck was low and square, the sleeves were narrow at the top, then fell, bell-shaped below. The effect was simple and slightly old-fashioned. Her head was swathed in a plain white wimple.
She was remote, beautiful, and untouchable.
Incongruously, she was carrying John Barnes’s cap and the ugly bundle, both of which she laid on the table. Jordain, Philip, and I had all risen to our feet, speechless.
She blushed faintly at our continued silence, then cleared her throat.
‘I should like this to be returned to John Barnes,’ she said, touching the cap with her forefinger, ‘but I think it best I should not go to Godstow myself.’
I managed to find my voice. ‘I shall see to it.’
‘And this,’ she began to untie the bundle, ‘this is for you, Master Elyot.’ She raised a radiant face to me. ‘I hope it has not suffered..’
She drew out from the oiled cloth a sheaf of parchment. I saw that the sheets were written over in her neat, distinctive hand. The initials and borders were drawn, but no colour had been added yet. A few corners had curled up, but parchment is a tough material. They could be flattened again.
‘Your new book of hours.’ I said.
She nodded, looking sad. ‘I shall not now be able to finish it. But perhaps one of your scriveners? And I must send parchment to Sister Mildred at the abbey, to replace what I have . . . stolen. Perhaps you could help me?’